#give me excess of it that surfeiting the appetite may sicken and so die

[kaedegowon]

memorised all of orsino's lines in act 1 scene 1 of twelfth night so that when i visit my irl i can perform for him ❤️

[theragethatisdesire]

much ado about nothing chapter 5 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

i have successfully kicked my writer's block to the curb and am ready to pick back up on plug!eren!!!! woohoo!! this is the part of the story where it gets really plot heavy and there's a lot of moving parts, so it's been a fun exercise to write and brainstorm. if anything is confusing or u have any theories/questions PLEASE hit my inbox i'm so down bad for plug eren i could talk about him for days.

get ready to meet a new character who is......not the best lol. this is also the first chapter written in eren's pov :o things are about to get interesting!

still haven't caught up? series masterlist HERE <3

specific cws: mentions of smut but nothing outright, alcohol use, swearing, u know the drill

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“If music be the food of love, play on. / Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, / The appetite may sicken and so die.” - Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare (Act I, Scene 1)

Eren is, admittedly, a romantic person, especially given his occupation. Not romantic in the cheesy, buying-flowers and kissing-in-the-rain sense, but he appreciates the little details of life. He loves autumn, when the leaves catch on fire with the changing of the season. He loves the little crook of a woman’s neck, that slope where it goes from tendon to shoulder to collarbone. He can appreciate a good bourbon; after years of raiding his dad’s stash, he developed a palate for it early on. Eren’s romantic nature leads him to believe in signs. When the universe tells him something, he listens.

The text still sat in his inbox unopened, marinating in its own bizarre, heartbreaking nature.

> heyyyy lover boy! i’m back from austria! missed u, let’s catch up ;)

Eren knows that Breeze knows him, knows him well enough to understand that his three-week radio silence isn’t a no, it’s a maybe. He hates himself for not immediately texting her back and telling her to fuck off, but after his conversation with you, he thinks it might be the universe telling him it’s safe this time, that he won’t end up a shell of himself. Maybe.

You had been firm in your assertion that you and Eren were better off as friends, and as much as he wanted to fight it, Eren respects women. As much as he can when he’s prone to wrenching their jaws open and spitting in their mouths while he’s balls deep inside them, at least. He’s disappointed, but he respects it, and if he’s honest, he likes you.

He likes your sharp humor, likes the way you tend to keep your hair up off of your neck, likes the way your eyes light up when someone gives you an excuse to talk about your studies. He hasn’t been “just friends” with a woman in a long time, but it’s refreshing, an excuse to go grab a coffee and shoot the shit like a normal person instead of lurking in the corner of a frat party handing out pills like a perverse ice cream truck.

The last three weeks of “friends” have been the best Eren’s had in a long time. You’re easy, that’s what he likes about you. He can drop the cold mask he wears so often, giggle over a stupid meme, listen intently as you prattle on about some long-dead 18th-century author that was “so ahead of her time!”, smirk when you chastise him for doodling little hearts and flowers all over your coursework.

Sure, he still steals a glance down your shirt when he can, and he’d never admit it, but he thinks about you late at night. He thinks about you when he’s in the shower, when he’s got himself in his hand, panting and swearing under his breath, but he manages to feel enough guilt over it to still consider you a friend. You’re caring and considerate and easy, wholesome fun, unlike someone that’s made a sudden reappearance into his life.

After that first night, just when he was starting to entertain the thought of promoting you from one night stand to official fuck buddy, the closest thing to commitment Eren allows himself to maintain these days, Breeze swept back into his life, and you hit the brakes on him. While it may not have been the sign he wanted to receive, Eren’s a romantic, and he listens to the universe, especially when it goes so far out of its way to tell him something.

He’s decided to let Breeze stew for a little while longer. Campus will be clearing out for Thanksgiving break soon, along with most of his business, and he’s going to wait until his hands are empty of work and you before answering her. Plus, she had flitted off to Europe after college like their entire relationship had been nothing more than a passing phase; Eren’s owed at least a little bit of pettiness, right?

> paradise ath 1130! see uthere ;)

Eren snorts at your text. Being as uptight as you are about grammar (you’re constantly hounding him about his texting style, and he’s been making them even more incorrect just to hear you berate him), he knows you’re not just texting quickly, you’re drunk.

“Yo, ‘min!” Eren calls into the kitchen, an excited flutter already rising in his chest beneath his hoodie.

“Yeah?” Armin’s head pops around the doorframe, a dab of ketchup on the corner of his mouth.

“Wanna go to Paradise later?”

“The club?” Armin’s nose wrinkles. Connie’s head appears right beside Armin, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Connie answers for both of them before Armin has the chance to shoot the idea down, “who’s going?”

“Like you don’t know the answer to that,” Armin scoffs, ducking back into the kitchen with a roll of his eyes.

“I never took her for a ‘club’ type of girl,” Connie adds air-quotes to emphasize his confusion.

Eren mulls that over for a moment; he doesn’t really take you for a club type of girl either, but from the sound of it, Historia and Sasha have already done the job of getting you good and drunk and talking you into a night on the town. Eren’s always wanted to see what you’re like when you’re well and truly fucked up; every time you indulge him with a story from college, he ends up laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach and gasping for breath.

Supposedly, when you go all out, you drop the mom-friend act and become a little less tame; is this Eren’s opportunity to get an eyeful for himself? He’s not waiting around to find out.

Eren shrugs. “Come help me make these runs and we’ll go. Armin, you’re driving.”

The drop-offs are uneventful, and as soon as Eren steps foot inside the club, his nose scrunches with distaste. Ironically, he’s never been into the partying scene, much preferring a quiet beer at Scout’s or a blunt on the couch to a club. The music’s horribly loud, bass thudding through the fabric of his hoodie and beating against his chest, and as he looks for you, he can barely see through the mass of bodies and the fog machines. You’re here? It’s difficult for Eren to imagine you, in your favorite flannel and those cute little Vans he likes, tucked against the bar throwing back your signature craft beer. As Connie urges him and Armin in the direction of the bar, calling for green tea shots, Eren nearly regrets his decision, until fingernails dig into his shoulder, spinning him on his heels.

“Hey, you.”

Eren blinks stupidly as you grin up at him through thick, black lashes. He’s never even dared to imagine you like you are now, piercing eyes gazing up at him through a heavy dusting of makeup and the shortest, tightest dress Eren’s ever seen hugging every inch of your curves. You look sinful in a way he’s never seen you before, not even when he was holding you tight to him and wrenching out orgasm after orgasm from your body. He gulps.

“Holy shit– hey,” he lets you pull him in for an overexcited hug, bites down on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the bulge already swelling in his pants.

“I missed you!” You pinch his cheeks, much to Eren’s dismay.

“Just saw you yesterday– quit pinchin’ me. What are you even doing here? Didn’t think this was your scene.” Eren has to actively keep his eyes trained on your face; there’s a little bead of sweat traveling down the expanse of skin between your breasts that’s making his mouth water. Friends, he scoffs in his mind. Are you trying to kill him?

“Well, it’s not, but Sasha says I need to be more fun, and Stor says I need to find a boyfriend.” You gesture around like it’s obvious. Eren cocks an eyebrow, ignoring the inappropriate envy that twists in his stomach at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’.

Boyfriends never like the guy friends, it’s practically a law of nature. If you’re dating around, it’s only a matter of time before some square in a button-down steals you away from your coffee dates and movie nights with Eren, but he can’t get too caught up in that now, not when you’re looking up at him all dizzy and sexy and bursting at the seams.

“Don’t know if this is the place for that.”

“That’s what I said!” Oh, you’re drunk drunk, all of your movements overexaggerated and shaky. It makes him want to laugh seeing you like this; his little book nerd, trashed and mere inches away from having her ass out at a club. Well, either laugh or drag you into the bathroom to bend you over the sink. He can’t be sure.

“Hey mama!” Connie shouts over at you, handing you a shot. Eren has half a mind to snatch it out of his hand after catching the slurring in your voice, but he’s too late; you throw it back without so much as a shudder, grinning all wide and wet and pretty when you swallow.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you tell him, pulling him down by his collar so you can speak into his ear. Eren has to bite back a groan at the feel of your hot lips against his ear. Friends, he reminds himself urgently, pushing you back from him but keeping his hands firm on your hips, relishing in the way your flesh gives under his grip.

“You know the rules. You call, I come.”

“That’s what she said,” you snicker, pinching his cheek again.

“Cut that out!”

“Make me.” Oh fuck, Eren’s going to die. He’s going to die if you keep looking at him like that, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and fuck-me eyes on him.

“You’re not being very friendly,” he manages to choke out, trying his hardest to give you a suspicious look through the dizzying wave of images that flash through his brain. You with your mouth full of him. You spread out on his bed, back arched and fingers twisted in his hair. The little “o” your mouth made when you rode him for the first time. Eren wants to smack himself, jump in a cold shower, something. Get a grip, dude.

“Maybe not,” you shrug, eyes darting over to the bar. “Hurry up and grab a drink, I wanna dance.”

“Not much of a dancer,” Eren admits, taking the beer that Connie hands him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work.”

Eren isn’t sure if he likes or loves the sound of that, powerless against that stupid little dress you’ve got on as you drag him behind you to the mass of bodies he had so disdainfully eyed on his way in. He’s greeted by a loud round of shrieking, one more pinch to the cheek by Historia and a slap on the ass from Sasha. You make a show of teasing him for how pink his face gets, but luckily, your friends are instantly distracted by Armin and Connie’s arrival right behind him. You pull him back down, glossy lips pressed right against his ear.

“I really like this song.” You’re barely audible over the pounding music, but even if Eren hadn’t heard what you said, he’d get the gist from the way you grind against his thigh, slow and sensual. Maybe you are actually trying to kill him.

“Yeah?” He’s breathless, irreparably and embarrassingly caught in the little web you’ve woven.

“Yeah.” You’re moving harder against him now, throwing your arms around his neck and grinding your hips into his. Eren’s only thought is to let his hands fly back to your hips, let you use him like a stripper pole to show off.

He can feel eyes on him, not the eyes of friends, but of other men around him, wondering who the lucky asshole is that’s getting the royal treatment from a girl as hot as you. If he were to be truthful, it’s getting him off, how every eye is on you and, by proxy, him, holding you like a lifeline as you let the beat rock through your body.

So this, this is the party girl you claim to have living deep inside you. This seductive, electric creature moving tantalizing against his body, this is the source of the stories Historia tells him that make you blush? How you could ever be embarrassed of this is beyond him; you’re like a little devil, sent straight from hell just to torture him, and Eren’s mouth is watering.

Song after song goes by, and you don’t let up, don’t let him catch his breath for a moment, moving from facing him to pressing your ass into his crotch and then back again, arms above your head or wrapped around his neck. Eren wishes he was mentally sound enough at the moment to feel ashamed that you can absolutely feel how hard he is through his pants right now, but he’s drunk on you, letting you press into him so insistently he has to tug your dress down for you, letting you drive him so crazy that he’s grateful for the loud music now. He’d die if Connie or Armin could hear the way he’s grunting and groaning low under his breath, powerless underneath you.

Suddenly, as if you haven’t just been riling him up for the last half hour, you back away enough to face him, shaking your empty cup and him and mouthing something that Eren’s still too dizzy to make out.

“Huh?”

“Get me another drink!” you shout over the bass, laughing at him.

Eren nods stupidly, darting away from you before he can grab your jaw, pull your lips to his like he so desperately wants to. Finally out of the throng of bodies, he can feel his head clearing, some semblance of sanity crashing over him. What the fuck has gotten into him? It was just one night, and you’ve kept him at arm’s length ever since, only seeing each other under the guise of coffee, or a beer, or Eren insisting you need to continue your education in the wonders of horror films. You’re drunk, that’s the only explanation; drunk and teasing him like you aren’t going to wake up and throw him right back into the friendzone. He rests both elbows on the bar, shaking his head like he’ll be able to knock some sense into himself if he rattles his brain around a little.

Eren orders your vodka soda and a beer and a shot for himself, something to clear his head and keep his blood pressure manageable. Hopefully, at least.

When he turns around, drinks in hand, that plan flies out the door. There you are, center of the dance floor, hands above your head and hips moving like you’re intentionally trying to make him lose his fucking mind. He tilts his head in interest when a man approaches you, grazes his hands over your hips like he means to start grinding against you. Eren can feel his own hands tightening around the bottle and the plastic cup in his hand, but he holds himself back; he’s got no claim on you, and if you’re willing to entertain the man (who, if you ask Eren, is way below your standards), who is Eren to stop you?

You surprise him in the best way: when the man touches you lightly, you whip around, brows furrowed and a little glitter in your eyes so mean that even Eren nearly flinches. He can’t read your lips in the low light, but he snorts to himself anyway as the man puts his hands up and backs away from you, eyes wide. As if nothing had happened, you spin back on your heel, facing a cackling Sasha with a shrug.

Eren feels a wide, proud smile blooming on his face. As much as he feels an unwarranted protectiveness towards you, he likes watching you get your teeth out and stand up for yourself. Before he can make his way back over to tease you, a voice from his left makes his blood run cold.

“Rennie?!”

Two thin arms are tossed around his neck before Eren can even respond, the familiar scent of vanilla and coconut enveloping him.

“Breeze?” Eren chokes out, too shocked to keep his composure. She pulls away from him and grins, a little diamond glittering from her right canine tooth.

“You didn’t text me back, you tease,” she swats at his chest, snags the vodka soda he’d bought for you right out of his hand, taking a sip. Eren takes the opportunity to swallow hard around the lump in his throat, one last tentative glance towards you before he turns his gaze back to Breeze.

She’s cut her hair, something short and choppy that swings around her ears, and fuck, she’s still just as pretty as he remembers, little freckles on her button nose visible in the darkness of the club.

“Didn’t think you wanted to see me,” Eren shrugs, forcing his face to remain schooled into one of cold apathy. She had left him, like he was nothing to her. He hates her, he realizes, god, he hates her so much it burns in his veins. Breeze cocks her head, frowning.

“Why would you think that?”

“You fucking left me, Breeze, don’t be stupid,” Eren makes a move to steal the drink back from her, but she holds it close enough to her chest that he’d have to practically grope her to take it, and his fingers recoil at the realization.

“Are you double-fisting, or did you buy this for someone special?” She teases, brushing right over Eren’s bristly demeanor. When he doesn’t answer, she raises her eyebrows. “It’s for someone. Well, point her out! Is she cute?”

Breeze turns on her heel, standing on her tiptoes to glance through the crowd. Before he can stop himself, Eren’s grabbing her upper arm, spinning her back to face him with anger blazing in his eyes. When he meets her gaze, her baby blues are alight with mischief, and he knows that no matter which direction he moves, he’s losing whatever little game she has him trapped in. That was the thing about Breeze; Eren was always losing her games.

“Fuck, just…just stop it, Breeze. What are you even doing here?”

“I’m back in town, didn’t you see my text?” Breeze shrugs innocently, sipping your drink.

“Okay, well, welcome back,” Eren deadpans, leaving her question hanging in the air between them. He turns back to the bar to order another cocktail for you, having given up hope of getting the first one back from Breeze, but she’s relentless, has always been that way. She slides up to the bar beside him, smiling demurely up at him.

“I missed you, you know.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” Eren scoffs, rolling his eyes. Breeze flinches, but Eren knows her better than that. It’s all an act, it always is.

“I never realized how much I hurt you,” her fingers grazing over his cheek nearly burn with how cold they are in contrast to the heavy, thick air around them, “‘m sorry, Rennie.”

“It’s fine.” Eren hates the way he twitches and nearly leans into her touch when she swipes her fingers over him. How many times has he thought about this, seeing her again after all these years? Everything he’s planned out, everything he’s ever wanted to say is lodged in his throat, a jumble of letters and words so squished out of order that they no longer hold meaning. He doesn’t love her, not anymore, but his body reacts before his brain can stop it, a conditioned response.

“Can we talk about it soon? Maybe over coffee?” Blue eyes blinking up at him earnestly.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Breeze,” Eren rolls his eyes, swallowing thick around the knot in his throat.

“There is,” she insists, “I brought this amazing espresso blend back with me from Florence, and–”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone for tonight?” Eren can feel the exasperation in his tone, can feel the weight of his mistake weighing on his shoulders. It’s fine, he tells himself, he’ll make up some excuse and get out of it. A long conversation with Breeze about their breakup is the last thing he needs.

“Maybe,” Breeze tucks her lip in between her teeth, a little smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “unless you change your mind.”

“We can talk or whatever another time, but I’m going back to my friends, okay? Go find yours.”

“You’re my friend,” Breeze purrs, one hand stroking over Eren’s bicep, “and I haven’ seen you int–”

“Don’t push it,” Eren nearly growls, scowling down at her. He knows half of the hatred buzzing through his veins is reserved for himself, but he’ll unpack that at home with a blunt, not in the middle of the club with you waiting for him on the dance floor and Breeze staring up at him hungrily.

“Always wound so tight,” Breeze hums, reaching a hand up to squish his cheeks, “but fine. I’ll see you soon.”

She miraculously leaves him there with nothing but a wink, taking your vodka soda with her; Eren’s shoulders slump in relief. Knowing Breeze, it was a wonder she hadn’t tackled him right there. When he turns around for the second time, two drinks in hand, you’re already staring at him. Shit.

You don’t look mad– and why would you be? You’re friends, Eren reminds himself. There’s no reason for you to know who Breeze is; he’s never told you about her, and he never planned on doing so. Eren knows Historia, though, well enough to believe that she told you everything from the godforsaken moment he walked into your apartment that day. 

He doesn’t like that look you’ve got, though; again, not mad, but he can see the gears turning behind your eyes. Eren has to practically force himself to walk towards you. Your head’s cocked in confusion, something watery and hesitant glimmering in your eyes through the low lighting. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you almost look hurt, but that wouldn’t be fair, would it? You didn’t want him, you had made that abundantly clear.

“Sorry it took me a while. Long line.” Eren hands you your drink, nearly wincing at how naturally the clearly false statement rolls off his tongue.

“Mhm,” you nod, downing nearly half of your drink in one long slurp. Your movements aren’t fluid and dynamic anymore; you’re stiff as a board, bouncing back and forth on the balls of your feet along to the beat of the song. “I…I actually have to pee, do you mind holding this?”

“Now?” Eren blinks, confused. “I just got your drink.”

You offer him a tight smile. “I wanted to wait ‘til you were back, so you could watch my drink. And so you didn’t think I ran off on you or something.”

“Oh, yeah, go ahead.”

He watches you slink away into the crowd, watches the dozens of eyes follow you, surely wondering what happened to the little firecracker in the middle of the dance floor. Eren knows you get like this sometimes, suddenly pensive and nostalgic, knows that per your own admission, you like to handle it yourself. He hadn’t done this to you, had he?

A firm pinch to his cheek distracts him, pulls him down a foot below his normal standing height. Could everyone just stop pinching his fucking face? “Shit, ow!”

“Was that Breeze?” Historia yells directly into his ear. Eren, six-foot-something of hell on wheels, blushes furiously.

“Dude, was that fucking Breeze, or am I too fucked up?” Connie echoes Historia’s sentiment from over her shoulder, eyes comically wide. Armin’s peering around him, eyes flitting back and forth between Eren, Connie, and Historia as he tries to understand what’s happened.

“Who cares?” Eren snaps at Connie. Historia’s grip on his face loosens, releases entirely. If Eren didn’t like the look that you had given him, he hates the look Historia’s shooting at him right now. All daggers and disappointment. She turns on her heel without another word, making a beeline for the bathroom and dragging Sasha along behind her. Eren doesn’t miss Armin’s eyes either; stripping him to the bone without saying a word.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Eren scoffs, waves a hand in Armin’s direction.

“When did Breeze get back into town?” Armin shouts over the music.

“A few weeks ago,” Eren admits, avoiding Armin’s eyes and looking for a spot at the bar where he can escape the heavy gazes of his friends, run away to drown this conversation in a shot of whiskey.

“Did you–”

“I don’t know, man, you know how she is. She just showed up.” Eren knows he’s being unnecessarily gruff, but in his defense, the last hour or so has been a whirlwind of memory and emotion and lust that he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

Armin nods simply, takes a sip of his beer. Eren’s known Armin since they were kids, and he knows Armin can read him like a book. If he had a little less pride, Eren would pull Armin to the side and ask if he can make any sense of what’s going through Eren’s head right now because Eren sure as hell can’t. There’s you, with your skimpy dress and your flirty eyes, grinding on him like you’re going to take him home and fuck him stupid again, like you hadn’t demanded an honest-to-god friendship that Eren happens to very much enjoy. On the other hand, there’s Breeze, flighty and just as much of a ghost as she is a real person, popping back into his life and batting her blue eyes at him like she’d never left.

You’re his friend, and Breeze is his terrible ex. There shouldn’t be a choice here– there isn’t, it’s just the way things are, but Eren feels stuck at a crossroads for some reason.

He finally gets fed up with the music and the bumping of bodies around him and storms off to the bar again, biting back the urge to snap at Connie and Armin who he knows are hot on his heels. Eren’s just looked up from the shot of whiskey burning its way down his throat, acknowledging the dizziness that’s come with his drinks for the night, when he spots you.

You don’t look angry, that’s a small mercy you unwittingly grant him, but you’re cowering. Historia, even being shorter than you, is practically pinning you to the wall outside of the bathroom, shouting at you with her finger in your face. Sasha doesn’t look all too pleased either, arms crossed and a deep scowl written into her features. Eren gets a glimpse of your phone in Historia’s other hand that she’s waving around erratically, and wonders what the hell happens in women’s bathrooms. He’s not exactly sure what prompts it, but he checks his own phone. Nothing.

“Are they fighting?” Connie asks, nose scrunched as he peeks around Eren’s arm.

“Looks like it,” Armin nods, wincing as you try to make a grab for your phone from Historia, resulting in Sasha saving you at the last second from face-planting as Historia holds it out of your reach.

“Should we, like, do something?”

“Absolutely not,” Armin and Eren echo each other, looking at Connie as if he’d just suggested they all walk into oncoming traffic.

Eren watches as Historia grabs you by the wrist and drags you out of the bar, your feeble protests doing nothing to stop her insistent steps. Sasha follows both of you, gently pushing you along by the small of your back and shooting a regretful glance at Connie, mouthing a sorry as you all make your exit. It’s hardly been five minutes before Eren’s phone buzzes.

> had to leave. do you mind paying our tab if i venmo you? it’s under reiss.

Eren bites the inside of his cheek again, not worrying in the slightest about covering the tab, but more so the reason for your abrupt exit.

> yeah i got u everything ok?

> thanks a ton! see u next time.

It’s purposefully avoidant, especially coming from Historia, who never misses a chance to make fun of you good-naturedly. If you had been sick in the bathroom or far too drunk to stay, she would have come out and said it. Eren throws his card down, going to pay the hefty tab you and your friends racked up, but not daring to pay his own. After all of the shit that’s just gone down, he owes himself at least one more drink.

Once he’s signed, he pulls out his phone again, thumb hovering over your text thread, then Breeze’s, then yours again. Mindful of Armin’s prying eye over his shoulder, Eren sighs heftily and shuts his phone off, leaning in to order another shot. The following morning’s approaching quickly, whether he wants it to or not, and he’ll save his fucked-up emotions for the daylight.

[maslimanny]

If music be the food of love, play on;

Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken, and so die.

That strain again! it had a dying fall:

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,

That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,

That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,

Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price,

Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy

That it alone is high fantastical.

- William Shakespeare,

Twelfth Night

Poetry, Tea and Me

[ftmshepard]

A moment with a Master

"If music be the food of love, play on;" Mr Wines intones, "Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die." The Master finishes the line with a flourish, sending the last of its wine to the floor.

"Just a little poetical effort," Mr Wines says, "An original on my part. We should have been Mr Poems. What good is wine, really? Music intoxicates as sweetly. And hardly ever spills."

Servants scurry over to clean up. Mr Wines returns to swaying as the music swells. "We are excessively voluble. Please, forgive Us. Have a drink and put Our rambling out of your mind."

[pleckthaniel]

Wait but I want to hear more about Orsino being fay and how the adaptations erase that though 👀 If you don’t mind of course!

I will take any opportunity to talk about gay shakespeare! Thank you for asking!

Note: I usually refer to Viola/Cesario with they/them pronouns. Although they are most likely meant to be interpreted as a cis woman, part of the beauty of the character is that they can also easily be interpreted as nearly any stripe of trans*, so I choose to refer to them this way to emphasize that ambiguity.

So for a bit of background: Twelfth Night is probably Shakespeare's queerest play. The title itself refers to a long-standing tradition of anything-goes revelry at the end of the Christmas season. The play itself never mentions this tradition, so we can assume it is so titled because of its thematic concern with chaos and ambiguity. Beyond Orsino, the play is rich with queer coding (and I do feel comfortable calling it coding, given that Shakespeare was very likely bisexual himself), which is frequently get erased or played down in adaptations. Orsino is just one fragment of the larger story of this play and how society has interpreted it.

Now my research is limited and a few years old, but to my knowledge, scholars still debate whether Orsino was ever actually "in love" with Olivia. I'd like to point to his "hart" speech in Act 1, Scene 1. The play literally opens with Orsino saying:

"If music be the food of love, play on. / Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting / the appetite may sicken and so die."

So he's trying to so overwhelm himself with romantic imagery that he gets sick of it and moves on from Olivia. That's a pretty unusual way to talk about a woman you're saying you want to marry! Throughout the speech, there's this weirdly dark undertone. Every word or phrase that seems loving is immediately followed and contrasted by imagery that evokes not just death, but violence. Notice also how he talks about his first meeting with Olivia:

"That instant was I turned into a hart / and my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, / e'er since pursue me."

"Hart" is obviously a pun on the word "heart," but the more important thing here is that it's an old-fashioned term for a stag. He's talking about his pursuit of Olivia as a hunt, but positioning himself as the one being hunted. This use of metaphor suggests, also, that if Orsino allows the pursuit to end - i.e., actually marries Olivia - he will die.

The headline is that, IMO, this speech makes much more sense to me from the perspective of Orsino being gay than him being straight. If he's straight, we have to question why he's talking about this in such melodramatic terms, and why he seems to be having to convince himself to want Olivia. If he's gay, though - especially if even he doesn't realize it yet - then it makes sense for him to both be invested in creating a heterosexual relationship, while also seeming to resent the idea, and worrying that marriage will cause him to lose some important facet of his identity.

That being said, all we can really glean directly from this speech is that Orsino intends to marry Olivia, but doesn't really love her. The opening image of the play is that of a man struggling to process his complex feelings about the institution of heterosexual marriage. There's an ambiguous queerness to that which I believe is intended to set the tone and focus the audience's attention.

Now, I could talk pretty extensively about Orsino's interactions with Viola/Cesario throughout the play. Thing is, whether or not Orsino knew about V/C's crossdressing is very ambiguous, and it's commonly argued that he was aware of the whole situation from the start - which would mean that his flirting with V/C would be evidence of heterosexuality. I don't agree with this interpretation personally, but it is a valid one based on the textual evidence.

The really important thing when it comes to Orsino's sexuality & attraction to Viola/Cesario comes in his final speech, which also happens to be the ending speech of the play. Basically as soon as V/C reveals themselves as a secret crossdresser, Orsino proposes to them. The scene moves on to wrap up subplots, and then, in the final words of the entire play, Orsino tells V/C:

"We will not part from hence. Cesario, come - / for so you shall be while you are a man / But when in other habits you are seen, / Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen."

In short, he's declaring that, so long as Cesario continues to present as Cesario, he will refer to them as Cesario - and when they present as a woman, he'll refer to them as Viola. Basically, Orsino has stumbled into a winning play - he can continue to view his spouse as a man, while also reaping the political benefits of having a wife.

It's also important that V/C themselves has no say in this and never gets the chance to respond, since the play ends shortly after. Many readers - rightly - interpret V/C as genderqueer in part because the play ends with an affirmation of their identity as Cesario. But it's Orsino who affirms this, and feminist scholars have sometimes interpreted that affirmation as a method by which he speaks for and controls V/C. These scholars rarely question why a heterosexual man would wish his wife to dress and present as a man. Maybe Orsino is talking over V/C here, but if so, that doesn't erase the fact he'd clearly rather be attracted to Cesario than Viola.

Another small thing I want to mention about the ending is that we don't see the wedding. That might not seem significant, unless you're very familiar with Renaissance plays. At that time, comedies were expected to end with marriage. You see this in a lot of other Shakespeare comedies, like Much Ado or As You Like It. No matter how tangled - or queer - the situations get, a marriage symbolized the end of that chaos. Sorta like the Hays Code about how gay people can't get happy endings, this trope could be used as a tool of both portrayal and erasure.

Twelfth Night, though, ends with the promise of marriage, technically fulfilling the trope; but in direct defiance of genre convention, we don't see the wedding and as a result, the chaos doesn't actually end. Viola/Cesario ends the play as Cesario - compare that to As You Like It, where the crossdressing female lead, Rosalind, ends the play in a wedding dress. Symbolically, the lack of wedding is a rejection of heteronormativity and further emphasizes how queer V/C and Orsino's relationship is.

Generally, adaptations don't focus much on Orsino. That's fair, because all of the other leads hold up as characters much better than him in the 21st century. But the result is that the ambiguities of his sexuality are usually ignored (in full-text adaptations, like the 1996 film with Helena Bonham-Carter) or taken out of the story entirely (in rewritten adaptations, like She's the Man).

Adaptations also usually ignore that crucial lack of a wedding at the end of the play. In the 1996 film, the wedding is explicitly portrayed, and Viola/Cesario ends the story as Viola. She's the Man does something very similar: Viola finally gives in to her mother's demands to become a debutante, and the film literally ends with a parade of heterosexual pairings in gender-conforming dress. I'm not criticizing these films, because these are logical conclusions to their stories. But these endings are a pretty direct pair of middle fingers to the ambiguity and queerness the original play so cherished.

All in all, it's a gayass play, and Orsino is really just the tip of the iceberg. There's Antonio and Sebastian's thing, the possibility of Olivia's queerness, Viola/Cesario's gender... Viola/Cesario's sexuality... the fact that the villain of the play is literally a sexually repressed Puritan... and probably more. If you're interested, I strongly recommend you check out some published queer scholarship on the subject.

Quotes are from the Folger Shakespeare: https://www.folger.edu/explore/shakespeares-works/twelfth-night/read/

[feste-de-jester]

🃏 ⤷ Romantic Representation in the Upper-Classes (Deep-Diving into Twelfth Night #2)

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Romance is a complex theme shown in Twelfth Night, not only because of the intertwining plots and love-triangles, the several different relationship structures and the number of characters experiencing it all at once; but also because of how Shakespeare produced romance effectively in the text as a whole. His methods of constructing fruitful dalliances are interesting, and actively challenge the customary behaviours and attitudes of the 17th century whilst still providing the expected light-hearted experience throughout the entirety of the play.

Orsino Pursuing Olivia:

The customary idea of courting within the upper-classes is initially what sets up the baseline to the plot of the text itself - with Orsino pining over a wealthy woman in order satisfy his longing feelings and to end his bachelorism as a duke. Already, Shakespeare has introduced an uncommon feature in this relationship dynamic: a noble wanting to marry a noble for love, rather than for the social approval, which was typically the deciding point in many upper-class marriages in this period. The viewer introduced to his reasoning directly from the opening lines of the play, a soliloquy, in which Orsino speaks through very sombre and music-like tones, complete with floral metaphors which add to the idea of his passionate love for Olivia.

ORSINO: If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! Tt had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound, that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more: 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love! How quick and fresh art thou, that, notwithstanding thy capacity receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, of what validity and pitch soe'er, but falls into abatement and low price, even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy that it alone is high fantastical. (Twelfth Night 1.1.1-16)

And yet, whilst the audience witnesses his overwhelming love for the Countess through his melancholy speech, it is not he who is seen to act upon them directly. Giving a modern viewer an insight into the customs of upper-class privileges of the 1600s, Viola - or Cesario in her role - is introduced as a means of establishing the relationship between the two nobles. She is employed as a messenger between the two households (ultimately creating the complications throughout the plot), her main task being to make Olivia fall in love with Orsino.

ORSINO: O, then unfold the passion of my love, surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: it shall become thee well to act my woes; she will attend it better in thy youth than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect. (Twelfth Night 1.4.271-275)

However, returning back to the idea of Shakespeare challenging the typical behaviours involved in the upper-classes, Orsino is unafraid to seem impertinent if it will ultimately help him achieve and win Olivia over, which would have been a very uncommon method of wooing a lover at this time in the real world. In some ways, it allows for Shakespeare to provide the audience with the idea that there will be no serious consequences for these characters no matter how they behave, establishing that this play is meant to be unusual and enjoyed with little responsibility involved.

ORSINO: Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds rather than make unprofited return. (Twelfth Night 268-269)

Sir Andrew Pursuing Olivia:

In contrast to Orsino's attempts at courting the Countess for love, Sir Andrew is forced and tricked into wooing Olivia for the ultimate financial benefit of Sir Toby - an interesting sub-plot that provides some form of comic relief for the audience, as they get to see the foolish characters fail whilst the protagonists are able to succeed in their desires.

Despite this, Sir Toby's objectives that he hopes to fulfil with his friend marrying Olivia are arguably much more accurate to real-life circumstances, which may be why Shakespeare allows them to falter - ultimately promoting the idea of marriage for love.

Financial stability through marriage was a common central basis on what most upper-class marriages were arranged upon, despite the circumstances being slightly different due to Sir Toby's alcoholism and excessive spending for his own enjoyment and wanting to continue this through the hopeful endless funds provided by Sir Andrew, rather than just sustaining his title and position.

SIR ANDREW: Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself here hard by woos her.

SIR TOBY: She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man. (Twelfth Night 1.3.211-217)

Sir Toby Abandoning His Mischief:

The character of Sir Toby is used by Shakespeare to provide comic relief and bawdy humour for the audience throughout the play, alleviating the seriousness of the main-plot by interjecting with the foolish character's misbehaviour with his counterparts.

However, by Act IV, Scene II, the audience finally witness him assessing his situation, morals and behaviour - eventually dismissing himself as part of the gulling that he has played such a central part in throughout the entirety of the sub-plot.

One may argue that his sudden change in practice is a result of him wanting to mature in order to pursue the referenced love he has for Maria, his troublesome accomplice.

SIR TOBY: I would we were well rid of this knavery. (Twelfth Night 4.2.2083-2084)

Furthermore, this may be a direct link to the prophecies that Feste offers throughout the course of the text, indicating that, overall, all fun must come to an end when it is appropriate. When Sir Toby realises that he must correct his morals in order to be involved in a romantic relationship with Maria, he abandons his position in the plot against Malvolio, leaving with Maria during the Act IV, Scene II.

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There is absolutely LOADS that I would love to write about romance in this play, so this is just a snippet of it! I will definately be continuing to analysis the different ways in which love is presented, as well as through the actual appearance of it structurally in the text, as I think that this is a really subtle but important factor! :D

Thanks so much for having a read, and I hope I explained my points clearly enough, haha :) Have a great rest of your day >:D

feste-de-jester (they/he)

[mrigendrabhanu]

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it;

that, surfeiting,

the appetite may sicken and so die....

[musicmaster221]

The Music

Music is an art form that has been around for centuries. It is a form of expression that can be used to convey emotions, tell stories, and bring people together. Listening to slow music is like doing yoga as it relaxes our brain and calms down our thoughts. Playing very soft music in the background during meditation helps in focusing our mind. The same way playing such music during studying prevents us from deviating to other things and helps us concentrate on our studies1. Music is the soul of life and gives immense peace to us. In the words of William Shakespeare, “If music is the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.”2 Music spreads happiness and joy in a person’s life. It is the best way to be happy and busy in life. In this busy, crowded and corrupt world, where everyone wants to harm each other at all times, music keeps us happy during these difficult times and helps to provide relief to our brain3.

Music is a universal language that can be enjoyed by people of all ages and cultures. It has the power to bring people together and create a sense of community. Music can also be used to express political and social messages. For example, during the civil rights movement in the United States, music was used to spread messages of hope and unity.

There are many different genres of music, each with its unique style and sound. Some popular genres include rock, pop, hip-hop, jazz, classical, country, and blues. Each genre has its own history and evolution over time. For example, rock music originated in the United States in the 1950s and has since become one of the most popular genres in the world.

Music can also have a significant impact on our mental health. Studies have shown that listening to music can reduce stress and anxiety levels. It can also improve our mood and help us feel more positive about life. Music therapy is a growing field that uses music to help people with mental health issues such as depression and anxiety.

[twominuteliterature]

"If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.

-William Shakespeare

[adventuressclubamericas]

Banned Book Week 7

In Death on the Vine, Jack recommends that Hugh look to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night for inspiration with his romantic declaration to Dot. 

It’s a good thing that they were in Victoria for this, and not in New England. Twelfth Night was banned by a New Hampshire school district because the scene where Viola, dressed as a boy, falls in love with Duke Orsino was, in their minds, “alternative lifestyle instruction” - in other words, promoting homosexuality. “Act 1: Scene 1. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace. - “If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die ....” https://gutenberg.org/files/1526/1526-h/1526-h.htm #bannedbooks #BannedBooksWeek #freedomofspeech #freedomofexpression #MissFisher #shakespeare #twelfthnight

[persephonediary]

“If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.” 

― William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

[darthwheezely]

the evans as shakespearean lines!

a/n: i love shakespeare, used to do shakespeare, and i’m depressed. mwah. ily

tate

To be, or not to be, that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die—to sleep…To sleep, perchance to dream

kit

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound, that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more: 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

kyle (post death)

Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.

james patrick

Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures. 'Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I’ll gild the faces of the grooms withal, for it must seem their guilt.

rory

Sigh no more, sigh no more…sing no more ditties, sing no more of dumps so dull and heavy. The fraud of men was ever so since summer first was leafy. Then sigh not so, but let them go, and be you blithe and bonny, converting all your sounds of woe Into hey, nonny, nonny.

kai

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York; and all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; our bruised arms hung up for monuments; our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

peter

O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone on the forefinger of an alderman, drawn with a team of little atomies over men's noses as they lie asleep…

colin

What light is light, if Sylvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Sylvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by and feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Sylvia in the night, there is no music in the nightingale; unless I look on Sylvia in the day, there is no day for me to look upon. She is my essence, and I leave to be if I be not by her fair influence fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive.

taglist! (dm me to ask to be added/removed @undeadcortez @lycanlupins @wandsandwheezes @tatesimper @mrs-march-ahs @kitwalker02 )

[lowlifesymptoms]

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.

I fuck with it

[jakelcckley]

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.

if anyone shares their favourite song with me, i love them already. It's like a love language.

[free-pool-trash]

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.

i think I’ve seen this film before… 😒 and I didn’t like the ending 😩

[if-music-be-the-food-of-love]

Where does your url come from?

Oh heyyyy💕 I’d love to share that. My url is from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.

“If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.” Act 1, Scene 1

I really like the first part (until “play on”). My main personality trait for most of my life was being a musician, so I always liked this line—the idea of music feeding love and music being connected to love. Now my life revolves around books, so I thought it was rather fitting to choose a Shakespeare url that mentioned music, like combining the two halves of my heart. (The 2nd part of the quote is less positive—basically keep playing until I grow sick/full and fall out of love…not the most romantic thought 😂, but it fits the play/character).