#kitwill

[sonnynewts]

https://sonnynewts.etsy.com/listing/4335508448

greetings born with teeth nation🧍I went and made some london cast kitwill stickers to go along with the few OSF ones i still have, if yall are curious 👁️👁️

[applesfrombanora]

Was a while ago now, but I made little plushies of Marlowe and Shakespeare as they appeared in OSF’s production of Born With Teeth

The leopard and mooncalf are a little scrunkly, but I think it adds charm

This play has my head and my heart in its teeth and won’t be letting go anytime soon

[backstagegondolin]

[sonnynewts]

shared lodgings…beaumont and fletcher are getting away with it..

[sonnynewts]

small acrylic shakespeare and marlowe charm inspired by the play Born with Teeth

i just remembered i have 3 extra OSF Born with Teeth charms because of a mistake in the order so. they are for 8 dollar🤲

[backstagegondolin]

London buses are plastered with & Juliet posters, advertising: “The most famous love story of all time. Remixed.”

(Not a month passes without someone doing something or other with that play, it’s not surprising, really. And the poster is pretty enough, Will thinks, he appreciates the style and the colour scheme.)

“It’s not a love story,” Will sighs. Not that he’s actually breathing. But he was an actor in life and he remains one in death. He projects. 

After over 400 years, he ought to be resigned, but he’s always been a stubborn man.

“The price of fame,” Kit teases. He’s mostly gotten over that, but he’ll never resist a good jibe, “How horrible to be popular enough to be misunderstood.”

Will shots him a glare. “You had this problem long before me.”

“But then I had to go die and spoil it all. Oh, how the tables have turned.”

Will’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.

[this is absolutely no shade at the musical, which i haven’t even seen yet and which looks HELLA COOL. and R&J works as a love story, will is just being an ass & i had this scene stuck in my brain for days and then in my phone draft for more days, so i had to put it somewhere]

[backstagegondolin]

pretty melodies on the unmade bed - a Will Shakespeare birthday fic [or read on AO3]

1591

they are tangled together, spilled one atop the other, as different and inseparable as ink drying on parchment.

the bells of St Saviour's ring for St George and Will feels undone and unfinished, much like the stack of half done plays scattered beside the bed. he had meant to revise, to write, yesterday, but then Kit had come home, earlier than expected, and no writing had been done. no writing can ever compare to Kit's thin smile, amused and just a little teasing. Will doesn't mind being teased by Kit. he only allows him this privilege. Will's honour is otherwise prickly, but with Kit he knows he can give as good as he gets, and still make up to him without ending in a duel. fistcuffs at the most, and he's always taken care not to touch Kit's pretty face. Kit returns the favour, teases him about competing with Dick for the handsome hero roles.

Kit kisses his naked shoulder and makes a sound like "good morning". he doesn't wake up easy, not if he's not hurried by external factors. Will has no mind to hurry him. he likes this Kit, soft and affectionate and warm. too sleepy for wit, not alert, just existing quietly.

not that Will is very good at quiet, either. he gets restless soon, but Kit's kissing turns into biting, soothing him.

Kit's been absent too long, leaving Will feeling dried up, sluggish and muddy like the Avon in summer. man delights him not, nor woman either. at least, absent Kit, he writes. he writes so much he's late to the theatre more days than not, running the maze of filthy alleys between his house and the Rose still shrugging his doublet on, sleeves untied, repeating his parts in breathless whispers, trying to sort what he needs to perform from what he needs to write. threads mix sometimes, he copies a line here, improvises a line there. usually for the best. he's good at improving on rhythm.

he turns around, dislodging Kit and sending him sprawling, pale gold hair fanning out on the bedsheet in a tangled mess. Will is still surprised by bursts of sudden fondness, sometimes - he is surprised now, breath catching, that he gets to have this moment. Kit's eyes open a slither, lazy and still unfocused.

"what," Kit says.

Will smiles down at him. he wants to thank him for coming home early, for coming home to him, but he knows better. sentiment is best left to their characters - they do better with action. so he leans down and bites the pale neck, whose line he's spent more time admiring than he's spent praying, lately. he feels no guilt about it, just as he feels no guilt about playing on Sundays. why close the theatre when people are at leisure? why not kiss Kit, when he is right there? he makes the most beautiful sounds, little breaths that no poetry will ever catch. and Will is selfishly glad of it. he wants to keep those to himself. Kit is not his, nor is he Kit's, not wholly, but they are joined in all the ways that matter. he tangles a hand with Kit's, rises up on one elbow to look down at him, gets a leg between Kit's.

it's a good start to a good day.

[backstagegondolin]

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2fck4DtXcMSVLQzudNgAMH?si=bVYDrfxyT0Gf7ATfS_Ed3g)