#but i wish i could have studied hamlet........

[whoslaurapalmer]

I think we should always be doing productions of hamlet bc every time I watch another one there's more I understand about it. like there's so much to pay attention to and process in the words that I still miss a lot of things and every time i see more!!!!! and I always want to see it again!!!!! see more interpretations!!!!!!!!!! it's what I love about shakespeare so so so much, that there's so many different ways to do it and so many things to talk about

[a-passing-storm]

I need to study for Comparative Government and maybe read a summary of Fight Club* but instead I am scrolling through TMA fanart and planning a concert trip for tomorrow.

*Fight Club, because while I've read Hamlet a million times and I've read a lot of other literature recently, FC is the thing that I've spent the most time analyzing and remember character names well enough in to use it on the AP Lit exam. I have been told it counts as A Work Of Literary Merit by my very conservative AP Lit teacher, so she better be right.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Literary

Requested Here!

Pairing: college!Victor Vale x fem!reader (literature student)

Summary: You take it upon yourself to show Victor the beauty of literature.

Warnings: fluff, spoilers and references to: The Outsiders, A Merchant in Venice, Invisible Man, The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Lord of the Rings, An Ideal Husband, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Hamlet, Frankenstein, The Most Dangerous Game, Pride and Prejudice. I also reference some of Schwab's other books

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Victor Vale Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Victor is leaning over a book, scribbling notes every few lines.

“What are you reading?” you ask quietly, sitting beside him.

He flips the book up, showing you the cover of one of his many textbooks.

“Hmm. I thought you were actually reading.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re studying.”

“What’s the difference?”

You sigh, shaking your head as you murmur, “Maybe the two different world we lived in weren’t so different. We saw the same sunset.”

Victor ignores you, returning to his notes on adrenal responses.

“Vic, what’s the last book you read?” you ask. “I mean, what’s the last thing you read that wasn’t a textbook, required reading?”

“I think you know.”

“You really need to stop reading your parents’ books, but that’s not my point here. What’s the last fiction piece?”

“I don’t read fiction.”

Your jaw drops, shock evident in your features as you fail to speak. Finally finding your voice, you momentarily forget you’re in a library as your voice raises to repeat, “You don’t read fiction? Why?!”

“Nothing to learn from it,” Victor replies with a shrug.

“Vic.”

He glances at you as a few people whisper for you to be quiet.

“Why read something that isn’t true, that you can’t learn from?” Victor asks.

“Who says you can’t learn from fiction? Just because it didn’t happen doesn’t mean it can’t teach you something. We learn from trees, fish, paintings… literature is no different.”

Victor shakes his head, and as you look at your assigned reading, you realize you must do something.

“Meet me in your dorm after your class tomorrow,” you whisper before standing. “I have a lot to teach you.”

Victor watches you leave, shaking his head before trying to focus again. He has trouble remembering how you became friends sometimes, but then he remembers how you met…

✯✯✯✯✯

1 Year Ago

Someone decided to put Shakespeare on the top shelf. You sigh, looking around to see if anyone is nearby to help you.

“Who puts one of the most-read authors in history up so high?” you ask under your breath.

Stepping back to gauge if you could jump and reach it, you run into someone. Warm hands land on your biceps for a moment before dropping away.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize.

When you turn around, his arm is over your head.

“Which one?” he asks.

You blink at him, growing distracted, before whispering, “A Merchant in Venice. Please.”

He nods, pulling it off the shelf and lowering it between your chest and his.

“Thank you.”

He nods again and steps back before you rush to introduce yourself.

“Victor,” he offers.

“Nice to meet you, Victor. I’ll see you around.”

His pale brows furrow and you immediately decide you will see him again, no matter what it takes.

✯✯✯✯✯

Present Day

“You’re late,” you chide as Victor enters his dorm.

“How did you get in here?” Victor asks, ignoring your comment.

“Eli keeps a key hidden under the doormat.”

“Idiot,” Victor mumbles.

“I concur, but we’re not here to talk about Eli. In fact, I wish I could forget his name.”

Victor neither agrees nor disagrees, but asks, “What are you here to do?”

You raise your brows, smiling as you tease, “What do you want me to do?”

“I’d like you to leave,” Victor replies flatly. “But it seems unlikely.”

“What and how much had I lost by trying to do only what was expected of me instead of what I myself had wished to do?”

“What is that?”

“Invisible Man, H.G. Wells,” you reply, smiling.

“Why do you make everything about books?”

“Look, I’m here to convince you that fiction, that literature, is beautiful. Vic, there are more lives in literature than we could dream of living; whatever you want to do, learn, be, it’s all in there.”

“Is this going to become another debate on whether pride or prejudice is more detrimental to character development?”

You sigh, looking at the stack of books you brought. Victor watches you, and when he realizes that you’re serious, he removes his trench coat and joins you on the couch.

“You have ten minutes,” Victor tells you.

“Okay, then I get to ask questions, too,” you counter. “So, first, what is your issue with fiction?”

“It’s fake, unbelievable.”

“They don’t have to be about an immortal woman finding her reincarnated lover or parallel earths. Being made up and being unbelievable aren’t inherently connected. Middle-Earth isn’t real, but the imagery makes it realistic.”

“One out of a million, well, I’m convinced,” Victor says, hitting his thighs.

You stretch your arm out past him to stop him from standing. “What kind of fiction did you read before coming to this conclusion?”

“Uh, I remember reading fantasy in middle school.”

Waiting for more, you ask, “And?”

“That’s it.”

Chuckling, you lean toward him. “Literature isn’t about one type of story, Vic. You don’t have to choose a genre and stick to it. No two books are the same because no two people or stories are the same. There isn’t fiction or nonfiction, mysteries or romance, you can read any and everything you want. It’s both/and, not either/or.”

“If your argument is now ‘read what you want to read,’ why can’t I stick to my textbooks?”

You groan, laying your head against Victor’s shoulder. “Because I can’t rest until I help you see why literature is so beautiful and impactful. Why do you think I’m studying it, giving my life to it? Because it changed my life, Victor, and if you give it a chance it can change yours, too.”

“Then what is it you want to do?”

“Is this an invitation?”

Victor sighs as he nods, his shoulder warm from your touch.

“Then, I’m going to teach you and you’re going to be patient and give it a chance.”

“Fine. Where do we start?”

“I mean, your parental trauma is begging for a look at Hamlet, but we’ll ease into it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You intentionally left a copy of Invisible Man by H.G. Wells on his table when you gathered your things after visiting Victor. While you walk to the library to meet him, you hope he’s read it.

“Hey,” you greet softly.

Victor nods, sliding an anatomy book onto the return shelf.

“Glad I caught you while your friends are busy,” you tease, taking the chair closest to him.

“Alone—it is wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end.”

“You read it. Even though it’s completely unbelievable and unrealistic?”

“All men, however highly educated, retain some superstitious inklings.”

Your eyes widen as you realize that he not only read it in its entirety but enjoyed it enough to remember it.

“Racism, symbolism, foreshadowing,” Victor lists off. “It wasn’t completely incapable of teaching something.”

“Did you just admit you were wrong?”

“No.”

“So, are you open to more?”

Victor shrugs, and you slide a worn copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles to Victor. He picks it up, touching the cracked spine before looking at you.

“Sherlock is famous,” you answer, smiling brightly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Stapleton was a deceiver,” Victor says, rushing to your side as you exit class.

“What?” you reply, surprised to see him.

“The hound- it’s a symbol of his deception and the entire time the moor is symbolizing the cloudiness of the mystery because it wasn’t a real mystery. Stapleton’s death was completely avoidable, yet he isn’t even the one to be attacked by the hound.”

You stop, grabbing Victor’s coat to stop him as well.

“You read the entire book last night?”

“I- I couldn’t put it down,” Victor admits lowly.

“Do you see what I mean now?”

“I’m- I’m starting to. Uh, what next?”

“I don’t have another book for you right now. We can go get-“

“Yes. Please,” Victor adds.

“Ready to try fantasy again?” you ask with a smile.

Victor inhales deeply before nodding. “I trust you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Victor closes the book, he stares at the cover.

“Well?” you ask. “Don’t say anything bad about Aragorn, that’s all I ask.”

“He and Legolas portray a really- a perfect friendship,” he answers.

“Amity.” Victor glances up at you, and you explain, “Amity is usually associated with Shakespeare. His male friendships were built on this mutual respect and beneficial relationship qualities, but Tolkien used it in his creation of the Fellowship as well.

“I think…” you pause as you look at your overflowing bookshelf. “It’s time for a play.”

“Please no Shakespeare.”

“Okay, one, we need to get you over your irrational fear of the Bard.”

“It’s not irrational, he makes me want to puke.”

“Because he makes you feel things; must be weird for you.”

Victor rolls his eyes, and you smile as you find what you’re looking for.

“Oscar Wilde. An Ideal Husband.”

“What’s it about?”

“An ideal husband.”

Victor huffs, and you quote, “Seriousness would be very unbecoming of him. Pray be as trivial as you can.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Victor, the point of books is to read it the way you’re supposed to read it. And if you want to talk after finding out what it’s about – in your eyes – then we can. As you gain experience it will be easier to find the common ‘accepted’ views too. But the point is to read for yourself.”

“Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes.”

You gasp, rushing to stand over Victor. “You’ve read Wilde before!”

“Just Dorian Gray when I was a kid. Thought it might help me escape the cookie cutter I kept getting shoved into.” Noticing your smile, Victor asks, “What?”

“You’re getting symbolic and theme-y. My literature lessons are rubbing off on you.”

“Something certainly is,” Victor replies, looking at your leg pressed to his.

“Are you ready to admit I’m right?”

“Not if it means the lessons end.”

“Oh, never. We’re a two-man book club now, Vic.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Are you here to speak to me as Lord Goring speaks to Mabel?” you ask, blocking the doorway.

“More like Mrs. Cheveley to Robert.”

“If you keep using literature references, I’m going to fall in love with you, Vic.”

“I have a request,” Victor says, drawing your attention (and his) from your comment.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He moves to your bookshelf after you open the door, quickly finding what he’s looking for. He holds it up, and you cross your arms.

“You sure?” After he nods, you say, “Go for it. It’s short, read it here if you want.”

Victor doesn’t have to be told twice, tossing his coat over the back of your couch and making himself comfortable with a copy of Hamlet.

✯✯✯✯✯

“This is too long,” Victor reads.

“It shall be to the barber’s, with your beard,” you reply.

“Don’t spoil it,” Victor reprimands.

“Though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Within a few hours, Victor is done with the play and pacing.

“Still want to read your parents’ books?” you ask.

“Yeah. But- if Hamlet can deal with an actual ghost, I guess their passive aggressive advice isn’t so bad.”

You chuckle before pointing out, “Hamlet was troubled when Horatio, Marcellus, and Barnardo told him. If it assumes my noble father’s person, I’ll speak to it isn’t an outright acknowledgment of who it is. It isn’t until he talks to the ghost that he seeks revenge on his uncle.”

“Which applies to me in no way,” Victor argues.

“What does Hamlet do to get revenge?”

Sighing, Victor answers, “Nothing.”

“Hamlet changes his reaction because of his morals and his thoughts. You can change your view of your parents like that, too.”

Victor sighs, and you see his poorly hidden smile after you say, “Though I personally won’t decide to forgive them for what they did to you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What’s your favorite book?” Victor asks.

You answer without hesitation, then ask, “Why?”

“Can I read it?”

“Sure. If you admit you were wrong.”

“I was wrong. Literature can be good, and it is possible to learn from fiction.” He quiets to add, “And you have good taste.”

You lean closer, turning your ear toward him as you ask him to repeat that.

 “I’m not your Lord Goring or your Mr. Darcy or any other dashing soulmate,” he says.

“No, you’re not,” you agree. “You’re my Victor Vale.”

Victor’s phone buzzes, and he rolls his eyes as he reads Eli’s message.

“Is he still working on the EO thing?” you ask. When he nods, you murmur, “Someone never read Frankenstein.”

“Would I like it?”

Nodding, you sit beside Victor. “Be careful with Eli, though. Books can teach a lot, but anything short of Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game won’t prepare you to deal with him.”

“What’s that about?”

You consider not telling him, but he nudges you with his elbow, and you concede. “A man who hunts other men for sport.”

Victor hums, looking back at his phone. “Can I admit something else?”

“Depends.”

“I didn’t lie about my thoughts on reading, but I learned something else.”

“When?”

“The week you forced me to read Pride and Prejudice.”

“You learned that you must be in want of a wife. I suppose I could be convinced to consider a proposal.”

“No. Darcy taught- he said, ‘My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me.’”

Twisting toward Victor, you lay your hand over his heart. “The only people for me are the mad ones.”

“Is that a yes? A maybe?”

“It’s a yes,” you whisper. “I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“I told you; we’re easing you into it,” you remind him, kissing his jaw and chuckling when his breath catches.

Bonus: 10 Years Later

“What happened in Merit, Victor?” you demand.

Victor stiffens at your use of his name, no ‘Vic’ or pet name. Rather than telling you the exact truth, he takes your hand and says, “I was benevolent and good: misery made me a fiend. Make me happy and I shall again be virtuous.”

You relax, pulling him close as you reply, “We’re not having the argument about you being a monster again, but you know I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”

Victor returns your hug, and you feel a small paperback in his pocket, smiling at how much has changed.

“The world is made up of two classes – the hunters and the huntees. No one will blame you for this, Vic, but it will never be the same.”

“I have you and your books,” Victor replies. “There is no one more equipped for change than us.”

“I can’t believe you used to be against fiction and now you carry around a barely legible copy of my favorite book.”

“What can I say? It is love. Love, and only love. For both of us a new life is beginning.”

[vivienne-writes]

My Little Fairy 🧚🏻

Summary: Being one of the youngest in the family, Prince Garreth is far down the line to inherit the throne and is more than content to be left to his potion studies. However, his parents have decided to marry him off to a princess he's never met. Or... has he?

AO3: x

A/N: Here's my late submission for Weasley Wednesday! I wrote all this in one go. My brain feels like a sponge. The drawing above was based on a scene I omitted from the story cause it's right after the wedding, and we all know what happens after a wedding 👀 The princess is unnamed, so readers can base her off their MCs, but I had to give her a face so here's my OC. I'm absolutely in love with Oscar Weasley as well (all ya'll in the discord are to blame) so he's definitely making an appearance here, along with a few other made up characters to pad the story.

All was quiet in Prince Garreth's room save for the sound of bottles and flasks tinkling as he examined one after the other, debating which ones to take and which to leave behind. They were filled with an assortment of potions and ingredients alike, but far too many for the trip to his new home. Aurora. A neighboring country that prided itself on its scholars and academic breakthroughs in astronomy and ancient magic. 

He had been there once before, on a trip with his father to forge an alliance between their two nations. It was nothing like his home, Camellia, a land of sloping green fields, lush rivers, and forests teeming with beasts and critters. Home to humble hamlets and cities best known for their bountiful trade in rare magical ingredients and plants. No, Aurora was situated high in the mountains to get a clear view of the stars and the heavens, the altitude keeping the nation chilly and brisk for a large part of the year. 

Garreth did not mind the weather so much, nor its people. But then again, he had only been a child when he had visited. No more than a boy of eight, if he recalled correctly. But the purpose of that trip had been successful, and Aurora had deigned to ally with Camellia. However, it wasn't until quite recently that Garreth learned of the terms of their alliance. Aurora sought to solidify the alliance by way of marriage, and he was the unlucky one chosen to wed their only princess when she finally came of age. Why him and not any of his other brothers? Garreth had no clue. He'd ask his father, the King of Camellia, but Garreth was still too shaken up about being kept in the dark for so many years that he avoided his father since.

A knock at the door dragged Garreth from his thoughts, but he didn’t deign to answer. He knew who it was, and his visitor never bothered to wait for a response anyways. 

“Garreth, are you still sulking?” Oscar asked, resting an elbow on the door handle as he watched his youngest brother take a whiff out of an unlabeled flask. Garreth gave no reply, but Oscar forged ahead, unperturbed by the other’s silence. 

“Come on, getting married isn’t all that bad. Look at Septimus! Consort to the lovely Queen of Amaryllis with five children and counting. He spends his days hunting, reading, rearing those adorable nieces and nephews of ours… I’m sure you’ll get to be Potions Master of Aurora if you please the princess well enough.”

Garreth rolled his eyes. "I'd rather be Potions Master here like I've always planned," he grumbled under his breath. 

Being one of the youngest, Garreth knew he wouldn't have any claim to the throne. Not with seven brothers and four sisters ahead of him, and he didn't want it either if, somehow, all his siblings dropped dead and gave him a clear shot at being king. Since he could learn to read, Garreth possessed immense talent and love for potions, and his parents supported his studies. They indulged him with a tower of his own, supplied him with everything and anything he could ever wish for, and placed him under the tutelage of the court's Grand Master. He was more than content to have stayed on this path, forging his life by his terms and no one else's. But he supposed there was a reason now for his parents' indulgence. Perhaps he'd go along with the marriage without complaint if they gave him everything he wanted. 

“Why can’t you marry the princess instead, Oscar?” Garreth asked, throwing his brother a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’d be able to win her over with that charm of yours.”

"Would if I could. I hear the princess is quite lovely. But father's word is law." 

Garreth returned to his packing, dejection weighing his shoulders with a slump. Oscar was right. As doting of a father the king was, there was no swaying him once an order had been decreed, and none of his brothers could save him from this miserable fate. 

Oscar regarded his brother with a sidelong glance. Out of all his siblings, he was closest to Garreth, pulling him into all sorts of mischief and saving him from them. But this was one predicament he had no hold over. He had spoken to the king about the matter more times than he could count, going so far as to argue with him. Oscar even pleaded with his mother to do something. The king loved his queen and took her word before anyone else, but she only shook her head sadly. Switching the princess' betrothed would be considered an insult, and Aurora was too great an ally to lose. 

Garreth finally looked up, staring out the window as he fought back the tears that prickled his eyes. "I just don't… understand why they'd keep this from me for so long," he finally admitted. Sure, an arranged marriage was awful in itself, but the lack of trust from his parents wounded him. "They could've told me ages ago. Kept me from believing the false truth that I had any agency of my own. It would've been easier to accept it that way." 

Oscar bit his cheek with a frown. “Perhaps they only wanted to protect you,” he answered softly, “to keep you happy as long as they could.”

Garreth scoffed. Happy. If the king and queen truly wanted their children happy, they’d let them choose a life for themselves than marry them off to strange princes and princesses. And if Garreth were to marry for himself, there was only one girl he could think of. One lovely little maiden that had haunted his dreams for years…

~~~

“Garreth? Your father has requested your presence – oh dear, he’s not in his room again.”

Lady Matilda rubbed her temple with a frustrated groan. Leave it to her youngest nephew to escape when he’s needed most. “That child’s probably wandering the grounds again,” she muttered as she closed the door behind her, head reeling with all the possible places he could be hiding in. As she turned around a corner, she nearly slipped and snapped her ankle. 

"Genevieve, what have I told you about leaving your toys in the corridor?" Lady Matilda eyed the youngest of her nieces, hiding behind a curtain, as she picked up the offending marbles strewn over the floor. 

"Aunt Matilda, I know where Gaz went," the child giggled with a toothless grin, her beautiful locks all tousled and in need of combing. "I think he went to the gardens to find lacewing flies again." 

“Just because you tattled on your brother doesn’t mean I won’t be back for you, young lady,” Lady Matilda said as she tossed the marbles back into Genevieve’s room with a wave of her wand. “And that hair better be brushed when I return.” 

“Yes, Aunt Matilda,” Genevieve pouted. 

"Now, to find that little prince," Lady Matilda sighed. 

Meanwhile, heat crept up Garreth’s neck, forcing him to tug off his sweltering vest and leaving it to fall in a crumpled heap on the grass. He’ll come back to it later. But right now, he was searching for any sign of a bowtruckle. His eldest brother William told him they liked to hide in the hedges, between the branches that provided camouflage underneath the thickly packed leaves. Garreth wondered what they looked like outside his book's diagrams and ventured out to see them. 

But the morning had gone on, and after much crawling and searching, Garreth found neither stem nor leaf of the little creatures and was beginning to turn back to the castle for a fresh glass of pumpkin juice when he heard a sharp shriek. 

"Help!" cried the girlish voice, one of his sisters most likely. Garreth sprinted around the corner and came face to face with a little lass dressed all in blue and silver with stars crisscrossing her dress. They were not the colors of his court, red and gold, which all the princes and princesses of Camellia wore. Garreth knew not where this little lady came from, but she was in dire need of assistance as a couple of naughty pixies had begun pulling her hair and clothes this way and that. 

“Leave me alone, you pesky things!" the girl cried as she swatted them away. But they returned, taunting her while pinching her skin. 

She seemed about his age, so Garreth wondered why she didn't repel them away with magic. Well, whatever the reason, he didn't think the poor thing should be left to fend for herself. So, with a flourish of his wand, Garreth sent the impish creatures flying with a repelling charm. Their teeth chattered, and their fingers clicked impudently, cursing him in a language he didn't understand as they flew off before he could repel them again. 

The girl straightened up, fixing her eyes on Garreth as she looked him up and down. "I suppose I have you to thank for that," she grinned, patting down her skirts to form some semblance of tidiness before readjusting the ribbons in her hair. “I shan’t think what would become of me if you hadn’t come along.”

She waited for his response, but Garreth stood speechless, captivated by the stars bedazzling her eyes as she looked him up and down. She was a pretty thing, not like anyone he's ever met around his father's palace. And she was very eloquent, her accent dancing with a different lilt than he was accustomed to. Having realized that he was staring, Garreth cleared his throat.

“You could’ve simply used magic to save yourself, you know,” he mumbled, keenly aware that she was staring just as intently as he was.

The girl shrugged. "I've no magic yet," she stated simply, as if that were a common occurrence, for it wasn't, at least, not in Camellia. Children began displaying their magic around five or six years of age, and this girl may have been around ten or eleven. Her eyes darted to the wand in his hand. "I see you're quite skilled already," she nodded at chin at his wand. "Have you started on lessons yet?"

"Of course," came his reply. "I'm a prince. We're taught far earlier than most." He wanted to ask why she had no magic or wand yet, but it seemed rude to ask that of someone he just met. 

The girl tossed her hair with a huff. “You’re no prince. Your clothes are all messy!”

Garreth looked down. His pants were scuffed with dirt from crawling around, and his shirt was wrinkled and creased everywhere. He even had leaves in his hair now that he brought his fingers up to push them away from his sweating forehead. Fighting the urge to blush, he bit back, "I am a prince! I –"

“If you’re a prince, then I’m a fairy,” the girl teased. There was no way this ragamuffin was a prince. Princes were supposed to be stately, well-dressed, and handsome. And although this boy before her was handsome, he was anything but stately. Well-dressed, yes, but his clothes were an utter mess. 

“Why are you even here?” Garreth demanded. 

The stars sparkled in the girl’s eyes as she beamed with excitement. “I heard there were unicorns here. Is it true? I’ve been walking around in search of them.”

Garreth blinked. Of course, there were. The forests of Camellia were filled with them. Even the royal stable housed a few for his sisters' delight. But if she wasn't from this court as he suspected, there was a good chance she had never laid eyes on them before. Garreth decided that this girl was pretty. Immensely so. And he'd like to impress her just a little bit. 

“Come this way. I’ll show you.” And as they walked, she practically skipped with glee, unleashing question after question about the numerous beasts that proliferated the lands of Camellia. And for once, Garreth was glad to have the answers. 

As the afternoon drew to a close, Garreth realized there was more to the adorable stranger than he initially thought. Where most of the young daughters of his father's courtiers were shy, timid, or downright snooty, this girl was excitable and feisty. She didn't care if he was a prince or not. She didn't seek his favor or endeavor to please him. Throughout the day, she teased and taunted but always good-naturedly. She asked many questions but listened with rapt attention to all his explanations. About the unicorns, his court, and most of all, his potions. 

He showed her the gardens where he got most of his ingredients, and she knew several of the plants already, having read about them in books. Like him, she had a penchant for snacks and shared several with him until her pockets ran out. 

"I feel awfully terrible," Garreth said, watching her skirt twirl in the wind now that it wasn't weighed down by candy and treats. "You sure I can't give you some in return?" 

The girl shook her head. “Consider it thanks for showing me your sisters’ unicorns. Felicity was my favorite one.” 

Garreth nodded. This was the most fun he'd had in a while, and something about this girl enchanted him. Everything she touched or looked at made them seem new and magical to his eyes. She saw the world with a fresh perspective he had never thought to see before… and it made him want to bask in her presence a bit longer. She was magical, this girl. Even if she didn't possess a lick of magic herself. 

“I’ve got an idea,” she whirled to face him. “You see that tree over there? Want to climb it?”

"Sure," he chuckled. At this moment, he'd do anything she asked if it meant keeping that bubbly smile on her face. 

“Good! Last one’s a rotten egg!” she jumped to a sprint. 

"Wait! No fair!" Garreth called out, but she stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder, her thin legs dashing even faster. 

Unbeknownst to either, the king and queen of Camellia had been watching their son from atop a third-floor window with an emissary dressed in a fashion similar to the girl’s. 

“They seem to be getting along swimmingly,” said the king, giving his wife a thoughtful glance. 

But the queen remained worried, clutching a hand to her chest. Garreth was her youngest son. Her baby. She harbored a soft spot for him and wanted him home for as long as possible. With an electrifying glance at the emissary from Aurora, she asked, “Won’t my other sons do? My second eldest, Septimus, has always wanted to marry a princess. He’s a sentimental boy and woos ladies aplenty with his poetry and prose.” 

But the emissary shook his head. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I must remind you that while the terms of the alliance hinge upon the princess’s union with one of your princes, it must be of her own choosing. And as such, I have no say in the matter.” 

The queen returned her attention to her son, who was now busy picking fruit from the tallest branches of the tree for the princess. While affectionate with his sisters, Garreth has never shown any inclination or affection for any other young girls in their court. No matter how well-dressed, respectable, or accomplished they were, he never gave them so much as a glance. The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her reverie, and the king and queen turned to find Lady Matilda.

“Garreth is hell-bent on escaping me, it seems,” she began, but the king held up a patient hand. 

“No worries, dear sister,” he gave her a soft smile. “He’s with the princess.” 

~~~

“Where the fuck is the princess?” 

“Genny!” Septimus hissed reproachfully. “Must you use such foul language?!”

“Must you be a bore, Sep?” Genevieve stood on tiptoes, craning her neck to find her future sister-in-law’s carriage amidst the procession trailing into Camellia’s royal court. “I hear she rides a carriage of fairest white and starlight. But it’s too dark to see a blasted thing through this window!” 

William tapped a finger against his chin before taking out Oscar's bishop with his rook. "You'd see the carriage if you'd just wear your bloody spectacles," he murmured. 

Genevieve spun around. “I heard that! And you know why I refuse to wear them. They make me look like Aunt Matilda.” 

Oscar looked up and clutched his heart with feigned surprise. “Aunt Matilda! How long have you been standing there?” He dodged Genevieve’s shoe as the others erupted into laughter. 

"Prick," she bristled with annoyance, skipping across the room to fetch her shoe. "Anyways, has anyone seen Garreth? He's the man of the hour. He should be waiting downstairs with Mother and Father to receive his lovely bride." 

Oscar shook his head with a frown. “You know where he is.”

“Hiding,” said everyone in unison. 

It would have been funny, but their brother had stubbornly refused to appear before anyone, dreading their well wishes and congratulations. What should’ve been a joyous event felt like a death sentence, and Garreth was doing everything he could to stay hidden and out of sight. It was a shame, for his siblings have traveled, or are still traveling, from far and wide to see him and witness his marriage. 

“You would think,” Genevieve plopped down sadly beside Septimus, resting her feet on her brother’s lap, “he’d come out and spend time with us before he goes away.”

“If it’s any consolation,” said William, “Aurora is practically next door. He can visit us or vice versa whenever we wish.” 

���It’s not the saaame,” Genevieve moaned, hugging Septimus’ arm. “One by one, you’re all leaving me. Save for you, William, since you’re taking father’s throne. So, I’m stuck with your sorry ass.” 

“You might be married one day too, Genny,” said Septimus. 

“Never! I’d rather be a spinster like Aunt Matilda and serve Camellia to the end of my days. Mother knows I’m too capricious to be wed.”

“Never say never,” Oscar muttered, upending the chessboard as he realized his inevitable defeat.

The sounds of William's protests and Genevieve's shrill laughter escaped the study, and Garreth, who had been eavesdropping for a while now, frowned with a painful pang of his heart. This was his last week with his siblings, and here he was, running away from the sight of them like a petulant child. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't withstand their pity. Their fake happiness. But… if he were to face the rest of his life stuck in a loveless marriage, perhaps it was best to enjoy what remaining love he could get from his rambunctious siblings. 

With steady resolve, he plastered on the best smile he could muster and opened the door, greeting everyone with a decidedly cheery look. The others knew it was a façade, but they made no mention of it, relishing in their brother's presence before he was taken away from them forever. 

~~~

The week leading up to the wedding was a hectic mess that whizzed by in a blur. From outfit fittings to dining with guests, Garreth was extremely grateful for his siblings' help. Many of them were married and helped him endure the craziness of being a royal groom-to-be. And the ones who weren't, like Oscar and Genevieve, managed to steal the limelight whenever they noticed Garreth growing increasingly overwhelmed by the attention. 

Thankfully, out of the dozens of guests, Garreth had not been requested to meet his future bride or her parents. He wondered if she dreaded their wedding day as much as he did and if she was soaking up the last days of freedom before being shackled to a man she'd never even met. 

But as the wedding day drew nearer, word of his fiancee’s beauty began to spread like wildfire. She seemed to be roaming the grounds, coincidentally avoiding places Garreth was known to linger in. But she couldn't avoid his siblings' notice, with William and his other sisters claiming to have met her during a walk around the pastures. Genevieve, being the most eager to lay eyes on her, finally met her where the unicorns were allowed to graze and went on and on about the princess's kindness and beauty to whoever would listen. 

So much so that Garreth was beginning to grow nervous. He didn't care about his fiancée, to begin with, but… if she truly was the beauty they claimed her to be, would she find him dull and ugly? Garreth twirled a lock of hair around his finger. He knew it sent many girls’ hearts aflutter, but would it be enough to impress the princess?

“Genny’s a right ole church bell,” Oscar groaned from the sofa he was napping on, crossing an arm over his eyes. He opened one eye lazily and watched Garreth fuss over his hair. “I could be mistaken, Gaz, but are you seriously primping yourself right now?”

A flush crept over Garreth’s face. “Shut up, Oscar.”

Oscar bit back his smirk. A nervous Garreth was better than a sullen Garreth. 

~~~

Come the morning of the long-awaited wedding day, the palace was awash in the sun’s buttery gold light, flitting through the towering glass windows in soft, dazzling beams. But the entire court was abuzz with servants and nobles running to and fro to get everything ready, too busy to take notice of the sun’s blessing light. 

Garreth dressed slowly, his limbs moving of their own accord while servants helped him with his vest and refinery. This would be the last morning he’d ever wake up in his own room as a single man and free prince of Camellia. He wondered if it was too late to hop on a stallion and make his escape. 

“Don’t even think about it,” came the gruff voice of the Grand Master from the doorway. 

“Professor Sharp,” Garreth swallowed loudly. Even with a limp, his master still managed to come off foreboding. “What are you doing here, sir?”

"Making sure you don't do exactly what you're thinking, son," he replied, ambling towards the nearest armchair. He studied his protegee with an unreadable look before saying, "I know you must be expecting the worst, but you'll come to love Aurora."

“How do you know that, sir?”

Professor Sharp gave a wry smile. “Because I was born and raised there. Everything I’ve taught you, I learned in Aurora. They can teach you things you couldn't learn anywhere else."

Garreth gave a tentative smile in return. In all the years he spent under his master's guidance, this was the first time he divulged anything about his personal life, and Garreth was grateful for it. It appeased his heart a little and gave him something to look forward to, even if this marriage might be as torturous as he expected. 

And to Garreth's dismay, the torture started as soon as he stepped into the massive ballroom where the wedding would take place. Grand and luxurious, no expense was spared for this wedding, and the heady scent of flowers filling the room began getting to him. Standing on a dais with his brothers as his best men, he wondered which of them would catch him if he were to faint. 

“Quit your fidgeting, Garreth,” William chastised, peering over Septimus’ head. “And Hector, spit that gum out of your mouth before I get it out myself,” he snapped at their second youngest brother. 

Garreth rolled his neck, clenching his teeth as the fabric of his coat made his neck itch. He utterly despised formal events. The stuffy clothes, the simpering nobles, all of it got on his nerves, and William seemed determined to make everyone as equally annoyed as he was. Thankfully, Oscar had the mind to discreetly transfigure his coat, widening the neckline to give Garreth more room to breathe. 

Garreth gave his favorite brother a grateful smile and turned his face towards the double doors as music began to fill the room, the peaceful strum of the orchestra drowning out the wild beating of his heart as it began to race. 

This was it. 

The moment he'd been dreading for. But regardless of his feelings, Garreth would push through the day with as much grace and charm as possible. There was no sense in starting off on the wrong foot with his soon-to-be wife. 

~~~

The princess clutched her bouquet nervously as she waited for the doors to open. The musicians began to play on the other side, signaling her queue to get ready to walk. Her cold, clammy palms started glistening with sweat, and she took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. 

This was it. 

The moment she'd been waiting for. The moment to find out whether she made a good choice all those years ago when she was not but a girl older than ten. She felt soft, comforting hands grip her arm gently, and the princess turned her head to gaze down at her loving mother, tears threatening to spill down her face. A sob from her other side, and the princess wavered at the sight of her father, the stoic king of Aurora, now weeping into his handkerchief. 

She was their only daughter. The only girl to have been born in three generations, equally as witty and intelligent as her brothers. They knew this day was coming, and she would still reside in their palace as the heiress to the throne, but it hurt to hand her off to be wed. The king and queen had so many words to tell her, so many ways to say they loved her, but when the doors flung open, they knew it could wait. This day was to celebrate a new love. A love they hoped would grow between their daughter and the youngest prince of Camellia. 

From behind her thick veil, the princess could barely make out the silhouette of her groom. All her focus was centered on her feet, ensuring she didn't trip on the extravagantly puffy skirt. While the veil was annoying, it at least shielded her from the crowd's immense staring, as many craned their necks and eyes to see if she was as lovely as the rumors had whispered her to be. If all went well, she'd only have to do this once in her life, a thought that didn't seem as comforting the longer she pondered it. 

Goodness, did this walkway never end? Her petticoat was a bit itchy, and she wanted nothing more than to kick her heels off and scratch that itch. The princess focused on trivial matters to push the nagging possibility that Prince Garreth might never come to love her. Oh, she's heard the rumors. He didn't take the news of their betrothal well, and it broke her heart a little to learn that he didn't remember her at all. 

Well, no use crying about it now. The grave's been dug, and it's time to lie in it. She came to a halt right before the priest, each of her parents breaking protocol to hug her before sitting beside her new parents-in-law. And when she turned to the priest again, she felt her fiancé's arm barely graze against hers, sending ripples down her spine. Even years after, without a clue how he looked or acted now, he still had the same effect on her. 

~~~

The priest droned on about the sanctity of marriage and the importance of unification between nations, and Garreth fought back his drooping eyelids. From the corner of his eye, he saw William reach an arm to pinch Hector awake, and a chuckle escaped Garreth’s lips before he could stop himself. 

“Any day now, Father,” he muttered as quietly as he could, and Garreth swore he heard a soft giggle from behind the veil. Well, he supposed this marriage wouldn’t be as bad as he thought if his wife possessed a shred of humor. 

When all was finally said, the priest stowed away his holy book and looked to the young couple before him to ask if they would take each other as their lawfully wedded spouse. Oscar sighed in relief when he heard Garreth say, "I do," although knowing his brother best, it sounded a little too much like pulling his nails out. And when the bride finally spoke, "I do," everyone in the room waited with bated breath for Garreth to reveal his new wife's face. 

His hands shook with trepidation as his fingers met the soft fabric of gossamer and tulle. He shouldn’t be this nervous. He had no reason to be. But his eyes fell on the bride’s hands, and the bouquet quivered in her grasp. Garreth realized she was just as anxious as he was, and it consoled him. Made him realize he was not alone. 

Gently, so painstakingly slowly, he lifted the veil inch by inch, past her chest, her shoulders, then her chin, and – oh. 

Garreth's breath stilled, his skin blooming a viciously red hue as he took in familiar, star-bedazzled eyes framed by exquisitely long lashes and the most luscious pair of lips he had ever laid eyes on. Lips that curved in a shy but taunting grin as she dared him to remember her. Remember that distant day of chatter and play. Judging from how he gaped at her, it all came flooding back, clear as a bell. 

"I guess you ARE a prince, after all," she teased, eyes still searching his for any sign of assurance. Any sign at all that she did not make a mistake by choosing him. Over Garreth's shoulder, the princess could make out his siblings, straining to catch a glimpse of her face, but one in particular, Genny, waved at her with an enthusiastic grin.  

All tension in Garreth's shoulders fled him as he smiled down adoringly at his new wife without care that all eyes were on them. "There she is," he hummed pleasantly. "There's my little fairy."

The rest of the world dimmed away in a blur as Garreth leaned down to kiss his bride, his skin erupting into flaming ripples at the feel of her soft lips against his. This marriage may not be so bad after all. 

[lukethompsondaily]

He is best known for Netflix hit Bridgerton, but Luke Thompson’s theatre pedigree encompasses Shakespeare, Greek tragedy and Ivo van Hove’s marathon A Little Life. He talks to Fergus Morgan about his passion for the stage and his worries for its future

Luke Thompson might have shot to stardom thanks to his role as Benedict in Netflix’s smash-hit series Bridgerton, but the 35-year-old actor is most at home on stage.

“I spectate on myself,” Thompson says. “I always have done. It’s been a bit painful in my life. And the only place on earth it doesn’t happen is on stage when someone else is spectating instead and so I don’t have to worry. You’re watching me so I don’t have to watch myself. I feel free. Those are the best moments of my life.”

Fortunately, Thompson has not been short of stage work. Born in Southampton in 1988, he grew up just outside Paris, returning to the UK to study English and drama at the University of Bristol, before training at RADA. He landed his first job almost immediately after graduating in 2013: playing Lysander in Dominic Dromgoole’s staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe in London.

Since then, alongside screen roles in BBC One’s In the Club and Bridgerton, Thompson has starred in Julius Caesar at the Globe, Oresteia and Hamlet – opposite Andrew Scott – at London’s Almeida, and King Lear and A Little Life in the West End. Both he and co-star James Norton were nominated for Olivier awards for their performances in Ivo van Hove’s acclaimed adaptation of Hanya Yanagihara’s hard-hitting novel.

“A Little Life was such an intense experience,” Thompson says. “Intense in a good way, I mean. The material was very bleak, but acting is always pleasurable because you are indulging in a fantasy, even if it’s a dark one, and that is inherently fun.”

Thompson also thinks that theatre has lost some of its belief in itself. “Theatre is supposed to be provocative. I’m not on social media, but I think it can be very aggressive and vicious, and I think theatres cave to that a bit. Deep down, theatre is the opposite of social media. It is about people being in a room, exchanging opinions and emotions. I worry that social media is spoiling that a bit, which is a shame.”

What production made you fall in love with theatre?

I remember standing in the Yard at Shakespeare’s Globe in 2009 and watching Thea Sharrock’s production of As You Like It, and thinking: ‘Oh, wow, this is really funny and it actually works. When done simply and confidently, Shakespeare still speaks to us today.’ For my first job to be at the Globe a few years later was magical.

What are you finding inspiring at the moment?

I love watching Ivo [van Hove]’s company do stuff. There is something so wild about the acting in his shows. We get very bogged down with facts in this country, but Ivo understands the dream logic of plays. Some of the most moving things I’ve seen don’t completely make sense. I find that inspiring.

What do you wish you could change about the performing arts industry?

I wish theatre had more confidence. Right now, it feels unsure about how useful it is and about how taboo, complex and provocative it should be. I feel as though theatre has lost confidence in its societal function.

What is the worst thing that has happened to you on stage?

There was a scene in A Little Life in which James ran around naked for a bit, then I would bring him clothes. During one show, I couldn’t find his underpants, so I just brought him his trousers and he put them on. But I forgot that people pulled his trousers off again later and they were expecting him to be wearing underpants. James knew it was coming and I knew it was coming and we couldn’t look at each other for the rest of the play. I hope he doesn’t mind me telling that story. It was so funny.

What is the best thing that has happened to you on stage?

There are so many. That sounds naff but I don’t care. I love the challenge of going on stage night after night and trying to make something feel alive in front of an audience.

What role do you really want to play?

I would work with Ivo again at the drop of a hat. And there are loads and loads of roles I would love to play. I did a reading of a rewriting of The Seagull the other day. The role of Konstantin is really beautiful. I’d love to play that. I’d love to play Iago one day, too. Of course, I’d love to play Hamlet but it’s boring to say that.

What projects are you involved in at the moment?

I’m playing Berowne in Emily Burns’ production of Love’s Labour’s Lost with the Royal Shakespeare Company. She has set it on a Polynesian island owned by these big tech billionaires like Mark Zuckerberg or Elon Musk, of which I am one. It’s a really smart concept that unlocks a lot of very interesting stuff in the play. Season three of Bridgerton is coming out in May and June, too. And we will be filming season four soon after that. There’s a lot still to come.

Source: The Stage

[rascalentertainments]

I actually haven’t used the Ask box so I hope I’m using it right 😭 but I have some questions about your rewrite…

What was Flazino’s Wish like? Something about the hamlet or was it personal?

Will Star have some kind of panic attack or maybe something similar when he witnessed a wish getting eaten?

I’ve seen that the wishes are somewhat sentient, so what were their reactions when wishes get eaten?

Will Asha have a magical dress transformation? If so, COULD I HELP DESIGN IT?!

How long has Magnifico had the evil book?

Sabor’s favorite treat?

Are people more judgmental in Rosas due to being exhausted from their wishes taken?

Have children been affected by their parents’ behavior? 

Could I potentially design a wish poster 👉👈

How entertaining are wish ceremonies?

Would Rosas be more heavily guarded since Asha and Star escaped from the Queen?

Will Star ever open up to Asha about his loneliness?

What do Star and Asha have in common? 

And finally, does Star think of fireworks when viewing them from the Stratosphere?

Okay that’s all of them, have a good day!!!

Hey there! Wow you got some great questions here, let's get started! (P.S you used it right! I just need to make a proper link!)

Flazino's wish is to study magic because he believes he can help others with it. Things like replenishing water supply, heal sickness that medicine can't, plants can come back to life and bring crops, ect. While he can't fully do that right now, he helps with what he can for the Hamlet.

Yes! He gets a connection to the wishes when he touches them, so when Flazino and the old woman's wishes are crushed, he can feel like something has hit him, hard. (When Asha is danger of dying he actually starts feeling like he's dying as well since they're connected) and it happens again when Magnifico tries to absorb Star into the staff. Its supposed to feel as big as space inside, but it terrifies him because it will be like he's alone in space again.

Fear, mostly because anyone of them could be next, whether Mags goes for them or their wishers.

YES, YES SHE WILL!! AND YES, YOU CAN DESIGN IT! I've been brainstorming ideas for a while and the idea I had came to me on Pinterest. Something like this below, using the star patterns/constellations and mash tails and then apply them to the second picture of one of Asha's concept dresses.

5. He's had the book for about 10 years. He started using it more recently when he and his wife began to plan to steal a star from the sky.

6. Goat If Amaya can't provide baked salmon treats, then he likes to lurk around Rosas' to find the few rodents from underground. Makes him feels like he's in the wild.

7. Yes, the wishes being taken has begun taking their tolls on their positivity. Besides the drowsiness, they get a little suspicious of others, and it gets worse when Magnifico makes and order to turn in Asha, Star and other traitors they find or hear about!

8. A little. They still have their wishes and youth, so most of them don't notice. But once some do, they began to worry somethings wrong and ask Mags for help.

9. HECK YEAH YOU CAN!! 😃 I've had the image in my mind for months, so I'll send to you the vision I have in my head later on, it gives the biggest Disney vibes!

10. Oh they're a blast! 😂 Its full of music fanfare, fireworks, confetti, spotlights, the whole Hollywood deal! (Then they steal their souls/wishes) Even though its supposed to be about the person making their wishes, but the royals always make it about themselves. 😂 In fact, that's something coming in its own mini story, and when we reach the third act! It'll be like that Far Far Away Red Carpet scene from Shrek 2!

11. Definitely! After Star gets revealed and the traitor exposes them, the castle is double guarded, so the team goes into hiding in Bazeema's quiet hideaway.

12. Sometime before At All Costs and when Asha sees how Star is shaken up by almost being trapped in Mags' staff. He even stops smiling for a while and it really worries her. Seeing him not smile is like the sun not shining. Its unnatural.

13. Besides both having a desire to help others, they both love seeing the world. They even both are full of joy. Only Star is always showing it while Asha believes she had to push it down after her father died. When she sees how he always gives his joy to others, including repairing the pencil her father gave her, that's when she realizes she's falling in love with Star.

14. He at first thinks they're other stars shining on Earth, but once he sees that they're big beautiful light shows similar to nebula formations, he gets really excited! He wants to know how humans see them from below, just like the sunset.

THANK YOU SO MUCH, @ishadow246! That was so much fun, feel free to ask more at anytime! Can't wait to see what art you're cooking up next! 😁

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Fireleaf (Part Six)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Hiiii! Here's Part Six. Things are heating up! As always, I'm so, so grateful for all the help I get from @greeneyedivy...this chapter has been a long time in the making, and so much of her brilliant brain and time went into helping me with it! 🤣💋

Warnings: SMUT! 🌶️🌶️🌶️

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Russet eyes stared at the page, not wholly seeing the words.

The same page Lucien had been staring at for the past half an hour. He nibbled at the callused skin of his thumb, brows furrowing as he drank in the second paragraph. Again.

The tempered glow of moonlit skies

Sketched waltzes in his lover’s eyes

And no immortal heart did dance

The way his did, so thoroughly

He glared at the words. Breathed in. Out. And slammed the book shut.The Mother damn it. For once, he didn’t feel like reading. Didn’t feel like anything besides pummelling his fist into one of the nearby trees—

His eyes flickered up. Immediately found that tree, the dent in the bark and the faint smear of blood. He sighed at himself. Tried to rein his thoughts back in, away from straying in that — her — direction, again.

He didn’t know when he’d become so pathetic.

This wouldn’t do. Sitting and ruminating would not do. He’d managed to avoid running into her over the week that had passed since the masquerade; part of him wished he’d stayed in the Spring Court longer than one night. His thoughts were clearer there, the air not so tinged with…with fresh cotton and honeysuckle—

No. He pushed to his feet — kicked a smattering of leaves for good measure — and grabbed his book. Began to drag his feet back the way he’d come.

He could take the short route back, straight across the footpath — end up back inside the warmth of the estate quicker. But in the depths of the trees, the natural scents were stronger; most smells got buried beneath the aromas of pine and bark and earth, no matter how much those smells had shoved their way up Lucien’s nose and made a home there. So he stuck to the densest areas, nearer to the outskirts of the estate.

He heard them before he saw them.

Two pairs of feet, he thought. And Barric‘s voice — crisp and clear.

“One male has reportedly died,” His father’s advisor spoke quietly, gently. “Perhaps more — the fire hasn’t been contained yet.”

A soft, feminine noise came in response — one of distress — and Lucien knew, immediately, that the second pair of feet belonged to his mother. He frowned, not stopping to wonder why, in the damn Cauldron, his mother and Barric had sought such privacy to speak. He was already pushing through the brush, and beholding them where they’d stopped at a wide, towering tree.

“What’s this?” He demanded immediately.

The Lady of Autumn was the first to look up, her wide, brown eyes watery and her pale skin seeming ashen and wan. It made the stark red of her hair stand out even more.

Barric pivoted on the spot and studied Lucien. “You shouldn’t be snooping on conversations.”

Lucien cocked an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call a stroll through the trees snooping. What’s this about a fire?”

The Lady of Autumn wrapped her arms around her slender body; like she was trying to comfort herself. “The little hamlet an hour east — a fire broke out in the early hours of this morning. It seems as though it’s already ravaged half of the houses, and they can’t get it under control.”

Lucien felt his blood run cold. He knew that hamlet — had passed by it multiple times on his travels. A small community of the Lesser Fae lived there; good, hardworking people who didn’t have much to show for all their toil. And for the little they did have to be destroyed before their very eyes—

“We need to inform father,” He was ready, right then, to jump into action. To do…something. “We need to send aid right away. We can contain the fire with our magic, prevent any more loss of life—”

“Lucien.” His mother said softly. She was trembling, her hands shaking as she held herself. “Your father already knows.”

Barric nodded in confirmation. “He was informed. The decision has been made not to send aid.”

Lucien stopped dead. Stared between them. His mind was reeling too much, currently, to consider the anomalies right in front him. How unusual it was for Barric and his mother to be talking about this — and so privately, too. He felt anger flicker inside him as he drank in the timid sight of his mother. The set, unflinching sight of Barric — a male who was content with a decision made.

“Why the fuck not?” Lucien demanded. “If one person has already died—”

“The High Lord has decided not to get involved because the fire was started deliberately.” Barric said. “It’s said that there’s been some unrest throughout the area. Land disputes, or something. Your father is busy enough without having to involve himself in the petty squabbles between the Lesser Fae.”

And there it was. Lucien scoffed incredulously. Such blatant, cold disregard for the people the High Lord deemed beneath him, unworthy of him.

“Petty squabbles?” He gritted out between clenched teeth. “Their livelihoods are burning right before their eyes. They’ll need help. Our help.”

Barric didn’t so much as falter. “The High Lord’s decision is made.”

“Screw this.”

He turned, kicking through leaves and dirt, shoving through the thick brush. He’d kept quiet about his father’s prejudices for far too long, bitten his tongue too many times—

“Lucien.” His mother called behind him, soft, pleading. “What’re you going to do?”

“What he’s too much of a damn coward to do, mother.”

He didn’t give her a chance to call out one more word as he stormed through the trees and headed straight for his father’s office.

⤲

The two guards stationed outside his father’s office door were a sure indication of an important meeting being had inside.

Nox and Auster, their names were. Lucien knew most of his father’s staff by name — had grown particularly fond of these two, in fact. Good, honest young men.

Their faces were grave. Sallow. Nox’s in particular. A cold sheet of anger lay beneath the fear.

He’d grown up in that hamlet. Still had family living there.

“Is he in there?” Lucien nodded to the door, already knowing the answer.

Auster dipped his head. “He’s holding a meeting.” It seemed an effort for him to force out, “You know we can’t let you in.”

“You don’t need to let me. I’m his son.”

The fact that neither of the guards put up any real fight showed exactly how they were feeling right then — uncaring if Lucien did interrupt the High Lord’s meeting. Hopeful, in fact, that he would. He was the only Vanserra that had ever bothered to strike up conversation with them, to get to know them and ask questions. The anger they saw in his eyes, right then, was identical to their own.

They weren’t going to stop him from storming in there. Not really.

And they didn’t, as Lucien flung the door open, causing Beron to falter mid-sentence.

He sat at his desk — and in front of him, Lucien’s four brothers were each perched, listening to their father speak as though none of them had a damn care in the world.

Lucien didn’t care that he hadn’t been invited to whatever this meeting was. Didn’t care that his four brothers had turned in their seats to stare at him. He didn’t bother to glimpse Dion’s concerned expression, or Eris’s inquisitive one, or the glimmering flash of excitement on Jareth’s and Rian’s faces, like they eagerly anticipated a showdown.

He merely stepped into the room. Clenched his jaw and ground out, “Why aren’t you sending aid to the hamlet that is burning down as we speak?”

Beron’s dull eyes were liquid ire as he beheld his youngest son. “You’ve no right to burst in here—”

“Why. Aren’t. You. Sending. Aid.”

“Why should I?” The High Lord shrugged. “Why should I expend my resources and my staff and reward people for acting like brutes?”

“Saving lives is not rewarding people.” Lucien snapped. “They’ll be losing everything right now whilst you sit on your ass—”

“I urge you to watch your tone.” Beron’s voice rose. “If the common folk are unable to behave in a civilised manner, I refuse to get involved. They can sort it amongst themselves.”

The brutality — the utter malice of it…it damn near winded Lucien. Damn near choked the words from his throat. He’d always known that his father was a ruthless, spineless bastard, but to be so uncaring…

“There are children that live in those homes.” Lucien spat. “Innocent children.”

Beron sat back. So casual. So unbothered. “Well. Perhaps the brutes should have considered that before they decided to raze those homes to the ground. Are you done?”

Lucien’s eyes shot to Dion — the one brother he’d always had a quiet respect for. The one who had always seemed to care. “And you’re alright with this?”

Dion’s eyes seemed to flash with…something. But he merely swallowed. Inclined his head. “Father has made his decision.”

Lucien couldn’t…couldn’t stay in this office, this estate, any longer. Not without tearing the whole place apart. He turned on his feet, shaking with rage.

Beron merely called after him. “I’ll hear no more said on the matter, Lucien.”

Lucien didn’t bother with a response – because that was fine. He didn’t want to say anymore, either. He wanted to do – to act.

Whether his pathetic excuse for a father liked it or not.

⤲

He was halfway to the stables when he heard his name being called. He turned, finding both Nox and Auster hot on his trail.

“Don’t even bother to try and stop me.” He gritted his teeth at the two guards. “I respect both of you, and I don’t want to fight—”

“We’re not stopping you.” Nox fell into step with him. “We’re helping.”

Lucien stilled for just a moment. Stared between them. To not only abandon their posts, but to go against their High Lord’s word— “You’ll get into trouble.”

Auster shrugged, his expression fierce. “Then so be it. We trained as Guards with an intrinsic reflex to protect. That doesn’t discriminate. Even if you just need us to stand guard while you help…”

So sad, that the two of them had shown more courage in ten minutes than he’d ever seen from his father, his brothers, in his whole life. Lucien didn’t know why he was still surprised; he’d learned long ago that he, for some reason, seemed to be cut from a different cloth to the other males of his family.

He dipped his chin and nodded. “I’m going to contain the fire with my magic. I’ll need both of you helping with getting people out. With any potential injuries.”

The admiration — and gratitude — that shone in Nox’s eyes was almost too palpable for Lucien to look at. He was one of the newer guards, less hardened by years around brutality. And these were his people that Lucien was putting his neck on the line to save.

“Let’s go.” Lucien squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll do what we can.”

The three of them were nothing but steeled determination as they tore into the barn, damn near startling the stableboys out of their skin. There was no time for his usual pleasantries as Lucien readied his horse. Too much going inside his head. Too much to focus on.

Perhaps that was why, as they mounted their horses and set off like a brisk, relentless gust of wind, he didn’t notice that Dion’s horse was already gone.

⤲

The smell tinged the air from what felt like miles away. Smoke and heat and…something else. Pungent enough to sting all three of their noses. As they grew closer, thick, black smoke billowed up into the sky and shrouded above them like great, winged creatures.

Lucien dreaded considering what the sight of it might be like…such a tiny, modest area engulfed by flames. But they kept the horses galloping and schooled themselves into the calm they needed to face it.

There was no moving fast enough, every movement feeling sluggish as he considered how many more lives may have been lost, how much had already been destroyed. When the hamlet came into view, it was an effort not to stop and gape.

Half of it had been ravaged already. Cracking and popping and shouting rang through the air, and what had once been a home to a small community of hardworking people had been reduced to…to pure chaos. So many people running around, carrying children away from the danger, trying to move the injured, hauling buckets of water back and forth.

Lucien dismounted his horse. Tried to gather his thoughts. Nox and Auster followed suit.

“I need to get straight to the fire and stifle it with my magic,” He turned to the two guards. “Check in with the locals. Find out how many injured we have. And if there’s a healer on site.”

Nox nodded — but Auster was frowning. Frowning over Lucien’s shoulder, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Lucien clasped his shoulder. “I know it’s awful. But we need to keep our heads clear and—”

“That’s…” Auster peered past him. “…Is that Lady Y/N?”

Lucien whipped round so fast, he lost his footing.

His heart thudded an erratic tune as he took in the sight before him. And sure enough — there she was.

Dressed in a loose shirt and breeches, her hair ripping out of an untidy bun at the nape of her neck, she was coated in soot and sweat, her mouth barking stark demands at people as she hauled buckets of water back and forth. She didn’t hesitate – not even slightly – to charge towards the burning buildings, just about managing to keep the water contained in the bucket.

Lucien found himself running after her. Didn’t glance back at Nox or Auster even once as he raced in her direction. She was already disappearing out of sight, and he…his breath hitched as he pushed his legs faster, trying not to run straight into fleeing residents as he searched for where she’d dipped around the side of a building.

He reached the building just as she re-emerged – the bucket now empty – and ran straight into him. Her eyes were so wild, so panicked, that she didn’t seem to realise what she was seeing straight away.

That he, too, had gone against the grain – had decided to come here and help.

Panic was a surprising, feral thing inside of him. He found himself studying her, checking for burns, for anything untoward.

“What in the Cauldron are you doing here?” He blurted, the words emerging from him far angrier than he’d meant. “Are you out of your gods-damn mind?”

She seemed to blink – just for a second. And then she was sidestepping him, using her forearm to wipe sweat from her brow as she hefted the bucket beneath the other arm. “What does it look like I’m doing, Lucien? I’m helping to put out this damned fire!”

Her voice was croaky, raspy; Lucien wasn’t sure whether that was from shouting at the top of her lungs or coughing around the billowing smoke. She continued past him, and he was hot on her trail, making a grab for her arm.

“It’s dangerous.” He snarled.

“Get off your fucking high-horse,” She snapped, ripping away, “And grab a bucket, would you?”

She fell into a run, panting and glistening with sweat as she headed back towards the water pump at the top of the street. And Lucien…Lucien was trying to force his brain to work. Trying to tear his gaze from her. To stifle the bleating panic that was rising in him, urging him to grab her and get her far away from the danger.

He didn’t follow her. He pivoted on the spot, grimacing at the heat that breathed out at him. It seemed to speak to his fire magic, to coax him towards it, like calling to like. He didn’t need buckets of water to contain the flames ravaging the buildings. With one flicker of his magic, entirely self-taught, he could stifle them as easily as he could summon them. He zipped past the building, right towards the heart of the inferno–

“No!”

There were footsteps, a clattering sound – and arms were looping around his waist; arms that felt dainty against the broad expanse of his muscles. But they may as well have been an ironclad grip with the force with which they managed to move him, like he was no more than a light breeze. He was yanked backwards, and he just about managed to glimpse a discarded bucket of water spilling onto the street, and Y/N attempting to keep them both upright as he faltered and fell into her, the breath immediately being knocked out of her.

“Faebane,” She gasped, attempting to move from beneath him. She coughed, her voice sounding even more raw as she managed to choke out, “The fire is infused with Faebane. You can’t…you can’t use magic. Need water.”

“Fuck.” He hissed, hauling himself off of her. He yanked her up in one fluid motion, concerned eyes flicking over her.

So many things were warring in his mind. The first – to get the water; as much of it as possible. But Faebane…that had been the underlying scent mixed up in the smoke and ash that stung the air. He’d not identified it at the time, but…it seemed obvious, now. Its stark, cloying smell.

But not just anybody had Faebane. Certainly not the members of a Lesser Fae community who had zero power and barely two coins to rub together. The chemical was hard to come by, unless you were somebody untouchable. Somebody who could get what they wanted with a few sharp words.

Somebody knowledgeable enough to know that it rendered a person’s powers useless. Rendered them unable to quickly put out a fire before it caused too much destruction.

He shook his head. Tried to block the thoughts out. He couldn’t stand and speculate right now, not with him unable to use magic to help. It’d have to be the longer, harder way.

He was still holding onto her as he grabbed for the bucket and hurried to the water pump. Still gripping onto her hand.

He didn’t know why.

⤲

It was perhaps the most civil they’d ever been with each other.

There was no choice to be anything but as they worked together, hauling bucket after bucket back and forth, dousing the flames in water, helping trapped residents to freedom. Without the help of Lucien’s magic, hours passed by of the two of them working side-by-side, joined by Nox, Auster and the gathering of the hamlet’s residents who took orders and did whatever was needed of them. Day dwindled into evening, taking the light with it — along with their energy, their strength.

The sky was nearly darkened by the time only smouldering cinders remained. The smell in the air was still pungent — the Faebane seeming to be the strongest odour. And aside from the hissing that the burnt, sodden wood gave off, and the low murmur of bleak conversation between the owners of those homes…a heavy, eerie stillness settled through the hamlet that felt like a potent silence.

Lucien collapsed against one of the untouched buildings, scrubbing his hands over his face. He stared through tired eyes at the chaos that lay before them; the blackened, ashy remains of buildings and the smoke that still snaked out of them like shadows. The only mercy was that there were no more lives lost — a small glimmer of positivity that barely held up against the hammering of his weariness. Not just physical exhaustion, but…mental, too. There were a lot of things he needed to work through. A lot of things hammering his brain.

He didn’t like the panic he’d felt — panic over one person in particular. That panic couldn’t mean anything good.

That first glimpse of her earlier that day…when he’d seen her hauling the buckets of water and running towards the threat…he didn’t know how he hadn’t gone to his knees. Didn’t know that he was capable of such…cold anxiety spreading through him.

Even now, his gaze flicked over his surroundings in search of her — even though he was well aware that she was helping the healer with the injured in the inn at the top of the street. He still felt that itchy restlessness to make sure she was unharmed, that she wasn’t forgoing medical treatment that she may need, in favour of helping somebody else. Because she would — she absolutely would. He didn’t know why he hadn’t realised it sooner.

His eyes darted to Nox. Nox, who had shown an unflinching bravery in the face of such terror; something that Beron Vanserra had never done. Auster was currently standing over him, tending to a burn on his arm, and Lucien…Lucien understood the contained worry in Auster’s eyes. The panic over a realisation that it could have been far, far worse. Such a relief, that Nox’s entire family had gotten out safe.

He couldn’t stop himself watching as Auster clasped Nox’s face between his hands and pressed their foreheads together, his worried eyes fluttering shut. Couldn’t stop himself from watching the soft, gentle kiss that the two guards shared; the physical reassurance they needed from each other that they were both okay.

Lucien found his hands clenching at his sides. Like…like he needed that reassuring touch. Needed to know that she was absolutely—

“There would have been further casualties if you’d not come.” An exhausted voice ripped him from his thoughts. The male that stood before Lucien looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He bowed his head. “You and the lady, and your guards. We cannot thank you enough.”

He’d been one of the residents that had taken orders and worked alongside them, even as the weight of exhaustion began to drag him down. One of the good, hardworking people that the High Lord looked down upon.

Lucien dipped his chin. “I only wish I could have come sooner.” He shook his head. “Is there any idea as to who would do this?”

The male’s eyes shot to the ground. “…I wouldn’t like to speculate…”

Something about his tone made Lucien bristle. He watched him — the clear indication that this was far bigger than land disputes, as Beron had claimed. “What is it?”

“…There was some…unrest…being rallied by the locals, after the Harvest Festival. People who didn’t appreciate your father’s…dismissal, of their hard work. There was a discussion of riots, and…well, it’s probably unrelated, but…”

But he didn’t need to finish the thought. Because Lucien wouldn’t put it past his father, for one second, to punish people for even thinking about revolting against him. His father, who Lucien knew had a hidden cache of Faebane.

Beron had probably known all along that Lucien would defy him and help those in need. Had probably wielded the Faebane to ensure that Lucien would be unable to quickly put the fires out — unable to limit the damage.

He felt himself go cold under his sweat-coated skin. Felt sickness unfurling inside of him—

But movement lurked in his periphery, and he looked up to find Y/N approaching. She looked just as downtrodden and exhausted as Lucien felt — worse, probably. She wrapped her arms around herself…as though she was trying to hold herself together.

“The healer has things under control.” She rasped, glancing between Lucien and the male. “What do we do now?”

“We—”

Every last one of them was too exhausted, too distracted — too done-in to sense the threat before an awful creaking sound broke through the night, of splintering, breaking wood.

Lucien wasn’t even thinking. He didn’t recall giving his body any direction before he was launching himself into Y/N and knocking her to the ground. The two of them rolled out of the way just as a wooden beam broke from a scorched building, falling right to the spot in which Y/N had stood seconds before.

She groaned — or maybe it was him — and he allowed his body to shield hers for a moment longer, just to check the coast was clear, before he hauled her up with him. Set her on her feet. Checked her over. Apart from having the air knocked right out her, and a streak of blood on her arm that may or may not have been hers, she seemed to be otherwise alright. Still, Lucien held her up.

She just stared at him. Swallowed. Wanted to thank him, to say…something—

“You’ve done quite enough.” The male behind them tore his weary gaze from the fallen beam, long enough to face them. “We can handle it from here — you need to rest. All of you.”

“I can stay.” Y/N stepped past Lucien. “Just tell me what you need, and—”

“Lady,” Boldy — so, so boldly, more than he ever would have dared before — the male grasped her hand in his own, “We’re grateful for your kindness. But the last thing we need is any of you collapsing from exhaustion. You’ve done more than we possibly could have asked. Rest.”

Y/N glanced up at the sky, dark and filling with stars above her. The prospect of washing the grit and grime off of her, of collapsing into bed…she almost went to her knees then and there. But to face the long journey home…what awaited her at home—

The male seemed to read that very thought on her face. “My lodgings are about two miles down the road. I’m staying here to help, but…by all means, the four of you are welcome to spend the night there. It’s the least I can offer you.”

She almost sagged with relief. Two miles — she could handle two miles. Probably.

Lucien stepped up beside her, dipping his chin. “Thank you. For your generosity.”

And the male’s eyes, as he met those of the youngest Vanserra, were entirely unguarded. Every grateful, admiring thought shone earnestly in them, and Y/N knew what he was thinking in that moment — that Lucien had behaved like a true High Lord.

“No, Lucien.” He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

⤲

The four of them turned out to be the two of them.

Nox and Auster insisted on staying, on securing any more buildings threatening collapse. And after, they’d said, they would return to the Vanserra Estate, no matter the hour. They wanted to face Beron’s wrath head-on.

And so it was just Lucien and Y/N alone who travelled the two miles silently on horseback, not even sharing a glance as they kept an eye out for the male’s lodgings.

The lodgings, it turned out, was a gamekeeper’s cottage tucked into the forest that outlined the sprawling landscape. Certainly private and secluded. Certainly a place for them to rest.

But a strange sting of tension had bloomed between them on their silent journey. Y/N could feel Lucien’s heavy, pressing gazes. Like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. How tightly he clutched at his horse’s reins, his knuckles turning white, was indication enough that he was biting his tongue. Gone, clearly, was the solidarity they’d shared during the day.

They didn’t utter a word as they secured the horses outside the cottage and traipsed inside. But both shared the same thought as they stopped, studying their home for the night.

It was…small. The barest necessities, Lucien supposed, for what a gamekeeper might need. One open-plan area with a bed, an armchair, a basic kitchenette and a fire. He could only assume that the one other door to his left led to a cramped bathing room.

“I’ll sleep in the armchair.” Lucien said tersely, before Y/N could speak. “You can have the bed.”

There was no room for arguing — that much was obvious, as she studied the way he avoided her gaze. He brushed past her, tying his hair back as he went.

“I’ll get the fire going.” He murmured.

She knew he was merely thinking aloud — not really talking to her — but she nodded, all the same. And found her eyes lingering on him, watching him, as he knelt before the hearth. It took her a moment to rip her eyes away.

She cleared her throat, striding over to the kitchenette and quietly muttering, “I’m thirsty.”

Lucien didn’t deign to respond. He poured every morsel of his concentration — what was left of it — into getting the fire going. Even though he wanted to snuff it straight back out — even though he’d seen enough fire, in one day, to last him a lifetime. It was far too cold a night for them to forego the heat it offered.

Only when it was breathing warmth into the room did he stand. He turned, eyes immediately landing on Y/N.

She stood at the sink, seeming deep in thought as she scrubbed her hands clean. Lucien could only stop. Stare.

There was blood on her arm — hers or somebody else’s, Lucien didn’t know; he felt his stomach twist, felt a deep impulse to stride over and inspect it. But he rooted his feet to the floor. Waited for her to finish. Why…he didn’t know.

He didn’t know anything, right then. Like why he couldn’t stop his eyes from travelling every inch of her. Her dirtied, crumpled clothing and her hunched shoulders. Her hair had come completely loose from the bun she’d thrown it into, once again falling around her face and forming a curtain that hid her expression. Still, Lucien stared.

He could feel it — the urge to stride over and brush that hair away. That hair that always looked so silken, so soft, be it tied up neatly or flowing about her shoulders. He’d found his eyes lingering on that hair one too many times. Found them lingering now.

And there was that tiny, little braid again — every damn day, she wore one single braid in her hair, no matter the style she’d opted for. He didn’t know why. He’d noticed it before — multiple times — namely when she’d helped him from the ground after their sword fight, when her hair had swayed towards him and pushed her honeysuckle scent to him. That single braid had dangled down, and he’d wondered what the little decoration would feel like between his fingers. How soft it might be as he fisted her hair in his hand whilst she panted into his mouth, his hips—

She swivelled to face him. Lucien blinked out of his thoughts, praying that the nature of them didn’t leave a dusting of pink on his skin. If the change in his scent was obvious…

She pressed her back against the wall. Stared at him. He stared back.

“Well?” She shrugged. “Out with it.”

Her tone was…strained. Confrontational. Had she sensed Lucien looking at her? Sensed, maybe, the direction of his thoughts?

His jaw ticked as he ground out, “What.”

“Whatever it is you’re dying to say.” Her arms folded across her chest. Wrapped around herself again — she seemed to do that a lot; a comfort mechanism. “You glared at me practically the whole way here. Pray, tell, what have I done now?”

He had glared at her. And she’d noticed. But hadn’t discerned that his tension, his ire, was made up entirely of concern. Worry. Panic.

His eyes darted to her arm. “You’re hurt.”

“I caught it on a piece of jutting wood.” She clasped a hand over the wound. “I’ll live.”

Gods, she was so fucking infuriating. So damn oblivious to what was at stake, what lay at her feet. Reckless and careless and stupid.

“If that’s all, I’m going to bed—”

“Why didn’t you come find me?” Lucien blurted. “When you learned of the fire. Why didn’t you come and ask for help instead of running off on your own?”

She blinked at him, her mouth falling slightly open. Pure incredulity showed on her face as she looked him up and down, and barked a humourless laugh.

“Why should I come and find you?” She demanded. “I did ask for help. I asked Dion, and he refused to go against your father’s word, so I took it into my own hands.”

Lucien clenched his teeth so hard, it was a wonder they didn’t break. He hated every damn bit of her response. The way she referred to him — merely as you, as though he was nothing. Dion’s gods-damn name on her tongue. Her recklessness—

“Even if nobody else would help,” He spat. “Surely you would have known that I—”

“Known what, Lucien?” She interrupted. “Known that you’re a good, noble male who would have dropped everything to offer your aid? You’ve been nothing but an asshole to me.”

“I—”

“No one at that gods-damn estate listens to me. I’ve been nothing but suffocated since I got there. And not by my own choosing, I might add.”

True. She was speaking such truth, and yet Lucien couldn’t bear to acknowledge it. Couldn’t bear to acknowledge that perhaps he’d got things so, so wrong. It was far easier to become the sneering asshole that she’d pegged him as.

And he did just that.

“You don’t seem,” he snarled, striding over to her, “to be complaining much about the luxuries my family’s estate affords you. You’ve had no problem embracing them.”

“See, there it is again!” She snapped back. “You know nothing about me, because you haven’t even deigned to step out of your privileged viewpoint and consider that we don’t all have the freedom of choice, Lucien. I was brought here as nothing more than a damn bargaining chip! I don’t have the freedom to speak my own mind, or to take a walk throughout the woods without an escort, or do anything I want to do, because from the moment I arrived at that fucking estate, my freedom was taken from me!”

Lucien had fallen so preternaturally still. He blinked at her, utterly stunned. Her words sinking in—

“Your assumptions about me have been entirely wrong and I’m sick of it,” She continued, shaking with her anger, her hands balling, “You assume I’m the privileged, stuck-up one. But you? You have it far easier. I don’t have the option to go and fuck someone against a bloody tree in the orchard or to be consumed by the passion, because the next person I’ll have to let touch me is your bro—”

Lucien struck.

He couldn’t stomach it. Couldn’t bear even the idea of anyone but him touching her. Couldn’t stand the thought of anyone tasting her the way he…the way he wanted to. He needed rid of that thought, to banish it—

He was nothing but pure, carnal need embodied as he grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her.

His lips slanted over hers, and he felt her gasp against him. That first taste of her threatened to undo him then and there. He’d thought about this taste, wondered about it. Fisted his cock and spilled all over his stomach as he imagined it — more than once. He groaned against her lips.

He wanted to taste her all over, to devour her—

She gripped onto his wrists. Pulled away. Blinked up at him. He blinked back.

Neither said a word. Their heavy breaths filled the space, and they stared at each other, wide-eyed. Lucien’s eyes fell to her lips once more. Hers fell to his.

They both surged forward again at the same, their mouths meeting once more.

⤲

It was a harder kiss, more brutal, a heady meeting of lips and teeth.

Lucien gripped onto you so hard, you knew — hoped — it would bruise. His hands fastened on your waist as he shoved you against the wall, pinned you there with his own hips, and slid his tongue into your mouth.

It wrapped around yours, teased the roof of your mouth, and your tastes invaded each other. You wanted this. Wanted him. Had wanted him from the first moment you’d seen him reading poems and sonnets beneath a tree. No taste would ever, ever be enough.

You bit down on his lip, fisting your hand in the loose ponytail his hair was tied into. You tugged, tugged hard, and Lucien groaned.

“You drive me mad,” He growled, his hands roaming your body. “Always, always on my mind.”

The words sent a thrill through you, but you didn’t stop to consider them. What they meant.

“Show me,” You gasped, kissing him hard. And said again, “Show me.”

You knew — and so did he — that there was no amount of restraint that existed to make him refuse. A delicious snarl ripped from his throat, sounding more animal than man, and his hands found their way to your breeches.

Too many buttons, too many laces. Pure, feral noises sounded from deep in his chest as he gripped the front of your breeches and tore them apart with his hands, the brutal action in itself causing wetness to pool between your legs. He shoved them to your feet, yanked your undergarments down, and then he was slanting his lips over yours again. His nostrils flared as your scent hit him.

“I need to be inside you.” His voice was guttural. “Now.”

“Yes.” Was all you managed to gasp out. “Yes.”

You were aware, as his mouth coasted your jaw, your neck, of the sound of his belt hitting the floor. He breathed heavily, his hands moving between you. And then he shoved his breeches down.

His cock sprang free, and there was no chance for you to so much as look as it as he gripped his length in his hand. Used the other to heft one of your legs up, around his waist.

You felt the head of his cock brush through your wetness. Felt it tease your entrance. You gripped his shoulders.

And then he was pushing into you.

The slight pinch of pain was delicious, incredible, as he thrust in. A moan fell from your lips as he filled you, and he swallowed it with a kiss, his lips once again finding yours.

He pulled out to the tip. Slammed back in to the hilt.

And then unleashed himself on you.

There was nothing slow or gentle about it. Not as he thrust and thrust and thrust into you, skin slapping skin, your breaths and moans the only sounds filling the space, alongside the relentless thud, thud, thud of your back hitting the wall.

Lucien tore his lips from yours, burying his face in the crook of your neck. A deep groan came from him as he reached up and grabbed your breast.

“Oh gods,” He gasped, squeezing hard. “Why does it feel like this? Feels too good, I can’t…”

Words failed him — and failed you, too. But words were unnecessary as your uncontrolled moans took over, your head falling back. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, his back, and you knew you would leave marks as you gave over to the sensations in your body. As you became his pleasure, and he became yours.

“Fuck,” You manage to bite out. “Oh, gods.”

Never had you felt so damn good. His thrusts, somehow, picked up, the noises he emitted becoming deeper, gruffer, as he hit that sweet spot inside you. You could feel yourself clenching around him, feel yourself about to come undone completely.

And when he reached down and pressed his thumb to your clit once, you lost it.

Your scream caught in your throat as released barrelled through you, and you clenched around his cock hard. Lucien grunted, thrusting those capable hips again, again, again — and then he was following you straight into that release. Spilling inside you.

The feel of him, the warmth of him inside you…you couldn’t bear it. You went utterly weak against him, your gasped moans trailing off into soft, staggered noises.

Lucien had stilled against you. He didn’t move, his body still pressed to yours as his breaths slowly evened out.

And then he pulled his hand from your breast. Slid out of you. Stepped back.

He blinked at you. Studied you all over, like…like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

He swallowed, russet eyes looking utterly shell shocked as he leaned down and yanked his breeches up. You’d never seen his golden skin so pale. Never seen him tremble like he did now, as he fastened the buttons on his breeches.

You needed to speak, to say something — anything. You opened your mouth—

Lucien turned on the spot — turned away from you. His shoulders were hunched as he stalked to the door.

He didn’t look back as he stepped out. As he left the cottage, left you alone, the door slamming behind him.

All you could do was stare at the door. Gape. You were still pressed against the wall, your trousers and underwear pooled at your feet. Your body still trembling. Lucien’s seed dripping out of you, down your legs.

You blinked. Touch your fingers to your lips. Your legs shook as you slowly pushed off the wall and pulled your breeches back up.

You couldn’t…you’d just fucked Lucien Vanserra.

Not the Vanserra you were marrying.

An iciness settled inside you as you moved towards the bed. It felt like wading through mud, pushing your body to co-operate.

You collapsed down onto the mattress. Blinked up at the ceiling. The silence was deafening.

Lucien had fucked you and left.

You’d had sex with Dion’s brother.

You couldn’t bear it…couldn’t allow one more thought to pass through your head. The day had been too much, too pressing.

You’d swapped a good deed with a terrible one.

A terrible one that had felt so, so brilliant.

You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow. And you wept.

⤲

You didn’t sleep, and Lucien didn’t return.

Where he’d spent the night, you had no clue. You tried not to think about it as you rose early the next morning and climbed straight into the bathtub. You’d scrubbed your skin until it was red-raw, smothering Lucien’s scent with so much soap, you were sore afterwards.

When you stepped out of the front door, his horse was gone. Just Dion’s horse — the one you’d taken — waited. Waited for you.

You were exhausted. Haggard. But you didn’t want to linger there a moment longer. Didn’t want to glance back at the wall that you’d been slammed against as Lucien thrust into you—

No. You needed to forget. To send it far, far from your mind.

And so you set off. Away from the gamekeeper’s cottage. Past the ruined remains of the hamlet. Your surroundings were nothing but a blur as you rode, only just keeping your wits about you enough to travel in the right direction. Back to the Vanserra Estate.

You felt…empty. Hollow. Exhausted.

Perhaps that was why you didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of the Vanserra manor. You knew Beron’s wrath awaited you inside, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You returned Dion’s horse to the stables. Scarcely managed a greeting to the staff you passed as you traipsed to the front door with heavy feet.

Dion was waiting for you at the top of the stone steps.

He was tense. Guarded. But his eyes swept over you once, and whatever he saw seemed to soften him slightly.

“You’re back.” He said, watching you carefully as you approached him. “I was getting worried…”

“It was too late to travel back, by the time the fires were out.” You didn’t recognise your own voice. “I take it your father wants to speak with me?”

Dion nodded, somewhat apologetically. “He does. I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

You brushed past him, into the house. He was hot on your trail as he fell into step with you and took your arm.

“I understand why you’re angry with me.” He lowered his voice, lest the servants hear. “But I couldn’t go against my father’s word.”

You stared forward. “Those people needed help, Dion.”

“I know. I know they did.”

You didn’t offer him another word as he led you through the manor. No sign of Lucien anywhere. You wondered if he’d returned, or if he was still out on the road—

You shook the thoughts from your head as you came to Beron’s office. You knocked once.

“Come in.” He said immediately, like he was expecting you right then.

You pushed into the room, Dion following you inside. He shut the door behind him, pressed his back against it.

You turned to Beron. Couldn’t muster anything but indifference onto your face.

He sat at his desk, wearing an expression of pure ice. His eyes flicked over you, a sneer curling his lip. You knew you must have looked awful.

You opened your mouth — to say what, you didn’t know. But he slammed his hand down on the desk, hard enough for it to jolt. You flinched.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say?” He hissed.

You stared at him with vacant eyes. Found yourself shrugging. “I like your paperweight.”

Behind you, Dion emitted a vague noise of distress. And Beron…Beron rose from his seat. Clenched the edges of his desk so hard, his knuckles turned white.

“Do you think it’s a joke,” he hissed, “to undermine me?”

You lowered your gaze to the floor. “Not a joke, no. But I did deem it necessary.”

“I am your High Lord. What I say is what goes.”

“You are their High Lord, also. Those people who just lost everything. They needed your help—”

“How dare you deign to tell me how I should run my own court? Do you truly believe I’ll take orders from a silly little girl?”

“I—”

“Father,” Dion cut in softly, gently. He came to stand beside you, lightly touching your arm. “Y/N didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t believe she meant any harm. She wouldn’t have realised she was doing anything wrong.”

You wanted to turn on him — on both of them — and argue that you knew full fucking well what you were doing, and none of it was wrong. But Dion met your eyes with a fierce look, a subtle shake of his head. And then Beron was stepping around the desk. Stalking slowly towards you.

You watched. Watched every one the High Lord’s movements as he stopped before you. Inches away.

His eyes were shards of ice as they stared down at you. His jaw clenched.

“You are the daughter of a good friend of mine.” He said quietly, dangerously. “And I do not wish to cause upset between our families. But let me make something very clear to you.”

You lifted your chin. Met his gaze. He hated every second of it.

“You are walking a very fine line, girl.” He murmured. “I’m willing to overlook this incident as an innocent error of judgement. But I will be watching you. And if you ever, ever undermine me or disrespect me again? I’ll make sure you regret it.” His eyes flicked over you. “Are we clear?”

You didn’t want to respond; didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your shoulders hunched, and you knew Dion was holding his breath beside you.

“Are we clear?” Beron snapped.

Dion nudged your arm with his own. A warning.

“Yes, High Lord.” You gritted out. “We’re clear.”

Beron appraised you again, disgust muddying his eyes. “Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Before you could say anything, land yourself in any more shit, Dion was gripping your arm and dragging you from the room. He shut the door behind him, turning to face you.

You didn’t care to hear a word he had to say — not right then. You were too mad, too disgusted — with him, with yourself, with Beron. If you didn’t walk away right now, you would lose it.

“Y/N.” He said, but you were already turning your back on him.

“I want to be alone, Dion.” You shot back. Every bit of your exhaustion showed in your voice.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t say another word as you walked away from him, and went to succumb to another onslaught of tears in your suite.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[lizardrosen]

Bridgertons' favorite Hamlet monologues

tagging @glintglimmergleam and @avocado-moon with continuing Viscount's Men shenanigans

Edmund - "Let me speak to the yet unknowing world how these things came about" - Act 5, Scene 2 Horatio speaking to Fortinbras after everyone's dead; really moving but simple enough to tie it all in a bow.

Violet - "I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth" - Act 2, Scene 2 Hamlet explaining to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern why they've been sent for; he can see the beauty of the world, and the sky fretted with golden fire, but he's forgotten how to feel it.

Anthony - How All Occasions Do Inform Against Me - Act 4, Scene 4 Hamlet about to be sent away to England wishing he could be as decisive as Fortinbras, the kind of man his father wanted for a son.

Benedict - "Speak it as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue" - Act 3, Scene 2 Hamlet's speech to the actors before the play. Theater is magic, art is magic, we hold a mirror up to nature and learn ourselves as we do.

Colin - "Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing" - Act 3 Scene 2 Lucianus the poisoner in murder of gonzago; mostly Colin likes the excuse to ham it up a little with purposefully bad acting.

Daphne - "There is a willow, grows aslant a brook" - Act 4, Scene 7 Gertrude telling Laertes how his sister died, and making a doubtful death into something that can be remembered for her beauty and innocence. Whether Gertrude saw Ophelia drown or was told about it later is the topic of Much Debate in the Bridgerton household.

Eloise - "Oh that this too, too solid flesh would melt"- Act 1, Scene 2 Hamlet finally alone after the formal court session from hell, where he's forbidden from going to university and he has to see a mother who loved his father so dearly, settle for less than she deserves.

Francesca - "O, my offense is rank, it smells to heaven!" - Act 3, Scene 3 Claudius in the chapel, trying desperately to pray, or trying desperately to believe that he can just get away with all this and it'll turn out fine, choking on his own sin. This speech goes hard and is most of the reason Frannie wanted the role.

Gregory - "Here is newly come to court Laertes, believe me, a most excellent gentleman" - Act 5, Scene 2 Not a speech, but Osric's part of the dialogue where he's inviting Hamlet to duel with Laertes, because there's a lot of potential for humor and innuendo.

Hyacinth - "A little ere the mightiest Caeser fell" - Act 1, Scene 1 Horatio after seeing the ghost, talking about how there's precedent. Hyacinth has been studying her roman history lately and was very excited to see this speech (usually cut from productions).

[chrisbitchtree]

(I'm So Happy To Be) Stuck With You

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!!! 💕💕💕 Please join me in celebrating Billy and Steve’s love!!

Thank you to @gracethieved for supplying this great prompt!!

5.6k - T

***

Looking back on the day, as he and Steve stand side by side in Hopper’s workshop, waiting for the chief of police to cut through the handcuffs connecting the two of them, Billy can admit to himself that this wasn’t his brightest idea.

Hopper’s grumbling about what idiots they are, both for getting themselves into this situation, and for not coming to him sooner, after already chewing them out for interrupting his Valentine’s Day date with Joyce, but it’s all worth it when he tells them they’re free. Billy can only hope that Steve doesn’t storm off now that he’s not forced to be by Billy’s side.

***

It all starts three days before, when he and Steve are discussing their plans for Valentine’s Day. It’s their first one as a couple, but Billy has to watch Max that night, so that his dad and Susan can go out, so he wants to celebrate it on the 13th, because it’s the first time he’s been with anyone on Valentine’s Day and he loves Steve, even if he hasn’t said it yet. He’s planning to say it for the first time that night, letting himself be vulnerable in a way he hasn’t been in a long time, but Steve has to go and ruin it.

“I’m sorry, Billy, but I can’t celebrate that night. I have a huge English test on the 14th, and it could make or break me going to college. Not all of us are smart enough that it’s guaranteed that we’ll get in everywhere we apply. I promise we’ll celebrate the next weekend.”

Billy knows he’s being a brat, but it doesn’t stop the words that come out of his mouth. “Some of us actually have to try at school. Not all of us have rich daddies who’ll take care of us if we don’t get in somewhere.”

He immediately knows from the look on Steve’s face that he’s taken things too far. Steve’s sensitive about his parent’s wealth. Billy knows that wasn’t always the case, but Steve’s tried really hard in the last year or so to eschew the protection his parent’s wealth has afforded him and tried to make it on his own. Billy’s really proud of him, and now he’s hit Steve right where it hurts.

“I’m so-“ Billy starts, but Steve cuts him off, turning towards his desk.

“I think you should go, Billy. I have studying to do.” He sits and opens the battered copy of Hamlet sitting in front of him. Billy’s supposed to help him with it, but he has a feeling his assistance is no longer wanted.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help?” he asks, softly.

“No thanks, I’ll call Nancy if I’m stuck.” Ouch, that one hurts. Steve knows that Billy’s not the biggest fan of Steve’s friendship with his ex, but he supposes he deserves it, so he just leaves instead of biting back.

He drives home with a lump in his throat and tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes, but he thankfully manages to hold it in until he’s back home, in his room under the covers. Once he’s there, they pour, soaking into his shirt and blanket like a heavy summer rain.

He feels stupid and embarrassed, and frankly, underneath it all, still a little upset with Steve. He knows it’s not his fault that he needs to study, but Billy wishes he was more important than anything else in the world to Steve, and right now it definitely doesn’t feel like he is.

He falls asleep with his nose stuffed and head pounding from the drove of tears, his heart hurting and feeling about two inches tall, and in the morning, he doesn’t feel much better. As soon as Neil lets him leave the table after their mandatory family time Sunday breakfast, he heads out to the nearest payphone.

He’s praying that Steve picks up, but when he gets Steve’s mom’s snotty voice telling him that they’re not home right now and to leave a message, he hangs up and tries again, achieving the same result. He stands in the phonebooth, fighting the urge to drive over to Steve’s house, knowing it’s best to give him space. That lasts about five hours.

Billy knows that Steve works that afternoon, so after a few hours of stewing in his room, chain smoking cigarettes and lifting weights, he showers, does his hair and heads over to Family Video. He can see Steve retreating into the backroom as he approaches the door, and Billy’s left to talk to Buckley.

“Hey, Billy,” she greets him, tone neutral. “If you’re looking for Steve, you just missed him. It’s dead, so I sent him home early.”

“I just saw him go into the backroom,” Billy replies, peering over her shoulder.

Robin shakes her head. “Nope, sorry. He’s not here.”

Billy sighs. “Well, if you’re talking to him anytime soon, can you tell him that I’m sorry, and I’d like a chance to tell him directly?” He can only hope that Steve can hear him from his hiding spot.

Buckley nods. “Sure, I’ll let him know.”

Billy has no reason to stay after that, but he doesn’t really want to go home yet, so he drives around for a while, eventually parking on the side of a backroad where he can sit and feel like shit in peace.

***

Steve doesn’t return the two calls Billy places to his house later that night, so Billy officially decides to wait for Steve to come to him. He doesn’t, and it tears Billy apart, especially when he gets to the cafeteria on Monday to find Steve already sitting with Nancy and Jonathan, instead of their usual table with the rest of the basketball team.

Billy sulks, barely tasting the fries he’s absentmindedly dipping in ketchup as Tommy yammers on, telling some completely made-up story about banging Wheeler’s mom at a motel on the outskirts of town the night before. He keeps trying to sneak glances at Steve and is met with sympathetic smiles from Nancy until he throws the remainder of his lunch in the trash and heads to smoke under the bleachers until the bell rings and he can at least try to focus on his classes.

***

By Tuesday night, Steve still hasn’t spoken to him, so Billy gets desperate. He heads to Hopper’s to pick up Max, bringing along, as requested a book that Max borrowed from El and forgot to return. He rings the bell and he’s greeted by Hopper who takes the book and goes to get Max.

That’s when Billy sees them, Hopper’s handcuffs, sitting near the door, not even locked. Perfect. He pockets them just before Hopper returns with Max. They drive home in silence, Billy already formulating a plan for the morning. By the time to go to bed, he’s sure this is going to work.

***

The next morning, Valentine’s Day, he gets up extra early, putting a lot of extra care and attention into how he looks. He rushes Max out the door the second she’s done eating, determined to beat Steve to school. He has to for the plan to work. He drops Max off at school, then heads to the Hawkins High parking lot to wait.

Before long, Steve arrives and Billy sprints out of the car, determined to reach his boyfriend before he can run away without hearing Billy out again. Steve tries, gathering his books and walking as fast as his long legs will allow, which is almost too fast for Billy to keep up, but he’s finally able to grab him by the back of the coat.

“Steve, I know you’re mad at me, but we need to talk. I at least want a chance to say I’m sorry for how I acted and what I said.” He gets it out in a rush before Steve can push him off.

“I’m sorry, Billy, but I’m not ready to talk yet. I’ll let you know when, ok?” he holds his books to his chest nervously, looking exhausted.

It breaks Billy’s heart, but he can’t wait any longer. He removes his handcuffed hand from his jacket pocket and gets Steve’s hand cuffed in before he can protest. “No, Steve. We’re going to talk, ok? I can’t take this anymore. If I uncuff you, do you promise that you’ll talk to me?”

Steve sighs, sounding resigned. “Fine, ok. Let me go, and I’ll give you two minutes.”

Billy’s shaking he’s so happy. The same joyful shaking causes him to drop the keys to the handcuffs down a sewer grate the second he extracts them from his pocket. He and Steve both stare at the grate in horror for a minute, as if that’s going to get the keys back, before Steve starts to panic. “What the fuck, Billy. Please tell me you have another set of keys. I have to take that test in two hours. Tell me you have a solution.”

Billy desperately wishes he could say yes. He looks up to see Steve’s face red with anger.

“I’m going to kill you Billy,” he growls.

“I thought you had a test to write? Might be kind of hard to do that from jail.” Billy knows it’s not the time for jokes, but he can’t help trying to defuse some of the tension. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t work.

Steve looks ready to throw down. “Fine. I’m going to write this stupid test, then I’m going to kill you.” He drags Billy behind him as he marches into the school.

Trying to fight the blush he can feel covering his cheeks, Billy follows Steve down the hallway towards their lockers. Of course, they’re on the far side of the school, so what feels like every single student at Hawkins High gawks at them as the metal rattles between them. Their lockers are only two apart from each other, but it’s just far enough that they can’t each get into their own at the same time, and neither wants to give into the other, so they keep pulling each other back and forth. It’s not even 9am and Bill’s already sick of this stupid plan. Sick of the cold metal cutting into his wrist, and sick of only having the use of one hand. already over this stupid plan. The only thing he accomplished was making Steve madder at him than he already was anyway. He can’t even imaging what coach is going to say when they shows up as basketball practice like this after school. Finally, after ten minutes of bickering and one near miss when the poor freshman that has the misfortune of having one of the lockers between Billy and Steve tries to get her books into hers, they‘re were on their way to home room. If there’s one thing they can be thankful for today, it’s that they have most of the same classes and the same lunch period. Billy will have to skip his own English class to accompany Steve to his own so he can write his test. Home room is fine, since it’s just Ms. Click rambling on about the upcoming fundraising bake sale that the cheerleading team is putting on in the cafeteria at lunch and a reminder to show school spirit by cheering on the Hawkins Tigers basketball team this coming Friday’s game. Billy makes a mental note to get to lunch early so he doesn’t miss out on Chrissy Cunningham’s chocolate cupcakes. Steve loves chocolate. Maybe that’ll cheer him up a bit and get him to finally listen to Billy’s apology. It hasn’t occur to either him or Steve until they get to math class that that writing will be a problem since Steve’s right handed and Billy’s left handed, and of course it’s Steve’s right hand and Billy’s left that’re cuffed together. For fuck sake. They just can’t win. Mr. Jones eyes them suspiciously when they slide their desks together. “Hargrove, Harrington. What are you two doing back there?” He makes his way to the back of the room, and they hold up their wrists for his inspection.

“A stupid dare,” Steve mutters. “We’re going to deal with it as soon as we can, but we didn’t want to miss any schoolwork.”

After the amount of classes they’ve both skipped, Mr. Jones can’t really argue with that, so he leaves them to it.

The majority of the class is spent dragging their conjoined hands back and forth, leaving pencil marks all over their desks and papers, until Billy promises that he’ll share his notes with Steve later if Steve lets him do the writing. It really isn’t much better that way though, what with having to drag Steve along with him every time he moves his pencil.

And Steve isn’t doing much to help, turning his hand into a dead weight, lower lip stuck out like a pouting child. Billy takes a deep breath, stopping himself before he can say anything rude or hurtful. He got them into this mess in the first place, so he just has to take what Steve gives.

They tell the same tale to their history teacher, Ms. Simmons, and she leaves them be, so that class goes much the same, Billy writing notes and Steve making it as difficult as possible.

Halfway through class, he can see Steve start to tense up out of the corner of his eye, looking paler than he did earlier, and a little green, and at first Billy thinks Steve’s going to be sick. There’s been a bug floating around the school for the past month, so he’s not surprised. He prepares himself to run to the garbage can in the corner of the room, but then he remembers Steve’s upcoming test.

“Hey,” he whispers, trying to get Steve’s attention.

Steve barely spares him a glance, but Billy can tell he’s listening. “You’re going to do great on your test. I promise. I know you know your stuff; we’ve been studying for weeks with our special method. The special method had been that for each question Steve got right, Billy took off an article of clothing, and he if got them all right, Billy would suck his dick. It had been a rousing success.

Steve turns slightly, giving Billy the barest hint of a smile. “I know, I’m just worried that Mrs. Cartwright won’t let me take the test with you attached to my wrist. What if she says no? What then?”

Billy longs to run a soothing hand over his back, but he doesn’t think that’ll be received too well, so he settles for what he hopes are reassuring words. “Come on, pretty boy, you know how much Mrs. C likes me. I’ll sweet talk her into t if I have to.” He throws in a wink for good measure, and Steve only grimaces slightly in return. Billy will take that as a win.

The next awkward scenario they encounter is the washroom. Billy votes to hold it all day, but Steve insists he has to piss before English. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to focus with a full bladder, man.”

Billy sighs. “Maybe you should have forgone your three morning coffees for once.”

Steve turns to him, and if looks could kill, Billy would be dead right now. “You know I need caffeine to wake up in the mornings, and it’s not like I knew I was going to be chained to someone all day when I drank them!”

Ok, fair point.

Billy lets Steve drag him into the washroom, and tries not to look as Steve whips his dick out. They finish up quickly, and head to Steve’s English class. Hopefully his own English teacher doesn’t miss him too much. He’s sure she won’t though. He’s been on rocky ground in that class since he challenged her opinions on the Great Gatsby a couple weeks ago.

Mrs. Cartwright is on them the second they enter the class, handcuffs clanking between them. “Good morning, Steven,” She says, an amused smile on her face. “You’ve brought a visitor with you today? You know I can’t allow that on a regular day, let alone when we have a test.”

Billy gives her a megawatt smile, stepping in front of Steve to explain. “Hi, Mrs. C., I know Steve has a test today, but I’m hoping you’ll still let him write it, even with me hanging around. Literally.” He holds up their attached wrists and she rolls her eyes at his lame attempt at a joke but lets him go on. “It’s my fault that we’re cuffed together. It was a stupid prank and I take full responsibility for it. So please let Steve write the test. I know it’s important. Please, please let him write it.”

At first, she seems unsure of what to say, but thankfully, she must hear the sincerity in his tone, because she relents. “Alright, you can both stay, but not a peep out of you the entire class, Mr. Hargrove, and if you guys show up like this again tomorrow, I’m not letting you in.”

They agree, and take their seats, Steve visibly shaking as he sits down. Mrs. Cartwright distributes the tests, and Billy whispers to Steve, trying to remind him to take calming breaths. Steve does, then resumes tapping his pencil on his desk.

Mrs. Cartwright puts the test facedown on Steve’s desk, wishing him luck as she walks away.

Once she says they can, the students flip over the tests. Billy pulls a book out his bag and ready with his free hand while letting Steve drag his left hand all over. He seems to be writing quickly, which Billy thinks is a good thing. He just hopes that Steve’s taking enough time to think his answers through. He really needs a good mark on this.

In the blink of an eye, the bell is ringing to signify the end of class, and with it, the test. Steve drops his pencil and lets out a breath so big, Billy thinks he may have been holding it in for weeks. His shoulders visibly relax, and the jittering doesn’t fully stop, but it lessens.

“Can I buy you lunch?” Billy asks.

Steve doesn’t reply, but he does nod, so Billy takes that as a yes. They stop at their lockers to drop off their books, better coordinated than they were earlier in the morning, aided by the fact that the girl they bumped into earlier sees them and turns right back around the way she came.

Books deposited securely in their lockers, they head to the cafeteria, making a beeline for the bake sale table and Chrissy’s cupcakes. Billy shells out for four of them, much to Chrissy’s delight, her ponytail bouncing and smile a mile wide as she hands them over.

“How are you and Munson doing? He get you anything for Valentine’s Day?” Steve asks as she takes the bills Billy hands her. The previous fall, Cunningham and her boyfriend, Jason, had broken up, and to everyone’s shock, she’d taken up with Eddie Munson, guitarist for local band Corroded Coffin, leader of Hawkins High’s DnD club, and the town’s premier drug dealer. Billy had been surprised, but she seemed genuinely happy for the first time since he’d met her, so who’s he to judge?

“We’re good. Really good.” Her smile grows impossibly wider as she fishes something out from her uniform. It’s a chain with a guitar pick swinging from it. It’s sweet, and Billy’s happy to see that she’s being treated right.

Billy hands Steve the plate of cupcakes and leads him to the lunch line, where he buys them both a burger, fries, and a coke. They sit with the basketball team, Billy telling them to shove off when they start ribbing them for spending Valentine’s Day of all day attached to each other.

“But-“ Tommy tried to get out.

“This is the last time I tell you to shut your fucking mouth, Hagan.” Billy says, his eyes like daggers as he tosses a fry at the idiots head.

“I think I need a smoke. Steve, join me?”

“It’s not like I have a choice” Steve grumbles, grabbing his bag.

Tommy stands to join them, and Billy shoots him a look. “Not you, asshole.”

Tommy sits, and Billy and Steve make their way out to the bleachers.

“So, who do these belong to anyway, Hopper?” Steve asks as Billy lights his smoke for him. “He’s going to kill you when he finds out.”

Billy nods, filing that away as a conversation he’s not eager to have, right along with the one he knows Steve’s going to want to have with him about his recent behaviour.

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, giving Billy just a little bit longer, but soon, Steve turns to him.

“So, you wanna talk about why you handcuffed us together this morning, Bills?”

“It’s stupid,” Billy mumbles. “Embarrassing.” He takes one last puff of his smoke before stubbing it out under his boot.

Steve motions for him to continue.

“At first, I was just upset because I wanted to celebrate Valentine’s Day with you. I’ve never had a valentine before, and I got all excited.”

Steve had a hint of a smile on his face as he bumped Billy’s shoulder with his own. “Awwwww, I’m your valentine, Billy? I’m honoured.”

“Shut it, Harrington.” Billy replied, but there was no heat behind it. “Anyway, I know I was being a baby about it, but I wanted a special night for the two of us. We don’t get to do special a lot. But then I had to go act like an idiot and ruin it all. Sorry, again, by the way, for what I said. I still feel like a piece of shit about it.

I just built it up so big in my head, and got scared that it wouldn’t just be a little breathing room, and that you’d never talk to me again, so I got desperate. Hence the handcuffs. Clearly not my best idea ever. And now you’re pissed at me, and Hopper is going to be pissed at me.

It’s just that we’re reaching the end of our senior year. We might not end up going to college together, and are we really going to make long distance work? If you even want to try long distance? I never even bothered to ask. Maybe you want your freedom, so you can bang other people. Then you’re going to meet a chick and marry her, and where will that leave me?” Billy knew he was rambling but was finding it hard to stop.

“Woah,” Steve said, placing a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “First, I’m not pissed at you, Billy. I mean, I am, about the handcuffs, but not the other stuff. Yes, I was upset about what you said, but I know you don’t mean it, and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re upset, sometimes. Honestly, I should have communicated better. I just needed some time to get the studying done. We’re going to have to talk through the other stuff later, but I promise you that I have no intention of running off with someone else. I like you a lot, and we have a good thing going. I don’t want to lose that. If I forgive you, will you forgive me?”

Billy nodded. “Deal. Now, we have a couple hours until basketball practice. We can’t skip, because you know how much shit coach gave us last time, but until then, can I take my valentine for a milkshake at Benny’s? I promise, as soon as my dad and Susan are gone tonight, I’ll talk to Hopper and figure out how to get these things off.”

“Ok,” Steve nodded, his smile brightening. “I’ll allow it.”

***

Benny, the owner of Benny’s Burgers, is rumoured to be in a relationship with Mr. Scott, the middle school science teacher, so his restaurant is Billy and Steve’s favourite. They feel comfortable and safe there.

Benny barely bats an eye at the handcuffs when he brings them their shake, nor does he mention the fact that he’s put two straws in one strawberry shake. In fact, when they try to pay, he says it’s on the house, a kind smile on his face.

Billy and Steve sit and talk for over an hour, reminiscing about the memories they’ve made in their time together, and laughing about the time they spent as rivals when Billy first rolled into Hawkins. It seems silly now, to think that there was a time that they weren’t best friends, lovers, and so much more.

Once they’ve drained the milkshake and they’re skirting on the edge of the school day, they head back to Hawkins High to face the coach.

***

It’s not until they get to the locker room that they realize that since they’re attached, they can’t change into their gym shirts. They walk out into the gym in their standard issue green Hawkins High gym shorts, Billy in a grey Henley and his jean jacket, and Steve in a blue and pink striped polo.

“Harrington, Hargrove, what the hell is going on?” Coach asks, the second they step into the gym, his eyes laser focused on them.

“Well…”

“Ummm…”

“Laps. The both of you. No stopping until practice is over.” He shakes his head. “Not sure why I would expect anything more from my co-captains…”

Well, that could have gone much worse, Billy thinks, as he and Steve start to jog around the perimeter of the gym. It’s hard for them to keep pace with each other, as Steve’s longer legs lend to longer strides, but they do their best to meet in the middle.

They try to take their punishment seriously, for the sake of saving face with the coach, but it’s hard with the stupid handcuffs clanging between them. He’s starting to feel like he and Steve are prisoners on the run. At first, it’s just a giggle that escapes him, but before long, Steve joins in, and they get louder and louder, until they can barely move, doubled over with laughter.

“Are you two looking to stay an extra hour and run some more laps?” Coach calls from the other side of the gym. That shuts them up quick. They need to get out of here as soon as possible and get these stupid things off.

Finally practice ends, and after they put the balls away in the equipment storage room, per the coach’s instructions, and head to the locker room to shower. It doesn’t occur to them until that point that that won’t be easy. Billy votes for just skipping the shower, but Steve votes shower and Billy is hardly going to argue with him.

Billy has to remember to try to look uncomfortable having Steve’s naked body so close to him. It’s not easy, because fuck, he has a beautiful body and Billy’s obsessed with it. But he has to remain calm. No boners allowed.

Steve showers first, with Billy holding Steve’s shirt at his wrist, trying as best as he can to keep it out of the spray of the shower, but Steve has no such concerns for Billy’s body. He does everything he can to make sure Billy gets as wet as possible. When he’s sure no one is looking, he throws Billy a wink.

Steve takes forever to finish his shower, one handed as he is. It’s not exactly like Billy can help him without raising suspicions Once Steve is done and toweled off, he holds Billy’s shirt while he has his turn. He’s quick about it because he knows Max will be waiting.

When they get out to the Camaro, Max is leaning against it, backpack slung over one shoulder and her skateboard under one arm.

“Hey, shitbird,” Billy says, by way of greeting.

“Hey, Max.” Steve adds, tisking fondly at Billy.

“Hey, asshole… and Steve?” Max replies as she hops into the backseat and buckles her seatbelt. Once she’s in, Billy and Steve begin awkwardly shuffling into the car, Steve having to climb awkwardly over the centre console, almost hitting his head on the way over.

“Do I even want to know what this is about?” Max asks, sighing.

Billy isn’t sure what to say. Max knows he and Steve are friends, but he can never be sure if that’s all she knows, and he’s definitely not going to ask.

Steve just laughs. “Probably not.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t mention it again, except to ask where they got the cuffs, and what they’re going to do about it.

“They’re Hopper’s. You up for a trip to see El at the cabin this evening?”

“Oh shit,” she laughs. “He’s going to kill you when he finds out you took his handcuffs. And lost the keys. And he’s having Joyce over tonight. He rented El and Will a movie and he’s ordering them pizza and making Joyce a nice dinner. He’s gonna be extra pissed at you for interrupting that.”

Billy gulps. Of course, this can’t be easy. And on top of that, he has to somehow explain to Neil how he came to have Steve Harrington handcuffed to him. He asks Max if she has any ideas about how to get around that.

“Simple,” she says, way to comfortable with making up lies on the spot. “You call Neil from and my mom from the arcade and tell him you’ve brought me there to play some games for a bit. My mom isn’t making dinner tonight, so they won’t care. As long as you guys are detached by the time they get home at 10, you’ll be good.”

Billy nods and Steve thanks her. She’s a genius.

***

The plan goes off without a hitch, Susan quickly agreeing, telling Billy to have Max home in time to do her homework.

That taken care of, Steve insists on taking Max for a burger before they head to Joyce’s, so they head back to Benny’s for the second time that day.

This time, they actually spot Mr. Clarke among the crowd of kids grabbing an after school snack to ruin their dinner with. He’s sitting at the counter, and Benny’s handing him a plate of heart shaped pancakes, with bacon on top, also arranged in the shape of a heart. The two men are having a lively conversation of some sort, Mr. Clarke’s arms waving all around, as if explaining something, and Benny’s head is thrown back in laughter. It makes Billy smile to see them together. It gives Billy hope for his future with Steve, seeing two older queer men living a happy, comfortable life.

Once they’re done there, they head to Joyce’s house. Billy thinks about calling ahead but decides it might honestly be better to just show up unannounced. There’s a small chance that he’ll yell less in person. Or maybe he’ll yell more. Only one way to find out.

Once they arrive at the Byers’ house, they get out of the car and walk up to the front door, placing Max in front of them for protection. They ring the bell and wait. Will appears at the front door a minute later, El peering over his shoulder.

“Uh, hey guys, is Hopper here?” Even as he says it, he can already hear Hopper’s heavy footfall as he makes his way to the door.

El and Will retreat back into the living room and they’re face to face with Hopper, his arms crossed over his chest. “So, here to return something to me?” Of course, he’s already figured out it was Billy that took the cuffs. Max, the little rat, pushes past him to join El and Will.

Billy gives Hopper his most charming grin as he holds up his and Steve’s conjoined wrists. “Sorry? Please help get them off?” It comes out like a question, and he flinches, waiting for Hopper to tear into them.

Hopper sighs. “You know, I’m not even going to ask what happened here. I’m way too happy today to care. Please just promise that it won’t happen again. Ok? Just one question though, why didn’t you just use the keys?”

Billy and Steve mumble something about the sewer grate, and Hopper just shakes his head. He grabs his coat, leading them out to his shed. Minutes later, after some assistance from a pair of bolt cutters, they’re free. They both rub their wrists, sighing in relief and thanking Hopper.

“You know,” Hopper says, as they head back to the house. “If there’s somewhere you’d rather be tonight than watching Max, we’ve already ordered a pizza for Will and El, and they’ve rented a movie. Max can stay, if you want to pick her up at about 9?”

They take him up on the offer immediately, thanking him profusely. Billy lets Max know the plan for the evening, then he and Steve hop in the car and head to Steve’s house as quickly as they can. They’ve got three hours, and it feels like they've got a lot of lost time to make up for.

Once they’re in Steve’s bed though, they take it slowly, because what’s a few days when they think of all the years they’ll be together. Really, they’ve got all the time in the world.

[a-study-in-dante]

June 6th, 2023 | Less than 10 days left in the UK! I tried to enjoy the sun as much as I could while it lasted in Cambridge, but mostly: today I went to the Shakespeare Globe Theatre to see A Midsummer Night's Dream and it blew my mind. For some context: most of my followers probably don't know this, but I first created this blog under the name a-study-in-shakespeare. At the time, I was obsessed I would most likely have chosen English as a my major if a valuable Shakespeare course was offered by my uni because I fell in love with Hamlet at 14 yo and I tried to read and see as many plays as possible over the years.

Seeing a Shakespeare play in English had never been possible before, and woaw going to see my first one at the Globe of all places (truly) felt like a dream. I'm not familiar with the Globe's productions but I figured it'd be kind of traditional, maybe a bit stuffy and I'm so glad I was wrong. The cast is inclusive and diverse and so talented, the production is magical, whimsical, tragic and incredibly fun, I wish I could find the right words. I will remember this day for a very long time ✨

[enbysiriusblack]

i'm sorry if i'm bothering you, it's just that i saw that you ship jegulily and i wanted to ask if you have any headcanons about them?

it'll never bother me to answer asks or talk about jegulily.

lily being a big doctor who fan and she introduces it to them and they all obsess over it together and will always laugh when remus wears something resembling one of the doctor's outfits (which he does a lot)

lily and regulus first bonded over classic literature and would read together in the library all the time, and one time james comes over with his friends and peeks at the book both of them are reading and comments "little women? ooh who's your favourite sister? mines definitely beth, made me cry" and lily swoons right there. regulus' swoon moment for james is when he sees regulus reading hamlet and recites the 'to be or not to be' monologue terribly.

james picked up a bit of french from sirius and flirts with regulus and lily in french, absolutely forgetting regulus is fluent however lily doesn't know any french so she asks regulus to tell her what james said and he'd lie and say an absolutely terrible pick up line making james panic and have to just say the truth

the day lily and james found out regulus has no clue who abba are. their souls died. and they introduced him to the band but he just could not like it. until he found out sirius pretends he doesn't like abba, so regulus decided to pretend he does just to annoy sirius but also as an excuse to dance with an extremely excited lily and james

i think this is a fairly unpopular jegulily opinion, but lily and regulus dating each other first. james has a crush on both of them and is friends with lily, not really friends with regulus. while lily and regulus have veen friends for a while, having a study group together with remus and they liked each other so lily asked him out and they started non-publically dating (only their friends knowing) and then both of them started growing feelings for james while together so they talked about it and went on separate dates with him then the second date all three together

angsty hc now, after finding out regulus joined the death eaters, lily immediately broke up with regulus and refused to talk to him again. james heard him out about why he joined, but felt he had to break up with regulus due to it. just before he died in the cave, regulus visited them and gave them a letter, making them promise not to open it till midnight. they listened and waited but after opening the letter where he said s last goodbye to them, they both regretted it so much and wish they broke the promise and opened it straight away.

[anechomirrored]

Prompt: "Do you recognize this?"

Fandom: Darkest Dungeon

Rating: G

Warning: mild body horror

he rain continued its assult on the dilapidated Hamlet. My boots had soaked through over an hour ago but there was much to be done in light of our recent expeditions.

We needed more able minds and bodies, Dismas and the others were steadfast but the ruins were taking a toll on them.

Caunter had returned broken. She jumped at every sound and would cry out suddenly much to the distress of the others. Reynauld tried to comfort her but it was clear she needed sanctuary.

They all did in one form or another.

Approaching the stagecoach, I was pleased to see word had traveled. Four souls had lined up upon my arrival for inspection. I greeted them and studied each in their own turn.

A barbarian, a grave robber, an antiquarian and....

I stopped in front of the fourth. He was a man in his thirties though his condition could have him mistaken for much older. Hunched,balding and without proper clothes. He instead wore an entaglement of chains. A prisoner? A beggar?

No.

An A had been ruthlessly branded into the side of his head. He trembled a bit though I could see he was trying his best to stay at attention as the others had.

I asked him his name.

It was Machault.

Until now he had kept his hands concealed under a ragged cloak that hung from his shoulders. A pitiful defense against the elements.

His veins pulsed with a greenish ichor.

" You've traveled far and from experience, I know the journey here is unkind." I searched each face as I spoke, "Please come into the tavern. We will take a meal together and discuss your potential employment. Order what you wish. There is gold enough in my pockets for your satiation."

Beer, whiskey, bread, meat and cheese. Plates and pints were placed before each of them and like starved hounds they devoured it all greedily. I made my rounds, stopping to speak with each of them. Unlike the last coach full these were souls I could hire more readily.

Neot was fierce, powerful and blunt. She was finishing her fourth beer as we agreed on her wages.

Pithou had the appearance of a scarecrow with her flat topped hat and straw blond hair but a few words with her and I knew she would rival Dismas.

Good fortune thus far.

It was the last two I was unsure of.

I started with the antiquarian. Thorel was a woman after my own heart. She too was a young budding academic though her taste for the occult ran much deeper than mine. Like with Canaigres, I could see both the benefit of her intrests and the risk. Still our conversation revealed she was well tempered and took percautions when delving into such arts. I accepted her offer to join up but before we parted she spoke again.

"Machault, I spent most of the journey here speaking with him. He, his affliction is....off putting but please consider him just as you have the others. He has much to offer and I believe that this call to a purpose is what he truly needs." She drained her pint and unsteadily made her way to the door.

Machault.

He was in a corner keeping out of sight. I approached the table withe two more pints and a well rounded plate. His first plate was spotless, as he had left not a single crumb behind. I offered the second plate and a pint as I sat down acoss from him and after a hesitant acceptance he hungrily began eating once more though with more composure so as to be polite. I took the other pewter flagon and drank deeply. The questions I was about to ask were no small thing.

" How does this work?" I asked.

Machault did not dismiss my question dispite its rudimentary delivery. He finished swallowing and looked at his hands before him on the table.

"Do you recognize this? What it means?" He asked.

"In part."I watched him nodding.

He turned his hands over studying them as if deciphering the map his veins carved beneath his flesh.

"Though I may not appear so, I am strong. I can fight for you as a man or as...as a...with this." He once again let the putrid veins become visable under his skin.

Canaigres would be all over this man. The Occultist certainly would ask more specifically and openly about Machault's condition than I.

"You can do that on command? When you fight with that?" I gestured to his hands which were once again Ichorless and human.

"Can you control it? Or will it control you?" That was the main thing I needed to know if he was indiscriminate then I'd have him back on the stagecoach immediately.

He paused in thought, then looked up at me. His eyes were black pools, the irises and whites devoured.

" I do not have interest in harming your hirlings D'Esperer. Both the man and beast agree, it is the evil and the twisted beings we wish to kill." His voice was lower more resinous.

My mouth was agape dispite my desperate reach for composure.

"W-well, I...." I wanted to look away but those eyes held me.

" Your family is used to the creatures better left forgotten." Rumbled the new voice, "Besides Thorel I think you may be only one who hasn't screamed at my introduction." With this, Machault abruptly put his head down breaking our locked gaze.

When he looked back he was shaking slightly and his eyes were human and remorseful once more.

"Forgive me My Lady." His voice was once again soft with a light wheeze at the end of some of his syllables.

The change didn't help the fact that my mouth was still open so like any good adventurer would, I placed my flagon to it and to one of the deepest draughts of my life.

Machault continued as I did so.

" In order to gain your trust I thought it best to let you hear it from both of us, though upon reflection you may have taken it better if I'd answered first." By this time I had found my tongue at the bottom of the pint.

" So there are two seperate beings then yes?" My horror, fascination and need to know for business were tumbling over one another for priority.

"Well, not exactly mum, you see I know what is going on in both forms. I...I am always Machault... its just the nature of my...other side... is a bit primordial, if you will. Instinctual impulses and less care for human politics but as you heard from that side and as I am telling you now. I am not interested in disturbing the peace of the world anymore than I already do...but if I am to be what I am then I want to do some good in this world." Partway through his affirmation he had subconciously put a hand to the brand on his head.

Its meaning was not commonly known but anyone who'd studied eldritch lore knew of the experiments carried out by thosewho felt their pursuits were above morality. Those...as I had recently learned like my Grandfather.

"The house behind this tavern has been turned into our current barracks. Bottom floor is mostly communal quarters:kitchen, messhall, living area. Considering your condition... might I suggest you take the room on the left of the entryway. It's simple but distanced from the others. I have a feeling you may perfer that." His expression had gone from solomn, to surprised and now was accompanied by short and eager nods.

"Ye-Yes Miss! I mean- M' Lady, I.. I -" I held up a hand.

" If you lose control, even once I will dismiss you. Is that clear?" He verbally agreed in an unsettling mingling of the two voices and part of me shuddered inside.

I finished discussing his terms and wages and left him to a third meal on the house. I kept my steps steady.

The beast smells your fear but admires your courage. That voice again...his voice.

I left the bar and sought out Dismas and Reynauld.

[lansolot]

lansolot my theater and classical literature enjoying blogger on my dash DO YOU have any favorite monologues from shows or books or anything else that you would like to share about

thank you so much for this ask! this’ll be quite the messy post, so do forgive me for that. however, i will make an attempt to organize it! also, i do apologize for any grammar or spelling errors i make. i’m half asleep at the moment

— 1

i could go on for hours about this play as it’s such a favorite of mine. i’ve already gone on a long tangent about horatio and hamlet in the past, so i’ll at least try to make this little ramble hamlet centered. despite how often i see people complain about how hamlet isn’t a good play and that shakespeare is too difficult to understand, i think that people should at least try to understand his works. especially hamlet, as i personally think that it’s an incredibly influential play of his. even though hamlet’s classic “to be, or not to be” soliloquy is quite popular, it’s incredible that it’s so popular and commonly studied by so many people. words love to fail me, but what i’m trying to say is that there’s something beautiful about literature written so long ago being so widely adored, related to, and studied by people today. it’s so fun seeing others relate to characters like hamlet and get all giddy when reading said books and realizing that hey, this character written about over 100 years ago is quite similar to me!

— 2

the amount of symbolism in the picture of dorian gray makes me insane. the amount of nature symbolism? the fact that basil is what oscar sees himself as, henry is what the world sees him as, and dorian is what oscar wishes that he could be in a different era? i could go on about this for hours if my words weren’t failing me

— 3

listen. i do not play about religious themes and, as you all know, symbolism, metaphors, etc. i don’t know many people that care about this book, but i’ll be rambling about it anyways. the death of ivan ilyich is FULL of symbolism. first off, whist. in the death of ivan ilyich, various characters play whist in order to escape from matters they deem as bothersome or dull. ivan ilyich plays whist to forget about the pain he’s in, pyotr ivanovich flees ivan’s home quickly to play whist and distract himself from the solemn atmosphere of ivan’s funeral. characters play whist in order to distract themselves from suffering, death, and monotony. it’s, as i see it, a representation of the more “trivial” activities that ivan and those around him participate in to flee from a life that’s lacking of enjoyment and liveliness. also, ivan being compared to a phoenix? a creature that shines brilliantly, returns to ash, then returns back to life? the fact that ivan lived his “golden days”, fell ill, and in the end, passed away and saw light instead of dark? god, this book makes me ILL. don’t even get me started on the fact that the chapters grow shorter as ivan dies to show himself slowly nearing his demise. and the fact that the number 3, a number heavily used in the bible, is so commonly used in the death of ivan ilyich, but especially during the last chapter? the fact that biblically it can represent a new life and resurrection… and the way that ivan ilyich resorts to god in his final days… and also, the fact that the saying “it is finished” is referenced in the books ending… someone please stop me from rambling too much. none of this makes sense bc i’m so tired but that’s ok

[opera-ghosts]

There is nothing so beneficial to the young artist as the kindly and just criticism of a person who knows and nothing so stimulating as his praise. Among my most priceless possessions I treasure the words of encouragement given me by Patti and Sembrich, those wonderful artists, when I was beginning my career. Mme. Patti is a splendid example of the many sidedness necessary to artistic perfection. Her wonderful voice was always supplemented by complete knowledge of the art of singing, and her mastery of languages and of different fields of art made her not only a great artist, but a most interesting woman. To hear an artist of this kind is one of the most profitable parts of a musical education. But there are two ways of listening to a singer. There is the appreciative way, and there is the entirely critical. The beginner usually tries to show her knowledge by her intensely critical attitude. The older you become in your art the more readily you will be able to appreciate and learn from the singers you hear on the opera or concert stage. The greatest and the humblest singer can teach you something. But to learn you must be in a receptive attitude. The public has no real conception of what an amount of intelligent work besides talent and art is necessary to achieve the results which it sees or hears. Only those whose lives are devoted to the same ideals can understand the struggles of other artists, and it is for that reason that appreciation and not condemnation should be on the tongues of those who themselves have studied. The artist may demand the greatest things of herself, and what may be good enough for others is not good enough for her. As the poet says, "Art is long," though life may be short, and singing is one of the most fleeting of all arts, since once the note is uttered it leaves only a memory in the hearer's mind and since so many beautiful voices, for one reason or other, go to pieces long before their time. If the singer's health is good the voice should end only with life itself, provided, of course, it has been used with understanding and with art. In performing before the public one should be governed by the tastes of the public, not by one's own tastes. Just as the comedian usually wishes to play Hamlet and the man of tragic mien thinks he could be a comedy star, the singer who could make a fortune at interpreting chansonnettes usually wishes to sing operatic rôles, and the singer with a deep and heavy voice is longing to inflict baby songs on a long suffering public.

[anneapocalypse]

Dawntrail asks: 1, 17

Dawntrail WoL/OC Questions

Thank you for asking!

Why did they agree to accompany Wuk Lamat to Tural?

She liked Wuk Lamat, and it sounded fun to travel somewhere completely new, but the biggest reason, if we're being honest? Her sister wanted to go.

I gave a little backstory on the situation with Ariane's sister Gratienne here, but they've been reunited not long after EW after believing one another dead. Gratienne was always the more adventurous sister (ironically) and after their very isolated childhood she loves travel and the sea in particular. So when Wuk Lamat invited Ariane (and by extension her companions) to come to Tural as her allies, Grati was like "HELLS YES yes of course we're going right I wanna travel with my sis say yes Ari you'll say yes right of course you will!!! TO SEA!!!!"

And really, how could Ariane say no to that?

17. The theme of family and legacy is repeated throughout Dawntrail—did this theme resonate with your character? Were there specific moments relating to family that impacted them?

It resonates with Ariane so much.

Ariane was born and raised in Mor Dhona, on the shores of Lake Silvertear, until the Garlean attack when she was 12. Her family fled with many other refugees to the outskirts of the Black Shroud, where a small number settled permanently when it became clear their homes were lost and there was no going back. In the years that followed, their mother grew increasingly paranoid and afraid of the outside world, discouraging her daughters from ever leaving their small hamlet or seeking their fortune in the wider world. Ariane took on the role of Good Daughter, always acquiescing and reassuring her mother and trying to play peacemaker between her and Grati, who openly chafed against this restrictive and isolated life. In the year leading up to the Calamity, it was Grati wanted them to run away and become adventurers, and Ariane, who was already hiding her terrifying and unexplained Echo visions, who convinced her to stay home, that leaving would kill their mother.

The Calamity hit and basically obliterated their home. Their parents were killed; Ariane awoke on the forest floor with no idea how she had survived and for years believed the Twelve to have saved her for reasons unknown, until later she came to believe (probably rightly) that it had in fact been Hydaelyn Herself. Unbeknownst to her, Grati also survived, but they were separated and in the chaos following the Calamity they were never able to find one another. Grati eventually took to ship as a privateer, and spent the next several years on the seas, while Ariane wandered alone by land for several years before going to Gridania and beginning her study of conjury.

She has a lot of complicated feelings about her parents. It was only with their deaths that she found her way out into the wider world and truly discovered herself. She misses them terribly and wishes every day that they were still alive. They loved her and her sister deeply and tried to do what they thought was best, and sometimes they were very wrong about that.

"Everything feels a little less terrible over a cup of tea, don't you think?" "Once again I find myself humbled by thy wisdom," Urianger said, managing a wry smile as he again raised his cup to his lips. "My mother used to say that there was little that couldn't be fixed with a hot cup of tea," Ariane said with a half-smile. "That, or a bowl of hot soup." "Thy mother doth seem a wise woman." "Sometimes she was," Ariane said wistfully. "Other times, she was a woman who gave in to all her worst fears about the world, one for whom everything beyond our doorstep was deadly and terrifying, and would have denied me a life because of it. But I dare say she was right about the tea. And the soup."

So with all that... she understands not only what it's like to lose a parent in a sudden and terrible way, but also what it's like to realize that your sibling's experience of family and childhood was not the same as your own despite growing up together. Especially now that Gratienne is back, and they're gradually catching up and getting to know the people each other have become, Ariane understands that while her feelings about their parents are mainly sorrow, Gratienne has had a lot more anger to work through. So, Zoraal Ja's very different feelings toward his father(s) is less of a shock to her than it might be, but she also understands why it's such a shock to Wuk Lamat and Koana. She does her best to offer support (and a shoulder to cry on if needed) as they're all going through it, Erenville too.

Gratienne also ends up sympathizing a lot with Erenville's situation with Cahciua--how frustrating and infuriating it is when your parent keeps talking around a serious problem and using talking about how much they love you as a deflection to keep you from cutting to the core of it. She and Erenville don't hit it off from the start (if we're being honest he probably finds her kind of annoying!) but she reaches out to him in the end and they end up bonding quite a bit.

[reluctantjoe]

Mathew Baynton: ‘I’ve never done any Shakespeare – although I’ve played the man himself’

Best known as part of the troupe behind hit TV series Horrible Histories and Ghosts, Mathew Baynton tells Fergus Morgan about returning to the stage – in the RSC’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream – and how his Bottom will be sweet and sincere

Actor and writer Mathew Baynton will be familiar to most from his screen roles – as Deano in Gavin and Stacey, Simon in Peep Show and as lovelorn 19th-century poet Thomas Thorne in BBC One’s much-loved and recently concluded sitcom Ghosts. In fact, television has taken up most of Baynton’s time lately. When he steps on stage as Bottom in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s new production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream later this month, it will be his first theatrical role in more than a decade.

“I never made a conscious decision to do less theatre,” Baynton says. “There has been stuff that never worked out, some near misses that didn’t happen and it ended up being 10 years. I love Shakespeare but I’ve never had the chance to do any, although I’ve played the man himself a couple of times. I have had that Uncle Monty realisation from Withnail and I that I will never play Romeo or Hamlet, but there are loads of great Shakespeare roles that I want to do, such as this one.”

Born in 1980, Baynton grew up in Southend-on-Sea. He was “comedy obsessed” as a child – “I used to have everything from Blackadder to French and Saunders on VHS,” he remembers – then became interested in the physical theatre comedy of troupes such as Peepolykus and Spymonkey. He completed a degree in directing at Rose Bruford College, then travelled to Paris to train at the prestigious Ecole Philippe Gaulier school. 

In 2009, he collaborated with five other comedians – Simon Farnaby, Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond – on the CBBC sketch show Horrible Histories. The six of them subsequently formed the collective Them There, and went on to create the series Yonderland and Ghosts. Baynton also co-wrote the 2013 comedy The Wrong Mans with James Corden, and stars in recent blockbuster Wonka as a conniving chocolatier. He lives in London with his wife and children.

“Every influence I’ve ever had is in there somewhere,” Baynton says, when asked about his approach to comedy. “In some ways, though, the older I get, the more I think that being funny is almost innate. It feels like a rarer quality than any other. It is hard to teach someone who has no funny bones to be funny. Ultimately, I just like collaborating in a room with like-minded people, trying to make stuff funnier and better. It feels natural to me. It feels not dissimilar to playing in a band.”

What production made you fall in love with theatre?

I had a wonderful theatre studies teacher called Mr Valencia, who borrowed the school minibus and drove us into London to see shows. He took us to some absolute crackers. One that stands out in particular is Complicité’s The Street of Crocodiles. That blew my mind.

What are you finding inspiring at the moment?

I’m an avid consumer of all kinds of art. I like discovering new things. I don’t get to the theatre as much as I’d like to, though. The most amazing show I saw recently was Accidental Death of an Anarchist starring Daniel Rigby and written by Tom Basden. That was completely inspiring.

What do you wish you could change about the performing arts industry?

Firstly, tickets are way too expensive. Secondly, access to our industries is really difficult. We lose an awful lot of voices that would enrich our industry because they can’t afford a career in the arts.

What is the worst thing that has happened to you on stage?

I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. On television, you can corpse and do another take. On stage, there is that hot panic when you realise you can’t hold on. I don’t think it will matter too much if that happens in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It would be different if I was playing Macbeth.

What is the best thing that has happened to you on stage?

I’m lucky that I have been able to work with some of my heroes. To pick a recent example, on the first day of shooting for Wonka, I was in a green room at St Paul’s Cathedral with Rowan Atkinson. I was sat there with Blackadder. That was a pinch-me moment.

What role do you really want to play?

There are loads. I’m hungry to do lots of stuff, not just comedy. I’d love to play Malvolio one day. I was asked this question on the red carpet for Wonka, and I said that I would love to play Jack Skellington if they ever did a stage adaptation of the Tim Burton film The Nightmare Before Christmas.

What projects are you involved in at the moment?

I’m playing Bottom with the Royal Shakespeare Company until the end of March. My Bottom does have some similarities to Thomas in Ghosts. I look a lot like him, I suppose, and I’m playing him with sincerity, too. Bottom is just really, really keen on putting on a show and there is something sweet and interesting about that.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream is at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon from January 30 to March 30: rsc.org.uk