#beggars at the feast

[pilferingapples]

this is an invitation to infodump. i would LOVE to hear the thoughts you have on beggars at the feast, should you want to talk about them

AUGH ok ok let's see how well I can articulate...anything

OK so first: In the Letters server lately we've been talking a bit about how , in the book, Thenardier is WAY more the Human Nemesis than Javert is. He shows up earlier than Javert does; he's able to be a threat in ways Javert can't be, and to people Javert can't and wouldn't even try to touch ; he shares a TON of paralleling symbolism and class-blurring roles with JVJ; he's the last Personal Threat remaining in the novel, and the last thing we hear about him is that he's not only thriving , he's committing worse atrocities on a grander scale than anything we saw in the book, and getting nothing but social approval for it.

Thenardier is a nightmare, and he's triumphant, and as such he's a condemnation of society in an equal and opposing way to Jean Valjean. Valjean's story (and Fantine's , and the Thenardier siblings' ,. and the Amis , etc) says "look what we're destroying, look at the actions we punish". Thenardier's ultimate triumph as a literal slave trader flips it around and says "look what we support, look at what we endorse, look at what we elevate and approve." (now within the book I could take this farther , I could point out that the only thing within the novel that breaks any of the miserables free of their oppression to any degree is crime of some kind, be it revolution or theft or Being an Accomplice or exploitation, and the only thing that costs the (relatively) privileged their security and power is to truly ally with the miserables, but !! I'm talking about the musical)

In the musical Thenardier is softened a lot. Like... a LOT. The Thenardiers' exploitation of Fantine is barely mentioned ; their violent abuse of Cosette is turned into a joke; their abuse of Eponine is minimized (and their other kids are either Not Appearing in this Play or not obviously connected to them) ; and that final doomstrike epilogue, Thenardier becoming a slave trader, is gone. He's no longer the primary and most dangerous human antagonist; as in many other adaptations, that's now Javert.

So there's a different arc but it's there : From Master of the House and the Robbery , when he largely comes across as a gross but funny Comic Villain ; to the Attack on the Rue Plumet, where we finally see a bit of danger to him; to Dog Eats Dog, where he is really just acting on the same philosophy we saw in MotH but now doing something most people have a more immediate revulsion to, and the mask is really off; to , finally, Beggars at the Feast. If Beggars at the Feast is done RIGHT, This is Where The Villains Win.

They've gotten knocked around, sure, but they've also just gotten a ton of money, and, if done right, they are either blending in with the society party or, in the best staging * , they end up leading the dance. It's Master of the House all over again, only this time we're not being invited to laugh along with Thenardier's "band of soaks" ; this isn't the dregs of society, an easily stigmatized lower-class punchline.

This is Society, capital S Society, and they're just as ready to go along with him-- MORE ready to go along with him, even, because at least some of his inn customers usually get to be affronted and argue a little, but arguing with him risks some Unpleasantness, and isn't everything in Society so pleasant? Isn't it nice here, at the party? Let's not argue with the openly hateful people singing about how they want to destroy us all; look, they're dancing and singing! Let's just follow their lead. Won't that be nice.

And without getting into modern politics just because it's ALWAYS so current and I could never update the references frantically enough, I'll say that this is where Stage!Thenardier most echoes those Book!Thenardier Napoleon III vibes. Hugo knew what this dance looked like. He fell for it at one point.

(and hey, maybe it even raises some unease in audience members who laughed at MoTH and the child abuse and the Robbery without thinking about it-- maybe some people realize Oh Shit, We Fell For It Too. Not necessarily, but maybe?? ) And so it's fitting that it's this scene that has IMO a very clear sense of the book's incredibly specific political message ("Parisians, France, Please Overthrow Napoleon III, Probably With Barricades" ) , albeit in reverse. The Thenardiers gloat "Clear away the barricades and we're still here!" -- to them, a brag on how they endure all the changes around them.

But also implying: don't clear away the damn barricades. If you don't want the Thenardiers to run the show , help shore up that furniture wall and fight (for a modern international audience, this is probably going to be Not AS Specifically Involving Barricades).

So yeah. I'm not gonna say it's the most important song in the whole show , but it's important in ways I rarely see critics or commenters notice.

...Or it's just a funny musical reprise and you can have the Thenardiers be immediately thrown out of the wedding as frauds bc hahaha the poors thought they could play with their betters, good thing we're all so much smarter and cooler than that in the upper crust. That's fine too.

yes I have opinions; also I'm Correct

[thatisntverycombefair]

hypotheically what if i was the master of the house?! what if i was quick to catch your eye and there was infact never a passerby who would pass me by. what if i was servant to the poor?! some might say butler to the great. comforter, philosopher and LIFELONG MATE!

[coeur-feyrac]

so i think kyle adams may also play the first customer in Master of the House, who later gets pegged(?) upstairs?? anyways. iconic.

[ethernitty]

oh the wedding

[professorgtnt]

一位女性由未婚夫陪同,到液士顿市中心的凯悦酒店定喜宴。 两人仔细看过菜单，也选好了用什么样的餐具及鲜花摆饰。两人的品位都很高，账单算下来一共是一万三千美元。付了一半的定金后，他们回家准备奇喜贴。 就在要去邮局的那一天,准新郎临阵退缩：“我还是不够确定,”他说，“这是很大的决定，我们再考忠考虑吧。”

愤怒的未婚妻到凯悦取消酒席，公关经理完全了解她的心情。 经理说：“我也曾遭到同样的事。”她讲起她自己取消订婚的经历。 可是有关退费，却是坏消息。“合约不能改，我们只能退给您一千三百元。现在有两个办法：放弃剩下的定金，或是如期办酒席。实在很抱歉。”如期办酒席好像有点疯狂，可是这个气坏了的准新娘愈想愈觉得这个点子不错。不过可不是喜宴，而是大请客！十年前她曾经无家可归，住在收容中心。如今,她又站起来，找到好工作，存了不少钱。现在她有个大胆的想法，就是用她的积蓄让波士顿的穷人享受大都会的一夜。 1990年6月的一个晚上，波士顿城区的“凯悦酒店”举办了一场前所未见的酒席。准新娘把主菜换成无骨鸡，“纪念”新郎的��阵脱逃0,寄邀请函到各收容中心。那个温热的六 月夜晚，平常只能从纸盒里把别人吃剩的匹萨扯下来吃的人，享用着法国菜。凯悦的侍者穿着燕尾服，给那些拿拐杖、推步车的老年人端上精美的餐前菜。 流浪汉、捡垃圾的、有毒癮的，暂时拋开街头生涯的艰苦,坐在屋内浅酌香槟、吃巧克力结婚蛋糕，随着乐卧的旋律起舞直到夜深。

[nasatshirts]

well that's a bit of a rollercoaster 😅 they're all from my summer playlist !

Tags (if u guys want to): @freakwiththeknifecollection @tirednapentity @poolboyvmprmansion @mossandchaos @axolotlsauce @bart-allens-boyfriends @audliminal + anyone i forgot (rip my terrible memory 😔) and/or anyone who just wants to!!

put your ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle & let your friends pick their favorite of the first five songs!!

thank uu for the tags @blackberry-sunset @tigolbittys <33 np tagging @misomilf @biscuitlovie @nocturnal-phantom @ravenous-rage @remuredshampoo @kaleidoscopexsighs @frank-lilac @drowsyanddazed @angelfruittree @shipsnsails mwah mwah 💋💋

[pogueprincess]

Renegade

summary: You discover one of Aemond’s biggest secrets and are reminded of the horrors of his past on a night out with your oldest brother, Aegon.

pairing: Implied Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of SA, Aegon is Aegon, mention of incest, angst.

note: This was meant to be a self indulgent drabble! lol, but if y’all like it maybe I can make a smutty part 2? Hehe … feedback is appreciated

With your thirteenth name day came great change. It was a grand celebration: A feast filled with music and dancing, various lords and ladies from throughout the seven kingdoms came to celebrate you and Aemond. Though it also meant you and Aemond being separated from one another. This year your mother had declared you would no longer share chambers. You had started your moonblood and Aemond was becoming a man; sharing a room would be deemed inappropriate. Aemond swore to you that he would come visit you each night.

You had spent the majority of your name day feast simply enjoying Aemond’s company. Nestled in one of the corners of the throne room, sharing lemon cake as you people watched. You tried to get Helaena to dance with you, but she was preoccupied; chasing a moth that had flown in through one of the widows. Your eldest brother, Aegon, was drowning in his cups, bothering any serving girl that came within twenty feet of him. In all truth, you were happy to just soak in the atmosphere with Aemond. Just the two of you, as it was meant to be, as it had always been. Your time with Aemond was interrupted by Ser Criston, asking for your hand in an innocent dance. After your mother’s sworn protector spun you around the room for a third time, you caught your balance. Your eyes locked with Aemond’s as Aegon dragged him from the throne room and into the night.

The hours dragged on as you sat in your new apartments. You anxiously awaited Aemond’s arrival, the last remaining piece of lemon cake and a small figurine of Vhagar you carved for him as a gift sat on your bedside table. When Aemond showed up at your door, the bright eyed boy you had seen just hours before was no longer there. His good eye was red and puffy and his stare was vacant. The cake and wooden dragon soon forgotten.

“What has Aegon done to you?”

Things had changed in the weeks since your father’s death, as well as the events that occurred above Storm’s End. Aemond had grown distant from you. Your time together grew scarce.

It was now a quiet afternoon in the keep when you overheard Aegon and his guards' future plans for the evening.

“You’re going to Flea Bottom tonight,” you say to your brother matter-of-factly, “I wish to accompany you.”

Aegon scoffs at you, furring his brow.

“What would Aemond think of this?”

“Aemond does not control me. He is barely ever around as of late,” you admit sheepishly.

Aegon’s eyes narrowed at this, a sly grin appearing on his face.

“Is that what this is about? Is our dear brother not giving you the attention you need?” He drawled as his fingers ghosted the underside of your breast before you swatted his hand away.

“No,” you lied, “I am simply bored.”

It was not a total lie, you were bored. It seemed as though all of your siblings had important roles to play while you were cast to the side. Forced to be imprisoned in the Red Keep until you were bargained off to marry some Lord for a political alliance.

You enthusiastically followed your brother through the winding streets of Flea Bottom as he led the way to a small tavern. The narrow, dirty streets were packed with all sorts of people; merchants and beggars alike, small children clinging to their mother’s skirts. You watched in amusement as stray cats darted around you.

The smell of ale, smoke, and sweat filled your nostrils as you stepped inside Aegon’s dingy tavern of choice. Clearly no place for a princess and far from what you were used to. You felt yourself naturally gravitate closer to your brother as you took in the appearance of the rough-looking patrons.

Aegon had announced your arrival, offering drinks as a pleasure from the crown. With that he heeded a warning: Any fool of a man who dare look at you the wrong way this evening may face the wrath of Aemond One Eye and a death by dragonfire.

As the hours went on and the wine flowed, you found you were having the time of your life. You drank and danced and sang. You had temporarily forgotten all of your troubles. The war that loomed over your family’s head, the loss of your nephew. You had wished Aemond was there to experience the fun with you. You hoped wherever he was, he was having fun as well. You silently thanked your brother for allowing you this small taste of freedom.

“Come on,” Aegon encouraged the young squire, “there is a madam here somewhere who is perfect for you,” he drawled. “I came here when I was your age, my brother as well…. This madam has a thing for the younger ones.”

You sobered up at Aegon’s words. He was taking the young boy to her. The woman who hurt Aemond. You were unable to protest as Aegon snaked his hand around your waist, pulling you close to him. You felt warmth in your bones as his fingers dug into your flesh.

“Come sister,” Aegon chirped, “this should be entertaining, but stay close to me.”

A curtain was pulled back and to your utter shock and dismay: Aemond was there, suckling at the breast of an older woman like a newborn babe.

You found it difficult to witness but even more difficult to look away. You continued to watch in bewilderment as Aemond tore himself away from the woman. Aegon erupted into a fit of laughter, practically falling over at the sight. You couldn’t blame him, a nervous laugh threatened to escape your own lips.

You managed to turn away, diverting your gaze to the squire boy who was looking on in horror. You covered his eyes with the palm of your hand, earning snickers from Aegon’s guards, you glared at them.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” you hear Aemond grumble to Aegon, clearly referring to you.

“Why would you bring her here?” Aemond questions, yet Aegon is still laughing.

You glance over and meet the gaze of the madam your twin brother sits beside. She studies your face, and a look of guilt is evident on hers. She is the woman from your thirteenth name day, no doubt, she has to be. You are unable to deny she is attractive. Her features are soft, welcoming, motherly. You can almost see her appeal. Suddenly you feel ill, and it is not the wine.

“Aegon! I would like to leave now!” You blurt out in a panic, unsure of where to look or how to even behave.

The king ignores you and instead stumbles onto the bed with Aemond. Taunting him, making crude jokes at his expense, mocking him. Barking like a damn dog.

Any positive thoughts you had about your eldest brother in the hours before were now gone. In an instant, it is as if you are all children again. Aemond is that defenseless little boy in the dragon pit. A mere plaything for Aegon and his cronies.

A never ending cycle, so it seemed.

“Aegon! You have said enough!” you scold him, he ignores you yet again.

If Aemond was embarrassed, he did not show it. You finally avert your gaze to his as he stands up abruptly, fully exposed. He is beautiful in this light. You wish everyone in the room could look at Aemond the way you did. You try and fail to look anywhere but below his waist.

“Your squire is welcome to her,” Aemond states coldly, his face emotionless, “any whore is as good as another.”

You find yourself wincing at his words in disbelief. Aemond was not one to ever disrespect a woman. Especially in the presence of others. In the presence of you. You watch the older woman’s face closely, she has the audacity to look betrayed. You wish you could feed her to your dragon. You are interrupted from your thoughts of her burning flesh when Aemond approaches you.

“Had your fun?” He asks through gritted teeth as he passes you, glaring over his shoulder when he does not receive an answer.

“Come now, we are leaving.”

Aegon snickers, now taking Aemond’s place next to the madam. He shoo’s you out of the room as he pats the bed, motioning for the young squire to sit.

“Would you look at that? A Targaryen princess, jealous of a common whore! Gods, our family is fucked up.”

“You are unlike anyone I have ever met,” you say to your brother. It isn’t a compliment. You want to cry.

“Must you ruin everything for everyone?”

“You’re welcome!” Is all he says as you dart out of the room and after your twin brother.

What Aegon seems to forget is Aemond is no longer that defenseless boy in the dragon pit. He is a man grown, with a vengeance and a thirst for blood. May the Gods take pity on you all.

[yanderenightmare]

more gojo with curse!darling please! i lobe this concept<3

Gojo Satoru

P1 & P3

TW: abduction and captivity, mild condescension, mild coercion, NSFW hints, some descriptions of darling, but nothing too specific, a joke dissing people with blue eyes and pale skin

gn reader - fem labels (drama queen) & fem accessories (jewelry: various)

He kept you like one would a stray cat. Leaving you be as you found places of comfort around his apartment, hiding when you wanted to be left alone – which was almost always.

You hadn’t warmed up to him yet. Understandably so.

He’d set out food for you, locking the door with seals when leaving – scoffing out a laugh after coming home only to find the dish still on the table. He keeps forgetting you don’t eat.

You may look it, but you’re not exactly human.

But you are getting thinner, unfortunately. Suppose his apartment isn’t ideal hunting ground for a curse. And as you’ve gotten weaker, you’ve become wilder – primitive in a way – hissing at him when he gets too close – feeling vulnerable. 

You’re very cute.

But, cute or not, he doesn’t want to starve you. He isn’t cruel. So he walks and wonders what it is that you would find appetizing. 

Watching your behavior – how you sneak around his apartment looting – like a crow – collecting shiny objects to deck yourself in. Stealing all his rings, chains, watches, belt buckles, manchets, any gold or silver-rimmed glasses, and anything else you can use as jewelry – old coins, can tabs, all the silverware – along with everything else you deem pretty – fabrics, flowers, decorations, all his silk shirts. 

You rob anything and everything of value, making a nest of it all in the tub. 

His theory is that the bathroom is the shiniest place in the house and, therefore, where you feel you most belong. You sleep there despite him having given you a room – coveting all your findings.

He’s never really thought about how a curse can have such behaviorism. It’s not too odd to keep tamed ones as pets, but still, he’s never thought about why one would aside from utilizing them in combat. But you weren’t made for such intents and purposes. You were… just fascinating to have. Not far off from being an exotic pet.

But even for a curse, you’re unusual.

It’s not fear or death you thrive on. It’s… something a lot more innocent, actually – which is probably why you have no malicious instincts to hurt him – not that you could if you tried. But he can tell… you don’t want to be a curse, do you? In fact, those few times he has nicknamed you curse, you’ve scowled at him a little more than usual. 

No, what you desire is devotion – to be worshipped. 

What you want is to be a god.

Quite like him, actually. You like having your ego stroked. 

It’s your pride that needs feeding, and he can only asses that it feasts on people’s mad desire for you – of which he has plenty to give.

But you reject it.

“I won’t rely on the pity of a filthy jujutsu sorcerer. I’d rather starve.” You tell him with a sneer, curling yourself up with folded arms upon your chest – pouting with eyes closed, drowned in your treasure bath as though everything wasn’t nicking your skin, trying to ignore him.

He slants his head to the side, crouched down beside you with his arms resting on the tub, a smirk on his face – playing cute as he reaches a slim finger out to touch your cheek.

“Won’t you let a filthy jujutsu sorcerer worship you a bit? Trust me, a curse has never made me feel so weak before. Don’t you think I’d make for the best beggar?” 

You grimace, brows deepening into a vexed frown without opening your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. “I won’t be patronized. You keep playing with me like I’m your toy.”

“Maybe a little,” He chuckles softly. You’re such an honest and expressive little curse. “But I do think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen~”

“Naturally.” You reply simply, the furrow in your brow softening, but you don’t offer much more.

“Come on, pretty curse.” He drawls. “Let me help you before you waste away.”

You scoff. “Tch- foolish, selfish human… you really are such an ugly thing to behold.” The furl returns, but still, you keep your eyes closed. “Do you honestly think that your rancid touch is going to save me?” Then you laugh – harshly and mockingly. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. A god requires offerings left at their shrine, not the filthy touch of the peasants that leave them.” Your nose scrunches suggestively. “You should consider it a blessing to even be allowed to look at me.”

Vain and stubborn, he thinks. You are the curse of beauty. But still, he's never experienced rejection before.

Suppose he has to try a little harder…

He soon finds himself courting you. Trying to make you comfortable.

He starts giving you gifts – first, silver silk bedsheets that lure you into sleeping in your bed instead of the bathtub, along with other changes that make your room more appealing – ornate wallpaper, canopy drapes surrounding the bed, and a smaller chandelier for the ceiling. Happy to see you abandon your former treasure in the tub in favor of your new dwelling.

Then he gifts you other pretty articles – clothes and such that actually fit you – patterned silks and lace. He attempts to give you clothes you can use to cover up more of yourself, but you seem partial to wearing less – most comfortable in just an elegant kimono you can easily discard on the floor.

You’re confusing like that – walking around his apartment half-naked but hissing and scowling at him when he stares.

It’s more the jewelry you enjoy wearing – crowns, earrings, necklaces, body chains, rings for your fingers and toes, bracelets for your wrists and ankles – everything in abundance. Jingling when you step about.

You seem healthier after receiving his presents. Also, a bit less skeptical – now engaging in conversation with him – although often about what his next gifts will be and if he can buy you diamonds and rubies for you to bead your hair.

“Sorry, but the banks closed. I’m not giving you a single dime, your highness.” He laughs one day, eyes bright and smiling, watching the puzzlement befall your face before the spread of horror that soon followed after hearing his next words. “In fact, I’m gonna start taking things away.”

“You wouldn’t-” Your voice had dropped into something so weak it was adorable, no longer having that strident overconfidence you’d built up.

It makes him feel almost bad watching your face drain and become so distressed like a spoiled little brat who’d just been told no for the first time.

“Oh- I would.” He grinned like it was all only a cruel joke to him – something just for shits and giggles. “Satoru Gojo giveth and Satoru Gojo taketh away.”

“But-” Your lip wobbles, and he can spot the tears brimming in your eyes already.

He doesn’t let it bother him. Or at least he doesn’t let it show.

“I think I’ll start with all your jewelry- how about that necklace you’re wearing right now?” He threatens, pale hand reaching towards your neck to pull your pearls off – but you shrink into a ball on the floor before he has the chance to.

“No, no, no, don’t-” You start sobbing, and he thinks it’s the first time he’s seen a curse be so sad and desperate.

Not to mistake those countless curses he’d made cry and plead for their life, but that wasn’t what you were doing. You were grieving. 

You’re really such a simple thing, aren’t you?

His smile softens into something not so cruel. Crouching down to your level, placing his hand atop your head where you’re bowed and bawling, petting you soothingly. “Okay then, drama queen. Stop your crying. I’ll let you keep it.”

You raise your head, hopeful. Looking at him with terribly puffy eyes - cheeks streaked with teardrops hanging off your lashes. Looking so pained and vulnerable, it made his heart ache at the sight. 

You don’t say anything but he can tell there’s a question on your lips you’re unable to voice.

“Under one condition.” He answers. 

You flinch when his hand slides from your hair to cup your cheek, holding your chin as he rolls on his feet and places a kiss on your salty lips.

You gasp and allow it for a second but then abruptly push him off – falling back on your butt. “No- you’ll make me filthy.” You rush out. “Beauty is meant to be admired, not reaped. It’s not right. You can’t-”

He watches you blush and stutter and thinks it’s silly how he hasn’t thought about it before. But now it’s become clear. Curses spawn from human fears, after all. It’s not strange that they’re so similar. But still… he’d never think a curse would be afraid of losing their virginity.

“It’s okay,” He coos, setting his knees down softly – crawling forward to where you sit, hiding your face behind small hands decked in too many rings. “I’m not gonna stain you…” He promises, his breath warm on your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel like the most desired diety in the world.”

Your breath shivers as he takes your hands and uncovers your face – eyes wide looking at him.

“And after I’m done admiring you, I’ll get you more diamonds and rubies than you can count.”

You swallow – eyes skittering from one of his blue ones to the other.

“Really?” It’s below a whisper.

“You bet.” He answers with a smile, flashing you a smirk. “I’ll get you enough to swim in.”

Your nose does a little twitch like it usually does, but this time, it’s not to express disgust. “Do you promise?” You bite your lip – staring at him.

“Let’s make it a binding vow.”

And that’s the arrangement.

You let him admire you in ways you’ve never let anyone else before, but only if he fulfills all your greedy heart’s desires.

He doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have something to spend money on that’s worth it.

You’ll lie next to him and he’ll get to study you up close – finding things that betray you – model details that aren’t in line with human imperfections. Missing bone structure, flawless symmetry, hairless skin devoid of any and all accent of mark or spot – just smooth milky texture without a single fault.

He says it’s sad – that the standard for beauty isn’t even achievable, to which you reply that it’s only fair everyone should be subject to the same disappointment, never to achieve perfection like you.

He asks if you think he’s really that ugly. And you say yes.

“Liar.” He accuses. Head propped on his hand, his hair a tousled mess lying in the bed beside you.

You’re looking up at the ceiling but close your eyes insouciantly at his comment. You tip your chin a bit as you speak – lips pouty and proud. “Lies are an ugly trade- in which I don’t partake.”

“Oh, really?” He rolls on top of you and you give a whine. Looking up into his sparkling blues and how his pearly hair falls loose and wispy. “Then look me in my eyes and tell me I’m ugly.” He dares.

“Puh-” You scoff, folding your arms above your puffed chest, looking off to the side, still with eyes closed as though to dismiss him like you so often do. “Men with beady bright blue eyes and pink skin look like pigs.”

You sneak a peek with one eye when he doesn’t answer. He’s still looking down at you – still daring you. 

And you continue. Raising a finger to nudge his nose up. “Say oink-oink, piggy.”

He brushes your finger away as he leans in closer. Now with his nose rubbing yours.

“Tell me I’m ugly.” He repeats – his voice dipping low into that serious tone that makes your breath tight and your stomach flurry.

“You’re-” You try but it ends up swallowed, stifled beneath those big worldly blues. “You’re…” You try again but it’s worse than the first time, making you bite your lip. He’s not budging.

You look away. Feeling defeated and mopey because of it.

“You’re not as pretty as me.” You finally sulk.

So cutely grumpy with your pursed lips and vexed brow, he just has to laugh. “Tch- now that we can both agree on.”

And then he forces you to laugh too – beginning to snort like a boar into your ear, placing sloppy kisses to your neck while you scream out that it tickles.

P1 & P3

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsterhunt: Savogorg, Demon of Deliciousness

Demons reflect the most destructive impulses of the living and while most default to primal feelings like fear, pain, and despair... the feeling this saccharine salamander embodies could best be described as "the irresistible urge to stick your finger in a freshly frosted cake".

Driven by an indulgent need to taste all the finest things without ever worrying about hunger Savogorg crashes feasts, burgles pantries, and pinches pies from windowsills heedless of the chaos it causes in the process.

It takes an act of supreme immoderation to summon the demon of deliciousness, an inability to be satisfied that goes so far beyond hedonism that it wounds the soul. A ruler who beggars the realm with their elaborate feasts, An epicurean restaurateur who seeks ever more exotic experiences for her exclusive clientele, the taverncook who insists that this time he'll finally be able to make his grandmother's recipe as good as he remembers it. Those that suffer this affliction find themselves beset by bouts of reckless appetite, and with every mouthful the demon's stake upon them grows until it is finally able to manifest in the world.

Adventure Hooks:

Everyone knew it was a bad omen when the earl's secondborn shot the white stag. Legends of earning lordship be damned, it was plain as day the creature was beloved by the forest goddess. Butchery and trophytaking was bad enough, but to serve the flesh to your spoiled friends only to spit it out as "gamey"... now that truelove was worthy of some divine wrath. Now the noble lad wanders the wood in a state of ragged confusion, delirious from hunger and mushrooms and fermented berries, sometimes asking passersby for help, sometimes attempting to bite them. Folk susspect he's become a werewolf, and the earl is offering a rich reward to those who can bring his boy back and break the curse, while his firstborn is willing to pay extra to ensure that doesn't happen. She's become convinced her brother desires her inheritance, and what could it hurt if he stayed mad?

A prestigious culinary competition has been thrown into chaos after a series of disastrous incidents and atleast one contestant going missing. This is an excuse to riff off your favourite baking shows while the party plays detective trying to find who's eating the supplies... and the staff.

There's no such thing as forbidden snacks when you're a hunger demon. Having slithered into an elven temple dedicated to the god of earth and wine, Savogorg has laid it's greedy fingers on a sacred artifact in the form of a heavily laden bunch of grapes each sculpted from a precious gemstone and swallowed it whole. Ignorant of the demon's existnace the elves are incensed at this trespass, and begin hunting and questioning would be thieves. Tracking the demon might be easier than expected, as the holy artifact has given it divine indigestion, and the amphibious fiend keeps burping up minor mirracles as it moves about the city looking for a place to sleep off its tumymache.

Challenges & Complications:

Despite it's bulk, the demon's squishy body allows it to pass through any opening the size of a fist, allowing it to slip into unexpected places through drains, chimneys, and cracked doors, leaving behind only a sugary slime. This also allows it to unexpected escapes should it be cornered by the party. Experementation may reveal that extensive cold damage may cause the demon's body to semi-solidfy, preventing this ability.

As a demon of appetite, Savogorg is sustained by the act of eating, and will freely regain hitpoints anytime it focuses on chowing down rather than fighting the party, or if it's swallowed one of them whole. Poison can be useful here, souring its stomach and preventing it from actively eating anything more.

Artsource

[portraitsofsaints]

Happy Feast Day

Saint Martin of Tours

316 - 397

Feast Day: November 11

Patronage: against poverty, against alcoholism, beggars, equestrians, France

Saint Martin was born of pagan parents in what is now Hungary and raised in Italy. As a conscientious objector, he was forced at the age of 15 to serve in the army. He became a Christian catechumen and was baptized at 18. He was discharged at age 23 and went to be a disciple of Hilary of Poitiers. He was ordained an exorcist, became a monk and later ordained a bishop. He was one of the first saints not to be a martyr.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase. (website)

[catstrophysics]

Shoutout to Kyle Adams as Thénardier tonight for changing the lyrics in Beggars at the Feast to "this one's a queer, I might try him, too" and then twirling and dipping the man out of the couple. Icon behavior.

[shady-tavern]

Preview for "Kindness is Undoing" the October Short Story

Once upon a time, there lived a young girl who had a braggart for a father. It was well known by everyone in town that his tales were greatly exaggerated and while many enjoyed listening to them, they knew better than to believe him.

His daughter grew up with such fantastic tales as well. Grand tales on how her father had once saved a lord and then given the reward away to a beggar. They didn't have much themselves, not with how much time her father spent at the tavern night after night, but a beggar would have had even less she thought, so what her father had done was very kind and selfless.

As she grew she understood that none of her father's stories were true, that he was more likely to pocket the coin a beggar lost and drink it away than return it. He was only generous where others could see and only if it benefited him in some way.

"Don't feed the strays," her father told her when he saw her toss out leftovers that he refused to eat. "They'll only come back for more."

The strays did return, so the young woman only fed them when her father wasn't around, sneaking them dry, hard crusts of bread, bits of cheese and vegetables and leftover bones. Whatever she could set aside for the animals she gave them.

One day there was a very ragged looking bird. Only, it wasn't a bird at all, but perhaps the shoddiest glamour in existence. It was a fae, who was trying and failing to blend in. The young woman felt somewhat amused, though she also remained polite and cautious.

She fed the bird like she would have fed the others and it left behind a little wriggling worm made of gold. She put it into the garden, feeling befuddled about what she was meant to do with a golden worm. It was alive, clearly, and she felt sorry for the helpless little thing.

The bird certainly squawked for quite a while when it noticed what she had done, though strangely enough, she got the impression that it was glad rather than upset.

In return, the food she grew in the garden in front of their small house was always plentiful, the plants healthy and strong. Her neighbors complimented her and every bit of food she shared with them made them light up, the vegetables and fruit tasting downright divine.

"My daughter can turn even rotten food into a feast," her father bragged and where, previously, the other folk in the tavern had smiled at his exaggerated boasting, this time a few exchanged glances.

While they didn't think his daughter had the sort of magic needed to undo the rot of time, they still thought that there was something special to her food. The young woman was none the wiser, for she stayed away from the tavern, tending to the garden and her job with the seamstress.

The fae bird however seemed to have vanished, leaving only regular birds behind. Or, so she thought. 

The next time she ran into the fae winter had arrived and he was among the stray cats meowing in front of her door. He once again looked like a trully ragged version of an animal, a clear shimmer of glamour coating his scraggly fur. 

It was certainly befuddling, but she let him into the house just like the other cats to curl up in front of the fire to stay warm and she set down bowls of fish that a neighbor had traded her for some of her jam, made from the berries grown in her garden. 

There was more fish than she could eat and for lack of storing and salting options, she offered them gladly to the animals.

Winter was a rough time for everyone and her father loved to stay out until late at night and often enough he didn't come home at all, sleeping in front of the fire in the tavern along with the other local drunks, so she had the house all to herself.

She put out blankets and pillows for the cats and in the morning, the ragged cat left behind a fish that shimmered and glittered like it was made out of jewels more beautiful than even royalty owned. 

She hurriedly scooped the fish up to drop it into a bucket she hastily filled with water. Unsure what she was meant to do with a fish of all things, she got dressed, carefully covered the bucket and tucked it under her coat to keep it warm enough as she shuffled out into the cold and snow.

It was a bit of a journey to the nearby lake and she was out of breath and covered in sweat by the time she had hacked a big enough hole into the ice to let the fish slide into the lake.

It immediately brightened further, shimmering so beautiful it stole her breath away and it swam circled just below the surface, where it would have been easy for her to scoop it back up.

She found herself smiling at the joy of the fish and when she stepped back, it vanished into the depths of the lake with one last glimmer. Smiling, glad that the fish had a chance of survival, she truged back home, seeing the fae cat on her way back.

It was hard to read the expression of an animal that wasn't an animal at all, but there was something thoughtful to it. She bowed politely and after a moment the cat blinked and and dipped its head back at her.

It vanished between one moment and the next, turning to breezes that blew away.

The fae cat did not show up again and winter passed. Even before the last snow passed her plants already poked out of the earth, determined and hardy. They grew first out of all the other plants and they grew faster and stronger as well.

On her way to work at the seamstress' house, the young woman passed by the lake and each time the fish as there, bigger now than it had been before, glimmering and well fed. And each time she walked back from work by with things she had made folded in her satchel, the cotton and linen turned to silk, the simple embroidery thread becoming gold and silver.

The young woman never brought anything she made to the fish, she knew better than to demand magic that wasn't freely given. Besides, it was more than enough already. She never went hungry, her neighbors often trading the best parts of their own meals and hunting with her for her berries and fruit and vegetables.

The fine clothing she traded away for other things and soon the roof of the small house she and her father lived in was properly thatched, the chimney free of chinks and her cupboards filled with honey and candles and herbs and spices.

Even traders began to stop by their small town to ask for some of her garden produce or if she had recently made anything she was willing to part with.

She caught glimpses of the fae from time to time, either as a ragged bird or a scraggly cat and she always bowed a little and left food out for it. The fae seemed puzzled and soon she had company as she worked in the garden or as she weaved bolts of cloth, sewing them into whatever was needed once she was done and bringing the rest to the seamstress.

It was quiet, pleasant company and for all that she knew to be wary of the fae, this one seemed strange. Once or twice she wondered if this was all the fae could do, if it could only exist as a bird or cat and nothing else. Not everything magical was powerful, after all.

She didn't mind, nor did she particularly care if her strange friend was special, she liked them well enough and told them so on one occassion.

The cat blinked and then curled up and fell asleep on the same patchwork pillow that it had claimed in winter. The young woman smiled and kept sewing. And if the cotton turned to silk under her hands and the dyed linen thread to gold, she only noticed so when she was done.

Her father was incredibly proud, boasting that his girl could turn rough, unspun wool into silk and fraying linen thread into gleaming embroidery. That she had turned all the copper in their household into gold.

The other patrons exchanged glances and for all his exaggerated boasting they did wonder how the girl got her hands on so many wonderful things. She did not seem to be a thief, for no one in town was so rich as to own silk clothing and no one's gardens were as good as hers.

It happened then that a lord passed through their town on his journey back home and he overheard the father's boasting as he ate his fill in the tavern. The lord was young and handsome and rich, but hearing the father's boasting woke something greedy and callous and mean within him.

What a brazen thing, the lord thought, of a fool to boast of such magical things. But oh, if it was true, what a treasure he would have found in this backwater town. If it was true, he deserved to have it. If it wasn't, he'd make sure to put a liar in his place.

"I will take her to my castle in the morning," he demanded as he rose, startling the tavern silent. "Three days she has to turn my rotten food into a feast, my linen into silk and my copper into gold."

The father, for just a moment, wished to protest, but there was nothing he could do after his loud bragging than oblige. Even if he hadn't bragged, no one was allowed to deny the young lord anything. He was the most favored nephew of the king and after the death of the king's son he was next in line. One day the throne would be his and his power and influence was great.

"I will send her come dawn," the father said, resigned and nervous. 

The young lord smiled and said, "No, I will have her fetched by one of mine to ensure she really comes." He snapped his fingers and one of his knights stepped away. The lord dipped his head in a mockery of politeness before he left to retire for the night, feeling quite satisfied with himself.

*.*.*

The full story will go live on October the first on my patreon and ko-fi! Thank you all so much for your incredible support, be it memberships, kudos or reblogs and comments! You all make it a joy to share my writing with you.

If you wish to check out more of my writing, feel free to head over to my masterpost!

[animentality]

I cling to the prayer for forgiveness first off because it's absolutely insane to apologize to your GOD for admiring a man, whether it's platonic or romantic, but secondly, because.

Because how the fuck was the dark urge acting...or how strongly were they feeling...

That it scared them into begging for forgiveness???

Like listen.

Scleritas Fel insists that he's been with you for your entire life and you two have clearly spent way more time together than Orin and her poor dead imp butler.

But orin herself seems to think having a butler is embarrassing and juvenile and not befitting of a true scion of Bhaal...

She says as much, and Scleritas mentions that the worst thing you've ever done is give a beggar a coin.

A strange moment of generosity...that I doubt orin would ever do.

Now...call me crazy, cuz I definitely am, but...maybe the dark urge always had something in them that wanted to resist.

Maybe that's why Scleritas has to stick to the dark urge so much.

Because they needed his guidance, more than any of the other bhaalspawn.

When you express doubts and fear about who you are, Scleritas doesn't act shocked. He doesn't seem terribly confused.

He takes everything you say in stride, like he's used to it.

Every honeyed word he says is basically saying you'll make the right choice. You'll act in a manner befitting your station. You will be a proper bhaalspawn, I know you will...

Because he's used to correcting you. And fixing you. And trying to mold you.

And to bring it back to the prayer of forgiveness...

What on earth were they doing, that caught their father's attention?

Was it just blasphemous feelings?

Was it in their actions?

I don't know, but I suspect that liking Gortash was not the first transgression they ever made...

Nor would it be the last.

You were always trying...even when his collar was tightly fitted around your throat...there was a glimmer...of something distinctly un-bhaalspawn like in you...

Ahhhhhh.

I can feast on bread crumbs if I want.

[artfulacrostic]

some of my favorite moments from the 1995 10th Anniversary Concert of Les Miserables bc it's BARRICADE DAY and thus tis the season:

the convicts during Look Down all being Valjeans from different countries

the bishop M is baby faced and has an angelic voice

the clips from the fully staged show that they insert whenever there is too long of an instrumental/to explain things

colm wilkinson and philip quast's confrontation makes me want to chew on my laptop screen. so good. so crisp

baby cosette gets spooked by a balloon popping during castle on a cloud but barely flinches and keeps singing

the entire cast in the background of master of the house bopping back and forth in time. they are so here for it and it's amazing

philip quast's stars. he's so fucking good. i'm insane about him

michael maguire as enjolras's little happy dance when gavroche tells them that lamarque is dead

michael ball as marius somehow gives himself literally heart eyes whenever he talks about cosette. i can see them. it's so funny

during a heart full of love, colm wilkinson and philip quast are so invested in the background. they're leaning over to whisper to each other. they are besties

lea salonga as eponine delivers "i know this house i tell you, there's nothing here for you. just the old man and the girl, they live ordinary lives" like a GODDESS she is EVERYTHING

michael ball surreptitiously wiping his sweat on lea salonga's hair during her death scene. mans is dying a little

drink with me features anthony crivello as a fucking stellar grantaire, and after his verse, enj comes over and puts his hand on his shoulder to comfort him for a very long time. complete with a lingering touch on the arm and everything. fantastic exr crumbs 👍

the clips from the full show of the final battle are hilarious. completely different cast (though only obvious to insane people like us.)

highlights include one of les amis right on the middle of the barricade doing like. a backwards worm he's so into his death throes. he always has me losing my shit

empty chairs at empty tables includes the fucking cruel choice to have the entire les amis cast of actors line up on each side of michael ball and just a step behind so that they're in shadows, all staring sadly at him for the whole song. gives the impression of all the ghosts of marius's dead friends looking on from the afterlife and demanding answers. heart wrenching. THIS IS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A CONCERT, WHY ARE U DOING STAGING LIKE THIS

beggars at the feast has everyone in the background clapping/tapping along again. love seeing the thenardiers get their due appreciation

the 17 valjeans from other international productions enter after the finale and they all have their gavroches holding their country flags it's so fucking cute

and of course final encore with all the additional valjeans and the whole cast is fucking ACES

ANYWAY if ur looking for a production to watch that is good af this is the top of my list even though it isn't fully staged. it's sooooo. it's some good fucking food. happy barricade day!!

[abmediumaevum]

Today (Nov. 11th) is Martinmas, the feast of St Martin of Tours, an important festival in medieval Europe on the very cusp of winter.

A 4th century Pannonian (present day Hungary) soldier, Martin's conversion to Christianity led him to give up his life in the Roman army. As Bishop of Tours he founded the famous abbey of Marmoutiers. Well known for his charity, here St. Martin is depicted cutting his cloak in half to share with a beggar.

Today he is venerated in the church as the patron saint of the poor, soldiers and conscientious objectors.

(Source: BnF NAF 16251: Images de la vie du Christ et des saints. 13th century (c. 1280-1290); f.89r)

[firinnie]

Let's ask Penelope today, should we?

So I think these characters might not appear in Epic because they take too much time/are easily replaced by Odysseus but in Odyssey most of his servants went over to the suitors and we are sure about 3 of them who were loyal to true King until the end.

One of them was Eumaeus, the swineherd, and OH BOY he is a really interesting character, has an interesting backstory and is the best buddy you could ever have. Homer even hides in the text how cool he is, plus he has a heart of gold. Odysseus comes to his hut, transformed into an old beggar by Athena, and not only does he offer him his bed (and sleeps outside with the pigs) or gives him the best cuts of meat at a feast but Eumaeus is literally a fatherly role model for Telemachus, has a close relationship with boy, hugs him when he greets him, etc.

I wanted to tell you all this so that we know what kind of person we are talking about here. Here begins an interesting thing, because the truthful Eumaeus tells Ody-beggar that

"But from Queen Penelope I never get a thing,

never a winning word, no friendly gesture,

not since this, this plague has hit the house

these high and mighty suitors."

So simply "Since the suitors appeared, Penelope has stopped respecting me/us."

I put "/us" there because his way of speaking is very symbolic and I can believe that it may refer to the rest of the loyal servants too.

I was very surprised when I read this because not only is he so good to Telemachus but he defended Pen from suitors. In addition, he was Odysseus' childhood friend, his mother raised Eumaeus side by side with his sister. He was just the most trusted person left but Queen has some problem with him. Or does she not? I think too much about unimportant things but here I believe 3 way to see it are:

1. Penelope is not as close to Eumaeus as Odysseus was so she thinks that he wants to take the place of a father in her son's heart because of their really close relationship.

For Epic Pen I'm sure this is big nope but for canon? Maybe 50:50. This lose a bit of sense of her intelligence and we know her as a wise one.

2. Penelope wants to discredit those who are still loyal by treating them coldly so that the suitors won't pay more attention to them.

That makes sense, but when you look at the fact that the suitors weren't afraid of loyal servants, they believed the king was dead... She had to fend for herself but at the same time she couldn't reject them, Odysseus' father was too old and his son too young to do that either. This sounds like our Pen, putting her emotions aside for the good of others.

3. Panelope pushes away people close to Odysseus because of the pain she feels about his departure.

In my opinion, that makes the most sense and is perfect pair for 2. She became "cold" not intentionally but out of emotion and because she had to announce her husband's death to buy him more time and get rid of over 100 men.

I definitely think too much about one sentence but hey Eumaeus is cool and Penelope is deep. If we can talk about them a bit then why not.