#Jibe Show Review

[cuubism]

Besieged

E | 5k

a sequel to Trade Secrets - aka knight Hob and slutty prince Dream

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Hob has sat in besieged war camps for days waiting for the enemy to strike. He has knelt in forests, unmoving, muscles cramping, waiting hours for a chance to attack. He has laid in a medical cot for weeks while a wound slowly heals.

And yet the greatest test of patience in Hob’s entire life is this treaty negotiation. Not because the discussion is mind-numbingly dull, though it is. Hob would always rather be out killing something, but he can cope. And not because the foreign dignitaries are only barely respectable, casting veiled jibes their way every other sentence. Hob talks too much, but he can hold his tongue when he has to.

No, this is testing Hob’s patience because he’s here as Morpheus’s personal bodyguard, and Morpheus is currently draped over the arm of the foreign king, body pressed close, lips close to his jaw as he speaks directly in his ear.

He never behaves like this when he’s in his own palace. Among his own people he’s stoic and reserved, almost unknowable. And he had been very insistent that his stories about seducing foreign dignitaries had been just that: stories, that his words alone were sufficient to achieve his aims.

Which means he’s doing this just to get under Hob’s skin.

Hob shifts where he stands, back against the wall, surveying the room. He’s supposed to be concentrating on security, but he feels hot, itchy, aggravated. Jealous, he whispers to himself. Morpheus isn’t his to keep. But oh if Hob doesn’t want to slam that foreign king against a wall.

And then push Morpheus up against one for very different reasons.

Morpheus meets his eyes from across the table. His gaze is hot. Challenging. Then he looks away and says, “I must speak with the king in private for a moment.”

Hob takes a step forward, a protest on his tongue. Whatever game he’s playing aside, Morpheus can’t just go off with someone without a guard. Hob’s supposed to ensure his safety.

But Morpheus just flashes another glance at him. His gaze promises terrible things. Wonderful things. And he disappears into a side room, his starry cloak swishing behind him.

The king follows him like a sex-drunk fool. Hob knows the feeling. Perhaps it’s not Morpheus in danger if they go off alone.

Hob waits, chest tight. Jealous. Irritable. Worried. Fucking horny. Morpheus absolutely knows what he’s doing here. I’ll show you, you little slut, Hob thinks, then is immediately horrified by the thought. It’s not untrue, though. Hob’s feelings about Morpheus are… varied, but one of them is definitely the aggressive need to make Morpheus his. Even if he has no right to it.

He’d been able to keep those thoughts in the back of his head, once. But that was before Morpheus had crept into his tent in the middle of the night and told Hob to fuck him like a whore.

It isn’t overly long before Morpheus and the king emerge from their private conference. The king looks whiplashed. Morpheus looks quite pleased with himself indeed. His hair is mussed. His smirking lips are reddened. Looking at him makes Hob feel like he’s swallowed thorns.

“I believe we’ve come to an agreement,” says Morpheus, gaze flickering briefly over to Hob and going dark at whatever he sees on Hob’s face. “Let us sign the treaty. We need not tarry longer.”

Hob doesn’t pay a shred of attention as they review the document and sign it. His grip is flexing on the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his hip, for want of anything better to do with his hands. He forces himself not to fidget. He watches Morpheus, the haughty dignity of him, the close cut of his elegant robes. Hob wants to venerate him like a piece of the heavens. Hob wants to ruin him.

By the time they make their way back to their guest quarters in the palace, he feels like he’s buzzing. Walking at his side with utter nonchalance, Morpheus says, “I do believe that was—”

Hob doesn’t let him finish. He grabs Morpheus’s arm and pulls him through the door to their rooms, then pushes him up against it, fisting a hand in the collar of his robes.

“You,” he growls, and watches Morpheus’s gaze darken, his throat bob as he swallows, “little whore. Is that how you conduct your diplomacy? Sucking off anyone you need a yes from?”

“Did I not tell you those were only stories, my knight?” says Morpheus, each word carefully spoken, but starting to waver.

Instead of answering, Hob kisses him hard.

Morpheus’s head knocks against the door and he moans. Hob bites his lower lip, then swipes his tongue into Morpheus’s mouth. He has no idea if Morpheus actually kissed that foreign dignitary or if it was all another one of his stories, but either way he chases away the taste. Kisses him deep, not letting him breathe. Makes Morpheus’s mouth his.

When he pulls back, Morpheus sucks in a huge breath. Chases his mouth, but Hob presses him back against the door with a hand around his throat, hard enough that Morpheus will be able to feel it when he swallows.

“Did you kneel for him?” Hob asks. He feels quiet now. Alight in the fire of Morpheus’s presence. His prince is so beautiful. His lips are even redder now, and he looks at Hob like Hob could do anything to him and he would like it.

And Hob can never forget that he’s hardly had anything done to him at all.

“I am a prince,” says Morpheus. “I don’t kneel.”

“You want to, though,” Hob murmurs. He frames Morpheus’s face in his hands, thumbs hooked under his jaw. Keeps him still. Tips his head back. Morpheus is breathing hard. His hands find Hob’s belt and he tucks his fingers in, holding on.

Hob kisses his sharp jaw, nips at the skin. “Have you fantasized about it, my prince? The way you fantasized about getting fucked?”

“Yes,” breathes Morpheus. “I—” he breaks off as Hob slips a hand inside his robes to cup him through his— oh. He’s not even wearing anything under those robes.

“You pretty little whore,” Hob breathes, and Morpheus whines. “Go on. Talk.”

“I—” It’s so unusual for Morpheus to struggle with his words. Hob loves it. He takes Morpheus’s hard cock in his grip and tugs him off, slow, teasing. “I never. Could. With anyone. But I thought of you. When I pleasured myself. I—” he shivers— “even before you rescued me. I would see you at court and I wanted.”

“And you always get what you want, don’t you?”

“Not this,” says Morpheus. “You hold the fulfillment of my desires in your hands, Hob.”

“Sure fucking do,” says Hob, and twists his grip around Morpheus so he shudders and moans. “Did you think about kneeling for me?”

He manages to say it casually but he’s so hard in his breeches. Morpheus meets his eyes, and while usually his looks are clever, conniving, now he looks almost innocent. Hob has the upper hand here, and the greater experience. It’s so heady. Fuck him but the thought of being Morpheus’s first still makes Hob feel possessed.

“Yes,” says Morpheus, rutting into Hob’s grip. He braces himself with a hand on Hob’s shoulder for balance and Hob lets him.

“Did you think about how it would feel, choking on my cock? Did you want to be used, darling?”

Morpheus’s pretty face is flushed. His eyes fall shut, lashes fluttering. “Yes. Yes. I wanted to know how it tasted. I do not kneel. I wanted you to make me.”

Sweet Mother Mary. “I think that’s what you deserve after that display tonight.”

Morpheus is shivering against him, still thrusting into his grip. He’s close to coming, Hob can tell. And that’s why he pulls his hand back.

Morpheus collapses against him with a violent whine. “Hob.”

Hob looks down at him, eyebrow raised. “Did you want something?”

Morpheus glares up at him. Hob just smiles sweetly. It’s so fun to rile him up. He steps backward, further in the room, and Morpheus follows as if tied to him. And isn’t that a thought.

“Do you need someone to put you in your place, Morpheus?” Hob asks. No title attached to his name.

Morpheus’s breath catches. “What is my place, then?”

Hob takes him by the shoulders and pushes. Morpheus falls to his knees, breath gushing out of his lungs. He looks up at Hob, eyes hooded, lips parted. Fucking hell. He is a vision.

Hob drags a hand through his hair, pulling his head back. Morpheus goes easily, neck craning. God, he’s desperate for it. Poor thing, closed up in his palace. “You were made for this, weren’t you? You’ve just been waiting for someone to make you kneel.”

“For you,” says Morpheus, breathless. That innocent look again on his face. Waiting for Hob’s direction. Christ, he’s never done this for anyone. More privilege to Hob. He’s done nothing to deserve it, but that’ll hardly stop him from seizing it.

Hob caresses his cheek, swipes his thumb over his bottom lip, over his tongue. “You’re so beautiful, you know?”

“It’s been said,” says Morpheus. Hob chucks him on the cheek. Cheeky little thing.

“Can’t believe no one’s done anything about it,” Hob muses, just to watch Morpheus’s eyes dilate. “The way you walk around the palace in your flimsy robes. How’d they stop themselves?”

“Fear, I expect,” says Morpheus. “Are you not afraid of the consequences of defiling your prince, ser knight?”

“It’s worth the punishment to have you,” says Hob. Is it ever. To have Morpheus on his knees, looking up at him like that? It’d be worth anything.

“Have me then, and don’t tarry,” Morpheus challenges.

Hob seizes his hair again, yanking a gasp from him. With his other hand he undoes his belt, lets it fall to the floor, sword dropping without care, then unties the front of his breeches and takes his hard cock in his hand. Morpheus swallows visibly upon seeing it, going lax in Hob’s grip.

Hob doesn’t say anything else, just gives his cock a few strokes, then nudges the tip past Morpheus’s lips. Morpheus obediently opens his mouth, and Hob draws him forward by his hair, feeding it to him. He struggles to keep steady as the heat of Morpheus’s mouth envelopes him, but he manages.

“Good boy,” he praises, as Morpheus laves at him with the flat of his tongue. Morpheus moans, and Hob pulls him off long enough for him to take a breath, then pushes in again.

This time he goes deep enough that he bumps against the back of Morpheus’s throat, and Morpheus chokes, but doesn’t pull away. He tries to relax his throat, wanting to take all of it, and then Hob himself nearly chokes. “Christ, Morpheus,” he sighs, “you feel incredible.”

Morpheus hums, a pleased, heady sound, bobbing his head on Hob’s cock, pressing the flat of his tongue to the shaft. He’s taking it so well, so hungry for it even in his inexperience. Hob should probably go easy on him. He doesn’t want to go easy on him.

“Still can't believe you've never done this before,” he says. It’s painfully arousing to think of. And Morpheus may not actually know what exactly to do with his mouth, but it’s more than made up for by the fact that he’s letting Hob use him, letting Hob teach him.

“That’s alright,” Hob continues. “You’re so gorgeous like this. I’ll show you how to use that lovely mouth.” He directs Morpheus with a hand in his hair, presses his nose to his pelvis, bids him to close his lips, bob his head, swirl his tongue—like that.

He’s perfect, even in his imperfections. Hob could have him like this forever—but he has other ideas too.

He indulges himself for some time, swimming in the heat of his own arousal, but before Morpheus’s blessed mouth can pull him over the edge, Hob carefully pulls him off. Morpheus looks up at him, a line of spit trailing from his lower lip to the tip of Hob’s cock. He looks hazy and pleased, his eyes half-lidded, hair sticking up from the drag of Hob’s fingers. Morpheus is so serious and put together for outsiders that it’s a blessing to get to see him like this. Unraveled. Losing himself in something he wants, rather than stuck only in something he must do. And for Hob to be that thing he wants is something indeed.

“Come, sweet thing,” Hob says, drawing him to his feet with a careful hand. “You’ve been so, so good. My good boy.”

Morpheus whines, following him on unsteady legs. Hob helps him shuck off his shoes and lays him down on the bed, finally steps out of his own boots and strips off his tunic and shirt so he’s only in his breeches, and follows him, bracketing Morpheus with his body. Morpheus reaches for him, tangles his hands in his hair, and Hob thinks that he must not get much softness like this, if any. Always he is the icy and untouchable prince.

Hob draws open his robes, finally gets a proper look at Morpheus’s body. He’s as beautiful as last time, as beautiful as Hob has remembered and imagined since then. Unmarred, un-used, and waiting for him.

“Do you want to be mine, darling?” Hob asks. Being with Morpheus again has made him bolder. He wants Morpheus for himself. To hold him close. To keep him safe. To be his. Whatever that looks like, when Morpheus is his prince, and Hob is his knight.

“Yes,” Morpheus breathes, shivering as Hob runs his hands up and down his thighs, over his hips. “Yes. I will make you my knight. Mine. I want you with me, I do not care if it is proper.”

He’s breathing hard, worked up, hard and straining. He’s beautiful, Hob wants to give him everything.

“Good,” he says, and kisses Morpheus’s belly. Then his hip, then the crease of his thigh, then the tip of his cock.

Morpheus whines, arching against the sheets. “I want. I want you to fuck me again.”

“In good time.”

“Please,” Morpheus gasps. “Please. I have wanted, feverishly. I tried to replicate it. With toys. But it was not the same. See what you have reduced me to? Begging?”

“You thought of me?” The thought is thrilling. He wishes he could have seen it, watched Morpheus opening himself up, dreaming of Hob’s cock filling him.

“Every night.”

Heady. Hob drags a fingertip between Morpheus’s cheeks. Teasing. “Don’t have to beg. You could have come to me any time.”

“Desperate,” Morpheus groans. “You will think less of me.”

“Never. I just want you. Always.” There’s a problem, though. “I don’t have any oil or anything with me.”

“I do,” says Morpheus. “You will find it among my things.”

Hob laughs, startled and fond. “Came prepared?”

“Came hopeful.”

Hob rolls off the bed and finds the mentioned bottle of oil after digging around in Morpheus’s trunk. His things are terribly disorganized for a prince, which Hob finds unexpectedly charming. He brings it back, finds Morpheus watching him, eyes heavy, gorgeous body sprawled like an offering on the bed.

Hob climbs on top of him, kisses him, gripping his hair. “I want to see your face this time.”

“Yes,” Morpheus breathes. His hands trail over Hob’s face, the scruffy edges of his beard. “My Hob.”

“I told you last time that if I’d known it was your first time I’d have made sure it was right, didn’t I?” Hob says, and waits until Morpheus nods. “Well, that’s what I’m going to do now.”

“Do not be gentle with me,” Morpheus orders.

Hob kisses him, just once, on the lips, and is indeed gentle about it. “It can be rough and right,” he says.

With that he pushes one of the lavish bed’s many pillows under Morpheus’s hips, bends one of his legs up so it’s hooked over Hob’s shoulder, holding him open. Morpheus watches with wide eyes, breath coming quick, his heart pattering when Hob places his hand along his throat to feel his pulse. Everything is still new to him. So many missing pieces to fill in.

Hob dips his fingers in the oil and starts rubbing them over Morpheus’s hole and the soft skin behind his balls. He circles Morpheus’s entrance with a fingertip, and then, caught by Morpheus’s rapt expression and held breath, pushes slowly in.

Morpheus lets out a rough breath, body tensing and then giving to Hob. Hob works him, in and out, and Morpheus shivers and squirms, but can only move so far when Hob is holding him down with Morpheus’s leg over his shoulder. Morpheus had wanted rough, so Hob doesn’t wait long before pushing in a second finger, which has Morpheus crying out and tensing. Hob soothes him, kissing his jaw, his throat, his sternum, murmurs, “I know you can do it. I know you can take me,” until Morpheus subsides again.

“Your hands,” he whispers. “It— oh! Is so much better than when I do it.”

“That’s the idea,” Hob says. “Going to take care of you, darling.”

Morpheus whines, nodding. “Please.”

“Don’t think of anything else,” Hob says as he works a third finger into him—God he’s tight but so wanting—“I know you’ve always got so much on your mind. Just let it all go. Think about me.”

“I am. Always,” Morpheus pants, back arching. “Always. Thinking of you.”

Every time Morpheus says he’s thinking of him goes straight to Hob’s head, but it’s easier to be assured of it when Morpheus is looking at him like that, when Hob is touching him so deeply.

“Good. Think of me. Look at me.” He withdraws his fingers, fits himself properly between Morpheus’s legs and leans down over him, catching his gaze. “Look at me.”

Morpheus meets his eyes, chest rising in quick, startled breaths. Being able to rile him up so much makes Hob feel undone, he wants Morpheus so badly, and he wants Morpheus to feel good so badly. Wants to be responsible for it. Wants to take care of him.

Hob holds his gaze as he pushes in, fits himself in Morpheus’s body. The tight heat makes him gasp. Fuck, Morpheus feels even better than last time.

“It feels much more intense this time,” Morpheus breathes, echoing his thoughts. His body tenses as he gets used to the space Hob is making inside him. Gradually he relaxes, sinking back onto the bed, wrapping his fingers around the back of Hob’s neck, tangling in his hair.

“No stories this time,” Hob says. “Only you.”

“You enjoyed the story,” Morpheus points out.

“Aye. But I like you without it, too.” The tales Morpheus tells are very compelling, he might have been born to be a storyteller as much as he was a prince, but Hob likes the clever, sweet Morpheus underneath all the tales just as much. More, even.

“I like you,” he continues, starting to move in him, slow, dragging out each thrust in a way he hadn’t when they’d fucked under the premise of Morpheus’s story, “as my prince. As the one I’ve sworn myself to. The one I’d do anything for. The clever, strong, mad creature that you are.”

Morpheus whimpers. “Hob. Please.”

Hob kisses his neck. “I like you when you beg for me, too. And when you decide what you want, and then make sure you get it.”

“Why should I beg when I know you will give me whatever I want either way?” Morpheus asks, breathless.

Hob smiles against his skin. “Because I want you to.” The words make Morpheus whine, and Hob presses down on his body, bending his leg further back. “And you want to do what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Morpheus’s fingers scrabble for grip on his shoulders. “Yes, Hob, please, please.”

“Good boy.”

The sound Morpheus makes when he says that goes straight to Hob’s gut. God, he’s never wanted someone as much as he wants Morpheus, it’s like a hook in every part of his flesh, it’s like the religious fervor that Hob never got from church. He wants, and he can’t believe he’s allowed to have.

Hob could kneel at his feet. Has, in fact. But he so loves when Morpheus is desperate, and that he can let go of the careful trappings of princedom when it’s just them, just in this moment.

“You could command me to do anything you wanted, you know,” he says. “But I’d rather you beg.”

“Please,” Morpheus says immediately, and it’s the most heady thing Hob’s ever heard. “Please, Hob. Please fuck me.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely.”

He takes Morpheus's hands and presses them into the bed, holding him down, and plies his whole weight to snap his hips into him. Morpheus wails, grip flexing desperately under Hob’s hands.

“Anyone passing in the hall will hear you,” Hob says into his ear, grinning, as he does it again, finding a brutal pace and keeping it up as Morpheus squirms and cries.

“Good,” Morpheus pants, “good. Let them know— what you do to me.”

“Oh, they’ll know.” He nips along Morpheus’s throat, soothes the skin with his tongue. “They’ll see you all disheveled. My marks on you. Such a stoic, distant prince. No one could imagine that this is what you get up to, that you want to be taken, that you beg for my cock.”

“You will ruin my reputation,” Morpheus gasps, not sounding upset about it at all.

“I think it’d only make them more in awe of you,” Hob says, “though I wouldn’t mind a bit of jealousy.” No, he wouldn’t mind at all the thought of all who see them together wanting Morpheus, and not being able to have him. Knowing that only Hob is allowed to.

He pins Morpheus down harder and fucks him with all the passion and possession inherent in that thought. Morpheus's cries turn into punched out gasps of pleasure, each sound catching roughly in his throat as Hob rocks him. It's the sweetest sound Hob's ever heard, and it's all he can do not to come too quickly when what he wants is to drag it out, give Morpheus as much pleasure as he's able to.

But it's not long before Morpheus pants, "Hob, I'm-- I'm-- oh!" And he comes with a startled cry as if his pleasure was yanked out of him. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, but Hob is delighted to have made him lose control.

“Aw, darling, it was all too much, wasn’t it? You’re still new at it, it’s alright.” He sucks a mark into Morpheus’s throat, slowing momentarily, and Morpheus moans. “You’re still learning, aren’t you, my prince?”

“Hob.” Morpheus hooks his leg tight around Hob’s back, thighs trembling. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to.” He lets go of Morpheus’s hands—Morpheus immediately clutches at the back of Hob’s neck, digging his fingers in his hair—and starts moving again, relishing in the heat of Morpheus’s body, how lax he is under Hob, going easily with his movement, the quiet whines he makes each time Hob presses in particularly deep. His own arousal builds within him, heat pooling in his groin and thighs, and he chases it in Morpheus’s body, chases it—

He comes with a groan, clutching Morpheus to him, losing himself temporarily in the feeling of it. If only, he thinks, they were like this all the time, the two of them, if only he was always holding Morpheus close in bed, bringing pleasure to him. It can’t be like that, not really, not with Morpheus being a prince—but he can imagine it.

Morpheus whimpers when he pulls out, but Hob kisses him to ease the discomfort of it. And just for the pleasure of doing it. Morpheus in the afterglow kisses lax and soft, so sweet against Hob’s body. No clever storyteller left, this time.

When they separate, Morpheus looks dazed, red mouth parted, fingers twined gently in Hob’s hair. He gazes at Hob for a long moment, and Hob thinks he might be about to say something—but whatever it might have been, he decides against it, instead just petting Hob’s temple.

Hob kisses him once more for good measure, then removes himself to fetch a spare cloth from Morpheus’s things and clean off his belly, after which Morpheus pulls him back to bed with demanding fingers. Hob stays frozen, stunned, as Morpheus pushes himself in against his body, curling in close.

“I’m feeling unsafe in this foreign castle,” he says, not sounding particularly afraid as far as Hob can tell. “Perhaps you will have to guard me from closer quarters tonight.”

Hob laughs incredulously, but obligingly pulls him close. “Of course, love. This country is very hostile, I’m sure. They might even come back to get you to bribe them with more sexual favors.”

Morpheus squeaks indignantly, digging a finger into Hob’s side. But he quickly subsides, pressing his lips indulgently into Hob’s skin.

Hob holds him like that for a time, pressing him close and helping him come back into his body, stroking a firm hand up and down his back. It feels like more of a privilege to hold Morpheus like this than it even was to fuck him. A privilege for Morpheus to want him to stay.

When the room has gone dark, the fireplace burned low in need of tending, he finally asks, “What did you really do, with that king? You made it look like you sucked him off.”

Morpheus chuckles. It’s an endearingly wicked sound. “I threatened him. Made it quite clear what I would do to him if he defied me. Or perhaps…” he pulls himself from his repose, leaning far enough away to look at Hob, eyes dark, dragging a finger along Hob’s lower lip, “what I would have done to him. What my loyal knight might do to him, as soon as I gave him leave.”

“Oh, yeah?” There is something… thrilling, about being Morpheus’s weapon, an extension of the darkest shades of his will.

“Would you do that for me, my Hob?” Morpheus asks, eyes heavy-lidded. “Ply your sword in my name?”

“Already do.” Hob kisses his cheek, mouths over the skin, drags a hand up and down over his bare hip.

“Did you really think I used my mouth on him?” Morpheus asks. “Did you think I would not save it for you?”

Hob swallows hard, but says, “I can never know for sure what you’re thinking.”

“Did it make you jealous, then?” says Morpheus. “Did it… burn in you, to think I would let myself be used by another when I should be yours?”

Oh, it did. Hob leans over him, presses him down to the mattress, murmurs against his lips, “I wanted to cut his throat.”

Morpheus’s breath catches. “I would not have stopped you.”

“Even if it started a war?”

“I want to see you spill blood for me.” He takes one of Hob’s hands, sucks two of Hob’s fingers into his mouth. Then, still with his lips touching Hob’s skin, says, “Next time you bloody yourself at war, come back to my chambers first. I want to see it.”

Hob’s whole body goes still in anticipation at the thought, imagining bringing himself to Morpheus’s fine bedchambers while still dripping blood and grime, sword hanging loose in his grip, exhaustion tugging him down. Morpheus, his lord, his prince, welcoming him in with dark eyes and wanting hands, bloodying his fine fingers as he undoes the buckles on Hob’s armor, undresses him, before indulging him in a much needed bath— or perhaps he would not even want to wait, would drag Hob to his mouth and let Hob coat him in all that he had wrought in his name—

“Perhaps you should come to mine,” he says, voice rough with want. “Perhaps your favorite knight might be in want of some particular comfort, hm?”

Morpheus will do it, too, if Hob dares him. He has before, just for his own satisfaction.

Indeed, Morpheus’s lips curl up in a smirk. “Be careful what you wish for, Hob.”

He slides on top of Hob, settling in his lap, but instead of starting something up again he just lays back down with his head tucked into Hob’s shoulder, now with all of his weight resting on Hob’s body. Hob curls his arms around him.

“Hob?” Morpheus murmurs, at length.

“Yeah, darling?”

“When you go to war… do be careful.”

Careful isn’t really Hob’s fighting style. But something in him stills at Morpheus’s tremulous words. The care in them, and the fear.

“Be careful where you send me,” he says in return. Morpheus may not be king of their realm, but his decisions do have weight. And Hob is sworn to his word.

Morpheus is silent for a long moment, truly thinking about it. He traces his fingertips up the length of Hob’s sword arm, over his shoulder, landing on the side of his neck, beside where his own face rests.

“I will use you well, if you will come back to me,” he finally says.

Hob tangles his fingers in his hair, pets his scalp. He can’t really make that promise, not if he’s to also fill his role as Morpheus’s sword and shield. And Morpheus has never been on a battlefield, doesn’t understand the chaos of it, how even with all his skill and determination, Hob can’t make things turn out right.

But if there’s any true incentive to try, it’s Morpheus resting in his arms.

“I will, love,” he promises. “I’ll come back to you.”

[mayorofthegalaxy]

The Cat Part II

Warnings; the reader is amab, near car accident, that’s it.

“Okay, brother I know you said you won’t tell where, but will you tell what circle of pride? I won’t guess! I promise!” Charlie exclaims, you only smile noting her new record of fifteen minutes into the road trip to ask, you hum she’ll see the signs for sixth tunnel soon anyway, so why not?

“Sure, before I answer, have any of you been past the fifth circle?” You ask giving them all a glance in your review mirror before looking at the road again. “Oh! I want to go first! Please Brother?!” Charlie begs jolting keekee from Charlie’s lap to Vaggie’s, startling the grey skin girl from her resting state to pet the unnatural animal to calm down,

“I’m sure you don’t have to ask, Char.” Dad says from the very back.

“Right, hehe. Never past the sixth, like dad says.” Charlie announces showing off her ivory fangs, “That’s my girl.” He says with a grin, “How about you son?”

“Nothing past seventh, for real estate~!” You sang “You know the Rattlesnake community don’t want to live in burrows because of all the lava? I cannot *wait* to start designing!” You beam, clenching the steering wheel almost breaking it, until you feel the back of Alastor’s fingers on your cheek.

His touch doesn’t change your mood and definitely does not keep you from chuckling to yourself while driving a little faster almost to the sixth circle tunnel, “I’ve raised a real estate businessman monster.” Dad smirks chuckling to himself, you don’t feel the mildly concern stares the others give you.

“Well! I’ve only been in one through five. But I have heard wonderful things from circles six through nine.” Alastor chirps, as he knows that the higher circles are where the native beings of pride stay as his new home with you is in the fifth.

“Twisted wonderfully I’m sure! What lies past the sixth is so dangerous Satan would need more arms than he already has!“ Dad enlightens them smirking with pride that only his ring have twisted wonderland.

“Right, and which circle are we going to again?” Angel ask pushing his head between Alastor’s and your seat, looking at you with a raise brow.

“Well my curious fellow, we’re going to spend our week in the sixth ring!” Alastor answers.

“That wouldn’t have twisted whatever right?”

You shoot one arm across Angel with your hand flat on Alastor’s chest stomping on the brakes but not turning the wheel to the side, you stop in time for the red blob to bounce on top of the hood making a louder sound then it should, then landing somewhere else instead of being ran over.

“Jesus Christ Y/n! What the hell was that for?!”Angel yells fixing his footing to be back in his seat.

“Did anyone else hear that? Did we hit somebody?”Vaggie ask, taking off her seatbelt and sifting through the windows near, her hand on Charlie’s head soothing the locks.

“I hope they’re okay!” Charlie exclaim, taking off her seat belt and pick up Niffty ignoring that she was giggling to herself. Dad slithers from the back past the drinking Husk to the front, peering out the other side of windows standing next to Angel Dust he narrows his eyes.

“So, did you see where they went?”

You roll your eyes to dismiss the jibe, your fingers reach the red head’s jaw playing along the structure his flesh cooling your fingers. Alastor tilts his head to the touch his eyes not leaving Lucifer, knowing this will drag out because of Charlie’s heart he’ll need to push this along.

“Mm, I’m sure the thing is alright, even if I don’t sense it.” You try also peering at Dad.

“Oh! Did you kill it?!” Frighten Charlie skitters out the door, her locks constantly moving for the body that should be near, your orbs narrow at her sunshine locks your fangs grinding, Dad and some follow Charlie aiding in searching.

“There’s no need for that mon cher, come I’m quite intrigue at the thing out there.” His voice soothing the crashing sounds in your mind, you sigh, stepping out. You keep in stride with the taller male you cease on the sidewalk leaning against bricks of a shop, enjoying shade you hum summoning Mr. Donut the yellow noodle on your shoulder slithering to hold your neck his face meeting your fingers.

Alastor leers into an alley, smirking as he watch those sinners run and tumble away he shrugs with a slight giggle, who ever made this ruckus must be alright. He should hurry this along to sooner reach the Cabin. “Alastor, why isn’t Y/n helping? Is he tired?” Vaggie questions the casual dress demon looking at the alley dirty concrete for fresh blood.

“Do you have siblings, my dear?” His static buzzing in tone with him, grey filling the corner of his eye.

“Uh— Technically yeah, but no I don’t count it. You?” She retorts, her fingers adjusting in grip of her spear. “No. And that’s just it my dear, we won’t understand that bond..” He hums turning to the blonde demon belle and Angel searching in the distance.

You sigh breaths stuttering from your lips turning to lean heavily on your shoulder, about to tell Charlie to cut her loses, Mr. Donut hisses cradling your ear messing with the hairs around it his body tightening around your torso your digits running down the scales of his spine.

Mr. Donut slithers past your ear and under your chin wrapping fully around your shoulders leering at the thing that caught his senses, tilting his head at the red and black creature with the face of his other master he hiss loudly not sensing transformation magic. The back of your hand is put under him leading him to be in front of your eye line his slits remain unchanging, you follow his glaring turning to face this creature animal that is just as adorable as your lover, your eyes not leaving it’s unblinking ones.

“Holy shit this thing made an imprint! And it looks like red lanky creep!” Angel Dust calls, since nobody else is looking around the car, some others around Charlie returns the stare. Charlie is the first to reach the hood gasping at the sight that the creature even have Alastor’s monocle, Lucifer joins in Angel’s laughter leaning onto Charlie Vaggie doesn’t see the humor in this and only rise her brow shaking her head at thoughts coming in her mind.

Alastor appears beside Angel Dust humming at the damage he’ll fix the damage after you calm down and have a laugh, you appear in front of him facing every one holding his red look alike that’s a cat? Perhaps hybrid, by the scruff of its neck leering at it eye level to your slit irises, Alastor tilts his head his ears following suit.

“Holy shit! That's adorable!”

“Nope.”

“Holy Smokes, that’s an ugly cat.”

“No way that’s a cat, what the fuck is it?”

“What a big smile, it’s even foaming at the mouth.”

“A small sir to be friends!”

“We’ve found it, In the car we’re leaving.” You sigh out handing the unsettling creature to Charlie her hands around it gingerly they settle well in her arms, but it does stare at dad even as they all go inside the car hopefully for the last time today.

“Aww, I’ll name you Caster.” Charlie coos, her fingers playing with its paws, Husk being in the car the whole time raise his brow to the second smaller Alastor at Angel when he returns to his seat in exchange the spider shrugs shaking his head.

You nod at the name enjoying it you smile as you open the door for Alastor noticing the lack of face on your car. With him and you finally inside, it does not take you long to start the car and finishing the journey to your family Cabin.

->Time skip<-

Charlie leans her head against the window her locks being a cushion even if it’s in a different style from usual the hairs on her shoulder being pawed at from the stray her eyes remain outside, with the car on the bridge heading towards their vacation surely she’ll spot the signs where they going.

She’ll admit she did not want to ask with the thought of jinxing the car to stop once again today, she couldn’t have that and stayed comfortable with Vaggie leaning on her shoulder holding KeeKee she didn’t want to move anyway. Her waiting rewards her while she is appreciates her city in this Carmine color she sees only one circle on the highway sign that makes sense, circle six the Morningstar Cabin.

Charlie grins her hand on her cheek peering at the up coming tunnel she can already see the surrounding forest, she giggles looking towards you and when she catches your gaze she beams wider when you grin back.

“The perfect getaway right? I’m happy we’re doing this.” Dad chimes, his voice lulling her into the past she smiles at him laying her forehead on his cheek.

“Holy shit! So this is the sixth circle, huh short prince?” Angel exclaims, rolling down the window and poking his head out not aware that Hell can come in these cool hues, even smelling nature he wouldn’t thought to smell again.

“Yeah, what comes beauty is hidden thorns.” You breath taking the sights as you ride along the river coast on one side the other is a slope of towering trees, you smile you may be a real estate monster you’ll never let anyone change the home of your much happier memories.

“Darling, you mean this forest can threaten powerful souls?” Enjoying the showcase of fangs you show to him “They would never be found again, my dear.” You respond his grin is that much wider.

Alastor peer upon the more residential area of the circle, the majority being elite Hellborns and Imps, he marks down a butcher he would like to visit and perhaps the shops as well he giggles new methods and plans to pace yourself from stress.

Your eye catch him mid giggle raising your brow you feel bad for whomever he’s thinking of with a roll of your orbs, you continue along the smooth road taking a few turns the woods remain the same with lavish manors and castles far between.

You slow to a crawl with the grand gates in front with your last name a glow, Dad starts first his head appearing above the middle console snapping his fingers, you join in grinning Charlie beams finishing the rhythm. The gates open seamlessly for you all, the path you take is long for fifteen mph the property having a few acres with a healthy garden trees and a lake, you do not have to worry about the wild life either with fifteen foot long stone walls.

Alastor notes that this isn’t a traditional wooden cabin he expected large stone walls, wood log beams with excellent multiple window placement, grand and hopefully no tacky circus decor. You park in the garage giddy with every breath you take, putting the keys in your void.

“Come on Vaggie! I can’t wait to show you our room.” Charlie beams dragging the poor girl out the garage luggage in hand.

“Imma get a room with a balcony.” Angel sings following Charlie with Husk on his tail and Niffty is gone. You prance to the trunk for your luggage when you stop to see Caster lounging on them, the cat laying his head on his paws the tail swaying lazily. You smile reaching for his fluffy ears—

“Ah, I wouldn’t do that, son. The beast got rabies.” Dad notes, you hum you’ll train him to not bite later. Caster lets out static jolt of sound jumping on your arm and going to land on dad who yelp running behind you, you leer at the beast on the floor who’s grin gotten smaller, you pick him up by the scruff.

“My, seems like Caster is defensive.” Alastor rang a smug smile on his lips, “Oh, what's there to be defensive of!” You add with a chuckle, you keep hold of Caster while your darling snap away the luggage.

“In the morning I’m making pancakes, but not for him.” Dad taunts the mini beast grabbing his case and closing the trunk and disappearing further inside. You adjust the cat to be more comfortable in your one arm while the other wraps around your darling hip, leading him to your room.

End of Part II

[tokuvivor]

8, 11, and 38?

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

From A Mutual Understanding Between Oldest Siblings…

“Huey-“ Lena interjected.

“Yeah?” Huey asked.

“Not to be dramatic or anything, but…WHY ARE YOU NOT MAD AT ME RIGHT NOW?!” Lena interrogated.

“From a personal standpoint, yeah, maybe I was a little,” Huey explained. “But there’s a difference between frustration and anger, and during the challenge-and this is not just because of you or Violet-I was definitely feeling the former a lot more. Because at the end of the day, even without the smack, would it have been enough to ensure my victory over Violet? Probably not. Because I wasn’t racing enough to actually win.”

The episode this fic is based from, Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchucks!, has resulted in Lena and Violet getting a little too much crap for what they said to Huey. Fans demonize them (though I’ve mostly just seen this on AO3) without really stopping to think about why they did it, as well as Huey’s frame of mind during the episode, beyond just the smack talk.

This excerpt shows exactly why I wrote this story: trying to convey that Huey, while thrown off mentally by the smack, absolutely understood why Lena taught Violet those jibes in the first place, and that he was as frustrated, if not more so, with himself during the Challenge as he was with them.

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

Hobby. Writing is fun, but I don’t think I could necessarily make a career out of it.

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

I got this one on the first chapter of The Power of Three…

It made me realize that this story is so much more than just something to write for fun (at least to some people). I spent the first chapter gradually building up Huey and Violet’s dynamic, and seeing as it was my first published story, I was worried about whether I’d done a good job writing them, especially the whole neurodivergent aspect to their personalities. But this endorsement rang out loud and clear to me that I had done just fine.

[krispyweiss]

Song Review(s): Dead & Company - “Let the Good Times Roll, “Hell in a Bucket,” “Deal” & “Playing in the Band” (Live, July 15, 2023)

As they head toward the end of their Final Tour, Dead & Company keep on surprisin’.

& the surprise of the livestream sampler from their July 15 show in San Francisco was that in the four-song sequence of “Let the Good Times Roll, “Hell in a Bucket,” “Deal” & “Playing in the Band,” “Bucket” was the best of the bunch.

Dead & Company should’ve dropped “Good Times” - with its shoddy vocals & Bob Weir’s guitar solo - long ago. It just doesn’t jibe with this band’s strengths & weaknesses.

John Mayer was “Bucket”‘s saving grace, loading the lead-in with groovacious leads and scribbling all over the outro. Weir botched some words. But Mayer’s work was phenomenal.

The stand-in guitarist & singer was less effectual on the slow, anti-climactic “Deal” that began set two. & the a cappella ending was an ill-advised, raggedy mess.

Which leads us to “Playing” & a version that cut out before the song’s built-in exploratory section. Maybe it was fantastic - it recently has been - but those of us too cheap to spring for the pay-per-view livestream will never know.

One to go …

Grade card: Dead & Company - “Let the Good Times Roll, “Hell in a Bucket,” “Deal” & “Playing in the Band” (Live - 7/15/23) - C-/B/C/B-

7/16/23

[fangirleaconmigo]

Same anon from the Striga ask. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me!

I've just read the next short story in The Last Wish, the one with Nivellen. I watched the show back when it aired with no prior knowledge of what the witcher was so I'm technically working my way backwards (I played the games a month or so ago) and I'm wondering why they chose to change the timeline regarding this story. In the show, Ciri is there when he encounters Nivellen and fights the Bruxa. After reading the story, I'm not sure how I feel about that? I like the book version of that event better. Though I did enjoy the knife game they played in the show. I feel like Geralt was less...I'm not sure what to say, but since he wasn't protecting Ciri things played out differently on that front. I'm not sure if I'm misremembering the show, but didn't Geralt leave Nivellen behind afterwards? In the book Geralt helps him leave and doesn't just leave after killing the being that essentially freed the man.

What did you think of the changes and the adaption of this scene?

Have a good day / night!

- 👻

Hello Striga Anon! Sorry it's taken me so long. I wanted to reread before I gave my thoughts and this is how long it took me to get around to that. That's how seriously I take this :D (Just to anyone reading, never worry you're bothering me, even if I take forever to answer. Just keep sending the asks and I'll get to them)

But YAY I LOVE talking about the books. SO, for this short story A Grain of Truth vs the TWN episode A Grain of Truth in S2, first of all, let me say that I recapped and reviewed the entirety of the episode The Witcher Season2 Ep1 here.

So, a compare/contrast of that ep with the books short story: (obviously TW: for all themes in this episode including Nivellen's action that led to his curse.) The main four changes I'll discuss are

Geralt having Ciri with him

Geralt knowing Nivellen previously

Nivellen being a less ethical person

Geralt leaving Nivellen in distress

Having Ciri along. At this point, Geralt and Ciri need to be traveling together. They needed an episode where they get to know each other, I assume, before they show up at Kaer Morhen. You see, in Season One they literally LEFT OUT Geralt and Ciri's storyline and just have them run into each other's arms at the end.

They got a lot of (well deserved, imo) critique for that. This relationship is literally both the inciting event, and the point and heart of the entire series. The showrunner said she took that to heart so I expected for them to have to try to build their relationship from scratch and try to make up for lost time.

So they reached back into the first book and used A Grain of Truth as the setting for Geralt and Ciri spending time together traveling and getting to know each other. I think that was a good choice.

Geralt knows Nivellen. I can only assume they did this for one of two reasons. 1, he has Ciri with him, so I cannot imagine him just waltzing in and staying at the house of a sketchy stranger with her. Also, 2, Nivellen tells stories about Geralt, so that acts as a device for Ciri to get to know him and trust him better through the eyes of another person.

Nivellen is a less ethical person. In the book, Nivellen doesn't know that Vereena is killing townsfolk. In the show, he knows she’s killing and he looks the other way. So, that is a huge huge huge difference as far as Geralt's moral compass. I think they did that to resolve something I find a bit sticky. (Some people don't. Your mileage may vary)

The issue of Nivellen raping a priestess. In the book, he characterizes it as something he did under peer pressure. He was running with a bunch of thugs and they coerced him. Geralt seems to completely accept that as a mistake. As a coerced error and bad luck. I did not like that. It didn't seem to jibe with Geralt's character. He tells us in the same book that the first 'monster' he killed was a rapist. But there are those who disagree with me.

Geralt leaves him. In the books, Geralt befriends Nivellen and offers to help him. In the show, he walks away basically like...so kill yourself then.

I have seen some viewers say that they didn't like that. They said Geralt is supposed to be kind and helpful, and he did help in the book. Meanwhile, he was so cold and heartless in the show. I have also seen people say that they accept the rape as a youthful mistake and that the whole point of the story is that people can redeem themselves. That they can choose not to be monsters. That this is a positive message and a classic witcher theme.

I of course, respect those viewpoints. I can see that. But for me, it’s a no. I discussed this in my recap. But fair or not, I cannot stomach the thought of a rape as a mistake of peer pressure. I know that there are shades of gray in every area of human behavior but that bit bugged me SO BADLY. Geralt literally kills rapists on more than one occasion to defend people. So, to see him be like, oh, yeah, you made a mistake, let me help you, with zero internal struggle ESPECIALLY knowing that his mother figure is a priestess (different temple but still) that I just could not. It irritated the fuck out of me.

I was hoping the show would either take out the rape or make Geralt react more strongly to it. (see, I said I'm not always a book purist). And what they did was they made Nivellen a worse person (ignoring murders) so they could have Geralt walk away and have it make even more sense. Geralt is like...oh...rapist AND murderer (by refusing to stop his bruxa lady from killing), and Ciri agrees. So, he and Ciri are both like fuck you bye.

I don't mind seeing Geralt be cold hearted there. He can be cold hearted sometimes when he thinks someone is a murderer and a rapist. I was fine with it.

So, anyway, Your mileage may vary, but I was good with all of these changes in episode one. And I think it was a strong ep that worked well.

I can’t say that about the next episode.

[redgoldsparks]

December reading and reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon.

The Savage Beard of She Dwarf by Kyle Latino

She Dwarf might be the last of her kind, but this only fuels her desire for adventure, danger, and travel. Her famous warrior mother died before she could lead She Dwarf though the final coming of age trials, so our hero is on a quest to find the lost kingdom of Dwarves to see what knowledge she can gain from the ruins. A long the way she battles and befriends a whimsical cast of misfits who end up tagging along for the journey for reasons of their own. This story is action packed, fun, beautifully drawn and extremely aesthetically queer though there are no outright discussions of anyone's gender or sexuality. I highly recommend this comic for fantasy comic fans of all ages, it was released during covid and never got the promotion or attention it deserved. Buy this book for someone for the holidays!

Under a Sugar Sky by Seanan McGuire, read by Michelle Dockrey

This third book is the series is more whimsical and light than the first two, which I suppose makes sense as it takes place primarily in a nonsense world. It introduces a few new characters, as well as bringing back Christopher and Kane from book 1. A group of these teens sets out together on a quest, but not all of them return to Earth at the end of it. I'm definitely planning to continue with the audio books of this series.

Batcat by Meggie Ramm

This magical, brightly-colored tale follows Batcat, a creature of comfort, who is driven out of their cozy home by an annoyingly friendly ghost. On their quest, Batcat is forced to face some of their deepest fears (the dark, being eaten) and some of their biggest questions: are they more a bat, or more a cat? Readers of all ages who have wondered about their own place in a world keen on dividing things into categories will relate to this quandary, and delight in the playful ways that Batcat defines themself outside of the binary. I got to read an advanced copy of this adorable book because it was written by a dear friend. Yes, I am biased, but I loved this story and highly recommend people check it out when it is released in March of 2023, or preorder it now!

Funny Planet: How Comedy Ruined Everything by Ken Jennings

This is a conversational, light, easy to read nonfiction that traces the way comedy and humor have spread their roots into almost every aspect of American life. Advertisements are now expected to be funny, as are politicians, the news, the modern art world and some types of avant-garde fashion and food. Also, social media, particularly twitter, which (even in its crumbling perhaps final days) is a near constant stream of jokes and jibes at every current happening, large or small, including very horrific tragedies that probably shouldn't be made light of. And things that were already funny, like sitcoms, have nearly doubled their joke density in the past 50 years. The author explores the historical development of comedy in these different fields, and also wonders what it is doing to our brains to be fed such a constant stream of jokes. I missed a lot of the references by virtue of having seen almost none of the TV shows or comedy specials the author was referring to, yet still found this a quick and lively read.

¡Ay, Mija!: My Bilingual Summer in Mexico by Christine Suggs

Suggs' debut memoir is a complete delight. The themes of language, translation, family, queerness, fatness, and being biracial are beautifully woven together into a rich and authentic whole. Nothing is overstated, simply presented as it was lived, and illustrated in a lovely palette of warm browns, bright golds, and smoothing blues. I loved the tiny avatar of the author's internal thoughts and how it interacted with the text and images on the page. This book uses all of the visual tools of comics to tell a wonderful coming of age story and the result is as sweet as pan dulce. I had the chance to read this book ahead of it's review and I can't recommend it more! Pre-order it now or look for it on shelves in April 2023.

The Box In The Woods by Maureen Johnson read by Kate Rudd

This fourth book in the Truly Devious YA murder mystery series introduces a new cold case for anxious teen detective Stevie Bell to bang her head against. This one, a quadruple murder from 1978 which took place in the woods outside a summer camp, was mishandled from the beginning. Dubbed 'The Box in the Woods' murders, the police at the time initially thought it was a drug deal gone wrong, then thought it might be the work of a contemporary serial killer. Stevie is hired by the new owner of the summer camp, who wants to make a podcast about the crime. Stevie doesn't care about the podcast, but she does love getting to bring her friends with her to a camp and getting her hands on a difficult case. This book continues to develop Stevie's friendships and romantic relationship in satisfying ways. I remain very delighted by and impressed with this series, and I'm excited there's a fifth book coming out before the end of the year!

Buzzing by Samuel Sattin and Rye Hickman

]The power of a supportive role playing group can't fix everything, but it goes a long way. Isaac is a teen with OCD, who suffers from near constant intrusive thoughts, cleverly visualized here as bees with mean voices. Over the story he builds confidence and community by leaning into his love of fantasy and drawing; as a former fellow misfit teen artist, it was wonderful to watch him grow. This is a nuanced and diverse coming of age story, I'm so excited for all of the readers who will discover it and see themselves in it. The art is excellent, both in the real world day to day parts of the story and the D&D fantasy parts of the story. I had the pleasure of reading an advanced copy of this book because I am friends with both of the authors- pre order it now, or look for it on shelves in July 2023!

Falcon written and read by Helen Macdonald

This was my second book this year by Helen MacDonald. Shorter and more traditionally nonfiction that H is for Hawk, this book is a collection of facts and anecdotes about the relationship of falcons and humans across many centuries and cultures. Human have long anthropomorphized falcons, attributing to them traits such as nobility, cunning, and martial prowess. Humans have been training and hunting with falcons for at least 3,000 years; lately, we have driven many species to near extinction, and created involved and wide ranging programs to try and rehabilitate the dwindling populations. I listened to this entire four hour audiobook during one long car ride and was well entertained the whole time.

Mimosa by Archie Bongiovanni

Chris, Jo, Elise, and Alex bonded over being the only queer waiters at a restaurant, but their friendship long outlasted their stint at the job. Ten years on, the crew, now in their mid and late thirties, face a whole slew of new challenges: parenting, vying for promotions, balancing partying and work, being judged by baby gays at the club, and scariest of all, drifting apart. Fans of Bongiovanni's Grease Bats will enjoy the familiar flavors of a messy, horny, queer and trans friend squad but paired with a more nuanced slice-of-life narrative. These characters are trying to stay true to themselves, invest in their communities, get laid, and support each other. But it's not so easy to balance all of those conflicting needs, and they frequently fall short. I was left hoping that the characters could forgive each other's deeply human failings. I had the pleasure of reading an advanced copy of the book- it's available for pre-order now, or check it out when it's released in March 2023!

She Who Became The Sun by Shelley Parker Chan

What a wonderful book to end the year with! This one came highly recommended by many friends and did not disappoint. Epic in scale, with fantasy rooted in Chinese history, this story is set in an alternate mid-1300s with Mongols attempting to control all of mainland China, but resisted by a rebel force. The book opens with Zhu, the only daughter of a peasant family struggling to survive during a famine. A fortune teller predicted a great destiny for Zhu's one brother, and nothing for her. But when her brother dies, Zhu decides she will inhabit his destiny instead. She disguises herself as a boy to seek shelter and education in a monastery, a story trope I have always enjoyed, but especially here because this book takes the narrative in a explicitly trans/genderqueer direction by the end. Elsewhere in the story, a eunuch general in the Mongol army hides a bitter desire for revenge from his dearest friend; the rebel leaders battle each other for power, doing nearly as much damage to their cause as they do to their enemies; and a daughter of a rebel commander despairs over the constant bloodshed and death of the seemingly endless war. This is a complicated conflict, in which neither side is morally superior to the other; I was equally compelled by the personalities on each side and also certain that all of them were on a path towards destruction that they could not escape.

[echojulietfoxtrot]

To give you a sense of the uproar this kicked off, here's a relatively restrained article from the era, and consider again that this was 1993 -

"The following day the remark, which refers to a form of anal penetration sometimes favoured by homosexuals, was branded by the Sun as 'too obscene to be mentioned in a family newspaper'.

An LWT spokeswoman said that, in future, the company would be 'looking very hard' at who they allow on live shows, 'including Julian Clary'. It would also be reviewing the briefing procedures used to prepare artists scheduled to appear live."

He was effectively considered too dangerous for live tv for some time.

If somebody was especially daring and interesting they might get one of his comedy specials on VHS, but at least in our local video store, I think they were kept on the "spicy but not porn" shelf up by the counter.

I dip in and out of Taskmaster, but I am 100% here for Tumblr re/discovering Julian fucking Clary.

Even the "one of the Golden Girls grudgingly getting involved in this whole mess by accident" vibe he brings to Taskmaster is itself hilarious to me, because back in the 1990s I was literally not allowed to watch anything he was on, in case he did something like this, again, live, for an audience 13 million people -

(Lamont was a UK government minister who was present)

(Clary was effectively blacklisted from live tv for it, and several papers campaigned to ban him from television altogether)

(Incidentally I think that might be Armando Ianucci down in the bottom left corner at 40 seconds in)

[daevastanner]

Gwynriel Week - Day 2

Favorite Headcanon

My favorite headcanon is… Gwynsand. Aka: Gwyn becoming besties with Rhysand after Azriel starts bringing her to hang out with the inner circle more

At first, Azriel is worried Gwyn won’t acclimate easily to being in the casual company of the High Lord and Lady.

But one evening, Azriel leaves her side to grab them drinks from the kitchen and when he returns he finds that his brother has migrated to the priestess’s side.

Gwyn is cackling and Rhysand is snorting.

When Azriel joins them and inquires what they’re laughing about they both exchange a look and Gwyn just says: “You wouldn’t get it.”

From that day forward, the High Lord and Gwyn become ✨ besties ✨

I imagine they have a very Shane and Ryan dynamic. Gwyn is the lovable goofball and Rhysand is the steadfast grump. They play off each other fabulously.

Azriel could not be happier with this turn of events.

To see Gwyn becoming friends with his brother makes it all the more real to him that she is one of “them.”

Gwynsand get into spirited debates over fictional characters because they’ve read a lot of the same books. Books that are “classics” to Gwyn but Rhysand remembers the actual hype.

Gwyn also frequently asks Rhysand if the historical fiction she reads is “accurately portrayed.”

Rhysand often gives his reports to Gwyn for review because she is merciless with her corrections.

“You’re using that word wrong.”

“That’s a run on sentence.”

“This makes no sense.”

“This is worded really poorly.”

“Did you do any research?”

“There’s no way your proofread this.”

“How do you misspell your own signature?”

“…honestly?”

Rhysand is here for the priestess’s brutal honesty and she helps him draft up well researched and well worded legislation and reports.

While Cassian and Feyre like to spar and Nesta and Azriel engage in battles of wits, Gwynsand get wine drunk and talk shit.

If Feyre and Azriel are off on a mission together, it’s not uncommon for Rhysand to show up at the House of Wind with a bottle of wine and several books.

When Azriel and Gwyn have their first fight, it’s because she is afraid to confess some of her lingering fear of intimacy stemming from her trauma.

And guess who can one hundred percent relate.

Rhysand encourages Gwyn to be open and honest and promises her Azriel will not judge.

Rhysand also sneaks into Azriel’s mind and gives him a stern warning that he better not let Gwyn walk away from an argument ever again.

Of Azriel’s two brothers Rhysand is by far the most protective of Gwyn.

Also, no one can tease Gwyn but Rhysand. He won’t allow it.

Azriel will shoot a cold look at Cassian for any playful jibes he throws at Gwyn, but Rhysand will verbally annihilate Cassian for daring to tease the priestess.

Cassian: “You got something all over your face, Gwyn. Oh. It’s freckles.”

Gwyn: 😏

Azriel: 💀

Rhysand: “Cassian, is your ass jealous of the shit that just came out of your mouth?”

Gwyn: 😊

Rhysand: 😉

Azriel: 😌

Cassian: Why the fuck are you all looking at each other like that?

Only Rhysand can give Gwyn a hard time. Nobody else.

Rhysand ships Gwynriel so fucking hard.

And he is filled to bursting with happiness whenever she makes Azriel laugh or smile (or on holidays even sing).

Even before Azriel and Gwyn announce they are mates, Rhysand introduces Gwyn to Nyx as “Aunt Gwyn.”

Gwynsand vibes:

Gwynsand: Two very earnest people who wear brave faces for those they care about, and hide their sorrow with smiles.

[silkentragedies]

A boyfriend sounds good, but…

Non idol! Jung Wooyoung x fem! Reader

3.1k words, Highly suggestive at best, making out, FLUFF, E2L vibes, College AU

Warnings: Mentions of STDs, making out. ( This is so self-indulgent it’s horrible lmao- also, not explicit at all.)

This piece of fiction does not reflect the actions of the real-life Jung Wooyoung. Not meant for minors. 

College was supposed to be late night parties and hurried submissions, overdosing on caffeine and woefully unedited essay compilations. College was supposed to be hellish hangovers and greasy weekend brunches in bed, helter-skelter running to part-time jobs and missing classes with snoozed alarms.

You got all of that, of course, but you also got one thing you didn’t ask for, in fact, wished beyond wishes that it wouldn’t happen but of course, your guardian angel was up to some mischief: You got yourself an archenemy.

Jung fucking Wooyoung.

It all started off small, of course; bumping into each other rather violently in the hallways on orientation day ended with your coffee on the floor. Minor detail- his phone had also dropped on the floor.

You apologized profusely- he seemed like an upperclassman with his leather jacket, slim but solid build, a head of double-toned hair and oh were those tattoos peeking out of his collar- no point in causing a ruckus on the first day. You even offered to pay for the damage. 

And then he opened his mouth. 

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

The sheer annoyance in his tone rubbed you the wrong way- obviously you had to respond, you weren’t the only one at fault- 

“Sorry, but you weren’t watching where you were going either. So don’t tout the blame to me-”

“Oh, whatever, just keep your money. I can get it fixed myself.”

The audacity of this bi-

“Good for you then, because my offer is off the table now, pretty boy.” 

A smirk curled up his lip- “You think I’m pretty?”

“About as pretty as a skunk, especially with that hair.”

You had to tamp down the urge to childishly stick your tongue out at his bemused, mildly annoyed expression before walking past him.

 Lamenting the loss of your morning coffee, you hurried your way to the orientation venue. At Least he was an upperclassman. Thankfully you wouldn’t have to deal with him-

“Did you see that hot guy in the leather jacket and that black-blonde hair ?”

Fuck’s sake. 

“His name’s Jung Wooyoung and apparently all the upperclassmen already have an eye on him. He’s in our major so we really lucked out, hot guys-wise.”

Fuck’s sake.

Surely you could just avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist?

But no.

Jung fucking Wooyoung turned out to be the apple of the campus’ eye in a matter of 2 weeks. He was as new to the university as the rest of you and yet, managed to look more put together, cooler than the rest of you still struggling to figure out class numbers and professor names.

He was the upperclassmen darling- people drooled over him, wanted to befriend him, and invite him to all the big parties…

and fuck- even the teachers were already wrapped around his infuriating pinky finger. They allowed him to waltz into class 25 minutes late, smile his infuriating innocent smile and chill in the back row, scot fucking free.

A month in, he’d gotten into the Dance Club too-  cementing his legendary status in the university. It was unheard of, after all, for a freshman to get into the unattainable Dance Club in his first attempt. 

You happened to visit one of the club’s performances one weekend and even you couldn’t ignore the sheer talent he radiated. It only infuriated you more to watch Wooyoung hog the stage’s spotlight with almost no effort- all perfect lines, sharp and clean movements…

It’s fine, you could still ignore his existence

But no.

Another thing about Jung Wooyoung- he found sick pleasure in annoying the living daylights out of you. 

It was so juvenile, so high-school, so immature of him- sticking gum in your hair, snapping your bra strap, kicking the back of your chair, striking up nonsense debates with you in class…

And then he had the nerve to laugh in your face when you glared at him with hellfire in your eyes because you were too polite to lash out in front of a professor.

Of course, you exhibited no such restraint outside the classroom.

“You vs Woo” was a commonplace explanation for the commotions that blazed up in the campus courtyard every other day. You were like wolves, the way you snarled at each other, not hesitating to slash at each other with as many cutting words as you could find. 

This went on for months, an entire semester marred by an enmity that seemed to stem from nothing- until one day, mister Jung Wooyoung really fucked up.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? FACE ME, YOU COWARDLY WORM!” Your angry yelling and thudding on the door had Wooyoung’s roommates Yeosang and… Choi San? running to open the door to their shared dorm room. 

You barged into Wooyoung’s room, unplugging the game he was playing. “What the fuck-”

“You dirty fucking bastard. You shameless shitstain of a fucking human being-” 

Slap. Wooyoung reeled back. In all this time, you’d never actually hit out at him physically. It had always been words. Maybe this time he crossed a line?

“You told Changbin I had a fucking STD. THE GALL OF YOU-” You lashed out at him with every few words, pushing Wooyoung further back against the back wall of his room. 

“How fucking dare you make assumptions about me like that. you lowlife scumbag.” You snarled in his face, now having him trapped between you and the wall.

You were smaller than him by quite a bit- it was almost amusing to see Wooyoung cowering in front of you, lowkey terrified of what you’d throw at him next. 

“Okay okay, fuck, I’m sorry!” He burst out finally, cutting you right across your angry rant. “I didn’t mean it like that!! I swear, I didn’t even know you were the one he was talking about. And I only told him to be safe from STDs, not that anybody had one.”

“What makes you think I’ll believe you, Jung,” You screeched. “You’ve always been a dick in general to me. I wouldn’t put it past you to say something like that and lie to my face about it.”

You back away, almost disgusted at being so close to him, “Seriously, dude. Get fucked.” Flipping him off before leaving, you turn around to look at him still standing where you’d backed him up to, an evil glint in your eye.

“It will be so fucking unfortunate if somebody told the campus gossip blog you had erectile dysfunction and your hookups were all fake.”

\

Safe to say, Wooyoung never made digs at your sexual activity again.

Neither did he have much sexual activity of his own for a while. Not that there was much sexual activity in your case either.

Maybe it was that exact…starvation that led Wooyoung to behave the way he did.

What was juvenile teasing became more… flirtatious?

Oh gods, what the fucking fuck is going on-

Suddenly, it wasn’t gum in your hair, it was soft whispers against your ear, breath warm against your cheek

It wasn’t kicking the back of your chair, it was leaning in front of you to fistbump Lee Felix on the other side of you until you could smell his intoxicating chocolate-honey-sweat scent.

He’d taken to taking his leather jacket off and sitting through classes (he still turned up late for) in a muscle t shirt that showed off his toned arms- 

All of his movements now seemed to be designed to tease the crawling under your skin you hadn’t been able to quench recently-

Not that you were a serial hookup kinda person, but you’d been fairly sexually active until semester exams and Wooyoung’s rumors had brought around quite a dry spell for you.

It was like every action of his sparked something wildfire hot in your head, tension stringing your senses into overdrive- were you imagining it?

Wooyoung was having some troubles with said crawling under-skin himself. 

Since when did you wear skinny jeans like that to class? Did you always have such a pretty neck, just waiting to get marked up? Did you always have that sway to your hips when you walked out of class?

The forced abstinence was doing bad things to him. 

It did rather amuse him, however, when he could see your breath catch a little from his murmurings in your ear, or squirm in your seat when he spoke to Felix before the professor arrived. It was the little things, truly. 

You still fought like a cat and dog though- there was no way the two of you would ever let on that your scope of noticing each other had gone beyond annoyance and rivalry a while ago. 

//

“Fuck no. I’m not doing this fucking project with you. It’s worth half the fucking grade and you’re a numbskull when it comes to this subject.”

“Like I want to deal with you anymore than I have to, sweetheart. You’re pretentious enough in class as it is.” 

Fate really loved playing the cliche card with you- of course you got paired up with Wooyoung for one of your semester projects. 

No, it definitely wasn’t the teacher that saw you two glaring more at each other more than the whiteboard and decided to take matters into her own hands.

Of fucking course the teacher refused to allow switching of partners or individual grading- it had to be a team effort or you’d both fail the subject. As a team. Yippee-ki fucking yay.

So you two ended up in the library at 11 p.m, two nights before your first check point review, having procrastinated the fuck out of working together until the last possible minute.

Amidst cursing at each other and cups of ramen and iced americano, the two of you found yourself stuck with each other and attempting to build the basis of an acceptable report to present. 

Surprisingly enough, Wooyoung wasn’t entirely a lost cause when it came to the subject. He actually made sizable contributions to the report. He even got you some coffee on his break, despite the jibes and taunts you threw at him about going soft- you were the type to hold a grudge.

You were both wandering down the shelves in the library, looking for more references when Wooyoung decided to open his big mouth again.

“You do realize that shitty rumor you put out didn’t really mess with my prospects, right?” Wooyoung was so full of shit. “If anything, I’d be worried about you, sweetheart.”

There it was again. Sweetheart. Another of those taunting things that just riled you up in all the wrong(right) ways. It was like he knew everything you would go weak for and then shamelessly exploited them all.

“Unlike you, Wooyoung, I don’t need people to stroke my ego…or anything else. I can get myself going just fine.”

“If you did know how to stroke anybody’s anything, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have trouble getting some.”

Ohhh, so he wants to play some games!!! Okay then-

You reached out to flick at his ponytail, ever-so slightly enamoured by how well he pulled off the double-toned look.

“Like you know anything about how to please in bed, babe.” 

It was unfair how much that nickname falling from your lips affected Wooyoung. Some…not very appropriate thoughts had already taken root in his brain and you running your mouth was not helping at all. 

“Good enough for them to beg, sweetheart.” 

A soft crow of laughter escaped you as you turned to fully face him, the both of you standing between the Greek Architecture and Geography sections.

“You sure you weren’t the one doing the begging?” 

“Oh, really now?”

You really should’ve thought through what was leaving your mouth 

Because now you were wedged between the shelves and Wooyoung’s (unfairly) toned body, his arms caging you in with that signature shit-eating grin on his face as he leaned closer to you- 

The tension was almost atrocious now, suffocating you when it had only previously nudged at you. You could feel it settle under your skin, in your veins, fingers itching to reach out and pull him closer 

But you kept your hands braced against the shelves- you would not give him the satisfaction of making the first move yourself…right? 

Fuck, you really wanted to though- 

It had be the late hour leaving you with lesser inhibitions than normal or possibly the pent up horny in your system or maybe the questionable direction your conversation was headed in

There was no other plausible reason for your arch nemesis’ lips to look that inviting

It must’ve been the way your attention flitted from his eyes to his lips that gave you away, a momentary lapse of self-control before you looked away, off to some point behind his shoulders-

And he smirk only widens

“You know, nobody really visits this corner of the library.”

“Your point?”

Both your voices were whispers now, your bodies close enough to touch but not quite, Wooyoung’s face a few inches away from yours and holding your gaze 

(He had honey flecks in those dark eyes, 7 on one side and 4 on the other, like gold leaf in coffee)

“We could easily find out who begs for who…”

He still hadn’t touched you yet, his hands placed on the shelf on either side of you- you could move out from the space if you so wished-

Despite the tension between the both of you, it seemed like… like he was waiting for you to make the first move, voice your consent, act on it 

How considerate, you thought to yourself as you let your sight wander to either side, checking for people 

Surprising you found Jung Wooyoung’s one possible redeeming quality like this, mind hazy and barely restraining yourself from kissing the living daylights out of him- 

Oh well, fuck it

A soft sound left Wooyoung as you curled your hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face to yours, lips meeting in a soft, hesitant kiss

How dare he be a good kisser too?

One hand reached up to cup your cheek and you instinctively tilted your head into the warmth of his palm as the kiss deepened

Unfair that he could take your breath away so effortlessly

There was nothing hesitant about the way Jung wooyoung kissed you back

Lips pressing more persistently against yours, teeth grazing your lower lip and pulling slightly before diving in again, hand now curled around the back of your neck

His other hand caressed your side and gripped your hips as he pressed you gently against the shelves, your arm slipping down to clutch at the front of his shirt as his body molded all too perfectly against yours

You could feel him everywhere

Everywhere 

From the way his lips had begun to land messy kisses against your jaw and neck, the hand on your hip tightening and slipping under your shirt to clutch at soft skin, hips flush against yours 

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from Wooyoung, your head spinning at the intoxicating feeling he brought with him 

The sensation of his mouth against your neck was almost euphoric, your head lolling back against the books and leaving you to pull your lower lip between your teeth, an almost futile feeling bid to keep silent, you’re still in public

Somehow your hands wound up in his hair, pulling the double-toned strands as his head dipped lower, a quiet groan from Wooyoung your only pointer that he liked it

So this is why he was so sure of himself, your mind temporarily blanking when Wooyoung’s teeth pulled against the sensitive skin, biting and sucking gently

A choked, uneven sound escaped your mouth when he pushed you harder against the shelves, hand reaching lower to squeeze your butt-

A smirk lit up his eyes as he straightened up to look at the line of red- blue blooming across your neck, then at you, cheeks warm and still biting your lip, looking resolutely away from his gaze

“Weren’t we supposed to be working on the project?” 

This little buzzkill.

//

You didn’t work on the project that night

You spent it in Wooyoung’s bedroom, getting railed within an inch of your life.

Not without the lack of the both of you being absolutely unable to keep your hands off each other on the way there 

Between the library and his dorm, you pulled or got pulled into shady alleys and corners for ‘another taste’ 

“Never again.” You warned him when he dropped you off at your dorm, you looking windswept from the wind of course and his hoodie up because of the cold not because his neck was more purple than tan-

Lies.

Your daytime dynamic remained the same 

But now with added benefits- 

He got to corner you after class, feel you up until you were gasping his name and then leave you hanging 

You got to make brazen moves under the table in the library whenever he got too snarky for his own good

He could ask nicely, you learnt. Broken groans and choked-up sounds would escape him when you ran your nails over his skin, soft and sharp and wanting and unyielding as you kissed your way down his body

Down his neck, over his chest, the hard planes of his stomach 

He would plead for more when you sucked him off, bucking his hips closer to you everytime you slowed down or stopped

Find him at the right time, though and he could just as easily return the favour

He would tease you relentlessly, hands ghosting everywhere dangerous and then pulling away just to watch you squirm and make grabby hands at him, a frown marring your kiss- swollen lips 

Leave conspicuous marks too high up on your neck for you to cover, dark enough for a day or two that even makeup left shadows

Spending a long, long time between your legs only to get up and start dressing, claiming to be late for class

Quickies were your religion at this point 

Janitors closets locked and hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans before a dance competition, empty bedrooms in frat parties with one of you getting pushed onto the bed

It was an infernal coupon from hell : Find one archrival, get a fuck buddy free of cost!

Of course, there were side effects

“Did you just walk out of that empty classroom with Jung Wooyoung? After class hours?” “We were studying for the midterms!!”

“Uh.. Wooyoung, who was that leaving the dorm building? at 1 in the morning?” “uh yEAH WE WERE DOING THE PROJECT YEAH.”

Yeah, a boyfriend sounds nice but an archenemy you can make out with in secret sounds ravishingly pleasing-

When the boy in question is a certain young man with double toned hair with a penchant for leather jackets and out-of-line snark, you couldn’t agree more.

Yes, this is a revamp and repost from my main account xD. Like I said, this was self indulgence to the peak 😩 I'm a tad whipped for snarky boy Jung Wooyoung 😀

Do lemme know what you think ^_^. xoxo, A💕

Possibly interested parties: @aliceu​ @whiteprincessofnohr​

(drop me an ask to be added or removed! )

[ts1989fanatic]

All of Taylor Swift’s Studio Albums, Ranked

Taylor Swift is among the most celebrated singer-songwriters of our generation.

Following the "All Too Well" superstar's release of the Taylor's Version re-recorded edition of her 2012 studio album Red, and in anticipation of her next re-recorded album, we're taking a look back and seeing how all of her studio albums fared on Metacritic, which compiles reviews from journalists around the world

Here's how their ranking system works: "We carefully curate a large group of the world’s most respected critics, assign scores to their reviews, and apply a weighted average to summarize the range of their opinions. The result is a single number that captures the essence of critical opinion in one Metascore."

From her 2008 debut studio album Fearless up to 2021's Red (Taylor's Version), here's how Taylor Swift's albums are ranked...

10. reputation (2017)

Metascore: 71

Guardian wrote that "At the heart of Reputation lies a sequence of songs that chart the rise, fall and fallout of a fleeting relationship and offer a masterclass in pop songwriting along the way."

Pitchfork declared "It’s full of bulletproof hooks and sticky turns of phrase. But in committing to a more conventional form of superstardom, Swift has deemphasized the skill at the core of her genius."

Tiny Mix Tapes said "Part rumination on engaging with the pop icon and part deep end even after eating the meal, Reputation keeps the ball in the air, argues for moving forward, even if it’s herky jerky."

9. Fearless (2008)

Metascore: 73

Village Voice said that "Swift may not possess the vocal power to fully sell her more lyrically generic material (Underwood's great gift), but for the most part, this remarkably self-aware adolescent's words don't falter, masterfully avoiding the typical diarist's pitfalls of trite banality and pseudo-profound bulls--t."

AllMusic wrote "Swift's gentle touch is as enduring as her songcraft, and this musical maturity may not quite jibe with her age but it does help make Fearless one of the best mainstream pop albums of 2008."

Billboard wrote that "Though they're written by a teenager, Swift's songs have broad appeal, and therein lies the genius and accessibility of her second effort."

8. 1989 (2015)

Metascore: 76

Pretty Much Amazing declared "1989 isn’t a 'crossover' success. It’s the album every subsequent blockbuster must now reckon with."

The Line of Best Fit observed that "There's evolution with purpose in every fibre of 1989, and far from jettisoning her integrity in this drastic lunge, she's proved in her bold, risky decision that she's got courage in her convictions to pull it off and faith in her fans to accept the new direction."

Consequencewrote that "Swift’s songwriting is as consistently razor-sharp as it’s ever been."

7. Speak Now (2010)

Metascore: 77

The Guardian said: "At times the self-consciousness of an artist forcing herself into new modes shows – but mostly, Speak Now is a triumph."

BBC Music wrote: "With some judicious – let's have it then – tailoring, this is a sparky and affecting record, moving Swift on at a stately and assured pace."

Village Voice noted: "She can still sound strained and thin, and often strays into a pitch that drives some people crazy; but she's learned how to make words sound like what they mean."

6. Red (2012)

Metascore: 77

LA Times declared "Red is a big record that reaches for Importance and occasionally touches it, filled with well-constructed pop songs Taylor-made for bedroom duets."

Drowned in Sound said "For all its manufactured essence, Red remains firmly grounded at the crossroads between innocence and experience."

Country Weekly raved, writing: "Red may not be a bona fide country album, but it could very well be a pop masterpiece, more in line with P!nk's latest, The Truth About Love, than even Red's predecessor, Speak Now."

5. Lover (2019)

Metascore: 79

Consequence wrote that "The maturation through Taylor Swift’s career has also shown her react to personal change in real time. ... Maturity for Taylor Swift means shrugging off what isn’t worth a fight, looking inward rather than blaming others, and being able to admit when you were wrong."

The A.V. Club remarked that "As always, Lover is an album Swift made for her fans. But it also feels like a record she made for herself, unburdened by external expectations and her own past."

The Quietus declared that "Lover is a fabulous record, full of super-fun standout pop hits that make your heart burst. It oozes with Swift’s much more palatable upbeat sass. She’s in love and also thinking about different kinds of love."

4. Fearless (Taylor's Version) (2021)

Metascore: 82

Variety said: "The new album just sounds like a terrific remastering of the old — the same notes, and you’d swear the same performances, but sounding brighter and punchier just on a surface level. But on a more philosophical one, it’s not just a case of Swift playing with her back catalog like Andy Warhol played with his soup can. It’s really a triumph of self-knowledge and self-awareness."

The Guardian noted: "It is tempting to suggest that the lyrics on Fearless might take on a different hue sung by a woman now in her 30s, but the new recordings militate against it. Backed by her touring band, her voice sounding essentially the same as it did in 2008, Swift has resisted any temptation to alter the songs’ pop-country arrangements or lyrics, even when the latter could have used a nip and tuck."

The Observer added: "She parcels out her tones more cannily now, an anachronism that is no criticism. But spending time with all this juvenilia only points up the quality of Swift’s songwriting. Fearless (Taylor’s Version) is both an art project executed serendipitously and a strategic move the industry will be poring over for some time."

3. evermore (2020)

Metascore: 85

The AV Club wrote "evermore is even better than folklore, thanks to greater sonic cohesion (Antonoff only has one production credit, on the superlative 'Gold Rush,' leaving the bulk of the music produced or co-produced by Aaron Dessner) and stronger songwriting."

Pitchfork noted that "While folklore seemed to materialize from nowhere as a complete, cohesive vision, evermore is structurally akin to something like 2012’s Red, where the breadth of her songwriting is as important as the depth."

Rolling Stone remarked "Swift touches on so much more – nuanced acts of forgiveness, complex personal histories, the ability to visualize and know how a person can look in different shades of light. No doubt Swift is still the master of writing a spiteful kiss-off, but the songs of Evermore are a welcomed step in a more mature direction."

2. Folklore (2020)

Metascore: 88

EW said "Swift explodes the expectations of anyone preparing to call her music 'diaristic,' writing songs from different perspectives while putting her already-detailed work under a microscope. ... A content smile of an album on which one of the world's biggest pop stars, charts be damned, forges her own path and dares listeners to come along for the ride."

The Guardian declared that "This strange summer of arrested development is steadily ending. Folklore will endure long beyond it: as fragmented as Swift is across her eighth album – and much as you hope it doesn’t mark the end of her pop ambitions – her emotional acuity has never been more assured."

Uncut wrote that "It's a sharp turn to the left for Swift and a fine reminder that she is more than just a gleaming pop phenomenon, but a remarkable songwriter too."

1. Red (Taylor's Version) (2021)

Metascore: 91

The Independent declared that "This re-recording is a better, brighter version of a terrific pop album. Red is dead. Long live Red (Taylor's Version)."

Rolling Stone wrote that "The new Red is even bigger, glossier, deeper, casually crueler. It’s the ultimate version of her most gloriously ambitious mega-pop manifesto."

The Line of Best Fit said "In anyone else’s hands, 30 tracks might feel bloated and indulgent, but Swift tempers length with careful curation, sequencing and a respect for what made the original Red such a superb pop record."

ts1989fanatic how can anyone who claim to know anything about music rank 1989 at #8

My personal ranking is below:

11: Taylor Swift

10: Fearless

9: Speak Now

8: Reputation

7: Red

6: Fearless TV

5: Lover

4: Evermore

3: Red TV

2: folklore

1: 1989

The article did not even rank the debut album

[outoftowninac]

THE TRAP

1915

The Trap is a four-act melodrama by Richard Harding Davis and Jules Eckert Goodman. It was originally produced and staged by Arthur Hammerstein starring Holbrook Blinn and featuring Martha Hedman.  

The play is set in the Yukon, New York City, and the Hotel Astor in Manhattan.

In the Yukon, a young schoolteacher promises her hand in marriage to a rich prospector, but instead marries his no-good brother. After her husband disappears and is reported dead, she marries a rich New York stockbroker, but doesn't tell him about her first marriage. Soon she is contacted by someone who threatens to tell her new husband all about her past if she doesn't pay up.

Arthur Hammerstein’s daughter Elaine also had a role in the play. Her uncle Oscar penned a record-setting series of musicals with Richard Rodgers from 1942 to 1960.  

“Miss Hammerstein has the buoyancy of youth, much personal charm, and a remarkably keen sense of histrionic values. Her work in ‘The Trap’ shows remarkable promise.” ~ LOUIS W. CLINE, ATLANTIC CITY PRESS

Despite this ‘promise’ and her familial connections, the play was her last (of just two) Broadway roles. She immediately landed out to Tinseltown, where she had a career that lasted until her marriage in 1926. 

The play premiered at the Apollo Theatre on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City on February 17, 1915. It played there on February 18th, matinee and evening, then immediately (next day!) transferred to New York City.   

“The butler must have been awfully upset at the happenings to announce as a caller the chap freshly killed in the preceding act.” ~ BROOKLYN LIFE

The play opened on Broadway at the Booth Theatre on February 19, 1915. 

“When the third act of the piece was seen, it was recognized as a familiar number in vaudeville programs written by Mr. Davis and produced under the title of ‘Blackmail.' The first two acts and the fourth had evidently been written about the earlier material to pad it out for an evening's entertainment at the legitimate theaters. Unfortunately, the quality of the superstructure was not up to that of the foundation upon which it had been erected.” ~ JAMES S. METCALFE, BUFFALO EVENING NEWS

Hector Turnbull, reviewing the play for The New York Herald, also noticed the cut-and-paste playwriting. 

It is as though Mr. Goodman, playwright, had said to Mr. Davis, author: 

"Richard, we'll have to do thus and so with the first, second and last act to jibe with your third act situation.". 

And Richard had answered: 

"Jules, you said something; let's go to it." 

And then. In the heat of the exciting moment, both forgot to sandpaper the cracks. 

After mixed to negative reviews, the play closed after just 27 performances. 

In 1919, a film version of the play was released starring Olive Tell a the schoolmarm. There is no record of the film playing Atlantic City. It is now considered lost. In her second credited film role, Tallulah Bankhead played the role originated by Elaine Hammerstein.  

[interludepress]

Now Available to Pre-Order! "Spring is in the Air: A RomCom Trio" Digital Collection

Unexpected. Accidental. Predestined. In this digital collection, three critically-acclaimed authors of LGBTQ+ fiction celebrate love and the art of romantic comedy.

Bundled to save on these critically-acclaimed romantic comedies!

MSRP: $8.99

Release Date: March 8, 2022

Details: This eBook package includes PDF, ePub, and Kindle (Mobi) files.

ISBN (EPUB): 978-1-951954-16-1

Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette by Killian B. Brewer

When Marcus Sumter, a short-order cook with dreams of being a chef, inherits a house in small town Marathon, Georgia, he leaves his big city life behind. Marcus intends to sell the house to finance his dreams, but a group of lovable busybodies called the Do-Nothings, a new job at the local diner, the Tammy Dinette, and a handsome mechanic named Hank cause Marcus to rethink his plans. Will he return to the life he knew or will he finally put down roots?

“… the point of the story is laughter, and Brewer shows a wicked facility with the pratfalls and plain speaking of the steel magnolias at the book’s heart.”—Publishers Weekly

Tack & Jibe by Lilah Suzanne

Willa documents a picture-perfect nautical life on Instagram, but when fans register her in a national sailing championship, she needs a crash course in sailing to protect her reputation. She gets help from champion sailor Lane Cordova, whose mastery of the sport is matched only by Willa’s ineptitude—and her growing crush on Lane isn’t helping matters. Can Willa keep her reputation afloat while taking a chance on love?

"This is a sweet story of two women learning who they are and finding love along the way. There are plenty of waves in the ocean to keep you turning pages and oodles of seaside charm. This is one of my favorites of the year so far."—The Lesbian Review

The Luckiest by Mila McWarren

When memoirist Aaron Wilkinson gathers with his high school friends to marry off two of their own, he must spend a week with Nik, the boy who broke his heart. As they settle into the Texas beach house for the nuptials, Nik is clear: he wants Aaron back. “He’s coming hard, baby,” a friend warns, setting the tone for a week of transition where Aaron and Nik must decide if they are playing for keeps.

"[STARRED REVIEW] A strong supporting cast rounds out this solid and sizzling NA romance, which resonates with the amorphous time between finishing college and venturing out into the real world and the choices we make to be with the ones we love."—Booklist

Release Date: March 8, 2022

Details: This eBook package includes PDF, ePub, and Kindle (Mobi) files.

Release Date: March 8, 2022

ISBN (EPUB): 978-1-951954-16-1

Pre-order at: IP Web Store | Amazon | Apple | Barnes & Noble | Google Play | Kobo

Add it on Goodreads.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Never Too Late 3

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re turning forty and life seems to be forging ahead on its one way track, that is until you meet Steve Rogers.

Note: Figure I’d give this a quick update :)

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Series Masterlist

After you saved Steve’s number to your phone, his first text was unexpected. Just as you finished your dinner, your cell buzzed and you read his message. ‘Hope you’re having a great night.’ You had given him your number so you could run together, you hadn’t expected anything else. ‘Thanks. You too.’ The reply was simple. Courteous but short. Perhaps he would get the hint.

But he texted again. ‘Another mission tomorrow. Enjoy your run. Be back in a few days.’ You felt awkward and uncertain. How did you respond to that? You supposed you were friends but there was a barrier there still. Not like your other friends; old friends, now. The same humour tossed back and forth wasn’t there. You felt a sense of formality; of expectation. He was Captain America. You couldn’t share your dark anecdotes with him.

‘Good luck.’ You replied. He sent a smiley in return. You left it at that and plugged in your phone across the room. You didn’t want to worry about him. You had one more day off before you were once again back to work. A day to yourself. Not that you ever spent much of your time anything but alone.

Sunday came and went. Laundry, tidying, chores. All that after another run around the park. Your muscles were loosening up and you felt decent. No more frozen pizzas but greens and baked chicken. You were changing, a little at a time, but it was something.

The next day, even after your morning exercise, you arrived at work enlivened. You had to admit that Steve’s gift had come in handy. You didn’t have to fumble with your phone for the time or even to check your messages. It was all on your wrists; your steps, your heart rate, your alarms.  

Even so, you still felt a pang of guilt looking at it. He was too nice. Yet you wouldn’t let your mind wander far when you asked why. He had told you. Friends; running buddies. Simple as that. Maybe it was a novelty for him to meet someone who wasn’t entirely starstruck or to have someone who wasn’t in the same line of work as him. Or maybe he was secretly laughing at the old woman and her scuffed sneakers.

And there were other changes. Not just the physical adrenaline of your new habit. You felt a little less suffocated by the window around your counter, a little less annoyed by your eclectic co-workers, a little less bogged down at the end of the day. You started tracking your meals on the watch app, too.

The days ticked off easier and the mornings were less groggy. New York was brighter even as August came to an end. Forty wasn’t so bad. You wouldn’t let it be. You couldn’t. You’d wasted enough time.

Steve returned the following Sunday. A whole week away. You were surprised as he caught you a block before the park.

“Must’ve been quite the mission,” You remarked as you passed under the archway which led to the park. 

“It… was,” He said hesitantly. “Look at you.”

“What?” You glanced over.

“Nothing, you just look… happier,” He replied. “And you’re moving a lot better. Forty looks good on you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“And the watch,” He added.

“Yeah, it’s… thank you. It’s really helpful.” You ceded.

“Another few weeks and I won’t be able to keep up with you,” He jibed.

“Don’t patronize me,” You said.

“Serious.” He insisted. “You know it’s okay to be proud of yourself. Progress is always progress. No matter how small it seems.”

“You ever think of being a life coach?” You said. “You could really make a buck off the suckers who buy into that stuff.”

“Life coach?” He repeated. “I never heard of that.”

“Oh, you know, they get paid to give you a smiley face sticker for waking up every day,” You said. “Wait, I think they call themselves accountability consultants, these days. Sounds more like my mother.”

He laughed as you headed up the incline.

“Am I that inspiring?” He asked.

“Not the word I’d use,” You said.

“You think I’m bad but this is me in easy mode,” He said. “You haven’t seen me in Captain mode.”

“Captain mode?” You snickered. “Sounds awful.”

“So I’ve heard.” He said as he stopped. You skidded and spun back to him. “Drop and give me twenty, soldier.”

“What?” You shook your head. “Come on, Steve.”

“Not until I see twenty,” He said. You weren’t sure if he was kidding. You laughed. “Captain mode.” He got closer. “Hands shoulder width apart,” He commanded. “Knees straight.”

You stared at him as your chest flurried. You blinked and his hands went to his hips.

“I can’t-- Steve.” You said.

“You can’t or you won’t,” He challenged. 

You grimaced and checked your watch. You weren’t even halfway done your run. You got down slowly to the ground, cheeks burning, and got into position. You lifted yourself shakily and grunted out, “One.”

“That’s it.” He stepped around you. “Two. Three.” He counted for you and swung a foot over you and stood above you. “Four.” He bent and grabbed your waist. “Don’t bend your knees. Five. Six.” He guided you. “Keep your form. Seven. Eight…”

Your arms thrummed and you dropped to your chest entirely at fourteen. You were out of breath already and embarrassed. He came around you and knelt in front of you.

“Only six more.”

“Steve,” You panted. “Stop.” You pushed yourself up and sat on your knees. 

“You’re just gonna give up?” He asked.

“Please,” You got up and wavered on your feet. “I… I can’t.”

You turned away from him and started walking. You dusted off your hands and regained your breath. He followed only as you broke into a jog. He caught up easily.

“You only get better by doing it,” He said.

You were silent. Humiliated. You had felt so good, so ahead of the game and he had pulled you right back. Reminded you of your age, of your weakness. And you had let him.

“How old are you? One hundred and what?” You gasped. “I don’t see any grey. Nothing. I’d killed to look like you ten years ago, let alone today. Don’t act like you know. You don’t. Another ten years and you still won’t feel like I do.” You sniffed back your anger. “You don’t know how lucky you are or how easy you have it.”

“I was just trying to… help. To push you.” He said. “To show you what you’re capable of.”

“All you’ve shown me is what I can’t do,” You sneered. “As if I didn’t already know.”

You continued on in silence. He languished in the anger radiating off of you as you dwelled in humiliation. One step forward, two steps back.

📱

Steve apologized again before you parted. Once more over a text. And again the next morning. You just wanted to forget it and you said as much.

Your run was quieter that day. You had work on your mind. You could tell Steve felt bad. You did too. You were taking your insecurities out on him. He hadn’t done it with bad intent but it still felt like it. It still felt entirely degrading to stand beside him in stark contrast to vitality. He was a beacon and you were a burnt wick.

You left him with as few words as the day before and returned home to shower before you caught the train. The same counter, the same co-workers, the same ticking clock staring back at you, the same disgruntled New Yorkers.

As you clocked out for your lunch, Deanna stopped you. Her usual starbucks monstrosity in hand.

“You’ve got a visitor.” She said. “Front desk.”

You sputtered out your confused curiosity and grabbed your lunch from the break room fridge. The last time someone came to see you, it had been your mother. She wanted your thoughts on your nephew’s birthday party. She had quickly grown frustrated with your suggestions and subsequent indifference to her obstinacy.

But it wasn’t your mother. Steve stood by the round desk where applicants were dolled out forms and their papers were reviewed before the moved onto you. You approached and your grasp tightened on your lunch bag.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Again?” You peered over at the girl at the circular desk. You waved Steve away from her and led him out to the shared lobby. “I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m mad at myself. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you. You obviously weren’t comfortable with that and I should’ve known better.” He said. “Can I make it up to you?”

“You don’t need to.” You replied.

“Well, maybe you don’t think I do but I think so,” He said. “There’s a pizzeria by my place. I thought a slice would be good for a cheat day.”

“It’s Monday,” You said.

“And? One slice.” He caught your eye. “Please.”

“One slice.” You checked your watch. “And the last twenty minutes of my break.”

“It’s all yours, sorry,” He raised his hands. “I’ll meet you after work. Here.”

“Fine,” You nodded. “See ya then.”

“With bells on.” He smiled but made no move to leave.

You turned away first and felt him watching you as you passed back through the door. You glanced back as you neared the desk. He was still there, staring at you. You quickly continued past the front desk and back through the waiting room. Your cynicism was getting the best of you.

📱

As promised, Steve was waiting for you. You’d almost forgot as he spooked you in the lobby. You let him hail a cab and were thankful for the leather seat. You were exhausted and you weren’t halfway through the week.

The pizza place was small but smelled delicious. You ordered a slice with veggies and Steve got triple meat. You sat at a round table by the window and opened the bottle of water.

“How was your day?” He asked.

“Same old,” You swallowed your first bite. “Not very exciting work. Nothing compared to fighting bad guys.”

“You don’t like it?” He prodded.

“It’s work. It’s definitely not my dream. Not that I really ever had one.” You took another bite to shut yourself up.

“You never tried anything else?”

“Well, I worked retail before. And I was a waitress.” You took a drink of water. “Art degrees might as well be painted over. Ironically.”

“You have an art degree?”

“Buried somewhere.” You said.

“Oh yeah? You paint?” He leaned on the table.

“Sometimes… not much,” You confessed. “Doodles mostly.”

“But… you could sell your art.”

“For pennies,” You countered.

“You never know? And it could be a second hobby. Something you love.”

“Well, with art, you have to have something to say. There’s a point in your life when your voice becomes futile and then you just are too tired to talk above the crowd.” You shrugged. “Anything I have to say has been said before.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What do you care if I paint?” You challenged.

“Well, I think you should do what makes you happy. Not just what you should do or have to do.” He said.

“So you save the world because it’s what makes you happy?”

“Well, in a way, but I do other things. I draw, no degree in that but I do it. I run, not so fun to you but it clears my head. I build things.” He bent his crust and dropped it. “And I do new things that I end up hating and sometimes I end up loving. But if I didn’t try, I wouldn’t know.”

You swallowed and wiped your mouth.

“Maybe that’s why your Captain America and I’m not.” You said as you crumpled your napkin up. “You have a serum that can turn art into money?”

[nettlestonenell]

Enola Holmes in Review

Gentle Readers:

1.       I did not plan to watch Enola Holmes

2.       I do not/have not watched Stranger Things, and my entire concept of Millie Bobby Brown as a human is encapsulated in the occasional errant tumblr post, and a line of eyewear she apparently has created, posters for which hang at my glasses-provider.

3.       I had never heard of the YA novels about Enola Holmes

There she is!

Yes, I do tend to enjoy nearly any incarnation of Sherlock Holmes. And, yes, I am often surprised by this fact. For some reason, Holmes, unlike, say, Chris Evans as Cap or Chris Hemsworth as Thor [instances where I can’t really imagine enjoying anyone else in the role] I am always interested to see someone else’s [writer and actor and director]’s take on him. *Subtle shout-out to James D’Arcy’s 2002 turn in A Case of Evil.

Mr. Jarvis! [and there was Vincent D’Onofrio and opium!!]

And yet, watching the Enola Holmes trailer [no doubt b/c of tumblr], and yes, admittedly not unmoved [we are not made of stone] by Cavill’s Curls™ the delight I felt in watching that advert led me to start informing my family that on September 23rd what I was going to be doing was enjoying Enola Holmes on Netflix [and anyone else was free to join me].

Someone important is missing from this picture

And what a delight it was. In the run-up to its debut I read more than a few reviews of the film [and, I think, every one of them written by men], some of which struck me as simply coming from a place of mean-spiritedness, yet none—even the positive reviews—preparing me for how ENJOYABLE this film is.

I’m not going to provide a full review point-by-point here, b/c the film involves cases to be solved (no, none of them are overwhelmingly complex—YA novel--, so all the more reason not to spoil any pay-offs). But I do have some things to talk about.

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM – And what a nice, nice elephant it is! Henry Cavill as Holmes is, in my opinion an absolute delight of a performance. From the moment he first says Enola’s name (a perfectly-rendered reaction to the moment playing out) this Holmes fits into this Greatest Showman-like version of Victorian England, where no one’s too dirty no matter how poor, and where despite a flaming red dress, cut too low for daytime wear, young Enola is never once mistaken for a working girl. [Again, YA novel] As other reviewers have noted, HC is, well, Cut and Bulked Out, and in his highly tailored frock coats well, strapping is too light a description word. *not a complaint. Cavill’s Curls are out and proud and here to tell us that we are meant to be Having Fun, and Gentle Readers—THEY DO NOT LIE.

No, not a priest’s collar where he is undercover (though I had thought so)

In fact, you could absolutely write your thesis statement on this film, that it’s really a fraternal, familial love story between Sherlock and Enola. Sherlock is the character during the two hours that actually changes. [Yes, Enola comes to an understanding about herself, and her circumstances change repeatedly—but it is Sherlock who experiences a Change of Heart/Reversal]. 

Raise your hand if you’re totally here for significantly older brother/significantly youngest sister family love!

HOW I WOULD DESCRIBE IT – This might in no way be helpful, but, Enola Holmes is basically The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles...

Where have you gone, Sean Patrick Flanery?

a YA historical storyline that’s written adjacent to [there, famous people] here, enduring fictional characters. It’s adventurous and pleasantly immersive, historical morays are given a slap-dash portrayal, rather than a fully-accurate representation, there’s adventures to be had, and side-characters to be converted into caring about the title character as much as we, the audience, do.

LUCY HONEYCHURCH – Yes, that gorgeous girl from Windy Corner. The timeline doesn’t jibe, but I daresay Helena Bonham Carter (back in a corset—though she may have worn those for Bellatrix) as Eudoria Holmes *IS* what Lucy Honeychurch might well have become beyond A Room with a View’s end. Bonham Carter looks absolutely at home here (period films have sorely missed her! –she had a part in 2015’s Suffragette), and still wears the trappings of Victorian England like a second skin. 

Not to mention that she now join my personal comfort-list of on-screen mothers with the likes of 1997’s Little Women Susan Sarandon and Cinderella’s Hayley Atwell.

FAMILY ISSUES OR PLOT HOLES? 

It’s a fair question. There’s a lot going on in this plot, some of which...seem solvable. Why has it been so very long since the Holmes brothers have seen their own mother? And sister? How could the woman we come to know as Eudoria raise a Mycroft? [see also, Molly Weasley?] Why aren’t people who seem to care about Enola more engaged with saving her from all the dangers London throws in her way? Why does Enola accept several acts of violence aimed at her, why does she in certain instances Do What She Is Told? Rather than chalk these up to plot holes or convenient devices, I’m siding with the Holmes family being dysfunctional [who knows what dad was like? We’re certainly not told here]. 

[clears throat]

The conversations between Mycroft and Sherlock barely skim the surface of any subject they interact on. Classic dysfunction: distancing one’s true self from human interaction b/c keeping the peace supersedes all else.

Enola accepts certain treatments b/c if we really do watch her relationship with her mother, there is an element of something amiss—as I will declare the later abandonment shows. Enola is a child used to being elevated and celebrated on one hand, and shut out and isolated on the other. Her parent has informed her about so much, but essentially locked her away in a false reality, where Enola is not taken to see the world, nor taught how to interact in it (which is explicitly stated). Perhaps it is not so surprising that the Holmes’ brothers have not cared overly much for visiting their remaining family. And when repeatedly confronted with a minor child (and yet a child likely though old enough or about so, to be married off) being forced to endure things diametrically opposed to her will—the brothers’ reactions are stoic, the system they accept as to how life must be lived immoveable and morally right simply by its very existence.

MILLIE BOBBY BROWN – THE STAR – In what has to be an Emmy-nomination-deserving turn, MBB is nothing short of wholly in charge of the screen. She never overpowers the story. She’s as loveable as Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping, and as ready for her closeup as Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games. As another review mentioned, she handles the 4th wall breaks in such as way as we look forward to the next time she’s going to talk to us. We ache with her sorrow for her lost mom, and rage with her at the adults in her life choosing wrongly for her future—or simply not choosing at all.

A random observation, but one that feels important to me: her HAIR. Yes! They’ve managed to make a late Victorian-era film where the heroine’s hair looks like real hair that someone really styled (or in some scenes, didn’t). And yet, where the hair looks proper for the time. [wild applause]

COMPLAINTS: Well, in honesty there aren’t any. If you want to complain that there isn’t any dirt, that the evil of the world (I mean, c’mon, this is narrowly post-Dickensian London, here) is neutered, that the adults in question seem neither alarmed enough or emboldened enough at either their mother or sister being missing and possibly out of their depths in a dangerous society without protection, and in Enola’s case real-world skills--? Well, I’m certainly not going to disagree with you. This is YA Victorian London, after all, not Ripper Street. There is also neither a hint of or actual threat of sexual violence at any point in the film. But the lack of that has preserved us from having to sit through that, as well as no doubt lectures about how Enola’s virtue might be spoilt and she might become useful to no man.

The relationships are appropriate, too. Despite strides between Enola and certain adults in the film, by the time the credits roll they’re not showing physical affection toward each other (a move that would have seemed over-the-top), and teen relationships are shown progressing at a reasonable and mutedly awkward pace.

Now, Netflix, green-light me five more films (or more). There’s still a new version of John Watson to meet, after all!

[man-reading]

Sublet (2020)

Drama LGBTQ 1h 29m

Directed by Eytan Fox

A New York Times travel writer comes to Tel Aviv after suffering a tragedy. The energy of the city and his relationship with a younger man brings him back to life. Sublet featuring John Benjamin Hickey and Niv Nissim

SUBLET BELONGS to a small genre of movies that chart a love affair whose arc rises and falls within a narrow window of time from first meeting to final farewell. It all happens in a period of days rather than months or years—or even in a single day, as in the 1995 film Before Sunrise and its two sequels directed by Richard Linklater. In the case of Sublet, the action takes place over a period of five days which are conveniently numbered, dividing the film into five acts.

       Day One finds a somber, middle-aged American man arriving in Tel Aviv and discovering that his Airbnb is still occupied by its primary tenant, a young indie filmmaker who was up all night filming and lost track of the days. It has the makings of a contentious situation, but the American visitor, Michael—a New York Timestravel writer who’s in Tel Aviv on assignment—is too polite to make a fuss and offers to find a hotel. Or perhaps he’s already captivated by his Israeli host, Tomer, who’s nothing if not easy on the eyes, not to mention charming and twenty-something hip. In addition to making films, Tomer sublets his flat to earn money while couch-surfing with friends. While he’s packing up to vacate the premises, Michael can’t resist asking him a few questions about where to find “the real Tel Aviv,” and before you know it he’s agreeing to show Michael around the city as the latter is offering to let him sleep on the couch.

       Thus their association begins as a business arrangement and retains a transactional element throughout, which serves as a kind of official cover for the feelings and stirrings that are brewing under the surface. At any rate, it provides a reason for them to spend nearly every waking hour together over the next several days, or so it seems, as we start each day with breakfast on the lanai or at a café and end it at a nighttime venue where alcohol is typically consumed. Much of the time in between is spent with the two men as they get to know each other, but we also meet Tomer’s friend, a star actress, and her boyfriend, whose tempestuous relationship could be on the rocks. And we meet his highly cultured mother, who still lives on the kibbutz where Tomer grew up. We encounter Michael’s husband David by Skype and learn that the couple is having problems related to a surrogacy attempt, which helps to explain Michael’s generally melancholy demeanor.

Closing the gap between two seemingly incompatible individuals is the stuff of romantic comedy, of course. The major “problem” in this pairing is the men’s age difference (thirty years?), which some people could overlook, but Tomer has made it clear that he’s attracted to hot young guys, and he’s in it for the sex. What’s more, he has a hard time understanding the impulse to pair off and settle down, which could make sense for straight couples, but why give up sexual adventurism if you’re gay? It’s a theme that has found its way into a number of recent movies and plays, most recently the Broadway epic

The Inheritance

: the generation gap between gay men who lived through the AIDS crisis of the 1980s and ’90s and those in the “post-AIDS generation” who haven’t experienced the downside of sexual freedom.

       Given this disparity in both age and outlook, the challenge for director Eytan Fox is to conjure the attractive force that can bring these guys together, and in just a few days. Okay, Michael’s attraction to Tomer isn’t hard to explain, at least on a physical level, though he clearly has qualms about following that route. (At one point Tomer calls up a hottie on Grindr and invites Michael to join them in a three-way.) It is Tomer’s change of heart that needs to be explained, for he really falls for Michael and loses it when they have to bid farewell. What pierced the veil of Tomer’s cynical demeanor is not entirely clear, but something in Michael’s recent past—no doubt the source of his melancholy—contains a human experience that seems to jibe with Tomer’s own life history in an unexpected way, like the proverbial key to his heart.

       Sublet doesn’t break any new ground as cinema, but it succeeds on its own terms. The two actors (John Benjamin Hickey and Niv Nissim) are completely natural in their roles, even if their chemistry as lovers isn’t totally obvious. Director Eytan Fox also made a 2004 film titled Yossi & Jagger(reviewed here in May-June 2004), which focused on a love affair between two male soldiers conducted inside the cramped confines of an Israeli bunker over the course of a single day and night. In both films the dialog is surprisingly spare, and none of the four men spends an inordinate amount of time analyzing his feelings or justifying his life choices. Nor are these cases of “love at first sight,” as each relationship takes at least a few hours to develop. What Fox wants to explore is the possibility that two people can come together and discover some essential humanity in the other that’s beyond words or even sexual intimacy. Some might call it love.

(from: glreview.org)

[shutupaboutandraste]

Welcome to the DADWC! Here is a prompt for you! Restaurant AU, with the characters of your choice!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I hope the drabble is to your liking. 

Word Count: 1655

Pairing: Cullen/Bull

For @dadrunkwriting

Going to restaurants was an added benefit of being friends with Vivienne. Madame De Fer’s Critiques was the formal review column that she ran, seemingly dictating the future of upper echelon restaurants. This was not one of those restaurants. A greasy hole-in-the-wall bar and grille had been Bull’s desired stop of the night. She had dragged her friend around all day from place to place all weekend. Now out of reviewable restaurants, Bull had desired food with fat and grease and everything else bad for you.

“Couldn’t have picked a place a little cleaner?” she asked, her nose turning up as she sat down at the bar with Bull. 

The place was smoky with dark lighting, harsh yellow incandescent lamps hung from the ceiling and came out of the wall at each booth. The ones at the booths had a dirty stained glass look to them, mixes of the deep yellow with rich reds and blues. The cushions were worn red leather. Booze wafted around them, mixing in with the scents of mouth-watering food.   

A gleeful smile crossed Bull’s face as he shook his head, “Absolutely not. You dressed me up for your fancy shit, now we get to eat where I like, Ma’am.” 

Vivienne tutted, “I’m a fine dining connoisseur. This bar food won’t impress me unless it tastes like gold.”

“I hope not,” Bull told her, “I think gold food would taste pretty shitty.” Vivienne groaned. 

From behind the bar, a curly-haired blond man approached, shaking a martini mixer vigorously. That certainly caught Bull’s eye. Firm fingers held the silver cups, curling at the tips to keep the glass in place. A wry smirk came over Bull’s lips as the man’s rhythm slowed before he poured the drinks before carefully sliding them to another couple of patrons. A tired, but gentle smile was turned his and Vivienne's way, reaching beneath the bar and pulling out two menus, placing them before the duo. “Welcome to Herald’s Rest,” he said, “My name’s Cullen--” 

“Bull,” he interrupted with a wink. 

Cullen seemed taken aback, no doubt trying to figure out if that was deliberate or a blink, but did his best customer service smile. Bull avoided cringing. Okay that was the wrong move for this guy, then. 

 “Nice to meet you,” Cullen said before diving into the specials for the evening as well as the unique drafts they had that night. 

Vivienne actually looked almost impressed at the selection, which was probably the best this place would get from her. Both of them ordered their meals in quick succession-- a whiskey bourbon burger for Bull and a salmon salad for Vivienne. She wasn’t sure she should trust the fish here, but Cullen assured her that they always bought their fish fresh every morning. The owner would allow nothing less than perfection when it came to quality. 

“I will be the judge of that, dear,” Vivienne had told him. 

And, to Bull’s surprise, she judged it quite well. Much to his delight, he watched her sneak out her phone, quickly tapping away some notes in the folder that held her restaurant reviews. As Cullen made his way back over to check on them, she quickly slid it back into her purse. Her shoulders rolled back into a confident smile while Bull leaned forward on the bar. 

“I hope everything is to your liking,” he said, taking away Bull’s empty glass, “And you’d like a refill?” 

“Please,” replied Bull. Cullen quickly got to work mixing a cocktail for Bull. Normally, he went for straight liquor, but oh what those hands could do. 

Vivienne told him that everything most certainly was. They chatted pleasantly while Bull watched, silent and studying. Their bartender was certainly well-kpet-- firm stubbled chin, a lip scar that seemed to enhance his face rather than detract, perfectly curled and styled hair, even his shirt-- a black tee that had ‘Herald’s Rest’ emblazoned on it in bold letters-- was fitted to perfection. Eventually, of course, a crack had to show. As Cullen finished pouring the drinks, he set down the shaker to clasp his fingers. To the naked eye he might have just been trying to crack his knuckles, but Bull could see that they were shaking. 

“You alright, man?” he asked, with a mark of genuine concern in his voice. 

A real smile crossed Cullen’s face this time as he nodded, “Yes, my apologies, I’ll have your drinks in a moment….” True to his word, Cullen was able to give them their drinks, though Bull watched as the man kept his eyes trained on his fingers, as if waiting for them to betray him. Thankfully, they lasted long enough to deliver them safely. He nodded, “Let me or Sera know if you need anything else.” 

At hearing her name, the other bartender, a blond elven woman with hand-cropped hair, looked up. Cullen gave her a nod which she nodded back to before moving to handle her customers again. Bull turned to make sure his good eye watched Cullen slip into the kitchen. A small frown took over his face-- Vivienne would say he was pouting, but he didn’t pout. 

Though, instead, finishing her meal, Vivienne slipped out of her chair, “Unfortunately, I need to use the powder room.” 

“Have fun with that,” snickered Bull, casting her a wry glance before turning his attention back toward the door. 

He stayed like that for a while before he heard someone huff. He turned to see the elven woman--Sera-- looking at him, grabbing some empty dishes and glasses from the couple next to Bull and Vivienne who had just left. Instead of speaking, he just shrugged at her. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout ‘im,” she said, “Takes a bit ‘fore he can come back. Shakes and all.” 

“He okay?” asked Bull. 

“I jus’ said don’ worry ‘bout ‘im, right?” she told him, “Yeesh.” 

True to her word, Cullen did reappear just as Sera said no more than five minutes later. Vivienne still hadn’t come back from the bathroom, which was concerning. He hoped that fish had been up to quality despite how the bar looked. Bull watched Cullen flex his hand, leaning against the wall as he looked nervously at the bar. Bull slipped out of his seat, taking Vivienne’s purse with him. Mainly, because she’d kill him if he didn’t. 

“You gonna be okay?” he asked. 

Cullen looked up at him like a deer in headlights, his fist curling up protectively. That was good-- the man had fighting instincts from somewhere. Layers laid beneath that pretty face. It wasn’t unusual for Bull to flirt with a bartender, but Cullen had been a fun puzzle to figure out and Bull wasn’t quite done. No… He might need a few more visits before he had completed it. 

“Yes,” he replied, sighing, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you unattended.” 

“You’re good,” Bull rumbled, “Ma’am’s at the bathroom anyway.” 

“...You call her Ma’am?” he asked, head tilting as though he were a young Mabari and not a full grown man. Bull couldn’t help but stare openly, a smile echoing on his face. 

“Friend of me,” he clarified, “She hates Viv and Vivienne is too long to say.” 

Cullen actually let out a soft chuckle, “Ah, I see. Well, I hope she finds our restrooms to her liking as well. Not every day a critic walks into our bar.” 

Now that had caught Bull’s attention. Vivienne made extra precautions to make sure no one discovered that there was a food critic in her midsts at any restaurant. It came with the territory of getting an honest review. Yet, her Cullen had stated her profession like it was plain as day. Bull crossed his arms. 

“You figure that out on your own?” he asked. 

Cullen shook his head, “No… Someone like her doesn’t normally walk into The Rest for… obvious reasons. I mentioned it to our assistant manager, Leliana. She’s the one who said she was, uh, oh… that Orlesian blog I can never remember the name of. Madame something. Made sure to treat her as anyone else. Leliana believes special treatment gets you caught once you know.” He chuckled nervous, reaching up a hand to rub the back of his neck, “I.. should get back to work.” 

“Let me do the honor of escorting you,” Bull said, motioning toward the step toward the bar. That little jibe managed to get Cullen to snort a little before hurrying over back behind the bar with a quick, yet confidant gate. That was a military man’s walk. Just who was this bartender? 

Bull followed, taking his seat again and resting down Vivienne’s pocket book. Behind him he heard her starting to walk up.

“Of course!” a woman with a thick Antivan accent said, “We’d love to be featured! I can get an interview with our owner, of course. I’ll call Ms. Cadash right away.” Bull and Cullen shared a knowing glance, but pretending as if Cullen was simply cleaning a glass from the dryer. 

Vivienne took her seat, smiling at Cullen, “Feeling better?” 

“Yes,” he said, “Thank you. Refill?” Vivienne nodded. 

“A new drink, please. Fanciest you have, dear, for me and my friend,” she ordered, “I’m not sure what it will be, but surprise me. I don’t get to find such diamonds in the roughs, often.” 

“Because you never go to them,” laughed Bull. 

Cullen quickly got to work going through what they had until he actually managed to find a nice bottle of champagne which Vivienne said would do nicely. Vivienne toasted Bull for his find, though she admitted she was not going to be kind about the décor. Still, no matter how a place looked, good food would always be good food. 

They made sure to tip Cullen handsomely. And, if he found a slip of paper with a string of digits on them, well… Bull would leave it up to him to call.