#calumnies is such a fun word

[aeriondripflame]

please. otto kicking aegon, to which aegon drunkenly says "brother?" ?!?!?! insane conflation of grandfather-brother and insaner implication

(and also, somewhat related, aemond clearly staring at alicent when asked who told him the strong bastard calumnies, yet saying "aegon"... what ARE they cooking... do they know...)

!!! i think it’s funny that they supposedly don’t like each other but are next to each other in like every scene. peak younger sibling energy following the elder around and then blaming them when something goes wrong. no but aemond saying it was aegon is actually the greatest example of trust between them because aemond trusts that aegon will fix the problem without implicating their mother

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 7: conversation

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

' “I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a boy," she goes, rolling her eyes. She doesn't even blink.

“I’m not.” You are. '

---

Megumi calls you back. You leave for Tokyo again, like a soul yearning for its body.

word count: ~6k; tws: none for now :)!!

19-6-2018

“So you’re really going to let go of them now?” your father asks. 

“...yeah.” 

“That’s good. I’ll miss that Itadori boy, though.” 

You will, too. 

In a way you suppose Megumi and Yuuji are very similar. They’d go well together, be good, fast friends and all that. 

They’re both undoubtedly good people, no matter how they’ve beat people up before and how different their beliefs may be. 

In Megumi’s case, everyone knew how good a person Tsumiki was, her younger brother included. Her kindness and virtue extended itself, inspiring other people around her. But Megumi was a good person, too— polite, patient (most of the time, unless it were Gojo— but who wouldn’t be annoyed by that man, right?), kind in his own way. He cared for you in all sorts of ways in the past, even then you could tell, gentle with animals and objects and your hand. Gentle in his own way. Giving you reminders despite the tiny calumniations sprinkled in (they barely do as much damage as comb bristles can), being sharp because he must have had to, kind because it was in his very nature. Easy on the eyes, tall, deep soothing voice— he ticked all the boxes for that, too. You bet that if things were different, and the two of you had stayed in touch with each other, you’d have fallen deeply in love with it by now. Yet that thought only makes you feel sour now that things hadn’t gone that way at all. 

And Yuuji, too— there was no explanation needed for Yuuji. Even Megumi could tell he was a good person. And at some times he was almost like Tsumiki. You weren’t ever surprised that you’d caught feelings for him, because— who wouldn’t? He was always popular, even if he was ignorant of his own charm around others. But he wasn’t just a good guy with a ripped torso, he was honest, perceptive and smart in conversations. Smarter than he ever credited himself for. Smart in a way you could never be— people with cute faces, nice bodies and good social skills were in a league of their own, practically. You’d thought that for a long time. 

Did either of them ever know how you felt? 

Probably not. Your heart was guarded, intensely so, and you’d never lay your feelings bare and out so easily. You weren’t the type of person to say you loved people as easily as others did, even within your own family. 

This, you presume, is probably an acquired trait, now that you think about it. You were much more different as a child, free with praise and love and unabashed affection as well as appreciation for the people around you. What changed?

(Everything.) 

You miss 2010. You miss Tsumiki the way you miss your mother’s cooking, miss her the way you miss when you wrote emails and letters and text messages to her with multi-coloured pens or your old phone that eventually broke a year after. You miss the conversations the two of you had, miss how you used to be your parents’ little angel. 

And in the end it all comes back to that, doesn’t it? 2010. Nostalgia. Reminiscing on old memories in a way akin to how the elderly do in their youth. That just made you seem more pathetic, because, weren’t you supposed to be making those memories right now, at this time of your life? 

You’re a teenager. You should be going out with friends, and having fun, not rotting at home ruminating on the past, with the only friends you’ve ever had hundreds of kilometres away from you (you weren’t sure if you could even call one of them a ‘friend’ anymore), and your acquaintances not close enough to replace them (how could they ever? How could there ever be a replacement for Yuuji?) 

In a way you feel your life is miserable: awkward, socially-impaired teenage girl with her only friend practically out of her life at this point; nothing special to your name besides a cursed technique that most times does you more harm than good; stuck not being able to completely get over friends she met at eight who left her as quickly as someone can blink their eyes; with the thinking process of a nagging, stubborn mother sometimes, or if not that then a blurry, mingled train of thought that gets delayed or lost when moving from station to station; someone not of use at all. Not miserable, you think to yourself like a slap to the face, pathetic. 

You’re not sure how Tsumiki is now— maybe she has a partner, or better friends than you were, or she’s busy being president of the student council or something (she’d be a sterling leader, of that you’re certain, that girl who you’d always known was bound to go places in the span of her lifetime). 

Hopefully, she’s alright, and doing the best she can in life. That’s all you wish for when it comes to Tsumiki. 

At this point, there’s no point in wishing to join them, or to linger on them and memories of the past. It’s a mosquito in summer heat, which is why, if it stays, you decide, you’ll just suppress and ignore it until it goes away. Even if you didn’t know how long it would take you to get over them— weeks, months, but goodness forbid a whole lifetime or forever— you needed to accept that you’d be like this for nearly the rest of your life: pathetic, lonely— ah, that’s the word that so very perfectly delineates the situation you’re in— and then some. 

So that’s why, when you hear your phone buzzing on your bed like a cicada during a balmy night, you assume it’s someone else. Yuuji must be busy settling in (he’s been texting you, and you took that as a sign that he wouldn’t call), and Megumi must be… —Well. Megumi has made a promise, and it’s not that you don’t believe in him, but it would be better to expect less than what you’d like to in order to evade disappointment. 

Must be someone else. A prank call, or a scammer, or something. Or a telemarketer, but you’d be surprised if telemarketers were calling you and not your father. And you were never one to pick calls up mindlessly anyway, so if it were some stranger out to get you or swindle you, you’d just hang up or check the number. 

If not either a scam or a telemarketer (well you suppose both of those could be scams in certain contexts), though, then you’d suspect it would be either Yuuji (Yuuji’s the one who has been texting you, after all, conversations strewn over checking in with the other over the past few hours or snippets of advice from you telling him not to bother Megumi very much, and to be cautious and keep himself safe) or Gojo— definitely not Megumi, and probably not Gojo either, but still it was more likely that Gojo was calling you instead of Megumi, so you’re considering it— and you can’t really remember Gojo’s number anyway, so what if an unknown number wasn’t a prank call or something—

You wonder if you should just pick it up instead of burying your head in your study notes and overthinking everything. 

But you know it’s definitely not Megumi. 

You check the phone. 

Well, you’ll be damned. 

It’s Fushiguro Megumi. 

You know his number by heart, after all. Keyed it in too many times to forget, and it’s not like he’d have any reason to change it. Not with the way he cares for things, inanimate objects, not with the tenderly quiet, secretly caring, emotionally jaded way he maintains them. 

“Ah… hello?” 

Your heart thumps in your chest and heat flares up in your cheeks with a frenetic speed. 

“Hi,” you blurt out, shakily. You’re sure your voice is quivering, yet your mind feels like it’s barely functioning, almost about to drown in a seven-feet-deep pool, so you can’t really tell. You can’t really hear yourself. 

You don’t know why you feel like this— no, you know exactly why, actually. It’s because you haven’t gotten over him. Your thoughts are scrambled but you know, for sure, that you’re like this because you want to get rid of feelings like these but you can’t. Or because you’ve been saying that to yourself like a mantra, for so long, even though a part of you wants it to stay— out of what, that’s what you don’t know; maybe desperation or nostalgia or an inability to stop dwelling on days long gone. But you know what this is— you’ve seen the movies, read the manga, watched the dramas. It’s romance. Crushes. Something you’re not quite able to call love yet, something you’re too scared to properly name, still, but something you can understand is one-sided nonetheless. 

“…hi. [Name].” 

“Hello…” 

What happens when two estranged childhood friends with a book’s worth of history behind their relationship that happen to be socially awkward teenagers actually have a conversation semi-beyond what keeps them estranged in the first place? 

“Hi— no, wait… how are you?” 

Pot, meet kettle, because you’re going off nothing but the fact that you’re at the very least surprised (the other emotions are too complicated to explain) that he’s speaking to you again, and not just on text, but he’s calling, and he sounds like he’s reading off a script, but the script is in a whole other language, somehow, and the uncertain nervousness in his voice is tangible, even for a deep, low voice like his. 

Script or not, you appreciate the effort, though. 

“I’m good, um… I’m happy you were able to call. It’s been a long time.” 

“That’s good.” 

There’s silence on the other line; time feels like it’s moving achingly slowly. But you’re mildly happy. 

Not happy, maybe, but you definitely feel light, as if you’ve been severed from the heaviness of everything else that has happened lately. This is the first time in years something like this has ever happened. 

“Ah, wait, I forgot to ask! Sorry, um.. how are you?” 

“I’m doing alright, too. Oh, wait, I should apologise. I didn’t tell you— thanks for helping with my injuries the other day. Gojo told me about it after you left. You… you didn’t have to, though. You shouldn’t have risked your health like that.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t mention it. You know why I do this, anyway.” Out of necessity or a need to be useful, you’re not even sure yourself, but he must know, to some degree, right? It seems as if he’d be the one to know the most of this, of you— at least, when matters came to this. “And I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Dr Ieiri probably ended up helping more with the bigger ones once the three of you got back. I mean, she did, right?” 

“…no. She said that she didn’t want to waste her time, so if injuries were more minor like mine, she wouldn’t heal them fully.” 

“...ah.” More minor? Seriously, doctor? You’d normally not question her judgement over matters that she had more expertise in dealing with, but seriously? 

“I’ll be fine, though. Most of the bandages have come off, and all.” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

You wonder where he is now, on the bed, maybe, or sitting on the floor. You’ve seen the classrooms, but not the dormitories— you hope wherever he is, that it’s comfortable. That he’s okay. 

“We’re going to see a new student soon.” 

“Really? Have you met them before?” 

“No, but Gojo said she’s from the countryside. But we’re meeting her in Harajuku, for some reason.” 

“Oh, Harajuku! I miss it,” you let out a plaintive sigh, “I can’t wait to be back in Tokyo. You know, whatever happens, I still love that city like nothing else. I know how many people hate it, but I love it so much.” And you love it so much in the first place, mostly because of Megumi and Tsumiki. “Maybe she just wants to chase a bit of the sweet city life— I mean, you know how it is when country bumpkins go to the city for the first time… kind of. Or when they love the city— yeah, that’s a better way of saying it. I was like that, kind of.” 

“...if you’re worried about the train ride here and want to travel alone, I could always pay for you. Uh… wait—” 

“Oh, no, no! There’s no need, uhm— thank you anyway, it’s just—” 

“It’s Gojo’s money anyway.” 

“Pft,” you snort. Anything to seep out some of Gojo’s money like gluttonous leeches, right? “Nah, I’ll be fine. I mean, I don’t even think I’ll be able to come back in a few years’ time, and by then I won’t even be relying on my parents’ money for this stuff anymore— I mean, I will still be relying on their money, but I’ll be managing it as my own.” 

He chuckles lightly over the line, the silent way he shows his emotions, the way that goes unnoticed if one is not attentive to it. It feels like he’s whispering directly into your ear, and the heat on your face (which you weren’t even sure was still there until that point). Your heart skips a beat and it completely, absolutely shocks you. “...the offer still stands.” 

Yeah, you can get behind it if he’s like this now. What happened to him, anyway? Puberty hit him like a brick and gave him, like, one more ounce of emotional maturity? 

You shake your head like a character in a piece of crappy romance fanfiction. No way. Not now, at least. Calm down. 

(...you’re just a girl.) 

“Well, no take backs from now on, okay? Even if it’s, like, five years into the future, you’ll still be using Gojo’s credit card to cover for all my travel expenses.” 

He does it again, that low, soft, attractive sound. Makes you want to hit him and hit yourself at the same time, and then kick your feet up in the air giddily, and then throttle yourself, if it were possible, out of sheer embarrassment. “Yeah.” 

You’re having the time of your life. 

“Anyway, how is everything else? Like, are your studies and grades okay? Is the training you do alright to handle?” 

“My grades are pretty okay,” he answers, “Not like Gojo cares, honestly. And the training’s fine, it’s nothing I’m not used to.” 

“Gojo seems like he’d be a good teacher. When he wants to, he can command respect pretty easily, too. I guess he just… chooses not to. But I saw it yesterday, when you and Yuuji were passed out in the hospital.” 

It still strikes a pang of guilt in your chest, your inability to have done anything else besides calling Gojo over for help. 

“...I suppose he does.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How about you? Itadori, he… he can be an idiot sometimes, but he speaks of you really admirably. He talks about how smart you are a lot.” 

The thought of Megumi calling Yuuji an idiot of all things doesn’t feel like it falls short from him, but it still makes you frown— though, you realise that that’s just his way of expressing things, because in a way he’d treated you somewhat the same in the past, even if he hadn’t shown it outright or expressed it very vividly. Classic Megumi. 

“Hey, he’s smarter than people give him credit for, okay? Wait until you see how talented he is at things other than sports and martial arts. You’d be surprised after trying the meatballs he makes. Would be good if you asked him to give you the recipe sometime; I make them, like, once a week, at least.” 

He sighs, “...I will. But the point is, he cares for you a lot.” 

“Yeah, beautiful soul, that guy. Loves people the way curious children love nature.” 

“That would be a fitting way to put it.” 

“How are the dogs?” 

“My shikigami?” 

“Yeah. Do they have names?” 

“The black one is Kuro and the white one is Shiro.” 

“You named them black and white?” 

“Look, I named them when I was barely six years old, and six year olds aren’t exactly the best when it comes to these things…” 

You giggle, “So the name stuck?” 

“Yeah, sort of.” 

Real cute. 

“What about your father? How is he?” 

“He’s okay, but, well. I guess we’re not that close anymore.” 

“...I see.” He probably can’t imagine a version of you who wasn’t immensely close to her parents. You couldn’t then, either. 

“We’ve been talking even less now that my mother’s in the hospital, but at least I get to talk to him before he eats, maybe. I’ve been doing most of the cooking now that my mother isn’t here and my father doesn’t really know how to handle himself in our kitchen without her guidance.” 

“Oh… if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mother?” 

“Cancer.” 

You can practically hear the gulp he’s taking, the bobbing of his throat— sensitive topic. “I’m… so sorry to hear that.” 

“It’s okay, don’t be,” you reassure him, “I should have told you that day anyway. I was just… exploding at everybody on that night. I should apologise— I’m sorry for how badly I treated you.” 

“No,” he goes, “No, you shouldn’t. I understand why you were like that that night. And it was mostly my fault, too, so…” 

“No, no, I’m serious! Feel free to ask almost anything as long as I have actual answers to your questions and all.” 

“Still… I just wanted to know. Sorry if I caused you any trouble.” 

“No— you didn’t do any of that at all, don’t worry! I’m alright with people asking about this. Ah, anyway… besides Yuuji, do you have any friends?” 

“Itadori and I aren’t friends.” 

“Trust me, if I asked him, I bet he’d beg to differ. Yuuji’s like that with people— soon he’ll be more important to you than you could have ever thought at first.”  

“Whatever you say,” he sort of grunts, “But I don’t have any friends, I think… except you, maybe. What about you?” 

You were honestly expecting him not to consider you a friend at all, and at this point so much has happened that wouldn’t even be that bothered if he no longer thought of you as one but called you anyway out of his commitment to his promises, or as an apology. 

“I’m surprised you can still call me a friend,” you say. Calling people instead of talking to them physically does something to your inhibitions. 

“...should I not?” 

“No, no, I’m happy,” you say over the phone. You’ll forget this conversation tomorrow, at least, when the sun has risen and the night returns back the hold you have over yourself, your composure, to you. You’ll act like this never happened. So you’ll say whatever you want to now, disgorging yourself of years of withheld secrets. “I’m happy that we’re still friends. I think I like that. 

“Yeah?” 

“Um— yeah, it seems like a good place to start,” you grin slightly. “And I, well. I don’t really have any friends beyond Yuuji,” —You’re not even sure if Tsumiki still sees you as a friend— “Even if I may have acquaintances like Sasaki or Iguchi it still feels like Yuuji’s one of the only people I can give that kind of title to, so, um… the more the merrier?” 

“That’s… nice.” 

“...it is, isn’t it?” 

“Thank you.” 

Why? “Okay.” 

The two of you go through the next few seconds in silence, time feeling like it’s blending and bleeding into a mix of years and events. You can hear the light, steady sound of his breathing from the other line. If you could, you’d sleep to it— fuck the phone bill, you’ll be the one paying it in your father’s stead this time if it was for this. 

It’s comforting, and you don’t want to break it— the quiet. If he can hear you now, can hear how you’re breathing through a smile with your chest only slightly moving, you hope it feels the same as the sound of his breathing did for you. You hope it feels just like home. Like a warm pillow in the one place you love the most that you bury your head into when the weather gets especially cold. 

“Fushiguro!” 

Oh dear. 

Wincing at the sound of the creaking door’s shrill shriek as it's opened and then hits the wall, you know exactly who it is— you’d recognise that voice anywhere. 

“Is that Yuuji?” 

“Oi! I told you not to barge into my room like that!” Megumi shouts. 

“Huh? You’re calling someone? Sorry. Wait, is it [Name]?” 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“Hi, Yuuji.” 

“Can I talk to her?” 

“Is it alright if we do, Megumi? Just for a few seconds.” 

“Fine,” he sighs. You can practically hear that eye roll. 

“Yo!” he cheers. 

“Has everything been okay lately?” you ask. 

“Yeah. We’re meeting a new student soon.”

“Ah, yeah. Megumi told me.” 

“—Oh, and my uniform came in! It looks pretty neat.” 

“That’s good. Maybe you can send me a picture once you start wearing it, then.” 

“I will!” 

Things are going better than you thought they would. 

21-6-2018

It’s been a few days now. 

You don’t know Sasaki and Iguchi well enough to call them friends, but the three of you do know each other. You had never decided to change any contacts with them, and considering that they and you were never closer than acquaintances, friends of a friend— you had never really regretted it. But now that Yuuji is gone— and you know he’s not dead, but still— you wonder whether you should have gotten closer to them, just to be less alone once Yuuji left, even if it could not be the way things were with Yuuji. (“I thought I was a pretty lonely guy, and sometimes I still do. Like— I mean, you’re a lonely girl too sometimes, I think,” he had told you as you patched him up.) 

Still, Yuuji and you were two peas in a pod— so they’re bound to ask what happened to him soon enough, especially Iguchi. 

You’ll have to start getting used to spending your Thursdays alone. And then you’d have to start getting used to every other day without him, too. If you went to the arcade or watched movies or sing-screamed the lyrics to English songs you don’t know the Japanese translations of without his presence there, you know how it wouldn’t feel the same. In life it’s not what you do that matters, you’ve come to realise— it’s who you’re doing these things with. That’s what puts meaning to it all and makes all things done in your life worthwhile. 

The two of them pass you by during lunch. 

“[Last Name]? —Oh, hey!” Sasaki says as she turns around. 

You almost scream and run away like a mouse fleeing from the eyes of a vicious house cat, tremors in your voice. “Hello…” 

“Where’s Yuuji, by the way? The occult club’s going to fall apart without him.” 

You pause. “He transferred to another school…” 

“Huh?” she goes, Iguchi almost reeling back in shock. “Transferred? But why? We’ve barely even made it to the middle of the year!” 

“I… I don’t know, it was something really urgent,” 

23-6-2018 

Your room is a cluttered mess— lucky as you are that it’s the weekend, the past week has been a rollercoaster that knocked your room’s usual standard of cleanliness off track. Scattered all over your desk were worksheets, notebooks, graph paper pages and foolscap paper, chicken-scratch writing and meticulous notes scribbled all over them to compensate for your absence the day after the incident took place. 

It isn’t the time or the discipline you lack— it’s just that it’s going to be awfully tedious. You’ll have to wipe your desk again, and clean the walls, and sort through all your clothes, too, since you haven’t been folding them in any way that isn’t merely fastidious and nearly careless. So as you get to work, you suppose that calling someone wouldn’t hurt. 

Maybe you could call Megumi. That would be okay. 

For the past few years, you’ve never noticed it. So when you do, it hits you like a bullet train at the fastest of speeds. 

You miss him. Not just in the way you miss 2010, the way you miss the past, the way you miss and mourn the person you used to be. It had been so obvious for Tsumiki, but not for him, and now that you know this it’ll be another quiet revelation— another rediscovery of fragments of yourself concealed by memories. 

You miss him— all of him; you yearned to be his friend again because he was unlike Tsumiki who you knew cherished you as you did her; you miss him regardless of who he is now, because somewhere inside him is the boy who read dog books and brought you to the school library and ran your finger through water when you burned it. Somewhere inside him is the person who offered to hold your bag as he walked with you through a snowy garden, and helped you when your nose bled. 

So it would be okay to call Megumi right now. 

“Fushiguro speaking.” 

“Hi, Megumi. Are you busy?” 

“Not right now.” 

“Want to call?” 

“Fushiguro!” It’s Yuuji. “Wanna go—” 

“I said I’m not going!” 

You chuckle, “Be nice. Were the two of you supposed to go somewhere?” 

“Nothing important. Gojo said he wanted us to ‘bond’ with each other, so he concluded that we could watch a movie. Some kind of gory horror film or something.” 

He’s… actually making an obvious effort not to scold Yuuji that much or call him some insulting, derogatory term this time… wow. 

“Ah, yeah. Yuuji likes his horror movies.” 

“Anyway, anything urgent you wanted to tell me?” 

“No, I’m just… uh—” you laugh nervously, “I’m just a little bored.” Nowadays you’re not really sure what he’d do— scold you, maybe, or roll his eyes so hard that you can hear it over the line, or he may even flash into a quick bit of awkwardness and hesitation through his words. 

Or maybe— and this was the worst of it all, he’d ask why you were calling him, and his bouts of awkwardness would have only been something temporary, soon to be replaced once again by anger and annoyance, the same he gives to everyone else— even if you knew he didn’t always mean it, per se. No more special treatment for you. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, uh… I have to clean, and usually it’s not as much as what I have to do today, so I just thought that since the only other person in the house is my father and we don’t really talk much anymore, we could, um… chat for a while. Yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

“Uh-huh, so.” You stand up, leaving your phone on your desk and putting the call on speaker mode. The mountain of papers and books is a wasteland and your desk has been degraded to a landfill— the state of it would make your mother a wailing mess— no, she’d faint instantly as soon as she saw it, becoming worse of a mess than the table itself was. “Anything interesting happened lately?” 

“Not really.” 

“Oh—! Yuuji sent me a picture of his uniform the other day. Was that one special?” 

“Yeah. But they let students make adjustments to the uniform, and he said he hadn’t changed anything, so I think that was Gojo’s doing.” 

“Oh, well, that’s Gojo. It suits him, though, right? Not to sound mean or be presumptuous, but…” you chuckle, “When you wear the uniform, you look so formal. It’s not a bad thing— it’s just that Yuuji’s just always been more casual like that. And the red of the hoodie goes with his hair, too!” 

“I guess so.” 

“I can’t imagine you wearing anything other than the default uniform, though. Not to insult you, I mean, you still look good in the normal uniform, I just— can’t imagine it.” You remark, sorting the materials and books by size and subject. You’ve got to handle some of the drawers, too, now that you’ve started and can’t stop your momentum just yet. You can already feel the dust particles that have gathered on whatever is inside them still, jostling around once you’ve taken them out. 

“If you’re going to say it like that, you can just say it outright.” 

“No, no! I mean that I just can’t imagine you wearing, like, Yuuji’s uniform. Wait, what do the other students’ uniforms look like?” 

“The second years?” 

“Yeah. Did they choose the normal ones?” 

“Inumaki did. They have three boys and one girl, but only two of the boys wear the normal uniform. Okkotsu has a special uniform in white.” 

“Oh, I see,” you nod your head, “It’s a nice uniform, though. I wish I could wear a uniform that pretty.” 

“You could always enrol yourself here,” he suggests, “They’d welcome you with open arms.” 

“Maybe they will,” you chuckle, “But my mother would be adamant on me staying in the ‘normal’ world. She’s unyielding like that.” 

“And your father?”

“Wouldn’t mind, at least I don’t think…” you say, “I’ll have to wonder when to tell him if I do end up in jujutsu high; you never know when he’s mad. He’s always unpredictable like that nowadays and it’s not… particularly pleasant.” 

“I see. It would be good if you were here, though. You would be closer to Dr Ieiri that way. And it would do good, because, um… well, I’d like you here. You’d be… good for the people around you here.” 

“Ah, you— you would?” you ask, slightly phased— not like he hasn’t been a bit nicer to you since you’ve seen him again (maybe it was the awkwardness, maybe it was the guilt). “Thank you,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging up sheepishly, heading to the dusty drawer (you haven’t touched it in what feels like years, usually excluding it from your list of things to clean). 

After a scrupulous amount of wiping away at the dust outside of and surrounding it, you open the drawer with a slight bit of anticipation— you don’t expect much, but you’re a person who lingers on the past like a ghost that has forgotten how time has passed. There wouldn’t be much in this drawer to reminisce on, you presume, but you still approach it with an eager fascination— you’re the type to do so, after all. 

Of everything there, the most noteworthy are two things you grabbed almost immediately— you could never forget how they felt, and the weight that they held in your life back then: a letter, addressed but never delivered to the person you were talking to right now, and a cigarette with a hastily scribbled slew of numbers on it and a lipstick mark on its end. 

Oh, that letter. That letter.  

From what you remember, you’ve never rebelled against your parents before. At least, not with anything major— for a long time, you were their good girl, and you never disobeyed them, as much as you wanted to at times. You still are, still stuck with that age-old drive to be useful. (But was there even a point in that anymore? At least, was there one with your parents?). You didn’t picture yourself as any kind of righteous goody-two-shoes, but you definitely weren’t a rebel or a delinquent. You followed their instructions and seldom ever questioned what they told you, and so it had always been subtly implanted in your brain that they would be alright with anything you did or said. Yet the first time you did actually start to question them, you realised that their belief in your ‘obedience’ as pure love— and maybe it was; you loved them so much you were blinded and trusted them with everything and did anything they wanted their baby to do— you realised they only treated you so lovingly if you were not an actual person with your own ideals and beliefs. 

(But they still loved you, right?) 

Even now, you still do obey them and listen to them. If your father needed anything, he could consider it done; if your mother wanted her clothes to be patched up you’d try your utmost best to withstand the pricking of needles and bring it back to her hospital room with bandaged fingers. It was like that with your mother: even if at times it seemed like the only pain she wanted for you was callouses from a pen or pricks from needles, at other times you feel she could have known you’d end up like her, maybe. Maybe she saw it as a curse: the worlds the two of you were born in were different, and she wanted you to stay in yours, lest you die or live in a world of endless pain. 

You’ve been doing it for a long time: being dismissive of yourself, prone to self-prostration, subservient; the lovingness of a mother, the sweetness of a teenage girl (you hoped), the kindness of a caring friend. Maybe it was Tsumiki— maybe it was because you’d always seen this in Tsumiki. She was always smiling, always caring; taking on the weight of motherhood before she could carry the weight of her school bag. Hugging you with her saccharine smile; braiding her hair with gentle hands and holding your wrist with her hair tie on it even gentler. (You still have it with you. You had planned to start taking it off more once Yuuji left, but you suppose some habits take longer than a week to develop.) All while having that sickening, fantastical, mysterious sweetness of a teenage girl in what you now understand could have been a hidden misery— because caring for someone like a mother while suppressing the thoughts that spoke to you to act like a child was something you wanted to replicate until you realised you understood it. And then you no longer wanted to recreate it. (Maybe that was the way it was for every woman or girl you knew: watching someone you loved hurt themself or not being able to do anything to prevent it when they started. Life was a cycle that way. A very annoying, frustrating one full of unfortunate circumstances and wrongly-picked out decks of cards.) 

“…you know what? I think I may be able to come,” you tell him. 

“You don’t have to go against your father for our sake.” 

“No, don’t worry about it. I think I know who to ask for help. Thank you, Megumi.” 

“Hi, Dr Ieiri?” 

“Kid? That you?” she goes, the slightest bit of excitement stark against her usual deadpan tone. “I thought you’d never call because of that old man.” 

“Haha, yeah— sorry to disturb you, but, um, Dr Ieiri? I may want to take you up on that offer, by the way, but um, I’m still on the fence. I mean, I know I want to be like you and do what you do but… I don’t know, I’m not quite sure about leaving the two of them alone here and all. But anyway, I just called you because I wanted to ask if there was, you know, any way you could get me to Tokyo somehow. I need to pass something to someone, but, um… I guess I’m going with this with the hope that I’ll change my mind and join you. But I’m… perpetually on the fence for now, I guess.” 

“Pft,” she snorts, “You little rebel, I’m in. I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you so much.” 

24-6-2018 

The decision and the plan were made as swiftly as you could. 

You decide to tell your father— you wouldn’t want to deceive him, after all. At least, you’d give him a quick notice. And then you’d leave. Like a snowflake before the first day of spring. He’ll probably tell your mother.  

“I’m leaving for Tokyo for a while,” you say, “I’ll be back before you can even realise I’m gone. Invitation from Dr Ieiri.” 

25-6-2018

“Why?” your father asks, the night before you leave. He suggested going out together at least once before you left. He always knew when you were making white lies. 

“I guess that maybe I’m just too much like you, Daddy.” 

For the first time in years he hugs you on the doorstep, patting you on the back on the day you’re set to leave. “Make sure you study and work hard,” he reminds you. 

“I’m leaving for Tokyo,” you announce.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a boy,” she goes, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t even blink. 

“I’m not.” You are. 

“You know, your father travelled all over the country to see me again after we’d first met.” 

“Oh. Okay?” 

“And he’s always been dedicated to his job and dedicated to helping people.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“I’m saying that the two of you are very similar. I’ve lived through this story before,” she states, “And you look just like your father right now.” your mother says. She hasn’t smiled the way she used to— you remember it vividly, that vibrant gleam in her, the liveliest and loveliest of life— in ages and you don’t think she will, not now of all times. 

“Really? Sometimes he says I take after you more.” 

“You will.” 

It doesn’t feel like a curse. Even if it usually would make your heart well up in guilt, it doesn’t feel like a curse. 

Maybe she knows that her time is running out. Maybe this is resignation. Whatever it is, you hold her hand first, but you’re also the first one to let the other go, your fingers slipping away from hers. You leave the door for the last time in a while, making another round in your life of that carousel of abandonment and reuniting and departures. 

25-6-2018 

Dr Ieiri greets you with a calm smile on her pallid face. 

“Good to see you again.” 

“It’s good to be back here,” you sigh. 

It is. 

You keep your hand on your other hand’s wrist, holding them in front of you. The cherry hair tie on it feels warm against your skin as you exit the station, summer heat embracing it softly. 

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

[duxbelisarius]

The Dance of the Dragons, A Military Analysis: Conclusion

This is the fourteenth and final part of my analysis (2 parts for each of the Seven, heh); thank you so much to everyone who has followed this series from the start, and those of you that have come across it and followed along! Here's the Master Post for anyone that's a first time reader, as well as links for my AO3 and Reddit uploads of the series!

I've been quite harsh towards George R. R. Martin throughout this series, perhaps more so than he deserves; the man has been writing professionally since 1970 at least, and has probably forgotten more about the World of Ice and Fire than any of us fans could ever hope to learn. Responsibility for continuity issues within the story and between it and George's larger mythos can be laid at the feet of Linda and Elio, George's continuity and editing team, and likely the publisher as well. Rightly or wrongly, George has taken plenty of flak from the fandom and beyond for a variety of reasons (cough cough Winds cough cough), but it was not my intention to heap any further calumnies upon him with this series.

I began my first re-reading of ASOIAF while working on this series and have enjoyed it immensely; GRRM is an excellent writer, and deserves every ounce of acclaim he has received despite his flaws. If you'd told me five years ago that I'd wind up watching HOTD, purchasing F&B along with Rogues and Dangerous Women, watching theory/lore videos regularly and rereading ASOIAF, let alone doing an c.30k word military analysis of the Dance, I would've looked at you like you had a third head. While I might have read the books again at some point, my interest in George's series was casual at best after I stopped watching GoT following season 6, and witnessed the season 8 debacle from the sidelines. For all it's flaws, I enjoyed House of the Dragon and interacting with fans online has been a fun experience (albeit not always). I would never have poured so much time and thought into this analysis if I didn't care about the series, or considered George to be a vastly superior writer than F&B would indicate. The problem with the Dance of the Dragons is not the idea itself but it's execution, with contradictions, contrivances and inconsistencies within the story weighing it down at every turn. This does not mean the Dance is unworkable; in fact there are numerous ways to fix these issues and make the story work.

Instead of Aegon, Aemond, Helaena and Daeron being Viserys' biological children, you could have Aegon son of Baelon survive childbirth and marry Alicent instead. Alicent's children become nephews to Rhaenyra instead of half-siblings, and their father could die before or shortly after Daeron's birth. Viserys could then marry his youngest brother's widow to placate those demanding that he remarry, thereby placing Alicent's children and Rhaenyra between Daemon and the Iron Throne. This means that Viserys still has no biological children that could threaten Rhaenyra's claim, and it could be argued via Widow's Law that these new children are Alicent's by blood and not Viserys' and thus cannot disinherit Rhaenyra of her claim. On the other hand, the Greens can argue that the marriage of Alicent and Viserys makes them the king's children by law, and can point to the Decision of 92 and the Council of 101 choosing a male claimant over the female claimant, regardless of whether the female's claim was stronger legally.

Introducing Aegon son of Baelon to the story as a dragonrider further improves the narrative, by making him Silverwing's rider after Alysanne. This gives the Greens an additional dragon under their control, and would also allow Ulf the White to play a more active role in the Dance by having Ulf be recruited by Larys following the 'Red Sowing.' After defecting to the Greens by providing information about Jacaerys's planned attack on King's Landing, this information could assist the Triarchy's attack on the Gullet, earning Ulf the trust of the Green Council and the opportunity to claim Silverwing. With Meleys and Vermax dead, Caraxes in the Riverlands and Syrax unlikely to participate in an attack due to the risk to Rhaenyra, this leaves only Vermithor, Sheepstealer and Seasmoke to attack King's Landing. Aemond's strategic gamble is easier to justify in this timeline (ITTL), with Aemond marching on Harrenhal while Ulf remains to protect the city, while the Blacks could attack after Harrenhal has fallen and take the capital thanks to Ulf's treachery.

Giving the Greens another dragonrider makes it easier to justify Aemond's Riverlands campaign, and would made better by having Aegon's supporters there continue the fight after TTL's Burning Mill. With Lannister forces to the west, Cole and Aemond to the east and Green supporters fighting a guerrilla war, it would make more sense why Cole and Tyland Lannister would support this plan than in our timeline (IOTL). Daemon could then withdraw his army north of the Trident and fly to Dragonstone via the Vale, to further support the idea that he had gone North. When Daemon reappears to attack King's Landing, this would enrage Aemond like it did IOTL), esp. if we assume he felt some responsibility for Aegon's injuries at Rook's Rest and Blood & Cheese. The Winterwolves' arrival could then see the Black forces march south to attack the Westerlands army; Cole wants to march west to join Jason Lannister, whereas Aemond wishes to draw out his uncle, with the two men falling out as IOTL. Cole marches west and is defeated alongside Jason Lannister, which could be the result of the Winterwolves falling upon one of the Greens flanks amidst a snow storm, ensuring that the encroaching winter weather matters to the plot while demonstrating the prowess of the Northerners without making them superhumans. Cole and Lannister are killed, with the remnants of the Westermen withdrawing over the Red Fork while those of Cole's forces defect to Rhaenyra, and Aemond begins his campaign of razing the Riverlands.

The situation at sea can be improved by simply having the Ironborn intervene earlier in the conflict; the Hightower and Redwyne fleets can thus be occupied by the Ironborn and the Shield Islands, as well as supporting the Hightower army. Combined with the poor autumn weather mentioned throughout ASOIAF causing storms in the narrow sea, and the risk presented by Rhaenyra's dragons on top of the strength of the Velaryon fleet, the Hightower and Redwyne fleets have sufficient reason to remain in the Sunset Sea without their existence being ignored by the narrative. Events in the Reach can be further improved by having the Tarlys support Aegon initially, agreeing to protect the lower Mander with the Florents and the Peakes against the Rowans and Caswells marching south. Ormund leads his own forces and those of House Redwyne, Cuy, Bulwer and Blackbar to besiege the Mullendores, Beesburys and Costaynes, but the Tarlys betray him and route the Green forces to the north, leading to the Battle of the Honeywine and Daeron's intervention. Houses Tarth, Fell and Buckler can take up arms against Borros Baratheon in support of Rhaenyra, with raids by the Velaryon fleet further accounting for the Stormlands' delayed support of the Greens. The raids by the Vulture King could be retained with the suggestion that Daemon was involved, as we know historically that the Vulture King movements were not supported by the Martells. Having Daemon's contacts in the Free Cities smuggle funds and weapons to the rebels allows him to create trouble for the Greens, while getting payback for Dornish support for the Triarchy during the War in the Stepstones.

The strategic positions of the Blacks and the Greens as of Maiden's Day 130 AC ITTL would be almost identical to IOTL; if Aemond is allowed to actually inflict serious damage on the Riverlords, this can also explain why Cregan Stark would avoid sending more troops south via the Neck. Joffrey Velaryon and Tyraxes leaving the Vale for King's Landing could also lead to a revolt by House Royce, in retaliation for Jeyne Arryn making common cause with Daemon, providing set-up for their support of Arnold Arryn following her death in 134 AC. This along with the threat of Aemond would explain the absence of the Vale's armies; having House Royce join forces with the Mountain Clans would strengthen this plot point, while giving a prelude to the raids by the Clans after the Dance. The Two Betrayers actions at Tumbleton are more plausible with Ulf being Larys' agent from the start; a more sensible choice for Nettles and Daemon's story could be to have them both battle Aemond, with Nettles being the lone survivor. Addam Velaryon finds Nettles and warns her of Rhaenyra's intentions, with Nettles fleeing as IOTL while Addam remains to rally what forces he can to oppose the Greens at Tumbleton.

The Tumbleton plot can be fixed by having the command crisis revolve around Daeron and the Two Betrayers from the start. While Unwin Peake, Hobert Hightower and other Greens fall-in behind the prince, former Blacks in the Hightower army turn to the Betrayers in light of Aegon's disappearance and Rhaenyra's downfall. The sides attempt to negotiate for a march on King's Landing while TTL's 'Caltrops' plot to murder the Betrayers and vice versa, devolving into fighting between the 'Daeron men' and the 'Betrayers brood.' The Riverlords would arrive during this struggle, leading to Addam and Daeron opposing the Betrayers together, creating interesting possibilities for the story. Ulf and Hugh's fates could be the same as IOTL, leaving Daeron and Addam to oppose Vermithor, or Hugh could fight them while riding his dragon. All four riders could fight atop their dragons and be killed as well, with Silverwing dying alongside Vermithor or fleeing to Red Lake as IOTL. In retrospect, Second Tumbleton could be seen as where the rifts of the Dance began to heal, with the town's postwar recovery being driven by veterans of both sides visiting to pay respects to the graves of Addam and Daeron.

The losses from Tumbleton and the Ironborn raids in the Sunset Sea can prevent the Reach from aiding Aegon II, while Cregan Stark's army could assist the Lads in defeating Borros Baratheon before marching on King's Landing. As suggested in Part 13, Cregan's army and the Valemen could be sent west to crush Dalton Greyjoy, with the Dance of the Dragons ending on July 7th 131 AC as IOTL or at some point after that date. A final change I would make would be to have Aegon II's murderers remain anonymous, with Corlys returning to Driftmark and Larys being dismissed as Master of Whispers and denied a seat on the Council of Regents. Clubfoot's fate could be as the first victim of Harrenhal's new 'witch queen,' his bastard half sister Alys Rivers.

This is a basic outline of the changes that could be made to fix some of the Dance's issues while retaining much of the story and characters as written by George. There's still elements such as Rhaenyra's tax policy that I haven't discussed, which would require further alterations, but I maintain that the story itself can work. HOTD has already made changes of it's own, and it will be interesting to see if Condal and co. take the Dance in any new/interesting directions. Regardless, I hope you've enjoyed this analysis of the Dance or at the very least found it interesting.

[notnotnaught]

The Count of Monte Cristo: a rambling review (spoilers)

I finished reading The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas today, 8/3/23, after starting it on 7/11/23. I read the Project Gutenberg version, which I believe is a translation into English from 1888. I read it for the Doof Media book club.

There were parts of the book I enjoyed. I won’t dispute that. I liked the prison arc, I enjoyed parts of the revenge arc, there were parts I thought were funny (Edward was great every time he showed up with some minor mischief).

The parts that didn’t work for me vastly outweighed the parts that did. I have zero sympathy for the aristocracy described, I had no interest in their squabbles, troubles, dramas and pleasures, and found the whole Paris cast irritating and uninteresting. Maybe I’m poisoned by the whole anti-French sentiment in modern America, but by god I do not care about French politics in the napoleonic era or immediately afterwards, and I found it irritating every time a character mentions how Paris is the most important, most beautiful, and most cultured city in the world.

The Rome arc dragged on forever and only served to act as a travelogue (of no interest to me, I thought the locations and events described were either unimpressive and uninteresting or already known to me and thus boring to read about) and to introduce Albert, Franz, and Vampa, as well as some character development of the Count, which I didn’t care very much about. This was definitely the worst part of the book.

I found the actual revenge unsatisfying and uninteresting. It took two thousand pages before the count started enacting vengeance. The bad fates visited upon the foes were:

Caderousse: gifted $50,000, then murdered by a partner-in-crime

Villefort: revealed that he was unfaithful and that his discarded and thought-dead son was a murderer, his whole family dead (or thought so)

Danglars: bankrupt, embarrassed by a bad marriage between his daughter and a murderer

Fernand: suicide after unrelated cowardice in war was revealed to Paris

All of these fates have nothing to do with Dantès’s unjust incarceration, and it didn’t feel to me like the punishments fit the crime. Also, Benedetto (Andrea Cavalcante) seemed like a really handy guy to have around since he was able to ruin three men with one murder

It’s hard to write about the prose, since it’s from a different time, but I found it to be difficult to get thru but not different enough to be interesting, most of the time. There were some fun vocab words here and there which have fallen out of fashion (ere, calumniator), but a lot of the time it just felt like the book was written by someone who was way too far up his own ass.

I didn’t appreciate the religious aspect of Monte Cristo’s motivations at the end (thinking of himself as an angel there to dispense justice). It didn’t feel especially justified by his prior actions and thoughts, and he didn’t seem religious before or during his incarceration.

MC’s insistence on slavery (Ali and Haydée) horrified me, and I was surprised it wasn’t visited in much detail. Are we supposed to think that he’s admirable for owning slaves, or that it’s alright? To my knowledge, France had abolished slavery by 1830, but iirc he at one point says “I’m very rich” and that’s the end of that. Ali’s enslavement and Haydée’s made me uncomfortable in different ways, though I felt better about Haydée when I realized MC had bought a daughter and not a concubine. Still not great!

Dantès became stupid rich and did what anyone would do when stupid rich, which is hobnob with other rich people and enjoy life’s finest luxuries. That’s understandable, but goddamn are the lives of the rich in 1830 repulsive to me.

The parts of the book with the Morrels and Valentine (and noirtoir) were better, though I found their interactions with the Count to be unbelievable in a lot of ways. He didn’t deserve as much trust as he was given.

I would absolutely not recommend that anyone read this, there were almost no parts I enjoyed in the moment. I got thru it, but I sure didn’t want to at times. 2/10.

This could have been a lot better if it were maybe a tenth or a fifth as long, and pre-injustice, incarceration, and vengeance were approximately equal in length. I also would have appreciated if there were no time skip between escape and when the Count enters society, but that might be my Factorio-addled brain making me want to see him build his fortune and legend with a huge stack of cash.

[coquelicoq]

if i were stranded on a desert island and could only bring one book with me, it wouldn't be the count of monte-cristo. HOWEVER, if i were stranded on a desert island and for some reason could only bring one chapter of the count of monte-cristo with me (don't @ me i don't know how getting stranded on desert islands works), it would be this one.

le comte de monte-cristo, chapitre LXXXIX, la nuit

the count of monte-cristo, chapter 89, the night

[agoracactus]

Pt.4 - “I spent my lucky coin on this”

1. trying out new things for titles

2. changing ‘Dandelion’ to ‘Jaskier’ cuz i feel like it sounds better

3. and i dont know about u but im seeing weird spaces in the text after i posted the chapters, spaces that i didnt put in when i was writing. i tried deleting them but sometimes it doesnt let me so meh, if ur annoyed by these weird spaces im sorry, ane believe me i hate them as well

Pt.1  Pt.2  Pt.3

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

Word Count: 4069

Warnings: lack of proofread, language

Summary: yes i gave up summary cuz i cant. ENJOY!

§

Geralt opened his eyes.

It’s still very early in the morning, the sun was just about to come up- he usually wakes around this hour. When in the wild, he’d stoke the fire, add some branches to it, then go for a stroll. You usually wake up when he came back, then you two would have some simple breakfast in silence before heading for the road. When you two get to sleep  in a bed with a roof over your head, he’d let you sleep in a bit more.

He turned his head and looked at you. You were on your side and back towards him. He stared at it rising with your breathing. He just lay there, listening to your heartbeat. At some point, you turned and faced him, and he stared at your calm face. Then his gaze wandered and fell onto the shotgun.

He sat up, suddenly getting this slight irritation rising somewhere deep inside his stomach. He heard the sound of the town waking up outside, and decided that he’s probably just getting hungry.

Geralt was finishing his breakfast when Jaskier joined him.

“I thought you’d go home with someone you met at the wedding last night.” Geralt pushed the emptied bowl away. Jaskier waved at the innkeeper for bringing him a drink, “I wouldn’t dare to talk to any ladies with those brawny cousins on my heels all night.” “Hmm.” “And I was more concerned about you two. How was it?” “How was what?” “You and y/n! Was your feeling finally clear to you yesterday? By the power of love?” “ “How many times do I have to tell you there’s nothing going on between us?” “Please don’t tell me we’re still on that phase after all I’ve done for you.” “You have done nothing and there’s no need for you to do anything.” Jaskier opened his mouth, wanted to say more, then he noticed you coming this way.

“Good morning lovely bird! Did you sleep well?” he put on a smile. “Mornin’,” you said with a yawn, “I slept ok. You? Did you get any sleep? Or you spent all night with some other lovely bird?” you asked jokingly. “How- Wh- Geralt? Did you calumniate me? Behind my back?” “I didn’t say anything to her.” “Your reputation precedes you.” you winked at him. “The plague... I suppose it’s not a bad one.” Jaskier took a gulp from his tankard.

“Are you leaving today?” “I don’t think there’s any work for us here, so yes.” “I’m going to join you, can we leave later? I want to visit some ladies before we go.” “Ladies?” you were puzzled. “The brothel.” Jaskier said, took out his heavy purse, “I got paid very well yesterday!” “Oh!” you gave a knowing nod. “And I was thinking about taking Geralt with me! No offense y/n, I don’t mean to exclude you from the group but-” “None taken! Guys need some guy time right? It’s about time Geralt has some fun.” you thanked the innkeeper for bringing you breakfast.

“You don’t mind?” Jaskier looked at you like his eyes were going to bulge out. “No of course not! I was actually started to get worried that he’s not getting laid enough! He needs to loosen up a bit.” Jaskier nervously gave Geralt a quick glace, whose face was gloomed like the sky before a thunderstorm. “I’ll just go check out the market, and I’ll meet you back here once you’re done.” you gave both of them a smile and started eating.

§

“I don’t understand!” Jaskier was genuinely confused on their way to the brothel, “I thought she felt the same!” “...” the irritation in Geralt’s stomach didn’t seem to go away after eating. “But she really seemed fine with you going to the brothel...I don’t understand, how can I be wrong?” “We all make mistakes sometimes.” Geralt said coldly, with a bitter undertone.

“Well my friend, I say let’s just enjoy our morning without thinking about these difficult questions eh?” Jaskier pushed open the front door of the local brothel. A well-dressed woman who appeared to be the madam of this place came up to greet them. Jaskier adaptly announced their purpose. The madam led them in and showed them the girls who were available. Jaskier slightly nudged Geralt with his elbow, “Hey, that one over there.” he pointed with his chin, “Doesn’t she looks like y/n?” Geralt grimaced, ”Don’t take this too far, my friend. Or you can forget about traveling with us.” Jaskier put up his hands and took a step back, while Geralt went straight towards a girl who had no resemblance to you.

The girl glanced at the little coin pouch on Geralt’s waist- which seemed heavy- put on her most charming smile, took him by the hand and led him to her room.

She sat him down on the bed, finger teasingly brushed over his shoulder, and moved down, gently pushed his legs apart. “How would you like to do this, sweetheart?” Geralt stared at her for a little bit, sighed, pulled out some coins and stuffed them into her palm, “Just keep the room occupied for a while after I’m gone.” the girl shrugged and sat onto the bed, watching him walked out of the room.

§

He found you in the market, spotted you in the crowds, you were talking to a merchant. He could tell by your gesture and facial expression that you were annoyed.

He pushed through the crowd to move towards you. Just when he’s about to reach you, you finished your purchase and turned to his direction. You were looking down at what you just bought, weren’t paying attention to where you were going and you walked right into him.

“Oh! Excuse m- Geralt?” you were surprised to see him, “You finished? Already?” you said with a concerned look on your face. “...No, I didn’t go.” Somehow he felt insulted. “Oh.” “Everything alright?” “Oh yeah, it’s fine. He wanted more for this piece of shit and I refused to be a doofus, so we kind of had an argument there. It’s all settled now.” “I saw your hand reaching for the gun.” “I wasn’t going to kill him! Just maybe scare him a bit? I just wanna establish power, you know how women’s opinion doesn't matter in this era.” “I doubt he would be scared since no one knows what a gun is.” “Fine, maybe I’ll shoot him in his knee cap. IF! He took this too far and insulted me. This doesn't worth me being a murderer in broad daylight with dozens of witnesses.” you held up the thing you bought.

It was a brooch, made with some kind of cheap metal. It’s round and in the middle, there’s something which appeared to be a bird, with a fake green gem as its eye.

“You almost hurt someone for this?” he raised his eyebrows. “Actually...I bought this for you.” you said awkwardly. “Me?” “-Well, not really for you but it’s for you?” you tried to explain this without sounding stupid or crazy, “It just reminded me of someone you would possibly meet in the future... And I- God why am I explaining this- It’s a present, ok? For you. Just take it. I spent my lucky coin on this. So you better take it.” “What?” Geralt frowned, he gently pushed you aside and walked towards the merchant.

“Wait no-” you grabbed his arm, “Where are you going?” “Getting your coin back.” he took back his arm and continued walking. “Jesus Christ! Stop!” you stopped him again, and sighed, “I lied! Ok? I didn’t spend my lucky coin! Look it’s still here!” you scrambled to reach inside your pocket and took out the coin. “...Why did you lie?” “...So you will maybe feel bad and accept the present? That was stupid...I’m sorry, ok? Now can you please take this?” you held up the brooch. He looked at it, didn’t say a word. After what felt like a century, he picked up the brooch. “Thank you.” You heard his voice, but when you looked up in surprise he’s already walking away.

§

“Watch out!” you shouted as the griffin took off and skimmed over the top of your head, you docked just in time before the giant pair of wings knocked you over. “Y/n!” Jaskier behind one of the rocks shouted in worry. “I’m fine!” you shouted back, aimed the rifle towards the sky and looked through the scope. You waited till its head popped up in the view, then pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit its wing.

“Fuck!”

It screaked and fell into the woods.

“That was impressive!” Jaskier ran to you and helped you get up. You swung the rifle over your shoulder, readied the shotgun, “I was aiming for the head!” you grunted in annoyance, quickly followed Geralt further into the woods.

The griffin fell into a clearing. It quickly got up and swayed its wings around, making loud screaks to warn its attacker. Geralt swiftly turned his body to avoid the attack and quickly wielded his sword to fight back. You and Jaskier hid behind a tree, watching Geralt fight this monster in elegance. You love watching him fight- now that he’s ok with it. It’s like waltz without a partner and it’s beautiful.

In the next moment, the griffin tried to fly again. It flapped its wings but stumbled to the ground, right towards your way. The two of you jumped out of the way. You tripped on the tree root and fell to the ground. You quickly twisted your body to lay on your back, aimed the shotgun at the griffin and fired.

It screaked again, swung its wing towards you.

You rolled aside, the wing grazed your shoulder. You fired again.

Geralt jumped in the air, cut straight towards its head- those giant wings flapped, then fell upon you.

“Y/n!” Jaskier quickly ran to you. Geralt sheathed his sword to lift up the wing, helping Jaskier pulling you out. “Are you alright?” “Yeah... It’s dead?” “Yes.” Geralt glanced at your shoulder. “Here, I’ll help you with that.” Jaskier led you aside and sat you down against the tree.

You unbuttoned two buttons from the top, giving access to your wounded shoulder. “This will hurt a bit ok?” Jaskier warned you before pressing a cloth against the wound. You hissed. “You were lucky.” Geralt said while cutting off the griffin’s head. “I am! Thanks to my coin.” “This is not a joke, y/n.” “And I’m not joking! ...Come on, you can’t possibly warn me all the danger of monster hunting now. It’s a bit too late- ” you took another sharp breath in.

“Those weapons you used, it’s amazing. A little too striking in my opinion, but very effective.” Jaskier took out some ointment from his bag. “Yeah, I suppose having a gun in this world can be quite an advantage.”

You told Jaskier where you were from the second night you traveled together. He accepted it quite easily- somewhat too easily. You supposed that he’s either very openminded or just treating it as a fairytale.

“This world you’re from, what’s it like?” Jaskier carefully applying the ointment to your shoulder. You felt the cooling effect easing the pain, “It’s very different from this world.” “Different how?” “First of all, we don’t have monsters. There are monstrous people who don’t deserve to be human, but no actual monsters like griffins.” “Oh?” “And we don’t have magic, or other races like elves or halflings, the only ‘races’ we got are people of different skin colors. Maybe they do exist, but I’ve never heard of them. And trust me, information can spread very wide and fast in my world.”

“I suppose a world without monsters and magic can be rather dull.” “Well not really? Technology itself is quite interesting. We have the internet. Which is pretty magical to me. Information can travel to the other side of the world in the blink of an eye. Not to mention talking to someone far far away, even in space.” “I’ve never heard of this ‘net’ you’re talking about but that sounds like one of those crystal devices the mages use.” “Yes but not everyone can have access to those crystals. I guess you can think of technology as magic that anyone can use, you don’t have to go through difficult training to learn how to use it.” “Hmm, interesting... Hey do you think you can let me try out one of your guns?” “Sure-” “No.” Geralt put the head on his hook, “It’s too dangerous.” “But-” “Let’s head back, y/n needs a healer.” Geralt interrupted Jaskier. “No I don’t-” “Quit arguing. I’m too tired for this.”

You and Jaskier followed Geralt out of the woods, sulking like two little kids got scolded.

§

The alderman who gave you the contract was so grateful for you taking care of the griffin that has been terrorizing the area for months, that he held a grand dinner party on the square.

A giant bonfire was set in the center, tables were set around the square, music accompanying the drunken laughter. The alderman made a toast to the witcher and his companions, promising the witcher he would always receive a warm welcome in this town.

You were getting sleepy- from having to drink some strong ale when the alderman made the toast, plus the food inside your stomach- sitting at the table, watching people dance in the blurry, orangy hue of the bonfire. Jaskier was flirting with two women, they were giggling at some stupid joke he said. You turned to talk to Geralt, wanted to make a bet about who’s going to get Jaskier in their bed tonight. But instead, you caught a woman staring right at him. She quickly turned her gaze away when you noticed her.

You nudged the witcher who’s focusing on getting more food down his belly.

“Hey, the girl over there? I think you should go talk to her.” you pointed in her direction with your chin. He turned to look at the young woman with dark hair. She was glancing over here, again, gaze bumped into Geralt’s right when he was looking. She blushed, then turned away.

“Why?” “Well, she might be interested in the griffin slaying story.” you shrugged. He looked again, she’s sipping on her drink, nodding to what her friend just said. “Well, just saying.” you stood up. “Where are you going?” “To bed, I’m going to sleep.” you gave him a smile, walked towards the alderman’s house where he provided you rooms for the night.

§

You heard the sound of the lute, disturbing you from your sleep. You groaned. It’s still early for your body to fully wake up.

You opened your eyes.

“Morning sunshine!” Jaskier sat by the bed, stroke his lute for another melody. “...Jaskier?...What are you doing in my room?” “Well technically, this is my room.” “...What?” you looked around, realized that this was not the room you put your bag in last night before the party. You must have opened the wrong door with the dim light in the hallway last night. “...Oh I’m sorry Jaskier...You should have woken me up...” “No worries! I spent the night with two lovely ladies last night at one of their houses.” You raised your brows, “Good for you.”

He grinned, “Care to join me for breakfast? I’d love to discuss more about last night but right now I have something rather important to ask you.” “...What is it?” you sat up, rubbing your eyes trying to wake yourself up. “Well, I might have told the ladies a little bit about you yesterday- specifically your world and your fascinating weapons-” “You what?” “I know! I know! I’m sorry!” he jumped up, “But they really want to see these guns I was talking about! They don’t quite believe what I told them.” “Oh Jaskier...” you sighed. “Also I really want to try out those guns, Geralt hasn’t been up yet, we still have some time before he ruins our fun?”

“...” you looked at him, his eyes were shiny like a little puppy’s. You sighed again, “Fine... -Only if! You buy me breakfast.” you stopped him before he could jump on bed and hug you, “And I want a fancy breakfast!” “You have yourself a great deal m’ lady!” he did a fancy bow, “I shall inform the ladies about this good news! I’ll meet you downstairs!” he walked out of the door.

You sat on the bed for a little while, so your brain can fully function. Then you rubbed your face, gave yourself a slight slap, stood up and went to the room you shared with Geralt. You gave a slight knock on the door before opening it. You heard some shuffle while you were walking in. Then you saw two naked bodies.

You quickly turned your back to them- “Oh Jesu- God! I’m sorry! I didn’t see anything!” you heard more shuffle. “I’m just gonna- I need my bag! Sorry!” you used your hand to cover the sight of the bed, and quickly walked beside it to get your backpack. “I’m not looking! Sorry! Just gonna get this real quick- Ooh! Nice ass, lady! Good job!” “Get out, y/n.” Geralt said with annoyance, his voice was hoarse. You couldn’t tell if it was from sleep or sex.

You felt a clench in your abdomen.

You picked up the bag and held it in your arms, “Sorry again!” quickly ran out of the door.

“Y/n? What happened?” seeing you ran downstairs holding your bag, Jaskier immediately broke his chit chat with the two girls and came towards you. “Nothing!” you shrugged. “You looked...upset.” “Oh, I”m just tired... You know what? Breakfast can wait, let’s go shoot some birds before Geralt gets up and stops us. I could use some fresh air to wake my brain.” “Good idea! Ladies! Let’s go check out these maleficent creations of men!” he turned to the two girls, held them each by the waist, and walked out the door with them.

§

You were strapping your bags onto Bob while Geralt doing his on Roach. You both didn’t say anything to each other, and it’s supposed to be a normal thing- at least you tried to tell yourself that it’s normal. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of awkwardness, you couldn’t even look his way.

“I’d say we don’t need anything like him.” you were checking on your supplies when you heard someone not far away from you. You turned to look, it was a man talking to a small group.

“Their kind? They always bring bad news. Monsters, curses, death? How do we know it’s not them who brought these to us?” The man wasn’t exactly speaking in a low voice, and his volume was raising as he got more excited seeing people nodding in agreement, “They are not exactly human, are they? And! They dare to ask us for gold! We were supposed to be protected! Weren’t they created to help us living in peace?”

Some noticed you staring, and turned their head away as if they knew it was wrong to accuse someone who just saved the whole town. Some started to walk away. Upon seeing his audience left, he raised his voice even more and continued his speech-

“I KNOW RIGHT?”

You said in a rather loud voice. People looked towards you in surprise, even Geralt gave you a side eye. But you were facing your horse, not looking at anyone.

“Going through difficult- impossible! training to become this incredible being they are? Pfff- how could people with such little minds like us possibly understand the hardship they've been through? And how dare they asking for a reward for protecting us good folks? It’s their job to risk their lives defending us from all the evil so we can live our short mundane life and make absolutely no contribution to our society!”

“Excuse me?” the man- who’s now confused with the tone you were speaking in while feeling offended- took a step towards you. Geralt, whose back was towards you, stopped whatever he was doing and tensed up slightly, preparing for what might go down- he’s not entirely sure which party he should stop if something happened.

“Oh! Kind sir!” you turned to look at the man with sincere surprise written all over your face, “Was I being too loud? I am terribly sorry sir, it’s the downside of traveling too much without proper social interaction. I tend to talk too loud. But you see, I’m just trying to make a point to my little fella here, I’m sure you can understand.” you gestured towards Bob, “You know them, they are all pretentious, selfish, narrow-minded beings, who just need a good lecture from time to time to remind them they are not as important as they think they are.” you rolled your eyes with a scoff at your horse, “My apologies for disturbing your afternoon, noble sir. We are going to finish up here real quick and continue our grand adventure of being heroes! Good day to you!” you said with a bright, innocent smile, led Bob by the rein and walked away from them.

“Oh! We are leaving already?” Jaskier popped out of nowhere with his lute on his back, “What did I miss?” he curiously looked at the man who’s angrily staring at your back but didn’t know how to deal with what just happened. Then looked at Geralt, who’s trying very hard not to laugh out loud. Geralt cleared his throat to calm himself, “...Nothing, we should go now.”

He quickly caught up on you. You were waiting, sitting on the grey stellion by the town’s gate.

“...You didn’t have to do that.” Geralt was on Roach’s back, he gave a slight pat on her neck. “I know.” you huffed, “But I can.” you gave him a smirk.

He shook his head, with a smile at the corner of his lip.

[sou-ver-2-0]

Maybe I'm thinking too much about the Persona games today, but are there any characters that you would pair any tarot arcana with?

What a fun question! I think that tarot cards have like, the coolest aesthetic ever. Unfortunately, I don’t know much about tarot arcana, so I went on a deep dive into Wikipedia to try to understand it. I’ll apologize in advance that A. E. Waith’s definitions for these cards feel very heteronormative. I’m working with the traditional definitions, but I try to make them work for a modern story.

Here are the character-card combinations I came up with:

0 – The Fool: Folly, mania, extravagance, intoxication, delirium, frenzy, bewrayment. [If the card is] Reversed: Negligence, absence, distribution, carelessness, apathy, nullity, vanity.

Joe Tazuna

Joe Tazuna is our gaudy, “extravagant” fool! The fool represents the “everyman,” and is often the “protagonist of the story” in Major Arcana. Joe, who is good-natured and clumsy, has the type of personality you’d expect to see in a story’s protagonist. Ironically, he is one of the first to die. His “absence” is deeply felt by our real protagonist, Sara, who must go on the “Fool’s Journey” “through the great mysteries of life and the main human archetypes” without him.

1 – The Magician: Skill, diplomacy, address, subtlety, pain, loss, disaster, snares of enemies; self-confidence, will; [it signifies] the Querent, if male. Reversed: Physician, mental disease, disgrace, disquiet.

Reko Yabusame

Reko is our “skilled,” “confident,” strong-willed musician magician! (And she often uses masculine pronouns, so why not give her a masculine card?) Reko has also suffered through “pain, loss, and disaster,” which has shaped her current mature, kind personality. And in the past, she was a “disgraced” rebellious rock star who burned through bands.

2 – The High Priestess: Secrets, mystery, the future as yet unrevealed; the woman who interests the Querent, if male; the Querent herself, if female; silence, tenacity; mystery, wisdom, science. Reversed: Passion, moral or physical ardor, conceit, surface knowledge.

Tia Safalin and Maple

This card made me think of both villainous ladies. Tia Safalin has knowledge of science, while Maple seems to also have mysterious wisdom about human nature and the future.

3 – The Empress: Fruitfulness, action, initiative, length of days; the unknown, clandestine; also difficulty, doubt, ignorance. Reversed: Light, truth, the unraveling of involved matters, public rejoicings; according to another reading, vacillation.

Sara Chidouin

The Empress can only be our Sara! The girl who takes “initiative” and becomes the group’s leader! She seeks to bring “light” and “truth” to discussions, and she “unravels mysteries.” And yet, she also suffers from “doubt” in herself, and “ignorance” of her surroundings.

4 – The Emperor: Stability, power, protection, realization; a great person; aid, reason, conviction also authority and will. Reversed: Benevolence, compassion, credit; also confusion to enemies, obstruction, immaturity.

Mr. Chidouin

We don’t know much about Mr. Chidouin, and I do not trust him one bit. However, he seemed to be a suitable companion to his “Empress” daughter. Kai Satou certainly thought he was “a great” and “benevolent” person, though he has an “immature” way of speaking.

5 – The Hierophant: Marriage, alliance, captivity, servitude; by another account, mercy, and goodness; inspiration; the man to whom the Querent has recourse. Reversed: Society, good understanding, concord, over kindness, weakness.

Kai Satou

The words “servitude” and “captivity” suit our homemaker Kai, who always lived in service to others—either Asu-Naro or the Chidouins. Kai is a “good” man, but he is also shown to be one of the “weakest” participants since he dies early on.

6 – The Lovers: Attraction, love, beauty, trials overcome. Reversed: Failure, foolish designs. Another account speaks of marriage frustrated and contrarieties of all kinds.

Nao Egokoro

I know that Nao’s story doesn’t have much romance in it, but I liked the duality of “trials overcome” combined with “failure” and “foolish designs” for our poor, brave Nao. She is a girl who grew a lot, and her heart was overflowing with love for her new friends, but in the end she was doomed to failure with the Sacrifice Card.

7 – The Chariot: Succour, providence; also war, triumph, presumption, vengeance, trouble. Reversed: Riot, quarrel, dispute, litigation, defeat.

Alice Yabusame

So many aggressive words in that description made me think of our “Murderer,” Alice! Alice was “triumphant” in his last fight with Original Sou, but he can be “defeated” by Rio Ranger.

8 or 11 – Justice: Equity, rightness, probity, executive; triumph of the deserving side in law. Reversed: Law in all its departments, legal complications, bigotry, bias, excessive severity.

Keiji

Of course I had to give “Justice” to everyone’s favorite self-proclaimed policeman, Keiji! Keiji lays down the law in our group, and don’t we all hope he’ll favor the “deserving side” instead of showing “excessive severity.”

9 – The Hermit: Prudence, circumspection; also and especially treason, dissimulation, roguery, corruption. Reversed: Concealment, disguise, policy fear, unreasoned caution.

Rio Ranger

“The Hermit” feels like a strange card to give to our childish doll villain, but I liked the descriptive words associated with “corruption” and “policy fear.” Rio Ranger commits “treason” by directly killing a participant, and he also “conceals and disguises” himself with masks and other people’s clothes.

10 – Wheel of Fortune: Destiny, fortune, success, elevation, luck, felicity. Reversed: Increase, abundance, superfluity.

Sue Miley

Sue Miley is the villain who introduces us to our destiny with the Practice Vote and the First Main Game. She sadistically wishes everyone “luck.”

8 or 11 – Strength: Power, energy, action, courage, magnanimity; also complete success and honours. Reversed: Despotism, abuse of power, weakness, discord, sometimes even disgrace.

Q-Taro

Q-Taro suits “strength” perfectly! His character arc is all about learning what true strength is. He begins the game from a place of cowardice and selfishness, but he becomes courageous and honorable.

12 – The Hanged Man: Wisdom, circumspection, discernment, trials, sacrifice, intuition, divination, prophecy. Reversed: Selfishness, the crowd, body politic.

Shin Tsukimi

How could my favorite doomed antagonist have any other card but “The Hanged Man”? Shin is cursed from the beginning of the game with a “prophecy” that he will die. He relies on “intuition” more often than logic and he can be very “selfish,” but he is also “wise” enough to want to protect the most vulnerable among them, leading to his “sacrifice.”

13 – Death: End, mortality, destruction, corruption; also, for a man, the loss of a benefactor; for a woman, many contrarieties; for a maid, failure of marriage projects. Reversed: Inertia, sleep, lethargy, petrifaction, somnambulism; hope destroyed.

Ranmaru Kageyama

I liked the card “death” for our main dummy Ranmaru, who has died and transformed. The words associated with “sleep” and “lethargy” also reminded me of his final moments, where he commented that death felt like going to sleep.

14 – Temperance: Economy, moderation, frugality, management, accommodation. Reversed: Things connected with churches, religions, sects, the priesthood, sometimes even the priest who will marry Querent; also disunion, unfortunate combinations, competing interests.

Kazumi Mishima

“Temperance” sounded like a good card for a wise character who lives in “moderation.” Mishima was cursed with an “unfortunate combination” of votes in the Practice Vote.

15 – The Devil: Ravage, violence, vehemence, extraordinary efforts, force, fatality; that which is predestined but is not for this reason evil. Reversed: Evil fatality, weakness, pettiness, blindness.

Original Sou Hiyori

“The Devil” is the most perfect card for my favorite villain! He is “violent” and goes to “extraordinary efforts” to manipulate the participants, but he has also suffered a “fatality.” I thought the phrase “predestined but is not for this reason evil” was especially intriguing for Original Sou, since I often wonder how much free will he could exercise within Asu-Naro.

16 – The Tower: Misery, distress, indigence, adversity, calamity, disgrace, deception, ruin. It is a card in particular of unforeseen catastrophe. Reversed: Negligence, absence, distribution, carelessness, apathy, nullity, vanity.

Gashu Satou

Gashu brings a terrible “unforeseen catastrophe” in the Second Main Game, when he would rather kill himself then give our characters a chance to escape! He is undoubtedly the best character for “The Tower.”

17 – The Star: Loss, theft, privation, abandonment; another reading says--hope bright prospects, Reversed: Arrogance, haughtiness, impotence.

Kanna Kizuchi

Kanna has suffered “loss” and she may be “abandoned” by the people she loves. However, her survival also brings “hope” and “bright prospects” in spite of the Death Game’s cruelty.

18 – The Moon: Hidden enemies, danger, calumny, darkness, terror, deception, occult forces, error. Reversed: Instability, inconstancy, silence, lesser degrees of deception and error.

The Dummies

The words related to “hidden enemies” in the “darkness” reminded me of our dummies, who are tasked with killing the human participants.

19 – The Sun: This card is generally considered positive. It is said to reflect happiness and contentment, vitality, self-confidence and success. Sometimes referred to as the best card in Tarot, it represents good things and positive outcomes to current struggles.

Gin Ibushi

Gin Ibushi is a light in our lives who brings Sara emotional comfort! In spite of having no tokens to defend himself in trades, nobody sent him the Sacrifice Card, which is a wonderful thing.

20 – Judgment: Judgement, Rebirth, Inner-calling, Absolution, Karma, Causality, Second chance

The Man from the Memorandum

The Man from the Memorandum, the winner of the Previous Death Game, seems to be the Mastermind of a new Death Game and is calling for a “second chance” for the High School Girl to survive. He pronounces judgment on every victim.

(It’s entirely possible that the Man from the Memorandum is Mr. Chidouin himself, which would make my distinguishing between them silly in hindsight! For now, I’ll assume they’re different people.)

21 – The World: Assured success, recompense, voyage, route, emigration, flight, change of place. Reversed: Inertia, fixity, stagnation, permanence.

The 17-Year-Old School Girl

Is 15.5% enough to “assure the success” of the High School Girl? Is that enough to “change her place” from dying in the First Death Game? Or will she be “permanently” dead? The entire “world” of the Death Game seems to hinge on this critical role!

[questionsonislam]

How a Muslim women should behave if some Muslim man teasing her just for fun, sending rubbish mails and bad words just for enjoyment?

It is forbidden to disturb not only Muslims but also non-Muslims. Therefore, it is a violation of Allah's and human's rights to disturb a Muslim lady out of fun and to injure her integrity and honor. Those who have done that should both repent and ask the injured person for forgiveness. Otherwise, in the Hereafter, the rightful will receive their dues rightfully:

Allah's Messenger (peace and blessings upon him) said: Do you know who is poor? They (the Companions of the Prophet) said: A poor man amongst us is one who has neither dirham with him nor wealth.

He (the Prophet) said: The poor of my Ummah (community) would be he who would come on the Day of Resurrection with prayers and fasts and Zakat but (he would find himself bankrupt on that day as he would have exhausted his funds of virtues) since he hurled abuses upon others, brought calumny against others and unlawfully consumed the wealth of others and shed the blood of others and beat others, and his virtues would be credited to the account of one (who suffered at his hand). And if his good deeds fall short to clear the account, then his sins would be entered in (his account) and he would be thrown in the Hell-Fire. (Muslim, Birr, 59)

In this case, a Muslim woman should possess the dignity and maturity fitting a Muslim lady; should not cast doubt with her behaviors, actions and posture; and if need be, she should notify the authorities.

[princeescaluswords]

I've had those same anons in my inbox, whenever I discuss the treatment of Scott and fandom commitment to white supremacist norms, they inevitably pop up accusing me of shipping pedophilic Scott ships. Which, zero proof of *and* it's a self drag cuz they are on some level admitting to knowingly shipping a minor (Stiles) with numerous adults and think I'm ~jealous~ it's not Scott instead. Or say Stiles is more ~interesting~ and that it isn't linked to white supremacy in any way

The thing about this particular subset of anons is that they use the same accusations in the same way against any person that comes across their path.  And you know they don’t actually expect you to answer them.  They’re trying to inflict emotional damage in the same way that a schoolyard bully makes fun of someone’s braces. 

One of their (this may be singular or plural – I suspect there may be One Single Anon Attack Drone that does all this) favorite insults to hurl against me is that I’m supposedly a Nazi sympathizer, which I’m not.  Do you know how they manufactured this calumny?  

I wrote a post about fan service in Season 6A, aka The Season of Fan Service, and I was complaining about how the writers turned Mr. Douglas into a joke to give Stiles an unearned hero moment.   In the episode Blitzkrieg 6x08, Mr. Douglas took three point-blank shotgun blasts from Chris Argent, professional werewolf hunter, and shrugged them off like they were nothing, yet in Riders of the Storm, 6x10, Stiles slugged Mr. Douglas in the back of the head with a baseball bat, and the lowenmensch ran away.   It was obvious fan service, and I, frustrated by the writing, said “why didn’t he just stand up and tear his f*cking head off?”  Anyone actually reading the post can see the context in which I said those words.

Now, they will claim again and again and again that they have the ‘receipts’ and that they have screen shots of the post, yet they never actually produce the post.  Because any reasonable person reading that post will see my context.

But they don’t need reason or context or evidence.  Their accusations of pedophillia, of Nazi sympathizing, of stalking, come from the same  source as their idea that Liam Dunbar was actually a born wolf and Scott’s bite didn’t actually change him, that Scott’s alpha ascension was the product of sinister manipulation by Alan Deaton, that Stiles was going to be the keystone sacrifice, that Season 4 Derek was actually a clone, that there was a mirror universe, and that Scott really intended to hand Jiang and Tierney over to Monroe.  It’s what they want to be real, and to them that’s sufficient to make it real.

Now, they’ll claim that my accusations of racism are similar, but the difference is that I can point out evidence, which they don’t bother to even try to refute.  They don’t have to argue it, because they know they didn’t really pay attention to the show the first time, and they’re not sure they can refute it.  

And anyway, I suspect sending Anonymous Attack Drones is far more satisfying to them.

[multsicorn]

THOUGHTS AND FEELS on ep 31 ~

I really like the way that Wei Wuxian’s missing his sister and brother contrasts with Wen Quing missing (the potential of what she could’ve had) with Jiang Cheng, as both similar and different.  The mixture of sympathy and envy? jealousy? neither of those words feel kind and passive enough but - yearning that’s kind of flavored that way - between them keeps the ‘things we’ve lost’ heartstrings strumming quite well.

There’s something about the style of discussion in the halls of the Jin clan in which Wei Wuxian is mostly not-quite accused of anything, in which people who want to defend him and/or object to the calumnies are not-quite silenced, but simply talked down and/or around, that feels very unpleasantly familiar and realistic to me.

I wish I had any feeling of why or even, and more importantly, how Jiang Li and Jin Zixuan like each other!  Is there anything between them besides ‘we’ve agreed to marry, and we love our kid’?  .... especially now that he died oh-so-tragically (for other people), and it’s unlikely we’ll see more in the future.

I love the way that Wei Wuxian’s not-quite-legitimate origins end up adding extra feeling to everything that people say now that he’s an outlaw about: how he’s no one, how you can’t trust him, etc.  From nothing to everything to both nothing and everything (Yiling Patriarch!!! clan leader and untouchable!), it’s a hell of a journey, and it works so well as a setting for his touchy pride.  (Which itself is just fun to watch, I’m sayin’).

e.g., If I wanted to kill you, you’d be suffering more.  omg, WWX.

WHAT THE HELL is going on with Wen Ning’s two irises, that looks creepy as fuck.

… and then, well, I was gonna say that using your friend as a puppet might not be very nice, but I guess we’re way past that now!!  Fuck.  Of all the ways to find out you don’t have control!  Very few would be worse.  (Great setup.)

And IM CRYING but I love how our unstoppable super-agentic hero has in fact been made to LIE DOWN for just a bit so literally, downed in the back by an acupuncture needle, and let someone else make the decision to take the fall for once.  He’s lost everything he’s sacrified everything else for!!!  So very drama!!!  *claps* *cries*

[pamphletstoinspire]

Taming the Tongue: 10 Fatal Abuses of Speech

Saint James warns us that we should be slow to speak and quick to listen. The Imitation of Christ asserts that few have ever regretted refraining from speaking. On the other hand, many regret having opened their mouths when they should have kept them shut. Still more, Jesus warns us that every word that comes forth from our mouth we will be judged; and Jesus says: “From the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”

Finally, St. Bonaventure asserts that we should open our mouths in three occasions: to praise God, to accuse ourselves and finally, to edify others. Hopefully this will be our criteria for speaking! The primary purpose for this gift of speech that God has given to the human person is to communicate the truth with love.

We would then like to briefly go over the ten fatal flaws that result from improper speech. In each instance, our goal is to find the preventive medicine rather than curative. The reason being is that once a word has been issued forth from the mouth, it cannot be retrieved. Much like when a rock is launched in the direction of a window pane, it cannot be returned to the hand but it instead goes out and shatters the glass in nearly an instant. So when it comes to taming the tongue, it is far better to prevent the stones of our words then to try to repair the damage.

1. Lying

Lies should be avoided at all costs. A lie perverts the proper end and purpose of human speech, by falsifying the truth that ought to be spoken. If all were to lie then human solidarity and unity would be impossible because nobody could trust anybody’s word and we would then always be living with the suspicion that the other who speaks is deceiving. Jesus said that the devil is the father of lies. Therefore, in a very real sense liars are sons and daughter of the devil! A strong statement, but true.

2. Telling White Lies

Many will justify the lie by saying that it is only a white lie, an inoffensive lie, that nobody will be hurt, or even that the white lie was said to avoid doing harm to the other person. There was a moment when Charlie Brown told Lucy that what he told was only a white lie. Lucy responded: “Charlie, I did not know that lies come in colors.” In sum, your speech should always communicate the truth in the big as well as in the small things. Jesus reminds us that those who are faithful in the small will be faithful in the large.

3. Shouting and Yelling

Frustrated people who have little self-control often have recourse to yelling or shouting, with the hope of moving the listeners to action; this might also be the case of parents with their children. The end is to get those subject to the shouting to submit in obedience, which rarely results as planned. On the contrary, people will pay even less attention to the overly-emotional and uncontrolled shouting. Rather than losing control of our emotions, it is far better to give fraternal correction but with calmness and peace. In this way you show love, even while giving parental or fraternal correction, while also maintaining control over your tongue.

4. Slander or Calumny

At all costs, we should strive to maintain and defend not only our own good reputation but also the reputation of others. All have a right to the defense of their good name. But how quickly somebody’s good name can be undone by the slander of another! Therefore, calumny or slander can be defined as “character assassination”—that is to say, killing the good name of another.

Actually, in this light, slander not only violates The Eight Commandment—”Thou shall not bear false witness against his neighbor”—but it can also be seen as a violation of The Fifth Commandment: “Thou shalt not kill.” Even The Book of Proverbs tells us the harm that is done by slander or calumny: “A man who bears false witness against his neighbor is like a war club, or a sword, or a sharp arrow.”

5. Speaking Gossip

All too prevalent in our modern society are those who have become the gossiper. Such a person always finds the negative act and motivations in the other person and then speaks about that behind their back.

Gossipers cause damage in many ways:

a) They hurt God, the source of truth who hears all things. b) They hurt themselves by sinning by their speech. c) They hurt the persons listening to their gossip. d) Finally, and most obviously, they hurt the person against whom they are gossiping.

If you are a gossiper, or you even listen to gossip, stop right now! The Holy Bible is clear about avoiding this: “Do not spread slanderous gossip among your people,” (Leviticus 19:16). Remember, Jesus says that every careless word that comes from your mouth you will be judged. Be prepared for judgment day!

6. Sarcasm in Speech

Sarcasm is using irony and mockery to show contempt. Utilizing sarcasm wounds charity; it is like adding salt to the opened wound. It hurts, burns and smarts! The sarcastic person belittles, disparages and pokes fun at others, gets the listeners to laugh and degrades others and their innate dignity.

Before giving in to sarcasm, apply the Golden Rule. How would you like it if you were to be the butt of a sarcastic joke? Do to others what you want them to do to you. So speak to other and about them as you would like to spoken to and about.

7. Breaking Confidence

If what you have heard is meant to be kept in confidence, not revealed, or to be kept secret, then it’s best to keep your mouth shut and sealed.

Priests must maintain the seal of the confessional. Professionals are obliged to maintain confidence in many cases. In this case, the common proverb, silence is golden, is indeed is very true. Therefore, in taming the tongue to prevent this fatal flaw, we sometimes we are obliged to simply remain silent. In this, we have a very eloquent silence indeed!

8. Blasphemy

Of the utmost serious flaw of the tongue is that of blasphemy. What then is blasphemy? In Father John Hardon’s Pocket Catholic Dictionary we read:

“BLASPHEMY: Speaking against God in a contemptuous, scornful, or abusive manner. Included under blasphemy are offenses committed by thought, word or action, serious contemptuous ridicule of the saints, sacred objects, or of persons consecrated to God is also blasphemous because God is indirectly attacked. Blasphemy is a grave violation of charity against God. Its gravity may be judged by capital punishment in the Old Testament, severe penalties in the Church, and in many cases also of the State.”

A concrete and recent example of this was the abuse and the desecration of a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary by pouring fake blood over the statue on Christmas Eve in Oklahoma. Through this act, the Church was mocked and Our Lord’s mother was attacked. May God have mercy on us!

9. Abusive and Vulgar Language

While not as serious as blasphemy, a great abuse of the tongue is the all-too prevalent proliferation of vulgar language. Often words are used to degrade the human person as well as the intimate act that God has designed for the procreation of new human beings. This is wrong and should be brought to a screeching halt for those who are in the habit of using such ugly and indecent language.

We should never forget that we are temples of the Holy Spirit. As Catholics, our tongues partake of the Body and Blood of Jesus whenever we receive Holy Communion. As part of our preparation for Holy Communion we should tame the tongue to be ready to receive such a great gift.

We should act according to the dignity of who we are—Temples of the Living God. We ought to also act according to our dignity as future citizens of Heaven, our eternal home with God!

10. Bragging and Boasting

Another form of speech that we should eschew is that of bragging or boasting.

What is this form of speech? It is when we are praising and placing ourselves above all, lauding and adulating our own supposed greatness. In this we attribute all of our successes, merits, and rewards to our own greatness. This is very displeasing to God because it is the epitome of pride!

God lifts up the lowly, but despises the proud of heart. Our Lady in her Magnificat expresses this truth:

“For he has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness…

He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly.”

Our attitude of heart should be that of the Psalmist: Not to us, LORD, not to us but to your name give glory.

FR. ED BROOM, OMV

From: https://www.pamphletstoinspire.com/

[wanderlust-and-road-dust]

Prompt #22: Alphabet Soup.

Swearing and some kind of sort of naughty bits joked about.

An awkward altercation advances an altruistic alterboy to an aggressively assisted afterlife. Because a beautiful bastard belted out boundless bravura to a bitchy bystander not bent to be bemused. Can’t complain as it caused chaos, a complete calumny, as the cur coveted coy cockamamie callouts, can confirm cradling cajones soon. Dear darling went down drastically due to a dastardly dealt deathblow to the danglin’ dongle near his derriere. Even the emasculated exclaimed at the execution just enacted upon the egregious effluence emanated from the entitled egghead. Foul faker fucked himself feverishly and feigned false ferocity was focused to his front fun stick. Good grace was with the grim gal as the garrulous gang of gawkers guarded against a group of gathering gaolers. Hightailed it hastily homeward, hoped a heroic hombre would help handle the heat. Instant ingress into an isolated interior of ill repute, indeed it included many an individual in indecent inclination with intense intent. Our Jill juked a Jeff jerking, jagged a John jacking, just joking, just jabbering jackasses justifiably jaded at the jacketed jackdaw jumping by the jackanapes. Killed the mood. Lets leg it lest we linger longer on languid losers licking liquids best left not lapped, lightning listed leeward lunging low. Moving mobility minimally mucked by moi- maybe miss that most maligned word, many mouthbreathers malingered momentarily at the marvel of a ma’m making for mach speeds away from a moribund and maudlin mockery of masculinity. No nevermind to the nasal noises of natal nagging from the nitwit. Onto an ox and over an oaken barrel of oats to obfuscate our overachieving outline, ordinarily origins of outtakes like this often occur outside. Put plainly pissed patrols pursue positively pathetically when posted periodically when it’s pouring pots of particulate pieces of petrichor persuading plip-plops. Quite quizzical queries quack but are quashed quickly. Really rapid relay of raging and rabid roustabouts rush to rumble rugged retainers of royal rule. Stupefied at the sight of several score of soused supplicants scrambling to scatter stones at stoic soldiers straining to sustain some semblance of stability. The truth of the terrific turbulence tumbling through the thoroughfares and taking to task the titanic toughness of thugs was the thoughtless taunting of a tiny twerp taught to not talk trash. Unfortunately unforeseen ululations unleashed unholy umbrage unto universally all of Ul’dah. The viera venting violence should have veiled vengeance and held her voice void in the city of vice. Well, water under the bridge, wax poetically when the withering heat wanes, wander westward for a while. Excellent exposition exit stage right. Yonder yalms to yearn after. Zero qualms about the crisis behind her, Zilch.

[icequeenjules26]

Maybe you don’t really want me here

 Summary: Dan and Phil have been broken up for months, and Dan is over it, he really is! It's just that maybe he possibly isn't over Phil after all...

Word Count: 2,3k

Tags: Angst with a happy ending (but not really tbh)

A/n: My fic written for the @phandomficfests Shuffle mode! I got the Song Why am i like this by Orla Gartland and decided to take the lines maybe you don’t really want me there at your birthday party i’ll be there in the corner, thinking right over every single word of the conversation we just had And do something with it! It's entirely different from the way I usually write, so I really hope you guys like it!  Beta’d by the princess @mateusz1912

Read on AO3

This story begins like so many stories do these days - jumping in on the hero in an astonishingly uncomfortable situation. Not that Dan would consider himself a hero, per se. But sometimes, during those late-night session where sleep is nothing but a distinct memory that somehow somewhere had probably played a vital role in his life, he finds himself relating to those gag-worthy postcard sayings of worldly wisdom that under normal circumstances would never even reach him. And those usually say that humans are the heroes of their own story.

 Which, generally, is not a bad advice in life. And to a certain degree, Dan even agrees - he doesn’t believe in this big, looming, almighty entity that somehow always pushes all lifes into the direction they want them to. So yes, he does think that the most important presence determining the outcome of his life is himself. But the rest of it - this encouraging, motivational undertone - just rubs him the wrong way. Because life is nothing but a series of disappointments, and then you die. Right?

 Once upon a time, he might have thought differently about it. He might have thought that yes, fighting is the way to go; that all those motivational quotes had a point and life deserved a chance of redemption, just like any good villian in a story did. But, just like most redemption arcs, it had failed spectacularly in terms of execution. Now Dan basically tags around out of spite. He wants to kick life in the butt with full force, just so he can say I did it. With nothing but myself.

 So, back to the uncomfortable situation we find our hero in. It’s a birthday party. Some of you might stop here, pause for a moment and think - wait. Birthday parties are not that bad. Even the introverts will probably conclude that astonishingly uncomfortable is nothing but a humorous exaggeration to drive the reader in faster. So, an elaboration seems to be in order.

 Obviously, it’s not just any birthday party. It’s not the one of his younger brother, who might be a stereotypical facebook vegan (with those ridiculously humourless vegan friends that take everything you say just a tad bit too serious); but still manages to forget all that when it comes to his birthday party and just drinks himself straight into oblivion - no matter if the alcoholic beverage he does it with is actually vegan or not. It’s not Christian’s, either, his best friend with slightly suicidal tendencies (at least if his heart rate inducing favorite activities are anything to go by; like motorcycles and dancing and bungee jumping - all three on the same level of ridiculous suicidalness, in Dan’s book) - even though he is only an ordinary adrenaline junky, or so he says.

 It’s not even one Christian simply dragged him along to, one where he doesn’t know anyone and just drinks until there’s nothing on his mind than to have fun with his best friend.

 No. It’s worse.

 Far worse.

 It’s the one of his ex boyfriend, Phil.

 Yes, most of you will say now, yes, that does qualify as astonishingly uncomfortable. And it is, at least for Dan, if only because they didn’t part on particularly good terms - but it gets even worse. He’s honestly only here for his best friend, who is something like the adoptive brother of the birthday boy. They do share a good relationship, yes; they love each other like real brothers. But, like in all stories, there is a big, fat BUT coming. Phil’s current girlfriend, Tara, a lively, bubbly girl who probably doesn’t even know about the web of contradictory feelings she is entangled in, is not only Christian’s secret ex, no. She’s also the girl he is still ruthlessly in love with.

 (If asked, Christian would just deny it. He’d argue back that Dan is just projecting, that the same goes for him and Phil. But that’s just calumny, nothing else.)

 For that reason, and that reason alone, Dan agreed to even attend to this party. Christian has the brotherly obligation to be here, obviously, even if they’re not related by blood; but Dan’s presence is tolerated at best, and he’s at least ninety percent certain Phil would have kicked him right back out the door if it wouldn’t have been for Christian bringing him. He’d seen the question in his eyes when he’d greeted them at the door, the raised eyebrow and the hesitating stance, like wait, what’s he doing here.

 They both knew Christian better than this. They both knew that he wouldn’t have brought Dan under normal circumstances, that there was something up with that. Dan is aware of the reason, has spend hours over hours with Christian agonizing over the what if’s. He can’t blame him, though, for the sole fairness of life; Christian had spend at least an equal amount of time with Dan whining over Phil, and he’s his brother. Dan, at least, has the added bonus that he didn’t know Tara particularly well. He liked her, sure, still does; in a sisterly way of wrap her in a blanket and never let her leave the den. She was cute, enthusiastic, happy; the light to Christian’s darkness, a darkness that Phil didn’t have in him and never would.

 Tara and Christian just - fit, in a way that Dan never even comprehended… In a way that Christian claims Phil fits with Dan. He’s not too sure of it, and he’s completely over Phil now. Entirely. (And it has nothing to do with the pit of darkness opening up in his stomach at the thought of losing Phil yet again, of going through a breakup at least equally as messy as the last one. He’s not scared. Dan Howell doesn’t even know the word scared. He thinks. Probably. Most definitely.)

 Phil knows something’s up, Dan can detect it in the way Phil’s eyes don’t leave him for longer than a few minutes through the whole night. It doesn’t surprise him too much; he had assumed Phil would be cautious, would watch him like a hawk and just wait for him to make a mistake, to reveal why he’s there with a few words mindlessly thrown into a conversation Phil isn’t even a part of.

 It was the intensity of his burning looks that hit Dan like a brick wall in the middle of a drive; that caught him off guard and completely ripped him of his focus. They lead him to complete uselessness in the emotional support department, even if Christian could obviously need it. He’s nervous, jumpy and anxious, he shifts every time someone moves and Dan can’t do much more than to sit next to him, offering physical comfort in little touches. Tara has eyes basically solemnly for Christian, and even if the most parts of his muddled mind are occupied with other matters he still notices and makes a mental note to tell Christian about it later,

when they’re not surrounded by people that would soak that information right up.

 So, instead of being helpful like he is supposed to Dan just sits in the corner, nursing a strong drink Christian mixed him right at the beginning, debating his current state of existence. It’s obvious that Phil maybe, probably, doesn’t even want him here, but he knows he can’t leave, for Christian’s sake; he is already at the edge of sanity with his best friend there as backup, Dan doesn’t even want to imagine the catastrophic repercussion his departure would probably cause.

 All that is left for him to do is pondering over every last thing Phil had ever said to him. He reviews their whole relationship, the breakup; aspects he hasn’t been able to think about for months. It sends him into a spiral, more and more scenes shoving themselves in front of his eyes until all he sees and feels and hears are flashbacks of and with Phil. Christian shakes him out of them approximately five seconds later, but to Dan it feels like eternity spend in his recollection of the past, and he downs the rest of his drink in one go when he snaps out of it.

 As we probably all know, alcohol has a habit of making people forget things, so the rest of the night is nothing but a blur to Dan. He thinks he slurs some hurt words to Phil three drinks into it, but he can’t be sure, he only remembers black hair; it could as well have been Christian, who doesn’t remember more either.

 The only thing this birthday party does for our hero is opening up wounds he’d long since assumed to be completely dissipated. He’s back to wallowing in some sort feelings synthesis, containing anguish and antagonism and a multiple of others he has no words for, and he doesn’t know how to get back to before everything fell apart all over again. Christian does his best to help, though, so he copes; only breaking down in tears once or twice or ten times.

 Time jumps are a vital part to every other story, so this one contains one, too; if only because the next weeks are basically insignificant. We join back to our hero a few months later, at the end of may; where his birthday is edging closer in significant steps and he slowly but surely runs out of ways to justify his moping.

 There’s a ring at the door that evening and it catches him entirely by surprise. Christian is still out, in rehearsals with the Royal Ballet, and even though Dan expects him back any minute now he knows it’s not him, simply because Christian has a key and hasn’t forgotten it once in his life. So, really, he doesn’t know who he expects it to be, but when he opens the door and Tara greets him with a smile he’s more than startled.

 He asks her in and offers tea, and when she agrees he spends the time he needs to prepare it with contemplating the purpose of her visit. He has no idea what she wants and it makes him anxious and fidgety, even though he knows she’s not a bad or insufferable person and he has nothing to fear from her.

 She beats around the bush for a few minutes, clearly uncomfortable, but when she finally spills the metaphorical tea (she doesn’t spill the real tea, thankfully), he’s glad she came to talk to him. She tells him about what’s been going on with her and Phil, that they finally called it quits this morning after basically living past each other for weeks; and his heart beats higher when she comes clear about her feelings towards Christian and Phil’s towards him. She tells him that, really, their relationship was mostly just a try to escape reality: the reality that they were both still in love with their exes. It’s an incredibly entangled situation they’re suddenly finding themselves in, but the solution seems to be too easy to be true.

 “I love Christian,” Tara says, looking Dan straight into the eyes, “and Phil loves you. It’s easy, really. All I want to know if those feelings are mutual.”

 It takes him a few seconds to wrap his head around everything, but when he does there’s a clarity in his mind that comes as much as a surprise as it does in handy. Truth is that he loves Phil and always had, and as much as he wished it did even the time he spent in denial won’t ever be able to change that; and Christian’s feelings for Tara aren’t even a real secret anymore.

 “I never stopped loving Phil,” he tells her in all honesty, “and Christian has accepted the fact that he’ll never love anyone as much as he loves you a long time ago.”

 When Christian stepps foot into the flat he’s immediately attacked by Tara, who’s kissing him senseless, while our hero already took off towards his happy ending.

 Maybe it’s bad form to spoil the ending - but really, who even thinks things could still go wrong at this point? Sure, it’s definitely too easy, the way their problems are resolving themselves in the end, but, really, Dan has spend enough time in agony and heartbreak to deserve it - a nice, easy way to happiness, no conflict or outright war; at least not anymore. It’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass later, a few years into their relationship, when one of them asks for a marriage the other one doesn’t feel ready for or at all entitled to; but right now that’s nothing to be concerned about.

 All that matters is that when Dan arrives at Phil’s place and bears his heart to him Phil is nothing if not empathetic, and when Dan takes the word love into his mouth there’s tears swimming in Phil’s eyes that almost break Dan down right then and there on Phil’s doorstep. It’s probably rushed and precipitated but none of them cares - and is it really when Dan has spend months waiting for this moment, hoping, praying to a god he doesn’t even believe in?

 When they kiss it’s like everything has come full circle. There’s metaphors and sayings shooting through Dan’s muddled brain that he would have called romanticised and hyperbolical just seconds ago but now seem nothing but wholesome and fitting; and he feels love and happiness rushing through his veins like a wildfire. He’s warm and content for the first time in months and life’s redemption arc suddenly doesn’t seem so failing anymore.

 When the group dynamics between all of them - Dan, Phil, Christian and Tara - fall into place just days afterwards Dan knows they all did the right thing, and suddenly he’s glad he had to suffer through this astonishingly uncomfortable situation. Because it all worked out in the end, and sometimes, things have to get worse before they can get better.

 (And if Dan has to retch at this motivational saying it just shows him that in the end, he’s still the same as he was before. Just a bit happier.)

[solo1y]

A Hawk from a Handsaw

A big problem facing any actor who wants to play Hamlet is that many of the lines are so well-known that they pop out of the text, drawing attention to themselves in distracting ways. I can only imagine how irritating it would be to hear a murmured sign of recognition from a thousand people when you’re trying to portray a serious emotion.

Even worse, the recognition many of us feel for certain lines of Hamlet is sometimes misplaced, as in the following examples, in order of where they appear by act and scene:

1. III “Neither a borrower nor a lender be”

This comes in the middle of a boring, platitudinous speech by Polonius which is supposed to sound like spurious old-fashioned gibberish for the purpose of humour. Sadly, in our enlightened times of selfies and mix tapes, almost everything said by every character in the play sounds like spurious old-fashioned gibberish, so it’s hard to get the joke. 

In fact, some modern viewers (and even actors and directors) seem to think this passage is meant as genuine advice for the young, and turn it into a sincere litany of sensible and timely warnings to Laertes. 

Spoiler alert for these people: Laertes will spend his time at university drinking and whoring around (or as Ophelia delicately puts it, “the primrose path of dalliance”).

1. IV “... to the manner born.”

I have more than once seen this mistaken for an admission of a wealthy upbringing, presumably mistaking “manner” (style, fashion) for “manor” (big house), an impression which can have been in no way helped by a popular BBC sitcom which intentionally misspelled the quotation.

In reality, Hamlet is explaining that he is predisposed to the tradition (of drunken carousing). 

1. IV “More honor'd in the breach than the observance”

The general impression is that this refers to a custom that no one follows anymore, even though that interpretation makes no sense. What Hamlet is actually saying is that the tradition (of drunken carousing) is so stupid that it is more honourable to not follow it. “Honor’d” in this case means “bestowed with honour” (like “garlanded”) rather than the past tense of “to honour”. 

1. V “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”

This is often taken to mean that the world is full of strange things, certainly more than Horatio can imagine. In fact, it’s more likely that we can take it literally. Horatio has just come back from Wittenberg, where he was probably studying philosophy, because everyone studied philosophy back then, because philosophy included everything we consider science today. 

It’s very possible Hamlet was making fun of his friend in the way, these days, a parent might say to a student on their first weekend home, “Not everything is covered in your fancy book-learnin’ classes” before launching into a speech about the University of Life.

2. II “..brevity is the soul of wit”

This line is spoken by Polonius and has nothing to do with laconic comedy. The word “wit” here refers to intelligence or general wisdom, and the joke is that Polonius delivers this line in the middle of a long, rambling speech that no one asked for. This is called irony.

3. II “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

For some reason, modern audiences feel that this means that the lady in the play within a play is protesting too much, or in denial of her love. In reality, as the action of the play within a play makes clear, it’s the opposite. The lady in the play within a play is professing her love for the villain too eagerly, which Gertrude reasonably feels is a calumny on her honour, and even then, only when Hamlet asks her directly. 

3. IV “Hoist with his owne petar”

This phrase is frequently taken to mean “stabbed with his own sword” or something like that. In fact, it means “blown up by his own bomb”, by which he means that the plan Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had to kill him will be used to kill them, to “blow them at the moon”. Which is fair. 

[tetheredsins]

@bornsinnrs.

         ‘  pick up, cleo...     ’  the virile will grouse to himself while his languished optics gander at the man in uniform, the clicks and clacks of the haematid doors in the near distance. he has a sole call to make, under the divestiture of the law ; and he’s supplicating in his mind the only person he could bestow in would pick up her phone, considering the contrariant schedules of his arrest and her appointment. he had gone against his better judgment to stay in the domicile of his work place, instead of being present in the doctors office where his inamorata had begged and pleaded with him to be at ; and now, he was paying the sequela of his decisions ... his pharmaceutics being taken into custody, his alliances with his business partners being in jeopardy, and most importantly ; the fumigation that she was liable to feel towards him. with countless rings, gabriel let out a sigh of mollification, expatiating before she could even get a word in ;          ‘  baby, i need your help. i’m at the jail, and i need to be bailed out. it’s a pretty high amount but i’m not worried about it cause it’s not like i’m some kind of bum working at the local target. ---- i was seen at a drug bust, but none of it was mine. just a good samaritan who likes to indulge in some fun activities every once in a while. swear people have no compassion for people who just need some help.      ’   he’ll side eye the deputy staring him down, disgorging calumny over the phone but they B O T H knew the axiom. 

[uomo-accattivante]

Unlisted in the credits for the visceral production of Hamlet which opened tonight at New York’s Public Theater are the custodians who, after every performance, must clean up the sodden and muddy Anspacher stage after the movie star—and Public Theater alum—Oscar Isaac and his fellow actors have left the stage.

This is not a large space, it is not a large cast, and the most significant props are flowers, a table, and—later—all that soil and muck. The characters are dressed in modern garb, and there is even a very modern restroom where the characters periodically retreat to. Yes, that’s Polonius sitting on the toilet.

It’s not every production of Hamlet where you will see Ophelia make short work of a meal of lasagna, but here Gayle Rankin, a restless and stroppy Ophelia rather than a wispy and tragic one, ravenously piles in mouthfuls of the dish.

The production’s spartan-ness and its modernity makes this very much a Sam Gold production—and give the poor man a cold compress; in the last year he has directed distinctive productions of Othello at the New York Theatre Workshop, The Glass Menagerie and A Doll’s House, Part 2, on Broadway and now this.

It was Gold, as Oskar Eustis, the Public’s artistic director, points out in the Hamlet program, who shepherded the magnificent adaptation of Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home from the Public to Broadway and then on to touring success.

Some did not like The Glass Menagerie, of course (this critic did), and elements of the aesthetic of that production, and of Gold’s Othello and A Doll’s House, Part 2, recur here. All that you may not like about starkly reimagined plays that Gold has done before may rankle here. The red carpet and office chairs are the quintessence of drab.

For Gold, the text is the thing. Décor should startle but not overwhelm. A bare stage gives all the more room for movement. Gold is more keen to find new angles for the characters to face the audience, to shock us with a visual, to produce innovative, mischievous beats in a play, than he is to overgild and over-design.

As in those other productions, lighting is key. If theater-goers recall the mysterious cloak of near-darkness of Othello and Menagerie—and which Gold has employed in his productions of Annie Baker plays like The Flick and John—then they won’t be surprised when it descends again in Hamlet, with the words of the actors emanating from the gloam.

This production is distinguished by a bracing tour de force performance of Isaac, whose movies include 2013’s Inside Llewyn Davies, criminally robbed at the Oscars, Ex Machina, and playing Poe Dameron in Star Wars: The Force Awakens and the forthcoming The Last Jedi. He revealed recently in The New York Times that he had read Hamlet to his mother Eugenia as she lay gravely ill; she died in February. “It’s for my mom that I’m doing it,” he said of this production of Hamlet. “It’s to honor her life, but also her death, which was so awful.” He named his son Eugene, born in April, after her.

The play begins and is studded, though not heavily, with comedy, which is not something you might associate with Hamlet. However, Gold is also respectful of the play and its characters.

Keegan-Michael Key, who plays Horatio, addresses us as himself as the actors gather on stage, to ask us to turn off our cellphones, and to not—as one audience member has already attempted—to plug their cellphone into the socket on stage. He also reminds us, regarding the duration of the play, that it is really, really long.

He’s right. Three and a half hours. You have to commit to this Hamlet.

Key doesn’t mug, but his scenes, whether through his looks to audience or incomprehension, bring fun with them. And it is not just him: Other characters revel for moments in their absurd or overheated plights, and we laugh with them too.

Of the more traditional light relief of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (Roberta Colindrez, also playing Reynaldo, and Matthew Saldívar), it is Colindrez’s deadpan and waspish monotone that is winning.

The story is familiar, but Gold and his cast’s interpretive breadth is wide. Isaac’s Hamlet is tortured, crazy, witty, and vengeful. Sometimes he is all of those things together: a bran-tub of moods, all utterly believable, as he deduces that his father was murdered by his scheming brother Claudius (Ritchie Coster, also the play’s fight captain).

Coster also plays the sporadically appearing spirit of the dead king, which makes for a very effective on-stage duality in his dealings with Isaac, who one moment will be wishing his dead father back, and the next minute spitting venom at his suspected murderer; and somehow Coster deftly segues from noble to reptilian in a flash.

Gold too doubles up Ophelia and her father Polonius (the excellent Peter Friedman, who you want to listen to for hours; his cadence and timing are meticulous) as their own gravediggers, and this after a stunning scene in which Ophelia’s drowning is staged using two planters requisitioned from outside the theater, soil from those planters, a hosepipe, and flowers. Stand by for mess.

The energy when Isaac is not on stage dips, and if this play has a flaw it is that it follows all of Hamlet the play’s highways and byways: You feel that three and a half hours by the end. Depending on where you’re sitting in the oddly partitioned and leveled Anspacher, you may not see characters very clearly if at all when they’re in that bathroom, or in another room, or loitering behind pillars. Claudius’ death looked particularly odd when viewed from where I was.

Yet this long, ranging adaptation with its many moods and paces never sinks. Gold doesn’t let it, even when Hamlet is absent from the stage. Isaac’s tones, and his running and cavorting on stage, eventually stripped down to a pair of black briefs and in a T-shirt and babbling lunatically, is a performance made all the more forceful by being realized in such a small space.

What strikes you, because the performers and their director have clearly studied and immersed themselves in the play, is the beauty of Shakespeare’s language (and who could want more than that?), and how much there is in Hamlet: family, power, madness, the creation of art, love, grief, betrayal, and revenge. And all the great-hit lines are here too: “Alas, Poor Yorick…” and “To be or not to be,” which here occurs as it occurs in the play, rather than at its beginning (which the Benedict Cumberbatch adaptation toyed with in 2015). As for Yorick’s skull, well that becomes a mock-foetus at some point. Only Ophelia’s brother Laertes (Anatol Yusuf) is played traditionally straight; stout and outraged by the calumnies around him, he seems to have been beamed in from a more conventional production. (At least he gets to wrestle Hamlet in the dirt near the end.)

How challenging it is to find something new and resonant in these well-known lines for both actors and director, yet this Hamlet does it. It also finds a moving heart to the tortured relationship of Hamlet and his mother Gertrude (Charlayne Woodard); he furiously accusing her of betraying her husband, his father’s, memory in marrying his brother; and she—for much of the time at a regal remove to her son’s madness—recognizing far too late what that means and the truth about her new husband.

Through Isaac’s performance, you really do come to see Hamlet himself as a one-man study in the human condition.

There are some odd gaps in the production; most notably, Hamlet and Ophelia function so separately in the play and seem so independent as characters, they seem more like kindred spirits than lovers when on stage; Hamlet’s later agonized declarations of love for her seem odd, and Ophelia’s ultimate tragedy seems squarely hers.

The body count at the end is well-known. But Isaac’s arresting performance means that we stay rapt until Hamlet’s very last breath, and Shakespeare’s very last word. It is a long evening for sure, but also a beguilingly off-kilter, rewardingly rich one. Hamlet is at the Anspacher Theater at the Public Theater, until Sept. 3.

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@poe-also-bucky Another interesting review.