#*that deep version of de profundis plays*

[my-darling-boy]

Oh to be a loyal knight and serve my lord (we are fucking)

[shippingdragons]

Prisoner C33 review THE GUARDIAN – Trevor Nunn directs a wretched, wonderful Wilde

In this dark, poetic one-man play, Toby Stephens gives it his all as the wrecked writer – imprisoned for gay sex in 1895 – as he rues his misfortunes with his younger self

Watching plays on television does require a certain mindset. Appearing as part of BBC Four’s Sunday Night Performance strand, Prisoner C33 is a brand new one-man play about Oscar Wilde’s time in Reading Gaol. It’s written by Stuart Paterson, directed by Trevor Nunn, and stars a very good Toby Stephens as Wilde, playing two very different versions of the writer in conversation with each other. If you are in the mood for an hour of one man talking to himself about the great misfortunes of his life, in a dim, candlelit cell, while the perforated eardrum that would contribute to his death causes him great pain, then this is a poetic and well-crafted play that I imagine would be even more electric on stage.

That hour doesn’t stretch patience or outstay its welcome. It begins with an animalistic moan, deep in the bowels of the Victorian prison, its candles and iron gates lending this a gothic chill. The moan is not coming from Wilde, yet, but from a disturbed man a few cells down, whose mutterings earn him an off-screen beating from a guard. This is 1895, and Wilde is in prison for gross indecency after the details of his affair with Lord Alfred Douglas, his beloved Bosie, became public knowledge. He would emerge from his sentence having written De Profundis and with the material for The Ballad of Reading Gaol, but C33 is more concerned with what Wilde had to endure, and the ultimate cost of that.

Stephens plays him as a wretched, tortured soul brought to the depths of despair by his predicament. He’s cold, hungry, sick, dirty – and bored. “I can bear anything except losing my mind,” he says, as if the prospect is imminent. Perhaps it was. Most of the drama concentrates on this wretched version of Wilde, a man who can only refer to himself by his prisoner number, in conversation with his younger self – a witty, elegant man, dressed in immaculate velvet, with rouged cheeks, who is urging his counterpart to strive for survival. “I say, remember yourself for who you are. A great and exceptional man,” says the young Oscar to the prison Oscar, who refers to his surroundings as “this tomb for those who are not yet dead”.

Nunn directs with utter sparseness, as if for a stage production, and, clearly, this is about the dialogue and the performance (or should that be performances?). Wilde debates grand subjects with himself. He rails against England and “sound English common sense” and the English education system. He talks of morality and art and faith and God. Is art useless? Is he ashamed of the success of The Importance of Being Earnest, a play he wrote in haste for money, that the young Oscar says will be performed for the rest of time? Wilde’s ego and snobbery come and go. He is ashamed of his materialism, yet finds solace in imagining rich fabrics and good French soap.

There is much to say about love, too, from the betrayal of “sweet Bosie” to his adoration of his wife and children, though we know that he would never see them again. He wonders if his ability to see “all the beauty in the world”, in men and in women, makes him a superior man. It would truly be a crime if this famous wit were not allowed a glimmer of comedy in his musings, and among the trauma and the horrors, there are plenty of moments of sly humour. If his sexuality is superior, should he expect an honour from the Queen? “Well, certainly a tax rebate, at the very least,” he quips.

It is not an easy watch, and I mean that quite literally. The conditions of a prison in 1895 were grim, and the idea that his cell “lacks a woman’s touch” is laughable; no woman could improve on that filthy, freezing cesspit. It is dark and gloomy (if this were BBC One prime time, there would be issues raised by the viewers who complain about mumbling), its protagonists looking for light in the shadows, and there is a piercing, high-pitched noise every time Wilde repeats his refrain of “If it was not for my ear …”

But Stephens is remarkable, and gives it his all as both the wreck of a man who would live only for another four years, and as the suave, younger Wilde, exhorting his older, ruined counterpart to live. A man imprisoned for gay sex might be a relic of the past in this country, but it makes a pitch for contemporary relevance in other ways, too. “We cannot keep on living like this, governed by fools who think only of wealth and of war and the size of their estates,” Wilde rages, adding a touch of timelessness to this sorry, sad tale.

Source: THE GUARDIAN

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Prisoner C33 review – Trevor Nunn directs a wretched, wonderful Wilde

In this dark, poetic one-man play, Toby Stephens gives it his all as the wrecked writer – imprisoned for gay sex in 1895 – as he rues his misfortunes with his younger self

‘“I say remember yourself for who you are. A great and exceptional man,” says Young Oscar to Prison Oscar.’ Toby Stephens in Prisoner C33. Photograph: Andrew Fettis/BBC/Angelica Films

Watching plays on television does require a certain mindset. Appearing as part of BBC Four’s Sunday Night Performance strand, Prisoner C33 is a brand new one-man play about Oscar Wilde’s time in Reading Gaol. It’s written by Stuart Paterson, directed by Trevor Nunn, and stars a very good Toby Stephens as Wilde, playing two very different versions of the writer in conversation with each other. If you are in the mood for an hour of one man talking to himself about the great misfortunes of his life, in a dim, candlelit cell, while the perforated eardrum that would contribute to his death causes him great pain, then this is a poetic and well-crafted play that I imagine would be even more electric on stage.

It would truly be a crime if this famous wit were not allowed a glimmer of comedy in his musings

That hour doesn’t stretch patience or outstay its welcome. It begins with an animalistic moan, deep in the bowels of the Victorian prison, its candles and iron gates lending this a gothic chill. The moan is not coming from Wilde, yet, but from a disturbed man a few cells down, whose mutterings earn him an off-screen beating from a guard. This is 1895, and Wilde is in prison for gross indecency after the details of his affair with Lord Alfred Douglas, his beloved Bosie, became public knowledge. He would emerge from his sentence having written De Profundis and with the material for The Ballad of Reading Gaol, but C33 is more concerned with what Wilde had to endure, and the ultimate cost of that.

Stephens plays him as a wretched, tortured soul brought to the depths of despair by his predicament. He’s cold, hungry, sick, dirty – and bored. “I can bear anything except losing my mind,” he says, as if the prospect is imminent. Perhaps it was. Most of the drama concentrates on this wretched version of Wilde, a man who can only refer to himself by his prisoner number, in conversation with his younger self – a witty, elegant man, dressed in immaculate velvet, with rouged cheeks, who is urging his counterpart to strive for survival. “I say, remember yourself for who you are. A great and exceptional man,” says the young Oscar to the prison Oscar, who refers to his surroundings as “this tomb for those who are not yet dead”.

Nunn directs with utter sparseness, as if for a stage production, and, clearly, this is about the dialogue and the performance (or should that be performances?). Wilde debates grand subjects with himself. He rails against England and “sound English common sense” and the English education system. He talks of morality and art and faith and God. Is art useless? Is he ashamed of the success of The Importance of Being Earnest, a play he wrote in haste for money, that the young Oscar says will be performed for the rest of time? Wilde’s ego and snobbery come and go. He is ashamed of his materialism, yet finds solace in imagining rich fabrics and good French soap.

There is much to say about love, too, from the betrayal of “sweet Bosie” to his adoration of his wife and children, though we know that he would never see them again. He wonders if his ability to see “all the beauty in the world”, in men and in women, makes him a superior man. It would truly be a crime if this famous wit were not allowed a glimmer of comedy in his musings, and among the trauma and the horrors, there are plenty of moments of sly humour. If his sexuality is superior, should he expect an honour from the Queen? “Well, certainly a tax rebate, at the very least,” he quips.

It is not an easy watch, and I mean that quite literally. The conditions of a prison in 1895 were grim, and the idea that his cell “lacks a woman’s touch” is laughable; no woman could improve on that filthy, freezing cesspit. It is dark and gloomy (if this were BBC One prime time, there would be issues raised by the viewers who complain about mumbling), its protagonists looking for light in the shadows, and there is a piercing, high-pitched noise every time Wilde repeats his refrain of “If it was not for my ear …”

But Stephens is remarkable, and gives it his all as both the wreck of a man who would live only for another four years, and as the suave, younger Wilde, exhorting his older, ruined counterpart to live. A man imprisoned for gay sex might be a relic of the past in this country, but it makes a pitch for contemporary relevance in other ways, too. “We cannot keep on living like this, governed by fools who think only of wealth and of war and the size of their estates,” Wilde rages, adding a touch of timelessness to this sorry, sad tale.

Source: Guardian

[khazdorum-stonesplitter]

Khazdorum, in brief.

Name: Khazdorum Stonesplitter

Alias/Nicknames: Frosty, Snowball, Khaz, “Khazzie”

Gender: Male (cis)

Age: 145

Western Zodiac: Cancer

Eastern Zodiac: Ox

Abilities/Talents: Wizardry, research, singing, accordion playing, ice sculpting, arcane surveying, pragmatic violence.

Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil /

Religion: Straddles the line between Titan and Light reverence.

Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

Languages: Fluent in Dwarven and Common, reads/ writes/ understands Darnassan, Thalassian, Draenic, Gnomic, and Pandaren. Is working very hard to finally master speaking Pandaren.

Family: Brynlann Stonesplitter (mother, deceased), Dain Stonesplitter (Father, deceased), Hakkon Stonesplitter (Uncle, deceased), Ivar and Rannok Stonesplitter (first cousins, deceased.), Several second and third cousins, none of whom are on speaking terms with Khaz. The ceasefire still holds.

Friends: Tyra, Trist’Ayran, Mun-Li, Airinn, Som’awa, and Lielu are his close friends, along with Khardrun depending on how much Khaz has talked recently. He’s working on making new friends in Foxrun as well as with other Dragoons.  

Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated

Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

Build: Short. Stocky. Far, far more heavily muscled than the stereotypical mage. Being the magical equivalent of a one-man roadie team apparently works wonders for your musculature.

Hair: Black.

Eyes: Like most Dark Irons, his eyes look like a geological core sample of the planet’s upper mantle before it cools.

Skin: Slate grey.

Height: 4′ 5″.

Scars: Several. His face is relatively free of scarring, but most of his body is covered in faded scars from severe scalding. He’s got a number of minor nicks and cuts across his torso and legs, but there are two relatively fresh scars indicative of stab wounds in his upper torso.

dogs or cats or Gargons || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

Five songs that remind you of them:

1. Yangtze River Shanty- Hamish McLaren. Reskinned to the Kun Lai River Shanty, it’s something of Khaz’s signature song, and even though he’s had much more to be happy about these days, I don’t think I’ll ever separate him from it in my head.

2. I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That.)- Meatloaf. Not only does Khaz in Venthyr covenant gear LOOK like the album cover to Bat Out of Hell, I Would Do Anything For Love is a very good look at how he would treat any romantic partner. He’s steadfast and loyal to friends, and a lover can expect that and more.

3.The Song of Durin- J.R.R. Tolkien, the arrangement version by Clamavi De Profundis. I kind of associate this with all my dwarven characters, to one degree or another, and this arrangement in particular. There’s a sense of wonder and venerable glory, as well as sorrowful loss and a hope for a brighter future when Durin wakes at last to claim his crown from waters deep. I just love it.

4. Blood on My Name- The Brothers Bright. Khaz’s life has been decades of loneliness interspersed with sparks of dark and bloody violence. He’s faced more actual combat in the last four years, but the moments of violence that haunt him the most were not on the battlefield. They are thankfully few in number, but he fears what others think of the things he does when his temper breaks, and knows a reckoning will eventually come for the blood he’s spilt for it- one way or another.

5. Sweet LA- Miracle of Sound. A song about LA Noire, this song is my go-to for pulp noire detective work. As my best friend loves to say, “All of your characters are just shells around an American noire detective or a British police detective.” In Khaz’s case that’s more than a little true. It’s a running gag that he goes all Tracer Bullet in his head when a mystery shows up. “The dame was trouble. The dame was always trouble.” Nicholas Cage as Spider Noir is also a favorite comparision.

Tagged by: @tyra-greydawn

Alas, I do not believe I know anyone who wasn’t already tagged.

Edit: due to recent events Khazdorum’s relationship status has changed.

[therewas-a-girl]

Shipwrecks, Of the Wretched, de profundis ALL OF THE QUESTIONS

the 

you think i will be intimidated by this BUT CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!!!! *cracks knuckles*

Shipwrecks

1. What inspired you to write the fic this way?

this fic is written mostly traditionally tbh - its cronologically told, in third person and mostly from one pov which is (and will be) feclicity. however, i have changed my mind about a lot of things since i started the fic - for one, i want to incorporate the whole ‘unreliable narrator’ thing a lot more. i want to use flashbacks more carefully: playing with timelines in how cetain present time events triger past moemories that illuminate the REASON behind present time choices. things like that. 

the real inspiration for the fic itself was another fic i read -  I've Never Truly Loved (Until You Put Your Arms Around Me) by theirhappystory. And the fact that i read that fic ... while i was on a boat... while there was a storm. a small one BUT STILL. 

2: What scene did you first put down?

Whatever Walks Here, Walks Alone - aka oliver looking at felicity in the lair. by itself this scene could fit anywhere from the begining of season 1, to anywhere in season 2. i didnt really write it with a timeline in mind. it was mroe like me pondering the characters. 

3: What's your favorite line of narration?

i had a LOT of fun - unexpected fun - writing Diggle’s pov in teh whole situation. you see, when i started the story the first thing i wanted to figure out was where do i want the characters to end up in relation to each other - so that i could start the story with them being in the diametrically opposite  spot! but then i realized that i also want contrast within the trio - and where oliver and felicity move towards each other at a glacial pace, john and felicty have a much more easy time understanding where the other stands. like... they vibe. and it had a lot o fun planing out that vibe - and all teh ways it pisses off oliver, in the begining. 

4: What's your favorite line of dialogue?

To answer this i would have to go back and re-read a lot of what i wrote and plan to write, but there is a line that STAYS with me and its one felicity says. 

so - in the show, the trio do eventually find out that the Gambit was sabotaged and did not just sink. Now - in Shipwrecks - this would have  a major devastating effect on felicity, who was in the gambit with oliver and sara. And she is the one that has the hunch that moira was involved (i think this happens in canon too?) - and she pushes oliver about it. Bc ofc she thinks of moira as just another person. Worse even - a person who hurt her. At this point she is MANIC about it and it freaks oliver out. Like, take the natural defensiveness he has against the idea and add a fear that felicity might genuinely kill his mother, and you get him being very agressively AGAINST felicity following moira anywhere. and when felicity understands that oliver has no intention of pursuing a what she sees as a genuine lead about the event that practically ruined them as people, she just, shuts down, makes a disgusted face, thinks of all the ritch fuckers she’s known and framed and used and how they close ranks when their reputation or personal interest is touched and just, blurts it out.  

 ‘you fucking people.’ 

5: What part was hardest to write?

all of it lmao. like WRITING IT. 

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

The fact that i planned it out and it has like, different installments and a whole journey, which is one of losing oneself, understanding that ones self has been lost, seeing vengence for that loss (aka giving in/facing the anger it causes), seeking freedom, going against ones impulses to build better ones, building relationships, mantaining them, finding ones self through small acts of kindness towards ones self, rebuilding ones personality

basically i wrote a journey about getting out of depression and grief, before i realized that THAT was what i was actually writing about. 

7: Where did the title come from?

The title of the series is pretty straightforward: they were shipwrecked and now theyre coming back. 'above the vaulted sky’ is a line from a I am, by John Claire.  

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;My friends forsake me like a memory lost:I am the self-consumer of my woes—They rise and vanish in oblivious host,Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throesAnd yet I am, and live—like vapours tossedInto the nothingness of scorn and noise,Into the living sea of waking dreams,Where there is neither sense of life or joys,But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;Even the dearest that I loved the bestAre strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.I long for scenes where man hath never trodA place where woman never smiled or weptThere to abide with my Creator, God,And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,Untroubling and untroubled where I lieThe grass below—above the vaulted sky.

It’s a rather sad one actually, but i read it as a poem about hope. About the dream of hope, anyway. And this need to be away - from what is known because at this point what is known is horrible and the only happiness the imagination can come up with, is to be as far from it as possible and alone. and that is very much where felicity starts out with. With her hope not being about peace, but an isolation in stillness because that is the only good place she can imagine. 

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

It did. I’ve been depressed and strugling with horrendous issues of self worth and anxiety since i was about 14. And i never knew. It literally took me turning 28 to realize what the fuck was wrong. And its depressing (lol) because its just so much fucking time that i wasted, you know. And i remember - like, when i was deep in my depression - i used to think all the time ‘I must have been a real life person once. Like, an actual person, with a personality, and likes and dislikes and feelings - but i dont remember her. I dont know who that girl even is, i woudlnt regognise her at all.’ It felt like some part of me had died. Like there was literal murder involved. Cause so little of me survived. 

but it turns out, i have been this way - just less intensely (and in some cases a lot MORE intensely) since i hit puberty. i didnt die - i just got worse and did not deal with it at all.  

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

not really. not yet, anyway. 

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

im actually not sure that i do want oliver-felicity for this sotry. the dynamic between felicity and tommy is also very veyr interesting. and i dont really know where i will take them. especially in the first and second story, their connection is intense. but this is also part of teh slowburn - oliver and felicity, however it happens, its gonna be slow. 

11: What do you like best about this fic?

how personal it is to me, and my experience. and the fact that, if i write it well, i might actually be sayin something. 

12: What do you like least about this fic?

THE FACT THAT I HAVENT WRITTEN IT YET T_T

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn't listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

PHEW I have whole playlists i built as i was ordering this whole series. with songs that fit the mood, the direction of the storytelling and all. 

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

I genuinely want people to see this as a story about healing.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

i havent written all of it yet - but i did learn something very interesting about myself. that i have been putting my trauma into narratives to deal with it looong since i knew that was a thing, or i was even aware that i was doing it. 

and on that depressing note, i will end this post and start a new one for the other stories lmao