#i hear them talk about boy drama and school and wow truly no desire to go back

[doyouknowhoyouare]

ok but high schoolers are so interesting the way their minds work… lol

[chapitre7]

The heart at the tip of a brush

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

College / Drama Club AU

Read on AO3

Mo Xuanyu had always been their make-up artist. Lan Zhan had always been in charge of the costumes, ever since Wei Ying found the sketchbook where he kept the designs he came up with in the hours between sleep and homework, when he allowed himself to flounder the wings of his imagination. Embarrassed as he was of his hobby, he didn’t even know why he had carried the sketchbook with him that day (maybe confused it with his regular notebooks?), but after the initial shock of being discovered, he had relented to Wei Ying’s cries and pleadings and had agreed to be the last member in his brand new drama club. What set them apart, Wei Ying had told him with exaggerated gallantry, was that they’d write their own plays and enact them, instead of somebody else’s. Pretty big talk for someone who wouldn’t actually do the writing, Jiang Cheng barked, but he still joined the club anyway, the flair for the dramatic flowing in his veins as much as it did in Wei Ying’s; truly brothers, no matter the blood ties and several other differences between them.

 So the club started then, each one of them being responsible for too many things and also not much at all, in those early days of chaotic planning, until they gathered more members and set a clear goal in mind: the school festival. It was an embarrassment, as school projects often were, but Wei Ying’s joy at seeing all of their work fulfilled in an hour of glory (“What glory? MianMian forgot her lines and ruined my impeccable script, Brother Wei! It won’t do, it really won’t do!”) somehow emboldened them to try harder and strive higher. So, at Wen Ning’s suggestion, on their second year, they started enacting plays at the local orphanage. The reward of the kids’ starstruck faces fed them better than any feast, and so they continued, every year, sometimes twice a year, all the way till college.

 With such responsibility on their shoulders, it was natural for everyone to get pumped up, even going so far as to enlist some of their family members to lend their hands. Such as Lan Zhan sewing all of their costumes with his brother’s help, who had an eye for subtle details that Lan Zhan treasured, as he always did with all of his brother’s inputs throughout his life. Along with elder brother Lan came Meng Yao, who enriched Nie Huaisang’s scripts with twists and turns that made the fan-wielding boy think up even wilder twists and turns that Wei Ying’s creative mind ate up like his favorite spicy pumpkin-flavored cookies from the local coffee shop (that literally nobody but him liked). Jiang Cheng was their lead actor, Luo Qingyang, stage name MianMian, their lead actress, and everybody did a little bit of acting, even if they had no lines, as was often the case with Lan Zhan (at Wei Ying’s request).

 And Mo Xuanyu was in charge of their make-up.

 Not Lan Zhan.

 Never Lan Zhan.

 Yet there he is, covering for the sick man, standing in front of a smiling Wei Ying, who looks every bit like the evil sorcerer that they had perfected through the years, while Nie Huaisang, the second-best make-up artist of their little rogue troupe, frenzies over MianMian.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, the gentle tone of his voice coloring his name, holding the familiar hint of apology that he often uses when he drags Lan Zhan to adventures his friend doesn’t appreciate as much as Wei Ying had anticipated. “It’s really not that difficult. It’s not too different from coloring your designs, and you’ve seen the end results. This is nothing your brilliant, talented hands can’t handle!”

 Flattery could get him anywhere as long as Lan Zhan was involved, but the young man still swallows down around the anxiety that has installed itself at his stomach like acid, not having much to do with being able to pull off a decent make-up job and everything to do with leaning over Wei Ying and painting on him like a canvas.

 Unaware of the not-so-honorable battle that Lan Zhan fights against himself, Wei Ying places the eyeshadow palette in Lan Zhan’s palm and leans against the back of the chair, tilting his face up. It’s so innocent, so trusting and professional, and Lan Zhan leans over him for a brief second before remembering he’s not holding any brushes. How surprised would everyone be if Lan Zhan simply bolted out of the modest, well-lit bedroom that they used as a dressing room and screamed in the backyard full of children waiting for the play to begin? He can’t even process the mental image, but knowing that it’s impossible seems to ground him.

 Firmly holding a brush in his hand, Lan Zhan swallows again — doesn’t scream —, inhales, and sets himself to work.

 It really isn’t so difficult once he begins. He knows exactly what color Mo Xuanyu uses on Wei Ying, so accustomed he is to seeing his friend play the fearsome Yiling Patriarch. It’s a highlight of red on the crease of his eyes, to give him a sharper look, scheming and compelling at the same time. Lan Zhan uses his own thumb to smudge the same red on his eyelids, just a tiny bit, just a brush of color, a gradient of red that matches up with the color scheme that Lan Zhan set up for his character a long time ago, which was really just a fantasy take on Wei Ying’s own style.

 With a thin brush, he sets to draw a perfect black contour on Wei Ying’s lash line, for when he opens his eyes, he needs him to look as if he could transmutate into a cat at any given moment, so round and marble-like those brown eyes look then, mesmerizing the audience.

 Satisfied with his job on his eyes, Lan Zhan sparkles a peach color on his cheeks so he looks healthy and ready to gobble up misbehaving children. And then his lips...

 He curses Mo Xuanyu and his food poisoning, and then he mentally apologizes. All those years in high school trying to ignore just how pretty Wei Ying is as he tried to get Lan Zhan’s attention, how pretty he even was when he was asleep and drooling on Lan Zhan’s dinner table where they were supposed to brainstorm the theme of their next play. Years of trying not to betray the honesty of their friendship, because he could spend forever watching the endless capability Wei Ying’s ideas, and he liked being included in his group, doing something that he had been curious about but ignoring for the sake of his academic success, until Wei Ying taught him that he could have both the success and the fun of doing something you like. All of it, and also the dreams where Wei Ying kissed him (because he was never the one to initiate it), touched him, pinned him to the floor from where he fell in endless loops — all of his inappropriate desire falls upon a single, tiny brush of red.

 Holding Wei Ying’s chin, he glides the brush, shiny and glossy, over the center of Wei Ying’s lower lip and then out to the sides. Then he draws the heart shape of his upper lip, careful not to color outside the natural lines of Wei Ying’s mouth, slowly, slowly covering every corner with calculated precision. He’s mindful not to use too much product, knowing by its consistence that it can smear unsightly, but it still accumulates in the corners, and he wipes it away with his digit, using the tip of his nail to draw the proper line again.

 His gaze moves up and the eyes he framed are looking straight at him. How long had he been staring at him? How long had Lan Zhan even been working? And why can’t he hear the others getting ready around them?

 His breathing, that had been steady — and he had, by all accounts, been touching Wei Ying’s face as he hovered over him, trying to make him even more beautiful than the memory of their past plays — fails him as the tip of Wei Ying’s tongue peaks through, just the tip, before he touches his lips together. His teeth look whiter with that red framing them, and Lan Zhan can’t look away, he’s mesmerized by that mouth that loves to talk to him, pouring out considerations from topics Lan Zhan had never even considered but that he understands when Wei Ying talks about them. But now he’s not talking, his lips are just perfect and unmoving and parted, and Wei Ying still has his chin tilted up at him, and he’s so near. Why isn’t Wei Ying saying anything? Where is everyone? Why is he gripping the arms of Wei Ying’s chair—

 “Are you done there yet?!”

 Jiang Cheng’s call is very clear and very near, and Lan Zhan is aware that he has made an undignified jump away from his position in 0.1 seconds flat. He expects Wei Ying to laugh at him, as he does in almost every situation, but when Lan Zhan dares to raise his eyes back at his friend, he’s also standing and adjusting his cuffs before checking his reflection on a nearby mirror.

 “Wow,” is all that he says about Lan Zhan’s work, and Lan Zhan is surprised that, despite the panicked drumming of his heart against his chest that spells out all of his secret infatuation, he’s still glad that Wei Ying seems pleased about the results.

 “I... I kept it simple,” he says, and it’s true. Xuanyu uses a plethora of products that Lan Zhan doesn’t quite begin to understand the purpose of, and he still wouldn’t have taken as long as Lan Zhan did given his expertise.

 Wei Ying, however, just shakes his head and gives him an honest (and painfully distracting) smile.

 “These kids are in for an especially striking Yiling Patriarch today,” he says and smirks, and Lan Zhan wants to kiss him and die, and those ideas don’t feel as isolated as he originally thought they’d be. “Let’s go, Lan Zhan.”

 Lan Zhan is terribly relieved that they had decided to write him out for today, because he’s not confident he’d remember to say any of his lines, even if they were just mostly hums, with Wei Ying playing his flute in a particularly intense tempo, eyes glued on him, as if he was the one he wanted to enchant.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan, create my new character with me.”

 That is the sole reason why Wei Ying arrives early to one of the few classes they have together, the very next week after their performance. Their professor is never late, but that doesn’t keep Wei Ying from throwing his notebook at him, an old thing, full of scribbles that date to a place in time when they didn’t even know each other. Wei Ying makes a list of attributes, sitting in his own space but leaning over Lan Zhan’s desk with inspiration at the tip of his tongue. He looks up at Lan Zhan with eyes that might as well sparkle like in the comics he once convinced Lan Zhan to read.

 “I want to be a hero,” Wei Ying says, voice brimming with an emotion Lan Zhan can’t quite place, and they’re only forced out of their own world when the professor clears his throat loudly, quite pointedly looking in their direction.

 Although he takes his notes dutifully, Wei Ying keeps throwing him glances with barely contained excitement, and in the back of Lan Zhan’s mind, in-between the professor’s pauses, he’s already working on the design.

 ***

 The troupe doesn’t have to meet for some time, given they all also have to focus on their own assignments and upcoming exams. When they do, after New Year celebrations, it’ll be time to brainstorm, and Wei Ying, diligent for all the wrong things at the wrong times, plans to pitch his brand new concept.

 “He’s going to be one of two prides,” he says, sprawled on Lan Zhan’s couch, his hands raised high, as far as he can reach, palms splayed, as if he can already see the scenes playing out on the ceiling.

 “Prideful?” Lan Zhan questions from his place on the floor, leaning against the couch and looking at Wei Ying, his sketchbook on the low table before him, waiting.

 “Hmm, not his definitive trait. His brother is though — that’s Jiang Cheng, of course —, as the rightful heir to the kingdom. I’ll be...”

 “A general?”

 “A loyal servant and prized adviser? You know, sort of like Merlin. But I don’t wanna be a sorcerer this time, I wanna wield a sword. I love brother Mingjue’s props.”

 Lan Zhan huffs, and whether it’s about Nie Mingjue’s props or the idea of Wei Ying being an adviser, he doesn’t say.

 “Lan Zhan, close your eyes and imagine it.”

 He leans his head back, more against Wei Ying than the couch, and does so. One of Wei Ying’s hands sets over his eyes, for unnecessary effect, and Lan Zhan can’t help but allow himself to smile.

 “A prince and his right hand, the twin prides. One is the rightful heir, the other is... adopted, yes. Together they defend Lotus Pier against invaders, and their rising success brings them notoriety among the other kingdoms. What do you think?”

 “Purple.”

 “Hmm?”

 “The royal color of Lotus Pier should be purple. Pink is too light, purple is better. Like Yunmeng’s sky in the summer.”

 “You still remember that?”

 Wei Ying lifts his hand from his eyes, resting it on his hair as Lan Zhan turns his head around to look at Wei Ying, acquiescing with a hum. The last time he went to Yunmeng for the summer, he sent Lan Zhan dozens of pictures, including one from the beach at sunset, when the sky was a gradient of orange and purple, like a painting. Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan would love that one, and he did, making sure he told Wei Ying that instead of keeping it to himself.

 (Although he loved and saved all of them to his phone anyway, but he kept that to himself.)

 “Isn’t that what you were thinking about? Lotus. Yunmeng.”

 Wei Ying smiles and hums an agreement of his own, his fingers brushing Lan Zhan’s bangs away from his face. And because they’re both so easy to read to each other, and Wei Ying’s gaze is so unmistakably fond, and because he feels himself too open, Lan Zhan lifts his head from the couch and leans forward, fingers hurriedly taking up his mechanic pencil to scribble down a few keywords. Purple. Twins. Adopted. Adviser.

 “I haven’t figured out how to go about it yet,” Wei Ying says as he moves from the couch to sit beside Lan Zhan on the floor, “but I wanted to create a different kind of hero than we’ve worked with before.”

 “The adoption part will be important for the children,” Lan Zhan points out with a nod. “It’s good, Wei Ying.”

 Wei Ying lets out a strangled noise and takes hold of Lan Zhan’s left arm, rubbing his face on his upper arm before looking back at Lan Zhan. His cheeks and nose are red, but he has the same excited glint in his eyes that he had when he approached Lan Zhan in class the day before, and Lan Zhan thinks it simply belongs there. This is his favorite Wei Ying, creative and free, and though he’s bound by his academic responsibilities, as long as Lan Zhan is with him, he’ll make sure he succeeds in everything he does. Everything for that crescent moon smile, full of stars.

 “So, what else?”

 Lan Zhan’s mechanic pencil hovers over the paper as they think, scribbling down more keywords, until it becomes so late in the evening that Wei Ying misses his dormitory’s curfew and has to sleep at Lan Zhan’s flat, in a guest bedroom that holds more of Wei Ying’s forgotten possessions than those of Lan Zhan’s brother, who was supposedly the person he kept the room for.

 ***

 “Why did you keep the red ribbon?”

 Lan Zhan sets his red pencil down, lifting his sketchbook so both of them can think about it together.

 “Both Wanyin and Wuxian use the same clothes and hairstyle, as twins and members of the royal family. Wanyin, as the heir, wears the crown’s jewelry in his hair. Wuxian is a main character too, so he can’t look any less striking, so, the red ribbon.”

 It’s your color goes unsaid. His hair is long, past his shoulders, though Jiang Cheng keeps telling him to get it cut like a normal person, and he always ties it with a red velvet scrunchie. As the Yiling Patriarch, he wore a red ribbon in his hair, and when he played the dizi and a gust of wind blew by him, he was mesmerizing, the red unforgettable against Wen Ning’s hand-drawn background. There was always something red about Wei Ying; a red backpack, red converse, and that red lipstick... Lan Zhan still dreams about it.

 It should be there. Yet Wei Ying keeps his brows furrowed at the drawing.

 “But isn’t it too striking? I don’t think Jiang Cheng is going to like it.”

 “Wei Ying.”

 He takes Wei Ying’s wrist, bringing it away from his face, where he was chewing on his nailbeds. Sitting side by side without a space between them, he lowered their hands to their laps and his hold moved to keep his palm against Wei Ying’s. It’s a lax hold, unambitious, just sharing warmth.

 “You can be a hero too.”

 His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He holds Lan Zhan’s gaze for long seconds (maybe two) before he bites his lip, huffs a repressed laughter, and lets his head fall on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

 “Lan Zhan,” he says it like a whine, like a plea, and he feels his fingers intertwine with his, the connection still comfortable, still known, still familiar.

 “This whole project is yours,” Lan Zhan speaks into his hair. “You should be able to do what you want.”

 Wei Ying snorts.

 “Isn’t that vain?”

 “...You’re not exactly humble.”

 He lifts his head from his shoulder and bumps into him with a pointed, “Hey.” Lan Zhan chuckles, almost without sound, and pats the hand that’s still holding his.

 They look back at the design. Lan Zhan can already envision the fabrics he’s going to use, the details that he wants to add, and he already regrets saying that both Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s characters are going to dress the same.

 Wei Ying sighs. “You spoil me with your designs, Lan Zhan.”

 And he can’t really deny that.

 ***

 It’s as difficult to keep Wei Ying focused on his studies as it is for Lan Zhan to not drop his books and go to his workshop to sew Wei Ying’s costume. Even though exams are merely weeks away, Lan Zhan still finds some time to secretly buy all of the material he needs while Wei Ying tries to keep up with his own study group. And it proves to be a wise decision because Wei Ying doesn’t last two days with his classmates before he shows up at Lan Zhan’s flat with thick books recently checked out from the library and teary eyes.

 “I hate studying,” he dramatically announces as he flops down face-first on the couch. Lan Zhan knows it’s true as much as he knows that Wei Ying actually really enjoys being practical.

 He opens Wei Ying’s bag and puts his books on the low table. “Why are you even taking classic literature?”

 “It’s inspiring,” Wei Ying says, eyes closed and voice muffled by the leather of the couch. “It’s food for the soul. It’s pretty like you.”

 Lan Zhan halts his movements, not daring to turn or do anything else; one hand lies atop Wei Ying’s bag and another on the advanced physics book he last set down.

 Wei Ying is by his side before he blinks twice, putting his bag away and apparently trying to choose which of the books he wants to open, but too rushed and flushed to be doing much thinking at all.

 “You,” Lan Zhan begins, swallows, inhales and tries again. “Do you want me to help?”

 Wei Ying’s head snaps in his direction. With big eyes and his lower lip hidden under his upper lip, he just nods, and Lan Zhan either saves or dooms them both as he sets all books aside and puts the Advanced Physics book in front of them.

 “Explain.”

 Flipping the pages to the subject that would be covered in his exams, Wei Ying takes out his notebook, and he explains.

 ***

 The end of the year is marked by heavy snowfall, the kind that has Wei Ying’s teeth clattering together outside, even if he’s covered in layers that are short from hindering his mobility and wearing a scarf so wound around his head that only his eyes peak out between the wool. It’s the only time of the year that Lan Zhan feels bad for his staying in Gusu, as if the city is like a stern parent testing the object of his affections and Wei Ying barely passes, or maybe bypasses it, by sticking close to Lan Zhan even when they’re indoors. He indulges in their practiced proximity, and if his body yearns for more, he sternly shuts it down, unable to sacrifice all the years of accumulated mutual trust for the gamble of a confession.

 As always, however, he’s saved from the trap of his feelings by Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s end of the year trip to Yunmeng. And on cue, he leaves his own flat to spend the turn of the year with his uncle and brother at the Lan estate, set in the part of the city where the hills are high enough to almost sit among the clouds.

 Between hot tea brewed to perfection by his brother, television cooking programs that his uncle has become oddly fond of in the past year, and the occasional reading (both required and unrequired for his studies), Lan Zhans works on Wei Ying’s costume in the studio his brother arranged for him when he first enrolled in Wei Ying’s drama club.

 “Did you make this jinbu, A-Zhan?” Brother Huan asks when he brings him tea and biscuits, picking up the accessory with a purple tassel, light and dark purple beads and a white lotus that could pass as jade. At his younger brother’s nod, Lan Huan’s smile is so delighted that Lan Zhan has to look away. “It’s beautiful work, A-Zhan. You could really make a profession out of it.”

 “Brother, it’s just...”

 He trails off as his brother chuckles and gently places the jinbu back down.

 “I know. It’s just for Wei Ying, isn’t it?”

 Lan Zhan leans even further down into the fabric he’s working on, pretending to check something in the sewing machine.

 “It’s just a hobby,” he admits instead. Lan Huan doesn’t discredit him, patting his head like he’s still a child, and Lan Zhan doesn’t have it in him to dislike the touch.

 “Just remember that if you ever question the serious profession you’re seeking, A-Zhan, the answer always lies closer than you think.”

 The older Lan Sibling tilts his head, taking in all of his little brother’s work laid out in the space of his studio. He looks at the design Lan Zhan is trying to bring to life and then at all the materials on the station, and an imperceptible frown touches his face, like a ripple on calm waters.

 “This fabric...”

 Lan Zhan sighs, knowing exactly what fabric he’s questioning, without even having to try and see it in his brother’s hands.

 “I know. I couldn’t find the one I wanted in time.”

 He works the machine to keep the frustration away, so he doesn’t notice his brother leaving with the offending fabric, only to return, hours later, with such a fine material that Lan Zhan breaks into a bright, grateful smile. During dinner, even uncle, so often taciturn, makes the table inviting with an amicable mood, the three of them enjoying a meal that their caretaker made with his own hands, the elder rambling on and on about every detail of the cooking process while his nephews pay dutiful attention and encourage the little passion that seemed to burn quietly in the heart of every Lan.

 ***

 Wei Ying’s praise for Lan Zhan’s work was ever grandiose, and any other man could let it get to his head like an invincibility potion. Lan Zhan, however, is a simple man, and only his heart swells with contentment at every exaggerated compliment that falls out of that beloved mouth.

 When Lan Zhan shows him the finished the prototype costume for his twin pride character, however, Wei Ying seems to be, maybe for the first time since they started collaborating, at a loss for words.

 “It’s so...” He starts, touching the rich purple fabric with hesitant fingertips. Lan Zhan knows it’s more than their budget, and that they don’t even have a proper story yet, just the core concepts that they came up with together. But Wei Ying had been so engaged, so inspired, and though he’s usually that way when he’s working with Nie Huaisang, it’s the first time he asks Lan Zhan to create a character with him. So he was impulsive. It’s not a crime. “Lan Zhan, it’s...”

 Wei Ying brings the costume to his face, rubbing it against his cheek, and the pleased hum he lets out makes Lan Zhan’s breath cease for a couple of seconds.

 “Make-up test?” Lan Zhan offers, a little weakly, a little shy, but Wei Ying practically jumps in place at the thought, electrified with excitement.

 “Make-up test!” He announces before he runs to the guest bedroom in wide steps and Lan Zhan, left with unwelcome nerves, nervously puts Wei Ying’s backpack away on the couch from where he had unceremoniously dropped it on the floor.

 When Wei Ying comes out of the bedroom, Lan Zhan was thinking about making tea after he had paced from the living room to his own bedroom, then to the kitchen to drink some water, to the window to check the weather, until he finally stopped to sit on the couch, where Wei Ying finds him. His best friend comes out of the bedroom in the costume Lan Zhan designed for him (just for him, he decides right there, he’ll simply have to rethink how to proceed with Jiang Cheng), sets a hairbrush, a red ribbon, and a big pouch on the low table, before twirling around himself.

 “So? What do you think?”

 Wei Ying had always favored black and red. They weren’t the sole colors he used, and Lan Zhan particularly liked when he wore white, the color brightening up his features like a beacon, but Lan Zhan is sure he had never worn something like the bright purple of the robes Lan Zhan made for him. When he twirls, the light plays tricks on the fabric, like a multi-colored bouquet of hydrangeas glistening after a rainshower. The inner robes are a simple black, but the outer jacket is more fascinating still, of a dark purple, almost black, iridescent, see-through fabric that he knows his brother bought from someplace outside of Gusu. Lanling, he believes. On the back, he embroidered a lotus motif with nine petals, the symbol of Wei Ying’s royalty.

 “I love it so much,” Wei Ying says, without waiting for his response, unknowingly almost sending Lan Zhan into cardiac arrest. His hands keep petting down on the costume, and he giggles when he touches the jinbu that jingles with a small bell that Lan Zhan added as a last-minute detail. “Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you made this. We haven’t even finished creating Wuxian, and it’s really...” He laughs, somewhat strained, covering his face with his hands, before dropping on the couch beside Lan Zhan. “How am I supposed to kill him now?”

 Lan Zhan immediately snaps out of his reverie, blinking rapidly.

 “Kill?”

 Wei Ying sighs, letting his hands drop and leaning his head against the couch backrest.

 “Yeah. I was thinking that Wuxian would sacrifice himself to save Jiang Cheng and the kingdom. Like, he runs out of good ideas in a crisis but the kingdom and his family are bigger than he is, so he makes his decision. The kingdom sings songs about him after he dies, and he’s widely recognized as an important member of the royal family.”

 Lan Zhan can read too much between the lines of that script, and the fact that Wei Ying has come to the conclusion that his death, however metaphorical, is the answer, sits heavy on his stomach.

 “Wei Ying,” he calls, a bit too sternly, perhaps, as Wei Ying looks up from fiddling with his jinbu like a child ready to be scolded. “Wei Ying, you can’t kill him,” he says, more softly. “You can’t kill the adopted son in front of an audience of foster kids. What kind of message would we be sending them?”

 “I know,” he whines. “But isn’t it heroic?”

 “Death is just death.” He takes Wei Ying’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Even in fiction. The ones that stay behind are never happy to part with a loved one.” Wei Ying turns his hand in Lan Zhan’s grasp so they’re palm to palm again, puzzle pieces fitting together. Lan Zhan inches closer, brings their clasped hands to his chest, and firmly says, “We’re not killing Wuxian.”

 Wei Ying’s laugh is just a huff of air, and he can’t hide his tears when he wipes them away from the corners of his eyes.

 “Okay. Wuxian lives in the end.”

 Lan Zhan nods, letting their hands fall between them, but not letting go. The silence that follows Wei Ying’s sniffles is not uncomfortable, but there’s something in the space between them, in the way Wei Ying is wearing that beautiful purple that Lan Zhan made for him, in the way Wei Ying keeps looking at his face, that Lan Zhan feels is both thick and fragile like glass. Or maybe he’s a coward, just a coward in the end, consumed by his desire to hold that man and touch him and kiss him, but ultimately defeated by the overbearing affection that wants him to make sure he never leaves Wei Ying, never lets him think he has to sacrifice himself for anyone, when he’s the brightest star in everyone’s lives.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls, and he seems to be closer than he was just a moment ago, the tears gone, leaving only a shine in his eyes in their wake. “Aren’t you going to finish our make-up test?”

 At Lan Zhan’s nod, Wei Ying smiles his wide, crescent moon smile and hops to the floor, handing Lan Zhan the hairbrush from over his shoulder. Lan Zhan, who has experience at both being a younger brother who played with his elder brother and a long-time drama club member, brushes Wei Ying’s hair without hesitation or clumsiness. Given the sheer volume of hair that Wei Ying possesses, there’s no way that the bun can be secured for long with just the ribbon, but Lan Zhan doesn’t want to get up to get any pins, so he just works with what he’s given, tying a pretty bow near Wei Ying’s nape, the ends of the ribbon still falling long, down his back. He had been right. The red looks almost mystical against the purple.

 “So, since the royal color is purple, should my make-up be purple too?”

 Lan Zhan climbs down from the couch, kneeling beside the other, and shakes his head. He takes the pouch from Wei Ying (that he’s sure is Mo Xuanyu’s, when did Wei Ying even take it?) and pulls a neutral-colored palette and a brush.

 “The clothes are already flashy enough, so we’re only framing your face,” Lan Zhan explains, although he’s more versed in colors than in make-up specifically, but it’s a test. If Mo Xuanyu has any better ideas once the story is pitched to the group, then he’s free to use them. Right then, Lan Zhan stands on his knees for a better angle to paint Wei Ying’s eyeshadow an earthy, reddish brown. With a thin, black pencil, he traces the line along his lashes in a much finer touch than the one he used for the Yiling Patriarch, just so the audience knows that his eyes are just as important as his clothes, that his person is just as big as his position.

 For his lips, he chooses a similarly neutral, peachy shade, just so he doesn’t look pale under the stage light, so his smiles can reach even the chairs in the furthest rows. The traditional lipstick makes less of a mess than the glossy, liquid red one he used before, but still the corners... No matter how careful Lan Zhan is, he still misses his mark when he gets to the corners. So he reaches out, just as he did then, to wipe the excess at the corner of Wei Ying’s lips with his thumb, and it’s so much easier this time.

 So much easier, and still... He runs his thumb along the lines of Wei Ying’s lower lip, as if there’s something there to correct, but there’s nothing, just his lips, parted and colored and waiting. Just his lips and that birthmark underneath, distracting, beckoning, a natural wonder that Lan Zhan can’t ignore, he looks, and he touches, and he’s lost, dazed again.

 Those lips open, form the syllables of his name.

 He looks up, wide-eyed, at a Wei Ying that is closely watching him. Eyes as round and attentive as they always were.

 “Lan Zhan. Do you want to kiss me?”

 He swallows and tries to look down, but Wei Ying takes his face between both of his hands and doesn’t let him.

 “Do you?” He repeats, and because he cannot lie, because he especially cannot lie to Wei Ying, he nods, and he closes his eyes, and he waits for his best friend’s judgment.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls again, and Lan Zhan can hear him shift his position. “Lan Zhan, look at me.”

 He opens his eyes and he does. Wei Ying is at his eye level, standing on his knees as well. Wei Ying, always so expressive, doesn’t look anything like Lan Zhan had feared; he looks kind and patient and good. Lan Zhan’s hands, without him even noticing it, have moved to hold Wei Ying’s wrists.

 “Lan Zhan,” he calls, and in Lan Zhan’s mind, it could be the last time. But it sounds just as melodious, just as full of Wei Ying’s sincerity as it always did. “Can I kiss you?”

 All of his thought processes, all of his observations trail off then. Wei Ying looks a little flushed, though Lan Zhan didn’t apply any make-up to his cheeks. And his mouth, his beautiful, glistening mouth, displays a half-smile. Expectant. A little scared.

 Once Lan Zhan nods, everything seems to resume at a much faster pace, as if they stepped too hard on the gas pedal and their car flew off the road with a loud screech. Wei Ying exhales before their lips meet, as if meeting two necessities at once. He throws his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and pulls, his lips opening and closing around the other’s as many times as he can before he needs to breathe again. And then breaks away just to catch his breath before he’s lounging forward again, forcing Lan Zhan into a sitting position so he can climb on his lap and rob him of all coherent thought. Lan Zhan circles his arms around his middle, underneath the outer jacket, securing Wei Ying flush against him. The kiss is messy, wet, open-mouthed and inexperienced, Lan Zhan just following Wei Ying’s lead, which isn’t much of a lead, as Wei Ying whimpers between touches. The sound is enough to make Lan Zhan lose the last grasp he had on control, and that sends him to fall backwards, all the way back where he has no support, and they only have a second to disconnect their mouths before Lan Zhan’s head hits the hard floor.

 “Oh my God, are you okay?!”

 Lan Zhan winces, seeing stars in front of his eyes, and Wei Ying is quick to pull him back to an upright position, helping him lean his back against the couch before climbing back on his lap.

 “Lan Zhan, does it hurt too bad? Is it bleeding? Do you have a concussion? We should go to the—”

 “I’m all right,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. Wei Ying touches the back of his head and he winces, but he reassures him again. “It’s okay. It’s just a bump.”

 Wei Ying pats his hair into place after the mess that his hands made.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t be.”

 Wei Ying’s lipstick is smeared all around his plump mouth (from kissing; from kissing him), and Lan Zhan be damned, he didn’t think Wei Ying could look more attractive and then he looks like that. It’d be unfair if Wei Ying wasn’t following a similar train of thought, thumbs touching around Lan Zhan’s mouth in a weak effort to wipe away the lipstick there. And because he wasn’t really trying, he just kisses him again, slow, unhurried, almost chaste, a kiss that lasts long, a whole time unit in its own.

 His hair is down, red ribbon lying somewhere on the floor. Lan Zhan pushes it away from his face so he can take a good look at him, his best friend, brilliant and full of life and beautiful around him, in his embrace, his cheeks flushing darker the longer he observes him, until Wei Ying throws his arms around him again and hides his face on his neck.

 “I have a confession to make.”

 Lan Zhan hums, his hand moving up and down Wei Ying’s back.

 “I didn’t really plan on writing a play with Wuxian... I created him as a way to spend time with you.”

 When Wei Ying takes a deep breath, Lan Zhan can feel it, against his chest, on his neck, the exhale making him shiver.

 “After our last performance, I— well, we never really...”

 Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan’s hand moves to his hair, petting, fond. He barely ever allowed himself to think of touching Wei Ying, yet it feels like the right thing to do, a natural step from all the hand holding and working in each other’s personal spaces. And it’s just what he can do to tell Wei Ying to go on, that he’s there, listening, although he’s not done collecting all of the fragments of his own confession, shattered in the car crash of a kiss long suffered.

 “I’ve always really admired you, Lan Zhan. Your talent, your imagination, everything you do is so good. I wanted to make something with you, to spend all of my time with you, to create something out of nothing that was ours.”

 Lan Zhan can feel Wei Ying raising his head, his chin resting on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

 “You see, Lan Zhan, I’m really selfish. I’ve had a crush on you since I first laid eyes on you when we were fifteen but now I really wanted all of your attention. The way you looked at me that day, I... You don’t have any idea what you do to me.”

 Wei Ying tries to hide again, but Lan Zhan holds his shoulders, pulls him back to look at him. His mouth is still a mess of lipstick, but his eyes are wide, exposed. Lan Zhan tries to wipe the lipstick away, just to save Wei Ying some grace, because the weight of his their attraction pulling them together was nothing compared to the weight of the heart against one’s palms.

 “I’ve always admired you.” Lan Zhan echoes, eyes still focused on those lips, still trying to clean up their mess.  “Your talent, your imagination, and everything you do. I want to spend all my time with you, and create things with you, things that everybody will look and know it’s ours.”

 His hand, on Wei Ying’s face, moves to cup his cheek; his gaze moves up, without hesitation, because being there with Wei Ying when he falls is all he’s ever done, when people laughed at their plays, when their plans were foiled, when their ideas went nowhere. They’d come together, the two of them, and rise the whole group back up, one more time.

 “I really like you, Wei Ying. I’ve liked you for a long time now.”

 How could he be pretty even when he cries?

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 “You’re my best friend. The only one in this lifetime.”

 It’s only when Wei Ying touches his cheeks that he realizes he’s crying too.

 “You’re my best friend too, Lan Zhan. And I really, really like you back.”

 The kiss they share then is somewhere in-between the other two. It’s tender like a first kiss between their teenage selves, pecks that follow one after the other and another again, followed by kisses on each other’s cheeks, on noses and foreheads, marked with promise and lipstick. And when they finally regain their breath from their confessions, from their laughter, it’s open-mouthed and eager, ready to discover each other’s taste, and the best angles for their tongues to come together, to elicit delicious sounds from their throats.

 Wei Ying finds as much delight in delicately peeling the clothes Lan Zhan made for him open as he did in putting them on. And the view is almost too much for the designer, who both marvels and suffers at all the layers of his creation, sprawled underneath Wei Ying, still so beautiful against his skin, but ultimately forgotten.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan.”

 It’s a snowy night. Cold and white and long, sure to trap them inside when the morning comes.

 The answer to Wei Ying’s sensibilities, in the end, turned out to be simple; cuddle up as close as he can to his boyfriend, underneath thick and fluffy blankets.

 “Mn?”

 “I thought up a nicer end for Wuxian.”

 Lan Zhan doesn’t bother to open his eyes in the dark. He just turns his head to touch Wei Ying’s, his nose cold on the other’s forehead.

 “In the end he sacrifices himself for the kingdom but he doesn’t die. He ends up powerless but he meets someone who takes care of him regardless of the fact that he’s a royal.”

 Wei Ying plays with the collar of his pajamas and Lan Zhan could burst with contentment, but he only smiles against Wei Ying’s skin.

 “So when Wanyin finally finds Wuxian again, a long time later, Wuxian has become wiser because he realizes true strength doesn’t come from battles or sacrifices, but human connection. So he promises to be Wanyin’s adviser because he loves and supports him, but he’s not going back to the palace, he’s staying with Wangji.”

 “Wangji?”

 Wei Ying hums. Lan Zhan likes that ending. It’s a good message for the kids, to follow your heart rather than a life mission.

 It takes his sleepy mind a few seconds to remember his brother’s words. He’s going to like Wei Ying’s play, very much so.

 “Lan Zhan?”

 “Mn?”

 “Will you be my Wangji?”

 He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead and places his hand against the hand that lies on his chest, next to his heart.

 “Mn. I will be Wei Ying’s commoner wife.”

 Wei Ying snorts before nuzzling his shoulder.

 “I haven’t decided if he’s going to be a commoner yet. But you’re going to wear blue. Blue and white, like Gusu’s clear skies.”

 Lan Zhan doesn’t comment on how Wei Ying didn’t deny being his partner in the play, even if they had just confessed to liking each other. There’s still so much more to be said, and Lan Zhan loves the anticipation, will dream about them with Wei Ying in his arms all night, and all of the next day, too.

 “I thought you didn’t like Gusu that much.”

 “Of course I like Gusu. All of my memories with you are here.”

 Lan Zhan turns to his side, hugs Wei Ying tight against his chest, making him laugh. He kisses him all over his face before meeting his lips, then covers him up to his chin to protect him from the cold, and together, they fall asleep, the future holding a different shape in their creative, clasped hands.

[clodiuspulcher]

 WOW! You guys really don’t want me to do my work. Time to answer ALL of these questions  1. ancient Greece or ancient Rome? Ya’ll.... yall should know.... this ... my URL is a Roman politician and I exclusively post about late Roman Republic political drama I’m just so much more FOND of Ancient Rome. I’m not really sure why but I got Into it earlier since I took Latin in high school and I was always fascinated by the Roman history and culture I learned in Latin  which I was able to indulge once I got to college... (also Greek scares me and i’m a coward) 2. who is your favourite Roman emperor? Absolutely Augustus and this might be where I get... dissent but he truly did a lot of necessary good for Rome not the least of which was establishing an era of political peace after almost 100 years of near-constant civil war, and I don’t think the importance of the stability of his rule can be overstated. He aimed to stabilize and rebuild Rome on every level and mostly succeeded; I doubt it would’ve recovered after the especially violent last few decades otherwise. Augustus himself actually emphasized stability and continuity in his own propaganda because he knew how important that was to the people of Rome, of all classes. Speaking of, Augustus adopted measures to curry popular favor that were straight out of Clodius’s book in ways that legitimately helped + also rebuilt and revamped Rome’s infrastructure and physically improved the city along with creating a stable political environment and functional governmental system (let’s be honest the Republic was fucking dead). I’m just gonna like. Answer this question by copying and pasting the Res Gestae here lol  I also think pre-Augustus Octavian is an interesting political figure which biases me somewhat and I love Augustan art and iconography, not just that of the regime but what was created during his rule in general as art and literature flourished  (no but really he was... honestly the best possible outcome after Caesar’s assassination in my opinion and he actively improved / revitalized Rome in some Important ways) 3. which is your favourite Greek city-state? I uh REALLY dont know enough to choose but seeing as I’ve been reading and enjoying works by Athenian playwrights all semester... how bout athens 4. tell me about the classical ladies you love the most OH BOY. Rome has a History of important politically active women and I love all of them so let me go in chronological order with my ABSOLUTE favorites. - Tanaquil: Etruscan wife of the semi-mythical king of Rome Tarquinius Priscus, she was intelligent and skilled in interpreting omens / divining (which were considered Etruscan disciplines) and she was ambitious too. She encouraged her husband to make his fortune in Rome and helped him attain political power, recognized the destiny of their adopted son Servius Tullius through ANOTHER omen, etc. She advised and helped him throughout his rule and aided the peaceful transfer of power to Servius Tullius following his death I love her i LOVE HER. - Cornelia Africana: Daughter of Scipio Africanus and mother of two of my favorite Roman politicians, the brothers Gracchi, she remained a widow after her first husband’s death despite having people like king Ptolemy ask for her hand. She educated her children rigorously and was active in their political careers especially that of Gaius Gracchus and her reputation as chaste, noble, and austere established her as a role model for Roman women for centuries to come.  - Clodia Metelli: She’s the Lesbia of Catullus’s poetry but she was also really politically involved, endorsing her brother’s wild populism and aiding and abetting him whenever she could, notably changing her name when he changed his to reflect his populist desires. She was married to Metellus Celer and tried to strongarm this conservative consul into supporting the radical Clodius whenever she could- and sometimes it worked. Clodius brags about the benefits of being brother in law to a consul and Cicero was irritated by the fact that she was so involved in her brother’s career but it makes me love her even more. - Fulvia: Yall KNOW how I feel about Fulvia but I just have to talk about her whenever I can. As Clodius’s wife she was never far from his side, to the point that it was something Cicero commented on after his death. Following his murder, Fulvia established herself as the heir to Clodius’s political role and through her marriages to Clodius’s allies, Curio and later Antony, she was able to promulgate populist legislation and continue Clodius’s work / establish his legacy so that his death wasn’t in vain (both of their laws have a more populist streak after their marriages to Fulvia). As Antony’s wife she was especially powerful after Caesar’s assassination and she fought Octavian personally when Antony’s interests were being threatened (while he fucked around in Egypt).  - Porcia Catonis: I may not like Brutus but I love Porcia who proved she was strong enough for Brutus to confide in by stabbing herself in the thigh and not revealing her pain for a significant amount of time. She was steadfastly loyal and was supposedly the only woman who knew about the conspiracy to assassinate Caesar, and her suicide, in line with that of her father Cato,  - Livia Drusilla: LIVIA did NOTHING WRONG and I legitimately love her so much. First the story of how she ended up married to Octavian is so... much lol but despite their scandalous whirlwind marriage they were married for 51 years, and she was one of Augustus’s closest advisors (the senate criticized him for being too under her control but you know what). Roman wives didn’t normally go on military campaigns w/ their husbands but Livia did, and she also had very public religious and political roles, she was devoted to Augustus and he “loved and esteemed her to the end without a rival”. There’s so much more I can say about her but she was as ambitious and driven and intelligent as her husband and after Augustus’s death she worked to maintain his legacy and was eventually deified alongside him - Octavia: Octavian/ Augustus’s sister, Octavia was like. truly and genuinely good she was loyal to both Octavian and Antony after she married him and she was essentially the glue that held the second triumvirate together for a time. She was directly involved in Octavian’s politics through this marriage and there’s a record of her begging the two of them not to go to war, at least for her sake; she’s the reason this tenuous alliance lasted as long as it did. She was also incredibly generous and kind, upon marrying Antony she took in and raised his kids by Fulvia and after Antony’s death she raised also his children by Cleopatra, working to provide them with good lives and advantageous marriages ... how wholesome... - Agrippina (both of them): If you really want to write about conniving devious plotting murderous women of the Julio-Claudian dynasty.... the Agrippinas EXIST. Agrippina the elder also went on her husband Germanicus’s military campaigns and campaigned herself tirelessly for the political advancement of her sons, and Agrippina the younger... oh boy ... she schemed her way into the position of empress and then absolutely annihilated any potential rival for her son even though one he became emperor their relationship was ... fraught to say the least. Anyway the point is I love women who are openly ruthless ambitious and power-hungry and they’re great. 5. what is your favourite story from Herodotus's Histories? The one where he talks about how the Etruscan nation was founded / how the Etruscans came to live in Italy- even though he was wrong about Etruscan origins and they probably /were/ native to Italy I’m really fond of and interested in Etruscan culture so I like hearing any historical accounts about them.  6. who is your favourite character from the Iliad or Odyssey? Aeneas was TECHNICALLY there during the Trojan war DO NOT QUESTION OR COMMENT ABOUT THIS I WOULD DIE FOR HIM 7. who is your favourite ancient historian? Has to be Plutarch- I know he writes history for a moralizing purpose but all the subjects of his biographies are written with a certain level of complexity and nuance and something about his writing style really resonates with me like I’ve read both his and Appian’s accounts of the Gracchi brothers’ lives and both were good but Plutarch’s brought me to tears. The first ~classics thing~ I ever read that truly engaged me and captured me was his Life of Antony which is probably my favorite in that even though he condemns Antony’s actions he gives him redeeming qualities, he portrays him and even Cleopatra really sympathetically and his description of Antony’s death... is so pathetic and upsetting it wounds me I love Plutarch s o much. 8. what are your five favourite myths? Anything that Propertius or Catullus references in their poetry is my favorite :) 9. what are your top five otps? 1. Augustus and Livia married for 51 years loved each other with All their hearts  2. Antony and Cleopatra: I love this melodramatic garbage fire of a relationship  3. Clodius Pulcher and Fulvia: PERFECTLY matched politically-minded partners who had similar goals and balanced out each other and loved each other DEEPLY HE WAS ALWAYS BY HER SIDE?! 4. Cicero and Atticus - romantically OR platonically however you want to interpret this they loved each other so much and every letter from Cicero where he talks about how badly he wants to see Atticus again, that implores Atticus to write more.... it’s really sweet and wholesome 5.  I can’t believe Antony gets to be on this list twice but his relationship with Gaius Curio is so... much and like he climbed into Curio’s house through the CEILING because he was banned from the house by Antony’s dad (because he was in debt lol), and the fact that someone hasn’t made a movie or a sitcom about this yet is so... disappointing.  10. recommend a piece of fiction about the classical world I haven’t read any ancient Rome historical fiction!!! Yet!!!! But both the Roma Sub Rosa and the Robert Harris Cicero Novels come very highly recommended to me and I have to buy both of them so 11. recommend a piece of non-fiction about the classical world I really really need everyone here to read TWO biographies:  1. The patrician tribune, it’s The Clodius Biography I keep talking about it provides a really balanced and detail picture of Clodius Pulcher’s political career AND his life plus this author writes a lot fo academic papers about Clodius  2. The tribune’s sister, it’s a Clodia biography and MY PROFESSOR WROTE IT and she loves Clodia so much and she wrote so much incredible content about Clodia and this is like a Collection and Combination of all of this... yall should all read it  ANd 3. if you haven’t read plutarch’s Life of Antony I think you should really read it bc you can’t UNderstand Me or My Blog without this essential piece of literature and also it has THE FULVIA LINE 12. who is your favourite poet? why? I’m going to be honest...... I did not consider myself a poetry person for the longest time. I was always way more into the politicians than the writers of ancient Rome because I’ve always felt like I didn’t quite GET poetry? But then I actually read more Latin poetry and also .... I fell in love... for real... and at that point all at once the poetry of like, Catullus, really struck me for the first time and I REALIZED. I hope that doesn’t sound too ridiculous lmao but.. I’m a romantic at heart.  SO in general I really love Roman love poetry and I do like Catullus - I especially like that he was involved with Clodius and co through Clodia and was part of that circle. He references Caesar and Caelius and Clodius in his poetry, which is fun but.... my favorite poet, that I have read so far is.... Propertius for a few reasons  I REALLY like Roman love elegy as a genre and Propertius is my favorite of the elegists. I like how gentle his poetry is and even though it might seem overwrought I think it’s passionate and genuine and sweet - he has big feelings?! he wants to Express them?  Propertius also really likes to do the reversal of gender roles thing which is like common in Roman elegy but  Propertius Especially does it wrt romantic / sexual contexts  and although he does write tender and romantic love poetry it’s definitely not wholly apolitical like Propertius not only emphasizes that he’s devoting his life to love and presents this in contrast to the expectations of how Young Roman Noblemen should live / act / what they should pursue, which is an especially brave statement at the time he’s writing since he’s going against Augustus’s moral reforms, the strict societal roles promulgated by Augustus to rebuild and restore the roman senatorial class. He even goes so far as to say he refuses to have sons because they’ll just be sent out to die in Rome’s wars which is.... a pretty powerful and cynical statement and I love how bold he is about it. So Propertius combines 3 things I Really like, gentle love poetry, femdom, and political commentary on Augustan Rome 13. if you could time-travel to the classical world for a day, where would you go and why? The responsible answer is I would bring antibiotics to the Augustan court in 23 BC and save Marcellus from typhoid fever but. I just want to be able to experience in real time ONE argument between Cicero and Clodius in the senate in real time that would be so much fun and so I think that’s where’d I go and also I could potentially make out with Clodius or one of his friends after I mean I’m there for the whole day right 14. which Greek tragedy is your favourite? I’m actually in a Greek drama class right now, so I can give a legitimate answer to this question.

 I would have to say, of the ones I’ve read, Ajax resonated the most with me and is probably my favorite. Aristotle said tragedy should be able to evoke pity and fear and if that’s the mark of a good tragedy Ajax is the best one of all to me. One of its central themes at least when I read it is that Ajax, having defined himself by the respect he commanded based on his military ability, by his role as an honored soldier, has nothing left when he loses this, and he absolutely falls apart. His entire identity is tied up with this single skill he cultivated and the honor he possesses because of said skill, seeing his reaction to this loss, his realization that the only thing that mattered, the one thing he had, has been destroyed and it’s /his/ fault- this hit me far too close to home. once he’s no longer known as a great warrior, to himself he’s nothing, and no one, in Ajax’s mind that’s all he has and all he was. If tragedy is meant to inspire pity and fear, holy shit is Ajax effective because I felt both instantly since his fate - not so much the death but realizing what he defined himself by is lost forever because of his failures and that there’s nothing left of him now-  is what I fear most in the world. 15. Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar? CAESAR. I mean, I appreciate Alexander the Great (without whom the Ptolemies and Cleopatra wouldn’t have come into power) but I’ve read a lot more about Caesar, I know more about him as a person. I’m making this decision mostly on like their politics / what I know about them because I REALLY don’t give a s hit about individual battles / wars in general, this isn’t me comparing military scoreboards or anything lol.  I just know more about Caesar, approve of his Vaguely populist policies, and he /was/ trying to fix some very broken systems in rome / was constantly frustrated by senatorial factionalists etc...  and IM relatively sympathetic towards him although I like the minor more radical less famous populares more ... obviously. So I like Caesar but he’s not that important to me I’m not like passionately devoted to Caesar

16. Cicero - love him or loathe him? LOVE CICERO. I honestly love him so much and even though politically I disagree with the view he had or choices he made... I understand why he made them and it must have been incredibly hard to be a moderate politician, or any kind of politician at all coming from a non senatorial background, and as much as I joke about it he DID save Rome from the Very real threat of Catiline (and honestly at this point his self-aggrandizing behavior is just as endearing as it is aggravating to me.... god). I believe he genuinely tried to do what was right and to be moral and upstanding in a time when that was definitely not the norm- see his governorships of Sicily and Cilicia especially compared to his corrupt contemporaries. He stood by his principles even when that wasn’t politically expedient - whenever he does have to go against them, he agonizes to Atticus and feels guilty about it- and I’m... impressed by that. He was obviously a great statesman/orator/lawyer - all of his speeches are incredibly wild and fun to read and I can only imagine what hearing them live would’ve been like. His name and background means he didn’t have the luxury of being radically populist like Clodius, he didn’t have his family to fall back on in general, he had to work twice as hard and was scorned by the optimates anyway and i FEEL FOR HIM. He was nervous, though, and timid sometimes, and I ... relate to that.

 I think if you hate Cicero... you should read his letters to Atticus because they’re so humanizing and genuine and his emotional turmoil over the political circumstances he finds himself in can be heartbreaking. He cares so much about Atticus and about his family and his despair and elation and anxiety really hit me hard when I read them. Plus they can be genuinely funny when he’s, like, talking about Clodius or making fun of someone he hates which is often, Cicero’s sense of humor is one of the many things I love and appreciate about him... some of his letters are legitimately hilarious? please. he’s so petty sometimes, I love that too, okay im done. 17. if you could recover one lost work, which one would it be? This is a tough one... I feel like it would be greedy to ask for more Cicero since we already have so much of his work but his Consolation he wrote to himself after the death of Tullia would be incredible.  I also wish we had the entirety of Cicero’s Against Clodius and Curio speech because what we do have is... absolutely amazing and the rest would be a treasure to read.  Conversely, because we have so much of Cicero, and only of Cicero, our view of late Roman Republic politics is inevitably warped. I wish we had just one of the speeches Clodius gave in response to Cicero, so we could have his side of the story, so to speak. We have to piece together this picture of his politics based on what his greatest enemy said about him so there’s inevitably going to be a bias- and Cicero DOES say in his letters that Clodius spoke against him too, they had witty exchanges, etc, but we don’t have Clodius’s speeches at all! If we had just one of his speeches he gave to the people as tribune, or the one he gave to defend himself at the Bona Dea trial, or the one that prompted Cicero’s De Haruspicum in response- just one.  I just want to hear what Clodius said in his own words.... 18. what is your favourite movie or TV show set in ancient Greece or Rome? The Better Call Saul Roman Law AU I have in my head next question :) 19. tell me about an obscure classical figure who needs more love My URL is Clodius Pulcher and I wish more people legitimately studied and thought about Clodius with some nuance so that the exaggerated picture we see of him from Cicero isn’t taken as Absolute fact. I love him so much with my life... I also wish there was more love for Caelius and Curio since they’re really interesting historical figures who navigated a world of ever-changing alliances pretty cannily -until they died. Caelius just from his letters to Cicero seems like such a witty and sardonic person I wish more people cared about this entire circle.  Finally i’ve gotta say Fulvia needs so much more love than she gets like people HERE know about her but like. She was so vitally important and uniquely powerful as a woman during the late Roman Republic and to be honest I don’t think you can talk about the aftermath of Clodius’s death or Antony’s role after Caesar’s assassination without mentioning Fulvia, she’s so essential to the political careers of ALL her husbands. And yet, she’s really underrepresented in historical fiction and nonfiction about this time.  20. what do you love most about studying classics? I’m an incredibly anxious person I don’t take any risks or have many friends. When I read / learn about history I can... vicariously experience what taking a risk must feel like when I read about like Clodius Pulcher’s wild lifestyle, and sometimes learning a lot about a historical figure makes me feel like they’re my friend. so. probably the most pathetic possible answer to this question but thats me.