#thomas casually throwing hands with anyone will never not be funny to me-

[ye-olde-sodor]

Forget any idea you had for Thomas stories, I wanna see the engines and the narrator interacting with each other for some sort of April fools themed episode. All the dialogue between them is snarky and sassy just like in season one…but it’s cranked up to 11. Or maybe even have the engines are self-aware that they’re in a tv show???

Just...imagine for a moment what that would be like.

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Narrator: “This Is Thomas! He’s a cheeky little engine who has a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy dome, and a short stumpy-“

Thomas: “WE GET IT. I’M SMALL. By my maker Is that really the only thing you can describe me as?!”

Narrator: “No, actually! I forgot to mention he has a temper of one of those small rat dogs that women keep in their purses and treat them like children! Why one could argue that he has the temper of a rooster!”

Thomas: “THATS IT-”

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Percy: "Hey Thomas, I'm supposed to go to the works at 5, could you cover for my mail train?"

Narrator: "This made Thomas very cross, he told Percy that he should do his own work and-"

Thomas: "Oh of course! Is it just the regular route?"

Narrator: "Wait no, that's not what you're supposed to-"

Percy: "Yep! My driver can come with you if you'd like!"

Thomas: "If he wouldn't mind coming along with us. I'd hate to make your train late."

Narrator: "Stop that-"

Percy: "Thanks Thomas, I really appreciate it. I'll leave the train near the sheds when I have to leave."

Thomas, very smuggly: Oh it's nothing, really! Anything for my best friend!"

Narrator: "STOP!"

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Narrator: “And then there was trouble!”

Edward, rapidly descending down Gordon’s hill and becoming a runaway: “Oh of course there’s trouble! Why wouldn’t there be trouble WHEN ISNT THERE TROUBLE-“

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Percy, late at night: “Where do you think that voice in the sky goes when we all go to sleep? Does he have a home to go to?”

Edward: "Hmm...I'm not sure. Maybe he goes to a shed just like us!"

James: “Oh please, If he spends all of his free time with us, I doubt he even has a bed let alone a shed!"

Narrator: “I’m still here, you know!”

*cue ungodly screeching*

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Henry, after having yet another derailment this week: “Do we really need to have an accident every episode??? Is it really that vital to this forsaken franchise to have some large an monumental crash every day???”

Gordon, using his winch to help Henry: “No, but it would be rather dull if Thomas didn’t fling himself headfirst into a fistfight every two minutes, wouldn’t you agree dear?”

Henry: “…Fine, your right…but it wouldn’t hurt to pick on someone else every now and again would it?!

*a hearty laughter from Gordon ensues*

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Duck: "Does anyone ever think about what that voice in the sky is? Like...Is it a man? Is it an engine? A God?"

Thomas: "I...never actually thought about that."

Gordon: "I just assumed he was a result of being on this accursed island for so long. I'm surprised that we can hear him but the humans can't...it's quite concerning if you ask me!"

Percy: "Maybe he is a God! An Engine God!"

Gordon: "Oh now look what you've started!"

Edward: "Hold on now, I think he's onto something!"

Thomas: "W-what do we do with this? What can we do with this?"

Edward: "Well, we can tell it to others! Like how the priests do for churches!"

Percy: "What about those cerci-moneys? I heard that humans do those for their Gods!"

Duck: "Maybe we should name him first! It's only proper!"

Gordon: "STOP ENCOURAGING HIM!"

Narrator: *holding in his laughter*

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#ttte #ttte henry #ttte gordon #ttte thomas #ttte percy #ttte james #ttte edward #ttte duck #thomas casually throwing hands with anyone will never not be funny to me- #he's half feral half gentleman you cannot tell me otherwise #ttte shitpost

[rainingpouringetc]

Hi! I saw you were looking for prompts... could you do "you can't keep doing this to yourself" for Thomastair? If not thats ok. Have a lovely day!

wow i’m so late to this lol i wrote it yesterday but forgot to post.

i love this prompt, hope i did it justice for ya :)

It had been three days since Thomas had gotten any real sleep. At least he thought it was three days. In all honesty, it could’ve been four or five days. Or maybe just two. Time had lost much of its meaning to him lately.

For instance, today Matthew had come round the Lightwoods’ house and knocked rather loudly on the door, claiming it was morning when Thomas finally dragged himself to investigate. This had seemed odd to Thomas, who was sure he’d just finished eating lunch before lying down for a quick nap.

Matthew had insisted Thomas join him for a drink at the Devil. Really, who was Thomas to decline?

After a few drinks and many laughs, Matthew bid Thomas farewell and left. He did that a lot, Thomas thought, bringing his mug to his lips contemplatively. Leave before people could see his pain. Of course Thomas had noticed, he’d be a bum friend and a worse brother for not noticing Matthew’s ache.

It was the same ache as Thomas’s. Matthew just hid it better.

And just like that, the memories flooded in, and all Thomas wanted to do was drown in their depths.

He settled for simply drowning in alcohol.

As he staggered out of the Devil—Polly had finally cut him off, the nerve of her—the London air hit his face and made him suddenly feel violently ill. There was an alley just up ahead. His feet fumbled over themselves in his hurry, his long legs tangling and tripping him until he fell face first into the wall before the alley. He vomited onto his shoes, cursing as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. It was still day, an unusually sunny one at that. The sun shone high in the sky, though it did little to cut through the winter chill. Thomas realized belatedly that he’d left his coat at home, and with it, his bolas and stele.

Time yet again slipped through his fingers as he stumbled away from Fleet Street. It shouldn’t have taken him so long to walk home, and yet by the time he arrived he was fairly certain it was growing dark. He frowned, confused by what had waylaid him. It didn’t really matter, though, so he closed the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed, shutting his eyes to the pains of the world.

---

It was another few days before he saw anyone again. He still hadn’t really slept. Upon waking up an hour or so before dawn, Thomas had promptly decided to spend his day wandering the city. He remembered to bring his coat and weapons this time, just as a precaution, and his head was much clearer than it had been that other morning with Matthew.

Thomas found himself on a bridge, though he hadn’t quite been paying attention to which one. He leaned his forearms on the rail, staring down at the water beneath him—the Thames, he supposed.

Even in his grief, his Shadowhunter instincts refused to rest, and he easily picked up the sound of boots on pavement approaching him. He turned slightly, squinting in the dim morning light to see who it was. The sky was once again clouded, the sun just barely starting to rise in the distance. There was a bit of fog as well that obscured the person’s face from Thomas. He turned back to the railing, expecting the person to pass him by and continue on their way.

Instead, they came closer, leaning their back against the rail next to him. Thomas looked up in surprise, suddenly finding himself face to face with Alastair Carstairs.

“What in the world are you doing out so early?” Alastair asked casually, keeping his eyes on the opposite horizon.

Thomas shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.” It seemed to him an apt answer, but something about it made Alastair cut his eyes to Thomas quickly. There was something behind them, something Thomas couldn’t quite decipher.

Carefully looking back to the horizon, Alastair asked, “And how long has that been going on?”

A tricky question indeed for someone who wasn’t even sure what day of the week it was. After a moment’s consideration, Thomas answered simply, saying, “A while, I suppose.”

Alastair let out a long sigh through his nose, turning to mirror Thomas’s pose with his arms on the rail and his eyes on the river. Thomas wasn’t entirely sure what either of them were doing. A long silence dragged out, until Alastair finally broke it with a chuckle. “You remember what you promised me last time we spoke?”

“What, that I’d knock you into the Thames if you talked to me again?” Thomas remembered that night vividly. He remembered allowing his anger to get the better of him, remembered pushing Alastair away with his harsh words. A part of him regretted it.

“Well, if it’ll make you feel better, you do have the perfect opportunity.”

That made Thomas look at him sharply. He was surprised to find Alastair smiling cheerfully at him. There was still that something in his eye, but it was crowded out by the light of his smile. Thomas wasn’t sure Alastair had ever smiled so brightly in his presence.

It was startling enough that it actually made Thomas laugh. He was laughing, heartily laughing, and Alastair was too after a moment of hesitation. They were laughing together on a bridge overlooking the Thames, and everything was so perfectly confusing and muddled and somehow so utterly light, light like they hadn’t been since…

Since Barbara died. The thought hit Thomas like a ton of bricks, sobering him immediately. He lowered his eyes, avoiding Alastair’s gaze. Their situation didn’t seem quite so funny to him anymore.

Alastair whispered something in Persian that Thomas didn’t catch, then reached out to grab Thomas by the shoulder, forcing him to look at him. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Thomas.” He said it with such tenderness and conviction that Thomas wondered how long he’d waited to say that.

“Doing what.” It was less of a question than it was a challenge.

Alastair released Thomas, almost pushing him away and running his hands through his pitch black hair. “This, Thomas. Drowning yourself in memories to avoid facing your grief, to avoid facing that she’s really gone.”

Thomas straightened instantly, advancing on Alastair with a force that made the other man stumble back a step. “How dare you speak to me like that?” he hissed. “What do you know of grief? What do you know of me?”

There was silence for a moment as Alastair searched his face, eyes finally settling on Thomas’s. “I know that if I lost Cordelia, I would be lost.” Thomas looked away quickly at the emotion coating Alastair’s voice. “I know that you’re hurting, and I know that you’re scared. You’re scared that if you let yourself grieve her, if you move on… it will be like forgetting her.”

Shaking his head, Thomas said, “I’ll never forget her.”

Alastair hesitated. “Are you saying that because you know it, or because you’re trying to convince yourself of it?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas admitted. “Both? Neither?” He dragged a hand across his face, trying to calm himself before he could become emotional. “I just…” He sighed heavily.

“I know.” Alastair turned back to the river. “I know.”

---

Somehow, the two of them ended up back at Thomas’s house. The sun was still low in the sky, so Alastair announced that he would make breakfast, seeing as how Thomas had forgotten to eat before leaving. Luckily for them, Thomas’s parents had left a note saying they were out visiting his Uncle Gabriel, so the house was empty of anyone but them.

They had a simple breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs, sitting across from each other at the table and making idle chat. When they finished, Alastair gracefully took his leave, thanking Thomas for declining to throw him into the Thames. Thomas laughed it off and waved him away, but he played Alastair’s words over in his head.

You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Thomas.

You can’t keep doing this to yourself.

He smiled to himself. I won’t.

Thomas took a shower and changed his clothes before bed that night, and even drank a few glasses of water. The next time he saw Alastair, he thanked him and, on a whim, asked him to dinner. As friends, of course, though he didn’t say it aloud. For what more could they be than friends?

Well... Thomas could let himself dream.

#thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #thomastair #tlh #tlh fanfic #chain of gold #cog2 #artie tries to write

[strange-changes-ln]

“Strange Changes.”

Chapter 6: “A Talk.”

…

The Janitor sat, within the tension between himself, and the Governess. She had decided to take this to the Library inside of the Residence, using two chairs she had managed to find. Her stare seemed blank. Well, clearly, with the mask on, it was gonna look that way, but under it, it was… firm.

A strong silence followed on. While the Lady sat firmly, with professionalism and elegance, Roger, on the other hand, was shuffling and shifting constantly, seeing no way to make this feel less… like this. Like he’s currently facing something… almost… dangerous. Not like he hasn’t before.

And like those times, he was never ready.

Silence, still. It was never-ending, it seemed, as the two collected their thoughts, and a way to begin the conversation.

.

.

.

” What has been going on. “ The Lady finally took initiative, considering the notion that the Janitor was not, and started the conversation. Roger perked up, blinking. Oh.

” ..uh.. well.. um.. “ He considered leaving the whole shadow invader thing out of the conversation entirely. It would make things easier, right?

But, at the same time..-

It’s a terrible idea. Lying doesn’t do anyone any good.

“ ..not..much..? “ ..that works..??

The Lady simply hummed.

Behind the mask, however, she frowned, as she was not pleased. She could tell the man was lying. It was in his tone, he was questioning his own wording.

” ..Roger. “

“ ..yes..? “

“ …You know very well, that something has been arising. It has been throwing your duties off track, as well as the Chef’s’. “ She leaned forward, looming over him, even in a sitting position.

" ..H-- "

" You know how, Janitor. "

Roger shrunk, shifting in the chair for the 30th time. His arms hung off the sides, given their length. His hands tensed. Squinting at the ground for a minute.

” We cannot be losing order here in the Maw, for it is the only place in this god forsaken world that makes sense anymore. So whatever the trouble may be rising, I suggest you say it now. It is best that you put an end to the- problem.. as soon as…… “

She stopped. Is he just- spacing out right now? Is this not important to him? After all she’s given him, this doesn’t concern him at ALL?

Indeed, he was lightly rocking back and forth, staring at the ground, not exactly obtaining anything the Lady was saying to him.

..Slowly, shadows began to whirl around the Governess, as she sat straight up, her posture tense. “ Roger. “

That got his attention. Eyeing back up at—

her. And the shadows. Oh. Oh no.

“ Pay attention. Does this not mean anything to you? Whatever is going on, I insist you explain NOW. That, is an ORDER. “ The shadows grew with intensity, swirling around her, menacingly. She looked… much more threatening like this. If she hadn’t been already, that is.

He flinched, expecting a sort of- physical contact to occur if he didn’t start talking. After all, he was simply a little, slightly shaking leaf, within the breeze of the one in control of this vessel. “ ..Y-Yes, Miss.. “ He nodded, with haste, so he could just get to the point.

“ ..There’s this.. I- I don’t really know what it is. It was like- like a shadow? A big, humanoid shadow. “ That was the simplest way to explain. She maintained her exterior, staring down at him through her mask.

" ..Shadow. " Her body just barely relaxed. " ..Do they have a name. "

" That's the thing. They don't-- we don't know their name. They keep it a secret. I don't- know why. "

" ...Hmm. " She leaned back into her chair. " This is.. unfortunate. Distracting. "

" ..Mhm. " Roger slowly reached up to adjust his hat a little bit. " Is- there anything you-- or- we, could do? " Asking, slowly beginning to relax himself. The Lady hummed.

" ..I will- see what I can do. " She nodded, the shadows ceasing from the air. " But for now, you and the Chef's can attempt to stall the... thing. "

Oh thank god. " Oh- that's-.. al-alright, uhh.. alright. "

. . .

Silence. Again. This is so awkward, good lord.

The Lady stood up, slowly. " I think we are done here. You may exit. "

" -Oh-- uh.. wh-what about the chairs? " Roger blinked.

" I will tidy that up on my own time. What I need you to do, is go. Do I make myself clear..? "

" ..yes, my Lady. "

She then vanished. He.. always wondered how she did that. How she attained that- shadow magic of hers. It's strange. To him, at least. But, without another word, he made his way to the exit of the Residence.

...

Okay. Okay. This is fine. Everything is fine. You aren't dead. Everything, is okay.

Roger took in a deep breath. Yep!! Everything is cool. Everything... is cool.

He needs something to drink. He just casually shuffles his way to the Kitchen.

.

.

.

" So! The talk went well? That's good, isn't it? " Thomas spoke up, trying to sound supportive- for one reason or another- while serving the Janitor a glass of water. He handed the glass cup to the short man. " So, what did she say? "

" Well.. uhh.. " Roger took the cup, and took a quick sip. " ..Mm- she said she'd see what she could do. But I don't know exactly what she will do, or when she'll do it. "

" Pehh. She might brush us off. Like always. " Marcus huffed, pouring himself a glass of wine. Though, he did glance to Roger for a moment. " Want some? "

" Nah. I'm not feeling it. "

" Oh, c'mon! Everyone needs a bit of wine every so often. 'Sides, you're looking terrible. You could use it. " Marcus commented. He's not wrong. Roger looks.. tired. And just unfresh. The Janitor deadpanned him for a moment.

" ...Really. "

" Seriously! I'm serious! I'm right, aren't I, bro?? Tell me he doesn't look terrible. "

" W-Well, I mean- " Thomas honestly didn't know how to respond. " ..I- uhhh.. "

" Exactly! "

" Alright, alright, calm down. No need to--- to keep--- wineing about it. "

.

.

.

" That was so bad, Roger, you know that- "

The Janitor just broke into a cackle. To him, that was- the funniest thing. Why? His sense of humor is broken, most likely. Thomas tried to find it at least somewhat funny. It wasn’t really there though. But Roger seemed happy with it.

“ C-Come on, it was funny- “ The Janitor held his hand straight up, pointing it towards Marcus.

“ No, it wasn’t, Roger. That was horrible. “ Marcus cringed, which only seemed to make it better for Roger, who was still laughing, smiling from ear-to-ear.

“ Kehehehe..heheh.. okay, okay. Now, uh.. I think I should- get going. “ He tilts his head towards the exit of the Kitchen, and back into the lower parts of the Maw. He eyed the cup of water he was still holding. He- kinda spilled some on the ground from the laughing. Oops. “ ..Sorry. “

” Oh- it’s okay. “ Thomas pats his shoulder gently. “ …Can I ask you something? “

” Huh? Sure, shoot. “

” Umm.. how many fingers am I holding up? “ The Chef proceeds to hold up four of his fingers. Roger simply blinked.

” ..Four. Why— “ oh wait.

“ -Y— You can tell?? You didn’t even have t— you can see now?? “ He looked confused, and surprised at the same time. Ohgeezohmanohokay—

“ ..I- I guess?- “

“ Wait- what? I thought you were just- “ Marcus squinted. “ ..Why didn’t you say you could- “

“ oH MAN- WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME?? I REALLY GOTTA GO, I’M- “ He coughs in between the words. “ I gotta- I GOTTA- Go— do my job!! Really would like to talk some more, I REALLY would, but I shouldn’t be holding up my work, sowiththatbeingsaid, I’mgonnaleave- goodbye- bye- seeya- bye- “ Roger then ushers himself out and away from the Chefs.

He just left them in silence. A short period of silence.

” … “

” … “

“ Roger can see..? “

” Yeah, it’s weird, right?? “

” ..If- he can see, why do his eyes look so.. “

” Oh- I think that’s because.. uhh.. here, I’ll just explain it to you. “

…

Oh my god.

Why? Why did you do that? You’re so brain-dead. A moron. An idiot.

Why can’t you just talk to people correctly?

Roger groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. Once he opened them back up, his arm fell to his side, and he just- begun to shuffle forward. He needs to check on those kids. Make sure none of them went up and tried escaping while he was gone. For the while, he just thinks to himself.

The Lady. She’s very.. beautiful. But- at the same time, she’s kind of scary. And mysterious. Sort of in a sense, of- why does she wear the mask? Was it just an outfit choice, or is she hiding.. something? Where did she get that shadow thing from? It’s- sort of- confusing.

He squints. What’s gonna be done about the- the shadow person? Maybe she’ll take care of it privately? Probably, probably not.

Y’know what? Okay- stop thinking. Just keep going. Keep descending. Go check on the kids.

…

What’s their name? Why can’t they say? Is it- a sort of.. a sort of-

N-No. Stop. The last thing you need to focus on right now, is that- guy. Gal? Wait-

Stop. Just stop.

…

Roger rubs at his eyes. Tired. Need sleep. But you can’t. You gotta work first.

..you feel dirty. When was the last time you took a shower..? Washed your clothes…? Oh my god-

No- work first. Self-care second. Why is this so hard to understand right now, just do your stupid job.

He grips his head with one hand, and his face with his other, still walking, lowly groaning, and slightly humming, just trying to distract himself. Maybe-

NO. You’ve- you’ve been inconsistent enough, go do your job. The Governess didn’t let you stay here for nothing.

The hand holding his face, moves up to his hat. At least he’s not blocking his own view. You seriously need to chill. Nothing should make you do this. Focus. Focus.

..He blinks, staring at the ground, at his shoes. It’s.. kinda.. kinda blurry. He glances up ahead. Yeah.. yeah, it’s.. kinda blurry. Nothing looks right. It’s all.. it’s all.. really hard to see, right now, wait-

His arms fall to his side, his head tilts to the side, confused, rather lost, he doesn’t- understand what’s happening. He’s still walking. Does- does he even know where he’s going?? No, no, you don’t, cut it out and FOCUS. Why is that SO HARD?? You aren’t that tired, just-

He stops, scratching at his eye sockets, emitting garbled, agitated noises from his throat. Stop, stop, stop. Deep breath. In and out. In and out. You’re fine. You’re just.. tricking yourself..! Yeah.. you’re fine. You’re okay.

His vision isn’t blurry much anymore, but.. he can’t.. recognize where he is. Wait.. what?? He takes a step forward—

and he falls.

#Strange Changes #littlenightmares #little nightmares lady #little nightmares chefs #little nightmares #little nightmares janitor #roger the janitor #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

[pocket-void]

Some Stuff About Marcus Pt.1

Alright, I’m finally gonna talk about Marcus in more depth for a lil bit because honestly the more I think about him the more I want to talk about him. So I’m gonna do just that! Both for fun and to get some stuff out of my creative system. ^///^

So let’s start with the man himself, shall we?

Marcus

Marcus is my personal version of the mysterious Orange side, and he’s more of an OC than a theory and I just really enjoy talking about him sometimes. So I do! I talk more about what he represents in this post (there’s also other miscellaneous scraps of info about him in the orange side tag), this one is gonna focus more on his exact relationship with each of the other sides (I always welcome more specific asks if you ever wanna know anything else! Since I’m very rambly and believe me when I say that I have answers to basically everything >///<). These are longer than I thought so I’m splitting it up...but if you’re still here, then strap in folks! u///u

Roman

Marcus doesn’t dislike Roman, but he’s not a big fan of him either. Theoretically they could have a better relationship but it’s hindered by a perception of Marcus that someone else had set a long time ago. (We’ll get to that)

One of the bigger reasons why Marcus and Roman don’t quite get along is simply due to their completely opposite levels of self respect. Roman is insecure and often unsure about his accomplishments and how others feel about him, while Marcus is too sure about his skills and how others perceive him. There are clear flaws to both.

In Marcus’ case, it’s made him incredibly stubborn and bitter as a result of being seen as a problem and not being able to do anything. It’s very difficult to convince him he’s wrong, and while he’s not dumb enough to think he’s right about everything, he gets more aggressive than necessary in the face of opposition at times. But more than anything Marcus is honest. He’s blunt and isn’t afraid of just stating how he feels to people, and Roman’s reluctance to do so really bugs him at times. In fact, he’s sometimes angry for him.

The fact that simple phrases can shatter Roman’s entire ego drives Marcus up walls, because if he were in his position he’d probably deck someone in the face right then and there. Being insulted? Getting what he fears most spat at him like venom? Marcus would never stand for that. Beyond that he’s also mad for the people who care about Roman. Why can’t he believe them? Can’t he see how much he’s cared about? How worried people are? Does he really? Marcus thinks that distrust and insecurity feels like an insult to them.

The thing about Marcus is that he’s been through being branded bad and evil. He’s still the bad guy in a couple of ways. He’ll play the bad guy if he has to. He’s over it, though not quite over it as he’d like to be... In a way, he’s also envious of Roman. Roman is important. The others do actually love him. And deep down, Marcus also respects the things he does and doesn’t want him to be crippled by his self doubt because what the two have in common is passion. A drive and determination to do the things they want, and to achieve the goals they aim for. It’s just a shame that their relationship is soured by their general perceptions of each other.

Marcus also just isn’t big on theatrics, but that’s because he uh, can’t see. He likes to make fun of Roman just like anybody else in casual conversation and only ever refers to him as “Red”, “Princey”, or on occasion “Ruby”. He jokingly takes Roman’s threats seriously when they quip, and while they never actually get into fights, Roman is aware that Marcus will actually throw down.

At the end of the day, Marcus wants Roman to consider himself his own hero. He doesn’t understand Roman’s need to keep up an image because he’s never had an image to live up to, let alone anyone who'd look to him for inspiration. Whether Roman likes him or not doesn’t really matter to him, he doesn’t care about people who’ve made up their minds about him and are too set in certain ways of thinking.

Which is hypocrisy at its finest, but we’re not there yet.

Janus

Right off the bat, they do not get along. Which you might find kind of odd, considering they’re both under the umbrella of “dark side”. The truth is, they’re tentative colleagues at best. Hilariously Logan probably gets along with Janus better than Marcus does, and there are a couple very fair reasons behind this.

On the one hand, they both agree on doing things for the “self” (Which in their case is c!Thomas). They both agree that the self should be the most important person in one’s life, and will do whatever it takes to protect it. However, the biggest difference between them is the methods they go about doing so. And it’s here that Marcus’ righteous anger often clashes harshly with Janus’ need for self preservation. Marcus doesn’t lie, he doesn’t see the need to. If he wants something, he’ll do it. If he believes something, he’ll say it. He does it because he knows he’s right, and that’s what matters. Obviously this would cause a lot of problems in real life if you actually are that blunt 24/7, and in those cases Janus has to reign him in quite a bit.

Marcus is fundamentally reckless, brash, and prone to getting carried away if not kept in check, which makes him kind of a danger to Thomas’ wellbeing at times. The thing is, both of them are aware of this. Which is actually why Marcus isn’t as spiteful about stepping down as he could be. He knows that he can do more harm than good if he ever steps out of bounds. This won’t stop him from feeling like his input would infinitely accelerate certain debates, and on a personal level he does still feel like he has the right to fight for that recognition, but he doesn’t because he’s not dumb enough to actively cause harm to others for the sake of himself. It’s not what he wants. What he will and often does do however, is do things that end with him getting hurt in the end. Maybe the reason he disagrees with Janus so much is because his own sense of self preservation is surprisingly poor.

A mildly exaggerated analogy I like to think about is that: If under any circumstance the two of them would have to plot revenge, Janus would focus more on personal safety and Marcus would focus more on personal vindication. Marcus has zero qualms about actually throwing hands, no matter the resulting physical consequence (If his scars were any indication) which Janus would 100% be against. Imagine the consequences of a physical confrontation! Absolutely not. Snake man would prefer more subtle and manipulative tactics, and would probably prefer to frame someone without being implicated himself if possible. They usually compromise, but always butt heads one way or another.

In casual conversation, Marcus is more snarky to Janus than anything. They trade sarcastic remarks often and tend to be a lil snippy, but they often agree on similar points? But also insist that they don’t get along, which is pretty funny. Marcus calls Janus “Yellow” or “Snake”, and sometimes a few yellow flower names like “Tansy” or “Marigold”.

Remus

Would it come as a surprise if I said these two actually get along ok? Think about it: They’re both blunt, forthcoming with their ideas (As wild as Remus’ are), and are at times prone to violence. They’re both seen as “bad” and both have experienced being forcefully repressed one way or another. They kind of just vibe on a similar plane of existence if I’m honest with you. More than that however, both are relatively accepting of themselves, Remus more so than Marcus actually. There are some things Orange unfortunately still has to come to terms with.

On a casual level, they probably can do some pretty reckless and dumb things together. Marcus respects anybody with self confidence really, and the way Remus just owns being the garbage man he is definitely gets a pass in his book. It doesn’t mean they never disagree though. In a lot of ways, Marcus is still tied to logic, and Remus’ chaotic nature isn’t always suited to how he works. They conflict the most when it’s time to put the chips down and actually get things done. Remus totally does his best to bug the hell out of him too, much to his chagrin. He makes it pretty clear how he feels about it, but the duke isn’t fazed. Tackle the blind man, he dares you.

Marcus isn’t exactly good with creative input, it’s not his function. In fact, he himself is actually locked in a very specific type of world view from his experiences over the years. It’s not intentional, he just tends to grow irrational when he gets too heated. Sometimes he forgets to take his hand out of the fires that burn him, and it inevitably comes at a detriment to himself. Remus has the capacity to make him incredibly furious under bad circumstances, and if they aren’t careful he might actually act upon dangerous suggestions that Remus just casually suggests. If Remus is the voice behind intrusive thoughts, Marcus is the impulse that actually acts upon them. He won’t, obviously, but spite and anger can push people to do rash things. They both know better than that of course, but it’s a possibility that will never go away.

Marcus calls Remus “Green”, though he also refers to him by odd green things sometimes like “moss” or “seaweed”. I like to imagine the two of them going off and smashing up random things to blow off steam/just for fun. But that’s just me. u///u

---

If you’re still reading then thank you??? This is honestly more self indulgent than anything, but I just have way too much stuff I could talk about and it needs to go somewhere akjbefkaefk.

I shall talk about the rest in Part 2 perhaps. o///o

#I'm going in rainbow order but god I have so much to say ajbakefa #I don't even know if Im making sense #but here's part 1 of stuff I guess! #this is literally just how I am with every character I ever make #I think a lot and have nobody to say it to #if you'll allow me to indulge then I will o///o #I am so sorry for rambling but ily guys whether you read it or not u///u #sanders sides #orange side #mockdoodles #sanders sides doodles #Marcus

[ziracona]

Ohmygod I want like all of ur headcanons they're all so good. Oml. Would it be okay if I settled on meg headcanons or Dwight & Jake hcs? God you write them so well it makes me so happy

Thank you so much! <3 I know you asked this like this morning, and sorry about that, but I had a lot of fun answering it. Ended up doing Meg. I’m not sure if you want general, or post-ILM so I just kinda did some of both? And got carreid away, haha, it’s gonna go mostly under a read more. :’-)

Meg’s mom did a great job taking care of her growing up. Meg had a hard time making and keeping friends, because she’s full of energy and passion and also very ADHD, so she has a big personality and will talk all the time about what she loves and is a whole lot (in a good way). But a lot of people growing up did not enjoy that about her. Meg wasn’t great at shutting up and acting or lying or falling into a role to get kids at her school to like her, and also just didn’t understand why the rest of them would do that, and didn’t mesh well. With each time she was not accepted, she got a little bit more bristly and ready to defend herself, and it kind of became a self-fulfilling prophecy. It wasn’t like she never had any friends, but she never had any close ones, and a lot of the ones she did have kind of dicked her over for someone else, or moved on, and that was rough. Plus, her dad left her when she was a baby, she was poor, she was loud, and she was Bi. This gave kids a whole lot to bully her for. And they sure did.

Meg’s a fighter, though, and didn’t take shit—she got into trouble a lot, and was mad, because (as y’all who’ve been in the American education system at least know) the faculty never cared if she’d shoved someone because they called her a slur, or said something shitty about her mom, or that she’d punched someone because they’d followed her out of school to say nasty things about her, or that someone else had shoved her, or poured something on her book, or provoked her first. Didn’t even care if it had been four on one, or a guy had come up and fake asked her out to make fun of her in front of his friends—didn’t care about any of what was being done to her, or that she’d just been defending herself. The worst they ever did was talk to the other students, and that just made them want revenge and didn’t stop jack shit. Because of that, she really started to resent faculty and got a huge rebellious streak. She used to get in trouble all the time, before joining track, at her mom’s suggestion. Then, finally, really for the first time ever, even if she didn’t have friends, she had a pack, and that was something. Team didn’t have to like her, they still worked together so they had some kind of a bond and couldn’t just flip, and their track teacher would care if things got nasty, because it lowered performance. Plus, she had natural talent, and a bunch of energy, so it was an ideal fit.

Childhood was all still pretty damn rough though. I wouldn’t say she was miserable all the time or anything, but she was constantly tired of it all. There were some good parts, though. And she had some casual friends she was pretty chill with. Even a kind of almost girlfriend her last two semesters (although that was not exactly the world’s most stable relationship either. Still, not all bad.) While she wasn’t ever tight with them, there were several people at school who thought she was really cool too, because not only would Meg always defend herself, she also was ready in a heartbeat to throw hands for anyone—especially someone weaker or smaller than herself—she saw getting shit from classmates. She was a roaming vigilante of school hall fury by 10th grade, and had earned a certain amount of respect and fear, and a pile of detentions and reprimands, and parent-teacher conferences where her mom chewed out teachers and staff for ignoring the parts of all this where her daughter was getting bullied. Meg used to actually love parent-teacher time, because she got to watch her mom rip people she hated apart, and it filled her with glee to have somebody else fight for her.

Even with school all sucking, Meg had a pretty good childhood basically exclusively because of her mom. Her mom had to raise a kid as a single parent when Meg’s dad abandoned them while Meg was still a baby, and it wasn’t easy. She worked full time when Meg was little as a postal worker. That was unsustainable, though, with how life was going and her wanting and needing to actually be physically present in her kid’s life, so she ended up finding employ as a ghostwriter, and switching to that. It was almost exclusively terrible and ridiculous romances she would get a fraction of the pay and no credit for when published, but Rachel Thomas found a way to make that funny and enjoyable both to herself, and her curious little daughter who would waddle up to her and ask all the time what Mommy was doing and to hear her stories. She would pick safe bits and read them as silly and funny as possible to amuse Meg and feel okay about what she was spending all her time on, and it worked. It made the work enjoyable, when otherwise it would have felt tiring and worthless. Rachel got to be happy with it instead.

She always worked super hard to give Meg a good life, even with very limited resources. She taught herself how to do things like use pencil dust to check for fingerprints when Meg was super into Nancy Drew books as a kid, and how to pick locks, and then taught them to Meg. Meg loved growing up in that house, because her mom was the best. She was always ready to hear about whatever fascinating new thing Meg had discovered, or to pick up a toy sword and go have an epic battle in the backyard as people they’d made up to be. She passed on a love of movies and music and dancing, too, and because she knew that life was rough for Meg, even as a young child, Rachel always went out of her way to make holidays huge productions. Got one really cool present that always had to do with whatever story Meg was the most into usually, and a lot of fun little ones to go with it, so she could open a whole pile of gifts even though the only one who was ever there to give her any presents was her mom. Meg kinda just grew up thinking of holidays like that because of her, and did as big productions for her mom too (to the best of her age-relative ability).

It was super hard on Meg when her mom got sick. I mean, I think it would be on anyone (who had a positive relationship with the parent, or probably even a neutral one), but she took it really hard. She’d been super excited about finally getting out of her hometown and going to college on a track scholarship she’d worked incredibly hard for, but then this had happened, and of course she’d come back to look after her mom. It was really awful though. She wasn’t sure if her mom would survive. At first, the situation had been like, go to college, or go home to help your mom get better, but she realized after a little while with a sinking feeling that it was starting to look like something else. Like give up on your one chance at being able to pay for college, or come home to watch your mom wither away and die while you can’t do a fucking thing to stop it. Her mom had always been a strong and fun and full of life person, so much like Meg herself, in a lot of ways, and she got sick so fast, and so bad. They even looked a lot alike—not just in biological features, but they kind of dressed similarly by nature, and Meg’s mom had also always kept her bright red hair long and liked it like that. Sometime when Meg was little, she’d called her mom’s hair a “fire mane,” older Meg could only assume because she’d been reading picture books about horses, and her mom had loved that and teasingly called it that forever after. The second night after she started chemo that her hair started to fall out, Meg got home to see her shaving her head in the bathroom, because it had been coming out in clumps she hadn’t been able to stand the way that felt. Meg felt heartbroken, and went over to join her and took the scissors on the sink and started to cut hers off too in solidarity, but her mom stopped her and begged her not to. Meg cried and told her she wanted to do it, and her mom comforted her and kissed her on the forehead and asked her to please keep it for her, so that when she got better, she could look at Meg’s as inspiration for what she wanted to get back to. Meg finally agreed, but it was really hard. Harder still to watch her getting weaker and weaker until she just couldn’t do any of the things she used to. And then one day her mom’s doctor had come back and told them he was sorry, but that treatment was failing. She could try a few experimental avenues, and there were people to contact, she could keep trying this in case there was a change, but that she probably only had another year at most to life.

It had been beyond devastating. Meg hadn’t known what to say. Or how to think or cope. She’d just walked out of the hospital feeling shellshocked. And when they’d gotten back in the car, her mom had asked her to pull over at a Wendy’s, and bought them both frostys, and Meg went through the motions, and parked in the lot. And when they were there, her mom had started to eat hers slowly with a spoon, and looked her in the eyes and said, “Don’t worry, Meg. I’ll get better. I promise.”

And Meg had looked up and seen she meant it somehow, even with what they’d just heard. And her mom had said, “You know me. I’m a fighter.” and that had been true, so Meg had sniffed and nodded and said, “Me too. We’ll try all the options.”

Her mom smiled at her and they ate their one dollar treats and went home to research, but Meg had still kind of believed it, because she always believed her mom. She’d had hope then, that she might not die. Even as the weeks went on and she got sicker. And then Meg went for the one jog she didn’t come back from.

Meg and Dwight were the first two to really band together. They survived a trial together and made it to the same fire, and Dwight just unloaded like a whole plan to start systematically picking up other people they met, and theorizing about leaving with them to make it to the same fire, and banding together to survive better, and Meg was kinda ‘no thoughts—head empty’ because she was exhausted from trying to outmaneuver the Nurse, and he was talking so fast and she hadn’t listened at all to the first few lines and now she was playing catchup, but she’d been like, “Oh. Worm I guess?” and agreed. Meg kinda thought Dwight was a pushy little dumbass, and he kinda was, but she also kinda liked him, and waaay faster than Jake did. Meg’s an extremely loyal person, so even though unhooking her and helping her out, or giving her a tool he knew she was better with than he was was just good strategy, Meg’s heart went “Friend saved me” and kinda kept it, so she didn’t mind “New friend is also annoying and full of himself and kind of a douche.” I don’t think she really noticed his change in behavior at first. Just one day like, a month after he’d started working hard to be less of an ass, she was sorting a new toolbox post-trial, and he paused by her and was like, “Hey! Great job in the trial today. Sorry I messed up your escape during that chase—I misjudged how fast he was and thought you’d have time to hide. You really saved us with that last-second chainsaw dodge getting the door open. –Oh here, I found these in a box and I’m still pretty shit at flashlights, but I saved them for you,” and gave her some batteries, and she was just like, “Cool. Thanks. And it’s fine—I almost tripped right over Claudette’s hiding spot yesterday.” and then when he was like halfway back to the fire she was just like WAIT A SECOND and sat bolt upright and stared at him and was like, Didn’t you used to be kind of pretentious and inconsiderate? When did this change??? And was never totally sure, but was pretty jazzed about it. She also remembers way less well than Jake, Ace, or Claudette that Dwight did used to be a loser. If someone else told her that she’d be like, “Oh yeah…huh.” but she’d never really think of it on her own.

This is kind of more a Dwight one than a Meg one, but one of the specific events that was a personal changing point for Dwight was back when it was just the OG four, before even Ace had joined, they had a hard trial with Trapper and Meg was really down. Everyone passed out before Dwight, because he was trying to plan and stayed up, and he noticed Meg having a nightmare and after a minute woke her up because she looked so scared, and she thanked him and then was quiet and just sat there, looking miserable. After about ten minutes he decided to ask if he could do anything to help, and she said she was afraid to go back to sleep, because she thought she might just pick up where she’d left off, and then hesitantly asked him if it was okay if she came over by him, because she thought it might help. He was super surprised, but said yes, and she came over and lay down beside him and leaned on his chest fell asleep. And it felt really nice that someone would seek him out for comfort, and trust him to watch over them. The first time they stayed at the same fire, she’d given him a look and said, “Promise not to come over here while I’m out if I take a nap?” and warned him she was a light sleeper, but she hadn’t even jokingly reminded him of anything like that now. She just trusted him. It made him want to be worthy of that and a lot more.

[ I want to do more bc I’m super into Meg rn, but my word count is shooting me dirty looks so ima do 2 real short post-ILM Meg and call it a night—happy to do more or your Jake-Dwight sometime though. <3 ]

Tapp helps Meg take courses and study up, and gets her certified as a PI, and she actually does really love it. They work cases for cheap for people who need help, and do it together, and it’s very rewarding. That’s not the most sustainable full-time job, but Tapp’s got a little money saved, and David’s…David. Plus, collectors will pay weird money for realm merch sometimes, and Min is…scarily. Worryingly good, even, at finding those people to sell to. So she also has a lot of time to do other things. She can’t exactly do track like she did, but she does long-distance runs for charity, and has fun, and gets to go visit her friends all the time. She loves being able to say she actually is a private detective, and feels like she’s come full circle from being the little her who loved Encyclopedia Brown and Nancy Drew and Agatha Christie books so much. She’s able to help her mom, too, so her mom is able to actually spend time writing the kinds of things she’d like to, for once, and Meg’s super happy for her and still spends a bunch of time with her, often her and Susie, who her mom took to really fast, together. Meg loves to ambush Susie with gifts when she’s working on stuff and make surprise visits to drop off a drink or something, and thrives on the embarrassed-happy Megggg look on her face if she pulls off flirting in public just right. Sometimes Susie will come with her and Tapp when they’re working to try to help, or just to spend time, especially for the like, long research parts of the job. Meg also makes sure they see Michael Tapp a lot, and that Tapp takes time off to do fun stuff with her and his other friends. She is still definitely trying to get him with her mom. Or Jane when Jane’s there. Or her mom and Jane. Sometimes Ace is in the mix when he’s there. And it all ain’t subtle. It’s rough out there being Meg’s even vaguely parental figure. :’-)

Like Tapp promised, he and Meg get a dog. A retired K9 whose handler died a few years ago, and been retired when that happened because it was old enough it had been set to retire that year or the next, and it took the loss of its handler very hard. With its handler gone, it was open to adoption from other force members or retired ones. It was an old dog that had been alone for a long time, still missing someone dead, so sad looking. Outlived his best friend. Tapp had checked the database on impulse alone when starting to work on honoring Meg’s request, and seen it, and wanted badly to take it home. He’d been kind of nervous asking Meg about getting it though, thinking she would want something that would live longer, but she’d jumped at the chance and been really happy. The German Shepherd had been named Partner, because that had been the sense of humor his handler had, and Meg thought it was cute, to always be saying, “Come on Partner,” to a dog. He had been really sad looking when they’d gone to pick him up. Lonely in the back of a pen, nose between his paws, watching people go by, and hesitant when they’d gone inside. Quiet, all the way to the car, and the whole drive home. Just sat in a seat, looking out the window, no matter how much Meg petted him or talked him, or Tapp did, and then they’d gotten home and taken him inside, to a bed and a food bowl and water dish, and he hesitantly ate, and then started to wag his tail a little. They took him out to the yard after to play and he finally got it, and it was like seeing a totally different animal. He got excited, and barked for the first time, and ran around pretty fast for an old dog and would come press his forehead against their legs while wagging his tail, like he was hugging them, in a way Meg had only seen dogs do a few times. He is now a very happy pup who likes to hop up on the couch and put his head in people’s laps and watch them lovingly while they watch tv, and sometimes puts the old skills to good use if he’s in the mood to walk around and lend aid to a case.

#ask #anonymous #ilm spoilers #in living memory (fic) #in living memory #meg thomas #💙💙💙💙 thanks for the ask! #long post

[theoldgods]

So I saw Lesley Manville twice in two days at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) (a movie screening with a Q&A after on Monday 5/21 and then an actual performance of Long Day’s Journey into Night on Tuesday 5/22), and it was fantastic. She is just as interesting and luminous in the flesh as she is onscreen, and her vibe is great. If you ever get the option to see her IRL, I definitely recommend taking it.

More details about each night under the cut for the curious.

Monday

This was a showing of Another Year as part of BAM’s “Two by Lesley Manville” film series they did in honor of having her in residence for the month of May (the other film, a few weeks before, was All or Nothing). Afterwards was a Q&A with her that lasted about half an hour or so. I’d seen the film before, but it was fun to watch it with an audience that was very engaged (they kept laughing at a lot of Lesley’s mannerisms as Mary, though they quieted down by the end when it gets insanely awkward and emotional for her).

The Q&A was great fun. To be honest it was hard for me to focus on what Lesley was saying half the time, since I kept like....getting caught up in my head in awe at what was really transpiring; I wish I’d filmed all of it (I filmed her answer to a fellow Lesley stan, twitter user @girl_hag, which was about Cyril, but nothing else). It was mostly focused on her work with Mike Leigh and on Another Year itself, and not a whole lot of new information that Lesley hasn’t said in like 20 different previous interviews came out, but the interviewer was quite good and kind of low-key also a Lesley stan? Interesting specifics I can remember:

Everyone applauded her hardcore when she came on stage after the film (the interviewer commented that usually Q&A audiences aren’t that excited) and she did these silly stage bow type things 

In general the audience was super into her talking, laughing at a lot of the little jokes she made and getting hyped for the brief Cyril discussion (more on that below)

Lesley was wearing the yellow and blue dress she wore for the Build Series interview a few weeks ago, with the leather jacket she always wears, and she took the leather jacket off after about one minute and just kind of...casually dropped it in a heap on the floor. (It has a silvery lining.) The usual rings (including a pinky ring gjfskgdg). I think she had an orange purse too?

She sort of plays with her earrings occasionally while thinking? I think this is visible in video interviews of her in general but it was lovely to see in person

She had a funny anecdote about meeting “a guy named Adam” on the train on the way there and wondering if he was actually in the audience or not

When the interviewer mentioned seeing LDJIN on the opening night, Lesley had some remark about how she had sort of lost her voice at that point and as a result she thought Mary Tyrone initially sounded “sexier than I intended” or something until she got it back

The interviewer had plenty of good lines, remarking that Lesley seemed very empathetic etc. in actuality (which made Lesley be like “aw thanks”), referencing the NYT profile that came out last week, referencing the internet’s obsession with Cyril, pointing out that she loved Mary’s line to David Bradley’s character in Another Year asking if he wanted a cuddle (#bigmood), and remarking that Lesley’s eyes should be insured by Lloyd’s

In general the questions from the interviewer were about Mike Leigh’s working/filming process, screen vs. stage questions and the use of the body in stage work to make up for not being able to see facial details (and the famous eyes), and similar

There were probably...4 or 5 audience questions? 

The first was the big one since Cyril stan @girl_hag asked about feeling like Mary but wanting to be Cyril and what Lesley would want from a Cyril spinoff, which made Lesley kind of laugh and be like “you know that’s never gonna happen right?” and talk about how she didn’t really see material there since Cyril is such a satisfied/fulfilled character already (her whole answer, and banter about Cyril memes and how women are Into Cyril, is up at https://twitter.com/girl_hag/status/998752343595388928).

Lesley is very polite and meets your gaze the entire time while answering you which meant she looked right at us for about 3 minutes hjbkljlkjlkj

There was a question about Paul Thomas Anderson, so Lesley got to talk for a few minutes about how she adores him, how genuinely kind he was, his working methods and the extensive shooting and reshooting he does, his willingness to collaborate with actors, etc.

I believe the rest of the questions were just more about Mike Leigh and specifics on his process, which were basically all stuff I’d read/heard before in other interviews, though she did talk more about how Mary was drawn from several different women and how slow and organic the process of cobbling it all together is, including things like coming up with the long list of things that befall Mary’s poor little car in the film

Everyone just left after the Q&A so we (me, girl_hag, and @afinpassing) didn’t try to talk to Lesley one on one or anything (that and we were trying to, you know, pretend not to be totally gone on her while in her presence), but as we were leaving the bathroom after she was standing just outside talking to a couple people who had waylaid her to ask about LDJIN, so we got to walk within about a foot of her on our way out

It was a great night, lots of fun meeting other Lesley stans IRL and walking around Brooklyn yelling about how beautiful she is (she really is...she looks just as beautiful in person, and just as brightly shining/luminous-perfect-skinned, can’t stress this enough dfjgksdfgfdg)

Tuesday

First and foremost, LDJIN is a long play--three and a half hours including intermission. Lesley is a huge part of it (indeed, the play sort of is about her character, thematically turning around her), but while she’s a big part of three of the play’s four acts, she’s absent from all but the last few minutes of the fourth act, meaning the last quarter of the play was kind of a slog in that I just didn’t care much about the men’s various issues as acted out on stage. That and the fact that this was going on at 10pm after a long day of walking around half of Brooklyn meant that I actually nearly dozed off a few times in the long 40 or so minutes without Lesley on stage; I couldn’t feel the male actors’ energy enough from back in the mezzanine, though maybe it would be a bit more urgent from down in the first few rows. (Most reviews mention how much the play drags here, though, so I suspect it’s not just me; I’m pretty sure this is a Known Issue with LDJIN in general as a play.) I’d say it’s worth it just for her overall if you’re really dedicated, but it helps if you’re into this sort of insanely depressing dysfunctional upper middle class familial drama stuff.

But whenever Lesley was actually on stage, she was wonderful, of course. For those who don’t know, her character, Mary Tyrone, is a self-described “lying dope fiend” of a woman who has been battling morphine addiction since the birth of her youngest son (who’s now in his early 20s), and the play takes place over the course of one long day in 1912 as the family is bumbling along and, as a result of some new stress in their lives, Mary is struggling not to relapse after several pretty good months. Lesley plays Mary as almost girlish, determinedly reminiscent of an imagined better time in her life before the dope, alternately acutely aware of her addiction and yet also determined to pretend it doesn’t exist. Her hands are a huge part of this--always stroking and twisting and nervously trying to sublimate her craving for morphine into these various physical tics and mannerisms. Also, all the cast use American accents, and while the men’s accents kind of warble throughout, Lesley’s is definitely the strongest.

Random points:

She’s quite awkwardly handsy with Jeremy Irons at multiple points (this adaptation definitely puts an emphasis on their relationship and the real passion, though it’s been faded and distorted by time and addiction, underlying it), which is kind of adorable

One of the play’s little underlying gags in the first half is that she’s “delightfully fat” now (after being skin and bones in the throws of her addiction the last time through), which means quite a bit of affectionate touching of Lesley’s stomach, particularly from Jeremy and from Lesley herself

There’s lots of both melodramatic and more earnestly desperate draping herself across the men in her family, across empty chairs, and so on, including her doing some semi-stoned entranced staring at her own hands, briefly

Mary as a character does a fuck-ton of rambling, both purposeful (to try to throw her family members off the scent of how badly she’s struggling against the urge to relapse) and more dissociative, which is alternately played for laughs and for pathos by Lesley and gives her a good blackly comedic underpinning in moments 

In the third act she throws herself face-down on the floor for a moment, and later she sits with her skirts rucked up slightly, both of which show the boots she’s wearing, in kind of a disheveled bit of tenderness

She plays the piano (mostly off-stage, but still) in a couple brief bursts

She looks good in Edwardian dresses and shawls? I mean, this is obvious from the stills, hah, but she wears them well on stage and moves wonderfully in them, sweeping and draping and everything

Crowd cheered the loudest for her of anyone in the curtain call, including Jeremy Irons (he’s fine overall, they’re all fine, but Mary is such a flashy role that she naturally draws the most attention)

Mary is just a really interesting, meaty, complicated, fucked-up character for anyone to play, and the fact that it’s a role that’s meant for older women is fascinating and just perfect for Lesley; I’m so glad she got to do something like this, and she manages to balance the insane physicality and mannerisms it requires without losing the naturalness and emotion behind it

Overall I’m very glad I went; part of me just wishes I’d had closer seats so I could truly soak up every last facial expression of hers. (I could see quite a lot from the mezz, but some of the finer details were inevitably lost, and as my eyes grew more tired over the night it became harder and harder.) I booked all this on a whim last month, though, when there was only about 25-30% of the house left, and trying to balance “decent seats” with “not paying 200 plus dollars when I haven’t had a chance to truly budget for that” meant having to settle for the middle ground of the mezz, and most of the seats in the front of the mezz were already gone by the time I booked, putting me near the back of the mezz. Also, I went to the performance alone, and after the great time on Monday with two other folks, I did kind of find myself wishing I could share Knowing Glances with other people who would appreciate a couple of the more carnal pleasures of some bits of Lesley’s performance.

Anyway: I’ve had fun in NYC! I got to meet @afinpassing in person and she is lovely, and I spent a total of about 3.5-4 hours sharing the same air as Lesley Manville, so that was, uh, great stuff. I just need to sleep now for an early flight, as I’m typing this, so I’ve probably forgotten some details that will come back to me over the next few days that I may edit in.

#lesley manville #another year #long day's journey into night #theater

[sunlightdances]

craving you

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Female Reader Rating: M  Warnings: Smut, language, depictions of unprotected sex (don’t do this, kiddos) - 18 years+ only please!  Summary: Your job keeps you busy, and Seb’s keeps him busy too. You’re not really sure how to define what the two of you are, but you know when he’s away, it’s the worst, and when you’re together? It’s pretty explosive. Author’s Note: I heard this song, and I had to write this, because my daydreaming once again got the best of me. The title comes from the Thomas Rhett + Maren Morris song of the same name. 

You’re in the back of the conference room and you’re pretty sure he hasn’t spotted you yet. You’d be able to tell if he had -- his eyes would light up and that slow, easy grin would slide onto his face. You love that smile and hate it in equal measure, because it turns you into a flustered mess, and he knows it.

You watch for a bit as he answers fan questions and you have to smile at how generous he is with each and every one of them. When he literally comes off the stage to sweep a girl into his arms, the screams are deafening, and you’re smiling so wide it hurts.

After the panel is over, you head over to the roped off section that you’re pretty sure leads to backstage, and you hope he sees you. None of this is planned - he doesn’t even know you’re here. He comes out from behind the curtain, and stops for a few photos even as he’s being rushed along by his manager. There’s not a ton of people here yet, but his eyes skip over you quickly as he looks up, and you find yourself holding your breath as he double takes.

“My god--” you see him say out loud, and you can’t control your smile now. He takes a few quick strides to where you’re standing, and pulls you in for a hug, your arms already outstretched towards him when he gets close. “Jesus Christ.” He says. “Did I know you were coming?”

“Nope.” You say, muffled into his jacket. “Surprise!”

He lets go of you but doesn’t let you go far. “Come on,” he says, gesturing for you to duck under the rope. You look around, seeing a few curious eyes on you, and he rolls his eyes. “I will hoist you over this rope if you don’t do it yourself.” 

“Alright, alright. Settle down.” You duck under, and his hand grips yours, squeezing lightly. He lets go, but it’s enough to send shivers down your arm. “How much trouble are you going to be in?” You ask, glancing toward his manager, who looks like she’s ready to rip her hair out. 

“Let me worry about that. I haven’t seen you in two months.” He says, his voice a deep rasp that suggests he’s had a long day of press and interviews. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming!” He leans closer, “I would have gotten a better room, but--”

“Shut up,” you say, even as you laugh. “I didn’t know I was going to be here. I got a flight two days ago to do a book signing and I saw you were going to be here, so here I am.”

“Here you are.” He agrees, his voice softer. Things have been going slowly into new territory for the two of you lately, and you’re not sure if it’s more than just a ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ type situation. 

You follow him to what must be a dressing room, and watch him charm the pants off his manager, who looks like she’s trying really hard not to let him win this one. She introduces herself to you and leaves the two of you alone with a smile. 

“I knew you were trouble.” You say, leaning against the table in the room as he sits down on the couch and drinks almost an entire water bottle in one go. 

“It’s been a long day. She’s just tired.” You’re both quiet for a minute, and he cocks his head to one side. That smile creeps over his face again, and you bite your lip. “You gonna stand over there all day?” He asks, his voice deeper than before, and you shiver. 

You take a few steps closer, and his long legs fall open in invitation. He reaches for you and tangles your fingers together before he tugs you into his lap, his free arm coming around your waist to keep you upright.

“Hi.” 

“Hi, yourself.” You whisper. 

“Missed you.” His nose drags along your collarbone, causing you to let out a shaky sigh as you struggle to keep your wits about you. “You okay?” He asks, looking up at you, his brow furrowed.

“Fine. Just a little jet lagged.” 

He hums sympathetically and presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, and you tilt your head back slightly to give him better access. You sigh again when his lips close over your pulse point, sucking gently. He lets out a soft noise, and you’re suddenly too aware of why everyone on the internet calls him soft. The thought makes you smile, and he looks up, a grin creeping onto his face.

“Something funny?” He asks, trying to look threatening.

“No, no. Just making sure you’re up to this, is all.” You tease, and his eyes narrow.

“How dare you. I’m a young, energetic man.” 

You snort. “Those circles under your eyes say otherwise, bud.” You smile softly at him, touching his eyes with the pads of your fingers as his eyelids slip shut. “Sleeping at all?” 

“Eh. Enough.” He says, skirting the issue, his hands roaming around your back and your thighs, igniting a fire everywhere they touch. You find yourself straying into that territory again -- friends with benefits (is that what you even are? You’re not so sure) don’t usually worry too much about sleep patterns and stress levels of their partners. 

When you first met Sebastian, this was the arrangement you fell into, and it worked. You were both too busy for anything serious, anyway, or at least that’s what you tell yourself, though you know that if he asked, you’d try the long distance thing with him if it meant you were exclusive. 

You’re kind of too scared to bring it up, though. You don’t want to ruin anything. This is Sebastian Stan, for fuck’s sake. It’s a miracle he even looked twice at you the first time you met, as far as you’re concerned. You know he’d get upset if you ever voiced these insecurities, though. He cares about you. You know that to be true. It’s just... all the other stuff that you’re not sure about. 

“Been thinking about you.” He tells you, pulling you out of your thoughts. “It’s been too long since I’ve had you in my bed.” He whispers, his words sending a shudder rippling through you. 

“Seb,” You say, a plea for something to put an end to all this tension. 

He grins. “Ah, ah. Not yet. This is what you get for all those snaps you keep putting in your story of you enjoying a bath without me.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, as his lips find your jawline. “I can’t believe you even use Snapchat.” 

“I barely use it. I really just have it so you’ll send me dirty pictures.” 

Your mouth drops open in mock offense, a laugh bubbling out of you. “I can’t believe--”

He cuts you off with a kiss, both of your smiles fading as he sweeps into your mouth with unrestrained passion, the months you’ve been apart settling in as the familiar tingles you get when he kisses you erupt up and down your spine. 

“I mean it.” He mumbles against your mouth. “I’ve never been jealous of a bathtub before.” 

You try to respond, but he kisses you again, and you feel the flame of lust between the two of you come to life as he starts pulling at your shirt, trying to tug it over your head. “Seb-- anyone could come in--”

He groans, dropping his forehead against yours with sigh. “You wanna meet me tonight?” He asks, the low timbre of his voice doing nothing to help your restraint. “Say yes.” He whispers. “Let me have you again. I’ll make you feel good, I promise--”

“Okay, okay, Jesus, Seb.” You say, putting your hand over his mouth, his words and the look in his eyes entirely too much for you, still in a semi-public place. 

His eyes are sparkling as you pull apart. “I like you flustered.” He tells you, and you blush. “Don’t get shy. C’mon.” He says, tugging you off his lap but keeping you close. He reaches in his pocket for his wallet, and pulls out a room key. “I’m at the Hilton down the road. We could get room service or something.” He says, and it’s a good thing you didn’t try tearing each other’s clothes off like you wanted to, because a knock on the door comes soon after.

“Seb, we have to get going for the next set of interviews.” His manager says, throwing you an apologetic look. 

“I’ll text you.” He promises. He moves in to kiss your cheek. “Can’t wait to have you all to myself tonight.” He says, quietly, and you suppress a whimper. 

He leaves the room with a wink and a smile, and your knees feel like they could give out at any second.

Damn him.

.

.

A few hours later you’re in the lobby, trying to convince yourself to go up. You want to. That’s not the problem. It’s just -- you’re having all these feelings and that’s not what you signed up for. It’s definitely not what Sebastian signed up for, either. 

You keep telling yourself it’s easier this way -- just keeping it casual and fun. Deep down, though, you know you’re in love with him. Not like it was hard to come to that conclusion. Who wouldn’t be in love with him? The distance between the two of you most months did nothing to diminish your feelings for him. If anything, it just made everything more intense when you were together again.

You don’t want to pressure him, but you think sometimes he’s thinking along the same wavelength you are. You’re just too scared to get hurt. It’s happened before, and you’re not willing to put yourself out there again. 

Rolling your eyes at yourself, you push the button on the elevator and get in, heading up to one of the higher floors where his room is. You’ve barely knocked before the door is opening, and he’s grinning at you, his eyes sparkling. 

“Hi.” He says, “Come in, come in.” 

“Eager?” You tease, and he smirks at you, stepping closer until you’re trapped against the wall, his arms bracketing you in. 

“Maybe a little.” He whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “You wanna know a secret?”

You’re sure he’s going to be the death of you. “Yes.”

He chuckles, a low, sexy sound. “I haven’t smoked in awhile but that craving I used to get for cigarettes is the same feeling I have when I haven’t seen you in awhile.” 

Your knees go weak at his words. No one’s ever talked to you like he does - so full of fervor and intent. “Seb.” 

He hums, leaning in close so he can kiss you gently. “I mean it, baby.” His hands start working on your jacket, tugging it off your shoulders and he groans when he sees your lightweight t-shirt, your bralette clearly visible underneath. “You’re perfect.” He whispers. 

You bring your mouth back to his, not sure you can take much more. You kiss him desperately, your tongue seeking entrance to his mouth right away, hand hands falling to your waist and squeezing you gently. 

“Want you so badly it aches.” He groans against your mouth, grinding up against you, pulling your left leg to hitch around his waist. “Sorry, but I can’t wait tonight. I’ll draw it out later, make it good, but I need to be inside you.” 

“Oh, god.” 

Both of your clothes come off in a flurry, and you whimper as his teeth scrape along your neck as he presses you harder against the wall, using his body to keep you upright and off the ground. 

When he pushes into you, you swear you see actual sparks behind your closed eyelids. He sighs your name and your nails rake down his back lightly. He lets you adjust to his size before he sets a good rhythm that has you seeing stars. 

“Fuck.” He pants. “You’re so goddamn tight.” 

“Don’t stop, Seb.” You groan, he words coming out choked as you give back as good as you get. 

He keeps talking, something you’ve picked up on that he likes to give and receive in kind, and he tells you how good you feel, and how having you here is better than anything he’s tried to imagine over the last two months.

You’re on the edge quickly, and tell him breathlessly. 

“That’s it, baby. Come on. Wanna feel it.” He whispers, his thrusts picking up speed, and then you’re gone, white light exploding behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you. 

You feel him shudder against you as he comes, but you’re too far gone to say anything in encouragement. Slowly, your legs slide off his hips and he keeps you steady as you regain your balance. 

“I absolutely didn’t plan that, but shit, that was good.” He says, grinning that megawatt smile at you. “Come on, let me help you get cleaned up.” He says, taking your hand and tugging you towards the bathroom after you pull your underwear and bra back on. 

After you both get cleaned up and manage not to get distracted, he orders room service, the entire time staring at you while biting his bottom lip as you get comfortable on his bed. 

“I wish you could see how you look right now.” He tells you, pausing to admire you as he stands at the foot of his bed, the hotel phone still in his hand. His eyes are dark instead of their usual piercing blue, and it causes goosebumps to erupt on your arms. He slides into bed next to you, propping his head up on his elbow. 

You roll onto your side to face him, smiling softly. “You look tired.” You say, your hand drifting to touch his face lightly. 

He snorts. “You sure know how to charm a guy.” 

“Shut up. Really. Is everything okay?” 

His smile falters a little bit. “I’m okay.” 

“Liar.” You whisper, teasing. 

“If I tell you something, you promise not to freak out?” He asks, and it’s like a bucket of ice water is dumped over you. He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He says, his voice shaking slightly. “I know that’s not-- it’s not what we do. I can��t really seem to help it, though.” 

You’re frozen. You don’t even know what to think, let alone what to say. 

“I didn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t want to fuck everything up, but I know that I’ve been really fucking miserable while we’ve been apart. I’ve been feeling like I’m coming completely apart at the seams.” 

“Sebastian...” You whisper, embarrassed to feel tears welling up in your eyes. 

His eyes widen nervously. “No, don’t cry. I’m sorry.” He says, pulling you close, his hand stroking your back lightly. “I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“Stop apologizing!” You say, “You’re such an idiot.” You whisper, and he looks affronted, frowning. “I’m so crazy about you, too.” You tell him, and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the way his face changes from confused to absolutely delighted. 

“You scared me!” He says, and you’re both laughing. “God.” He pulls you close again, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I can’t get enough of you, sweetheart.” 

“The feeling is definitely mutual.” You say, running your fingers through his hair. 

He rolls you underneath him, hand sliding up your leg until he grips your hip. “Wanna show you.” He whispers, his voice husky. His mouth comes down on yours in a searing kiss, and you wonder idly if anything is ever going to feel this good ever again. 

You make out like teenagers for awhile before you pull back with a grin and roll over so you’re straddling him, his head hitting the pillow with a thud when you grind down on him. 

“Jesus, fuck.” He says, eyes rolling back in his head. 

“You’ve got a dirty mouth.” You tell him, and he winks at you before pulling you down by the nape of your neck to kiss you. 

After he’s gotten you naked again, you push yourself up on your knees and guide him into you. He’s so wound up he almost arches into you, and you gasp at the feeling of him seated so deep inside of you.

“Move, baby. Please move.” He says, practically begging, and you’ve never felt anything quite like this, having him underneath you, the current between you like a live wire.

You slowly start to raise and then lower yourself on top of him, his hands going to your hips where you’re sure he’s going to leave marks. 

“You’re so fucking hot.” He tells you. “Could watch you like this all day.”

You smile, feeling absolute bliss as his words and the feelings he’s eliciting in you wash over you. You speed up your pace, feeling yourself coming closer to that edge with every groan you pull out of him. 

He sits up suddenly, his arms wrapping around you, and he thrusts up into you suddenly, his eyes fierce as he pulls you close. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.” He whispers. 

You groan as he licks a line up the column of your throat, and soon you’re both silent except for the harsh breaths and groans leaving both of you. When you come, his name is on your lips, and you practically collapse against him as you try to catch your breath. 

“I’m so in love with you.” He whispers in your ear, and you pull back sharply to see his face. 

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” 

A slow grin starts creeping over your face. “I love you too, Seb.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, letting out a breathless laugh. “Baby. I’m...” He shakes his head. “Should have told you a long time ago.” 

“Don’t worry about that now.” You say. 

He slips out of you after a few minutes and disappears into the bathroom. You stay on the bed, waiting your turn, resisting the urge to fall asleep until you’ve washed the makeup off your face and cleaned up. 

When the door opens, you look up, a sleepy smile on your face as he all but saunters towards the bed. “My turn?” You ask.

“Yep.” He says, and you note with satisfaction that he doesn’t look nearly as worn down as he did when you saw him earlier in the day. “Is it crazy that I want you again?” He asks, nuzzling your neck as you stand up, bringing you closer to his height.

“Hm...” You pretend to think. “Not really. I’m pretty irresistible.” 

“Full of yourself, too.” He teases.

“Could be full of something else...” You mutter, and his jaw drops. 

“You did not just say that.” He says, laughing. “Who are you?!”

“The girl of your dreams, apparently.” 

He smiles at you, tugging you close by your elbow and threading your fingers together. He hums in agreement. “You definitely are.” He says, gently. 

Later, you’re both in bed eating room service, you in your underwear and one of Sebastian’s shirts, fully engrossed in some NASA documentary he found on TV. After a few minutes you feel his eyes on you, and you look over, self conscious. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, no.” He assures you. “You’re just... you’re so perfect.”

You blush, and he slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you tight against him. 

You’re not sure how this is going to work with the both of you traveling all the time, but you know you want to try. You’ve never wanted anything as much as you want him, and now that you know he feels the same way, you’re going to do everything you can to keep him all for yourself.

#sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine