Hudscnwilliams​:

if you could trade places with any of the fourth years, who would it be?

“ugh, this is so hard, but lemme just say that i thought a lot about who’d i want to take my place because i could trade places with any of these theatre nerds and have a fuckin’ ball. but who would really benefit from having mine? and that’s how i landed on my pride and joy, jason palmer. is this cheating because he’s my brother? i don’t care. i would want him to just let loose if we traded places; i’ve already done an alphabet’s worth of drugs and broken some laws; like, there isn’t much he could do that would surprise me. i just feel like he’s holding back on me all the time, and...honestly, i feel guilty about that. a lot. especially because i know i wouldn’t be here without him.”

a pause.

“ha. but yeah, if we got caught up in some freaky friday shit, i would totally facebook stalk our old classmates and tell some people off, tell hudson and helen i’m in love with them both to (hopefully) start some drama, audition for the lead role in our last production just to prove a point, call up mom and pops to announce i’m cutting them off and moving to France after graduation, and then snoop in mathias’ room to find evidence that he definitely killed orson so that i wouldn’t have to worry about the watch anymore.”

@pvlmer

me on the surface: who trying to get smoked OUT

me on the inside: these vices are a temporary substitute for the feeling of contentment I so dearly long for

me deeeeeeeper on the inside: im trying get SMOKED OUT BOOYYYYYYYY

Send 📱 To Find Out About My Muse's Phone

What ringtone my muse has set for yours:

What contact photo my muse has set for yours:

What my muse thinks of the way yours texts:

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How often our muses text:

How often our muses call:

Does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours:

Last text sent from my muse to yours:

where: courtyard between FAB & alderidge hall; when: tuesday afternoon, before the read-through; who: @joseqhine​.

as usual for someone who has an unhealthy dependence on drugs to get through each day, nate is outside smoking before the cast’s call time  —  just something to take the edge off. he places his copy of macbeth down to stub out the cigarette when he looks up and sees a familiar face. he bursts into laughter when he sees her. josie’s the kind of person that nate didn’t ever get along with; and looking at her, it still blows his mind that she and mads were ever close. he thinks she’ll probably walk by and ignore him, but nate just can’t let this opportunity pass him up. “what’s up, lady ‘duff? memorize that scene yet?"

ofmadsle​:

It seems like Nate and her had the same idea, though she didn’t expect to find anyone outside yet. She needed a moment, a breather to herself. So much happened before the break, with Orson’s verbal take down against her to his damned death, who knows what happened in between? She wasn’t sure how she could show her face, when she was sure every anxiety she felt was written all over it. Mads supposes she should be grateful that the ball was a masquerade after all. 

Still, she’s glad to find Nate, though she supposes she’s caught him in a private moment. There’s an urge to make a joke- is that the original Augustus Waters monologue?- but she holds her wit in for once. Instead, she makes her step a bit louder, hoping he’d hear her so she wasn’t catching him completely off guard. She racks her brain, wondering what comes next, but all she could remember was Romeo’s next line. Clearly, she wasn’t the Friar. “Good morrow, father.” She smiles softly, grateful for a friendly face. 

seeing mads always lifts nate’s spirits, so it’s easy for him to smile back at her and respond so easily, “benedicite.” to be honest, he probably could’ve done that whole scene by heart — there was something about ro & jules that just got to him. nate welcomes her company with open arms, because in situations like these, two was always better than one. it’s hard to be left alone with his thoughts for long periods of time. with mads there, nate manages to forget about the detectives, orson, and the long night ahead of them, if only temporarily.

— ✶

“come on mads, you know we’re basically two-thirds of the weird sisters in the living flesh. think about it: we strut onstage with our sexy beards, our couplet rhyming, and our — arguably — wicked ways, and then vanish before the real tragic shit goes down. it’s a no-brainer.” it’s a few days later after all the events from the masque ball and heidi’s announcement of their final play, and nate is, for lack of a better phrase, fucking thrilled. on this particular afternoon he has made plans to hang out with mads, and unfortunately for her, he hasn’t shut up yet.

“so, what do you think — do you love it? do you hate it? are you gonna kick my ass right now?”

text → nate & zahra

zahra: thank you ❤️ i'm really happy. it's not macbeth but it's still better than i would've expected tbh

zahra: i would've killed to be a fly on her wall when she read your text

zahra: sorry, is it still too soon to use that expression? fuck, i would've *loved to be a fly on her wall

zahra: completely sold on crime noir. macbeth meets "the big sleep"! i'd look so good in a giant fedora & trench coat

nate: well it's a good thing heidi isn't that hobbs fella. she actually knows what talent looks like. oops

nate: kill 'em w/ kindness, kill 2 birds w/ 1 stone, kill time, & curiosity killed the cat are all great expressions and deserve more, so no, pls live your life w/ no fear

nate: tbh i think we'd ALL look good in a giant fedora & a trench coat. plus if those detectives ever come back, it'd be one of these

nate: [ spiderman pointing at spiderman meme ]

📱

What ringtone my muse has set for yours:

this shit is bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s.

What contact photo my muse has set for yours:

What my muse thinks of the way yours texts:

nate loves how mads texts. never a dull moment, and he appreciates that.

How quickly my muse responds to your texts:

pretty soon unless he’s sleep. if he’s getting a text from mads, they’re 99% talking shit, 1% making plans to talk shit. and nate is a messy bitch who lives for drama.

How often our muses text:

i’d say every few days or so  — probably in bursts? like, tons of texting on wednesday and then not another burst until saturday. but that’s because nate calls.

How often our muses call:

often! nate doesn’t think texts truly encapsulate mads’ voice. so he facetimes her, especially if she hates it.

Does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours:

nah, but then he forgets to call her back. every. single. time.

Last text sent from my muse to yours:

[ sent, 10:39 p.m. ] : wanna get fucked uuuuuuup tonight???

[ sent, 10:42 p.m. ] : or u could keep me company while i make some edibles. i’ve got a fancy brownie mix & a lot of shit to get off my chest.

*gets caught pickpocketing cos i keep saying ‘yoink’ outloud when i do it*

harryzhangs​:

as enjoyable as harry finds the winter masque every year, even she needs a moment away from the crowds every now and then. tonight, it’s reached beyond a simple need for some fresh air– the constant presence of the detectives, making her paranoid that they’re watching her every move, has caused a nervous stir within harry that makes it difficult for her to keep her usual composure. she should be worry-free and having a great time catching up with her friends, but instead she’s worried about suspicion and fractures among her peers and the can of red spray paint wrapped in a plastic shopping bag under her bed. 

she exits the refectory and slips off her heels, stretching her toes against the wet grass (that’s the funny thing about washington– everything is always rain-soaked. harry’s californian sensibilities still aren’t used to it). it’s cold, but in a bracing, refreshing way that harry doesn’t really mind at the moment. she takes a small wander, eyes fixed on the stars above her (the ones she can actually see through the clouds, at least), hardly noticing she’s coming up on nate until she’s just a few feet away from his back.

“two such opposèd kings encamp them still. in man as well as herbs– grace and rude will. fuck, i skipped a line, didn’t i?” harry grins, folding her arms against the chill. “well, i guess that spoils that i won’t be playing friar laurence tonight.”

when he hears harry interjecting with more friar lines, nate lets out a breath of relief. while he hadn’t necessarily gone outside to be alone all night (just a quick sec to catch his breath), nate had a split second of worry that whoever joined him was going to kill his vibe before it even got started. harry wasn’t one of those people. with the friar’s weed soliloquy replaying in his head, nate considers that he’s done his best to stay away from the alcohol tonight - this performance was too important, given the circumstances  - and he should be rewarded before he has to go change into costume. fuck it.

nate laughs and turns to face harry, “aww, that sucks. well, please know that i’d pay good money to watch you transform into the friar any day. monastic tunic and all.” when the lighter ignites, nate rolls the joint between his fingers until the flame bites into the paper. at the sight of the burn, nate slips his lighter into his back pocket and glances over harry. before he raises the joint to his lips, he motions to her bare feet, “your night must be going as well as mine if the heels have come off,” he takes a hit and then extends the joint to her. harry looks like she could probably use something to take the edge off. it could be a long night.

“you want it in? i don’t have cooties. pinky swear.”