er cast

So, yesterday the Fiction Fest happened in Rome, and George Blagden was there for the screening of the first episode of Versailles. We waited for him outside the theatre to take pictures and get autographs. When it was my turn, I showed him the Aaron Tveit’s autograph I got when I went to see Assassins, telling him I am a musical theatre geek, and asked him to sign on the page beside.

First, he looked a little bit stunned, then he smiled and started caressing the page (I. SWEAR. I got witnesses.) and asked if he could sign below it. I was happy by then, but he had to go on and kill me : he drew a shaky heart and wrote Enjolras and Grantaire initials inside it. I swear I didn’t even mention the ship or the characters, he did it all by himself. And for that, I love him even more than before.

I’m so glad he’s such a nice person, so open with his fans, he took pictures with literally everyone, telling his agent he wanted to stay a little bit longer with us. We got him presents and letters and he was so pleased, constantly smiling and thanking everyone.

P.s. Captain Blagden, still going strong after three years.

anonymous asked:

I am so so curious about zabuza and hayate now like?? What would their dynamic even be like?

(For the record, this is like 93% @redhothollyberries‘s fault I stg.)

“Hey,” a gruff, familiar voice says from behind Tsunade’s barstool. “The firecracker said you’re a pretty good medic.”

Tsunade blinks and turns, raising a brow at the sight of the Kiri swordsman looming behind her. “Firecracker?” she asks, then realizes there’s only one person he could be referring to and snorts. “You call him that to his face?”

She can just make out the sharp slash of Zabuza’s grin behind the bandages covering the lower half of his face. “Fuck yeah. It got me laid once, I’m not about to stop using it.”

Tsunade has to laugh at that, tipping her head at the empty stool beside her. “I think you probably got laid in spite of it, Momochi. What do you want?”

Zabuza chuckles, low and rumbling, as he sinks down into the offered seat and waves a hand to head the bartender off. “I need a medic. Preferably a good one.”

Good?” Shizune splutters from where she’s staked out a table with several other kunoichi, including the auburn-haired Kiri woman, a white-haired chuunin from Kusa, a Hyuuga woman, and a pair of Inuzuka twins with identical nin-dogs. There’s a clatter as she pushes to her feet in indignation. “Tsunade-sama is the best—”

Tsunade gives her a mild look, and Shizune’s mouth snaps shut. With a grumble, she subsides into her seat, glaring daggers at Zabuza’s back.

Zabuza, of course, doesn’t seem to notice beyond a faint widening of his grin, and he slouches back against the counter, elbows braced on top of the bar. His dark eyes are fixed on Tsunade, patient in the way of a predator who knows with certainty it’s going to make a kill.

Tsunade meets his stare, unflinching. “I’m a medic,” she says, and can feel the wry, regretful twist to her mouth at those words. Damn Kurama, anyway. “Never good enough, entirely, but what can I help you with? Are you going to bleed out or can I finish my drink first?”

It’s not quite relief that slips into Zabuza’s gaze, but it’s something very much like it. “Nah,” he says, carefully careless in a way that Tsunade has seen all too many times in Jiraiya when he’s pretending (badly) that he doesn’t have feelings. “It’s not for me, and you can take your time. I’m trying to get a good match in with this sword brat but he keeps coughing up blood and interrupting our spars. Fix it and I’ll pay your tab for a night.”

“Coughing blood?” Tsunade repeats, mind immediately jumping ahead into diagnoses and possible complications. “Only when he’s exerting himself, or all the time?”

“Most of the time,” Zabuza says, and he’s still watching her, but this time the satisfaction is a lot clearer. “He’d be a decent challenge if he wasn’t fucking sick. It’s annoying.”

“Oh dear gods.” The Kiri kunoichi, apparently in the middle of getting another round for her table, slaps a hand over her eyes. “Fuck you, Momochi, get that damned expression off your face. I’m not going through this again. It’s a fucking shipwreck, watching you moon.”

“Fuck off, Terumī,” Zabuza retorts, but before he can get any more out, his eyes snap towards the door. “Gekkō,” he says, rising to his feet like a lion about to lunge for a gazelle. “Just in time.”

The teenager regards him warily, but approaches obligingly nevertheless, stifling a small cough into one fist and bowing to Tsunade. “Tsunade-sama, sorry to interrupt. Momochi said—”

Without waiting for him to finish, Tsunade catches him by the back of his flak jacket and tugs him upright, spinning him in place as she casts an assessing eye over his pallor and the heavy dark rings under his eyes. “Chronic cough? And it gets worse when you’re exerting yourself?”

“Er…yes?” Hayate casts a helpless glance at Zabuza, clearly bewildered, but the Kiri nin just relaxes back into his seat with a grin. “I—I was born with it, but it’s not too bad—eep!”

Rolling her eyes, Tsunade presses a glowing hand against his chest. “You’ve got weak lungs, which is easy enough to fix. Then I can do a few tests and figure out just what’s actually wrong with you. Now hold still. Shark-face might try to eat me if I mess this up, and I’m a little tipsy.”

Hayate goes about four shades paler—impressive, given his normal complexion—and Zabuza makes a sound of deep offence. “You and Red are related, aren’t you?” he demands.

Tsunade gives him a mean smile. “You bet we are.”

With a huff, the swordsman subsides, muttering something under his breath. Tsunade ignores him, catching Hayate by the arm as he tries to wiggle away, and says pointedly, “I’m getting free drinks out of this, kid. Stand still. Don’t you want to be able to finish a kata without coughing up half your organs?”

Hayate stops, though he shoots Zabuza a fairly bewildered look. “But—why?” he asks.

Mei, in the middle of collecting her drinks, snorts very loudly. “Because he wants in your pants,” she says mercilessly. “He’s attracted to swordsmanship. My advice? Drop the sword and take up knitting.”

There’s a flush creeping up Hayate’s cheeks, and he gives Zabuza a startled, wide-eyed look even as the other swordsman bolts to his feet with a poorly-contained snarl. “Terumī!”

Mei smiles brilliantly, picks up her tray, and dodges the swing Zabuza takes at her as she waltzes back to her table.

Tsunade just laughs.