#during the witch craze at least

[moghedien]

apparently it’s a thing with past life regression tik tokers that a lot of them like to claim they were burned as witches in Ireland in the past lives

Like, ah yes, Ireland.

The one country where, during the height of the witch craze in Europe, there were barely any witchcraft trials.

I’m sure you were a witch there

[candysugarush]

TXT Profiles and Tales:

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Choi Yeonjun

Tale : The Pied Piper

Character : The Pied Piper

Story : On that day of winter, as a wandering lad, all he wanted was to make a quick buck with this golden opportunity as he stumbled on the city of Hamelin. And yet, after all his work to help the town folks, he was thrown away like nothing. All of them were horrible. All? Not the mayor's daughter who took care of him during his stay.

As he play of his flute and lure the children away from this ungrateful town to a better place, won't you join him? Don't force him to play you a tune.

Choi Soobin

Tale : Cinderella

Character : The Fairy Godmother

Story : Born from your lucky star on the day you came to life, he was your devoted guardian and best friend with for duty to watch over you. Through happiness and despair, sickness and health. He was present through it all even if you couldn't see him. And on that faithful night where he finally appeared to you to help you to the ball, he never regretted granting your wish as much as he did now. That monstrous prince chasing after you, seeking to possess you.

It's alright, he is going to fix his mistake. Trust him. He is going to give you your happy ever after, no matter what.

Choi Beomgyu

Tale : Rapunzel

Character : The witch

Story : Living as a recluse and in solitude for centuries wasn't truly a problem for him, even if he craved that companionship. So when a young man stole from his garden to feed his sister, he jumped on the occasion, allowing the man to go free if he won a game against him, and if he lost, his sister would be his. Luck on his side, the wizard won and grabbed the young girl, moving her to a recluse and hidden tower for him to keep.

And now years later, you can't really complain about your life with everything you could wish at hand. And yet the outside world is a blurry memory that you should forget already. Don't you see he is trying to protect you? He knows what's best.

Kang Taehyun

Tale : Snow-white

Character : The evil queen

Story : Born from a loveless union as the needed heir to his kingdom, he got the combined beauty of his mother and strength of his father to become a renowned war strategist and alchemist. But the lack of love in his life left him with a hole in his heart he filled with an obsession and striving to become the best. And so as he stepped in to marry the widowed queen of the neighboring kingdom, he wasn't expecting the emotions he would feel during the years toward the princess, hate and jealousy mixing with something else as you became a woman and later on, ran away to protect your life.

You're the only one who genuinely cared for him even when he pushed you away. Won't you forgive him and come back to your step-father? If he can't be the fairest of them all, he can at least possess the fairest one.

Huening Kai

Tale : Alice in Wonderland

Character : The queen of hearts

Story : As the sole monarch of an entire abstract land, he liked to make sure the rules were followed to a T even if it didn't make sense in this crazed world. Dutifully following a routine in a place where day and night could coexist at the same time in the same place and where time could go backwards. Accompanied with his ten cherubs adorably frolicking as usual, the tyranny was going as usual until a curious girl walked in and questioned everything about him and his ways, especially his unreasonable outbursts.

So after criticizing him to his face as well as complaining about his rules, you decide to leave after looking at the clock? Oh no, you're not leaving yet. Tea time just started and you don't want to break a rule.

✧══════•❁❀❁•══════✧

Which story are you jumping into?

[skybristle]

OK LAST QUESTION OF THE DAY I SWEAR. I really love batflower cookie's design, especially her white accents. It compliments her palette so well! When I first saw your art of her scrolling through the Cr tags I was really drawn to her. Also she reminds me of the time I used to hyperfixate on the actual tropical batflower a lot. I want to know more about her and her whole deal, does she have any powers? Is she a witch? Is she part of the dark squad? Or is just a general dark creature like the cake hounds?(sorry if my wording sounds weird here)

NO OMG U CAN KEEP ASKING THIS IS SOOOO ENRICHING. and also motivates me to talk abt my fanon more . I got a lot going on in my head and i . do not talk about it enough on here.

she is not related to the CoD in anyway, nor really a 'dark creature', animalistic cookies r just . relatively common in my fanon [i mean most cookies r normal but. it's not that crazy to encounter someone with at least something nonhuman]

she DOES have magic though - specifically plant magic. nyx is from house jungleflower [in the hb kingdom, fanmade but i hc jungleberry is also from there], most revered for it's gardening and breathtaking boquets and stuff. *very* profitable in the kingdom of romance.

but,,, the house burns when pitaya attacks [whole other . thing in my fanon i kinda messed with the hb plot a lot] and batflower loses . Basically everything. she's already very envious and control-crazed and kinda an asshole in general but losing her platform kinda sends her off the rails.

uses the same gardening magic to peice together nyx's own garden ,,,, filled with all sorts of poisons and drugging agents. while she initially gets the control/attention high off picking up dancing and stealing hearts [and probably wallets], she escalates until she's eventually . well . A murderer HFSDKLFLDSKJ. having someone's life or death lie in your hands is the ultimate thrill. it's free hunting in the kingdom where policing is loose at best and everyone's drunk out of their minds.

though she still festers in anger and when the whole ,,, chp 11/12 plotline happens she sort of takes the place of lico/pm/etc during that, among some other things. her envy for the heiresses and their playing along to pitaya's game infuriates nyx and nyx stops at nothing to crash it,,, using things like the rage powder to ruin their reputations to hit them where it really hurts. eventually gets caufht and replaces the 11-30 boss hehe, and stalks back off into the night just as pitaya rears their head.

nyx REALLY fucks rasp up in the head with this but i am not getting into my rasp fanon at least in this post because its . a lot . but like. damn imagine being dissalusioned with your house and not wanting to be here and falling apart and beginning to see the worst of yourself and the conditions that raised you in a *fucking serial killer*. not fun !

[chryzure-archive]

not a ship ask but i’m still very very curious… what’s your fave book you’ve read so far this year? and your least favorite book of this year? any recommendations? :3 (i’ve been back in a slump and it sucks 😭 last book i read was like, september?? of 2022??? i wanna get back into it so bad but it seems like nowadays almost everything is a series and i simply cannot commit to all that right now 💔)

i was saving this ask for last because it’s such a treat to answer asks abt books… like omg, you guys want to hear my dumbass book thoughts??? i’ve got them!!!

i think my favorite book i’ve read this year might’ve been revelator by daryl gregory or horns by joe hill. i started out the year with some good horror novels… but for the more supernatural romance, i have to say that i rlly enjoyed the orphan of cemetery hill by hester fox! ((made a lullaby for witches that more disappointing when i read it… what happened to the great romantic chemistry, hester? what did you do with it? how are you going to fuck up a story about haunting and possession that bad?)

oh god, i read your next question and 💀 i think i already answered, lol, it was a lullaby for witches. it was uninspired the whole way through, which… is shocking, since it’s literally about a witch’s ghost haunting her descendant and slowly possessing her. but it was super shallow and none of the character choices really felt all that interesting. they felt like real people in the most bland way. and the reveals we’re all extremely telegraphed + told to me rather than… revealed, you know? it jst annoyed me that i spent the first fifty pages getting excited for it to get good… and then it kept that plateau of energy the whole time. i rlly didn’t care. it was boring :///

(don’t feel bad about not reading for a bit! series are everywhere and it sucks when i don’t want to get into *gestures vaguely at it* all of that. so i get where you’re coming from. i can rec some good one-offs i’ve enjoyed though!!

like the orphan of cemetery hill by hester fox, as aforementioned—it’s a paranormal romance between a girl that can see ghosts and a high-society boy during the spiritualism craze in boston. to top it all off, there’s been bodies stolen from the cemetery that the girl works at and she’s being tracked down by people that want to study her ability to see ghosts… it’s a vv fun read + the male love interest is literally a flouncing peacock. i cant stand him. i love him.

also, curses by lish mcbride was one i enjoyed last year! it’s a fun reimagining of beauty and the beast, where the main girl got cursed by her mother for not wanting to married off at the age of 14. now that some time’s passed, she decides that she needs to break the curse to make her mom happy, so she hires a boy known for scamming rich people so that she can convince someone to marry her and break the curse. it’s a little sillyridiculous and it’s honestly one of the very, very few batb retelling where i’m like “alright. you’re allowed to have fun <333” :3

i’ve also been reading persuasion by jane austen lately and i mean. i meannnnnn. i’m not far enough to feel i can give a good summary, but it’s jane austen! it’s a fun little time :)

[alvfr]

there's nothing more fun than talking to someone about your made up special guy and sharing lore lol do you have any ocs that you haven't been able to use?? or ones that you did use but werent able to explore properly??

Oh man, what a lovely ask to receive. And oh boy, I have so many to talk about. Or, I don't have many OCs that's never been part of a story, really. I tend to think of a story premise first and make up the characters that will fit after, but most of them have never been witnessed by other eyes than mine as the stories are unfinished and hidden in my dropbox.

Here are a few that I think will at least be referenced in my corporate witch mafia WIP, but sadly won't have their stories told in full:

Charlotte "Charlie" Stormcrow, a survivor of the Scottish witch craze who was trained as a spy and infiltrated the Danish court, eventually sinking a ship with the crown prince onboard to stop Denmark from succumbing to the same witch craze as the rest of Europe.

Jo Smith, a cross-dressing witch who lived during the same time as Charlie and traveled the world as a soldier, fighting in different wars and for different sides depending on what orders she got from home. Famous for her spectacularly good eye sight and tendency to pick targets that could change the course of battle in an instant.

Amanda Blayr, the furious woman who cannot fully die, who refused to aide a demon in their time of need and lost her sister in return. Entombed in the bogs for her crimes (she poisoned the wells and killed 91 people).

[dxrkenedheights]

Name: Skoll Jansen

Age & Birthday: 36 years old, September 12th 1988

Gender/Pronouns: cis man she/him

Birthplace: White River, Colorado

Time in Hollow Cove: 1 week (Jan '24)

Species: Werewolf / Visser Pack

Role: Soldier / Patrol / Trainer

Positives: constant, observant, brave, devoted

Negatives: sly, brutal, treacherous, impulsive

ABOUT

Skoll was named after the giant wolf that chased the sun. The one who mocks. And from an early age, he embodied the typical sneering and mocking personality that is seen across his host of brothers. The Jansen name has always carried a proud reputation for the warriors it produces. The Visser wolf pack in White River had been their home for generations, and nothing but warriors have emerged from their name. It was cosnidered something of a blood-gift in their lineage, to be crazed and unpredictable in the battlefield. But, beyond life as a warrior, it was not uncommon to find the Jansen name dragged through mud. Like his brothers, Skoll became a heart that was full of intensity. While he might not be loud and boastful, there is an obvious air of confidence that follows him and laces through his dry, cold and sarcastic words.

His arrogance has often been his biggest downfall, but Skoll sees the trait as a blessing rather than a curse. He went through his life with his brothers at his side, all of them chaotic and unyielding in their own way. On some days he offers guidance and on others, he offers troubl. It has been this way since they were boys, all six of them either fighting shoulder to shoulder or battling against one another in erupting sibling rivalry. But, their bond has always been unbreakable, forged during the grueling training that the Jansen traditions begin long before their wolves turn thirteen years and shift for the first time.

Alongside learning how to be a warrior, Skoll showed heightened skills at extracting information from enemies. He became known as Skoll the Mindbreaker. His excruciating methods always seemed to leave their prisoners brains a muddled mess, desperate to speak their secrets in hope for a survival that was promised but never came. It became difficult for others to trust Skoll when this became his fate, some wolves and witches avoided him in a bid to keep their own sanity intact. But, there was one wolf that seemed to be more intrigued than intimidated.

Lilja Visser captured Skoll's attention from the moment he noticed her ears, caught within the shift of human to wolf, delicately peeping from beneath her hair. Her adventurous and sometimes mischievous spirit was equally as endearing to him, and the two of them were suddenly inseparable. At least, until it became obvious that their differing personalities were sometimes too vast to ever meet in the middle. Just as stubborn as she, Lilja and Skoll were entranced in a back and forth cycle. He was forever chasing the sun, just as his name always suggested his fate would be.

When the war began in 2020, Skoll fought for the two days until he finally needed to retreat. He managed to escape with some of his brothers, Hati, Vidar and their youngest brother Egil. Together they have remained fighting across the lands in order to search for their other missing brothers Thorin and Loki. It has been a wild journey, with many mishaps and typical Jansen chaos along the way. Skoll has also been determined to find any trace of Lilja's survival, sometimes convincing his brothers into precarious situations because he's convinced it leads them to her.

[roswell-rp-archive]

WELCOME TO ROSWELL SHOCKTOBER FEST 2022!

this year, the shocktober scare co. has set its sights on roswell, n.m. !! parked in the sprawling esplanade on the fringes of frazier woods, tents, sets and grub trucks have been dotted about to offer you the spookiest of halloween interactive experiences— with a twist !! 

shocktober scare is offering you the chance of a lifetime: join in with the shrieks ‘n’ thrills; interact with visitors as one of the many scare actors from available attractions, or work the various dining spots for a bit of extra cash !! ever wanted to scare the socks off of your boss ?? now’s the time to do it ( and get paid for it ) * !!

* if you would like for your character to participate as shocktober staff, please refer to the list of attractions below and message the main with which role you would like to snag.

・  。  ◟   ⟨  ☆  ⟩   SHOCKTOBER FEST ┊  *    ──   GUIDE :

starting from OCTOBER 24TH 00:00 - NOVEMBER 6TH @ 00:00, you can post threads for the event !

please make sure to reach out to other players to broaden your horizons and make some fun, meaningful plots for the week. make an effort to break out of your bubble and start speaking to new characters.

make sure you have replied to at least two open event starters before posting your own , unless yours is one of the first to be posted.

tag any content for the event with #roswellhalloween2022

you are free to continue any regular threads during the event , and to continue any event threads past the end date as long as these are tagged accordingly and you do make an effort to be involved in the festivities .

please don’t feel confined to the activities listed above. we want you to use your imagination !

fig 1. the lab

[ “ 𝘄𝗲'𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻' 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲. 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 “ ]

ever since the incident of ‘82, the lab’s been shut down, seemingly vacant. but something’s stirring in the shadows; you and your group have been sent in to investigate. don’t worry: all of doctor carter’s spliced up subjects must have long since withered, right ? nothing could have survived that crazed scientist’s brutal experiments . . .

staff— 

mad scientist (1/1) — nao chiba

test subjects (0/4) 

ticket sellers (0/2)

food vendors (0/3)

fig 2. circus of screams

[ “ 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗶𝗿𝗰𝘂𝘀, 𝗴𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗲 ? “ ]

a white-and-red striped tent filled with mirrors of every size and shape, disorientating  your character and leading them further and further into the maze. if the bulging reflections weren’t terrifying enough, just wait until giggles fill the corridors and the squeak, squeak, squeak of rubber shoes trace your every move !

staff—

clowns (1/4) — asha moss

ticket sellers (1/2) — jaden lapointe

food vendors (0/2)

fig 3. witch’s hovel

[ “ 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗹𝘆 ? “ ]

this haunted maze hosts ghosts of a different kind. be careful which way you go, somewhere from deep within the mist comes a cackling reckoning: you might not have been the one to burn them at the stake, but these spectral witches won’t spot friend from foe when they’re blinded by the very flames that engulfed them an age ago. 

staff—

witches (1/4) — suraj das

ticket sellers (0/2)

food vendors (1/2) — sparrow moore

fig 4. knock knock

[ “ 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 𝗮 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗽 ? “ ]

every small town must pay the price for its quintessential charm; roswell’s no different: number 17 is the bloodiest building around. after the previous owners left in a frenzied dash of cold sweat, this cadaverous husk of brick and bare bones has been rotting in its spot at the end of an otherwise totally safe street. the locals know not to pass it after midnight— especially not when the clock strikes 3am. is that movement in the upstairs window ? that’s just the pipes groaning, the house settling . . . right ? care to find out ? 

staff—

demons (2/4) — rollo moore, kaya braxton

ticket sellers (0/2)

food vendors (0/3)

fig 5. black lagoon boat ride 

[ “ 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆. 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲. 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗯𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗺𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. “ ]

all aboard the SS. spectre. this is a boat tour like no other; join the captain as you traverse through treacherous waters, with the scaly creatures of your nightmares leaping from behind rocks and the ghosts of the drowned crawling from roswell’s waterways. i hope you’re not scared of taking a little dip . . . 

staff—

lagoon creatures (0/2)

grotesque sirens (0/3)

drowned ghosts (0/2)

boat captain (1/1) — simba gano

ticket sellers (0/2)

food vendors (0/2)

fig 6. haunted hayride

[ “ 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝘃𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗳𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 ? “ ]

pile into the tractor-towed wagon and roll along through barren fields of wilting corn. make sure to wave hello to the scarecrows !! they might just wave right back. venture deep into frazier woods, along a winding path leading past creeping branches that rustle and creak in the cool october breeze. what’s that roaring from the darkness ?? you might want to duck, there’s chainsaw-wielding hillbillies on the loose, and they’re out for your head.

staff—

scarecrows (0/2)

farmers (0/3) 

chainsaw wielders (2/2) — jude dempsey, birdie cannon

tractor operator (1/1) — striker cannon

ticket sellers (0/2)

food vendors (1/3) — massoud taheri

FOOD AND DRINK INFO HERE ! 

[bryan360]

Here’s my note before I’ll get started….

(DON’T YOU EVER COPY FROM MINE OR MY FRIEND’S WORK, CHARACTERS, AND STUFF IF ONE OF YOU ARE IMPOSTERS WHO HAD HABITS OF PLAGIARISM! I WILL BLOCK YOU FROM MY BLOG IF I SEE YOUR POST WITH MINE OR MY FRIEND’S ORIGINAL WORK BEING EDITED ALL OVER! I’LL EVEN SHARE IT ONTO MY BLOG SO IF EVERYONE WILL SEE THAT YOU TRYING TO COPY MINE OR MY FRIEND’S THINGS FOR NO GOOD REASON WHATSOEVER! That will be all….I mean it.)

🎃Inktober of 2022 - Day 31: Halloween Time!! 👻🎃

🇵🇷Me: This is it, people! It's been a long ride through October of 2022; especially going around my previous Inktober art I ever wanted to get it all than last year. However due to some issues that I would've think hard enough if I'll try again for next year. What that being said though, I really did good back there when it comes to making Inktober art for my mains to having Brown facing the apocalypse. For today's Inktober art will be the last unfortunately, but at least hoping to everyone can enjoy this with the Rabbits family. Sure wish Choco would join along as well if it wasn't the fact he'll be busy doing slaying demons. Don't worry, he'll be back before theis Halloween party is over. For the meanwhile though, at least there's one family member that she deserved to be here for this year's Halloween.

🐰🎤Windy: How about trying to keep an eye on my family with this crystal ball I can use? After all, witches usually use things in movies and books. Though as a Scarlet Witch from Marvel is a bit weird, isn't it. Regardless, this is what I'm going for Halloween! 😊

🐰📚🍌Scottie: You sure do, sweetie. This is something when you watching WandaVision from Disney+, isn't it? Still looks good on your classic comic version of her before MCU's redesign.

🐰🎤Windy: Thanks, honey. If only I would've say the same feeling if you haven't swinging that axe of yours; which you did during Day 18 where you killed that rabbit person?!

🐰📚🍌Scottie: *Gulp* 😨

🐰🎤Windy: Nah, I'm just checking with you that you'd axed was an actual tall size version of the candy rabbit; which I also did the spell with carrot flavor filling. So yeah. 😅

🐰📚🍌Scottie: Wait, what?! *in thoughts* I though myself that I went crazy when it keeps chasing me.

🇵🇷Me: An unexpected twist, huh? This is something I would to address for Day 18 when making Scottie as a crazed father in the first place. I mean not because I did this for harsh things at least. *ahem* So umm...how's your kids doing?

🐰🎤Windy: Looks like they having a blast to celebrate this year's Halloween; for while celebrate CN's 30th Anniversary which was on the first day. It was sweet for having them dress like this.

🐰📚🍌Scottie: Indeed they are. Say let's getting into a fun here to celebrate our family Halloween, shall we? As long you don't need to cast more for living candy rabbit people, huh?

🐰🎤Windy: I'll do the same thing as you are. Seriously, honey. We don't let our kids seeing this thing bleeding.

🐰📚🍌Scottie: Right....secret sealed. Anyways you guys, have a good Happy Halloween this year! 😅👋

🐰🎤Windy: Indeed! Happy Halloween of 2022 to all! 🎃👋

🇵🇷Me: By the way, here's my candy that I got for this month of October; although it happens from past weeks that my mom and my sister give me. Still just in case if I won't be getting some more candy for today's Halloween.

Windy (as the Scarlet Witch), Scottie (as Jack Torrence), Maxwell (as K.O.), May (as Tulip Olsen), and Sam (as Uncle Grandpa) created by me; BryanVelasquez87 (Bryan360)

Previous Inktober Posts of 2022:

Day 1: ⚫️⚪️Cartoons - Link Here

Day 2: 🎃Pumpkins - Link Here

Day 3: 👨‍⚕️Doctor - Link Here

Day 4: 💀Death - Link Here

Day 5: 🐱Cat - Link Here

Day 6: 🦇Bats - Link Here

Day 7: 😈Devil - Link Here

Day 8: 🌳Forest - Link Here

Day 9: 🧙‍♀️Witch - Link Here

Day 10: 🔪Murder - Link Here

Day 11: 🔴🐻Red - Link Here

Day 12: 🧸🪆Playtime - Link Here

Day 13: 🥚Eggs - Link Here

Day 14: 👻 Ghosts - Link Here

Day 15: 🖼 Painting - Link Here

Day 16: 🛸 Invasion - Link Here

Day 17: 🍁Leaves - Link Here

Day 18: 👨‍💼Father - Link Here

Day 19: ⬛️Dark - Link Here

Day 20: 🧙‍♂️Wizard - Link Here

Day 21: 😵‍💫Possessed - Link Here

Day 22: 🌄Dawn - Link Here

Day 23: 🔍 Mystery - Link Here

Day24: 👨‍🍳 Chef - Link Here

Day 25: 🤢 Ugly - Link Here

Day 26: 🐺 Wolves - Link Here

Day 27: 🩻 Skeletons - Link Here

Day 28: 🍬 Candy - Link Here

Day 29: 📕 Falls - Link Here

Day 30: A̴̢̤͎̅͂̕p̶̳͚͇̐͛͋̄ǒ̷͉̮c̴̼̝̺̑ä̴̡̙̞̭́l̷̻̀̐̐ÿ̵̨̟̰́̈́p̸̹̓̇s̵̤͚͊̈́̏ḛ̸̮̙̀̀ - Link Here

Tagged: @murumokirby360 @carmenramcat @alexander1301

[handeaux]

Root Beer: Cincinnati’s Temperance Quaff Came With A Moral & Medicinal Kick

Prohibition did not swoop unheralded from the skies in 1920, ejecting alcoholic beverages in some sort of surprise attack. No, the roots of Prohibition go deep in American history, stretching well into the early 1800s. For a time in the 1850s, in fact, Ohio was technically a dry state, voted into mandatory abstinence by the General Assembly in 1854 and upheld by the state Supreme Court in 1855.

At least one Cincinnati newspaper editor cheered such temperance efforts as he promoted his favorite beverage, root beer. Scanning the Daily Cincinnati Commercial from the 1840s, a modern reader can almost taste Editor Lucius G. Curtiss’ thirst for his beloved root beer. Here he is in the 8 May 1846 edition:

“Henry Arthurs’ Root Beer suffered some in this office yesterday; at least one dozen bottles were completely ‘sucked in.’ Arthurs says, he is determined to make his root beer make its way into public favor. Go ahead.”

Toward the end of the year, Mr. Arthurs brought another case around, receiving additional praise from Mr. Curtiss [13 November 1846]:

“Yesterday our boys regaled themselves on a dozen of Arthurs’ Root Beer, left at the Commercial office, and they do say it was very fine. We can hardly have a doubt of it, from the way the popping of corks was carried on for a time. Mr. A intends manufacturing it through the winter.”

Interestingly, Cincinnati’s root beer bottlers, at least the several who popped up (so to speak) in the 1840s, brewed non-alcoholic beverages as a sideline. Almost every Cincinnati root beer brewer was primarily engaged in making and selling vinegar.

We tend to forget that root beer was called root beer because it was produced, like vinegar, through fermentation. All the early root beer recipes called for yeast and some sort of sugar – usually molasses – to promote fermentation and, of course, carbonation.

The old recipes also called for a veritable witch’s cauldron of herbs that would have generated a taste quite unlike the sassafras-heavy formulation that is standardized today. An 1873 version called for hops, yellow dock, burdock, sarsaparilla, dandelion and spikenard roots, along with infusions of spruce and sassafras oils. A 1909 recipe is based on sassafras, but also contained sarsaparilla, tansy and wintergreen.

Naturally, with all these roots, herbs and oils involved, purveyors were going to claim medicinal properties for their beverages. Cincinnati’s root beer merchants were no exception. Hiram Nash, yet another vinegar boiler caught up in the root beer craze, recruited Daniel Drake and four other medical doctors to affirm the healthful effects of his root beer in fighting cholera during the 1849 outbreak. While the herbs and other ingredients may not have actually helped fight intestinal bacteria, Nash’s customers at least drank something other than Cincinnati’s water, through which cholera was most certainly transmitted.

Similar claims for herb-based soft drinks at this time claimed they could prevent, even cure, everything from scrofula, king’s evil, tetter and blood impurities to cancer, syphilis, leprosy, salt rheum, crysipelas, mercurial disease and neuralgic affections.

Editor Curtiss was so fixated on the virtues of root beer that he believed it could also cure society’s ills. On 6 October 1845, the Commercial printed a brief review of the Cincinnati police blotter. Sarah Wallace was charged with vagrancy, William Gillman for disorderly conduct, and Michael Crowley for being riotous. Editor Curtiss could not constrain himself from opining:

“If the above named individuals had taken some of Durfee’s famous Root Beer, instead of indulging in brandy or whiskey, the consequences would have been more to their advantage.”

Well, maybe. Or maybe not. As root beer gained popularity, Cincinnati saw the opening of several root-beer parlors who attracted their own sort of unsavory crowd. The Commercial [30 November 1849] reported on one such fracas:

“James Ratcliff, John Mather, Pierson Ishworth and John Fish, went into a kind of ‘root beer shop,’ and made themselves too familiar about the house. After ‘hoeing it down,’ for some time, the officers were sent for and the dancers taken to the watch-house. Each were fined $5 and costs.”

Other reports involve root-beer drinkers being thrown out of the shops and pelting nearby homes with rocks and street fights involving knives and root-beer bottles. Root beer also figured into traffic accidents. The Cincinnati Enquirer [12 July 1845] reported:

“A horse ran off on the 4th and injured a carriage, being frightened by the pop of a root beer bottle. The Mayor should include ‘ginger pop’ in his firecracker proclamation.”

Despite its attendant problems, root beer consumption sky-rocketed in Cincinnati. In 1847, vinegar king James Durfee sold 31,287 bottles of root beer in one week, with Saturday sales alone reaching 8,906 bottles. All of this made Editor Curtiss very happy although he did not live to see the full flowering of soft drinks later in the century. The Cincinnati Gazette [11 July 1881] noted the “soda craze” at Peebles grocery store:

“If there was ever an excusable mania following as it does roller skating and other hot fashions, it is the present one of drinking cool and refreshing Soda Water. The run on the fountain of Jos. R. Peebles’ Sons Pike’s Opera House, has been enormous. It has come to such a pass that ladies and children can not be accommodated at the usual counter, and orders have been given to have them promptly served in any part of the store with Soda and the kindred beverages of the season, such as the famous Birch Beer, Root Beer, Cherry Beer, Spruce Beer, Ginger Ale, New Orleans Mead, and the various mineral waters.”

A standard root beer flavor did not begin to infiltrate Cincinnati until the arrival of Hires’ root beer in the 1880s. When first introduced, Hires’ appeared as a small bottle of flavoring in a box. Customers had to mix the flavoring with five gallons of water and bottle it themselves. Hires’ limited its medicinal claims, noting only that its root beer kept the blood pure and cool and the stomach in a “normal” condition.

[carllisle]

Carlisle for the character ask?

thank you so much!

favorite thing about them: his unrelenting journey in making himself feel good. He thinks that he wants to help people for the sake of helping people, but he is happy to harm people if it means protecting his family. He thinks of himself as Good, but he's morally grey, and whilst he does a huge amount of good, he also does a huge amount of harm. I think he's incredibly selfish and doesn't realise this, which I like

least favorite thing about them: that he would probably never allow himself to go feral. With any of the other vampires, they would all absolutely go batshit if something happened to their mate, but I do not think Carlisle would. He would try to remain calm and considered, but truly I would just want him to go full on monster

favorite line: when he thought about the marks on Bella's skull and jokingly wondered if she had been dropped on her head as a baby and found himself sooooooo funny hes so dumb

brOTP: Carlisle and Emmett, we deserved to see so much more interaction with them

OTP: Carlesme my beloved

nOTP: Carlisle/Charlie

random headcanon: Carlisle was brought up secretly Catholic, and his father remained Catholic in his heart, although he was a Protestant preacher (as sometimes hiding in plain sight can be the safest). He was also raised Royalist and to believe in the Divine Right of Kings (although this was in secret). Catholics were as heavily involved in witch hunts across Europe as Protestants, and witch hunts became propaganda to try to win over Christians to one side or the other, which is why the witch craze peaked during the mass spread of Protestantism (the area later known as Germany, the birthplace of unified Protestant ideology, was a major battleground for winning Christians, is responsible for almost 40% of all witch trials in Europe for this exact reason). Therefore I think it's perfectly reasonable to have this headcanon. It's almost important to me for Carlisle to be emphasized as not only older than the others in the coven, but also very different culturally.

unpopular opinion: unrequited Aro/Carlisle makes me very uncomfortable because of how believable it is. Aro's obsession with Carlisle and the Cullens can be explained as him wanting to add Alice and Edward to his collection, but it also seems a bit obsessive with how he wants to destroy the family. It is certainly homoerotic to me, too. It's very predatory, and very unrequited in my mind. Not that that's a problem in fiction and people should deffo be free to enjoy that kind of content! for me it just makes me feel icky hahah

song i associate with them: WAP by Cardi and Meg, especially the line abt "paid my tuition just to kiss me on this wet ass pussy" because him paying for everyone's college is just very very funny, he's the collective sugar daddy

favorite picture of them: any still or picture from Twilight, he looks SO FINE!!!!!!

[lucysometimeswrites]

Hey can you please make a award season one but for a latina reader, if you would like you can keep the tom element. Sorry I'm asking again I accidentally deleted the last ask I made. I love your writing, you are amazing.❤️☺️

thank you thank you so much ur so sweet and of course! here you go and i hope you like it :) absolutely loved writing for latina!reader 

Awards Season (latina!reader)

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“Here to present the award for Best Actress in a Leading Role, please welcome Meryl Streep!” the host announced. A roar came from the audience at the mention of her name, the very acclaimed actress welcoming the attention and making her way to the microphone.

“Oh, stop it” she said and waved them away, earning a laugh and even more cheering from the theatre. “If I’m honest, I really considered not presenting this award because it breaks me inside to give the Oscar to someone else when it’s rightfully mine” she said in a funny, raspy evil voice, resembling a witch, “But you know, sharing is caring or whatever. Alright let’s get to it.” she continued dejectedly, still joking.

“This year, we have been blessed with beautiful films and, along with them, incredible performances from beautiful and talented actresses. Viola Davis, your abilities to embody different characters and raise awareness to ongoing issues in society has always amazed us, and it does once again in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom”, Meryl announced, the camera going to Viola who was sitting about 10 seats to my left, the audience (including me) applauding and praising her. Literally all of her performances are incredible.

Could I still believe I was here? Definitely not, and not any time soon. From small skits to my big break with Tom Holland in a stupid rom-com that I didn’t even want to make, to now. Tom knows it’s nothing against him, it’s just that I haven’t learned to appreciate romantic comedies the way he has, but the thing I loved most from doing it was finishing it with Tom. He had become such an important person in my life since that moment, what with guiding me through the newfound world of fame and being there for me when I joined the Marvel franchise, it was just more than I could ever dream of. Now I sit here at the freaking Oscars, with Tom Holland as my date, and having done one of the greatest films ever, nothing could keep the smile off my face. Or the nerves.

 My leg kept bouncing up and down, a nervous action I often did and one that the guy beside me had caught on to real quick when we first met. His warm hand gently squeezed my thigh, and I turned to look at him a little surprised.

“Hey, it’s okay” he softly said, his gaze soft and comforting.

“I didn’t even realize I was doing it” I answered in the same tone, whispering a thank you and letting my hand rest on top of his, weirdly interlocking our fingers. 

Meryl turned to where Olivia Colman was sitting, ���Your Majesty,” she started, referencing her portrayals of royalty and causing her to chuckle, “your moving performances have always left us wanting more, and I’m sure that is what I and everyone felt when we saw you in The Father” a big smile broke out on her face, and cheering ensued once more for our queen, or at least one of mine.

“Aging is some we all go through...unfortunately,” Meryl uttered into the mic, touching up her almost white hair, “and you, Cynthia Erivo, made us relate to your character this way with your brilliant acting in Reaching 39″, that woman is simply amazing, I thought as I clapped and cheered with the audience.

“My dear Kate,” the camera panned to Kate Winslet, who just stared fondly at the woman on the stage, “watching you grow as an actress has been one of the pleasures of my life and you reach new heights both professionally and literally in Misdemeanors”, she is such an icon, oh my.

Finally, Meryl Streep turned to look at me in the front row with a grin on her face, and I quickly got into “camera mode”, as I like to call it. I sat up straighter, looking at her with gentle eyes and smile. 

“Señorita Y/N Y/L,” she started with the heavily accented Spanish word for Ms., “with your entrance into the world of filmmaking, you have set new expectations for all of us to reach. Even though this is your first nomination, I feel in my heart it won’t be the last, and we can’t wait to see more of you like we saw with your extraordinary performance in Paraíso” she finished, bringing a big smile to my face at her words. Turning to the camera, I became a bit shy and gave a small wave, feeling Tom squeeze my hand in comfort and another hand on my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Salma Hayek, one of my co-stars in the film, who gave me a strong nod and smile, loudly saying “Eso!” as a cheer for me.

“And the Oscar goes too...” ayyyyy no ay no que nervios que nervios que nervios me muero- all of this going through my head repeatedly but having to put on a smile and a calm façade for the camera was exhausting. Tranquila, tranquila, si no ganas está bien igual solo el hecho de estar aquí ya es lo más-

“Y/N Y/L, Paraíso!” Meryl announced, and all I heard were screams and loud clapping from around me. 

Shocked, I looked up with wide eyes and my jaw going slack a little. I felt a buzz fill my body and the idol on the stage beckoned me up, when I realized I hadn’t moved. I slowly stood up and instantly turned to Tom who quickly pulled me into his arms with a strong hug and whispering in my year, “I knew it! I knew you would do it darling. I’m so so proud of you babe, go get your award!” not giving me a chance to answer as he gave me a quick kiss and turned me around in the direction of the stage. Still in a bit of a daze, I didn’t see Salma, Eugenio (Derbez), and Benicio (del Toro) make their way to me, ambushing me in a group hug as they started jumping around and sort of with me, chanting “EH! EH! EH!” like Latinos at a party and causing me to laugh and come back to my senses. I hugged them all and continued to the stairs, stopping to hug my directors Guillermo del Toro and Alfonso Cuarón. 

I lifted my dress as I ascended the steps, and in true nervous fashion, stumbled and almost face planted in front of thousands of people. 

“Uy, mierda” I chuckled to myself, and accepted the help of none other than Chris Evans who lent his arm for the remaining steps. I thanked him with a smile and after his Congrats!, I made my way to Meryl who held the famous award in her hands. She handed it to me and pulled me into her embrace, saying “Beautiful job, sweetheart, you’re amazing”, and all I could answer was “Oh my, thank you so much, you’re the amazing one”, sharing a laugh with her and standing in front of the mic.

I looked out into the audience, who were still giving me a standing ovation. Almost like a camera in my head, I tried to ingrain this moment in my mind and took a deep breath, starting my speech.

“God, I really hope I don’t forget any words in English right now” I said with a breathless laugh, inciting one from the people below me. “Thank you so much. Thank you to...um...so many people. To the Academy for this great, great honor. To my fellow nominees for inspiring me every single day. Being in the same room as you is already insane, let alone being nominated with you, it’s just- it’s truly out of this world. Viola, Olivia, Kate, Cynthia, you are my literal idols and if I could physically cut this Oscar into five pieces,” I said as I made a motion of cutting the award and humoured the audience, “I would give a piece to all of you. Um, thank you to my team, my agent, Victoria, te adoro y te agradezco for believing in me and helping me live out my dream. Sorry, I’m probably gonna switch between languages during this.” I said with a laugh. 

“Paraíso was a project that, for me, came out of nowhere. But for my extraordinary directors los señores Guillermo del Toro and Alfonso Cuarón, it was a life’s work so to you, gracias por darme la oportunidad de darle vida a Marielos and for giving me the experience of a lifetime. Salma, Eugenio, Benicio, Gael, and all the cast and crew, thank you for becoming my second family and supporting me every step of the way. It has been my honor to work with you” I said with a hand on my chest, showing that I was speaking from my heart and smiling at the kisses and cheers sent to me from them, hearing a crazed Te amamos! from Eugenio. It eased the tension in my body which I was incredibly thankful for. 

“I also want to thank-” I stopped, getting a little choked up, “ha, sorry, it’s my family that couldn’t be here” I said, a wave of claps and cheering in comfort came from the audience. Quickly composing myself, I continued, “Ya, okay. All the way back home, lo hice! Familia, les dije que no les iba a agradecer si me ganaba un Oscar algún día por no creer en mi y hoy es ese día, pero no me lo perdonaría si no les agradezco. Gracias por apoyarme a pesar de que yo sé que les dio un ataque que quisiera ser actriz. Gracias por siempre estar ahí para mi, por quererme incondicionalmente y por enseñarme que trabajando duro todo se puede lograr. Los amo infinitamente.” I finished, with tears threatening to roll down my eyes. I tilted my head to the sky to prevent them from falling, and with a deep breath I turned to Tom who had his hands in a prayer stance while looking intently at me, the same smile from before still gracing his face.

“Tommy...” I started, and the audience audibly awed at the nickname, “Oh, you don’t even know what I’m gonna say to him” I said with narrowed eyes, but my gaze found my love once more.

“Thank you so much for being my rock ever since we met. I’m beyond thankful for you and all you do for me, baby. You make me the happiest and thank you for pushing me to do things that scare me. For being there for me in case I fall and for being my person. Te amo, amor.” I blowed him a kiss which he caught and jokingly used to wipe his tears, making me and the other celebrities laugh.

Please wrap up, I read from the screen, and let out and “Ay, perdón! I gotta wrap up sorry sorry” hurriedly finishing up my speech. 

“Lastly, this award goes out to all the Latina girls out there with big dreams. Nunca se den por vencidas. No dejen que nadie les diga que no porque de que se puede, se puede. Querer es poder! I love you guys, my fans oh my gosh, thank you thank you, gracias!” I rushed out, raising the award to the air with one last big smile as Meryl guided me backstage to answer some questions. Just before I was off sight, I turned and looked out to the stage once more.

Lo logré...

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once again, disclaimer, movie names are mostly fictitious. feedback and requests always welcome!

[slythergirlimagines]

Life Changing Adventures with Zuko

Summary: Zuko and the Reader get into some trouble when they meet a witch who switches their bodies. The Gaang tries to help them switch back. Pretty much fluff, not much angst! (GIF is not mine, but I absolutely love it!) Words: 5,659   Request: Yes Masterlist

****Also, would you guys be interested in me making a masterlist of all my fics? Let me know!

                    Life Changing Adventures with Zuko

  You should have never come here. That’s what you’re thinking as you and Zuko climb up the incredibly tall, dangerous mountain to see what’s in the mysterious cave.

  “I don’t like this.” You say, crossing your arms in an effort to preserve some sort of body heat. Of course, Zuko didn’t have to worry about the cold and he seemed no more bothered with this excursion than he would be anything else.

  Zuko glances back at you, black fringe hanging in his amber eyes.

  “Just calm down, we’re nearly there.” He says, and continues his climb up the winding, steep path.

    You roll your eyes, but hurry to match his pace. You definitely don’t want to fall behind in this place, but Zuko’s long legs are growing increasingly hard to keep up with.

  You can feel it in the air that something’s not quite right. There’s an undercurrent of something undefinable. Like magic. It hums all around you, and gives you goosebumps.

   Up ahead, the wind whips through Zuko’s raven hair. It also blows his tunic tight against his body, and you can just make out the contours of his muscles.

  Mentally, you slap yourself. Why do you care about Zuko’s muscles? He had chased you and your friends for months, and he had been responsible for a myriad of bad things that had happened to you. You had forgiven him, but you guys fought all the time. Your bickering often drove your friends crazy, and had been nonstop since he arrived. 

   “Life changing adventures with Zuko.” Toph had once called the personal journeys your friends had taken with him. You and Toph were the only people who hadn’t had one, and you certainly hoped today wasn’t your day.

   Zuko stops and cocks his head, listening. You slowly approach him, taking care to keep silent. If Zuko was concerned then you should definitely be concerned as well. Your eyes dart around, but you don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary.

  The sun is starting to set, and it’s making this damn mountain even colder than before. The trees cast long shadows over the path, and it all feels foreboding. Subconsciously, you gravitate closer to Zuko.

  “Remind me what we’re doing here, again?” You ask. You’re trying your hardest not to show any fear, but everything in your body is telling you to leave.

   Zuko squints and stares in the direction of the cave.

   “Aang asked us to check it out.” He says in his low rasp. This however is partially untrue.

  Aang had asked you to go check it out, not Zuko. Aang claimed that something felt wrong up here, but he was currently trying to the closest village from being occupied by Fire Nation troops and didn’t have time to check. You weren’t a bender, but you were a capable warrior, and Aang trusted your abilities.

   Zuko, on the other hand, had volunteered the moment you agreed to go. He claimed that it was because he couldn’t have Fire Nation soldiers recognize him, but his hastiness made you suspicious. He was always doing that, hovering around you during missions and tasks. It got on your nerves how little he trusted in your ability to defend yourself.

   “I don’t think we should be here.” You reiterate. “It just feels....”

   “I know. I feel it too.” Zuko says. He turns to you and offers a large hand. Sighing, you take it and allow him to lead you closer to the cave.

   Zuko stops behind a tall tree, and peeks his head around to observe. The tree is hardly wide enough to conceal his broad shoulders, but at least you are in the shadows. You notice that you are still holding his hand, and drop it before he can read too much into it.

   In an effort to look busy, you squint into the dark, trying to make out any sort of object that could be important. Without Aang here it is virtually impossible to know what you need to find.

   Zuko seems to be following the same train of thought as you, and scans the area with his eyes. The light is almost dark enough to conceal his scar. Your fingers twitch with some foreign urge to trace over it. You ball your hands into fists. Maybe you just want to punch him in the face.

  “I don’t see anything.” Zuko mumbles, still watchful.

   “Me neither. I say we go back to camp and tell Aang that there’s nothing up here.” The wind has picked up since you got here, and you’re teeth are chattering.

   Zuko notices your shivering for the first time, and rolls his eyes. He flexes his fingers, and you can tell what he’s about to do from the look on his face. You can’t have him firebend here.

   “Don’t.” You say harsher than necessary.

  “You can’t give that away, especially if someone’s here.” You hastily add. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so concerned about sparing his feelings.

    “Yeah...you’re right.” Zuko says, but there’s a strange look in his eyes that you don’t quite understand.

    Suddenly, the cave bursts into life and a bright light pours through it. The hairs on your arms prickle as the hum around you intensifies. You can practically taste whatever it is in the air.

   “We need to get closer, see what’s going on.” Zuko says, “Maybe this is what Aang meant.”

   You swallow loudly, but nod your consent. Hesitantly, you trail behind him, nearing the cave. The light illuminates the wideness of its mouth, and its seemingly never ending depth. Anything could be in there, but what could be of any importance to you?

   However bad you think the idea is, you know you have to go inside. Something is waiting for you in this cave, and you have to face it.

   You look to Zuko to see if he’s come to a similar conclusion, and you find the same grim expression on his face. Locking eyes, you nod at each other, and start the trek inside.

   Zuko lights his fists on fire, and the flames dance around his knuckles in beautiful patterns. Even though you wish he wouldn’t bend, it’s Zuko’s flames that you focus on to keep yourself from becoming panicked. For the first time, you’re truly glad he’s there with you.

   So focused are you on Zuko’s flame, that you don’t notice that someone is sneaking up on you. You hear the sound of their footsteps too late, and then everything goes dark.

                                ————————————————

  You wake up to a pounding in your head. Groaning, you move to lift a hand to your injury, but find that they are bound to something. That something just so happens to be a warm, angry firebender.

  “Y/n?” He asks, and you can’t help but notice that his usually crabby voice is laced with concern.

   “Ugh.” You groan in response. The back of your head is exploding with pain.

   “Are you alright?” He questions lowly.

   “Head hurts.” You mumble.

    You feel Zuko moving behind you, and assume he’s nodding.

   “You got hit pretty hard.” He whispers. You’re appreciative of the fact that he has lowered his voice. “Good thing your head is so hard.” 

    And there it is. You decide to be the bigger person and ignore him.

   “Hit with what?” You ask.

    “Magic, dear.” Says a wheezing voice. All of a sudden, light fills up the cave again, and you squeeze your eyes shut against it.

    Your head pounds viciously in response to the brightness, and you groan again.

   “Sorry about that.” The voice says again, and this time you can tell that it belongs to a woman. An old one by the sound of it.

    You hear shuffling near you, and then something is pressed to your lips.

   “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.” She says.

    You shake your head, but she pressed the vial through your lips anyways, and forces your head back.

   “Leave her alone!” Zuko snaps.

   “Don’t worry firebender, I haven’t forgotten you.” The old woman says.

    The sweet liquid slides down your throat, and instantly your pain fades. You open your eyes to a wizened woman with a shock of bright white hair. Her eyes are crazed, and instantly you have a bad feeling about her. She winks at you and then moves away, one of her legs dragging behind her.

    You briefly take stock of you surroundings. The room is made of stone, so clearly you haven’t left the cave. That at least would make it easier if you escaped. The room is cluttered with vials, plants, and random torn pages. On one of the make shift tables you see a large cauldron and a mortar and pestle.

    “You’re a witch.” Your voice is flat.

     The old woman let’s out a shrieking cackle.

   “If that’s what you want to call it! Now I think it’s time you answer a few of my questions.” She says, crossing her arms.

    “We don’t owe you anything!” Zuko says through clenched teeth. You can feel his anger heating his body from where your backs touch.

   “No?” She says coyly. “You came to my cave to attack me!” She squeals, one eye twitching.

    “We didn’t come to attack you.” You say, trying to maintain the peace. Maybe she could be reasoned with. You feel Zuko tense behind you, and you know he’s preparing for a fight.

    “Then why were you sneaking into my cave, with this one on fire?” She says nodding in Zuko’s direction.

    This is the tricky part, figuring out how much to tell her. She clearly isn’t a fan of the Fire Nation, due to her reaction with Zuko, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe she knows who Zuko is, and is a Fire Nation sympathizer.

    “Well?” She questions.

    “We’re traveling with the Avatar, and he sent us up here to check this place out while he went to help the nearby village.” You blurt. It comes out of nowhere, and it was definitely not what you meant to say at all.

    Horrified, you gasp. Zuko tenses begins you.

   “What did you do to her?” He demands.

   “Just a little truth potion.” She hums. “Can’t hurt to know the people around you are honest.”

     You clamp your mouth, biting into your lip hard enough to draw blood.

    “We’re not your enemy.” Zuko says. “You don’t need to restrain us. Or trick us into telling the truth.”

     You watch as the old woman paces back and forth.

    “I am Kara.” She says finally. “Years ago, I made a deal with Fire Nation to protect my people. I would provide them with some magical assistance, if they would spare my village.”

    “You’re helping them?” You cry out.

    “Don’t judge me too harshly girl.” The woman snaps. “I did what I could for my people, just as you try to do.”

    “The Avatar will free you’re village.” Zuko says. “You will be able to prosper without Fire Nation soldiers breathing down your neck. Let us go, and we will be able to help him.”

    Something in his voice makes your heart stutter. Maybe it’s the sincerity in his voice, or the hard edge of determination. You have got to stop thinking about Zuko that way.

    Kara laughs and shakes her head.

    “No one will be able to defeat them. Not even the Avatar.” She shakes her head, sadly.

    “We have! Many times before.” You say. You don’t like Kara talking badly about Aang. He has almost mastered all of the elements, and you know he has what it takes to defeat Ozai. You all have done so much good for people already. 

    Kara just shakes her head again, and resumes pacing.

   “I’m sorry.” She says finally. “I wish your friend well, but I can’t let you leave without knowing you aren’t a threat to the Fire Nation. If they know that I didn’t do anything I could to help them, they will hurt the people I love.”

    Kara begins muttering under her breath, and you tense up. You hate being completely vulnerable and open to an attack. Zuko must be on the same page, for you can feel him struggling against the bonds.

    “Heat them up.” You whisper as quietly as you can. “Burn them.”

    Kara starts going around and picking out various objects from her jars.

   “I can’t. Your hands are too close, I’ll burn you.” He says.

   “You’ll have to. It’s the only way we’re getting out of here!” You snap.

   “No.” He says, hotly.

    “Zuko!”

    “I’m not going to hurt you, y/n!” He growls.

    To your dismay, your arguing has caught the attention of Kara. She has a bright gleam in her eyes as she’s watching you two.

    “I see.” She says. Then she starts laughing hysterically, wiping tears from her eyes.

    “I know just what to do! But first, young lady, just how much does this boy mean to you?”

    The truth spills from your lips again without your control.

    “A lot.” You say, and then you’re whole face turns red. You’re mortified, but at least Zuko can’t see your face.

   Kara giggle with glee and then nods to herself

 “Oh yes, just the thing.” She comes over to you both, and plucks hairs from your heads.

   “Hey!” You and Zuko both protest.

  She sets the hairs in a bowl, and then starts talking to herself again, this time loudly enough for you to hear. She’s speaking in a foreign language of some sort, and hastily you begin to tug on your bonds again.

   “Zuko, just do it!” You say.

     In a surprisingly fast move, Zuko manages to wrench his wrists away from yours and singe the ropes without burning you. He is up and shooting flames at Kara in an instant.

    The bowl catches on fire, but it’s a pink fire, something magical and not from Zuko.

    “You’re too late!” She cackles gleefully. Then she disappears in a plume of smoke, and you and Zuko are left alone in the cave.

                                  ——————————————

   You  are both on high alert as you make your way back to camp. Every noise makes you jumpy, as you wait for Kara’s spell to start working. You make it out of the woods without so much as a scratch. Though it looks like you’ve avoided her wrath, something feels off.

   “You’re too late.” She had said. Chills race up and down your spine.

   Zuko keeps lighting and extinguishing his fists. You think maybe he’s trying to make sure he can still bend. Possible scenarios play over and over in your head. There were thousands of things she could do to sabotage you and Zuko. She could take away his bending, paralyze you, or turn you into bugs. The possibilities are endless, and yet nothing has happened.

   The Gaang is waiting up for you when you finally arrive back at camp. You tell them about the witch and her curse. Sokka rolls his eyes and seems unconcerned.

   “She’s just a crackpot you guys. Obviously nothing will happen.”

   Toph seconds his notion, but Aang and Katara look wary. Katara makes you and Zuko repeat the story until you’re blue in the face, but she can’t figure it out any more than you can.

  You are too embarrassed from your admission to talk to Zuko, or even bicker with him like you normally would. You quickly excuse yourself to go to sleep, and spend the rest of the evening hiding in your tent.

   You fall into a restless sleep that night. You dream of the horrible things you considered happening to you. In one dream you’re a frog, in the other you’re pinned to the ground unable to move.

   You’re utterly exhausted when you’re woken up by you’re own screaming.

                             ————————————————-

  You sit up in your tent immediately. You knew you heard yourself scream, but it hadn’t come from your mouth. Seconds later, you burst into your tent.

  Your clone stops and look at you, with wide eyes.

  “Y/n?” Your voice asks you.

   “Yes?” You say, but it isn’t your voice that comes out when you speak. Instead, it’s Zuko’s rasp that forms the words.

   All of a sudden the pieces of the puzzle start clicking together.

   “Oh no.” You say horrified, and look down at your body.

   You have muscles now, and you feel stronger, bigger. You reach a hand up and grab a handful of short, ebony locks. Your other hand traces your features, and you feel the rough scar under the pads of your fingers.

   “This can’t be real.” You say in Zuko’s voice. “This can’t be happening.”

   “It’s happening.” Zuko says.

   It’s weird to see yourself objectively like this. You have this horrible out of body feeling, and it’s making your head spin. Anxiety hits you, and you start breathing heavy. You’re going to pass out.

    “Calm down!” Zuko says, rushing over to you. He wraps his arms around you, himself? Ugh it’s too confusing.

  “If you don’t calm down, you’re going to burn this tent down and hurt yourself!” He says. He awkwardly starts rubbing your back. “Breathe with me.” He instructs.

   Slowly, you start to calm down. Zuko lets his, your?, hands linger for a moment longer, before he pulls away and puts some distance between you.

    “What are we going to do?” You ask. Zuko makes a face at how weak his voice sounds.

    “I don’t know.” He says. His mannerisms look so weird on your body. You can tell that it’s him, just by the way he holds himself. You wonder if he’s experiencing the same thing watching you in his body.

  “We need to go back to the cave, demand that Kara gives us our bodies back.” You say.

   Zuko rolls your eyes.

  “I’m sure that will go over well.” He says.

  “Don’t make me sound all crabby.” You snap at him.

  “Don’t make me sound all girly and pathetic!” He retorts.

  “Pathetic?!”

  “Oh Zuko,” he mocks “what are we going to do? Save me Zuko, I care a lot about you!”

  “You’re so annoying!” You shout, embarrassed that he remembered your confession.

   “Can we not fight this early in the morning!” Sokka says, throwing open your tent.

  “Oh.” He says, looking between the two of you.

  You realize in embarrassment that you and Zuko are awfully close together, and you are in Zuko’s body in your sleeping bag. It has to look like Zuko slept in your tent.

   “Sokka, we can explain.” You say.

   Sokka hurriedly shakes his head, raising his hands.

   “No, no. Please don’t.” He says.

   “Sokka listen, the witch really did curse us.” Zuko says. “She made us switch bodies.”

    Sokka looks between the two of you and then bursts into laughter.

    “Ok well I have to say that’s the first time I’ve hear that excuse.” He says, wiping tears from the corners of his blue eyes.

   “We’re serious!” You snap at him.

    Sokka sobers up, looking between you two again.

   “You really did perfect your impressions of one another.” Sokka says, suddenly sounding a bit more unsure.

    “Ugh!” You snap, and push out of the tent in a huff. You need to find Toph. She could prove you weren’t lying.

     It’s cold outside your tent, and to your horror you find that you’re not wearing a shirt.

    “Zuko!” You screech. “Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt!”

   “I’m a firebender, y/n. I get hot!” He defends.

   “Get me a shirt!” You snap. Zuko rolls his eyes at your dramatics, but leads you to his tent and throws a tunic at you.

    It smells like him when you pull it over your head. You try not to obviously inhale, but it’s the first time you’ve really noticed how Zuko smells. It’s not the first time you’ve noticed his muscles, but now you have a first hand look. His abs are hard and defined, and you blush quickly finishing dressing.

    “Are you done starting at me?” Zuko asks.

    “I’m sorry, it’s just weird!” You tell him.

  Sokka’s jaw is nearly touching the ground as he watches your exchange.

   “No way.” He says, finally believing you.

  “Yeah, Sokka.” You say.

                           ——————————————————

  Toph confirms your story, and everyone sits in dumbfounded silence. Even you and Zuko don’t have much more to say.

  “Well you have to go talk to Kara.” Katara says helpfully. “We’ll have to make her change you back.”

   “Wow that’s helpful. Thank you Katara, why didn’t we think of that.” Zuko says.

  “Y/n!” Katara says, hurt.

  “Zuko.” You and Zuko both correct her.

  “Whatever.” She mutters, angrily.

  “Katara’s right.” Says Aang. “We’ll all go. Maybe if I can convince her that I can help, she’ll change you back.”

   There seems to be no better plan than this. Sokka and Toph stay behind at the campsite, while the rest of you start the hike up the mountain.

   The breeze isn’t so bad now that you’re in Zuko’s body. He’s right when he says that he doesn’t get cold. He, on the other hand, is openly shivering in your body. You almost feel a little bad, but you remember him telling you it wasn’t that bad last night, and think better of it.

   “How do you survive like this?” He moans when you come to a stop. “It’s so cold all the time.”

   You smirk at his dramatics.

  “That’s what you get.”

   “For what!” He questions, and you can feel the fight brewing.

   “Oh I don’t know, maybe ‘You’re so dramatic y/n.’” You mock. “’It’s not that cold, y/n. Calm down, y/n’”

“I wasn’t telling you to calm down because you were cold.” He snaps. “I was trying to tell you to stop panicking!” He throws his hands up and stomps ahead.

   It’s a little embarrassing, and you think back to every tantrum you’ve thrown. Maybe this is a somewhat positive experience. You’re definitely learning about the annoying things you do.

   You and Zuko bicker all the way up the mountain. Though it’s not unusual for you all, but you can tell it’s driving Aang and Katara crazy.

   “Can you all please knock it off!” Katara yells, eventually. All three of you jump, and she crosses her arms. “I am sick and tired of hearing you all argue. That’s all you do every day! Can’t you all come to some sort of truce?”

   You and Zuko both narrow your eyes at each other.

 “No!” You say at the same time.

   “Ugh!”

                         —————————————————-

  You make it up the mountain alive, but barely. Everyone’s tempers are running high by the time you break through the trees.

  “Alright,” Zuko says. “We need to be careful. She knocked y/n out with one blow. She’ll do it again if we aren’t careful.”

   You’re about to protest the way he makes your ambush sound, but Aang mediates before your get riled up.

   “Just let it go.” He tells you.

   You all enter the cave quietly, heads constantly scanning the area as Zuko leads you down to the belly of the cave. You recognize the room when you get to it. The evidence of Kara is everywhere, still littered around the floor.

   “She isn’t here?” Zuko says.

    “Great observation.” You retort.

   “Guys, guys!” Aang snaps. “Enough. Let’s look through the books around here. There’s got to be something that tells us how to fix this.”

   The four of you spend what feels like hours combing through the books and pages around the room.

    “There’s nothing here!” Zuko cries, slamming a book onto the table.

    “That’s because it’s a spell of my own invention.” Kara’s wheezy voice says.

    You all jump into defensive stances, ready to attack. Kara holds up a wrinkled hand, but otherwise looks unbothered.

    “Please.” She says passively. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

    “Change back my friends!” Aang demands. “It’s me you have a problem with.”

   “Ah the Avatar.” Kara smiles. “You really are here.”

    “Yes. And I promise I will free your village. But first you must free my friends.” He says.

   “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She says, eyes glittering again.

    “Why not?” Katara challenges.

    “I can’t change them back, because they must do it themselves.” She smiles.

   “What do you mean?” You ask, broad furrowing. There’s a light protesting from Zuko’s scar at the movement.

    “Save my village and I’ll tell you.” She says. “And you better do it fast, because in three days this will become permanent.”

                            ————————————————-

   Freeing the village from Fire Nation troops is going to be a bigger struggle than you anticipated, you realize as you and Zuko stroll down the streets. You currently have a hood pulled way over your head to hide your identity. There seemed to be hundred of them, and there were only six of you.

   “We’re never going to be able to pull this off.” You mutter under your breath. “I’m going to be you forever.”

   “How do you think I feel?” Zuko laments. “I’m losing my bending, my honor, everything.”

    “Well we wouldn’t be in this mess if I had just gone up there alone.” You snap as you approach the center of the village. 

    “Right, if you had gone alone you would’ve been killed!” He snaps back.

    “Why do you assume I’m so incapable of taking care of myself?!” You’re infuriated now. “I took care of myself for years before I ever met you!”

    “Don’t see how!” He growls. “All you ever do is get yourself in trouble, and someone always has to be there to help!”

    “Excuse me?!” You roar. “How dare you?!”

    The Fire Nation soldiers are slowly starting to gather around you, curious about the fight.

   “How dare I?” Zuko ramps up the volume. “How dare you?” He points a finger at your chest.

   So far, your distraction seems to be working. Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph are all getting into position. You just have to keep up the fighting a little longer.

   “You’re always babying me, and acting like I need a keeper! I’m not a child, and you don’t have to take it upon yourself to be my caretaker! I’m just fine on my own!” You yell, channeling his body’s natural penchant for rage.

    “Somebody has to!” Zuko snaps back, and over exaggerates putting his hand on his hip. “You never do it yourself. You’re always doing reckless things for other people, and your not as equipped to throw yourself in danger like everyone else!”

    Suddenly this fight feels a bit too real, and you find yourself getting actually offended. How dare he insinuate that your lack of bending meant you weren’t a good fighter!

   “What so I’m not allowed to care about my friends and do things to protect them?” You screech. “I’m sorry I don’t have all your talents, my lord. Next time I’ll make sure I get your permission first before I try and help somebody out!”

    “You always take everything I say out of context!” He snaps.

     “Hey guys?” Aang says, garnering the attention of the crowd. “I think that’s good enough, thanks.”

     Then all chaos breaks loose. Katara, Aang, and Toph start the fight with their bending. The Fire Nation soldiers, though caught unaware, do not take long to start fighting back. You wish that you knew how to utilize Zuko’s firebending, but you settle on using his physical strength instead.

   Most of the defense moves you know are geared towards you being smaller than your opponent. Not all of them work now that you’re Zuko’s size, and you find yourself struggling more than usual in your fights.

   Zuko seems to be having a similar issue learning how to fight in your body. You notice he has a habit of getting into bending stances out of pure habit. You notice that he’s getting cornered, when you go to help him.

   Together, you fight pretty well, instructing each other on moves as you go. Sokka’s boomerang flies about, knocking out opponents left and right. Your benders are doing well too, and soon enough, you’ve defeated the Fire Nation soldiers.

   You’re sore, body aching from exertion, but the happy villagers make it feel worth it.

   “Thank you, Avatar!” Someone yells after Aang explains who you all are.

    Your eyes find Kara’s in the crowd. It was time you got your body back.

   “Hey!” You yell as she walks away.

    “Y/n?” You hear Zuko call behind you as you take off, pushing through the crowd.

    “Hey! Stop!” You yell at Kara. “You owe us an explanation!”

      Zuko catches up to you, and you both chase after her. Finally, Kara stops in the woods, away from all the people.

     “I thought you’d want some privacy!” She cackles. “I saw your little distraction out there. Seemed pretty real.” You and Zuko shuffle and avoid eye contact, as the rest of the Gaang catches up with you.

  “We saved your village!” Aang says, “Now tell us how to fix this.” He waves a hand at you and Zuko.

   Kara’s eyes sparkle as she looks at all of you.

  “As I said, I can’t change you back. You have to do it yourselves.” She sings.

  “How?” Zuko grounds out through his, your, clenched jaw.

   “All you have to do is kiss!” She says gleefully clapping her hands together.

   Everyone is silent as you all take in this information.

   “There has to be another way.” Zuko says. There’s a desperate edge to his voice that hurts your feelings. Is the thought of kissing you so awful that he wouldn’t do it even to get his body back?

    Rolling your eyes, you stroll over and kiss Zuko’s, your, cheek. It’s a weird experience for sure, knowing that you’re kissing both Zuko and yourself.

   “Not that kind of kiss.” Kara says, smiling like a maniac. “A real one!”

   The color drains from Zuko’s face, and the rest of your friends remain silent. You can feel their eyes watching your every move. 

  Zuko’s disgust is plain, and even though it hurts, you just want your body back and to forget this every happened.

   “Zuko, I know you’re absolutely disgusted, but I’d like my body back before I’m you forever.” You say annoyed. “You can wash out your mouth and vomit when you have your own body back.”

   You can hear the muted hurt in your own voice, and it’s kind of embarrassing that you know everyone else can hear it too.

   “I’m afraid it’s the only way.” Kara adds.

   “If it helps just think about the fact that you’re kissing yourself, not me.” You say. More than ever you want this experience to be over, so you can go mourn your hurt feelings somewhere in private.

    Zuko sighs, and then approaches you.

  “Fine.” He says.

  Awkwardly, you both fidget, unsure how to initiate the kiss. It doesn’t help that literally everyone, including Momo and Appa, are looking at you.

   “Some privacy?” You ask them.

   “Oh yeah sure.” They all mumble, whistling and looking away. The second you turn back to Zuko you can feel their eyes on you. Some friends.

   “Let’s just get it over-” you get cut off by Zuko pressing his lips to yours.

    Instantly, you feel the switch happening. You feel yourself being pulled and re-anchored into your own body. Your limbs feel normal again, and then you really start to feel the kiss.

   Zuko pulls you closer to his warm, muscular body. Everything is exploding around you, and all you want to do is be even closer to him. You bring your arms up and settle them on his broad shoulders. Your hands wind themselves around his neck, and you play with the ends of his hair.

   Zuko’s large hands are also doing their fair share of exploring. One rests on your hips while the other tangles itself in your hair, and both pull you closer. His tongue opens your lips and you let him in, a moan escaping from you. It feels right, kissing Zuko like this. Like it is something that was always meant to happen.

   Somebody clears their throat and breaks up your moment. Slowly, you and Zuko part. You’re thrilled to realize it’s his swollen lips and amber eyes that you see when you pull away.

   “Well that was something!” Kara squeals in delight.

    Heat pools into your cheeks, as you asses your friends’ expressions. Aang looks embarrassed, Katara has heart eyes, and Toph and Sokka both look disgusted.

   “It worked.” You say breathlessly. Already you have the intense desire to kiss Zuko again, but suddenly you’re insecure. What if he hated it? He had seemed so disgusted before.

   “Yeah it did.” Zuko says, and then he smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Some privacy?” He asks everyone, tightening his grip on you. Butterflies explode in your stomach as he does, and you’ve never felt so fluttery before.

   Your friends make themselves scarce, telling you they’ll be at camp. Kara scrambles off too, cackling all the while, and then you are alone.

  Your heart is pounding, and you’re really unsure how to tell Zuko how you feel. What if he doesn’t feel the same?

   Suddenly, Zuko presses his lips to yours again, and it feels like he’s devouring you. He’s passionate and fiery, and every press of his tongue against yours makes you feel like you’re on fire. Your body is buzzing when he finally pulls away to catch his breath.

   “I didn’t mean what I said during our fight.” He says, leaning his forehead against yours and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I don’t think you’re incapable or less than because you aren’t a bender. I think you’re one of the most talented people I know, and I also know that you can take care of yourself.” He says taking a deep breath.

   Zuko takes a step back, and removed an arm to put a finger under your chin. He lift your chin so you’re looking into his eyes.

   “I worry about you. All the time.” He says. “I’m so scared that you’ll get hurt and I won’t be there to protect you. My number one instinct is to protect you. That’s why I always ‘hover’ and volunteer to go on missions with you. If something happened to you....”

   “I feel the same way about you, you know.” You say smiling. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt either. And I don’t necessarily hate it when you’re around.” You tease him. “Or when you kiss me.”

   Zuko laughs, a deep happy laugh. It’s one of the first times you’ve ever seen him look so buoyant. You take the opportunity to kiss him this time, and he sighs happily into your mouth.

    “What are we going to do now?” You ask him.

    “Probably get back to our friends.” He says, grabbing your hand in his as you start making your way to your camp site.

    “You know, Zuko, Toph’s right.” You say. “You really do take people on life changing adventures!”

A/n: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this! I’ve been working on my requests so hopefully I’ll have a few more stories out for you guys over the weekend. I’m going to be adding some things to my ‘Fanfic prompts’ post, so be sure to check it out if you want to request something! (also I’m fine with people requesting things that aren’t on that list if you have something specific for me to write!) Have a good weekend, and you can find all my other writing under the tag slythergirlimagines. I think I tagged everyone who asked to be tagged in my atla stuff, but if I missed you please let me know and I’ll correct it!!

Taglist: @galacticamidala​ @a-random-queer-kid​ @taeeemin​ @realimbo​ @samsmultifandomblogs​

@fire1ordzuzu​ @shortmexicangirl​

[jaskierek]

Jaskier loved his lute to a ridiculous extent. Geralt liked to make fun of him for it, but Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to care. It was elven, for Melitele’s sake, a gift from Filavandrel himself. It was elven and it was beautiful, a deep chestnut brown with elegant carvings. It made him feel like someone worth listening to. He’d write a ballad about this very lute if he didn’t face the danger of brutal mockery for it.

One time, Geralt had been commissioned to get rid of some crazed witch that had a propensity for cursing the villager’s crops and who had closed herself off in a tower just outside the town. A tower which had subsequently begun to fall apart around them once Geralt had managed to knock her unconscious.

And see, previously, during their scuffle, Jaskier had been thrown across the room in the witch’s rage, his lute flying out of his grasp.

And see, Geralt had swung the unconscious witch over his shoulder, pulled Jaskier up by his doublet and was pushing him out of the tower.

And see, Jaskier was all for not dying, he really was, but his lute was still in there. So he slipped under Geralt’s arm, ignoring his frantic “Jaskier!” and grabbed his lute, narrowly missing a falling stone which would have crushed it into beautiful, jagged pieces. With a relieved sigh, he stood back up and then realisation dawned on him.

He was about to be buried in the rubble of a collapsing building.

Shit.

Running in the direction he had come from, he managed to dodge falling rocks and jump over crumbling walls, hearing Geralt crying his name from outside the building. Jaskier managed to find some relief in that, that Geralt was out and safe. He was almost out himself when he tripped over a brick, falling onto his forearms, feeling the breath get knocked out of him and a burning pain tear at his ankle.

Fuck.

In the thousands of possible ways he could have died on his many travels, it would be a brick that would take him out. He tried to catch his breath, to push himself up but his ankle would not cooperate.

An arm was suddenly pulling him up, out, practically dragging him to safety, only letting go once they had gotten far enough away from the tower. The second the arm let go, he fell to the ground, his ankle refusing to hold him up any longer. He didn’t care, he had his lute.

“What the fuck was that?” Jaskier winced at the rage in Geralt’s voice. He looked up tentatively at the furious Witcher.

“What was what?” He tried asking innocently. Geralt growled, dropping to the ground in front of Jaskier and grabbing him forcefully by the shoulders.

“What the fuck was that? You could have died Jaskier and all for what? Some instrument? What if I hadn’t reached you in time, hm?” Jaskier blinked at the genuine worry he saw beneath the anger on Geralt’s face, his golden eyes practically molten.

“Sorry?” Was all he could muster in response, for once not having much to say. Geralt growled again and looked away, letting go of Jaskier and standing up.

“Fuck.” he heard him mutter before turning away from the bard completely to go check on the still thankfully unconscious witch. Jaskier watched him walk away, shoulders still tense. He could tell the Witcher’s adrenaline was still coursing through him.

Jaskier tried manoeuvring his leg silently, wanting to test how injured it was. The movement caused a biting pain to tear up his leg, making him yelp in pain and the Witcher turn back around to face him. With a sigh, he kneeled down and reached for his ankle. “Take a breath.” He warned, before scooping up the injured leg to examine it. Jaskier sucked in a breath, scrunching his face and cradling his lute to his chest. Geralt’s eyes found his face yet again, the anger now gone, replaced by faint amusement. Those eyes flicked down to Jaskier’s lute before he shook his head. “Dumbass”.

—

Jaskier had almost died plenty of times because of that damned lute actually.

Another time, he had been cornered in a dark alley on his way to a tavern, this time without Geralt. The men demanded his money and he had reluctantly given them all he had, which albeit wasn’t much. Panic built in his chest as he watched the moonlight glint off of their blades.

“This all you got, bard?” Their leader demanded, clearly not pleased with the measly coins Jaskier had left.

“I’m afraid so, kind sirs.” He replied, voice wavering as the man stepped closer, his hungry eyes roaming Jaskier up and down, resting on the intricate lute in the bard’s hand. Jaskier uselessly attempted to hide the lute behind him, trying to squeeze it between his body and the wall. The man smirked.

“The lute.”

“What?”

Jaskier suddenly found himself face-to-face with a rather savage looking knife.

“Give us the lute.”

Jaskier paused, desperately trying to think of a way out. It was a gift from Filavandrel, from the elves, an elven lute, one he got on his very first adventure with Geralt. It was the same lute he had used to write and play his very first songs about the Witcher. There was no way in hell he was going to give it to some common, unwashed bandits.

“No.” Came his reply. He thought he sounded rather brave. Of course, this was almost immediately undermined by the subsequent blade to his throat.

“You want to rethink that response? We’d hate to ruin that pretty little outfit of yours.” He snarled, the others behind him sniggering. Jaskier’s heart was pounding in his throat, the cold blade pushing painfully against his skin.

“Leave the bard be.” Came a familiar voice and Jaskier almost sighed in relief but refrained, in fear that the movement would dig the knife further into his throat.

“Move on, Witcher, this is none of your business.” One of the other thieves sneered. Geralt was out of his periphery, but Jaskier hoped, no he knew, that Geralt wouldn’t leave him there.

“Unfortunately I can’t. See, that’s my bard you’re threatening.” Growled the Witcher, the familiar hiss of his sword escaping its sheath penetrating the air. Jaskier couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, you think this is funny, bard?” The man asked, stepping closer and pressing the blade in further, finally drawing blood.

Not long after, Geralt was wiping the man’s own blood off of his steel, he had let the other two thieves run away.

“You wouldn’t give them your lute.” Geralt said, more of a statement than a question.

“A father always protects his child, dear Geralt.” Jaskier responded, giving his instrument a dramatic kiss. The Witcher only grunted in response, coming closer to draw his thumb across the skin of Jaskier’s throat, a frown on his face. The bard swallowed thickly.  “So…inn?” He managed to suggest weakly.

—

The point is, Jaskier was very protective of his lute. He had once almost gotten into a fight with a man who dared insult it.

“Criticise my singing all you want, but this lute does not sound like a wailing cat, you deaf, talentless bastard.” Jaskier had yelled from Geralt’s grasp, who was holding him back from punching the much bigger man.

The point is, Jaskier loved that lute. Which brought them to a very specific day.

The two men were in a town that had not yet warmed to the idea of Witchers, even after Geralt had gotten rid of a Kikimora for them. He wasn’t bothered by it though, he’d had plenty of…unpleasant experiences with humans before, especially before he’d met Jaskier who had made it his mission to change the public’s opinion on Geralt. He was used to hurled insults and glares and other…hurled objects.

He couldn’t say the same for Jaskier. The bard had experienced some of the dislike before, it came with job of following a Witcher, yet he still hadn’t gotten used to it

“You’d think they’d at least let us stay the night after what you did for them.” Geralt heard him mumble under his breath, his mood downright rotten as he scowled at all the faces glowering at the Witcher.

“Some cannot be swayed, Jaskier.” Came Geralt’s patient response, his feet swift beneath him as they tried to make their way out of the town as quickly as possible. There was a crowd gathering behind them, as if forming a blockade should the two men decide to venture back into the town. His hearing granted the Witcher the ability to hear the comments coming from the townspeople. He was glad that Jaskier couldn’t hear them, he had developed a habit of defending Geralt’s non-existent honour and while it did light a warm flame within him, they just needed to get out of this godsdamned town without any trouble. That was, until he felt something hard hit the back of his head.

“What was that?” Asked Jaskier, stopping alongside Geralt.

“Nothing.”  He grunted in response, beginning to move off again.

“Geralt-“ Jaskier began, but stopped when he saw another stone fly and hit the Witcher’s back this time, Geralt did not stop walking, however, the bard whirled around, seething. “Who the fuck threw that?”

“Jas-“

“He’s a filthy monster. Doesn’t belong here.” A middle aged man spat.

“You fucker-“ Jaskier started as he tried to storm over to the man, no doubt to kick him where it would hurt, but Geralt stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

“Don’t.” He said simply, jaw tense. He could sense that their audience was aggravated, which was the last thing Geralt wanted. Jaskier noticed the way the Witcher pursed his lips, he spotted the pain behind those amber eyes. Jaskier knew that the hatred people bore for him pained the Witcher more than he’d care to admit.

“Fine.” Came the bard’s terse response, the fury never leaving his face. The Witcher dropped his hand, eager to continue on when he saw another rock flying towards his face. He caught it this time, but couldn’t catch Jaskier as he stormed towards the man, lute over his shoulder as he swung it, swung it until -

A sudden crack rang out as the man fell to the ground with a bark.

He thought back to the times the bard had vehemently protected his lute, had endangered himself for it. And so, Geralt stared wide-eyed at his bard as he gripped his beloved, shattered lute, all the while shouting at the man. The Witcher’s non-existent honour felt very defended at the moment.

People were getting agitated, fingers curling into fists, Jaskier himself looking ready to hit someone over the head again. The Witcher quickly strode over to his bard before any more fights broke out, pulling him away by his waist and keeping him tight to his chest. He began to walk away again, Jaskier still yelling over his shoulder.

“-more of a monster than he’ll ever be! You’d be lucky if he ever came back to this ungrateful shithole of a-” his tirade continued. Geralt allowed himself a soft smile.

Jaskier had never feared Geralt and had always had hope in his humanity, always followed him into danger. He couldn’t deny Jaskier’s poor preservation skills but Geralt couldn’t help but feel a certain sweetness at the thought. At any thought of the bard, really.

And he knew how much that lute meant to him and how much a new one would cost.

He only let go of him once they had left the town, reluctantly setting him down and searching his face for the inevitable grief at his lute’s demise, finding only outrage.

“- fucking stones - what in the actual - who - they’re bloody fuckwits, the lot of them, Geralt, so don’t think for a moment that you’re anything but -“

“Jaskier.”

“What?”

“You have an incredible ability to talk at extreme length.”

“I am aware, Geralt, thank you.”

Geralt smiled and tilted his head in that fond way he sometimes did, Jaskier’s face lit up at the sight.

“Jaskier.”

“What?”

Geralt examined the still oblivious bard, slightly dishevelled, eyes shining.

“Your lute.”

Finally the bard seemed to realise what he had done. He lifted the battered instrument to his face, gazing at it woefully.

“Ah, well,” He began, voice breaking slightly, “it was a noble death, my friend.” Jaskier gave it a comforting kiss. “We’ll bury it somewhere nice, it’s the least we could do for all of the joy it’s brought us.”

Geralt snorted, but quickly covered it up with a cough when Jaskier’s watery, blue eyes looked to him again.

“Ah, yes, so…” The Witcher started, not really knowing what to say.

“Off we go?” The bard finished. Geralt gave him a small nod, moving off again on the road.

“Jaskier?”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

“Always, Geralt.”

And if the Witcher walked a little closer to the bard, brushing against him every so often, well, it really wasn’t anyone’s business, was it?

[starcrossedyanderes]

Beauty and The Birds Part 9

Warning: This chapter contains former abuse from parents, religion (mostly cult-ish stuff), mentions of  ‘The Catholic Church’, and supposed witchcraft. A long with general harm of a person because of them being different. If any of this effects you I recommend possibly not reading this. If you are facing any of the above (except for maybe supposed witch craft) you can access this website for help https://www.thehotline.org/ this is the domestic violence hotline and are generally good for a lot of situations.

Disclaimer: I, as always, do not condone this behavior in any sense. A made up sort of cult-like religion is brought up that tries to hide itself as The Catholic Church. I have absolutely nothing against the catholic church as I am personally a protestant (but of course you know how us protestants feel) and I have nothing against what people believe in as long as no one gets hurt. This is based off of the sad incidents of exorcisms and how the are most commonly performed on regular children and how they quickly turn violent. Please, this is never acceptable. You should never be harmed by your religion or because of your religion.

~Previously on Beauty and The Birds~

“Isn’t that cannibalism?”

“Doggo!”

“Sheepies!”

“No. Other birds. I don’t think there’s another like me.”

~Back to Beauty and The Birds~

“It’s a uh.. long story that I haven’t shared with anyone. As you can tell I’m not exactly the best at communicating-“

He physically backed into himself with a blush on his cheeks and a hand rubbing his neck. You physically drooped as you started to walk away.

“Okay, I guess you don’t want to tell me-“

“NO!”

At seemingly the speed of light and a large ‘whoosh’ the bird man appeared right in front of you with his hands spread.

He had this deranged look on his face that seemed to become more and more common as the days passed.

He stepped closer to you with a shaky crazed smile on his face.

“No, no! I’ll tell you! I would tell you anything.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders to pull you in closer as his smile only widened.

“I would do anything for you. You just have to ask and I would tell you whatever you could possibly want to know. As long as you stay so couldn’t care less. It’s all worth it.”

Hm, he seems to show a lot of territorial behavior and desperation. Could this be part of a courtship sort of thing. He seems to be quite attached for only knowing you for what? 2 days? You’ll have to look into that later.

His smile and piercing gaze finally softened as he seemed to return to his normal self.

“I will admit this is a rough topic for me so I would rather if we could instead talk in the nest.”

You eagerly nodded your head as you gripped your discreet recording device as you were flown up to the top floor’s glass observatory.

It seems the nest acts as a comfort sort of place for him. Somewhat how some animals do during heats and pregnancy’s. From what you can tell he isn’t in a heat (although it could explain some things) and he certainly isn’t pregnant so it is quite odd behavior for a bird to exhibit.

~|~

You were currently perched inside the nest as you awaited on Avery’s return. He, to your annoyance, insisted on getting a few snacks

You irritably clutched on a corviknight plushie you found in the nest before it was quickly abandoned on Avery’s return. 

In his hands he carried various junk foods but there was an odd one that stood out from the rest.

Tater tots.

After putting down the foods on a little side table he quickly joined you in the Blanket Void TM and quickly into you. His wings wrapped around and whilst spreading sent a turtle duck plushie off of the bed. He quickly let out some gentle cooing as he nuzzled deeply into your neck.

“I’m ready to answer your questions now.”

“Alright, how about an easier question to start off. What’s with the tater tots?”

Of course this question was just a ruse to make sure your device was recording and genuine curiosity.

Avery’s head pulled away from your neck and a frown pulled at his lips. He then proceeded in what you like to call his ‘bby voice’

“Is there something wrong with them? They’re my favorite.”

That-that was not the answer you were expecting. Huh, that’s odd.

“Oh, nothing. Just genuine curiosity.”

Avery immediately relaxed back into your arms after popping a tater tot into his mouth. 

“Now, you say you don’t think there’s anyone else like you. Is it because you believe to be the last of your species?”

He stiffened up once again before digging himself more into you.

“Well no, I think. I don’t believe I am part of a species. This may take a while to explain and please bare with me. This is a rough topic that I haven’t really been able to share with anyone.”

You eagerly nodded your head and made sure to give him some headpats which only induced some coos to leave his throat.

“Well my family were rather wealthy and owned an airplane company and I think we did general logistics stuff. We were also rather catholic although now I think we don’t quite fit that term. At least hope not for the sake of people who are actually catholic.

My mother was the heiress and received a lot of suitors. She was supposedly cursed by one of her suitor’s mother after turning him down. We think this may have led to me.. being me.”

You felt rather disheartened but also even more intrigued by this information. So he doesn’t seem to be part of a species, but an odd mutation? (You highly doubted this is from some curse.)

“So where exactly is your family now”

After speaking you popped a tator tot into your mouth.

“I think about 5 years ago my parents, ironically enough, died in a plane crash. I was pretty much only allowed on the estate, the woods, and the church after my wings developed so I wasn’t allowed with them. That was probably a mistake on their parts.”

You waved your arms a bit.

“Hold up, you siad you weren’t allowed anywhere after your wings developed. Does that mean you weren’t born with them.”

Avery let out a reflexive chuckle.

“Ha ha, well I technically was born with them. I was a healthy baby but I had these bumps on my back. Of course everyone was concerned about these being tumors so I was tested frequently. Turns out they were merely bone and somewhat.. hollow. As I grew the bumps started grow into my wings today. The bone thing is also why I take a good bit of calcium since they’re so fragile.”

“But why weren’t you let anywhere after they developed?”

Avery let out a sigh as he mentally prepared himself.

“After the doctors kinda figured out I was somehow growing wings paired with my purple eyes my parents were very excited for me to be an angel like thing. Yeah, I don’t know their understanding either. Maybe consider me as a miracle of the lord of something? Either way they were rather hopeful of this and treated me like a regular son with giving me an education to run the business. But then I got my feathers. Their dreams of an angel were crushed upon seeing that were not pure white but instead a dark black. They became horrified and I was forced to spend a lot of time at the church and was forced to have exorcism after exorcism performed on me. It.. wasn’t pleasant to say the least. My parents quickly hated me and locked me away. But they still needed an heir and they feared to have another child so I was still given an education as I sometimes needed to appear to confirm that they were nice enough to keep me alive.”

You felt some water cascade down your neck as you could place your arms around him in a hug.

“A-Avery that’s awful. I-I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Avery gained a small smile as he pulled away from you hug with tears still gliding down his face.

“Y-You’re the first person to every say sorry to me.”

“Oh, Avery. No one should be deprived of that.”

You forced a small grin on your face to try and cheer him up.

“Ok, no more hardcore questions. Stuff that shouldn’t make you cry now. Sorry to open those wounds like that.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I said I would tell you anything. And I’m honestly over joyed to share anything with you.”

How can someone say something so creepy yet sat at the same time? “Alright then, if you’re sure you want to continue. You’re able to communicate with birds from what I can tell. Do they see you as they’re leader or something?”

“Since I was only really allowed in the woods birds quickly became my only friends and company. Also I’ve done a lot of rehabilitation work that a lot seem to feel indebted to me. A lot of birds tend to follow the bigger bird naturally and they see me as a really big bird so they just kinda.. naturally do what I tell them. It also helps that I feed them too.”

“Makes sense, I guess. Like when I saw this heron in a pond one time and a bunch of ducks just followed him around. Last question for the day, alright?”

Avery nodded his head as he pulled you closer.

“I brought like 3 scarves here but I can’t find any of them. I have a slight feeling you may know where they are.”

Of course you couldn’t see it but a dark blush covered Avery’s face.

“W-well two of them are in the nest. I’m afraid that some of the birds got their hands on the other one somehow and are currently using it to snuggle. I’m working on getting them another scarf so you can get yours back.”

Huh, so he puts many different things in his nest. Also now you had to deal with the conflict of you taking a scarf from some cozy, snuggling birds.

“The birds can keep my scarf. I couldn’t just take it from them like that.”

Avery smiled against your neck and cooed.

“I’m sure they’ll be estatic for their cuddling not to be ruined. Now enough questions, more cuddles and movies.”

[opalescentegg]

☕️ I won't lie, I'm sending this to you as a "please infodump about something" free pass. :D

Sorry for going AWOL for the past week and neglecting this --- my brain just went and decided to be a useless tub o' mush that couldn't call up a single fact it'd ever learned. (Like being asked about your favorite movie, but worse.) Anyway! I was sort of planning on going off about the early modern witch trials again, buuuuut I'm actually in the middle of reading yet another book about them and I don't feel like I can go back to saying too much on the topic until I fully absorb that text. (Plan B was something about the “historical” King Arthur and how there really isn’t one --- no, not even that 6th century general named Artorius, that’s just wishful thinking --- but then I realized it’s been a while since I did any proper reading on that and I’d become a bit fuzzy on the pertinent deatils.)  So in lieu of that I'm gonna just take this opportunity to do some restrained gushing about a few of the books I've read in the past couple of years/am currently reading (mostly nonfiction, because I've only recently begun to emerge from an odd phase where I just couldn't bring myself to read much, if any, fiction).

Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany - Lyndal Roper Might as well start with the stuff I'm currently involved with. Most books about the witchcraft panics of the 16th and 17th centuries tend to take the legal climate and judicial processes of the trials as their core, which makes a certain amount of sense --- it's what we have the most documentation for. This text is a little different, in that it's attempting to drill down into the social and psychological climate of the period, and examine how these in particular formed the crucible (no pun intended) of the panics. Since I'm still in the middle of reading this one I can't say yet how well Roper has achieved that goal, but at the very least this is the only text on the subject I've read thus far that specifically ties the stories circulating about witches to long-entrenched anti-Semitic blood libels. That, at least, makes me optimistic about the scholarship here. (It's a connection I've noticed myself between blood libels and descriptions of the witches' sabbath, but never saw examined anywhere --- in fact, I've been wondering whether the expulsion of Jewish populations from many medieval and early modern nations left a sort of "scapegoat vacuum" in those areas. Since Jews were often the ones that got pinned with the superstitious blame for disease, crop-destroying storms, livestock deaths, etc., their absence during a time of religious, social, and political upheaval, combined with the hardships brought about by the Little Ice Age, resulted in a lot of anger an fear that could no longer be directed towards a "traditional" target. But it had to go somewhere, and because disenfranchised women were both more numerous and more visible than they ever had been (due to early modern legislation severely restricting their opportunities for economic self-sufficiency), a greater drain on public resources (which were already dealing with the aforementioned upheavals), and a greater cause of spiritual anxiety (due to a radically shifting theological landscape), that Somewhere ended up being witches, particularly female witches. At least, that's a theory I have about this whole mess.) The Poison King: The Life and Legend of Mithradates, Rome's Deadliest Enemy - Adrienne Mayor Another book I'm currently reading. I don't read biographies too often, but this one sounded way too interesting to pass up.  And, honestly, I’m only 100-odd pages in and I’m already flabbergasted that there hasn’t been a whole slew of movies made about this guy’s life.  Which was relentlessly cinematic, apparently --- like, he was born under an incredible, actual real-life prophecy (and a comet, because of course he was), survived a lightning strike as a baby that gave him a scar in the shape of a goddamn crown, and became an expert on every single poison (vegetable, animal, and mineral) in the Black Sea region by the time he was twenty.  Oh, and he was also supposedly a descendent of both Darius I of Persia and Alexander the Great.  Nobody has a life like that!  (And by the point I’ve gotten to, he’s only just consolidated his kingship --- things are only gonna get more wild from here.) The book itself is a pretty breezy read, all things considered, so it’s super accessible.  (Overall a good thing, but since I tend to get myself knee-deep into capital-A Academic works when I get hooked on a topic, the switch to a more general public-oriented writing style was a little weird.)  My main problem is that it’s made me awfully curious about the Greco-Persian Black Sea culture Mithradates was a part of, and now I really want to learn more about it! The Idea of the Labyrinth - Penelope Reed Dood Speaking of Academic works!  Yet another book I’m currently reading --- I’ve never been good at reading one book at a time, what can I say.  Anyway, I first got interested in labyrinths (that is, the pictorial symbol of the labyrinth) a while ago after reading The Unending Mystery: A Journey Through Mazes and Labyrinths by David W. McCullough.  Ever since, it’s been a subject I’ve kept intermittently poking at, whether though scholarly articles or through the (disappointingly few) books on it.  For better or for worse, all those sources have focused on the visual representation of the labyrinth, as distinct from mazes in the conventional sense --- usually a fairly simple symbol, more like a spiral that keeps folding back on itself (ex.: the Chartes Cathedral labyrinth, one of the more complex variations). Dood’s work is different, in that she’s tackling the literary representations of labyrinths.  Not only is this a different lens through which to consider the labyrinth, is also means that she’s necessarily conflating labyrinths and mazes --- while there’s a great deal of difference between a conventional maze and a pictorial labyrinth symbol, in terms of metaphor they tend to be more or less interchangeable.  I’ve spent so much time considering the maze and the labyrinth as two distinct, though often conflated, cultural symbols, it’s actually pretty interesting to loop back around to looking at them in conjunction. I’m still the process of reading through this one (and, despite it’s truly interesting subject matter, this is definitely one of the drier texts I’ve read) so I can’t really give a thorough opinion about it yet, but it’s always gratifying to see a familiar subject tackled from a different angle. Memorial: A Version of Homer’s Iliad  - Alice Oswald Technically a translation of the Iliad, though a singularly daring one: rather than the whole text, it’s only the death scenes.  The end result is incredibly affecting, helped by Oswald’s evocative poetry (in the forward she describes herself as writing “through the Greek -- aiming for translucence rather than translation”).  Probably the most notable part of the structure she employs is the use of those famous extended Homeric metaphors as refrains, each one often repeated twice.  It’s a reminder that the Iliad was likely originally sung, and further emphasizes this Version of Homer’s Iliad as an elegy rather than an epic (hammered home by the list of the names of the dead preceding the poem proper, “setting the scene” before a single line of poetry by calling to mind the Vietnam War memorial.  And the fact that she’s thereby comparing the Trojan War to the American war in Vietnam, specifically, is worth noting --- useless wars prosecuted by rich and powerful men, ostensibly for noble purposes, but perpetuated mainly to avoid humiliation and ending in atrocities and a generation in tatters.)  I have an odd relationship with poetry, as it tends to either make me feel nothing or make me feel too many things to easily deal with all at once; but it rarely brings me to tears.  The highest praise I can give to Oswald here is that her poem makes me cry; something about it just cracks my heart open on its knee. The Faithful Executioner: Life and Death, Honor and Shame in the Turbulent Sixteenth Century - Joel F. Harrington When I first picked up this book, I was expecting something informative but a bit on the dry side.  What I got was a deft, nuanced portrait of not only a little-understood profession (that of executioner), but also of the social fabric of early modern Nuremberg.  The work is based around a work log kept by the municipal executioner Frantz Schmidt over his tenure --- which, although it’s a screamingly rare cultural artifact, is scant on details.  Far from being a hinderance for Harrington, though, this actually allows him to showcase two of his greatest skills as a historian (which he also brings to bear in his other major work, The Unwanted Child: The Fate of Foundlings, Orphans, and Juvenile Delinquents in Early Modern Germany --- a text just as depressing as it sounds, yet undeniably fascinating in what it reveals about the lowest levels of early modern society.) The first of these is extrapolation and speculation.  For any historian, especially those working with particularly laconic texts, there’s always a fine line to walk between having nothing to say at all and making entirely baseless claims.  Harrington manages to walk that line with admirable deftness, speculating on the blank areas only so far as to remain probable given known information about socio-economic realities and the cultural norms of Nuremberg in the 16th century.  The result is a surprisingly vivid sketch of the personality of a man who has otherwise left very little of himself in the historical record, which is an accomplishment worth noting. The second strength Harrington brings to this book is his empathy.  Though the text occasionally teeters on the edge of salaciousness --- not surprising, given the nature of the profession we’re talking about, which encompassed not only the many and varied means of corporal punishment in the early modern legal repertoire, but also the implementation of torture, which fell under the executioner’s “job description” --- but it’s always this empathetic touch that stops it from falling in.  Despite the often grisly details of both the punishments and the crimes that preceded them, Harrington never really lets the reader forget that these are Actual Human People we’re talking about, however temporally distant from us.  To be honest, that does make certain passages even more upsetting (especially for someone like me, who can’t watch most modern horror movies because I am Quite Bad when it comes to gory stuff); but overall I found the information too fascinating and the scholarship too good to be fully put off by even the most gruesome parts (even if I had to gut my way through them).  Suffice to say, Harrington is a historian whose work I intend to keep an eye on. The Prospect Before Her: A History of Women in Western Europe 1500-1800 - Olwen H. Hufton The subtitle of this one is kind of misleading.  It should really be something more like: “A History of Women in France, and Also England, Sometimes Germany, and I Guess the Mediterranean Countries If I Really Have To.”  That being said, I can’t be too upset at Hufton, since this is a major work of scholarship on the history of women (something I didn’t know when I first picked it up), and is pretty foundational for much of the research that’s followed it.  That being said, some of Hufton’s ideas have been superseded or complicated by that ongoing research, but that’s just the nature of historiography, and this text still provides a pretty solid starting point for research into women’s lives in the early modern period.  What I didn’t expect was Hufton’s focus on the economic position of women during those three centuries, but in hindsight it makes perfect sense as the lens through which to approach questions of social life and status.  I was particularly grateful for the focus on social and economic realities of the era that are still widely “known about” --- dowries, neverending in-home textile production, the existence of spinsters, etc. --- which illuminated not only why these things existed in the first place but also how they functioned in reality and why they mattered. It also doesn’t hurt that Hufton can write.  A lot of historical writing tends to use similar language (mostly pretty simplistic aside from the use of scholarly terms regularly used in a given field and a general academic tone, despite what tumblr seems to think; once you parse the trickier bits of vocabulary it’s all pretty straightforward), but Hufton brings an a level of erudition to this text I rarely see.  That could potentially make the work less accessible, but I for one definitely relished it --- there’s little better than a well-researched academic text with damn good writing! The Proud Tower: A Portrait of the World Before the War, 1890-1914 - Barbara W. Tuchman Speaking of historians who can Write.  The explanations for why WWI even happened usually get boiled down to simply “nationalism,” which....isn’t wrong, but it flattens out all the complications and socio-political nuances that pushed multiple countries to be not only ready for a war, but almost eager for one.  Tuchman’s book is primarily concerned with finding those complications and nuances, and bringing them to the forefront.  She creates deft and vivid portraits of important political, military, and artistic figures of the time (also attributing that famous “moral backbone of a chocolate eclair” line to a British politician, with a contemporary newspaper source referenced, which has nothing to do with anything but was still fun to see), and really brings to life the diverse societies and the radical changes they were all experiencing.  It’s hard to describe just how she manages to balance the exploration of nitty-gritty details with the Big Picture of how a given Society was effected by them --- suffice to say, she handles it deftly. That’s not to say the text doesn’t drag in places --- I found myself particularly bored by the section focused on The Hague, and I just didn’t care much about the section dealing with America (even though America did, technically, fight in the war, eventually).  But probably the greatest criticism of the book is its misleading subtitle --- it’s not really a portrait of “the world,” nor even of every major player.  Rather, it’s focused mostly on Western Europe in the years before WWI.  So there’s no section dedicated to Russia (though there is a section about Socialist movements and trade unions), the Ottoman Empire, Japan, any colonial holdings (except in passing when talking about the colonial powers themselves), the Balkans, or even Austria-Hungary.  This makes some sense, I guess, since Tuchman is most knowledgeable in British history and even with the limited focus the text is still pretty dense.  But I can’t help but be a bit disappointed, wishing for some kind of companion work that deals specifically with those areas not covered by this one.  I’m still impressed by the existing book and glad to have read it, it’s just that for better or worse it leaves me wanting even more. Rites of Spring: The Great War and the Birth of the Modern Age - Modris Eksteins This is definitely one of the more unique works of history I’ve read in a while, since it takes as its focus the artistic culture of the various European nations before and during WWI and ties them directly to the political and military machinations of the era by way of what they tell us about the cultural values and morals (both deep-seated and rapidly changing) of those nations.  That also means it’s a difficult work to sum up concisely, as by its very nature it revolves around the exploration of intricate cultural connections.  Still, the result is a singular and fascinating achievement of cultural history, and I find it an interesting counterpoint/companion to Tuchman’s The Proud Tower. Invisible Cities - Italo Calvino It’s a symptom of that weird anti-fiction slump I was in that I have rather little to say about this book, despite it now living rent-free in my head and laying claim to a whole mess of Unidentified Feelings.  In any case, the narrative consists of a frame story of a discussion between Marco Polo and Kublai Khan, with the former telling the latter about fantastic cities supposedly within the great khan’s domain --- though it’s not long before it becomes obvious that all these cities seem to exist outside any kind of time or place.  Each description of a city is a little jewel of speculative fiction, highly imaginative but usually quite brief --- there’s not a lot of “world-building” here, but that’s not the point of these stories (if they can be called such), and frankly I think they’re all the better for it.  (While intricate world-building is all well and good for certain types of stories, I think the fantasy genre in particular, and fiction in general, has really started overdoing it recently.  We can’t all be Tolkien --- in fact, we shouldn’t be trying to be Tolkien!  Sometimes, the mechanics of a world just don’t matter, and trying to force it only serves to smother the story.)  Despite the book’s brevity, I preferred to only read one or two of these vignettes per day.  I can’t really say if that heightened the experience or not, but I enjoyed having a specific city to think about for a while afterwards. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov This was, thankfully, not the first Nabokov book I read --- I knew I wanted to read this at some point, just to see what all the fuss was about, but I wasn’t gonna commit without knowing whether or not I liked the guy’s writing style.  So I started with Pale Fire, and all but devoured that book like I haven’t devoured any book in years and years.  I also read Invitation to a Beheading (and bounced off it, unfortunately, so I guess surrealist literature isn’t my thing), and I’ve just started The Real Life of Sebastian Knight; and I think by this point it’s safe to say that Nabokov is easily one of my favorite authors.  (Reading anything he wrote always makes me feel a bit stupid...but, like, in a good way?)  Because Lolita is certainly disturbing and deeply uncomfortable --- and it also happens to be the most beautiful work of prose I’ve read in my entire life.  Nabokov was an absolute linguistic virtuoso, and he brought his A game and then some to writing Lolita.  The result is a work so lush and poetic that it’s almost too easy to just....luxuriate in it --- which is precisely the point.  The point is that Humbert Humbert is spending his final days “explaining” what happened between him and Dolores Haze, and no matter what he claims he has a vested interest putting things in a golden light, and he’s using all his erudition and linguistic charm to do so.  (Despite the true beauty of the prose, there’s also an inescapable edge of arrogance and pretention to it --- how many obscure literary references does one man need to make? --- which of course is purposeful.  Also, it put me off the word “caress” for a while there.  I appreciate the eliding of the salacious details of the “relationship” between the two characters, but once you understand that the word is a euphemism you can’t un-understand it.) There are few works I can think of that are so beautiful and so horrific at once, and which still give the reader something to chew on even months later.  (For example: I don’t know if Lolita has ever been discussed as a tragedy?  That is, from Dolores’ point of view --- and, of course, everyone who actually knows her only nicknamed her Lo or Lola or Dolly; “Lolita” is Humbert’s gross sexualized name for her.  I don’t know how spoilery it is, since technically there’s an in-universe forward to Humbert’s “confession” that tells you how everything turned out, but the long and short of it is that he wins.  Yeah, he’s dying of heart disease or whatever at the end, but in every way that matters, he wins.  Dolores never gets to tell her story; we never actually know her as her own person, just Humbert’s version of her; she never becomes a full adult; she had a daughter.  And Humbert never faces the full consequences of his actions.  He gets a death just slow enough that he can record his version of the story (by circumstance made the “definitive” one), but just fast enough that he never has to actually stand trial --- and he was arrested for murder, anyway.)

[aion-rsa]

Fear Street Part Two: 1978 Breaks Friday the 13th’s Darkest Rule

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This article contains Fear Street Part Two: 1978 spoilers.

On the surface, Jason Voorhees appears to be no one’s idea of a rule-follower. Ranging in heights between six and seven feet—depending on the movie—the hockey masked behemoth dominates every room he’s in, even before the machete starts swinging. He’s cut a brutal path across 10 canonical films, plus a remake and a crossover movie with Freddy Krueger, and built a throne of blood amongst the horror movie pantheon.

Yet deep down, as Freddy might tease, Jason is still the mama’s boy who feels bad about being picked on as a child at summer camp…and who is still hounded by his crazed mother’s voice: Kill them, mommy, kill them!

In truth, you might even say Jason is just trying to make Mom proud one dead camp counselor at a time. After all, Mrs. Voorhees (Betsy Palmer) didn’t blame the other kids who tossed poor Jason into the lake. Kids will be kids, or so she might say. Rather Mama blamed the camp counselors who were too busy canoodling to notice a child drowning. So, like his mother before him, Jason reserves his machete for teenage counselors while largely leaving the “kids” alone—similar to how the horniest teens are the first to die in a Friday the 13th movie, and the generally most virginal is the one to live to see another summer.

Which is what makes the killings in Fear Street Part Two: 1978 so shocking to both its younger target audience and the adults who grew up watching the movies Fear Street emulates. Because whether or not you’re aware of the “rules” of horror movie franchises, as best explained by Jamie Kennedy in the original Scream, you inherently are unsettled by the image of Fear Street’s Tommy Slater (McCabe Slye) standing above a child with an axe. And then watching him swing it.

As with Fear Street Part 1 before it, 1978 wears its influences on its sleeves. The previous film was set in 1994 and opened with the biggest star in the cast, Stranger Things’ Maya Hawke, getting viciously slaughtered, a la Drew Barrymore in Scream. By contrast, Fear Street Part Two pulls from slower burning horror movies. 

When we properly begin the film in its ’78 setting, we meet Sadie Sink’s Ziggy Berman, who is being tortured at the hanging tree by her summer camp’s resident mean girls. This plays like it’s straight out of Carrie, both the Stephen King novel published in 1974 and Brian De Palma’s zeitgeist-shattering adaptation from 1976.

Fear Street eventually admits its Carrie White fixation, even having Ziggy reverse engineer the famed “pig blood” sequence from that movie to get back at her Queen Bee tormenter. The new movie also references a few of the tracking shots from the actual slasher movie landmark of 1978, Halloween. But when everything’s said and done, Fear Street Part Two is about the Friday the 13th of it all.

Jordana Spiro does a pretty good Mrs. Voorhees impersonation as she tries to kill one of the camp counselors—little do the others realize she would’ve saved their lives if only Tommy could’ve died that afternoon—and when Tommy is possessed by the Shadyside witch, he soon takes on the oft-forgotten burlap sack that Jason wore in Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981).

For all intents and purposes, Tommy Slater is Shadyside’s Jason Voorhees. But in addition to being a poor soul “enslaved” by a witch’s curse, there is something nastier about Tommy Slater because he doesn’t play by Jason’s rules. He kills stoners and tea-totalers, virgins and harlots, and he even murders children.

To be fair, almost all the characters in Friday the 13th and its various clones are kids: teenagers just trying to get by at summer camp. However, most of them are played by twenty-somethings and all of them are old enough to partake in the sins and vices that summon their puritanical boogeyman from beneath the lake. In fact, the only Friday the 13th picture to even feature campers at Camp Crystal Lake, Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives! (1986), goes out of its way to creep out audiences with Jason watching the wee ones sleep. But the movie then reassures us that he’s not that bad, with Jason then electing to butcher their babysitting counselor one cabin over instead.

This is likely a choice made in part by 1980s filmmakers at Paramount Pictures who wanted to sell their schlock with minimal blowback from parents groups. But 40 years later on a streaming service like Netflix? There is little need to worry about such concessions intended to protect box office receipts.

So it is that we see the magnanimous, popular counselor Tommy in Fear Street Part Two dote on the heavyset nerdy kid by day, and then swing an axe into his bespectacled skull by night. We’re even reminded about how different the social mores of the ‘70s were when he’s told to “shut the fuck up, nerd” during an era when that was hardly a compliment, even of the backhanded variety. Nay, his self-esteem is cut deep by fellow middle schoolers, and then his body is cut much deeper by his favorite counselor.

It’s fiendishly mean-spirited. But Fear Street doesn’t stop there. It breaks the “don’t kill kids” rule once in this scene and then it does so at least three more times when Tommy corners a cabin full of youngsters who spot the guy they all looked up to just long enough to realize he’s their murderer.

Jason wouldn’t dare.

This is one of the many ways Fear Street honors, critiques, and then attempts to outdo its inspirations. It also lays the groundwork for the climax where we’ve been led to believe Ziggy is the Berman sister who will die and virginal good girl Cindy (Emily Rudd) will be the one who lives. Yet during the film’s final movement, when both Ziggy and Cindy approach the Shadyside hanging tree, they’re cornered by Sarah Fier’s rogues gallery of terrors, including a reanimated Tommy Slater. Minutes earlier, Cindy did the unthinkable and decapitated the boyfriend she wished she’d consummated her relationship with.

Now in 1978’s finale, Tommy’s returned to kill a young woman who on paper should be our survivor girl: the studious one who played by the rules and was resourceful enough to figure her way out of the witch’s cave. Nevertheless, she receives the most graphic murder onscreen, with the director favoring extreme close-ups of nearly each axe blow Tommy delivers into her body.

Jason may have killed final girls before, but only after they survived one movie and have since been replaced by a new idol for the sequel to honor. But Fear Street? It’ll play in Jason Voorhees’ sandbox but not by his rules. Which makes it a far scarier camp fire yarn.

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