#shakescene

[martindykewood]

[david tennant voice] if we don’t time travel back to elizabethan england it’s a no

neil gaiman: hey david you wanna do good omens

david: depends. how much shakespeare is there

[nicollekidman]

congrats abby you win this round

a win for me is a win for us all

[runerage]

cecilos, 23 (things you said over the radio)

Carlos told Cecil about time, and Cecil had gotten entirely the wrong idea.

No. Not entirely. That wasn't fair. Carlos made himself look away from the radio. It was an awful, human impulse that got its hooks in him whenever Cecil was on, to stare at the radio like it was a manifestation of the man himself. Carlos looked down at his notebook, instead, and sketched out a quick Venn diagram.

On the left side: My Ideas.

More time passed in Night Vale in one week than there is time in one week. Ergo: There is a massive time shift in Night Vale.

This risks placing Night Vale (further?) out of sync with the rest of the world.

Time slowing down is potentially catastrophic!

On the right side: Cecil's Ideas.

Time slowing down is neat* (*which, in other circumstances, I would agree with, were not for the above note of "potentially catastrophic")

We should meet up to talk about this.

My voice is caramel.

Carlos bit the tip of his pen. It wasn't that Carlos didn't like his voice, although he was due for his surgical inoculation against throat spiders soon. It was just, did Cecil really think that about him? Had Cecil ever heard his own voice? Yes. Obviously. He had described it as "smooth" and "sonorous," and this was perhaps the most scientifically accurate that Carlos had heard him be.

But, thinking of science, as Carlos usually was, there was this chart to finish. He was thinking about Cecil because Cecil was relevant to the science at hand. Pure logic. Facts only.

In the center: Our Ideas

The town needs to know about this.

And maybe that was all that mattered. Carlos had asked for Cecil's help, and Cecil had given it to him, willingly. Gladly, even. Cecil made up for what he lacked in scientific knowledge with scientific enthusiasm, and so Carlos dared to hope that had he had an ally in Cecil. Just one ally, here among the menacing government agents and mob-ready citizens. Carlos had to trust Cecil, and trust was a verb. Carlos had to take actions which indicated that he trusted Cecil.

Or not. He did not have to do anything. Scientifically speaking, he was bound by nothing. The cells that made him up first made up organs, which could make suggestions to the broader organism that was himself, and he did not have to do anything to prolong their function. He was going to, of course. He wanted to, but it was a choice.

The function of trust was, ultimately, the same choice. Survival. He could be self-reliant, but not exist in isolation. And Cecil would be a good ally to have. People listened to Cecil. Plenty of people already trusted him. And, oh, he had that voice, that smooth and sonorous voice, Carlos wouldn't mind hearing it - just for himself, maybe.

But that was not a scientific line of inquiry, and Carlos was thinking about science.

Carlos added one more point to the center of the diagram.

Time slows down when we are together.

[valtsv]

no one: ... james: i have to make this potentially mundane post funny as all shit or i will die

if i stop being funny i will literally die because people will get tired of me being so annoying and form an angry mob outside my home

“no one: (your name):” asks

[girlbefore]

tenrose and nightmares (I’m a masochist)

babe, aren’t we all

tread lightly on my ground

ao3 link

Rose shot up out of bed, her hair plastered to her foreheadwith sweat. The nightmare was coming more and more often, and each time it hurtmore. Tonight, she awoke with a physical pain in her stomach. Rose sighed, andpulled herself out of bed, she was too afraid to fall back to sleep, for fearof the horrible things she saw in her dreams.

She snuck into the bathroom and ran some water to wash herface. She didn’t really need to be quiet, The Doctor slept like a rock, but sheknew if he did wake up, he’d know she’d had a nightmare.

He always insisted she tell him anything that made heruncomfortable. “The side effects of our kind of travel can be dangerous,” he’dtold her. But Rose didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to tell him how oftenshe saw his body, laid out and bleeding, too far from home for them to ever survive.The sheer amount of times she’d watched The Doctor be injured and without a cure,Rose didn’t want to know. But she did. She kept a tally behind a painting inher room. Two hundred and sixty-three times now, the first one coming soon aftershe’d begun traveling with The Doctor, back when he wore leather and didn’tspend as much time on his hair.

The water had been running for far too long, so she splashedwater onto her face and turned off the tap, resolving herself to go to thelibrary, finding a good book would keep her awake long enough to put thenightmare out of her mind. She returned to her room to get a robe, but jumpedwhen she discovered The Doctor holding the painting that hung right where her tallywas kept, his back to the door as he stared at the wall.

“What is this?” he asked, not even turning around to look ather. “It’s not a trip tracker, we’ve been a lot more places than this, it’s nota tracker of days you’ve been traveling with me, you’re one hundred and sixdays off.” The Doctor spun around to face her, the painting still clutched inhis hands. “What are you tracking?” he repeated.

Rose bit her lip and sat down on her bed, pulling the duvetover her shoulders as The Doctor continued to stare a her.

“Nightmares.” He said it simply, like it was plain as day. “You’vebeen having nightmares. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rose sighed. “If I told you, I’d have to tell you what theywere about, and I don’t want to think about that.”

The Doctor came and sat next to her. ”We don’t have to talk aboutit. I can look, if you’d like?”

“Not tonight, Doctor, not tonight.”

The Doctor nodded and stood up to leave Rose, to head backto the console room, but Rose grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

And though he maintained he could refuse her, he never did.

[dukeofstratford]

hm...11-13. a ship of ur choosing

HELLO I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THIS I AM SO SORRY

Hmm… let’s do Viola and Orsino because they’re adorable and they deserve more love.

11. Who tops?

I have next to no knowledge about the top/bottom dynamic but I think Orsino is more of a top than Vi.

12. Who initiates kisses?

They’re about equal in this regard because they’re both romantic dorks.

13. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Orsino! He’s much better at taking the initiative.

Ask me OTP questions!

[martindykewood]

two very important people were born today!!!!!!! the first person is very dear to me and has impacted not only me, but society in innumerable ways with the things they wrote and the philosophies those writings held. western culture, including theatre and literature, wouldn't be the same without them. the other person born today was william shakespeare. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY PEEJ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

LUCY!!!!!!!! ilysm thank you!!!!!

[martindykewood]

shakescene replied to your post “stereotypicality replied to your photoset: i made...”

the actors about to kiss david tennant: it is essential that i kiss this woman

david, about to do a scene with literally anybody: wait where’s the kiss?

director: what kiss? there’s no kiss in this scene.

david: i don’t understand those words in that order.