#What would Lady Macbeth do? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pupcuck · 4 months

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BELL JARS AND BUTTERFLIES !

ft. infinite darkness!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. emotional abuse, mom-son incest, power dynamics, sub leon, some references to past physical abuse not explicit tho, few drug references, p in v

note. hai :3 put id leon cuz that’s who i saw but!!! u can think ab whoever u want :3 thank u to @devilmayfuck for proofreading oh my gosh :3 still ignore mistakes bc I tend to make em while formatting! feedback n rbs so appreciated <3

tumblr removes fics that, for example, use tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

It’s no surprise that Leon breached contract and put his dick in his shrink. He tends to do these things around women that sound like school teachers. To be fair, the contract wasn’t his to breach, she’s totally taking advantage of his vulnerability or whatever.

“You still live with your mother, Leon?” It’s a statement, not a judgement, he takes offence either way.

“She’s sick,” Leon says, and it’s a bold-faced lie, they both know that she, his shrink, has his file. That you’re well and alive. He doesn’t like to talk about you to her. Mainly because what you have done to him is private, no one else needs to know, it’s the only thing no one knows about him— The only thing that’s not written across his dossier in bright red is that he and mommy have a less than sound relationship. It’s the only thing that is his.

“Sick?” She’s not much older than you, and she’s not as beautiful as you.

“Sick,” He confirms, and it’s not far from the truth. Physically sick, nah, but Mommy might be, she certainly is, the biggest narcissist Leon has encountered in all twenty-eight years of his shitty life, and that says something. ‘Cause Leon works with the US government. He’s owned by them, actually, to say he’s working would be a lie— He’s been owned all his life, first by mommy, then by work, and Leon has started to think it’s always going to be this way. That it’s okay because he doesn’t have to dissect, ache and hurt like he does when he’s thinking.

When she tries to probe further, as it is her job, her duty, in the same way it is Leon’s duty to save the world on any old Monday, he leaves. The apartment is his by lease, but Leon has never stayed long enough to call it a home, he’s never considered it anything more than where you are.

His fist knocks against the lacquered wood, and you answer a minute or so later. It doesn’t suit you. Trying to fit in with all the D.C career women, prim and polished and intelligent, that’s just not you. At your core, mommy is trailer trash through and through. Your smile is artificial, and your nightgown is too, it’s ill-fitting, the only thing you’ve worn well is his father’s anger. Leon thinks that if he wasn’t so full of the milk of compassion, whatever it is Lady Macbeth said, he would help you out. Show you what you’re truly worth. Unfortunately, all Leon would like, all he has ever wanted, is his mommy.

“Leon,” Your concern comes sparingly, so he takes what he can, head dropping to your shoulder. He melts. You’re about as friendly as a loaded gun, but Leon’s got suicidal tendencies and all that jazz. “Baby, what happened? You look so thin, my goodness, you must weigh less than me.” It’s true, looks like he weighs seventy pounds soaking wet. Skin stretched thin over his bones. Teetering from left to right on ankles so thin they’re ready to snap. “What’s this? Looks expensive.” Your eyes sparkle as you take in his appearance, tracing the fabric of his Armani tie with tenderness you have never given to him.

“Ma,” Leon mumbles into your neck, he stumbles past the threshold and the door clicks shut behind him. All he wants is a kiss or two.

“Leon,” You say his name the way you did before, “That’s not my name, darling, you used to be such a good boy.”

“Mommy,” He corrects himself, it’s always been mommy and no one else, “I’m sorry for— I’m sorry for leaving.”

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Whether he comes or goes, you don’t care, your flippant nature drives him insane. “You’re too much like your father.”

He is not. If Leon was anything like that man, more scum than blood and flesh and bones, your face would be in the concrete. But Leon is your son, and he is who you’ve made him to be. Cowardly. “I’m sorry,” The words dry up in his mouth when your nails rake down his clothed chest, a soft whine slips from the base of his throat, like he’s a dog. Then you scratch behind his ear, and he really is a dog, tail between his legs and everything.

“Oh, my poor baby,” Mommy says, and you pout at him— Did you get your lips done? The money wired over to your account is for necessities. He’s a civil servant, there's nothing classy about that. You piss him off. You do. But you’re his mommy, and he loves you.

The bed smells like you, it was his once, but you take over every aspect of his life. Eat away at any part of him that isn’t appropriate by your terms, a vetting process harsher than the DSO’s. Now Leon’s here, faced with the same hole he crawled out of. The same hole he wishes to crawl back inside. It was safe in there. Warm and quiet. Darkness cradling him like you never have. The one place in which he cannot move, speak or be. The closet he can get to that is stuffing his dick inside.

“Outside clothes on my bed,” You tut, lifting back the covers so you can undress him, “What’s this?” In your hand is an orange tube that you’ve swiped from his back pocket. Leon blinks as you squint at the label. “Oh, darling, you don’t need these, let mommy keep them safe, alright?” Leon nods. That was a new prescription, paroextine, fluoxetine made him a smidge less suicidal, meaning instead of wanting to drive his car off the side of a bridge anytime he got in, he simply drove without a seatbelt in hopes of being crushed to death by a thirty-two tonne truck. Natural selection or whatever. Side effects were shakes, to the point where Sherry was worried he went and got himself put down in the Guinness World Records Book as the youngest recorded case of Parkinson’s disease.

“I need those, ma,” His voice breaks when you tuck them into your bedside cabinet, facing him with your beautiful, cruel smile.

“You don’t need them, Leon,” You gesture for him to come closer, he does, presses his face into your tits, and lets you tell him what’s right and wrong. When it’s coming from you it will always be wrong, but he’ll listen anyway. “It’s not real, baby, you know that, don’t you? I thought you were smarter than this— Shouldn’t be wasting all your money on therapy of all things, I mean, you go to talk for an hour and that supposedly makes everything better?”

“Mm,” Leon makes a noise that is both a grunt and a hum. Please, for the love of god, shut up and get him off— Do something. Hold him. Comfort him. You’re his mother.

“Then they want you to take all these pills-“

“They’re meds, ma,” He corrects for the sake of his— Well, for the sake of nothing at all. Not his ego, not his dignity, they have been depleted completely.

“Meds, huh? You can get addicted fast, and then next minute you know, darling, you won’t be able to function without them- You’ll be like a zombie.” You kiss the top of his head, cooing softly when he raises his head to look up at you like the sad, wet dog he is.

“It’s not crack, ma.”

I know you wish it was.

For an indolent lady who spent half her time doped up on what could only be described as sludge, putting morphine in his milk bottle, you do talk a lot of shit.

“Hah,” Your face changes, you laugh anyway, “You’re so funny, Leon.” You tell him, and he thinks, obsessively, that he would do anything to hear that laugh again.

“Thanks, ma,” Leon’s unrest is mollified by the featherlight touch of your hand on his bare chest, your nail drags down his sternum, as if you’re splitting him in half. It digs into the toughness of his abdomen, he squirms, “That feels weird,” He mumbles, unable to voice out his dislike properly.

“Leon,” You sigh heavily, heavier than his cock in his briefs, “You don’t feel anything, my sweet thing, you’re all empty inside.” He’s a bell jar waiting for its butterfly.

“My poor baby, look at you, can’t do anything without mommy.” Without mommy Leon doesn’t know how to be a real person.

“Can’t eat,” You trace his ribs, sticking out in odd angles through a yellowed layer of skin, “Can’t sleep,” The hollows of his face, his sunken eyes, they tell you everything, “Can’t even breathe without me, can you Leon?” Without mommy he has to be kicked in the gut so his lungs remember what it’s like to breathe. He has to constantly be on the verge of death to know what it’s like to live. “It’s so tiring, darling, I’m too old to be taking care of you.”

“Mommy,” Leon pleads, helplessly, the only manner in which he can behave is helpless.

“Baby,” You toy with his waistband, “You need mommy to help you feel, don’t you?” Feeling should be innate to a human being, shouldn’t it? “Even when you were a baby, Leon, you only cried when mommy did, I used to think it was sweet, but now, darling, it’s gotten a little old.”

Leon whines softly, animal-like, caught by the ankle like a hunted stag, “I’m sorry, mommy— I can’t help it.”

“Oh, it can’t be helped, Leon,” Mommy says impassively, because it is such a chore to jerk off your mentally stunted almost thirty-year-old son. It’s not his fault. He didn’t choose to be this sex-mongering freak that needs to be punished to get off, to not feel ill— To be alive. You started it, and Leon’s sure you’ll end it. Brought him into this world, and you’ll take him right back out of it. At the drop of a hat too.

Your nail, red and glossy and a tad too sharp, presses into his leaking slit. One hand curled around his jaw, the other down his pants. You fish his cock from his boxers, “Mommy was waiting for you,” That makes his chest ache, knowing that he had crossed your mind even once for just a split second, god, he could die a happy man, “Every time you leave I get so worried, I start thinking, well, gosh, how is my Leon doing without his mommy?”

Bad. He does bad in general. Around you it’s bad. He is entirely bad at all times, at every minute, every passing second. With you it’s less bad.

“I just miss you,” Leon says, helplessly beyond help.

“All the time?”

“All the time,” He agrees.

“Oh, baby,” You coo.

“Do you… Did you miss me?” He asks, breathless, twisting in your grip like he’s fitting. Your touch is a million pinpricks on exposed nerves. There's no answer, you just stroke his dick instead, and his moan shatters like an ice fractal. Leon wants to ask and beg and demand— He turns stupid too quick when you cup his balls, squeeze ‘em hard.

“So noisy,” Mommy spits on her palm, real classy, a bit of your whore heritage comes out— See that, it’s a real Kennedy move, dad would be proud. Then you get his cock nice and wet, pumping his shaft as he leaks through the gaps in your fingers. “My sweet boy, you used to be so cute. I miss when you were blonde— It happened to your dad too, it’s a shame.”

“Sorry,” Leon says as if it is his fault natural progression took place, his hips bucking upwards into your fist, schlick, schlick, schlick.

“Well, there’s no need to be sorry about it, you can’t do anything about it, Leon,” Well, at least you’re sane enough to know that, “You know what you can do, darling?”

He shakes his head, abs contracting, balls tightening, ready to blow—

“Clean up before you come to see me,” Your hand is gone, his dick twitches like there’s a parasite inside of it waiting to burst out, “I’m not stupid, Leon,” Your palm sits on his cheek, looking at his stubble with distaste, “And you should shave, look too much like your dad otherwise.”

The scruff is purely out of neglect for his appearance. Leon has never put much thought into it, no one’s ever complained, he’s fuckable. Very fuckable. So fuckable— It’s just you. Mommy says and Leon scrambles to do.

“Off you go then,” You shoo him away, force him to pick his discarded clothes off the floor, he tosses them in the laundry basket. His shrink left the print of her brown foundation on his collar— That’s what you meant by clean up.

In the bathroom cabinet he finds a packaged razor covered in a film of dust. His hand is shaking, nicks his chin once, the sting is not half as bad as your touch. When Leon returns, the nightgown is off, folded neatly on the side, he almost trips over getting to you.

“Mommy,” Leon mumbles around a mouthful of tit, like a proper stupid baby, dumbed-down to fit mommy’s taste.

“I know, baby,” You kiss the crown of his head, stroking over until your fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, “Oh, there is just nothing inside of you but that big ol’ heart, huh?” It’s true. He’s empty but his heart. A heart that turns on its hind legs, rolling over onto its back for mommy and mommy only.

Leon hums, suckling on your nipple like he’s going to get milk out of it. “Can I—“ Leon lifts his head, ducks back down to avoid your scathing gaze.

“Can you what, baby?” You thumb his bottom lip, nail grazing his teeth.

“I want to fuck you,” He says, because he would like to fuck you.

“That’s not how you talk to mommy,” You go to push him off, but Leon shakes his head, and he is stronger— He is, he pins you down, presses his face into your neck. An apology that you accept.

“I’m sorry, mommy,” He’s trembling, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, didn’t mean to talk like that— I’m sorry, please, can we-“

“Fine,” You cut in, and he knows that mommy is a slut. More so than him. That you want it just as bad, you just like playing games.

Leon’s lips part when the tip of his fat cock sinks into your heat. He wishes that your hole would gape like the maw of a beast and swallow him up David Cronenberg style. Wouldn’t that be so fun?

There’s a falter in your breath when he bottoms out with a squelch. You try to be this way, so unaffected, but Leon knows that you’re a glutton for cock. Not his alone, which crushes him, any old dick would do for his mom. It’s how she got by way back when.

“I love you,” Leon moans into your mouth when let him kiss you for the first time tonight, he savours it, lets the taste linger, “I love you, mommy.”

You loop your arms around his neck, pull him closer so his cock is deeper, hitting your cervix with the fat head. The most he can do in your grip is move his hips back and forth shallowly, never allowing more than an inch out of your sweet cunt. It’s suffocating and yet he loves it. Your love is a cage. Contains him. Leon licks the droplet of salty sweat that trickles down between your tits, he spurs his hips forward, fucks you with all that he’s got— This is all he’s good for, just good to give you your fill of dick. That’s why you had a son.

“You can do it better than that, Leon,” You’re panting, eyes glassy as you smile your gorgeous smile at him, “I know you can.”

With a grunt, he fucks you with fervour, balls slapping against your ass, all the nasty shit you love. His dick jumps inside of you, and you gasp, biting down on your tongue as he slams into you once, twice, thrice— Oh, it's so over. Leon can’t help it. Mommy’s pussy is so warm, so hot and wet and tight. Your disappointment is tangible. No need to hide it.

We can work on that, his shrink usually says to mask her annoyance at his premature ejaculation.

Mommy just shakes her head while frowning.

“I’m sorry, mommy,” Leon’s body jolts, hips still moving despite the oversensitivity, his cum makes your cunt sloppier. He fucks it back into you like the filthy boy— man he is, so set on making you come undone that it comes across as a little freakish. Like he’s in a trance or some shit. “I’m so- I’m so sorry, mommy— Didn’t mean to— Fuck, I’m sorry, sorry—“

“Leon, stop that,” You place a hand on his chest. He stops. Leon is good at that. Taking instruction no matter how life-threatening, no matter how embarrassing, he’ll do it to be worth something.

“I’m so sorry,” He croaks, truly humiliated by his dick’s lack of selflessness. Shit just cums without Leon telling it to do so.

Mommy pats his head, “It’s okay, baby, you’re only a stupid little boy, aren’t you?”

Leon nods. Mhm. Mhm. Yup. Yup. That he is. Mommy’s stupidly depraved little boy. Just makes sense.

God, yes. “Yes, mommy,” Leon finds himself face to face with your cunt. One that popped him out. A well-beaten yet pretty pussy, because all of you, to Leon, is beautiful no matter how worn out. He parts your cushioned lips, teeth tugging at your labia as he dribbles his spit over your fat pussy. His cum sticks to your inner-thighs, a shiny trail that dries up before he can lick it up and spit it back onto your puffy cunt.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at his hair till he’s sure the roots have weakened and now he’s even more prone to male pattern baldness than he was before. Leon focuses his attention on your clit, it’s small and fleshy on the tip of his tongue, the more he sucks the more you drip drop and fill his mouth with your slick. Crazy that is. The clit. It’s just a gift that keeps on giving. And it's good both ways. Leon gets to quell that urge, the sucking on a tit urge, and mommy cums so hard her thighs snaps shut around his head. Your back bows off the bed, and god dammit is he proud.

With the lower half of his face covered in your wetness, Leon re-emerges to kiss you. “That’s enough, darling,” You tell him after the fifth and final kiss. He holds onto it. He just wants you, his mommy. Is it so bad to want?

“I love you, mommy,” Leon says for what might be the third or hundredth time of the night.

“I know, darling,” Your nose bumps his, “I did miss you, Leon, if I’m being honest.”

“Really, mommy?” His heart skips a beat or two. God, it might’ve fucking stopped. Then he’d just be a doll of some sort. The rarest collectors doll that mommy could put in a glass case and show off and dust off— Well, to think she’d care enough to dust him off, Leon has a bit of an overactive imagination.

“Really, darling.” Mommy nods, and he’ll take it. He’ll take it and treasure it.

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy angst #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy angst #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil angst

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months

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The End.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Synopsis: Kafka always sits in the front row, despite being part of the show herself.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, thoughts of violence, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Breezeblocks by alt-J

Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich (feat. The Dixie String Quartet)

Swan Lake by HAUSER

Claus by Los Tres

Doin’ Time by Lana Del Ray

Lie by BTS

She’s My Collar by Gorillaz (feat. Kali Uchis)

Cha Cha by Freddie Dredd

Michelle by Sir Chloe

MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name) - SATAN’S EXTENDED VERSION by Lil Nas X

*~*~*~*

The roses are wilting.

It was destiny, fate. Such pretty things never last forever, after all, even if the entire universe wished otherwise. One way or another, they are meant to fall, like how the sun drops below where anyone can see it, being replaced with the moon, and vice versa. They fall deep, deeper than hell itself, and no one can pick them back up, unless one would be inclined to make a pact with the devil himself, doing horrendous things in his name. But Kafka has already committed such sins, so why deny doing so any longer? It is who she is. It is who you are, to be entangled in her lies and be forced to dance and to sing and to act.

With two gloved hands, she picks up the vase, spilling out the moldy water and the dying roses, the roses she got for you after you sang so well at the opera house, looking so beautiful, into the trash can underneath your makeup vanity, where little clumps of hair and emptied products always meet their end.

She’ll get you a new bouquet later. A new vase too. Perhaps instead of white roses you would like red ones instead? Kafka knows that this vase is cheap too, from one of your fellow divas, whose high notes are not as high as yours and her costumes not as elaborate or as elegant as yours.

“I honestly don’t see why you even try to befriend any of them, darling. They are all envious harpies. They can’t hold a candle to anything you do.”

You are not here, but Kafka’s mouth always has a mind of its own, so it spins lies even when your delicate, lovely ears are not in the general vicinity. Not that she minds it. But yours is what she is quite more so than trifles with, because yours is carefully controlled by her and her alone, and you, as always, don’t get a say. It’s a sort of hypocrisy, Kafka thinks, but she doesn't mind that either.

If she has to, she’ll even sew your mouth shut, your ears shut, your eyes shut, if that is what it takes for you to stay with her. She doubts it would ever come to that, though, because you are always too fragile and too trusting to tell the difference between an Iago and a Desdemona. But the latter role would much better suit you, her little flower, her princess.

You are so precious, but also a treasure prying eyes will always want to touch and see and hear. Kafka would, in all honesty, love to cut their hands and tongues off, if it did not ruin the carefully crafted image she made just for you. Maybe later, though, when all the stage lights are off.

“Lady Macbeth, hmm?” She murmurs.

She disagrees with the role you were given entirely. But, you were not one to stand up for yourself, so Kafka let it go.

“You really ought to leave this business soon, dearest.” Kafka looks around, her arms crossed, not impressed with the room you were given in the slightest. “You can always just come with me.” She meant it. “Imagine all the sights you would see. All the food you would eat. All the gifts I would be so happy to give you. All the hugs and kisses you would receive from me. Everything… just think about it.”

She could imagine it herself. It is not hard, really, for the mind to reject all sense of logic and bow down to the whim of what is known as human emotions, mortal joys, woes, desires, wants, and needs. She could imagine sitting you on her lap as the ship jumps to the next world she will have to visit, telling you stories of the past, present, and future, as you look on with amazement. You don’t do that anymore, now. She would do anything to see it come back. She would steal a crown and place it on your head, though you having the genuine article does not make you any stronger. If anything, perhaps it would make you weaker to her whims.

“Imagine that…” She sighs, closing her eyes as she smiles. “We can go to Penacony. Your dreams would come true there if I cannot make them true myself. You can sleep on beds worth more than this entire opera house. If only you would let me. I know it would make you happy. I know it would make me happy. So why wouldn’t it make you?”

She would listen to your ultimate pains, and your ultimate wishes, and act accordingly. She loved you. You will too, again. It is only a matter of time, isn’t it? Yes, Kafka thinks, it is fate.

…

Kafka always sits in the front row of the theater.

It does not matter whether or not she purchased the tickets for it, the seat, or the show soon to come to fruition. No one dares talk back to her, even security. She finds comfort in that. No one gets in the way of her having the chance to see you. Better yet, no one else sits in the front row when she is present.

So, she watches, one of her legs crossed over the other, her eyes never blinking. During interludes she likes to adjust her makeup accordingly, painting on another shade of crimson to her lips. Art comes in many forms, after all.

Kafka told you that once. As always, you listened dutifully as she taught you to be.

She taught you many things, not just that. She taught you how to read constellations. She helped you learn her vocabulary in the books she gave you, often long fairytales or poems. She preferred it that way when you used to be so eager to have someone be friendly to you and not want to simply use you for their own amusement, not wanting to throw you out of the opera house altogether.

The opera house may rot after it goes up in flames, in the future, if things go her way as it always does, but she’ll stay to watch it all, to take you in as you cry and as she shushes you. She’ll be happy. Maybe you will be too, for her. It matters how good your performance is, if you even want to act anymore, after all.

The lights dim, and she shows her pearl-white teeth as she grins.

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #kafka x reader #yandere kafka x reader #yandere kafka #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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thealogie · 3 months

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Ok my top Macbeth moments were different tonight so here they are:

when Macbeth says “o full of scorpions is my mind” he does it in such a vulnerable anguished way. hugging lady Macbeth and with his face pressed directly against lady Macbeth’s shoulder. This moment wouldn’t be possible without headphones and like genuinely? This moment alone would justify the headphones

similarly her delivery of “screw your courage to the sticking place” is so tender and mid-embrace it was insane I didn’t really focus on it the first time

twice in the play macbeth comforts a child really tenderly before killing him. (Which is so interesting because famously lady Macbeth is the one who gives the famous speech about how she would murder her nursing child with her bare hands if she had to.) The first is when macduff’s kid is running away and Macbeth catches him and comforts him and then passes him off to one of his henchmen to be killed. The second is when Macbeth is challenged by siward’s little boy in the final battle and Macbeth just gently takes the sword out of his hand with an air of “come on kid what are you doing trying to fight” and hugs the kid and goes “shhh shhh it’s ok” and then snaps the kid’s neck like it’s nothing and says “you were of woman born” (one key prophecy in the play is he can’t be hurt by someone who is of woman born). And DT plays this with his signature serial killer complete coldness. Chilling. Stunning.

There’s a less famous soliloquy that I did clock last night but it impacted me even more today, which was when he sees the shape of a dagger on the ground it points him to his purpose (killing Duncan). It was sooo Walter white spinning that gun until it gave him the answer he wanted. DT just played all the layers of “genuinely imagining things” to “forcing himself to see signs so he can do the thing he set out to do” stunning

#macbeth

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sweatervest-obsessed · 5 months

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Violent Delights Have Violent Ends - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

WC: 1.8k

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

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

Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

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

“It’s a lot.”

“Why–why do you need me here Hotch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And…uh, where is it.”

“What are you looking for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That tells you how premeditated this was then.”

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

You laughed and Derek smiled over at you.

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

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

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

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

This caused Derek to laugh. “Touche.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pointed to the door you stopped in front of.

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

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

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

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

You scrambled to pull out your phone, dialing 911.

#x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #Spencer reid x y/n angst #Dr Spencer reid x dr!reader

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silverskye13 · 5 days

Note

The Shakespeare line "you egg? (He stabs him)" Is totally Hels towards Wels lol

Lin you're hilarious lol

"What. Are you doing?" Welsknight asked, trying not to sound as confused as he was.

Helsknight glanced up from the book he was reading to regard him with obvious disdain. "That question doesn't deserve an answer."

"Okay fine." Welsknight rolled his eyes. "Why are you here, on Hermitcraft, reading a book."

"Because Shakespeare was made to be read in the sun, and on the stage," Helsknight sniffed. "I'm not putting on a one-man-performance, and there's no sun in hels."

"So you're here."

"No, I'm on the moon."

"You don't have to be so touchy," Wels scowled. He took a breath, and decided to try his best to be civil. "I like Shakespeare."

Helsknight dropped his gaze back down to his book, "Congratulations."

"He's a classic." Welsknight continued steadfastly. "Which play are you reading?"

"Don't you have something better to do?"

"Obviously not."

"Get thee gone, go mind your own damn business." Helsknight closed his book again, keeping his thumb on the page he had last been reading, and smacked Wels none-too-gently on the leg with it. "Out, damned spot."

"You're reading Macbeth?" Welsknight smirked. "Of course you're reading Macbeth."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It's just very on brand." Welsknight laughed. "You wouldn't read any comedy. You've got no sense of humor."

Helsknight let out a long breath, trying valiantly to maintain hold of his dwindling patience. He reopened his book and glared down at the pages, doing his best to stubbornly ignore Wels. Welsknight watched him. Admittedly, if he were a Shakespearian character, his fatal flaw would be his inability to let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how wise it was to walk away and let Helsknight read. He wasn't hurting anyone, and Welsknight didn't particularly feel like getting into a fight.

But how many chances did he get to really annoy his evil half?

"So, how far in the play are you?" Welsknight asked, earning himself a long half-groan, half-growl from his other half. "Have they killed Duncan yet?"

"Spoilers."

"You just quoted Lady Macbeth's nervous breakdown at me. You've read Duncan's death before."

"Maybe I've just heard the quote somewhere."

"Out, damned spot," Welsknight mused. "Past that then. From the damnéd spot to the candle, perchance?"

"Excuse me?"

"Fair Lady Macbeth's demise!" Welsknight proclaimed, reveling in the chagrined expression Helsknight shot him. "Out, out, brief candle? Why, life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more!"

"It is a tale told by an idiot," Helsknight glared, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

"I'm going to pretend you were just finishing the stanza, and that wasn't an insult."

"It was an insult."

"You're probably not even reading Macbeth," Welsknight smiled, ignoring the jab. "One of the other great monologues maybe."

"Don't you dare--"

"Fie, fie! Unknit that threat’ning unkind brow," Welsknight exclaimed, eyebrows raised, his barely contained grin undercutting his attempt at a dramatic gasp. "And dart not scornful glances from those eyes to wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor. It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, and in no sense is meet or amiable."

"Would you shut up?"

"Come, come, you froward and unable worm! My mind hath been as big as yours, my heart as great, my reason haply more, to bandy word for word and frown for frown."

"Wels I swear--"

"Not taming any shrews, then?" Welsknight continued, undaunted. "Probably not. You're probably reading something violent and full of itself. That matches you best."

Helsknight got to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt, his book forgotten in the grass. Welsknight took a few steps back, giving himself a little distance to work with in case Hels decided to lunge at him. He smiled and bowed low. "I do protest, I never injured thee but love thee better than thou canst devise, till thou shalt know the reason of my love! And so, good Capulet, which name I tender as dearly as mine own, be satisfied."

Helsknight's fist tightened on his sword hilt. "I have had just about enough of you."

"No no, you've got the verse all wrong," Welsknight tutted in mock dismay. "The next line belongs to Mercurio, saying: O calm, dishonorable, vile submission! Alla stoccato carries it away."

Welsknight drew his sword with a theatrical flourish and declared, "Helsknight, you ratcatcher! Will you walk?"

Helsknight narrowed his eyes. "What wouldst though have of me?"

"Good king of cats! Nothing but one of your nine lives, that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out."

Welsknight expected Helsknight to draw his sword then, and respond in kind as Tybalt had. Instead, Helsknight simply stood there, studying him contemplatively. A few seconds passed, and then a full minute, and Welsknight lowered his sword, pointing the tip towards the grass.

"What's the matter Hels?" Welsknight smirked. "Too much of a brute to memorize Romeo and Juliet?"

Helsknight raised an unamused eyebrow. "What, you egg?"

Welsknight blinked, incredulously. He had enough time to place the line in Macbeth, and enough time again to remember when in the story the stupid line took place. And then he didn't think much of anything, because Helsknight had stabbed him.

"Rude." Welsknight managed.

"Young fry of treachery," Helsknight finished the line. Then he bent to pick up his book, and Welsknight respawned with Helsknight's parting words ringing in his head. "If you must know, it was Sonnet 73."

Welsknight sat up in his castle, shuddering off the last ghost of his respawn. He rolled his eyes at the unpleasantness, and then, because he was curious, padded over to his shelf to grab his book of Shakespeare's sonnets from his collection of books.

[Sonnet 73]

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Welsknight read the poem again, an eyebrow raised. "All that drama, and he's not even reading a play."

Welsknight rolled his eyes. "Whatever Hels."

He shelved the book.

#the barking writer #helsknight #welsknight #not tagging as The Fic because theyre too tolerant of each kther for it to be the fic universe #hi this is the showcase of my favorite monologues from the bard can you tell #barring the taming of the shrew monologue #that one just seemed like it would fit there

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butchhamlet · 8 months

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are there any shakespeare retellings you recommend? i really enjoy retellings but it's also difficult to find ones that like. actually understand the source material... i've read your novella duodecimal and really liked it btw! excellent take on twelfth night :-)

THANK YOU SO MUCH WAH... yes, i can recommend some retellings! i keep intending to make a big post with my recs, actually, but there are so many out there that i haven't read yet... so for now here's an incomplete list:

a thousand acres by jane smiley: the first one that came to my mind seeing this ask. it's a retelling of lear set on an american farmstead, and the adaptation is done beautifully and smoothly--it's just distinct enough from OG Lear that you can judge it as a book on its own but also as a lear retelling. and it's sooooo good. it starts a little slow, but the character work is so excellent and it almost made me cry (i will note that there's a pretty hefty cw on this one but... saying what it is is technically spoilers? but feel free to send another ask or message if you want to know up-front)

the last true poets of the sea by julia drake: books that made me have to turn my camera off in zoom class so i could bawl properly. books written for me specifically. this is a loose YA retelling of twelfth night (looser than some of the other retellings on this list) and it's like. perfect. the teenage dialogue actually sounds like teenagers. every emotional beat clubbed me over the head. the love triangle is present--and done really well; it's not present for drama but because sometimes being a teenager is confusing--but more than that this is a book about the relationship between violet and her sibling, and about mental health, and god it makes me CRAZY. also girls kiss in this one

rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead by tom stoppard: i mean. i think most people into shakespeare know r&gad. but in case you haven't read it yet, it's an absurdist play from the point of view of rosencrantz and guildenstern and it's absolutely fucking brilliant. not sure what else to say about this; you've really just gotta read it

teenage dick by mike lew: another play, this one on the modern side--a retelling of richard iii set in a high school, focusing explicitly on disability issues. kind of more a reimagining than a retelling, honestly, but i really like the exploration of r3's themes and also it's fucking hysterical. although i will say there's a kind of jarring tonal shift in this one near the end, so don't go to it for something 100% comedic

american moor by keith hamilton cobb: okay this isn't exactly a retelling but if you've ever read othello you have to read it. you just have to. please god if you've ever read a shakespeare PLEASE. it's a monologue from the perspective of a black man trying out for the role of othello, half-resigned to being pigeonholed into playing that specific role in a very specific way as directed by a white director, but also half-chafing against that resignation, and also exploring the complexities of loving shakespeare as a black man, and it's soooooo so good

exit, pursued by a bear by e.k. johnston: this one is kind of cheating because it's not really a retelling, in that it has next to nothing to do with the winter's tale except that there is a hermione character and a leontes character and a paulina character. i still think it's a very very well-done YA book, though, and one of the only ones i've read that deals head-on with abortion

foul is fair by hannah capin: okay, i will admit i read this one some years ago when i was more into YA, so i'm not sure i would still go crazy over it now, but the plot of this book is that the modern lady macbeth character gets assaulted by a guy at a party and decides to kill everyone who let that happen. and then she does. and idk i read it in two days it felt like being on crack

the wednesday wars by gary schmidt: this one is DEFINITELY cheating, because this isn't a retelling of anything. but if you like shakespeare and you're open to reading historical fiction about a kid in the 60s using shakespeare as a lens through which to understand the chaos of his life (from the vietnam war to his school crush)... it's so good. it made me nearly sob. beautiful book

i'm also a fan of ryan north's shakespeare choose-your-own-adventure books, but those aren't exactly retellings and also the humor will probably not work for everyone. but i like em <3

and finally, i would be remiss not to shout out the fact that @suits-of-woe wrote an INCREDIBLE retelling of the two gentlemen of verona that, like, redeemed the fact that that play exists. if you've read that play and you thought, "wow, i wish this were explicitly homoerotic, or not a rape apologia, or good in any way," you will LOVE macy's book. unfortunately it isn't fucking published yet but WITH YOUR HELP--

#max.txt #feel free to send me recs for shakespeare retellings at any time btw!#i've been collecting a list #i just haven't gotten around to most of the books on it yet #asks

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gothgleek · 7 months

Text

Alicent based on this post about Modest!Alicent by @dirtytransmasc

Details under the cut

-I was obsessed with the veiled pieces that OP mentioned and I loved the image of her in gold veils that looked like she was dripping in gold.

- The veils are based on Catholic veils (specifically and 4), medieval head coverings like ones worn in Ophelia 2018 and wimples (2 and 6), Star Wars (5), and the Tudor period (7). Most of them are sheer because one, I couldn’t figure out how to wrap them around her head without her looking like a blob of color and when it did look okay she looked like she was wearing a hijab and it felt too appropriative to draw on Alicent. This is also why her hair is visible in most of them but in practice she would cover them with thicker fabric.

- Alicent wears long billowing sleeves with heavy skirts. OP said that Alicent would wear dresses that conceal her figure which I tried to maintain but some have a shapelier silhouette as it looked better with my art style. I hope one day I will be able to draw modest clothing without making someone look like a blob but I’m not there yet.

- Dress 1 is inspired by the series Isabel 2011, which from what I’ve seen has some nice costumes. It also gave me a good base for something historical and modest but still luxurious.

- The second is based on Lady Macbeth and Ophelia in the Ophelia movie. I debated on adding braids but I think Alicent would’ve worn them. They’re neat, mature, and somewhat conservative hairstyle while also giving her an opportunity to wear more accessories which is expected of her as a queen. I know OP said modest but irl royalty had to wear extravagant clothes to prove their status and with the pressure of civil war and being the second wife, Alicent would certainly wear luxurious jewelry while staying simple compared to the rest of the Targaryens. The beads are Targ inspired as she would also need to embrace Valeryian styles to stay in Viserys’s favor.

- This side view of Alicent has the deepest neckline because that is what worked best for a side view. I also noticed Catholic veils tended to have patterns so I added simple gold flowers. The dress is medieval based.

- What sparked my artistic interest was OP’s descriptions of the veils so I had to do a dedicated work with a veil in the spotlight. In the original post, it was mentioned that Alicent would wear shawls with tapestry like designs. I couldn’t think of anything that would look good with fabric folds and creases but on a lace veil? I could definitely do that. Tbh it’s not my favorite design (Helaena’s was my favorite) but I think it represents Alicent’s loyalties pretty well. I’m personally pleased with how the dragons and tower came out.

- I don’t care about Star Wars but some of Padme’s outfits have screamed Alicent to me since the beginning. The golden lace veil with pearls is the centerpiece so her dress is much more toned down.

- This is again based on Ophelia’s costuming and on OP saying Alicent appears to be dripping in gold wearing golden veils. I added jewelry shaped like the Hightower sigil with green gems decorating it.

- OP mentioned shawls with tassels and patterns so I had to add them onto the last dress. Well, I had fur instead of tassels but the statement still stands. I also tried to make the veil based on Spanish mantillas but it never turned out correct so I kept it simple. The dress is a mix of Alexander McQueen Fall 2011 and the Tudors era.

#alicent hightower #house of the dragon #HOTD #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #alicent targaryen #heleana targaryen #fashion history #asoiaf clothing #fantasy costumes #mine #asoiaf hair and clothing #team green #pro team green #pro green

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cordeliawhohung · 16 days

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girl the ps!gaz calling u his wife around the studio even after the shoot (thanks shotmrmiller for that one) reminded me of when i was lady macbeth for a production and the girl who played macbeth still calls me her wife to this day 😩

not ps!soap but i was immediately PLAGUED, utterly DISEASED with thoughts of reader and soap being in the same theatre company doing the scottish play and his down bad self calling you his wife from the moment you two were cast as macbeth and his lady, and then continuing to call you that forever afterwards 🥴

johnny would be a real menace about it for sure

would keep calling himself a method actor. he's gotta "stay in character" or whatever. tells you not to worry when his hands skirt a little too close to your ass, it's what husbands and wives do, after all. says the same thing when he's fucking you in the dressing room after hours, too.

it's just what husbands and wives do.

#core responds #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #f!reader

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wholoveseggs · 4 months

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See you're taking request.

How about Elijah and reader meeting in a library and bonding over any English classic (story takes place in around 1950-60s) like Macbeth or Frankenstein or The picture of Dorian Grey and again meet in a debate hall or something similar?

Between Pages

{Masterlist}

It's the 1960s, and you are a college student finding solace in the campus library. There, you encounter more than knowledge within its walls.

~♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! - This was a fun challenge to write!! ♡♡~

You ever know the exact gif you are going to use before you even write the story? This is one of those cases...

5k words - Warnings: no smut, mild drama, bullying, human Elijah, mentions of cheating.

You were sitting in the library of the university, your back was hurting from sitting hunched over your books for hours and the letters were swimming in front of your eyes. You sighed and ran a hand over your face, trying to rub the tiredness away. When you really got into a book you tended to lose track of time and any sort of physical feeling, the world disappearing around you. It was the only time when you felt like you could forget about all the worries in the real world.

You were in the middle of a particularly exciting scene when someone cleared their throat. You looked up and were surprised to see a guy standing next to your chair. He had curly hair and was wearing a black leather jacket over a dark red shirt.

"Can I help you?" you asked. The guy smiled slightly and took a chair, sitting down across from you.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone in the library on a Saturday night?" he asked. You were taken aback by his forwardness.

You looked around the place, pointedly glancing at all the books, "Reading?" you said, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

The guy chuckled, "Well, don't you have anything better to do? You know, like go out with me? Have a couple of drinks?"

You narrowed your eyes, "Sorry, but no." You turned your attention back to your book, hoping that the guy would take the hint and leave you alone. But he stayed put, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you.

You glanced up again, feeling his eyes on you, "Did you want something?" you asked, a little irritated.

The guy smiled, "Yeah, for you to say yes."

You felt uncomfortable, like a cornered animal. There was something about the way this guy was looking at you that made you feel like he was going to pounce if you didn't agree to go out with him. A sickening feeling of unease started to spread in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm sorry, but no," you repeated, trying to keep your voice level.

The guy leaned forward, resting his elbows on your chair, getting closer to you, "Aw, come on, don't be like that. Just give me a chance."

"I don't think she's interested." A smooth melodic sounding voice chimed in. You and the guy both looked to your left. There was another man sitting in a lounge chair, his eyes on his book. His appearance was striking, with dark brown hair and a sharp jaw. He looked up from his book and just stared at the other guy, one eyebrow raised.

"You heard the lady. Now fuck off, would you?" the stranger added.

"Hey, fuck you!" the first guy spat. He was obviously pissed, his hands were clenched into fists.

"I'll pass," the stranger said, a smug grin on his face. "And so will she. Now leave before I make you.”

You were speechless. You didn't know what to say or do. This was not the way you had imagined your Saturday night.

The guy got up, a frown on his face, "Pity." He mumbled and walked away. You were still trying to comprehend what had just happened when the stranger's voice brought you back to reality.

"You okay?" he asked, a concerned expression on his face.

You looked at the new guy, a grateful smile on your face, "yeah, thanks. He was a bit too persistent."

"Don't mention it. This is not the place for picking up girls anyway."

You laughed, "where do you like to pick up girls then?" you asked jokingly.

"I don't," he replied seriously, continuing to read his book. You looked at him, trying to make out his features in the low light. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a black leather jacket over what looked like a white Henley shirt. He had a nice profile, a slight dimple on his chin, and a nice mouth that was gently open as he read.

You had to concentrate not to stare, and to get yourself back to your reading. But after a while, you couldn't help it, you glanced at him again. He looked up, meeting your gaze with dark, beautiful eyes. Your cheeks flushed red.

“Need something?" he asked, a smirk playing on his face. You quickly shook your head.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

He looked at you for a moment, studying your face, before his eyes went back to his book. But you noticed he was glancing at you every so often, a thoughtful expression on his face.

When you finished your chapter you looked up at the clock, realizing you had been there for six hours. It was now around midnight and the library would soon be closing. You let out a heavy sigh, you did not want to go back to your dorm, and risk running into your asshole of a roommate and her friends. They had been harassing you for weeks, throwing mean remarks your way whenever you encountered them. It just made sense to keep your nose buried in a good book, rather than being around bullies.

You grabbed your bag and headed for the exit. The library was almost completely empty apart from some older students who were still hunched over their books and looked like they wouldn't leave until the library closed. And then there was him. The guy in the leather jacket. He was still sitting in the same spot, his eyes on his book but you noticed his eyes were not moving across the page. You frowned and turned away. Just because he helped you did not mean you had to become friends.

Moments later, you found him standing beside you as you walked towards the exit, "that's one of my favorites," he said, pointing at the book you were holding in your hands.

"Frankenstein?" you asked.

The guy nodded, "what do you think of it?"

"I think the monster is misunderstood. That it deserved pity, rather than death," you said, not sure why you were opening up to this complete stranger.

He smiled, "me too." There was a short silence.

"I'm Elijah, by the way. I don't think I introduced myself properly earlier." He said, holding out his hand.

You shook it, "Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"I'll see you around, Y/N," Elijah said, smiling at you. He held the door for you before disappearing down the corridor.

You woke Sunday morning to the sound of your roommate and her friends getting drunk and singing shitty songs. You groaned and grabbed your pillow, putting it over your head, trying to muffle the sound. But after half an hour of lying in bed you had to get up. You stood and went to the bathroom to get changed, hoping to sneak out before they noticed you.

You put on your bra and then went to the closet to get a fresh shirt and dress. When you opened the closet door you were surprised to find nothing hanging. Your head whipped around and you saw your roommate sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and your clothes thrown around her.

She was laughing with her friends and your cheeks turned red when you realized they were on your bed. A lot of them were pulling at your dresses, shirts, and bras.

"Are you seriously wearing these ugly things? I would never be seen dead in this," she laughed, holding up one of your favorite blue dresses. She had the skirt tied around her head and her girlfriends were busy tying one of your shirts around her midsection.

"Come on guys, let's put on a fashion show!" she exclaimed loudly. The whole dorm was busting out in laughter, the girls throwing more clothes around.

"Can you please give me my clothes back, I have to go," you said in a small voice.

"Go where? Do you have a date? Wait, don't tell me you actually managed to lure someone with one of those ugly dresses!" your roommate laughed. Her friends joined in and they had a hard time standing up due to the amount of alcohol they had already consumed.

You ignored her remark and just stood there looking miserable. You bent over and picked up the closest dress, pulling it over your head.

They all looked at the dress you were wearing. It was purple, flowing down over your curves nicely, but it was an outdated style and it didn't suit you.

"Definitely not going on a date in that!" your roommate sneered, laughing. You ran your hands through your hair. You felt frustrated tears sting behind your eyes but blinked them away.

"Have a nice day Kathy," you said coldly, before grabbing your bag and leaving the room. Your face was burning hot with embarrassment. You couldn't wait until you could live on your own, far away from this place. Away from these people.

You settled down in one of the plush lounge chairs in the library, pushing away all the bad thoughts. Today would be a peaceful day, no bitchy roommates, no annoying classes. You felt yourself calm down. What you wanted now was to read a good book and just relax.

You were just flipping to the bookmarked page when you felt someone sit down across from you. You looked up and saw Elijah smiling at you.

"Nice dress," he remarked, pointing at your outfit. You smiled and felt a blush creep across your cheeks.

"Thanks. Went a bit off the rails with the style this time."

He leaned forward, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," you said, bracing yourself for whatever it was he was going to say.

"What exactly are you doing here? Spending all your weekends cooped up in the library, reading?" Elijah looked at you, curiosity in his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing."

He smiled, "I asked first."

You shrugged, "No point in lying I guess. It's much easier to lose myself in a good story rather than deal with real life, you know." You looked down, avoiding his gaze.

"I can understand that. These days everything's just going downhill," Elijah said, running a hand over his face, "the war in Vietnam, all the conflict here at home. There's a feeling that things are not going the way they should."

You looked up, amazed at his observation, "Exactly. Society is changing and it's overwhelming sometimes."

Elijah chuckled softly and reached for the book in your hand. You watched his fingers as they grazed yours. There was a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach as he touched you, and his lips curved upwards in a soft smile when you met his eyes.

"Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus," he read, running his fingers across the paper, he flipped to the page you were on and skimmed through the text, a thoughtful expression on his face. He handed the book back to you.

"It is a fantastic read, I think the author has done a great job capturing the fear society felt in the 1800s, towards advances in technology and the creation of artificial life," he commented.

You smiled happily, "I love this book. I always come back to it and get surprised by new details I have failed to notice earlier."

He gave you a wide smile, it made his face glow, "Do you have a favorite scene?" Elijah asked, his dark eyes on your face. You bit your lip and thought for a while, going over the book in your mind.

"My favorite scenes are when the monster finally meets Victor. Although it's an awful situation, it's actually pretty touching," you answered truthfully.

Elijah gazed at you fondly, "Why is that?"

"Because it shows the human ability to empathize, something everyone deserves to have," you told him, taking the book and flipping to the chapter in question, reading a paragraph out loud to him. He didn't interrupt you once, just looked at you, a soft expression on his face.

When you finished reading Elijah grinned, "beautiful, if not a bit bleak."

The two of you would spend hours every day, sitting together and exchanging thoughts about the books you were reading. You always enjoyed going to the library, but now you even anticipated it, hoping to run into Elijah. You would wake up a little earlier, dressing up a little nicer. When you would walk into the library he was the only thing in your thoughts, his beautiful smile, and how he was always so kind to you.

After almost three weeks, you found Elijah waiting at your usual table, his jacket still on.

"I thought it would be nice to go somewhere else today," he said.

You arched an eyebrow, "Where?" you asked,

"There's this restaurant near here, it serves some delicious food." he replied, giving you a sweet smile.

You looked down, thinking that even though his plan sounded lovely, you couldn't afford a fancy restaurant.

"My treat," he added, as if reading your thoughts.

You swallowed and smiled at him, nodding, "Okay, yes. Let's go."

While you walked towards the restaurant you realized it was the first time you were spending time together outside the library, and outside the university grounds. Your heart was beating a little faster, and you hoped he wouldn't notice how nervous you had become.

The restaurant looked very cozy, wooden tables, candles, and a fireplace. You breathed in, the smell of spices making you sigh contently. You sat down at a table in the corner, and a woman came by to offer you the menu.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

You smiled at her and ordered a glass of wine, Elijah ordering something as well. You were a little overwhelmed by all this, not used to nice restaurants, nice wine, and good looking men.

Elijah was gorgeous, so out of your league, it hurt a little. But you pushed those thoughts away, you didn't want to think about such things now. You had a hard time making friends, and you were happy to have found a companion in Elijah, you didn't want to ruin anything by falling for him.

When the food arrived, you dug in, enjoying the flavorful mixture of fresh vegetables, pasta, and rich red wine. The conversation was easy, just like in the library, you discussed literature, everything from Frankenstein, to Macbeth to Poe.

It struck you that you knew nothing about his actual life, only his interests and his views of the world.

"So, what do you like to do outside of the library? Outside of class?" you asked him. He ate a piece of food before answering, seeming to think about the best way to answer the question.

"Not much really, I keep to myself mostly."

You stared at him, curious as to why. Surely someone as handsome as Elijah wouldn't be alone. You hoped it didn't sound like you were prying when you said, "What, there's no girlfriend you're hiding somewhere?"

Elijah gave you a gentle smile, but there was a sadness in his eyes. "I had a girlfriend, Katherine, but it didn't work out. She was cheating on me and using me to get what she wanted." He said, playing with a fork on his plate.

"That's awful, Elijah, I'm so sorry. But it's her loss, if she was stupid enough to cheat on you," you said quickly, wanting to support him.

He gave you a grateful look, "I believe in finding a lesson in every heartbreak, otherwise you end up repeating your mistakes over and over."

"So what did you learn?" you asked.

"I learned to trust my instincts more, not dwell on a past I can't change."

You nodded, "that's very wise, you know."

Elijah laughed, "no, it's the truth. People make mistakes, and sometimes we have to learn the hard way."

There was a comfortable silence between you as you both kept eating. Then he suddenly spoke. "What about you? Why spend all your spare time in the library?" Elijah said, his eyes glued to your face.

You sighed, "I have this roommate," you started. "Every day and every night she spends all her time partying with her friends. They drink a lot and make fun of me," You continued, recounting stories of how rude she and her friends have been to you. Elijah gave you a thoughtful look as you spoke.

"Don't mind them. They don't realize what a wonderful person they're missing out on," he said simply. You could feel a blush spreading across your cheeks.

"They stole a bunch of my clothes, that's why I dress in outdated clothes from thrift stores. I have tried to talk to them, to stand up for myself, but they just laugh at me and continue to be cruel." You had not intended on saying all this to him, to vent. But you realized you had been holding this all in. Nobody knew or cared, until now.

"Thanks. For listening to me." You gave Elijah a little smile.

"Of course," Elijah said, taking your hand from across the table and squeezing it.

"I can't help with the roommate, but I can help with the clothes," he said, giving you a friendly smile, the one that made your stomach do flips.

"You already paid for dinner, I can't possibly ask for more," you muttered, worried you might be becoming a burden.

"I'm not asking. What time do you have classes tomorrow?" Elijah asked, letting go of your hand and finishing his food.

"Um," you were a bit startled but that was Elijah's fault for being so damn charming. You were not used to anyone wanting to be friends with you.

"Nothing after three."

"Great, I'll pick you up," he said, winking at you. You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips, he had done this twice already, that winking thing that seemed to always catch you off guard.

You found yourself becoming even more smitten with him as the evening went on. It helped that he was devastatingly handsome, of course. But he was also kind, interesting, intelligent, and funny. And to your surprise, he seemed to enjoy talking to you as much as you enjoyed talking to him.

"How about this? The color goes nicely with your hair." Elijah held up a blouse for you to see. It was a lot more colorful than your other outfits, but the model on the display did look very chic. He was absolutely spot-on when it came to the latest fashion.

You took the blouse from him and held it against your torso, wondering if it would be a bad idea.

"It will match your beautiful eyes too," Elijah added. That made your heart race even more, and you decided to try it on. Walking to the changing rooms you saw several women looking at Elijah as you passed them. One of them whispered to her friend and the girl giggled, pointing straight at him. You rolled your eyes. Of course, they would hit on him. After all, he was the type of guy girls dreamed of dating. But apparently, he didn't care. Elijah just smiled at you, before offering to fetch more clothes for you to try on.

When you stepped outside the changing room Elijah grinned, "Beautiful. Suits you perfectly."

"Thanks," you whispered, the atmosphere strangely intimate. His comment combined with the fact that everyone was watching him made you blush.

The two of you worked through the shop, searching through racks and throwing clothes into a basket, until you each had quite a few pieces. Elijah took the basket from you and went to pay. All the outfits he had picked for you seemed to cost an enormous amount of money, and while he was paying you shook your head at him. He simply smiled and handed you the bags.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Elijah asked you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and causing a warm feeling to spread inside you.

"I have this book I want you to read, it's back in my room. We should stop by and get it," you offered, wondering if you were being too forward.

"Are you asking me to go to your room? Tsk tsk, how scandalous," he mocked, but the humor in his eyes told you he agreed.

Together, you drove back to your dorm, you were hoping that Kathy actually went to her psychology class today, it was her favorite subject after all.

When you got to the door you opened it, relieved that your room seemed empty. Elijah waited patiently while you looked around, until you finally found the book you had been talking about on your side of the room.

You sat on the bed, cross-legged, and he sat down next to you. The twin bed felt awfully small and Elijah was so close. Yet somehow it didn't feel weird.

"Have you read all these?" He asked, pointing at the pile of books, currently stacked in three columns on the small desk. You nodded.

"What's your favorite?" he wondered.

"The Hobbit," you said, stretching a little on the bed.

"Ah yes, another fantasy. Why am I not surprised," he teased, and then picked a book up from the pile, "And the rest are…"

"Mostly classics, and some romance," you admitted. Elijah arched an eyebrow. "You know, Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, stuff like that."

"A romantic, huh?" Elijah said, turning towards you.

You blushed, "I guess so. But I mean, who isn't? Even if we deny it."

He nodded, "Very true. People have an innate need for a connection, something special."

"Yeah. It's the reason why we fall in love, why we create art," you said.

"And literature," Elijah added.

You smiled, "Here's the book I wanted to lend you," you said, handing it to him.

“The picture of Dorian Grey," he read the title.

"Yeah, it's a beautiful story, with an intriguing message."

"Thank you. I will let you know what I think of it."

You nodded, "Please, let me know,"

Elijah looked at you for a long time, the air seemed thick between the two of you. Your gaze kept dropping down to his lips, wondering how they would feel pressed against yours.

"Please don't judge me based on my taste in books." you said quietly, the tension was getting unbearable.

He raised an eyebrow at you, "why would I do that?"

"Kathy told me once that everyone who reads a lot is just trying to escape their sad life," you muttered, biting your lip.

Elijah gave you a little smile. "I'd like to believe it's the opposite. Books are just one way of living a rich inner life."

That made you smile, it's what you also believed and you were happy to have someone agree with you. Elijah placed the book aside, leaning close. You couldn't stop staring at his deep brown eyes.

"I enjoyed spending time with you today, outside the library. I miss you when you're not around. Your eyes and smile keep popping into my mind." he said softly, reaching his hand up and tucking your hair behind your ear. You blushed, unable to form any words.

Elijah closed the distance between the two of you, his lips softly pressing against yours. It was a sweet kiss, slow and unhurried. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I can't get you out of my head," he breathed, before kissing you again. The second kiss was different, there was a hunger to it, an intensity you hadn't felt before. Your fingers moved up to his hair and his hand caressed your cheek. You loved the feeling of his body so close to yours, his smell, his warmth, was completely intoxicating.

He gently pushed you back onto your pillows, kissing you slowly. Elijah pulled away, his lips hovering just above yours. "Is this okay?" he asked softly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"More than okay," you whispered.

He grinned and went back to kissing you. Your hand slid down his back and slipped under his shirt and he broke the kiss to lift his arms and remove it.

You let your hands roam over his chest, admiring the view. His body was perfect. Your lips found his again and the kiss deepened. Elijah's hand found its way under your blouse, stroking your skin.

"Elijah?" Kathy's voice suddenly echoed through the room. Neither of you had heard her come in. You gasped, quickly sitting up and pulling your blouse down.

She was standing in the doorway, gaping at the two of you.

"Katherine, what are you doing here?" Elijah asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

"What are YOU doing here? With her?! In my dorm room!" she yelled, shooting a mean glare in your direction. You stared at her, mouth agape. How did she know Elijah? And why was she so angry at you for being with him? Then it hit you. She was the ex-girlfriend he told you about. The one who had cheated on him and used him.

"Oh fuck," you said quietly, "You're Elijah's ex."

She gave you a fake smile, "Oh, did he talk about me? That's cute. I see his standards have gone down dramatically,"

Kathy's friends all stood behind her, peeking over her shoulder to look at you and Elijah. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away. Elijah's expression hardened and he stood up, walking over to Kathy.

"You don't get to talk about her like that. Not after the way you treated me," he said through gritted teeth.

Kathy looked at him and huffed. "Please, you were always so boring. I can't believe you are making out with that loser."

You could feel tears starting to well up in your eyes, her words stinging. Her friends were all giggling and snickering behind her, mocking you. Elijah looked back at you momentarily, and you saw anger flashing in his eyes.

"Did you ever tell your little friends why I dumped you? How's Stefan? Or was it Damon? No wait... You tried it on with my brother as well," he smirked.

You could hear her friends gasp and whisper among themselves. Apparently, this was new information to them as well.

Kathy narrowed her eyes at Elijah, "I was the best thing that happened to you, and you know it,"

Elijah rolled his eyes at that, letting out a sarcastic laugh, "You were never the best anything, Katherine."

Her face fell, and her jaw dropped open. Her friends all stopped talking. "How dare you?" She spat, her hands balling into fists, she looked at you, and back at him.

"You have ten seconds to get out," Kathy hissed.

"Kathy I live here," you said, standing up.

"Not anymore you don't. This was my room first. Get your crap and get out." She said, pointing her finger at you.

"Fine. I rather sleep in the streets, probably more peaceful than this shithole," you said, grabbing your bag and shoving your books inside, as well as the clothes Elijah had bought you.

Elijah quickly pulled on his shirt and picked up his jacket. He reached his hand out, offering it to you. "Come on,"

You nodded, taking his hand, walking past the stunned group of girls. They didn't say anything, but you could feel their gaze on you.

Once you were outside the building, he turned towards you.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Elijah looked down at his feet. "That was a very unfortunate coincidence."

You couldn't help but chuckle. "I had no idea you were going to be my roommate's ex-boyfriend. It's kind of funny if you think about it."

He lifted his head and gave you a small smile. "Yeah, it is. Although, I'm not sure what's worse. Dating Katherine, or living with her," he joked.

"We should start a support group," you joked back, earning a full-blown laugh from Elijah.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. "I'm sorry, I hope this didn't ruin anything between us."

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "No, it's fine. But now I need to find a new place to stay," you sighed, resting your forehead against his.

"Or, you could stay with me," Elijah offered.

You bit your lip, the thought of living with him was tempting. But you didn't want him to think that's all you were after.

"You don't have to. I can manage," you mumbled.

Elijah's fingers brushed along your jawline. "I'd love it if you'd move in with me. No pressure, you can take the spare bedroom."

You couldn't stop yourself from smiling, the idea of living with him made your stomach flip. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," he replied, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

"I'll pay my share of the rent and I'll cook," you promised, your hands playing with the collar of his shirt.

"Absolutely not, you are my guest," he laughed, "you will relax and I will take care of everything."

"But, I can't let you do that!" you argued, but he simply kissed you, shutting you up.

He took your hand, leading you to his car. "There is one thing about my place though," he said, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"What is it?"

"I have a library."

Your eyes widened, "No way! How big is it? Does it have a ladder?" you asked excitedly.

"Yes, yes, and yes," Elijah answered, looking very pleased with himself.

"Then why do you hang out at the campus one?"

He shrugged, "I've already read everything in my collection. Most of the books at the campus library are brand new."

"Hmm, fair enough," you mused, getting into his car.

"Plus, we wouldn't have met if I didn't," he winked.

"I suppose not. Maybe we should thank Kathy, then," you said, a grin spreading across your face.

"Definitely not," Elijah said, and you both laughed.

As he started the engine, you couldn't help but smile, thinking about how your life would change. You'd get to spend every day with the man of your dreams. And maybe, just maybe, you'd get a happy ending.

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvdu #vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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heartinportuairk · 3 months

Text

I went to the final performance of Macbeth last night and I wanted to make some notes for myself so I would remember some things. I only use this account for lurking but I am making this public in case anyone scouring the David Tennant / Macbeth tags is interested in my musings for some reason.

I had been lucky enough to have seen this production three times already before last night - twice in December and once in January - so I have been able to track its journey and pick out what changes night on night and what doesn't. I have found that fascinating. Any changes were minor and pretty much exclusively found in simply the way a line was spoken. For example, the brilliant Noof Oussellam (Macduff)'s "but I must also feel it as a man" was impassioned and angry the first and last times, but the two times inbetween I found it to be more subtle. More sadness, more despair than anger. I guess it comes down to how the actor is feeling it in that point in time and I think it shows a great understanding of the character that they play them in the moment and don't just mimic themselves night after night.

The other great thing about going multiple times is viewing it from different angles. I saw it from all sides, twice from the stalls and twice from the front row of the circle. Honestly, circle was better, especially for Macbeth's death in the closing moments. You do not get the effect of the blood seeping out from under him from the stalls and I tell you now, that image from above sears itself onto your brain.

All of the actors are incredible and have been from the start, but there were a few times last night where I could feel them step up their game. Like they knew it was the last time they were going to say that line (at least for a while) so they were going to give it their all.

One of those times was Macbeth's "tomorrow and tomorrow" soliloquy which had always been brilliant and very moving, but about which something was a little different last night. The quiet, raw emotion in that speech felt as though it had been ramped up (or down??) a notch and was so palpable that it brought a tear to my eye.

Another moment came from Lady Macbeth's sleepwalking scene. Again, always brilliant and always moving but somehow desperately sadder this time around. I wanted to give that murderous, conniving fiend a big hug.

The Porter:

The porter scene is funny but obviously not as much when you know what's coming. Which is why when somebody in the audience yelled out "who's there?" right before he got a chance to say his "ok seriously do none of you understand the concept of a knock-knock joke?" line last night, it was both a shame and a blessing. I felt a bit bad for the guy!

"Alright, you've seen the show before! That was my favourite-... and it's the final show!"

But what followed was a hilarious bit of improvisation and it changed things up a bit, especially as Laura the sound engineer proceeded to make his job even harder with the timing of the sound effects that followed. It meant I was able to enjoy the porter scene as much as I did the first time, but like I said, I did feel a bit bad that his favourite line got taken away from him! (It wasn't me who called out, by the way.)

David bloody Tennant:

I've not seen much Shakespeare live (I want to remedy that, I have become completely obsessed), but I can believe people when they say David Tennant is arguably the greatest Shakespearean actor of his time. You can tell he feels and understands completely the meaning behind the words he is saying. He's not just reciting, not just reeling it off. The pauses, the intonations, the passion, sadness, grief, guilt behind every line just shows his deep understanding of the character and his innermost thoughts. On that stage, he is Macbeth.

What's more is you can tell he absolutely delights in it. Anybody who knows anything about DT knows he loves Shakespeare and it is glaringly evident when he is out on stage. He puts everything he has into it and it is wonderful to witness.

He is truly an amazing actor and a treasure and I have been so delighted to watch his career somehow continue to hit new highs of late. Everything he touches seems to turn to gold. As many have said before me, this really is David Tennant's world and the rest of us are just living in it.

The bows:

The reception this group of actors received at the end of the performance was phenomenal and no more than they deserved. Everybody on their feet, whooping, cheering. A lot of noise coming from such a small audience. The cast were both playful and tearful. To see some of the actors get a bit emotional was very touching and I hope that was, at least in part, due to the love and admiration pouring out of us and on to that stage.

An aside:

So I turn up to the theatre and head straight for the toilets on the first floor. There is one person waiting outside them because it's full inside so I wait too. Within moments, out pops DT from a set of double doors right in front of me. He quickly checks if there's anyone in the other set of toilets (there is) and disappears back through the doors again. It's fleeting, and the only other person in the queue is facing the other way and doesn't see. I keep quiet, obviously. It's just over half an hour until the performance is due to start. He's not in costume yet and the man just wants to go to the bathroom. My point is, I've now watched him live on stage in a very small theatre for approximately 7 and a half hours and at no point in that time have I actually concluded that he is real, except in those brief four or five seconds outside the toilets of the Donmar Warehouse in Covent Garden, when we're just two people who needed a wee.

#david tennant #davidtennant #macbeth #cush jumbo #donmar warehouse #donmarwarehouse

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