Okay so I have to go do stuff but I’m gonna leave y’all with a story
I knew a kid in high school who was kind of a stoner/slacker type, right? We all know someone like this. And one day I mention Dave Strider in class and he looks up and goes “THE AUTHOR OF SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF???” and I go ??? and he just goes on this rave about how much he loves SBaHJ and how he checks for updates every week and I asked if he liked Homestuck and he didn’t know what Homestuck was.
That Lily Evans and James Potter (and their relationship) are very similar to Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice?
• Lily and Elizabeth both come from similar financial backgrounds: not impoverished, but not rich either.
• Lily and Elizabeth are both head-strong and stubborn, but also extremely clever.
• James and Darcy are both filthy rich.
• James and Darcy both come off as arrogant, but it’s mainly to mask their shyness and insecurity.
• James and Darcy both fell in love with their respective partners first and they both initially kept it secret.
• Lily and Elizabeth both initially reject their respective partners because of their perceived arrogance.
• James and Darcy both profess their love for the women and are initially rejected.
• Lily and Elizabeth both finally fell in love with the men after realizing that their arrogance was just a facade and they had more in common than initially thought.
It had only been a week, thought Hades. One sodding week. And really, wasn’t that just the kicker? He’d had the gall – no, the audacity – to take one whole week off work, and this was what he got in return. Seven days of sunning himself in the Bahamas, trying to take his mind off the constant wails of the dead, and this was the price. A golden tan that would be the envy of Zeus and Aphrodite for weeks to come, and this.
The woman cleared her throat, shifting her weight in the boat so that it rocked on the river Styx in an ominous manner.
“That’ll be one coin, love,” she said, disinterestedly inspecting what looked like a broken gemstone on one of her pink nails.
“Right,” said Hades, “there’s a problem with that. Two, actually.”
The woman sighed, pushing a hand through pristine platinum hair in agitation. “Look, if you don’t have the fee, then – ”
“No, it’s not that,” Hades interrupted. “It’s – look, can I speak to Persephone about this?”
The woman frowned and folded her arms. Her bangles jingled as she did so. “No coin, no voyage across the Styx into the realm of the dead,” she said. “I can call Persephone, but I don’t think she’ll appreciate it, to be honest. She’s got an appointment.”
Hades inhaled, counted to five, and exhaled again. He could see his breath in the cold underground air. “An appointment.”
“Yes,” the woman affirmed, nodding. “Something to do with her husband coming home, wanting to surprise him with some new hairstyle. I hear he’s been basking in warmer climes, left her to do all the housekeeping and then some. It’s all right for some, innit?”
Hades cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he said, abashed. “He does have quite a busy job, I think. He hasn’t taken time off in about four centuries.”
“I don’t even get a lunch break,” the woman countered, pursing her lips, which, Hades noticed, were painted a rather odd shade of frosted pink. “The dead wait for no man. Or woman. Or sandwich and a little sit down, apparently.”
“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hades agreed. “But you see, the person who usually does your job – and where is he, by the way? – he doesn’t actually need to eat.”
The woman frowned. “We can’t all be Kate Moss.”
“I don’t even know who that is,” Hades sighed. “But I really do need to speak to Persephone, because I don’t have any money on me at all. I don’t carry change.”
The woman nodded sympathetically. “See,” she said, “I’ve been hassling Persephone to get one of those card machines. Contactless payment, that’s the best thing really, but just a normal credit card thing would be fine. No-one carries cash any more, do they? Not unless they need to scratch off the little bit on a scratch card, and honestly, I think that’s a dying market and all. It’s all online, innit?”
Hades blinked. The woman stared up at him, waiting for an answer to what Hades was only now realising was a genuine question.
“Yes,” he offered meekly, and the woman beamed.
“See, I knew I was onto something,” she said. She gestured towards the front of the boat, which sagged somewhat sadly forwards with the shift in weight. “It could go there, you see? Then, all the people could queue up and it would be a much more efficient process.” She hummed. “I’m wasted as a psychopomp, honestly. Customer service was always my forté. That and nail art.”
Again, the wait. The eager stare. Hades thought about death.
“Yes,” he repeated.
The woman grinned again, apparently delighted. Then, pretending to stealthily look around, she leaned closer to Hades, and began speaking in a stage whisper.
“Look,” she said. “The boss won’t like this much, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”
“Technically correct,” agreed Hades, because it was.
“So,” the woman continued, “I’ll let you across this time, free of charge, on the condition that if you’re ever saved from this realm by one of those do-gooder hero types, you pay the fee twice on your return. Deal?”
“Deal,” said Hades, “although I have to warn you that it’s very unlikely that any hero will ever try and save me.”
“You never know,” the woman said, steering the boat closer to the shore so that Hades could step on board. “We get all sorts rescued from down here. Just two days ago, I managed to stop this pair of teenagers. Trying to keep their love eternal, they said. Bollocks to that, I said. No love is eternal. Just ask my friend Janet, I said; she was married twice. Love of her life, Jason was, until he fucked off to Malaga with bloody Helen, of all people. Pete wasn’t much better. Treated her like a princess, he did, until she lost her job at the insurance agency and – ”
“I think we’re here,” said Hades politely as the boat drew closer towards the shore of the opposite bank, and the woman stopped.
“You’re right,” she said. “We are. Time flies, doesn’t it?”
“In temporally disconnected otherworlds, generally,” Hades said, and stepped out of the boat and straight into Persephone.
“Hello dear,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek, once she had disentangled her poncho from his kilt. “Did you have a nice time?”
“Your hair is green,” Hades replied, and Persephone grinned, making Hades’ heart flutter like he was an extra in Teen Wolf.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“I am going to show you exactly how much I like it,” Hades replied, thinking of the tub of cream cheese hidden under his bed, “as soon as you tell me where the Hades Charon has got to.”
“Oh,” said Persephone, frowning. “I gave him the week off. He hasn’t had a day off in four hundred years, you see, so I said he could take that trip to Atlantis that he’s always wanted to take. I didn’t tell him that Google Maps seemed to suggest that he might have a hard time finding a Travel Lodge there, or at least one without an excessively large indoor swimming pool.”
“I love you immeasurably,” said Hades, “but who is this woman?”
“Sharon,” said the woman, doing a dainty little finger wave. “Hiya.”
“Oh,” said Hades. “That name can’t be a coincidence. Are you related to Charon, by any chance? Great niece? Great great great granddaughter? Aunt?”
“I just picked her because I thought it was funny, to be honest,” said Persephone.
“I worked really hard on my CV,” protested Sharon.
“She doesn’t even get lunch breaks,” said Hades.
“I haven’t had a day off in five and a half months,” said Persephone.
“I quit,” said Sharon. "I’m leaving this boat here and I’m going back to the salon. I got a coffee break there, at least. All this psychopomp stuff is doing my nut in.”
With that, she stormed off, leaving a trail of muddy heel prints behind her.
As the sound of her footsteps quietened down, Hades and Persephone looked at the empty boat, bobbing morosely on the velvet waters of the Styx. Devoid of the dead or the living, it really did just look like a normal boat; wooden slats for seats, a woodworm rotted prow, one oar missing. It hardly screamed ‘vessel of the dead’.
things blue sargent has in her college dorm room freshman year:
a new paper tree forest on her wardrobe door. this one is made out of construction paper, magazines, and old newspapers, and it’s a specific kind of forest. there’s blue lilies falling from the top, past the sprawling trees and into the pond full of red-bellied fish below.
maura’s tarot deck. blue had tried to refuse the present, as she has no use for a tarot deck, but maura had said daughter in a tone that implied blue was breaking some kind of sacred emotional ritual, and blue had said mother in a way that said a hug and some burnt brownies probably would’ve done the trick but fine, thanks, okay, and then blue had tucked the deck into her bag and they’d both giggled at each other for getting misty-eyed.
on her desk, she’s got a collection of stones–some of them are calla’s, given back to blue. (it’s not like blue’s thoughts are still coming off of them, calla says. blue squeezes one tightly, thinking i love you; you’re my mom too; i love you i love you i love you, and leaves it in calla’s favorite purse.)
in her desk drawer, blue has persphone’s dissertation. she stole it from her room before she left fox way. she hasn’t read it yet, but sometimes it makes her feel better, knowing that some new words of persphone’s she hasn’t heard yet are just a few feet away. she also has persphone’s favorite knitting needles, which blue is using to make a rather frumpy sweater in her down time.
nail polish from orla, in violent orange and neon blue and forest green. (orla also gave her a crash course on mixed drinks, the numbers of eight different siblings of orla’s friends who are attending her college, and the dress that blue has been trying to steal out of orla’s closet since orla outgrew it four years ago.)
a box full of letters from her boys. it’s adam that she writes on a weekly basis–he needs it most, she thinks, because ronan’s got matthew and noah, gansey’s got his family, and blue has hers. he writes back every time, usually matching her letters for length.
a cardboard miniature of 300 fox way. blue didn’t see gansey set it down on her nightstand the day he helped her move in, but she notices it as soon as they’ve said their goodbyes and blue headed back to her room. the detail in it is what she would expect of gansey, and it warms her heart to see it–her home, her past, her family, recreated with love from the person she knows will be part of her future.
a ball of yarn that never seems to end, and manages to change colors and thickness to fit whatever blue wants to knit or crochet at the time. she hadn’t thought much of it when ronan tossed it at her as she packed her bags, but it’s proven to be endlessly delightful (and baffling, if you’re her roommate).
dozens and dozens and dozens of pictures, all taped to the wall above her bed. her and orla when they were little girls, tucked into a pillow fort and giving maura identical petulant get out looks. maura and a five-year-old blue both bundled up in thick jackets and chunky hats, cheeks red from the cold, beaming at the camera. maura, calla, and persphone flushed and laughing as they played their drunken guessing games. blue and cialina flipping off the camera in their nino’s aprons. gansey, looking into the distance like some hero posing for a sculpture. gansey, asleep on a textbook with his glasses half off of his face and his jaw slack. ronan petting chainsaw’s beak. ronan giving blue a piggyback ride when she sprained her ankle. noah’s face when he’d looked in his room and seen that they’d decked it out in 2005-era sk8r punk gear. adam scrunching up his nose at the presence of the camera. adam, ronan, gansey, and blue the day of aglionby’s graduation, all of them grinning at the camera, all of their arms looped around each other.
Getting friends in to musicals is hard because when they ask what it’s about you have to be like “15 year olds having sex” or “a plant from outer space that takes over the world” or “teenagers killing people for fun” or “Alexander Hamilton”
“7 minorities deal with crushing poverty and the looming specter of death by being a dick to their landlord”
“Sesame Street, but like… for adults”
“This one time in the 1830s a bunch of college students decided to fight the entire French government and…it didn’t go very well.”
“A nun and a retired naval officer fight Nazis with cute kids and the power of song.“
“A couple of guys stage the first-ever musical, and William Shakespeare is kind of a dickwad.”
“A transwoman rock singer recounts her escape from East Berlin in a case of WORST TIMING EVER.”
“It’s based on a John Waters movie…no not Pink Flamingos.”
“It’s the Bible by the guy that did Cats. No, no, it’s like…really angry.”
“Even if you’re struggling with finding your place in the world, you shouldn’t let a group of actors convince you to set yourself on fire.”
“Have you ever wondered how many people have tried to kill the president?”
“How to get away with murder, the speakeasy AU.”
“A only marginally accurate recounting of the opening of Japan to the west, with experimental musical styles meant to imitate the consequent shifting of Japanese culture, told with as little recognizable plot as possible.”
“It’s about how trains probably feel.”
“It’s a guy who’s, like, excessively single and all his friends are married and kind of invasive about it, tbh.”
simon: how can clary not know how I feel? I mean, the things I do for her, the way I act around her, it’s so obvious isn’t it? wouldn’t ANYONE notice if someone was IN LOVE with them?
