#I had several books of the original fairytales and they were all fucked up I loved them

[magical-misfit]

Live footage of me waiting for the Dimension 20 Twitter account to drop Rumplestilskin as Neverafter homework so I can finally go feral about the fairytale that fucked me up mentally as a child.

[nitewrighter]

Hey, if you have the time could you please list some of your resources to find the original - or at least older than the Disney Canon™ - fairytales? I find them deeply interesting but its hard to mine through retellings of retellings only to find out they are based on the movies

Well as I've mentioned before, the initial post for Cindy was written while I was drunk. In fact, a significant amount of all the chapters for Cindy were written with several beers in me. However! I was writing them while vaguely remembering a literature class on fairy tales I took in college nearly 9 years ago! Here's the reader which I still have because I'm a book hoarder! (Professor Kimberly Lau my beloved...SHE WAS SO COOL.)

So basically the main sources for Cinderella in this class were the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault--and like, this class also made a point of distinguishing between folkloric fairy tales and literary fairy tales--so The Little Mermaid, The Wild Swans, and The Snow Queen? Literary Fairy Tale, because those were all written by Hans Christian Andersen in the 19th century, who, for the record, I adore but I would absolutely put in a nightmare blunt rotation. Cinderella, Snow White, and Red Riding Hood? Folkloric. Those have lots of different versions over a long period of time with many variations depending on the audience. We also covered a wide range of funky, kind of fucked up and depressing fairy tales from Italy and Spain (Spanish Fairy tales are SO DEPRESSING oh my GOD Spain are you okay).

But also a significant aspect of Fairy Tales we covered was the concept of "parlor culture" in the development of fairy tales, which like, basically boils down to upper class and emerging upper-middle-class women in the 17th century hanging out and reading shit to each other in the parlors of their estates--this was how a lot of fucked up folkloric fairy tales got re-adapted, and, in their own time, 'modernized' at least by 17th century standards because you had a lot of upper class and upper-middle-class ladies reading their adaptions of folklore gathered by the folklorists of the day. Like, Charles Perrault's collection of fairy tales were written with a very specific goal of the 'education' of young upper and upper-middle-class ladies (like the dude literally ended Red Riding Hood with something like "Hey what do you think the wolf is a metaphor for?") So like... you have this combination of the gradual spread of literacy actively transforming fairy tales and storytelling and also turning fairy tales themselves into an area of active study and interest and, as a result of this, their active transformation. It's like quantum physics, almost! As something is observed, it is transformed!! I don't know a lot about quantum physics!

But okay, got off track. Basically the major sources you're gonna wanna look at for fairy tales are the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault because like, while these guys were just recording already existing fairy tales, they basically outlined the fairy tales as we know them today. You'll also want to look at Hans Christian Andersen because while he was writing this shit in the 19th century, dude really got the fairy tale vibe--at least before Disney scrubbed away all of the fairy tales' cool gritty shit (THE BASTARDS TOOK AWAY THE ROBBERS' DAUGHTER IN THE SNOW QUEEN. CAN'T HAVE SHIT IN ANAHEIM.)

Also if you want to look at other cool folkloric projects, I really like W.B. Yeats' Irish Fairy and Folktales, The Fireside Podcast (also Irish folklore), and Francis James Child's Child Ballads.

Another significant influence on my writing style was Jim Henson's The Storyteller which if you haven't seen it yet you need to watch NOW NOW WATCH IT NOW WATCH THE PUPPETS AND JOHN HURT PLEASE WATCH IT NOW.

[ckneal]

There’s a midam AU idea that’s been living in the back of my mind for months now, but it’s been slow going. Mainly because I suspect that doing the idea justice is going to mean doing more research than I’m used to, and maybe even rewatching the series proper to help me fill in some of the weak spots, and I have so many other story ideas that are frankly just easier to work on, two of which are already slated to be multi-chapter works. . . But I’m in the mood to type up something longwinded, so here we go. Keep reading if you’d like to see a rough outline of the first few chapters of this story I really hope to write out properly sometime.

(Warning, this is a long one.)

So, this story is loosely based on the Hundred Years War that took place between England and France from 1337-1453. But it’s only very loosely inspired. Very, very loosely. As in, I was reading a book, I read about one thing that happened, it germinated in my head, and then suddenly I had a plot developing that featured my current favorite ship. Additional sources of inspiration include one of my favorite fantasy series, and a personally beloved trashy romance novel. Because it’s fanfiction, folks. There are no rules here.

Of course, in this AU, the entire world is going to be made up, with neither side of the war distinctly being assigned the role of England or France—or Flanders or Burgundy, for that matter. I barrowed an inciting incident, and few smaller details from history to help things along here and there, but with no regard for keeping all the French things assigned to one group and the English ones to another.

That said, the inciting incident took its inspiration from the Battle of Poiters, a conflict during which England not only won against the French, but also took their king hostage. King Jean II was later ransomed back to his people, but at a sum that was so high, France could not afford to pay it all at once. England still returned France’s king, but new hostages were provided to serve as collateral during the interim, including the King’s son.

So. . .crown Prince Michael Shurley completely decimates King John Winchester on the battlefield, and sends his demands to John’s queen, Mary Winchester. The two kingdoms have been locked in a territory dispute for several decades, and this is one of the more humiliating events to befall the smaller kingdom yet, especially since they are unable to meet all of Michael’s demands. When the Winchesters begrudgingly admit this to the Shurley representatives, they’re caught off guard when they’re offered a trade: John Winchester will be returned, so long Dean Winchester takes his place as collateral.

Things are less than stable in the Winchester kingdom however, with more than a few factions quietly scheming for power. John and Mary were an arranged marriage that was originally held up like a fairytale when the two seemingly fell madly in love during their mandated courtship, but the years afterward had changed them. Civil unrest sparked by the war had brought out a lot of disagreements between the Winchesters and the Campbells and their approaches to governing.

John’s supporters are the ones to step forward with a plan, and convince Mary that it’s vitally important the people are not alarmed by their king’s capture. Mary initially finds it distasteful, but it’s talked around and adjusted and reframed, as John’s people ferret out more and more information about the vital party involved, until she finally agrees.

Because John Winchester just happened to have a bastard son. The resemblance to Dean might not be particularly remarkable, but no one at the Shurley court has ever seen the Winchester heir before. Plus, Adam Milligan has spent the entirety of his teen years studying to become a physician, of all things. He’s perfect for their purposes. 

Ten years prior, the Shurley court had had to deal with its own bout of civil unrest, when King Chuck Shurley’s second eldest son had attempted to overthrow him with the support of several nobles from one the kingdom’s richest providences. Lucifer had allegedly been driven into exile following his defeat, and Chuck had been said to have contracted some sort of mysterious illness. According to rumors, the king had shut himself up in his private chambers and refused to admit anyone apart from his remaining children. Even servants were barred from tending him directly.

They snatch Adam away from his studies and force him into compliance by dusting off an archaic law left over from before the start of the war, when the kingdom relied on a conscription military force rather than a standing army full of career military professionals—this law empowering the crown to call on any of its citizens for a minimum forty days of military service per year. They tell Adam that his mission seems more dangerous than it is—really, all he has to do is pretend to be Dean, and use his medical knowledge to figure out exactly what mysterious illness has bedridden the enemy monarch.

Sam and Dean—the proverbial heir and spare of the kingdom—are not at court to meet their younger brother, when he’s hastily fitted for a royal wardrobe and put through a crash course on court etiquette. Sam is very publicly put on display at a holiday festival in another part of the kingdom, while Dean is sent orders to quietly stay behind at a country estate while his valet, Kevin Tran, is sent on to court. Neither of the princes is told about the plan until after Adam has already been shipped out, with Kevin in toe to help Adam along with the impersonation.

No one involved is in anyway comfortable with the mission. But it was only supposed to be for forty days. Adam was assured that the necessary funds to pay off the ransom would either be raised by the end of the minimum mandated service, or they would make contact to extract him. The Campbells and the Winchesters both allegedly had spies in the Shurley court, and they would make themselves known when the time was right.

Adam is given the impression that the latter had been told to him with the intention of making him feel safer. It did not work.

He’s terrified when he arrives—almost would have preferred being promptly thrown into a dungeon upon arrival, instead of a room full of foreign nobility who one and all give off the impression that if cut they’d bleed straight silver, and look at “Dean,” the hostage prince and purported military genius from the tiny, vicious country across the channel, as a curiosity to be studied. He’s assigned two guards (who I decided will be Anael and Samandriel, based entirely on the tags I threw together at then end of this post, during which I decided that I love these three together), who follow him around relentlessly, but beyond that, he’s. . .pretty much treated like a guest. If a stiflingly monitored one. There are limitations on where he can go and what he can do, but for the most part he’s just sort of. . .there.

Most unnerving of all, however, is the small package that Adam finds in his room when he first settles in. Kevin swears he has no idea who left it. It has the Campbell’s insignia clearly worked into the pattern of the paper it’s wrapped in, and inside he finds a knife small enough to conceal on his person, and a number of different herbs and powders that he recognizes from his studies—though of course, he’s more familiar with remedies to counteract their effects.

In other words, he finds an assassin’s-first-kill-job kit, and instructions on how and when to use it, if opportunity arises. This had not been part of the deal when Adam reluctantly signed on.

Unbeknownst to Adam however—though suspected by some parties in the Winchester court—Adam cannot assassinate Chuck Shurley, because Chuck is not there. Shortly after Lucifer’s insurrection, Chuck had quietly disappeared. Michael had only been a teenager at the time. He invented the story about Chuck being ill on impulse, certain that Chuck would be back sooner than later, and Raphael had gone along with it because, being twelve years old, Raphael was not yet old enough to question Michael’s judgement. It is now an awkward point between them.

Adam soon becomes another.

Michael regularly checks in to see how Adam’s getting on, in a way that Kevin assures Adam is entirely appropriate, since Michael is under the impression that Adam is going to be a fellow monarch someday, and is likely trying to be courteous. Adam inherently feels somewhat flustered around Michael though, which is not helped by the fact that Michael is somehow always present whenever Adam puts his foot in his mouth socially. On more than one occasion, he’s thankful that almost no one has actually been to his homeland, allowing Adam to blame an astonishing number of fuck ups on cultural differences.

Michael and Adam’s early one on one interaction are intensely awkward. Adam will forget to wear gloves, and then Michael will comment that Adam’s hands are oddly devoid of callouses for someone who’d practically been raised with a sword in his hand, leaving Adam to scramble for some flimsy excuse about hand cream. Adam will inquisitively ask questions about what sort of illness would be severe enough to leave someone bedridden for a decade but not kill them in that time (Kevin frantically motioning over Michael’s shoulder to convey that that is NOT the right way to fish for details on such a sensitive subject), and Michael will struggle to find an excuse around the quietly bubbling panic, because he hasn’t had to try to explain anything about his father since that first year, and he is not a particularly gifted liar.  

And then there’s Raphael.

Unlike Michael, Raphael is suspicious of “Dean” right from the start, pulling Michael aside to point out things that don’t seem quite right according to what their informants have told them about Dean Winchester.

“Doesn’t he look a bit young?”

“Some people look younger than they are, Raphael.”

“I was told Dean Winchester had dark hair.”

“Dark blond is dark.”

“Aren’t his eyes supposed to be green?”

“They’re obviously blue.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

The forty days come and go with Adam and Kevin nervously waiting for some sort of sign from home. Roughly two weeks later, a messenger arrives with unexpected news for Michael’s court: the Campbells have officially broken ties with the Winchesters in a violent bid for power that has left the kingdom at war with itself.

According to Kevin, the civil war has probably slowed things down a bit, if it’s as bad as the rumors say. . .

Adam and Kevin are stranded.

“Don’t worry though—I know Dean, and he knows our necks are on the line. He’ll keep out of sight until they manage to get us out of here.”

Adam finds it difficult to put faith in the virtues of a brother he’s never met, but doesn’t have it in him to question Kevin’s faith. He worries about his mother, who might have been safe in the countryside, but also might have made the trek to the capitol when it came out that Adam had been abducted for the sake of persevering the royal family's throne. He can’t be sure.

And to top it off, Michael takes to stopping by Adam’s room every couple of days to privately talk about the movements of the various factions—who has been sighted where and in what condition, where they’re rumored to be headed. Adam interprets it as an attempt to shake out inside information. One day, Adam finally tries to set him straight by saying it doesn’t matter how many ugly details Michael throws at him, Adam can’t help him because he doesn’t know anything—and is promptly put to shame when Michael looks at him in surprise and says, “You misunderstand. I assumed that you would want to know these things, because they are your family.”

Michael leaves, and Adam’s guards exchange a look. When asked, Samandriel awkwardly tells Adam that the royal family used to have a fourth child. Gabriel. He was lost during Lucifer’s insurrection. Pirates overtook his ship. They’d never received a ransom. Michael had purportedly offered a standing reward for any news of Gabriel, and put an unwise amount of resources into searching for him until it threatened the war effort.

Adam and Michael start talking more frequently from there, starting with an apology on Adam’s part. It’s tricky at first, because Michael starts out asking questions about Dean Winchester's military exploits—it is the most likely common ground between them, after all—and Adam has to hastily change the subject every time. By the two month mark, they’re talking affably, and rumors start to circulate through the courts as Michael's routine check ins on Adam start getting less formal and more frequent.

On the four month mark, rumors get even worse. Raphael finally sits Michael down and really gets into all of the things about “Dean” that don’t add up, item by item. If he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t know anything about his country’s military exploits, he’s far too convincing given his reported record, and Raphael has it on good authority that more than half of those “cultural differences” in etiquette that keep cropping up are completely unfounded—and look here, three different informants have sent lists of Dean Winchester’s physical characteristics, and the foreign prince DOES NOT MATCH.

“Michael, something is not right here.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him about it now.”

And Michael storms off to address “Dean,” while Raphael calls after him that he should wait until morning. Because it is the middle of the night.

Adam just happens to be up reading. Michael’s familiar with the book. Michael gets distracted, and they talk all night. The sun’s coming up when Michael finally leaves, and a servant happens to see him slipping out of Adam’s room. Suggestive conjectures promptly follow, and Raphael exasperatedly admits they only have themself to blame.

And this only gets worse, because now Adam and Michael have transitioned into being friends. No more guarded conversations where one is convinced the other is about to catch them in some sort of lie. When Raphael mentions that some of the lesser nobles are starting to think Michael and Adam are courting, Michael’s fidgeting is not at all lost on them, as Michael assures them that of course that isn't the case. He and Dean are merely establishing friendly relations that will serve them well down the road politically—

“After the war is over?”

“Of course, after the war is over.”

Adam’s been stranded in the Shurley court for almost a year by the time that he finally slips into his room and sees a sealed message set out on his bed. Adam doesn’t recognize the insignia as belonging to either the Winchesters or the Campbells, but it’s signed with the initials “SW” at the bottom. It mostly contains a lot of vague phrases that make Adam wonder if he was supposed to be versed in some sort of code. As far as he’s concerned, the only important information comes at the end: Kate Milligan has been safely relocated for the duration of the civil war.

Relieved, Adam goes down to dinner, where some sort of seasonal holiday is being celebrated, and has a bit more wine than he normally would. The Shurley court is one of those stuffy courts where seating is stiffly dictated by tradition. As a foreign prince, Adam’s assigned seat is at the same table as Michael, although, according to Kevin, his placement's much further down due to his being a hostage. After a few drinks, and after most of the nobles have cleared off from the table to talk and celebrate elsewhere in the hall, Adam sees no reason not to get up and relocate down the line of chairs to sit closer to Michael. It was against the rules, but Adam was aware enough not to sit in Raphael’s empty seat, and he’d been seen with Michael so often that Anael and Samandriel barely even blinked, because Adam obviously wasn’t about to attack their prince or anything.

However, it is worth noting that while talking to Adam, Michael consumes a decent amount more wine than he would normally have as well.

Later that night, Michael’s walking Adam back to his room, and he starts to comment that Adam seems happier than usual. But even when sober, Michael would struggle to say something like that—if he’d even attempt it while sober—and Adam winds up biting his lip as he watches Michael’s mounting embarrassment, as a simple compliment inexplicably morphs—words seemingly forcing their way out as Michael tries and utterly fails to stop them—into a compliment about how Adam is beautiful—that is, he’s always beautiful—that is, Michael can’t help noticing Adam most days—that is. . .

. . .Michael is adorable. And in a moment of pure, thoughtless impulse, Adam leans in and kisses Michael right there in the corridor.

Michael is profoundly shocked, and his reaction delayed. Adam had only gone in intending to briefly press his lips against Michael’s, but as he’s pulling away Michael abruptly leans in and reseals the kiss, and Adam in turn takes that as an invitation to pull Michael closer. And a few minutes later, Raphael happens to walk down the hallway and find the two of them enthusiastically kissing against the wall.

And Raphael promptly turns around and goes back the way they came, only stopping at one point to flag down a servant and order them not to let anyone else walk down that particular corridor for at least an hour, hoping that Michael and Adam’s “friendly relations” wouldn’t result in anything too inappropriate.

As it happens, nothing particularly inappropriate happens. Nonetheless, Michael still wakes up the next morning, fully clothed in his own bed, in panic because the first thought to distinctly make its way through the ungodly pain in his head is that he’d taken liberties with a guest the night before. The heir to a foreign power at that, a peer, a hostage! Michael never thought he was capable of something so dishonorable--he’d had Dean pressed up against the wall as if they were a couple of ill-bred urchins, and how does one even go about apologizing for something like that?

(Of course, if Michael were thinking clearly, he might have remembered that Adam had actually been the one to back himself up against the wall, with Michael obligingly following along, quite malleable to whatever positioning Adam wanted so long as Adam kept kissing him.)

Michael’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. If his father hadn’t already abandoned them, he’d likely disown Michael out of pure shame. There was no telling what kind of damage he’d done to the relationship between their kingdoms. At best, Michael’s uncouth actions would be a dirty secret between them in the years to come, after Dean married, and Michael was left barely able to look Dean’s spouse in the eye. If Michael were a lesser noble, his parents might demand he married Dean outright.

And suddenly Michael sat up in bed, realizing he could marry Dean. His mind begins racing, because of course he could marry Dean! It made perfect sense. They enjoyed each other’s company, and with both of them being heir to their respective kingdoms, their union would effectively end the war. It might be complicated—especially given some of the odd customs Dean had introduced to Michael’s court—but marriages had been used to cemented alliances often enough, and the thought of marrying Dean elicited a curiously hot feeling in Michael’s stomach, remembering the way Adam had pulled him close the night before.

(Fun fact, England and France actually did try to do this with the Treaty of Troyes in 1420; it did not go as planned.)

Michael goes through the rest of his day in an uncharacteristically upbeat mindset, because now it all seems to just be a matter of organizing things, and he is good at organizing. He would have to write to either John or Mary Winchester as soon as the situation in their kingdom settled, and formally ask for Dean’s hand, and he and Dean should have a chaperone present at all times moving forward to avoid scandal--though there would be no way to sidestep scandal altogether, of course. Adam was still technically Michael’s prisoner. 

More than likely, the Winchesters or Campbells would demand Michael relinquish his claim to at least half of the territories that they’d spent the last few decades fighting over, but that would be fine. It’s traditional in Michael’s country to give gifts to one’s in-laws, and Dean is a future monarch. Anything too little would be insulting, and all would be consolidated eventually when Dean and Michael assumed their respective thrones. . .

Michael is still walking around delightfully living in his own head when Raphael pulls him into an empty room to discuss what they witnessed the night before. While not the most shocking scenario they could have imagined, they were not expecting to hear their brother announce that he and Dean Winchester would be getting married.

“And how are we to explain away our father’s absence during the proceedings, Michael?”

Michael’s good mood promptly withers. Because of course Chuck would be expected to play some part in arranging his son’s wedding. Ill or not, at the very least, he would be expected to make an appearance at the wedding. To have no part in it at all would be suspicious, not to mention rude.

While Raphael intended to snap Michael back to his senses, they had not meant to shake Michael into an immediate depression. They try for a gentler tone.

“You know, Michael. Our father has been gone for over a decade. He left no formal plans, he's sent no word. By any standard, he's abdicated. Perhaps this isn’t the right time to introduce a political marriage. Perhaps we should consider your assuming the kingship, and then come back around to formalizing your relationship with Dean—”

Michael, of course, is against this. Because their father is alive, and he will come back, and it will not be to find that another one of his sons had greedily tried to usurp the throne.

Seeing Michael about to fall back onto a familiar tangent, Raphael chooses the lesser of two evils and takes the conversation back to “Dean.” They ask which out of the two of them proposed to the other.

Michael abruptly realizes that he's forgotten something.

Meanwhile, Adam starts his morning on a much happier note. His headache is less punishing than Michael’s, and while feeling the normal amount of embarrassment that comes with drinking a little too much, the feeling does not extend to kissing Michael. His mother’s safe, he’s nailing his Dean impression, and Michael apparently likes him. Things could not be better. Until Adam remembers how the latter two items on that list are linked.

Michael is not like a classmate back home, who he could chat up, get a drink with, and maybe start seeing regularly if all things went well. Michael is, in fact, the acting ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world, which just so happens to be at war with Adam’s, and under the explicit impression that Adam is similarly situated in the world.

Adam promptly begins freaking out.

And then Michael finds him.

Adam’s in the library at the time. Michael walks in and quietly dismisses Adam’s guards, and Kevin, leaving the two of them completely alone. Adam doesn’t realize what Michael’s doing right away, though he’s spent enough time with Michael to recognize how nervous he is as he starts talking about a proposal to end the war—selling the idea, as if Michael wouldn’t be enough on his own—and then sheepishly tapering into the idea that both he and Adam seem to have feelings for one another. And if Adam were able to go back in time and strangle his tipsy past self, he would, because then he wouldn’t have to see the look on Michael’s face when he says no.

And no, Michael does not understand.

Adam can hear years of living in the public eye at work in Michael voice, as he just manages to keep his voice level in asking, “Even if it would mean peace?”

"I'm sorry, I just—I can't."

". . .I see."

Michael excuses himself, and Adam collapses onto a couch, assuring himself that no was the only right answer, and he shouldn’t feel terrible—which, of course, since Adam’s spent the last couple of months flirting with Michael while posing as someone else, is not an easy idea to buy into.

Michael and Adam avoid eye contact at dinner, even as Raphael—who has zero doubts as to who initiated what the night before—practically burns holes into Adam’s skin with the looks they shoot down the table.

And then a messenger comes in. One of the wealthiest duchies in the kingdom (the same one that had once supported Lucifer, and of course would be populated with demon characters in the narrative) has declared its independence, having formed an alliance with the Campbells, and has launched an attack not far from the castle. Several villages have already been attacked along the way. Michael accompanies the armed forces he sends out to quash the uprising.

Raphael is left behind to fortify the castle and take in the refugees, who the messenger assured them are not far behind. Unlike Michael, Raphael rarely saw combat. Officially, it was because Raphael had adamantly insisted on training as a healer rather than a warrior, which was true enough. Unofficially though, Michael and Raphael are both fully aware that if anything happened to Michael, Raphael is the only one left to inherent the crown.

Samandirel and Anael escort Adam back to his room. Samandriel assures Adam that no one thinks he had anything to do with the duchy double crossing them, but it would probably just be safer for Adam to stay out of sight until things calm down. Anael is more closed-lipped about the situation.

From his window, Adam watches the first of the villagers come trickling in, and even from his vantage point he can make out burn wounds, makeshift bandages and hastily thrown together tourniquets, and he’s in hell, because it seems the only two options in front of him are to worry about Michael, or feel absolutely sick with guilt because he’s a trained physician and he should be down there helping.

Finally he pokes his head out into the corridor and asks if someone can find Kevin for him. Anael raises an eyebrow that “Dean,” who’s usually inordinately self-suffice for a prince, is suddenly insisting that he needs to see his manservant, but Samandriel is already helpfully heading down the hall. A few minutes later, Kevin is in Adam’s room, confused, as Adam asks him to take off his clothes.

“You can have mine, just switch with me, okay?”

“Uuh. . . Don’t you think mine will be a little tight on you—”

“Less talk! Strip!”

Michael had probably errored in assigning the same two guards to watch over Adam. After a year, the three of them had gotten to be on fairly familiar terms. Adam waited until Samandriel started to get chatty, and slipped quietly out of his room when Anael was distracted—neither of them having had any reason to think Adam would try to escape, because he had been nothing but compliant since the day he arrived.

From there, he goes straight to the infirmary.

Raphael had set up tents in the courtyard to accommodate the high number of people in need of care. Adam was a year out of practice, but the atmosphere was still familiar to him, and he slipped into the chaos unnoticed. Raphael doesn’t notice him until they are well into the thick of things, and Adam’s as covered in grime and gore as anyone else present. Adam had just gone for more bandages and the two of them nearly ran into each other, and for a split second Adam thinks Raphael just might not recognize him until hand closes around his arm like a vice.

“What exactly are YOU doing here?”

Then Raphael notices the stitches Adam had just finished putting in for his latest patient—and Adam’s stitchwork is immaculate, not the clumsy, half-hazard work of a solider who picked up the mechanics of it over the course of their career.

"YOU did that?"

Adam starts to fumble out an answer, but they are interrupted because then Michael is being brought in. The fighting is over. Raphael and Adam promptly drop everything.

Michael has a concussion. He’s also been lightly stabbed. You know, just lightly. Needs stitches though. Raphael is adamant that Adam leave immediately, but Michael, who is delirious, sees Adam and absolutely refuses to let Raphael send him away. Raphael winds up patching Michael together while Adam—annoyingly, to Raphael—is sat next to him, holding Michael’s hand. Adam winds up sitting next to Michael all night, because it’s the only way to keep Michael from getting up and tearing his stitches like a feverish moron.

Initially, Raphael refuses to leave too, not trusting their brother’s suspiciously competent love interest, whose family was purportedly allied with the traitors who’d just attacked their people. There are still more wounded to tend to, however, and Raphael begrudgingly has to step away—making sure to leave orders that a guard be present in the room the entire time that Raphael is gone.

Little does Raphael know, Adam would have lowkey given a limb to have Raphael stay. Michael’s demeanor is a lot less closed off when he’s feverish and concussed. Shortly after Raphael leaves, Michael starts apologizing for proposing earlier, and Adam feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut. And as he’s lying there, looking at Adam’s hand in his, Michael starts saying things he would not normally blurt out—like that ending the war was not the main reason he wanted to marry Adam, because the last year has been the best he can remember, and it is entirely due to spending time with Adam—even if Adam was only there by obligation—and he would do anything to make Adam happy, even if they weren’t together—and Adam is just stuck there, highkey dying on the inside.

Then Michael sees his face.

"I apologize, you’ve already said you do not want to marry me, I should not have brought this up—”

Michael starts to get out of bed completely unconcerned about his stab wounds, and as Adam’s pushing him back down, the words “That’s not true!” just sort of. . .fly out.

Then Michael’s suddenly looking at Adam, and his face is suddenly very sober, and Adam can feel his own face turning red.

"That is, I. . ." Adam realizes, suddenly, that he’s fucked. Telling Michael the truth is somehow both the right and wrong thing to do at the same time, and Michael is definitely in no condition to hear it either way. “How about, if you still want to marry me when all this is over, then I’ll say yes?”

The next morning is a string of stressful events for Adam. Raphael shooed him out of Michael room at dawn, and Adam went straight back to his own. Kevin, Samandriel, and Anael had all been reprimanded for Adam’s escape, with the latter two being replaced as Adam’s guard under Raphael’s orders. His first interaction with Ishim and Maribel does not bode well for them becoming friends.

When Adam tells Kevin that he’s thinking about coming clean to Michael, Kevin panics. News from the Winchesters had dried up weeks ago, even for Michael and Raphael’s sources. Kevin argues that they’d be better off attempting to escape on their own if the charade was getting to be too much for Adam, especially after last night—but even then, they should wait awhile longer. Why take any chances right now? And Adam doesn’t know how to go about explaining the why. . .

And it gets taken out of his hands anyway, when they step out of the room and find that it’s somehow leaked that Adam and Michael—who had completely misunderstood what Adam meant by “when all this is over”—are engaged.

Kevin doesn’t get another moment alone with Adam to discuss how stupidly dangerous this whole situation is, and Adam, no matter how hard he tries—can’t seem to get a moment alone with his fiancé to try to explain that the situation is not what he thinks it is. Everyone had vastly underestimated how far the rumors about Michael and Adam secretly courting had gone, and Adam can barely take three steps without a noble or courtier or someone pulling him aside to offer their congratulations, and as Adam gets closer to Michael’s chambers, there’s Raphael, circling like a shark and Adam does not want to make his confession to Raphael before he sees Michael.

Come dinner time, Adam finds that his seat had been reassigned. He now sits directly to Michael’s left. He keeps trying to convince Michael to step out into the hall with him for a second, while Raphael, seated in their normal place to Michael’s right, continuously circumvents him, firmly believing that Adam has done more than enough in private.

Then there’s a scream. A servant comes running out into the dining hall, carrying a bloody knife. They run up to Michael—up until the guards step forward to stop her, but she’s not attacking. Instead she hands over the knife and says that she found in the corridor outside the king’s chambers. She had been worried, so she broke protocol and went in. The king’s bed was drenched in blood.

Adam looks over and feels a chill when he recognizes the same knife that had been included in the murder kit he found in his room on day one.

If Raphael had looked up, Adam had no doubt that Raphael would have read something in his face, but they didn’t get the chance to. Michael and Raphael are busy staring at each, the only ones in the room who know beyond any doubt that the implication could not be true, because there had not been anyone in that bed to assassinate in over ten years. Neither of them is given the chance to try to spin the knife’s implications in any direction, however. While the court is still reeling in shocked silence, a guard walks in—completely oblivious—and announces that a messenger has arrived with urgent news.

Adam looks up, and finds he has room to panic more, when he sees Anna Milton walk in, a serving maid in the Winchester court, and as she drops a curtsey to Michael, she identifies herself as one of Raphael’s spies. She had held her place in the Winchester court for as long as she could, but when her real identity had been uncovered she’d had no choice but to flee, and she’s come with monumental news. The civil war across the channel has ended, the Campbells having been forced to seek asylum with their allies outside the kingdom, John Winchester deposed, and Dean Winchester installed on the throne in his place. She had witnessed his coronation herself the very day they identified her.

And Adam feels very cold, as if his blood had actually managed to turn into ice, which would have explained why he couldn’t seem to move, as every eye in the room immediately turns to him.

 And that would be the end of part one.

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Responses from the Opera Screencaps Captioning Quiz

Hello, everyone, and thank you for taking my quiz! I had SO MUCH fun reading your captions-- there were several times I literally started crying from laughing so hard at the amazingness of your work! With that in mind, the captions (which I will continue to add onto as more people take it):

(also, thank you to @dichterfuerstin​ for translating the German captions I got)

originally taken from: the Wiener Staatsoper’s 2020 production of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail, featuring Regula Mühlemann (center) as Blonde, Michael Laurenz (right) as Pedrillo, and an unnamed extra (left) as the Grim Reaper

Responses:

(Backstage warm-up) “ok so someone dropped the pulse”

me and my friends watching the fire burn after doing arson

Introducing the polycule to the parents

*boom* ... did...you guys hear that too?

Ma Signor !

Knight in whinging armour gone wrong, look at how he holds the egg. Polyamory with weird knight and death.

the father, son and the holy ghost are very gay

the gays meeting for brunch, 2021, colorized

chicken lady forces death and a very flamboyantly homosexual anthropomorphized pink bird to be parents of her egg (they dont want to be)

That’s just me and my friends on our night out (before covid rip)-- closest

A Good Friday night

good omens (2019)

["the pocket guide to boy/girl/mischief" meme] who's the boy and who's the mischief though????

Papageno and Papagena take their first-born egg trick-or-treating

Angry Birds - The Musical. A pig stole an egg and the bird unites with death to take revenge.

I love my bird wife

Someone got murdered during the funky chicken dance

throuple murders child and steals sibling of said child

When you and your friends have widely different tastes in literature

angel leading twink to his rightful place (hell)

draco malfoy from a very potter musical and a death eater are very much in the wrong show

What have I gotten myself into

Mlm/wlw solidarity but I’m not telling who is who

A woman stands with a pink dipshit with an egg and a reaper.

A bird-couple makes a pact with Death, sacrificing their first-born bird-child in order to bring good luck upon their unborn bird-baby

There are three types of people on Halloween:

Uh oh, I don’t think the mother hen is very happy about this...

oh god, they’ve invented seussical. It’s too early!

gay brunch

Three little maids from school are we

guys maybe if we dress gay enough we can distract everyone from the dead flapper bee in the back

those three killed a duck for her egg and are facing the conswquences.

Duck has egg with human, shocked and upset due to biological impossibility

When you bout to make a banging omelet so you invite your fellow queers

"No mortal man could pass that egg, but heaven shall repair your rectum."

originally taken from: the Salzburg Festival’s 2007 production of Hector Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini, featuring Maija Kovalevska (left) as Teresa Balducci, Laurent Naouri (center, in chimney) as Fieramosca, and Burkhard Fritz (right) as Benvenuto Cellini

Responses:

“In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.” - a midsummer night’s dream, act v scene 1

"ah yes a prime specimen. see here, right in this box is our one of a kind hob goblin that can be all yours for the low low price of your soul"

what, YOU don't have a special eavesdropping chimney window?

Hänsel und Gretel plotting against the witch

man takes a wrong turn and ends up in a chimney, catches his girlfriend cheating-- closest

when you end up third wheeling the straight couple

lady cheats on her leather jacket wearing scummy boyfriend and when he unexpectedly comes home she hides the lover in the chimney

A straight girl and her gay best friend gossip about stuff idk

Idk Shakespeare?

experimental couples therapy feat. the chimney mf from mary poppins

Area Couple Inadvertently Traps Santa-in-Training in Chimney as they Attempt Rooftop Flirting

Landlords laugh over student renter's misfortune

I never asked for this

Ay yo lil mama lemme whisper in your ear

voyeurist listens to sandy and Danny from grease

Psssst! Did you hear about Susan? You won’t believe it!

lady and the tramp meets beauty and the beast?

human trafficking

And for just $30 you too could have your own tiny brick cage!

Psst I’m wearing assless chaps under this dress

A couple tortures a man in a box.

It's all fun and games being stuck in a chimney until your greasy uncle steals your crush from right above you-- okay ngl this could actually be a great Don Pasquale concept

Taking eavesdropping to the next level

Will you two stop being lovey dovey and let me out? SUMMER LOVIN, HAPPENED SO FAST— 

overhearing how people talk about you when they think they're alone puts you in the shithouse 

Does he know we can see him?

dear god, i am so fucking hungry, yall please just do whatever heterosexuals do so i can go eat a popsicle 

the human version of the trash man from sesame street is realizing that those two are going to fuck on his trash can 

Tmw you capture an angry short dude and start trashtalking him where he can hear 

Omg what if we kissed but we actually kissed the lil goblin man under us

"Remember, don't feed him after midnight"

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Leonardo Estevez (right, on fake horse) as Le Comte d’Oberthal

Responses:

“When I said we needed to drain the swamp I didn’t think there were people actually living there”

horse? what horse? no sir i dont know what horse youre referring to.

definitely don't have a napoleon complex going on

King stole La Scala‘s Lohengrin set

king breaks all his horses, has to use statue dragged by servants as transportation because he’s too kingly too walk

Emperor Söder and his subjects on a carnival procession

man on horse makes a big deal out of being on a horse

That’s not Zeffirelli because the horse is not alive

Who the fuck put a horse on the stage

isn't this that picture of napoleon on the horse

Area Count Thinks Citizens will be Intimidated by his Extremely Fake-looking Horse Statue-- closest

Everyone wants their turn on the giant plaster horse. Police are there to make sure everyone waits their turn.

Night out with the lads

Local royalty horrified at the state of his own damn kingdom

gay army fights different gay aesthetics-- hi author how does it feel to be the funniest fucking person on this quiz

Well at least I LOOK badass

ceasar if he hadn't gotten stabbed (colourised)

some soldiers jumped out of my kindergarten fairytale collection book to burn the don carlos flemish deputies at the stake

It’s just a model

Is that how you feel pulling up in your Honda Civic, Madge?

Someone rides a horse statue in public.

Just a normal party with the bros.

what is this, some kind of crossover episode? 

Terribly sorry for all the fuss, it’s just, that is, my horse is afraid of neck ruffles. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he’s—whoaaa there—he said he was a french courtier in a past life and he’s allergic to English fashion 

Horse seller, listen to me! I am riding into battle. I need your strongest horse. - We have horses at home. - The horses at home: 

All hail Incitatus the king 

we are not ripping off shakespeare’s henry viii. what the fuck. this is about lenny xi you uncultured swine, go drown in a pit of your own farts 

oh god is that hamilton 

Guy Removed From Art Museum For Sitting On Statue, more at eleven 

Gay <3

Officer: This horse... is a virgin! Crowd: *cheers*

originally taken from: the Parma Verdi Festival’s 2017 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Stiffelio, featuring Maria Katzarava (left) as Lina and Luciano Ganci (right) as Stiffelio

Responses:

That One kid in class

its a mEntAL BreAkDowN *final countdown but kazoo*

*record scratch* yeah, that's me. you're probably wondering how I got here-- closest

Dad keeps monologuing, teenager is done

left: all of my concerned friends, right: my emo ass having a very public mental breakdown

the demons in the corner of my room when im just trying to sleep

lady gets mansplained to (do i need to say more, we've all been there)

It’s probably an area baritone telling off an area soprano-- sorry; it’s a tenor. soprano is right though.

That was a fake horse in the last photo right?

child comes out as gay to father at a particularly bad time

dissociation solves everything

I can't believe it's not butter

Honey we talked about this

My sleep paralysis demon is Crowley from supernatural

child has nightmare of boring job

When you start dating a singer but he won’t stop practicing at night

just an average day in a hetero marriage

what do i do my wife's having period cramps again

Stop having an existential crisis. It’s time to sing!

“No son of mine will kin Gomez Addams under MY roof”

Crowley stares into space while a teen has post nut clarity.

When he wont stop reciting jordan peterson monologues!!

Do you realize how effed you are?

Ugh, not this lecture again! Dad’s Practicing For His Experimental Indie Band Again 

asking your parents for help with your own personal situation and them just ranting off about what they went through instead of helping in any way 

Will he shut up already!

no one tell him he’s yelling in the wrong direction, no one tell him plnsbdjddhdj 

this kid is tired of his dad listening to rush limbaugh (a man who claimed to be pro life but died anyway) 

Me internally vs externally 

Daddy issues

originally taken from: the Grand Théâtre de Genève’s 2020 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots, featuring several chorus members

Responses:

It’s the deadly eye Of Poogley-pie. Look away, look away, As you walk by, ‘Cause whoever looks right at it Surely will die. It’s a good thing you didn’t … You did? … Good-bye. - shel Silverstein

why the fuckith? my good sir, i beg of you to put your pants back on

I hate this itchy hat

Titanic Extras hear that they have to do extra hours

people waiting to board the titanic watch someone fall off the plank

pov: you’re a time traveler

guy in the flatcap is embarrassed by patriotism and pathos

No idea. For some reason Le Marseillaise comes to mind

Is this from Harry Potter?

disneyland main street usa workers on strike

local tries to hide behind Newsies cap to avoid unpleasant but inevitable conversations. meanwhile, some very fashionable ladies look on.

"Thank fuck, 2020 was just a dream after all"

“We gather here today because this bitch got exactly what she deserved” “heaven!” “Stfu Stephanie she’s going to hell and we all know it”-- not quite but this basically happens later on in the opera (and act) so yeah (except the person in question very much Did Not Deserve It)

dc movie filter on bridgerton

america?

looks like my history teacher paused the prohibition documentary again

Who still wears page boy hats bro?

Coming out to a room of people who Already Knew That

Bitches are relieved at some party.

Several drunk people exiting getting off the subway attempting to seem sober and rational but realizing they have somehow lost all of their possessions

How tf do I act natural in this situation-- closest

“do you think any of them noticed that I don’t know the pledge of allegiance” 

It's too fucking hot outside for this outfit 

?

when hyyh yoonkook ending just hits different 

pedestrians watch in horror as the triangle shirtwaist factory burns and the workers throw themselves out of the windows from a dozen stories up 

Starting the pledge of allegiance be like 

He's having a heart attack oh no oh god oh fuck

originally taken from: if I remember correctly, the Semperoper Dresden’s 2018 semi-staging of Johann Strauss II’s Die Fledermaus, with Jonas Kaufmann as Gabriel von Eisenstein

Responses:

“William Shakespeare wrote: "To thine own self be true And it must follow, as the night the day Thou canst not then be false to any man" I believe this wise statement best applies to a woman A blonde woman Over the past three years she taught me And showed us all That being true to yourself never goes out of style Ladies and gentlemen Our valedictorian: Elle Woods!” - legally blonde the musical

eat ass, suck a dick, and sell drugs

woooooorrrrd

Finally Jonas has graduated! It’s about time, considering he’s an international star.

what my professors think they look like

Prof. Dr. Dr. When someone tells him there are more than two genders

'and since you've now graduated high school, you'll be entering college etc. blablabla' .........meanwhile, there's a whole row of graduates daring each other to chug the cheap vodka one of them has brought in gallons (yes that happened at my graduation, lol)

Jonas darling baby <3-- can’t argue with that

I just realized I have no idea what the actual fuck happens in an opera

ok this one is just what jonas kaufmann always wears you can't fool me.

"as valedictorian i will share with you the importance of loving the floor"

"Yes, mother, my art degree will make me money!"

Graduation speakers are out, singers are in

Senior year takes a new meaninbg

mansplainer professor explains the concept of feminism to women

Your Prof when you finally turn in that missing assignment be like

younger boris johnson (derogatory)

jonas kaufmann retires from opera and takes up motivational speaking

What a fine graduation evening we’re having today

-70 points for slytherin you all have no swag

A man with a college hat sings.

An obviously greying actor trying to play a university student in a low-budget porn parody

How it feels to graduate high school after being held back for years

East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean crème brûlée, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor-

I may not have been "cool" in high school, but in ten years you will all be working for me!

I finally got my GED!

that one guy in ur intro to cultural anthropology class who mansplains to the professor somehow fucking graduated

he;s just graduating and taking his speech too serously idk

Graduation speeches with that one dude who got held back 3 times

Smrt

originally taken from: the Metropolitan Opera’s 2011 staging of Gioachino Rossini’s Le Comte Ory with Joyce DiDonato (left) as Isolier, Diana Damrau (center) as Countess Adèle, and Juan Diego Florez (right) as Le Comte Ory (disguised as a hermit)

Responses:

There is something very [disturbing grunts] About polyamorous couples - polyamorous, Chris Fleming

jinkies

femme fatale (including to herself)

I’ll have a threesome soon !

Hot guy walks by, everyone swoons.

thirdwheeling friend does not realize the other two are having sex

When your girlfriend had „just two beers“ again

jesus is exasperated about having to drag the two ladies towards doing what he needs them to do instead of purple dramatically declaring suicidal intent over the smallest trivial matters and red being equally dramatic about declaring that it's not the way! stay alive! i love you!!

The throuple is thriving

Get off the milf

orgy

my last three braincells because im a horny slut

countess receives too much love and is confused on how to react

Rasputin's lesser known romp with a much older czarina of russia

Woman's soul leaves body

Jesus and co. are worried after another woman gets pregnant without having sex

bisexual looks at photos of celebrity couples

When you go to the party to socialize with new people but your weirdo friend group starts getting clingy

Jesus cumming

one of those weird church christmas pageants but everybody's drunk

What have I done

Hozier??????????

Jesus assfucks some purple lady being hugged.

This time, the chick IS the magnet

An affair/threesome gone awry (2019 colorized)

What do you mean they canceled GLOW?

“I TOLD you it was cashmere!”

Are you wearing the - - The Gucci dress? Yes I am.

It's not what it looks like!

jesus is fucking that one cheerleader who grew up to be a suburban mom with one (1) super cool dress she stole from her kid who is desperately hugging her middle begging for it back because the spring fling is coming up and jason might actually make eye contact with her for more than three seconds.

jesus and mary magdaline and some other bitch

I’m at a bar and these drunk girls are flirting with me, do I lOOK GAY?!

Shrek 5, jesus's return

c. 2025 First attempt of an Officer and his Wife with a Handmaiden (colourized)

just about all of these are close lol

originally taken from: the Bolshoi Theater’s 1993 staging of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Maid of Orléans, featuring Nina Rautio (left) as Joan of Arc and Vyacheslav Pochapsky (right) as Thibaut d’Arc

Responses:

Don’t look, I’m still pooping

yall, the audacity of this man. he fuckin talked to me

*i can't even tell you how wrong you are* *it would be insulting to ME*-- closest

Cospeto!

„No I’m not talking to you, you keep cracking bad jokes!“ - „But I got another!“

when you’re mad at him but he says he’ll buy you food if you cheer up

When I’m wallowing in self-pity but my friends won’t comfort me

right: wanna fuck ;) left: yeah, fuck OFF lmao

Her face is screaming “don’t tell me what to do”

Yeah I got nothing

gay man tries to hit on a lesbian bc he thinks she's a twink. she's not amused but she's watching this happen anyway

me tired of MET's bullshit and them organising a Netrebko, known blackface apologist, a recital during Black History Month. (sorry im still fucking salty lol)

"stop smiling at me like that I'm trying to pout over here"

"I got fleas, you got fleas... wanna fuck?"

I have the best idea!

Haha nooooo don’t hit me with that bat you’re so sexxyy

lesbian is bothered by dilf

Me trying to flirt

if call me by your name was hetero and set in america

how many more dad jokes can i take before i explode

So. You’ve gotten yourself in a little pickle again.

What if we fought in the Russian revolution together ✨???????... unless??

Two people flirt in a poor place of town/

"If you ask me what I've got under this dirty, shapeless tunic one more time I swear to god I will kick your rotting teeth in"

You look like ur gonna kill me but ok

Really? You again?

Okay, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes, do you think it’s safe to—oh god, he’s still there.

Have you seen Godot?

she is tired of everyone’s shit. she has done so many derivatives it physically pains her to see a variable. dont test her. ur icarus rn.

idk pick better pictures-- I HAVE DIED THE SHEER AUDACITY AND HUBRIS I LOVE THIS

200% done with your crap 

Homeless man has fucking legs of steel n is gonna show off his Russian dance moves

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2019 staging of Paul Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-bleue, featuring Sophie Koch (right) as Ariane and I don’t remember who the person on the left is rip me

Responses:

The knight who wore this into battle sure was swaggy

dear god its hiddeous

Capitalism

Knight in shining armour gone even more wrong.

ghost contemplates the safety of spiky motorcycle helmet

„Stop! He feels bullied!“

'this is my newest take for jesus's crucifixion crown ...... what do you mean they already put him up'

That’s probably a really expensive magic helmet idk. IDK-- closest

Omg I love the adventure zone!

minesweeper (windows xp)

"Okay whatever you do don't touch the shiny spiky ball" "It's so shiny I wanna touch it"

Taking down the trash way too late

IT'S NOT A PHASE MOM

Darth Vader got stuck in the freezer.... again. Leia isn’t happy

Star Wars 2030

“And here is the very latest in motorcycle helmet trends” “Look, I only came to the mall for a pair of socks “

futuristic kkk

long-suffering jewelry store attendant really wants to retire

Put it down put it down put it down

“Hmm no you should see a doctor about that”

A weird ass crown is presented

The creation of sars-cov-2: an experimental Eurotrance nightclub art piece gone horribly wrong

How it feels to want something that u cant have

AND WE WILL CALL IT—SPIKE MAN actually do you think that’s too obvious?? Because of the—yeah, because of the spikes?? See, that’s what I’m worried about. I want it to be SCARY

I know it's risky but... lube me up

?

use the force luke.

that is a weird fleshlight

When you get an ugly gift and need to find a way to get rid of it, so your family member/friend offers to smash it

Touch the orb

originally taken from: the Opera Vlaanderen’s 2019 staging of Fromental Halévy’s La Juive, with Nicole Chevalier (left, with bottle) as Princess Eudoxie, Enea Scala (center, under table) as Prince Léopold, and Roy Cornelius Smith (right) as Éléazar

Responses:

When no one comes to your birthday party :(

fantastic, day 487 of mischief and they have yet to find my masterful hiding spot

i really wonder who he thinks he's playing footsie with

Marriage crisis. Reason sits under the table-- closest but not in the way you think (after all, the man under the table IS a tenor).

the last supper afterparty after jesus left

When you order the last supper on wish

espionage at the Politischer Rosenmontag

Probably the wrong opera but is that Leporello under the table

Now THIS is a Good Friday night

this was every birthday party i went to between the ages of 5 and 11

that awkward moment when you drop your fork under the table but when you re-emerge everyone else has left except one drunk lady and the guy trying to deal with her

After the last supper

Tfw you arrive to the dinner party too early and have to hide until a more fashionable hour

When the cishets aren’t home

waiter hides from customers

Nobody: My dog every time I’m eating:

what's left of the homies Jesus had dinner with

university chem lab experiment gone terribly wrong

I’ve been under the table FOR 30 MINUTES

Set your friends up by tossing them off under the table, they’ll think it’s each other n fall in luv

Someone hids under a table

"You're about to see an surreptitious-under-the-table-dick-sucking master at work"

5 yr old me trying to eat the desert under the table without my parents finding out be like:

They never invite me to their parties!

Just another girl’s night in

Oops! Didn’t notice you the table.

dionysus - bts (2019, colorized)

just a normal episode of eric andre (eric is the one under the table)

Just a normal day with the boys

Thievery

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Kate Aldrich (left, surrounded by women in white) as Fidès and John Osborn (center, looking like a Jesus doppelganger) as Jean de Leyde

Responses:

Hold up, is that Eggman above Jesus?

holy disco

Looks like Tannhäuser. Our lord and saviour Richard Wagner. Now I need to be saved from that.

catholicism

me defending pineapple on pizza (THANK YOU)

jesus but hes about to be abducted by the alien ufo above him

Emmmmmmm Heaven? Idk

Lord of the rings?

ewww christianity gross

"behold, I am Important"

"Seriously?? It's not ACTUALLY pyjama day? Fuck you guys!"

Jesus at the Disco

Jesus Finds The Molerat People Who Live Under Bethlehem

disco is heaven

Want to join my new religion?

the kkk

church christmas pageant where everyone's sober but it's based on the director's fever dream

Am I the only one who sees the giant demon? Just me? Okay...

“Oh god I think I’m starting my period”

A party is held with a priest in the middle

"Let's get this secret Vatican sex party rolling!"

The new avengers endgame set is looking great!!

You know, guys, I try not to be a bother but...I can’t help but feel like I missed a dress code memo for this wedding??? It’s cocktail, right??”

Jesus visits Hogwarts

I must really stink if no one will even come close to me

the extra ass funeral i DESERVE

star wars life day

A cult at it’s best-- closest

Shrek 5, Jesus is still there I guess

originally taken from: the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden’s 2013 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Les vêpres siciliennes, featuring Bryan Hymel (left, standing) as Henri, Lianna Haroutounian (center, kneeling in the black gown) as Duchess Hélène, and Erwin Schrott (kneeling to her right) as Jean Procida

Responses:

When the director’s like “great rehearsal guys, just a few notes before I let you go” but it’s already 9:13 and your mom’s waiting in the parking lot

loyalist of subjects

bow before your queen

They forgot to take down the stage boxes after the Vienna opera ball but the show must go on.

somebody forgot to book chairs for this funeral

Me sharing God’s (Hayley koyoko) word on the discord server

mass execution bc the oboe solo sucked ass-- closest

That’s too many black suits I can’t see shit

I can’t even tell what’s going on here

8th grade school assembly about how it's uncool to shit on the walls at school

let's all get fancy so we can go to the opera and sit on the stage (idk this one's hard lol)

"Yes i am a time traveller, now don't freak out"

Tfw you forget to pay your lighting bills

White guys make decisions that will benefit them and screw someone that’s not a white guy over-- OUCH but that is too real (although not really in context here)

dead man gives speech at his own funeral

brotus and the boys ??? last meeting before the stabbing

high society social function ends in mass murder-- right opera, wrong scene

Someone walks into the talent show stage with a dog

Black-dressed bitches worship a man.

Worst school assembly of all time

POV:You're the window in the classroom and someone said "its snowing"

When the conductor shows up fashionably late to the orchestra concert

That's what you get for choosing the cheapest ticket option, get back in the mud where you belong

?

theyre just trying to jump into a grave at a funeral leabe them alone this is normal

oh my god he really whipped his dick out in front of everyone, this is just like in 1776 guys, except some women are actually in the room this time,

A funeral, stop wearing so much black

I want to slap their bald heads like rice

originally taken from: the Teatro Real Madrid’s 2018 staging of Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, featuring Roberto Tagliavini (right) as Raimondo

Responses:

Crowd “haha!! Looks like someone missed the all-black memo!! Now it’s laugh-in-your-face time! / Guy on the floor (whispering to guy against wall): go, save yourself! I’ll hold them off...”

if i leave now i wont be a witness and can tell the police i had no idea

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Guy in the back pretends to help but is to far away to even know what’s going on.

priest walks in on beginning of an orgy, contemplated joining but is too scared-

when someone brings up capitalism but you’re just trying to play minecraft

lol lets trample this guy while the judge isnt looking

Again. Too many black costumes

Loved this Dostoevsky novel

i would know if opera directors were more creative with clothing choices ngl

me on parties lol

"imma just sneak out of here while everyone else is distracted"

"Where did he get this flooring!? Amazing!"

Everyone act normal!

The tell tale heart but they got REALLY drunk

man tposes to ward off vampires after being caught undercover

boys ???? night

the priest really shouldn't have visited the insane asylum-- closest

He’s FINE everyone’s been hit by a car before

Something happens in a room.

Perks of being a wallflower

There's always that one person in the fight whos trying not to get involved when they really wanna

Oh good, they’re all posing for a Rembrandt painting, I can just sneeeeaaak out the back here...

The gamer livestreaming Resident Evil + everyone watching the stream ? waiting for him to open the door just knowing it will trigger a chase scene

Quick!

the guy t posing in the back is regretting his every decision.-- also accurate

the us senate jumps ted cruz, some other wack ass gop senator is trying to sneak away

...I spoke too soon, however this is a James Bond mission

Queers help fellow queer do math but it's a struggle

[samwritesforyou]

Booked

Diego x reader (the whole family is present at the beginning but as time goes on becomes more Diego-centric)

Summary: You have a summer house that is far away from any big cities, you’ve inherited it from your great-great-parents and you want to prove to your friends that you cannot possibly make an income out of it. So you submit the house at booking dot com for the lowest price possible. Your plan was working for years and you’ve been happy and content just by growing your own food and participating in the village’s community, completely forgetting about the offer you presented on booking. Until one day, seven siblings arrive at your place, saying they reserved themselves the whole house for the eternity of summer.

Warnings: gender-neutral reader, swear words (? but just a couple, mainly from Five)

Wordcount: 3.7k

A/N: settling is post s2, so everyone looks accordingly. umbrella academy gets back into the timeline where no umbrella nor the sparrow academy exists, yet the world is still ending. mostly written out of nostalgia for my own summer house that my family sold years ago and i will never come back there, so i want it to live on at least somewhere

Summers were always hot in this little village that you lived in, especially with the climate change looming over humanity’s ignorant heads.

So you were actually relieved that you finally persuaded a local technician to help you fix the fridge that stopped freezing its insides for good two weeks already.

You just handed her the cash and waved her goodbye, also giving the lady a basket with apples and peaches that grew in your garden. You don’t have enough people eating your fruits and most of it goes into jams anyways.

You waited a little until her car disappeared into the horizon of the bumpy road near your house, seeing as it even got blurry in the end, as the air was literally melting the reality in front of your eyes.

With a swift movement you adjusted a cap on your head, went out of the creaky gate - which green color was peeling off into the original black metal that it was made with - and closed it behind yourself with a happy hum.

It was a twenty minutes walk to the nearest convenience store and it gave you just enough time to ponder about the recent weird thing that happened to you.

About three days ago you just got a random payment come to your bank account.

15 Euros. That was it.

No note, no name.

You decided to let it be, even though it did stir your mind in various ways.

Normally, when something like this happens, the bank realises the mistake in the recipient and takes the money back within 24 hours.

Either the person who sent it didn’t care that it went to the wrong place or bank decided to be generous with you.

Whatever the reason was, those 15 Euros could be used now to buy yourself a little more sweets than you usually do.

You never had to complain about how little money you actually have from living here and being more or less self-sufficient, but some random extra cash will make anyone smile in this capitalistic hell that you tried so hard to escape from.

.

.

After you came home you started sorting out groceries that you’ve bought, putting them into the right places.

Upon finishing you just plopped yourself on the bench near the big abandoned table in the room, looking around.

This house used to be alive. With a lot of your family members running around, making noise, sometimes fighting, but always generally just enjoying the good time at this place.

At the end of the extended room was a window, showing you the rest of the garden that you lovingly cared for every single day.

Under the window was a spacious kitchen counter, with a fridge and shelves for ingredients next to it. Then there was the entrance to one of the unused bedrooms with one bed pushed against the wall, which in turn was covered by a red hanging carpet. On a wall, yes.

You stopped tracing the room around with your eyes as you heard some rummaging coming from the outside.

After easily springing to your feet you saw black dots in front of you and your head was spinning. Damn you, iron deficiency!

A few seconds passed and you were collected again, rushing out towards the gates to the property.

You stopped in your tracks as you saw five people literally barging through your piece of land with suitcases and bags, bickering with each other.

Oh, nope. They were six, actually. A very tiny figure closed the gate after all of them made it in and started clumsily going forward on a tiny tartan road that lead all the way to the summer house.

“Klaus, stop fucking pushing around and help me with the bags, maybe?” said a man with longer curly hair and a goatee, clearly agitated at another person, who wasn’t holding anything except some bottle in their hand.

“Oh cut it, you two! We’re almost in the house, come on,” said a woman with straight black hair in the flowery dress and then she noticed that someone blocks their way.

Her eyes landed on you.

“Um... hello?” she said with an awkward smile, attempting a wave in your direction and continued, “are you the owner? We booked your house until the rest of the summer like.. a few days ago.”

Your eyes widened and your mouth hung open in the “o” shape, trying to grasp the reality.

So.... someone really booked your summer house after several years of no traction from booking and you had no clue.

That’s what the payment was for!

But..

“Oh,” you said, not knowing how to proceed about the situation, “well, you see.. um... I have nowhere to stay? This is my only home,” you started timidly, rubbing your hands together.

“Oh,” the woman seemed surprised and confused but quickly collected herself, “well, if you have enough beds to keep us all in then it’s no problem, I guess?”

“Yeah? Alright, great!” You smiled at the whole “squad” and looked at them all.

“Uhm.. my name is y/n! Welcome to my summer house, I guess,” you put your hands into the back pockets and shook your head a little into the direction of the house.

“Allison, nice to meet you,” the woman you talked to said, smiling invitingly.

“Diego,” almost spat the guy with the goatee.

“Klaus, darling,” said the person with the bottle in their hand, widening his arms in an invisible hug.

“Luther,” mumbled a big man in the back of them all.. he looked like he’s been through something.

Actually, they all do.

“Vanya,” chirped a girl behind the big- Luther, the corners of her lips lifting ever so lightly.

“Five,” said a child in the front, looking unusually angry, suddenly shortening the distance between the two of you, “as long as you’re out of our business you’re good to stay,” he literally sneered at you, pushing past you and going inside.

That left you kinda shook, but then Allison just apologised for “their brother”, so you decided to ask another question:

“So you’re all a family?”

“Yes, we’re all siblings. Adopted,” she said, actually following you inside, not as the little guy before who let himself in without even knowing the place.

“I think my place is not the best for so many people to sleep at though..” you said quietly, biting your lip.

“That’s why it was so cheap..” Luther wondered, looking around.

You had to calm yourself so you didn’t snap at your guest. You didn’t even know anyone would ever book your house, damn! What were you supposed to do?

In the end you spent some time showing them the rooms, starting with the first one that contained an old-fashioned sink and the water tank near it, which you needed to manually fill up with water, and the drain led to the bucket under it.

Very simple.

In the back of the room there was a dining table, on one side surrounded by the bench and the other with some mismatching chairs.

From this space you proceeded into the extended “hallway” that you stared at before your peace and quiet was ruined.

There was also an ancient literal furnace, on top of which you could actually lay on, you know, as in all the fairytales.

After that, there was another room entrance that contained two beds on each side (one of them pushed under the window), similar to the other room and a coffee table in the middle of the area.

When you all went back to the first place, there was a wooden staircase that led to the second floor.

There were two rooms. One had a king sized bed in the middle of the space, with a closet and various tables around the whole area.

The other one had a working table and a bed in the corner.

“And that is the end of the tour!” you proclaimed, as everyone got seated by the big table in the extended room, while you were making everyone tea and preparing some snacks.

“Great, I sleep on the furnace!” Klaus exclaimed, putting his hands in the air animatedly.

“I guess we can fit all of us in here, actually,” Allison was clearly thinking aloud, counting the members of the family and available sleeping places.

“You’re gonna take one of the beds, right?” she said, pointing at you.

“Uh.. yes! Upstairs, I think. The one with the small bed and a table,” you smiled at her and she nodded.

“Then I’ll be sleeping with Vanya in the king-sized bed and you guys can fight for who’s going to end up sharing the room,” Allison concluded, clearly enjoying herself.

“Funny of you to think I’ll have enough time to sleep, in our situation,” said Five, suddenly coming out from the doorframe into the room.

You didn’t even mention that he wasn’t there when you were explaining the plan of the house.

“What situation? There should always be time to sleep,” you chipped in, carefully smiling at the boy.

“Stay the fuck out of our business, I said,” he gritted through his teeth at you, which left you blinking in surprise as he went away again, out of sight.

“How... old is he again?” you asked with the confusion that a kid would be so rude to a stranger like this.

All of them kind of nervously laughed or mumbled something that you couldn’t understand.

“It’s complicated,” said Vanya, smiling at you reassuringly.

How the fuck an age of your own brother is complicated?..

You heard the fancy-looking woman - Allison - sigh heavily and turn to you, shrugging.

“It’s just.. when our parents adopted him, he freshly got into the orphanage so he didn’t even have any documents about his birthday, blood type or anything. Apparently, he was really abused by his biological parents. Or whoever else, we don’t even know.”

“Oh.. I’m sorry,” you apologised quickly, biting your lip. Didn’t expect to poke into any painful subjects.

“It’s okay, really, we’ve learned how to take proper care of him,” Allison said, putting her hand on your back with a smile.

When you excused yourself to continue with gardening and went outside, Allison just shook her head.

“Who says ‘it’s complicated’ when someone asks you about their sibling’s age, Vanya?” said Allison in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I thought it would settle the matter..” she muttered, playing with her fingers anxiously.

“It’s okay..” she smiled at her sister and then looked around the whole table, “look we’re here for the whole summer, so I think it would be better if we somehow told the owner at least partially about our powers so we’re not hiding all the time. We came here to have a safe space where we could train after all, am I right?” she looked expectantly at Luther who immediately started nodding along, agreeing.

“Or maybe,” started saying Klaus, already getting up from his seat and trying to crawl onto the furnace, skinny legs already dangling in the air, “we can just tell them we’re the umbrella academy, don’t you think?” he concluded, facing a wall with his face.

“But we checked that the umbrella academy doesn’t exist in this universe.. nor any other replacement of us,” reminded her siblings Vanya, fingers still intertwined on the table, firmly put together.

“I’m sure we’ll tell them one way or another,” said Diego, getting up just like his brother, making his way a bit further though, his objective clearly being the fridge.

He opened it and smirked at the beer present there, taking one can with him. His eyes then wondered to the window at the end of the room and he stepped closer, inspecting what is outside.

Apparently it was still their new home’s property, as he saw y/n working in the garden, repotting some plants under the tree.

His gaze stayed on them as he thought about various topics in his head, but then he decided to go out of the house, jumping down the wooden stairs leading to the tartan road, framing the whole garden.

You heard steps behind you, turning your head away from the the plants, only to meet a tall man in front of you, with a can in his hand.

“Hey, uhm..” he nervously put his hand on his neck, scratching it, “I just wanted to ask if it’s cool if I take some beer from the fridge?” he lifted the other hand with the mentioned item, giving it a little shake.

“It’s cool,” you replied, smiling softly at him, and then getting back to work, grabbing the plant by the root, moving it to another hole in the ground.

“Okay..” he retorted, biting his lower lip and scanned the area with his dark eyes.

There was an abandoned greenhouse with broken walls, greenery growing all around it, just next to the fence of the property. To its left was a wooden toilet booth with a typical round-shaped hole in the higher part of the door.

“I’m really sorry, by the way,” you started talking again, now finally done with your objective of the day, now plopping yourself next to Diego on the bench that he was chilling at, the surface creaking from the added weight, “I really thought nobody would *ever* rent this place,” you shrugged with a smile, now looking in front of yourself, closing your eyes and letting sunshine illuminate your face.

“Well.. uh.. then why did you put up on that website anyways?” he asked, clear confusion in his voice.

You sighed, shifting your body a little, getting into more comfortable sitting position, “It was a bet I made with my friends back in the day. A few years ago they told me I could actually rent this place and get income from it, not having to work a day in my life! Yet i told them that it’s not possible, and I wanted to prove that I was right by putting the advertisement,” you finished, finally opening your eyes, tilting your head at your new acquaintance.

You caught him staring at you, so he quickly turned away, now getting quite a violent sip out of the beer can.

“You should’ve put some timing on that bet then.. Let’s say, if it doesn’t get traction after two years you’ll finally delete the posting,” he said, after gulping some liquid.

That made you laugh and you couldn’t look away from him. His features were so.. delicate.

“Yeah, you’re actually right!” you admitted, slapping your thighs in excitement.

“Diego, my precious brother!” you two suddenly heard from the entrance to the house.

You lifted your eyes and saw a slender confide getting closer to you both, the man walking barefoot.

“Five said we’re all needed for a ‘family meeting’,” the guy literally put an air quotes with his free hand that wasn’t holding a glass, saying it in the mockingly serious tone, “so you better come with me and stop bothering this lovely person, alright?” he then proceeded sweetly, extending a hand towards Diego with a wide smile.

“God.. alright,” he answered and to your surprise took his hand, now brothers going away into the house, Diego briefly looking back at you, “Let’s talk later.”

You just nodded, finding yourself still smiling long before they were gone.

What is this funny feeling in the pit of your stomach?..

And why is one of their family members called by a number instead of a name?!

.

.

It was only the second day of your coexistence with the Hargreeves but it was already a wild ride.

Normally your morning looked like this;

You would wake up at a reasonable hour, maybe like.. 9am. You would go down the stairs from your room and make yourself some breakfast. While eating you’d either read a book or just listen to some music from your phone.

Then you’d do daily tasks, so taking care of the garden or some house maintenance, or both.

Then you’d do everything special that needs to be done only once in a while: a meeting with a friend, grocery shopping, attending a meeting with your neighbours where you decide on further upgrades of the village.

Then you’d draw some commissions, if there were any and after all of this you’d have late lunch that normally turned into dinner, concluding your day with doing your hobbies or rarely taking out your laptop and browsing the internet.

“Rise and shiiine!” you heard somewhere from downstairs, for some reason that person was also ringing a bell, making you immediately sit up in your bed.

You turned your head towards the mirror that hung across your sleeping space on the wall and you could see your hair standing up in different directions, cowlick upon cowlick.

You also felt tired, kind of not used to that feeling and shifted your half-closed eyes to the alarm clock near you.

It was... a bit past 7am. Who are those people to wake up that early?!

You lazily got up from the bed, yawning and stretching your arms up, feeling a few cracks here and there.

“Good morning!” first half of the sentence was muffled by the closed door to your room, but that quickly changed as it burst open, Klaus marching right in, his voice now uncomfortably loud for your sleepy ears, “I thought it would be nice to have breakfast all together and make you feel a part of the family, wouldn’t it?” he said with a genuine smile, looking at you.

You were sitting on your bed in pyjamas, hair all over the place, most unamused expression on the face, eyes half opened.

“Not a morning person?” he mused, tilting his head at you, “well, feel free to join or sleep more, I wouldn’t judge,” he continued and you saw in literal slow motion as he lifted his hand with a bell in hand, shaking it hard as he marched out of your room just in the same manner as he came in just seconds ago.

“BREAKFAST!!” he yelled with at least two octaves lower at his siblings, still ringing the bell that now was resonating in your brain in a highest pitch possible, making your head hurt.

Great morning.

But despite the general morning grumpiness you did find it endearing that Klaus decided to include you in their activities, making you feel less alone and - quite funnily - welcomed in your own house.

You slowly went down the stairs, hearing the lower floor full of different voices and it made your heart clench. You immediately thought of your family that made it feel alive like this in the past and a warm smile appeared on your face, as the Hargreeves huddled up around the smaller table in the room you descended from the stairs into, all making your appearance feel natural.

“Good morning,” you passed Luther that nodded in your direction alongside the phrase, as you went into the bigger room, seeing Allison cooking by the stove, window open.

“Oh hey, you’re up,” she said with a smile, “can you pass me some milk?” she asked, extending her hand into the air, already expecting said item.

“Sure!!” you hurriedly opened the fridge, giving her the thing she requested and she continued cooking.

You slowly looked around, seeing a blanket and some different things like cigarette boxes and teddy bears on top of the furnace, which made you realise that someone from the family has clearly claimed it to be their place for sleeping and you found it adorable.

“You can go sit with the others, I’ll bring it all in when it’s ready, Allison said, adjusting her black hair so it didn’t get in the way of preparing food.

“Oh.. okay!” you chirped, with a smile going back to the first room, and finding an empty seat between Diego and Klaus.

You almost sat already when Klaus sprang to his feet and took you by the shoulders, making you freeze on the spot, eyes wide.

“Klaus?” you asked, confused, “is that seat taken?”

“By Allison,” Diego quickly responded before his brother had any chance to and then the skinny man sat back on his chair, nodding with an awkward smile on his face.

“Yes, exactly. Sorry y/n,” he sighed and shrugged, clearly playing along Diego’s words, but you just let it go.

Instead you sat next to Luther, whom already opened his mouth but Vanya looked at him with a forced smile, raising a brow. At that, the big guy closed his mouth again, without making a sound.

Something.. is weird here. You shifted a bit in your seat, biting your lower lip.

The kid wasn’t here at all, you just noticed.

Then finally Allison came with the food and your anxiety lessened, as everyone started cheering for wonderful pancakes that she made.

She already wanted to sit on the seat that the guys told you was reserved for her, when suddenly Klaus did the same to her as he did to you.

“Klaus,” Diego hissed in a low voice.

Allison just looked at her brother, expression just as confused as yours was.

“What?” Allison deadpanned, putting a hand to her hip.

There was a brief second of silence until Klaus just burst into an emotional speech.

“Look, I know we’re all pretending that we’re normal in front of y/n but you all know that Ben always sits next to me and he’s sitting here right now, yet you all wanna make it seem like he doesn’t exist? I’m sorry that he’s a ghost, I’m sure he didn’t want to die either!” then after a moment he added, “Right, brother dear?” looking at an empty space near him.

Your brain clearly wasn’t catching up to what was just being said.

Pretending to be normal?..

“Great. Just fucking great, Klaus. I bet Ben would move, understanding the situation!” Allison waved her hands at him and the chair next to him with an annoyed voice.

“We just blew our cover, guys,” said Diego with pursed lips, looking absentmindedly at the table filled with food.

Soon enough they all started arguing and only when there was a sudden blue light in the room, and the kid appeared literally out of the thin air in front of your eyes, everyone fell silent, looking at him.

“Guys, I just did a search around the neighbourhood and—“ his blue eyes met with yours, full of shock and denial of what you just saw, “shit.”

He clicked his tongue and frowned and that was positively the last thing you remember before losing consciousness, everything around you turning black.

Too much of supernatural for one morning, that’s for sure.

Precious taglist:  @radcloudenthusiast​,  @spacenerdpascal​

NEXT PART→

[softcoregamer]

DRAGON QUEST XI S: ECHOES OF AN ELUSIVE AGE - DEFINITIVE EDITION

I've never played a Dragon Quest game before, so all I had to go on with this game was the pretty looking graphics and charming character art by the Dragonball guy, which- combined with having a hankering for a JRPG, a genre I haven't played since probably the Digital Devil Saga games (minus an abandoned most-of-the-way-done playthrough of SMT3 and a partial of one of the Megadimension Neptunias) was enough to sell me on it. I'm having a tough time determining if it was worth it.

(spoilers)

The story starts off very weak. Your glowing hand marks you as the chosen one, you have to collect glowing orbs to defeat the dark lord. It's like the story of a generic videogame you'd see in the background of a movie. They do throw in a little novelty to keep you on your toes- you present yourself to the king and he throws you in the dungeon, you go back to your hometown and travel back in time for some reason- but I really never warmed to the setting. It's just a collection of cliches and cute gimmicks, like the town of people who speak in haikus, the town of people who speak in rhyming couplets (you're stuck with these people for the bulk of the exposition at the start of act 2, which is a nightmare) and the town of- ugh- Italians. There's no sense of these places being places. It's just a nice pleasant fairytale kingdom of the kind that's normally mentioned in Snow White or whatever as the place the handsome prince comes from, except here you spend dozens of hours trudging through it looking for glowing tree roots and orbs. The big problem in Gallopolis is that the sultan's son isn't brave enough for god's sake. Acts 2 and 3 pick things up, and there's some neat reveals- I like that the lil red star you've been seeing in the sky right from the start was the stain of the original hero's failure to slay the villain, literally hanging over the entire setting all this time. Also the annoying act 1 scene where you get handed the name of the villain and an orb quest in an exposition dump is retroactively improved by the fact that the exposition isn't quite correct. Act 3 reintroducing time travel and actually being thoughtful about it was welcome as well, but sadly that has the effect of making you redo story points you already did since, logically, you're back in time to where you haven't done them yet. Sometimes this comes across as getting a do-over to get a more positive outcome for something that previously ended more tragically, in keeping with the way time travel is explained in-universe as essentially reloading an earlier save (and, as revealed in the end, continuing in a separate save slot). The 8th party member's act 3 quest is a standout here. In reading discussion of the game I've seen people insist on referring to this character as 8, presumably to preserve the plot twist of his existence, so I guess I'll do it too. But more often than not, act 3 quests consist of just doing the same stuff as act 2 again, in a somewhat more curt manner. This sticks in the craw after so much of act 2 already consisted of just doing the same stuff as act 1 again. The party members aren't much better, for the most part. The first three people you meet all say "ah, you're the Luminary, I was sent to help you" and there isn't much to them beyond that for a long time. Sylvando has a lot of personality, which is probably partly why he's become the game's big meme character, but it gets grating and he is insanely trite. The Dark Lord takes over the world and purges the unclean, and Sylvando's overriding concern is that he wants people to laugh and smile more. It's like he takes advantage of the fact that I need him for his boat to get my goat by acting like a fucking teletubby. Things pick way up when you meet Rab, and the 8th party member is genuinely really good. Even the early-game party members end up having their moments (Erik's backstory was pretty fun) but the game really doesn't put its best foot forward with these characters. Not that it needs to; for the first few I was just glad to be getting some help in combat. The combat is excellent in this game, when it gets going. I played with the "draconian quest" tougher enemies mode on, and I turned it off right at the act 2 end boss. The difficulty curve flowed really well this way, with act 3 enemies not feeling noticeably less tough than "draconian" act 2 enemies. The abilities and spells you get are carefully balanced so that it's very difficult to put together a perfect 4-person party, you're always missing something. This means the fact that you can change your line-up midfight isn't just a nice quality of life feature, it's a potentially vital mechanic. They tread a fine line where sometimes needing to swap people out during the battle doesn't mean the characters themselves feel useless; everyone is capable of some extremely tough stuff. And on the other end of the scale, enemy damage is heavy enough that buffing your attack and using big-damage abilities vs healing or defending can be a properly difficult choice; a heavy hit or a big heal at the right time can turn the tide of an entire battle, as can your big hitter suddenly getting put to sleep or your healer getting knocked out. Again, this is all with the caveat that I had "draconian quest" on for the first 2/3 of the game, from what I've heard combat without it is insanely easy. My big gripe with the combat is that there's very little in the way of tooltips. What's this enemy's magic resistance? Does my Sap have a better chance of landing if I up my Magical Might, or does that just increase spell damage? Does Oomphle affect Quadraslash? If I increase my agility will it go up by enough that I can take my turn ahead of these enemies? Does agility even do that? Does using abilities and spells mean I go later in the turn order vs generic attacks and defending? You just have to guess at all this; the wiki has some info on enemy stats but I don't know where they're getting it from other than datamining. There's an entire bestiary with almost no useful information which is functionally just a model viewer for all 700+ enemies. The only way to know anything is to experiment, which I guess at least adds some purpose to combat when you've filled out the bestiary for an area but still have to grid encounters- which will be required at some point, because fighting is the only way you get xp and money. There is also too much RNG. Critical hits being rare and certain attacks having a chance to cause Confusion or whatever is fine (although I'd prefer for attacks which are labelled as having a chance to inflict status effects to actually inflict the status effect way more often than they do) but why the fuck does the resurrection spell have a 50% success rate? Under what possible circumstances would I be using that spell other than needing my dead teammate back right now? Same for all the abilities on the skill tree that say "doesn't connect very often, but when it does it can cause a critical hit" OK that "CAN" is telling me that this ability which doesn't often connect won't even necessarily crit if it does. Why would I choose this ability? To handicap myself? How is this going to help me defeat the Timewyrm? All that said, when the combat is good it's really good, and whenever I lose a fight I'm thinking "I can win that next time if I do XYZ". The 2D battles are much less fun because the pace is much slower and there are no cute animations to liven it up, but it's always satisfying when the "flash" of an enemy taking damage becomes the "flash" of them disappearing, and you know you have slayed yet another blob. Non-combat gameplay is a mixed bag. The early-game fun of running around looking for new enemies to fight and fill out the bestiary wears off hard once act 2 begins and everything is either a reskin or a glowing-eyes "vicious" version of something you've already fought, and many maps are fairly sparse with just the odd treasure chest and locked door to liven up your path to the next area. That said, there are also several areas and dungeons which make a minigame out of traversing them; the Eerie Eyrie and the Battleground were standouts for me. Especially the remixed version of Eerie Eyrie you go to later on, where you get a flying mount to ride around. Crafting is surprisingly involved, with a whole minigame around it and hundreds of recipes to find all over the place. In most cases you can just use money in lieu of ingredients, which means minimal farming is required to get a lot out of the system, and the recipes with ingredients that can't be bought feel special instead of bullshit. In terms of items and recipes there really is a deluge of content- there are recipe books all over the place, with new ones available even in the last couple of maps that open up in the entire game, and there's an undeniable cookie-clicker rush you get from getting better at crafting and taking something you could barely get to +1 all the way to +3. I play games like this as a magpie, accumulating items with nice pictures and effects that make me do a 😲 face, and DQ11 certainly delivers. This even extends to character advancement, with Hidden Goodies incentivizing picking skills you might not want otherwise, and entire new skill trees opening up as quest rewards.

Overall, DQ11 is a good combat system with loot and progression systems that are well-executed enough to feel rewarding after 100 hours, all wrapped up in a style and tone that is not up my alley at all. A good litmus test for how much you'd like the game is probably: watch this scene and if you think it's the most epic thing you've ever seen then Dragon Quest 11 is for you.

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Of Thorns and Buttercups

~Ch 5/?~

(Beauty and the Beast AU, Kiiiinda. It has definite elements of the original story cause I’m a sap for Fairytale AUs. I hope you enjoy. Also shout out to @sophiakuso1 for being my beta. Here you can find Beginning or Previous) Geralt tries to figure out how to break the curse while battling with his feeling this time.

Note: Lew is pronounced Lef because it is polish just as a heads up.

Primary Tags: Beast! Geralt, Belle! Jaskier, Memory Alteration Via Curse, It really only affects Jaskier right now Also on AO3!

————————-

Geralt sat in the destroyed room that night after dinner, staring at the cage. He was specifically trying to not think about the fact that not only was the bard trapped in the cursed castle with him, but the bard also somehow lost his memory, most likely due to said curse… and it was all Geralt’s fault. The guilt swirling around in his chest was sickening and unwelcome. He just kept dragging the bard down with him. Geralt ran circles through his mind trying to figure out what he should do about the whole damn thing. After a while, he decided that it would be better at that point if he were to just stay away from the man as best as he could. If he did, then Jaskier would slowly realize he was wasting his time on a monster like Geralt, just like on the mountain. Geralt just had to figure out how to get Jaskier past the thorn vines keeping them imprisoned, but the witcher had a sinking feeling that it would require the curse being broken.

Geralt sighed, finally looking away from the silvered metal vines trapping the cluster of buttercups and realized the moon was high in the sky, much further in its journey than when he had fetched the bard to eat. It felt like he was not only losing time, but it also couldn’t move any slower. Watching the clock or trying to solve a problem in his head to pass the time was like watching tree sap drip in winter, but if he got lost in his thoughts, it flew by without him realizing. The memory of the almost completely dead rose and the warning of petals falling had dread creeping up his spine. He had a limit on his time, whether it was choosing to go fast or slow, until who knows what would happen, and it was all very similar to waiting in a dungeon for his own execution. Except this time, he had a bard to drag to his death with him and he had no idea where to even start to try and stop it… Except the weird journal! 

He wanted to smack himself for almost forgetting about its existence. He quickly collected the small book again and settled back onto the edge of the bed. He first flipped through, discovering that it was a journal of someone of the castle rather than magical notes or something of actual use, and oddly enough it only had the first few pages written in. Although it was just a journal, it reeked of magic, as did everything else in this place, which irked him a bit. Would nothing be easy?! A magical personal journal was most likely useful, but he didn’t know how yet until he actually read the damn thing. He sighed before settling further into the nest of fabric so he could at least be comfortable while slogging through the first entry that was most likely fraught with exaggerations he’d have to weed through. He did hope that more pages would fill as he read however, because perhaps there were magical inscriptions and spells on later pages… He could only hope. 

[The Date is Unreadable]

The years grow long since I came to my lord’s court and was given the honor of my knighthood. We have fought many battles side by side and I have completed every task, be it political or mundane, which he has given me. Although this life leaves me fulfilled, I feel as though I am missing something. I crave the companionship of another outside that of my fellow knights, my lord, and the countries that seem ever present now. Although the ladies I have been introduced to as of late are fine of figure and mind, none fill the hollow feeling that has steadily grown in my chest. 

I almost thought all hope was lost when while I was in the village today, I came upon the fairest maiden I had ever laid eyes upon. Her delicate features and poise rivaled that of any woman I have encountered across the lands on my travels. Her timid and delicate disposition only lends to her outward appearance, for as soon as I caught sight of her eyes, I could see the wild freedom that burned within. The fierce look called out to me and it lit my soul ablaze, but before I could make my way to her across the market, she was gone. Now I am haunted by the ethereal grace the lady has left instilled in my mind. 

It is not my will to cage or steal away her free spirited nature. I only wish to partake in it with her so I may feel alive like I once did while seeing the world in a new light provided by her fire. I plan to go to my lord upon the sun’s arrival and I will beseech him to help me find her so that I may earn the permission from her family so I may be allowed to court her. I pray this evening for everything to work in favor of us all. 

Geralt sighed heavily through his nose as his head fell back against the plush and he looked at the elaborate ceiling above. So far it was exactly what he feared it would be, the over-dramatized tellings of some Knight’s life that reads more like one of those sappy romantic tales Jaskier would constantly rave or sing about rather than an actual succinct telling of events. He couldn’t understand how any of this connected to the curse, but he begrudgingly decided to read on and see where he ended up. 

[The Date is Also Unreadable on this Entry]

 The leaves on the trees have turned to the colors of fire, and the world looks as though it has been set ablaze. I have only just returned from meeting with a neighboring lord, during which time I have gone nearly half a season without even a name of my lady love. Oh how she still torments my heart day and night with her absence. It is as though she has bewitched me, and I have no hold over my own self at present. My mind is filled almost entirely by her, and my only wish, if I am unable to win her affection, is to formally meet her. 

My lord sent word that he would make enquiries on my behalf while I was away and now that I have returned, anticipation steals my breath. My fellow knights jest that I  should have followed the path of a bard for how I constantly prattle on at them, waxing poetic of her spirit and sketching her form  from memory, as we travel between our destinations. Although I know it is only light fun on their part, I find myself getting sentimental as I ever grow closer to the middle of my life. I wonder deep in the night whether I would have been more suited to another life but, it is quickly dismissed as nonsensical at this stage. My lord has also made mention, as we are good friends, he feels as though we are practically brothers with how much trust he allows me, and he will be glad to hire me as the official court bard if a change of profession ever truly struck my fancy. They all mock kindly but it warms me at my core to know there are those in my life who indulge my whims. 

Still, Sir Gregor questions why I will not simply give my heart to one of the many ladies of the court  who fancy me, and proclaims me mad in the head for not doing so. I have given up on trying to explain the incredible sensation she has left within me. He will never understand such yearning and passion that has filled me since I took the sight of her in for the first time. I feel pity for the man, but as I rest tonight, I hold hope in my heart for what my lord has to say come morning. 

Geralt found reading this to be akin to dying slowly. Plodding through someone’s desperate yearning was the worst torture he has had to endure yet but at least there was something that hinted at magic in this passage. Geralt also observed that several pages were sketches of a beautiful woman with light hair, tawny skin, and dark eyes. He could not tell if the drawings were exaggerated by the knight’s besottment or if the woman could have possibly been fae or magic of some kind, glamoured just enough to hide the obvious parts while maintaining unnatural beauty. It could have explained why the curse magic was so strong and tricky. Magic was tricky in general, but fae magic was notoriously known for being a bitch, and he had been warned off from meddling in their affairs a long time ago for that exact reason… Now, here he was, knee deep in the shit. He’d have to figure it out one way or another. Deciding he’d be better off just reading the damn thing to completion rather than dithering on about what it could be, he turned his attention back to the book.

To his frustration, the rest of the pages remained blank. Unable to hold in his anger from hitting one road block after another, he threw the damned thing across the room with a growl and it landed with a satisfying rustle of paper before sliding somewhere out of sight. Unable to stand laying around anymore, he got up and began pacing through the quarters barely containing his aggravation. He wondered what to do now. That had been his last lead other than the meaningless riddle the beast had given him. He wanted to go out and train so he could take his frustrations out on something, but no, Jaskier was out there thinking he was just some random beast, and Geralt really didn’t want to add to the image his form presented currently. He wanted to break the curse, but he kept hitting wall after wall! He wanted… No. He needed someone to help him fix this entire mess, but there was no way for him to contact anyone other than the man who no longer remembered him. No wolves or powerful witches or plucky bards who glued themselves to Geralt’s side day and night were there to help him this time around. 

“Fuck…” The defeated syllable slipped from his lips as he sank to the cold stone floor while holding his face in his hands, the fur feeling strange but increasingly familiar under his touch… Jaskier had called him a beast. Geralt had never thought the bard would ever-- He had been the only one who hadn’t ever called the witcher a monster or recoiled at the sight of him. On the contrary, he would often defend Geralt from villagers who called him vile names, and even went as far as to attack the truly aggressive offenders… But now the Witcher was a beast with no name. The bard’s voice uttering the word kept repeating over and over again in his head. Geralt only had himself to blame. If he hadn’t yelled, if Jaskier had still been by his side, then maybe the troubadour would have never lost his memories. 

He had been so caught up in his own spiraling thoughts, Geralt almost didn’t notice the other voice suddenly filling the room. “Oi! Mopin’ about are we?” The warbled feminine voice cleaved through the once silent space but it came from seemingly nowhere as he scanned the area. Getting up, he searched as the squawking continued up until the point he came into view of a fractured mirror that had been hidden behind a moth eaten drape. As he looked in confusion at the mirror, due to the fact that the reflection was certainly not his own, the visage of the old hag from the town moaned in disappointment and shook her head at him from behind the reflective silver backed surface. “You fool Witcher! I-- I sent you to break the curse, not become cursed yourself, you nitwit!” She scolded with an exhausting scowl. If she were in her youth, he was sure she would remind him of Yen in some ways. 

He couldn’t help growling in frustration as he met her steely scowl with his own. “How was I expected to break a curse you refused to give me proper information on?! And you seem to still have some magic, so why not do it yourself if you knew how to?!” He tried to keep himself from snarling at the hag, but she was infuriating and the worry, as well as the earlier frustrations, were just compiling together. 

She took a moment to settle herself before sighing and gathering her thoughts, he assumed. In a calmer tone, she spoke again. “I cannot tell you about the curse in depth… Only pieces, and I cannot go there like yourself.” Her voice slowly became graver as she spoke and looked him directly in the eye. No lie then…

He grit his teeth before saying anything else, more civilly as Jaskier would have called it. “Why?”

“I just can’t… but I can help you as best as I can. This ain’t your curse, but you’re stuck with it--” It suddenly occurred to him that her accent was different from when they had met in her old shack which was… Odd.

“I know. I’m the making of my own curse. The beast said it before he died. Also, why do you sound different now?” He interrupted her as his annoyance rose again. 

“Shut it, you daft tit! Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to help!” She spat at him, shaking a frail fist at him from behind the glass while once again scowling at him. Then after a beat, she continued. “Came to these lands years ago from far off and regretted it. Folks don’t take kindly to those different, so I glamoured my voice.” She clarified with an eye roll. Yup. Definitely Yen if she were to ever age. 

He chewed over the words as he felt some of the tension seep away. “Fair… So what can you tell me that will actually be useful?” He asked, sagging slightly, the memory of Jaskier looking at him in fear and no recognition was still a fresh would in his mind. 

“Hmmmmm… Though the curse is harsh, it’s not cruel. Born of grief it was…” The hag looked as though she were fighting her own mouth before she sighed once again. “Although it imprisons, it’ll give you everythin’ you need to break the curse. Don’t be a fool. If anythin’ appears there, then it’s for a reason. Make use of it or dither till you die in a prison of your own design. Only you can figure why you’re cursed.” She spoke critically but at least it was something useful to which he nodded in thanks thinking that her image would fade then. “Witcher! If you’re in dire straits, knock thrice on the looking glass and think o’ where you wanna see, or to whom you wish to speak. Only I’ll be able to answer back, however.” She offered hastily and after he nodded again, she was gone in a blink of an eye. The mirror now only held his own beastly reflection. 

He mulled over the words, realizing the night had grown long after that disaster of a dinner and it was now the witching hour; If he didn’t try to sleep now, then he would be tired and upset the next day, and he really didn’t need himself snapping at the bard again in misplaced irritation. So, he laid in the shredded nest of a bed and thought more on Jaskier. If he was brought here for a reason, then why steal his memories? And why would Geralt ever curse himself? Perhaps the magic was twisting a subconscious thought from the back of Geralt’s mind into something strange and problematic. But still, why the bard of all people? He drifted into an uneasy sleep thinking about all the new information. 

When he woke, the world was bright outside the crystalline windows, and there was a fuzziness to the world that followed waking from a deep sleep. The room was better around him, healed of the scars of broken and shattered furniture. He supposed this had been what the hag had spoken of; the keep was providing things slowly. He moved through the morning muzzy headed, letting his body rely on muscle memory as he went through several tasks of morning preparation. His head was clearer by the time he visited Roach in the stables where she waited patiently to be tended to and given exercise. He saddled her and checked it twice over before seating himself in the saddle… which was odd, seeing as he was so much bigger now that he was cursed, but she made no indication that he was too heavy or bothersome. The fogginess was back and his concerns evaporated as he rode out into the fiery forest. The foliage in hues of red and orange rushed past as he went further and further, nearing the small hidden lake between the castle and the town. Its waters shone gold as though the water were a dragon’s hoard of coin and riches in the early hours, but the beauty of it could not compare to the figure standing at it’s banks. 

Geralt barely remembered getting down from Roach or silently moving forward to observe the figure more closely, but then his mind cleared again and realization washed over him that the figure was in fact Jaskier. The bard was peacefully gazing out at the calm waters, but he wore odd clothing that Geralt swore he had never seen him in before. Instead of his usually short doublet, he wore a well fitted jacket of some sort that trailed all the way to the floor in the back and the front, but had slits up to the hips to show his well fitted trousers and tall boots. A part of it irked Geralt to no end, because it looked good, but strange and unlike the man at the same time. It was all reminiscent of a dress yet not. It was almost a coat he could imagine Yen wearing, but the garments were a soft blue trimmed in accents of red. It was a nostalgic reminder of Jaskier’s outfit from when they first met. 

The situation was so bizarre that Geralt wanted to question what was happening but before he could think, his body took an unconscious step forward snapping a twig under his heel. Jaskier’s coat whirled around him as he spun and caught sight of him, but there was no fear in his eyes, only confusion and curiosity. “Apologies my lady, I did not mean to frighten you. I was merely curious when I spotted a figure as I rode passed. Are you all right?” What the fuck was that? Geralt understood that it was his voice that spoke but the words were not his own. Icy understanding filled his gut and he knew now that this obviously had something to do with magic. 

“Very kind of you sir. I was just wanting to enjoy the still beauty of the morning and happened upon this lake.” Jaskier smiled brilliantly at him, his voice sounding exactly how Geralt remembered but there was an edge to it that sounded off. Unnatural. This was definitely not Jaskier. 

“I… I’ve seen you in the town but I’ve never had the pleasure to meet your acquaintance in person. I hoped to speak with you, if not just hear your name. I am Lew.” Geralt introduced himself with a foreign name. That was definitely not his name, and he hated how it felt coming out of his mouth, but he seemed to have no control over himself. With dawning horror, Geralt now understood that this was someone else's memories that he was now occupying. It could have been Jaskiers, or someone else from the castle, or even the writer of the journal. Geralt couldn’t be sure yet, and the bard couldn’t be ruled out immediately since the witcher realized he knew practically nothing of Jaskier’s past… It just kept getting messier and messier as he was dragged further into the spell. Whoever wove the threads of this magic somehow got it completely tangled into a ball of shit. 

“Ania. I have only come to live here a year or so ago, which is why we most likely have yet to meet formally.” Jaskier spoke in an amused tone, but Geralt was pretty damn sure that was not his bard’s real name. It was Jaskier. Maybe it wasn’t the bard’s memories after all. Geralt was going to have a difficult time remembering this was not actually the bard himself then but only the spell filling in a face with someone he knew. It was already getting so confusing in his mind, so Geralt decided to just keep using the name attached to the face he knew instead of using the ones he’d heard. Deciding it wouldn’t do much good to fight the memory, he settled in and let everything happen around him. The troubadour looked so much softer now than when they were ever on the road though. It made something in his chest flutter, but he was unsure if it was actually him or the owner of the memory feeling it. 

The witcher found himself wanting to say more, ask more about Jaskier, but the words had left him and his mouth refused to work. It felt like it was his only chance and it was fleeting right before his eyes. The strange visage of the bard suddenly looked off into the distance behind himself before returning a sheepish look to Geralt. “I… I have to go.” His voice was hesitant as Geralt slowly reached a hand out to the man, as if not wanting the bard to leave, but still unable to find the words. Jaskier smiled gently, before biting his lower lip as though he were trying to decide something. The witcher didn’t understand why he was paying such close attention to everything Jaskier did but he was. “I hope our paths cross again, Lew.” And with that, the man fled into the forest with his jacket fluttering behind him.  Geralt would have followed, curious as to if this person was human or not and get answers, but it would appear that the original “Lew” had been frozen with indecision in that moment. His heart raced, which felt strange to Geralt, but then things melted away and the Witcher was once again opening his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the windows. This time however, the room was still destroyed and the light was the cold shine of a winter morning. Geralt found himself staring up at the ceiling in complete bafflement, unable to really understand what the curse could have possibly thought he’d glean from that experience. He sat up in a huff and couldn’t help the puff of agitated words that slipped out of his throat. “What the fuck…” Then he was out of the chambers and headed for the stables to tend to Roach. If anything calmed him down and helped him to organize his thoughts, it was quality time with the mare.

[ldybluerse]

My Heart and Head Hurt.

So Very, Very Much

I am Asexual. I like cuddling, kissing, loving touches, I even love to make inappropriate sex jokes. Okay, I can make some pretty lewd sex jokes but that’s what happens when like 90% of your friends for the past ten years identify as pansexual. I just don’t feel sexual attraction and I am mostly repulsed by sex (ehhh it’s too much to explain).

At the first of the year, I moved to Texas from Michigan. Leaving behind all my friends, which with the internet isn’t terrible... but also my friends are shit at peopling on the Internet. Not angry or blame, they all have depression and anxiety. I get it. Just saying it’s hard to pretty much completely lose that connection with my friends. My friends are also the type where we would all pile into my bed and watch videos while cuddling with each other and my dogs. They spent so much time caring for me after my surgeries.

Being handicapped, and still learning how to live with it (it’s a relatively recent thing and takes relearning how to live life in a way that works for your limitations) I live with my parents. They are great but... they have their own mental health issues that really fucked me up as I grew up. It means that I don’t feel like I can open up or talk to them about anything because of what happened back then. I love them and I know they would do anything for me, but it’s just this thing I have. Heck, I have trouble opening up to my therapist for a long time. My therapist, who I also had to leave in Michigan. And Texas Medicaid? Kind of non-existent. Plus, I’m too old for my parents to be taking care of me, you know western standards and all, so I can’t have insurance through them.

Basically, I ran out of some of my medicine months ago, which means I live in near constant pain too. I can’t go see a therapist, because I can’t afford it. I haven’t run out of my depression medication yet, so there is that.

Since my accident (I will do another post on that later, because that will take a while), I haven’t been able to work. The accident was in December 2011, since 2013, I have had ten surgeries. I started back to school because it doesn’t seem like I’ll ever be up for any type of manual labor. But it also means I feel useless because physically I’m limited and mentally I am so fucked up I can’t do what I can handle doing. I graduated with my Bachelor (really proud of) but Texas has some different requirements that will add a lot of time towards getting my Masters, because Michigan didn’t have those requirements. This means I am going to enroll in an accredited online program, hopefully. Have to get accepted, fingers crossed.

To summarize, for ten months I have been isolated in a different state, dealing with body trying to adjust to different weather and medicine changes. Self isolation isn’t helping but the other problem is when I do reach out, there isn’t someone there...

Background info done, now to what’s troubling me:

My best friend and girlfriend is also Asexual. We’ve been together for almost eight years, but it’s always been long distance (we’re Ace, it doesn’t bug us too much) and I have gone to visit her. We started “talking” through Role Play and until recently, whenever there was lulls in life when a lot wasn’t happening, we could lean back on the Role Play to stay connected. There wasn’t a day when we didn’t talk to each other, even during the hospital visits we both went through, we stayed connected in some small way. And we talked about everything and anything. Our fandoms didn’t always match up, but it was fun listening and learning... I thought...

She was dealing with a lot of stuff, and for a few years was out of work, probably why she had so much time and energy for me. It was really bad for her for a while, where she even verbally attacked me on a few occasions. I know it wasn’t her but her mental illness, so I forgive her for it. But it was bad.

She was raised super Christian (DONT celebrate Halloween because it’s evil type Christian), and she has always been Christian even if she yelled at God a lot in her low days. Yeah, the good Christian girl is dating the Goth Pagan Celtic Witch... whatever you will call me. I’ve been Pagan for about 2/3rds of my life by now, so it’s not like she didn’t know she I was one. She’s never tried to shame or convert me.

My Bachelor is in Religious Studies, I know how good a religion can be for someone’s mental health if they are religious. I would talk to her about rekindling her faith. Finding a church she could at least go sit and listen to, so she could reconnect. She did! And it’s been amazing for her mental health. She has held a steady job for a while, actually is the poster child for the program that helped her move foreword and get her life back in order. I am so very proud of her and I do love her so much.

I just think... she’s outgrown me. The only fandom she talks about anymore is... Christianity. She doesn’t talk about LoZ anymore. She doesn’t talk about Tolkien. She doesn’t watch anime or cartoons anymore. She has no interest in Role Playing, as I said a big part of staying connected.

She talks about work, her cats, crocheting, and her religion. The thing is, I can’t fault her for any of it if it’s what’s best for her. She deserves happiness and stability. But...even when I’m back in school and when I get a job I don’t think I could leave the world of fantasy and fiction behind.

I grew up going to Ren Faires, my dad wearing tights. My first boyfriend I met at Ren Faire, while he was in tights. Labryinth and The Last Unicorn are still my favorite movies of all time! I collect Dragons of all sorts. I’ve watched the whole series of Fraggle Rock a few times, because it’s just wholesome and sweet.

My parents are Trekkies, my mom has had some of her fanfiction a published in old Starlog Zines. We watch fantasy, fiction, actions, cartoons... my mom has always loved the world of books, especially fantasy. She collects unicorns, so many unicorns. When I got into Anime, so did my mom. Kenshin is still her favorite, although to be fair she loved Ultron and Speed Racer when they first came to the states (she says Speed Racer was her first ever crush).

My brothers love the same thing, my oldest brother still fans for Jason David Frank. My other brother, well, he named his cat Pandea after WoW, we have his LotR sword collection, all his movie memorabilia...

We’re nerds and dorks and not afraid to be so.

Since the move the only thing making me happy has been my animals (Gods and Goddesses the fluffy bastards are clingers and just want to love you and be loved which is something I need) and fantasy. I’ve watched several animes I just want to gush about, but if you don’t have someone who is watching it too... you don’t want to ruin it. I want to just talk someone’s ear off about Steven Universe or Miraculous the Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir. Hell, even Ducktales and Tangled. Do you know how AMAZING they have made Ducktales?! I watched the original series when I was younger but...! And all the inside jokes!!!!

The books! I probably read about thirty or forty in one month when I went on a book binge. They were all trashy romance novels, and admittedly the sex scenes were... meh... I’m Asexual, what do you expect?! Okay... some Aces like sex and stuff. It’s not that important to me. What is, is the connection two people have to each other. The love. And trashy romance novels aren’t the best at giving that... but it’s something.

Oh and the Webcomics. I have always, always loved Webcomics. I used to have the folders on my old computer organized down to the day of the week the comics updated because I so many, that I had to organize them just to get the right updates! Right now Lore Olympics. OMG Lore Olympics. Be still my heart! I am reading several on WEBTOON. I have a few I follow through DeviantArt; Erma is so frikken cute! Daughter of the Lilies, ahhhhhh so amazing and the artwork!!! Pincushion! Constructs will always have a place in my heart!

I just got into the Good Omens fandom, because I’m a Whovian and Tennant is defiantly one of my most favorite of Doctors. He was just so beautiful in it. And when I took my Shakespeare course my teacher had us watch Hamelt and ohhhhh Tennant. Ohhhh you really can’t tell if Hamlet has gone crazy or it’s an act (which he claims it is!!). Sir Patrick Stewart was also just... oh!!! I entered Good Omens because my Instagram was all Ineffable Husbands (I think because of my Doctor Who love). Finally, finally i watched it.

That was like three weeks ago I got into Good Omens and I still am completely in love. The tenderness, the loving looks. I have to read the book! And the script book! (Depression, yay!). I need to listen to the radio adaptation and revisit Queen (I was raised on rock’n’roll. And I mean, David Bowie has probably been the only Rock Star I ever went heart-eyes for... also kinda sad he wasn’t mentioned in Good Omens because he did work with Queen and let’s face it, Bowie was so gender-nonconforming!). I just want to ramble and babble on and on about the series with someone. About all the hidden bits and pieces and theories and things in my head!!!

But... I don’t have anyone. My girlfriend sort of shuts down when I talk about any of the fandoms I like. She will just skip those parts of the conversation and comment on the animal videos I send her or something else. She will talk about work or God. Again, I’m know Religion and people. If there is something I know best is you can’t dictate what someone else’s beliefs are. So while I know the Bible and Christian theory, when she talks about it and tells me stories I can only “nod” and “smile” because if a persons religion isn’t harming themselves or others, and it’s helping them, I don’t think it would be right to argue theory and philosophy with them over what is mostly fairytale stories in a book. I’m not saying their isn’t a Christian God, or many Gods, or things in the Bible didn’t happen, but not all of it is factual nor was it ever meant to be seen as strictly factual. I try to show I am at least paying attention to what she says.

At the same time, with the state I have been in, I probably haven’t given her what she needs when she is telling me about stuff.

Fantasy and fiction has been the only thing keeping me afloat. Religion and work has been helping her. I just can’t see a world without the magic of make-believe but that’s not where she is anymore.

So... I’ve been thinking for a bit now maybe we’re no longer what we need for each other in our lives. Not that we don’t love each other, and not that we can’t still be friends... but maybe it’s time we adventure out? We were what we needed from each other for years... maybe we just aren’t that anymore.

[thorinkingoferebor]

aaaand it’s done - some parting thoughts that didn’t fit into the live blogging behind the cut, oh boy i’m mad :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

the writing is so bad. so freaking bad. like i wouldn’t have thought this level of bad writing was possible without consciously trying to be terrible. see what i’m angry about (and i’ve mentioned this earlier) is not where all of this is headed. i’m ok with mad queen dany. i’m ok with cersei and jaime dying together. both of that hurts but i’m ok with it because it could have made sense (and i believe it will in the books) but it makes no sense in the show. not the way it’s done. you can’t show us dany for 8 years with not a hint of madness and then expect us to believe she flips within one episode at the freaking sounds of bells. you have to build this up and they didn’t. they mentioned targaryen madness several times but nothing dany has ever done falls into that category and this is coming from someone who really is not a big dany fan. she fucked up plenty of times, she’s got nasty traits but nothing so far suggests she would spend 40 minutes roasting children. then there’s cersei and jaime. because believe it or not: i love cersei/jaime! it’s fucked up and toxic and horrible but they are my original got pairing. thing is though as the story goes on, especially in the books, they change and at some point they just don’t work together any more and THAT’S A GOOD THING! grrm as confirmed it for the books and the entire jaime arc in the past 8 years of the show has lead us to a point where the next logical conclusion would be being with brienne. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love cersei anymore, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try and rescue her. and honestly, jaime killing cersei would be fucked in the show, especially if she’s pregnant. BUT THE SHOW DID NOT EXPLAIN A THING HERE! NO MOTIVATION! jaime’s just suddenly back with cersei and she’s just suddenly back with him and you’re just supposed to fill in the gaps like with so much else this season and it DOES NOT WORK. it’s sloppy. they’ve really, really messed this up with the whole SUBVERTING EXPECTATIONS! and i don’t get how that can happen. these people are experienced professionals and yet they forgot the key elements of storytelling! you can’t show one storyline consistently for years and then just go GOTCHA at the last minute. that’s not a plot twist, that’s bad writing! you can have plot twists that still follow a logical narrative (e.g. red wedding) but that requires work, that requires time and well-written dialogue so that you can go back afterwards and go “ohhhhhhhh!”. but apparently, that was too much so they just did a “whoopsy, we just all forgot about our character arcs” and then rocks fall and everyone dies

speaking of dying: i cannot get over how little i care about jaime and cersei dying. i always thought that would completely wreck me. those two together are stellar and heartbreaking and if you took that scene out of context and showed it to a younger, less bitter me, i’d be heartbroken. but all the shit they’ve pulled to get to this point has made me so numb. and that’s what will stick with me. not necessarily the bad plot or the abandoned storylines but the fact that they managed to make me care so little, that i barely felt a thing when my faves died...

What was the fucking point of Cersei’s baby???? Like it didn’t stop Jaime from leaving? It did nothing for Euron (he would have just kept trying anyway?). And it didn’t even matter to Jaime when he came back. WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THIS DUMB SUBPLOT AND WHY DIDN’T THE BABY EVEN SHOW A TINY BIT AFTER WHAT? 4 MONTHS??? 

i am utterly terrified because lena’s body double did some work for season 8 and we haven’t seen it yet. i hope it was for a cut sex scene with euron but if they start episode 6 with dany dragging dead and naked cersei and jaime through the street i will riot

What was the fucking point of Brienne/Jaime. Like I’m so angry about this. So fucking angry. I’ve mentioned that both show and book were always pointing towards brienne/jaime being endgame even if one or both end up dying but you know what’s even worse than not getting that in the show? What they did to Brienne. She’s basically just his little sexual adventure now and I swear to god if they show her pregnant next week I will lose it!!!!! (and let’s also remember that brienne never once said his name without the titles. not once. i’m so mad) But even if they don’t, they’ve damaged her beyond repair! Not only did she start her journey crying over a man she loved now she also ends it that way? And this time it’s worse because Jaime actually loved her back and she got to experience what mutual affection can be like? Not to mention she’s now “tarnished” in the eyes of her peers because she’s no longer a virgin (expected of a high born lady like her) and the guy she slept with is the freaking Kingslayer! How will she ever live that down? That will follow her for the rest of her life and she won’t even have the secret knowledge that he loved her?! Like the show won’t address this because I guess by next week she will have simply forgotten that Jaime ever existed but realistically she’s now LITERALLY the Kingslayer’s whore from the early books. I cannot believe this.

Where’s Yara? I guess she was busy and she probably forgot about her brother. Reek who?

It honestly boggles my mind how this could happen.  The show has been shitty for years now and everyone with book knowledge or some investment in the asoiaf world knows that BUT casual viewers still enjoyed it! I would have still been able to enjoy it if it went on like season 7. Sure it had massive flaws but it was watchable. All they had to do was not destroy the world they’d built for 8 years. i didn’t expect an in-depth answer to the mythical aspects (though tbh they could have just freaking asked GRRM! maybe it wouldn’t have made it into the show but at least they would have known the context and it would have made more sense then. it’s so obvious that they literally don’t have a clue about what to do with the supernatural elements) so all they had to do is bring it to the finish line. Instead, they all but bulldozed every single character arc into the ground to (pre-) season 1 state?????????? and while i do get a certain satisfaction from seeing it all crash and burn and seeing reviews and casual viewers finally realize what a shitshow got is, it still breaks my heart because i care about these characters and that’s probably the only adaptation i’ll ever see. so i wanted them to succeed despite everything, i wanted something that was watchable. instead i got this. something that has ruined years of character growth within two episodes. how can you fuck up this badly?!

WHAT. IS. THE. FUCKING. POINT. OF. BRAN? What did he do? Why is he still here? Why should I care? What did he tell us that Sam couldn’t have found in a freaking book? What was all that “you need to help us in the war Jaime you’re important” bs about?! Jaime did fuck all?!

For all their “this is not a fairytale” and “SUBVERT EXPECTATION!” bullcrap you know what? This ending is utterly predictable. With the exception of Dany now (who will die next week) who’s still alive, that isn’t either a Stark or hasn’t been morally righteous and good from their very first appearance onwards?! No one. Every bad or morally grey character is dead? Even SANDOR HAD TO FREAKING DIE FOR HIS FREAKING REDEMPTION ARC. For a show that’s been trying to tell us for years that the world is full of complex people it sure looks like they only ones getting out of this fight are the original sympathetic heroes. 

House Lannister deserved better. SO MUCH BETTER. I know, I know I’m biased here but come ON! Cersei is a fantastic character and what did they do to her? Not only did they hand her back to some creepy dude who forced his way into her bed no she didn’t even get proper screen time this season. Lena is absolutely stunning and this is what they give her???? jaime’s arc had to potential to be absolutely groundbreaking. he went from the most hated guy in episode one to a fan favourite. his arc is tragic and beautiful and represents the conflicts at the very heart of got and YET HERE WE ARE.  i honestly dread to think what they will do to tyrion next week. but great job turning him into the character with the best lines into a clueless idiot and killing the one person he loved :))))))))))

[curtisandlewis]

A Guide to The Playhouse

The Playhouse is a fic of my own creation and my baby. It originated from my need to write about the parties that Jerry, Tony, and Janet revolved their lives around that occurred at the building in Jerry's backyard affectionately named The Playhouse. As I sat down to plot this epic story that spanned from 1948 to 1953 relationships developed complexity, conflict was practically handed to me, and I got the gift of writing scene after scene of Jerry with Tony. They're not my OTP but are my biggest obsession. However, I am completely changing the storyline.

I knew from the start the "The Playhouse" would not be a fairytale. The relationships are complex and can be unhealthy and abusive. Mental illness, trauma, sex addiction, abuse of drugs and alcohol all contribute to risky and abusive behaviors. BDSM is also at the core of the story both being practiced in safe and dangerous ways. I thought it would be sufficient just include warnings at the beginning of each chapter as I do for any of my fics that can be "problematic" but I now realize the twenty or so thousand words I have written are not just "problematic" but can be harmful especially to anyone like me. I have written this guide to explain why I wrote those words and hopefully reverse any damage they have done.  

To anyone that read what I wrote and got the impression that certain sexual acts were more taboo or wrong than others, I am truly sorry. That is a fucked up way to live. I wouldn’t wish anyone to have shame for who they are or what they want in a consensual sexual relationship. Think about the sex you enjoy, without shame or restriction. Read the sex scenes that entertain you the most. Write the kind of sex you want to see in the world and is the most fun for you to write. Choose to masturbate and explore your body in the ways you want. Or choose not to touch yourself. Have sex in any way you and your partner/partners desire and consent to. Or choose not to have sex at all. It is your decision to make. That is your right as a person who is in charge of their own body. Please learn from my mistakes. 

I just want to make it clear that the film adaptation of Fifty Shades of Grey came out in February 9, 2015. I had no idea about the book until I saw the trailer for the movie. The first chapter of "The Playhouse" was published May 17, 2014, and I had been writing and planning several months before that. I have never read Fifty Shades of Grey and I only saw the first half hour (I couldn't make it to the sex scenes) of the movie in 2016. After I saw Christian Grey say the infamous line, "I don't make love. I fuck. Hard." I worried that Tony was similar to Christian Grey and that his relationship with Jerry was similar to the one in the movie. However, I NEVER presented their sexual relationship as a love story to be watched on Valentine's day. It may be that the two stories have nothing in common but I obsessively worried that they were and that I wrote something deeply problematic.

In March of 2015, I wrote a spin off of "The Playhouse" about the first time Tony humps Jerry (their fave activity). After I wrote it I felt like I had done something wrong. Not too long after something bad happened to a member of my family. I believed by writing the words in that story I had caused the bad thing because I was being punished. I now know I have OCD and this is how OCD works against you. It makes you believe you caused something when there is no logical way you could have caused it to happen. This is why "The Playhouse" has not been updated in over two years. I can look back now and realize the reason why I felt like I had done something wrong is that the characters were acting in a way that was wrong to who they were. I had projected my anxiety and shame onto them.

From here on out there will be liberal use of sex terms and discussion of sex  

What you need to know: I have anxiety writing anal sexual stimulation or anal sex due to many toxic beliefs and stigmas I internalized over the years. To avoid writing these scenes I made Dean's character believe due to his internalized homophobia that it was wrong for a man to penetrate another man or be penetrated by any gender even if in masturbation. Since the age of sixteen, Jerry has had curiosity about being penetrated. Tony has wanted to top Jerry since Jerry's sixteenth birthday (the fic that sparked my OCD) that is six years starting from chapter one of the story. To again, avoid having to write any penetrative scenes I had to write Dean being emotionally abusive and using shame and threats to control Jerry's sexual behavior. All of this because I as a writer did not realize I could just not fucking write anal sex scenes. I thought if I wrote a bunch of dry humping scenes you would think I was weird so instead, I wrote horribly abusive relationships...

Quick History lesson, since the medieval times it was believed evil for a man to be penetrated because he was in a passive role that was reserved for women. Men that were penetrated were put to death while women who had sex with women without penetration were encouraged to do so for their health. These toxic beliefs are deep within history and still exist in society.

Allow me to get a little bit personal. I’ve always had anxiety writing anal sex scenes. I’ve written it very rarely in the past ten years that I have been writing sex scenes. I wrote mostly oral sex because it was less "homosexual" than anal sex. (I had a lot of internalized crap I was dealing with). Even though it’s absolutely possible for two men to have a sexual relationship and never have anal sex, I thought it would be too weird for Dean and Jerry to be having sex for six years and never try it. Also as a writer, I enjoy writing them being physically intimate but not having sex. That word I see in fanfiction tags: frottage (such a weird word). You know the act of two men rubbing up against each other. It just offers so many more options than manual sex or oral sex ever could. THE FACT YOU DON’T HAVE TO TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF. How convenient is that? But I never saw it as the main option for sexual gratification. It was always presented as either foreplay or the only option because the characters couldn’t have sex. What made me feel weirder is that I enjoyed writing “humping” scenes (also a strange word) This is “frottage” but front to back instead of front to front. All of the advantages of anal sex without any of the problems. It required no prep. Whoever is on top can do it as hard and fast as they want and not hurt their partner. Likewise, to show intimacy it can be done in a gentle and romantic way, maybe even being left for special occasions like anniversaries. It’s also very easy for Tony and Jerry to take turns being top and Jerry doesn’t always have to be in the passive submissive role. Speaking of submissive it’s also easy to incorporate BDSM without it becoming too intense. Have you read those stories where the guy bleeds? You know what I mean. I didn’t want Jerry to bleed. And if he did I didn’t want it to be sexy. I wanted it to show that his sex addiction was getting out of hand or their BDSM relationship was becoming reckless. They can do it again, and again, and again. It wouldn’t put nearly the amount of strain on Jerry’s body that intercourse would. And of course, if you read “The Playhouse” you know that I use it an awful lot in group sex situations and to show just how fucking possessive Dean can be. As you can see there were a lot of positives to writing scenes in this way but that didn’t stop me from feeling weird about it. I probably read only one scene like that in my life. Before that, I saw it only a few times in movies and it made me go hmmm. I felt it was something that wasn’t really talked about or done. It wasn’t presented as an alternative to sex or even an option. I thought if I were to write the scenes I wanted to, people who read them would say, “Why don’t they just fuck already? What the fuck am I reading? This is so weird.”

I projected all of my toxicity onto Jerry. It started out simple enough I heard a lot of jokes as a kid that went, you must have known your husband was “gay” because he liked your finger up his ass. Because all women that enjoy receiving oral sex are “lesbian” right? (I hope you saw the sarcasm in that) Then I noticed there weren’t a lot of heterosexual married couples in movies having non vaginal intercourse. Sometimes you could see the couple in the “doggystyle” position but the wife was still being penetrated in her vagina. When I saw the other form of intercourse it was gay men or people not in love. I think that had a lasting effect on me. But what was worse is that I watched a movie with a BDSM theme. The woman worked as a dominatrix (hated her job btw) and her male partner confessed to her that he liked to be penetrated and dominated. Her reaction was so verbally abusive it was disgusting. Instead of thinking you are a horribly abusive person and he needs to leave you I internalized it as oh I guess it’s really not okay for men to want that. I have struggled with internalized homophobia, biphobia, and transphobia. I have dealt with it all. I just didn’t have the tools back then to see things as they are. An abusive woman who had a very illogical view of the world and a media that didn’t have the imagination or the knowledge of what sexual relationships could be.

These are the general reasons why I wrote: "The Playhouse" with such problematic themes and why I have decided to no longer continue those themes.

The lesson I learned from this was to not project my toxic shit onto my characters and make them act in ways that are not authentic to who they are. I give myself the permission to write what makes me happy and fulfilled.

DEAN: What you need to know: Dean has internalized homophobia due to childhood trauma. He was taught if a man is penetrated by a person of any gender they will instantly become homosexual and not a man.

As a young boy Dean was told by his mother don't be a f...well, I'm sure you can guess what she said. All his life he was reprimanded (sometimes with hitting) for behavior that was too "homosexual" Behaviors like, crying, telling someone he loved them and showing emotion. As he got older his so called friends just made his internalized homophobia worse. He was terrified that he wasn't masculine enough and that he had to be a man like they said or else be nothing. Along the way Dean was taught the rules, he lives his life by:

A man never says "I love you" even to his own family

A man never ever says "I love you" to another man

A man never lets anyone see him cry or be emotional

A man must keep people at a distance

A man has sex with women and has sex often

A man has a wife and children and whatever he can get on the side

A man can do "guy stuff" with other guys as a form of bonding or just a quick way to get off.

A man does not suck cock

A man can get his cock sucked by another man and be secure in his manhood because he is in the active "manly" role

A man must never ever under any circumstance be penetrated by anyone even himself. A man must not fantasize or actively desire to be penetrated otherwise he is a homosexual and will no longer be a man. He will be nothing.

That is the reasoning for Dean's problematic and abusive behavior towards Jerry. He tries to control Jerry's sexual behavior and desires because if Jerry were to be homosexual Dean would have to end their sexual relationship (He could never think of ending their friendship). 

The truth is that in real life during the time Dean was growing up this was NOT the belief. It was believed a man could have anal sex with another man as long as he was the one doing the penetrating. This meant he was in the active "male" role. It was actually preferred to penetrate a feminine homosexual man because they were believed to not be men and to be a third gender. Jerry is bisexual, not homosexual but close enough to be a PERFECT candidate. The only worry Dean would have is hurting his pally that first time. They could happily fuck for the whole ten years of their partnership and Dean would think of himself as nothing but the picture of masculine heterosexuality.

and of course

YOU CAN ABSOLUTELY HAVE ANY KIND OF SEX YOU WANT AND MOST CERTAINLY MASTURBATE IN THE WAY MOST PLEASURABLE TO YOU WITHOUT AFFECTING YOUR SEXUALITY JUST AS LONG AS YOU DON’T CAUSE HARM TO YOURSELF OR OTHERS.

What you need to know: Dean is emotionally and at times verbally abusive to Jerry and arguably to his wife Betty as well.

[baronvontribble]

Original drabble, pt. 5

Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

yeeeeeeee

It was cold on the way home the same as it had been on the way to work. The bus didn't run from anywhere near the store to anywhere near Ted's apartment building in an amount of time that made walking the less reasonable option, so he walked the whole way. By the time he got to his door, his cheeks and nose and ears stung with the cold; the relief of putting down his bags long enough to get out his keys only lasted the amount of time he spent not picking them back up again, which he inevitably had to do to go inside.

He slumped heavily against the door the moment he'd closed it and held onto the bags just long enough on their way down to the floor to make sure nothing broke, but after that, all bets were off in terms of physical activity. "I'm home," he called out, closing his eyes and letting himself breathe. Fuck, walking had been a bad idea.

"Is this where I'm supposed to ask you how your day went?" the AI's voice asked him, and Ted let out a wheezy chuckle.

"Well for starters," he said, "if we were really following the script? Slippers. And dinner. Already made, nice and hot. Falls apart when you get to the 'sit in front of the television' stage though, what with me not having one."

"That's a shame. It didn't even get to the part where you threaten physical violence if I'm not quick enough with your alcoholic beverage."

"Jesus. I think I'll skip that one, thanks. I mean for one thing, I don't drink." Heaving a sigh, Ted straightened back out and made his way to the kitchen to put the groceries away, draping his coat over a chair as he went and leaving his keys and phone on the counter. The only things that stayed out beyond that were the HD camera made for streaming purposes and the sandwich he'd bought to act as a reasonably well-rounded meal. "Where'd you hear about that shit anyway? Kinda antiquated at this point."

"Case files. Domestic cases weren't the kind of thing I handled, but I still had to be educated in how they worked. I had to be able to take notice of everything that might count as evidence in any given case because the data I recorded could be used in court." Whether Ted was anthropomorphizing or not, the tone of the AI's voice made it sound like he was smiling. "Ended up being used against a few human co-workers too. I didn't have much in the way of agency, but if I saw something, I still reported it."

"Aw, so you're a good cop."

"No." A firm statement that left no room for argument; the good-natured tone was gone just as easily as it had crept in, impressing Ted all over again at the tuning. "Good cops are the ones who stop what they're doing when they realize it's wrong."

That just sounded all kinds of wrong to Ted. "Some people might say there's a lot of grey in there. If leaving puts your life in danger, for instance. Or if you don't have any real say in what you're doing." He wasn't sure what this guy had done, but he'd never gotten a bad vibe from any of their little talks over the past couple days. And usually his instincts about people were pretty spot-on.

But that firm tone was back again, giving no ground. "Ted, please," the AI insisted, "I'd rather not talk about this."

"Seriously though," Ted continued. "I mean you left, didn't you? Yeah, maybe it took longer than it should've, I don't know enough to make any kinda call on that, but it seems to me like you had a limit to how much you were willing to-"

"Ted." The volume had been turned up significantly, hard enough to rattle the laptop's cheap onboard speakers. Admittedly that didn't take much, but it still stopped Ted dead in his tracks. "Don't."

Just like that, all the good humor had been sapped out of the room. Ted let out a slow, steadying breath. He just knew this one was gonna claw at the inside of his head for days. "Fine, I won't talk about it." Picking up the box with the camera in it and leaving the sandwich for later, he headed back over to his not-quite-desk and fell into his rickety old chair. "I didn't mean to upset you."

The volume was back to normal when the AI spoke again, and his tone was softer. "I know."

Right, time for a subject change. "Did you read your way through all the books yet?" Ted asked as he wrestled with the box the camera was in. Stupid packaging.

"Not all of them," was the reply. "But I did find a name. You've read I, Robot?"

"Hell yeah." Ted had to grin. "Gonna name yourself after Susan Calvin or something?"

"Wrong book. I meant the short story."

"Ohh..." That one was a bit older than Asimov's stories, if Ted remembered right. "Kinda dark, isn't it?"

The AI ignored his comment. "I did some research. 'Adam' is a common enough name in enough languages that if I pick a similarly common surname, I'll be relatively difficult to track effectively by my name alone."

"And I guess the literary allusion doesn't hurt either, huh?" Ted gave it some thought. "What about the biblical roots of it?"

"I haven't read the Bible."

"Y'know, ate a fruit from the tree of knowledge after watching a woman do it, and then both of them got kicked out of the Garden of Eden by God for disobeying His orders. Original sin, free will. All that jazz."

It was several seconds before he got a response. He heard the fans kick into overdrive for a moment on the main computer tower. "Right."

Damn, almost sounded like the guy had barely tuned that one at all. “What’s that mean? Like, is it good, is it bad-”

"It means I suppose I have a name now."

"You like it?" The box Ted had been struggling with tore open all at once, the cardboard giving way long before the tape did; one layer of packaging down, a bazillion more to go. He took a moment to idly suck on a finger that'd been nicked on the cardboard's edges with a quiet hiss at the way it stung. "I mean, I like it. But I'm not the one who's gotta live with it."

Machines couldn’t scoff, but this one definitely knew how to give the impression of such a thing through his voice. "Functionality is more important than whether or not I like it."

Ted snorted. "Yeah, you like it." One thing he'd learned about this guy: positive feelings were rarely ever admitted to directly. "Got a voice, got a name. Might be tempting fate to say this, but it seems to me you're just about ready to face the world, man."

"Just focus on getting the camera set up."

"I'm working on it, jeez." Foam, plastic, more plastic. Naturally, only about half of it could be recycled. The camera came with a flash drive about the same size as the end of his thumb, and included wireless capability that Ted would probably never use. He was quick to toss the trash aside for Future Ted to deal with, only hesitating when part of the 'trash' was the instructions. However, a cursory glance told him he didn't actually need instructions, and the manual promptly went back into the pile.

Then he let out a tired sigh as he ended up scooting over to what had once been his main computer to pluck out yet another bit from its wreckage: the USB extender. He'd have a lot of rebuilding to do after all of this was finished. His poor gaming rig had been reduced to a pile of spare parts. Honestly, if anyone in the pipeline ever contacted him about a job this big again, he'd probably just tell them to go sit on a cactus. Or at least be really salty about taking said job.

"This might take a little while," he said. "Gotta install the drivers, get the extender plugged into the power strip..." Within moments he was under the desk having a fight with one of the power strips connected to the battery backup, rearranging things until he could make room for the cord to the extender. "Got any music you like?"

"Depends. Am I limited in what media libraries I'm allowed to take it from?"

Ted grinned even as the dust under his not-desks had him stifling a sneeze in his elbow. "Dude, have you seen my library? Half of it is ripped straight off of video upload sites. I'm the last person who's gonna tell you where to go for that shit."

"True." Ted looked up from his work long enough to get a glimpse of the windows open on the laptop, trying to follow Adam's music search as it happened. To say it went a little fast would be an understatement; there was no way in hell he was keeping up. "It's a blend of different genres," Adam informed him. "Part symphonic, part electronic. It's also in Russian. You don't mind that, do you?"

"Not a bit." Just as long as he understood that Ted didn't speak a word of Russian. "Is that where you're from?"

There was no answer except the music as it started to play, and Ted dutifully hauled himself upright to listen.

It was pretty. Ted had no idea who the singer was when her voice entered the mix after a few bars of meandering piano and flowing strings. She had perfect pitch, whoever she was; the tone of her contralto voice made him think of long, flowing black hair framing long, elegant features. One of those fairytale maidens singing about longing and true love and all that profoundly schmoopy nonsense.

Then the beat dropped, and he envisioned the maiden tearing her dress asunder and climbing astride a winged steed while holding a battleaxe, and the longing contralto turned into a one-woman wail of anguish and howling righteousness.

"I would've loved this in high school," he said somewhere during the second chorus, awestruck. He was pretty sure there'd been some Latin in the lyrics somewhere, but he hadn't been listening very hard so it might've been a trick played on his ears. This along with something that sounded like it might've been either badly mangled English or even more badly mangled Esperanto, but he wasn't enough of an expert on linguistics to tell what the attempted lyrics were. It was exactly the kind of melancholic angsty nonsense he would've loved when he was fourteen, and at twenty-seven, he was seeing it as equal parts awesome and endearing.

Adam didn't respond until the song was over, letting it play out before saying anything. Was listening to the echo of it over the speakers and through the microphone different from reading the data of it, beyond a difference in audio quality? A question for another time, perhaps. "It's not what I usually listen to," the AI admitted, in the kind of tone one might use to describe their fondness for Rocky Horror Picture Show or The Room. "From what I've experienced so far, I prefer soundtracks over anything on the radio."

Ted snorted. "You nerd."

"I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"Only a nerd tries to justify their cheesier music choices. Just admit that you like this, I dunno, this symphonic emo Russian synth-EDM, and don't look back. I mean, I listen to show tunes."

"Show tunes?"

"Dude." By that point, Ted was grinning from ear to ear. "Broadway? Y'know, musicals. And big band stuff too, like Gershwin."

Several seconds of silence followed, then: "I regret asking."

"Alright, look. Lemme find some and I'll show you-"

"No, I believe you."

"I won't take long, I swear!"

"Ted..."

And this was how Ted dragged an AI into an hour's worth of Broadway sing-alongs, which the AI in question would later call 'torture', followed by Ted suddenly remembering his sandwich and bringing it into proceedings as well in the form of turning lyrics into nonsensical mumbling. This is also how it came to be that the camera did not get hooked up that evening. It didn't even occur to Ted to question why Adam seemed relieved when he gave up on it for the night, because he was having too much fun.

[hysterialevi]

In the Smoke pt. 12 (Cobblebats)

From Bruce’s POV

THE NEXT DAY, CITY HALL

Walking through the cubicles and past all the other employees, I made my way towards the Mayor’s Office in hopes of getting to visit Harvey, and see how he was doing. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who left the hospital prematurely, and if the rumors I heard were true, then Harvey would act as the new mayor until Hill recovered back to full health. Though, considering his current state, that was going to be a long time. 

Half of me felt guilty for assaulting Hill in such a brutal manner, and I still couldn’t believe the damage I’d dealt, but my other half hoped he would never be able to set a single toe outside the hospital ever again. After the things he did to my mom, a few punches to the face were nothing compared to his crimes, and he was lucky that the drug knocked me out before I could continue. Though, it was also what stopped me from being able to help Harvey.

Staring at the door to the mayor’s office, I bit my lip out of nervousness, just trying to picture what Harvey looked like now. I had yet to see the aftermath for myself, but the doctors were all saying that one side of Harvey’s face had literally been burnt completely off by the spotlight, and now he was forced to wear a prosthetic. And I thought I was having a hard time.

Approaching the front desk, I mentally scolded myself, feeling foolish for allowing Oz to sweet-talk me so easily the previous day. It was more than obvious that he didn’t truly “fancy” me back, and yet, with only a simple wink and a few honeyed words, he was able to make me entirely forget the original reason I went to see him.

I hated myself for letting Oz manipulate me like that, and I also hated him for using me, but at the same time, I couldn’t deny the fact that I loved it. He may have been a dick, but he was a charming one, and I found it almost impossible to resist him, no matter how much of a prick he could be. What the hell was wrong with me?

After gaining permission to see Harvey from the secretary, I freely pushed open one of the doors which was slightly ajar, only to enter an empty room.

“Uh,” I gazed around a bit, “...Harvey?”

A solemn voice answered me. “Back here, Bruce.”

Turning my head towards the source, I spotted the “mayor” on the balcony with his back facing me. Something felt...off...about him.

“Take a seat,” Harvey insisted, skulking away from my line of sight. “I’ll be right out.” 

He brought a hand up to his head. “C’mon,” he muttered under his breath, sounding frantic, “...not today. Stop stop, stop. God. This has to stop.”

Not wanting to darken the mood just yet, I ignored the insane ramblings that spilled out of his mouth and pretended like everything was fine, leaning back into one of the chairs.

“I, uh, never got the chance to congratulate you,” I called out. “That was quite the acceptance speech.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Harvey exclaimed, almost a little too happily. “I know you weren’t thrilled about me getting back out there so soon. I’m glad I didn’t listen to you.”

I felt myself smiling at that. Well, at least he wasn’t completely overwhelmed like me. That was something.

Just then, Harvey joined me inside, shutting the balcony’s doors behind him as he adjusted his prosthetic. He turned to me with a friendly expression.

“You know, Bruce,” he began, “I’ve been looking forward to this my entire career--the day Harvey Dent takes his official portrait as Mayor of Gotham...”

Harvey wandered behind his desk, standing in front of me. He slowly started to remove the prosthetic, his cheerful vibe suddenly fading away.

“...and he looks like this.”

I had to hold back what would’ve been a yelp of shock, and my eyes nearly bulged out of my skull at the sight. I knew that Harvey had been severely injured...but...I never imagined...this. 

The left half of his face had been horrifically charred with intense blotches of black burns, and chunks of his cheeks had been taken out--so much that I could literally see the back rows of his teeth through his jaw. What the fuck had Oz done to him?

“...my...god, Harvey,” I breathed, “I--I’m...so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault.”

“Except that it is. If Penguin hadn’t threatened to drug me, you wouldn’t have sacrificed yourself. You wouldn’t be in...this situation. Why did you do that anyways?”

Harvey sat down across from me. “I couldn’t risk him harming you.”

I sighed. “I appreciate your concern, Harv, but you have to take care of yourself too.”

The two of us sat there in silence for a moment, hesitant and anxious as we pondered whether or not to address the elephant in the room. 

“Bruce,” Harvey finally said, leaning closer. “About what I told you at the debate...”

I knew exactly where this was going. “...you said you loved me.”

He nodded. “And I meant it. It might sound cliché, but I truly feel like you’re the only person who genuinely understands me. The only one I can actually turn to if I ever need help, and I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone else with your level of compassion. It’s...incredible. And with all these things combined...let’s just say it didn’t take much effort to fall for you.” He cleared his throat.

“Listen, Bruce,” Harvey carefully took my hand into his, as if he were unsure of what my reaction would be. “I need to know something.”

I remained perfectly still, not daring to move a muscle. “...all right.”

“Now, I want you to be completely honest when you answer this. But,” Harvey took a deep breath, turning his head slightly in order to hide the damaged half of his face from me, “do you...do you think you could ever love me?”

Shit. I always knew this question would come up eventually, and as much as I was attracted to Oz, I couldn’t deny that Harvey never failed to make me feel cared for. 

Even though I hadn’t returned his affection in the past, Harvey was always there for me, and constantly did everything within his power to keep me safe, risks be damned. Though, after what happened last night with Oz, it wasn’t as if I could just act like there was nothing between us. I mean, it was clear that Oz didn’t consider our relationship to be serious, but I had already gone past the point where backing out was still an option.

Truth be told, I was torn between them. They were both good friends of mine, and both of them had managed to gain my attention in some way. I didn’t know what to do. 

I decided that--no matter how complicated it would make things--I would tell Harvey the raw truth. The man got drugged and lost half his face for me, for god’s sake. It was the least I could do.

I tightened my grip on his hand. “With time...I think it could be possible.”

Harvey beamed at that and smiled ecstatically, chuckling both out of surprise and joy. 

“You...you actually mean that? You’re being serious?”

I returned the smile. “Completely.”

Without warning, he sprung up from his chair and hauled me into the air with a huge bear hug, twirling me around the office.

“You can’t even begin to imagine how glad I am to hear that, Bruce.”

He put me back down after a moment, still holding me close as he pressed my head against his broad chest. I had to admit, I felt extremely safe in his arms. Secure. Like nothing in the world could touch me. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in so long, and I cherished it.

“Look at what a fool you are,” Harvey growled suddenly, “falling in love like you’re in a damn fairytale.”

I was taken aback by the abrupt change in tone and gave him a concerned glare, cautiously stepping away from his grasp.

“...what?” I asked. “Harvey, what are you talking about?”

“Harvey this, Harvey that, Harvey everything. It’s always about him, isn’t it? Just another thug disguised as a politician--a pretender to the throne. I don’t know what you see in him. Harvey Dent does everything by the book, to the letter of the law. But it isn’t working.”

He switched back to his normal voice, carrying on a conversation with himself, going back and forth as if there were a third person in the room. 

“Sure it is--he’s turning things around.”

His other half wasn’t convinced. “Barely. Slowly.”

He scoffed. “I’d like to see you do better!”

There was a sudden increase in his volume. “Watch me!”

“Oh, yeah? And how’re you gonna fix this mess?”

“Simple. Easy. Curfews after dark. Checkpoints at every bridge. Mandatory identification cards. 24/7 video surveillance.”

A little frightened at the scene, I tried to snap him out of it. “You’re acting strange, Harv--”

He slammed his fist onto the desk, causing the objects resting on it to tremble. “This whole city’s acting strange!”

I flinched slightly at the outburst, staring at him in fear. What the hell just happened?

Harvey shook his head and blinked a few times, a look of realization glowing on his face.

“Sorry...sorry about that, Bruce. Guess I got a little lost there. Probably not getting enough sleep these days.”

“Look,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that he just went mental for a second there, “we’re both under a lot of stress right now. We should be able to lean on each other.”

That seemed to help him a bit. “Stronger together, right?”

“It’s the only way.”

Before we could talk more, the office’s door creaked open as his secretary, Deborah, peeked inside.

“Uh, Mr. Dent? The photographer’s ready for you.”

Harvey immediately hid “that” half from her, waving a dismissing hand. “Thank you, Deborah. I’ll be right out.”

With that said, Deborah took her leave and Harvey placed the prosthetic back onto his face, taking a coin out as he observed its surface. 

“Please, Bruce,” he looked up at me. “Don’t tell anyone about this. If anyone finds out, or thinks I’m not fit to be mayor...it’s all over. Everything I’ve worked for.”

“Your secrets safe with me, Harvey.” I assured him.

He let out a breath of relief, heading for the exit. “Thanks, Bruce. I owe you. Again. Again and again.”

Halting in front of the door, Harvey adjusted his tie and glanced over his shoulder to say one last thing to me.

“...see you around, Bruce.” And just like that, he was gone, disappearing among all the other people crowding City Hall while I stayed behind in his office, trying to figure out what on Earth occurred back there. Was that the drug taking effect? Or was Harvey just under that much stress? I honestly didn’t know which explanation I preferred.

Just then, almost as if on queue, I felt my phone buzz. It was Oz.

Oz: Stacked Deck. 6 PM. Drinks are on me. No business talk. Just some fun.

Oz: Also promise I won’t be shirtless this time.

Oz: Unless that’s what you want ;)

I mean, it was, but I was more excited about finally getting to spend some time just hanging out with Oz. Ever since we met at that park, it was just one job after another, and it never really felt like we really had a chance to relax. I typed back a quick reply.

Bruce: I’ll be there.

Oz: See you soon, love.

Good god, even his texts were charming. 

Pocketing my phone, I hastily made my way out of City Hall and back to my car, planning to head home for a short rest and some time to freshen up. I missed sleeping in my own bed more than anything, and I hadn’t spoke with Alfred in a while either. I just hoped that I would be able to avoid my father while I was there. Every conversation between us felt like an interrogation these days, and I couldn’t remember the last time we acted like a real family. 

Though, if things carried on like this with the Children of Arkham and Oz, it was possible I may have already found a new one.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Book Review: The Lies of Locke Lamora

by Wardog

Wednesday, 14 November 2007

Wardog actually likes something - possibly because she didn't have to pay for it.~

Father Chains sat on the roof of the House of Perelandro, staring down at the astonishingly arrogant fourteen-year-old that he little orphan he'd purchased so many years before from the Thiefmaker of Shades' Hill had become. "Some day, Locke Lamora," he said, "some day, you're going to fuck up so magnificently, so ambitiously, so overwhelmingly that the sky will light up and the moons will spin and the gods themselves will shit comets with glee. And I just hope I'm still around to see it." "Oh, please," said Locke. "It'll never happen."

The Lies of Locke Lamora is basically a fantasy-heist novel, but it's also a pleasant breeze through a stale genre (yes, I'm bitter), shorter than the typical eighty million pages and a surprisingly assured and competent debut. I picked it up in Hay on Wye for a sum so ludicrously trifling (a mere one of my English pounds) that it almost felt as if Scott Lynch had come up to me in the street and asked me nicely to read his novel, the consequence of which is that my critical objectivity is shot to buggery but I think I'd still be recommending this if I'd forked out the

requisite 7.99.

Locke Lamora - otherwise known as the Thorn of Camorr - is the leader of a tightly knit group of conmen-thieves known as the Gentleman Bastards. As the novel kicks off, they are in the process of scamming a couple of aristocrats out of a portion of their fortune, coincidentally violating the long-standing Secret Peace that has been negotiated between the criminal underworld and the upper echelons of society. Meanwhile a mysterious personage known as the Grey King is preying upon the thieves of Camorr and forces Locke to participate in his personal vendetta against the city's crimelord Capa Barsavi. Needless to say, events soon spiral massively out of Locke's control and he finds himself caught up in something that threatens not only the people he cares for but the entire stability of the city. The first third of the book is a rompish heist, complete with all the usual twists and turns, but then it twists on its axis becoming a much darker and more serious story, although it never loses the edge of gallows-humour that makes it such a pleasure to read.

The Lies of Locke Lamora is a truly a rootless, bastard child of the genre: there's a fair mixing of Feist, Gavriel Kay, Brust, Miville, Pratchett and Dickens to be found within, to say nothing of the more than passing nods to movies like The Godfather, The Sting, Oceans 11, Scar Face and Goodfellas. It's not flawless, but it's still damn good: a fast-paced, page-turning adventure story set in a complex and intriguing world that doesn't drown you in detail (although I expect the author will soon forget this and commence the deluge). Camorr provides an excellent backdrop for Lamora's exploits: an island city built of Elderglass by a race nobody remembers, it seems to be inspired by 16th century Venice, with all the attendant squalor and decadence. There's definitely world-building going on but its of the subtle kind that successfully creates the impression of a living and very real city without racking up a page count hefty enough to kill a walrus (*cough* Miville *cough*). Lynch's imagination encompasses both beauty and brutality, dancing easily from the banal to the opulent, from frivolity to genuine threat. One of my favourite chapters introduces the fencing master, Don Maranzella in his House of Glass Roses:

"Here was an entire rose garden, wall after all, of perfect petals and stems and thorns, silent and scentless and alive with reflected fire, for it was all carved from Elderglass, a hundred thousand blossoms, perfect down to the tiniest thorn ... ... each wall of roses was actually transparent .... Yet there were patches of genuine colour here and there in the hearts of the sculptures, swirled masses of reddish-brown transulence like clouds of rust-coloured smoke frozen in ice. These clouds were human blood.

I can forgive Lynch for lingering in his fairytale garden of blood-thirsty roses and his farmer-turned-fencing master is a wonderful antidote to all those artistic gentlemanly types with their flourishing rapiers. This chapter seems to illustrate Lynch at his very best - the strange, sculpted roses and the introduction of the fencing master, the shift from pretension to pragmatism, from description to dialogue, from fantastical lyricism to dark humour and the sudden stripped-down truth about what Jean Tannen has really come to learn:

"Jean, you misunderstand." Maranzella kicked idly at the toy rapier and it clattered across the tiles of the roof top. "Those prancing little pants-wetters come here to learn the colourful and gentlemanly art of fencing, with its many sporting limitations and its proscriptions against dishonourable engagements. You, on the other hand," he said, as he turned to give Jean a firm but friendly poke in the centre of his forehead, "you are going to learn how to kill men with a sword."

The book itself is interestingly structured - it reminds me rather of Heroes, in fact. It consists of a succession of short chapters building to a mini-climax, followed by a brief interlude, either a tale of the City and its Gods, or a flashback to the early years and training of Locke and his gang. This actually works really well. The interludes are generally absorbing enough that, even though I was eager to find out what was going to happen next, I didn't skip them or resent reading them ... at least not very much. Furthermore, most of the interludes, although not precisely relevant, often offer an illumination on future events, thus rewarding the alert reader. And it does solve the perennial fantasy book problem of how to introduce the hero to the reader and show his gradual development from child to adult without spending the first five hundred pages of the novel narrating every little moment of the hero's childhood in agonisingly tedious detail. Part of me, however, couldn't quite shake the conviction that it was a cheap trick. It's a very obvious way to build tension and create anxiety and uncertainty in the reader and occasionally interferes with the pacing at critical moments.

Lynch's is a self-consciously "dark" world; there's an awful lot of swearing and torture, and the central characters are, of course, thieves and murderers. But since we only ever see them stealing from the rich and murdering those who thoroughly deserve it and their loyalty to each other is unswerving, there's never really any question of their being admirable characters deep down. This is not a problem per se; but the book is about as morally ambiguous as my Grandmother:

"I only steal because my dear old family needs the money to live!" Locke Lamora made this proclamation with his wine glass held high ... ... the others began to jeer. "Liar!" they chorused "I only steal because this wicked world won't let me work an honest trade!" Calo cried, hoisting his own glass. "LIAR!" "I only steal," said Jean, "because I've temporarily fallen in with bad company." "LIAR!" At last the ritual came to Bug; the boy raised his glass a bit shakily and yelled, "I only steal because it's heaps of fucking fun!" "BASTARD!"

Stealing may be wrong but it's also big and clever and all the cool kids are doing it. The exuberance and loyalty of the Gentleman Bastards is charming and it's impossible not to root for them. On the other hand, I am conscious of a vague dissatisfaction with Locke. The book is careful to assert that he is skinny and unremarkable and a poor fighter but he is also a consummate conman with incredible reserves of tenacity and courage, he is cunning, daring and quick-thinking, and there is no sacrifice he will not consider to preserve the safety of his friends and loved ones. He can be ruthless when necessary, he has the survival instincts of a rat, he's reckless occasionally but only in a way we're meant to think is cool and, on top of all this, he has a conscience and listens to it. Needless to say his origins are shrouded in mystery (I'm sure this will be Very Important later) and his creator is head over heels in love with him. I came dangerously close to finding the character annoying and if Lynch isn't careful he's going to be unbearable a couple of books down the line.

Speaking of the dreaded "couple of books down the line" The Lies of Locke Lamora does a reasonable job of offering a coherent and contained plot arc, but there are several dangling threads (the most irritating of which is Locke's love interest, a woman occasionally mentioned but never introduced) presumably left there to wet the appetite for future books. The mighty internet tells me there will be seven of these, which triggers all my cringe mechanisms. This cannot end well. Has nobody learned anything from JK Rowling?

The second book of the septad, Red Seas Under Red Skies, has recently been released - having enjoyed the first book has much as I did, I'm now terrified to read the second in case it sucks. I guess I'll have to wait until it's available for 1 again. But, in the meantime, you could do worse than taking a look at The Lies of Locke Lamora. It's not perfect - Mary Sue-ish main character, a plot necessitated, damn near omnipotent bondsmage - and I understand it has received some criticism for its modern-sounding speech but, quite frankly, I found that contributed to the lively, irreverent tone of the book. But it is a fun, fast-paced read in a ponderous genre and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

PS - This is really childish (and has nothing to do with the review at all) but I think I also need to point out that Scott Lynch looks like this --->: 

Arthur B

at 17:09 on 2007-11-14I was toying with doing a Reading Canary for this one, and might still do if I get around to picking up

Red Seas

, but you seem to have covered most of the bases. I agree that criticising the book for modern-sounding speech is reaching a little - if an author's simply more comfortable writing dialogue in a modern style then I'd rather they did that than attempt to try Ye Olde Speeche and fail horribly. I also agree that Lynch is a little too in love with Lamora, and indeed most of the book's fans are a little too much in love with Lamora; the fun of the book comes when Locke screws up horribly, and if you look at it objectively he isn't actually as nice a guy as Lynch thinks he is. That's why the book works, of course: the big central conflict is about accepting a rotten compromise which causes suffering for a few but provides peace and security for many, or rejecting that compromise knowing full well that rejection means no peace or security for anyone, and it's good that the representatives of both sides have their good and bad points.

The big criticism I'd have is that all the flashback bits to their childhood simply weren't as interesting to me as the main story: I'd much rather have a book half the length without the flashbacks. It doesn't matter whether Jean was taught swordplay by a farmer-turned-toff in a blood garden or by a toff-turned-farmer in a turnip patch: I can't think of any instance in the main storyline where it becomes at all relevant. There is one flashback which nicely foreshadows the final conflict, but it does so by basically explaining what Locke's tactic is going to be, so the ending is a bit obvious. Also, yes, big smirking long-haired Scott Lynch wants to kiss big smirking long-haired Locke, a meeting of shit-eating grins which thankfully cannot actually occur in real life.

Thing is, I'm not sure whether I'll ever actually get around to picking up

Red Seas

. I picked up

Lies

second-hand too, and while it's a fun and consistently not-crap read it isn't quite good enough to force me to go buy the new one. I'm not convinced that the character merits more than one book about him.

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empink

at 00:01 on 2007-11-15@ Arthur

For now, I'd say not to bother with Red Seas. It's also a fairly consitently not-crap read, but imho the author's love for his character really burns strong in the sequel. I don't know why I couldn't put my finger on it when I read it, but Kyra hits the nail on the head here. He really, really loves this character of his, and it means he gets to do all kinds of improbably cool stuff.

Now, while that was fun in the first book, it starts to wear on you in the second one. The dialogue needs to be beaten with the boring stick (I swear, everything everyone says is so witty that you WISH someone would say something dumb at some point. Which they don't. ARGH), and the plot is just...stretchy, in terms of suspension of disbelief.

All I know to say is that, having read Red Seas, I'm not going to jones for the rest of the series anywhere as near as I am jonesing for one or two others, because it probably won't be worth it.

PS, Kyra, the mysterious woman never actually shows up in Red Seas. But she does get mentioned. A LOT. *facepalm*

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Wardog

at 09:22 on 2007-11-15ACtually my copy of Lies was brand, spanking new and still one pound - that's why I'm so smug about it. I LOVE you Hay on Wye!

Ahem, anyway. I actually found Locke irritatingly virtuous. Even when he's trying to get a suit of clothes, and he drops an innocent waiter into the shit, he still takes time extract said waiter *and* give him a purse containing more money he's ever held in his life. Until that point I was actually impressed that he'd completely fucked up the waiter's life - it made him less sympathetic but I think, perhaps, more interesting?

I genuinely didn't mind the flashbacks and interludes; they weren't *quite* as interesting as the main plot but I didn't find them sufficiently tedious that they detracted from it too badly. And I was oddly into Jean Tannen (even though he's basically just a side-kick protector for Locke)so I really loved the stuff in the House of Glass Roses; also it is relevant because it "explains" why Jean can take out the two shark-baiting sisters without getting completely mullered.

And thanks for the warnings, Empink, I very very nearly bought a full-price copy of Red Seas the other day and I'm now *so glad* I didn't. I'm not sure I can stand another book of love-interest build-up because you just *know* she won't live up to it. And I don't wish to see Lynch consummating his relationship with Locke in an orgy of cool stunts.

I did find Lies genuinely witty but mainly because the characters tended to say something deeply pragmatic or macabre or just plain inappropriate at what would otherwise be very serious moments. It helped me get through the nasty bits (becuase I'm a wimp) and it also tended to have a nice edge of desperation to it - whereas I don't think I *want* a dazzling virtuoso wit-fest from the Book II.

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Arthur B

at 12:19 on 2007-11-15Empink:

I'd been wondering what I'd found weird about the dialogue in

Lies

, but you've put your finger on it: everybody's a smartarse. I can remember a couple of times where I was having trouble following conversations, because everyone's dialogue is so similar in tone and delivery that there's little differentiating them. It feels less like a bunch of different people are having a conversation and more like Lynch has a bunch of sockpuppets that he's using to tell a story - you never forget that it's Lynch behind all of them. (Still, at least it is monotonous in a clever and witty and entertaining way as opposed to monotonous in a consistently dumb and boring way.)

Kyra:

You're right about the overvirtuousness. I was remembering the bit where he wrecks the waiter's life, but not the part where he makes it all better. I think the worst thing he does in the entire book is play a practical joke on the secret police (you know, the one with the boats full of shit).

I like Jean too, but I worry that I only like him because he's a floating bit of driftwood in an ocean of Locke; he's the only other interesting character we spend an extended amount of time with (though I also liked the Capa's daughter and the Grey King and the head of the secret police), so he's a welcome relief from an unending shower of Lamora-love. As far as the Glass Roses stuff explaining the shark sisters fight, I consider "Jean is a rock-hard son of a bitch" to be a more than adequate explanation for why he beat them. Jean being a rock-hard son of a bitch is neatly demonstrated in the main story by, well, Jean beating the shark sisters...

Both of ye:

I think it's fairly obvious at this point that the Mysterious Love Interest is, in fact, Scott Lynch in a dress.

Either that, or she'll be the big bad at the end of the series.

Possibly the big bad will be Scott Lynch in a dress.

The intersection of Lynchsmirk and Lamoracock providing the cure to the world's ills.

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Wardog

at 14:18 on 2007-11-15I actually thought the dialogue in Lies was just about cope-able with - it's true that everyone sounds nearly the same but that genuinely didn't bother me except occasionally when Locke was conversing with arisocrats and then it grated somewhat. Dona Sofia, for example, is clearly meant to have a distinct and feisty personality with her alchemy and everything - but I never really got much from her. I think I was just glad to have snappy, modern-sounding dialogue for a change, instead of ponderous faux-medieval stuff.

But Jean was a fat, weepy merchant's son - he had to go from that to RHSOFAB somehow; sure, you didn't need to really know how but since these two sisters were meant to be *all that* it wouldn't have made sense for some thiefly-brawler to be able to take them out.

I still feel positive about Lies, despite its flaws. You were obviously considerably more irritated by the Locke-Lovin' than I was. And Lynch isn't the most talented ventriloquist but I didn't feel him in the background as much as you did either. I shouldn't have put up the picture, I think I've just generated undue hostility by drawing attention to the fact he looks like the sort of person we know.

But I genuinely think Lies stands as a good fantasy read; future books, well, we'll see...

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Wardog

at 14:21 on 2007-11-15Also, I think Arthur is just being discriminating because Lynch isn't a hottie like

Gene Wolfe

;)

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Arthur B

at 14:57 on 2007-11-15

But Jean was a fat, weepy merchant's son - he had to go from that to RHSOFAB somehow; sure, you didn't need to really know how but since these two sisters were meant to be *all that* it wouldn't have made sense for some thiefly-brawler to be able to take them out.

Yeah, but we only know that because of the flashbacks, so Lynch ends up setting up a problem which he then feels that he needs to solve with more flashbacks. It'd be more interesting, to me, if he'd established the sonofabitchness of Jean early on, and then dropped hints through the main action that Jean actually comes from a softer, more pudding-like background. I honestly don't think it matters at all, to

Lies

, how Jean got hard - I think most readers can happily accept that a life on the streets as a criminal will tend to make people either sneaky or fighty, regardless of their background.

My worry is that Lynch felt the need to dump all the backstory with Chains and the farmer-turned-toff and the farmer-who-ended-up-a-farmer-again because he's got this big backstory he wants to hint at which is suddenly going to becoming very relevant in the later novels, in a kind of "James Potter was mean to Snape at school" kind of way. And who's willing to bet that this is going to tie in with Long Lost Bint somehow?

Don't worry about the photo, I'd probably be saying the same sort of things about the novel even if Lynch looked like my beloved Wolfe - although it's a lot funnier knowing that Lynch looks like that. I do think it's a fun, likeable novel and worth reading for entertainment; most of my problems stem from my impression that Lynch wants us to think it's something more than that. Then again, maybe I've been spoiled by

Vlad Taltos

, who pushes similar buttons and whose writer looks like

the bastard son of Terry Pratchett and Frank Zappa

.

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Wardog

at 15:12 on 2007-11-15Jesus CHRIST! *faints*

Yeah, I think you might be right about Jean; I guess it depends how much we care that this stuff is going to become Meaningful later. JKR has soured me on that sort of thing forever.

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Arthur B

at 15:38 on 2007-11-15Is that you swooning before the dreamy gaze of Brust?

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Alice

at 22:21 on 2013-08-28Necro-ing this post, since I've finally gotten round to reading the book after finding the post via the random button.

I mostly more or less enjoyed it, in an "oh, must you really, Scott Lynch?" sort of way - I actually enjoyed the backstory parts more than the main plot, perhaps because while Lynch SUPER-UNSUBTLY wrote out Locke's love interest right from the beginning, at least he didn't have her murdered and delivered to her father in a barrel of horse urine in order to kick off the main plot.

(That was the bit that really made me roll my eyes and give up on enjoying the book in anything other than a superficial way. Lynch slightly redeems himself by having the head of the secret police be a badass old lady with a cane, but I really liked Nazca, I thought she was cool, so I was extra annoyed when she got fridged.)

I really like Jean Tannen, though, so part of me is tempted to at least give book 2 a go.

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Robinson L

at 15:30 on 2016-10-05Listened to this one on audiobook several months back, and enjoyed it as a fantasy heist/adventure yarn; it was quite fun. I hope it wasn't Lynch's intention for me to read any deeper meaning into it, because I really doubt it would hold up to that kind of scrutiny, and it would raise a bunch of awkward questions I don't think he's prepared to answer.

I was a bit disappointed by the ending, because the best bits of the book are generally when somebody is executing a masterful con: whereas Locke spends the last few chapters of

Lies

alternately pleading, cajoling, and punching his way to victory.

I guess I didn't mind too much Locke being both an authorial darling and a hyper-competent master criminal, because, as Arthur pointed out in his original comment, he regularly screws up, finds himself outsmarted or outmaneuvered, and generally gets the everloving shit kicked out of him and/or reduced to a blubbering wreck. For me, this was enough to make the balance tip over into “enjoyable” protagonist rather than “insufferable,” though I realize folks' mileage will vary.

I also really liked the character of Father Chains. The samey-ness of all the characters' dialogue has been brought up already, and I just kind of shrugged it off—however, even with that, I feel like Chains got in an inordinate amount of memorable lines. Also, for some reason, the character of a hard-cussin' scoundrel priest really appeals to me. (Technically, Locke is one, too, but his priestliness is kept mostly to the background.)

I was also disappointed they didn't wind up causing the death of the Bonds Mage (perhaps by accident). As arc plots go, “high class thieves on the run from an immensely powerful and vindictive wizards' guild” sounds pretty solid, and could justify the seven book length to show how our heroes go from fleecing the city's upper class to taking on said wizards' guild and winning.

Like Alice, I disliked that the book fridges Nazca in such an ignominious fashion to kick off the main plot, although I was somewhat mollified that the villain then proceeded to wipe out the rest of the Clan Barsavi in similarly brutal fashion, meaning she wasn't the One Big Death, she was just the first major casualty (plus, three quarters of Locke's chums, also all male, go down shortly thereafter). Again, though, I recognize not everyone is going to be satisfied with this, nor am I arguing they should be.

For whatever it means, in the third book, Nazca is the only member of the Barsavi family who Jean deems worthy of mentioning among the list of people they've lost when he's reeling it off to Locke.

Speaking of deaths, I was extremely relieved that Jean Tannen survived the Grey King's betrayal: Locke really needed a sidekick for the story to work, and Jean was easily the best of the lot. His friendship with Locke is great, and one of my favorite parts of the book was actually the flashback to when he first joined the crew, after Locke's initial attack of sibling rivalry, where Jean asks Locke to help him steal stuff he can use as a death offering for his deceased parents, and Locke asks Jean to help him learn how to use an abacus*. So cute.

*This after Father Chains uses Jean's superiority with an abacus to humiliate Locke and demonstrate why Jean is a useful addition to the crew.

So that part was good, and I didn't mind the other flashbacks so much, though I might have if I'd read through the book instead of listening to it on audio. What I did mind was Lynch dropping a chapter about the Spider tumbling to Locke's latest scheme and setting a trap for him right after the cliffhanger chapter where he's been thrown into the river in a barrel of horse urine and left for dead. First and most obviously because it's a transparently artificial way to hold off resolving said cliffhanger (unlike the flashbacks, which happen in every chapter); but second and also perniciously, because it sucked so much of the tension out of later scenes with Locke trying to reestablish his Lucas Fehrwight scam—the main source of tension was now “will Locke fall into the Spider's trap, and if so, how will he escape it?” so all the stuff with him stealing an appropriate set of clothes felt like so much wasted time before we got back to the next big story question. And that's also unfortunate because I think the clothing scam was actually one of the strongest parts of the book.

Speaking of which, I see what you mean about Locke being “irritatingly virtuous,” though I didn't mind it much, either. The only part which really got me was the way he immediately opted for saving all the high-bread toffs of Camorr at the risk of missing his chance for revenge against the Grey King. I get that he's supposed to be a noble rogue character, but that part struck me as too altruistic to fit his personality. I would expect him at least to be seriously tempted to leave the aristocrats to their fate while he goes and settles the score with the guy who murdered all but one of his best friends. But no, in his mind, it isn't even a choice, and I don't understand why.

I think it should be noted, though, that Locke also does some really screwed up shit which he's never really called on (a major reason I resist taking the books at all seriously). This is a case in point:

he drops an innocent waiter into the shit, he still takes time extract said waiter *and* give him a purse containing more money he's ever held in his life.

Well, yeah, but he *also* gets the poor sod permanently exiled from the only home he's ever had, presumably cut off from friends, family, everyone and everything he knows. Now, for some people, I suppose this could be the best opportunity of their lives—for others, it would be a kind of hell. For all we know, that waiter might well have committed suicide a couple years later, unable to cope with his life's circumstances.

Other crimes of Master Lamora which go unaddressed: murdering the Grey King's assassin after getting information out of him by shutting him up in a cellar and setting fire to it. True, the man had just killed one of his and Jean's best friends and was complicit the conspiracy to kill them all, but that's an incredibly cruel way to dispatch him.

And biggest of all, he manipulates the Camorri top brass into demolishing the Grey King's escape ship and consigning the ~15 person crew to what I also recall being described as a particularly horrible death. True, they were all the Grey King's lackeys, but they were just there to help him get away with the loot (and not to infect half the city with awful plague, as Locke claims), which hardly seems to make them deserving of such a grisly execution.

I let all this pass because I take the books in a “fun adventure” mindset; if I took them seriously, I'd be forced to conclude that Locke Lamora is a terrible person in ways the books themselves aren't prepared to explore.

A final note on the audiobook version: Michael Page is a great narrator, his voice nicely capturing the story's narrative style, and bringing the characters vividly to life. He also does a wonderful job with the various accents which come into play (mostly as one or another of Locke's characters for a heist), making them very distinct and memorable. Perhaps too memorable, for I'm sure I've caught him recycling a number of secondary voices and accents—he's no Jim Dale—but still an impressive accomplishment which I think utterly nails the tone of the series.

[megans-project-blog1]

Love Online, and The Single Woman & The Fairytale Prince – Jean-Claude Kaufmann

I have read two separate books by Jean-Claude Kaufmann; I have chosen to talk about both of these in one blog post as they both related closely.

‘The Single Woman & The Fairytale Prince’ was the book first released by Kaufmann in 1998, and ‘Love Online’ was later published in 2010 as an updated sequel to ‘The Single Woman’. Originally, I was focusing purely on the more up-to-date ‘Love Online’, however it frequently referenced his previous book and so I chose to read both.

Kaufmann mainly talks about the comparisons of the past against the present, to find the main reasons as to why love has evolved in to what it is in the modern day. There is a section in ‘Love Online’ called ‘Who pays the bill’ that says “Chivalry suggests that the man should pay [for dinner]. But after several decades of feminism, that might look like an affront to the woman’s independence” (Kaufmann, 2010, Love Online, pg. 40).  If you were to look in to what the modern version would be, whilst it still is sometimes expected for the man to pay, it is much more common to split the bill 50/50. The feminist movement has had a big part to play in the evolution of love and relationships; women rely less on men.

Through the feminist movement, it can be seen that far more women are choosing to be single rather than being in a relationship. Some women are preferring to sleep around whilst others just like the company of themselves. Jean-Claude Kaufmann has a theory about the stages that a single woman will experience in her life; the supportive stage that occurs whilst she is younger, in which her friends will encourage her to be independent and single,  then the expectation stage that occurs around the age of 30, when all of her friends will start to expect her to settle down with someone and will make her feel guilty for not doing so; “And suddenly the finger is being pointed. It is as though the sky had fallen in and values had been inverted. Being single then comes to seem weird, and something to be slightly ashamed of. At this point, they begin to torture themselves: what have I one with my life, and what decisions should I take now?” (Kaufmann, 1998, The Single Woman & The Fairytale Prince, pg. 41). Finally comes the relaxed stage, in which a finger is no longer pointed and as the social pressures ease a woman can relax in to being single; except in order to have this relaxed environment they must choose to give up being centre stage and learn to be more reserved. I believe that this theory is definitely outdated 21 years later; Kaufmann has not mentioned it in ‘Love Online’ so perhaps he too decided that the stages became outdated. Women can certainly be centre stage, single, and middle-aged these days without too much accusation; it has become a lot more normalised.

However despite women being more openly single, Kaufmann did debate whether there has always been a large portion of people choosing to be single that perhaps was never recorded; “Celibacy had not been unusual but, because single people were scattered across the countryside and hidden within their families, they succeeded in disappearing into ‘the grey background’ (Farge and Klapisch Zuber 1984)” (Kaufmann, 1998, The Single Woman & The Fairytale Prince, pg. 11).

Looking at the fact that women are now free to act as men (live as a single person and sleep with whomever they like and however many people they like), Kaufmann has described our modern world to be “not as virtual as it is sometimes said to be, but it is ‘liquid’ because it has been freed from the constraints that bind us to territories, groups, and established conventions” (Kaufmann, 2010, Love Online, pg. 87). Our world is constantly changing, including what is considered to be a social norm. By the end of our lives, society could be completely different once more, and relationships seen in a new light regarding both genders. This also links to “Liquid Modernity” by Bauman, 2000, and the consumerist life that is spoken about.

The theory from Kaufmann that interests me most is that relationships and love in the modern day have started to become viewed with consumerist intentions. He talks about this idea in both books regarding online dating; “Welcome to the consumerist illusion, which suggests that we can choose a man (or woman) in the same way that we choose a yoghurt in the supermarket” (Kaufmann, 1998, The Single Woman & The Fairytale Prince, pg. 117). Looking at the way tinder is set out – swiping someone left to show that you’re uninterested and right if you are interested – it acts like an online shopping system, or ever like the shelves in a supermarket. Similarly, with a supermarket making returns is easily done; with online dating you can resort to blocking or ignoring the person without feeling too guilty because of how detached you can feel from the other person; interaction online in comparison to in reality feels very detached and almost like none of it is actually happening until you choose to bring it into real life. This looks at the idea of ‘ghosting’, which I previously looked at in the documentary ‘Hot Girls wanted’. The realistic equivalent of that would be disappearing half way through the date and not coming back, leaving the other individual to wonder where you are and if they will ever hear from you again.

Other things that Kaufmann talks about comparing the past and the present include the sexualisation and interpretations of certain actions and how they are seen now. Years ago, a kiss would have mean a lot; it was displayed as extravagant and iconic within Hollywood movies, and scandalous in times before that. These days some people see kisses as nothing, just something to do with someone else. They don’t necessarily associate it with love and it is very common for most people to do so with strangers when intoxicated on a night out. Furthermore, sex is no longer seen to be such a big deal; sex on a first date has become a hot-topic in our modern day, with people debating whether it’s right or wrong. Previously, this never would even have been considered in the past. Jean-Claude Kaufmann also mentions that the significance of dancing; in the past people would participate in the waltz, tango, salsa etc. The close physical contact in these were seen to be very serious and loving. These days it is rare for these dances to be performed, they certainly are not as normalised as they used to be.

All of these debates could be considered pointless; it could all depend on the relationship between two people, the chemistry, the people involved. It can also be linked to social norms. If a boy were to have sex with someone on a first date, he would be praised, yet if a girl were to do so, she would potentially face being called names such as ‘slag’.

One of the main focuses of online dating is the profile picture that someone chooses to put up. The image chosen will be put through the judgement of everyone else viewing it; the viewers will make a decision of whether it fits their standardised view of beauty. Kaufmann claims that “Image are the real, absolute enemy” (Kaufmann, 2010, Love Online, pg. 30). Using statistics found by others, he announced the shocking fact that “Some 23% of the men who visit dating sites are married (Madden and Lenhart 2006), and they are looking for sex, not a soulmate” (Kaufmann, 2010, Love Online, pg. 18). These figures are based on America, but it is likely that the figures will be similar across the Western world. It was noted in ‘Love Online’ that these cheating husbands would almost never have a profile photo, for fear of being caught.

Finally, section 7 of ‘Love Online’ explores the idea of ‘The Game’. “Some men view sex in terms that have more to do with ‘game playing’ in a much stricter sense. We have already seen the way in which they use seduction techniques to get to a fuck close as quickly as possible, [Kaufmann explained earlier that a ‘Fuck Close’ is when someone has sex with someone and then leaves, never speaking or acknowledging them again]. There is a long tradition of male rivalry when it comes to female conquests… they compete to conquer as many women as possible in order to prove something to themselves and to have something to boast about to their friends and rivals” (Kaufmann, 2010, Love Online, Pg. 103). This can almost be compared to a competitive sport and a game, which has become much easier to play now that we have the internet. Jean-Claude Kaufmann explains that the main idea of the game is to not be tied down by one particular girl. If a game like this were to be played by a young male, it is almost no wonder that such a high percentage of husbands later use online dating to cheat; if society had not encouraged these boys to be this way then would the outcome be the same?

Kaufmann explores quite a few sociologists within his books. I will make a separate post looking at a few of these sociologists and their theories of modern love and relationships. This will include Emile Durkheim, Pascal Lardellier, and Bryn and Lenton.

Kaufmann, K 1998, The Single Woman & The Fairytale Prince, Armand Colin, France

Kaufmann, K 2010, Love Online, Armand Colin, France

[filmista]

The Virgin Suicides (1999)

“What we have here is a dreamer. Someone completely out of touch with reality.”

'The Virgin Suicides' Sofia Coppola's film debut, adapted from the novel of the same name written by Jeffrey Eugenides, is at once her most beloved and critically acclaimed work along with 'Lost In Translation'. But also one of her most heavily criticized.

Heavily criticized for what's considered a lack of substance or a romanticizing of teenage suicide, but this criticism in the end always tends to trace back to one place: her films are too pretty and too feminine for some.

And yes Coppola's films have a feminity to them that predominates like a force of nature that can't be ignored, but I've always loved her films exactly for that reason: The woman loves making films about women. And I’m all for it!! 

And while she's at it, at first it might look like it's all pretty without much going on. But every time she paints a fascinating psychological portrait of the woman or women that are the subject of her films in question.

Though sometimes you've got to scratch the surface a little, her films sometimes seem almost like a painting or a fairytale fantasy, whether she sets it in the past or in modern day life.

There is always something slightly unreal, not quite of this world, well by definition any film that's not a documentary is technically unreal...

'The Virgin Suicides' has that same ethereal, ultrafeminine touch, for me, the film has always underneath all that melancholia, had that nondescript feeling a summer you had in your childhood, that seemed to go on forever had, but that in adulthood through the lens of nostalgia has become overly glamorized and idolized.

Perhaps the music of that particular summer was in reality not as good, the lemonade not as sparkly and refreshing and your first kiss not as sweet and smooth.

That aesthetic in a film is one I can't precisely put into words, a number of films have it 'Stand By Me', even 'The Breakfast Club', but instead of a summer it's a Saturday, that will seemingly never end, rich with endless possibilities and glorious 80's music of course...

All these films usually make you want to be there: share that happiness, it's something that's more typical in American films: the typical suburban streets, lined with regal trees, green lawns, a kid on a bike passing by.

But in a handful of films, that seeming happiness acquires a creepiness: in 'The Virgin Suicides' because we know how it will end, and it's as if that image of the house and the street is saying: look isn't this a glorious place to live? And a glorious place to die...

Ir's even what makes 'Nightmare On Elm Street' (the original one) creepy, stuff, terrible stuff goes down in that street at night, the stuff of nightmares quite literally in this case, yet by day you'd welcome living there.

That also happens in 'The Virgin Suicides', that family, the Lisbons looks lovely but that couldn't be less true.

The entire film relies on making everything prettier and happier than it is, because it is, in fact, one big male fantasy, the fantasy of the neighborhood boys obsessed with these girls.

There are even people that have questioned whether you can even tell a story that's supposed to be feminist from the male gaze? Sofia Coppola does that; but she doesn't criticize or even judge those boys, she simply shows us that they see the Lisbon sisters, as "beautiful creatures".

A debate that there's often been is, whether those boys loved the girls in both the book and the film, there's a lack of substance and in the characterization of the girls that at first infuriated me; I wanted to know who they were and why they did what they did.

But for the boys, that lack of depth, represented a mystery, to decipher, a code to crack. If only they could get through to those beautiful creatures, girls, with a sea of unknown thoughts and secrets in their mind.

One of the boys ultimately gets through to one of them, through her body but not at all likely did he access her mind. When Lux and Trip make love (if you can call it that) on the football field, he's finally gotten what he wants, you can't physically get much closer.

Yet he hasn't (I know this sounds wrong), penetrated her mind. Tripp could get any girl he wanted, even the one he couldn't get, she is the one that haunts him, even when is he no longer young, and only a ghost of the stud he once was remains.

He still wonders "why did that beautiful girl kill herself?", "Why couldn't I save her?"

When the boys knew the Lisbon girls they seemed very happy without a care in the world, yet these beautiful creatures while each girl in the film has an all California girl kind beauty, straight, shiny blonde hair.

They had problems like all of us, problems, that no one grasped or even suspected the depths of, because they never asked, the girls it seems only have each other to depend on, and their parents, who are the primary cause of their unhappiness.

They're seemingly at first glance, the killers, the villains. But they act out of overprotectiveness, their way of showing love. Yet anyone would become depressed if they were always contained in the same room, like a bug in a jar.

The girls are granted small victories, going to a dance, having a party, but they are still "othered", for instance, are not allowed to throw the same kind of parties their peers do.

And when something goes wrong for one of them, after the suicide of the youngest sister Cecilia, the others are punished more severely, but they become even more dead inside because of it.

There is a game people traditionally like to play when they're watching 'The Virgin Suicides', it's trying to determine why they killed themselves and who's to blame.

The why is to me at least, plenty clear to see. Everything and everyone is to blame. Their death is tragic because their situation, would have changed and ended eventually, their parents couldn't lock them up forever but to the girls this unbearing present reality, they saw no realistic escape.

They're all if different, somewhat the same because no individual expression is allowed, makeup is evil and their records are burned.

Their parents can't accept the girls are becoming women, so they try to suppress that, but if you suppress that, you suppress an entire individual, a woman's sexuality and her feminity are a part of what forms her, no one has the right to take that...

One of the girls says: "I feel like I can't breathe in here", it's Lux Lisbon the one that makes this statement the only one in the entire film to not remain a virgin.

Sex is a way in which she rebels; she wants to live life and experience all its pleasures and that includes sex, but she doesn't get the biggest pleasure out of sex itself, but out of knowing that it's what upsets her parents the most, it's her way of saying "fuck you", "you don't control me"...

But of course, they are the ones keeping her locked in, Lux sleeps with various men throughout the novel and in the film, she's certainly promiscuous. Promiscuity is something that we tend to shame, especially in women, but sometimes there's an emotional reason.

No one will ask "why do you sleep with so many people" often as, in the case of Lux, it's an attempt at escape and happiness or even cry for help and attention.

All the girls feel much the same as Lux: like they can't breathe, that they're being suffocated, not allowed to live, and that's what they wanted to do more than anything, to live.

It's not something you achieve through suicide, but then the Lisbon girls didn't really feel alive, they felt like they were in a limbo of depression and captivity, waiting for the end of yet another day.

Perhaps the girls are also too smart for their own good, and could already see the flaws and hypocrisy in the world, but didn't have the will to wade through it.

They also seemed to want deep human connection, but those around them didn't seem ready for that. The Lisbon sisters no doubt are loved, but they wanted understanding, but only received deeply flawed love.

It again brings us to the question of whether the boys loved the girls or had a teenage infatuation, I'm inclined to say they loved them in their own gawky teenage boy way...

They're perhaps the lesser evil in the film, they meant the girls no harm. When they found out they weren't allowed out, they tried to cheer them up, tried to make them feel better, but still barely made an attempt to understand them.

So again to some degree, I'd say everything and everyone is to blame for their death, everyone part of the society around them contributed to their unhappiness in a way. You can be loved even admired, but feel still irrelevant like you don't exist, both are feelings that can push people to kill themselves.

As I've said earlier 'The Virgin Suicides' is often criticized for a lack of substance and an overdose of feminity, well I ultimately found the novel even more feminine and detailed in it's telling.

The book, if it weren't brilliant, would be somewhat unreadable, it's that poetical and lyrical. Coppola retained the beauty of the words, the images they described but toned it down a bit and instead chose to focus slightly more on the girls and their feminity.

Which for the boys in the novel is fascinating one of the boys, is even literally fascinated with a tampon that's still got fresh blood on it because one of the girls threw it away minutes or seconds earlier, and says "it's like an abstract painting".

They're as much intrigued by the infinite little trinkets that can be found in a house where a woman lives, even more, if there's multiple. All part of a lifelong performance of sorts that few men like will ever fully grasp.

One of the characters I felt most sympathetic toward, was Mr. Lisbon, the man's not a monster, he just doesn't want to go against his wife, he would want them to go outside, there's a brilliant passage in the book in which he's sickened by hair and various hair clips laying around, saying that it reminds him of a zoo exhibit.

And in fact, that's what that house is a living and breathing exhibit.

But Mr. Eugenides since he is speaking from the male perspective of the boys, glorifies that feminity mostly, something that intoxicates the boys because they don't understand it, just as they don't understand the girls.

Coppola goes for the same exuberant feminity, but the dream, the fantasy has a hint of a nightmare. It's almost shown in a horror like way, even the image of a cabinet full of boxes of tampons has something inexplicably squirmy about it.

There's always something sickening and oppressive to that feminity, and in the air, that makes you feel locked in like you can't breathe underneath all the prettiness.

It's how the Lisbon sisters felt in their pretty yet stifling exhibit, all the feminine trinkets have a profound sadness: the world is never to see the girls wearing them, they're soulless objects, belonging to soon to be corpses.

There's that same sadness in Los Translation: Charlotte applies lipstick for a husband that doesn't care...

'The Virgin Suicides' is one of the films I like a lot, but don't watch often, it's too good, it makes me uncomfortable, and brings me to close to that same lethargic, depressed state, even if I can go out after I feel like I too was locked in there, in that room that's a waiting room of death.

Yet I like many others come back to it because as much as that world is sickening it's also beautiful.

Coppola carefully crafts a teenage dream that's also a nightmare: every image is seemingly beautiful and calm and that's where the scariness is, the stillness and inactivity of it all.

Even during a party or a family evening, no one is alive, you have ghosts watching TV if you add to that the almost visibly stifling hotness and humidity of summer.

The sheer claustrophobia of that house, and the hauntingly, ethereal soundtrack, you've got something that is equally as beautiful as it is mesmerizing, yet deeply uncomfortable and nauseating: everything is too pretty and perfect.

Every teenage girl wants that bedroom, the one the Lisbon girls have, if only they were allowed to leave it... 

"Do we seem as crazy as everyone thinks?" "Who thinks that?" She didn't reply, only stuck her hand out the door to test for rain. "Cecilia was weird, but we're not." And then: "We just want to live. If anyone would let us." ― Jeffrey Eugenides, The Virgin Suicides

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Of Thorns and Buttercups

~Ch 4/?~

(Beauty and the Beast AU, Kiiiinda. It has definite elements of the original story cause I’m a sap for Fairytale AUs. I hope you enjoy. Also shout out to @sophiakuso1 for being my beta. Here you can find Beginning or Previous) I asked my beta for help writing this chapter's summary and she gave me "Jaskier has an ADHD day". Thank you my dear. Very helpful. Or Jaskier tries to help figure out how to break a curse with nothing to go on while Geralt is nowhere to be found. 

Primary Tags: Beast! Geralt, Belle! Jaskier, Memory Alteration Via Curse, It really only affects Jaskier right now Also on AO3!

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“Does this mean I can stay?” Jaskier called after the retreating beast. The only response he got was a door closing in his face, metaphorically speaking seeing as he was a few dozen yards away from it, which was as good as a yes in his books. All in all though, the situation had worked out remarkably well. He wasn’t dead or likely to be maimed and the Beast had the bard’s company to keep him entertained now that it was apparent Jaskier couldn’t leave. It was a win-win as far as he was concerned and, seeing that there was no one else in the present company, he could continue to occupy the room he had chosen last evening. Which reminded him, he was only mostly dressed and still standing dumbly at the edge of the garden with all his things in his arms. Right. Well, as lovely as the crisp winter air was this fine… dawn, he’d rather be inside where it was a little cozier or at least fully dressed. 

Hurrying back inside, he decided his first few tasks should be to put his things back in his room and finish dressing, as well as tidy the room so as not to be rude. He may have been a surprise and maybe even an unwanted guest, but he wouldn’t be an unkempt one. Upon entering the room however, the hearth was lit, the curtains to the bed drawn, and the linens were made up neat and tidy. Which surprised Jaskier, but the beautifully tailored cornflower blue doublet with cutely embroidered little yellow buttercups, matching breeches, and a delicate white lace chemise completely baffled him. He couldn’t help the soft smile that played on his lips. For as gruff and cold as the beast was, it would seem he was awfully kind and sweet. Perhaps the sudden insistence on the bard’s departure had to do something with concern over his well being. Perhaps the curse? He had felt like he had been watched all night but the Beast wouldn’t have let him sleep soundly for as long as he had if his reaction from earlier was anything to go by. 

Jaskier thought over several ideas about the curse as he got redressed in the new clothing but nothing settled right with him. He needed more details but he was now fully determined to help the gentle beast. Getting information out of his stoic companion may prove to be tough, however, so there was always the second option. Snooping! He was terribly good at it, almost as good as he was at fooling people into believing he was a bumbling buffoon before ripping the rug out from under them for his own personal gain. He may be foolhardy with a dislike of bodily harm but he was quick witted and silver tongued. Both were qualities that could prove useful now.

Once dressed, he was ready to go find answers. He briefly debated whether or not he should grab his lute, but the constant itch to play had dulled as the pain in his heart grew, so he left without it. Knowing where to start was rather tricky, however. The gardens were enchanted ,but obviously there was something going on in the keep as well. Then there was always the tail from the night prior that disappeared around a corner further down from his room. It couldn’t have been the Beast’s Jaskier thought. The pelts were different. His Beast’s pelt was white as lilies or fresh fallen snow while the tail had not been. It was silver like a moon lit lake with dapples of gray and black on the surface. 

He decided a strange creature was always the way to go and if he got into trouble, he knew he could call for help. If the beast wanted him dead then he would have killed him already. Letting a monster or wild animal kill him seemed rather contrary to his actions. So, off he went down the hall. He looked high and low, squeezed through broken doors and under debris, as little as there was, but came up short. No magical looking artifacts, or sigils on the walls or floors, and certainly no other living beings to be seen. He couldn’t even find a measly journal or letter to boot. Just dust, old lavish rooms, and literature that was rather unextraordinary. He huffed as he scuffed the heel of his boot on the stone floor in disappointment, backtracking the way he had come. The Beast was also nowhere to be found which made his spirits drop further. The bard hoped he wouldn’t be avoided the entire time, it would be awfully lonely.

Deciding his next stop was the magical gardens, he picked himself up and bolstered his thoughts. The day was far from done, and there were still places to look and time to ingratiate himself with the other fellow. Now Jaskier realized that it may take a while to look through the grounds but he had underestimated just how big they were. The front was already large as it reached from the house to the treeline in a few dozen yards, but the garden around the back was almost maze-like and he wasn’t sure he could see the treeline from near the back entrance. The back also held a variety of flowers that hadn’t appeared in the front but there was no rhyme or reason to what was planted. Most nobility had an aesthetic they wished to achieve with a very particular color scheme, which the front gardens had, but which the back garden lacked completely. There were only fourteen flowers, as far as he could see, that bloomed all over the place. No others. No order. It all proved to be a very odd sight. Perhaps they had some kind of use or significance? Off hand he knew the blue hydrangea symbolized a frigid heart apologizing and the yellow Asphodel meant I’m sorry, which he may or may not have made use of, but he couldn’t remember the others off the top of his head. The only reason he bothered to learn the symbolism of botany, which was not a popular art across the continent but it did exist and was rather interesting, was because it was an aid to lend depth to his prose and lyrical tales… and it came in handy when trying to charm a person of higher status than he, but their magical or alchemical properties still eluded him. There wasn’t much need for that knowledge earlier in life, which he was regretting now. There were some books inside if he remembered correctly so he could gather a sample of each flower and see if any lady squirreled away a journal with writings of flowers which he could use to look them up. Thankfully, the canary yellow cloak he grabbed, which had rested conveniently by the entrance, had rather deep hidden pockets. So, away he went, carefully collecting flora for later use. 

In the middle of the collecting specimens, a nasty little thistle caught his finger as he went to pluck it. A drop of scarlett welled up on his fingertip before he placed the finger in his mouth and used the other to pluck the offending sprig. The shock of the sudden pain was only matched by the surprise that nearly stilled his heart for a beat as he righted himself. To his right, a lynx with a pelt that shined like liquid silver stood just down the path leading into the garden maze. If that wasn’t a big sign screaming freaky magic or cursed creature, then Jaskier would eat his fucking lute. As strange magical things often did, it didn’t seem inclined to make things easy for him. It suddenly took off down the footpath away from him, and he was forced to inelegantly scramble after it. “W-wait!” He tried to call after the animal but it either didn’t understand or it elected to ignore him. He skidded around corners and stumbled over gravel to stay within eyesight of the fur ball of energy. It felt equivalent to the time he had tried to catch the wayward family cat of a countess he had been rather fond of at the time and had instead made a rather marvelous spectacle of himself. He had felt like he was finally getting some of the ground between them to shorten but in his excitement, his foot caught a patch of ice that sent him toppling over and by the time he scrambled to look up, the beautiful lynx was gone. A well of disappointment filled his ribs as he knelt there in the snow, trying to regain his breath. Why couldn’t he be of any use? The thought had something in his heart twisting in old pains. Would he really be of any help to the Beast or would he just be in the way like he was back home? There was another time in his life that he vaguely remembered of him trying, fruitlessly it would seem, to be of help but it was so muddled in his memory that he couldn’t fully recall.

Disheartened, Jaskier eventually got his feet under him and slowly picked his way out of the maze from the way he came with only damp, cold clothes to show for his efforts. With how heavy the snow fall was, he couldn’t even find any mark or indication of which ways he needed to turn to come back, if he so had the desire. In the spring, it might have been a lovely place to spend hours wandering through with a beloved or chase one another through in the way of a romantic overture, but now it just felt like a cold tedious exercise in futility. It was like if you were trying to navigate the cold heart of the one you knew would never choose you. At first you have hope but with every dead end, your heart breaks more, and you eventually have to give up because you’re cold, wet, and alone, with no one to hug you better. Sadly this seemed more common than not in life. The heart always yearns for something it could not have, so to soothe it, you settle for cheap thrills and single nights of sweet lies. Oh how terribly morose he had become in life and obviously these were observations that had nothing to do with him personally. So lost in his mournful rumination, he had not realized how late in the day it had gotten until he finally emerged from the maze. The sun was already past the middle of the sky and Jaskier wondered if he was just going daft or if the days and nights were also magical in how they passed. He doubted he could unravel the complex mysteries of every magical occurrence found in the place. Not that he wanted to, since he had already had his hands full with the curse. He pushed the thought away to question at a different time. 

With low spirits, Jaskier trudged around the other side of the keep he had not taken earlier and stumbled upon a stable that looked to be in good condition. Curiosity once again pulled him forward and had him peeking inside. To his surprise, there was a lone beautiful chestnut mare, which brought a smile to his lips. Ducking in and closing out the cold behind him, he went to the horse's side. “Oh Roach!” He found himself happily exclaiming as he pet her neck which earned a soft whinny, only to stop short puzzled. Did he just call the lovely animal by a fish’s name? Why on earth would he… And now that he thought about it, how would he recognize this horse out of all the others he had seen or met in passing? He did not own a horse but still something about her pulled up memories that he couldn’t seem to reach out and touch, but which carried a fond feeling nonetheless. Perhaps she reminded him of another horse from his past that was connected to whoever he was currently having trouble remembering. If the way his heart strings tugged tighter at the thought was anything to go on, he assumed he guessed correctly.  But why would he remember the horse instead of the human…? Unless the horse was the more pleasant of the two but he doubted it. Regardless, this could not be that horse. Just one that looked similar. “Oh my dear, I do truly apologize for calling you by another’s name.” He whispered as he continued his gentle stroking and slowly rested his forehead against her. The sweet thing huffed before leaning into him. Slowly he furled his arms around her neck lightly and hugged the wonderful companion who indulged him in his need of comfort. “My darling, I fear that I may not know what to do now… I’m not even sure if I can win over the dear beast of the keep…” He sighed woefully, his voice unusually small for how he was. The mare however seemed to be having none of his self pity as her head bobbed and she nickered reproachfully, but in what he assumed was an encouraging reproach. He huffed a short laugh and looked up at his new friend with a smile as he pet her neck in thanks. “You’re very right. I can’t give up after only the first day! I have plenty of time to figure things out and hopefully get the Beast to accept my help.” He said with new conviction, his spirits rising once again with the new encouragement. As a side thought, the bard never expected a beast would need a horse for any reason but perhaps it had gotten lost and was given a home here by the kind gentleman. It looked to be well taken care of though; clean stall, full fresh food, and blankets to keep away any chill that came with the fall of night. As Jaskier made his way to leave, he promised to visit again soon and he made a mental note to bring a treat of some kind as thanks. 

Crossing the courtyard to the house reminded the bard of how his clothing was soggy, and his elbows and knees were stained from the fall. He felt guilty because the Beast had left the lovely garments out just for him and he had yet to thank him. Not wanting the embarrassment of running into the other in such a state and having to explain that he had already ruined the kind gift, he quickly made for his room to get changed. Once he was inside then he could breathe freely again. Safely in his own chamber, he draped the borrowed cloak over the chair belonging to the small desk in the corner beside the fireplace and turned to find his pack to rummage for something decent to put on. To his surprise however, an outfit of midnight blue fabric with silver trimming laid on the bed. The fabric was thick but soft to the touch, and had a lovely brocade pattern of astrological symbols on it and small pearls dotting it like stars in the pattern of constellations. The chimese was a soft, dove gray, there were new boots of black, buttery leather, and fleece stockings to pull the whole ensemble together. It was such a beautiful set and he felt a little choked up at the thought that the Beast was giving him such nice things. Perhaps there was an expectation he would wear it for dinner? That meant the Beast wanted to eat together! It had the bard all the more resolute in trying to help. It was nice to receive something though. Usually he was the one always trying to give gifts to buy even a fraction of attention from young ladies of higher breeding. The only gifts he ever got were coins, or food and drink in exchange for his performance, or the threat of injury for having chased away his woes with the wrong person in one night of lonely passion. Ah, there were those sullen thoughts again. Jaskier waved them away as he washed up a bit at the small wash basin in the room and folded the soiled garments, putting them to the side to deal with later, before slipping on the lovely new clothing. He checked himself in the mirror before heading for the discarded cloak again. Intent on unraveling their secrets, he drew the cuttings from the pockets and carefully, thankful for the fact that they were mostly intact. If there were none to be found though, he supposed he could always just put a bouquet together for the Beast. Perhaps the gentle fellow just adored those particular blooms. Perhaps that was why the flowers were everywhere. The thought had Jaskier chuckling. The great big beast hunched over the flowers in the spring as he gently tended to them. The bard wondered if he would be there come the next spring to witness it. It almost sounded idyllic. He could see himself in a simple life similar to that. A cottage by the sea, flowers filling the garden, and his loved one tending to the flowers as he played soft music. A silly dream for a hopeless romantic, he would admit, but everyone was allowed just one, weren’t they?

With a sigh, he looked at the arrangement in front of him. He had grabbed the devilish little thistle that had snagged him. It looked to be a zinnia, though he knew nothing about the flower. It was a purple cluster of flowers of some kind, and a pink flower that went from soft pastel at the tip of the mouse ear shaped petal to a darker pink near the base. His knowledge of flowers was lax compared to his other, finer artistic knowledge and lessons of etiquette but he thankfully had the ability to name some of the flowers. Oddly enough, he felt like he had some practise identifying and picking medicinal flowers but he once again came to a wall in his own memory. Realizing it wouldn’t work well to try looking up flowers he had no name for, he added a plant identification reference book to his list of texts to find. He hoped in the vast space there would at least be an equally vast library of some kind that would conveniently have what he was looking for. Leaving the florets carefully laid across his desk, he left the room once again for his next search. The rooms in this upper part of the wing were particularly useless once again, aside from the small pocket journal of The Language of a Gentle Heart: Secrets of Floral Arrangement which was most likely written and titled by a starry eyed lady who needed a hobby. He found it questionable at best, but upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be a compilation of notes which were cross referenced from other sources with the meaning of flowers. Then the second small journal was more like a manual which the writer entitled The Art and Language of Flora for the use of Assassination and Deception and found under a mattress, also dubios but eye catching regardless. There was also still no sign of habitation of any of the rooms, which meant the Beast really didn’t live in this wing, or he had not been to his room at all and was hiding somewhere in the castle. Both scenarios were equally as likely at that point. Deciding to check elsewhere, he debated if there was anything of actual use in the other, more decayed wing of the keep before figuring that it’d be his last place to check if he really could not find everything he needed in the lower rooms of the fortress. 

On the lower level, Jaskier first found the kitchens all the way down past the dining room he had been in  the night prior and down a set of stairs. The kitchen was obviously well used but maintained and cleaned. The kitchen led to packed larders and pantries, brimming with food which, astonishingly, all looked fresh and not in the slightest bit old. Giving up on the kitchen, he briefly ducked his head back into the dining room and found his memory was correct. It only held the partially set long dining table, the fireplace, and occasional bits of decoration to liven it up. Next to the dining room was a private cabinet for the men and a boudoir for the women. Why they had the need of two separate, gender specific rooms to let honored guests relax in was beyond him. The only mildly interesting things held within were a smattering of tapestries, trophies, and ceremonial/decorative armor pieces, as well as various apparatuses to toil away time with, such as looms and such. All of them were nice, but not so useful. Jaskier moved onto the final room on this side of the main staircase. All he wanted were books. Just give him books! The door had been stubbornly shut but he had managed to wiggle through the crack he had opened. Beyond the large opulent doors a great hall, or at least what was left of one, laid. The throne was overturned, tables were splintered heaps, and the tapestries and banners were sliced to ribbons, rendering the crest unidentifiable. It sent a chill down his back so he quickly departed from that venture. 

Crossing to the other side of the stairs, he ventured on, undeterred by the lack of progress he had made so far. Starting at the far end again, he was surprised to find a servants passageway that led up and down. Going up, he found himself in his wing of the castle and huffed before heading back down. The pathway down looked dark and damp, which didn’t seem very appealing, but he was committed so he grabbed a nearby light source in the form of a candelabra and descended. It was as damp and uninviting as he expected, but he did find a small room in the dark undercroft, obscured slightly from view, which had him wondering whether that was intentional or not. Opening the aged door, he found a stillroom of sorts. Dried plants that looked like they were left and forgotten, hung neatly around the room. There were suspicious jars and vials Jaskier specifically did not touch, but more importantly there were hand drafted journals and reference texts on medicinal plants and alchemy. He grabbed The Botanist’s Companion to The Identification of Flora, and something that had no real title but inside was filled with alchemy and lists of ingredients with their common uses. Elated to find something hopefully useful, Jaskier headed back up with his bounty and used the servants passage to drop off the books on his desk before continuing his search of the lower rooms. He also replaced the candelabra in its rightful place, of course. Next to the secret stairs, there was a large bathing house where the tubs were stored, and hot water flowed into basins for collecting. He guessed the warm water was just another magical occurrence of the place. There was enough space in the place however to just set up a bathtub and designate the room as a place to clean up if he so wished to. It was definitely a place of interest for a later time, but practically useless to his current venture. There was then a solar specifically used by the private family to withdraw to, if Jaskier remembered correctly, but about as interesting as the boudoir or the private cabinet. With only two doors to go, Jaskier felt some anticipation even with how tired he was becoming from all the running earlier and the searching.The first of the two, to his absolute delight, was a grand music hall filled with instruments of all kinds and collections of scores he could plunder through at another time. There was even a massive harp of artistry far beyond any he had seen, that was hard to find today. Most wanted them portable for ease of use but this one sat squarely where it was. He had never played a harp like it and would mostly spend hours slowly easing his way through learning the beautiful piece but it looked majestic where it stood. He didn’t have the time to mess around though  but he did swear he’d be back. The sound of a string being plucked in the empty room behind him as he turned to leave only hastened his exit. The final stop--at last--revealed a library. How he managed to not find this place sooner was beyond him. He was here now though, and that's what truly mattered. The one issue, however, was that the library was in fact intimidatingly expansive. Not only could someone not read all of these books in a lifetime but it was also a major fire hazard in the bards eyes. 

Sighing in the face of his daunting task, Jaskier first tried to figure out if there was any kind of categorical system similar to what was back at the Oxenfurt College Library. To his luck, there was, but it was nothing like the complex system he had to learn. Whoever built and organized the library went with the simple method of organizing it by genre which made finding the reference texts all the easier. Although most scholars would sneer at such organization, Jaskier found it charming as he strolled through to find the reference texts and educational tutoring books for young nobles. Sifting through that section of shelves proved tedious but prolific. He found a wide range from books on the upbringing of a proper young lady to more academic texts on plants taught to young women and men alike. What he had been searching for however were books he had seen at Oxenfurt but never touched. The Herbarium and Antidotarium which were nestled amongst the rest of the books. All the books were handwritten and illustrated obviously, but these were beautiful in comparison to some. 

Gathering the two books he found, he brought them back up to his rooms. It was a start, and a very good one at that. Sadly, he wasn’t able to find any nefarious magical looking grimoires, but he could get somewhere with this… Hopefully. He set the new books neatly down with the others on the desk, and was meaning to take a seat to get started, when two thudding knocks came at his door. They weren’t so hard as to be a furious pounding, but not gentle either, and it had him only the tiniest bit concerned. He went to the door after a moment of hesitation, intending to open it, when a familiarly rough voice called out. “Are you not going to eat, Bard?” Displeased confusion had Jaskier almost panicking just before he yanked the door open. Right! The beast had left the outfit as his intention to dine with Jaskier! He had been so busy searching that he had completely forgotten. 

“Very kind of you to worry and come fetch me.” He responded, trying to flash his most charming ‘I totally didn’t forget plans’ smile up at the Beast. 

The Beast grunted and shifted from one foot to the other, directing his gaze away. “...It was getting late. That’s all…” 

“Not to worry, I was just on my way down. Got caught up with something, is all! It is nice to head down together though.” The smaller man smiled, enjoying the opportunity presented by the Beast to start a good friendship between them! He grabbed hold of the darling fellow’s arm and tugged him along to their awaiting dinner, not giving him a chance to reconsider after Jaskier’s unfortunately rude tardiness. By the heavens above him, he will break the ice between them.

Getting him there and seated was easy but as they sat at opposite ends of the ridiculously long table, Jaskier suddenly found it hard to find the words to start the conversation rolling. Who needed a table this long?! Dinner looked lovely, however, and he could easily use it as a way to fall into a comfortable food induced silence. However, yet another problem presented itself in the form of all the food being in the center of said ridiculously long table and the lack of servants. Jaskier considered options of how to fix this dilemma when the food suddenly started coming to him, or at least the dishes with the food did. Jaskier may or may not have yelped but in a very dignified manner if he did say so himself. He would admit it was not on the list of his finer moments, but it did seem to get an amused snort out of the Beast, although his mask of stoicism was still firmly in place when Jaskier looked at him. Nevertheless, the amusement still danced in the other’s gem-like eyes, and Jaskier almost wanted to clap happily at the small victory, but was smart enough to refrain. “Everything’s enchanted.” A deep rumble pulled Jaskier out of his mental victory celebration.

“What?” He questioned dumbly. Good job. Real smooth, he internally berated himself, holding back a blush. 

“All the furnishings… They’re enchanted.” The Beast clarified again, as if he were speaking to a child, but twitch of his brow belied the amusement of the fact that Jaskier had somehow not noticed. 

“Oh...Oh!” Jaskier processed the information before sighing in relief. “I am very glad to know this place isn’t haunted or filled with things trying to frighten me to death.” He joked but the thought had crossed his mind originally. “Why… Why didn’t they just move in front of me? Why only when I wasn’t watching?” He couldn’t help but ask the question out of interest. 

The Beast shrugged. “Maybe the enchantment has some weird rules when it comes to people not affected by the curse… Or they could be shy, although they’re not technically alive. They move like puppets with no strings…” The grumbled explanation was a little stilted and clumsy, but endearing in a way. It was almost as if the other was unused to speaking to anyone. The thought alone made the bard pity the Beast. The idea of ghostly puppeted furniture was still not very comforting though. 

“... Hmmm, unsettling but I suppose it’s good to know. Thank you Beast.” The comment had the other’s shoulders sagging a bit, and Jaskier immediately knew he somehow misstepped. After mentally slapping himself, he tried to salvage things quickly. “Thank you by the way.” He flashed a shy smile but this only elicited a noncommittal hum while the Beast continued to look anywhere but at Jaskier. “For the, um, clothes… It was kind of you.”

The Beast silently seemed to either ignore the words or chose not to comment as he began piling food onto his plate. Well, Jaskier supposed that was his way of dismissing the conversation, so the bard followed his example and began to serve himself. Eating, contrary to what Jaskier had thought before, left them mostly in a stilted silence. Although the Beast was large and disproportionate to the size of the cutlery, he managed to eat cleanly, but with no grace. Many people, Jaskier knew, would have been utterly scandalized by the situation, but he found himself thinking it was charming in a weird way. The bard thought he may have a second chance to reignite the conversation once they finished eating but, to his dismay, the Beast finished before him and promptly left. Now alone, Jaskier berated himself for fucking up. He felt the silence weigh in on him, the comfortable warm feeling that came with the other’s company at the beginning now abruptly gone. It left him feeling woefully abandoned to be honest. Not very hungry suddenly, Jaskier elected to retire early for the evening. 

Back in his chambers, he tried to start his work. The first step being to identify the ones he was unable to, obviously. The pink mousy petaled ones turned out to be cyclamens while the cluster of purple florets were hyacinth after a bit of searching. Somehow, looking at the deep purple of the hyacinth made his already uneasy stomach, from how dinner ended, turn. He frowned, remembering the violet eyes of a witch who, although beautiful, only inspired what felt like terribly negative feelings blooming in his chest. He sighed, pushing back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankle. If he had to guess, it might have been jealousy that took root. It was an unkind feeling and he knew she had done nothing really to inspire such feelings, at least as far as in his mind, but his chest felt otherwise. He remembered the terrible first meeting and the barbs and jabs from early in their acquaintance but he also remembered the playful insulting and occasional companionable chats when they crossed paths later down the line of their affiliation. Then something happened and it only left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the details. He realized it wasn’t jealousy then but a moment of recognition of the fact that he would never be enough while she was. He wasn’t the one wanted, and it left him rather empty and tired from trying so hard. He sighed again as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He was too tired from everything that happened earlier and the low humor he now found himself in wasn’t conducive to work, so he shut the book he had been using and set everything aside so he could ready himself for sleep. He stripped of the handsome garments and folded them carefully into a dresser for another day. He chose out a large black tunic from his pack that seemed too large to be his, but put it on because it soothed him in a way he couldn’t fully understand. Nonetheless, he appreciated it. He drew the drapes closed and settled in for the night, feeling cold even with all of the blankets. The night was deep and long, but Jaskier tried to sleep away the dour thoughts and unease in his heart.