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hyrtwynwrites · 8 months ago

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Dramatis Personae - Book 1: Gridanian Prelude

Yenifer Falle

Age: 21 Pronouns: she/her Our protagonist; Yenifer has lived her whole life in the small hamlet of Quarrymill, one of a small community of refugees far from home. When desperation meets hope, she takes the gamble to join Gridania's renowned Lancers' Guild... and unwittingly becomes a part of a cosmic war for the survival of the star. Impulsive, brave, and good-hearted, Yenifer is trying to find a way forward not just for herself, but for her people as well.

Ala Mhigans of Quarrymill

Aebba Falle

Age: 36 (†) Pronouns: she/her Mother to Yenifer, Aebba raised her daughter through the collapse of Ala Mhigo and their dangerous escape to the Twelveswood. Alongside the other refugees, she worked to build a good a life as possible in this new land - and alongside other refugees, she died during the Calamity.

Meffrid Noward

Age: 38 Pronouns: he/him A former member of the Ala Mhigan Resistance, Meffrid has traded his sword for a laborer's tools. The leader of the Ala Mhigans in Quarrymill, he works tirelessly to keep his people alive malms from his homeland.

Scions of the Seventh Dawn

Papalymo Totolymo

Age: 42 Pronouns: he/him One of the foremost members of the Scions, Papalymo has been the liaison between the organization and Gridania for summers. Erude, quick-witted, and perhaps a little mad, the thaumaturge has seen the city-state through many crises... but fears that the next is near on the horizon.

Yda Hext

Age: 31 Pronouns: she/her A hot-blooded pugilist and member of the Scions, Yda hails from conquered Ala Mhigo and now works to protect her new home in Eorzea. Alongside her friend Papalymo, she has defended the people of the Twelveswood from danger. Beneath her mask, however, lies an unspoken secret.

Gridanians

Mother Miounne

Age: 36 Pronouns: she/her The owner of the Carline Canopy, Mother Miounne has run the tavern and inn for summers, despite the devastation wrought by Bahamut.

Beatin Mainrocquet

Age: 30 Pronouns: he/him Timbermaster of the Carpenters' Guild, Beatin is a perfectionist by nature. Constantly coated in the debris of his labors, nothing but the finest of work is allowed to be sold.

Thya Epocan

Age: 18 Pronouns: they/them One of Gridania's many forgotten faces, Thya does their best despite being on the city-state's lowest rung.

Residents of the Twelveswood

Bremondt

Age: 48 Pronouns: he/him An enigmatic figure in the Twelveswood, Bremondt has been running cargo, passengers - and contraband - up and down the Black Shroud for summers. Despite his many days in the forest, he is a surprisingly unsuperstitious man.

Kuplo Kopp

Age: Not telling, kupo! Pronouns: he/him... if he finds it amusing, kupo! One of the Twelveswood's many myths, Kuplo Kopp is perhaps one of the more talkative Moogles - and a friend of sorts to Yda and Papalymo.

Sergeant Galfrid Mossback

Age: 34 Pronouns: he/him A member of Gridania's army, the Twin Adders, Galfrid is tasked as being one of the organization's many liaisons with the Wood Wailers - and, in a pinch, the leader of a manhunt.

Lancers, Guild or Otherwise

Ywain Deepwell

Age: 36 Pronouns: he/him Guildmaster of the Lancers' Guild, Ywain has worked stoically for summers to turn trainees into fighters. As a new crisis darkens Gridania's sky, so to does a nemesis emerge out of the shadows to challenge both him, the guild, and his prize student: Yenifer.

Foulques of the Mist

Age: 34 Pronouns: he/him An enigmatic figure and rogue lancer, Foulques bears an axe to grind against the Lancers' Guild; one that he is perfectly willing to bury into a skull or six if it gets the point across. Obsessed with bravery, in Yenifer he has found a rival - and potential ally - in his mission.

Jillian Little

Age: 20 Pronouns: she/her The receptionist of the Lancers' Guild, Jillian is herself a lancer, though has taken on the hard work of handling the considerable paperwork that shuttles in and out of the Wailing Barracks on a daily basis.

Wood Wailers & Gods'bowmen

Bowlord Lewin Hunte

Age: 54 Pronouns: he/him One of Gridania's elder warriors, Lewin has led the Gods'bow against the Ixal, bandits, and worse for many summers. The Calamity casts a shadow over his heart, and the emergence of a new crisis will only redouble his fear that the city may not withstand another storm.

Sergeant Albert Miller

Age: 38 Pronouns: he/him A member of Gridania's police, the Wood Wailers, Albert is one of the more honest members of the organization - and, due to chance circumstances, becomes a strange friend of Yenifer in her time of need.

Wailer Mordin Sawyer

Age: 18 Pronouns: he/him A young member of the Wood Wailers, Mordin Sawyer was destined for an unexceptional career... but a growing emergency changes his course perilously.

Gods'bow Okhi Lanbatal

Age: 19 Pronouns: she/her One of the elite Gods'bow, Okhi was willing to blend into a sea of faces and uniforms... but war changes many fates.

Padjal and their Keepers

Seedseer Kan-E-Senna

Age: 28 Pronouns: she/her The spiritual leader of Gridania, Kan-E-Senna is the city-state's figurehead and commander of the Twin Adders. As one of the almost mythical Padjal, she is frozen in age - and by fear. Beneath that glass, however, lies a different woman, one who is trapped by the duality of her responsibility and the weight it bears.

E-Sumi-Yan

Age: Around 230 Pronouns: he/him A fellow Padjal, E-Sumi-Yan is the guildmaster of Gridania's illustrious Conjurers' Guild. Despite his incredible age, E-Sumi-Yan remains humble, and marries his wisdom with a wry sense of humor.

Keeper Roger Goodfellow

Age: 26 Pronouns: he/him One of Kan-E-Senna's elite bodyguards, Roger cuts an unusual figure alongside his more traditional companion. Beneath his stern public façade, however, lies a secret that ties his life to the Seedseer's forever.

Keeper Bernon Ouraux

Age: 28 Pronouns: he/him Kan-E-Senna's other hand, Bernon is a child of Gridania and is so proudly. Stern, restrained, and a little arrogant, he would still suffer any indignance on behalf of the woman he has sworn his life to.

#ffxiv fanfiction #light's falle #lf1: gridanian prelude #dramatis personae #which is to say #all of my blorbos #(only some of which I made)

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god-whispers · 2 years ago

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may 25

funnies

"a merry heart does good, like medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones." prov 17:22

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perhaps some "wrong wording" was used when making these church announcements.

• potluck supper sunday at 5:00 pm - prayer and medication to follow.

• ladies bible study will be held thursday morning at 10 am. all ladies are invited to lunch in the fellowship hall after the b.s. is done.

• low self esteem support group will meet thursday at 7 pm. please use the back door.

• the eighth-graders will be presenting shakespeare's hamlet in the church basement friday at 7 pm. the congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.

• weight watchers will meet at 7 pm at the first presbyterian church. please use large double door at the side entrance.

--- a cat goes to heaven

a cat dies and goes to heaven. God meets him at the gate and says, 'you have been a good cat all of these years. anything you desire is yours, all you have to do is ask.' the cat says, 'well, i lived all my life with a poor family on a farm and had to sleep on hardwood floors.' God says, 'say no more.' and instantly, a fluffy pillow appears.

a few days later, 6 mice are killed in a tragic accident and they go to heaven. God meets them at the gate with the same offer that He made the cat. the mice said, 'all our lives we've had to run. cats, dogs and even women with brooms have chased us. if we could only have a pair of roller skates,we wouldn't have to run anymore.' God says, 'say no more.' and instantly, each mouse is fitted with a beautiful pair of tiny roller skates.

about a week later, God decides to check and see how the cat is doing. the cat is sound asleep on his new pillow. God gently wakes him and asks, 'how are you doing? are you happy here?' the cat yawns and stretches and says, 'oh, i've never been happier in my life. and those meals on wheels you've been sending over are the best!'

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it's ok to laugh on occasion. God wants His children to be joyful. those who want to find offense will find it in anything. we all need to relax and learn to laugh, even at ourselves.

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32310305 · 2 years ago

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16.04. READING WEEK 13.

ON MAY 15, 1870, ARTHUR RIMBAUD WRITES:

on the calm black water where the starts are sleeping

white Ophelia floats like a great lily;

floats very slowly, lying in her long veils…

in the far-off woods you can hear them sound the mort.

for more than a thousand years sad Ophelia

has passed, a white phantom, down the long black river.

for more than a thousand years her sweet madness

has murmured its ballad to the evening breeze.

the wind kisses her breasts and unfolds in a wreath

her great veils rising and falling with waters;

the shivering willows weep on her shoulder,

the rushes lean over her wide, dreaming brow.

[…]

o pale Ophelia! beautiful as snow!

yes child, you died, carried off by a river!

it was the winds descending from the great mountains of Norway

that spoke to you in low voices of better freedom.

[…]

it was the voice of mad seas, the great roar,

that shattered your child’s heart, too human and too soft;

it was a handsome pale knight, a poor madman

who one April morning sate mute at your knees!

IN A PARALLEL BETWEEN RIMBAUD’S POEM “OPHELIA”, AND THE IMAGE OF THE CORPSE OF ALAN KURDI DESCRIBED IN EMILY REGAN WILLS’S “ALAN KURDI’S BODY ON THE SHORE”, ALAN KURDI IS OPHELIA.

THE WIND UNFOLDS IN A WREATH HIS KID-SIZE JEANS AND SHOES; IT MAKES THEM RISE AND FALL WITH THE WATERS.

THOSE WINDS, DESCENDING FROM THE SOULS OF THE HALICARNASSUS’ MAUSOLEUM, NEAR THE TURKISH BODRUM BEACH WHERE HE WAS FOUND, SPOKE TO HIM IN VOICES OF BETTER FREEDOM.

YET, IT WAS THE LONG BLACK MEDITERRANEAN RIVER’S VOICE THAT SHATTERED HIS CHILD’S HEART.

FROM HIS BANKS, THE WESTERN WOODS ARE NOT THAT FAR-OFF.

THERE, FOR MORE THAN A THOUSAND YEARS, WE HEAR THE MORT, IN THE FORM OF A PHOTOGRAPH, CAPTURED BY A POOR MADMAN, ON ONE SEPTEMBER MORNING.

BOTH EMILY REGAN WILLS AND ENRICO DE ANGELIS’S ARTICLES TOUCH ON THE IMPLICATIONS OF SHOWING IMAGES PORTRAYING DEAD PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY IN THE CONTEXT OF WARS LIKE THE SYRIA’S ONE.

THE ANALYSIS REVOLVES AROUND THE ISSUE OF BRUTAL IMAGES ACTING EITHER AS RELICS FOR THE EVENTS THEY DEPICT OR, IN OTHER CASES, AS OFFENSIVE REPRESENTATIONS.

EMILY REGAN WILLS ANALYSES, FOR INSTANCE, THE IMAGE OF ALAN KURDI'S CORPSE AS IT BEING BOTH A DISTURBING QUIET IMAGE OF 3-YEAR-OLD DEAD CHILDREN, AND WHAT THE WESTERN COUNTRIES NEED TO TAKE ACTION, FIGURATIVELY, IN STANCE OF IMMIGRATION.

SMALL DONATIONS AND HUGE PROMISES, AND YET WE FACE THE REALITY: EUROPE STILL DOES NOT HAVE A FAIR AND RESPECTED TREATY OVER IMMIGRATION.

THIS IS THE POLITICS OF THE NOW, IN WHICH DREADFUL PICTURES ARE USED TO SAVE OUR FACES INSIDE AN UNFINISHED ELECTORAL CAMPAIGN.

DAY BY DAY, CONTEMPORARY LIVE NEWS CHANNELS ARE REMINISCENT OF THE DE ANGELIS AL KATHIB’S SYRIAN ARCHIVE: A COMPENDIUM OF TRAGEDIES OPENLY STREAMED 24 HOURS A DAY.

VIRUSES PREVENTIONS. NATURAL CATASTROPHISE. DROWNINGS. CLIMATE CHANGE.

ON TALK SHOWS WE REDUCE THESE INSTANCES AMONG “COMPLEX ARGUMENTS”; SMALL DISQUISITIONS ARE SUFFICIENT TO PASS ON TO THE NEXT ARGUMENT.

RELENTLESSLY, WE STRIVE FOR THAT ACCIDENT, THAT IMAGE, WHICH SHOCKS OUR WESTERN TEA DRINKERS’ CONSCIENCES.

IN THIS CONTEXT, IT MAKES YET MORE SENSE TO PARALLEL ALAN KURDI’S IMAGE WITH THE 1852 PAINTING OF OPHELIA BY PRE-RAPHAELITE ARTIST JOHN EVERETT MILLAIS.

1852 JOHN EVERETT MILLAIS' OPHELIA IN COMPARISON WITH 2015 IMAGE OF THE CORPSE OF ALAN KURDI

IN THE SHAKESPEARIAN’S HAMLET OPHELIA, FILLE MAUDITE, IS A VICTIM OF THE EVENTS HAPPENING AROUND HER, OVER WHICH SHE DOES NOT HAVE CONTROL, MOSTLY SINCE THEY ARE ARRANGED BY POWERFUL MEN FIGURES.

SUICIDAL BY DROWNING, HER DEATH IS NOT SHOWN DIRECTLY, BUT NARRATED THROUGH ANOTHER FEMALE FIGURE, GERTRUDE.

AS IF, HER DEATH’S ABSENCE ON STAGE WOULD ACT FOR THE PRESENCE OF SUCH DRAMA.

A DRAMA WHICH, IN OUR CONTEMPORARY TIMES, MUST BE AMPLIFIED ON THE SOCIAL MEDIA STAGE, IN ORDER TO BE PROCESSED.

IT CAN HAVE ITS 15 MINUTES OF FAME, ACTING DAZZLING, AS OPHELIA’S WANDERING RAVINGLY AMONG THE WOODS.

THE LAST MINUTES BEFORE CEASING TO EXIST, GOING BACK TO BEING ABSENTLY PRESENT.

GENTLY OPHELIA, LYING DEAD AMONG THOSE SURREY’S WOODS CRITICIZED BY ART CRITIC JOHN RUSKIN, WHO WILL THEN REQUIRE THEM FOR HIS OWN PORTRAIT.

HEROICAL OPHELIA, PERSONIFIED BY ELIZABETH SIDDAL INSIDE A VICTORIAN HOT BATH. PLACED THERE BY HIS HUSBAND DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI AND FRIEND JOHN MILLAIS, SHE WILL END UP GETTING A FEVER FOR ART.

ART FOR ART’ SAKE.

ART FOR DEATH ‘SAKE: STILL, WE ARE RESEARCHING THE PERFECT, INSTANTANEOUS WESTERN SHOT PORTRAYING DEATH.

INHERENTLY WAITING, FOR THE FINAL HARD RAIN THAT WILL GONNA FALL.

youtube

PERFORMING "A HARD RAIN'S A GONNA FALL", BOB DYLAN SINGS ABOUT "SOME SORT OF END THAT'S JUST GONNA HAPPEN".

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honorhearted · 1 year ago

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“Then with these clothes, you’ll be the best-dressed candidate.”

Benjamin chuckled, looking toward the garments with a smile. "I could certainly do worse," he agreed. "In truth, I don't think I've seen anything even remotely Parisian in the hamlet I hail from. We're all relatively humble and prefer to live within our means." Excluding Judge Woodhull, of course... "I think my father would bowl over, were he to see me in such finery."

Perhaps he shouldn't speak so freely. Although there was no real harm in telling Genya these things -- least especially when he never gave any names -- it was dangerous to let down one's guard around a stranger.

As if proving his point, Genya said, “If you were anything like your present self, then I can’t imagine you to have been unpleasant company. If I may inquire, why have you been traveling? Don’t you have students somewhere that are in desperate need of your tutelage?”

Benjamin breathed a nervous laugh. "Oh, I don't know...I suppose it depends on who you ask," he said. "I think my brother would've thought me an arsehole on occasion, and therefore rather unpleasant company. But to answer your question, I've been visiting a sick aunt. We fear it'll be her last autumn...she's always loved the leaves." With a wistful little smile, Benjamin tilted his head back against the post. "Every year, each time the trees come alive like torch flame, she leads us outside for chilly picnics beside her favorite sycamore tree...though this year, we had the picnic by her sick bed." His eyes dimmed and he shrugged. "In these trying times, we do what we can for those we love...even if it means giving up our own personal comforts. I love my students, but school isn't in session during the farming months. I suppose that's my one small reprieve."

Sometimes, it was startling how easy it was for Benjamin to lie. It made his stomach curdle to think he'd perhaps always been predisposed towards such deception.

Something in Genya's face clouded, and he immediately felt sorry for it. “My own father used laudanum to cope with his demons. Sometimes I’d find him unconscious in the barn or even in the middle of the field. Regardless of his misfortune, however, he always forced a smile for me, called me his dearest heart, and gave me piggyback rides back to the house…Now that I’m older, I often wonder if he ever truly managed to find happiness in the midst of his inner turmoil.”

A pang filled Benjamin's chest, yet he forced himself not to look away. "He did," he murmured, even though he was incapable of such knowledge. "Clearly, you were his happiness. Nothing, not even the devil's tincture, could ever change that."

Benjamin earnestly squeezed her hand, and it was then that Genya finally seemed to realize their close proximity. She released him and moved away as though burned, a pretty pink flooding her cheeks.

“God commands us to represent and share His love, does he not? How could I possibly ignore it?” she softly asked. “I believe that it’s important to do so now more than ever – with so much fear and uncertainty as war rages on around us.”

Distracted, Benjamin absently rubbed his palm against his thigh, glancing down at his tray with a tight nod. "You would be right," he agreed. "Surely, Satan is amongst us, whispering into the ears of the feeble-minded...we owe it to ourselves to respond with love and acceptance."

The words nearly spoiled on his tongue. How could he claim such things? How could he ever act as though he'd chosen love when he, himself, had taken up a musket and spilt blood?

A look of uncertainty flickered across Genya's face, and then she was curling in on herself, hunkered and unsure. “I couldn’t serve elsewhere – I’ve been bought and paid for. You see…when my mother died, my father sold me to Master Lantsov…I’ve no choice, but to remain under his roof.”

Benjamin frowned, a seed of deep unease blooming deep within his chest. "But...what if you were to marry?" he pressed. "As your husband's property, would your contract not then become null and void?"

“If anything, I look more like a candidate for a butcher shop."

“Then with these clothes, you’ll be the best-dressed candidate,” she teased.

“When you've been traveling long enough, you start to yearn for simplicity...for your childhood, in fact." He grinned. "And to think: I never thought I'd yearn for the days when I was tall, gangly, and awkward as all sin."

“If you were anything like your present self, then I can’t imagine you to have been unpleasant company. If I may inquire, why have you been traveling? Don’t you have students somewhere that are in desperate need of your tutelage?”

The subject of war thickened the air and smiles faded from existence.

"My father...he served in the French and Indian war, as well. Although his pride in our country will never dwindle, it caused him great pains. He rarely speaks of what he endured."

Genya lowered her head, thinking of how memories of her father’s service had plagued him for years.

“My own used laudanum to cope with his demons. Sometimes I’d find him unconscious in the barn or even in the middle of the field. Regardless of his misfortune, however, he always forced a smile for me, called me his dearest heart, and gave me piggyback rides back to the house…Now that I’m older, I often wonder if he ever truly managed to find happiness in the midst of his inner turmoil.”

Seeing as he was long gone, she supposed she would never know.

Despite grim-laced nostalgia, Genya’s insistence that Benjamin owed her nothing had appeared to lift a weight from his shoulders, which, in turn, relieved her. Hadn’t this man been through enough in the past twenty-four hours? The last thing he needed was to tack on a personal debt to his inhibitions.

“It's such a comfort to know there are still those who'll lend a hand, regardless of political affiliation or personal beliefs...you are a true Christian woman, just as you said."

“God commands us to represent and share His love, does he not? How could I possibly ignore it?”

Realizing she was still squeezing his hand, Genya slowly retracted her touch, flushing a healthy shade of pink as she turned her gaze to the dirt floor between them, “I believe that it’s important to do so now more than ever – with so much fear and uncertainty as war rages on around us.”

Then Benjamin said something that genuinely surprised her.

"If God is kind and I survive this conflict, I would very much like to find you again...and to thank you...properly, since I imagine I will be unable in my present condition. Do you intend to continue serving here after the war?"

The terribly negative voices in her head began to taunt her and Genya rolled her lips inward, her shoulders hunched and her hands curled in her lap – wanting to take up less space than she naturally did.

“I couldn’t serve elsewhere – I’ve been bought and paid for,” she admitted, “You see…when my mother died, my father sold me to Master Lantsov…I’ve no choice, but to remain under his roof.”

#pagetreader #hearts and minds

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thesunshineriptide · 2 years ago

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I was thinking, what if while at Y/N's house the boys end up finding the Grimm Brothers/Original stories they're based off. Like the original Snow White or Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson. And Y/N admitting that they were more familiar with those versions than the Disney version was expecting to be skinned alive when they first arrived in Twisted Wonderland

I’m so so fucking pumped for this ask because I’m a huge NERD and I know the original stories so well. Fairytales and folk tales and mythology are one of my special interests you cut straight to my heart thank you anon. Also you didn’t specify what universe this is so I’m putting it in the our world au and if you want me to do the other characters I will GLADLY do them I adore these. ++ I will probably do Idia reacting to Greek myths sometime soon but my brain is honestly kinda mush and narrowing down just one myth is a little hard but I’ll get back to it

This Isn’t How Our Story Ends

Characters: Riddle, Trey, Leona, Ruggie, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Rook, Idia, Malleus, Lilia

Warning: the original tales of each story are dark. As such, there will be mentions of mature topics such as death, poisoning, drowning, murder, insanity, and more. Read at your own discretion.

Cw// spoilers for chapters 1-5, swearing, dark topics and themes.

“What’s this?” He had asked innocently, holding up the book in question.

“Huh? Oh, that’s…” Yuu thought of how to explain this, “Well, it’s a story. Kinda. Um…well…”

Hamlet

It’s fairly well known that the story of Hamlet is the origin of The Lion King (although interestingly enough it seems there’s a real life historical parallel with the story of Sundiata Keita) thus Leona and Ruggie’s interests in this particular story may wain. Shakespeare is dreadfully dry at times and best performed live, which means…Movie night! For this particular iteration I would recommend watching a live taping rather than a film adaptation because otherwise you just miss out on like, half the important shit. Also if you haven’t read or seen hamlet there’s a lovely novelized adaptation that actually adds MORE content and makes it very fun

Leona sat back as he watched the actors take the final bow. Ruggie was nervously sitting beside him, shifting from side to side like he couldn’t quite get comfortable.

“They all died?”

“Yep.” Yuu responded dispassionately.

“And the uncle…” Leona started, eyes looking over everything in the room except Yuu and Ruggie, “In the, uh…”

“That’s the king of beasts, in your world.” They said, “It’s…yeah.”

“He killed for the throne?” Ruggie asked, somewhat surprised.

“I mean, Leona tried to kill Malleus for a game, I’m not sure why you’re surprised.”

“I wasn’t gonna kill ‘im.” Leona grumbled, “Just put him out of commission for a while. Not tryina start a war or anything…”

“Okay, you attempted to maybe kill him.”

“That’s not- whatever.” He sighed, “So, I’m the uncle. Is Ruggie the guy who got stabbed? The…sheriff? Or whatever?”

“I guess in this analogy, yes.”

“Gross.” Ruggie wrinkled his nose, “I’d rather be the girl.”

“Ophelia?”

“Is that the one that drowned?”

“Yes?” Yuu worried.

“Yeah, her. Anything to get away from this analogy.”

Leona snickered and ruffled Ruggie’s hair, earning him a harsh smack to the forearm which he ignored.

“Did the king of beasts have his own sheriff? According to your world?”

“Uh, he had the hyenas. And Zazu, I guess, but none were exactly loyal.”

“Did the king of beasts kill his nephew?” Ruggie blurted out.

“Nah, but he tried. Instead, the nephew killed him.”

Leona wrinkled his nose, joking in a deadpan tone, “Guess it’s time to off the little furball back home.” When neither Yuu nor Ruggie laughed, he frowned, “You know I’m joking, right? I wouldn’t kill my nephew.”

“You tried to kill me.” Ruggie said.

“And me.” Yuu agreed.

“That was ONE TIME-“

The Little Mermaid

Fun facts the little mermaid was written by Hans Christian Andersen and depending on the historical lens you like to apply was maybe gay. Also, the sea witch doesn’t have a name and doesn’t have eels which means Azul and the twins will be sorely disappointed. Anyway the original story is an angst fest because Hans was an emo at his core and the princess dies at the end

Azul stared at the pages of the book as he slowly closed it. He adjusted his glasses, looking to the twins as he finished. The two looked sick, wearing grim expressions. Floyd stared to his shoes while Jade looked to Azul.

The Octavinelle dorm leader cleared his throat, then took a sip of his water. After a few moments, he turned to Yuu.

“This was a deeply unpleasant experience.”

Yuu snorted a little and nodded, “Fair enough. It’s honestly what I thought was gonna happen to me when I made that deal with you.”

All three of them looked shocked and stared at Yuu like they’d grown three heads.

“Yuu…” Jade started tentatively.

“You know turning to sea foam is like, the worst punishment you can get in the Coral Sea, right?” Floyd cut in, eyes blunt.

Yuu’s expression dropped. They turned and checked each of the trio to see if they were joking and…no, no that’s real.

“What?”

Jade stared at them in deep contemplation, before piping up, “I suppose you wouldn’t know that, it isn’t something the kingdom advertises, per say…”

“But it’s something almost every merman knows.” Azul finished, “This version of the sea witch is…cruel. Unusually so, to sentence a mermaid to that hell.”

“And a princess, nonetheless.” Jade agreed, “Incredibly vile.”

“‘M real glad that’s now our real history. Just somethin the land folk made up, although it’s still rude.” Floyd said, taking the book, “It’s a real stupid deal anyway, the sea witch didn’t even get anything from that. And she didn’t even have any eels!”

“Maybe it was a different sea witch? I dunno man, it’s honestly kinda what I thought I’d be in for.”

“Is that why you were so fearful when we intervened with your proceedings?” Jade asked, looking somewhat amused, “Prefect, we wouldn’t be that cruel.”

“I mean, we could.” Floyd leaned in, teeth sparkling white as the sun shone off them. He could have given a lens flare. “But we like you, so we won’t.”

“We couldn’t be that cruel.” Azul said firmly, “The fate of becoming sea foam is certainly no joke. We wouldn’t dream of it.”

Yuu was a bit flushed in their embarrassment, turning away to mumble something.

“What was that?” Azul hummed

“I said I feel stupid.”

“Sorry, one more time, I couldn’t hear you.” Jade grinned, leaning in closer.

“I Said,” they turned toward the trio, “That now I feel stupid.”

The three just smirked smugly back and Yuu felt like maybe they wished they’d turned to sea foam (not really)

1001 Arabian Nights

The original story of Aladdin and his magic lamp was honestly very different from the Disney film. Beyond some basic plot points (princess in a castle being in love with a street boy, a genie, etc) the story is virtually different. The main apparent thing being that there’s not one, but TWO genies, and the evil schemer is a wizard pretending to be Aladdin’s uncle, not a vizier taking advantage of the king. On the whole, I think Jamil and Kalim would be interested but wholly unimpressed. Oh, also a lot of murder.

Jamil hummed as he looked at the last page, tilting his head to the side as he thought.

“Aladdin doesn’t…seem like a good person.” Kalim said, staring at the book Jamil was holding. “He just…killed someone?”

“Granted, it was to save the princess,” Jamil began, looking to Kalim for only a moment. He gazed back down, “I can understand something like that. However…”

“There’s a lot of…slavery in this story.” Kalim finished, messing with his fingers, “I don’t like that.”

“The Asim Family-“

“I would never want you to do something you don’t want to.” Kalim said solemnly.

Jamil went silent, looking out the window. He tapped his finger against the edge of the book, lost in thought. “I still do, though. There are plenty of things I do for you that I don’t like.”

There was a silence as Yuu looked between them. Kalim looked hurt, and ashamed. Jamil looked…carefully put together. But deeply uncomfortable.

Yuu cautiously reached forward, taking the book from Jamil, who didn’t acknowledge it but did allow them to take it.

“I’m quite interested in this Roc bird that’s mentioned,” Jamil said suddenly, “It is to be the master of all genies?”

“Maybe it commands Azul.” Yuu joked, thinking back to Jamil’s words just before he’d overblotted.

Jamil glowered in return, but this did earn a laugh from Kalim.

The vice housewarden turned to contemplate the coffee table rather deeply, then murmured, “This tale does ring similar to our history, but rather different. It’s…odd. Like they were cut from the same cloth.”

Yuu shrugged, “It’s just a story. Nobody really got hurt.” They assured when Kalim looked momentarily uncomfortable again.

Snow White

The Grimm telling of Snow White is also fairly similar to the Disney telling, with the exception of the Evil Queen being WAY more persistent in the murder thing. She attempts to kill Snow three times. The first by cinching her corset so tight that she passed out, but it was unable to kill her. She tries again by gifting her a poisoned hair comb, which again fails to kill her. The third time, the poisoned apple, is the charm. She bites the apple, goes into a coma, glass coffin blah blah blah. Prince finds her coffin, decides she’s a real babe and takes her and the coffin home with him. On the journey back, one of the prince’s servants trips and knocks the coffin into something, which somehow manages to dislodge the piece of apple in the princess’s throat and bring her back to life. Yay! Then she tries to kill her again, fails, and is punished to dance in red hot slippers until she dies. Yay…?

Vil and Rook sat on opposite sides of the couch. Rook was staring pointedly at the wall while Vil was staring directly at the hunter.

“It’s quite interesting-“

“Not a word out of you.” Vil cut him off, turning his attention to his nails instead.

Yuu sat across from them, snapping the book shut to put it away, “Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.”

“You think?”

Rook looked like he wanted to say something, a finger up as though he were conducting an invisible choir.

“Rook Hunt. Keep your mouth shut, you fucking traitor.”

“You said you wished for me to be true in my heart!” He defended.

Yuu took this as the moment to leave the room, clutching the book close,

“Spudling, where are you going? Come back here.”

Yuu squeaked nervously before coming back to stand in front of him, a sheepish smile on their face, “Hmm?”

Vil looked them up and down, before leaning forward to straighten Yuu’s clothes, “Spudling, is this why you were so nervous when Trappola and Spade ate that apple tart?”

“I honestly kinda thought you killed them.” Yuu admitted with a titter.

Vil’s eyebrows shot up as he glanced to make eye contact with them, “Do you think I’m so cruel?”

“I didn’t know what to think.” They said honestly, hands reaching to stop Vil’s from moving, “All I knew was that Rook calls you the king of poisons, and my friends suddenly collapsed after eating apples. Two and two together lead to poisoning.”

Rook began to laugh loudly, then coughed to cover it and continued to not look at Vil.

Vil frowned, “I would never kill anyone, Spudling-“

“Except Neige.”

“NEIGE KNOWS WHAT HE FUCKING DID-“

Sleeping Beauty

Honestly this one is too graphic for me to explain in detail but let’s just say that the prince is even worse in this one than in the Disney version. Consent isn’t even a question for him he does not care. Also the cure in this version was kind of similar to snow white’s, in which a fragment of the spindle is stuck in Briar Rose’s finger and once it is dislodged she’s freed from the curse. Seriously though, wouldn’t recommend looking this one up to anyone who’s faint of heart. It’s seriously gross.

Malleus and Lilia don’t seem to surprised as you finish the tale. In fact, they don’t even bother to keep talking about it, and it’s totally not because the author of this doesn’t want to get into how absolutely disgusting it is that the 100 year old 16 year old has two kids that she definitely didn’t want, or how fucking gross the prince is to do what he did, it’s because they’re old as fuck and already kinda knew.

Lilia just goes back to setting your kitchen on fire while Malleus decides he’s going to read every other fairy story except this one because this one sucked and his grandma didn’t even turn into a dragon :/

Alice in Wonderland

Strictly speaking, the 1950’s animated film of Alice in Wonderland is not all that different from its inspiration. Most story beats are faithful to the original, with the exception of tweedle dee and tweedle dum, which actually appear in the sequel Alice through the looking glass. It appears that within Twisted Wonderland’s universe, while there is some misinterpretation of the Queen of Hearts herself, the information given in the film is well known based off of the comments given in the ‘chats’ with each character. It is unknown whether the Tim burton films have any bearing on twisted wonderland’s history, though based off of Riddle’s design and character it appears it may have been a source of inspiration at the least. All of this is to say that none of this particular story would be much of a surprise to any of the characters, as for them it’s very grounded in reality. This isn’t to say there wouldn’t be a surprise, though….

Riddle had been quietly sitting on the couch reading a book for about an hour now. It seemed as though he was nearing the end, and he looked both confused and enraptured by it.

“What’s that?” Yuu asked.

Riddle looked up, and with a carefully crafted blank face he held up the book so they could read the cover.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

“Ah,” Yuu said nervously, “Good read?”

Riddle tilted his head, “You never told me there were stories of twisted wonderland in your world.”

“That’s cause it’s not twisted wonderland.” Yuu defended, “That’s just regular wonderland.”

“The difference being?” Riddle asked, tone taking on a biting edge.

“It isn’t twisted?” They tried, shrugging, “I didn’t think it would interest you, honestly. It’s a lot of the same stuff as history class.”

Trey took this EXACT moment to walk into the room. He took one look at Riddle’s twitching eyebrow and realized that, oh shit, time to intervene. “What’s going on here?” He asked tentatively.

“This- ah…” Riddle took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, “This world has stories of Wonderland. Yuu neglected to mention this, in my opinion, rather imperative information.”

Yuu shrugged, “It’s just a children’s story. What could be so important?”

“Perhaps the fact that someone travels to and from Wonderland?” Riddle bit back, “Or perhaps that if your world has information on ours, then it isn’t fiction?”

Yuu blanched for a moment before calming themself. “Riddle,” they began, frowning, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that. But I have a very…different look on it.”

Riddle raised an eyebrow, urging Yuu to continue. Trey in the midst of this sat down beside Riddle, taking the book from him.

“This was written by someone named Charles Dodgeson, also known as Lewis Carroll. He wrote this for a trio of girls he used to tutor and babysit.” Yuu began, sitting down on the coffee table in front of Riddle and Trey. “He would often take them on canoe rides and tell them stories, making it up as he went along. He favored one particular girl, named Alice Liddell, and favored to write the story about her.”

Riddle looked unimpressed and confused at the same time, “But-“

“Riddle.” Trey said softly, “Let them continue.”

“Dodgeson was eventually fired by the Liddell family due to what was described as a ‘family affair’, the nature of which was never known. After that, for a bit of money he printed the story and sold it, then made wrote a sequel called ‘through the looking glass’.”

Riddle and Trey sat in silence before Riddle piped up, “Through the Looking Glass?”

“Mhmm.” Yuu said, “Alice returns to wonderland after walking through an enchanted looking glass. The rest of the adventure is similar to the first, changing from moment to moment.”

Riddle stared, fists curled in a ball and shaking. “So there’s a way home?”

Yuu looked surprised, “N-no, Riddle, it’s just a stor-“

“IT’S NOT JUST A STORY!” He cried, “It has to be real, you see that don’t you? You got to our world through a mirror, we got stuck here through one too. So there’s got to be another way back! Alice- Alice is real. She had to have gone….” He began to settle down, eyes filling with unshod tears.

Trey looked between Yuu and Riddle, “He’s right. It…would make sense. And…that’s a pen name, isn’t it? How do we know Alice didn’t write that?”

Yuu looked lost, staring down at the sobbing Riddle, who was murmuring various incoherent thoughts all in a long string.

“I’m so, so sorry…” Yuu said quietly, “We…I didn’t….I’m sorry. We can look, okay? I’ll do some research. We’ll get you home…”

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writers-hq · 3 years ago

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Good morrow and well met, for we have scraped together 8 of the dirtiest bawdy (bardy) moments from ol' Shakey-pants' work.

Don't act so surprised. It's always been about the dick jokes, y'all. Do you know us but at all?

So, adjust your ruff, pull up your cross-gartered stockings, and let's get the fuck into it.

1. Much Ado About Nothing

Right from the title we’re dealing in double entendres. ‘Nothing’ is Elizabethan slang for vagina so it basically means: “a lot of fuss about pussy”. Cool.

Then almost immediately, our first introduction to one of the protagonists alludes to him being a walking venereal disease: “If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere a' be cured.”

In return, Benedick swears he will never “hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick” and on it goes for 5 acts. Even BeneDICK’s eventual declaration of love includes a sex pun. “I will live in thy heart, die (orgasm) in thy lap, and be buried in your eyes.” Stay classy, guys.

2. Romeo & Juliet

Just your regular tween romance in which thirteen-year-old Juliet monologues repeatedly about how much she wants to get Ro-Ro into her bed. Even the classic ‘a rose by any other name’ speech includes the line: “nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor any other part belonging to a man” fnar fnar.

Oh, and she also dies (slang for orgasm) asking for his ‘happy dagger’ to rust inside her ‘sheath’. Yeah yeah, it’s a tragedy, but it’s also sex ‘n’ death right to the end.

3. Twelfth Night

Malvolio is the king of (accidental?) debauchery. While reading a (forged) letter from the lady he fancies, he declares: “By my life, this is my lady’s hand. These be her very C’s, her U’s and (N) her T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s.” Yes, that is how you spell **** and we’ll let you figure out the P bit.

He’s also responsible for the most misquoted line by wannabe motivational speakers everywhere: “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness THRUST upon ‘em.”

Yes, he’s talking about his dick.

4. Hamlet

To be or not to be whatever, but just imagine trying to sneak ‘c*ntry matters’ past the censors today:

HAMLET: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? OPHELIA: No, my lord. HAMLET: I mean, my head upon your lap. OPHELIA: Ay, my lord. HAMLET: Do you think I mean country matters? OPHELIA: I think nothing, my lord. HAMLET: That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs

Reminder that ‘nothing’ also means vagina. That’s a double whammy in the space of 7 lines. Kudos, sir.

5. Sonnet 20

Elizabethans loved a nice bit of androgyny, and never more so in this poem whereby Shakey talks in detail about how his (male) patron is soooo pretty and delicate and feminine AF and he’s super totally into that even though nature added ‘one thing to my purpose nothing’ (psst he’s talking about the guy’s cock) and ‘prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure’ (still talking about cock) but that’s ok cos all the laydeez will ‘use’ his ‘treasure’ (cock).

Mm hmm.

Cue all the old man scholars arguing for several hundred years that there was absolutely nothing gay about any of this lol bless.

6. The Taming of the Shrew

An otherwise irredeemable play contains this arse-licking zinger:

PETRUCHIO: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail. KATHARINA: In his tongue. PETRUCHIO: Whose tongue? KATHARINA: Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell. PETRUCHIO: What, with my tongue in your tail?

No further comments, your honour.

7. Henry V

Ok, buckle in for some Franglaise as the French Princess Catherine practices her English in preparation for marrying Henry, mispronouncing various body parts in a hilarious display of casual xenophobia. But the tables turn beautifully and profanely when she asks her maid the English word for ‘robe’ and is told ‘coun’ (gown) which sounds a lot like… uh… See you next Tuesday.

Yep. Shakespeare really got the future queen of England to say c*nt live on stage. Bravo.

8. Titus Andronicus

Aaaaand possibly the first recorded ye olde yo mama joke:

CHIRON: Thou hast undone our mother. AARON: Villain! I hath done thy mother!

Boom boom. Because he had sex wtih her. It’s about sex. It’s a sex joke. Okay cool. Bye.

#shakespeare #dick jokes #much ado about nothing #romeo & juliet #twelfth night #hamlet #sonnet 20 #the taming of the shrew #henry V #titus andronicus

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 3 years ago

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A Night at the Movies

So, I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately. I’ve even been going to the cinema to do, like a proper Appreciator Of The Visual Arts. And, naturally, I’ve acquired a review-itch that needs scratching. Rather than doing each flick individually, however, I thought I’d quick-fire this shit and do a series of capsule reviews contained within a single blog. Think of it like bullet chess, but it’s a blog instead of a boardgame that I usually lose.

The Northman A film that dares to ask ‘what if Beowulf and Hamlet were the same person?’ might sound like an art-house wank-fest of the highest order, but the Northman actually kicks arse. Actually, it kicks every arse in northern Europe and Scandinavia so hard that launches entire flotillas of buttocks into fucking orbit. Intense, brutal and epic from start to finish, its best trick is probably the magical realism with which it approaches its subject matter. It shows the world as the protagonist experiences it without making any definitive statements about whether what he’s experiencing is real or a figment of his imagination. Sanity is culturally and historically contextual, so a dude could have longwinded conversations with seers who are actually in his head or fall into a tomb and fight a non-existent zombie without being judged crazy by his peers. In some ways, the era of the Vikings was a better time- certainly a better time to be an absolute fucking crackpot. But I digress. The Northman explores its world and characters without judgement and lets us get invested in our own time and in our own way. It’s really refreshing to see a film that doesn’t insist on dumping modern modes of thought and ethics into its historic setting. Meanwhile, the protagonist’s character arc manages to feel more satisfying than anything in a more conventional movie as he gradually moves through blind dedication, disillusionment and pain and finally arrives at a place where he ends his revenge-quest (yes, it’s a revenge movie) not out of anger but out of love for his kin. It’s surprisingly beautiful in unexpected ways and, if it sounds like your sort of thing, it’s well worth seeing at the cinema where the tremendous scope can hit you right in the eyeballs unfettered by your tiny, shitty telly screen. I give it an unreserved ten out of ten decapitated Willem Dafoes.

The Lost City At the risk of stirring unnecessary controversy, rom-coms are usually very, very bad. They have to be sincerely heart-warming, genuinely funny and have a premise that allows them to transcend the limitations of their genre. If they drop any one of those three juggling balls, the whole thing dies on its arse. The Lost City, therefore, deserves extra helpings of praise for not just being really good but being really good despite having to work twice as hard as any other movie to get to that point. The jokes all land, the characters are all likeable, and the Indiana Jones-ish treasure hunt that ties it all together keeps things interesting even when the story beats are as well-trodden as its possible to get. It also scores highly for subverting expectations. There’s a love triangle that it nips in the bud with a grisly head-shot early on before it can grow and consume the whole film, the villain (played by Daniel Radcliffe having the time of his fucking life) has a surprisingly well thought-out motive and he ends up being more of a catalyst for the action than the only thing driving the plot (as often happens in movies of this type). Obviously lead actress Sandra Bullock turns in a fine performance, because she always fucking does, but who’d have had love interest Channing bloody Tatum pegged as a master of physical comedy? And yes, I will admit that the film won me over slightly by putting Far From Any Road and Red Right Hand on the soundtrack (and actually giving the plus-size best friend character something meaningful to do didn’t hurt either). That said, personally biases aside, I still feel confident in rewarding this film ninety-nine spooning skeletons out of a possible one hundred.

The Batman Crikey, this is a good Batman movie! I don’t know what else to fucking tell you: it perfectly evokes the noir, downbeat films on which Gotham city has always been modelled while also feeling fresh and original; the Riddler feels genuinely menacing and Bats himself feels like the genius he’s supposed to be in the comics. It’s also pretty hard to give Batman an arc, but this flick manages it, largely by setting the film early on his career (which means you could easily insert it mentally into the DCEU as a prequel, even though its pretending to be the stand-alone wallflower of DC movies). I only have one really, really minor complaint: the Riddler’s costume fucking sucks. I love The Riddler (from the version in the Tim Burton films, to the version in Gotham, to the version in the Arkham games and every version in the comics) and feel very strongly should be flamboyant and a tiny bit queer-coded where appropriate. He shouldn’t dress like some Q-Anon prepper twat who thinks that army surplus is a type of chic. But that’s a very minor gripe, and it doesn’t stop this movie taking home nine Alfred Pennyworths out of ten.

Moonshot I have a real fucking problem with films that set up a false dichotomy between saving the Earth through environmental programs and space exploration. In real life, any semi-competent government should be able to balance the two, ensuring both the future of our planet and the future of our species among the stars. I was therefore primed to dislike Moonshot the moment it started making noises about how Martian colonists didn’t give a shit about Earth and just used it to dump their rubbish (which would also be wildly impractical for a near-future space-faring civilisation, incidentally). It’s also a semi-romantic movie in which the main love interest is a slappable, entitled rich berk who really needs to get her stupid faux-nerd haircut caught in an airlock while a robot punches her repeatedly in the kidneys. Astonishingly, however, the film isn’t a complete carcrash. It succeeds, in spite of itself, because it’s very easy to get invested in the character of Walt, who’s a quick-witted, entertaining car-crash of the human being. We want him to succeed, but it’s hard to fathom why the thing he’s trying to succeed at involves seducing someone who hates him. Walt’s dialogue more or less redeems the film and, in spite of everything, there were a couple of moments that made me go ‘awww’. Evidently, being engaged to the hottest woman in our real universe has made me go soft. I give this this film a very grudging six out of ten stowaway space-cats.

Morbius I enjoyed Morbius, but I don’t necessarily think that means it was a good film. A large portion of the plot revolves around the idea that if you insert bat DNA into a human, you somehow come out with a vampire, which is just silly enough to be noticeable, even in a Marvel-associated project. Then there’s Morbius himself, who’s kind of a grumpy hypocrite. And yet… and yet I really fucking enjoyed this movie. Some of that enjoyment undoubtedly stems from the script, which is pretty heavy on dark humour (though not quite as heavy as I would like). Equally, part of it must come from the visualisation of vampiric powers, which are among the best I’ve ever seen and make the movie a visual delight to watch. Most of my enjoyment, however, comes from Matt Smith as the main villain, Milo, who enjoys being a vampire way, way more than Mr. Grumpy-Bollocks. He goes around murdering arseholes with his teeth, dancing at tonally inappropriate points in the plot and laughing his fucking head off whenever he gets into a fight with Morbius, as though having his teeth knocked out a by Hot Topic model reject is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him. You know what, I’m giving this movie a solid eight out of ten dancing murderers on that alone.

Horns Or Horny Daniel Radcliff’s Horny Hornventures, to give it its full title. So, I’ll freely admit that I didn’t see this at the cinema- it was on the interwebs. And it’s pretty darn good. Ig (played by Daniel Radcliffe, who’s all over the fucking schedule in this blog) wakes up to find that he’s been accused of murdering his girlfriend. Shortly thereafter, he starts growing never-properly-explained horns that give him weird occult powers, including revealing people’s darkest desires and truths and (insanely) commanding the loyalty of snakes. Without spoiling anything, it doesn’t go where you think it’s going to go, and it’s endlessly entertaining while it’s not going there. It even gives us the immortal image of Daniel Radcliffe just casually wearing a snake like it’s no big deal. I choose to believe that for formal occasions, he wears it tied in a Windsor knot and has two tiny snakes for cuff-links, but that’s by the by. It’s a broadly well-acted film with lots of entertaining supernatural elements but, if it has a fault, it’s that it overreaches slightly with the size of its cast. There are so many people in this film, all of them harbouring dark secrets, that it’s easy to lose track of their names and some of them only have, like, two personality traits. Consequently, I kept thinking of them by their monolithic defining traits instead of whatever the script called them. There’s Hopeless Dad, Terrible Mom, Druggy Trombonist, Donut Slut (which I mean as praise, not slur), Repressed Gay Cops (two of them, no less! A matching set!), Boring Ginger (whose death drives the plot but has zero actual character, even in flashbacks) Lying Waitress and Arsehole. Of course, I can remember the name of Daniel Radcliff’s character (Ig) because it’s mentioned every five minutes, but just so he didn’t feel left out, I dubbed him Snake Necklace. But I’m being facetious for comic effect. I stayed invested right up to the end and was really rooting for the plot-designated good guys throughout, which isn’t always the case with me, so Horns was obviously doing something right. I therefore award it a solid seven slithery friends out of ten. Of course, if I’d written it, it would have ended with Snake Necklace and Donut Slut riding off into the sunset to the tune of Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard, which would have bumped it up to a nine.

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness Good fucking grief this is a good film. Like, a ridiculously good film. Without spoiling anything, I will say that it’s a film whose title mentions a multiverse and implies generalised chaotic mayhem and it delivers on both in great abundance. It’s amazing how many ideas are crammed into this flick, with the film-makers using Doctor Strange’s magic and the mechanics of an infinitely divergent multiverse to just explore every scrap of whimsy or odd little concept that they couldn’t squeeze into a more grounded movie. Yet, despite this, absolutely nothing is lost in terms of characterisation and meaningful interaction between protagonists. Our villain du jour is Scarlet Witch, AKA Wanda, but she feels less like a true ‘villain’ and more like somebody made dangerous by grief and a fragile mind, which means that the end of her character arc (which I’m not going to spoil) feels truly earned and even, dare I say it, redemptive. Strange himself remains the same arrogant yet charming rogue he’s always been, but still manages to learn an important lesson: that he doesn’t always have to be the one ‘holding the knife’ and can depend on other people to avert disaster. Even newcomer America Chavez (stupid name, great character) gets a good arc, where she goes from a mere desperate struggle for survival to a willingness to sacrifice herself that the film actually rewards rather than punishes. Then there’s the elements of body horror, the wholly appropriate cameos from much-loved actors from other franchises, the gorgeous visualisations of alternate Earths and Wong (who’s always a delight). I seem to remember thinking, while watching it, ‘Crikey, this feels a lot like one of those really good Sam Raimi Spiderman movies’. And then Sam Raimi’s name popped up in the credits as the director and I thought ‘ooooh! THAT explains it!’ I always have to mention that it’s a shame Disney ultimately owns Marvel Studios, because Marvel make some good stuff and Disney are just irredeemably evil (everyone talks about their slightly worrying cultural monopoly, but my beef is with their use of near-literal slaves to make their merchandise. I don’t know if that’s still ongoing, since it’s hard to find up-to-date data on it, but they haven’t made a song and dance about stopping, so I have to assume that yes, they’re still into some shady shit). Despite horrible reality casting a pall over the film, though, I still have to give it a hypothetically infinite number out of a hypothetically infinite number of dead Earths.

Sonic The Hedgehog (1 and 2) So, before I was even old enough to pick up a game controller, I used to watch my older sister playing the original Sonic the Hedgehog on the old Sega Master System, where I was entranced by the stylised, brightly coloured visuals, delightful music and the fact that the whole thing seemed to be about a speeding blue blur smashing through robots at ridiculous speed. So yes, obviously, when a Sonic the Hedgehog movie franchise happened, I had to scratch the nostalgia itch and see the bloody things. And how are they? Not bad. I mean, not great, but I had fun, and fun is really their only purpose, so on their own terms, they definitely succeed. The adaptation of Sonic’s personality from the games to the big screen is kind of weirdly handled, insofar as the game character basically knows what the fuck he’s doing and is generally characterised as being fairly relaxed despite his superspeed, whereas film Sonic is a hyperactive ball of manic energy who never shuts the fuck up and has literally no idea what he’s doing (ever) which can get a little grating after awhile. Luckily, Jim Carey’s on hand as the evil Doctor Robotnik to balance him out and, in both movies, he’s kind of the best thing- clearly insane but too smart to be ignored; genuinely menacing while still being funny. There’s a lot more I could say- there’s a surprising amount to dig into with these films. However, I’ll restrain myself because, ultimately, they’re kids’ films with just enough nostalgia-bait in them to pull in the ageing nerd crowd too. Their job is to make you laugh, throw a good visual spectacle onto the screen and send you home feeling happy inside. They’re not the best films in the universe, but they’re good enough and that’s all you need to know. I rate them four out of seven poorly-explained magic emeralds.

And with that, we’ve taken a tour from an incredibly artful and mature film that reimagines the plot of a Shakespeare play through the lens of Norse culture to a dual-movie sequence about a blue hedgehog jumping repeatedly on Jim Carey’s shiny bald head. I’ve been pretty lucky in that nothing I’ve watched lately has been actively terrible, but I do apologise that y’all didn’t get to see me rip into some cinematic garbage with my teeth bared. Them’s the brakes I’m afraid. Maybe next time. But now that you’ve taken this voyage with me and we’ve emerged older, wiser, perhaps a little sadder but still gloriously, undeniably alive… I am going to have ask you respectfully to piss off.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer #movies #films #cinema #Doctor Strange #Sonic the Hedgehog #Sonic the Hedgehog 2 #The Northman #The North Man #The Batman #Batman #Morbius #Horns

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redhoodieone · 4 years ago

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Wrong Number Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2! Uh…I don’t really know what to say other than…enjoy it! Hopefully, I can post Part 3 sometime next week.

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content, Text Message Nudes, and Mutual Masturbation.

I’m in complete shock. I know I’m frozen because I can’t literally take my eyes off the text message Jason sent to me. It’s clear; it’s in black and white, staring right at me.

Do you ever think we’ll meet each other?

He wants to meet me. Jason wants to meet me in person!

I want to text him back, but my mind is full of many ridiculous questions and the fears of Jason being a serial killer, or rapist, or just an insane Arkham escapee blows up in my head.

Before I knew it, I see the three bubbles on my screen.

I’m sorry. That was selfish of me to ask you that even though we’re still practically strangers to each other. Forget I asked, please?

My heart suddenly hurts like fuck. The pain I’m instantly feeling is very familiar. A broken heart?

It’s pure agony when I notice Jason texting me again.

I’m not going to be able to text tonight, sweetheart. I’m working late with my brothers. I’ll text you tomorrow. Have a good night. Sweet dreams.

I can’t believe I did this. How could I do this to a guy who’s been so funny, so sweet, and such a good friend in only just four days through text messages?

I seriously fucked up. And now I have no one to talk to until I fall asleep.

And as strange as it is, I only sleep well after I talk to him.

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

And true to his word, Jason texts me at five in the morning, only to let me know he made it home safe after working with his brothers.

We only spoke about our jobs once. He told me he works alongside police officers and tracks down criminals and helps brings justice to the city. He seemed almost hesitant to tell me and turned the conversation to me as if he doesn’t like talking about work. He made it clear that he would rather keep his work private, and I didn’t push him to tell me more. I didn’t want to ask a lot of questions, even if I’m sometimes curious about it, because I wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable about it.

I had told him I’m a waitress at the local diner just a block away from GCPD, and how I’m a late-night writer who dreams of publishing my novel on love and loss. And after I confessed about the book I wrote to Jason, I noticed he was very enthusiastic about that and even told me he wants to read it.

And as the shy and insecure person that I am, I became embarrassed and said no.

That only fueled the fire between us. Jason went on to explain he loves to read. His favorite literature consists of Shakespeare (particularly Hamlet), George Orwell’s 1984 and Animal Farm, and even poetry from Edgar Allen Poe.

He even went into depth of how The Tell-Tale Heart mirrors his own reflection of life and stuck with him during a depressing time in his life.

It wasn’t until after we shared our love for literature that I found myself falling for Jason. As ridiculous and insane as that sounds, I couldn’t help but feel as if he’s the missing piece in my life.

It’s as if he’s the words to my story.

Important, but very valuable to a writer.

I was basically on a high that had me grinning like an idiot, giggling like a moron, and jumping in my seat as my stomach twists and turns like a roller coaster, when Jason refused to take no for an answer after I said he couldn’t read my novel. He even said his dad has connections to businesses in Gotham and could even help me get it published.

As much as I would want that, I couldn’t help but feel that it seems too good to be true. What if his dad took my novel and publish it as his own? What if I get cheated out of a contract and didn’t get paid fairly like I should? What if it’s basically a soul-sucking scam to just fuck my entire life up?

Jason must have sensed my hesitation after that, because he then began to tell me about his brothers.

How his older brother Dick still treats him like a kid, even though Jason is taller and stronger than him.

How his younger brother Tim is a computer nerd and often geeks out over the oddest things.

And how his youngest brother Damian is really a demon spawn, who tries to be tough shit, but is really a soft teddy bear.

He even has a sassy but wise butler, Alfred, who frightens him and sometimes reminds him of Vito Corleone from The Godfather. But the older man loves Jason as much as his dad, Bruce.

The stories about Jason’s family are the best. I always find myself excited to see what he texts me about his family.

How he and his brothers fight over their dad’s car, how they wrestle and spar to see who’s the strongest one, and how whenever one’s in trouble, the other three are already finding ways to save or bail the troubled one out.

It all makes me feel good to know they’re a close family. Especially when my cold, harsh reality reminds me I don’t have a family.

My parents died when I was just fifteen years old. I was in the school library alone during afterhours; reading on a beanbag chair because I didn’t want to go home. At that particular time, my parents were hanging around a different crowd. A crowd that was into drugs and gambling, and possibly other illegal activities I don’t even know about.

So, I chose to stay in the school library that night, sitting in my favorite beanbag chair the librarian allows me to use, reading a favorite horror book, munching away on a hot pocket (a snack also from the librarian), and just enjoy the silence but comfortable environment I would call home.

Then I was told they died in a car accident, but after eavesdropping on Commissioner Gordon and the other cops, I heard there could have been a hit on them.

The car accident happened only a block away from our apartment.

The brakes were cut.

The car was burning too much oil.

The airbags were taken out.

Many noticeable factors couldn’t pinpoint the real crime. Eventually, they just called it a “car accident”, and everything fishy about the case was ignored and never brought up again.

I suffered and struggled a lot in foster homes until I turned 18. I didn’t have any other family members to get into contact with, so I had to make do with the foster care system. After being shipped to three unstable and cruel homes, the last family only dealt with me until I turned 18 and I was soon kicked out. I did get lucky enough to get a job at the diner I’m working at since the new manager needed a pretty young girl to serve the customers.

I even went to Gotham Community College for a year but dropped out when I couldn’t pass any math and science classes.

It was fucking hard.

Science was confusing as hell.

Math was just evil and useless.

I hated those classes so much.

I only passed my English classes because reading and writing only made sense to me.

I even took a creative writing class and poetry class only to discover I want to write.

I want to be a writer.

So, I dropped out of college and decided to work full time at the diner as a waitress. Since no one wants to live and work in Gotham, I’m lucky enough to work morning and night without any issues. As dangerous and scary Gotham can be, I have nowhere else to go, so that’s why I stay here.

Maybe that’s why I’m eager to meet Jason. After everything I’ve been through, maybe I do need a little unpredictability.

Chances.

Risks.

The more I consider meeting Jason, the more I can imagine him being my family.

Or being a part of his.

Maybe.

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

“You’re not going to meet him, right???” Stacey raises her voice at me in sheer annoyance and panic. She crosses her arms and glares at me to answer her. “Right, Y/N???”

I sigh as softly as I can while wiping down the booths and tables for the night. In the midst of a battle, I find myself growling with irritation when I can’t wipe away the sticky maple syrup spills on the hard surface.

“He could be a fat, old man who picks up on teenage girls! He’s probably some 40-year-old loser who still lives on his mom’s basement playing Street Fighter with kids! What if he tricks you into meeting up in a hotel room and has his way with you? Then what, Y/N?! Does that sound like a good idea to you?!” Stacey snaps.

I exhale deeply and stand up straight; after leaning over the table to reach the opposite side for some time. Turning around, I face Stacey Patterson, a tall, petite, pretty blonde, fresh face girl straight out of high school. She’s a waitress like me, and after only working here for a year, we’ve become close friends; always looking after each other in dangerous Gotham City.

“I didn’t say I was going to meet him, Stacey. We’re just talking about it,” I answer timidly.

Despite being five years older than Stacey, she still intimidates the hell out of me. Whether it’s her 5’11 height, loud voice, or natural evil glare, I can never speak up or defend myself. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t take a stand.

Because what if I actually piss her off? What if she stops being my friend?

Because I don’t think I could live in Gotham and not have any friends and not know anyone.

Stacey is like my best friend, and her friends Amber and Holly hang out in our group. Stacey even says they’re my friends, too, even though I clearly know they only put up with me because of her.

And if Amber and Holly aren’t my friends, then I’ll just have Stacey. And if I don’t have Stacey, I’ll only have Jason.

And who knows if Jason is who he says he is, and if he’s even real.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N! You’re totally thinking about Jason! You’re thinking about meeting up with him because I could see it in your eyes!” Stacey declares. She waves her arms around to emphasize her point. “You like this guy! You have feelings for a guy you’ve never even met!”

“That is not true,” I argue weakly.

“Yes, it is! And we don’t even know if it’s a guy!”

“Jason is a guy, and I can tell!”

“Oh, really? How? Do tell.”

I stare at Stacey with a serious expression, except my cheeks are burning with embarrassment as usual. “He...comes off like a guy. I know he is. I can tell through his text messages,” I say.

“Anybody can sound like anyone through text messages. That’s how people catfish victims online!” Stacey argues.

“I’m a writer, Stacey. I just...have a feeling, okay? I know Jason says who he is, and I believe him,” I say strongly, as I push a lose strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’m doing this the smart way, too. When he and I decide when we should meet up, I’ll let you know. Maybe we can make it a group thing. I bring a friend. He brings a friend.”

Stacey sighs in defeat when she realizes I’m not backing down. She glances up at me with a stern face. “Fine. When you two decide when you’re both going to meet up, I’ll be there. I’ll be there to make sure he’s not on America’s Most Wanted, and to make sure he doesn’t try to lure you to his mom’s basement. BUT...you have to go on a date. A REAL date with a guy we both know, AND who could be good for you,” she states loudly and clearly.

“But Stacey-”

“Hey! Only until this Jason guy comes to Gotham and we meet him! Until then, I want you to give this guy a chance. A fair chance! For me...please???” Stacey pleads. She pouts and gives me her puppy dog eyes, which she knows I always give in to.

I’m too nice. Mom always said I was too nice, and that one day it’ll get me in trouble.

I’m still wondering when that’ll happen.

“Okay, I’ll give this guy a chance. I swear I will,” I promise and salute her. “But who’s the guy?”

Stacey grins in success and hugs me tightly. “Good! Because you’re like my sister, Y/N, and I just want to see you happy. You deserve it,” she says softly. “And it’s Chace. Remember him? He’s the drummer from, WakeHell. He moved in right next door to me, and I know you two will hit it off right!”

Chace????

Oh yeah. I know him.

He’s a total bad boy. A bad boy I don’t even think I could deal with.

I force a smile but then frown, because the only guy in my life who makes me happy is Jason.

Who I only text.

Who I haven’t even met.

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

The next day is a lazy day since it’s my day off. I spent the majority of it sleeping, doing laundry, and just doing minor cleaning around my apartment until it’s 9:00 P.M.

And Cruel Intentions is on TV.

Lying on the couch with my second glass of Vodka Cranberry, I find myself really buzzed and horny. Ryan Phillippe back then was hot, and him making out with Reese Witherspoon is doing things to me.

My phone bings. It’s Jason.

What are you up to tonight, sweetheart?

Just a night in, a cup of glasses of vodka and cranberry, and Cruel Intentions is on TV.

I barely realize I’m buzzed and texting Jason. But my horny side doesn’t care.

I sorry I’m buzzed right now lol.

LOL no worries. I just came back from the bar with my brothers. We had a successful night and decided to get some drinks. We even had Tim and Damian use fake I.D’s.

I laugh and snort. Thank God no one heard me do that.

That’s good...we wouldn’t want Tim and Damian to be left out. They’re your baby brothers, Jay.

Jay? I really like it when you call me that. And I especially like you buzzed. LOL.

I like me buzzed too! I think I’m way more fun and free!

LOL!!! Exactly, princess!

I smile down at my phone. I love it when he calls me princess.

You said you’re watching Cruel Intentions? I just found it on TV. Wow...this movie’s old LOL.

Shut up!!! I find young Ryan Phillppe sexy in this movie!

You seriously find him sexy??? The guy’s a whiny brat! A pussy! Fuck, this movie woulda been sexier if we actually saw the douchebag eat out Cecile and saw him fuck Annette AND Kathryn!

I gasp out loud and giggle.

Then it would have been a porno! Not a movie! Hahaha!!!!

That’s fine with me, princess!

I softly whimper at just the thought of Jason watching porn. Closing my eyes, I imagine how he would sound, touch himself, and look when he’s pleasuring himself.

My eyes shoot open when I hear Sebastian telling Cecile he wants to kiss her…down there. I quickly turn my attention to the TV and watch the movie. Even though he takes advantage of a clueless, drunk girl in the movie, just the thought of him eating her out makes me clench my thighs.

It’s been too long. WAY TOO LONG!

The last guy I was seeing didn’t like to eat me out; claimed it was disgusting and unnecessary to do before sex.

As if sucking his dick was glamorous AND fun!

My thoughts are interrupted when Jason texts me.

You’re quiet tonight…does this scene turn you on???

The laughing emojis he texts me should hurt my feelings since I can easily be embarrassed over sexual things but…he’s right.

I’m turned on with just the thought of getting eaten out.

I boldly text Jack back. Unashamed and VERY buzzed.

You have no idea. Just imagining him eating me out, writing the alphabet with his tongue, and making me have an explosion is making me wet my panties right now.

I laugh to myself just seeing that Jason read my text message and is responding fast. The texting bubbles have never looked so good.

You’re…you’re wet right now????

Yes. Soooo fucking wet.

A surge of drunken confidence hits me, and I quickly shove off my pajama shorts until they’re on the floor. In just my white tank top and pink panties, I bravely slip my fingers into my damp panties and rub the wetness against my sensitive clit.

And with my other hand, I raise my cell phone and snap a picture of fingers in my wet panties.

And I send the picture to Jason.

I bite my lip in anticipation when I see he read my text message and saw my picture. The texting bubbles do not appear on the screen. He’s not texting me back.

Frowning, I wonder if I freaked Jason out. Maybe I crossed the line. Maybe I made him uncomfortable. Maybe I’m just not sexy.

Suddenly, my phone beeps. Unlocking my cell phone screen, I see two text messages AND a picture.

Oh, fuck sweetheart…that’s fucking sexy. You’re fucking sexy…

Jason sends me a picture of him wearing his boxer briefs, and his hand holding his hard, thick cock, showing me the outline and shape of his boner.

Delicious. I can feel my pussy clench just from imagining Jason fucking me with his cock.

Fuck doll...you’re doing this to me.

I whimper pathetically and can’t help but continue to rub my clit and respond back. I can see my juices staining my panties.

Are you touching yourself too?

Fuck yeah. Just seeing your fingers playing with your wet, pretty pussy got me hard. I’m jacking off to your picture.

Would you want me like I want you?

Fuck yes, sweetheart. I probably want you more than you want me.

I slip a finger inside my pussy and moan. My thumb runs fast hard circles on my clit, and I’m soon pushing in two fingers. I’m fucking myself crazy, but I imagine Jason is finger fucking me because my fingers wouldn’t get me off so fast.

And his fingers are thick. His hands are fucking huge!

I bite my bottom lip. “Fuck...I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” I whisper to myself. I snap another picture of my fingers shoved in my pussy, and how I’ve gotten wetter. I send him the picture with the truth.

I need to cum so bad. I wish it was you touching me.

Yeah? What would you want me to do to you, doll?

Fuck that picture’s so hot.

I’d want you to finger me. Eat me out. Fuck me hard.

Jason sends me another picture of him stroking his cock but with his hand in his underwear. I can see a wet spot where his tip is; stained with his precum. I want a taste of it so badly.

Fuck I would baby. Your pussy looks so good enough to eat. I’d fucking eat you out until you can’t cum anymore. I bet you taste delicious.

Oh fuck…I’m so close. I want your cock so bad, Jay. You’re gonna make me cum…

Rub your clit harder baby. Fuck your pussy fast and hard with your fingers. Imagine they’re my fingers, baby. I’d fuck you so hard and deep.

I want to see your cum, okay? Take a picture of that pretty pussy and show me what I did to you.

I do what Jason says. Behind his words, I can feel his authority. Even though I can’t hear Jason’s voice, just reading his words makes me burst like fireworks. My thumb rubs my clit harder, and I crook my fingers just right until I push against my g-spot until I cum. My orgasm is intense, and I force myself to snap a picture of my soaked underwear and fingers. I sent it to him with a lazy smile.

My phone beeps. Jason sent me a picture of his thick, juicy, cum covering his abdominal muscles. I smile a little with pride.

Fuck that was hot, sweetheart. I needed that.

Me too. Now, I’m sleepy.

LOL, I’m tired too. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.

Okay…goodnight Jay.

I roll over onto my side and shut off the TV. Pulling my UGG throw blanket over my body, I snuggle up to fall asleep. My phone beeps again. Opening one eye, I reach over to read the text message.

Goodnight doll. Sweet dreams.

#dc comics #batman #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x y/n smut #jason todd smut

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alwida10 · 4 years ago

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The tragedy of Loki of Asgard

Or why I think the Infinity War Loki should stay dead.

TW: suicide, depression, narcissistic behavior

To understand this essay you need some basic understanding of the family dynamic in Odins family. The dynamic is one of a narcistic parent who has a golden child he projects his own awesomeness onto and a scapegoat child . The parent ensures himself the support of the golden child and makes himself the very center of attention, which is what a narcisst tribes for. The golden child longs to remain golden child and refrains from criticism of the parent. The scapegoat child strives to finally get out of the scapegoat position by pleasing the parent. To bad the child can’t do so because it gets not the blame because it did something wrong but because there must always be someone to blame. Therefore possible explanations and things the parent presented as desirable aren’t really that. Now, a golden child sooner or later gets used to blame everything on the scapegoat. It might even learn to control the scapegoat by blaming him the same way the parent did (aka the scapegoat longs for positive attention/affirmation and therefore does everything the golden child wants him to).

Now, in Thor Ragnarok Odin says ‘I love you my sons’ before he dies, placing the two of them more or less on equal positions for the first time ever. (I know there can be good arguments made, but just let’s assume it’s possition zero they start at.)

Pretty soon both end up on Sakarr, Thor in prison, Loki in the Grandmasters favors. Loki visits Thor in prison, suggesting teaming up, even though it endangers his position (the Grandmaster could hear about it, Thor would probably claim the higher position etc.) At that moment Thor doesn’t have anything to offer. Yet, he stonewalls, blaming Loki for all bad that happened. (For a much more detailed spot -on analysis please read this post where @i-dreamed-i-had-a-son even correctly predicted Loki’s death).

The whole dynamic in the prison is Thor falling back into the old family dynamic. Only that Odin is dead now, and the position of the prime narcisst is open. Now, narcissm is often correlated with abusive behavior, as written in ‘why does he do that? - inside they mind of angry and controlling men’ by Lundy Bancroft. In another post I found many of the things she describes can be observed in Thor’s actions in Thor Ragnarok.

But let’s get finally come to the elevator scene which is the heart piece of my explanation. Remember – Loki is at this point starved for any affirmation or positive reaction by his family. After Thor rejected Loki’s plan, he accepted Loki joining his plan. Thor lures Loki by claiming they should talk right before they enter the elevator. For a starving person this is huge temptation. But Loki did live with his family for eons and is certainly aware of it being a trap.

Right from his first appearance in Thor 1 (before the coronation) we learn that Loki never lowers his guard when it comes to admitting feelings. In that scene he said he loved Thor but directly glossed it over with a joke. After all what happened in Thor 1, Avengers and TDW Loki would never let himself appear weak by outright asking if Thor does still hold any positive feelings mg a for him. So he uses reverse psychology (claiming something against your own wishes, hoping the other disagrees and thereby affirms you.)

LOKI: Here's the thing. I'm probably better off staying here on Sakaar.

The problem with reverse psychology is when the other person agrees with it, it hits you right where it hurts the most.

THOR: That's exactly what I was thinking.

LOKI: ...Did you just agree with me?

THOR: This place is perfect for you. It's savage, chaotic, lawless. Brother,you're going to do GREAT here.

Thor follows up by insulting Loki and pushing him away hard. Why? Because he knows Loki has nobody else to turn to. Even after TDW Loki returned to Asgard. For one part because he’s still loyal but certainly also for the lack of alternatives. And Asgard will always include Thor. Thor knows Loki won’t be able to leave him.

LOKI: Do you truly think so little of me?

Loki is hurt, obviously and it’s very much visible on his face. To make sure no blame can be laid open him, Thor uses gaslighting.

THOR: Loki, I thought the world of you. I thought we were gonna fight side by side forever. But, at the end of the day, you're you, I'm me… I don't know, maybe there's still good in you, but let's be honest, our paths diverged a long time ago.

Loki is wounded by Thor's willingness to discard him. But he masks his feelings.

LOKI: It's probably for the best that we never see one another again.

Thor pats Loki on the shoulder, placing the obidience disk. And this action proves that the manipulation on Thor’s part was intentional. Why else would he have done it? (Everyone claiming ‘Loki betrayed Thor endless times, please read this meta). Thor knew that by pushing Loki away hard enough he would trigger a desperate act of reactive aggression. He did so to push Loki back into his place (which is beneath him, as far Thor is concerned). As soon that has happened Thor gives his little self righteous speech.

THOR: Oh brother, you're becoming predictable. I trust you, you betray me. Round and round in circles we go. See, Loki, life is about, it's about growth. It's about change.But you seem to just wanna stay the same. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you'll always be the God of Mischief, but you could be more.

Briefly summarized:

you suck, and I don’t think you’ll ever be worth my affection. If you want to try tho, here is your option.

Of course, to prove Thor wrong Loki is forced to resume his subservant position he had at the beginning of Thor 1. He can only ‘prove his worth’ by doing Thor’s bidding and supporting his plans. And that he does. He convinces kork and his crew to join him and brings them to Asgard where he receives his reward by Thor acknowledging him in a not-aggressive way. He even fulfills Thor’s plan, knowing that henceforth he will be blamed whenever someone remembers Asgard’s destruction. In Thor’s ‘coronation scene’ Loki stands at the side, behind the Valkyrie (yet, still at the right side. That surprised me, tbh. The ‘right hand of the King’ is a prestigious title and I didn’t believe TW would have allowed Loki that. But he’s still only second on Thor’s right.)

Anyway, Loki is back in the position he had in Thor 1 with a lot of added baggage and no Frigga to rant to when everything gets to bad. And then Thanos appears. Under Thanos Loki would suffer even more than under Thor (remember the Other’s ‘no barren moon..’ speach.) So basically he’s caught between two horrible fates.

Loki’s death scene itself has been criticized a lot and everyone knows the butterknive-discourse. It can only interpreted in two ways: either him being stupid or him being suicidal. Based on all written above and the fact that he already tried to commit suicide at the end of Thor 1, I can only believe the second to be true.

It has another point: Tom said Loki’s arc was finished. I was confused and unhappy about this statement, but now I am coming to piece with it. Tom loves Shakespeare, including Hamlet and Coriolanus. Those are tragedies. Tragedies are characterized by the protagonist being ruined because of a dramatic conflict that leaves him only two choices, one being death and one being worse. So perhaps this is his very own version of the tragedy of Loki of Asgard.

#Loki meta #long post #meins #MCU loki #anti thor ragnarok #anti taika waititi

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misterparadigm · 3 years ago

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A Critique of Albert Camus’s “The Myth of Sisyphus”

The following is a brief critical breakdown of Albert Camus's highly influential essay. In it, I explore Camus's implicit meanings as I find them, and question the validity of his conclusions about the nature of suffering and man's capacity for contending with it by will alone.

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In philosophy, absurdity is defined as the conflict between the tendency to seek meaning in life and the inability to find such meaning with any logical certainty. The question of meaning has been at the heart of many philosophical explorations and treatises. The second half of the 20th century and beyond saw a spread in the acceptance of the notion of life’s meaninglessness, though no definitive and satisfactory cure for the ennui and nihilism that often follows has been laid out.

Perhaps most famous and cherished is Albert Camus’s essay exploring the Myth of Sisyphus and his ultimate declaration therein that, “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” In this essay, Camus thinks over the myth in brief and lays out an interpretation of it which centers Sisyphus’s acknowledgment of his predicament, acceptance, and most importantly his personal resolve and will to view his burden as something which gives his life meaning. We must imagine Sisyphus finding contentment in his futile labor—an act of will which scorns the gods and denies their effort to break the spirit of Sisyphus with the assertion that a life of eternally futile labor is something torturous. Camus efforts—a bit belabored, in my opinion—to make a modern hero of the one who belittles the gods and their cruel, arrogant, resentful judgments. In Camus’s view, these gods have earned no respect in their dealings with mortals. For Camus, a humanist who would sooner dive headlong into oblivion than seek out a god whom he despises, it is a noble and purposeful pursuit to deny any such god the pleasure of punishing the creature which he created to despise him to begin with—a creature forced to live out a scenario of absurdity concocted by that very god. Camus refuses to respond with devastation, but resolves to make such existence its own purpose. He asks us to grasp our free will, own it, and wield it against any force which seeks to turn the man against himself.

But is this assessment and subsequent assertion valid? A number of factors are at play here which Camus seems not to acknowledge. First, we have to acknowledge context. Sisyphus is dealing with a particular set of gods, so his situation is unique to that scenario. Camus seems to imply that this situation can be applied to the modern man and his relationship to whichever god he believes in. This isn’t apparent, and if one is to assert that it is, one must first take as a given that life is absurd, or else the resentment toward the god who created it isn’t validated. On the other hand, if life is not absurd and is in fact meaningful and purposeful, one must contend with the notion that the god who created it is of some authority on the matter of how best to embody such meaning and purpose. To Camus’s credit, we are given no empirical evidence or common enough experience to adequately, categorically state the purposefulness of existence. What we are offered, rather, is a quiet firmament and a divine hand so subtle that one can barely propose to experience its activity—rarely with any convincing force, despite fervent conviction, and perhaps even considered malevolent rather than benevolent. The suffering of life, after all, makes it easy to resent our very being. Life is discomfort, pain, confusion, and death in greater measure than pleasure and joy. Pleasure and joy, even, seem starkly restricted as vices of desire in the eyes of “modern” gods, so much that to see the beauty of life is to do so in spite of life itself rather than to acknowledge that beauty’s apparentness as we would life’s suffering. Even so, the challenge of life may not then be to grasp one’s own will and deny God, but rather, as Hamlet mused, to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. To take accountability for one’s will and wield it, much as Camus suggests, as a weapon—not against God, but rather against the apparent evils of existence, of which we would know nothing were it not for eating from the proverbial Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Often, we get caught up in the idea that God created the circumstances in which we exist, and created us to exist within those circumstances. By this musing along we may justify a resentment toward such a god and claim absurdity and cruelty. It’s quite easy to do so. However, we rarely seem to consider that, according to the myth, we were created in a more desirable scenario. Even so, we were created with free will and given direction on what to do and what not to do in order to avoid less desirable circumstances. Our free will standing, we acted in what would seem to be an inevitable manner. We were tempted to know what God knows about existence, and so we consumed the apple and opened our minds to the knowledge of good and evil. In doing so, we betrayed the trust of God and refused his advice, thus we became fully conscious and, consequently, fully accountable for our actions. With the knowledge of good and evil, a being with free will bears a responsibility to act according to the good rather than the evil. This early awakening left us naive—scarcely prepared to contend with the greater evils of the universe—and we’ve been mired in it ever since, rarely even able to see clearly what constitutes good and what constitutes evil. The complexity of such a task of judgment is said to be the court of God, and we are not to engage in such things, but we are yet left with no one but ourselves to hold each other accountable—and so how can we not judge? There is much that goes into this, but it’s a digression of the topic at hand, which is the validity of Camus’s assessment of the transferable lesson of Sisyphus’s fate.

The second factor is the presumption that Sisyphus could have the stamina to will joy out of his futile labor for eternity. It is difficult to imagine how his psychology might evolve over an endless span of time. Is it even reasonable to imagine that he might settle on a particular view of his predicament? How could it be that his view would last forever? It seems more likely that his mind might unravel after so long a labor at a single task, and that he would dissolve into his routine—that he would devolve into a machine. Such a task, it seems to me, is tailored to disintegrate the spirit of a man so that there is nothing left but the laboring organic robot, dead of his animus and dull of mind. His programming, which once explored myriad tasks and evolved in spirit accordingly, is now relegated to the track of a single interminable function, and so his mechanism devolves into only what is necessary for the eternal task. The animating spirit of a free consciousness is defined by that freedom. It is defined by the mind’s ability to explore and learn and adapt and grow. It fills the space in which it inhabits. If that space shrinks, the mind’s environment for operation shrinks. If that space takes a limited form, so does the mind. Sisyphus’s mind, I’d wager, would eventually mold to the well-worn form of his task and atrophy at all other ports of knowledge and behavior. The spirit dies without freedom. It dissolves into oblivion, a gaseous ghost seeping out in small whispers over time, until nothing remains but the solitary circuit. This is, after all, the argument so often levied against the dreadful monotony of a labor economy. One pictures the old cog-in-the-machine imagery—the grey man marching alongside his grey coworkers, seemingly oblivious to his living death. It seems to me that Camus puts an unreasonable and inexecutable responsibility on the creature of Sisyphus: to be the sole perpetuator of his own universe of knowledge, both known and unknown, so that he may propagate the only environment in which he might stave off his spiritual dissipation. This was the environment of free consciousness, which has been robbed of him. This is the plight of the prisoner; the longer a prisoner remains imprisoned, the less likely they are to thrive under freer circumstances. Their mind has adapted to a particular system, environment, and routine. And so it seems naive of Camus to imagine Sisyphus happy.

Camus focuses on the time in which Sisyphus is “going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end.” This is the time in which Sisyphus is left truly alone with his thoughts, which can only ever turn to his task, that task being the only thing left of his life and the thing which will occupy his eternity. It is here that the measure of his character—his will and resolve—is on perfect display. “That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate.” Camus suggests that, “if this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him?” The tragedy is that Sisyphus has no opportunity for delusion. He cannot pretend that there is hope of breaking this cycle. He knows that this fate is eternal, and that for every moment to follow, across all space and time, he will only ever be among the moments confined to this task—isolated in his rut. His only hope, I would say, is that over time he might lose this consciousness. In a situation like this, eternal life is an intolerable cruelty, though Camus would claim he has the will to defy the cruelty by reframing it. This Camusian grace seems an illusion to me right on the face of it, and his solution boils down to ignoring the inexorable fact of the situation: there is nothing but the task, and no perfectly repeated task can be infinitely engaging or contenting to the actively conscious mind. The implied grace finds its source in acceptance of the fate, and through acceptance one can neutralize the misery—or so Camus suggests. But again, it does little to truly contend with the eternal element. Camus’s assertion that it is possible to willfully accept such a fate and maintain that flat acceptance for not just an inconceivably long time, but for the most inconceivable length of time, seems itself absurd. Perhaps it is even the very definition of absurd. Camus asks that an actively conscious being spend his infinite life mitigating his misery by perpetually accepting it as the mere fact and state of his existence. He is asking a man who has experienced and loved life (multiple times) so much that he incapacitated Death to simply step back and view his perfectly measured misery as a neutral state of being, and to do this forever, infinitely, perpetually. How absurd is such a demand? He is asking that Sisyphus seek contentment where there is no logical contentment to be sought.

If absurdity is seeking meaning where there appears to be none, then certainly seeking contentment where there appears to be none is itself absurd. The assertion, then, is that we can somehow manifest our own contentment through will, which is, in a way, no different than trying to manifest meaning through will. It’s the act of mitigating circumstances through the illusory impetus of pure will. One may be able to bear the illusion for a measured time, but over the course of an eternity the will gives way to circumstance because the circumstance, in the case, is the immutable factor. A free consciousness, however, is defined by its dynamic existence. But if that existence no longer inhabits a dynamic environment, whatever meaning or purpose it may have had is, as a matter of logic, eradicated by the static and immutable nature of the circumstance.

It is merely a matter of logic, which the free consciousness will have determined in short order, and so the emotions cycle in whatever manner they may until the consciousness is dulled by its monotonous task. Sisyphus’s fate, I assert, is the dissipation of his free consciousness over time, until this man who loved his living freedom so much has his mind reduced to a dim, singular function. His punishment is the indignity of the gradual decline in free will until there is no being left, and he is but a moving sculpture signifying the fate of one who refuses Death. His punishment is the denial of rebirth, for he has refused the necessary mechanism which gives rise to it.

#philosophy #albert camus #camus #myth of sisyphus #existentialism #nihilism #meaning #consciousness #greek mythology #critique #critical reading #critical writing #essay

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musicfren · 4 years ago

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They’ve got a bad reputation (they’ll get a standing ovation) part 2

HI HAVE I, TOLD YOU, THAT, @nottesilhouette IS THE MOST FRIGGEN AMAZING WRITER IN THE WHOLE WORLD? God...why do we do this to ourselves, friggen 3400 word story in the span of 2 days...this is entirely exclusively my fault pay no mind Read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all, time for slep!

...oh, dear gods, why is Felix here? The spotlight burns into his face like shame, regret bubbling up in his stomach. He doesn’t remember challenging Marinette but he has, apparently, and now everyone’s watching and he has to-- he has to-- fight. Defend himself.

Or breathe, if he can manage it.

One seems easier than the other. Well, here goes nothing. Felix steps forward and calls engarde.

“Ophelia did nothing but obey the men in her life!” He cries, stepping forward, gesticulating wildly. The crowd gasps, and Felix doesn’t understand why until he realizes he's still holding the sword prop, white-knuckled grip around its hilt. Marinette’s eyes go wide with surprise and Felix nearly blurts out an apology right there. But then a glint of something sharper flashes in her gaze, burning with determination and suddenly Felix isn’t feeling quite so confident. It’s too late to quail now. He steps forward and matches her, still talking. “She’s hardly enough of an independent person to qualify as a character.”

“What would she be, then?” Marinette’s voice is steady, calm, and Felix is wildly, irrationally envious of it. He can’t work out how to make his statements come out smooth, suave like she’s managed, so he goes for the next best weapon: rage.

“She’s little more than a symbol, a prop,” he spits, and the crowd reacts appropriately. Something in his chest loosens at the idea that he’s performed correctly. Something in his heart wrenches.

Marinette sends him a snide look. “You would know. You’re a model mannequin.”

They’re circling each other now: Felix is brash, forceful, cutting broad slashes through the air with each sweeping generalization he makes. Marinette is steady, precise, pulling apart the stitches of his defense with needle-fine precision. His pulse quickens; a glance at the audience shows she’s winning their favor. This isn’t the clever riposte and quick banter they expected, and Felix is coming across as dim-witted at best.

“Well, what is she then? You have so many judgements, it’s time you raised an opinion of your own-- or do you have no policy but to raze mine?” Felix pushes her back, scrambling for repost. He needs to be interesting, he needs to be clever, he needs to-- turn it back onto Marinette before the crowd realizes he’s faking, that he doesn’t want to be here, that he’s… scared.

His tongue sours at the words, and he hates himself for saying them. Marinette shoots him a glare full of challenge, and for an instant he considers conceding right there. Marinette believes so strongly in her cause, and Felix is desperate to apologize, to reconcile, to just acknowledge the points she’s making. But he’s trapped now, caught in the reputation he’s built for this audience and his own pride, and he has nowhere to go but forward.

Or backwards, apparently, because with each point Marinette makes, crisp and concise and clear, Felix finds himself frantically retreating further and further.

“Ophelia is the only person in the play who recognizes that Hamlet needs help.”

“That’s not true--”

She cuts him off with a slice. “She’s the only person who notices and tries to stop him, who cares enough to call him out on his actions, to hold him accountable to the promises he made before his mad plan, to who he used to be.”

“The entire argument is milquetoast--” He stabs desperately.

“They speak of beauty and reputation, of expectations and the way one’s actions will never outweigh the image others have of them.”

“They speak of madness and prostitution!”

They’ve become locked in combat now, their blades darting in the scant space their words leave behind. The crowd presses forward, squeezes the stage almost to bursting. Nino presses his face to the camera lense, not wanting to miss an instant.

“The argument is framed against women but its themes are centered on Hamlet’s own realization of the position he’s found himself in. It breaks the adrenaline rush long enough to show him, in all his grief and desperation, the reality he’s constructed for himself. They speak of agency!”

“Ophelia has none!”

“Ophelia reminds him that he does!” Marinette’s voice finally raises. “Ophelia reminds Hamlet who he is, what he has, if only for a moment. Ophelia grieves for him, for his loss: of his father, of his sanity and dignity and agency. She acknowledges that he is a liar, but remembers the man he used to be, the person he put work into being.”

“She laments the loss of his attention, nothing more.”

“To write her statements off as such discounts the tone and the manner with which they are intended; she is returning his madman’s accusations with compassion and reason, she is the only person who has done so, who will ever do so.”

“Why should I take her seriously when no one else does?!” It’s a mad, desperate response as he finds himself teetering at the edge of the stage, and he’s unbalanced. He swings again, unhinged.

“None of the men in her life-- not her father, not her brother, not god himself-- take her seriously until she dies.”

“She trips into a river.” Finally, Felix is in charge of this conversation; this, Marinette cannot deny. It is his strongest point, and the only point that matters. He steadies himself, holds his sword like a shield to defend his statement.

“Her death is not an accident. Her death is the culmination of the climax. Her death is the reason anyone stops long enough to notice how far gone Hamlet is! Her death tethers Hamlet to the person he used to be, who loved her once, who remembered what it felt like to choose what he did and who he was.”

“That makes her nothing more than the physical manifestation and harbinger of Hamlet's descent into madness,” and Felix puts on a smirk because he knows he should.

Felix wishes he was being honest, passionate the way Marinette is being. Felix wishes her voice didn’t seem so far away, calling from a world he remembers existing in but can’t find his way back to anymore. Felix wishes he was talking to her in a realm even close to reality instead of the mirage he’s operating in, desperate not to fall through.

Instead, he steps forward from the edge of the stage and keeps his sword aloft. “She’s trapped in the societal confines of traditional womanhood. She’s nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right.”

Marinette stops moving forward to meet him, drops her arm. Felix is thrilled, and sick and confused, doubly so when he notices the ferocity in her expression. It is not one of someone who has given up. It is one of someone who is about to pounce.

“You’re right, she is nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter. No one cares what she has to say. So she makes it matter. She dies, and she is finally heard. You’re right, and she’s a genius for the way she wields it like a weapon.” Marinette smirks, matching his smugness with self-assured pride, and taps his wrist with her sword. His own slips easily out of his grasp, and he trembles; with what emotion, he cannot place. “Being able to do the work of all these men in 58 lines doesn’t make her less of a character, Felix. It makes her more of one, and more power to her for what she’s able to notice that no one else will. It’s not her fault men can’t manage it.”

Felix finally snaps. “My sense is not less than yours!”

Marinette pauses, and very very slowly, grins. It’s terrifying, predatorial. She rakes her gaze down his body, and he shivers. “I had thought to agree but this battle of wits has proven very much so the opposite. When she blows him a kiss and winks, Felix collapses where he stands.

It’s over. The tension the assembled students have been holding in their collective lungs for the last five minutes erupts into cheers and thunderous applause.

“Bravo, bravo.” says Nino, pushing through the crowd, most of whom are still frantically scribbling in their notebooks. Felix can scarcely bring himself to look up, his face burning with humiliation. The room around him is rapidly becoming a confusing blur of angry lights and prying eyes.

“You guys were amazing, I’ve never seen anything like that before! Honestly I should turn this in just like that.” Nino moves around to get a few more shots of their faces, lit up under the harsh theatre lights.

“No way!” shouts someone from the crowd, “I’m turning it in first!” “--can’t believe how easily Marinette just eviscerated Felix! I thought he was good at literature but--” “--she’s so clever, he could barely keep up--” “--he’s not very good at this, is he--”

Someone else laughs and soon the whole crowd is bickering, arguing over who will lay claim to Marinette’s mental prowess and Felix’s mortification.

“Enough, ALL of you! That was completely uncalled for. This wasn’t for you to take advantage of. None of you-- none of you-- bothered to state your own position, your own opinion. All you did was encourage my attacks, which were honestly in poor form.” Marinette hardly stops to breathe. “And anyways, I’m only more coherent because I’ve done weeks of research on this character. Felix kept up to someone who wasn’t just thinking on her feet, and his points still had credibility-- do you know how many literary analyses I’ve read on his position just to try and work out how to defend mine?” Marinette leans over and offers Felix a gentle smile and an outstretched hand. He gratefully accepts.

Felix takes her hand and pulls himself up with it, and stands shoulder to shoulder with her, looking out at the sea of chastised faces. “And now you think you can turn in our work-- her work, really-- and our performance as your own as if you have any claim to it-- it’s disgusting. Marinette poured herself into caring about this, and… and I should’ve listened to her, but I don’t get to take credit for the work she’s done to be this person. I need to do the work myself. You’re manipulators and thieves if you think you deserve any part of what she’s done.”

“Hey, everyone is manipulated by something. Hamlet, Claudius, Horaito… you would know, right?” Marinette looks at him again, soft and shy and concerned through her lashes.

Felix swallows hard, glances at the cameras still rolling. Yeah, he would know.

“Thank you.” He says, stumbling and trying to hide the way his legs are shaking. “I, um… I guess I’d better put these swords away before someone stabs themselves.”

Nino slaps a hand on his shoulder so hard he nearly falls back down again. “Felix, my man! Get that grumpy black uniform off you!”

“Um… what?” Felix turns in confusion, head still spinning.

“You, my friend, are stage-hand no more! We’re still missing a Hamlet, and I know I’ve found the perfect one right here!”

“...WHAT?!?”

As the world around him starts to blur, Marinette slips her hand into his and squeezes, shooting him a fond, amused grin. “You’re going to do great, Felix. I’ll see you on stage.” She presses her lips to his cheek, soft, warm, and… the scene fades to black to the sound of cheering.

#felinette #battle of wits #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #MusicFrenDoesWords #aaaaaaaa #nottesilhouette is just hamelton #but a good person

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years ago

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Soulmate Shenanigans

So, lucky me, I found this list of prompts!

Unlucky me, it was for a September event. Surprise, surprise, this is not September

That isn’t going to stop me from doing this, though!

So, without further ado, prompt number one!

Your Soulmate’s name is written on your wrist or palm

Warnings for death mentions galore and drowning, as well as something that isn’t drug use, but if drug use is a triggering topic for you I wouldn’t recommend you read

Not as angsty as these warnings would suggest, but there is still Angst

I don’t know how it got angsty I just work here

World building

The first recorded instance of a palm mark was when Lady Natalia of Venice nearly drowned in a canal

She’d been on her way home from a party alongside her fiance when she “tripped” (the word “tripped” here means “Was pushed by her fiance for financial reasons”) into the river. Her husband-to-be quickly exited the scene, leaving her to be weighed down by her skirts and die.

Angela (forger of swords and mixer of poisons, just happened to be in the neighborhood when she heard a scream and a splash) had other plans. She dove into the water, saving Natalia and cutting her hand in the process.

The two women spent a good deal of time together after that, the scientific Natalia claiming that she only wanted to know why her name was on Angela’s hand.

Some historians claim that the two were platonic soulmates. While this is possible, and platonic soulmates have a long and wonderful history, no one with common sense believes this to be the case

They exchanged love letters that were quite clear that the attraction was a romantic one.

Some historians also claim that there isn’t enough evidence to suggest that they killed the fiance.

Those historians are wrong.

Anyway, in modern days 97% of the population has a palm mark with the name of their soulmate

The tattoo industry has never had so many illegal opportunities

When your soulmate dies, the name doesn’t scar. It doesn’t blister, burn, or black out. All that happens is a thin, impersonal line crossing their name out. Some people don’t notice who they lost for days.

There’s a process to remove palm marks. However, it’s illegal and possibly fatal for the soulmate being removed.

Our Characters

Roman: Roman was confused by the name of his soulmate.

Who names their kid “Janus”?

Am I soulmates with a roman deity? The heck?? SO MANY QUESTIONS AND SO LITTLE ANSWERS

Roman was so excited to have a soulmate. He kept entire journals filled with things he wanted to tell Janus, part diary, part scrapbook, and part love letter. He would doodle hearts around his palm mark.

One night, in April, Roman went to sleep. In the morning, there was a line across his palm.

His soulmate had died, and he hadn’t even seen the line drawn. He broke a little.

Enough said.

Roman took the passion that he’d had for his Janus and channeled it into his acting. If he couldn’t get love, he’d get a fucking Tony Award.

Remus: Remus had been annoyed by his brother’s complaining.

“Oh, boo-hoo, my soulmate has a rare name. That means that as soon as I meet him, I’ll know exactly who he is! Roman, DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE NAMED LOGAN”

Remus was annoyed that his soulmate had the audacity to have a common name. In theory, he could date all of the 18,000 Logans in the country, but does he really have the time?

He and his brother bicker about this for a solid seven years, until the argument abruptly ends. Ever since then, he’s been on his brother’s side in everything he can.

Logan: It made total sense for Logan to not have a soulmate.

His soulmate would have been unlucky, being stuck with a know-it-all like him, at least according to most of the people he knew.

This was a simple solution to the puzzle.

It wasn’t helpful to waste time wishing for a different one.

Janus: Janus had a whole plan for when he met his soulmate.

He wrote it down in 10th grade

Step 1: Wear gloves

Step 2: Find Roman

Step 3: Say something witty

Step 4: Remove gloves, revealing palm

Step 5: This little mystery is over and done with, and hopefully my soulmate isn’t boring

This was how a lot of Janus’s plans would work. Solid ideas, but missing bits and important pieces. This includes his heist plan he scribbled out on a napkin on an April day.

Step 1: Find local con-artists

Step 2: Pretend to be a person with money (which I obviously do not have)

Step 3: Scam them

Step 4: Don’t get murdered on the way out

Step 5: Profit

He pulled off steps 1-3 with ease, but step 4 proved to be a sticking point.

As he escaped via the river, with money in his hands and a ��so long, suckers!” on his lips for drama, he thought nothing could go wrong

Fun fact: It’s rather common for con artists to fatally give away their positions by yelling “so long, suckers!”. Just ask Odysseus as he sailed away from the Cyclops.

The con artists shot wildly at his boat, blowing it to pieces. As he went down with the ship, he barely had enough time to think this can’t be happening, and fuck this and I’m going to die at the same age as Philip fucking Hamilton and I really don’t want to go to hell before his lungs filled with water and his heart stopped.

And Janus died.

For a solid two minutes.

Technically, death is when your heart ceases to beat. Even though people have been revived after their hearts have stopped, it is death, and enough to draw a line across a sleeping Roman’s hand.

Janus, however, was saved by an old man, who dragged him out of the river and forced the water out of his lungs. The old man took one look at the teenager and decided that he needed better role models, which is how Patton took Janus under his wing and saved his life in more ways than one.

The Actual Plot

Roman is in a city production of Hamlet. His brother is in the audience, his friend is fixing the lighting, and he’s ready to go.

It’s a pretty good performance, by all accounts, but especially according to Janus.

He’d already been watching the main actor intently, smiling from the mezzanine, but he was even more intrigued when he read the playbill and realized his name was Roman. He could barely pay attention to act five as he planned out the lies he’d tell to get backstage.

Somehow, he didn’t get caught sneaking around, and managed to catch a glimpse of Roman’s hand in a mirror. Janus. He really is his soulmate!

Janus walks over to Roman, says something that isn’t as witty as he would have liked (but not as bad as it could have been), and removes his glove.

Now, he expected his soulmate could have a variety of reactions. He didn’t expect Roman to yell “Not today, ghost!”, throw a prop skull at him, and sprint out of the theater. Janus caught a glimpse of the line through his name.

He was reasonably sure that he wasn’t dead? He could see his reflection in mirrors, he could consume salt, people tended to notice his existence!

Jan didn’t have much time to mull over this, as he was about to be forcibly removed from the greenroom. Logan just wanted to fix the lighting and live his life, but when strangers break into the backstage and upset Roman...

Jan skedaddles as Logan chases him out of the building. The nerd has almost caught the intruder when he runs directly into a man in a green jacket holding a coffee cup full of ketchup

Why did he have a coffee cup full of ketchup?

Remus and Logan bicker as Janus escapes. When Remus realizes Logan’s name, he asks a few questions, but Logan quickly shows his two blank palms, and the matter is settled.

Everything seems over and done with.

Meanwhile, Roman is freaking out. His mind is essentially in a loop of The fuck? The fuck? The actual fuck? He’s completely unsure of what to do. Is he seeing ghosts? Does he only believe he’s seeing ghosts? Is he sane or not?

Remus checks up on his brother at around 3 am, only to find him, exhausted, and writing in his old soulmate journal. Roman tries to explain what just happened, but the narrative told isn’t exactly coherent. All Remus can gather is that

1. His brother thinks that his dead soulmate is alive

2. This is because some guy snuck backstage and told him that he was the dead soulmate in question

3. This was probably the guy Logan was chasing

Remus convinced Roman to go to sleep, and walked out of the apartment with blood on his mind. He was sure that his brother was being manipulated.

This guy might not be dead now, but he would be soon.

Meanwhile, Janus proves that he can, in fact, cross a salt circle, so he must be alive! Right?? He also can’t get a certain actor out of his head, and wonders what his next move should be.

Remus recruits Logan to help him do some investigation in case Shady Liar Dude shows up. They go on several stakeouts together, in equally improbable locations. Maybe the two of them got too far into the secret agent aesthetic. Logan had always wanted to be a detective as a kid.

They fall for each other, and fast

Roman is spiraling, and a chat with Remus has him convinced that he was wrong, and Janus really is dead. He curses himself for believing in the pretty fairy-tale. Yes, because love wins in the end and they all live happily ever after. He has a performance tomorrow.

And it’s really time he got rid of the old scar.

You don’t hang around Remus without knowing where the black market locations are. It’s relatively easy to find the cure for palm marks.

He paces around backstage, holding a journal in one hand and a small bottle in the other. The warning that destroying the palm mark destroys the soulmate causes terror to rise in his throat, even though he knows that Janus is dead and can never read his love letters no matter how many stars he wishes on.

He finally makes his choice when Remus and Logan visit him before the performance. They give him looks of pity. He doesn’t want to be pitied.

According to the label, effects should take place over the next several hours. So, he waits for Janus’s name to disappear from his hand.

Janus managed to hustle someone with orchestra seats for their tickets. Despite not getting off on the right foot with his soulmate, he isn’t going to let him go that easily. And Roman’s brilliant performance that night just reinforces that. If he was good weeks ago, he was a star now. Janus was transfixed.

When the curtain call came, Janus was the first on his feet for a standing ovation. Remus and Logan noticed him, and pushed their way through the applauding audience. Both of them almost hoped that he’d get away again so they could continue spending time together.

Roman notices him. They lock eyes. Janus waves as though to say Hi, I’m here, apologies for the awkwardness of our meet-cute, but coffee? Roman gives him a look of disdain, as if to say I can’t believe I thought you were my soulmate, you con artist. He intends to look away and bask in the applause, but before he can do that, Janus collapeses.

Roman is confused at first, and then it clicks. That’s his soulmate. That’s his Janus.

And he killed him.

Pandemonium breaks out. Roman leaps off the stage, Remus freezes in panicked comprehension, the crowd scatters, and several people try to reach the dying man.

Logan gets there first. His mind scans memories of hours spent in libraries, researching everything there is to know about palm marks. Why didn’t some people have them? How did you lose them? How could you get them back?

He instructs Remus and Roman to help carry Janus to the greenroom.

They race him there, everyone in a state of panic (including Logan, but more importantly he has a job to do). Logan tells Remus to run and get a few basic ingredients, and they wait. Time moves much too fast and much too slow, until he comes back.

Logan works chemical wonders, piecing together Roman’s hand until everything is stabilized.

A vicious scar, the type you’d except if your soulmate was really gone, forms on Roman’s palm, and it will stay there for the rest of his days.

Janus comes back from death’s door for the second time.

After The Drama

Logan and Remus eventually move past the “but I don’t have a soulmate” “and yet I still am in love with you” dithering and go on a date that isn’t for the purpose of stalking a supposed stalker.

They go to the aquarium.

Meanwhile, there’s a lot to work out between Roman and Janus. From “wow, you’re not dead” to “wow, I nearly murdered you”, we don’t have time to unpack all that.

But they do get coffee. And they talk.

Soulmate stuff! I really like soulmate aus, despite not liking to write straight up romance

It’s weird

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

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mariacallous · 3 years ago

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HAMLET O, I die, Horatio; The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit: I cannot live to hear the news from England; But I do prophesy the election lights On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice; So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, Which have solicited. The rest is silence.

Dies

HORATIO Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! Why does the drum come hither? March within

Enter FORTINBRAS, the English Ambassadors, and others

PRINCE FORTINBRAS Where is this sight?

HORATIO What is it ye would see? If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.

PRINCE FORTINBRAS This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death, What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, That thou so many princes at a shot So bloodily hast struck?

First Ambassador The sight is dismal; And our affairs from England come too late: The ears are senseless that should give us hearing, To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd, That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead: Where should we have our thanks?

HORATIO Not from his mouth, Had it the ability of life to thank you: He never gave commandment for their death. But since, so jump upon this bloody question, You from the Polack wars, and you from England, Are here arrived give order that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view; And let me speak to the yet unknowing world How these things came about: so shall you hear Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts, Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters, Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause, And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fall'n on the inventors' reads: all this can I Truly deliver.

PRINCE FORTINBRAS Let us haste to hear it, And call the noblest to the audience. For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune: I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me.

HORATIO Of that I shall have also cause to speak, And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more; But let this same be presently perform'd, Even while men's minds are wild; lest more mischance On plots and errors, happen.

PRINCE FORTINBRAS Let four captains Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage; For he was likely, had he been put on, To have proved most royally: and, for his passage, The soldiers' music and the rites of war Speak loudly for him. Take up the bodies: such a sight as this Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

A dead march. Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies; after which a peal of ordnance is shot off

The conclusion to Hamlet

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agir1ukn0w · 6 years ago

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My favorite parts from the SFX Good Omens issue:

“Perhaps surprisingly, our destination is the Garden of Eden...Here in the midst of the spectacular Atlantis Dunes and the worst drought in Cape Town’s history, is a little oasis of green that will be expanded later by the magic of CGI. This is where Adam and Eve eat (possibly) the most important apple in human civilization, and where angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and serpent/demon Crowley (David Tennant) begin an unlikely millennia-spanning friendship as the representatives of their respective factions on Earth.” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“23 September 2010 was a red letter day in the history of Good Omens...After many years of trying to get the book made into a movie - most notably with Terry Gilliam at the helm - it was on this day, in a Cardiff restaurant, that Pratchett and Gaiman agreed that TV might have a better home for their story. ‘The Terry Gilliam one should have happened,’ recalls Gaiman...‘They had a really good script. Johnny Depp was going to play Crowley and Robin Williams was going to play Aziraphale, Madame Tracy and Hastur...[But] this was February 2002 - 9/11 had only just happened. He went around and said that it’s a funny film about the end of the world, and people said, “Go away,” and it died.’” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“Indeed, when streaming giants are throwing seemingly infinite quantities of cash at TV shows, we’re at a point where the only limitations to what goes up on screen is imagination. That’s exciting in many ways, but when you’re adapting a novel as beloved as Good Omens, it brings its own unique set of challenges. Just think about all those fans who feel like they know stuffy bookshop owner Aziraphale and his not-quite-as-cool-as-he-thinks BFF Crowley better than anyone else - and feel any deviation from the pictures in their mind is an aberration.” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“‘Good Omens absolutely belongs to the world,’ admits Gaiman. ‘Terry and I wrote a book that was 100,000 words, and that’s probably not more than 1% of the wordage of the total fan-fiction generated about these characters - even excluding the pornography. And I think that’s great. I love that. I’m pretty proud. When we started shooting, I did a post on Tumblr, and said, “Look, your head canon is your head canon. Nobody’s trying to fuck with that. We’re not coming in and saying ‘Our Crowley and Aziraphale is your Crowley and Aziraphale.’ You can still have a platonic Hamlet in your head after seeing five different Hamlets, with thin Hamlets and fat Hamlets and black Hamlets and white Hamlets and old Hamlets and young Hamlets. Your Hamlet can still be your Hamlet.” And that’s how I feel about Crowley and Aziraphale. We are lucky to have Michael Sheen and David Tennant,’ Gaiman adds, ‘the finest Welsh actor of his generation, and the finest Scottish actor of his generation. Watching them acting is like a fucking masterclass. I write something that I think is pretty good dialogue. I hand it to Michael and David, and it becomes better.’” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“Gaiman explains, ‘When I write a scene, the first thing I’m going to do is go to the book, and go, “Okay, what did we do? What are the great lines I need to keep in here? What’s key? What matters?” That’s occasionally been really weird - there’s at least one place where I found a huge goof in the book that I’m planning to quietly correct on future editions, without ever pointing it out to anybody, including you in this interview! You find that kind of thing when you get that deep into it. So there are a few jokes that I lost, where I went, “This is a thing of its time.” Or there were some lines that I looked at and went, “You wouldn’t let this line go through now. Therefore I feel no compunction in losing it.” And then there are other places where you go, “The book is our bible!”’” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“Neil Gaiman had never been a show runner before Good Omens and he says he’s unlikely to be one again. ‘I’m very much looking forward to retiring from show running,’ he admits. ‘I have promised my wife that I will go back to being the novelist that she married. And I look forward to that.’...‘I’m incredibly proud of what we’ve made,’ Gaiman adds. ‘Some bits are better than I could ever have dreamed. So it’s probably been worth it. On the other hand, I also look back at 20 months of not writing, no family life and all these ridiculously long work days, and I go, “Would I have done this for anything other than a promise to Terry to make it?” I don’t know. I might not have done this. It’s been work, you know? I occasionally remind myself that one reason I love being a writer was that you don’t have to get up too early in the morning!’” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“On paper Crowley’s the bad guy because he’s a demon. Do you see him that way? I don’t really see him as a villain. He would very much identify as a villain because that’s the team that he works for, and that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. And yet he keeps confounding that, because actually I think what’s the great charm of Crowley and Aziraphale is that they are not very binary. And that’s their great tragedy: over the thousands of years they’ve lived on Earth, they’ve sort of slipped from their primary mission. That’s, of course, what makes them such good friends. Although they wouldn’t even admit to being friends, and that’s what makes them the yin and yang for each other. Aziraphale is actually a bit of a bastard, and Crowley is quite kind-hearted at the end of the day. There are bigger villains in the piece than Crowley, and some of them are supposed to be the good guys!” - Richard Edwards Q&A with David Tennant, SFX

“What’s it like playing in a world of very personal beliefs and philosophies while also looking at these characters from a human point of view? Crowley’s very much within the infrastructure of Hell. Part of what I think is glorious about the way Neil sets these characters is, it’s supernatural but at the same time, it’s like an episode of The Office with the politics and the mundanities and the small-mindedness of the characters. From an acting point of view, that’s very easy to key into. Crowley is very much about his corner of existence, and protecting it.” - Richard Edwards Q&A with David Tennant, SFX

“How did you tap into Aziraphale’s personality? I decided that he’s someone who has an appreciation of craft and quality. Because he’s been around for so long, that’s something that he really responds to. Whereas Crowley just manifests his clothes, and is very much of the moment. Aziraphale has worn items of clothing over the centuries that he likes. And then if he’s an angel, and therefore a being of love, how does that affect his relationship with Crowley, someone who supposedly on the opposite team, but who he can’t do anything but love? What are the specifics of that in terms of how he relates to Crowley? You start to develop a very real person with very real qualities.” - Richard Edwards Q&A with Michael Sheen, SFX

“Did you approach playing Aziraphale and Crowley as if they were a kind of odd couple? I can’t imagine Aziraphale without Crowley. More than anything I’ve ever done, I can’t think about this character on his own - he only exists with Crowley. So from the very beginning, when we sat down at the table read, my Aziraphale was totally shaped by what David was doing as Crowley, and vice versa.” - Richard Edwards Q&A with Michael Sheen, SFX

“Does Aziraphale want to be Crowley a little bit? I think there are things about Crowley that he really admires and covets, but I don’t think that he wants to be Crowley. I think he just loves Crowley. He would never admit that, and Crowley would never admit that about Aziraphale. He admires certain qualities about him - he would like to be a bit more rock ’n’ roll, but he knows that it doesn’t really suit him. He also really enjoys being Aziraphale, I think.” - Richard Edwards Q&A with Michael Sheen, SFX

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