"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results"
Welcome to my ALIEN STAGE OC blog!!!
I have ocs in many seasons, such as Season 40 to 42, as well as in Sona Season, and in this blog I’ll be posting about all of them!!!
A great majority of my ocs will be open for lore writing, so if you have any ideas for relationships involving my characters, please don’t hesitate to ask!!! They’re also open to asks!! Or well most of them, ask me anything or say something to them!!!
It’s half past one when Himei leaves her bed and crawls in next to Tov in hers.
She stopped asking for permission years ago.
Tov never refuses.
She just shifts over to give Himei more room to settle.
Himei pokes her cheek, “What are you thinking about?”
“Alien Stage.” Tov says, glancing at her.
“Are you worried about it?”
She shrugs, “Not really. I just don’t understand why they accepted me.”
“Are you kidding?” Himei sits up to rest on her elbow, expression incredulous. “Your voice is amazing! They would’ve been crazy not to accept you.”
Tov frowns slightly, “I don’t have any stage experience, though.”
“You perform in lounges all the time!”
“It’s not the same.”
“But it’s not nothing.”
I guess she has a point there…
Himei grins like she knows what Tov is thinking, dark eyes glittering with amusement, “I have a point, don’t I?”
Tov looks back at the ceiling, “Maybe.”
Himei’s suppressed laugh comes out as a puff of warm air against Tov’s cheek.
“Don’t sell yourself so short. You belong on that stage just as much as the rest of us, if not more.” She says. “Whoever they put you up against, you’re going to shine no matter what.”
Even if they put me up against you?
Tov buries the thought.
“Do you think I can win?” She asks instead.
Himei reaches for her hand and squeezes tight. “I don’t just think you can win. I know you can win.”
Her tone leaves no room for doubt.
Himei knows I can win.
The surety in her voice stirs something warm in Tov’s chest.
She looks back to meet Himei’s gaze and squeezes her hand in return, cheeks flushed, “Thanks.”
“Of course.”
Himei smiles in that little way she did when they were alone.
The gentle smile reserved only for her.
Another secret they shared among countless others.
“You are a force of nature, Tov.” Himei says. “All you have to do is show them what you’re made of.”
———
Tov saw red.
Through the haze of the sedative, there were segyein everywhere she looked.
Too many eyes.
Too many teeth.
They poked and prodded at her like she was their own pet project to do with as they pleased.
They knowingly put her through one of the most traumatic experiences of her life.
They disrespected every dead person she’d ever cared for.
And they were expecting her to take it.
Get away—
Get the fuck away from me!
Her hands were tied down to the chair.
She fought back, kicking and grunting, to the alarm of the researchers.
“She overrode the simulation!” One of them shouted.
Tov wriggled free of her arm restraints and tore off her oxygen mask.
Himei’s last words echoed in her mind.
“Show them what you’re made of.”
I sure fucking will.
With a sharp tug, Tov pulled the electrodes off of her scalp and sat up.
She ripped the IV lines out of her arms despite the pain.
“Call Agent Irin now!” A tall researcher called over their shoulder.
They tried to force the oxygen mask back onto Tov’s face, leaning on an elevated metal instrument tray for leverage.
Tov caught the glimmer of a scalpel on the tray and snatched it.
With a flick of her wrist, she flipped the sharp edge around and rammed it through the back of the segyein’s hand.
They let out a high pitched shriek as blue blood began to spew.
Her feet were still free and she kicked them hard center mass.
They doubled over in pain, and Tov reared back to kick them again, square in the face.
There was a crunch beneath the sole of her boot, and they fell to the floor in a heap, bleeding and wailing.
Chaos erupted in the testing room.
Some segyein stumbled over each other to flee.
A long tentacle reached out to grab hold of her from her left and Tov bit down on it as hard as she could.
Black fluid oozed out of soft tissue.
The segyein’s scream curdled.
Tov let go, only to spit the fluid that had gotten into her mouth in their face.
They stumbled back, shouting in their native language; something that rang in her ears, loud and obnoxious.
She grabbed the instrument tray and bashed them over the head.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—
Each thud sounded louder than the last.
Another researcher tried to close in.
Tov retaliated by throwing the tray at their face, hitting them between their two sets of eyes.
She leapt over the back of the exam chair and grabbed the bloody scalpel that had fallen on the floor during the struggle.
With the pointed edge directed at the three remaining researchers, Tov bared her teeth.
“Stay the fuck away from me!”
Two more segyein entered the chaos, hulking in stature and dressed like guards; armed with electrified batons.
One of them spoke in a garbled voice.
“Subject-020547, stand down at once!”
But Tov wasn’t going down so easily.
She ran towards the row of counters on the right wall and hurled everything that wasn’t nailed down at the guards.
Glass vials, sharp medical tools, bottles of various chemicals and solutions.
“Fuck off!” She shouted, chucking a portable oxygen compressor at them.
The guards dodged her projectiles and moved forward.
Tov lunged, ready to meet them with murder in her eyes and fire in her bones.
But a pair of arms grabbed her from behind.
They lifted her off the ground, limbs flailing, a guttural roar in her throat.
“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” Tov screamed, loud enough to shatter glass and burst eardrums.
“I’ll kill everyone in this room!”
And she meant it.
Tov had never taken a life before, but in the moment it seemed so easy.
Segyein had killed countless humans before her.
Crushing their lives like they meant nothing.
What was stopping her from doing the same thing?
Decency?
Humanity?
Fuck all of that.
The gaping maw in her chest wanted blood.
Tov struggled to break free, writhing and enraged.
She wanted to make them all suffer.
Just like they made her suffer.
The way she was still suffering.
“Let me go!” She shouted. “Let me go right now!”
But the hold was ironclad, even as she scratched and tried to bite.
A needle pierced the skin of her neck.
Fuck—
Tov hissed, gritting her teeth as liquid flooded her bloodstream, burning like flesh over an open flame.
Whatever it was, it was strong.
Stronger than anything she’d been injected with before.
It drained all of the fight out of her.
Her legs gave out immediately, but the arms wrapped around her middle kept her from hitting the ground.
“It’s okay, Tov.” Someone said. “Sleep.”
She held onto consciousness for a few more seconds — trying to resist — before she couldn’t hold on any longer.
———
Tov shot up with a gasp, clutching her neck.
No pain.
No stinging.
Not even a patch to cover the injection site.
Just hot skin and a thundering pulse.
She was in a bed that wasn’t hers.
In a bedroom that wasn’t hers either.
Everything felt slightly off.
The room was too quiet.
The sheets chafed against her skin.
And Tov couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t supposed to be here.
It was dark; only a faint blue light came streaming in through the blinds of the window nearby.
But she could see the outline of a door on the other side of the room.
She threw off the sheets and tried the knob, expecting it to be locked.
To her surprise, it opened with ease and she stumbled out into another room.
There was a living area off to her left, with a couch, some beanbag chairs, and a television.
And a kitchen with a small dining table on her right.
Was this another part of the AREPH facility?
It was far too comfortable and spacious to be a holding cell.
The door across the way from her opened, spilling soft, warm light into the room.
And Tallis stepped out.
“T-Tallis?” His name tumbled out of her mouth, uncoordinated and almost unfamiliar.
Tov couldn’t believe it.
She didn’t believe it.
There was no way this was her Tallis.
But…
He looked just like him.
Same face.
Same eyes.
The only difference was that this Tallis had his braids parted neatly.
Tov had once braided his hair like that when they were teenagers.
Too much time spent practicing the harp made his fingers ache so much he couldn’t braid on his own.
She watched him struggle only for a minute before intervening with a quiet but firm “let me do it.”
Tallis sat on the ground in front of her chair, her legs swung over each of his shoulders; his hand latched on to one of her ankles.
Himei let her borrow her comb to make each part line straight and each section of hair even.
“You’re very meticulous, Tov.” Himei said, resting her chin on her shoulder.
It sounded like high praise.
Tov blinked away the memory.
The Tallis before her spoke.
“Another bad dream?”
He said it like she had those often.
She just nodded.
It was easier to go along with whatever he thought than try to explain anything.
Where would she even start?
Tallis stuck his hands in his sweatshirt, emblazoned with a large blue and red logo that read “N.A.S.A.,” and nodded toward the room behind him.
“Alright, come on in.”
She stood still for just a moment, before following him inside.
The walls were cream colored and covered in posters.
Tov couldn’t make out any of the words written on them in the dim lighting.
Grey curtains shut out the light from the window, matching the grey sheets on the bed.
The desk next to the bed was littered with sheets of music and half finished compositions, illuminated by the warm lamp on its edge.
Tallis let Tov crawl into bed first, closest to the wall.
But when he turned off the lamp and settled in next to her, he didn’t keep a respectable distance like usual.
Instead, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.
With her ear pressed to his sternum, she could feel his heart beating.
His heartbeat is the same too…
Tears prickled in her eyes, her chest constricting.
Please let this be real…
Please please please…
She nuzzled her face against his chest and inhaled deeply.
He smelled like an evergreen forest after a soaking rain.
The warmth of his body melted the tension in her shoulders.
Sleep called to her.
Tov resisted.
“Where’s Himei?” She asked.
“She’s around here somewhere. Don’t worry. Just rest for now.”
“But—”
“Sleep, starlight.” Tallis said gently.
Tov’s heart stuttered at the nickname.
He’s never called me that before…
She clutched his sweatshirt tight in her hands, “You won’t leave, right?”
“It’s my bed.” He said dryly.
Tov rolled her eyes half way, “I meant… you won’t leave me?”
“Why are you so worried about me leaving all of the sudden?” Tallis asked.
She could hear the frown in his voice.
Tov looked up to meet his gaze, concern brimming in his eyes; pinched between his brows.
Because you’ve already left me once.
And even if you’re still alive, you’re not with me now.
I don’t know where you are or how to get to you.
I can’t do this without you.
All of the words cluttered up in the back of her mouth, but she couldn’t get any of them out.
“Bad dream.” She muttered, tucking her head under his chin and closing her eyes.
“Well, I’m not leaving.” He said after a moment. “And even if I did, I would always come back to you and Himei.”
“Really?” She asked.
Tallis hummed in confirmation.
“I think that no matter where we are — or what lifetime it is — the three of us will always find our way back to each other.” He said. “We’re cosmically linked.”
“I thought you didn’t like the stars.”
Tallis huffed a little laugh, “You and Himei changed my mind about them.”
“Now go to bed. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“Promise?” Tov asked.
Tallis didn’t hesitate.
“I promise.”
———
Tov woke up on the floor.
Her hands were locked together with magnetic cuffs and a collar fit snug around her neck.
Tallis was gone.
So was his warmth.
Pain bloomed in every muscle and every bone in her body.
Memories of what led her here came back in fragments.
Blood.
Broken glass.
Sharp teeth and sharp objects.
She was paralyzed under the weight of the sedative, but she could still move her eyes.
The room was small, white, and sterile.
This must be an isolation cell…
It was completely empty, save for her and… something…
Out of the corner of her eye, a figure sat cross-legged; silent and waiting.
All white clothes, short dark hair, dark eyes—
Tov’s breath caught in her throat.
No.
Not dark eyes.
Blue eyes.
Azure looked down at Tov with a flat, dispassionate gaze and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Hello.”
————————————————————
TOV CRASHOUT!!!!! WE DID IT YALL!!!!
And obviously I support her all of her wrongs without hesitation 🙂↕️
Also! Azure is here!! Well, a hallucination of him, at least.
I’m sure it’ll be fine…
Thank you to @nottoonedin for beta reading some of this log 💜
Himei and Tallis belong to @lookatmysillies.
Azure belongs to @4listr (HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY AZURE!!!!! 🥳🥳🥳)
Welcome to the revival of ALIEN STAGE SEASON 40! I'm this season's host, @lookatmysillies (main blog @bluemoonscape). You can refer to me as Blue.
ALIEN STAGE Season 40 was formerly run by @junebluues who became too busy with life to continue the season. This revival will span all the way back to Round 1 and through to the end. Some rounds/round results formerly run in the original S40 will remain canonized as long as the owners of the contestants involved agree upon this decision. These rounds will only appear in the very first set of brackets and will be tagged as #predetermined and will not have a poll option. With every other round, any result is possible! These rounds will be indicated by the option to vote for your favorite contestant. No predetermined rounds will persist past the first row of brackets.
Please note that some former creators with participants in Season 39 and the failed run of Season 40 have been removed due to various factors including rigging or inappropriate behavior towards others in our community. Like. Actual grown adults rigging against teenagers' ocs or otherwise acting weird/rude towards others. Their ocs will no longer be included in the rosters to continue making the ALNST fan seasons a safe and fair place for everyone. Thank you for understanding!
Organizational tags will include the following:
round # - # determined by which round it is. Indicates each individual round and any content involved in said round.
official round - Any round considered part of the canon.
unofficial round - Any round that may occasionally appear between rows and/or after the official canon season has concluded.
asks - General asks about this season, how it works, or even questions about last season (@season39).
reblogs - Self-explanatory; non-original posts to this blog.
alnst oc: (insert name here) - Each oc involved in s40 will gain their own tag. An example would be "alnst oc: yael" in posts relating to my OC, Yael.
predetermined - As stated, these rounds will not have polls attached to them and will instead be posted as brief announcements following a results post and any posts involving lore relating to the results.
song requests - Any participant can submit an ask to me including the song they would like their OC to sing for their round. You can also coordinate with the other creator in your round if you want them to sing one song together and submit a song on both of your behalf.
oc announcements - These announcements will be posted in character with our OC announcers of the season, former S39 star Tov (@ivanttakethis) and fresh-faced Zhuli (@apriciticreveries)!
ooc announcements - These announcements will be made by me, the admin, and will relate to important super mega fourth wall breaking information.
alnst oc lore - Lore posts will be tagged with this. Feel free to tag this blog in any of your ALNST S40 OC lore to give them a boost and get them on this blog!
Here is the UPDATED ANAKT GARDEN REGISTRY, created by @alien-til-i-stage/@lulling-riot (love you mwah) and updated by me to reflect Season 39 results. The Season 40 section and beyond is still being updated as I gain more information about the season's updated lineup.
NOTE: This list was created by @alien-til-i-stage/@lulling-riot (heheh I <3 you) and has been updated by @bluemoonscape/@lookatmysillies to
Current OCs CONFIRMED to be in S40 are as follows (but like also please if you're supposed to be on this list and aren't or if you aren't supposed to be but are, let me know):
Ambrosia (@rosedeleca)
Ava (@paperstarry)
Asahi (@/apriciticreveries)
Casimir (@starry-skiez)
Ciaran (@/starry-skiez)
Clementine (@chevalperd)
Clove (@verdantlights)
Damari @/starry-skiez)
Gaia (@icequeuebe)
Gray (@/verdantlights)
Innamorati (@/lulling-riot)
Isla (@nottoonedin)
Jojo (@awaggaa)
Juliet (@yunoftheclouds)
Lyra (@fl0wers4herfriends)
Mentha (@/rosedeleca)
Micah (@4listr)
Mirai (@friedclownshrimp)
Monica (@/nottoonedin)
Murrelet (@/awaggaa)
Naz (mine, @/lookatmysillies)
Numa (@shenenenigans)
Sirius (@/shenenenigans)
Toki (@/verdantlights)
Wren (@/ivanttakethis)
Xael (@/shenenenigans)
Yael (mine, @/lookatmysillies)
Yuna (@/starry-skiez)
Zero (@/apriciticreveries)
IMPORTANT THINGS TO NOTE:
If your round is coming up soon, submit your song through my asks to make it official - or else a blank will be submitted in the song section of the round.
PLEASEEEEEE PLEASEEEE if your plan is to have your OC escape, sacrifice themselves, or otherwise at the conclusion of their round (anything unconventional outside of wins and moves on/loses and dies) you've GOT to tell me so I don't mark them incorrectly.
If you are mentioned in this OC lineup, send in your preferred image of your OC to be used in the brackets.
Some rounds may be released late, but not dramatically so.
This post will likely be updated in the future!
Take a seat, prepare to vote and push your favorite contestants through to the next round, and enjoy the show!
It's funny, come to think of it, how I started to see you everywhere after our first encounter.
We didn't really talk much in the beginning, usually exchanging a smile and wave when we passed by each other in hallways or outside in the Garden.
But I kept noticing you.
Much to my surprise, I found out we actually shared quite a few classes. You were always seated far up front in class, maybe that's why it took me a while to realise, I myself being too busy doodling in the margins of my books or goofing off with Inna to ever be looking up ahead for too long.
I realised you always sat under the same tree, in the corner of the Garden, sometimes reading, sometimes practicing songs we were forced to learn. You were never one to go out of your way to play with others, probably preferring your own company.
It's not that I avoided you, but I felt hesitant to approach you whenever I had the chance. Maybe I saw you were busy and didn't want to interrupt.. Or maybe I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of you, like the last time. It was most likely the latter.
"Excuse me..."
The second time I remember us properly meeting was in the library.
It took me a few moments to register that the almost inaudible voice was coming from right across the table from me. I glanced up from the book I was currently engrossed in, meeting your eyes.
"Isla!" I exclaimed, before remembering where I was, lowering my voice, "Hey, Isla. What's up?"
You gave me a shy smile, clutching your own book at your side. "I was just asking if I could sit here, if that's okay with you?"
I nodded enthusiastically, "Of course! I mean, sure."
You brightened at my answer, immediately taking the seat directly in front of me.
"Sorry if I interrupted you, I was just returning a book, and then I saw you, so- well, I thought I'd say hi..." You shrugged sheepishly.
I returned your smile, "That's okay, I don't mind."
Your gaze flickered to the book resting in front of me. "What are you reading?" You asked, keeping your voice low.
"Oh! Uh-" I quickly grabbed the book before me, raising it to show its floral-design cover, "it's a book about flowers and their meanings! This one's about the flowers that used to exist on Earth..."
You frowned. "Earth..?"
"Y'know, Earth! That really old planet that used to exist super long ago... Where humans originally came from?"
You nodded in recognition. "Ohh, right.. I didn't know there was an actual name for that place... It had flowers?"
"Mhm! Tons of plants, actually, but apparently there used to be over four-hundred-thousand species of flowers alone! And the people of Earth had different meanings for them!" I rambled on excitedly, tapping the page I was previously reading, "For example, daffodils represent renewal, forgiveness and creativity! And then these ones-"
I leaned across the table, hoping to show you the page more clearly.
It appeared that you had the same thought as me, meeting me halfway.
I still recall the hollow clonk our skulls made when our foreheads collided.
It makes me laugh whenever I think about it now, but at that point, I was too busy clutching my painfully throbbing head, you mirroring my action.
I winced, forgetting about my pain for a moment, my attention quickly turning to you. "Ah! Sorry! I'm so sorry, are you okay??"
You gently rubbed your forehead, teal eyes growing watery. Your face was scrunched up with pain, but you still managed an uneasy smile.
"I-it's okay," you replied shakily.
I stumbled over my words. "Sorry, I didn't mean to- I was just trying to- Do you want me to get-"
"No, no," you waved off my offer, wiping your eyes, "it's fine, Monica, really."
I swallowed, trying to calm myself, my cheeks heating up. "Okay.."
I watched you, unsure of what to say next.
Great Anakt... As a child, I took things so seriously when it came to you.
Well, to be honest, I always took things seriously when it came to making new friends in the Garden...
Before arriving in that place, I never really interacted with other humans, save for my brother, Mica. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate his company, of course I did, I'd always be grateful for his light in my life... But, I guess that's just how I was, always longing for more.
I think it would have been a lot scarier, had it not been for Inna being the first friend I made.
Inna was always easiest to get along with; we shared interests, we matched each other's energy.. he never seemed bothered by the things I did, never reacted with strange looks at things I said.. that was new to me.
You were a lot different from him, obviously- a lot less obnoxiously loud, for one. I'm not entirely sure what drew me to you, what made me desire to be close with you, but I knew whatever it was came with a small familiar fear, like an annoying splinter digging into skin. It's not always visible, but it's definitely there.
Right at that current moment, the splinter felt like it was digging into my skull... or maybe it was just the oncoming headache-
"I've seen those flowers before."
I snapped back to reality. "..Huh?" I asked dumbly.
Your eyes were back on the book, your finger tapping an illustration of a bouquet of red flowers on one of its open pages. "This flower. I've seen it before, Madame sometimes decorates my room with them.. they're usually pink ones, though."
I studied the flowers underneath your finger, forgetting my previous worry. "Oh! Carnations!"
You hummed in affirmation, turning the book towards yourself, beginning to read the words off the page.
"It says here that they usually mean admiration and affection... Do pink carnations mean the same thing?" You asked me in a curious tone.
"Well- yeah, basically," I was quick to answer, relaxing a little, "but pink ones can also sometimes represent 'motherly love'... if I'm remembering right."
"Oh.. I didn't know that," you said softly, before smiling to yourself.
You began to flip through the books pages, stopping abruptly at a random page.
We had ended up laying underneath your tree in the Garden, staring up at the artificial sky, asking various questions back and forth.
I remember during my first few days in Anakt, I had tried cloud-gazing, but that began to become boring after about five minutes, since the clouds never actually moved, remaining dead, unchanging. Except for one cloud near the centre, which flickered every few seconds, and was only noticeable if you were actively searching for it, much like I was doing at that moment.
I felt you turn towards me. "You 'think'?"
"I dunno, I never really thought about my favourite colour," I shrugged. "I think all the colours are pretty. And there's so many different shades, it's hard to choose just one, y'know?"
You were silent for a moment, pondering.
"Hm, I suppose so.. Then why did you choose green in particular?"
"Well, it reminds me of the grass and trees. And bugs. Specifically beetles... Plus, from what I've read about Earth, its land was mostly green... I guess the colour reminds me of nature in general."
To this, you hummed thoughtfully. For whatever reason, I felt compelled to face you.
Your eyes locked with mine, widening in surprise at first, but after a few moments, your eyebrows furrowed, cheeks flushing a bright pink.
"You're staring," you remarked.
I blinked. "Oh? Sorry, I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"Well.." I gestured to your face, grinning, "I just thought... You kind of look like the Earth if it were a person. To me, at least."
Now it was your turn to stare. Though, your gaze was filled with complete bewilderment and... a bit of hurt?
"What's that supposed to mean?" You quietly managed to say.
"Wait, I mean-!" I stammered, sitting up slightly, worried you had taken my words as an insult. "I just think- your eyes kind of remind me of, like, little islands? And- and then I saw your hair and I thought.. it kind of looked like, um, the Earth's sea and its blue waves... Kind of. In a good way. To me."
I cleared my throat awkwardly, glancing off to the side.
When I regained the courage to look back at you, your expression had changed, the tinge of hurt being replaced with a darker tint of pink, painting your cheeks.
"Oh. Okay. Um, thanks?" You turned your eyes back towards the synthetic clouds, fidgeting with a lock of your hair.
I followed your gaze, while screaming at myself internally.
I guess that's how I always was, wasn't it? Speaking all my thoughts aloud, not thinking about the consequences of my words until after they had fallen from my mouth. It never did me any favours, but I never seemed to grow out of the habit.
I began to toy with my sleeve. Fearing the uneasy silence, I laughed nervously. "Sorry, I uh- don't know why I said that.. that was.. weird-"
"...I didn't think it was," you spoke up, glancing in my direction.
"You didn't?"
You shook your head. "No. I mean, it was.. unexpected, but also... sweet," you smiled a little, "no one's ever said something like that to me before."
"Oh.." I relaxed my shoulders, not even realising they were tensed in the first place.
I watched as you sat up, bringing your knees to your chest, looking back at me intently.
"What else was Earth like?" You asked curiously.
I thought for a moment. "To be honest, I haven't read a lot about it yet... but, from what I've read so far, it kind of reminds me of Oberon's planet-"
"Oberon?"
My eyes found the defective cloud once again. "They used to be my Guardian, but uh- that was a while ago. I don't.. really remember what they were like.. just that their home was covered in plants and bugs.. it was also nice and warm, and it made me happy... That's what I think Earth was like. Though, I think Earth had way more water on its surface, like.. a lot more."
You paused, taking in my words.
"I see... it sounds lovely." Your smile grew wider, "Maybe.. you can visit Oberon's planet again someday?"
Perhaps it was the way you said those words, or maybe it was the way you smiled at me so warmly... but I found myself believing you in that moment.
"Maybe... yeah," looking up at you, I shared your smile. "I'd like that."
You giggled softly, giving a nod. "That's good."
I watched you, studying your face. There was something so genuine in your expression, but back then, I couldn't place what it was. I just knew it was something I hadn't seen before, a gentle kindness I hadn't yet been introduced to.
Ah, I was staring again.
"...I think it's your turn to ask a question, Isla."
@lookatmysillies for Naz, Yael, @imperfectnothing for Yumi, @chevalperd for Clem, @junebluues for Nene, @severedscales for Kio, Jiu, @ivanttakethis for Wren, and @verdantlights for Toki
(So I got really curious and I wanted to see how many of my OCS can I give an irl face claim to, which I use mostly just actors and actresses but I tried!!!!)
(So I got really curious and I wanted to see how many of my OCS can I give an irl face claim to, which I use mostly just actors and actresses but I tried!!!!)
For @lulling-riot - HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY KILLS YOU KILLS YOU KILLS YOU HUGS YOU here’s the Yaelbeth that I’ve been promising since you made the Yael comic. I used your birthday as an excuse to get motivated. I’m so smart
(Word count: 4k. Mix of canon and modern AU - ties into the first 2 Yael logs but can be read on its own—it just has references to the logs. TW list is shorter than usual but includes: recreational drug use, nongraphic references to sex, mild gender dysphoria, referenced suicide and talks about mental illness. 4k words of Yaelbeth being stupid below the cut)
“Yael.”
“Wake up, Yael.”
“Yael.”
“Yael.”
Macbeth’s voice was vaguely irate as Yael approached his desk and, without further ado, swung a leg up over the side of it like it was a horse and shimmied so he was planted firmly in the middle in a straddle with either leg hanging off the sides. Yael didn’t take offense to it. He’d learned not to, anyway. The perpetual stormcloud hanging over Macbeth’s head made him a bit of a grump–prone to scowls and narrowed eyes, gloomy, half-lidded glances and a wrinkled nose to show his typical state of disapproval. Compared to some of their classmates, Yael got the gentled version of Macbeth’s diagnosable annoyance with humanity. Him and Inna, he supposed. But Inna was too nice for Macbeth to understand at his core.
Yael understood. Not that he wasn’t nice–he liked to think he was pretty nice–but he didn’t really care about others the same way Inna did. When Inna finished his bevvy of extracurriculars, he always had someone he wanted to hang out with. Monica to stay out late in the rock-and-cement playground at their old elementary school before puberty and mental illness kicked in and life got complicated. Inna and Monica liked jumping rope, playing tag and hopscotch, while Yael would just sit and watch. Quiet. Uninterested.
Uninterested was how he felt about most people until he met Macbeth, with the exception of Naz from the experimental treatment clinic, who provided decent entertainment.
Yael plucked an eraser out from where it got wedged under his thigh and held it up like something deeply interesting and worthy of discussion, twisting and turning it in his hand. He smiled at Macbeth, the one with teeth that meant he had some grand plan in mind. “What?”
Macbeth fixed him with a deadpan stare. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sit on my desk? Your butt is crushing my papers.”
“Your papers like my butt,” Yael retorted. He grabbed the pencil in Macbeth’s loose grip and started idly scritching little doodles into the rubbery pink material of the eraser. One of them looked like it might be meant to be a cat’s face. Another vaguely resembled a marijuana leaf. “It’s Friday.”
“I have a calendar and eyes to see.”
“And what very pretty eyes they are, my friend.”
“Shut up. And stop poking holes in my eraser! What, did you forget to medicate today or something?” said Macbeth as he snatched the eraser back, which, in fact, Yael had begun to poke. Cats and weed had gotten old fast.
Yael shook his head, the same toothy smile still plastered to his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know. So as I was saying, it’s Friday. Friiiiday. Which is basically our day.”
Macbeth scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Since when?”
“Well, first off, I’m pretty sure we met on a Friday.”
“We met on a Monday.”
Yael squinted down at him. “Did we?” Then he beamed. “You remembered!”
Waving his hand– “Right, whatever. You were saying?”
“For the last three weeks we’ve smoked on Fridays. So what I’m saying is we should keep doing that. For routine’s sake.”
That earned Yael an amused snort. “Routine’s sake? For weed?”
…that was probably said a little too loudly in a religious school’s classroom. Macbeth briefly tensed, but no one appeared to be lingering. By the time Yael strutted in and took his place on Macbeth’s desk, everyone else left the study hall, eager to get on with their weekends. Nobody ever waited for Macbeth, and no one ever waited for Yael, except for each other. They were safe.
Back in fall semester when they tried kissing out, Yael would only try it in empty lecture halls after class, in the courtyard behind the big tree near the perimeter where they napped during breaks, or in the privacy of Yael’s house. His parents were doting but thought of themselves as “progressive” by leaving him alone in his room with a boy and offering him birth control tablets. To be fair, they were hippies. Weed-smoking, libertarian hippies who had a handmade sign in their yard that said, “Leave Clinton and Bush to Rot–We Want Legal Pot!” Yael never noticed that they actually misspelled Clinton with an e instead of an o until Macbeth came over to his house for the first time and pointed it out. I was just so used to seeing it, Yael had said sagely.
Point is, they know where to do and say certain things and where not to.
“Just come over to my house tonight.” Yael twirled the pencil between his fingers, pausing to note the small indents and chips in the yellow paint from absentminded pencil biting. His eyes flicked up to Macbeth’s, searching. “Unless you’re avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you,” Macbeth said, exasperated. With a roll of his eyes, he stood from his chair and grabbed Yael’s tie to yank him forwards and set him off balance, causing him to stumble off the desk. “I’ll go to your house. We need to stop by mine first so I can check in.”
“You can grab a few things for overnight,” Yael added, letting himself be led behind Macbeth by the still-held tie out of the classroom. Seeing Macbeth’s hesitation flickering over his face, Yael quickly added, “If you want. Just to sleep.”
So they ended up at Macbeth’s house so Macbeth could announce himself as alive and throw a few things in his overnight bag–which had also been “embellished” by Yael, who drew on it with a hot pink marker once when they were both high. Macbeth said he’d have to throw it away and get a new one. He never did.
The reason they could never actually stay over together at the Roulette house if they wanted a moment’s peace was simple: Macbeth’s family was expansive in size and in their will to intrude upon others’ privacy. Even as Yael and Macbeth packed (or, Macbeth packed and Yael sat on the bed and watched) his younger sister Mae barged in, her friend from the next town over, Miriam, on her heels. Miriam went to a Catholic all-girls’ school that operated in horror of “forward-thinking” Catholic mixed gendered schools such as the one in their town, Gardens. But then, Eden was a weird town. Veturia–another lively member of the Roulette family who spent an hour in the bathroom every other early morning, thirty minutes to smoke so it rose with the shower steam and through the vent where no one could smell it, and thirty to actually shower––once compared Eden to Clearwater, Florida. She swore on her Chevrolet that Scientology has spread to the west. At some point, Miriam got tired of arguing with her.
However, she never got tired of arguing with Yael over theology. She only went to Catholic boarding school because her parents made her–she thought the whole thing was “a giant pile of horse-fucking-shit.” Yael disagreed. This annoyed her. And thus was the greatest feud of the decade, shortly ahead of Yael and Mae’s more playful feud caused largely by Yael going from calling Mae “Margaret” to pester her to taking it a step further when she protested by calling her Margaret Thatcher.
As a journalistic family, running the county paper and fond of closely watching the news, the Roulettes naturally had a burning and intense hatred for Margaret Thatcher.
“Where are you going?” Mae asked, flopping down on Macbeth’s comforter next to Yael, who busied himself with stealing her headband and putting it on his own head.
While Miriam wrestled it from him, Macbeth zipped up his bag and stood. “Yael’s. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. Yael, give her the headband or she’ll kill you in your sleep.”
Sighing, Yael relinquished the headband.
Miriam glared down at him, handing the accessory back to Mae. “Good choice.”
Leaving the girls in relative peace, Yael and Macbeth trekked the distance to Yael’s house in a nearby cul-de-sac. Walking in school uniform in the summer was hell, but this early in spring, it was cold enough that they didn’t sweat too badly from the sun. Everything smelled clean and fresh after the long winter. Flowerboxes had been set in windowsills outside of the neighbors’ houses, full of blooming yellow, blue, and purple buds. It looked–felt–hopeful.
Last year at this time, Yael’s only friend was Naz, who was too invested in her other friendships to tag along with him constantly. They stuck together more in junior high when Yael was enrolled in the nearest city’s mental health clinic’s new program for youth with unexplainable and undiagnosed illnesses. That was where he met Naz. Naz threw a lot of fits in the waiting room, which made him dislike her, at first. She didn’t like him either on account of that time he smashed his head against the wall and gave himself a concussion–it scared her.
You can’t be too choosey with companions in a religious town when you’re part of a shrink program, though.
Yael had gone to school with Macbeth for years, but only last summer did they actually really meet through a summertime support group their parents made them attend. They didn’t talk for the rest of the summer, but when the school year started up, they recognized one another and clicked. Yael couldn’t properly explain what drew him to Macbeth. Macbeth couldn’t really explain it either.
Fate, Yael had claimed that first afternoon they tried kissing (it was winter and Yael still had his braces in so it hurt, a little), pulling away with a grin.
Maybe he wasn’t so far off.
This spring, with Macbeth at his side, he was the least and most afraid he’d ever been. Not afraid, because he had his soulmate at his side. And he was sure of it–Macbeth had to be his soulmate. He’d always believed in soulmates, waited for one, and what would a soulmate even be if it wasn’t what he and Macbeth were?
As Miriam would say: horse-fucking-shit.
And he was also afraid.
Because he could always lose Macbeth, too.
It was the kind of thing he usually tried to calm his mind from when he smoked. When they got to Yael’s house, they followed the usual routine–got a bowl of snacks and retreated to Yael’s room to do a few pages of homework together, exchange ideas for the story they were writing (it was supposed to be a more insightful rewrite of the Christian Bible, courtesy of Yael who believed they needed one in the world–or maybe just wanted to read something that affirmed his existence and identity and didn’t find it anywhere else, so he figured he’d have to do it himself)–then light up with the window cracked open to ventilate, lying on the bed with their sides touching. They changed into pajamas beforehand so they wouldn’t stink up the uniforms and fall asleep in their slacks and shoes.
These were the moments Yael enjoyed most, these days. He never cared much for his own bedroom until Macbeth. Now it was where they sequestered from the world together; from their annoyance or disappointment with humanity as a species. However applicable.
It was also when Yael could stare without Macbeth feeling the need to perform irritation or embarrassment as he usually did. With Macbeth’s amber eyes fixed up at the popcorned ceiling, eyelids relaxed, Yael could fixate on the brown speck in Macbeth’s left iris, the tiny twin moles above his left eyebrow, the uneven texture of his lips, chapped as they were because he couldn’t drink enough water to save his life. He could marvel at the curve of his eyelashes, the sharpness of his cheekbones that granted him his intimidating quality that kept most away from him, thinking him unapproachable, though it just looked pretty to Yael. There were a lot of things about Macbeth that others found weird or unpleasant that Yael just thought were pretty, in appearance or personality. He didn’t think it was strange to call someone’s personality pretty. It was the only word he could think of for it.
Caught up in the intimate setting of the moment, Yael rolled onto his side to face his companion and curled his calf over Macbeth’s, laying his hand on the soft inside of his elbow. They’d experimented once before, so he didn’t think much of it. Just wondered if Macbeth was feeling the same as he was.
Macbeth tensed, though, picking up on the signal, and glanced down at their legs, slowly withdrawing his from underneath Yael’s. “Yael–”
“It’s okay.” Only miffed by the withdrawal of contact, Yael pulled away to his side of the bed, rolling back over onto his back and folding his hands over his stomach (which was in complete knots). He picked at the skin around his thumb, chewed on the inside of his cheek, then, realizing the thought wouldn’t go away unless he voiced it, blurted, “Is it because of how I am?”
Macbeth turned his head to frown at him, brows furrowed. “How you are?”
“Well, yeah.”
“What do you mean, how you are?”
Sometimes Yael wondered if Macbeth just forgot his differences. Not that it was a bad thing–maybe it was a good thing. He was one of the only people outside of his parents and Naz who knew about it anyway. “Because, you know, I was a girl.”
Macbeth’s nose did that scrunching thing again like he was offended at the idea. “We weren’t even friends when you looked like a girl.”
“Well you could still tell when you had your hand–”
“That doesn’t matter, Yael, Jesus,” Macbeth interrupted, huffing out an audible scoff. “I didn’t care about that. I don’t care now. We were just trying something.”
Yael flipped over on his side again, staring at Macbeth’s side profile. “You’ve been dodging me when I try to talk to you about it, though.”
Helplessly, Macbeth shrugged, which looked quite awkward from a supine position. “I don’t know what to say. I just don’t see why it matters so much. I don’t see why we have to do it to be close. I like being close to you, but I don’t like that.” He took a drag, then coughed and shrugged again. “I don’t like when people talk about it. I thought I would like actually doing it, but I didn’t. It was just… me. Okay? I don’t care that you have to–sit down to take a leak, or whatever.”
He was tense, his face angled to the window away from Yael like he expected anger or rejection. Instead, Yael just laughed. “I could probably do it standing. If I tried.”
Startled, Macbeth actually giggled for what was probably the first time in his life. “What?”
“Peeing. I could try standing peeing. You could score me on accuracy.”
Macbeth rolled over to face Yael, mouth agape. “I’m not–Jesus, Yael, I’m not going to watch you pee to score you!”
Yael only laughed harder, so Macbeth laughed, too, until their stomachs hurt too badly and they wound up nose-to-nose, Yael nudging their faces together.
“That’s two times you’ve said Jesus out of turn. You’d get hit on the wrist with a ruler at school.” Yael studied his expression in response to the proximity. “Is this fine, though? Do you like this?”
Macbeth rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, Yael. This is fine.” I like this went unsaid but hung in the air between them.
“Good. It is for me too.” Yael ducked his head further to rest his forehead against Macbeth’s collarbone, breathing deep and peacefully. “I’m tired.”
“You’re always tired.”
“I’m tired like I’m going to sleep, though.”
“You’re also always sleeping.”
“Shush. Be nice and hold me.”
For all Macbeth’s feigned grumpiness, he did.
He’s in a cafeteria, in white clothes, surrounded by more children in white clothes. Like school uniforms, but worse. Worse. He recognizes it. He knows it.
He searches for Macbeth amidst a few other brunets, but he already knows: Macbeth isn’t here. If Macbeth was here, he’d be sitting with Yael right now, taking prim bites of his food and dabbing his mouth with a napkin, complaining to Yael about music theory or singing practice but he wasn’t in music theory or singing practice. Eventually a hypothermia victim will do anything and everything on this side of irrational to try and get warm, stripping the only clothing defending them from the cold, trying to burrow in the snow and insulate. Instinct.
Yael knows these words, he knows this day, where Macbeth is absent from him.
The moment he realizes it, he jumps up from his seat, his heart seizing in his chest, breaths coming in gasps. As he darts between the tables for the exit, none of the other students look up; no orderly attempts to stop him. The kids are all frozen, immobile, their chattering mouths motionless, their eyes closed, and their heads down so they can’t see what’s happening. Only Inna, easily recognizable by his baby blue head of hair, has his chin up. Only Inna has his eyes open. And as Yael rushes for the door, those eyes follow him the whole way.
The hallway is so much longer than it’s supposed to be. Yael runs as fast as he can, thinking: he can get there fast enough, he can stop it this time. This time he can save Macbeth. This time he can stop him from doing the very thing the old Yael said would save him but it didn’t, it didn’t, and it didn’t save Nina, it didn’t save him, he’s dead, he’s already dead–
He’s dead because You Already Watched Him Die.
But he’s still running to Macbeth’s room.
And he’s still falling to his knees in the doorway, screaming.
He still finds Macbeth dead,
because You Already Watched Him Die.
And All Stories Come To An End.
He’s been here before, and he still isn’t prepared for how shocked he is when the truth of it is before his eyes.
“Yael, wake up! Hey, wake up!”
For all the time Yael slept, he did wake up, screaming.
“No, wait! Where’d he go, where’d he go, where’s–”
Hands held fast to his wrists to stop his flailing, and the size and feeling of them was recognizable enough that Yael settled, his anxious trembling stuttering in its consistency. Only when he looked up at the face above him did he feel truly calmed.
Macbeth.
Alive.
You are beautiful.
“Oh,” he croaked. “Oh. Thank God.” And he threw his arms and legs around Macbeth’s shoulders and waist, dragging him down against him so their bodies were flush together.
Macbeth didn’t struggle or tense in the embrace. He was awkward as ever with physical affection, but he tried, moving his hands from Yael’s forearms to rest against his sides hesitantly. He asked, quietly, “Was it… the drowning one, again?”
“No.” Yael’s voice was still trembling and hoarse as he spoke. “It’s this different one I’ve started getting more and more since we’ve been friends.”
“...Should I be offended?”
“No!” Yael amended quickly, “no, it’s not bad–I mean, it’s not bad about you. Well, it’s–it’s just that you’re dead.”
“Oh. How do I die?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s… bad.”
Carefully, Macbeth shifted his weight off of Yael so they were hugging on their sides instead, laying his palm flat against Yael’s upper back. “I’m not a little kid, I can take it. Anyway, it’s not real, Yael.”
For a moment, Yael debated staying silent and pretending he was already going back to sleep. But–no. Macbeth deserved to hear.
His voice a broken whisper, Yael mumbled, “I find you, and you killed yourself, and I’m too late.”
He could hear Macbeth’s surprised inhalation in the quiet of the room. It was cold. They forgot to close the window before sleeping. “Oh.”
Yael exhaled harshly. “Yeah. Oh.”
He whined when Macbeth extricated himself from the tight hug, only reassured when Macbeth propped himself up on an elbow and pulled on Yael’s arm to get him to do the same. “Look, I know you know I have… like… some issues. With… depression, or whatever. But that doesn’t mean I’d actually do that. You know?”
“I know.” Yael mimicked Macbeth’s position, though his limbs still felt weak with fear. “It just feels so real. Like… it really happened a long time ago, or something. And… come on, we met over the summer in a support group for suicidal teenagers. Can you honestly blame me for being worried?”
Macbeth’s eyebrows twitched, upset. “It’s not like–like I don’t worry for you, too.”
Despite how close they were, it… honestly hadn’t occurred to Yael. He must’ve looked surprised for a moment, because Macbeth’s frown deepened into something more distraught. “Do you seriously not know?”
“Despite your name, Macbeth, you haven’t ever seemed quite as fixated on death as me.”
“Not death,” Macbeth protested. “More like… I just worry about your wellbeing. That’s what people are supposed to do for one another when they’re close, right?” He rubbed his head between his eyes like he was contemplating something great. “...I don’t know. I think maybe we’re supposed to worry about each other. Maybe we’re supposed to tell each other that kind of stuff.”
Vaguely less miserable, Yael smiled weakly. “Why? So I can make sure you know I’m haunted by your imaginary death and make you worried too?”
Macbeth shoved his arm. “No, idiot. I just didn’t think about it before. You don’t even know I worry about you. Or that I’d miss you if you died.” He paused. Quietly, he said, “I’d miss you if you died.”
I have missed you.
Yael sniffled so snot from his crying didn’t drip out of his nose and nodded, mouth trembling. “I’d miss you if you died too. So don’t.”
Macbeth smiled, a small, barely there thing. “And you don’t, either.”
“We’ll get really old together. And escape from here, like–go somewhere really great. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll write our book. And get rich for it.”
“Obviously.”
“And we can… hey, we can get a kid someday!”
“...Do we have to do that part?”
“And run a pot farm. Have a big house from all the book money somewhere in Europe.”
“And we’ll…”
“...and…”
Do we get an “and” this time?
Do we get an “after”?
Before
“Yael!”
“Hey, Yael, wake up!”
“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.”
Like emerging from cold water and drawing your first breath after struggling under the surface for so long, Yael wakes with a start, his eyes flying open to welcome an open blue sky, and—
It’s not.
It’s not.
It’s not him.
It hasn’t been him for a long time, it can’t be—
Macbeth’s golden eyes, not one golden eye but two, stare back at him. Yellow and purple flower petals have blown with the breeze into his dark hair, like a scattered version of the flower halo Yael once made for him. Somewhere within those eyes, Yael can see his own disbelief—elation—reflected, shining like the light of the brightest star in the universe.
“Oh, hey,” Macbeth breathes, tilting his head to the side as if in wonder. “You’re finally here.”
Yael’s mouth is not filled with blood.
He is not blinded by stage lights.
He is not staring into one blue eye and one gold.
He’s just Here.
Finally.
Finally.
With a wail, he launches himself at Macbeth, tackles him to the ground, and buries his face in his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, tears streaming down his cheeks in rivers. “I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, I’ll never let you go again, never, never, I promise—“
“It’s fine. Hey.” Macbeth clings to him tightly, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”
How long they lie there relishing their continued existence no longer matters; they have all the time they never had.
No matter how long it takes them to embark down the path again and let go of one another’s hand, step into the great unknown of a new life, it doesn’t matter.
Somewhere, they get an “and.”
They get an “after.”
And in every “and” and “after” and “before”—
They’ll find each other.
And when the boy with the blue eye is ready,
they’ll find him, too.
NOTE: In case the timeline confused anyone: in chronological order, Macbeth. You know. Died. Yael died sometime after him in Round 6. The last scene was Macbeth welcoming him to the afterlife, and afterwards is when they’re reborn into new lives where they will be able to live peacefully, based on the modern AU world shown in the official Wiege episode!! Thank you for reading and HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAD TWIN BESTIE
I know these characters might be random, but they were all pretty big in how I made Inna! Edd is there mostly because Macbeth also took inspiration from Tord, but I forgot to put him there in Macbeth’s own thing.
