#The Good Apprentice

[ulrichgebert]

Die Leseliste ist gar nicht besonders lang, reicht aber ob der Unendlichkeit des letztes Buches weit zurück. Zunächst aber The Good Apprentince von Iris Murdoch, die unfähig ist, ohne faszinierende und schöne Farbigkeit zu schreiben (sagt die Times), warum ich sie Ihnen immer ans Herz lege, so auch in dieser verfahrenen Patchwork-Familien-Geschichte voller guter, aber natürlich zum Scheitern verurteilten Vorsätze, Lebenskonzepte mit jeder Menge Schuld, bisschen Sühne, Liebesgeschichten, Untreue und was noch.

Dann dachte ich, informiere ich mich einmal über Engel und Heilige. Eliot Weinberger hat nachgeforscht, mit widersprüchlichen und sonderbaren Ergebnissen. Es ist eine komische Religion, aber ein sehr schönes Buch.

David Bowie steigt in Warschau aus dem Zug, worüber er später ein berühmtes Lied schreibt, und erlebt einige haarsträubende Abenteuer, die wahrscheinlich nicht genau so passiert sind.

Habe dann nach bloß ca. 45 Jahren entdeckt, daß es noch mehr Geschichten von Onkel Titus und Henriette aus meinem Allzeit-Lieblingskinderbuch Das Windloch gibt. Irgendwie holt sie hier aber der DDR-Altag ein, weshalb es nicht mehr ganz so wundersam ist. Es fiel aber auch schon ein bisschen unter "Nebenhergelesenes", und daneben zwangsläufig etwas verblassendes, neben:

There! I did it! Es geht viel um Tennis, hat mich immer abgeschreckt. Aber es geht ja eigentlich um alles. Süchtigmachende Unterhaltungskultur als Geheimwaffe beispielsweise in Quebecs Freiheitskampf in der Organisation Nord-Amerikanischer Nationen (O. N. A. N.), die Rituale der Bostoner A. A., Dasein als Wunderkind, Dänenprinz, Tennis... Sie sollten es vielleicht selber lesen. Es ist sehr ausladend erzählt, letztlich aber weniger kompliziert, als gemeinhin unterstellt wird, macht akut süchtig und unendlichen Spaß.

[causalityparadoxes]

The Moon and the President's Wife // BOOM

Bonus:

[bubbarnes]

“... we're living in a very selective thinking mentality world right now and that's, I think, very, very dangerous. and there is a denial of reality, it's really disconcerting.”

[alabasterpickles]

I have nothing to say for myself except I’m obsessed 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’ve been busy with classes so nothing super pretty just shenanigans

I adore them all

[fallenclan]

I love Maplestar he's the bestest boy and he did a very good job. I miss him so much and wish I could give him pets on the head

i can't think about Maplestar for too long lest I become unwell. third in line of the clan leaders and spent most of his life feeling inadequate. Never knew his mom but he would have been SUCH a fucking mama's boy oh my god. throws up

[shyranno]

Day 8 of drawing Maul until I get hired to do Maul Things, featuring Jedi AU Maul and Varel by @zaana and Jn'rii by @queenjiru !!! In this AU, Maul is a youngling trainer >:))

[keirientez]

Pokemon trainer AU, Reborn is the champion meanwhile Tsuna is his apprentice. Tsuna’s design belongs to my friend @Cloud_Knee (Twt or X)

[forlouren]

Not to be the first soldier on the frontless of the woobification of Qimir (he is a villain, we know this, and I love him for it), but the lack of nuance, or rather the one-dimensional angle people who don't like his relationship with Osha have taken with him, irks me so bad. I get it. He is Sith, right. Treachery is their way; and what are the darksiders, if not self-serving?

But I feel like the specific phrasing of "the Jedi like you would call me Sith" implies so much about his own unique characterization, and I don't understand why we are glossing over it. It's not a self-identifier. It shows it isn't as much as a title he'd give himself, but a badge he'll wear since in the black/white viewpoint of the Jedi, he is not allowed to be anything more or less. His almost catty, "semantics" hammers in this fact for me, personally.

He strikes me as one who takes what he wants of the Sith code, and disregards the rest. I don't think it's a mistake that even after his reveal, we don't see him with the signature dark side eyes.

I say all this to say; Qimir's ultimate goal is not power, it is FREEDOM. *That* is what he is driven by. He craves to live outside the confines he deems as constrictive/oppressive, and have by his side, someone who wants the same.

So even while disregarding Leslye's interview; I honestly don't know how with what we've been shown in the show so far, aside from him being a sith, makes people think otherwise.

[obsob]

here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud!!

✷(print shop)✷

[avidhousehusband]

The more I imagine Mabel learning from Fiddleford, the funnier it gets. Like, she'd be resistant at first, in name alone.

"Engineering? That sounds nerd-boring!"

But Fidds knows how to sell it. Clearly he got enamored with engineering/fabrication as a farm kid. Beyond its immediately practical usage. It's arts & crafts, its invention.

Even Mabels comments during the show, "I'm unappreciated in my time", Not to Fiddleford she wouldn't be. I see him being so supportive of the work she's already done.

A sketchbook full of designs that go nowhere? That's the process.

Designing and constructing a full puppet show, with pyro, and a full set? That counts.

Her snack delivery device that she made in DD&MD in order to watch Ducktective and not have to look away? That counts too.

She's excitable, and fidgety. Teachers probably get irritated with her, but HEY! So was Fiddleford at her age. I think he'd be an amazing teacher for her.

Also he probably has so many tips and tricks for her to be a more effective pig mom to Waddles and It hurts my heart.

[bucketsofmonsters]

The Witch's Apprentice - Part 7

cw: demon summoning, prolonged isolation, size difference, agoraphobia, depression, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: 3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

You woke up alone and felt anything but. The distant buzz of people outside, on the streets, bustling about the hallways of the inn, felt suffocating. It all seemed so loud now, so deafening. 

Lucien appeared in front of you, giving you a quiet “Good morning,” and suddenly, it wasn’t loud at all, his voice cutting through the hum that had seemed deafening moments before. 

“How’re you doing?” he asked as you blinked up at him from your seat on the bed. 

Was his voice quieter than usual? Or maybe that was just how people sounded with the constant buzz of a city in the background. 

“I don’t have any stuff,” you said. It was a trivial complaint, you knew that, but you wanted something to hold onto. Anything that was yours, that wasn’t so foreign. 

He laughed and it felt cruel. You knew it shouldn't, that he was trying to help, but it felt cruel that he was allowed to do that right now, while you felt like you’d been broken into pieces. “We’ll get you new stuff, don’t worry about that.”

Like it was that simple. Like you could just get new stuff and move on. 

It wasn’t his fault. You knew that. He was the reason you were still here. But some part of you; some unsnuffable, horrible little instinct; wanted to blame him. Without him, you would still be home. Without him, nothing would have changed. 

“I just…” you began, with no idea how to articulate any of this to him. 

And then, with the most distressed expression you’d ever seen from him, he interrupted you and said, “I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And that was it. He faded away and you were alone again. 

You hated the deafening roar of the city he left you with. 

At least when he was here, you could pretend things would be okay. 

You didn’t have anything left. Anything but him. At least when he was in front of you, you had something to cling to. 

Hours passed before he reappeared in front of you. When he did, you didn’t manage to get a word out before a string of curse words escaped him and he faded out of existence again. 

You barely even moved as you waited for him. What would you do anyway? You had nothing to do but wait, so that’s what you did, patiently and quietly, on the bed he’d found for you. 

It was a shorter wait this time, under an hour if you had to guess. 

“Where do you keep going?” you asked as he solidified in the space in front of you. It was slower without you summoning him, like he had to put real effort into coming to you. 

A pained expression flashed across his face, disappearing as quickly as it arrived. “I’m being summoned.”

“So often? You’re a popular demon,” you said it with the cadence of a joke, but neither of you found it particularly funny. 

“Summonings go through phases,” he said with a sigh. “Names get discovered or obtain reputations. I was too nice for a while, people got comfortable, so I get called upon a lot these days. I’m rectifying my mistake. Hopefully, my name will start to come with a bad taste in people’s mouths in a few decades.”

“Oh. Good luck with that, I guess.”

“Thank you. It’s been going pretty well. Only one major lapse in my judgment,” he said with a pointed look in your direction. 

You couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “I promise to tell everyone you were real mean to me. Very scary, the scariest demon you could imagine.”

A huff of laughter escaped him. “Good. My reputation may survive this little affair yet. Now, what have you been up to?”

Your eyes flicked around as you searched for an answer that wouldn’t sound horribly tragic. 

He didn’t wait for you to find one before butting in at your obvious distress. “Come on, you don’t need to wait around for me. You haven’t had the chance to do anything in years, go talk to someone or something.”

You shrugged. “I’m fine where I am.”

He looked you up and down, evaluating you as you shrunk away from him. “What is it? Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened. I’m just fine in here.”

His eyes narrowed and you couldn’t understand why he didn’t believe you. Surely it wasn’t that difficult to understand. Surely anyone would be hesitant to go back out into the world after being stowed safely away for so long. 

“Something happened,” he said, no longer a question and entirely incorrect.

“It really didn’t. Actually, as long as we’re talking about it, I was thinking. I probably shouldn’t be here at all. I mean, I’m not doing much here. I could always stay in hell with you. It would be easier that way.”

“No,” he snapped, and you flinched back at his harsh tone. “No,” he said again, softer this time, a quiet correction. “I will not let you just lock yourself away again. I will not be your new Eden.”

“I wasn’t asking you to be,” you lied, unconvincing even to yourself.

“You’ll be fine. Just go, talk to someone, get some fresh air. It’ll get easier.”

He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, just how impossible it was. 

“Yeah, I will. Don’t worry about me.”

He gave you an unmistakably worried look as he said, “Alright, I won’t. I just think that… shit.”

“Is it happening again?”

“Just go do something. I’ll be back when I can.”

As you laid down in bed, with no intention to go out and doing anything, you wondered just how often he got summoned. You’d never really considered it before. You knew it happened of course, but you’d never put real thought into it past how frustrating of an experience it must be for him. 

What would happen if two people tried to summon him at once? Would it hurt? Rip him in two? You doubted that any of the witches summoning him had considered it either. 

And what other things was he being forced to do out there? Surely Eden wasn’t the worst witch he’d ever encountered. What other horrible things weighed on him every day, that he couldn’t help but feel a little responsible for?  

As time ticked on, another thought wormed its way into your head. Maybe he wasn’t being summoned at all. He’d never had to leave this often before he’d helped you make your daring escape and now he could barely stay with you for more than a few minutes. 

It made sense. He’d done what he wanted to do. He’d freed you from the trap he was forced to lay. His part in this should be over, his guilt assuaged, if it weren’t for the way you clung to him like a lifeline. 

The thoughts swam around your head until he appeared once more, looking irritated, eyes distant and cold. 

The spark of insecurity in you couldn’t be snuffed out any longer, not even in the face of his bad mood. 

“Are you actually being summoned?” you blurted out. “Because if you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be.” You knew it wasn’t true, that you needed him, but still couldn’t stomach the idea of him forcing himself to be here. “I thought we were friends but maybe that was naive. Is it just guilt? Is that what all of this was?”

He sighed, his hands rising to rub at his temples. “It's not... I don't know. Maybe at the beginning. I wanted you to be bad. I needed you to be. And you weren’t and it was the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice quiet and broken and completely genuine. 

“You really are, aren’t you? Sorry for what? Sorry for not being awful?”

“Well, not…” You weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for. You just knew that you were sorry. “I just meant, sorry for making things worse for you. That’s all.”

“You didn’t make anything worse, not in the long run. I like you. I’m glad you got out of there. It’s just that right at the start I needed you to be a bad person so I didn't feel so fucking guilty. I hate doing this, you know. Being so cruel. Especially to people like you. But if I don’t things get so much worse.”

“You’re not cruel,” you said, knowing it was true and yet somehow, deep down, knowing it was the last thing he wanted to hear. 

“I didn’t used to be. That’s the rule. My new rule. No more being nice to the inexperienced ones. Witches like yours don’t give you opportunities to lash out so if you want to establish a reputation, you have to be cruel when you can be. Every single time they give you the chance. When the little witches summoning their first monster give you an opening, you strike. That way the next one thinks twice when they see your name in some summoning book.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Feels awful too. But nothing feels worse than being forced to do even crueler things so you do what you can. Lesser of two evils.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said, knowing exactly what crueler things were flashing through his distant eyes. 

“Maybe not. Still wouldn’t have happened without me. You weren’t the first, you know. You were the first victim she kept, sure, but not the first one who fell prey to that damn forest. You’ve probably seen what’s left of some of them, some bones and remains of them in various forms. She got plenty of use out of them, I’ll give her that much”

Your heart skipped a beat as he spoke and your mind pulled back to the various bones and bits of gore in jars that you’d tended to and organized for her over the years. You’d never thought about them before, not really. Even trying to remember them, it was like a haze began to form in your mind, a buzzing pain starting to settle in over the distant images. 

You started to fall to the side before the feeling of a warm hand on your arm brought you out of your head. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before pulling back far too soon. “I’m sure she’s tainted most of your memories of anything she didn’t want you to see. It’s probably best to not try and look back.”

Now you had one more thing to mourn, even the memories of your home being ripped away from you. How cruel that you weren’t even allowed to keep those in this strange new place. 

“Right. I’ll do my best.”

He nodded. “I know you will. You’ll be fine. You’ve been doing really well.”

It was a kind lie. You appreciated him for trying to tell it.  

And then you were alone again. 

You did try leaving this place. You swore you did, despite knowing in the back of your head that you couldn’t do it. 

You peeked out the window on the tips of your toes down at unfamiliar faces on the street and stood at the door, pretending you knew how to steel yourself for the task ahead.

At the very least it was something to do with yourself when Lucien was away, gone to a summoning or back to hell or just living his life, doing things he refused to speak about with you, always keeping you at arms length. 

But that was unfair. He was there when he could be during the day, when some other witch didn’t whisk him away against his will to do whatever they pleased. 

He never spoke to you about it, about what they asked him to do. Every time you tried he got very quiet and then began to push back, asking you when you’d go outside. 

Nothing quieted you faster than that. 

At night he was always gone. 

At night you were small again. 

You hated sleeping, avoided it whenever you could. You were terrified of the dreams that might come. You’d honestly welcome a nightmare at this point. Your biggest fear was you would dream of home. Your biggest fear was waking up again after. 

Instead, you just stared at the wall every night, waiting for it to be morning so you could wait for Lucien again. 

A thud pulled you from your trance and your head jerked up towards the window just in time to see a bird falling to the ground below after having slammed into the glass it’s little mind couldn't comprehend. 

You were moving before you even had time to think. It was for the best, you weren’t sure you could’ve managed it if you’d had to think it through, to force yourself to get up and go check on the poor creature. 

You held your breath as you walked out the door of your room, freezing for a moment. You weren’t sure what you expected to happen. 

A woman walked by you, turning to the side and slipping by where you were blocking the hallway with a quiet, “Excuse me, love.”

There was a pressure building in your head, behind your eyes, closing your throat. This foreign air felt toxic, a bile rising inside of you. 

A gentle hand settled on your back and you practically jumped out of your skin to get away from it. 

You bolted at the contact, frightened, flighty. Darted not back inside but through the halls until you found a way outside, running around the perimeter of the building until you found it. 

It was a small, unassuming brown bird, crumpled on the ground, an injured wing tucked under itself. 

You picked it up as gently as you could, cradling it in the palms of your hands. 

Every instinct you had wanted you to run back and hide. Instead, you walked slowly, carefully, trying not to jostle the poor creature too much. 

The woman was no longer in the hall, having left at some point after you’d fled from her. Some part of you felt bad, hoped you hadn’t hurt her feelings or left her worried. 

Most of your attention was on the bird. 

You had no idea how to help it, would have to ask Lucien tomorrow. You were terrified to touch the bent wing, to make it worse than it already was. Even attempting to set it would hurt the poor creature and you couldn’t stomach the thought of it, of inflicting any more pain. 

You did what you could, forming a little bed to rest it in for the night, a little nest out of towels and pillows. 

It was almost funny in a way. A makeshift nest inside of your makeshift nest. You were no better off than this frightened, wounded little creature. 

At least maybe, someday, it could get out of here. 

[block-of-fish-cubes]

canon

[hamletthedane]

Hamlet’s Age

Not to bring up an age-old debate that doesn’t even matter, but I have been thinking recently how interesting Hamlet’s age is both in-text and as meta-text.

To summarize a whole lot of discussion, we basically only have the following clues as to Hamlet’s age:

Hamlet and Horatio are both college students at Wittenberg. In Early Modern/Late Renaissance Europe, noble boys typically began their university education at 14 and usually completed at their Bachelor’s degree by 18 or 19. However, they may have been studying for their Master’s degrees, which was typically awarded by age 25 at the latest. For reference, contemporary Kit Marlowe was a pretty late bloomer who received a bachelor’s degree at 20 and a master’s degree at 23.

Hamlet is AGGRESSIVELY described as a “youth” by many different characters - I believe more than any other male shakespeare character (other than 16yo Romeo). While usage could vary, Shakespeare tended to use “youth” to mean a man in his late teens/very early 20s (actually, he mostly uses it to describe beardless ‘men’ who are actually crossdressing women - likely literally played by young men in their late teens)

King Hamlet is old enough to be grey-haired, but Queen Gertrude is young enough to have additional children (or so Hamlet strongly implies)

Hamlet talks about plucking out the hairs of his beard, so he is old enough to at least theoretically have a beard

In the folio version, the gravedigger says he became a gravedigger the day of Hamlet’s birth, and that he’s be “sixteene here, man and boy, thirty years.” However, it’s unclear if “sixteene” means “sixteen” or “sexton” (ie has he worked here for 16 years but is 30 years old, or has he been sexton there for thirty years?)

Hamlet knew Yorick as a young child, and the gravedigger says Yorick was buried 23 years ago. However, the first quarto version version of Hamlet says “dozen years” instead of “three and twenty.” This suggests the line changed over time. (Or that the bad quarto sucks - I really need to make that post about it, huh…)

Yorick is a skull, and according to the gravedigger’s expertise, he has thus been dead for at least 7-8 years - implying Hamlet is at least ~15yo if he remembers Yorick from his childhood

One important thing sometimes overlooked - Claudius takes the throne at King Hamlet’s death, not Prince Hamlet. That is mostly a commentary on English and French monarchist politics at the time, but it is strange within the internal text. A thirty year old Hamlet presumably would have become the new monarch, not the married-in uncle (unless Gertrude is the vehicle through which the crown passes a la Mary I/Phillip II - certainly food for thought)

Honestly, Hamlet is SO aggressively described as being very young that I’m fairly confident the in-text intention is to have him be around 18-23yo. Placing his age at 30yo simply does not make much sense in the context of his descriptors, his narrative role, and his status as a university student.

However, it doesn’t really matter what the “right” answer is, because the confusion itself is what makes the gravedigger scene so interesting and metatextual. We can basically assume one of the following, given the folio text:

Hamlet really is meant to be 30yo, and that was supposed to surprise or imply something to the contemporary audience that is now lost to us

Older actors were playing Hamlet by the time the folio was written down, and the gravedigger’s description was an in-text justification of the seeming disconnect between age of actor and description of “youth”

Older actors were playing Hamlet by the time the folio was set down, and the gravedigger’s description was an in-text JOKE making fun of the fact that a 30-something year old is playing a high-school aged boy. This makes sense, as the gravedigger is a clown and Hamlet is a play that constantly pokes fun at its own tropes and breaks the fourth wall for its audience

The gravedigger cannot count or remember how old he is, and that’s the joke (this is the most common modern interpretation whenever the line isn’t otherwise played straight). If the clown was, for example, particularly old, those lines would be very funny

Any way you look at it, I believe something is echoing there. It seems like this is one of the many moments in Hamlet where you catch a glimpse of some contemporary in-joke about theater and theater culture* that we can only try to parse out from limited context 430 years later. And honestly, that’s so interesting and cool.

*(My other favorite example of this is when Hamlet asks Polonius about what it was like to play Julius Caesar in an exchange that pokes fun of Polonius’ actor a little. This is clearly an inside-joke directed at Globe regulars - the actor who played Polonius must have also played Julius Caesar in Shakespeare’s play, and been very well reviewed. Hamlet’s joke about Brutus also implies the actor who played Brutus is one of the main cast in Hamlet - possibly even the prince himself, depending on how the line is read).

[sillyturtleenjoyer]

nems from anemoia!tale by @bloobluee!! such a silly lad, bro radiates pure chill. not sure i quite got that here but he does look very dapper (and mildly scraped)

[iridescent-solstice]

𝐀𝐬𝐫𝐚 𝐀𝐥𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦

Wahoo finally irides is finally pitching in her ideas. Yeah, okay this has been rotting in my drafts for a longggg while. I've gone through several voice headcannons + theories but I think I finally have a few that feel the most Asra to me! I might be overthinking this 😅

Also, i'm aware that the references i'm about to put might differ from each other significantly but bare with me as I try to explain myself 🙇🏻‍♀️

This is the voice he uses when giving readings/talking to customers. It's also the voice he uses when he needs to get what he wants. A very light, airy, but also guarded tone like he's trying to keep as much information about himself hidden as possible. It's also very melodical so I guess it could put whoever he's talking to in a trance which would allow him to pry more details out of them . . .

This is the voice I can see the most with him but in my mind, he speaks like this more with Julian and countess Nadia + those he's acquainted with. As in close but not too close if you catch my drift. It also feels like he'd read like this to mc and they'd be asleep in minutes haha

This and this are my personal favs! The speakers here are so carefree and open. I can absolutely see him talking like this with mc and Muriel. With all his defences shed; he's not trying to play up certain parts of his personality or put on a show. He's completely being himself. There's playfulness, adoration and also affection.

But the ones I like the most, aka my personal headcanons of how asra speaks, would be a mix of this and this! (EDIT: Xavier from the otome game 'love and deepspace' perfectly matches what I think Asra sounds like! But his dialogue doesn't have Asra's zetsy energy. Rafayel takes the cake for that one I fear . . . ) (Another edit: Consider this also 🙇🏻‍♀️)

[soullessseraphim]

OK ok so I-

I decided to make a cover for my fanfic

AND-

WAHOOOOOOOO !!!!!!

other versions under the cut !!

and BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING. the body is a SKELETON. that is his HIP BONE.

No text;

no corpse;

flat colors;