#is he just into the bard aesthetic? why does he present himself as such?

[transslyblue]

I realized I should probably follow up on this post to mention another thing I found funny about Gale.

He fuckin died!!! When I went back before ending act one to harpies!!!

I was wondering why I was taking necrotic damage until I saw him. Just laying there. Dude, you are so smart but the harpies bested you?

Well. Then the panic set in during the cutscene when he explains his little pouch. I almost legit died from the necrotic damage and just bright him back with my own scroll and he was upset I didn't want to use his??

Been playing Baldurs Gate 3 for the better part of the day, and man. I just love Gale. Dude is so awkward

[candyskiez]

I continue to enable :3

Signature weapon? Embarrassing Moment(s)? Have they colored their hair?

For uh... Whichever ones you would like to talk about most right now?

woo hoo let's go!! strap in boys >:]

1. okay think of bards in the dnd and toh sense for a sec, jasper uses his lute and his staff (magic go whrrrrr). he's brilliant w his spells, but he limits himself. he could absolutely fuck someone up with say, dissonance or different keys etc. but he's unhealthily obsessed with perfection, doing magic the "correct" way, so he does like. hell do the aesthetically pleasing music. he never lets himself experiment or have "ugly" sounding music, only the pretty shit. this severely limits him. hes so obsessed with always keeping on his perfect image. the cold, calculated, unbeatable soldier. the charming right hand who youd love at parties. the brilliant taction. his magic improves so much when he lets it be messy and not cold and detached. jasper the perfect fighter could fuck you up. jasper can fuck you up without restraining himself to always keep up the image. am I making sense? I dont think I'm making sense. he basically avoided experimenting because he was terrified of messing up a new thing. even though that's how you learn. messing up is messing up in his eyes, so he limited himself. he's also good with hand to hand combat and resourceful. he just sticks himself so much into a box of not experimenting. because why start something new and be bad at it when you can stick with old things you're good at?

to be completely honest ivys more of my friends oc than mine, so I dont know them nearly as well as i know jasper. but they're an oracle! they have an axe! theyre really good with blades in general. their oracle magic is mainly not combative but they know offensive spells too. usually shit like. yk moving the ground/how metal works. they're good at what they do. although, like jasper due to the Character Foil™, they do have some self inflicted weakness. they divine in the dark because it allows for clearer visions, but it's horrible for their body. theyre fucking themselves up from unhealthy oracle habits like this and others (doing extremely intense visions on little sleep, back to back visions, etc) leaving them very sick after a difficult case (unable to see properly, loopy, unabke to differenitate visions from present), and also don't really pay too much mind to their own mental health when divining. has an extreme need to Know everything, know every single thing, or they'll lose it. I'll talk about their need to Know more soon I think.

2. hmmm embarrassing moment. I mean for both of them, okay in the jasper alone timeline they grew up together yeah? jasper had a habit of sleeping at the foot of ivys bed. why? because he's a clingy little bitch let him live. and ysee. ivy moves a lot in their sleep. and at one point, they started kicking around. kid jasper got kicked straight off the fucking bed, sent flying into the fucking wall, and lost his last baby tooth. yelped very loudly and promptly started painting the entire room bright fucking red. kid ivy lost their shit, grabbed him and dragged him to their caretaker and was sobbing SIR. SIR I KILLED JASPER. I KILLED HIM. HELP. while jasper was very much Not Dead. he was talking to her and telling her he's okay and covered in his own blood. he looks like he stumbled out of a fucking crime scene from losing an incisor. ivy kept his tooth as a trophy because they're like that.

3. oh jaspers hair is actually interesting! naturally brunet, but dyes it blond. jasper for a long time was very intent on being conventionally attractive. he's very reliant on outside approval. made sure every part of him fit that picture perfect attractive golden boy. him allowing himself to have his natural hair color and to look more like Himself and not solely conventionally attractive is actually a big part of yk changing character design w character arc for him. goes from perfect straight blonde hair to fluffy, long brown hair. not covering up any birth marks, wearing more comfortable clothes and actually looking like himself.

ivy dyes their hair pink. or potentially was born w it since this world is Magic, either works. they also have some funky fun design changing to reflect character development. going from long hair to a side shave, wearing glasses openly instead of just pushing through and trying to hide it (I get u ivy I have So many insecurities around my eyesight. I am projecting lmao.), more piercings, need to show her design more tbh I've gotta make more picrews of The Gang.

sorry for incoherence, it is night rn and I am bad at articulating.

[sauroff]

I was trying to take a nap, but gender queer fëanorians headcanons attacked.

(English is not my first language. If I use any term incorrectly, in a way that might be sensitive,  please let me know.)

I was thinking about which fëanorians I can easily see as gender queer and why, and the three that came to my mind were Maglor, Curufin and Caranthir. These are all separete headcanons, and some even have different interpretations of how gender roles work on elven society. Maglor’s one aren’t particurlaly happy, so you might want to skip them if you aren’t in the mood for that.

  Ok, so. For Maglor, I can easily see him somewhere in the non-binary spectrum. Like, I imagine elves have very defined gender roles (specially Noldors), and I can see Maglor feeling like he doesn't fit in them. So he has this general sense of discomfort in trying to fit in what's expected of him as a man, both in manners and aesthetics. And then he met the Fëanturi, which I imagine as definitely non binary. Mandos scares the shit out of him, so he doesn't count (I'm using all their canon pronouns anyway because I don't think they contradict). But Nienna and Irmo are positive influences for him, and he could see a bit of how he wanted to be, gender wise, in them. Sadly, because of how complicated his life was, he didn't have many opportunities to explore his gender after the Oath.   But before that, I can see him at least trying to play around with some things that aren't consider manly by Noldor standars and adding them to those things that he is comfortable with. I particularly imagine him trying to imitate those things about Nerdanel that he admires, in terms of manners. Definitly not aesthetically, tho. Actually, I imagine her asking him for advice in terms of clothing later on. His aesthetic ends up being a lot more extra and seductive that what is accepted for a male Noldor, but is usually brushed off as just  part of his bard persona. Like, if you aren't dressed with really thin and soft silk that seems to cascade with the curves of your body and you aren't putting glitter on your very low cleavage, are you really an artist?

 Anyway, all of that had to die as soon as they put a foot on Beleriand. He might have had a bit of it back before the Nirnaeth, but it was never the same as it was on Valinor. Things were really tough and he felt need to pretend to fit into the whole "male leader" role, like t was his duty. Needless to say, this added a lot to his general misery.

  Ok, on a much more positive note, Curufin.   I don't have a justification, I just like the concept of him being trans. Like, physically speaking, elves don't seem to have very different features based on sex, only height. And Fëanor isn't that tall to beging with, so the difference with Curufin wouldn't be that much. He does get bullied about it by his brothers anyway.   I imagine his family being totally accepting with his identity (again, different interpretation of elven society), but also a bit clumsy. Like, Maedhros would unconsciously treat him like he was somehow more fragile than the rest of his brothers (he isn't), and Curufin would get super mad about it (which would often end with a punch in the stomach for Mae). Celegorm, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He would completely forget that their bodies are not the same. Like, I don't know if elves menstruate, but If they do I can totally see Celegorm going like "What do you mean you don't feel like going for a 4 hours ride today? Come one, don't be lazy dude. It will be so much fun" while Curufin is there, reminding himself how much he loves his stupid ass brother while trying not to snap at him. Then Carathir, who was just passing by, goes like "He just doesn't think that bleeding all over his horse is a fun plan, asswhole" and Celegorm goes all like "Oh" inmidiatly followed by a "Ok but, for the record, it would look hella metal".

   Finally, Caranthir. I don't imagine him being actually genderqueer, but more like just consciously crossdressing? (Switching pronouns now). Like, I imagine her being the only girl in the family, and very quickly finding out that she gets treated differently because of it. And she doesn't like it, at all. She can call her father and brothers on their bullshit, but she can't do that with everyone else. Well, actually, she can (and does, for a while), but It's too much trouble. So she just decides to start acting and dressing like a man, and with time she starts to actually presenting herself as such. It's not that she is man or feels like one, is just that she wants the privileges of being percived as one. And so she does.

  And if you are thinking that all of this is just an excuse to have some lesbian Caranthir/Halet... you are totally right.

[justablobfish]

An unusual snowman

Day 12 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

No witchers were harmed in the making of this fic. Everyone’s fine! :3

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

______

This is bad. Very bad. They should never have stopped in this goddamn village. 

When they arrived, it was the middle of the night and - with everyone and their grandmother trying to sell Ciri out to Nilfgaard - they decided to get a room at the inn and smuggle the princess in through the back door unseen. 

Which turned out to be a mistake. Because that way no one could tell them. 

The next morning they woke up and Ciri had vanished without a trace.

When they asked around the village they soon found out that she hadn't been the first child to disappear. A few weeks ago children suddenly started disappearing overnight. No one had seen where they had gone to; no amount of locked doors and safety measures could keep them from being taken. 

Jaskier paces up and down in their room, uncertain what to do. 

It's been three days since Geralt set out to find the missing kids, since Geralt ordered him to stay here in case Ciri comes back. 

When Geralt took off, he only said he'd be back 'soon', unspecific and unhelpful as ever. Surely three days were no longer encompassed by the term 'soon'. Something must have gone wrong. 

And the more time passes, the less likely it becomes that Ciri and the other children will return unharmed. 

Jaskier stops in his tracks and gives a short, determined nod. There's only one thing to do. He has to go after them as well! 

While the children have disappeared without leaving any kind of clue to mortal humans, Geralt must have found some sort of trace, because once Jaskier reaches the edge of the village he can see a clear and straight trail of Geralt's footprints leading into the nearby woods. 

"Dark, gloomy forest. Always a good sign!" Jaskier tries to encourage himself and sets out to get his little family back from the clutches of whatever monster stole them. 

The tracks lead deep into the forest. While at first there are some felled trees, bird houses or the occasional discarded apple core, eventually the signs of nearby civilization become rarer and then disappear altogether. And still Geralt's tracks lead further. 

Jaskier soon falls into a sort of trance, placing one step in front of the other and with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. 

He almost doesn't notice when Geralt's trail ends. 

Jaskier blinks and Geralt's heavy boot prints are gone, replaced by a variety of far smaller imprints, that criss-cross all over the place. Surprised, he looks up. 

The first thing he registers is a small, crooked hut several feet away. The way it's decorated with pieces of candy and pastry (most of it clearly chewed on) practically screams evil magic trap. 

In front of the hut stands Geralt. 

Actually, no, at more than a glance it turns out it's not Geralt. It has Geralt's pauldrons and it holds Geralt's swords but other than that, it's a snowman. 

Dread spreads in Jaskier’s guts and he quickly jogs around the figure to get a closer look. On the other side, yellow eyes and furrowed eyebrows glare back at him. 

Except the yellow eyes are slices of carrots and the eyebrows are made of twigs. 

"Oh Geralt! What did they do to you?" Jaskier gasps. His knees suddenly feel very weak and he begins to think that following Geralt all by himself might not have been the smartest idea. 

The child of legend, whisked away right from under the nose of a Witcher, said Witcher turned into a snowman and only a humble bard left to save the day. What chance does he stand? What was he thinking? 

Then again, maybe there's something he can do. It always works in the old stories told to children and the weird hut with its candy decor definitely gives off the same kind of vibe as those tales. 

"Here goes nothing," Jaskier mumbles and places his lips on the snowman's mouth. Or, well, on the coals arranged in a frown on the snowman's face. 

And then he waits. 

For a moment. 

For a minute. 

For ten. 

Nothing happens. Seems true love's kiss only works in the stories, after all. 

Which begs the question of what he's supposed to do now. 

What chance does he stand where even a Witcher failed? And yet, what choice does he have? Whoever did this has taken his daughter, his family. He can't exactly just walk away. 

He'd never be able to look Yennefer in the eyes again. 

Hell, he'd never be able to look himself in the eyes again. And he so loves mirrors! 

So Jaskier reaches forward and grabs the steel sword from where it's sticking out of the large ball that makes up the snowman's torso. 

As his fingers close around the grip of the sword his hand brushes against the snow. 

And like a - well, like a snowman left in the sun for too long - it crumbles. 

"No, no, no!" Jaskier screams. "Stop! Don't do that! Please!" 

Before his eyes, the snowman that is his lover falls apart. He can only watch helplessly as the fractured part falls in on itself and slips off the bottom part. The head rolls to the side in an almost human-looking manner, until it falls to the ground as well. Before his eyes, Geralt turns into nothing but a pile of snow. 

The fact that his kiss didn't work he could live with but this? Even if there was a way to undo the spell that turned Geralt into a child's plaything, there's no coming back from this. Geralt is gone, his body destroyed. Jaskier’s best friend, the love of his life, has died. 

"I'm so sorry, Geralt," Jaskier whispers as he sinks to his knees. A dislodged slice of carrot glares at him accusingly. 

Jaskier absentmindedly places the sword he acquired at such a high cost on the ground beside him and wraps his arms around himself. 

"I shall write you the most glorious ballad ever written," he mumbles. "The whole Continent will know of your bravery." 

The words sound hollow, even to his own ears. A song won't bring Geralt back. What he really wants to do is curl up on the snow-covered ground and never get up again. 

But he can't do that. There's still Ciri. And he will get his daughter back, if it's the last thing he does. 

So Jaskier slowly gets up, grabs the sword again and turns towards the hut. The fear that had settled into his bones earlier at the idea that even Geralt couldn't best this sorcerer is gone. Now there's only fury and rage burning inside of him. This villainous toad-spotted miscreant of a mage has taken his family from him. They're going to pay! 

He opens the door and steps inside. 

The hut is bigger on the inside. Of course it is. Jaskier doesn't know why he expected anything different. The foyer itself is wide enough that the hut's exterior would fit into it twice. 

He also shouldn't be so surprised that the inside of the hut is entirely made of ice. Everything from the floor to the windowless walls to the twin set of stairs leading up to a second floor, which the hut definitely wasn't high enough for, looking at it from the outside. The mage is really going heavy on the whole fairy-tale villain aesthetic. 

Flickering candlelight from the huge chandelier overhead reflects off of every surface and makes the whole room seem to move and shift constantly. Jaskier starts feeling nauseous. 

It's hard to tell how many doors there are and which ones are only reflections, so he simply walks towards the large double door underneath the stairwells and heads through it. 

Unlike what he expected, the ice isn't cold to the touch and feels more like normal wood under his fingers. Maybe the ice is just an illusion. 

The room he finds himself in next is an even larger hall, equally made of ice and very clearly once intended as a ballroom. Various sconces illuminate an intricate pattern carved into the wide floor, while once colorful paintings of fancily dressed dancers on the walls are glossed over with the ever-present ice. 

Now, the room seems to serve a different purpose though. The floor is littered with various toys, dolls and plush animals. Chalk drawings cover not only several stacks of paper, but also the long banquet table at the far end of the room. It appears Jaskier is getting closer to the mystery of the missing children. They must have been playing here recently. 

While Jaskier looks around and tries to find any proof that Ciri was here as well, a side door opens and a curious voice asks "Hello?" His presence has been noticed, then. 

He turns around slowly, sword at the ready. 

In the door stands Ciri. 

"Jaskier!" she yells, relief and happiness swinging in her voice. Then she takes off running in his direction, followed by a group of other children. 

Ciri throws herself into his arms and clings to him like a curious kid's tongue to an icicle. Not that Jaskier has any experience with that particular situation. 

"I tried to get back to you but every time I tried to run away I always just ended up in front of the hut again," she whimpers. "It's enchanted or something!" 

"Well isn't that just adorable," comes a sneering voice from the other end of the room, where an elegantly dressed woman has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Her flawless skin and almost unnaturally symmetrical face mark her as a mage from Aretuza. 

Jaskier wraps his free hand around Ciri and pushes her behind him, while eyeing the sorceress warily. 

Ciri pays him little mind and steps back to his side. 

"Look, Gretel, you got it all wrong!" she tells the woman. "Parents do care about their children. This proves it." 

 "Nonsense!" the sorceress huffs. "My parents abandoned me as soon as money got a little tight. If Aretuza hadn't taken me in, I would have ended up just like my brother and died a horrible death at the hands of the awful witch that built this house!" 

"Then why is Jaskier here, risking his life to get me back?" Ciri counters "And Geralt, too?" 

"That proves nothing!" the mage all but shrieks. "The Witcher came to do his job. He came for the money he was promised. And this one? I bet he doesn't even know you well enough to keep you apart from the other children!" 

With that she raises her hands menacingly and suddenly, instead of Ciri and a dozen or so other kids, Jaskier is surrounded by several perfect copies of the Cintran princess. 

It's his worst nightmare. As if one Child Surprise wasn't already more than enough to handle. 

The Ciris stare at each other in surprise for a moment, before one of them breaks the silence by yelling "I'm the real one!" 

A split-second later Jaskier is surrounded by the gaggle of Ciris, yelling and giggling and trying to convince him that they're the right Ciri. It all seems to be a funny game to them. Jaskier’s head starts to spin from trying to get a good look at even one of them. 

"Stop!" he screams at the top of his lungs. "How am I supposed to pick someone if you keep running around me?" 

The children come to a halt and arrange themselves in a loose circle around him, quiet except for the occasional giggle still breaking through. 

However, only one of them rolls her eyes at Jaskier’s demanding tone. 

Jaskier places his hand on top of the real Ciri's head and glares at the sorceress. 

"See? I told you he couldn't do it! Parents are useless!" she gloats and waves her hand dismissively. The Ciris turn back into the children they were before. 

Only the one Jaskier chose remains the same. 

"Impossible!" Gretel shouts as the smug grin falls from her face. "But that doesn't prove anything! We need another test! How about-" 

With few short strides Jaskier crosses the room, grabs the sorceress by the front of her dress and shoves her against the wall. 

"Enough," he presses out between clenched teeth as he places the sword across her bare throat. "I am done with your games! Undo the spell that keeps the children trapped!" 

"Cute," the witch muses without any sign of fear or worry. "But you do know that I can turn you into a pile of dust with a snap of my fingers, right?" 

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Jaskier growls. "You took my daughter away from me! I don't care what you do to me, I will tear you to pieces if you don't let her go!" 

"Hmm," she replies solemnly. "Interesting. Perhaps I was mistaken in my judgment. There do seem to be some parents who love and protect their children." 

Before Jaskier can further comment on that, the witch is gone. Vanished into thin air, just like how she appeared. He stares at his empty hand in surprise, where he had clutched the fabric of her dress a moment ago. 

There goes his chance to avenge Geralt. The fury that was gnawing at his guts starts to settle. Jaskier holds onto it desperately. He knows that once the anger is gone, only grief will remain. 

At least Ciri is unharmed. Jaskier turns around slowly and faces the group of children, who stare back at him expectantly. 

"She wasn't malicious, you know?" Ciri explains. "Just misguided and lonely. Although she did curse Geralt with a spell that turned him into an inanimate object." 

"I know," Jaskier whispers, barely audible with the lump that has formed in his throat. How can he possibly tell Ciri what happened to Geralt? That her guardian is gone and won't come back? She's lost so many people already in her short life. 

"He's in the room over there," Ciri adds chipperly and takes off. 

"... wait, what?" Jaskier stutters as he scrambles after her, followed by the rest of the children who chatter with one another excitedly. 

Ciri leads him to an adjacent room. It's not nearly as big as the ballroom, but still large enough that it couldn't possibly fit into the little hut he saw from the outside. An enormous feather bed occupies most of the opposite wall, big enough for at least three or four grown people to sleep on, or a dozen or so kidnapped children. 

The rest of the room is taken up by various shelf boards mounted to the walls, filled with dozens upon dozens of porcelain dolls. Their empty eyes seem to stare at him as Ciri leads him further into the room 

"Over there," Ciri declares and points at one particular doll. It doesn't look much different from the other ones, safe for its face. Its mouth is sculpted in the shape of a frown instead of the cheerful smiles of the other ones and its yellow eyes, despite being made of lifeless glass beads, seem to glare back at Jaskier angrily. 

"That's… That's Geralt?" Jaskier asks carefully, not quite ready to allow himself to hope. 

"Of course," Ciri chides. "Who else would it be? Look at the face! I tried to sneak around Gretel's laboratory and look for a way to turn him back, but I couldn't find anything."

"We had lots of fun playing with him while Ciri was away!" a little boy announces happily. Some other children giggle affirmatively. 

"Anyway," Ciri sighs as she gently pats the boy's head and ruffles his hair. She seems to be the oldest kid around. The others appear to be looking up to her. 

"I'm sure if you just kiss him that'll break the spell!" Ciri continues. "And then we can finally get out of here and return these little monsters to their parents." 

"So uhm…," Jaskier mumbles. "Entirely unrelated, totally random and unimportant question, but, uh, what's with that snowman outside the door?" 

"The children built it earlier today," Ciri shrugs. "I told them not to use Geralt's armor, that he'd want it back once he gets uncursed, but I don't think they listened. Why are you asking?"

"No reason!" Jaskier huffs and quickly grabs the doll before Ciri can notice how he's turning bright red. 

She narrows her eyes at him, but he turns his back to her and presses a kiss to the doll's…well, face. It's not exactly big enough for more precision. 

A bright light emits from it and Jaskier has to close his eyes firmly. 

Suddenly, his hands are no longer holding on to the doll but instead are wrapped around a very firm and familiar waist. 

The light slowly dims and flickers out. Jaskier opens his eyes carefully. In front of him stands Geralt of Rivia, unharmed and scowling even more than usual. 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my fair lady," Jaskier teases. 

"What?" Geralt grumbles and looks down at himself, taking in the bright pink dress made up of an abundance of ruffles, as well as the intricately woven braid that rests on his shoulder. 

"The fuck?" he concludes. "When the witch cursed me my clothes stayed the same size. Why did the dress grow with me then?" 

"Well, there are children around," Ciri huffs with an annoyed click of her tongue. "Now can we finally get out of here?" 

"I need some pants," Geralt growls. "This is far too impractical. I can't fight the witch like that." 

"Well, the witch is gone," Jaskier shrugs. "And I don't think she'll be coming back." 

"Then what about the enchantment that kept the kids trapped here?" Geralt huffs. 

"Lifted," Ciri explains. "At least she said she would." 

"Oh," Geralt remarks. "Any… other monsters in the area? Some rabid dogs? Anything else?" 

"No, dear," Jaskier answers. "I think all the work is already taken care of. You can relax for once." 

"Riiiight," Geralt mumbles slowly. Then he nods to himself. "Then I guess I'll just keep wearing this for now." 

"Absolutely, love!" Jaskier encourages. "It suits you tremendously." 

"Gross," Ciri comments as Jaskier leans in for a proper kiss with his rescued lover. "Now can we please get out of here, already?" 

[tanstar]

Rambling about RE2R and RE3R’s cut content part 2

Read part 1 here.

Part 2: RE3R

So I’m gonna be honest, I really like RE3R. It’s narrative and characters are 10/10 for me, something I haven’t been able to say about RE in a long time (honestly my biggest gripes with re5 and 6 are the complete wasted potential of their narratives and characters). I’ll go more in depth about it later but yeah I’ve got no complaints about the story or characters. My problems with RE3R come down to it’s length, level design and the utilization of Nemesis. So let’s get started.

spoilers ahead 

Cut/altered/new content:

Live select options were cut in favour of a cohesive narrative and characterization (which have been expanded upon greatly), Jill’s apartment is now explorable, Nemesis ambushes Jill at her apartment and her escape is now playable, the graveyard is gone (though there is a nod to the graveyard at the start of the rpd section), the clock tower interior and its puzzles are gone (it’s exterior is used for the boss fight against Nemesis form 2 like the original), no water puzzle, the gravedigger has been merged with hunter gamma as a common enemy type, Uptown is now a linear setpiece that cannot be revisited, there are fewer Nemesis encounters, Nemesis item drops aren’t as worthwhile as the original,  there’s a new boss fight with Nemesis as he wields a flamethrower, tram has been changed to a subway train, fetchquest for the tram has been cut, Mikhail is now fully conscious for his entire appearance, new character Dr Bard included with new vaccine subplot, fetchquest for the gems has been made optional instead of mandatory, Mayor Warren’s statue is no longer fetchquest related and can be found before crossing the bridge to the clock tower, battery fetchquest for the construction site elevator has been changed to fuses for the underground storage facility elevator, Nemesis destroying the helicopter has been moved to the beginning of the game, Brad is still bitten at Bar Jack but heroically sacrifices himself rather than act like a huge coward, Brad is not killed by Nemesis, Brad infects Marvin (which ties in well with both og re2 and RE2R surprisingly), Racoon city in general has been redesigned to look like an american city instead of a japanese one, Stagla still explodes but cannot be entered, the zombie horde at Stagla has been moved to the hospital in a tower defence sequence, Drain Deimos and Brainsuckers have been merged, no leeches, no spiders or crows, new enemies the pale heads and parasite zombies, construction site and power station have been merged, once Jill has been infected Carlos takes her to the hospital instead of the chapel iside the clock tower, likewise Carlos doesn’t wait for 2 days before deciding to find a cure instead it takes him around 12 hours to find Jill and he immediately looks for the vaccine, hospital has been expanded, underground storage facility replaces the park, dead factory is merged with a new lab area, Tyrell is now an actual character and dies to Nemesis intead of an explosion, final boss is now reliant on Jill operating the rail gun herself rather than coercing Nemesis in front of it, iconic STARS line has been moved from the final boss fight to a chase sequence, the confrontation with Nicholai has been moved to the climax of the game, Nicholai is implied to be working with Wesker instead of Umbrella and of course the alternate ending with Barry was cut.

So RE3R does cut or alter the content of the original but in most cases it does try to replace whatever was cut. Also regardless of cuts, re3′s narrative has been expanded upon with character arcs and lore tying it to the rest of the series, that alone justifies this game’s existence for me. As much as I love the original, its bare bones plot and narrative structure (a result of being a sort of choose your adventure game) as well as the fact that it started as a spinoff game and the fact that its last three levels were added last minute (hence the vaccine plotline coming out of nowhere) really don’t do it any favours. I still enjoy the original story and characters but I think the remake did a better job at both these things. 

So I had some major problems with the writing for RE2R in both terms of the overall narrative (there is no cohesive overlapping narrative between our two leads) and the portrayal of certain characters (Leon and Ada), so what did I think of RE3R? It’s good. It’s really good actually, the acting is probably the best in the series tbh. Jill’s ptsd from the mansion incident and how it has made her distrustful but also self sacrificing is so interesting. This is perfectly displayed when she agrees to help the UBCS, she knows she shouldn’t help them, that Umbrella is out to get her but with civilian lives on the line she decides to fulfil her duty as a STARS officer and help out. But she isn’t just abrasive or snarky, she shows she is still a very caring person too, this can be seen in her interactions with Brad, Kendo and even Dario, she wants to genuinely save all three of them but things just don’t work out that way. Carlos is great, way better than his original incarnation and I say that as someone who likes that version too. He’s a great support character for Jill and also acts somewhat as a foil for her character and his arc about learning of Umbrella’s wrongdoings is handled well. I think everyone can aggree that Carlos and Jill’s dynamic is fantastic, the growth of their relationship feels very organic and genuine. I never expected to care about Brad so much, in the original he’s just a huge coward who exists to be killed by Nemesis but now he actually feels like a person and someone who Jill valued. Also holy shit that scene where he bites Marvin is so much more narratively fulfilling than his death by Nemesis. Mikhail’s expanded role as captain is great, as is his death. Tyrell actually gets to be a character this time around and I actually hoped he’d somehow survive. Dr Bard is a total scumbag and his inclusion finally explains the vaccine’s creation as well as adding to the overall corruption of RC via Umbrella. Nicholai’s a total ham and a dickhead, I mean this in a good way I would describe all my favourite RE villians this way (the Weskers, the Ashfords, Salazar, Carla Radames, Jack Baker). And form 1 Nemesis has some fun dramatic flair that I enjoyed. Also I will defend the choice to remove Barry from the ending, I really like Barry but it was the right decision not to involve him as it would really work against the game’s narrative and Jill’s character arc.

Now onto RE3R’s level design and structure and in my opinion it should have borrowed more from the og re3′s level design way more. What we have isn’t bad but it could’ve been much more. The streets being redesigned was inevitable to me, I really enjoy the aesthetic of the original but it looks very Japanese and RC is supposed to be a US city, so this change doesn’t bother me. The linearity does. The streets should have been more open and you should have been able to return to Uptown to explore (adding back in a fetchquest would justify this), this would give way more opportunities for Nemesis to stalk the player. What’s strange is there is a mod that opens up Downtown to be almost completely explorable and Nemesis’s AI can actually track you throughout it’s entirety, why bother programming him that way if the intention was to make the area more linear? When Nemesis does show up in the remake he’s great but he should have been present way more, he’s like the opposite of Mr X in RE2R. Mr X follows the player semi randomly around the RPD for a while but he is pretty toothless as a threat (seriously, you can out walk him), Nemesis on the other hand is a genuine threat but is only semi random for an incredibly short portion of the game. Expanding the streets would fix this issue. The park could’ve been an explorable area before the RPD, I personally don’t mind the park being cut but i know a lot of people do. They should have implemented more puzzles. I also think the clock tower should have been explorable and if I’m being honest I think it was supposed to be, it’s referenced in the subway and then we get the pamphlet before crossing the bridge, I think it was cut for time.  I think a lot was cut for time and I don’t think it’s M2′s fault, i think Capcom is the problem here and all you need to do is look at RE2R and all of its cut content for proof. 

Honestly if this game had just reintegrated some more of the original games levels and structure I think it would have been a 10/10, I still enjoy what we got I just want more! I hope we get DLC in the future and there’s certainly ample opportunity, we could have a ghost survivors scenario with Brad escaping Nemesis, we could play as Nicholai as he collects data on the outbreak before the main game, a dream sequence of Jill exploring the clock tower, Tyrell could cut through the park as he makes his way to the hospital and of course I hope we get Mercenaries mode. I guess time will tell.

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Of Thorns and Buttercups

~Ch 4/?~

(Beauty and the Beast AU, Kiiiinda. It has definite elements of the original story cause I’m a sap for Fairytale AUs. I hope you enjoy. Also shout out to @sophiakuso1 for being my beta. Here you can find Beginning or Previous) I asked my beta for help writing this chapter's summary and she gave me "Jaskier has an ADHD day". Thank you my dear. Very helpful. Or Jaskier tries to help figure out how to break a curse with nothing to go on while Geralt is nowhere to be found. 

Primary Tags: Beast! Geralt, Belle! Jaskier, Memory Alteration Via Curse, It really only affects Jaskier right now Also on AO3!

————————-

“Does this mean I can stay?” Jaskier called after the retreating beast. The only response he got was a door closing in his face, metaphorically speaking seeing as he was a few dozen yards away from it, which was as good as a yes in his books. All in all though, the situation had worked out remarkably well. He wasn’t dead or likely to be maimed and the Beast had the bard’s company to keep him entertained now that it was apparent Jaskier couldn’t leave. It was a win-win as far as he was concerned and, seeing that there was no one else in the present company, he could continue to occupy the room he had chosen last evening. Which reminded him, he was only mostly dressed and still standing dumbly at the edge of the garden with all his things in his arms. Right. Well, as lovely as the crisp winter air was this fine… dawn, he’d rather be inside where it was a little cozier or at least fully dressed. 

Hurrying back inside, he decided his first few tasks should be to put his things back in his room and finish dressing, as well as tidy the room so as not to be rude. He may have been a surprise and maybe even an unwanted guest, but he wouldn’t be an unkempt one. Upon entering the room however, the hearth was lit, the curtains to the bed drawn, and the linens were made up neat and tidy. Which surprised Jaskier, but the beautifully tailored cornflower blue doublet with cutely embroidered little yellow buttercups, matching breeches, and a delicate white lace chemise completely baffled him. He couldn’t help the soft smile that played on his lips. For as gruff and cold as the beast was, it would seem he was awfully kind and sweet. Perhaps the sudden insistence on the bard’s departure had to do something with concern over his well being. Perhaps the curse? He had felt like he had been watched all night but the Beast wouldn’t have let him sleep soundly for as long as he had if his reaction from earlier was anything to go by. 

Jaskier thought over several ideas about the curse as he got redressed in the new clothing but nothing settled right with him. He needed more details but he was now fully determined to help the gentle beast. Getting information out of his stoic companion may prove to be tough, however, so there was always the second option. Snooping! He was terribly good at it, almost as good as he was at fooling people into believing he was a bumbling buffoon before ripping the rug out from under them for his own personal gain. He may be foolhardy with a dislike of bodily harm but he was quick witted and silver tongued. Both were qualities that could prove useful now.

Once dressed, he was ready to go find answers. He briefly debated whether or not he should grab his lute, but the constant itch to play had dulled as the pain in his heart grew, so he left without it. Knowing where to start was rather tricky, however. The gardens were enchanted ,but obviously there was something going on in the keep as well. Then there was always the tail from the night prior that disappeared around a corner further down from his room. It couldn’t have been the Beast’s Jaskier thought. The pelts were different. His Beast’s pelt was white as lilies or fresh fallen snow while the tail had not been. It was silver like a moon lit lake with dapples of gray and black on the surface. 

He decided a strange creature was always the way to go and if he got into trouble, he knew he could call for help. If the beast wanted him dead then he would have killed him already. Letting a monster or wild animal kill him seemed rather contrary to his actions. So, off he went down the hall. He looked high and low, squeezed through broken doors and under debris, as little as there was, but came up short. No magical looking artifacts, or sigils on the walls or floors, and certainly no other living beings to be seen. He couldn’t even find a measly journal or letter to boot. Just dust, old lavish rooms, and literature that was rather unextraordinary. He huffed as he scuffed the heel of his boot on the stone floor in disappointment, backtracking the way he had come. The Beast was also nowhere to be found which made his spirits drop further. The bard hoped he wouldn’t be avoided the entire time, it would be awfully lonely.

Deciding his next stop was the magical gardens, he picked himself up and bolstered his thoughts. The day was far from done, and there were still places to look and time to ingratiate himself with the other fellow. Now Jaskier realized that it may take a while to look through the grounds but he had underestimated just how big they were. The front was already large as it reached from the house to the treeline in a few dozen yards, but the garden around the back was almost maze-like and he wasn’t sure he could see the treeline from near the back entrance. The back also held a variety of flowers that hadn’t appeared in the front but there was no rhyme or reason to what was planted. Most nobility had an aesthetic they wished to achieve with a very particular color scheme, which the front gardens had, but which the back garden lacked completely. There were only fourteen flowers, as far as he could see, that bloomed all over the place. No others. No order. It all proved to be a very odd sight. Perhaps they had some kind of use or significance? Off hand he knew the blue hydrangea symbolized a frigid heart apologizing and the yellow Asphodel meant I’m sorry, which he may or may not have made use of, but he couldn’t remember the others off the top of his head. The only reason he bothered to learn the symbolism of botany, which was not a popular art across the continent but it did exist and was rather interesting, was because it was an aid to lend depth to his prose and lyrical tales… and it came in handy when trying to charm a person of higher status than he, but their magical or alchemical properties still eluded him. There wasn’t much need for that knowledge earlier in life, which he was regretting now. There were some books inside if he remembered correctly so he could gather a sample of each flower and see if any lady squirreled away a journal with writings of flowers which he could use to look them up. Thankfully, the canary yellow cloak he grabbed, which had rested conveniently by the entrance, had rather deep hidden pockets. So, away he went, carefully collecting flora for later use. 

In the middle of the collecting specimens, a nasty little thistle caught his finger as he went to pluck it. A drop of scarlett welled up on his fingertip before he placed the finger in his mouth and used the other to pluck the offending sprig. The shock of the sudden pain was only matched by the surprise that nearly stilled his heart for a beat as he righted himself. To his right, a lynx with a pelt that shined like liquid silver stood just down the path leading into the garden maze. If that wasn’t a big sign screaming freaky magic or cursed creature, then Jaskier would eat his fucking lute. As strange magical things often did, it didn’t seem inclined to make things easy for him. It suddenly took off down the footpath away from him, and he was forced to inelegantly scramble after it. “W-wait!” He tried to call after the animal but it either didn’t understand or it elected to ignore him. He skidded around corners and stumbled over gravel to stay within eyesight of the fur ball of energy. It felt equivalent to the time he had tried to catch the wayward family cat of a countess he had been rather fond of at the time and had instead made a rather marvelous spectacle of himself. He had felt like he was finally getting some of the ground between them to shorten but in his excitement, his foot caught a patch of ice that sent him toppling over and by the time he scrambled to look up, the beautiful lynx was gone. A well of disappointment filled his ribs as he knelt there in the snow, trying to regain his breath. Why couldn’t he be of any use? The thought had something in his heart twisting in old pains. Would he really be of any help to the Beast or would he just be in the way like he was back home? There was another time in his life that he vaguely remembered of him trying, fruitlessly it would seem, to be of help but it was so muddled in his memory that he couldn’t fully recall.

Disheartened, Jaskier eventually got his feet under him and slowly picked his way out of the maze from the way he came with only damp, cold clothes to show for his efforts. With how heavy the snow fall was, he couldn’t even find any mark or indication of which ways he needed to turn to come back, if he so had the desire. In the spring, it might have been a lovely place to spend hours wandering through with a beloved or chase one another through in the way of a romantic overture, but now it just felt like a cold tedious exercise in futility. It was like if you were trying to navigate the cold heart of the one you knew would never choose you. At first you have hope but with every dead end, your heart breaks more, and you eventually have to give up because you’re cold, wet, and alone, with no one to hug you better. Sadly this seemed more common than not in life. The heart always yearns for something it could not have, so to soothe it, you settle for cheap thrills and single nights of sweet lies. Oh how terribly morose he had become in life and obviously these were observations that had nothing to do with him personally. So lost in his mournful rumination, he had not realized how late in the day it had gotten until he finally emerged from the maze. The sun was already past the middle of the sky and Jaskier wondered if he was just going daft or if the days and nights were also magical in how they passed. He doubted he could unravel the complex mysteries of every magical occurrence found in the place. Not that he wanted to, since he had already had his hands full with the curse. He pushed the thought away to question at a different time. 

With low spirits, Jaskier trudged around the other side of the keep he had not taken earlier and stumbled upon a stable that looked to be in good condition. Curiosity once again pulled him forward and had him peeking inside. To his surprise, there was a lone beautiful chestnut mare, which brought a smile to his lips. Ducking in and closing out the cold behind him, he went to the horse's side. “Oh Roach!” He found himself happily exclaiming as he pet her neck which earned a soft whinny, only to stop short puzzled. Did he just call the lovely animal by a fish’s name? Why on earth would he… And now that he thought about it, how would he recognize this horse out of all the others he had seen or met in passing? He did not own a horse but still something about her pulled up memories that he couldn’t seem to reach out and touch, but which carried a fond feeling nonetheless. Perhaps she reminded him of another horse from his past that was connected to whoever he was currently having trouble remembering. If the way his heart strings tugged tighter at the thought was anything to go on, he assumed he guessed correctly.  But why would he remember the horse instead of the human…? Unless the horse was the more pleasant of the two but he doubted it. Regardless, this could not be that horse. Just one that looked similar. “Oh my dear, I do truly apologize for calling you by another’s name.” He whispered as he continued his gentle stroking and slowly rested his forehead against her. The sweet thing huffed before leaning into him. Slowly he furled his arms around her neck lightly and hugged the wonderful companion who indulged him in his need of comfort. “My darling, I fear that I may not know what to do now… I’m not even sure if I can win over the dear beast of the keep…” He sighed woefully, his voice unusually small for how he was. The mare however seemed to be having none of his self pity as her head bobbed and she nickered reproachfully, but in what he assumed was an encouraging reproach. He huffed a short laugh and looked up at his new friend with a smile as he pet her neck in thanks. “You’re very right. I can’t give up after only the first day! I have plenty of time to figure things out and hopefully get the Beast to accept my help.” He said with new conviction, his spirits rising once again with the new encouragement. As a side thought, the bard never expected a beast would need a horse for any reason but perhaps it had gotten lost and was given a home here by the kind gentleman. It looked to be well taken care of though; clean stall, full fresh food, and blankets to keep away any chill that came with the fall of night. As Jaskier made his way to leave, he promised to visit again soon and he made a mental note to bring a treat of some kind as thanks. 

Crossing the courtyard to the house reminded the bard of how his clothing was soggy, and his elbows and knees were stained from the fall. He felt guilty because the Beast had left the lovely garments out just for him and he had yet to thank him. Not wanting the embarrassment of running into the other in such a state and having to explain that he had already ruined the kind gift, he quickly made for his room to get changed. Once he was inside then he could breathe freely again. Safely in his own chamber, he draped the borrowed cloak over the chair belonging to the small desk in the corner beside the fireplace and turned to find his pack to rummage for something decent to put on. To his surprise however, an outfit of midnight blue fabric with silver trimming laid on the bed. The fabric was thick but soft to the touch, and had a lovely brocade pattern of astrological symbols on it and small pearls dotting it like stars in the pattern of constellations. The chimese was a soft, dove gray, there were new boots of black, buttery leather, and fleece stockings to pull the whole ensemble together. It was such a beautiful set and he felt a little choked up at the thought that the Beast was giving him such nice things. Perhaps there was an expectation he would wear it for dinner? That meant the Beast wanted to eat together! It had the bard all the more resolute in trying to help. It was nice to receive something though. Usually he was the one always trying to give gifts to buy even a fraction of attention from young ladies of higher breeding. The only gifts he ever got were coins, or food and drink in exchange for his performance, or the threat of injury for having chased away his woes with the wrong person in one night of lonely passion. Ah, there were those sullen thoughts again. Jaskier waved them away as he washed up a bit at the small wash basin in the room and folded the soiled garments, putting them to the side to deal with later, before slipping on the lovely new clothing. He checked himself in the mirror before heading for the discarded cloak again. Intent on unraveling their secrets, he drew the cuttings from the pockets and carefully, thankful for the fact that they were mostly intact. If there were none to be found though, he supposed he could always just put a bouquet together for the Beast. Perhaps the gentle fellow just adored those particular blooms. Perhaps that was why the flowers were everywhere. The thought had Jaskier chuckling. The great big beast hunched over the flowers in the spring as he gently tended to them. The bard wondered if he would be there come the next spring to witness it. It almost sounded idyllic. He could see himself in a simple life similar to that. A cottage by the sea, flowers filling the garden, and his loved one tending to the flowers as he played soft music. A silly dream for a hopeless romantic, he would admit, but everyone was allowed just one, weren’t they?

With a sigh, he looked at the arrangement in front of him. He had grabbed the devilish little thistle that had snagged him. It looked to be a zinnia, though he knew nothing about the flower. It was a purple cluster of flowers of some kind, and a pink flower that went from soft pastel at the tip of the mouse ear shaped petal to a darker pink near the base. His knowledge of flowers was lax compared to his other, finer artistic knowledge and lessons of etiquette but he thankfully had the ability to name some of the flowers. Oddly enough, he felt like he had some practise identifying and picking medicinal flowers but he once again came to a wall in his own memory. Realizing it wouldn’t work well to try looking up flowers he had no name for, he added a plant identification reference book to his list of texts to find. He hoped in the vast space there would at least be an equally vast library of some kind that would conveniently have what he was looking for. Leaving the florets carefully laid across his desk, he left the room once again for his next search. The rooms in this upper part of the wing were particularly useless once again, aside from the small pocket journal of The Language of a Gentle Heart: Secrets of Floral Arrangement which was most likely written and titled by a starry eyed lady who needed a hobby. He found it questionable at best, but upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be a compilation of notes which were cross referenced from other sources with the meaning of flowers. Then the second small journal was more like a manual which the writer entitled The Art and Language of Flora for the use of Assassination and Deception and found under a mattress, also dubios but eye catching regardless. There was also still no sign of habitation of any of the rooms, which meant the Beast really didn’t live in this wing, or he had not been to his room at all and was hiding somewhere in the castle. Both scenarios were equally as likely at that point. Deciding to check elsewhere, he debated if there was anything of actual use in the other, more decayed wing of the keep before figuring that it’d be his last place to check if he really could not find everything he needed in the lower rooms of the fortress. 

On the lower level, Jaskier first found the kitchens all the way down past the dining room he had been in  the night prior and down a set of stairs. The kitchen was obviously well used but maintained and cleaned. The kitchen led to packed larders and pantries, brimming with food which, astonishingly, all looked fresh and not in the slightest bit old. Giving up on the kitchen, he briefly ducked his head back into the dining room and found his memory was correct. It only held the partially set long dining table, the fireplace, and occasional bits of decoration to liven it up. Next to the dining room was a private cabinet for the men and a boudoir for the women. Why they had the need of two separate, gender specific rooms to let honored guests relax in was beyond him. The only mildly interesting things held within were a smattering of tapestries, trophies, and ceremonial/decorative armor pieces, as well as various apparatuses to toil away time with, such as looms and such. All of them were nice, but not so useful. Jaskier moved onto the final room on this side of the main staircase. All he wanted were books. Just give him books! The door had been stubbornly shut but he had managed to wiggle through the crack he had opened. Beyond the large opulent doors a great hall, or at least what was left of one, laid. The throne was overturned, tables were splintered heaps, and the tapestries and banners were sliced to ribbons, rendering the crest unidentifiable. It sent a chill down his back so he quickly departed from that venture. 

Crossing to the other side of the stairs, he ventured on, undeterred by the lack of progress he had made so far. Starting at the far end again, he was surprised to find a servants passageway that led up and down. Going up, he found himself in his wing of the castle and huffed before heading back down. The pathway down looked dark and damp, which didn’t seem very appealing, but he was committed so he grabbed a nearby light source in the form of a candelabra and descended. It was as damp and uninviting as he expected, but he did find a small room in the dark undercroft, obscured slightly from view, which had him wondering whether that was intentional or not. Opening the aged door, he found a stillroom of sorts. Dried plants that looked like they were left and forgotten, hung neatly around the room. There were suspicious jars and vials Jaskier specifically did not touch, but more importantly there were hand drafted journals and reference texts on medicinal plants and alchemy. He grabbed The Botanist’s Companion to The Identification of Flora, and something that had no real title but inside was filled with alchemy and lists of ingredients with their common uses. Elated to find something hopefully useful, Jaskier headed back up with his bounty and used the servants passage to drop off the books on his desk before continuing his search of the lower rooms. He also replaced the candelabra in its rightful place, of course. Next to the secret stairs, there was a large bathing house where the tubs were stored, and hot water flowed into basins for collecting. He guessed the warm water was just another magical occurrence of the place. There was enough space in the place however to just set up a bathtub and designate the room as a place to clean up if he so wished to. It was definitely a place of interest for a later time, but practically useless to his current venture. There was then a solar specifically used by the private family to withdraw to, if Jaskier remembered correctly, but about as interesting as the boudoir or the private cabinet. With only two doors to go, Jaskier felt some anticipation even with how tired he was becoming from all the running earlier and the searching.The first of the two, to his absolute delight, was a grand music hall filled with instruments of all kinds and collections of scores he could plunder through at another time. There was even a massive harp of artistry far beyond any he had seen, that was hard to find today. Most wanted them portable for ease of use but this one sat squarely where it was. He had never played a harp like it and would mostly spend hours slowly easing his way through learning the beautiful piece but it looked majestic where it stood. He didn’t have the time to mess around though  but he did swear he’d be back. The sound of a string being plucked in the empty room behind him as he turned to leave only hastened his exit. The final stop--at last--revealed a library. How he managed to not find this place sooner was beyond him. He was here now though, and that's what truly mattered. The one issue, however, was that the library was in fact intimidatingly expansive. Not only could someone not read all of these books in a lifetime but it was also a major fire hazard in the bards eyes. 

Sighing in the face of his daunting task, Jaskier first tried to figure out if there was any kind of categorical system similar to what was back at the Oxenfurt College Library. To his luck, there was, but it was nothing like the complex system he had to learn. Whoever built and organized the library went with the simple method of organizing it by genre which made finding the reference texts all the easier. Although most scholars would sneer at such organization, Jaskier found it charming as he strolled through to find the reference texts and educational tutoring books for young nobles. Sifting through that section of shelves proved tedious but prolific. He found a wide range from books on the upbringing of a proper young lady to more academic texts on plants taught to young women and men alike. What he had been searching for however were books he had seen at Oxenfurt but never touched. The Herbarium and Antidotarium which were nestled amongst the rest of the books. All the books were handwritten and illustrated obviously, but these were beautiful in comparison to some. 

Gathering the two books he found, he brought them back up to his rooms. It was a start, and a very good one at that. Sadly, he wasn’t able to find any nefarious magical looking grimoires, but he could get somewhere with this… Hopefully. He set the new books neatly down with the others on the desk, and was meaning to take a seat to get started, when two thudding knocks came at his door. They weren’t so hard as to be a furious pounding, but not gentle either, and it had him only the tiniest bit concerned. He went to the door after a moment of hesitation, intending to open it, when a familiarly rough voice called out. “Are you not going to eat, Bard?” Displeased confusion had Jaskier almost panicking just before he yanked the door open. Right! The beast had left the outfit as his intention to dine with Jaskier! He had been so busy searching that he had completely forgotten. 

“Very kind of you to worry and come fetch me.” He responded, trying to flash his most charming ‘I totally didn’t forget plans’ smile up at the Beast. 

The Beast grunted and shifted from one foot to the other, directing his gaze away. “...It was getting late. That’s all…” 

“Not to worry, I was just on my way down. Got caught up with something, is all! It is nice to head down together though.” The smaller man smiled, enjoying the opportunity presented by the Beast to start a good friendship between them! He grabbed hold of the darling fellow’s arm and tugged him along to their awaiting dinner, not giving him a chance to reconsider after Jaskier’s unfortunately rude tardiness. By the heavens above him, he will break the ice between them.

Getting him there and seated was easy but as they sat at opposite ends of the ridiculously long table, Jaskier suddenly found it hard to find the words to start the conversation rolling. Who needed a table this long?! Dinner looked lovely, however, and he could easily use it as a way to fall into a comfortable food induced silence. However, yet another problem presented itself in the form of all the food being in the center of said ridiculously long table and the lack of servants. Jaskier considered options of how to fix this dilemma when the food suddenly started coming to him, or at least the dishes with the food did. Jaskier may or may not have yelped but in a very dignified manner if he did say so himself. He would admit it was not on the list of his finer moments, but it did seem to get an amused snort out of the Beast, although his mask of stoicism was still firmly in place when Jaskier looked at him. Nevertheless, the amusement still danced in the other’s gem-like eyes, and Jaskier almost wanted to clap happily at the small victory, but was smart enough to refrain. “Everything’s enchanted.” A deep rumble pulled Jaskier out of his mental victory celebration.

“What?” He questioned dumbly. Good job. Real smooth, he internally berated himself, holding back a blush. 

“All the furnishings… They’re enchanted.” The Beast clarified again, as if he were speaking to a child, but twitch of his brow belied the amusement of the fact that Jaskier had somehow not noticed. 

“Oh...Oh!” Jaskier processed the information before sighing in relief. “I am very glad to know this place isn’t haunted or filled with things trying to frighten me to death.” He joked but the thought had crossed his mind originally. “Why… Why didn’t they just move in front of me? Why only when I wasn’t watching?” He couldn’t help but ask the question out of interest. 

The Beast shrugged. “Maybe the enchantment has some weird rules when it comes to people not affected by the curse… Or they could be shy, although they’re not technically alive. They move like puppets with no strings…” The grumbled explanation was a little stilted and clumsy, but endearing in a way. It was almost as if the other was unused to speaking to anyone. The thought alone made the bard pity the Beast. The idea of ghostly puppeted furniture was still not very comforting though. 

“... Hmmm, unsettling but I suppose it’s good to know. Thank you Beast.” The comment had the other’s shoulders sagging a bit, and Jaskier immediately knew he somehow misstepped. After mentally slapping himself, he tried to salvage things quickly. “Thank you by the way.” He flashed a shy smile but this only elicited a noncommittal hum while the Beast continued to look anywhere but at Jaskier. “For the, um, clothes… It was kind of you.”

The Beast silently seemed to either ignore the words or chose not to comment as he began piling food onto his plate. Well, Jaskier supposed that was his way of dismissing the conversation, so the bard followed his example and began to serve himself. Eating, contrary to what Jaskier had thought before, left them mostly in a stilted silence. Although the Beast was large and disproportionate to the size of the cutlery, he managed to eat cleanly, but with no grace. Many people, Jaskier knew, would have been utterly scandalized by the situation, but he found himself thinking it was charming in a weird way. The bard thought he may have a second chance to reignite the conversation once they finished eating but, to his dismay, the Beast finished before him and promptly left. Now alone, Jaskier berated himself for fucking up. He felt the silence weigh in on him, the comfortable warm feeling that came with the other’s company at the beginning now abruptly gone. It left him feeling woefully abandoned to be honest. Not very hungry suddenly, Jaskier elected to retire early for the evening. 

Back in his chambers, he tried to start his work. The first step being to identify the ones he was unable to, obviously. The pink mousy petaled ones turned out to be cyclamens while the cluster of purple florets were hyacinth after a bit of searching. Somehow, looking at the deep purple of the hyacinth made his already uneasy stomach, from how dinner ended, turn. He frowned, remembering the violet eyes of a witch who, although beautiful, only inspired what felt like terribly negative feelings blooming in his chest. He sighed, pushing back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankle. If he had to guess, it might have been jealousy that took root. It was an unkind feeling and he knew she had done nothing really to inspire such feelings, at least as far as in his mind, but his chest felt otherwise. He remembered the terrible first meeting and the barbs and jabs from early in their acquaintance but he also remembered the playful insulting and occasional companionable chats when they crossed paths later down the line of their affiliation. Then something happened and it only left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the details. He realized it wasn’t jealousy then but a moment of recognition of the fact that he would never be enough while she was. He wasn’t the one wanted, and it left him rather empty and tired from trying so hard. He sighed again as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He was too tired from everything that happened earlier and the low humor he now found himself in wasn’t conducive to work, so he shut the book he had been using and set everything aside so he could ready himself for sleep. He stripped of the handsome garments and folded them carefully into a dresser for another day. He chose out a large black tunic from his pack that seemed too large to be his, but put it on because it soothed him in a way he couldn’t fully understand. Nonetheless, he appreciated it. He drew the drapes closed and settled in for the night, feeling cold even with all of the blankets. The night was deep and long, but Jaskier tried to sleep away the dour thoughts and unease in his heart. 

[midautumnnightdream]

Please ramble more about your les Mis/LOTR crossover concept! Where does each ami find themselves when they wake up, how/where/in what order do they find each other, what do they do upon finding themselves in Arda? I want to know all about this.

Friend! I'm being Very Enabled :D

(uh sorry it took me so long to answer; the last couple of weeks turned out to be A Lot, but the EXTREME WALL OF TEXT of this ramble might at least justify the delay. Consider yourself warned!)

Anyway!

Okay, as I said before, the basis of this concept is Pure Aesthetics, so any "logic" is derived from moving backwards from the result that I wanted. But! There is a sort of method to the madness, which is that the Amis are distributed to Middle-Earth in the same order as they die, spiraling outwards from the central point of somewhere-in-Rohan on the same date they die –so Prouvaire and Bahorel appear closest to each other on the 5th of June 3018 and Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Courfeyrac and Combeferre land in a loose circle around them a day later, increasingly further away from each other, but not super far. Grantaire and Enjolras, For Reasons, get propelled a lot further away in separate directions. But more of that later.

So! Bahorel and Prouvaire find each other pretty quickly and establish that something Extremely Weird has happened. Being themselves, they are more excited than confused or upset about the situation and immediately set about exploring this new world. In a way, out of all the Amis they are perhaps the most suited for it: Rohan with vast countryside and mountains and mysterious forests, with the oral culture that honours the poet and glorifies the warrior; the horses, the tapestries, even the shadow of some great evil they do not yet understand but can feel in every unspoken concern – it's something of a Romantic medievalist's dream, isn't it? Sure, they also hear Some Bullshit about the way this country is run and have every intention of doing something about that in the future, but for the time being they are satisfied wandering about the countryside, exchanging songs and stories and exploring that forest they have been warned away from by everyone they meet. (Yes, they totally make friends with the ents, is what I'm saying.) They don't search for the other Amis because they have no reason to assume anyone else died –as far as they know, they're busy living happily in a new Republic. They learn otherwise soon enough, however.

What exactly happens with the next four Amis at first is the part that i'm least clear about – they'd have the same kind of initial confusion about the situation and P&B, but they each know for sure that all their friends should also be dead, and would try to look for them. Probably causing some Unsettling Rumours to spread a bit further than is strictly speaking ideal, but i also want most of them to find each other reasonably quickly, because the group dynamic is more of what i'm into here (esp because Bossuet probably landed somewhere terribly unlucky, poor dude.) Other than that I'm not sure, except that I want Feuilly somewhere with Dunlendings for a little while, because I can just *see* him having Unpopular Dunlending Opinions and getting glowered at by every Rohirrim he stubbornly voices them to.

Anyway, eventually I want that group to come together and... not quite settle, but to have something like a temporary home they can share and come back to, as they figure out what to do next. A place just outside of Edoras, perhaps? The kind of community that is getting increasingly twitchy about the state of affairs in Meduseld, enough to shelter this incredibly weird but friendly and helpful bunch of strangers whom Wormtongue is oh-so-curious about and to help dispel wilder rumours about them ("look they are just foreigners okay? From, um, Lake town. Yeah, Lake town"). Of course, healers are appreciated wherever they go, and so are bards, especially when they have a whole repertoire of songs and stories no one has heard before. Bahorel and Courfeyrac probably know their way around horses, for different reasons, Feuilly also has the kind of skills that would be appreciated and Bossuet, for all his bad luck has the resiliency of a cat who always lands on his feet. And if the lot of them get a bit Sarcastic about monarchy and tend to express the kind of ideas that might get everyone involved into a lot of trouble, well. People are Not happy and they'd welcome anything that goes counter to Orthanc influence in Edoras. Bahorel and Prouvaire still go wandering sometimes, leaving with the herders taking horses to pastures, in effort to find out more about what's going on and how they can help to influence events. But mostly, the Amis stick together.

Things are a bit... tense, once the inital shock passes. There is a lot of unspoken grief between them, for the home and people that are lost to them, for the revolution that could have been, for the future they cannot quite see themselves having in this world, and in a strange way, for each other. The whole situation is just so weird they have no idea how to process it and nothing to measure it against. On top of that, there are people missing in their group: by the time all seven of them come together, it's pretty clear it's just Amis showing up in this world, not everyone who dies, and knowing that the barricade was on a brink of a collapse, it'd make sense for Grantaire and Enjolras to be there too. Still, there is a possibility that they survived, by being taken prisoner or in R's case for being missed because he was asleep – and at this point, no one can quite figure out which option they should be hoping for. Not to mention, Enjolras absence shifts the group dynamic around quite a bit and each of them finds themselves having to pick up some emotional slack – which they do, quite well, but in addition to obvious obligations of coordination and decision-making, there is stuff like Bahorel having to pick fights with Combeferre when he's stressed, so he could argue his heart out without having to hold back, or Courfeyrac and Lesgle taking extra time to attentively listen to Feuilly when he's having Dunlending Opinions. On top of that, they are still trying to find a place in this new world and there is this sense of tense expectation, of coming storm.

Grantaire though. He takes Enjolras's hand, he smiles and when he wakes up, he's in Gondor of all places, all alone and very far from everyone he ever knew. "Now why would you do this, you monster??" you might think. And the answer is, well, symmetry. Aesthetic. Enjolras finds himself alone. So Grantaire must be alone too. On top of that, there is the appeal of our guy Grantaire, just after his big moment of revelation, being put into a situation where he has to live with the full implications of it, without being able to revert back to the expectations as he might if he was surrounded by his friends. Gondor is complicated sort of place. Denethor... is not going to miss a universe-traveler landing in his backyard. Nor would he neither dismiss him out of hand or trust him fully. He knows there is a reason for this, but there is no way to figure out what it could be, no more than he can figure out Grantaire; still reeling with the exhilaration of taking a leap of faith, in some ways a transfigured man, but still with all his foibles. Including talking too much, in references that no one in this world could possibly decipher.

So what happens is, once Faramir catches on to what's happening (because no way is Faramir either going to miss an universe-traveler in his backyard) Denethor pretty much hands R over to him, like "Yeah keep an eye on him and figure out what he's on about, or at least get him to shut up." and whooo boy do i have Thoughts about this character combination. Because Grantaire would be like. Reminded of half of his friends within minutes of meeting this guy (which, ouch) but also.. those sure are some Politics he's got there. Would there be A Debate? Sooner or later, probably! Probably despite Grantaire's better judgement! When on one hand you've got someone who is very convinced of the moral righteousness of his opinions, but is also very open to discussion and very very curious and discerning about what people are not saying, and on the other hand a person who is riddled with guilt over convictions unspoken, who perhaps feels like he owes the arguments to those who are not present to speak them, who's just... not good and not being contrary and shutting up ever. It could get really interesting – not in the sense of anyone getting Converted here, but I feel like both of them would end up with lot to think about (and Grantaire would end up as part of the team going to Ithilien at Important Moment)

And that's the other point – what would Grantaire do here, other than cautiously trying to express A Conviction? Well, mostly he'd try to keep himself afloat. In a moment of irony, in this situation he'd be the only Ami to never doubt that he's not alone in this world: partly it's the context of people around him immediately deciding his presence must serve some kind of Divine Purpose – and well, surely no Divinity would pick him to fulfill some destiny and not the other Amis right? But more than that, it's the fact that he Believes, so utterly, not only in Enjolras but in all of them, to the point of just Knowing they'd never abandon him in such a place. So he waits. And hangs on. And tries his best to fight the darkness on the horizon that seems to physically fog his mind and spirit, because he told Enjolras he's one of them, he's got to at least Try, right?

Onwards to Enjolras then! Okay this is the part that I've thought through the most and (**looks back over the length of the post so far**) Cripes. Umh, I’ll try to keep it concise?

Enjolras ends up at, or very close to Rivendell: this is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it's as good a place as you're ever going to find if you get dropped into a different universe with no idea what happened or how anything works, and also a very good (and very Aesthetic!) place to heal both physically or mentally but on the other hand, it's very far from where everyone else ended up and no rumour reaches him. So he has no idea what to think: he certainly hopes the others are also around somewhere, but for all his soaring faith, this is not something he can control, so he tries his best to find a way forward regardless of what happens.

So he keeps trying to learn everything he can about the world he is in, mostly with the help of a chatty old hobbit who tells him all the histories and helps him figure out the writing systems (look, everyone can just magically speak Westron okay?) And as fantastical as everything seems, and sundry dark lords notwithstanding, there is a lot that is broken about this world which is perhaps not so different from the one he left behind. All the same, it's clear that fighting Sauron must take the first priority.

(This is what he keeps telling himself when he finds out about the Heir of Isildur thing. Please just take a moment to imagine his expression.)

Anyway! The actual plot of the book would catch up soon enough, the Council of Elrond happens and as the Fellowship is being composed, it would become pretty damn clear for anyone with eyes what the Divine Forces were expecting Enjolras to do here. However, that brings me to the other point of curiousity which prompted this AU, and that is Enjolras and the Ring. Because I do feel like in his own painfully pragmatic, bright-burning idealistic way he would be pretty vulnerable to the Ring's influence. Not for a lack of self-awareness, or overconfidence, or for thinking that such means could ever be justified, but from the same impulse that had him shoot Le Cabuc: he's the sin-eater, he'd take that fall to spare the others in full expectation that they'd have to overcome him and render him harmless. And the Ring being what it is, it could use any opportunity to force such a decision, making it seem like the only option available whether that is the case or not. Even so, I'd think Enjolras would be quite self-aware – and also pretty upfront – about his own vulnerabilities and oh, it'd be such an interesting conversation to have between him and Frodo and Gandalf before a decision is made. Also, bonding with the hobbits! and the rest of the fellowship! Gimli would immediately adopt him, idk it's just the Truth. Having people ask him “are you an elf?” multiple times, which he’s so confused about! Hella awkward bonding time with Aragorn! xD

Oh and then The Plot would happen but Geez, this is already horrifyingly long. If you are still reading this and haven’t been bored to tears yet I might tell you about it another time!

[liketolaugh-writes]

What if Agni lived only to realise Sebastian is a demon who wants to eventually eat Our!Ciel's soul? How would the other servants react? Would every one of them take Sebastian on (along with Undertaker bc frankly otherwise they have no chance to win against a demon probably) try to save Our!Ciel's soul?

Oh, gosh- I’ve been trying not to think about this too much, honestly.

Agni? Agni would be crushed. Their skill as butlers was never their focal bonding point - it was their loyalty to their masters. It would feel like a betrayal.

But Agni is perceptive, too, and he can see that Sebastian does care for Ciel - that much he is certain of even now. How can Sebastian care for Ciel and still intend to eat him? Agni isn’t sure, but then again, Sebastian is strange. (And now he at least somewhat understands why.)

Eventually, he sets himself a task - if Sebastian does not know how to fully commit himself to his master’s safety and happiness, then Agni will help him to do so, as he has a time or two before. (Because Agni believes that no matter how awful one is now, they can learn to be better.)

And also - if Agni asked, Sebastian would attempt to explain the difference between a devil’s aesthetic and a human’s beliefs. That would help, too.

(And if the day came that Sebastian intended to take Ciel’s soul, and Agni was present - like Sebastian had when Agni was about to harm Soma, Agni would place himself between them and fight if he must.)

The other servants are even more complicated, because they’re just as loyal to Sebastian himself as they are to Ciel.

Snake takes Ciel’s side, wholly and completely; he isn’t sure what he can do against a man like Black, but he can try, and Ciel has done so much for him, personally - more than for most of the others. He doesn’t act, exactly, but there’s always a snake with Ciel, one of the smaller ones.

Bard respects Sebastian a lot, but Ciel is just a kid, a hurt and precocious kid. This would change how he thinks about Sebastian, and when he’s around he’s always watching.

Mey-rin hurts. She stands as neutral as she can, and she isn’t sure what to do; she’s always so unsure in this house. She takes her cues from Ciel, in the end, and how he thinks of it, and- her crush subsides a little but she keeps learning and growing and she watches.

Finny doesn’t believe that Sebastian wants this, can’t believe that Sebastian wants this. He encourages both Ciel and Sebastian the best he can, similar to how Agni does but with a touch more desperation. And day to day his behavior doesn’t change much, really.

(Undertaker, of course, takes front and center against Sebastian, and to be honest, Sebastian is not at all sure he would win.)

I think when it came down to the wire, they would all fight Sebastian for Ciel’s soul. But they’d do everything they could to make sure it wouldn’t come to that.

[grimweaver]

8 Facts: Ethaniel LaChance (Dovahkiin)

https://sta.sh/02cexkcphj13

UPDATED 09.17.17 (Added/edited “Notable relations”: Admaunde LaChance and Nahzadir Ale'Zandre (ESO Characters)) 1. Notable Relations Lucien LaChance, Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood (Father, undead); Malkhai (Ale'Zandre) LaChance, Hero of Kvatch/First Listener of 4E (Mother); Syan LaChance, The New Sheogorath (Sister); Cicero, Keeper of the Dark Brotherhood (Brother-in-law, through Syan); Nahzadir Ale'Zandre ‘Hero of Vvardenfell’ (Maternal Grandfather, fate unknown), Admaunde LaChance, 'Champion of the Guardians'(Paternal Great-Grandfather), Aaron LaChance (Paternal Step-brother, deceased), Aela the Huntress (Wife), Aventus Aretino (Adopted Son) Lucia ?? (Adopted Daughter).   2. Why he was a Prisoner Ethaniel took on what he thought was just a handful of Thalmor, thirsting for vengeance after they had cut the entire LaChance family line down to just him, his mother, and sister. He managed to kill several of them, but he was no match for one unidentified altmer mage that took him down effortlessly. Deciding that he should be made an example instead of killing him on spot, the severely wounded and weakened widow was bound and sent off to Helgen. 3. “Half”-Elf Ethaniel’s family tree is a colorful bouquet of people; his maternal great-grandmother is a Nord and his paternal grandfather is a Breton (Hence the name “LaChance”), but he is predominantly Imperial/Dunmer (Malkhai jokingly calls him a 'Dunperial’) While there is a fairly even inheritance of both his mother and father’s aesthetic traits, the hood he wears most of the time (which was his father’s) covers his ears and casts a dark shadow over his eyes, so at a first and quick glance he’s seen as an ordinary Imperial or Breton. It works well for him in places like Windhelm, where the Nords are wary at best of merfolk, but works against him in places like Gray Quarter where the dunmer are just as quick to treat him like an outsider. But there are more pros than cons– he can use both the “Voice of the Emperor” and “Wrath of the Ancestors”; he also has a strong resistance to fire, which he owes a lot of thanks to for surviving almost 200 years of encounters with sworn enemies like the Justicar (whom apparently like to burn everything) and the Dragon Crisis that followed. 4. The Companions Through his work with the Companions he was able to recover the health and strength that was severely damaged by the Thalmor mage. He embraced Lycanthropy as a gift, believing it to be a valuable power against the Thalmor, dragons, and other major enemies. But something happened that the Companions did not expect, because they did not know he was the Dovahkiin (Not even Ethaniel knew he was at the time); raging inside this elf was the wild soul of a dragon, and to combine it with the spirit of a wolf made him ever more aggressive. He ventured out into the wilderness on his own for many weeks between Companion tasks to find ways to regain control of his humanity, only to lose more of it to his hunger for human flesh. It was with Aela’s help that he learned how to manage himself, but by that time he had already sought out satisfaction through the Dark Brotherhood. Knowing that he could not remain a true Harbinger as a Listener, he gave that position to Aela, whom he had taken as his wife shortly after the Emperor’s assassination. 5. Religious Belief / Alignment Ethaniel is an Omnist; he acknowledges and respects all deities, believing that each one plays an important role in a well-balanced universe, even Sithis despite being told that he is 'chaos’ and 'discord’. Embracing chaos as something essential to balance he is therefore himself somewhat chaotic in nature, but one can always count on him to be truthful, honorable, and respectful (even as an antagonist in most cases.) Though his parents devoted themselves completely to the ways and beliefs of the Dark Brotherhood, and he assisted survivors of the Thalmor invasion for over a hundred years, Ethaniel never officially joins them until 4E 201. Malkhai and Lucien, while wishing to be completely honest about the guild, refrained from dishonoring their vow by revealing what is meant to stay within the ruling body, so until then he knew no more about the DB than the average initiate. The spirit of his deceased father guided him, providing wisdom that came to him in his dreams. He compelled Ethaniel to enter the abandoned house in Windhelm (to speak to Aventus, of course), and make the fateful decision to kill the abusive old woman in Riften. But it is when he was called to follow the Way of the Voice (long after the end of the main questline) that his alignment shifted- in time he returned position to Malkhai with a heavy heart, for it meant that he had to forfeit the ability to summon the spirit of his father. But Lucien didn’t take it as hard as you might imagine- Fulfilling his destiny by 'restoring the Brotherhood to greatness’ had assured him eternal love and favor from the Dread Father and Night Mother, which can only be lost by betraying it. 6. Detail-oriented Like his father, Ethaniel is a very detail-oriented person. Everything must have a place, if a mess is made it must be cleaned up right away, upon receiving a task he will learn everything he can about the mission and the people involved before carrying it out (So in-game he will listen to the long and detailed dialogue and won’t disengage until the NPC has nothing more to say). 7. Personality Ethaniel is generally quiet and contemplative. Determined to be a good gentleman, he avoids being boastful, keeps crude jokes within the small circle of close friends/family members, avoids going into unnecessary details during awkward discussions or avoids them altogether if he can (i.e. past relationships, political stances, etc…) or honest opinions that might alienate or antagonize people unless someone drives it out of him (i.e. when he was asked for his thoughts on the civil war while the prominent figures of both sides were present and put him on the spot; he said flat out that he thinks they’re all morons and went on to give them a long-winded explanation for why). Throughout most of his life he’s avoided confrontation and violent reactions to minor offenses, but once he became a werewolf it became increasingly difficult- he began to secretly hope for someone to give him a reason to kill them (The racist nord in Windhelm that shouted insults and threats in Gray Quarter- he’s essential, but in my headcannon Eth kills him). 8. Voice Ethaniel has a deep and lulling voice, much like his father (Think Brian Bloom (normal); without the accent or poetic twist in his speech. Because of this he does very well as a bard whenever he works up the nerve (and has the time) to work as one for extra coin.  

[djgblogger-blog]

#MeToo in the art world: Genius should not excuse sexual harassment

http://bit.ly/2rixCNr

Mosaics by artist Chuck Close on the walls of the new 86th Street subway station on the Second Avenue line in New York. AP Photo/Seth Wenig, File

This May, the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., was to showcase the work of two famous artists: one of painter Chuck Close and another of photographer Thomas Roma. Both exhibitions, however were cancelled due to allegations of sexual harassment.

The public debate sparked by the cancellations has centered around the question, is it possible to separate the value of art from the personal conduct of the artist?

As a scholar of aesthetics and gender studies, I believe, in the wake of #MeToo this is a good time to revisit the argument of Russian poet Alexander Pushkin about the incompatibility of genius and evil.

Genius and evil

In his short play from 1830, “Mozart and Salieri,” Pushkin fictionalizes an encounter between the composer Antonio Salieri and his younger friend, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, in Vienna, Austria. Based on existing rumors at the time, Pushkin presents Salieri as envious of Mozart’s genius to the point of poisoning him at the meeting.

Pushkin’s claim in this play was that the human value of good defines genius, and hence committing a crime disqualifies one from being a genius. Based on this presentation of Salieri as evil, his reputation as a composer was tarnished.

After new research suggested that Mozart died from natural causes, most probably a strep infection, views on Salieri’s music also changed. With this new information, Pushkin’s argument was revisited, and Salieri’s reputation in the music community started to improve, demonstrated by recorded albums and staging of his operas.

This goes to show how art makers and their audiences become emotionally attached to artists and composers as individuals, and not just to their music or painting. Pushkin himself identified strongly with Mozart.

And the change in attitudes to Salieri also supports Pushkin’s original argument that how genius is understood is strongly correlated with human values, where good and genius reinforce each other.

The debate

In the current debate in the art world over this issue, several experts have said that the value of art should not be associated with the personal conduct of its maker. For example, Tom Eccles, executive director of the Center for Curatorial Studies at Bard College, suggested that “we can’t not show artists because we don’t agree with them morally; we’d have fairly bare walls.” An example would be be that of the famous painter Caravaggio, who was accused of murder and whose works continue to be on display.

However, James Rondeau, the president and director of the Art Institute of Chicago, disagreed that museums could present their decisions about the value of the artwork as totally separate from today’s ethics. Rondeau said:

“The typical ‘we don’t judge, we don’t endorse, we just put it up for people to experience and decide’ falls very flat in this political and cultural moment.”

The #MeToo ethical challenge

The #MeToo movement has redefined sexual harassment. AP Photo/Ted S. Warren

This public debate has gained significant traction in the art world because the #MeToo movement has redefined sexual harassment as evil. Started by Tarana Burke, an African-American civil rights activist in 2006 and spread by Alyssa Milano, an American actress and activist, as a Twitter campaign in 2017, the #MeToo movement has become a social media-driven collective voice. It has presented sexual harassment and sexual violence as harm serious enough to warrant recognition and social change.

Consequently, a number of artists have come out with their experience of sexual harassment. Five women came forward accusing Thomas Roma, a photographer and professor, of sexual misconduct. In the case of Chuck Close, artists Langdon Graves, Delia Brown and Julia Fox described in interviews and on social media platforms the anguish and self-doubt his actions had caused them as individuals and also as artists.

Delia Brown, for example, described how Chuck Close told her at a dinner that he was a fan of her work and asked her to pose for a portrait at his studio. She said she was “over the moon” and excited “because having your portrait done as an artist by Chuck Close is tantamount to being canonized.”

However, she was shocked when he asked her to model topless, not a practice that he pursued with other famous artists. Brown refused. Explaining her anguish, she felt he saw her only as a body rather than an important artist and felt manipulated. She said “a sense of distrust and disgust” has stayed with her. Other artists made similar allegations of having been invited to Close’s studio to pose for him and being shocked by his behavior.

Chuck Close chose to downplay the harm done to them as persons and artists by dismissing their words. He said the “last time I looked, discomfort was not a major offense.”

Genius redefined

The point this reinforces is that if sexual harassment is wrong then the value of artwork being exhibited in a public museum is questionable.

Scholar Roxane Gay, the best-selling author of the essay collection “Bad Feminist,” sums up why it is so evil, when she explains the cost to women. She says:

“I remember how many women’s careers were ruined; I think of those who gave up their dreams because some ‘genius’ decided indulging his thirst for power and control mattered more than her ambition and dignity. I remember all the silence, decades and decades of enforced silence, intimidation, and manipulation, that enabled bad men to flourish. When I do that, it’s quite easy for me to think nothing of the supposedly great art of bad men.”

This debate has also shown how the definitions of evil in Pushkin’s “genius and evil” argument are also subjective and depend on human values at a particular time. #MeToo has changed the public view on sexual harassment. Indeed, the public debate surrounding the decision by the National Gallery of Art to cancel two exhibitions has been as much about the value of human beings as it has been about the value of art.

Irina Aristarkhova does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.