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sassycolorgentlemen · 1 month ago

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Angely @ sweet 70: The Timeless Essence of Life in Late Adulthood

In the journey of late adulthood, the transition from the challenges of earlier years to a phase of acceptance and peace becomes a profound realization. Much like Frances Lear's perspective, the second half of life is about embracing the lessons learned and savoring the fruits of one's experiences. In the earlier years, life is often a process of trial and error, figuring out who we are, how to navigate relationships, career paths, and personal aspirations. But as we enter late adulthood, the questions have largely been answered, and what remains is the joy of understanding and enjoying the life we've built. It's a time to reflect on the wisdom gained, to find satisfaction in simplicity, and to treasure relationships, accomplishments, and the present moment.

This aligns with Deepak Chopra’s view of aging. He suggests that we are not victims of the physical processes of aging, sickness, and death. Rather, these are simply aspects of the scenery that surrounds us as we move through life. The true essence of who we are—the spirit—remains untouched by these external changes. The spirit, Chopra tells us, is the eternal, unchanging force within us. It's not bound by time or circumstance. It is a timeless witness to all that we experience. In late adulthood, this perspective can offer a sense of peace and liberation. Rather than being defined by the inevitable signs of aging, the spirit transcends them, allowing us to experience life with a deeper sense of calm and acceptance.

For many, this stage of life holds the potential for greater joy and freedom, as the mind and spirit become more aligned. The challenges that once seemed insurmountable fade into the background, and what emerges is a clarity that life is to be lived fully, without fear of what is beyond. In late adulthood, we can come to see aging not as a decline but as an opportunity to enjoy the richness of existence—appreciating the present, reflecting on the past, and remaining connected to the eternal spirit that has guided us all along.

Angely, at 70 years old, is a reflection of grace in late adulthood, living a peaceful and contented life in the comfort of her small "tindihan" (store), where she spends her days surrounded by the familiar rhythm of her surroundings. Without children or grandchildren, she has embraced the freedom that comes with living life on her own terms. Her life is simple, yet rich with the fulfillment of having experienced the journey of many decades.

Her husband, the one constant companion through the years, supports her every decision. Their relationship, rooted in mutual respect and understanding, has been a steady source of strength. Together, they share not just their living space but a deep connection that has allowed them to face life's challenges and joys with ease.

In this stage of life, Angely enjoys the simple pleasures: a quiet day in her tindihan, engaging in small conversations with neighbors, zumba, planting, and reflecting on a life lived well. Her life in tindahan, a modest place, represents more than just a livelihood—it symbolizes her independence and the way she has shaped her life despite not having children or grandchildren to care for. In some ways, her decisions are her own legacy, rooted in her own values and desires.

As they enjoy their time together, Angely and her husband find joy in the little things, recognizing that at this stage of development, it is not about what they’ve accumulated but about the peace that comes with acceptance. They no longer worry about the complexities of the world as they once did, for they know that their love, shared memories, and the quiet fulfillment of the present are enough.

Living together in this final stage, Angely and her husband show that age brings wisdom—not just about the world, but about themselves. It is a time to savor the joys of being present, to appreciate the simple act of being, and to find happiness in the companionship that has endured all these years.

Angely’s Physical, Cognitive, Socioemotional Milestones A Naturalistic Observation

As the interview with Angely progresses, a deeper understanding of her life unfolds. Through the conversation, several poignant observations begin to surface.

Physical Milestones

Physical Appearance: As with most individuals in their 70s, Angely’s physical appearance shows the natural effects of aging. Her skin has developed the familiar texture of age, marked by soft wrinkles and the gentle signs of time that speak of a life lived fully. Graying hair frames her face, complementing the soft lines etched with years of experience. Age spots on her hands are subtle reminders of the sunlit days spent under the open sky. Despite these visible changes, there’s an undeniable glow in her eyes, a sign of the vibrancy that resides within.

Movement: While Angely is in good health for her age, her movement is characterized by a slower, more deliberate pace. She walks with careful attention, though there are no significant signs of unsteadiness or the need for mobility aids. Her gait reflects a life of quiet strength, and there is a certain steadiness in her steps, as if she has learned to move in harmony with her body’s natural rhythm.

Vision: As the years have passed, Angely has noticed subtle changes in her vision. She sometimes squints while reading small print, a common experience for those in late adulthood. It's evident that her eyesight isn't as sharp as it once was, and she wears glasses for reading. However, she adapts to these changes with ease, finding ways to manage the tasks of daily life that require close visual attention.

Vision: Color Perception and Depth Perception: Angely also experiences some difficulty in distinguishing certain colors, especially in varying light conditions. This occasionally affects her when selecting items or navigating through her store. She sometimes comments on how the lighting in her tindihan can make it harder to differentiate between hues, but she does not seem overly troubled by this. Similarly, her ability to judge distances has become less reliable, especially when walking over uneven surfaces or when maneuvering through crowded spaces. She takes extra care when walking in such conditions, relying on her other senses to guide her.

Hearing: Angely’s hearing, while not as sharp as in her younger years, remains functional. During the interview, she occasionally asked for repetitions when words were spoken softly, or if the surrounding environment created background noise. At times, she appears to respond slowly to sounds, especially those of lower frequencies, but overall, her hearing is still sufficient for her daily interactions.

Smell: Unlike other senses, Angely’s ability to detect and differentiate odors seems to have lessened. While she is still aware of strong smells, such as the scent of food or cleaning products, she no longer seems as sensitive to subtle fragrances. This has not impacted her daily life significantly, as she still enjoys the scents of food and the environment but no longer reacts to them as strongly as she might have in the past.

Touch and Pain: Angely's sensitivity to touch has increased over time. She reacts more noticeably to light touches, and sometimes expresses discomfort when exposed to extreme temperatures, such as cold weather or hot surfaces. Her skin, though soft, is more fragile, and she has developed a sensitivity to certain fabrics and textures. These changes reflect the natural loss of skin elasticity and nerve sensitivity that often accompany aging, but Angely has adapted well, taking care to protect herself from physical discomfort.

Perceptual-Motor Coupling: Angely’s ability to coordinate her perception with motor actions, such as using utensils or handling objects, is still quite good. During the interview, she demonstrated dexterity when handling items in her tindihan, moving from one task to another with ease. Though there are moments when she needs to focus more on tasks that require precise motor skills, such as picking up small items or organizing things on a shelf, she still maintains a solid level of coordination.

Weight: Over the years, Angely has noticed a slight change in her weight. She maintains a healthy body mass, though she has lost a bit of weight compared to her younger years. This change is not drastic but is a natural part of aging, as metabolism slows down. Her body’s composition has changed slightly, but she remains in good health and is satisfied with her physical state.

Height: Like many individuals in late adulthood, Angely has experienced a slight decrease in height, likely due to the compression of her spine over time. She now appears a little shorter than she did in her youth, a common physical change that many older adults experience. This change is subtle but noticeable when standing next to younger individuals, though Angely doesn’t seem concerned. She carries herself with confidence and poise, unaffected by these natural shifts.

Cognitive Milestones

Cognitive Pragmatics: Angely’s practical knowledge and life experiences shine through in her decision-making and problem-solving. With years of lived experience, she draws on her past to guide her in handling day-to-day challenges. For instance, when asked about managing her tindihan, she talks about how she learned the ins and outs of running her small shop over time. She uses this knowledge to make decisions, whether it’s selecting the right items for her customers or dealing with minor issues that arise. Her ability to apply what she’s learned throughout her life is clear, and she is quick to offer advice to others on how to manage situations practically.

Attention: Angely demonstrates an impressive ability to maintain focus, particularly during our conversation. She listens intently and is able to provide thoughtful responses. Whether it's talking about her past or explaining how she manages her daily activities, she maintains attention and seems fully engaged in the discussion. This ability to focus on tasks, conversations, and activities for extended periods of time indicates a stable cognitive capacity for attention.

Explicit Memory: Angely’s memory for facts and events is still strong. When asked about her past experiences or her thoughts on certain events, she is able to recall them with remarkable clarity. For example, she vividly remembers her early days of marriage, the challenges of building her life with her husband, and even specific moments from her younger years. She speaks about these memories with fondness, and it’s clear that they hold significant emotional value for her. Her ability to recall names, places, and events from her past shows that her explicit memory remains intact.

Reminiscence Bump: Like many older adults, Angely shows a tendency to recall memories from her adolescence and young adulthood more clearly than other periods of her life. During the interview, she often drifts into stories from her younger years, especially those related to her family and her youth. These memories seem to be rich in detail and evoke strong emotions, highlighting the reminiscence bump that many older adults experience. She recounts vivid tales of her childhood and early adulthood with pride, often laughing or expressing nostalgia.

Tip of the Tongue: Throughout our conversation, there were moments when Angely struggled to recall a specific word or name. She would pause, searching for the right word, and then either find it or move on to a different part of the conversation. This "tip of the tongue" phenomenon is common in older adults, and while it was noticeable, Angely was able to move past these moments smoothly without frustration. It’s clear that, while her recall may occasionally falter, it doesn’t seem to significantly hinder her ability to engage in conversations.

Source Memory: Angely is still able to remember where she learned specific things or where particular events occurred. For instance, when asked about how she learned to manage her tindihan, she can trace back the origins of her knowledge to the guidance she received from family members and the experiences she gained over the years. Her ability to recall the source of her memories shows that her source memory remains relatively intact.

Integrity vs. Despair: Angely's reflections on her life choices reveal a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. She often shares stories of how she and her husband built their life together, emphasizing the achievements that brought them joy. There are no signs of regret or sorrow about missed opportunities; instead, Angely expresses contentment with the path she has chosen. Her ability to accept her past and embrace the present marks her development of integrity, a key milestone in late adulthood.

Life Reviews: Throughout our conversation, Angely frequently reflects on her past, sharing personal stories with warmth and pride. She talks about the experiences that shaped her into the person she is today, from the early days of her marriage to the lessons learned through challenges. These reflections often come with a sense of accomplishment, as she appreciates the life she has lived and the wisdom she has gained along the way. Her life review process allows her to make sense of her journey, marking an essential step in her socioemotional growth.

Active Theory: Angely remains active and engaged in her community and personal life. She participates in social gatherings with her close friends and family and is involved in her tindihan, where she enjoys meeting her customers. Her consistent engagement in these activities reflects her commitment to maintaining her physical and social well-being, which is crucial for her overall sense of vitality in late adulthood.

Socioemotional Selectivity Theory: As Angely has grown older, she has prioritized spending time with family and close friends over seeking out larger social circles. Her tight-knit relationships with those she loves are evident, and she cherishes moments with her husband, who has been her constant support. This shift toward deep, meaningful relationships demonstrates her understanding of the importance of emotional fulfillment in later life.

Selection: Angely's focus on activities that bring her personal joy is clear. She spends her days managing her tindihan, a task she enjoys deeply. Her decisions are rooted in personal meaning, such as helping others or creating a comfortable space for her and her husband. Angely chooses not to pursue new, extraneous goals but instead cherishes the simple pleasures of her daily routine.

Attachment: Angely's strong emotional bonds with her family, especially her husband, are an essential part of her socioemotional life. Her love and support for him are unwavering, and they have nurtured a strong partnership over the years. She also maintains close connections with a few friends, and these relationships provide her with a sense of security and emotional support in her later years.

Self-Control: Angely demonstrates remarkable emotional self-regulation. Even when faced with challenges, she remains calm and composed, showing little signs of anxiety or emotional distress. Her ability to handle difficult situations with grace and patience is a testament to her emotional maturity and self-control.

Self-Esteem: Angely exudes confidence in herself and her abilities. Despite the challenges that come with aging, she continues to view herself with a positive outlook. She values the experiences that have shaped her and is proud of the person she has become. Her sense of self-worth is evident, and she faces the future with a balanced and optimistic perspective.

Overall, throughout her journey in late adulthood, she has faced certain challenges, despite that she conquires it gracefully and proves to us young generation that you can be indestructible even in this last part of your life. Always be grateful to the things that are blessed in certain ways.

1-on1 interview with Angely

Angely, at the age of 70, shares with wisdom the lifestyle choices that have contributed to her longevity and overall well-being. "Nag-try daw siyag zumba and dilig-dilig sa mga tanom and eat healthy food," she says, explaining how keeping an active lifestyle and maintaining a balanced diet have played crucial roles in her health.

When asked about her feelings on aging, Angely responds with clarity, "To have loving and healthy and strong connections with family and friends," emphasizing the importance of nurturing meaningful relationships in later life as the key to living a long and healthy life.

As she ages, Angely has developed health habits that focus on maintaining her well-being. "She avoid drinking alcohol, and just zumba," she explains, sharing her conscious decision to avoid harmful habits and instead engage in activities that promote good health, such as regular Zumba exercises.

However, aging also brings challenges. Angely acknowledges the physical changes she’s experienced, stating, "Yes, naa magsakit na akong mga lawas2. Inom rakog tambal para mawala ang sakit and dili mo kaon kung unsa ang bawal." She stays vigilant about her health by taking medicine to alleviate pain and avoiding foods that could worsen her condition.

Sleep, an essential aspect of her well-being, has also been affected by aging. "Oo, makamata lang kog alas 3 or 4 tapos dili nako kabalik og tulog," she says, explaining that her sleep patterns have changed. To ensure rest, she drinks milk, but sometimes struggles to sleep in the afternoon due to an overactive mind. "Naga inom ra jud kog gatas para maaktulogan," she adds, highlighting her simple yet effective routine to improve her sleep quality.

Physical discomfort and stress impact her sleep as well. Angely shares, "Dko isyag effect kay pang naa koy gina isip tapos magool ko dili ko katulog sigig isip ato," describing how stress can keep her awake at night. She tries to manage this by drinking milk, a soothing habit she’s found helpful.

To stay physically fit, Angely engages in various exercises. "Baktas2 kadiyot, magdilig og halaman, usahay kay palakwon ajg iro sa gawas. Uban sd kay ga zumba sa YouTube sa TV," she says, outlining the different physical activities she enjoys. These activities help her maintain her strength and vitality. "Dako siyag tabang kay feel nako mas ni kusgan ko," she reflects on how regular exercise has made her feel stronger.

Angely also knows the importance of staying active and staying positive. "Think positive lang iwasa stress para dili siya makalimtan," she advises, emphasizing the role of a positive mindset in maintaining physical activity and overall health as one ages.

In terms of health checkups, Angely is diligent. "Every Thursday ko ga adtu sa clinic," she mentions, describing her regular visits to the health center. Being proactive about her health has been a key part of her routine. She finds these visits helpful in monitoring her condition, saying, "And good thing kay sa balay nila atubangan kay health center."

As she gets older, Angely places importance on specific health screenings. "So far high blood, medyo taas kog sugar and arthritis," she shares, highlighting the health concerns she manages regularly. Her awareness of her health, coupled with regular checkups, has allowed her to live a fulfilling life despite these challenges.

Angely, now in the later years of her life, reflects on how her experiences in the workforce shaped her cognitive abilities. She shares that although she retired from her job as a saleslady, the mental challenges persist: "Lisod jud siya especially na wala koy anak pero naa koy bana," she confides, explaining that her retirement was tough at first because the income was much smaller. However, over time, she adjusted, saying, "Hinay-hinay og adjust kay walay choice." Despite retirement, she continues to remain mentally active by thinking positively and staying stress-free: "Think positive lang and iwas stress kay feel nako kung ingana man, good man."

When asked about how retirement has impacted her cognitive function, Angely admits that it was difficult at first, even feeling as though her mind was in decline: "Dako kaayo siyag epekto sa pangkaisipan. Kay feel nako kamatyonon nako hahaha tung nag-retire nako." However, she has made adjustments, incorporating routines to stay mentally sharp and active.

Angely also talks about her mental health in late adulthood. Although she is unsure of how to maintain it perfectly, she strives to manage her emotional challenges by reflecting on their causes: "Actually wala ko kabalo unsaon pag maintain sa mental health. Para lang ma manage ang stress or emotional challenges kay itry nako og isip unsay cause, paghuman kay isolve nako siya." She admits to having difficulty with memory and decision-making, particularly when emotions take precedence over logic: "Medyo makakalimutin na ako and when it comes to decision making. Kay mas nangingibabaw ang akoang emotion kaysa sa logic."

Her faith plays an important role in her life. Angely recalls her mother’s words that have deeply influenced her: "If there is someone you can talk to, it would be God. If there is someone who listens to your needs, helps, and gives hope, talk to God." She finds peace and solace in attending church: "Feel nako pag mo simba ko every Sunday, I feel fresh. Like kanang ganing na replenish ang mga sala and etc." This connection with God gives her a renewed sense of purpose and clarity, especially when facing tough moments.

In the face of life's challenges, including the betrayal by her husband, Angely turns to her spirituality for strength. "In a way na even my husband cheated on me for how many times, betrayed me everyday, kahit tiguwang na, but there is someone na mag listen and it is God." She feels that God has been her constant support, helping her endure even the darkest times.

Angely has mixed feelings about her life. While she’s proud of her accomplishments, including graduating as an accountant and working at a prestigious bank, she has regrets about her personal life, particularly her marriage: "Sa love, oo. But I don't regret not having a child. Dili ko gusto mag suffer akoang anak kay tungod akoang na asawa kay sugarol, babaero, and liar." Despite her regrets, she maintains a sense of integrity and kindness in her later years: "I just think what is best for myself and being kind."

To stay active, Angely participates in Zumba and works at her store, ensuring that she remains physically and mentally engaged. "Zumba lang and doing my work sa tindahan," she says with a smile, adding that these activities positively affect her overall health and well-being.

Through her reflections, Angely demonstrates resilience, showing how faith, personal growth, and mental fortitude can shape one’s journey into late adulthood.

Angely, a seasoned individual, has come to terms with the changes that come with aging. She shared that, in her earlier years, her primary goal was to break free from her spouse, but now, she has a different focus. "Dati akoang goal makalaya sa akoang asawa, karun gikapoy naman man ko siya, kay more of kanang tigum or pension para sa future if mahitabo ang mahitabo sa kinabuhi," she said. She has learned to adjust her expectations and has shifted her focus to planning for the future and preparing for what life may bring.

As she ages, Angely has focused more on her work and how to improve her life’s circumstances. "Nag focus rako sa akoang trabaho og unsa on pag lasbog sa akoang kinabuhi. Pag sa tingin nako gi kapoy nako, stop na," she explained. She acknowledges the limitations that come with age but continues to find ways to cope by focusing on areas that bring her satisfaction.

When it comes to self-esteem, Angely remains confident and maintains a positive outlook. "Gwapa man gihapon ko so wala koy problem sa akong self-esteem. Despite my age may asim pa (eww), hahaha joke pero dati man good alaga na juud ko like water lang ganun," she laughed, showing how she handles aging with humor. Her mindset reflects a strong belief that beauty is not confined to age, and she continues to take care of herself.

Angely’s perspective on aging is practical. "Normal lang man ang changes sa body, magkulobot na ang everything," she said, acknowledging the inevitable changes in her body. She embraces these changes, understanding that they are part of the natural aging process.

Self-control has become an important part of Angely’s life, especially when it comes to her health habits. "Limit lang og kung dili kaya dili pugson," she noted, reflecting her approach to maintaining balance. She no longer pushes herself beyond her limits, accepting that her body’s needs have changed over time.

Her relationship with her spouse has evolved significantly. "In my late adulthood I feel contented kay though, same mig house and we are still marriage in paper. But I feel relieved kay naka laya nako sa iyaha. Civil lang," Angely shared. The emotional distance between them is apparent, but she recognizes the importance of having a peaceful and civil arrangement as they grow older.

"Ang dami kong hamon sa marriage pero. I am okay now we have our own business to do," she explained. Over time, their relationship has shifted from a romantic bond to a partnership based on mutual respect and shared responsibilities. Despite the challenges, they have found ways to navigate their lives together, even if love is no longer a focal point.

Building and maintaining a support system has been essential for Angely. She understands the importance of having a strong social network for emotional well-being. "Paano ka bumubuo at nagpapanatili ng sistema ng suporta habang tumatanda, at gaano kahalaga ang suportang ito sa iyong kalusugan?" she reflected, emphasizing how this support plays a crucial role in her overall health.

When asked about successful aging, Angely shared, "Having a strong and healthy relationship with everybody and being healthy and forgiveness." She defines successful aging as maintaining good relationships, staying healthy, and practicing forgiveness, which she believes are the keys to a fulfilling life. She also practices physical activity, including Zumba, which she finds beneficial in staying active.

As Angely looks forward to her later years, she is determined to embrace the process with a positive attitude, focusing on her physical and emotional well-being, and continuing to nurture the relationships that bring her joy.

Angely’s Journey: Overcoming Challenges and Embracing Forgiveness in Late Adulthood

Angely's life in late adulthood has been shaped by both challenges and moments of peace. One of the most significant struggles she faced was living under the same roof with someone who had deeply hurt her in the past. "Matulog sa isa ka balay ang taong sumira ng buhay mo noon," she shared. Despite the pain of being reminded of her past, she found a way to confront her emotions and move forward. "Before naa gihapon ang why? Why? Why? But in the end of the day gi accept ko sorry niya," she reflected. Over time, she embraced the power of forgiveness, realizing that holding onto resentment would only weigh her down. "If God can forgive na dako kaayu tag sala, nganong kita dili?" she asked, a testament to her belief in the healing power of forgiveness.

The challenges of aging, such as health concerns and physical limitations, have also become part of Angely’s journey. "Paano mo hinaharap ang mga hamon ng pagtanda, tulad ng mga problema sa kalusugan, pisikal na limitasyon, o pagbabago sa mga social na papel?" she was asked, and while she didn't explicitly detail the physical hurdles, her approach to life reflects resilience. Angely has learned to accept that aging brings inevitable changes, but she faces them with grace and strength, relying on the lessons she has gathered over the years.

Reflecting on what brings her the most satisfaction in life, Angely expressed, "Na forgive ko ex ko. Despite everything." The act of forgiving not only gave her a sense of peace but also a deep fulfillment. "Yun nga na forgive ko siya and ang mga taong nagpasakit sa ako," she added. Forgiveness has truly been a cornerstone of her emotional well-being, allowing her to live with less burden and more peace.

Angely finds that the most important lesson she has learned over the years is the power of forgiveness. "Forgives is the key to live longer. It takes time to heal but when you are ready and forgive the person who hurt you back then, it is like fulfillment and naghahatag sa akoang lesson juud," she shared. This wisdom has guided her through the toughest moments of her life, teaching her that healing begins with letting go of anger and resentment.

When asked about her advice for younger generations, Angely had a thoughtful response: "My advice to younger generations is to embrace aging as a journey, not a burden. Live life authentically, focus on building meaningful relationships, and don’t hold grudges." She emphasized the importance of cherishing the present and growing through life’s challenges. "Remember, a fulfilling life isn’t about avoiding challenges but about learning and growing through them. Practice self-care, cherish the little moments, and always prioritize forgiveness—it’s the foundation of peace and true happiness."

As Angely continues her journey, she holds onto the lessons that have shaped her: the importance of forgiveness, the beauty of healing, and the power of living authentically. Her path is one of acceptance, peace, and the unwavering belief that, with time, all things can be healed through love and understanding.

Life in late adulthood is about understanding, acceptance, forgiving, empathetic, and lastly moving forward. Angely has taught us about late adulthood life is simple and as we get older everythings might be difficult but life in late adulthood is appreciating the years of your existence and continue throughout the years flourish your choices and mastering all the challenges that you will encounter in life

#developmental psychology #Late Adulthood

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vvienne · 3 years ago

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TODOBAKUDEKU FIC RECS

Curse of Baytown by surveycorpsjean

With the last of his hope, Shouto stumbles into a strange town. Be it destiny, or be it fate; his life will change forever.

two whole dicks for a half and half bitch by Ascend

Todoroki stumbles his way into a threesome, Midoriya cries into his pants, and Bakugou gets cockblocked no less than twice, but eventually, they all get laid.

Of Respite and Odyssey, Balm and Halcyon, Rapture and Godot, Lear and Pierrot by JayJEx

Aizawa and All Might’s Forever Squad of Problem Children

(8:47 AM) Midorito: @/everyone this is an official callout post for @/Discount IcyHot Patch, who is returning to musutafu tomorrow and DIDN’T EVEN TELL ANY OF US!!!!! ლ(ಠ益ಠ)ლ

Shouto groans in despair. Predictably, the group chat immediately explodes.

-or-

Todoroki returns to Musutafu after six years away and his tragic inability to keep up with all of the people in his life catches up to him in the worst, most irritating ways possible.

(Though he might at least get a boyfriend or two out of the matter. That’s a plus.)

if it was only a distraction (how come I can't stay away) by Voulezvous_79

He scrolls down and his heart stops - shit, shit, shit, no. Bad Izuku. You are over this. Completely, totally, definitely over any high school crushes that were going nowhere - because it’s the photo.

The one he surreptitiously had as his phone background for his entire first year in America. The one he cried over when he got on the plane. The one he jerked himself off to - once, okay!? It was one time, and he panic-deleted it after he came, and then cried about that, so he’s not proud, okay?

---

Or: Izuku's back in Japan, and he's definitely, totally, 100% coping with his friends' new relationship.

Biology for Assholes by fruiticle

Bakugou, an omega with Pseudo Alpha Syndrome, was content to live with his heatless, smoke-scented, absolutely-not-soft condition.

Really. He wouldn’t change a thing.

JUMP!!! by cxlmberry

Izuku grew up watching Superhero Legend, the iconic, generation-defining anime series featuring the invincible crimefighter All Might. Now, he is ready to become a professional manga author himself, to inspire thousands of people with his own series for decades to come – if only things were that simple.

Weekly Shounen Jump picked up Shouto’s series when he was only sixteen, and since then, he has become one of the most accomplished authors in the magazine. He’s a teenage prodigy. A genius. Jump’s main attraction. Sometimes the stress of it is too much.

Katsuki is talented – extremely, rudely so, and he knows it. An incredible artist and master storyteller, he’s out to become the one and only, undisputed King of Shounen Jump. Now, he only needs to get published.

A story of passions and careers, talent and hard work, second, third and fourth chances, as well as recovery and growth.

---

Alternatively, a budding manga artists AU.

Fire in the Mountains by EllaBesmirched (El_Bell)

“I’ll do it.”

Enji froze, fingers curling into a fist at his side, and didn’t turn around.

Shouto froze too, feeling his own eyes widen in shock at the words that had come out of his mouth, at the fact that he had actually stood up, followed his father out of the room, and dashed after him all just to say… he’d do it? He would do it? Him. Shouto Todoroki. He would--

Enji finally turned around and fixed Shouto with an expression so scathing, Shouto had to fight to keep his chin raised. “You’ll marry the Barbarian King.”

Shouto blinked. “Yes.”

How (Not) to Bribe a Human Sacrifice by maxisnotokay

"You want to kill me?" Katsuki asked, brows raised. He suddenly looked a little less like a king and more like a man, peering at Izuku through the moonlight. "You help me make this cure, and you kill me."

"Those are my conditions," Izuku said. He didn't break his gaze. "A deal's a deal, Kacchan, and I'm trying to be a hero."

+++

[fantasy au. midoriya literally falls from the sky and strikes up a deal with an unlikely candidate. things do not go as planned.]

Guildy Pleasures by Mysecretfanmoments

As the only son of a powerful politician, Todoroki Shouto's life is just one big boring cutscene—except when he logs on to Land of Heroes, where he plays as ShoutO, slaying foes and keeping his fellow guildmates alive. It's enough fun that it almost distracts him from the fact that he's falling for two of those guildmates. Almost. But he's got to stay in stealth mode, because Bakugou and Midoriya are mega-popular streamer duo ZeroDeku… and they're already dating each other.

Shouto has managed to keep his real identity a secret from them all this time, but when he's caught on live television watching one of their streams he ends up not only pulling aggro from the whole country, but catching the attention of ZeroDeku themselves. To his shock, they actually want to meet Shouto, the politician's son—and this time there's no avatar to hide behind.

the universe must have my back, you fell from the sky into my lap by lelex

The picture looks like it was taken in a cafe, Todoroki in a light blue sweater that even from a distance looks wildly soft, seated at a baby grand piano with his short hair effortlessly tousled. It’s one of those photos where it’s obvious Todoroki wasn’t expecting it to be taken—he’s in the middle of looking up at whoever is behind the camera, a smile small on his face but delight evident in the curve of his mouth.

He’s stupidly beautiful. Looking at him for too long makes Izuku kind of sweaty.

They both sit there staring at this one picture for almost three full minutes. In complete silence. Eventually, Kacchan sighs a little bit and tips his head backwards to rest on the couch. Staring up at the ceiling, he murmurs, “Well, shit.”

Izuku can’t stop the lightly hysterical laugh that explodes from his mouth in response.

“We’re fucked.”

Izuku, Katsuki, and Shouto fuck up a meet-cute, twice. But everyone wins in the end.

Cinderoki, the Sweaty Prince, and the Furious Fairy by Esselle

"I wish I could go to the royal ball for Prince Izuku," Shouto finally told the fairy.

Katsuki screwed up his face. "That's it?" Shouto nodded. "Why?"

"It seems fun."

"It's not going to be fun." Katsuki scowled. "It's going to be terrible. You have to have a better wish."

"I want that one," Shouto said.

Todoroki Shouto is cursed. Since he was five years old, he's been locked away from the rest of the world to keep his out of control magic a secret. He thought he could be content with his storybooks—until an invitation comes from the royal palace, inviting his family to attend a ball for Crown Prince Izuku.

Shouto wants to go; he wants to be normal; he wants to leave his cage. Most of all, he wants to know what it's like to live in a fairy tale, even if it's only for one night. Fortunately, he's about to meet one pissed off fairy named Katsuki, who's been watching Shouto his whole life and waiting to make his wish come true.

Powder Keg by Ajaxthegreat

Bakugou really, really, really didn’t want to be trapped in an elevator with Todoroki and a fireproof dildo.

Sensory Input by Esselle

"Captain," Shouto says, clearing his throat. "You put in a request?"

Midoriya stands in front of the window now, staring out at the endless expanse of stars. He turns when Shouto enters. Like Bakugou, he's dressed casually, in a simple grey shirt that stretches over his chest. His green eyes blink wide as though in surprise, before he smiles. It's sheepish and shy. In front of the window, the vastness of space flung out behind him, he's as stunning as a supernova.

"I did, right," he says. "The, um, the thermostat… seems to be, maybe—"

Bakugou cuts him off with a loud sigh. "Quit wastin' his time and tell him why he's really here."

Shouto is a remote crew member of a spaceship—his real body is stationed on a world far away, but his consciousness is housed in a maintenance bot on board the ship. When he manages to attract the attention of the ship's gorgeous captain and fiery first officer, it doesn't take long to discover that the bot's adjustable sensitivity levels have more enjoyable applications than repair work.

#todobakudeku #tdbkdk #fic recs #bnha recs #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki

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wernerherzogs · 4 years ago

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the old guard; yusuf x nicolo

a/n the order of these is random! i made myself stick to max per two works per author, but if you liked any of them, please make sure to check out the author’s other fics, and to leave kudos and/or comments!

Old Olives by aeli_kindara (21.274 words)

They kill each other once. Again. The third time, Nicolo stands and watches Yusuf heal before he pulls him to his feet. “Come. I will be gentle this time.”

Yusuf laughs at him. “You won’t have a choice.”

Fever of Light by mytimehaspassed (5.013 words) + a companion piece All Our Deeds Sure Find Their Ways by mytimehaspassed (5.109 words)

Yusuf, he says, as he kills him.

Again.

Warmth When I Shiver In Cold by moodlighting (3.257 words)

All Nicolò knew was that as heaven and earth so moved, he would not be parted from this man.

But Here I Blur Into You by moodlighting (1.672 words)

Joe had his disagreements with Plato, but perhaps the man had uncovered a greater truth of the universe when he wrote of the original nature of humans, created with a single head made of two faces, split apart by jealous gods in fear of their wholeness.

though it was not my task to watch by kaydeefalls (9.633 words)

"Death always matters. It is not a game, it is not casual, it is real and it is painful and it is not a thing to be chased, not ever!"

After Merrick, Nicky can't stand seeing any of them die. It takes Joe a while to put it together.

The Other Matter by Survivah (15.046 words)

He wants Yusuf to hold his hand again. Grab his ankle. Flick his ear. Thrust his sword into his chest and breathe into his mouth.

life is very long by kaydeefalls (7.193 words)

Andromache tells him: "The Greeks used to have seven different words for love. Well. More, probably. But I remember seven." She shrugs. "There are many ways to love one another, and life is long. We've time enough for them all. It's the only thing that makes it worthwhile."

Until the Sky Runs Out by aeli_kindara (4.778 words)

Joe waits a minute, in case she wants to continue. Then he offers, “You’re talking about retirement.”

Gift to Me by Good0mens (4.716 words)

Nicolo wishes he had the words to reach out and envelop around Yusuf, to drape him in compassion, in apology, in regret.

Ways To Go by deanniker (13.770 words)

“Don’t -” Nicolo begins, but has no idea what should come next. He has no idea what he needs the man not to do. He only knows what he wants the man to do, and that is to lay hands upon him again.

heaven keep the lonely by eurythmix (6.666 words)

Nicolò, from Jerusalem to Giza, and the things he picks up along the way: a book of poetry, a new language, and a reason to live with his guilt.

born under calico skies by Anonymous (14.455 words)

Yusuf and Nicolo kill each other, learn each other, and long for each other, kind of in that order.

The Subtle Approach by Survivah (15.581 words)

Yusuf, you villain.

Never have I known such a cruel and unjust man as the likes of you.

greater love has no one than this by Jack_R (5.756 words) + a sequel with great patience and careful instruction by Jack_R (6.179 words)

Niccolò was, Yusuf liked to think, a sort of an acquired taste.

the profession of my fingers by mellyflori (24.977 words)

It feels as if his heart is thrown open like the shuttered window of their room, laid bare to Yusuf's gaze. As if the answer to every mystery is in the heat where their hips meet, the low rumble of pleasure in Yusuf’s voice, and the damp silk of Yusuf’s hair clutched in Nicolò’s hands.

on the brink of something close by magneticwave (9.379 words)

It takes Nile an embarrassingly long time to realize that her thesis advisor is, like, legitimately evil.

with rome below us by whimsicule (13.856 words)

And last but not least: Prof. al-Kaysani got married last week! And while he has explicitly asked for no fuss to be made, we have organised a small gift and a card that you are all welcome to sign. It will be on my desk until September 7th. Best, Dr. Quynh Pham

Help Me Remember by EllaWorm11 (1.973 words)

Joe finds Booker earlier than either of them were expecting.

what thou and I did, till we loved by clockworkmoon (7.245 words)

Nicolo and Yusuf spend over two years trying to kill each other.

And then, Jerusalem falls.

as an ancient city by stonecarved (figure8) (2.606 words)

This is a language no one else in the world is fluent in: the glint in Nicky’s eye, the unbearable gentleness with which he pushes Yusuf flat against the bed.

while we're young by Hyb (2.250 words)

He knows what Genoa does to Nicky.

The Extraordinarily Complex Task of Condensing a 920-Year-Old Romance into a 145-Word Speech (While Being Abducted) by Liketheriver (47.393 words)

The stories behind the speech in the van.

When The Cherries White With Blossoms, Be Ready & Be Brave by chapstickaddict (17.567 words)

“What are you doing?” he mouthed into Nicky’s thigh.

“Watching you sleep.”

“What else are you doing?”

“Rewriting King Lear,” Nicky said.

#the old guard fic #joenicky #the old guard #fic rec #fic #took the liberty of shortening some summaries #bc this is already long #and it's just the first part! will probably be making more #about 80% of these are from melanie #also thank you to maggie #long post

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fictionalmenmistress · 4 years ago

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(my) TMNT HEADCANONS:

(Part One)

(With dialogue tidbits)

• Mikey wishes he could have experienced grippy-socks as a little kid. (Those little kid socks with rubber dots on the bottom so babies don't slip on the floor) If he got grippy-socks as a young adult, he would still go ballistic, even tho they can only fit on his fingertips.

• Leo actually is a Shakespeare buff. He can recite lines, and gush about how his favorite plays are usually ones not known quite well, like "King Lear". He has this secret fantasy of reciting lines below a whisper, into the ear of the love of his life, if he could have one. One of his favorite hobbies, when he's not training or meditating, is to pick up a thick book and read a new play.

• One would expect Donnie to pee his pants from fear, but he actually watches horror movies to laugh after a long working day. He finds the unrealistic depictions of monsters and supernatural things laughable... especially how the characters handle things under pressure.

"Pfft, HAHAHA! Why did she go in the attic? That's the LAST place you'd go, aside from the basement!" *snickers* "I- I mean, at this point, she might as well have earned getting caught by the cannibal."

"Donnie... I say this as your older brother. You have a problem." Leo blatantly mutters, watching the screen with his arms comfortably crossed.

"Yeah yeah," He says, waving his hand dismissively. "Let me pick my poisons. Its a guilty pleasure! What can I say?" Donnie shrugs.

• Leo is the only one who can watch Horror movies beside Donnie. He's passively bored by them, and doesn't like the unnecessary gore, but if its on, he'll sit down and watch it.

• They terrify Raph the MOST, but he'd rather die before he ever admits he's afraid from 'a lil old movie' (He has a reputation to uphold). Mikey is openly terrified, unashamed to scream or jump, yelling to turn them off. Jump scares are his movie nemesis.

• Raph is a softie for children. He'll say things like: "NAH, I can't watch that lil booger-machine!" But its really just a cover-up for him being scared of hurting the child on accident, being much bigger and stronger. He secretly LOVES kids, and is great with them. They're just drawn to him, and it melts his heart.

"Raph, why are you making those weird happy faces? You good?" Donnie asked.

"Wh-wha? Sh-shut it, ding dong! I'm playin with da baby"

"Baby? *gasp* WHERE?!" (Mikey likes kids too, but Raph actually is the better baby-sitter.)

• Raph is great at consoling children, even if he's frustrated or nervous from the screaming and tantrums. The children test him, but respect him. Mikey... he'll just start crying with the child.

• There's a place near the lair in the underground, where used/forgotten things are illegally dumped. Splinter has a secret hobby of scavenging around for nice things *its partly a rat instinct, to collect things*, and he would often dissapear for hours to go 'shopping, but for free'. In the early days, Splinter scoured through there to find nice presents for the boys. Sometimes, he let the boys come with him one by one, to look for keepsakes or gifts for the others. He wanted them to have happy birthdays, and a nice Christmas, like other little children got to. To this day, if he finds something nice, he'll suprise the boys with a cute, newspaper-wrapped gift.

"Ah! Here, Leonardo. I found a fascinating new story for you." *smiles and holds a small book out over Leo's shoulder*

"Oh... thank you, Sensei..." *Leo smiles blissfully, deeply intrigued while flipping through the pages* "Wow, I've been wanting to read this classic for AGES!"

"Raphael! My son, I think you'll find these new shorts to fit you quite well." *holds out folded grey boxing shorts with a lil smile*

"Ah, thanks Pop." Raph mutters, flashing a crooked grin, milking his excitement to make Splinter extra happy.

"Donnatello! Ah, just who I was looking for! I got you a little something-"

"Wow... gee, thank you father! This will be a great component for my molecular diffuser! Its JUST the industrial-grade magnet I needed..." Donnie rambled, pushing his glasses up his nose arch, with a twinkle in his eye. Splinter chuckled.

"Michaelangelo, my little one, I have this packet of little color things for your collection-"

"STICKERS! Aaaaaa, thanks dad! Wow, look at this little kitty-burrito one!" Mikey shouts, holding it tight to his chest. "This one is for YOU!" He smiles ear to ear, holding a little star sticker out, that reads: '#1 dad'

*it makes Splinter super happy to see his boys happy*

#leonardo #tmnt incorrect quotes #tmnt leo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #splinter #donatello #tmnt donnie #tmnt 2016 #tmnt raphael #tmnt mikey #tmnt headcanons #fictionalmenmistress #bayverse tmnt

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nvvermore · 4 years ago

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Angel of Music

Beatrice’s vocal lessons with Amaryllis begin, and the both of them learn much more during these lessons than they’d ever expected to

words: 9k~

Amaryllis’s POV by me/Beatrice’s POV by @juliandev0rak

—

Unfortunately for Amaryllis, Beatrice was a good student.

It sounded like a silly thing to lament over, but it was easy for a good student to sniff out a bad teacher. So, Amaryllis needed to work extra hard to appear as natural as possible in such a position. It didn’t help that yesterday Nadia had also informed them that Beatrice happened to be a teacher herself. Not versed in music, but there had to be a method to these things that it was clear they would be missing.

She’d come prepared, with a journal for notes, water, and even mentioned she took time to practice last night. Despite her outward anxiety, it was clear Beatrice felt excited. But, her attitude didn’t change Amaryllis’s unpreparedness. So far, they had been improvising, banking on her lack of experience and their charisma to fill in the blanks. They were nothing if not an actor.

Now, the two had finished discussing Beatrice’s experience level, as never having had an instructor meant very little. Amaryllis never had one either and they were doing fine. That detail they left out though. But she was proficient on the piano and had a secure grasp on reading music, and had sung for fun her entire life.

Amaryllis stood from the chaise where the two had been sitting side by side. They held out a hand to Beatrice, whose eyes flashed from their face to the offered hand before taking it. Without thought, their thumb brushed over the back of her hand, her skin soft to the touch. As soon as she was on her feet she pulled away, and Amaryllis mourned the loss.

“An important part of singing is remembering your whole body is the instrument. You need to be mindful of your entire being. It may sound difficult, but with practice it will become second nature.” Amaryllis explains as they watch Beatrice watch them. Her hazel eyes dart away when the two make eye contact.

“First step to a session is to stretch. You want your body to be loose, especially your torso. Follow after me.” Amaryllis raises their arms above their head, stretching their shoulders. “Hold for thirty,” They instruct, looking to Beatrice for understanding. Though instead of stretching, she’s starting again. This time, her gaze is on the hem of their dress, where it’s ridden up due to the stretching. The already risqué length had become even more revealing, pale skin a striking contrast to their dark outfit.

“See something you like?” The taunt snaps Beatrice out of it, and her hands nervously dart to the clasp of her cloak. “That seems a little heavy, perhaps you'd like to take it off?”

“Ah, um, yes! Of course.” her fingers stop their fiddling to undo the clasp, and she slips off the garment and hangs it on the back of a chair. Now, it’s Amaryllis’s turn to stare. Sans-cloak, Beatrice is in a light-colored lace gown. It was modest— especially compared to Amaryllis— but not any less mesmerizing. Beatrice catches them staring and they do nothing to hide that they were, lips quirked into a sly grin. She clears her throat, eager to continue.

“So what exactly is the reasoning for loosening up?”

“Tension in your body puts strain on your muscles, including the ones used in signing. When that happens, your ability and range gets cut a significant amount. Proper posture goes hand in hand with relaxation. One can have the most beautiful voice, but it all falls apart if they’re holding themself wrong.”

Together, they finish up the basic stretches, and Amaryllis retreats to the piano. They finger out a simple scale a few times over, ruby eyes never leaving Beatrice.

“Sing for me.“

An inhale, a shaky exhale, and then she begins to vocalize. She’s very quiet, Amaryllis can hardly hear her over the sound of the piano. But they smile at her and nod, a small push of encouragement. Little by little, she loosens up, growing louder as they go through the scales. Moving up and down in octaves until they pass Beatrice’s range. Her voice is light and airy, ethereal despite the hesitation behind it. An impressive high range, and that was with no breath control practice. When they told her yesterday they'd make her into a prima donna, it had been to tease. But now they’ve heard her, Amaryllis thought it might not be an impossible feat.

Amaryllis ceases their playing. Still watching Beatrice, they could pick up on the subtle tremors that ran through her. She was doing her very best to be discreet in regards to her nerves. They stood from the bench to direct her to sit back down on the chaise, fetching water for her in the process. As she drank it down, Amaryllis fought the impulse to brush her hair back out of her face. The urge to comfort her with any touch. But they didn't know how such a gesture would be received, and the unusual desire to do so brought them discomfort.

“You have a beautiful voice,” their soft complement breaks through the silence. Beatrice looked at them with wide eyes, expression flattered and confused all at once. “It’s true. Right now, your biggest setback is your nerves, and that will fade in time. But the tension you carry because of it can create pitch issues.”

“Oh,” Beatrice whispers, voice trailing off as she takes in the information. Her mouth opens to finish her thought, but loses her words when Amaryllis’s hand is on her chin. They tilt her head up to look at them, the same way they'd done so yesterday.

“You should always accept a compliment as if you truly believe it. That way, one day, you will.”

“I-”

“Your voice is beautiful.” Beatrice looks torn, face flushed and Amaryllis can tell she wants to glance away from them so badly. But she doesn't, and they stand over her patiently while she finds the resolve they know she has.

“Thank you.” Her voice is steady, and while Amaryllis knows it's not likely she believes it yet, it's certainly a good start. Satisfied, their thumb brushes across Beatrice’s jaw before pulling away. They don't watch for any reaction, deciding they've maybe pushed her a bit too much already. Standing across the room now, they decide to get back to the actual vocal lesson.

“Now that I've heard you sing without any corrections, let's go over what exactly we'll work on together.”

The rest of the lesson passes faster than Amaryllis wanted it to. They go over breath control and pitch issues, how to practice and how to work the areas she needed to in particular. Beatrice was attentive, asked careful questions and took detailed notes. The next time Amaryllis had her sing she did so with a little less hesitance. Their own hesitance surrounding teaching faded too. It felt less like they were teacher and student, and more like they were having a conversation. Before they knew it, two hours had passed, and didn’t want to keep Beatrice any longer. Even if a persistent part of their mind said they did.

“Well, It's about time you gave your voice a rest. I‘d consider this first session a great success.” Beatrice stood a few feet away from where Amaryllis sat on the bench. She looked almost disappointed at the concept of the lesson’s conclusion. Glancing around the room, her eyes landed on the grandfather clock in the corner.

“Ah, I suppose you are correct,” her hands darted to where her cloak normally sat. When she found it missing, her fingers faltered. “So how often do you think I should have lessons?”

“Weekly will be best. Much of the progress you're going to make will happen during practice. And as long as you take time to do so each day, you'll see it in little time. But if you have questions or need assistance outside of lessons, you know where to find me.” Amaryllis retrieved their grimoire from the piano lid as Beatrice gathered her things. The green cloak resumed its place on her shoulders, and Amaryllis felt endeared by the quirk. Together, they made for the doors.

“Amaryllis, I,” Beatrice began once they exited the room, “I’d like to thank you. I never thought I'd ever take lessons, let alone ones from you.” The admiration of others rarely phased them, it was another aspect of their everyday. But Beatrice’s gratitude made them feel something unlike any kind they’d received before.

“The pleasure is all mine. You're a very promising student after all.”

“Thank you,” she said with the same conviction as she did after Amaryllis’s complement earlier. Feeling a sense of pride, they smiled at her, genuine.

“Have a good evening, Beatrice.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Beatrice shows up to the next lesson early, notebook and water in hand. She tries the door to the practice room and finds it locked, so she sinks down onto the floor to sit and wait. She’s just pulled her notebook out of her bag and is reviewing her notes from last week when she hears the now familiar sound of Amaryllis’ heels approaching down the hallway. She hurriedly stuffs the notebook back into her bag just as Amaryllis turns the corner. “Well hello,” Amaryllis smiles, offering their hand to help Beatrice up, “Need a hand?”

“Oh, yes thank you,” Beatrice takes their hand, trying not to seem too eager as she reaches for them. She lets go of their hand as soon as she’s up, not wanting to make things awkward by lingering.

“Shall we begin?” Amaryllis says, holding the door open for her. She sets her bag down on the chaise and takes her cloak off, not noticing the way Amaryllis watches her from across the room. Her hands go to her clothes, making sure her blouse is tucked in properly and fluffing the fabric of her skirt to make sure it lays flat. She takes a sip of water, a deep breath, and turns to face Amaryllis.

This lesson starts better than the last. Beatrice is less nervous now that she knows what to expect, now that she knows that Amaryllis is both a good teacher and a kind person. She hadn’t expected ridicule by any means, but hearing genuine compliments from them had made her both slightly giddy and a lot more confident. Beatrice loves to learn and if she simply treats these lessons as just that, a lesson, a chance to learn something, she’ll be fine.

As she sings through a few warm up exercises her eyes follow Amaryllis as they play the piano. They seem to notice her staring at them and look up to meet her eyes, causing Beatrice to falter on the note. She tries to recover from the mistake quickly but Amaryllis stops playing and stands up from the piano bench, taking a step towards her.

“You’re too tense again,” Amaryllis explains, their hands going to her shoulders to gently push them down from where she’d lifted them as she'd sung, “Relax your shoulders, remember what I said about tension and stress?”

“Yes, I remember,” Beatrice smiles, willing her voice to stay steady and her shoulders not to shake under their touch. Amaryllis returns the smile as their left hand gently moves further down her shoulder. They fiddle with the ruffle on her sleeve briefly before removing both of their hands and taking a step away from her. Beatrice breathes in sharply in response and tries to ignore the feeling of her sleeves pressing against her arms just as Amaryllis’ fingers had been

“You’re doing very well, Beatrice. Just relax,” Amaryllis says as they return to their place at the piano bench. She’s grateful that they’re busy shuffling through sheet music and can’t see the way her cheeks color at the praise. They start to play one of the songs she’d sung last week and nod at her to begin.

Beatrice makes it through with only minor mistakes but she still can’t seem to focus when Amaryllis looks up from the piano to watch her. She messes up words, sings off key, and even sometimes grows so quiet she can’t be heard until Amaryllis looks away. She struggles to fight against these reactions, deciding to stare at a spot on the wall behind them so that she won’t notice Amaryllis looking at her. It seems to work and the next run through of the song goes more smoothly.

During a water break Beatrice gives herself a pep talk, reminding herself that this is simply a lesson, something she can learn to excel at if she follows the rules. The reminder gives her some resolve and she’s able to focus her attention on singing rather than her (very distracting) teacher. As she sings she remembers to breathe and relax her shoulders, she tries to tune out everything but the notes from the piano. She hits a note she’d struggled to hit the week before and smiles in surprise. Her eyes float down from their safe spot on the wall to look at Amaryllis, who watches them with an unreadable expression on their face before it fades into something more neutral.

“That was great!” Amaryllis says, “Let’s do that part again to see if you can hit the note twice in a row.”

The lesson moves quickly once she’s able to focus, and before she knows it Beatrice is pulling her cloak back on and preparing to leave. She stands by the door for a moment, watching as Amaryllis gathers their sheet music. Though the sight of them still makes her a bit nervous, the feeling has faded from self consciousness to something else, something she doesn’t quite want to think about yet.

“You’ve improved since last week,” Amaryllis says, turning around to face her. They give her an encouraging smile and Beatrice meets their eyes, for once managing not to blush as they gaze at her.

“You think so?” Beatrice asks, returning the smile.

“You’re a very quick learner when you’re using that brain of yours to focus instead of overthinking,” Amaryllis replies, their smile turning into more of a smirk. Beatrice does blush then, laughing under her breath as she stares down at her boots.

“Yes, well, I’m working on it,” She says, fiddling with the closure on her overstuffed bag, “I’m glad to hear I’m improving.”

“You really are, just make sure to practice so you can remember everything you’ve learned this week.” Amaryllis holds the door open for her, gesturing for her to walk out before them. She suddenly feels like she should say something else, the lesson had come to a close too quickly.

“Amaryllis,” Beatrice starts, wondering what she should even say. Should she ask them if they’re going to dinner at the palace? Should she suggest going somewhere else together? No. Surely Amaryllis sees her as nothing more than a student, or maybe a friend if she’s lucky. There’s no guarantee Amaryllis would want to spend more time with her than is necessary, so she changes course, “Thanks again.”

“You’re very welcome. I’ll see you next week, Beatrice,” Amaryllis replies, turning to walk down the hall.

Beatrice watches them go, trying not to let her eyes linger in places they shouldn’t. Amaryllis’ tight dress leaves nothing to the imagination, and if Beatrice is being honest she has been imagining. She clears her throat and turns the other direction, headed back to the safety of the palace proper. It’ll be a long week waiting to see them again.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

“It’s impressive,” Beatrice comments one day, in the middle of a lesson.

“What’s impressive?” They hadn’t been discussing anything in particular, so it seemed out of place.

“The dedication you have for your craft, all the effort you put into it. And I'm sure I don't even know the half of it.” As she explained, Beatrice sounded composed, but her rosy cheeks gave her away.

Amaryllis blinked, somewhat stunned, though they gave no outward indication of it. They had already recognized that hearing praise from Beatrice felt different somehow. But since their lessons had begun, the flutter they felt when she did so had only grown.

“Please,” Amaryllis waved a dismissive hand, “when you've been at it for as long as I have, it’s hardly any effort at all.”

“You know, I recall you telling me a few weeks ago to, ‘always accept a compliment as if you truly believe it’.”

Beatrice’s words paired with the smug air she said them with caught Amaryllis by surprise. For a split-second, all they could do was stare at her. Being called out for deflection, with their own words, was unexpected from her. As they'd known Beatrice thus far, it was uncharacteristic. And so was their own delight at the notion Beatrice was becoming more comfortable with them. Recovered, they propped their elbows back on the piano, leaning back against it.

All Amaryllis could think of was different ways they'd like to wipe the smirk off her rose-tinted lips. They favored the concept of doing so with their own mouth.

“Do you now?” they mimicked her attitude, cocky expression falling into place as easy as breathing. Easier, even. “I hope you’ve been practicing that part of my lessons too. I’m sure you get enough compliments to do so.” At least, Amaryllis hoped she did, that at least someone was out there taking the time to cherish her. Instead of the bashful reaction they had been hoping for, Beatrice frowned.

“Ah, not usually, no-“

“That’s a shame,” they cut her off, stepping away from the piano to stand before her. Being this close made that flutter Amaryllis was feeling speed up. The last thing they wanted was for Beatrice to frown. And if no one else was taking the time to tell her all the sweet things she should hear, they were more than happy to step up. Accepting compliments built confidence, and confidence was vital to singing. It was simply another part of the lesson, that was all. With a gentle hand, Amaryllis brushed tawny waves out of her face, keeping her from hiding behind them now. “With how lovely you are, I had expected there'd be someone to shower you with sweet words."

Voice low and velvety, they ran their fingers down her cheek. Nails just barely grazing her neck before their hand pulled away. Beatrice wasn't frowning anymore, but was watching them with wide-eyed astonishment. For a moment, Amaryllis's resolve faltered.

They thought about kissing her, it would only take another step, a tilt of her head. But, what actually shocked Amaryllis is that they did not. Instead, as swift as they had approached, they were back against the piano.

Beatrice was their student, and so it would be improper to persue her...

…Which didn’t hold up in the slightest, because never in their life had they cared about what was proper or not. Student or not, under typical circumstances, Amaryllis would have had her in their bed by now. But that was it, wasn’t it? That nothing concerning Beatrice was at all typical. From their opposition to simply seducing her to their reactions to the things that she did. Amaryllis couldn’t recall a time when they’d felt this way before.

They had decided to entertain their intrigue when they offered her lessons. But Amaryllis hadn’t imagined that it would shift in the direction they were afraid it was heading.

“Thank you,” her breathy voice pulled them back into the room. It took them a second to realize she was thanking them for the compliment. Beatrice was biting her lip, watching them with those hazel eyes they couldn’t quite get a read on.

All they could do was turn away from her, but not before they could hide away their smile. Amaryllis tried to stay focused on the lesson, and not on the dangerous territory they were heading into.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

They’ve done more talking than singing, Beatrice realizes as she looks at the clock. It’s been an hour since the lesson started and they’ve been sitting on the couch talking the entire time, neither realizing how much time has passed. The topics of conversation have ranged, what began as small talk about the rainy weather had evolved into how they’d each come to be employed at the palace. Amaryllis doesn’t give many details, but Beatrice drinks in every piece of their story she can get and tries to ignore the urge to pry.

Over the course of the hour Beatrice has loosened up considerably, her posture is slouched and her legs are tucked under her as she sits criss cross on the couch rather than her usual polite ankle cross. She’s surprised to find how easy it is to talk to Amaryllis, how easily she can let her guard down to talk about herself more than she usually would. When Amaryllis asks a question she finds herself answering without thinking. They seem genuinely interested in her answers, leaning towards her as she speaks and asking follow up questions.

“What made you want to teach?” Amaryllis asks, their voice pulling her gaze back from the clock on the wall.

“Well, I never had a real education as a child, I learned manners and needlepoint and all sorts of useless things like that, but science, literature, history- everything I know I’ve learned on my own,” Beatrice explains, her voice rising in volume as it often does when she’s excited, “Vesuvia doesn’t offer an education for those who can’t afford to pay tutors, and I think that should change.”

“So you just marched up to the Countess and suggested opening a school?” Amaryllis grins, their eyes trained to Beatrice’s face which is for once free of any hint of anxiety as she smiles proudly at them. The image of Beatrice stomping up the palace steps in her green cloak with a look of determination on her face makes Amaryllis suppress a laugh.

“Believe it or not, I did! I requested a meeting and left less than an hour later to pick a spot to build the school,” Beatrice laughs, “Nadia wasn’t difficult to convince.”

“I’m sure you can be very convincing when you want to be,” Amaryllis says, reaching to play with the lace trim at the bottom of her dress. Beatrice watches the action closely, not pulling away when their hand briefly brushes against her leg. “Well, I suppose we should get started on the singing lesson, we’ve delayed quite a bit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Beatrice nearly trips over her dress as she gets up from the chaise.

“You have nothing to apologize for, I very much enjoyed getting to know you better,” Amaryllis replies, smoothing their clothing down as they walk across the room to the piano.

“I enjoyed it too,” Beatrice smiles, “getting to know you.”

“I should have you play sometime, I remember you being quite proficient during our first lesson,” Amaryllis says as they take their seat at the instrument.

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not very accomplished anymore. I wish I had more time to practice the piano, but there are only so many hours in a day,” Beatrice replies, taking her usual spot standing next to them.

“Would you like to play something now?” Amaryllis suggests, patting the spot next to them on the piano bench, “I’m sure you’re great.”

“Oh, well, sure if you’d like to hear me play,” Beatrice hesitates for a moment before she takes a seat next to them, trying to smooth her dress down a bit so she doesn’t take up too much room on the bench. Amaryllis smiles and moves a bit closer so that their leg is pressed to hers, she can feel the warmth of their skin through the fabric of her dress and works hard to regain her composure.

“I would love to hear you play,” Amaryllis says directly into her ear, their mouth barely brushing against her skin. She manages to only shiver the tiniest bit as Amaryllis leans away from her again, turning their attention back to the piano. Beatrice takes an only slightly shaky breath and reaches for the keys. Her fingers pluck a familiar tune, one she’d learned when she was younger and forced to sit through hours of lessons every day. She shuts her eyes as she plays it by memory, tuning out Amaryllis next to her and the distracting ticking of the clock on the wall behind her.

When she finishes the song, a short piece designed more for practice than performance, she pulls her hands back into her lap and looks up at Amaryllis to gauge their reaction. The smile on their face is different than any Beatrice has seen before. It has more emotion behind it, admiration perhaps, and she feels a flutter in her stomach at the thought.

“That was lovely, Beatrice. I thought you said you were out of practice? That sounded well practiced to me,” Amaryllis laughs, the smile replaced by their usual expression.

“Thank you. I used to hate that song so much, it would get stuck in my head for hours and I’d find myself playing the notes in the air all the time like some sort of compulsion,” Beatrice sighs, her fingers flexing in her lap at the memory, “But I’m glad the torment payed off.”

“Well I’ll stop torturing you then,” Amaryllis jokes, bumping Beatrice slightly off the piano bench with their hip, “I think we’ll leave the piano to me for now, let’s begin the lesson.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Amaryllis’s fingers still on the keys of the piano as the song comes to an end. Beatrice’s singing was lovely— as always— but something was off. What, they weren’t exactly sure. The warm up went fine, she didn’t seem stiff or nervous in the slightest, and minimal issues with her pitch. She’d taken a breath or two at a bad moment, and at one point a whole note became a half, but neither of those were serious.

They realize that they may just be projecting their feelings onto her. A comment of hers from before had been bothering Amaryllis, much more than it should have. Beatrice’s anecdote about having no say in performing a song that she hated had struck close to home. Literally.

Beatrice had never given any indication that she was unhappy with the music they chose for her. But Amaryllis had never directly asked her what she wanted to sing either.

“Amaryllis, is everything alright?” Beatrice spoke up. Suddenly they realized they hadn’t said a word in the time since the song had concluded. There was a nervous edge to her voice, the tone making an unwelcome appearance for the first time in weeks.

“Yes, I apologize,” they stood from the bench, feeling the sudden urge to move.

“Is there, um, a problem?” Her words were hesitant, uneasy. When Amaryllis turned to her, Beatrice's eyes were downcast, focused on the carpet.

“Oh, ma chérie, no. You were wonderful, don’t worry.” The endearment had slipped out without thought. Bringing a hand to her back, Amaryllis ushered her over to sit with them. They felt uneasy, but maintained their composure, focused on how soft the satin of her dress felt.

“Sorry, I-” Amaryllis faltered. Their hand was still at her back, lower now, and as much as they longed to leave it there they knew they shouldn't. Not only was the gesture a little too friendly, but feeling how thin her dress seemed to be was distracting. “I’d like to ask, what kind of music do you want to sing?”

Once Beatrice had taken in their question, she relaxed, taking a moment to consider her answer.

“I suppose whatever kind suits my voice best?” She sounded uncertain, and her hazel eyes flitting back to the ground was a confirmation. Amaryllis was having none of that.

“Ah,” their hand came up to her chin, tilting her gaze back to them, “that’s not how this works.” The two were close, but not quite as close as they had been at the piano bench last week. As Amaryllis looked down at her, the rose-colored lipstick she wore caught their eye. They gave into the temptation to stare, for a little too long.

Amaryllis is back to the same dilemma as they had been weeks ago. They wanted to kiss her, wanted to see the color on her lips smeared and mixed with their own. It was the same conundrum, but it had grown far more complicated than it had been weeks ago.

They dreaded the conclusion of their lessons, and counted the days until the next one. And between lessons they’d started seeing each other much more often during the rest of the week. During court functions and other meetings, Amaryllis had found themself in Beatrice's company. They ran into each other in the halls of the palace— literally, one time— and when on stage they looked for her in the crowd. She was never difficult to spot.

As of late, their compositions reflected their feelings. Even inspiration for the masquerade came easy, knowing she'd be in that crowd too.

Amaryllis wanted her. But now, they wanted far more than a kiss or a single night, and not in the way they were familiar with wanting someone. Wanted to hold her hand, wanted to listen to her ramble, wanted to sing with her. Wanted to know her, and had even contemplated letting her know them in return.

But they couldn’t let themself. It was foolish— to be afraid of the feelings and to have them at all in the first place. In some ways, it felt like something of a betrayal. Beatrice had trusted Amaryllis to instruct her, not to fall for her.

Finally, they avert their gaze, torn to see Beatrice watching them with a similar longing. It would have been far easier to lean into her instead of pulling themself away completely. Even if Amaryllis knew she'd be receptive, they had to have some self-preservation. They knew it wouldn’t be enough to just take what they could get from her. It would be better to let the infatuation fade than feed the fire; it would hurt far less.

“Passion is far more important.” Amaryllis leans back against the chaise. “Doing what’s ‘technically’ correct means nothing if it's not what makes you happy. Singing for the sake of arbitrary rules will only bring you dread.” They're familiar with the way it feels to lose your passion, and the trauma of it was a deep-seated pain. Beatrice’s brow creases as they speak, picking up on what their insistence indicates. “So when I ask you what you’d like to sing, I need you to answer with how you feel.”

“I’d like to sing things that I can find meaning in. The song we’ve been working on, it’s beautiful, but I can’t relate to it no matter how I attempt to interpret it. Coming from me it feels insincere.”

“I may have something in particular you'd like.” The words are out before Amaryllis can even grasp what exactly they were deciding to offer. But they couldn't take it back now, not with the delighted way Beatrice was looking at them.

Without standing, they motion in the air, and their grimoire soars over from where it had placed on the piano. Amaryllis sets the book of music before them. With their hands on the cover, they whisper the incantation that unlocks it.

Beatrice had scooted forward, leaning in, but still far enough for her to pretend she wasn't being nosy. Amaryllis knew she must have a billion questions, and they would happily listen to her voice each one. But, she only asked one.

“What is it about?”

It was a simple question, but not one with a simple answer. That was why Amaryllis had written it into a song after all. Emotions and experiences were too difficult for them to express in a usual manner. If their feelings were to be expressed at all, they had to do so in a different way.

“You’ll see,” they left it at that, casting the projection spell for the piano. Sitting up straight, Amaryllis rolled their shoulders back, and began to sing.

The lyrics they sang painted the picture of a neglected child. The intense sorrow they felt. What they dreamed of to help them through each day. The helplessness that came when they realized the dreams were only that. Dreams, and nothing more.

With a final, shaky note, they looked to Beatrice. She was silent, lips parted and eyes glassy. For a moment, Amaryllis worries they'd upset her, but then she reaches out to rest her hand on their knee.

“Amaryllis, that was beautiful,” she blinks away the tears that had threatened to fall. “You’d trust me to sing that?”

“Of course,” they place their hand over hers.

“Then, I’d love to.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Beatrice wakes up groggily, rolling over in bed only to come face to face with a rabbit staring directly at her. “Oh, good morning, Bramble,” she says, reaching to scratch the rabbit between her ears. She winces at the sound of her voice, it sounds scratchy and her throat hurts a bit when she swallows. She decides to test her voice again, “Shall we get some breakfast?” it’s definitely still scratchy.

She worries as she goes about her morning routine, wondering if she’ll be able to sing at all later. She’s been practicing in all of her spare moments, and perhaps that’s why she has no voice left for her real practice. Still, work doesn’t stop for a lost voice and she has a meeting with Nadia in an hour so she clasps her cloak, grabs her bag, and starts the trek across town.

When she arrives in Nadia’s parlor, a prompt five minutes early, she realizes how winded she feels. The moment she opens her mouth to greet Nadia she knows she might really be in trouble.

“Good morning,” She croaks, pasting a cheerful smile on her face in the hopes of distracting the Countess.

“Oh dear, Beatrice are you feeling alright? You sound quite ill,” Nadia says, looking worried as she stands in the doorway regarding her.

“I’m fine, just a sore throat,” Beatrice replies, holding back a wince as her throat grates.

‘You don’t sound fine, I believe you should go home and rest. You’re in no position to give a presentation this morning,” Nadia’s tone of voice brooks no argument and Beatrice hangs her head a bit as she tries to think of a way to convince her. Beatrice doesn’t take days off, certainly not for a sore throat. “I shall have a servant get you a carriage.”

“I’m fine, really! Don’t go to the trouble,” She pleads, but Nadia simply shakes her head and points to the doorway.

“Go home, take some time to rest, Beatrice,” Nadia says kindly. Beatrice sighs and starts to gather her things, there’s no use, Nadia’s right. She can barely make an audible sound, there’s nothing to do but wait for her voice to come back.

As Beatrice heads to the Palace gates she’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t think about her lesson with Amaryllis. She all but forgets about it until she spots a familiar maroon haired figure approaching from across the foyer.

“Beatrice, you’re here early,” Amaryllis says, looking equal parts bemused and excited to see her.

“I was just leaving,” Beatrice rasps, “ Lost my voice,”

“Yes I should say you have,” Amaryllis frowns, putting a hand on Beatrice’s forehead as if to check for a fever. She stares at them wide-eyed as they deliberate and finally pull their hand away. “Does your throat hurt as well?”

“Yes,” She says, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can sing today.”

“No, I don’t think you can. You should go home and rest, you’ve been practicing too much,” They reply, they’re still stooped down a bit to meet her eyes and Beatrice finds it hard to focus with them this close to her.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice manages to say, feeling terrible from the pain and because she’ll be missing out on a lesson.

Beatrice thinks back to their last lesson, the way Amaryllis had opened up to her and allowed her to listen to their music. She doesn’t want to miss another chance at that closeness, both emotional and physical. There had been times over the last few weeks where Beatrice could have sworn Amaryllis might kiss her. They’d stared directly at her lips, only a slight tilt of the head away from meeting her lips with their own. But it hadn't happened, and it never will, Beatrice reminds herself. Amaryllis is her teacher, and though they’ve begun to spend more time together outside of lessons she’s sure it’s out of friendly obligation and nothing more.

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your poor vocal chords.” Amaryllis straightens up to their full height and takes a step back from her. They seem to be deep in thought for a moment before almost hesitantly adding, “Go home, I’ll bring you some tea to help with your throat.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” Beatrice protests, her face already flushing at the thought of them being so concerned for her.

“Stop talking, you’ll make things worse,” Amaryllis says, “It’s the building on the corner by the hat shop, yes?” Beatrice is a little surprised that Amaryllis remembers where she lives, she’d only mentioned it once in passing a few weeks ago.

“Yes,” Beatrice starts, but at Amaryllis’ stern look she shuts her mouth and nods instead.

“Now go rest,” They say, red lips pulling into their characteristic smile, “I’ll be by later.”

When she gets home Beatrice kicks her boots off and changes into something comfortable. She chugs a glass of water but it’s too cold and burns the whole way down. It might just be her throat that hurts, but she finds herself quite tired. She’d refused the carriage ride home, deeming it unnecessary, and the walk back home had taken her longer than usual. She wants to take a nap, but if Amaryllis is coming by later she wants to make sure her house is tidy first.

After a quick speed clean, which she might’ve used some magic to do more quickly, she collapses into bed. What feels like five minutes later there's a knock on the door and she sits up with a start, hurriedly smoothing her hair down as she goes to answer the door. She holds her breath a little as she opens the door, seeing Amaryllis standing in her doorway is not a sight she’d ever expected to see.

“Hello,” Amaryllis smiles as they take in Beatrice standing before them in her socks and a simple tunic, so different from her usual fancy clothing. She fidgets uncomfortably under their gaze, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” They raise an eyebrow, and Beatrice rushes to open the door wider for them to enter.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” She says hoarsely, watching as Amaryllis looks around her apartment. It’s not large, just the living area and a separate bedroom and bathroom off of a hallway. She’s glad she’d tidied before Amaryllis arrived, they’re used to Palace accommodations, and her little home in Center City certainly isn’t that.

“I took a carriage, it took no time at all,” Amaryllis replies, taking a small pouch of tea leaves out of their bag. “The coachman said you decided to walk, why would you do that when you were already feeling unwell?”

The question takes Beatrice off guard and she watches as Amaryllis walks into her kitchen like they live there, filling her kettle with water and setting it to boil. “It was unnecessary,” she responds when they turn around to look at her, “I didn’t need anyone to go to the trouble on my behalf.”

“If someone offers to help you, let them help you,” Amaryllis says, their face gone serious as they work to prepare the tea. “And it’s no trouble to take care of someone who’s always taking care of others.”

They look a bit taken aback at their own words and immediately turn their back to Beatrice as they pour the tea. Though she wonders at their reaction it gives Beatrice a chance to take a deep breath and rid herself of the blush on her face. When Amaryllis turns around they’re brandishing a teacup, Beatrice’s favorite though they couldn’t have known that.

“Do you have any honey? It’ll help your throat even more,” They ask. Beatrice nods and goes to the cupboard next to them, reaching on her tiptoes to grab the jar of honey from the back. Amaryllis watches her with a smirk as she manages to reach it and hands the jar to them.

“What tea is that?” Beatrice asks, taking in the slightly familiar aroma.

“It’s ginger tea, now sit,” They point to the couch in the middle of the room, “And drink.”

Beatrice takes the cup from them, trying not to react to their fingers brushing hers, and takes a seat. The tea tastes better than she thought it would, and the honey makes it sweet enough for her to actually enjoy. Amaryllis sits on the opposite end of the couch and watches as she sips the tea. She holds back a sigh as the warm beverage soothes her throat.

“I think you need to cut down on how much you’re practicing. You also need to take more frequent vocal breaks to rest, and I’m leaving this tea with you. You should have some after you practice,” Amaryllis says. Beatrice nods and continues to drink her tea, not wanting to interrupt their instruction. Amaryllis moves a bit closer to her and Beatrice turns towards them, nearly losing her grip on the teacup when they reach out to twist their finger around one of the curls that hangs near her face. Though she’s grown more used to their casual touches over time, she still finds herself flustered by how delicately they brush the lock of hair behind her ear.

“You’re making a lot of progress, Beatrice, but you shouldn’t push yourself so hard that you get hurt,” Amaryllis explains, their eyes locked to hers, “You need to take better care of your instrument.”

“I will,” Beatrice says in assurance. Her voice already sounds a bit better, and it didn’t hurt as much to speak. She smiles at the realization that the tea really had helped, and Amaryllis watches in amusement as Beatrice downs the rest of the cup like one would take a shot of alcohol.

“I need to get back for a performance tonight, promise me you’ll stay home and rest? If I see you at the Palace next week and you’re still croaking I’ll have to come up with something stronger, and it won’t be sweetened with honey,” Amaryllis threatens, but the smile on their face takes away from the effect.

“I promise,” Beatrice replies, holding her pinky out to theirs to make a pinky promise. Amaryllis stares at her finger for a moment before laughing under their breath and linking their pinky with hers.

“Good,” They stand up to gather their belongings and head towards the door, “Thanks for letting me visit your lovely home, I do hope I can make a return visit someday.”

“I hope so too,” Beatrice says, meeting their eyes for a moment before her eyes dart away to the bookcase next to them, something safer to stare at, “Thank you for the tea.”

“My pleasure, anything to help my favorite student,” Amaryllis smiles, dipping into a dramatic bow.

“As far as I know, I’m your only student,” Beatrice laughs, glad that the action didn’t seem to hurt her throat.

“Just take the compliment, Beatrice,” They say, opening the door, “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” She replies, but they’ve already shut the door behind them.

Beatrice makes herself another cup of ginger tea and considers writing Amaryllis a thank you note, it’s the least she can do. She gets to work, pulling out her special personalized stationery and her favorite golden ink. It takes her nearly fifteen minutes just to write their name, she tries to get the curve of the A just right, the y looped perfectly around the other letters. The actual contents of the note is short. There are lots of things she’d like to say to Amaryllis, and maybe someday she’ll get up the courage to do so, but for today she just says “thank you”.

She’d thought that writing the note might help her clear her head a bit, but when she tries to go to sleep she can’t stop the thoughts of Amaryllis. She thinks about the way Amaryllis had called her ma chérie last week, and how much she wants them to call her that again. She wants to hear more of their words spoken and sung only for her. Before she can help herself, Beatrice thinks about their lips again, bright red and so close to her own. Would it have been a mistake for her to have leaned in? Would Amaryllis have pushed her away or kissed her back?

She really needs to get over this infatuation. Even if Amaryllis had wanted to kiss her, it doesn’t mean they would want anything more. Just when she thinks Amaryllis is interested they take a step back, or they return to their calm and collected demeanor and the moment passes. Beatrice really doesn’t know what to make of their attention, their casual touches and lingering eye contact. She’s seen them flirt with others in the same way, it seems to be a facet of their personality to be familiar with people, and if that’s the case then what makes her any different?

Beatrice isn’t used to being treated like this. She’s not used to being told that she’s talented and pretty and full of potential, and though she believes their words to be genuine, she wonders if their time spent together means as much to Amaryllis as it does to her. She hopes it does.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

“So, what’s going on today that has you so cheerful?” Amaryllis asks as they begin to tidy up the rehearsal room now that the lesson had concluded. They're more than content to linger, packing their bag with little haste.

“I'm usually cheerful,” Beatrice fights a grin, acting coy.

“Especially so today. It certainly reflected in your performance. Now that I think about it, the past few days you’ve seemed so excited.” Amaryllis had been thinking about it, giddy each time they’d run into her and the dazzling smile she had on display.

Beatrice avoided their gaze, eyes mischievous, and Amaryllis expected her to deflect again. “It’s my birthday today!”

“Oh! Happy birthday,” they smile, full of adoration, “are you doing anything to celebrate?”

“I’m staying here for dinner tonight. A gangly birdie let it slip that Nadia may have planned something special for me.”

“I suppose that means I’ll get to see you at dinner.” Beatrice glances up, surprised, and Amaryllis attempts to suppress a laugh. “I usually dine here, I live here after all. Though, I often take meals in my room, but it seems that tonight is a special occasion.”

“Oh, you don’t have to come to dinner just for me, I’m sure you’re busy-“

“I’d like to. That is, if you don’t mind having me there.��

“Amie, of course not!”

For a moment, all is silent, both surprised that she called Amaryllis by a nickname. Beatrice looks like she’s about to rush to apologize, but their smile beats her to it.

“Then I’ll be there." Once the nickname sunk in, their face lit up— despite their attempt to stay neutral— and told her there was no issue. Beatrice nods, her demure smile doing nothing to hide how pleased she really is.

The two say their farewells for now, leaving in different directions. Beatrice, they assume, is off to get ready for a dinner in her honor, and Amaryllis is off to find a fitting last-minute gift.

After an hour, Amaryllis was approaching the dining room. A little late, but dressed for dinner and with a carefully-crafted bouquet in hand. They might have gone overboard with their gift, but Beatrice didn’t need to know. The arrangement they'd selected looked simple, but the meanings each flower held were far from it.

First, they'd started with violets, paired with sprigs of laurel. Individually, violets represented modesty, and laurel was for success. Together, they were for expressing that you were proud of the recipient. And Amaryllis was so proud of Beatrice. Their first real meeting all those months ago she was a ball of nerves, when it came to singing and being around them. But now, she had made leaps and bounds with her singing, and felt comfortable enough to call them ‘Amie’.

Then, the cowslip caught their eye. It was for gracefulness, and they'd decided it was fitting. Beatrice was graceful, even when she tripped over herself or her words, there was a certain charm to it. Even when nervous she always made her best attempt, and the way she lit up when she was successful. To Amaryllis, she was the portrait of grace.

Of course, it spiraled into dangerous territory from there. The buttercups came next, 'you are radiant with charm', they revealed. And when paired with the cowslip, they were often given as tokens of new and blooming affection. Amaryllis couldn't say their affection was new, but it was blooming into something far past a fleeting crush.

Finally, Amaryllis added purple pansies into the mix. They told themself it was simply to balance out the two bunches of yellow flowers, but that was a lie. Pansies confessed ‘you occupy my thoughts’, and gods, did she. So often they thought of her; when composing, when performing, during the day, at night, in bed. It almost felt wrong, how often their mind strayed to her and in the ways that it did.

The blooms had been wrapped together in cream-colored paper and tied with a violet ribbon. Amaryllis hoped the delicate yellows and purples would be to her liking. They also hoped that gifting this bouquet full of secrets would be symbolic. That they'd be handing off their feelings like they were handing off the flowers.

The dining room doors opened, and their worry-free façade fell back into place.

“She’s been taking lessons from a great teacher,” catches Amaryllis’s ear as they enter. To the side is what looks to be the gift table, and they place the bouquet down. It was Portia, with all her enthusiasm that they'd heard. She was at the center of the table, alongside Nadia of course, with Beatrice seated on her other side.

“Ah, well-“

“Gossiping about me?” Amaryllis stopped behind their seats, interrupting and startling Beatrice in the process. Instinctively, they place a hand on her shoulder to steady her, surprised to feel bare skin. When Amaryllis glances down at her, they regret it immediately.

She’s dressed to the nines, cloak nowhere to be seen. All they see is cream lace and tulle that drapes off her shoulders, and the satin corset hugging her frame. They’re at a wonderful angle to witness exactly how flattering it is on her.

Before they could be considered staring, they look away. But as flushed as she is, they doubt Beatrice missed the way their eyes dragged over her body. Her smile is bright, and Amaryllis is a little dizzy at the idea that reaction was for them. They certainly could dream.

“Wait, you’ve been instructing her?” Asra questions from Beatrice’s other side.

“Why are you so surprised?” Amaryllis shrugs, nonchalant, strolling away to their seat. They were well aware this news was about to be the largest scandal in Vesuvian history. Their lessons weren’t a secret, but Amaryllis hadn’t gone out of their way to mention it, and it seemed Beatrice hadn't either.

“I recall bringing up the idea of you taking on students last year. And I recall you declining, claiming you weren’t ‘teacher material’.” Nadia comments as they pass.

Lucio can’t help but join in, complaints ready as Amaryllis takes their seat between him and Julian. “I’ve begged you for lessons, and you always told me no!”

“That’s because you’re tone deaf.”

“Wait, I’m tone deaf, but we sing together all the time?” Julian adds.

“You aren’t tone deaf, you have trouble matching pitch on your own. There’s a difference.”

They aren't close to Beatrice at all, on the complete opposite side of the table, but they can see her trying to listen in.

“So Amaryllis, what prompted your change of heart about teaching?” Nadia asks them.

“There’s been no change of heart, I’m still not interested,” Amaryllis sips their wine.

“Then why is Beatrice taking lessons from you?” Julian butts in from between them.

“She stumbled upon a rehearsal of mine weeks ago, and mentioned lessons. I thought I would offer,” another sip, “I could tell she was special.”

“Is that so?”

Amaryllis makes sure Beatrice is still eavesdropping, her eyes wide and curious. “Beatrice is a very promising student. If it were up to me, I’d have her on the stage by now.”

Nadia turns to her, and the countess begins to ask her about it. Of course, Amaryllis's ability to hear what she has to say is cut off by Lucio and Julian’s bickering.

Dinner as a whole passes with no more awe directed at them for their, admittedly, out of character actions. They were thankful to no longer be in the spotlight for the night, it wasn’t for them after all.

After dessert— Beatrice’s favorite cake, of course— Nadia suggests they all move to the veranda. Amaryllis stands, but takes their time joining everyone else, finishing off their wine. Somehow, they hadn’t noticed Beatrice still in the room until her hand is on their arm. It’s just the two of them now, and her touch is a welcome surprise. Beatrice’s smile is radiant as she looks up at them through long lashes. In her other hand is the bouquet.

“How did you know violets were my favorite?”

“I didn’t, actually,” she glances between the flowers and Amaryllis. “I’m relieved to know that I chose well.”

“You did. Thank you, Amie. They’re beautiful.”

“They pale in comparison to you,” it’s cliché, and easily passed off as Amaryllis’s typical flirting. Even if now they mean it more than anything. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you,” she’s blushing, but her smile is proud.

“Did you know that violets mean ‘modesty’?”

“They do?” Her eyes light up, always eager to learn about anything. “Do the other flowers mean anything specific?”

“All of them do, and some of them mean something else when paired together. It’s why I picked them.” Beatrice’s brow raises, anticipating that Amaryllis will explain. “I think I’ll leave it for you to figure out on your own.”

“What!” Beatrice pouts, and her grip on their arm tightens. “But it’s my birthday.”

“And you love to learn, so it's the best gift of all.”

“That is a wonderful gift,” she laughs. “Then would you tell me what your favorite is?”

“I like Hemlock.”

“Isn’t that…”

“Highly poisonous? Yes, though it is safe when dried.” She stares for a moment, somewhere between confusion and amusement, then laughs again.

“How am I not surprised?”

“I also like roses. But don’t tell anyone, I wouldn’t want word to get out that I’m just a romantic, it’d ruin my reputation.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” her expression turns pensive, “are you really? A romantic, that is.”

Amaryllis shifts a little closer to Beatrice. The arm that isn’t graced by her touch reaches out, hand on her bare shoulder. They notice a heart-shaped birthmark that they hadn't had the opportunity to see until now. Fingers brush over it before ghosting down her arm, wondering what her reaction would be if it was their lips instead. As they trace her skin, Amaryllis feels her shiver, and it takes every ounce of restraint to not seek that out over and over. They take her hand then, pulling it to their lips to place a soft kiss to the back of it, leaving behind a red lip print.

“I certainly can be, when someone piques my interest enough,” their ruby gaze doesn’t leave her face. Beatrice stifles a gasp, and Amaryllis wonders what to do now, how they could just walk away from this—

And then, they’re interrupted.

“Birthday girl! You’re about to miss your own toast!” Portia leans in to shout from the doorway. “and you have to lead the song, or else Ilya’s squawking is gonna give me a headache.”

Beatrice intertwines her fingers with Amaryllis's, and then leads them outside hand-in-hand. The walk from the dining room to the veranda is far too short.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

#many beamie thoughts #if u read all of this... i love u #will smith poses at bea’s lovely writing #the image is concept art from the 2004 poto movie #beamie #beatrice viano #apprentice beatrice #amaryllis leroux #apprentice amaryllis #amie fic

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goodticklebrain · 5 years ago

Photo

Q&A August: Kate Pitt, Pocket Dramaturg

I’m so very excited about today’s installment of Q&A August, because it means I get to formally introduce you to Kate Pitt, my pocket dramaturg and Shakespearean soulmate! I first met Kate when she saved my life by letting me crash on the couch in her hotel room before the closing banquet of the 2016 Shakespeare Theatre Association conference. It was my first conference and, by the last day, I was so sleep deprived that I could hardly function. Despite meeting me in such a ragged and incoherent condition, Kate, who was then working in Public Programs at the Folger Shakespeare Library, decided to invite me to the Folger for a public interview/talk event.

You can read up on my visit to the Folger here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. But, long story short, in Kate I found an absolutely kindred spirit. Within half an hour we were completing each others’ sentences, most because we were conversing almost entirely in Shakespeare quotes. Since then we have gone on several Shakespeare adventures together, including a long-overdue joint pilgrimage to Stratford-upon-Avon earlier this year. Despite having spent extended periods of time in close proximity, we have remained friends, which is something of a minor miracle.

Apart from being a delightful human being, Kate is also a genuine Shakespearean powerhouse, with a vast amount of both scholarly and practical Shakespeare knowledge and experience. You might have noticed that many of my recent comics have included the note “Thanks to my pocket dramaturg, Kate Pitt, for consulting with me on this comic.” This is because I quickly fell into the habit of texting Kate with random Shakespeare-related questions, like “IN HOW MANY SHAKESPEARE PLAYS DO SHEEP REGULARLY APPEAR ON STAGE?” Kate, in her infinite patience and bottomless depth of knowledge, would always promptly text me back with answers, including sources. It was like having my own personal dramaturg in my pocket.

Since then I have often brainstormed comic ideas with her, run drafts past for her approval, and asked for her help when wrestling with particularly troublesome punchlines. (Among other things, she helped me finalize the list of questions I’ve been asking everybody this month!) Creating Good Tickle Brain is a very solitary occupation, and for most of the past five and a half years I’ve been essentially operating in a vacuum. It’s been fun, but it’s also been lonely and isolating at times. Being able to bounce ideas off of Kate, and occasionally commiserate with her on the challenges of being self-employed businesswomen in the Shakespeare world, has made both my job and my life immeasurably more enjoyable.

And so, it gives me GREAT pleasure to turn things over to my pocket dramatrug!

1. Who are you? Why Shakespeare?

I’m Kate Pitt. I’m a dramaturg, writer, producer, and director. I grew up watching Shakespeare films with my parents and saw an outdoor Midsummer at the Edith Wharton house in Lenox when I was about seven. The Mechanicals drove up in a real Jeep, the fairies crept out of the actual woods (I was a city kid – trees were a big deal!), and I was hooked. I’ve also had many wonderful teachers.

2. What moment(s) in Shakespeare always make you laugh?

Orlando forlornly waving his arm and saying “It is my arm”? I’M THERE. A really good (bad) Viola-Sir Andrew fight? SIGN ME UP. Benedict being terrible at hiding? THE BEST. Pyramus’ never-ending death? I LOVE IT. The physical comedy in the plays always makes me laugh. There are lines of text that I almost always laugh at, but I’ve been more delighted when those bits are reinterpreted in ways that sacrifice the laugh, but gain something more interesting in its place. Olivia’s wide-eyed “most wonderful!” is a war-horse, but I once heard it delivered with quiet awe rather than schtick and it was shockingly beautiful. “The dead can live again” rather than “another one!”

Mya interjects: Ok, yes, I also love “It is my arm.”

3. What's a favorite Shakespearean performance anecdote?

A Winter’s Tale where the bear was a puppet, and entered down the aisle sniffing at the audience as it slowly stalked Antigonus. The bear nosed at the handbag of an old lady in the front row and growled at her. She growled right back.

Mya interjects: Don’t mess with old ladies’ handbags.

4. What's one of the more unusual Shakespearean interpretations you've either seen or would like to see?

The opening speech of Richard III done as Bunraku puppet theater, but with a person as the puppet. It showed the pain of being “unfinished” so beautifully while also being horrifying and incredibly funny. This Richard was so close to being a person (“a real boy!”) but knew that he lacked some essential, animating humanity and made a conscious decision to hurt people because of it.

5. What's one of your favorite Shakespearean "hidden gems"?

I love watching the characters on the sidelines – the ones who aren’t the center of attention but are telling incredibly rich stories with their silence. Margaret in Much Ado is a great example and I always watch her when the Prince explains why he thinks Hero is disloyal. Margaret knows in that moment that the ruined wedding is her fault but she says and does…nothing. Aufidius and Isabella also have whole histories in stillness.

6. What passages from Shakespeare have stayed with you?

I’ve had Henry V’s “upon the king” and the Scrivener from Richard III on my mind – the responsibility of leadership and the realization of its corruption – but my favorites are the ones I think as my own thoughts and it takes a minute to figure out where they came from. i.e. on a hiking trip in the pouring rain, carrying a heavy pack, and staring up at switchback #492, I thought, “Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back!” It took until the top of the mountain to figure that one out.

Mya interjects: If you’re not familiar with the Scrivener from Richard III (and there’s no reason why you should be, since his scene is almost always cut), his one speech goes as follows:

SCRIVENER Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings, Which in a set hand fairly is engrossed, That it may be today read o’er in Paul’s. And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; The precedent was full as long a-doing, And yet within these five hours Hastings lived, Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. Here’s a good world the while! Who is so gross That cannot see this palpable device? Yet who so bold but says he sees it not? Bad is the world, and all will come to naught When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.

I’ve never gotten over the beauty of this line from Pericles – silence may be the perfectest herald of joy, but if you must use words, these ones are pretty great:

“Give me a gash, put me to present pain, lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me o’erbear the shores of my mortality and drown me with their sweetness.”

7. What Shakespeare plays have changed for you?

All of the plays have changed as I’ve gotten older, but the ones that deal with grief have altered the most. A friend died suddenly when we were eighteen and I reached out for Cleopatra and Constance without consciously knowing why. My father died five years later, and by then I knew that I would find some kind of recognition in the plays and I deliberately went to them. The words were always beautiful, but now I knew what they meant. I must have heard Claudius’ “that father lost, lost his” speech a hundred times but never understood the obscenity of telling someone “the right way” to grieve until someone did it to me. Cordelia comforting the confused and frightened Lear sits close to my heart now, and Ophelia’s madness has method in’t. Hamlet’s “mirror up to nature” didn’t tell me what I’d see or how to respond, but it allowed me look at myself and observe both the shadow of my sorrow and the thing itself when I needed it most.

8. What Shakespearean character or characters do you identify the most with?

Beatrice. I love her wit, her walls and her willingness to climb over them, her delight in her friends’ happiness and her white-hot fury at their pain.

Mya interjects: Can confirm, Kate is totally Beatrice.

9. Where can we find out more about you? Are there any projects/events you would like us to check out?

You can follow me on Twitter @katepitt and keep up with me on my website www.katepitt.com.

(Back to Mya) Thanks so much to Kate not only for answering the questions she helped me come up with, but also for being an unfailingly helpful creative and emotional outlet. Get thee a Kate.

COMING NEXT WEEK: A wonderful woman who is training small children to become the next generation of Shakespeare geeks, and two Shakespeare geeks who regularly act like small children!

#Q&A August #shakespeare

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princess-of-france · 6 years ago

Note

Also- since Love's Labour's Lost has been on the brain, and you are such a cool theatre person: dreamcast for LLL? Thank you so much!

OMFG MY FAVORITE COMEDY YES YES YES

*blows kazoo*

(Also, I’m cracking up at you thinking I’m a “cool theater person,” because I promise that’s a wonderfully accidental illusion; in reality, I’m just a cryptid who’s entire genetic makeup consists of triple-espresso lattes, Gmail push notifications, Shakespeare plays, and tears. But you’re very kind!)

Before I answer this amazing Ask, I think I should clarify that my dreamcast for LLL already exists — or, at least, it existed in 2018 — and I had the dazzling, life-affirming pleasure of seeing them perform my beloved plotless comedy at my favorite theater festival on the planet: the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

So here’s to Amanda Dennart and her IMPECCABLE Love’s Labour’s Lost:

^^^ Yes, that is King Ferdinand of Navarre, played by the once and future Daniel José Molina, meeting the Princess of France — the fabulous Alejandra Escalante — with a paper bag over his motherfucking head so that he doesn’t break his kingly oath of Not Looking At Female For 3 Years. (Fun fact: these two are now married!)

[Photo credit: Jenny Graham.]

BUT NOW TO THE MAIN EVENT:

Critically, I think LLL is a play about eight young people experiencing love for the first time and struggling to reconcile that love with their desire to be the Cleverest Person in the Room. Like so many whip-smart young people, the Crazy Eight equate cavalier carelessness with power, but the problem is: true love requires radical, wholehearted, unbearable vulnerability. It demands chaos and madness and mess and mistakes. True love asks us to be willing to look like an idiot. And most young people just aren’t ready for that, the first time it happens. It’s why the ending of this play is so goddam devastating.

And it’s why it’s so important to me that my cast list for the Crazy Eight reflects the youth, innocence, and inexperience I see baked into every one of their lines. Love has to seem like a first-time visitor to all of them. Love has to shake up their worldview like a snow globe, bowl them over, and then leave them impermeably altered. Love has to be the thing that makes them grow up.

So, with that, I am proud to present...

~THE NAVARRE NERDS~

1. KING FERDINAND OF NAVARRE — Paapa Essiedu

Love of my complete life. I don’t know if there’s a better actor with a bigger heart anywhere on earth. His Henry VI was utterly inspired, so I know he can be Kingly. Plus, he’s a passionate advocate for decolonizing Shakespeare and making classical theater accessible to all and...yeah. I adore him.

2. BEROWNE — Anthony Boyle

THIS IDIOT. I had to find a picture of him laughing, because he’s played a lot of Moody Broody Types, but OMG when he cracks a grin... Anthony is just a jewel of an actor: versatile, intense, thoughtful, emotionally articulate. He’ll keep Paapa’s Ferdie laughing, but also bring out the big guns for Berowne’s gorgeous character arc from horny cynic to lovesick wooer to chastened fool.

3. DUMAINE — Alfred Enoch

Perfect angel darling. There’s no doubt in my mind that Alfie can do Smug, Suave, Would-Be-James Bond Dumaine as well as Dorky, Clumsy, Foot-Constantly-in-Mouth Dumaine with equal flair. Also, I love him. <3

4. LONGAVILLE — George MacKay

Apparently, this sweetheart is playing Hamlet soon in the new Ophelia movie, which is HILARIOUS, because he looks like the most Innocent Innocent to ever Innocent. I suppose this is what makes him a good actor. And he is very good.

~LES FILLES~

5. PRINCESS OF FRANCE — Lily James

This goddess is always getting cast as ingenues who fall in love with their eyes and hearts wide open, which is all fine and good. But I wanna see her fall in love against her will, against her better judgment, and with stubborn denial attending her every step of the way...partly because Lily is up to the challenge, and partly because it would be precious af.

6. ROSALINE — Karla Crome

BAMF. Berowne won’t know what hit him. Karla is talented in a way most of us can only dream about, but even more importantly, she is whip-smart, self-possessed, and in love with herself. Get it, girl.

7. KATHARINE — Shay Mitchell

It’s hard to beat Shay for Sleek, Feline Intelligence. I like to imagine Katharine as the ultimate duchess: rich, spoiled, overeducated, overprivileged, dressed to the nines every minute of every day. But she carries so much pain behind the mask. Being fabulous is no substitute for losing your big sister. And I think Shay can do justice to all those layers.

8. MARIA — Francesca Mills

I had the honor of seeing Francesca in Rachel Chavkin’s epic production of American Clock at the Old Vic this past winter. In a cast of over 20 brilliant actors, she emerged as the brightest star. I have never fallen in love with an actress so quickly. Sweet, inquisitive, sassy, and smart, with a crystalline voice, Francesca is the ultimate heroine. Her Maria will be the most adorable in human history, I think.

9. BOYET — Tamsin Greig

Imho, no one does Blustery Spinster Energy better than Tamsin. (See her performance as Miss Bates in the 2009 BBC miniseries, Emma.) My favorite version of Boyet is the adult female chaperone that the Princess and her ladies gleefully dress up as a man to stymie Ferdinand’s guards. It makes 5.2 all the more giddy and revelatory, and also it just makes narrative sense. Tamsin will play the beleaguered and increasingly exasperated Wine Mom to perfection.

~THE PSEUDO-SCHOLARS~

10. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO — Riz Ahmed

I just can’t even express how much I love Riz. He dissolves completely into every single role he plays, no matter how absurd the character may seem on paper. And that is a very pertinent qualification for playing Armado, because he has the hard-fought distinction of being the most Abjectly Batshit Character in this bonkers play. Also I just really wanna get his autograph help

11. MOTE — Kiernan Shipka

THIS GIRL. Oh man, I don’t even know where to begin. She’s so flipping good at her craft, and at such a young age!! Honestly, I’d hate her if she weren’t so damn precious. All she needs to do is learn how to do a Scottish accent and then she’ll be 100% ready to play the wee snickering Watson to Armado’s pirate-Holmes. I’ve always read Mote as Armado’s platonic life partner slash surrogate daughter. She’s probably the only person in the world who knows Armado’s social security number. (Plus, Riz is a sweetheart, so you just know they’ll become great friends!)

12. DR. HOLOFERNES — Olivia Colman

What can I say? She’ll play the broad, slapstick comic relief stock character of Il Dottore to perfection...right up until the moment she doesn’t. Then she’ll make us all sob. “This is not generous, not gentle, not humble!” (V.ii.2570)

13. NATHANIEL — Cyril Nri

Can’t you just see this angel loving the crap out of Olivia’s Holofernes?? Like, he probably built an extension onto his rectory home JUST to give the famous visiting Italian academic a place to stay during her time in Navarre. Great actor, great human, great smile. 11/10

~BELOW-STAIRS~

14. COSTARD — Andy Samberg

My only Costard. I mean, he’s the only white boy I know who could play such a cowardly fuckboi of a character without turning him into a 2-D caricature. Not to mention the fact that Andy is a spectacular improv actor, so he can invent a lot of new lines and jokes for the hallboy! Win-win!

15. JAQUENETTA — Phoebe Waller-Bridge

Because I want the oft-disregarded Jaquenetta to be the Narrator of this whole wild shebang, I need an actor who can foster a deliciously familiar, non-4th-wall relationship with the audience and/or camera. Phoebe is the undisputed Queen of this. She’ll be STELLAR. And she and Andy will make people cry from laughing so hard.

16. CONSTABLE ANTHONY DULL — Andre Braugher

I love the idea of this Juilliard-trained classical actor sitting quietly with his crossword puzzle in the back of the polished oak Navarre library, watching a group of the Dumbest Smart People in human history talking themselves into a tizzy over false Latin and prickets and excrement and bad, mis-delivered iambic hexametric sonnets and just chuckling to himself. (Also: BB99 reunion!)

17. MERCADÉ — Randall Park

Tbh, I feel bad giving such a small part to such a phenomenal actor, but the thing about Mercadé is that he is like the BIGGEST small part in all of Shakespeare. He’s right up there with the First Servant in Lear in terms of the sheer narrative punch he packs into just a few short lines. And I think the best Mercadé is the one who has a personal relationship to the Princess. Maybe he was a personal aide to her father, the King? Maybe he helped raise her? Regardless, I think their conversation at the end of 5.2 is more than just the delivery of a sad message. It’s a communion between two grieving patriots of France. I want an actor whose warm heart will shine through that brief interchange. Randall can obviously do that, tenfold.

Aaaaaaand I think that’s it! Thanks again for the Ask, Lauren!! This was an absolute treat. xx Claire

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theheartofpenelope · 6 years ago

Text

SIMPLE THINGS - Chapter one

Here it is - chapter one. Enjoy gentleman!Tom. Feedback always appreciated. ;-)

Tag list: @winterisakiller, @devikafernando, @scorpionchild81, @messy-insomniac-bookgirl, @smutsausage, @hiddlesbitch1

Author’s Notes/Warnings: Not beta’d.

Also on AO3 through this link

Bonus: click here for the pinterest moodboard:

Chapter 1

London – day eleven continued

1. His presence was unexpected to her, yet not unwelcome. And while it warmed Charlotte’s heart to see a familiar face, her mind was thrown in a loop. Would she be allowed to define Tom Hiddleston as a ‘familiar face’? Granted, they had – very- pleasantly crossed paths a short while ago but afterwards they – naturally - went their separate ways. And that was no cause for concern; it was merely the way things were bound to evolve. You come together in a professional atmosphere; you meet each other’s acquaintance before your respective paths unsurprisingly part into two different directions. Such is life.

Yet, against all odds, 10 days or so later - there he was again. Leaning back in his seat, his one foot propped up on his other knee. Head slightly slanted and looking onto her with nothing but sympathy in his eyes, slightly amused even.

“Well hello,” he said with a kind and polite smile as he rose to his feet. “Hello, I erm,” Charlotte mirrored, not even bothering to hide the surprise in her voice, “I had no idea you would be here….”

“I apologize, I was late,” he paused and shook his head as he looked towards his feet suddenly, supressing a soft chuckle, “that’s a lie, I’m afraid.” “Is it?” she couldn’t help but smile at his sometimes-boyish charm. “I slipped in when the lights had already died…” “Craving privacy?” It was a sincere, albeit clichéd, question on her part. Though when she laid her eyes upon the talented actor once more, he only countered her query with a mysterious smile she could not quite place.

They walked up to one another to exchange a polite peck on the cheek when Tom absent-mindedly gently caressed her arm. A warm spark of familiarity hit her.

“Are you enjoying the play?” he kindly wondered, but Charlotte took more note of his skilful effort to steer the conversation into a different direction “Very much so,” she smiled, “I want to thank you again for arranging me a ticket.” “You’re very welcome,” he answered in honesty, “it was the least I could do for your professional assistance at ComiCon.” “I’m afraid I was just doing my job there,” she answered truthfully with an innocent shrug. “Was it still your job when you and your colleagues invited us the see the World-Cup Semi Final on the Big Screen at what’s his name’s house?” he rallied back in good fun, tempting her into that soft chuckle of hers again. “Thàt was not,” she confessed, “but I’m very pleased you all enjoyed that evening.” “We most certainly did,” a pause, “I know I did,” he couldn’t resist emphasizing that. “Even though your country lost to mine?” she teased. “Even though my country lost to yours,” he grinned in good humour.

Noting her fascination with the building, Tom kindly enlightened Charlotte on the history and architecture of the Globe Theatre. His enthusiasm was clear and enthralling to her,- and she found herself - very quickly - enjoying his company again. But that came as no surprise to her. When the lights flickered, announcing the end of intermission, they chuckled in unison at the realisation they had chatted through the interval without even setting one foot outside of the box.

His kind query on whether or not Charlotte would allow him to sit next by her side for the second part of the play, was easily answered. As he took a seat right next to her, he hesitated for a slight second, “Are you…. ” “Yes?” she urged. “I know you’re not a native speaker, and … this ìs Shakespeare,” he chuckled, “are you able to follow?” Charlotte playfully cocked her right brow, before reciting :

O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature need. Man’s life is cheap as beast’s.

A hearty laugh escaped his lips before her excused himself for even daring to think the opposite of her. Charlotte blushed as she credited her mother matter-of-factly. In his mind Tom was pleased to take note that she wasn’t just charming and kind, her intelligence might just give him a run for his money .

2. Through the second part both him and her were entranced within the world of King Lear. Only once was his attention brought back to her, when he noticed Charlotte discretely wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. His gaze drooped down to the hand that lay in her lap and he wondered if he should – just momentarily - place his hand over hersor would she consider that inappropriate? He opted to do so anyway. The palm of his hand rested on the back of her hand, the tips of his long fingers softly caressing the soft cobalt-blue textile in the process. He had admired her and her dress the moment she’d walked over to him yet didn’t feel comfortable enough to compliment her on it. Tom was rewarded with her surprised smile and – he guessed - a hint of a blush. His thumb tenderly stroked the back of her hand, his fingertips curled along hers, gently drawing them in for a soft squeeze before both parties retreated.

All first dates should be held in a theatre, he mused, in surroundings that demanded soft touches and silent whispers. Where you were perfectly allowed, even expected to lean in close to show consideration to your date and, at the same time, were able to subtly take note of each other’s behaviour both consciously and subconsciously. The way she smells, the way she smiles, discovering what moves her and what shocks her, … but this wasn’t a first date now was it?

It was around the end of the play when Charlotte softly placed her hand on his arm. Tom gladly and curiously leant her his ear.

“Where’s Edmund?” she whispered. “Who?” “Edmund,” she emphasized, before adding with clear hesitation, “the son of the Count?” “That’s Edgar, love,” a soft smile crept across his lips, happy to be of assistance. “Oh,” was all that escaped her lips before she moved away in silence, but still in complete disarray. “He’s in disguise in this scene. The one they call Tom of Bedlam,” Tom leaned close as he subtly pointed towards the actor on stage, “there.” “Oooh yes,” she apologized, “sorry about that.” “That’s alright,” he whispered in her ear with a soft smile.

She smelled of jasmine, musk and a touch of vanilla.

3. When the applause had died down at the end of the play, after asking whether or not she had enjoyed the play, yet again, Charlotte had confessed to Tom that she, in fact, did lose track somewhere around the end. But her knowledge of the story was enough to guide her on. Somewhat. They shared an amused smile.

Charlotte followed his lead as Tom graciously guided her out into the hallway. She observed him exchanging pleasantries with plenty familiar faces that were unknown to her. Not that this would come as a surprise. Charlotte was the odd one out here, in this environment. She moved in different circles than Tom.

She felt herself fade into the background but was all the more flattered when she unexpectedly heard Tom whisper quietly into her ear if she - perhaps - wanted to go out for drinks. With him. Together.

Oh yes, gladly.

They had barely set foot outside when some fans had caught wind of his presence. A group of young women had laid eyes upon Tom, yet Charlotte’s presence seemed to have gone by unnoticed. For which she was thankful. Charlotte observed the group making their way towards their favourite actor - curious for his review of the play, secretly hoping for a selfie or an autograph, a handshake or perhaps a kiss on the cheek.

Tom withdrew his hand that rested on the small of her back and swiftly locked eyes with her. “I am sò sorry,” he apologized in advance.

“That’s alright, duty calls. I completely understand,” Charlotte shook her head, adamant to make clear she wouldn’t expect anything less from a public persona such as him to want to make some time for his admirers.

Truth be told, Charlotte had been quite surprised to run into this fine man again. Pleasantly surprised, let that be clear. But now that she was out of the comfort zone of the Theatre, where your interaction was per definition restricted to silence and maybe a stolen whisper here or there, she now became very aware of the fact that her mind was in turmoil as to how she ought to compose herself around him. So there she stood, right next to him, suddenly a bit tongue-tied, a bit apprehensive. It was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

How oddly conflicting, she thought. About 10 days ago she had thoroughly enjoyed his company. And as it became apparent back then, the feeling was mutual. They were both mature enough to quickly express to one another that ‘the incident’ that ensued later that night was a silly, yet quite pleasurable, occurrence. And though Charlotte couldn’t speak for him, shé had moved along just nicely … up until the point those blue eyes looked into hers again earlier this evening. And when Tom had thoughtfully placed his hand on hers earlier that night, something inside of her stirred. Little sparks of electricity.

My god, I’ve been one the road alone for too long, she’d cursed to herself.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” Charlotte added swiftly as she was certain that he would surely take this opportunity to end his evening with her.

“No,” he stood corrected, much to her surprise, “don’t leave just yet.”

Tom continued with a quickly spoken whisper, “would you be willing to take a taxi and ask the driver to drop you off at ‘The last call’?” he paused, “I will find you.”

It sounded like a promise. Charlotte chuckled and rolled her eyes, questioning whether he was at all serious. Apparently he was. And he did find her at ‘the last call’, an establishment that looked like a plain brown pub but in fact disclosed quite a picturesque garden.

She opted to sit at the very end of the garden, far away from the door opening where waiters rushed to and fro as they waited on the clientele. It was also the perfect place to offer her an almost panoramic view over the terrace and allowing her to spot his silhouette promenading down to where she was.

He stood tall and elegant as he strolled down casually. It was as if in the last half hour a cloak had fallen from his shoulders and suddenly the Tom she’d gotten to know earlier that month emerged again. It immediately eased her mind.

And when Tom slid onto the chair right across hers, Charlotte could no longer hide her amusement.

“This is all very MI6, I must confess,” she shook her tilted head. Her eyes sparkled in good humour, triggering a chuckle from him.

“I know,” he gestured, “and I apologize once more. Thank you for obliging with me. It’s not really my style to order people around.”

He ordered an Old Fashioned and huddled over it when he confessed he truly was delighted to see her again. She smiled and returned the compliment.

It wasn’t a lie.

4. London had been groaning under a heat wave for days now. Even at night the temperatures didn’t really drop as long as one would. Like Tom, Charlotte craved for the crisp fresh air. Leaving ‘The Last Call’ they aimlessly wandered about in London, until stumbling across Hyde Park and the Kensington Gardens where a plethora of trees provided cool and fresh air.

Tom pulled the cap of his hoodie over his head tucking his gorgeous curls away. He flashed her a broad and hearty smile as he did just that. That smile melted her, time and time again. That hoodie however… She raised one eyebrow before shaking her head under a soft chuckle, “it’s probably about 21°C in the middle of the night. If I were you I’d be melting…”

“… so all of this because you took on a case that stirred up national interest?” Tom continued his questioning. He was curious, intrigued and interested.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“I take it this is not what you wanted then?”

Charlotte vehemently shook her head, “not really no. The case, yes. The attention, no. I feel there is a sense of privacy and serenity that has to be respected in these situations. It shouldn’t matter who the requesting party is. At the end of the day we’re all flesh and blood, aren’t we?”

“Still, you did choose to step into the limelight…” He didn’t mean it in a harsh or hurtful way. It was a mere realisation

“True,” she paused, “but only because I felt I did not have a choice anymore. There was so much slander coming at me, I hàd to stand up and speak up. Do you know what I mean?” she frowned and shook her head, “of course you know what I mean…”

He nodded while his lips curved themselves into a small smile, “But apparently you struck a nerve with the public.”

“It would appear so…”

It still left Charlotte astounded how the public had reacted to her first public interview. There was still some defamation to her address, but suddenly the sensitive topic was out in the open and it got people talking. And not necessarily in a negative way. The public craved for information and suddenly Charlotte’s work and vision became a point of interest. Before she realised it she was invited at several international conferences to debate about end-of-life decisions and assistance and to share her experiences. It was mind-boggling, flattering and scary.

Her father was beyond proud. The partners at her firm were very positive and encouraged her to accept the invitations that were being extended to her, and to engage in the offers that were being made to her. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had a partner or family of her own that demanded her presence back home. In all fairness, after ‘separating’ from her husband the previous year Charlotte had easily slipped into her own little comfort zone. Any friend of her could (and would) vouch that Charlotte was outgoing and spontaneous, empathic and enthusiastic. But she had kept her heart locked. Much to the frustration of her closest friends. Maybe that was the final trigger that urged Charlotte to embraced this sudden unknown path that stretched before her with her arms open wide, but with quite some trepidation.

“And here you are,” Tom added quietly. It almost sounded redundant.

“Here I am,…”

Tom’s eyes met hers again. He nodded with a soft smile.

“I’m glad you are. Here.”

Charlotte smiled, feeling her apprehension rise at the sudden silence in the conversation.

Start talking.

Start talking. Now.

Any minute now.

“And I’m flattered beyond words for this opportunity really, it’s quite surreal. But it feels right. As if I’m doing something that matters, you know?” she nervously babbled on until she caught Tom, standing still next to her, smiling at her absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head with a smile, “we ought to talk about more pleasant things,”

“Don’t be. You’re passionate about your work. I like that.”

“What are you working on?” she insisted

“Nothing,” he answered truthfully.

“Sounds wonderful,” she couldn’t resist a good tease .

“It is though,” he chuckled, “there’s no one monopolising my schedule, so for once I have ‘the gift of time’, to catch up with family, friends. That was long overdue to be honest. Reading books, slowly going through some scripts,”

“Want to trade places with me for a day?”

He dropped his head back and lead out a hearty laugh.

Their conversation ran without effort, alternating small talk, an in-depth discussion, trivial jokes and random thoughts. Time seemed to fly by. One loop in the park was followed by another, and another, and another. Until…

“Well, this is my stop,” Charlotte pointed towards the hotel across the park, “I should head back. Get some sleep.”

“Right, you’re speaking at the Conference tomorrow. I think?”

Charlotte sighed, “don’t remind me…”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her.

She nodded quietly, “I hope so.”

“Shall I walk you up?”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good plan, I know you like your privacy. I’ll just cross the street myself, leave you in the mystery of the park,”

She slanted her head, “so thank you for a wonderful evening. It was nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise, it was erm.. nice catching up with you. For lack of a better word.”

As Charlotte bid him farewell she felt unsure on how she should behave. She settled for a casual kiss on the cheek, which he kindly returned. His arms closed around to hold her in a tender hug, a gesture she gladly accepted. Her hand unconcernedly ran over his back in a reassuring caress. He smelled of some expensive citrusy cologne. His scent was dizzying, his embrace heart-warming that had Charlotte biting her lip out of remorse for not being able to keep him there longer.

Say good night, not goodbye.

“Good night Tom,” she murmured into his arms.

“Good night Charlotte,” he replied into her soft hair, the scent of her flowery shampoo sending his mind into a trip down memory lane. As he released her from his hug, he held on to her hand a little while longer, giving it a soft squeeze before wishing her a pleasant night as she made her leave

“Charlotte?”

“Yeah?” she spun around curiously.

“Good luck tomorrow…”

A warm smile, “thank you.”

A gust of wind swept up her long hair; she tucked the loose strands behind her ear before checking traffic. He watched her a little while longer as she made her way across the road towards her hotel and out of his life. Intelligent, grounded, feminine. He smiled. Never in a million years would he have guessed how bittersweet this very moment could make him feel.

Silly me, he cursed himself, I’ve been on the road for too long…

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #simple_things

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penitence-writings · 5 years ago

Text

Even Bright Fires Will Die - Collab

Rilon finally fell asleep.

After hours of him lying there and thinking useless thoughts that plagued him daily and nightly, he gave in.

This was a nightly deal, Rilon wouldn't be able to sleep for the longest time due to either Hyde nagging or his thoughts coming to haunt him.

Guilt, the fear of tomorrow, the hate for many individuals. A few that Hyde particularly had in mind. Three, a few mere kids in Rilon's mind. Teenagers that were now adults, with changed lives and personalities.

But that doesn't erase what they've done in the past.

Hyde knew he wasn't a just man or a good man. But he didn't care for morality, he cared about satisfaction for himself.

At first, it was a simple test. What was one life out of so many worldwide? Nothing. No one will remember in a thousand years. Then, the tests started to bore him.

No use caring for any of the statistics. For Edward. . . it was almost delightful. The thrill of a chase, knowing you're breaking multiple laws at once and not getting caught, the rush of adrenaline given when you do the complete the kill.

But, that all went away in a short span. Hyde learned to crave it more and more, and it became a sort of game. One that Rilon certainly didn't appreciate.

Many people had been hurt in Hyde's wake. Including his counterpart, the president's son himself. The ex-president, now — he's long dead.

Lear was one of Hyde's earlier kills, and it was after that day that the whole ordeal had become a personal game. Rilon and Asiah had lost their father years after they had lost their mother and under the same circumstances.

Murder.

The president wasn't purely a victim, not entirely. The things the man had done, to so many people — to kin. Hyde had been sloppy with Lear, but that had cost him. He didn't get much cleaner with recent times, but Lear being removed was necessary for Rilon.

No one liked him anyway, not even Rilon, as much as he liked to decry at Hyde for doing such deeds. Hyde killed Lear for Rilon, whether Rilon believed it or not. A lot of things were done for him, but yet he still refused to take Hyde's word for it.

Rilon thought things that Hyde was willing to put into action. Rilon put those thoughts into the back of his mind, not wanting to believe that he would think such sick things. Hyde found them and acted upon them. He acted upon his wants, too.

Hyde wasn't his counter, not for one moment was he ever Rilon. He's his being, his mind. Simply sharing a body with someone who didn't want to accept that fact. Rilon despised Hyde, that was no secret, but Hyde wanted more than what he was given, and he was given so little. Rilon prevented that like a dog would guard his bone. But, every dog had to rest sometime, didn't they?

Now, it was only right that Rilon would try his best to keep Hyde from taking more lives. He tried, but sleep was like a chronic illness. You can't go long before going back to it.

Just like tonight. Rilon tried to keep awake for as long as possible, but couldn't. Now, Hyde could peacefully and more or less painlessly come out.

Hyde stood from the messy bed of tossed blankets and indented pillows. He stretched, finding the feeling of a physical form rather than speaking absently in the mindspace pleasuring.

The man changed from his nightgown into average day clothes. A gown wasn't something Hyde would prefer to go out into town in, even if it's the dead of night.

Then Hyde remembered, bare hands is never a good tactic for more than one person. Too much time is wasted on each, and with two other residents- Hyde would be at the risk of being caught.

Something personal to complete the kill, but not dull. Out of the corner of his eye, Hyde spotted it.

The mirror that was broken due to Rilon's own emotions, shattered pieces were cleaned up, but the fragmented mirror was still in the room and a single shard was kept in Rilon's drawer.

Hyde walked into the living area, fumbling through a few drawers before finding the right one. There it stood, showing a broken reflection of Hyde, almost mocking him as he stared at himself through it.

He gripped it and shut the drawer silently, only sparing another second to look at the emotionless half-faced self-portrait.

He paid no mind to the pain of the new weapon, and instead looked ahead to the mission. It was off-putting how well the shard fit into his hand but at a cost of his blood.

Hyde clenched the glass tighter, knowing he'd have to pick little bits of glass out of his palms later, but he left the matter for now.

The pain was almost a relief to him.

Hyde walked out of Rilon's room hurriedly after catching a glimpse of the time.

Almost two a.m. Rilon stayed strong for quite some time tonight.

The house that seemed inches away from the window of the tenth floor was quite farther than a few blocks. Nothing extreme, but Hyde made it a point to walk faster down the streets.

Finally, after some minutes, Hyde reached his destination. A mocking house up a little hill that towered over the rest on the block.

Rich defined the people that lived there. Hyde wanted something more to do than sit around all day in Rilon's head, being forced to sit dormant while Rilon took most of the control.

Soon, though, Hyde would get the majority of the spotlight. The people who lived in this home were no doubt privileged middle-aged stuck-ups who controlled some amount of land or were too used to having everything made for them.

Tonight they're going to fend for themselves.

Hyde sneered at the thought. Their actions were going to bite them back and bite back hard. His grip tightened on the shard, and the euphoria came and left him within a split second, leaving him high.

He moved in.

Somehow, as Hyde searched for a way in, he got the sneaking sense that he wasn't alone. He nearly froze as another figure neared the house. From the way they snuck around, he could tell that the person was not of this residence.

His breath caught. He knew who it was recognizing the mannerisms even if he could not see them.

When the figure's face was illuminated by a small, lit match, their identity was confirmed. Hyde could see the near joy that flashed in the figure's bright golden eyes, golden as the small flame he brandished.

It was unmistakable.

"Alva."

He hadn't expected him here. He wasn't supposed to be here.

How did he know I was here?

"You bitch." The words came out a little too loudly. Alva flinched, dropping the lit match to the ground. He trampled it under his boot before the flame could get anywhere.

It was too late to hide - Alva had already seen him.

They stared at each other for some moments before any of them spoke. The one who broke the silence was Alva.

"Edward?"

Hyde was cautious as he inched toward the man. His face twisted into a snarl. "I thought you said we were done, Alva."

"I didn't know you'd be here." Alva lit another match and illuminated his face. He was not amused, either.

A smirk then lit up his face. "What an amazing coincidence." He said. "You show up on the same night that-"

Someone was coming. Hyde grabbed Alva by the hand and dragged him into a bush lining one side of the house.

He held his breath as the footsteps stopped just before their hiding place. Any wrong move - any move for that matter - could get them caught. They'd be thrown into prison - or worse, Institution. Hyde hated Institution, even worse going there. He couldn't get caught — Rilon would never see his brother again.

The footsteps retreated away to another spot around the house, and Hyde audibly gasped.

At least they were safe... For now at least.

"You said you wanted nothing to do with me," Alva held up the hand Hyde had grabbed, and also the hand that he still held. "But yet, you seem too attached to let go."

Hyde's face briefly flushed with heat, but he looked away and yanked his hand out of Alva's grip with an almost inhuman snarl. So this was how Alva was going to play.

Two could play at that game.

"Stay out of my way." He said, pushing Alva out of his reach and cautiously walking out of the bush. Fortunately, the person had gone. All he needed now was to find his way inside.

This house was too big. Although that would usually prove an advantage for such a person as Hyde himself, it gave him a sense of overwhelming insignificance.

No. He couldn't let that get in his way. Too much of a clouded mind would obscure his concentration on his task.

Damn it. Just get inside, Edward.

Thankfully, sometime later, he had found a small door, which he figured led to a cellar of some sort. It took some prying open, but he eventually got it open and slipped inside.

The cellar was surprisingly nicer than he had expected. Usually, cellars were dark and damp and musty, not adorned with such… niceties.

The chandelier, the whitewashed walls, even a few old photos hung up on the walls. He noted a wine cellar, marked with a sign. If the house wasn't going to be set ablaze, Hyde would have chosen to visit it later.

Hyde avoided looking at the photos. They all too painfully reminded him of how fake he was, only a fracture of Rilon's broken mind. This was a life he never would have.

Soon, it would all go up in flames.

Hyde glanced back subconsciously, aware that Alva had followed his advice and was now in his part of the house. Soon enough, the place would be ablaze. Hyde needed to get his task done first before Alva could complete his own.

Out of the cellar, no noise came. The hallway was clear, Hyde stepped out and crawled into an even grander hall. It wasn't lit, but Hyde knew that the faint designs illuminated by his small light were extravagant and certainly undeserved for such people.

Hyde scowled at the portraits on the wall. They were obsessed with looking at themselves. They had no children, and there was a couple who looked sickeningly in a honeymoon stage of their relationship, and another man, who stood alone in his paintings.

Hyde moved on, knowing that Alva would be working a little slower than he expected too due to the sightings of each other. They had broken contact many fortnights ago, and they were no doubt frazzled.

But, Hyde forced himself to put that at the back of his mind, it was unimportant right now.

He approached a french door, one of the main master bedrooms of the house. Fancy carvings were etched onto the door, and Hyde found that it was unlocked with a silent turn of the handle.

Gripping the glass close to his chest, Hyde opened the door painfully slow, the noise would've been a wreck.

He shifted his light source to the bed in the middle of the room meters away, showing the forms of two bundles under thick duvets. The couple's room.

Hyde shifted his attention, no cats or dogs in the room. No alarms besides Hyde himself. he crept close to the king-sized bed. Snores came from the man, making the floorboards seem less loud in comparison.

He sounds like a whole damn factory.

Hyde went to the man first, the side closest to the door. The man was facing the door, and Hyde looked for every possible way to kill him.

What could this glass do, exactly? What was it's limitations to piercing skin? It wouldn't be hard to find out.

Not wasting another moment, Hyde raised the glass and used both hands for better grip and brute. He swung it down, right between the ribs. The man jerked, the glass fitting right through his skin as if the protective layer was useless.

Blood streamed down after its initial eruption. Hyde sidestepped, blood covering his shoulder in uneven metallic splotches. The man was wide awake now, frozen in shock as his eyes forever stared at his murderer.

Though it was unnerving, Hyde continued swiftly. He slunk the glass out, more blood covering his hands than before- an unintelligible mix between his and the husband's- and brought it down once again to the place dead center to his heart.

He jerked again, this time it brought him out of what trance he was in and he screamed out in agony, hands flailing up to his chest to desperately claw at the weapon stuck in it.

Hyde got scratched a few times before retrieving his shard, but none were deep enough to pierce the skin. The man got manicured regularly.

Hyde stared at his subject a moment longer, watching his body fall onto the floor with a 'thump!' before ultimately passing out from blood loss. He would be dead soon with no medical attention. Hyde kicked him under the bed, now noticing that the woman was awake and in the corner, shaking.

"You... you killed him. . ." she said it in an annoying, high pitched voice. She jumbled her words multiple times before getting it out right.

Yeah, that was a kind of the point. Now it'll be harder to kill you. Hyde mentally rolled his eyes and outwardly scoffed.

Glaring down at her, Hyde stepped closer one glowering step at a time. He was no more than a foot away from her as he dropped to one knee.

"And?" He asked, making no moves to even harm the lady.

He knew she was terrified, and she wouldn't do anything out of the fear that trapped her.

Trapped. He knew what that felt like. She most likely didn't.

Slowly, menacingly, Hyde strode back to the bed. He picked up the pillow she was laying on mere minutes ago. "Don't want the same fate?" He asked, with a sneer. Her fate was sealed the moment she spoke to Rilon years ago.

"Please, sir!" The lady pleaded, her voice quivered and she still spoke as if in a meat freezer. "I have money. I can write you a check!"

"If I wanted money, you and your dead dearest would be held for ransom. I have all the money in the world at my disposal." Hyde said, dropping the glass piece carelessly on the sheets.

He tilted his head, in a questioning way, before talking again for the last time.

"I'm not after money. Think of me as a peacekeeper. Disposing of the unworthy. I just do it severely." Then, he struck.

Her head smashed against the thick wall as Hyde landed on her. He held her down with his weight, and her hands frantically swung in the air to hit Hyde, but he was too out of reach.

The pillow was over her face in less than a heartbeat, and her attention was on getting it off instead of getting Hyde off. Stupid mistake.

Hyde held it there until he felt her go limp under him. Then he brought the pillow up, seeing her face had turned an ugly shade of purplish-blue and had lost all signs of life.

Hyde let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding in. One more to go.

He stood up, checking her pulse for a double measure. Dead. He didn't bother moving anything around, just picked up his glass from the bed and left the room silently.

He wiped spots of blood from his cheek on his clean shoulder sleeve, not enjoying the feeling of it. He'd have to clean it off after this was all said and done.

The other rooms in the manor were empty. But there was still one living person in this home. Hyde peered around a hall corner, spotting decorative stairs leading up in a spiral.

Hyde smirked. Jackpot. The man liked a view - that will be the death of him.

Hyde scurried up the stairs, not wasting a breath as he reached what seemed to be the fifth floor. The starlight remained in the sky from a wall-sized window. It hadn't been long since Hyde had entered the house.

The rooms went down a hall in a prison-like pattern. Hyde opened each of them as he went by, securing the shard in his fist one more time.

The last door was the one that Hyde suspected he was in. He has to be, after all. The doors were all already opened. Hyde crept into the room, seeing ruined sheets but with no one there to ruin them. There was no one in here.

Hyde fell to the floor, someone heavy on top of him. He grunted, the weight holding his lower body still. The opponent was heavy and sturdy but probably didn't know what he was doing in terms of offense. Self-defense would have to be tested.

Hyde got lost in his thoughts, the only thing breaking him out was a clumsy punch to the jaw. Hyde recovered quickly, glaring up at the man. He had panic in his expression, knowing that the man that had entered his home wasn't entering for a joke.

Hyde reached for his weapon before realizing that it landed halfway across the room when Hyde went down. This kill was going to be physical, that's certain.

Hyde grabbed the man's gown front, clashing their heads together. The man cursed, bringing a hand to his head out of natural reflex. Hyde took the chance to flip them both over, getting the upper hand early.

Hyde double punched him without a second thought. Then, he jumped off the opponent when he tried to strike back defensively.

The man took a hot minute to get up, and Hyde waited until he stood fully. Hyde slammed him against the wall, undercutting him twice. His head was knocked into the wall both times, and Hyde was genuinely surprised that the man hadn't been deemed unconscious yet.

The gent gained his bearings for a final rush of adrenaline and shoved Hyde off of himself. Hyde almost tripped over his feet due to the momentum but stayed up long enough to be pinned to the other wall.

The window was inches away from Hyde's ear, and the moonlight that came in from it illuminated the man's bruised face; his jaw was littered with bruises in a discolored mix of shapes, his lip was busted, and even though it wasn't visible Hyde knew that the back of his head was even worse.

"Wait!" Hyde pleaded as the man reared up to punch him. "I'm sorry, I came into the home when I heard a scream from next door. I thought you were the one who killed them. I live just next door."

The man released his sweaty hold on Hyde's collar, a disturbed look in his eye.

"You're a Magnusteen? I haven't heard of a fourth family member."

Hyde nodded frantically, putting on a frightened mask. "Apologies, I have been away for years out of the country, I came back for my sister."

"Oh, I see. . ." The man looked away, slowly blinking and rubbing his beaten jaw. His brows furrowed, "killed? How do you. . . oh my..."

He glanced up at Hyde, intensely observing him. "You are in regular wear, you're covered in-oh my-"

Hyde grinned at the overly funded man. "Faster than I thought you would be."

Hyde sprung at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and twisting them both around. Hyde broke the window out with the man's body, holding him out of the five-story high window.

A breeze flew in, the sounds of panes shattering on the cobble road ringing in Hyde's ears.

"But not fast enough."

"Doctor Arlett?" The man gasped, horror-stricken at the new information. An old memory showing up in his own house, holding onto his very life.

"Mister Hyde." Then Hyde let go of the dead weight, listening to the screams before they were cut off abruptly. Hyde leaned out of the hole in the wall, expecting to see merely a limp body.

Orange flames licked at the top of the first floor, and Hyde forgot about everything else. Alva had set the fire.

Hyde didn't waste time getting out of there, hightailing down the stairs, faster than what could have been the speed of sound.

Already the flames lapped around him - Hyde suspected that Alva had started the fire in multiple places around the house. It was spreading fast, already reaching over Hyde's head when he reached the second floor.

Making a split-second decision, Hyde rode the railing the rest of the way down to the first floor. Fire made it hard to see where he was going; any of his other senses, he ultimately found them to be completely unreliable.

Everything was just a complete shade of bright red.

Hopefully what Hyde noticed in the corner of his eye was a door. He abruptly turned and made a mad dash for it.

He barreled into it - a wall - at top speed. It gave under his weight and collapsed. He didn't catch himself in time to balance himself, and he got sent barreling down the hill.

Hyde fell in a heap, the grass at the bottom of the hill catching his fall. He got to all fours, gasping and choking for air. As he did, he stared upwards at the burning house, nearly surprised to find it already engulfed in flames.

I'm impressed. He muttered to himself, searching for Alva. Half of him prayed that the man had gotten out safely.

Yet, as he got to his feet, there was no sign of him. He could only stare, his eyes darting everywhere in some vain hope that Alva would appear from the house, even if he did appear toasted like overdone bread.

But he never did.

In slow motion, as Hyde broke into a run, the house began to collapse under its weight, collapsed into a flaming heap, sending a wave of hot air that brought Hyde to the ground once again.

It was a long time before he could bring himself to stand again, and the first thing that hit him was the recognizable smell of smoke.

But still no sign of Alva.

That thought struck fear in him, fear that Alva hadn't made it out of there alive.

Fuck it. He was going to search anyway.

Hyde prayed that nobody had spotted either of them, as for a man covered in the blood of the - now-deceased - residents was as suspicious sight in itself. A burning building on the edge of London would be as well, but that didn't matter much to him.

The rubble gave no sign of where the rooms had been before and was about as hard to wade through as wet cement. Yet, who seemed to care. The thing Hyde was searching for mattered more than some damn house.

Even if that thing had been a bitch to him in the past.

While he had been lost in thought, he'd tripped over what had to have been part of a dresser. Hyde caught himself before he landed, and luckily - a jagged part of a broken chandelier lay dangerously close to him.

He breathed a sigh of relief, struggling to regain his equilibrium. Blood pounded in his ears as he frantically searched for Alva, who still hadn't emerged from the house or the rubble.

"That idiot is going to be in big trouble." Hyde struggled through the rubble, silently cursing himself for even showing up in the first place. He could have left Rilon alone, let him sleep.

But he let the thrill get ahead of him.

His legs eventually gave out, and Hyde stumbled to a place and collapsed, struggling for air.

The smell of smoke was just becoming too much, too overwhelming. Hyde knew he was going to die here, having not found Alva, having failed.

The only accomplishment he could accept was that he had rid the world of three more people. Fewer threats to Rilon, fewer people to wrong him.

That didn't feel like a big accomplishment.

"Hey, Eddie." Someone bent down beside him, rubbing his shoulder. It was a husky voice, possibly from the smoke. Yet somehow recognized it.

"Alva." Hyde held up his hand helplessly, gasping. "Get me up, you idiot."

"I'm the idiot now?" Alva took his hand, helping Hyde to his feet. He laughed, a deep, genuine laugh. It was the first time Hyde had heard him laugh in a long while. "You are sorely mistaken."

" No, are you hurt, you big oaf? "

Alva patted himself down, then shrugged. "I don't appear to be, except for this." He pulled at a tear in his jacket, wear blood slowly oozed from it. It was hard to tell in the firelight and the darkness of the early morning.

"Oh," he fumbled through his coat, holding something out in his hand. "You dropped this."

Hesitantly, Hyde stared at the object. It was the shard. For a moment it escaped him that he'd dropped it, but when he tried to take it, Alva held his hand.

"Can you forgive me, just this once?"

Hyde didn't know how to respond at first, and he couldn't put it into words. Alva had done terrible things, but none as great as this. It had been just a petty little fight, anyway.

Alva had made his thoughts all flustered, discombobulated. It was all so... wrong.

"Fine." He was flustered; to him, the reply appeared almost rude. He took the shard and stashed it in his pocket, with the strange urge that he was forgetting something.

Then frustrated, Hyde huffed, seizing Alva by the lapels of his coat, pulling him down to his eye level, and, against his own will but filled with a strange feeling, kissing him.

Alva appeared nearly surprised at this, but he relaxed and surprised Hyde as well.

He kissed him back.

"Alva." Hyde stopped as they entered back into the city. He stared at the ground as Alva let go of his hand.

The man disappeared into the darkness of an alleyway as Hyde gathered up his thoughts. He could only stare as Alva appeared to have leaned against a wall, staring at him. The gold of his eyes reflected in the little moonlight that shone upon them.

Three people dead, and for what? Just a little thing they had said to Rilon nearly two decades ago? Did that matter now?

" Alva, I -"

He didn't get to finish what he was saying, as Alva appeared to be entangled in some infernal struggle, sliding down the wall as if his legs were no use to him anymore.

Panicking, Hyde ran to him.

He was just fine a moment ago, I swear.

"Alva, you idiot."

The man was now only held up by the wall, weakly staring at his hands, which were crossed in his lap. "I got you out safe, didn't I?"

" Yeah, but -" The panic rose in Hyde's throat, cutting him off abruptly. He felt helpless, kneeling beside him and dropping the shard. No other words rose in his throat, and he buried his head in his hands out of grief.

"Eddie, at least you got out safe." Hyde raised his head - Alva was staring him straight in the eye with whatever strength he appeared to have left. "I could have been the major bitch I am and just left you there." He weakly laughed as he said this as if contemplating the outcomes. He had considered that... Hyde realized but had gone against his morals.

Still, he should be fine. The only wound Hyde had seen on him was that shoulder wound.

Unless… unless the injuries were internal.

He should have been aware of that.

Alva was going to have a slow, suffering death.

Right at that moment, Hyde felt a wave of defeat drown his once euphoric mood. He couldn't just leave Alva there to die after Alva came back for him.

Instantly and unconsciously, Hyde's hand went to pick up the shard, which had been discarded on the ground beside him. This was what he had to do, wasn't it? Put Alva out of his misery?

Although the shard, that of which was once familiar to him, now felt foreign in his hand. He clenched his hand into a fist, felt the pain of its sharp edges, cutting into him. Once again, he relished it.

It also came to him that familiar hesitation that pierced his mind like the shard.

Could he do it?

"I know what you're thinking, Edward." Alva sat himself up against the alley wall, groaning as he did so. "You want to put me out of my misery. I'm some suffering animal to you, aren't I?"

Hyde dropped the shard once again, looked away, and nodded. For once in his life, he ignored his impulses, rejected them. He didn't want to kill Alva, at least not on purpose.

"Then do it."

Hyde's head shot up at Alva's order. Was this really what he wanted?

Again he struggled to find the words. "Alva, I.. I can't." He slumped down into a sitting position. He didn't want to hurt those close to him; after the residents' murders, he didn't want to kill anyone else. That was all taken care of.

"I've seen you… I saw you… in that room." Alva was growing weaker still. "That man was.. Dead within seconds."

Except for the couple, Hyde had believed that he was alone in that room. Alva had been… watching him?

Hyde felt his hands shake, and he nearly dropped his weapon once again.

Dead within seconds, instead of suffering for hours. This was how Alva wanted to go out, wasn't it?

Alright.

Hyde took a deep breath, steadying himself and his hand. Alva stared at him with a knowing look, smiling sadly. "I'll see you soon, Eddie."

"I'll see you too." Hyde bent forward and pulled Alva into what was the guise of a hug. Less than a few moments later, the deed was done. He felt Alva slightly jerk, but there were no protests. Hyde knew that he couldn't.

Hyde's hand slipped away from the weapon, which had now been embedded in Alva's chest. Alva slumped forward, letting out a gurgling sigh.

He was right.

He had died within seconds.

Hyde didn't want to do this, but this is what it had come to. He couldn't just take it all back.

He sucked in a breath and buried his face into Alva's shoulder. For some time, he stayed like this, an emotionless mess before something finally snapped in him. He began shaking, trembling until he felt his eyes sting. His cheeks were wet.

He was...crying?

He set Alva's body back against the wall, falling back and staring at him. It was taking everything to keep him from sobbing. He reached out to retrieve the shard but something overcame him and his hand dropped.

"No.. No." The realization came to him that Alva's blood was over him. The residents' blood. Something not easily rid of.

He needed somewhere to clean up.

"I'm sorry, Alva." He leaned back over, kissing Alva on the forehead as if bidding him a good sleep. In a way, he was. "I'll see you in hell. For now," he took a pause, sighing before he continued. "I have someone else to visit."

He took the shard out of Alva's chest — with some difficulty — and got to his feet. "I'll miss you, you dumb bastard."

Without a further glance, Hyde started off to another place.

Another place. Hyde's secondary thoughts rung in his head and ears, giving him a massive headache to start the day with.

He couldn't go back to Rilon's apartment. Not in this state. Not yet, Hyde wasn't ready to go back into dormancy. It was too early and he knew he would regret giving up control again.

Another place. What other places did Hyde know, besides the never-ending streets of London? Of course, the only place left in the world that could give Hyde peace and sanctuary.

Ottawa's home. Ottawa's arms. Ottawa's heart. The one place where Hyde was (most of the time) welcomed wholly and Hyde could be Hyde with her. Not some ex-heir who created this mess of a personality.

Not just Ottawa's home, their shared home. Hyde let the fact of the hitch slip his mind in the fritz of it all. He was so happy to finally get a home with the one he loved but...

The dread came back to Hyde. His heart sank and his hands trembled at his sides. Ottawa was innocent, she doesn't know the man she married. She doesn't know the things he has done nor the blood on his hands. The victims Hyde has ruthlessly killed just for pleasure and so-called revenge.

Could he? Hyde sucked in a painful breath, stopping and leaning against a lit pole for support. He caught his breath, one that hasn't been lost. Hyde felt like Rilon suddenly - hopeless, powerless, and like the world had turned against him.

Hyde knew it wasn't exactly unfair, Hyde wasn't the best of men, but Alva didn't deserve to go the way he did.

And his blood. . . Hyde looked down at his stained hands, seeing the quiver uncontrollably. Hyde killed someone he loved.

Hyde forced himself to think of something, anything, that could be a better train of thought. If Hyde hadn't been there this morning, Alva would have died a slow and miserable death anyway. Hyde shortened it.

The thought just made Hyde sicker, and he swallowed harshly. His legs started to shake, coming back like an old memory. He didn't know what to do, his mind was everything but right.

Hyde needed to go home, even if for a night. He needed to recuperate and think without being so exposed.

It was selfish to do that to someone like Ottawa, but Hyde couldn't help but stay with her. She was his anchor, and he couldn't live much longer without her.

Hyde started into a jog, thinking only about getting home and nothing else. Tunnel vision blocked out his other senses, including his blurry vision and drilling headache.

He accelerated into a silent sprint before stopping suddenly and almost tripping from the momentum. His clothes. His face. Hyde needed a change of - everything, for the most part. Ottawa would immediately be suspicious.

She's innocent, not dull. Ottawa is a brilliant mind, even in fine lighting, she could figure something out. Something that Hyde had worked to cover up so desperately. He couldn't lose this one, not when she was his lifeline.

Hyde turned a sharp corner into an alley with a bunch of connected houses. Simple family houses, nothing extravagant like the one that had just burned to the ground. Hyde inhaled a quick breath, not wanting to recall anything right then. Hyde wiped his face of any excess liquid, facing a dark brown home.

Hyde checked all the windows, immediately finding one left unlocked and cracked near the side of the home. Upon entering, Hyde found out that the window was for ventilation. The home was hotter than anything outside currently, they must have a few opened windows.

Hyde couldn't blame the family, the crime in London with these family neighborhoods was almost nonexistent. No wonder they felt safe leaving a few windows open to catch a drift. Hyde peered around the home, finding the master easily. A couple lay in bed, snoring their night away.

Hyde tiptoed to the closet, cursing any creak in the floorboards. Opening the closet with maximum patience, Hyde found many sorts of men's clothes. Sweaters, coats, shirts, trousers. Hyde grabbed a soft light-colored sweater and long trousers. Hyde hoped that the sink running for a minute wouldn't wake either of the pair from their slumber.

Turning to them for a moment, Hyde confirmed that they most likely wouldn't even move a muscle at a thunderstorm. They were sprawled out on one another, snoring in a strange synchronization that Hyde found excessively creepy.

Hyde moved into the hall, finding the main bathroom more near what could be a children's bedroom. He slunk into the confined room, closing the door swiftly. The bathroom had a window. It would be a squeeze to get out, but Hyde couldn't risk going out again.

Hyde switched out of his browned clothes and into the fresh ones. He washed his face with a vicious scrub, ridding himself of Alva's blood. That would haunt him continuously.

He left the old clothes on the sink, staring at his faceless self in the small mirror above it. The darkness of the room prevented Hyde from seeing his expression in the mirror, but the lamplight from outdoors let Hyde see his clear outline. The man in the mirror wasn't someone Hyde wanted to be, but he chose to be anyway.

Hyde looked down at his hands, cupped with water in them. He splashed his face, clearing it a final time with a small hand towel. Hyde grabbed the bundle of old clothes, jumping out of the high window and rushing to a nearby canal. He dumped Rilon's clothes into it, clearing anything else from his hands. It wouldn't be as easy to do that mentally as he did physically.

Hyde took a moment for a deep breath before started back onto course for home. Ottawa would be sleeping, as she should be. It was probably four in the morning at this point. She never woke that early if she could help it.

He quickly made his way down the roads, feeling a chill run down his spine. From a breeze or his own emotions, Hyde couldn't define a line. The home came up, a pure boon compared to everything else.

Hyde rushed up the porch stairs three at a time, practically skipping the stairs entirely. Softly, as if he would break the door itself, Hyde cracked open the door and entered his house. He closed it quietly behind him, locking it for good measure.

Hyde lit a lantern in the living room, placing it back on its hook and shaking out the match. Quickly, he tossed the match in the trash, not wanting to look at a firestarter. The lantern's flickering was enough to make his eyes unconsciously water. He didn't mean to, but his body and mind willing the tears back with Alva. He loved Alva, even if they weren't on good terms.

Hyde wouldn't forget him.

"Have a good stroll?" Hyde jumped from his planted position, knocking over the vase on the stand. Hyde struggled to catch it, still in shock from the sudden voice, and the pottery ended up slipping through his fingers.

"Oh - Ottawa! I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Don't bother, it was fake anyway," Ottawa said, still as sharp as her first comment. "Where have you been, Edward?" She asked, almost as if she expected it to he a simple-worded answer.

"You're still awake?" Hyde avoided the question, knowing she would eventually break him.

"Edward," Ottawa looked narrowly up at him from her spot on the singular couch. Her legs were crossed firmly, her arms folded above. She looked exhausted, and Hyde felt a stream of guilt wash through him. She had waited all night for him to return.

"Ott, did you stay up all night?" Hyde questioned softly, his facial features dropping at the realization. How many days had Hyde been away? How many nights had she stayed up only to realize her husband wasn't coming home? God, he was stupid to leave her so much like this. The number of days he had left his wife alone in the empty house, the worry she had felt every waking moment of it.

Hyde knew only because he felt those same emotions when Rilon was in control. Countless days were spent worrying about Ottawa and thinking restlessly about her. About the baby.

She gave him a look that told him everything and more. "Edward, you promised you'd be here more often for us. I can't do this alone." Her tone softened, and Hyde dropped everything he was feeling to approach her.

He crouched in front of her on one knee, gently taking her hands in his as they did during their vows. "Ottawa, I'm sorry. I know I promised that I'd be around more. . . things came up and got messy. From now on, I'll keep true to my promise." Hyde said honestly, laying a faint kiss on each hand like they were porcelain glass.

I need to talk to Rilon, we need to discuss this whole ordeal before I lose my wife. Hyde thought solemnly, knowing Rilon would understand but be reluctant due to Hyde's destructive behaviors - like today, for example.

But, Rilon liked Ottawa and understood his alter's affection for her and his unborn child. He surely would allow the majority of control to pass on to Hyde. Rilon was a true man.

Hyde looked painfully up at Ottawa, feeling his lies creep up to his throat as his words got caught.

Her eyes were watery as she stared down at her lover, and an out of character giggle came from her and she reached up to wipe her eyes from any incoming tears. Hyde panicked slightly, knowing about the easy mood swings that could be occurring. But it wasn't anything like that. What she said wasn't cursed hormones.

"You idiot, do you have any idea how worried I've been?" She laughed again, settling on the floor and holding her husband in her arms once again. Ottawa rested her face in the crook of Hyde's neck as he wrapped his arms as tight as he was able to around her. "I missed you, Hyde."

"I missed you too, Ott," Hyde said sincerely, grinning into her shoulder. "Both of you." Hyde placed his hand between them, on Ottawa's baby-swollen belly.

"Mein Lieblinge." Hyde murmured, finally feeling safe and loved for the first time in a long time.

"But for now, let's get you to bed. You look like a raccoon, dear." Hyde said playfully, standing quickly and picking her up in his arms with him.

Ottawa cried out in surprise and laughter, lightly tapping Hyde's chest. "Hey! Watch the baby!" She exclaimed harmlessly between laughs.

"You don't look much better than a raccoon, Hyde." Before she could speak any more, Hyde hurried to their shared bedroom, placing her ever-so-gently on the bed.

"What, they're cute, aren't they?" Hyde asked, settling in beside her and holding her close. This is what it felt like to be home. Not at the place, not even close to a place. With Ottawa home.

She shrugged. "Not really. They're disgusting raggedy little creatures, with messy fur and yellow teeth."

"And you're saying I look no better than one?* Although admittedly irritated, Hyde smiled.

"Maybe."

Ottawa pulled the covers over her yawning loudly. “Now please get some sleep before I worry about you more.”

Uneasily, Hyde lay back into the bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to shut his eyes, not with all the thoughts running through his head.

I feel like she’s going to find out in the worst way possible.

Will she hate me for that?

For several hours, he lingered that way, unable to sleep, jealous of how deeply Ottawa could, when he couldn’t.

Finally, he rose from the bed around midmorning, careful not to wake her. He lightly kissed her forehead, muttering a quiet, “I’m sorry, Ott.” before he left the room.

She wasn't going to forgive him for this, leaving her alone, going away without telling her, but he needed to get back to the Tower before the President got suspicious about Rilon's whereabouts.

Hyde couldn’t linger out here consciously anymore. At first, taking back control, it seemed fun, amusing even, but after a while, physicality only made Hyde sick to his stomach.

He made his way to a nearby alleyway, giving up. Rilon couldn’t linger silently without physical form forever. He felt his consciousness slipping, but not from the lack of sleep, and it was hard to keep himself from stumbling and collapsing.

Rilon fell to the ground with a loud thud, not catching himself in time. He groaned loudly as his body made an impact with the ground, and more when he attempted to get to his feet.

He held out his hands before him, examining them. Except for a few minor cuts and scrapes, they appeared fine.

He couldn't exactly say the same thing for his hair, which felt scorched to the touch.

He needed his glasses. Frantically, he searched his pockets, in hopes that Hyde had saved them.

It didn't immediately register to him that these weren't his clothes.

Your clothes are in the river, sorry. As for your glasses…

Rilon snarled under his breath. "This is the fourth time... I swear to God." He glanced around quickly, frustrated that only the things at a farther distance away were the things he could see, and not one of them was the tower. "How far am I?"

Hyde did not reply, only causing more frustration on Rilon's behalf. He paced quickly down the alley, narrowing his eyes in a vain attempt to see better. Of course, he didn't need a doctorate to know that that never works.

Uneasy and weary, he found his way into the streets. They were empty with the night, but as soon as the sun rose, it would be full of people. He needed to get home.

As he couldn't see, Rilon stared at the ground as he walked, lost in thought.

What time is it? I couldn't have blacked out for that long? Has it been a day, a week, a month? What-

Bang!

In his dissociation, he'd run into a street pole. He rubbed his head, still which was still stinging from the impact, and glared at the street pole as if it had been a living being.

If Asiah had seen this, I'd never hear the end of it.

You'll never hear the end of it from me, unfortunately.

"Hyde, please shut up and explain what's going on." Rilon finally looked up, attempting not to make that mistake again. "There're unexplained cuts on my hands, my hair is a mess, and I vaguely smell of smoke. Were you with Alva?"

I'll- I'll explain that later. Hyde muttered, then falling silent. That was what Rilon was afraid of. After years of sharing a mind with Hyde, there was nothing scarier than when he fell silent.

Rilon didn't like being alone in his mind.

Alone, and trying not to stumble into any light poles, he made his way home, albeit quickly, for the sun would rise soon, and a man wandering alone on the street would be a suspicious sight.

There was not a single person in the lobby when he entered the Tower. Rilon chose the stairs over the elevator, as it would take longer and would give him much more time to go over his thoughts.

Only it wasn't until he reached the fifth floor that Hyde spoke again. It nearly startled him.

I was with Alva.

"Like that's going to reassure me." Rilon paused, sitting on the steps, gazing out into the vastness of the fifth floor.

I visited Ottawa.

"That reassures me a bit," Rilon muttered, sighing, but he didn't relax. "But that doesn't tell me why I look like a mess, Edward."

Would it reassure you to say that you'll never hear from Alva again?

"That doesn't make me more or less worried than I already am. " It made Rilon tense up more.

He's gone.

"Gone, like, fled the country, or gone like..." Somehow he knew and didn't finish the sentence. He wanted to know the answer to the question, an answer that he feared so much. "Gone... Like..."

He's... He's dead, Rilon.

Nervously, Rilon laughed, hugging himself to reassure that what Hyde said was a lie. He always lied. He was manipulating Rilon's emotions... That's what he was doing.

If you're denying all this, you're lying to yourself, Arlett. Those cuts on your hands are from me. His blood is on our hands. I killed him - he's not coming back.

"I.. How?" Those were the only words his choked up throat would allow him to say.

Yet Hyde did not say anything to clarify what deed he had exactly done, falling silent once again.

Rilon got to his feet, now making his way up the stairs much more slowly. It took everything in his power to not cry, or collapse on the spot, for fear that he may be seen by an oncoming person.

So he forced himself on as far as he could go.

The seventh floor was where his body finally gave up, out of pain and out of anguish. He fell on the corner of the stairwell, curling up into a tight ball. Still, he didn't cry. He felt too numb to.

Rilon only lifted his head at the sound of footsteps, hurried footsteps. He recognized them, light and quick. The owner of the footsteps must've dropped everything and run.

Only one person would do that.

Asiah.

The footsteps quickly pounded down the stairs, then abruptly stopped. Rilon stared up to find Asiah looking down at him. If it weren't for the concern - maybe empathy - in his eyes, Rilon would have most likely said that he was irritated at him.

He lowered his head and sighed. "You've been looking for me."

Asiah knelt before him, placing a hand gently on Rilon's shoulder, which Rilon flinched at. "You worried me sick. Where have you been?"

"I-" Rilon started, but stopped himself in the act. Hyde owned those memories - he couldn't lie. "I don't know. It's all just a jumbled mess of.." He shrugged, unable to bring words to what he felt. "I'm sick, Asi."

He was more than sick. He was in pain, so much pain that he couldn't bring words to what he felt. He ached, he hurt. It made him sick to his stomach, knowing how much he was keeping from his brother.

Asiah sat down, removing his hand from Rilon's shoulder. From what Rilon caught, he was aware of how stupid he looked when he sat there.

"For once," he said. "Please tell me what's going on."

For a split second, Rilon wanted to lie, but Asiah would see through it as he always did. He lowered his head, shaking. A sob escaped from his throat, then another. He felt tears began to streak down his face and drip steadily to the floor. He was a mess, a crying mess. Rilon was so caught up in his emotions, that he didn't realize that Asiah had pulled him into a hug.

It wasn't only out of comfort. It was also to hide his face. Rilon didn't need to see him or hear him, to know that he was crying as well. He knew that Asiah didn't exactly know what he had broken down about.

"Asi..." Rilon whispered as his brother buried his face into Rilon's shoulder. He was still trembling. "Oh, Asi."

He held him close, for fear of when this moment of closeness would end. These moments were rare anymore, especially as so many things had attempted - and admittedly succeeded in - breaking their relationship apart. The last time they had this kind of brotherly intimacy was way too long ago for Rilon to recall clearly.

After a moment, Asiah raised his head and pulled away. Embarrassed, he let out a sad laugh.

"I don't even know what I'm crying about…" His breath shuddered. "I just see you and... well I -" Asiah's face twisted into a grimace, and he stared at his lap. "I crash."

Without warning, he got to his feet, and his face hardened, showing no trace of the emotion he had felt before. "I need to get back to work, Rilon. Would you be okay, by yourself?”

As much as Rilon wanted to shake his head, to plead for his brother to stay there and keep him company, he couldn’t. Instead, he forced out a lie, choked up from emotion. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Asiah smiled, sparing him a final glance before heading back up the stairs again.

After a long while of silence and loneliness, Rilon let out a long, deep sigh. He hadn’t been aware of how fully exhausted he had been until now, his emotions clogging up his every thought.

He struggled to get to his feet but failed. Several more tries proved to be even more of an impossibility. He hated ignoring the fact that his own body was telling him to sleep, but he needed to get to his place, the most comfortable place in the Tower.

After one last attempt, Rilon collapsed back to the floor.

I guess I’ll just sleep here, then, he murmured. I have had a long night, haven’t I?

He chuckled at the thought, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Then, freeing himself from any further thought, Rilon finally fell asleep.

#tw: major character death #tw: mentions of death #tw: murder #so yeah #this took us like two months or so #most of it was editing but i think it turned out great #our goal was 2500 words #it's actually abou 9k words #writing collab #jekyll and hyde #silver lining book #figment series #silver lining possible spoilers

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