CROWNLESS

the wound is the place where the light enters you.

[soracities]

He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable.

D.H. Lawrence, The Rainbow (via soracities)

[everymanpdf]

from "The Man With a Hole in His Head" by Rick Bursky

[waitinqroom]

michelle zauner / ocean vuong

[orionshunt]

eleanorewhittock​:

“you’re ridiculous, leo, you never look foolish.” it’s true, no matter what situation she’s known him in, she has never held as much respect for any man. his endless kindness, care, patience - she’s quite sure he could dress as malvolio and she’d see him as heroic. ellie has been lucky enough to build herself quite a little family in the time she’s been in london, but never had she been so completely alone as when she had met lionel, and now that she’s through it, she’s certain she wouldn’t have survived without him. 

there’s a memory, vibrant as if it were happening before her, of her son, the tiniest he’d ever been, bundled in a crocheted blanket in her arms. in the memory, she is crying, because she knows that giving him away is no longer an option. she knows, too, what that decision will do for her future. it is a gentle hand on her arm that steadies her, and that alone. she feels as if she would float away without it. other than the doctor who had delivered john, and the nurses paid to look after her, lionel is the first person in the world to meet her son. the first person, other than her, to be there simply because he cares to be. 

she laughs at his next words, “muiris is- a curious man, but he’s a dear, really. john likes him a lot. he thinks he’s fascinating. i can’t say i blame him.”

“that is the highest praise coming from a seamstress as accomplished as you are, my darling girl,” he nods severely, but his eyes light up with a familiar sense of mischief while his tone dips from lilting to genuine.

ellie’s laugh rings in his ears and he’s transported back to the past, and a much younger version of eleanore whittock staring up in his face through tearful eyes. their meeting had been through a stroke of fate, sheer luck by all accounts, but it had led to a deeply meaningful bond that lionel is so protective of to the extent that much of that feeling has spilled over to her son after his birth. little teddy, whom he has gifted a wooden sword to play the knight in shining armor, always coming to the aid of the other children in his neighborhood. he’s a tender boy, having inherited much of his mother’s disposition and while it’s never been cause for worry, ellie’s gentle nature is one to be uplifted and cherished for its sincerity.

it’s one of the things that he, too, sometimes tends to forget. ellie has a habit of placing others above her, as is evident in the costume he wears—she would wave it off with a smile and say it’s all him who managed to make it what it is but he knows—he’s seen her fall asleep while working, a half-finished first idea of his outfit pinned to one of the mannequins in her studio. lionel’s lips quirk up into a half-smile, a touch of fondness replacing the frown that previously had the corners of his mouth spilling into long vertical wrinkles on either side of his chin. “that he certainly is. better watch out, my darling, or muiris’ll be taking him on as an apprentice.”

[frankensaint]

[orionshunt]

prudcnce​:

     It had to be handed to him, he was certainly in character. Whether or not she actually liked that character was a different story. His accent, she was sure, would certainly be enough to begin a war with their neighbours. ❛❛Monsieur Bonaparte.❜❜ Prudence greets him with a curtsey, though it’s unsure whether she is attempting to act the part out of want, or of fear. The people in the masks ( were they even people? ) were almost suffocating in proximity to the attendees without. People who, she was certain, had been in the seats at one or more of her performances. 

     ❛❛Ah-❜❜ It was not the comment she had expected him to make, leaving her at a loss for words. Was this part of his game, or a genuine point of belief? ❛❛Shooting, ahem, murder solves nothing. La nuit porte conseil, no?❜❜ Perhaps his understanding of the language would be better than his accent, if such an abomination could even be called that.

prudence is a master at her craft, a craft that lionel has been lucky enough to observe from afar once or twice before. he’s not a man for the arts and the theatrics currently put on display quell a larger need for something else entirely but that’s neither here nor there; if his mission is to believably come across as one of great britain’s worst enemies in recent history, he’ll have to antagonize.

and if you can’t belong in a crowd that struggles with perceiving you as a worthwhile addition, you will simply have to make them see. it’s an advice he has been consistently, almost a little desperately, following for the entirety of his life; long as it’s blessed to have been so far.

but that long, blessed life hasn’t included french lessons and lionel’s absolutely clueless on what the dancer is saying. beyond the few occasional words he’s heard french sailors speak at the britannia or the docks, the astrologist has no means of grasping prudence’s implications. so what he offers her instead is a taxing look—for he has to remain in character after all—before nodding his head as though he were some kind of sage, a man full of wisdom.

“pah! this english hospitality,” he mutters under his breath, smile falling away as he regards the masked strangers once more. they seem unimpressed by his outburst, but it’s difficult to judge with the lack of facial expressions. he presses his lips together until they disappear into a fine line. “one must always accept defeat in war, mademoiselle. a true intellectual—” he raises his fist to his chest in a symbolic gesture, “—would know when to cut his losses.”

[orionshunt]

eleanorewhittock​:

ellie outright refuses to remember her manners around lionel. as soon as she sees him, she’s across the room, carefully missing everybody she might bump into, her small frame helping in her weaving. the hug is tight, how much she’s missed him evident in her grip. “your costume’ll survive it,” she says into his shoulder, and she knows that for certain. she’d spent extra time making his absolutely perfect, and that includes withstanding the embrace of an old friend. “you look brilliant,” smiles ellie, when she finally pulls back, looking at the ensemble. really, she helped with the base outfit, but all the details he’s absolutely pulled together himself. “yes, i thought i’d surprise you! well, i was quite unsure at first of whether i’d be able to get here at all, what with john, but muiris said he would, and so, well, i’m here! isn’t everything just wonderfully fancy?” she’s almost giddy for seeing him. her last ball of this type of grandeur had been shortly before the first time they had met, and so it’s oddly nice to be at this one with him.

the warmth of ellie’s hug envelops him like a warm spring night. it’s a flashback to many years ago, months before little teddy had been brought into the world to draw his first breath. ellie hadn’t been the same woman then, but lionel saw the first stirrings of something braver and incredibly tenacious lingering underneath that faraway gaze. and now, as he gazes up to look into her dark eyes that shine with so much genuine delight, he can feel an invisible hand spinning a fine thread around his lungs; it tightens when she speaks.

“nonsense, without you i am positive i should have looked quite the fool. and would you look at yourself! what a magnificent sight you are,” he beams at her and her compliment, deep lines of joy lifting the serious frown lines around his eyes when she draws back to regard his costume properly. she has poured entirely too much of her time and resources into making this ensemble for him and although he should have suspected that she’d have a surprise up her sleeve, her appearance at this particular ball elates him beyond words—although it will be certainly harder to keep up with his pretend play of being napoleon now.

lionel’s jaw drops the slightest bit, mouth falling into a silent oh at her words before he composes himself, brows furrowed questioningly. “muiris volunteered to take care of teddy? the old skeleton?”

[orionshunt]

theundertakcr​:

FT. LIONEL MORRIS ( @orionshunt​ ) | a table in the ballroom, early in the evening

TABLE MATES CAME and went, but Rahat stays for the most part, not necessarily in the mood for much active socialization. Their mind is distracted still, playing over certain events that had happened earlier on in the night, and while they do partake in conversation with those who happen to come by and sit with them, they don’t stand and search for more new companions. They’re certain they’ll want to leave and wander the manor at some point, curious to see what lies behind Mr Ashton’s open invitation to explore the grounds, but for now, they’d rather sit and watch a while longer. One more random conversation, then, and they’ll go.

It isn’t long when another one comes by, occupying a chair on the other end of the table; they won’t be surprised if he hadn’t noticed them sitting there, blending in with the dark, gothic decorative structures within the ballroom. Rahat takes the time to greet. “Good evening,” they start, looking over at the gentleman, tilting their head at his rather unique appearance, though for the most part trying to place their outfit. They’ve a vague idea, but they’ve been wrong in their guesses twice or thrice a few times earlier in the night. Better to ask and be sure. “May I know who it is I’m having the pleasure of sharing a table with?”

where rough men would side eye him for his incredibly good looks at the britannia, at present there’s only one curious pair of eyes lingering on lionel—and judging from their remarks, it’s out of a simple need to satiate a thirst for knowledge rather than something as obscene as picking a fight with a man half their height.

or, well, to be fair, he is standing on a table. a table that people are likely to have a meal at later on but lionel is nothing if not a visionary in regards to all that will aid him in his lifelong struggle to be able to throw a punch in someone else’s face should the need to do so arise.

although, to be fair, being at eye height with someone’s crotch does have its perks. the daredevils at the britannia have started bothering him less since they discovered that being headbutted in that sensitive region is especially painful.

you can’t live to his old age without being able to pick apart people’s intentions, and especially not when you’re blessed with genes as fabulous as his and so lionel gestures for the other to come closer with an inspecting smile on his lips.

“bonsoir,” he responds, tilting his head in lieu of an additional greeting with his hands clasped behind his back, chin raised haughtily. “you are speaking to napoleon bonaparte, emperor of the french and king of italy. we are pleased to make your acquaintance, monseigneur—?”

[theroseinthedarkness]

HALEY BENNETT and PETER DINKLAGE in Cyrano (2021)

dir. Joe Wright

[cithaerons]

Sonya Taaffe, “Being Providence,” from Ghost Signs (2015)

[orionshunt]

closed: @prudcnce location: the ballroom, early evening.

“mademoiselle,” he drawls with the worst french accent the people around him have probably ever heard. his lips curve into a pleased smile at one horrified glance thrown in his direction by the illusionist, who seems caught between offense and utter confusion at the small man striding about these halls as though he’s not guest but owner. poor mister ashton and all these riches, lionel muses, hands clasping behind his back when he looks up at his newest victim—err, conversation partner.

“dare i say one doesn’t reason with intellectuals,” he says, side-eyeing the masked stranger lingering near them. although he can’t see their face, he’s certain they’re listening. rude. he tilts his head innocently at them, before grinning. “you shoot them.”

[orionshunt]

closed: @eleanorewhittock location: the staircase, early evening.

“ellie,” he half-whispers, half-shouts when lionel is spotted by the woman, her previous expression immediately replaced by something much warmer when she tugs him into a warm embrace. “you’re ruining my costume. i’m supposed to be napoleon.” he places as much emphasis as he possibly can on the name of the french emperor in the hope that she will somehow connect to him telepathically and understand that he’s here for one job only and that’s to drive zaf to the brink of insanity with his little, annoyingly accurate anecdotes about the life of the bonapartes. lionel realizes with a start that he hasn’t expected to cross paths with ellie here, of all places. and when he pulls away from the embrace to sweep his concerned gaze over her features, one bushy brow rises in worry. “you’re attending?”

[orionshunt]

closed: @misterzafiro location: the dining room, early evening.

“josephine!” lionel was sure that if zaf didn’t have his back turned, he’d catch the other man rolling his eyes. his lips twitched in amusement, and when he spoke up once more, his voice turned sickly-sweet and utterly alien. “my love, where have you been? my tender heart has been aching for your presence.”

[orionshunt]

LIONEL MORRIS as NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH. | @misterzafiro

[carisi-rollins]

If it weren’t for you, I never would’ve survived my childhood. You would have.

[freshmoviequotes]

Cyrano (2021)