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omnivorousshipper · 3 years ago

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De aged Deckard: You’re gonna go far, kid - Part 16

Summary: When the Shaw siblings try to break into an Eteon facility, they’re met with some unexpected consequences. Now, it’s up to Owen and Hattie to be the older siblings Deckard never had. Even if they have no idea what they’re doing

Part 15

Setting down a bowl of freshly cut watermelon, Dom looked around his backyard and nodded in satisfaction. Everything looked perfect to welcome the Shaws into the crew and hopefully be the best afternoon any kid could ask for. They had plenty of food already set up, several games around the yard, along with a sprinkler, and he could already hear all the other children clamoring in the kitchen as they all begged Mia for a piece of cake. When he had explained that they would be getting new playmate that afternoon, he had nearly laughed at the look of pure excitement and mischief in all their eyes. Especially Sam when Luke had dropped her off so he could go pick the Shaws up.

When Luke had called him up and explained the situation, Dom had been half convinced he had been still asleep and coming up with a pretty odd dream. But, no. Deckard really had been turned into a child and his siblings were bringing him to LA for help to take care of him. Which, Dom was surprised to hear that. He would have thought the Shaws would be too proud to ask anyone to help with their family, but here they were asking if they could look after one of their own. Dom only hoped Deckard wasn’t a menace like Dom suspected Owen was when he was a kid.

Thinking about the Shaws must make them appear, because in the next minute, Dom could hear a car pulling up and saw Luke’s jeep pulling up. Half smiling, Dom started to walk towards them, and before he could even say anything, he could already hear Owen.

“Does he have to show off that bloody thing?” The man complained as he hopped out of the jeep, eyeing Dom’s Charger.

“Only when you show up!” Dom called out and smirked at the glare Owen sent him. Ignoring the man’s pissy attitude, Dom instead focused on the little boy Luke was lifting out of the car. He raised an eyebrow at the dress, but didn’t question it was the boy looked around at everything was curiosity. “Not exactly how I thought we’d be meeting again.”

Deckard’s head snapped over to him and Dom’s smile dropped a bit when he saw the little boy hide behind Luke and stare at him with uncertainty.

“I’m sure that makes all of us, Toretto.” Luke chuckled. “Come here, Deck. I want to introduce you to one of our friends, Dom.”

Dom crouched down in front of Deckard when Luke brought him closer, even if Deckard still hid behind the man’s legs. The boy was truly adorable and Dom couldn’t quite put the image of the cold blooded look he saw in Deckard’s eyes as an adult to the innocent wariness this child was sending him. How did this small kid turn into a hardened man? What happened to him?

“It’s nice to meet you, Deck.” Dom smiled and was rewarded with a small wave. “Are you ready to meet some more new friends?”

The little boy looked up at Luke for what he should say.

“You know my daughter Sam I was talking about?” Deckard gave a small nod. “She’s inside with the other kids and they all can’t wait to meet you.”

Dom frowned at the almost flash of panic that crossed Deckard’s young face. Did he not want to meet more kids?

“Dad!”

Before Dom could even stop a single kid, four little bodies were rushing past his legs and straight for Luke instead. Sam immediately started to climb her dad as if he was a jungle gym while Jack jumped onto one of Luke’s arms and swung on it as if it was a monkey bar. Meanwhile, both Baby Brian and May were clinging to Luke’s legs. All the kids were talking a mile a minute as they excitedly begged Luke to play with them.

Chuckling, Dom shook his head at the kids’ antics. But, as he did so, he looked down and saw Deckard had abandoned his position behind Luke and had instead run for his brother and sister. Owen was holding him protectively and whispering something to him as the boy hid his face in his neck. As for their sister, she was standing in front of her brothers, almost as if she intended to fight off the kids if they dared come too close.

“Alright! Alright! That’s enough!” Luke laughed, carefully setting Jack and Sam back on their feet. “Calm down guys, I want to introduce you to someone. Now, where’d he go?”

“He’s here.” Owen stepped past his sister and brought Deckard closer to the kids. The little boy poked his face out just enough to see the other kids. Dom watched as Deckard’s eyes scanned over the other kids and he had to wonder why the boy was so scared. Was it the height difference?

Luke had said Deckard was roughly ten years old, meaning he was the oldest of the children, but he was still so small, Sam was several inches taller than him with Jack being the same height as him at seven years old. Dom had to wonder if maybe Deckard had been bullied while growing up and that was why he was so wary of other children. Or maybe he didn’t have much experience around other children, but that sounded wrong since he knew Deckard had a hand helping raise his siblings. So, what was it?

“Hi! Are you Deck? My dad’s talked a lot about you!” Sam piped up, excitedly stretching up onto her toes to get a better look at Deckard’s face. “I’m Sam! And this is Jack, Baby Brian, and May!”

“Hi.” Deckard’s voice was so soft, Dom wasn’t sure if he actually heard the boy or not.

“You’re going to be staying with us for a while, right?” Sam smiled brightly. “We’re going to have so much fun! Do you wanna play with us? I got a new soccer ball and I’m showing Baby Brian how to play.”

“Soccer?” Deckard looked at Owen for clarification.

“Football.” Owen chuckled.

“No!” Jack shouted. “It’s not football! It’s soccer!”

“Where Deck’s from, soccer is called football.” Dom explained and could see the four American children wrinkle their noses at the explanations of the British calling their game something else.

“Do you want to play with them, Deck?” Owen asked gently. All the adults held their breaths as they watched the little boy’s face grow thoughtful as he carefully weighed his answer. Finally, he gave a solemn nod. Without any fanfare, Owen carefully lowered Deckard to the ground and looked like he immediately regretted his choice, however, he had no time to voice that as Sam ran up to him.

“Come on!” She nearly shouted in his face and grabbed his hand. She practically dragged Deckard away with the other children following after them, throwing all sorts of questions at Deckard.

“We should keep an eye on them.” Hattie spoke up suddenly.

“They’ll be fine.” Luke told her. “Sam knows to treat Deck gently and will tell the others to do the same.”

“But Deck doesn’t know when to tell people to stop.” Owen told them, face blank as he watched Sam proudly showing Deckard her soccer ball. “Especially younger kids.”

“We’ll take turns checking in on them.” Dom told them, a note of seriousness in his voice as he met Owen and Hattie’s gazes. He wasn’t surprised in the least that they were so concerned and overprotective of Deckard. The boy wasn’t supposed to be a boy after all, and the change had to be just as bad for them as it was Deckard. “If he wants to take a step away from them, then he can. Mia will probably want to give him a haircut when she sees him, anyway.”

“As long as she doesn’t make it worse.” Owen smirked faintly.

“Only if you actually go apologize to her.” Dom couldn’t quite keep the growl out of his voice as he met the man’s eyes. He might be willing to invite Owen around, but the man still needed to do quite a bit to make up for their first meeting. He could only hope Owen was willing to make those amends, even if it was more for Deckard’s benefit than his own want to.

“As long as she doesn’t stab me.” Owen shrugged nonchalantly. “Too many people here have already done that.”

Dom blinked at the man.

“That was one time!” Hattie hissed and elbowed Owen sharply in the ribs.

“I still have the scar!”

“It was a butterknife!”

“I needed six stitches!”

Glancing over at Deckard and the kids, Dom carefully filed away not to give any of the Shaws any real silverware or anything remotely sharp. However, as he watched Deckard cheer Baby Brian on as the three year old kicked the ball, he had a feeling he would only need to implement that rule for two Shaws. Especially as he turned back and saw Luke pulling the Owen and Hattie off of each other. How were the children acting better than those two?

#deckard shaw #owen shaw #luke hobbs #hattie shaw #dom toretto #sam hobbs #toretto crew #hobbs and shaw #de aged fic #a different de aged fic

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flying-elliska · 4 years ago

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Headcanons for ADHD characters Masterlist

I was asked for this a while ago and I feel this is a good discussion subject because the canon representation for ADHD is kind of abysmal and is often a caricature or a joke.

usual disclaimer, I'm not a therapist, this is not a diagnosis tool, just for fun, etc etc...basing this on my own experience/knowledge with ADHD and meeting a lot of ADHD people IRL. I'm going off the main symptoms first (inattention and/or hyperactivity, restlessness, impulsivity, problems with emotional/focus regulation, daydreaming, messiness, hyper-focus, fidgeting etc) and then looking at character traits that are not a necessary symptom but often associated (substance abuse and addiction, need to please, sensitivity to rejection, compassionate and creative, thrill seeking, very imaginative, charming and witty or withdrawn and shy or angry and irritable, whimsical and fun and a bit child-like, out of the box thinker, self esteem issues, unstable life, comorbidity with anxiety and depression, very intense feelings, functions better with adrenaline/in an emergency, disregard for rules and problems with authority OR extreme compliance, codependency, perceived as weird, clever in an atypical way, problems in school, extremely good at one specific thing, etc)

Also I found this list with actual canonical representation

BOOKS :

The 'fits to a T so I'm seeing it as my personal canon' list :

note : doesn't mean that the authors actually meant to create representation but it's very likely they at least got inspired by people who did have ADHD (even when the diagnosis itself did not exist) and explained it with 'it's just their personality' OR the story happens in a setting where the label doesn't exist as such. also not meant to be exhaustive.

- Helen Burns (from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë) One of Jane's school friends from the start of the novel, fits the inattentive type to a T : she can't seem to focus or learn her lessons, is constantly daydreaming, describes herself as messy and careless, forgets rules, and is easily distracted. She talks constantly about her own 'defective nature' and seems very sensitive to criticism but incapable of changing. She doesn't defend herself against the nuns' harsh punishments as she thinks she deserves them. She's presented as kind-hearted and compassionate, almost too good for this world, and hyperfocuses on her faith. Apparently sb even wrote an academic article on this. She dies so it's not super fun representation but it is interesting to see in an older book, to push back against the idea that ADHD was invented yesterday by Big Pharma lol.

- Grantaire (from Les Miserables, Victor Hugo) Part of the student revolutionary group Les Amis de l'ABC and resident skeptic, does not believe in the cause but is fixated on the group's idealistic leader (and yeah it sounds very gay, they die holding hands, there is a lot of Symbolism). He spends his time ranting about things that are only vaguely connected, is described as brilliant but incapable of sticking to any one profession or hobby, is an alcoholic, has a creative streak (was a painter at some point), likes wandering around the city, has massive self-esteem issues and is a general mess but does seem to care about his friends. This is not a very flattering portrayal as Grantaire is described as morally deficient but again, interesting in an old book. ADHD!Grantaire is a popular take in the modern fandom (i was in it before I was diagnosed it brought up a lot of Things) and it's very cathartic to see him get actual therapy in fic lmao.

- Luna Lovegood (from the Harry Potter series) JKR sucks but this is probably the most high profile case of a possible inattentive ADHD character so I didn't want to leave it out. She's a daydreamer, she is a big space cadet and seems to live in her own world, she has a very out of the ordinary sense of style, she's bullied for being weird, but she's also very kind and perceptive and cares a lot about her friends, and good at coming up with out of the box solutions. I wouldn't call it good representation, she's described as a wacko whom a lot of characters find cringeworthy but she's also pretty heroic, so. And she does seem to hyperfocus on magical creatures. Plus her father could also have it (and it runs in families).

- Jasper Fahey (from Six of Crows duology, Leigh Bardugo) Part of a young group of thieves with a heart of gold, he's a charmer and a compulsive gambler who quits college and incurs debts so massive he stops talking to his father out of shame. He's also an extremely talented sharpshooter and the scenes where he describes how the whole world slows and the rush of adrenaline when he is shooting sound like hyperfocus to a T. He's a loyal friend but also quite dependent on Kaz, the leader of the group, to keep him in line. He's witty, messy and he likes danger. His boyfriend later in the series, Wylan, is dyslexic and the way they learn to accommodate each other's issues honestly makes them one of my favorite couples ever. I need to reread these books and I am so stoked for the series I hope they do Jasper justice.

- Julian Diaz (from Cemetary Boys, Aiden Thomas) Love interest of the book, introduced as the 'high school resident bad boy', energetic motormouth who can't sit still and actually very endearing, has issues in school and gets bored easily, main problem is that he's a ghost...sort of. The whole thing was very cute and I love that Julian's personality is described as fun and attractive instead of annoying (which is, if you haven't noticed already, a pattern).

- Evie O'Neill (from the Diviners series, Libba Bray) She's a flapper in 1920s New York who ran away from her boring little town to make a life for herself ; she's a party girl and an impulsive thrill-seeker who hates standing still and is always looking for excitement to 'fill the void'. She craves fame and attention and pretty things, she can be a loyal friend but is also frequently self-centered and forgetful, she's street smart, resourceful and very charming and witty. She's also grieving, drinks too much and is definitely depressed. She's obviously meant as an archetype of the era, caught between trauma and excess, but it does come over as very hyperactive ADHD as well. Her powers to read objects also really pinged me as a good metaphor for the ADHD tendency to be overwhelmed by details.

The 'bit more of a reach but there's a vibe' list :

- Emma Woodhouse (from Emma, Jane Austen) Frequently cited as a character with ADHD, I didn't come up with this one but she fits. She's daydreaming, easily bored, has flights of fancy and hyper-focuses on matchmaking, is a bit impulsive and thrill seeking, clever in an unconventional way, described as a bit immature, mix of caring and self-centered.

- Ronan Lynch (from the Raven Cycle, Maggie Stiefvater) Ronan just has Neuroatypical Vibes, even though it's not entirely clear what, and I've seen people label him all sorts of things which is very valid. As for ADHD, he's restless, impulsive, likes to Go Fast and do street racing, he has very strong emotions he doesn't know what to do with, and big self esteem issues esp. at the start, is very all or nothing with people, snarky, drops out of school to be a magic farmer, problems with authority, looks like a scary mean goth but is actually a big softie (but like, with a few people), pulls shit out of his dreams. Is kind of dependent on his best friend at the start too.

- Sherlock Holmes (from the eponymous series by Arthur Conan Doyle) Again a character who has been diagnosed with all sorts of things. The biggest ADHD vibe for me is 'my mind rebels at stagnation' and the way he needs drugs to function outside of the thrill of a case, and the way he hyper-focuses on information he needs to be a detective while completely ignoring common knowledge. Also sort of dependent on his best friend Watson and isn't great at social interactions. Doesn't care much about upholding social conventions either. The RDJ adaptation is the one that has the most ADHD vibes to me.

- Harley Quinn (DC Comics/Movies) Big codependency issues (that's arguably the thing she's most known for) and sadly people with ADHD are often prone to getting into abusive relationships. It depends on the story too but she's very energetic, zany, impulsive, she likes shiny things and bright clothes, she's fun and chaotic and likes to break the rules, she's a criminal but she does seem to have a heart, she's also frequently immature and rash, etc.

What are your headcanons ? I would love to hear if you have some so I can add them to the list. I'll make a TV/Movies list soon.

#adhd #actually adhd #adhd representation #neurodiversity #media representation

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sevenkittensinatrenchcoat · 3 years ago

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Vienna-Based Mistos and Grizabella: Misto Becomes the Misto You Know

Once again, I find myself fascinated with the Vienna production and it’s descendants, especially when it comes to Mistoffelees. There are bits with Misto in these productions that are sometimes very similar to the 1998 VHS, but other productions don’t have them.

In the majority of productions I’ve seen, when Grizabella first appears, the first cats to respond are Coricopat and Tantomile, who hiss at her. Some productions have Mistoffelees sense her first, which all the Vienna-based ones do. But, they all do it slightly differently, with a noticeable difference between the first two (Vienna and Amsterdam) and the later two (Paris and Zurich)

Vienna:

This production started in 1983, but the recording is from 1990, near the end of the show’s run. Mistoffelees was played by the same actor, Valentin Baraian, playing him for most of the run. Occasionally, covers would step in, but he was the official Vienna Misto the whole time. So, despite the film being from 1990, it’s a characterization developed in 1983. I’m sure it evolved over time, but not in the same way as productions where the role changed hands.

I know it’s very hard to see here, but those are Misto’s hands behind Grizabella. When he first approaches her, he briefly tries to block her path, but when she insists on going forward, he walks behind her.

A cat, I’m not sure which one, runs up to Grizabella and hisses at her. Misto signals the cat to stand back. Throughout the scene, several cats approach Grizabella, some attempting to reach out to her, and others just to hiss at her or scratch her. With the former, one of the older cats will rush to stop them. Misto himself only stops the ones approaching threateningly. This means that he’s following her around to make sure that the others don’t hurt her.

After Grizabella starts singing, he tries to fend off the cats who approach her, but only the ones that do something to upset her, since she turns on them for the “you see the border of her coat is torn” line.

Conclusion: Vienna Misto is one of the adult cats, allowed to approach Grizabella and take charge while she’s there, since Munkustrap seems reluctant to do anything one way or another. But, even though he knows who she is and what she did, he personally has nothing against her and shadows her to keep her from getting hurt. Since one of the kittens succeeds in scratching her, he doesn’t seem to be very at it, but he cares enough to feel like he needs to try.

Amsterdam:

NOTE: Due to not having access to a full recording of this production, if one even exists at all, the following screenshots are taken from the clip @junkyard-gifs uploaded. As far as I can tell, the clip is from 1987.

When Misto notices Grizabella, he runs up to her and holds his arms out, blocking her path. Once again, it seems like Misto is old enough to know who she is and that she’s not welcome.

However, Grizabella will not be stopped. She just shoves him out of the way. He’s not Munkustrap. He’s not the protector. He can’t tell her what to do.

However, this shove is technically an act of violence, so Misto warns the others to stay back. She attacked him! I’m guessing this Misto is not often shoved out of the way. Some Mistos are, but not this one.

The other cats scatter and Munkustrap steps up to handle the situation. Misto is still mad about it.

Conclusion: Amsterdam Misto (Dr. Diavolo, which is an amazing name) is one of the adult cats, since he seemed to know right away that Grizabella wasn’t welcome. But, unlike Vienna Misto, who seemed to have some sort of connection to Grizabella, this Misto doesn’t like her and likes her even less after she pushes him. He seems less mature and more prideful than Vienna Misto, with his dramatic reaction to being shoved, but I get the feeling that most of the other cats would’ve behaved the same way in this situation.

Now, both of these Mistos knew who Grizabella was. In general, full adults know Griz, while the kittens and sorta-adults don’t. This is the most clear generation gap in the show. In both these productions, Misto was put on the side of the adults. This matches up with most earlier portrayals of the character. By the time Jacob Brent played him, he was a younger character, only just starting to become an adult, who comes up age by the end of the show. I’ve always been curious as to when exactly this change took place. How did we get from here:

to here:

I don’t have any pictures of Timothy Scott’s Misto and Grizabella, so this comparsion doesn’t work quite as well, but you get the idea. In the above picture, Misto is just sort of waiting to see what Grizabella does. He doesn’t know her.

Well, I think the next two entries in the Vienna Line show some of the journey from point A to point B

Paris

The recording of the Paris version is from 1990, during the last month of the show’s run. It was uploaded to YouTube by Guy-Paul de St. Germain, who played Misto in the recording, and in London shortly after, as well as in a later UK Tour.

Misto approaches Grizabella, and the film quality makes it hard to see what’s going, but what I think is going on is that Munkustrap and Misto are equally quick to react to Grizabella, but Munkustrap keeps his distance, while Misto approaches her. From what I can tell, he does so neutrally, just trying to figure out who she is.

Munkustrap doesn’t physically intervene, but he warns Misto to get away with a sharp hiss. Misto backs away and stands in the corner, where he remains for the rest of the number.

After one of the kittens (I’m pretty sure it’s Tumblebrutus) scratches Grizabella, Misto sort of leans toward her, almost taking a step in her direction. But, he looks back over his shoulder before doing anything, and whatever he sees keeps him in place. I’m guessing he was looking to Munkustrap for permission to see if she’s alright after being scratched, and was denied permission.

Conclusion: Paris Misto most likely doesn’t know who Grizabella is. He obeys Munkustrap’s instructions regarding her, but he doesn’t seem to know what to think of her. He’s concerned for her when she gets hurt, but he prioritizes Munkustrap’s orders over that concern. The general tone is very similar to the VHS, though 1998 Misto started glaring at Grizabella, copying Munkustrap, instead of just following his instructions.

Zurich

The Zurich footage is from a 1992 bootleg. In 1992, Misto was being played by Lindsay Chambers, who’d go on to play him on Broadway for a few years. He was playing Misto on Broadway when Jacob Brent was cast as Pouncival, so this is where Brent’s Misto starts to connect to Vienna-based Mistos.

When Misto starts dancing to the reprise of Tugger’s song, he gets really into it and Grizabella shows up right behind him, making it seem like he nearly crashes into her. When he sees her, he just stops and stares. He doesn’t react at all. He just waits to see what she’ll do.

Even though he’s not doing anything, Grizabella treats him like Amsterdam Misto, pushing him out of her way. Since Amsterdam Misto was actually blocking her path, it made sense for her to do that, but here it’s just rude! He doesn’t know who she is and made no move against her. If she wants a cat to welcome her back into the tribe, he probably would’ve done it. But it seems like Zurich Grizabella is focused on getting to Munkustrap. She wants to talk to the one who’s in charge.

Like in the Paris version, when Grizabella is scratched, Misto steps towards her. But, Zurich Misto is quick to stop himself. He doesn’t need Munkustrap to tell him to stay away, though Munkustrap is right there. I can’t tell if he’s glaring at Misto or glaring at Grizabella, because of Bootleg Quality. But, if Munkustrap isn’t glaring at Misto, Misto just decided to stop by himself, probably remembering getting pushed out of the way. Grizabella really lost herself an ally here. From other scenes in this version, I’ve noticed that Zurich Misto often doesn’t seem to understand the social rules of the tribe and gets in trouble frequently. In the very next scene, Skimble will stop him from pulling Bustopher’s tail, but he’ll insist on doing it anyway, so even if the rules are explained to him, he still might break them if he really wants to. He’d go against the tribe to support Grizabella if he felt like he had a reason to. But, because she pushed him, his first impression of her is negative, so if the rest of the tribe says she’s bad, he’ll go along with it.

Zurich Grizabella confuses me, basically.

Conclusion: Like in Paris, Zurich Misto is not a full adult. He doesn’t know who Grizabella is and reacts to her neutrally at first. The key difference is that he doesn’t go against Grizabella because that’s what the adults are doing, but in direct response to her actions. Compared to both Paris and the VHS, Zurich Misto isn’t quite as invested in pleasing authority figures. He wants the Important Cats to like him, but he’s more willing to go against them.

So, my theory about How Misto Became 1998 Misto is:

1. In different ways, both the London and Broadway productions originally characterized Misto as a full grown adult, somewhat established as a magician due to a love of showing off.

2. Most early productions had a similar characterization for Misto, including the Vienna production.

3. The Paris production seemed to be where things began to change. One of the actors who played Misto, either Tibor Kovats or Guy-Paul de St. Germain started playing the character differently. This might’ve been because of the decision to have Mistoffelees dance with Victoria. London’s Admetus and Broadway’s Tumblebrutus were established as kittens around Victoria’s age. If Misto was out of her age range, it would be kind of weird. This wouldn’t stop the London production from pairing her with Alonzo in its later years, but whatever. So, Misto was aged down to be only as old as they could get away with if they wanted to pair him with Victoria, even if it was just for one dance, since a lot of productions don’t have Victoria interact with her dance partner much outside of the dance itself. Mistoria shippers can make a thing out of it and everyone else can not make a thing out of it, because it works either way.

4. The Zurich production also paired Mistoffelees with Victoria for the dance, so they might’ve aged him down for similar reasons. Like in Paris, Tibor Kovats played Misto in this version early on. I don’t have any footage of him in the role, but he’s what really connects Paris and Zurich, so this Misto characterization might’ve come from him. If not, Guy-Paul de St Germain and Lindsay Chambers had very similar ideas for what to do with the character, with just enough difference that it could just be a coincidence.

5. Guy-Paul de St Germain played Misto in London, bringing this new characterization into that production.

6. Lindsay Chambers played Misto on Broadway, bringing this new characterization into that production. Future Mistos of both London and Broadway would be more likely to base their portrayals on these Vienna-based Mistos.

7. When Jacob Brent was cast as Pouncival on Broadway, Lindsay Chambers was playing Misto. Jacob learned the part while Chambers was playing it, and when it was his turn to play Misto, he also played him as a young tom coming of age.

And he was very good at it.

8. Jacob Brent played Mistoffelees in the 1998 VHS. When the show closed in London and on Broadway, the 1998 version became the version that most people saw first, so a generation of future Mistos learned his characterization, so it became the one that remained popular into the present day.

And that’s probably where Baby Misto comes from.

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dwellordream · 3 years ago

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“...In presenting that value-set, I also think Dhuoda provides a valuable corrective to current pop-cultural assumptions about the values and behavior of the medieval aristocracy (often considered with little concern for the variety created by the vastness of the period). In this pop-imagining, the nobility is cynical and machiavellian: they break faith regularly, are at best irreligious (and frequently actively anti-clerical), they often brutish, largely holding ‘book learning’ in contempt, and hold to strict realpolitik (‘power is power’).

We might call this the Game of Thrones aristocratic values (if it seems like I pick on Game of Thrones a lot here, it is because it is by far, above and away the most culturally impactful representation of the Middle Ages – albeit in fantasy form – in the last decade at least), but the same basic framework shows up in the nobility of The Witcher (novels, games and series) and dozens of lesser works; those sets of assumptions in turn seep into works that at least imagine themselves to be historical (particularly the crop of middling historically set medieval political dramas that emerged in Game of Thrones‘ wake, most of which, it seems, feature scheming, amoral, irreligious and often brutish aristocrats).

And of course it doesn’t come from nowhere – the grim turn in the presentation of the medieval nobility is itself a reaction against an older trend of presenting the European Middle Ages as a lost period of morality, a ‘clean’ past (think The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) or even to an extent the Lord of the Rings (but only if one has not read the Silmarillion)). And that vision – all chivalry and little violence (a vision which is itself a terrible misunderstanding of what chivalry was and to whom it applied) – is worth reacting against. The courts of the actual Middle Ages were not inhabited by perfect, pious Sir Galahads. These were military aristocrats; they did quite a bit of fighting, much of it very nasty. In a week or two, we’ll take a closer look at some military aristocrats writing about violence (Bertran de Born and Antarah Ibn Shaddad, to be specific); their attitude is hardly pacific.

But for now, I want to focus on the contrast between Carolingian values and the Game of Thrones aristocratic package. In no small part because, quite frankly, I find the GoT aristocratic package showing up more and more in my own students and the assumptions they make about how people in the past viewed their world: that learning was devalued, that religion was viewed cynically, and that ‘power politics’ was normal and accepted (you may sense the presence of some of the underlying assumptions of the Cult of the Badass there as well – if knights were powerful fighters, mustn’t they be badasses as well? But this is an anachronism – the medieval vision of the great fighter (e.g. Roland from the Song of Roland) has precious little to do with the modern ‘badass’ action hero)

...Of course the most obvious difference is in Dhuoda’s emphasis on William keeping his vow of homage, both because such an oath was literally sacred and people in the past generally believed their own religion, but also because – as she quite clearly flags – breaking troth without justification could be well and truly dangerous in a society that functionally ran on oaths of fealty. These social dictates meant something quite important to this class.

...Another clear difference is the value placed on counsel and learning. The GoT aristocrat often attends councils but rarely take counsel meaningfully; they bark at their subordinates, belittle their ideas and generally bully them (this isn’t restricted to Game of Thrones of course; cf. both Richard and William Wallace in Braveheart for instance). But Dhuoda stresses the need to both offer good counsel and to listen to it as well. This is by no means unique to Dhuoda – cf. Einhard on Charlemagne’s temperament in court (which in turn becomes a fixture of the chansons – the old, often wise king, patiently holding court and listening carefully to his advisors; often this figure is, as in Roland, quite literally Charlemagne). An important component of the ideal lord was one who took counsel effectively, and an ideal vassal offered it eloquently and intelligently (note that Dhuoda stresses both the content of the advice but also the quality of its delivery).

And of course that was important. The advisers to high lords and kings were themselves (along with a handful of scholars and clerics) important military men. Were a king to opt, instead of listening patiently, to berate and shame his subordinates, he might well end up with a war on his hands (as, of course, Charles eventually does when he executes Bernard; while William dies in 850, his brother (also Bernard) remains a thorn in Charles’s side until the latter’s death in 877.) And in a military system where armies were composed of a retinue-of-retinues generating consensus among the major aristocrats (the men Dhuoda calls magnati) was crucial for actually winning those conflicts.

And where the GoT aristocrat is often dismissive of ‘book learning’ of any sort (GoT, in contrast to its books, quite clearly concludes that Tyrion’s book habit is a useless waste of time and he seems to be the only member of the nobility who engages in it), Dhuoda is adamant: reading is important, as are learned men at court. I honestly wonder why the nobles of Westeros continue to maintain maesters given that they never listen to them. Contrast Dhuoda’s advice: read, and collect a lot of books, she tells William. And she is demonstrating that emphasis; Dhuoda is at pains to show off her own reading and learning throughout – one imagines as a way of building credibility with her reader (her son). That performance of education is one she expects will be understood and respected by other military aristocrats.

In this, Dhuoda is not unique, but an exemplar of her historical moment, the Carolingian Renaissance, a resurgence of literacy and interest in literary culture. Einhard goes on at some length about the education Charlemagne made sure his children had (and how Charlemagne himself, starting late in life, strove to be proficient at reading and writing, but was never more the middling). Charlemagne even went to considerable lengths to assemble scholars in his court (particularly through Alcuin of York; one of these learned men recruited by him was Einhard). That emphasis that the king and his court ought to be learned continues through the later Carolingians (Dhuoda’s contemporaries) and into the High Middle Ages (the period c. 1000 to c. 1300). Whereas the Carolingian era effectively ends in the tenth century, literacy continues to widen over the following centuries; in a sense, the Carolingian Renaissance doesn’t really end.

And finally, this was a society that – rather than being cynical about their religion – was absolutely soaked through with it. Religious thinking was not limited to Church or prayer, but suffused how these fellows thought about politics and every day life. Major political decisions were made with deference to religious concerns (demonstrated most dramatically, perhaps, in the ability of a series of Popes to humble a sequence of German emperors during the investiture controversy). Secular leaders – including the aforementioned Louis the Pious most famously – poured resources into religious observance both to demonstrate piety, but also in the very real fear for their own souls. Even ruthless monarchs were often quite religiously observant (Edward I Longshanks, – the villain of Braveheart – for instance, was a very regular church-goer).

Now, does all of this mean that medieval courts were a paradise of proper conduct? Of course not. The annals of the periods feature their share of rogues and scoundrels who are accused of defying the standards of aristocratic values in one way or another. And even within the standards, there was plenty of space for violence – conflicting obligations, situations where multiple vassals felt entitled (through inheritance or promise) to the same land or title and so on. There was no shortage of potential justifications for conflict, but those justifications are typically framed with within the aristocratic code of conduct, as a product of its conflicting obligations, rather than simple, opportunistic realpolitik.

...Contrary to the popular image of a boorish and brutish group, it was an aristocracy that valued literacy and learning and placed great store in a shared code of conduct (which, again, was not a peaceful code of conduct – there were rules, but those rules involved quite a lot of violence and did almost nothing to protect most commoners) and tremendous weight on religious observance. The ideal Carolingian warrior-aristocrat was literate, pious, considered and slow to anger, taking counsel from their greater vassals, fearsome on the battlefield and fearful in the Church.”

- Bret Devereaux, “A Trip Through Dhuoda of Uzès (Carolingian Values).”

#carolingian #history #medieval #early middle ages #high middle ages #writing #bret devereaux

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

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Brick Club 2.3.2 “Two Portraits Filled In”

Hugo acknowledging how much more stressful and intense and exhausting life is for women while discussing Mme Thenardier is interesting. If Mme Thenardier’s life was hard and she was essentially ten years older than her actual age, then we must imagine how much worse it was for Fantine.

(I desperately wish any of the film versions of the Brick had cast Shawna Hamic from the 2011 US tour as Mme Thenardier. She was absolutely perfect in every way as that role. She’s also really really nice.)

Mme Thenardier is the opposite of Sister Simplice in how not-a-woman she is. Simplice is not a woman because she is essentially a sacred being, a sexless vessel of piety and faith. Mme Thenardier is not a woman because she lacks the grace, poise, frame, etc. Essentially, Simplice is not a woman because she is So Pious and Mme Thenardier is not a woman because she is So Brutish.

Thenardier appropriates and twists the history of the last of the Guard and Cambronne’s death in order to create a fictional glory for himself. Only he’s the lone survivor standing ground against the Hussars Of Death rather than Cambronne standing ground against English artillery. And he gets to survive it, in his story, because of course he does. Cambronne was great because he was defiant despite the fact that he didn’t survive. Thenardier is a sleaze, so he’s going to survive, because that’s what he does. He is the opposite of Cambronne, who will sacrifice his life for France and Napoleon; Thenardier will sacrifice others for his own benefit, and will try as hard as possible to survive himself.

Again, we see Thenardier as the embodiment of that sort of mobile cour des miracles that we saw on the field of Waterloo. He can and will change his manner and face and conversation to fit the circumstances. He can place his past or his origin anywhere in time or space that is most useful. He is an actor, a player on the stage of life in order to swindle whatever he can.

Thenardier plays the trickster role in this book. Some characteristics of a trickster: he breaks both societal and physical rules; he can often often shapeshift; his antics hurt or affect or discomfort the protagonists, but he is usually ultimately left untouched; often a trickster character will have gender variability, which we see in Thenardier’s letters to get money; he is often boastful and openly mocking of authority. We see all of these characteristics in Thenardier across the arc of the novel.

It’s so funny that Hugo says that “practiced eyes” found spelling mistakes in Thenardier’s bills, considering the severe amount of mistakes we see in his letters later on in Paris. Did he just become a worse speller when he left Montfermeil? Or was he better able to hide it because presumably bills only really need certain words?

I get the feeling the Mme Thenardier’s view of Thenardier (at least at this moment) is partially informed by her reading of romance books. She obviously isn’t living the life she wanted, and who knows if she was this brutish before being stuck with Thenardier or not. In any case, she wants something else, and that desire is probably increased by her romance novel-reading, and she start to see Thenardier as unknowable, and as the “object of universal desire” that she gets to have and be jealous over. I wonder how much her romantic propensities blinded her, and if she might have become jaded towards Thenardier even earlier than we see in the book. By the time the Thenardiers are in Paris, that veil has definitely fallen away and Mme Thenardier is much more willing to argue with her husband.

The sheer amount of abuse that Cosette endures is laid out in only a few examples here, but I’m sure it’s much more extensive. Mme Thenardier is physically abusive in a much more “forward” way, beating Cosette and knocking her around and insulting her. Thenardier, in character, is much more sinister. He doesn’t seem to actually interact with her much, but he disallows her shoes and probably takes other things from her like food and warm clothes etc. It was probably him that decided to make her eat under the table like a dog.

“The ideal of oppression was realized in this dismal servitude.” What Cosette is going through is extreme, but she’s another Symbol here. This is how society treats women, collectively. They are made to slave away, cold and hungry, to be called names and beaten and to be denied comfort. There aren’t child labor laws in France for about another decade. Cosette is one girl, one child, but we can imagine that there are many others like her out there. And the Thenardier’s treatment of her is ideal in keeping her oppressed: physical abuse paired with neglect and psychological abuse that renders her passive, silent, and terrified. However, later we see her true personality peek through, and the way her strength carries her through all this suffering.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 2.3.1 #les mis #les mis meta

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 1/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: For @silver-colour

Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt "Creepypasta format story (like a found footage or witness statement kind of thing)" by silver-colour. It is a mild reworking of an older fanfic of mine, but that goes tongue in cheek with the ending of this story sort of. XD I would put this between Spooky Level 2 and 3, with 3 being "major and minor character death, disturbing images or concepts, major dark themes, major violence, etc." But there's only minor mentions of blood/body horror. But the whole undead thing is a trigger for some people and I lean into that imagery a bit. I wanted this to be a sort of leveled up Goosebumps tale. Tl;dr proceed with caution <3

Chapter 1

I am going to die.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

I have to keep repeating it because I have to come to grips with it.

I am going to die.

Not in sixty years.

More like sixty minutes.

Oh, Amanda. I am sorry.

If you ever hear this … I never meant for this to happen.

My name is Warlock Dowling and I am 34 years-old. Devoted son and husband, I’ve spent over a decade working towards achieving my dream of following in my father’s footsteps and entering politics one day.

It’s a dream I don’t think I’ll be seeing through to the end.

I am telling you this because after reading what I’ve just read … and hearing what I’ve just heard … I am not certain I’m going to make it through the night.

I broke the rules.

There were four. Only four. And I broke them.

I didn’t break them by accident. I absolutely did it on purpose. I’m not suicidal or anything, but you only live once - am I right?

For the record, I don’t regret a single thing.

…

That’s not entirely true.

I’ll regret dying before morning if that’s the way things play out.

Today happens to be October 31st - Halloween night. I’d been tasked with clearing out the attic above a cottage in The South Downs which once belonged to a pair of old family friends. Technically, they were ex-employees of my parents from back when I was young, but I thought of them as surrogates. They practically raised me, educated me, taught me everything I know about coping in this cruel, pathetic world.

I held them in the highest regard.

They were the only people in my life who treated me as if I could become more than what I had been born into, that fate had something else in store for me. Because of them, I met the best friends a boy could ever have.

I will forever be grateful for that.

Cleaning out this attic was the least I could do to repay them, but to be honest, I don’t know who summoned me here. I assumed it was the executor of their estate, but now I’m not so sure. Looking over the letter in my hands, there is no legible signature. And the gold embossed emblem at the top that I took for granted as belonging to some upscale legal firm is, on closer inspection, gibberish - a mess of fleur-de-lis underscored by Latin words that roughly translate to “the cows shall rise”.

Ludicrous, right?

How did I miss that?

But more ludicrous - and confusing - are the rules.

I had been given rules about cleaning this attic.

The first rule on the list was to touch only what I could see. Under no circumstances was I to open any of the boxes or chests.

So, naturally, I opened every single one.

The second rule was not to put anything on. Fine by me. The only clothes up here are old lady outfits and a pair of white satin shoes.

But …

There was an awesome vintage leather jacket hanging on a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner and … well … it had my name written all over it! I had to try it on, see if it fit.

And it does.

Rule number three - keep to my torch. Don’t light any candles.

Nuh-uh! It’s Halloween! And torches are lame. So on the candles went. Jeez, there are a lot of them. Enough to burn down the whole place if I’m not careful. It actually seems like they’ve multiplied since I’ve been up here.

I won’t lie - it’s unsettling.

But according to the list, rule number four is the most important:

Don’t read any books I find. And definitely not out loud.

The first thing I saw when I entered the attic was a stack of leather-bound books. I scoffed at the sight of them, piled up to my chin, right inside the entryway. Isn’t that a bit like putting a huge bowl of candy front and center on your dining room table in the middle of dinner with a huge sign saying, “Do not eat?” If the most important rule about going into the attic is, “Don’t read anything!” why not put all the books on a high shelf?

Or the moon?

I’m not a book lover. I read hundreds of pages a day for work. I definitely don’t do it for fun. So this shouldn’t have been a hard one for me to follow.

But they looked like diaries.

And diaries hold secrets.

That made them a different matter all together.

I couldn’t resist.

But once I opened the top one, I knew I’d made a mistake.

These weren’t just any diaries.

They were the diaries of my two friends - Aziraphale and Crowley.

There had always been something odd about those two. I didn’t believe for a second that they were a proper nanny or gardener, not even when I was a young, impressionable child. But they were funny - a distraction from the dull as dishwater life of an attache’s son.

Yes, I was a spoiled little rich kid with everything I could ever ask for handed to me and, on top of that, diplomatic immunity.

Woe was me.

I realize how much of a douche whining about that makes me sound.

My life was still dull.

I was still lonely.

I never knew for sure what happened to them after they left us. I made assumptions - erroneous assumptions. I thought they lived happily ever after at least.

Now I know … that wasn’t the case.

I’m recording this in the hopes that someone will find it, so that you might know the true story of what happened to them …

… and why you might not be hearing from me again.

***

The Diary of Aziraphale Fell - Reluctant Widower

January 14th-

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hissed, but not unkindly. She came about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms - her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age caused her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

I glared at her regardless. I knew my eyes were bloodshot; my hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; my lips quivered from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” I screamed, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implored, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixed me with one clear blue eye, the other eye clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for … it is unnatural.”

“But your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” I persisted, shooting a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducked behind her grandmother to hide from my volatile stare. I wasn’t about to leave without the item I came for. At this point, I was willing to tear the place apart and everything inside - including the two of them - to get it.

They must have sensed that.

Even as the woman continued to defy me, she looked slightly more afraid than she had a minute ago.

“My granddaughter is foolish!” The woman directed the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there. “But she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking!” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want!”

The girl, intrigued by my proposal, peeked over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turned and barked sharply at her in a language I could not understand.

That was when I began to think I might be in danger.

I’d spent my entire life studying languages, so hearing one I didn’t comprehend, not even an inch, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mr. Fell …” The old woman reached out, I presumed to comfort me, and took my shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead. And I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I see it in your eyes. It shines from every part of you. With him gone, it is up to you to carry it. It will never fade as long as you remember him.”

Those were, without a doubt, the kindest words anyone had said to me since my husband passed. I crumbled, new tears falling hot down my cheeks. But regardless of her sympathy, sincere though it might be, I refused to relent.

I refused!

“I don’t want to remember him!” I whimpered, my anger renewed at the sound of my voice fracturing. “I want him here with me! I need you to help me bring him back!”

The woman sighed in pity but shook her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Fell. Our fate … it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

I flinched at that word as if she’d struck me across the face.

Permanent.

Crowley dead … my husband gone … and nothing for me to look forward to in life but emptiness. We’d had every moment of our lives planned together.

One arsehole drunk driver later and now I was alone.

I literally had no one.

I had lost contact with my mum early in life, never knew my father, didn’t have children of my own. My boss and mentor was an abusive prick who tormented me throughout the span of my career until I found a way out from under his thumb.

Until Crowley helped me discover a life where I didn’t need the man’s guidance or control.

But now I was going to lose him!? The only one who had stuck by me, who defended me, loved me through thick and thin!?

No! That was beyond cruel! And I wasn’t going to roll over and accept it!

I let the sorrow within me curdle, turn sour as I yanked my hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want!” I snarled. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Both women gasped.

Despite the conversation at hand, I smiled.

Good, I thought. We were finally all on the same page.

Up until a few days ago, I never considered violence to be the answer to anything. But I had since come to a crossroads where an exception had made itself clear.

I was prepared to annihilate my humanity to get my husband back.

The old woman snapped her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had started to brave coming out of hiding, shrank down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begged, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No,” I said, my calm more potent than my anger … or so my husband used to say. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looked down at her gnarled hands and sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Fell. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

I stared at her for a moment in shock. I was relieved, of course. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. It frightened me how much I had begun looking forward to throttling her with my bare hands, imagined her neck snapping within my grasp, effortlessly like a twig.

That couldn’t be me though. I wasn’t that kind of person. It was this place - this shop and all of its trinkets, their age and professed magical abilities amplifying my grief, turning every rational thought I had into rage.

I had to get out of here and fast before I did something I might regret.

I opened my wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbed through the bills, pulling out extra for the joy of getting what I wanted. I handed the money over, but the woman refused to touch it. She waved it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reached into the folds of her skirts and retrieved a leather pouch that hung from a thin belt around her waist. From it she fished out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She gave it a long, troubled look, then handed it to me.

For the first time, her hand trembled.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Fell,” she instructed, “and your husband will return.”

I held the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty Soho shop. The blue glass glimmered, a thick liquid inside swaying back and forth, shimmering like sun-tossed sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman said, her voice weeding into my head, summoning me back from my momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

I sighed. I had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving my husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but I knew in my heart that nothing was ever that simple.

“Okay,” I said, slipping the bottle carefully into my pocket and patting over it twice to ensure its safety. “Tell me. What are the rules?”

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she paused, swallowed hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

I nodded. I had expected her to say something along those lines, like a scene straight from an old time-y horror movie.

The woman locked both eyes, one clear and one clouded, on my face as I waited for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with my life. She realized, with regret, that I had every intention of going through with this, and took on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he wakes,” she said.

I hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman made such a point of it, I asked, “Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She took my hands and squeezed them. “That person needs to be you!”

My gulp was audible, the weight of her words and of my plan suddenly settling within me. They pressed in on me, like that moment when the police came to my door. Their words – “Mr. Fell? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned me inside out, left my heart out in the cold.

I felt that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continued. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

I nodded again. I wanted to say something, assure the woman that I understood, but she didn’t pause long enough for me to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered. I saw the trepidation in her one, clear eye. I had no clue what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raised her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of my face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman stepped back, out of breath from her outburst, and her granddaughter (whom I had forgotten about) returned, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. I held the woman’s arms gently and helped her into it, feeling strangely protective. The woman sat and waved us both off, not wanting us to make a fuss when she still had more to say.

“But most importantly,” she labored on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” I knelt down so that she didn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach me. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

“Will … will I become a zombie? If he does bite me?”

I’m not quite sure why the word ‘zombie’ leapt to my mind. In every interaction I had had with the woman’s granddaughter before tonight, she had been so careful not to use that term. She used other, more romantic euphemisms such as ‘bring back to the land of the living’, ‘re-associate with life’, and the most used - ‘rebirth’. But that’s what he would be, right? When we moved past the flowery vernacular and got right down to it? This potion I had pocketed would turn my husband into the walking dead, - a simple-minded creature that was once deposed from this Earth.

And that meant ‘zombie’.

As if I had nothing more pressing at hand, I suddenly recalled the Walking Dead marathon Crowley had convinced me to watch (against my better judgement). Crowley thought the show was hilarious, but I could barely make it to the middle of the first season. I had started watching with my hands over my eyes, then with my arm locked around Crowley’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of my body lying over his lap and my face buried in his shirt.

It wasn’t just the gore in the show that skewered me, made me nauseous, unable to breathe. It was the fear and the pain those characters felt, being chased by a relentless enemy that needed no rest, constantly running into people they couldn’t trust, people who were so out for themselves they no longer believed in the sanctity of life, with nowhere to hide, nowhere safe at all, even behind thick, concrete and metal walls.

Watching your loved ones get turned into soulless monsters - still there, but everything about them that you had once loved out of reach.

And this ‘illness’ or whatever these people had - it spared no one. Even children had become zombies. And in the game that was survival for the remaining uninfected, children had become pawns.

Everything about it seemed so horrendous.

And while I suffered through my existential crisis, Crowley laughed at my antics.

I fought not to smile at the sound of his teasing voice.

“Uh … a little squeamish there, are you, angel?”

Angel.

From the first day we met, that’s what he called me.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear him call me that again!

The old woman chuckled, bringing me reluctantly back from my daydream. “No. Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No, blood will give him back his memories.”

I looked at the woman, bug-eyed, and shook my head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other.”

“Wha---?“ I stuttered, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make Crowley more Crowley, I’d set up an IV drip the minute I got home! I would serve him cups of blood with every meal! I’d make donating blood a requirement for entrance into my bookshop! (That one would definitely kill two birds with one stone. In fact, I might consider doing that anyhow.) “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” I asked, trying not to sound like turning my husband into a blood-sipping fiend was the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiled, but it wasn’t fond. It was shrewd, as if she could read every one of my thoughts.

And she didn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become a killer.”

My face must have gone as green as I felt because the woman laughed again, this time with a touch of wickedness. A killer? My Crowley? My sweet, kind, compassionate Crowley?

Okay, maybe I was going too far with the endearments. He’d been a bit of a bastard, after all. Which was why I could picture Crowley becoming a full-fledged bad boy. With that leather jacket he wore like a second skin and his gleaming classic car, he’d been well on his way.

But a killer? No.

Then again, I was willing to become one myself a second ago, so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Fell,” she said, patting me on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the lives of those around you.” The woman leaned in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing than when I had walked into the shop; her face no longer that of a frail old woman but of a powerful witch.

This time, it was my turn to feel afraid.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #tricketyboo2020 #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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spanishskulduggery · 4 years ago

Note

I have a question! I've only seen this before on a poster in my Spanish class, so I'd like to know how common this is to see in informal Spanish. Do people frequently use 'u' instead of 'o' to mean "or" before a word beginning with the letter O? Or is this formal/old fashioned/etc? And while I'm at it, how commonly is 'e' used to replace "y" in informal writing/dialogue/speech? Thank you and I hope you're having a good day!

It’s standard grammar, so it’s not old-fashioned or too formal.

I would say that in informal Spanish you have less opportunities to use O to U, but Y to E is VERY common.

The O to U rule basically says: If you’re using o and the next word also begins with an O or HO- [where the H is silent], you use u to help break up the sounds and so the sounds stay separate.

So while this is standard, I don’t normally need to use this one so much but that’s just my basic word choice. There are definitely situations where you see it but usually when you see u it comes up with:

7 [siete] u 8 [ocho] = seven or eight

De una manera u otra = One way or another

But again it depends on what words you’re using because it’s definitely still standard:

Alemania u Holanda = Germany or Holland/the Netherlands alemán/alemana u holandés/holandesa = German or Dutch

700 [setecientos] u 800 [ochocientos] = seven hundred or eight hundred

minutos u horas = minutes or hours

estufas u hornos = stoves or ovens

aromas u olores = scents or smells

So, it just depends.

I think this also applies to first names so if you saw Óscar or Horacio you’d also see it used:

Roldán, también llamado en español Rolando u Orlando... = Roland, also called Rolando or Orlando in Spanish...

[Roldán or “Roland” is a very famous knight in medieval literature especially for Spain/France/Italy, and “the Song of Roland” is right up there with El Cid, and it shows up in reference to Don Quixote a lot]

I will say though every competency test I’ve ever taken for Spanish will try to trip you up with siete u ocho ...they always want to know if you’re aware of that rule.

As for Y and E, it’s the same basic premise: When using y for “and”, it will change to e��when you have the next word starting with I- or HI-, or sometimes Y-

This one is more involved but again you’re changing it to preserve the sound so that the y “and” doesn’t blend in with the i/y sound of the next word

So with I-

Francia e Inglaterra = France and England Polonia e Italia = Poland and Italy Noruega e Islandia = Norway and Iceland China e India = China and India

francés/francesa e inglés/inglesa = French and English polaco/a e italiano/a = Polish and Italian noruego/a e islandés/islandesa = Norwegian and Icelandic chino/a e indio/a / hindú = Chinese and Indian*

listo/a e inteligente = smart and intelligent

necesario/a e importante = necessary and important

península e isla = peninsula and island

Quiero encontrar el hotel e irme a la playa. = I want to find the hotel and go to the beach. Necesito hablar con mis jefes e investigar el asunto. = I need to talk to my bosses and investigate/research the matter.

Catalina e Isabel = Catherine and Elizabeth [or Catalina and Isabel; depends on what the context is] Ana e Ingrid = Ana and Ingrid Miguel e Iván = Miguel/Michael and Ivan

*Yes, there are two different words for “Indian”, one is indio/a and the other is hindú though hindú can also be “Hindu” as in someone who follows Hinduism

But since we brought up H a bit in the last one...

Padre e hijo = Father and son Madre e hija = Mother and daughter Hijo e hija = Son and daughter Hija e hijo = Daughter and son

aguja e hilo = needle and thread

inflamarse e hincharse = to become inflamed and to become swollen [lit. “to inflame” and “to swell up”, but they’re synonyms]

Carlota e Hilda = Charlotte/Carlota and Hilda

So, funny enough Hilda e Ingrid and Ingrid e Hilda both need the e.

Where it gets tricky with H, is when you get HIE-

You only use the e for “and” in the presence of a strong I- or HI- with the silent H, but there are words with HIE-

The difference is that HIE- is pronounced with a ye sound, and that means it no longer counts:

roble venenoso y hiedra venenosa = poison oak and poison ivy

nieve y hielo = snow and ice

cocer y hervir = to bubble and boil [lit. “to boil and boil”; they’re synonymous but they’re sometimes used together when it’s a rolling boil] cociendo e hirviendo = bubbling and boiling

lastimar y herir = to injure and to wound [again, synonymous] lastimado/a y herido/a = injured and wounded lastimando e hiriendo = injuring and wounding

In the case of hirviendo and hiriendo you have to keep in mind that hervir and herir are E=>IE verbs, and their particular gerund form gets rid of that E... similar to how you have sentir to siento but then in gerund it’s sintiendo

What that means for this grammar though is that it went from a ye sound to a y sound, and then you needed to add the e

...So unfortunately you sometimes need to be wary of irregular verbs when you’re dealing with this grammar rule.

Side Note: There are times when you’ll see e used with Y names. It’s not super common, but names like Yves (first name), or Ibarra / Ybarra (surname) have the y/i sound and not a ye sound, so they take the e

...So for example say you were talking about fashion you might see Calvin Klein e Yves Saint Laurent

Or in an older style name with the extended surname you might see de ___ e Ibarra/Ybarra

These are relatively rare exceptions but I mention them in case they ever show up.

In most cases these rules are easier to catch when you’re writing.

When you understand that the e and u are used to preserve the sound of the next name or noun, you can sort of start to figure out when you might use them

Speaking it can be a difficult to catch yourself and say the right thing. Usually English-speakers separate their words, so it’s not that you’d be misunderstood, it’s more that it sounds incorrect but people still know what you mean.

And to the best of my knowledge this is standard grammar that pretty much everyone uses. I don’t think it’s so much of a formality thing or a regional thing as it is just what you do.

Also, while I don’t recommend it for all cases, if it’s something you’re unsure of there are usually ways to avoid it by reordering your words:

libertad e independencia = freedom/liberty and independence independencia y libertad = independence and freedom/liberty

Estocolmo u Oslo = Stockholm or Oslo Oslo o Estocolmo = Oslo or Stockholm

By just switching the words you avoid the need to use them. Again, I don’t recommend doing this all the time.

There are just times when you need to use it like de una manera u otra, or you come across names like Hilda e Ingrid / Ingrid e Hilda where it’s inevitable

#Spanish #language #languages #langblr #espanol #la gramatica

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jacnaylor · 5 years ago

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romance book recs!!

romance is my feel good genre, and it’s also usually somewhat easier to read during stressful times, so here’s a list of some books that are either romance or have a romance element i feel like mentioning.

(EDIT: I STAYED UP TILL 2 AM DOING THIS HELP. this is why some of the comments. don’t make any fucking sense.)

romance books and authors:

CONTEMPORARY:

1. The Bromance bookclub series by Lyssa Kay Adams (A group of men form a bookclub dedicated to romance books in order to understand women, improve their relationships and become better men. It’s funny, cute, and all about dismantling toxic masculinity one romance book at a time)

2. Mariana Zapata books (The queen of slowburn romance. The only book I’ve read by her is ‘Under Locke’, but ‘From Lukov with love’ and ‘Kulti’ have rave reviews. There is so much build up and SO much sexual tension with a great pay off)

3. Milly Johnson books (A uk author whose books are primarily set in the north, these are total feel good books. Not so much graphic and more romantic, but her characters are great and her plot lines really hook you in.)

4. The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren (Super cute, quick enemies-to-lovers story about a bridesmaid who has to go on a honeymoon with the best man when the bride and groom get food poisoning. Obviously this means the holy of holies: fake relationship!)

5. Well met by Jen De Luca (Oh my gosh! Super fun, the characters are just wonderful especially our heroine. A hate-to-love romance set at a renaissance fair! All about overcoming the limits you set on yourself and rethinking your first impressions.)

6. Katherine Center books (My personal favourites are ‘How to walk away’ about a woman who falls for her PT after a near fatal plane crash. And ‘Happiness for beginners’ about a woman taking part in a wilderness trail with her brothers annoying best friend. She writes such great plots and you really feel all the emotions!)

7. Mhairi Mcfarlane books (my personal favourites are ‘Here’s looking at you’ about a woman who comes face to face with her high school bully years later - only he doesn’t recognize her. And he’s not awful? Don’t worry. I know how that synopsis sounds. He’s not excused his actions, but you also understand how he’s grown and changed. It definitely gets you in the feels though. As does ‘You had me at hello’ Which is about a couple from university meeting again years later. God this woman can write angst and yearning!!)

8. A part of me by Anouska Knight (On the same day she and her husband have been accepted into the adoption process, their marriage implodes. This has such a cute romance which follows hate-to friends- to love and it’s v funny)

9. Southern Eclectic series by Molly harper (Just as it sounds. Southern small town romance with a great, quirky cast of characters)

10. Maggie’s man by Lisa Gardner (writing as Alicia Scott) (An escaped convict kidnaps a woman from the courthouse to act as his hostage whilst he tries to prove his innocence. Surprisingly funny and warm. Maggie as a heroine is an absolute joy. They’re sort of chaotic together and it’s a wild ride.)

11. The Mister by E.L James (LISTEN OK - SIT BACK DOWN - It’s not winning awards but it’s actually decent! I was skeptical, but I will admit I was won over. I mean parts are cheesy but it’s so addictive. Basically a rich man falls for his cleaning lady - but it’s also about the yearning. It’s also quite action packed as there’s danger, drama and a chase across europe to get the girl.)

12. RECENT Colleen Hoover (Now, you may enjoy older CH books. Personally I find them very problematic. Now I’ve really enjoyed her recent books though. Especially ‘Without Merit’ and ‘It ends with us’ and ‘Regretting you’. High angst, high drama, dark topics for all of her books. But you can tell she’s matured with her writing. She isn’t for everyone but they’re addictive, fast paced reads.

13. The Austenland duology by Shannon Hale (You might have seen the Austenland movie - The cutest, cheesiest, sweetest, campiest movie ever. Well there’s a book! It’s about women who go on a holiday and live their own Jane Austen story with actors. The first book leans towards Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield park. The second book is more Northanger abbey and Emma.

14. Brigid Kemmerer contemporaries (She is an auto-buy author for me, especially her contemporaries. She writes the best teenage characters, the best teenage boys I’ve ever read about. Her characters are real, she writes about kids trying their best, struggling, and being good, and kind, and the world not being kind to them. Usually the books have a pov from both the female and male love interest. I would rec any of them tbh. ‘Letters to the lost’ comes before it’s companion novel ‘More than we can tell’. I loved ‘Call it what you want’ with has modern Robin Hood elements!!!! seriously she is my favourite YA contemporary author.

15. Sophie Kinsella books (If you haven’t picked up her stand alone novels then what are you doing???? she is the queen!!!! Personal favourites are ‘Can you keep a secret’ and ‘I’ve got your number)

16. A quiet kind of thunder by Sara Barnard (I love her ok. Her books are short and sweet but she packs a punch. TBH these aren’t primarily romance, they’re more just about teenage girls but this one has a good romance element so I’m putting it on here. It’s about Steffi, a selective mute who sometimes communicates with basic sign language who is assigned to look after the new boy at school Rhys, who is deaf.)

17. Meet me at the museum by Anne Youngson (GORGEOUS! moving, tender. A lonely housewifes strikes up a correspondence with a widowed museum curator in Denmark. Oh gosh. I just love this one. It’s about friendship, love, grief, second chances, the choices we make. Seriously love this one and it’s not that long.)

FANTASY:

1. Sorcery of thorns by Margaret Rogerson (Elisabeth has grown up in the great library, protecting grimoires with powers and fearing sorcerers. When a dangerous grimoire is released, she’s forced to team up with an enigmatic sorcerer and his demonic servant in order to save the world.)

2. Sky in the deep duology by Adrienne Young (A viking inspired story about a warrior who is captured by the tribe she is at war with. Such good tension and it’s also got a lot of action. Battle couple romance! Mutual respect! Hate to love!)

3. The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley (I’ve reread this book once but will end up reading it again. It’s a time travel romance about a woman staying in cornwall dealing with the death of her sister who is transported back and forth to the 17th century. It’s a favourite. The romance is wonderful but the stakes are really high too. I also love ‘Belleweather’ by the same author)

4. An ember in the ashes series by Sabaa Tahir (Oh god, the romance. THE ROMANCE! it’s so much. The angst, the pining, the longing. The first book follows Laia, part of a slave class in a roman inspired world. She begins spying in the top military academy and meets Elias, a reluctant soldier. This is a proper fantasy series with only the first three books out, but it’s so great.)

5. Alias Hook by Lisa Jensen (Let me just copy the blurb ok: “Meet Captain James Benjamin Hook, a witty, educated Restoration-era privateer cursed to play villain to a pack of malicious little boys in a pointless war that never ends. But everything changes when Stella Parrish, a forbidden grown woman, dreams her way to the Neverland in defiance of Pan's rules.” I MEAN COME ON. a gorgeous adult fairytale with love and redemption at the center.

6. The Mediator series by Meg Cabot (Obviously Meg Cabot is the most iconic and we stan. But this series is my absolute favourite by her. About Suze Simon, a kickass, no nonsense mediator - Someone who helps ghosts move on to the other side. Sometimes by force. She has to move house and ends up sharing her room with a 100 year old hot ghost named Jesse. The tension. The angst. THE BANTER!!!!)

7. House of Earth and Blood by Sara J Maas (a half fae half mortal girl tries to solve a murder with the help of a fallen angel. It’s a LONG book, but for me personally it flew by. It’s a big new fantasy world but the romance has a great build. Overcoming grief! Being normal together! Being in danger together! THE UST! the characters are so good. I ahven’t been this impressed by a new series for a while)

8. Cursebreakers series by Brigid Kemmerer (yep, she gets another mention. This one is a beauty and the best retelling about a man forced to relive the same season over and over, becoming a literal beat, until a girl from our world can break the curse. The second book, following secondary characters, is my fave so far. But both feature kickass ladies and those small romantic moments BK is so good at)

9. A court of thorns and roses series by Sara J Maas (a fae inspired beauty and the beast retelling. The only time you support a ship switch. Also the secondary ships are getting their own books and oh my god. I’m so excited.)

HISTORICAL/CLASSICS/MILLS AND BOON

1. Jane Austen (The original rom com queen, obviously. Pride and prejudice and Emma are faves. Also I have a major soft spot for the alwayc chaotic and underrated Northanger Abbey)

2. North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell (Actually might be my favourite classic ever. Often described at an industrial p&p. Margaret, from the south, comes face to face with the harsh reality of the world when she moves up north and comes face to face with a brooding millowner. There’s obviously a lot more nuance than that but. THE PINING!!!!!! THE MISCOMMUNICATION! THE DRAMA!)

3. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer (You might have seen the film. Please also read the book. Told entirely in letters. The sharp witted author Juliet Ashton falls in love with Guernsey and it’s characters whilst researching what happened there during the war. Funny, moving and romantic.)

4. The Veronica Speedwell series by Deanna Raybourn (A butterfly hunter foils her own kidnap and is paired together with a reclusive natural historian. They solve mysteries together. They can’t admit they wanna sleep together. The tension.......unbearable. See also the Julia Grey mysteries by the same author)

5. The warrior knight and the widow by Ella Matthews (So last year I discovered Mills and Boon and I have no shame about it whatsoever. This is a medieval beauty and the beast retelling about a woman being escorted to her fathers estate by an enigmatic and scarred knight. She’s hoping to convince her father to let her steward her own lands, and of course trying not to fall for her escort.)

6. The bareknuckle bastards series by Sarah Maclean (A badass, brooding trio of siblings who rule the underbelly of Covent Garden fall for smart, beautiful women. Opposites attract, Good girl/bad boy, strong women, banter. Super fun historical romance)

7. Redeeming the reclusive earl by Virginia Heath (I just read this and it was seriously cute!!!! And book where the hero blushes even once is a good book in my opinion. Basically aspiring antiquarian named Effie barrels into the life of a new earl - who really just wants to be left alone to be grumpy and sad and disfigured. ALONE. But Effie wants to dig on his land. And she won’t take no for an answer. She also talks A LOT.

8. A family for the widowed governess by Ann Lethbridge (Technically this is part of a series but you don’t need to read them in order and this is the best one. A widow who is being blackmailed accepts a governess post. She can’t tell her employer about the blackmail especially when she starts falling for him.)

9. The bedlam stacks by Natasha Pulley (I read watchmaker and didn’t like it but you might like it. This one also FEAUTRES A M/M ROMANCE. I know this list was super straight im sorry. Anyway this is about a botanist falling in love with a priest in the jungle.

10. The wilderness series by Sara Donati (Think outlander without the time travel and also not set in scotland. Basically Last of the Mohicans fanfiction about Hawkeye’s grown up son. An english woman moves to america when her father promises she can be a school teacher there. Little does she know he actually has plans to marry her off. Things get more complicated when she falls for Nathaniel Bonner, a white man raised native american and who’s daughter and extended family is Native American. Like outlander there’s romance, adventure, history. But unlike the outlander books the love interest is a decent guy (i say as if i don’t love the tv show)

STUFF THAT REALLY ISN’T ROMANCE AT ALL. BUT I SHIP A SHIP.

1. The Lacey Flint series by Sharon Bolton (Lacey Flint is a police officer who becomes involved in the hunt to catch a Jack the ripper copycat. There actually is a strong romantic element with the other lead police officer.)

2. The last hours duology by Minette Walters. A novel about the black death and a closed estate lead by a woman who’s trying to protect her people. There’s also a kind of murder mystery. But she also has a close relationship to one of the surfs that I got super invested in.

3. The Strike series by J.k Rowling (I know we don’t stan anymore but. This series about PI and his assistant slowly growing closer? Becoming best friends and partners? Not acknowledging any feelings for each other?

#books #book recs #literature #romance #romance books #romance reads #penvenens #romance recs #romance reader #historical romance #probably forgot loads

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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

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Several of my stories have mentioned Canbe, a mortal living in the Borderland of Nightmare with the Lamia Flowering Ash. This is the tale of how they met.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Return to Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

The Day After Nightmare Night

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

2284 words

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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I really should have known better. It was the day AFTER Nightmare Night. Morgan and I were out strolling around, looking at the remaining decorations and assorted minor pranks that had been played.

Sawnax's Lumber Yard office had got it by at least two or three pranksters. It was covered in ribbons of cheap toilet paper and the windows had been painted over with egg whites and liberally dusted with dirt. It was understandable, if not really excusable. He was always too cheap to put out a Foal Bowl.

Passing Caramel Treat's Sweets, we saw that Ponyville's genuine werewolf was still in the form of the gigantic Everfree Ridgeback Wolf that was her when she was not a pony. Smiling, she was passing out treats to any who were still in costume.

A good many foals knew of her habit and were lined up, chanting, “Nightmare Night has passed away! Now it is Nightmare Day! Please give us something sweet to bite, to celebrate the daylight!”

She was happily giving treats out and posing for pictures with the assorted little ghouls, alicorns, very phony deer, liches, and witches.

We watched for a little and went on our way.

It was not long before we were passing the shoulder high stone wall of the Ponyville Cemetery. We found a perfectly lovely and unusual gray mare staring at us, over the wall. She smiled, keeping her lips shut, and said with mild humor, “So, looking over the wall between life and death?”

“Sort of,” Morgan replied. “Canbe and I are out looking at all of the assorted pranks that have been pulled, that's all.”

She kept pace with us, she on the inside, and we out. Her head swayed in a sort of undulating way, instead of bobbing a little, like a pony's usually does.

She offered, “Are you just looking, or are you doing anything to help fix the pranks? I am not sure why, but some ponies think that it is fun to mess up the graveyard. Do they think that they will disturb the rest of those who have passed beyond life or are they trying to upset the living by knocking over or wrecking grave markers?”

Actually looking across the wall, at something besides the lovely mare's head and shapely neck, I commented, “I don't see any damage here. What happened?”

Sadly, she replied, “You can't see it from here. There is a really ancient part of the cemetery. Nopony knows how old it is. It is far older than Ponyville. It has crypts, tombs, mausoleums and markers that nopony around here now knows how to read. It is over the hill, there, where those big trees show their tops.”

She pointed to an area that I had never paid attention to before.

I sort of shook my head in surprise. “I did not even know that those trees were in the cemetery! Old stones that nobody can read? That sounds really neat, actually. If I come to help you, would you mind if I made some rubbings of those stones? Maybe a scholar like Twilight Sparkle could read them.”

The gray mare raised her eybrows in polite surprise. “That would be a true boon, if she could. So many old things are simply forgotten.”

Morgan snorted, “Never could figure out why anypony bothers with history! Basically, it is a pack of lies told by the winners to make them look better than they were!”

The gray mare gave Morgan a disturbed look. “That is partly true. The truth of what did happen can often be found out. It is the best understanding of the past that can serve to guide you and help you to avoid the mistakes that your ancestors made.”

Bitterly Morgan snapped back, “I was one of those 'mistakes' that somepony made! I was abandoned on the steps of the Ponyville Orphanage without even a note! I don't want to know who my mother or dad was!”

Morgan rudely turned his rump and stomped off.

The lovely gray mare turned to me and gave me a beseeching look. “Will you come to help us? We cannot undo the work of the vandals alone.”

I shrugged and opened the gate. Entering I offered, “Sure, why not? What is to fear now that it is broad daylight?”

The mare had hidden behind a large stone monument. She pointed a shapely foreleg and hoof skyward. “That is a common misconception. So long as the Moon of Nightmare remains in the sky, we can be abroad. That, I fear may tell you who you are coming to help.

“I will guarantee your safety if you do come to help us do what we cannot do ourselves alone.”

I paused to think over this development. “I will make you a small deal, my sweet pony. Show me yourself. If you are an undead, as you have said, and guarantee my safety, I will aid you as well as I can to fix what the vandals have damaged.”

She nodded gracefully and slithered out from behind the stone. Her body, from the navel back, was that of a huge serpent. “As you can see, I am a Lamia. Had I not guaranteed your safety, I could easily crush and rend you. You may still leave and I will thank you for even considering giving aid to such as I.”

I kind of shivered all over but gamely offered, “Lead the way, my Lady Lamia. I am known as Canbe.”

She led me across the hill. If I remembered correctly, the back wall of the cemetery was down the hill only a little ways. Before we got to where the wall should be, I noticed that the Lamia cast no shadow from the light of the sun. She did, however, cast a shadow. It was from the light of the moon, still in the sky, though getting low.

We passed under the trees without coming to the cemetery wall. Long streamers of moss like stuff hung from branches that almost seemed to move of their own volition. The foliage of them was a far darker green than it had appeared when seen from the street in Ponyville. It almost looked black. That was when I noticed that nothing here, not even me, cast any shadow but one from the full Moon of Nightmare which was now at zenith, rather than nearly set.

I nearly fled when I noticed that. My promise held me.

I was led to a fallen obelisk about two or two and a half meters long. I saw the marks where it had been pried from its base. I pointed out, “I cannot lift this, it is too heavy for me.”

Several voices replied, “We can lift it if you will help us. Lay your mortal hooves on it and keep them on it until we have restored the stone to its place. This work takes the cooperation of both the mortal and those beyond.”

As I laid hooves to it, a little past the center, the stone was seized by hooves of several undead sorts. I did try to help with the lift, but it was the strength of those ponies who were long past the grave who actually did most of it. As the stone was properly replaced, the break appeared to simply vanish. The stone stood tall and proud again.

As we were walking to the next damaged monument, I stumbled on a fallen slab of stone. A simple grave stone. I paused and asked, “What about this one? It has fallen too.”

The Lamia looked back and replied, “True, it has. Time did that, not vandals. You agreed to help us to undo the vandalism. This goes past your agreement.”

I sort of surprised myself by replying, as I scraped at the moss grown stone to get a better grip, “Not quite so, my lady Lamia. Time is the greatest vandal of all. Let us set to rights all that we can. Even the simplest grave deserves to be remembered.”

The many undead here all looked at me thoughtfully and agreed, “What he wants to do goes beyond our agreement. We should do the same for him.” If appearance was any guide, faces that had not smiled since they died smiled in agreement.

As we were lifting the stone back up to standing in a well dug socket hole, one of the liches actually shed a tear. He stated, “This stone and grave are mine. Thank you, Mortal.”

I think that the others were astounded when I held his apparently rotting body and said, “You are welcome. Now I am doubly glad that we did it for you.”

We all went on, from grave to crypt to mausoleum fixing and setting things to rights. If I could touch even so much as a rotting bit of an ancient oaken and iron bound door, some one among them was able to make it whole again. We even did the same for the decayed remains of coffins in the ancient crypts.

It did take a long time to do. I was bone tired at the end of our labor. Not hungry. Not thirsty. Proud. The ancient necropolis was now well tended and all was as it ought to be.

I looked up. The Moon of Nightmare was unchanged in the sky. It was still at its zenith.

My lovely Lamia saw my glance and spoke softly, “Our lives spring from and are ruled by Her. The Princess of the Night. We may be of the Nightmare Realm but our Ruler is not without compassion.

“We did notice something about you as you helped us to restore our ancient homes. Not only did you not shrink from us, going so far as to give comfort and share happiness with a zombie, you appear to like us. Is that true?”

That sort of opened up my eyes. I had been getting along with these once living beings far better than I ever had with any living ponies. It just took Lamia's question to make me notice it!

I nodded sort of slowly as it sank in. “That is true, my lovely Lamia. If there was some way to stay with you, my friends, and keep this gift of helping you all, I would have no desire to return to ponies who do not care about me at all.”

The Lamia stood up, supported by her elegantly coiled snake body and said softly, “My name, Canbe, is Flowering Ash. You have asked a boon of Our Princess of the Night and we in no way forced you to it or tricked it from you.

“Do you truly ask of Princess Luna, Ruler of the Night, Harbinger of Dreams and Sometimes the True Embodiment of All Nightmare, the boon to stay with us, keeping the ability to aid us in preserving our places of rest, our homes?”

I did not hesitate, “If it can be done, Flowering Ash, I do ask that boon of Princess Luna.”

There grew a shadow on the Moon of Nightmare overhead. Gliding down to a landing as silent as a dream was Princess Luna. She alighted before me and smiled.

“Canbe, I have favorably heard your request. You are a creature of the Day. A pony who grew up under the sway of my Sister, Celestia. Would you renounce her to fulfill your request?”

I thought carefully and she gave me the time to do it. “Princess Luna, you and your Sister Celestia are two parts of a whole. I had not heard that you two are in contest.”

I gathered the lovely Flowering Ash on one side and the zombie whose grave I had restored on the other into a hug. Still holding them, I went on, “Knowing that you two Sisters are not in contest, I will willingly do whatever is necessary to fulfill my request.”

Princess Luna bowed her horn to just touch my forelock. A fine wisp of midnight magic, shot through with stars flowed between us.

She straightened and proclaimed, “Canbe, as the subject of us both, Myself and my sister Celestia, you may stay here with your friends. Here, you will retain your Mortal Gift to aid them. Here, you will not age. Here, you will not hunger. Here, you will not thirst. When you do much, as with this night's labor, you will tire. A little rest will cure that.

“You may leave here and return at will but only through the Ponyville Cemetery. While you are away, you will age. While away, you will hunger. While away, you will thirst. While away, you will tire from labor as you always have.

“You have chosen more wisely than you know.”

With that, Princess Luna spread her huge wings and made a powerhouse of a downstroke. She flew up, seemingly to the Moon of Nightmare.

Luna alighted on a patio of the Palace of Canterlot and trotted into the Dining hall. There she found Princess Celestia happily munching on chocolate topped donuts.

Princess Celestia's snicker suddenly turned to a stricken look as she saw Luna's expression!

With a grin that showed her perfect teeth, Luna reported, “I WON!

“Canbe did NOT renounce me when he was put in with those Nightmares! Most interestingly, he chose to STAY with them but he was clever enough not to renounce YOU either!

“Now pay up!”

Luna hoofed over a substantially sized tray.

Glumly, Princess Celestia began to pile on tan topped pastries. She returned the tray to Luna with a sad, “Farewell, my butterscotch treats!”

~~THE END~~

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

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#THE DAY AFTER NIGHTMARE NIGHT #MLP Fan Fiction #Tales to read AFTER the Lights are OUT #Written by De Writer

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aegor-bamfsteel · 5 years ago

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As Daeron, how u would have dealt with Daemon ?

You opened up a floodgate, anon.

The chances to neutralize Daemon (as opposed to other rebels/groups of rebels like Aegor, Fireball, Gormon Peake, Eustace Osgrey, the best knights of the realm, the marcher lords including House Yronwood, believers in Da3ron Falseborn theory, those who supported Daena as Queen, basically everyone else) as a threat to Da3ron’s rule are so numerous they’ve been a source of snark between me and @godihatethisfreakingcat for years now. The amount of missed opportunities Da3ron II had to make a friend/ally out of Daemon for me undermine textual claims of his kindness and intelligence. I’m going to try to prove in a 2000-word meta of counterfactual history that Da3ron never attempted to treat Daemon and Rohanne like part of his family or with the respect they deserved, but like inconvenient cast-offs he wanted out of his sight, but still not in a place where they’d gain any high position.

Starting scenario: The year is 184 AC and I am Da3ron Targaryen. Aegon IV has died, but I, loathing my slowly rotting father, refused to come to the capital until 2 weeks after his death, which meant I could not contest his decree legitimizing his natural children. One of those children is the son of Princess Daena, newly legitimized like the rest, but still a Waters and landless. My father promised the Archon of Tyrosh a dowry for the hand of Rohanne, probably a relative of his. What do I do?

Pay the dowry, but wed Rohanne to one of my sons instead. Breaking a betrothal is serious, but keeping the betrothal and switching the groom (after the other died or was disinherited) isn’t unheard of: Rhaelle Targaryen wed Ormund Baratheon when her brother Duncan was to marry his sister, Catelyn Tully wed Eddard Stark when she was betrothed to his brother Brandon, Sansa Stark married Tyrion Lannister (though Lancel was a possible spouse) after she was betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon. Aegon may have wanted Daemon to wed Rohanne, but if Fire and Blood is any indication, a close female relative of the Archon is a match worthy of the heir to the Iron Throne—Rogar Baratheon wanted Jaehaerys I to wed the Archon’s daughter, and the Archon sent his sister to the 134 Maiden’s Day Ball in hopes of her marrying Aegon III. A landless natural son is far below Rohanne in terms of status, and the dowry the Archon was asking for probably reflected that. Perhaps Baelor was too important to wed to anyone but a Stormlander, but Aerys or even Rhaegel certainly would have been a better match for her on paper than Daemon. We don’t know how old Rohanne was (although I’m certain she was a few years older than Daemon), and Aerys was born between 172-76 and Rhaegel between 173-77, but bride-groom age gaps have certainly been larger, especially in this series. If my sons are already betrothed or this betrothal is too disruptive for my policy, I might be desperate enough to consider betrothing Rohanne to Brynden (Aegor gets no royal match as he’s a traitor’s son. I may be nice!Da3ron, but I’m still Da3ron), who I implausibly trust not to rebel. Super desperate would be trying to broker another betrothal between Shiera (or Mya or Gwenys, if they didn’t die in infancy) and the Archon/his ally, as was sort of floated around when Baela Targaryen might have been betrothed to Tyroshi admiral Racallio Ryndoon. If I can’t or won’t renegotiate the betrothal, I can:

Pay the dowry or part of the dowry in order to keep peace with the Archon, but have the High Septon annul the betrothal: I’m sure Rohanne as a Tyroshi didn’t keep the Seven, so the High Septon would be inclined to protest the marriage anyway. I would still need to pay a bit of that dowry or risk the wrath of Tyrosh, since in real life border wars have started due to dowries from stalled betrothals (Richard the Lionheart raided the county of Vexin though it was the dowry of his betrothed, Alys of France, because his parents refused to let them wed. He never got the Vexin, as Alys married Count William of Ponthieu). However, the Tyroshi-Targaryen alliance was originally thought up for Aegon IV’s future war with Dorne, and giving it up would signify to the Dornish that neither I nor my relatives had any intention of making war on them. So a bit of money (of which I have plenty of, see the “Rohanne and Daemon stay in the Crownlands” section) spent on the Archon’s goodwill seems like a wise investment.

With Daemon unmarried and now with no standing betrothal, the best place for him is the Kingsguard. He’s the youngest knight of the realm and the wielder of Blackfyre, so he’s definitely skilled enough to join. We know he takes his knightly oaths very seriously, and the Kingsguard oath to protect the king is about as serious as it gets (Olyver Bracken and Raymun Mallery betrayed Maegor I by rebelling in favor of Jaehaerys I, but Jaehaerys still sent them to the Wall for violating their oath). Better yet, the Kingsguard is a celibate organization, so Daemon will not be able to pass on his claim or the Targaryen’s ancestral sword to his children.

If appointing Daemon to the Kingsguard doesn’t fit in with my policy, then I might send him to Sunspear, possibly with a betrothal to Roxana Sand (Born 162, so of marrying age with Daemon) who is Maron’s uncle Rhodry’s illegitimate daughter according to the MUSH RPG (which becomes more canon with each supplementary tie-in GRRM publishes). It took two years of negotiations for the Maron/Daenerys match to take place, and having Daemon there possibly betrothed could be used to gauge the popularity of a Targaryen/Martell match on Dornish soil. Prince Rhodry was an infamous separatist who killed King Da3ron I at the peace conference, so wedding his natural daughter to Daemon also helps quiet the ‘Keep Dorne Independent’ movement that is still ongoing, of which the Yronwoods were some of the biggest supporters. Amidst Da3ron’s strongest allies and wed to them by blood, Daemon would doubtlessly be loyal.

If I think Roxana is too old, I use the Daemon/Daenerys relationship and make him her sworn shield, then send him south to prepare for her marriage: Not an especially good idea as he’s still unbetrothed, and it might cause the Martells to raise some eyebrows, but it gives those two a chance to be around each other and be happy (not being so was likely the source of the semi-canon clashes Daemon and Da3ron had), and no doubt Daemon would be a faithful protector. The illegitimate children of nobles have guarded Targaryen royalty before, with Jonquil Darke being Queen Alysanne’s sworn shield. The same idea of the Martells keeping Daemon loyal still applies, although I’d watch out for any Yronwoods asking about his betrothal status.

If the Daemon/Rohanne marriage must go on:

While Daemon is still young and newly-married, I’d send him and his wife on a diplomatic mission to Tyrosh (it worked for getting Aegon IV out of the way) where he can hone his politicking skills away from any rebels, or fight for the Archon in the Disputed Lands. If he makes friends with the Tyroshi and seems to have integrated into their culture as Orryn Baratheon did, he can stay there with his family.

If he expresses vocal discontent after 4-5 years—considering Da3ron in the OTL named Brynden to the Small Council when he was around 20–I’m calling him back to Westeros and giving him some court position depending on how well he performed his duties. If he didn’t do so well, he can take Quentyn Ball’s old job as master-of-arms where I can watch him at all times. If he rose to the occasion (given Daemon’s penchant for making friends I’m sure he would be a fine diplomat), he gets either a position on the Small Council—perhaps Master of Ships as he’s been in the naval power Tyrosh for some years?—he becomes leader of the City Watch—he was raised in an urban environment, his mother had connections with the smallfolk, he’s an amazing fighter and decent leader, if Prince Daemon is any indication it’s a position for somewhat wayward family members—or he substitutes as a Warden if the Stark, Arryn, or Lannister heirs are too young to lead armies (not Tyrell given the Reach’s general support for Daemon in the OTL, although Leo Longthorn was obviously of age so there’s no need for a substitute Warden), which is a prestigious but largely ceremonial position in Da3ron’s time of uneasy peace. If I’m super-desperate to give him something to do that won’t cause much trouble, I’ll revive the position of Warden of the King’s Mint, since I know from OTL that he minted his own gold coinage and so displays some interest. I’m sure that his Aunt Elaena would be delighted to work with him as she’s de-facto Master of Coin.

If for some reason I don’t want Daemon at court but don’t want him in Tyrosh, it’s going to cost me dearly to give him and Rohanne suitable lodgings in the Crownlands: but I must be improbably loaded despite my father’s wastefulness if I’m building Summerhall and completing the Sept of Baelor, so I can pay! None of that “give Daemon and Rohanne a piece of paper saying they can build a Keep in the Crownlands” that we see in canon; Rohanne is a bride worthy of a legitimate Targaryen prince and some lazy document with no funds or castle attached to it is just insulting her family. Either give them an abandoned and renovated Keep (there could be some after the Dance/Da3ron’s War), or construct a new one like with Summerhall. Illegitimate sons of kings in England and France were either Dukes or Earls, so that Keep is going to be a lordly seat (people call Brynden “Lord Rivers”, they can do it for Daemon even if it’s just a ceremonial title).

But at least one Daemon’s children are getting sent to court once they’re old enough, as cupbearers or pages or eventually squires for boys. I’d consider betrothing Calla to Matarys for more permanent loyalty since he’s not expected to inherit and they’re roughly the same age, which would certainly appease Rohanne’s family some.

If I want to keep the Blackfyre family like they are in canon—in the ephemeral keep they built themselves in the Crownlands, with no royal positions or betrothals—and not change any of the other character motivations like Aegor Rivers’ or Quentyn Ball’s (since it’s not stipulated in the question), it’s going to be difficult to prevent a war with Daemon at the helm. We know so little about the circumstances of Daemon’s crowning and arrest on potentially trumped-up charges that it’s hard to tell who started what. But if I had to do anything, it’s:

Stop trusting Bl00draven so much. Start questioning his motivations and methods. How does he know Daemon crowned himself? From whom? Did he torture that person? I seem to know that torture isn’t reliable since I ended the office of Lord Confessor! What does he have to gain from Daemon being arrested? What does Daemon have to gain from being crowned? What do I think will happen to his family if he is arrested successfully (there’s a chance Bl00draven will have them killed and then torture the confessions out of a fall guy)? If I think Bl00draven is a danger to Daemon’s family, doesn’t that give Daemon the “rebel or have my children die” non-choice if I order his arrest? What the hell is going on? I don’t want rumors; I need proof!

For much needed proof, I’d use Princess Elaena’s connection with both of us to find out what’s happening. Daemon would never hurt a lady, especially not close kin. Have her meet him or a nonviolent representative (Rohanne?) and see if he’s crowned himself. Have an escort (all traveling great ladies seem to have them) wait for her in a location a few hours away with orders to sound the alarm if she doesn’t return by the next day. If he hasn’t crowned himself, she’ll report back to Daeron that the rumors were false, and make it look like a friendly family visit. If he was thinking about it, she could talk him off the ledge as his aunt. If he did crown himself, she can report back and have Da3ron call the banners. If he crowned himself and somehow Elaena was prevented from delivering her report (Daemon wouldn’t hurt her since kidnapping a woman is the height of dishonor, but it’s clear some of his supporters had fewer scruples), take that as the act of war and have her escort call the banners. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s better than letting civil war break out on the say-so of the Shadiest Man in History.

But there is one difference between me and Da3ron that makes all of these alternate scenarios impossible in canon: I actually like Daemon Blackfyre. I like his mother, the courageous Princess who gave up her chance to be queen to raise him in her home. I like how hard he worked to be the best knight ever when he was just a young boy. I like how, despite marrying an older foreign woman at age 14, he enjoyed one of the happiest and most fertile marriages in Westerosi history. I like how he gathered a great coalition of men and women who had every reason to hate each other behind him, including the neglected and traumatized Aegor Rivers (I even like his potential friendship with Brynden Rivers). I like how he demanded his opponent get medical attention after dueling him for over an hour. I like how his last act was running into a field of arrows trying to save his oldest son. I like Daemon Blackfyre and his family. I want him and Rohanne to grow old together, to have their sons and daughters mature into strong men and women without the fear of death hanging over their heads, to have a chance at happiness in the home Daemon knew or even where Rohanne lived. Da3ron II had so many opportunities to give Daemon and Rohanne long, peaceful lives...and he wasted them all on incoherent policies, irrational grudges, and hypocritical distrust. For that, he will always have my disappointment.

#ask #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #asoiaf headcanon #anti daeron ii #daemon blackfyre #Rohanne of Tyrosh #daemon x rohanne #angry

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thedistantstorm · 5 years ago

Text

Project Compass: 01

Read along on AO3 here.

Summary: Thrawn brings Ezra Bridger back to the Ascendancy and finds himself in a role that brings everything full circle. Now the attaché to the only Human Skywalker in the Ascendancy, Thrawn has to adapt to his new role while trying to figure out why his new commanding officer, former aide-de-camp, and long time friend Eli Vanto will not speak to him.

Pairing: Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo / Eli Vanto

(A multi-chapter story without a concrete update schedule. This is a side project I really wanted to start sharing.)

>> Next Chapter >>

The courtyard was beautiful in an ethereal way. The plants were like ice, almost, crystalline and fragile-seeming. Ezra had been instructed not to touch them, so he refrained. It was tempting, though.

The cross breeze caught him by surprise, though. He shivered. The interior of the building was supposedly warm by Chiss standards, or so he'd been told. To Ezra, it even seemed comfortable now, compared to the outside.

Not far from him, inspecting the scrolling face of a frost-colored tree, stood Thrawn. "They are treating you well?" He asked without turning to face the younger Jedi.

"Well enough," Ezra shrugged.

He'd spent the last five days being interrogated by miscellaneous Chiss officers. They were polite, though he could tell they weren't entirely thrilled about a human in their midst. They were exceedingly interested in the extent of his abilities as a Jedi, though, and each person who had spoken to him had been accompanied by a young girl - a different one, each time - who Ezra could feel within the living Force.

As for Thrawn, he had acted as Ezra's translator upon their initial arrival. Not long after, they'd been separated. Apparently Thrawn was to be debriefed while he was subjected to questioning. The Chiss, to their credit, hadn't treated Ezra like a prisoner so far, but he wasn't stupid. This was the Unknown Regions. He had no idea where he was or where to go even if he did manage to get his hands on a ship. Hyperspace lanes didn't exist out here. He couldn't just plug in coordinates for Lothal and go home...

Besides: Thrawn had asked him to consider helping the Chiss. Thrawn, Ezra marveled, who never asked his enemies for anything. Though, they hadn't killed each other, despite everything leading to their arrival… wherever this was, exactly. In fact, Ezra got the feeling that Thrawn might respect him. Just a little. And even if he didn't, it didn't mean every Chiss had to answer for his transgressions. So, Ezra agreed to hear them out. He hadn't agreed to the lengthy interrogation, but supposed he should have expected as much.

"The language barrier has not been too difficult to navigate?"

"I mean, they probably would do better with a translator," He supposed. For sake of keeping things civil, Ezra let his snide remark about how he wouldn't trust Thrawn to translate for him anyway dissipate on his tongue. "I think they understood most of what I said."

Thrawn nodded, but said nothing else.

The wind picked up again. He pulled his jacket - made of an unknown, thin black material that seemed sturdy but didn't do much against the cold - tighter around himself.

"How do you people - er, the Chiss," Ezra corrected, "Deal with this?" He asked, doing his best not to tremble. "It's freezing out here."

There was no sound but the wind for a while. It figured that Thrawn would stop answering once it suited him, but then again, he didn't have to. Someone else did.

"Didn't do a very good job of warnin' me about it either," They said. Their Basic was accentuated, but not like the Chiss. It sounded familiar. The tone was inviting, as if the speaker were smiling as he elaborated, "The cold."

Ezra didn't turn around just yet. He reached out with the Force, trying to anticipate if this was some kind of test. He flinched in surprise, suddenly realizing that the man behind him wasn't Chiss at all! He wasn't even Force sensitive. Ezra couldn't believe it, having to whirl around to see it with his own two eyes.

"You're… human?!"

The man laughed. It was warm. It reminded Ezra of sunshine. "I am," He said, and the Wild Space twang seemed so much more pronounced now that Ezra had a face to match against the sound.

Ezra inspected the man who stood across the small courtyard in one of the arching entryways. The man was older than him. His hair was the color of Lothalian sand, dark brown with the faintest glint of lighter pieces, blonde and tan. There might have been some hints of gray in there, but not in any real pattern. His eyes crinkled at the outer corners, just a little. Based on that, he presumed the man to be at least twice his age, somewhere between late thirties to mid forties.

More than that, he felt something shift beside him in the Force. The man didn't even look at Thrawn, though, so the strange lurch, like a dissonant chord plucked on a harp, made little sense. Nothing had happened. Thrawn hadn’t so much as moved, and the newcomer’s gaze was intently resting on Ezra. "If you can believe it, it's almost the end of spring.” Apologetically, he continued, “Though, it's not much warmer here in the summer."

The young Jedi resisted pulling a face, instead looking to Thrawn. Thrawn, who was now staring at the older human so intensely that Ezra thought for a moment he might be in shock. Still no eye contact though, the guy seemed content to ignore him. Snidely, Ezra felt a perverse pleasure at that. The man had an easy confidence about him from his bright brown eyes and a comfortable posture in his all black uniform. He looked at home here, though this could hardly be his homeworld.

"So are you the next one to question me?" Ezra asked. Thrawn finally peeled his stare from the other man to regard him with no shortage of unimpressed and well contained distaste. Whatever uneasy feeling - Ezra couldn’t believe that it was the Force reacting to Thrawn, the man was always stone faced and in control even when his life was in jeopardy - had passed.

"No, that won't be necessary. I was asked to walk you both back to the meeting room. I believe they've decided what to do with you."

The panel was made up of a well rounded group. Military officers, a syndic from one of the more prominent ruling families, even someone who appears to be some sort of clinician. At the center sat Ar'alani, her lips pressed thin and her expression somber.

For them, it could mean anything. Thrawn does not expect bad news, he had not gotten the sense that they were particularly angry. Wary, perhaps. The door remained open a moment longer than necessary, making him wonder if Vanto's lingering would break the silence, his commanding officer issuing a sharp reprimand.

It did not. Small, near silent footsteps became audible as a young girl - a Navigator, he suspected by her age and uniform - stepped in and moved to stand beside Ezra Bridger, seated to his left. The door closed behind them and there was no further sound to indicate that Vanto lingered behind them, permitted to listen. He must have slipped out as the solemn young woman entered.

The seat beside Ar'alani - to her left and his right - remained empty, yet the navigator did not move from her location next to Ezra.

“I will translate for you, Ezra Bridger,” The girl said in softly accented but obviously fluent Basic.

Ezra’s shoulders rose sharply and he turned his eyes to the young Chiss. “You? But during the-”

Ar’alani called them to order, interrupting the young Jedi with the raise of her hand, palm out. “We do not… lay our cards out all at once,” She also spoke in Basic, though it was far more accent-laiden. She looked over Thrawn’s head at the door for a moment with purpose. Switching to Cheunh, her voice becomes more refined, elegant and sharp with the expectation of being listened to. Ezra sneaked a look at Thrawn. He was coiled tightly in anticipation, very obviously preparing to realign whatever his plans were with what the panel had decided.

“This panel has come to a decision regarding what to do with you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, as well as the Human Skywalker, Ezra Bridger.” The Navigator speaks softly to Ezra, her voice a gentle chime, almost an echo. Thrawn could only make out his posture from the corner of his eye, but the young Human was rigid and at attention. Despite what his translator said to him, his eyes were trained on the Chiss Admiral as she spoke. “It was not an easy deliberation. Your actions under the employ Empire are…” She trailed off. “Concerning.”

Thrawn does not interrupt, but the question must burn in his eyes.

The Chiss woman narrowed her bright red eyes. “We recognize that it is not easy to navigate serving both sides,” She said, considering. “There are expectations that must be met. However,” Her eyes cut to Ezra. He does not shy from it, meeting her head on. “You ordered an assault on civilians, not to mention what your Emperor requested for you to do to the Skywalker...” She looked up toward the door again. Ezra followed her gaze, confusion written into his face, but whatever he saw did not draw a reaction. “It is one of the highest crimes. For all that you have questioned in your service to the Empire, all that you have undermined in what you’ve sworn was your dedication to the greater good,” She frowned. “That you would be capable of this-”

“You take him at his word?”

Ezra’s face is blank, and he does not argue. Perhaps it is because of the young woman speaking softly into his ear in Basic, but perhaps it is because he knows something Thrawn does not.

“I did not need his word,” Ar’alani admitted. “You have spoken for yourself. Any incrimination is your own.”

“I have spoken nothing but the truth.”

“And so has the Skywalker.” She leaned forward ever so slightly, addressing Thrawn directly. “What do you think of your actions, Mitth’raw’nuruodo? Do you believe them to bring honor to the Ascendancy?”

He does not speak, even when the rest of the room waits for him to answer.

Ar’alani seemed to look past him, appraising and cool. “You are not a fool. There could have been another way.”

“Not to stop the alternative project being developed by the Empire.”

“Your mission,” Ar’alani snapped, “Was not to save the Galactic Empire from its Emperor’s wiles, just as it was not act as an accomplice to their utter destruction of the remaining Jedi. Your mission was to determine if the Galactic Empire was strong enough to be our allies in the wars to come.”

“It is not,” Thrawn said.

“We are aware,” She replied tersely. “And so remains what to do with you.” She steepled her fingers in front of her, elbows on the dark table. “Do you have an opinion of that?”

“I am a warrior,” Thrawn answered. “First and foremost, as I had hoped to have demonstrated,” It’s as much of a defense as he allowed himself, “I serve the Ascendency above all else. My service to the Galactic Empire was meant to help cultivate meaningful relations in the future with a secure government. I carried out the orders I was assigned to that end.”

“The Emperor did not ask you to fire on the innocent beings of Lothal.”

“The Emperor implored me to do whatever it took, as I have said.” His words remain measured and careful, even weight distributed throughout.

The Navigator’s puzzlement stole over her face halfway through her words. “The Emperor-” She looked to the door behind both men. “Tacahn?”

“'Implored,'” Came the reply in a steely Wild Space lilt.

Thrawn flinched microscopically. Eyes were drawn to him like predators scenting blood. All except Ezra, whose gaze shifted from surprise to very obvious concern.

“Ivant,” Ar’alani motioned to the chair beside her as if bored. “If you would.”

His footsteps are even and militaristic. His shoulders are back, posture strong and unyielding. He does not look infuriated or angry, there is no facial heat, no obvious tells. He is completely impassive and that might be what is the most frightening part.

To the human, the Admiral asked, “Would you have obeyed him if he gave you this order?”

“He knows I would not,” Ivant said, meeting Thrawn’s gaze for the first time in a very, very long while. His eyes are hard.

“This council has considered many arrangements,” Ar’alani said. There is a chance Thrawn does not hear her until the human officer dips his head to remind the Navigator to translate when she takes too long. “No being would take orders from a being who does not show his dedication to the Ascendency’s best interests.” She rose from her seat, looming above the former Grand Admiral, “Which is why you will not be in command. This council demands that you assist the Human Skywalker Ezra Bridger to assimilate into the Assendency’s ranks as he has agreed to remain with us at this juncture. You will teach him our language and translate for him until he displays mastery, and correct any other deficiencies identified. You will share in his successes and in his failures, and be responsible for them as if he is an extension of your own being.”

Thrawn does not react. His words betray no emotion. “Am I correct to assume this task will continue indefinitely?”

“A smaller committee will convene at regular intervals to discuss your progress. Ezra Bridger.” Her next words are in Basic, “You will report to Captain Ivant of the Warship Compass.” Ar’alani nodded and Ivant rose, earning Thrawn’s attention the entire way. “The Skywalkers have been looking forward to meeting you.”

“We believe,” Ivant spoke evenly, in a command tone that had the warmth behind it his eyes lacked, “That you will be of great help to our Skywalker Program.”

“You may go, Jedi Bridger” Ar’alani said, dismissing him. “There is one other item that we must address with Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Come,” The Navigator motions for him to rise so Ezra does. “You will collect your things and I will take you to the shuttle.”

Ezra regarded the committee. “Shouldn’t my…” He struggled to parse the right designation, “My attaché stay with me?”

The Navigator translated, struggling similarly with the term. Ivant corrected her kindly, taking over. His reply came, once again, in Basic. “If you do not trust the Navigator, I will accompany you myself.”

“No,” Ezra said, holding up both hands. “I just-”

“You need not worry about me,” Thrawn interjected tersely.

“You’re kind of making that difficult,” Ezra murmured back. “You’re acting strangely, even for you.”

“Navigator Un’hee,” Ivant said, switching back to Cheunh and ignoring whatever exchange was occurring between Ezra and Thrawn. “Please retrieve Syndic Mitth’ras’safis. Give him my regards as well as my apologies that I will not be able to retrieve him personally.”

“Yes sir,” The Navigator snapped to attention, quick to follow orders.

“Bridger,” Ivant cast his gaze from the Jedi to the door closing silently behind the Navigator. “With me.”

“You could ask to be dismissed, Captain.”

“You’d prefer me to be long gone before Thrass arrives,” Ivant said. No one bothered to contest it. “This is enough of a farce already.”

“So it is,” Ar’alani supposed. “Go.”

He inclined his head to her respectfully, stepping around the rest of the silent council.

“Admiral.”

She did not smile, but it is apparent that his actions met with her approval. "Captain."

Ezra looked to Thrawn one last time. “You’re sure.”

“Listen to your commanding officer,” Thrawn instructed. Whatever Ezra was apparently reading off him through the Force must conflict with his words, forcing the Chiss to continue. “Apparently I am to meet with my brother.”

#Thrawn #Eli Vanto #Mitth'raw'nuruodo #Ezra Bridger #SW Fanfiction #Thranto #Eli Vanto/Thrawn #my writing

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buckyscrystalqueen · 5 years ago

Text

The Difference: Part 1

Pairings: Mark Sheppard x Reader

Warnings: None??? Swearing must likely...

Word Count: 3204

A/N: So I’m back..... IDK Im outta shape on posting here, y’all.... hope you enjoy it, OK?

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In your opinion, first dates were literally the worst, but with a very involved Greek mother and grandmother, a large, extremely loud group of Italian aunts on your father’s side, and a persistent twin sister, you didn’t have a choice but to go on them. Because God forbid you say no. That two letter word was like a grenade in your household. Your mother, who you currently lived with because you were a single mother, would instantly start praying for your soul before calling your sister to pray with her as well. Your father, who was a giant instigator no matter how much he denied it, would head upstairs to ‘stay out of it’, have a brief conversation with his mother, and the phone tree would be instantly activated. Within a matter of minutes, you had your Nonna and eight aunts in your room, reminding you once again, that a single mother of four quadruplet boys, needed a man in your life.

So you simply went on the dates, used your one year olds as a ‘you don’t want me because I’ve got a lot of baggage’, and left before the waiter could even take your drink order just to sit in your car for an hour in silence. It wasn’t that you didn’t love being a mother. Shit, your boys made you a better person every single day. But there were four of them, and they were all a little over a year old now. And while you were so fortunate that they were all healthy babies, your second son, Luca, was born with Down Syndrome. Even with all the help your immediate and extended family gave you every single day, you still felt like you were drowning in dirty diapers and doctors appointments most days.

“You’re Mark?” You asked, dismissively as you stopped beside the chair the hostess had pointed out to you in Fogo de Chāo, one of your favorite Brazilian steakhouses, and took off your jacket. He looked up at you and nodded his head once as you sat down and took a deep breath. “Alright, I’m sorry you wasted your time in coming all the way here. I’ll make this quick. I’m 29, single… obviously… I work as a contract linguist for Homeland Security in the Pentagon, and I’m the mother of quadruplets that are fourteen months old and who have no father. So, while you process that, I’m going to drink my water and then head out because usually by the time that information sinks in, men tend to either get a surprise phone call or they have to run to the bathroom only to never come back. I don’t give a shit one way or another. Again, sorry you wasted your time.” You picked up your water glass and took a long swig as your date stared at you and blinked a few times.

“Quadruplets…” He said in a British accent you weren’t expecting as you grabbed your jacket off the back of your chair. “That’s four, correct?”

“Correct.”

“What’s the gender split?” You actually froze with your arm in the sleeve and looked over at him, unbelievingly, because he was the first date to actually ask that question.

“Excuse me?”

“Four boys? Four girls? Mixture of both?” It was your turn to blink a few times in shock as you let your arm fall to your side.

“Four… boys. Do you actually give a damn, or are you just trying to get laid, here?” A huffed chuckled bubbled up from his throat as he picked up his napkin, and laid it across his lap.

“I’m genuinely curious. And I happen to be gentleman, thank you. I am a firm believer in the third date rule.”

“Oh, are you now?” You laughed as you took off your jacket again and draped it over the back of your chair. “You’re that cocky you think you’ll get to a third date with women?”

“Not in the least. I believe the accent alone gets me to the third date and I was raised to respect women.”

“So waiting until only the third date is respectful?”

“I never specified the length of time between dates, darling. This could be date one, but between now and date two, we could have lunch half a dozen times at work, since we both work for the Pentagon.”

“Those are dates.”

“Those are not dates.” He corrected as he got up to start with the appetizer bar in the center of the dining room. “I never said I’d pay for your lunches.”

“Oh, you’re slick.” You giggled as you got up to follow him. “You’re real slick.”

“I try.” He chuckled. “So a linguist, huh? What language?”

“Greek and Italian.”

“Wow. And.” He said as he looked over at you, impressed. “Two languages?”

“Since I was born. See, my mother is Greek. She moved to this country when she was two years old with her twin, my Yaya, and my Papou. So she speaks both Greek and English. Now my father is from Italy. He’s the oldest and he has eight sisters. Huge family. My Nonna and my Nonno moved to the states before my dad was born but, like my mother, he speaks two languages. So when my twin sister, Emma and I were born, it became a battle with my grandparents on which language we spoke. So we speak both fluently.”

“See, I’ve worked with your sister before.” He commented as he waited for you to finish with the salad bar. “She did some translating for me at the request of Ben…”

“Oh, so are you a lawyer with Ben?” He nodded his head as he set his plate down in his spot and pulled your chair out for you.

“I do have quite a few years on him but yes, we are colleagues.”

“Oh what, like ten, maybe?”

“You’re generous.” He breathed as he took the seat beside you and flipped his card over. “I’ve been with the NSA for nearly thirty years… and don’t point out your age here. Emma thinks it’s hilarious to point it out every time she comes into the office to visit with young Benjamin.”

“She’s a bitch.” You said with a nod as you ripped a piece of cheese bread with your fingers and popped it in your mouth. “You get used to it.”

“Now, are you two fraternal twins? Because you look nothing alike…”

“You know, it’s funny you ask.” You sort of mumbled around your bite, which you swallowed quickly. “We’re identical. But it’s like fifty fifty on who can see it. My mom couldn’t tell us apart to save her life, but my dad has no issue. Half my aunts can tell, half can’t. Our boss can, Ben can half the time but I think he cheats, you can obviously tell. My sons are an even split, too.”

“Are any of them identical?” You nodded and let out a small sigh, taking a minute to take a drink of water for a break.

“Two of them are.” You started as you looked over at him, knowing that this was the second hurdle to get over with dates. “My youngest, Theo and Thomas. Evan and Luca are fraternal. And just like me and my sister, it’s fifty fifty on who can tell them apart. My mom can and she’s super proud of that.”

“I know you have photos.” He said as he nodded at the waiter that was making his round with a skewer of hot, top sirloin.

“Oh, I have thousands.” You confirmed as you, too, agreed to some top sirloin while pulling your phone out of your purse. “But… just…” You sighed the slightest bit and lit up the screen of your phone. “Sorry, I’m protective.”

“I already know.” He nearly whispered as he put his hand on yours over the phone as the screen went dark again. “Ben has an old photo of them on his desk. When he suggested this date, he told me you’d be stand-offish to protect them, and he gave me a very brief reason why. It doesn’t scare me, darling. Your strength just makes me even more fond of you.” You looked up at him and nodded your head with a hint of tears in your eyes.

“Evan is the oldest.” You started as you lit up the screen again and laid your phone flat on the table. “He is my trouble maker. That little man can get into everything and anything in the blink of an eye. Then Luca is next. He’s my little miracle; I almost lost him twice in the NICU but he is such a fighter. I can’t tell you how many times people said I should have terminated him because he has Down syndrome. But he has taught me… so much more than any school or any thing could just in this last year, and he continues to teach me more every day. Theo, then Thomas are next. I don’t think they look anything alike…”

“Really?” Mark asked incredulously. “See they look identical to me, here.”

“Photos are a little harder with the two of them for me.” You agreed as you pushed your phone across the table. “I have to take an extra second to really look. But face to face there is no question. They are two completely different personalities. All my boys are so different. And they all give me a run for my money.”

“Boys will do that.” He chuckled as he nodded at the next waiter, who had parmesan pork. “I think I can consider myself an expert and say that, as they get older, they will be even more of a handful.”

“You’re not helping here.” You giggled around a bite and behind your hand.

“You don’t think so? I think I am being extremely helpful.”

“No, now you’re just making me regret that I didn’t keep putting my coat on.”

“Oh, now why would you go and say a mean thing like that?” He asked as he put his hand over his heart. “Darling, that hurts. I thought I was doing so well.”

“Nope. You made it three steps forward and jumped eight back.”

“Bloody hell. I’m gunna have to try even harder, now. I love a challenge.”

——

You were actually pleasantly surprised with how your night went, and you were actually even more surprised that your date, which started at six PM, lasted through, an exorbitant amount of meat, salad, and cheesy bread, two amazing split desserts, and some absolutely amazing conversation. You pulled into the driveway at your house in Arlington at quarter to eleven, and you were only partially surprised to see all of the female half of your extended family waiting up for you.

“No!” You said as you walked through the front door with a shake of your head. “No, I’m not doing this…”

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) you sit down and you talk to us right now.” Your Yaya, Calliope, demanded in Greek as you walked through the front room of the house you grew up in.

“It’s late, Yaya.” You tried before your mom’s twin, your Aunt Selene side stepped in front of you in the kitchen doorway.

“You sit down and you tell us about this man or we will go down and wake those babies up until you talk to us, you hear me?” You sighed at her and rolled your eyes. It was moments like these where you disliked having a big family, because you knew that they would absolutely wake up your boys if you didn’t stop and spill.

“He’s very nice.” You started as you held on to the door frame to take off your heels. “Funny, charming…”

“Did you kiss him?”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Did you sleep with him already?”

“Did he pay for dinner?”

“Was he a gentleman?”

“OK, you guys need to just chill.” You said as you held your hand up and looked at the room of women. “I can’t answer six questions at once, in three different languages, at eleven at night. So here’s the run down. Yes, he paid for dinner. Yes, he was a gentleman. Emma wouldn’t have set it up if he wasn’t. No I didn’t sleep with him, yes, I did kiss him. Yes, he was very good at it. He’s got a British accent, he’s taller than me, he is divorced, he has no kids but wants and loves them, and he works as an attorney for the NSA with Ben.

Now, I’m going to love on my babies, and go to bed because my lovely offspring love nothing more than to wake me up at the asscrack of dawn… sorry Nonna… Yaya…” You apologized as you held your hand up apologetically at your two grandmothers for swearing in front of them. “I love you all, and I will tell you more at family dinner on Sunday. Good night, go home, please. It’s bedtime.” You waved your hand at your aunts and grandmothers on your way to the kitchen, and they started collecting their things as your mother, Zoe, came running up behind you.

“Theo’s still up with your father.” She sighed as she handed you the baby monitor. “He didn’t eat much dinner…”

“Did you try laying him down with Thomas?” You asked as you stopped at the sound proofed basement door.

“He wasn’t having it. He just wanted his Mama.” With a huff, you kissed her cheek, and opened the door.

“Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate it.”

“It was a group effort, baby.” She said as she pat your shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Mommy. Love you.” She repeated the sentiment to you as you stepped on to the landing leading down to the basement, which was your and Emma’s former play room when you were kids and was now the studio apartment you shared with your four babies. You smiled at the older man who was sitting in a Lazy Boy in the middle of the room by the bathroom as he stopped rocking and nodded his head hello at you. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey… there’s mama, see?” You smiled at your little boy as he picked his head up off your dad’s chest and looked over at you.

“Mama.” Theo choked as he turned and reached out for you with tears in his eyes.

“Oh, little man. Come here.” You dropped your shoes on the carpet and tossed your purse and jacket on your bed so you could take your son from your father.

“His bed time bottle is in the fridge. He didn’t touch it and he ate maybe three raviolis for dinner. I’m going up to bed.”

“Thanks Daddy. I’ll see you in the morning.” He nodded his head, sleepily as he trudged up the stairs, as your current little cry baby buried his face in your throat. “Alright, Theo. You gotta go to sleep, OK? But you can lay with mama for a little while. Only a little while, then you have to go in your bed.”

“No.”

“You can try to tell me no all you want, baby boy but you are gunna go to bed in your own bed tonight. Mama needs her own bed.” You grabbed the green capped bottle from the shelf of the fridge in the small kitchenette that, as a child, you never understood its purpose, but you were really grateful for as an adult. You dropped the bottle in the warmer on the counter and reached back behind your back to unzip your dress with a sigh. Theo protested a bit when you walked over and set him down on your king sized bed by the stairs, and he crawled across the blankets after you when you walked over to your small closet between the four cribs to throw your dress in your hamper and put on PJ’s. He slid off the bed, which was just a mattress and a box spring on the floor for that exact reason, and toddled after you into the bathroom.

“Oh, now we’re just being annoyingly needy.” You sighed when he latched himself on to your leg while you took off your makeup and ran a brush through your hair. Theo simply continued to sniffle until you finished and finally picked him up again. With one final heavy sigh, you grabbed his bottle and flipped off the lights, which didn’t do much since you had night lights all over the room so you could see your boys in the middle of the night.

“Alright, bed time. Bed time.” You let out a relieved breath as you sat down on your bed and leaned back against the wall. Once Theo was settled in your arms with his bottle, you shoved your jacket on the floor and retrieved your phone from your bag before it followed your jacket. You glanced at the screen out of habit, looking at your sweet boy’s smiling faces, and you smiled at the text from Mark from a few minutes before.

— Hope you made it home safe. I had a wonderful time tonight. Look forward to seeing you again.

You unlocked the screen and hit the message with your thumb.

— I had a fantastic time. I’m really glad you convinced me to stay, even if that third glass of wine is making taking care of this needy little boy a little difficult.

You hit the camera icon and flipped the view toward you and your son. You choose not to care that you didn’t have make up or a bra on any more, and took the photo of you and the beautiful, blue eyed little boy laying against your chest.

— Oh the joys of being a mother.

You set the phone down on your thigh and started to hum, hoping that you could get Theo to fall asleep quickly so you could get a couple hours yourself. Your eyes fell closed and your head gently hit the wall behind you, and the small suckling sound your son made mixed in with the sound machine that helped Evan fall asleep better than anything you had tried became your lullaby. You and Theo had both started to drift off, when your phone buzzed on your thigh.

— Oh, poor thing. I hope he goes to bed quickly for you. Sweet dreams, (Y/N). Good night… I’m gunna guess Thomas.

You smirked and glanced down at the finally sleeping little boy in your arms.

— Nope. This is Theo. Good try, though. Good night, sweetheart.

You set your phone down on your pillow and very carefully stood up to put your son to bed. He fussed for a couple seconds when you pulled the abandoned bottle from his hand and laid him down, but he thankfully stayed asleep. After checking the other three babies, you dumped out the remnants of the bottle in the sink, filled it with water, and simply left it to deal with in the morning with the boys breakfast dishes. You were already half asleep when you trudged back over to your bed and you were sound asleep the moment your head hit your pillow.

Part 2

#mark sheppard x reader #The Difference

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ryanmeft · 5 years ago

Text

Movie Review: Dolittle

Dolittle, the latest resurrection of a rusting brand, has exciting stunts, gags that mostly land, a wonderfully designed Victorian-adventure world, and an angry pirate played by Antonio Banderas. One should never underestimate the value of an angry pirate. Robert Downey Jr. returns to playing a seat-of-his-pants adventurer after several years being absorbed in an increasingly-too-serious superhero role. It’s a splash of cinematic color and verve for the gray winter months.

The plot is fodder for an adventure. John Dolittle was famous and beloved for being able to talk to animals, and his wife Lily (Kasia Smutniak) was equally admired for her adventurous prowess (we are dealing, clearly, with an alternate Victorian period in which women would be cheered for riding on hippos). His wife left on an quest, died at sea, and he has now retreated to a sprawling estate granted them by the queen (Jessie Buckley). He sees no humans, and lives out his days in squalor and dissoluteness with his animal companions, whose languages he speaks. That’s until his most trusted friend, a parrot named Polynesia (Emma Thompson) leads a sensitive boy named Stubbins (Harry Collett) to Dolittle with a squirrel he accidentally shot. They are soon followed by Lady Rose (Carmel Laniado), a princess who seeks the doctor’s help for the sick queen. This leads him, Stubbins in tow as his self-appointed apprentice and his menagerie along for the ride, on an adventure to find a miraculous fruit which can cure Her Majesty. He’s got to contend along the way with a crooked and ambitious old schoolmate named Blair (Michael Sheen), who is working for a high-placed politician (Jim Broadbent) who would rather the queen did not recover.

The Dolittle series of books---written by Hugh Lofting from 1920 to 1947---concern an older protagonist, one who, in the illustrations, is a distinguished older gentleman with plain looks. This has of course been changed for the movie, primarily based on the second book, though few will be aware of it, as the series has rather fallen off of children’s required reading lists. Downey, who at 54 is very much at an age where he could play a refined country doctor, has his years de-emphasized by makeup and costuming to, I would guess, about his thirties. His version of the character is more than a little inspired by his steampunk take on Sherlock Holmes: he dresses in a shabby coat that is never buttoned, does almost everything with a decided flourish, and regains a little of the wink-and-nod facial and body language he had in his early turns as Iron Man before that became a Very Serious Character. Unlike Holmes and Tony Stark, he is not at all confident in success, being quite shaken by his loss. Dolittle is very pointedly a person children can admire, able to own mistakes and comfort others, the typical Downey persona made palatable for any age. Blair, his opponent, is well-matched. He’s an arrogant, pompous man who envies Dolittle’s success and offbeat charms, and wants to destroy him because he cannot be him. All this, of course, is done with a light touch that, to slide in at a PG rating, avoids the trickier potential aspects of the characters, but they do not feel cloying, so it passes that test. My favorite small role goes to Banderas, whose antagonistic pirate rules an Ottoman-like city of thieves, the adventures at which locale are the film’s highlight.

The movie’s big selling point, of course, and the thing that needs to work, are the animals. Frankly, some sort of award should be on offer for the person responsible for training them, as they do things I’ve never seen animals do in movies, such as talk and take therapy lessons. In addition to Emma Thompson as Dolittle’s right-hand bird, other important animals include a cowardly lion, er, ape (Rami Malek), the squirrel Dolittle saves (Craig Robinson) who believes Stubbins wants to finish the job, a duck (Octavia Spencer) who can’t tell a piece of celery from a pair of forceps, an ostrich (Kumail Nanjiani) who serves as Dolittle’s cranky steed, a polar bear (John Cena), a giraffe (Selena Gomez), a criminally-minded fox (Marion Cotillard) and a detective dog who wears glasses (Tom Holland). It’s fair to question whether the movie needed to balloon the budget with so many high-profile voice actors, but that’s a question for the accountants. What matters is that I found the antics of these animals thoroughly enjoyable, from a godfather impression done by ants to Cotillard the fox’s jail break. Like Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, a big part of the success in having so many animated characters on screen with actors who must interact with a green screen is that Downey, in particular, never once behaves as though they are anything but very real. Visually, they occupy the same space that the humans do, and if one of them must carry a human or crash into them or land on their arms, it is fully believable. The best animal “actor” by far is a neuroses-laden killer tiger voiced by Ralph Fiennes, who Dolittle must outwit.

Less impressive are the two teen characters, who are in the film so that small children may relate to it but who get little of great interest to do. Stubbins has no real plot arc, and with respect to the 16-year-old Collett, it is simply impossible to gauge by this where his talents as an actor will lie. Where the screenplay gives a lot of heart and purpose to Dolittle and the animals and some wonderful scene-chewing to Sheen, it seems completely unable to find anything to do with Rose or Stubbins. Notably, Laniado is somewhat more engaging, but the story leaves her behind to care for the ailing queen, and since Lily is only seen in the occasional flashback, this leaves the movie both without a heroine and without an engaging child character to balance Dolittle out. The screenplay was written by director Stephen Gaghan (Syriana), and initially Dan Gregor and Doug Man from a story by Thomas Shepherd before having the comedy elements tweaked by Chris MacKay during re-shoots. This sounds like a few too many onions in the soup, yet the only time I felt the weight of it was with these two characters. Yes, the plot is also rather throwaway, but I didn’t feel it hurt the film---if we’re going to start talking about plots in swashbuckling adventure movies, we may as well just quit while we’re ahead.

I should own something while I’m here: like westerns, I’m prone to giving fanciful adventure movies the benefit of the doubt. Whales pulling 19th century sailing ships and intimate surgeries that must be performed on fire-breathing dragons voiced by Frances De La Tour are just the kinds of things I long to see in an age where just letting go and letting imagination take over is anathema to increasingly risk-averse studios. A lesser plot keeps Dolittle from standing alongside Holes or the Paddington films in the pantheon of live-action family adventures, but there’s enough fun to be found here for those adults who fancy that animals speak to us.

Verdict: Recommended

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

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#robert downey jr.#octavia spencer #tom holland #ralph fiennes #marion cotillard #selena gomez #dolittle #movies #stephen gaghan #john cena #rami malek #kumail nanjiani #emma thompson #jim broadbent #antonio banderas #michael sheen #animals

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