#its also the only les mis thing i can get my mother to listen to cause i always play it when she asks me to put on some michel sardou

[cardinalvalentino]

one thing about me is in early june i am always singing à la volonté du peuple. the other day i was in the kitchen singing this and my flatmate walks and is like wow la révolution française à la cuisine c'est quoi ça? and i had to explain barricade day to my very offline spanish flatmate.

[rillabrooke]

there is SO much to unpack in this chapter.

before we get started on quotes, i just want to say that this chapter really encapsulates the "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" of the opening chapter. [more under the cut]

tracking:  pretty words, i’m crying, love, violence/hatred, duality, les mis parallels, foreshadowing

in the first half, lucie is living a fulfilled life. she is thriving. her family is successful and growing and closer than ever. over in paris, on the other hand, blood is being spilled on the streets. there is duality in paris itself because the people of the streets are rising up to earn their vengeance (the best of times) while everyone else is being crushed under their feet (the worst of times).

"Ever busily winding the golden thread which bound her husband, and her father, and herself, and her old directress and companion, in a life of quiet bliss, Lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of years." title drop. roll credits 😎 additionally, this really reminds me of anne blythe (née shirley) in one of the later anne of green gables books, listening to the echoes of time going by.

". . . golden hair, like her own, lay in a halo . . . 'Dear papa and mamma, I am very sorry to leave you both, and to leave my pretty sister; but I am called, and I must go!'" i only knew him for one paragraph but i love him with my whole heart ;-;

"And one other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which has been whispered by all true echoes for ages and ages." dickens sidling into the story like, "don't give up on sydney! there is more to come! he has a resurrection story, too! in death, he is also called to life and thus remains rooted in their lives, echoing for ages to come!"

"No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a mother, but her children had a strange sympathy with him— . . . 'Poor Carton! Kiss him for me!'" uncle sydney :')

"Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their way into anybody’s life, footsteps not easily made clean again if once stained red, the footsteps raging in Saint Antoine afar off, as the little circle sat in the dark London window." file this quote away for later. (this is where that best of times/worst of times situation comes in.)

"Every living creature there held life as of no account, and was demented with a passionate readiness to sacrifice it." the oppressed rise up the face the oppressors, and as so many lives were already sacrificed against their will, why not purify the cause with lives readily given?

"As a whirlpool of boiling waters has a centre point, . . . every human drop in the caldron" dickens uses a lot of water imagery throughout this chapter. in lucie's section, there is a looming storm, but in the defarges' section, the people are the destructive waters. every person is a droplet in the overwhelming maelstrom.

"Madame’s resolute right hand was occupied with an axe, in place of the usual softer implements, and in her girdle were a pistol and a cruel knife." who needs knitting needles to mark those for death when one can wrought death with one's own two hands?

"the living sea rose, wave on wave, depth on depth, and overflowed the city to that point. . . . the sea raging and thundering on its new beach" destructive water imagery.

"'We can kill as well as the men when the place is taken!' And to her, with a shrill thirsty cry, trooping women variously armed, but all armed alike in hunger and revenge." ooooh goosebumps.

"furious sounding of the living sea . . . raging storm . . . the sea rose immeasurably wider and higher . . . restless was the force of the ocean . . . as if he had been struggling in the surf at the South Sea . . . the sea that rushed in . . . billows rolled past" even more water imagery.

"One Hundred and Five, North Tower" would you just leave poor dr. manette alone!!

"'Or do you mean that I shall strike you dead?' 'Kill him!'" bloodlust, man.

"the noise of the living ocean, in its irruption . . . its inundation . . . leaped into the air like spray." more water imagery.

"in a crevice in the chimney into which his weapon had slipped or wrought itself, he groped with a cautious touch." that sneaky son of a... secretly found dr. manette's letter and played it off so nicely.

"in the raging flood once more . . . surging and tossing" water, etc.

"the governor who had defended the Bastille and shot the people." yikes. in all fairness to that guy, he was just doing his job. if the people didn't kill him, whoever was his boss would've.

"began to be struck at from behind; remained immovable close to him when the long-gathering rain of stabs and blows fell heavy; was so close to him when he dropped dead under it, that, suddenly animated, she put her foot upon his neck, and with her cruel knife—long ready—hewed off his head." ma'am????

"The hour was come, when Saint Antoine was to execute his horrible idea of hoisting up men for lamps to show what he could be and do." oh my gosh??! (upon rereading, i realize i may have blocked out some of the gruesome stuff.)

"Saint Antoine’s blood was up, and the blood of tyranny and domination by the iron hand was down" great line + hatred of tyranny + violence

"the sea rushed on. The sea of black and threatening waters, and of destructive upheaving of wave against wave, whose depths were yet unfathomed and whose forces were yet unknown. The remorseless sea of turbulently swaying shapes . . ." more water (who would've guessed)

"ocean of faces . . . never did sea roll which bore more memorable wrecks with it." the shipwreck metaphor is a nice touch.

"Other seven faces there were, carried higher, seven dead faces, . . . bear witness with the bloodless lips, 'Thou Didst It!' . . . seven gory heads on pikes" ah see this is the part i remember. good heavens.

"Seven prisoners released, seven gory heads on pikes" it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, né?

"they are not easily purified when once stained red." callback to the opening paragraph of this section, except now it's put into much clearer context.

Book the Second—The Golden Thread

[X] Chapter XXI. Echoing Footsteps

Awonderful corner for echoes, it has been remarked, that corner where the Doctor lived. Ever busily winding the golden thread which bound her husband, and her father, and herself, and her old directress and companion, in a life of quiet bliss, Lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of years.

At first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young wife, when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would be dimmed. For, there was something coming in the echoes, something light, afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart too much. Fluttering hopes and doubts—hopes, of a love as yet unknown to her: doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delight—divided her breast. Among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, swelled to her eyes, and broke like waves.

That time passed, and her little Lucie lay on her bosom. Then, among the advancing echoes, there was the tread of her tiny feet and the sound of her prattling words. Let greater echoes resound as they would, the young mother at the cradle side could always hear those coming. They came, and the shady house was sunny with a child’s laugh, and the Divine friend of children, to whom in her trouble she had confided hers, seemed to take her child in his arms, as He took the child of old, and made it a sacred joy to her.

Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them all together, weaving the service of her happy influence through the tissue of all their lives, and making it predominate nowhere, Lucie heard in the echoes of years none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her husband’s step was strong and prosperous among them; her father’s firm and equal. Lo, Miss Pross, in harness of string, awakening the echoes, as an unruly charger, whip-corrected, snorting and pawing the earth under the plane-tree in the garden!

Even when there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they were not harsh nor cruel. Even when golden hair, like her own, lay in a halo on a pillow round the worn face of a little boy, and he said, with a radiant smile, “Dear papa and mamma, I am very sorry to leave you both, and to leave my pretty sister; but I am called, and I must go!” those were not tears all of agony that wetted his young mother’s cheek, as the spirit departed from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. Suffer them and forbid them not. They see my Father’s face. O Father, blessed words!

Thus, the rustling of an Angel’s wings got blended with the other echoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath of Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over a little garden-tomb were mingled with them also, and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushed murmur—like the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore—as the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, or dressing a doll at her mother’s footstool, chattered in the tongues of the Two Cities that were blended in her life.

The Echoes rarely answered to the actual tread of Sydney Carton. Some half-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege of coming in uninvited, and would sit among them through the evening, as he had once done often. He never came there heated with wine. And one other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which has been whispered by all true echoes for ages and ages.

No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a mother, but her children had a strange sympathy with him—an instinctive delicacy of pity for him. What fine hidden sensibilities are touched in such a case, no echoes tell; but it is so, and it was so here. Carton was the first stranger to whom little Lucie held out her chubby arms, and he kept his place with her as she grew. The little boy had spoken of him, almost at the last. “Poor Carton! Kiss him for me!”

Mr. Stryver shouldered his way through the law, like some great engine forcing itself through turbid water, and dragged his useful friend in his wake, like a boat towed astern. As the boat so favoured is usually in a rough plight, and mostly under water, so, Sydney had a swamped life of it. But, easy and strong custom, unhappily so much easier and stronger in him than any stimulating sense of desert or disgrace, made it the life he was to lead; and he no more thought of emerging from his state of lion’s jackal, than any real jackal may be supposed to think of rising to be a lion. Stryver was rich; had married a florid widow with property and three boys, who had nothing particularly shining about them but the straight hair of their dumpling heads.

These three young gentlemen, Mr. Stryver, exuding patronage of the most offensive quality from every pore, had walked before him like three sheep to the quiet corner in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie’s husband: delicately saying “Halloa! here are three lumps of bread-and-cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay!” The polite rejection of the three lumps of bread-and-cheese had quite bloated Mr. Stryver with indignation, which he afterwards turned to account in the training of the young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the pride of Beggars, like that tutor-fellow. He was also in the habit of declaiming to Mrs. Stryver, over his full-bodied wine, on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put in practice to “catch” him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in himself, madam, which had rendered him “not to be caught.” Some of his King’s Bench familiars, who were occasionally parties to the full-bodied wine and the lie, excused him for the latter by saying that he had told it so often, that he believed it himself—which is surely such an incorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to justify any such offender’s being carried off to some suitably retired spot, and there hanged out of the way.

These were among the echoes to which Lucie, sometimes pensive, sometimes amused and laughing, listened in the echoing corner, until her little daughter was six years old. How near to her heart the echoes of her child’s tread came, and those of her own dear father’s, always active and self-possessed, and those of her dear husband’s, need not be told. Nor, how the lightest echo of their united home, directed by herself with such a wise and elegant thrift that it was more abundant than any waste, was music to her. Nor, how there were echoes all about her, sweet in her ears, of the many times her father had told her that he found her more devoted to him married (if that could be) than single, and of the many times her husband had said to her that no cares and duties seemed to divide her love for him or her help to him, and asked her “What is the magic secret, my darling, of your being everything to all of us, as if there were only one of us, yet never seeming to be hurried, or to have too much to do?”

But, there were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled menacingly in the corner all through this space of time. And it was now, about little Lucie’s sixth birthday, that they began to have an awful sound, as of a great storm in France with a dreadful sea rising.

On a night in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, Mr. Lorry came in late, from Tellson’s, and sat himself down by Lucie and her husband in the dark window. It was a hot, wild night, and they were all three reminded of the old Sunday night when they had looked at the lightning from the same place.

“I began to think,” said Mr. Lorry, pushing his brown wig back, “that I should have to pass the night at Tellson’s. We have been so full of business all day, that we have not known what to do first, or which way to turn. There is such an uneasiness in Paris, that we have actually a run of confidence upon us! Our customers over there, seem not to be able to confide their property to us fast enough. There is positively a mania among some of them for sending it to England.”

“That has a bad look,” said Darnay—

“A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we don’t know what reason there is in it. People are so unreasonable! Some of us at Tellson’s are getting old, and we really can’t be troubled out of the ordinary course without due occasion.”

“Still,” said Darnay, “you know how gloomy and threatening the sky is.”

“I know that, to be sure,” assented Mr. Lorry, trying to persuade himself that his sweet temper was soured, and that he grumbled, “but I am determined to be peevish after my long day’s botheration. Where is Manette?”

“Here he is,” said the Doctor, entering the dark room at the moment.

“I am quite glad you are at home; for these hurries and forebodings by which I have been surrounded all day long, have made me nervous without reason. You are not going out, I hope?”

“No; I am going to play backgammon with you, if you like,” said the Doctor.

“I don’t think I do like, if I may speak my mind. I am not fit to be pitted against you to-night. Is the teaboard still there, Lucie? I can’t see.”

“Of course, it has been kept for you.”

“Thank ye, my dear. The precious child is safe in bed?”

“And sleeping soundly.”

“That’s right; all safe and well! I don’t know why anything should be otherwise than safe and well here, thank God; but I have been so put out all day, and I am not as young as I was! My tea, my dear! Thank ye. Now, come and take your place in the circle, and let us sit quiet, and hear the echoes about which you have your theory.”

“Not a theory; it was a fancy.”

“A fancy, then, my wise pet,” said Mr. Lorry, patting her hand. “They are very numerous and very loud, though, are they not? Only hear them!”

Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their way into anybody’s life, footsteps not easily made clean again if once stained red, the footsteps raging in Saint Antoine afar off, as the little circle sat in the dark London window.

Saint Antoine had been, that morning, a vast dusky mass of scarecrows heaving to and fro, with frequent gleams of light above the billowy heads, where steel blades and bayonets shone in the sun. A tremendous roar arose from the throat of Saint Antoine, and a forest of naked arms struggled in the air like shrivelled branches of trees in a winter wind: all the fingers convulsively clutching at every weapon or semblance of a weapon that was thrown up from the depths below, no matter how far off.

Who gave them out, whence they last came, where they began, through what agency they crookedly quivered and jerked, scores at a time, over the heads of the crowd, like a kind of lightning, no eye in the throng could have told; but, muskets were being distributed—so were cartridges, powder, and ball, bars of iron and wood, knives, axes, pikes, every weapon that distracted ingenuity could discover or devise. People who could lay hold of nothing else, set themselves with bleeding hands to force stones and bricks out of their places in walls. Every pulse and heart in Saint Antoine was on high-fever strain and at high-fever heat. Every living creature there held life as of no account, and was demented with a passionate readiness to sacrifice it.

As a whirlpool of boiling waters has a centre point, so, all this raging circled round Defarge’s wine-shop, and every human drop in the caldron had a tendency to be sucked towards the vortex where Defarge himself, already begrimed with gunpowder and sweat, issued orders, issued arms, thrust this man back, dragged this man forward, disarmed one to arm another, laboured and strove in the thickest of the uproar.

“Keep near to me, Jacques Three,” cried Defarge; “and do you, Jacques One and Two, separate and put yourselves at the head of as many of these patriots as you can. Where is my wife?”

“Eh, well! Here you see me!” said madame, composed as ever, but not knitting to-day. Madame’s resolute right hand was occupied with an axe, in place of the usual softer implements, and in her girdle were a pistol and a cruel knife.

“Where do you go, my wife?”

“I go,” said madame, “with you at present. You shall see me at the head of women, by-and-bye.”

“Come, then!” cried Defarge, in a resounding voice. “Patriots and friends, we are ready! The Bastille!”

With a roar that sounded as if all the breath in France had been shaped into the detested word, the living sea rose, wave on wave, depth on depth, and overflowed the city to that point. Alarm-bells ringing, drums beating, the sea raging and thundering on its new beach, the attack began.

Deep ditches, double drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. Through the fire and through the smoke—in the fire and in the smoke, for the sea cast him up against a cannon, and on the instant he became a cannonier—Defarge of the wine-shop worked like a manful soldier, Two fierce hours.

Deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. One drawbridge down! “Work, comrades all, work! Work, Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques One Thousand, Jacques Two Thousand, Jacques Five-and-Twenty Thousand; in the name of all the Angels or the Devils—which you prefer—work!” Thus Defarge of the wine-shop, still at his gun, which had long grown hot.

“To me, women!” cried madame his wife. “What! We can kill as well as the men when the place is taken!” And to her, with a shrill thirsty cry, trooping women variously armed, but all armed alike in hunger and revenge.

Cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but, still the deep ditch, the single drawbridge, the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers. Slight displacements of the raging sea, made by the falling wounded. Flashing weapons, blazing torches, smoking waggonloads of wet straw, hard work at neighbouring barricades in all directions, shrieks, volleys, execrations, bravery without stint, boom smash and rattle, and the furious sounding of the living sea; but, still the deep ditch, and the single drawbridge, and the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers, and still Defarge of the wine-shop at his gun, grown doubly hot by the service of Four fierce hours.

A white flag from within the fortress, and a parley—this dimly perceptible through the raging storm, nothing audible in it—suddenly the sea rose immeasurably wider and higher, and swept Defarge of the wine-shop over the lowered drawbridge, past the massive stone outer walls, in among the eight great towers surrendered!

So resistless was the force of the ocean bearing him on, that even to draw his breath or turn his head was as impracticable as if he had been struggling in the surf at the South Sea, until he was landed in the outer courtyard of the Bastille. There, against an angle of a wall, he made a struggle to look about him. Jacques Three was nearly at his side; Madame Defarge, still heading some of her women, was visible in the inner distance, and her knife was in her hand. Everywhere was tumult, exultation, deafening and maniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yet furious dumb-show.

“The Prisoners!”

“The Records!”

“The secret cells!”

“The instruments of torture!”

“The Prisoners!”

Of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherences, “The Prisoners!” was the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as if there were an eternity of people, as well as of time and space. When the foremost billows rolled past, bearing the prison officers with them, and threatening them all with instant death if any secret nook remained undisclosed, Defarge laid his strong hand on the breast of one of these men—a man with a grey head, who had a lighted torch in his hand—separated him from the rest, and got him between himself and the wall.

“Show me the North Tower!” said Defarge. “Quick!”

“I will faithfully,” replied the man, “if you will come with me. But there is no one there.”

“What is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North Tower?” asked Defarge. “Quick!”

“The meaning, monsieur?”

“Does it mean a captive, or a place of captivity? Or do you mean that I shall strike you dead?”

“Kill him!” croaked Jacques Three, who had come close up.

“Monsieur, it is a cell.”

“Show it me!”

“Pass this way, then.”

Jacques Three, with his usual craving on him, and evidently disappointed by the dialogue taking a turn that did not seem to promise bloodshed, held by Defarge’s arm as he held by the turnkey’s. Their three heads had been close together during this brief discourse, and it had been as much as they could do to hear one another, even then: so tremendous was the noise of the living ocean, in its irruption into the Fortress, and its inundation of the courts and passages and staircases. All around outside, too, it beat the walls with a deep, hoarse roar, from which, occasionally, some partial shouts of tumult broke and leaped into the air like spray.

Through gloomy vaults where the light of day had never shone, past hideous doors of dark dens and cages, down cavernous flights of steps, and again up steep rugged ascents of stone and brick, more like dry waterfalls than staircases, Defarge, the turnkey, and Jacques Three, linked hand and arm, went with all the speed they could make. Here and there, especially at first, the inundation started on them and swept by; but when they had done descending, and were winding and climbing up a tower, they were alone. Hemmed in here by the massive thickness of walls and arches, the storm within the fortress and without was only audible to them in a dull, subdued way, as if the noise out of which they had come had almost destroyed their sense of hearing.

The turnkey stopped at a low door, put a key in a clashing lock, swung the door slowly open, and said, as they all bent their heads and passed in:

“One hundred and five, North Tower!”

There was a small, heavily-grated, unglazed window high in the wall, with a stone screen before it, so that the sky could be only seen by stooping low and looking up. There was a small chimney, heavily barred across, a few feet within. There was a heap of old feathery wood-ashes on the hearth. There was a stool, and table, and a straw bed. There were the four blackened walls, and a rusted iron ring in one of them.

“Pass that torch slowly along these walls, that I may see them,” said Defarge to the turnkey.

The man obeyed, and Defarge followed the light closely with his eyes.

“Stop!—Look here, Jacques!”

“A. M.!” croaked Jacques Three, as he read greedily.

“Alexandre Manette,” said Defarge in his ear, following the letters with his swart forefinger, deeply engrained with gunpowder. “And here he wrote ‘a poor physician.’ And it was he, without doubt, who scratched a calendar on this stone. What is that in your hand? A crowbar? Give it me!”

He had still the linstock of his gun in his own hand. He made a sudden exchange of the two instruments, and turning on the worm-eaten stool and table, beat them to pieces in a few blows.

“Hold the light higher!” he said, wrathfully, to the turnkey. “Look among those fragments with care, Jacques. And see! Here is my knife,” throwing it to him; “rip open that bed, and search the straw. Hold the light higher, you!”

With a menacing look at the turnkey he crawled upon the hearth, and, peering up the chimney, struck and prised at its sides with the crowbar, and worked at the iron grating across it. In a few minutes, some mortar and dust came dropping down, which he averted his face to avoid; and in it, and in the old wood-ashes, and in a crevice in the chimney into which his weapon had slipped or wrought itself, he groped with a cautious touch.

“Nothing in the wood, and nothing in the straw, Jacques?”

“Nothing.”

“Let us collect them together, in the middle of the cell. So! Light them, you!”

The turnkey fired the little pile, which blazed high and hot. Stooping again to come out at the low-arched door, they left it burning, and retraced their way to the courtyard; seeming to recover their sense of hearing as they came down, until they were in the raging flood once more.

They found it surging and tossing, in quest of Defarge himself. Saint Antoine was clamorous to have its wine-shop keeper foremost in the guard upon the governor who had defended the Bastille and shot the people. Otherwise, the governor would not be marched to the Hotel de Ville for judgment. Otherwise, the governor would escape, and the people’s blood (suddenly of some value, after many years of worthlessness) be unavenged.

In the howling universe of passion and contention that seemed to encompass this grim old officer conspicuous in his grey coat and red decoration, there was but one quite steady figure, and that was a woman’s. “See, there is my husband!” she cried, pointing him out. “See Defarge!” She stood immovable close to the grim old officer, and remained immovable close to him; remained immovable close to him through the streets, as Defarge and the rest bore him along; remained immovable close to him when he was got near his destination, and began to be struck at from behind; remained immovable close to him when the long-gathering rain of stabs and blows fell heavy; was so close to him when he dropped dead under it, that, suddenly animated, she put her foot upon his neck, and with her cruel knife—long ready—hewed off his head.

The hour was come, when Saint Antoine was to execute his horrible idea of hoisting up men for lamps to show what he could be and do. Saint Antoine’s blood was up, and the blood of tyranny and domination by the iron hand was down—down on the steps of the Hotel de Ville where the governor’s body lay—down on the sole of the shoe of Madame Defarge where she had trodden on the body to steady it for mutilation. “Lower the lamp yonder!” cried Saint Antoine, after glaring round for a new means of death; “here is one of his soldiers to be left on guard!” The swinging sentinel was posted, and the sea rushed on.

The sea of black and threatening waters, and of destructive upheaving of wave against wave, whose depths were yet unfathomed and whose forces were yet unknown. The remorseless sea of turbulently swaying shapes, voices of vengeance, and faces hardened in the furnaces of suffering until the touch of pity could make no mark on them.

But, in the ocean of faces where every fierce and furious expression was in vivid life, there were two groups of faces—each seven in number—so fixedly contrasting with the rest, that never did sea roll which bore more memorable wrecks with it. Seven faces of prisoners, suddenly released by the storm that had burst their tomb, were carried high overhead: all scared, all lost, all wondering and amazed, as if the Last Day were come, and those who rejoiced around them were lost spirits. Other seven faces there were, carried higher, seven dead faces, whose drooping eyelids and half-seen eyes awaited the Last Day. Impassive faces, yet with a suspended—not an abolished—expression on them; faces, rather, in a fearful pause, as having yet to raise the dropped lids of the eyes, and bear witness with the bloodless lips, “Thou Didst It!”

Seven prisoners released, seven gory heads on pikes, the keys of the accursed fortress of the eight strong towers, some discovered letters and other memorials of prisoners of old time, long dead of broken hearts,—such, and such—like, the loudly echoing footsteps of Saint Antoine escort through the Paris streets in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine. Now, Heaven defeat the fancy of Lucie Darnay, and keep these feet far out of her life! For, they are headlong, mad, and dangerous; and in the years so long after the breaking of the cask at Defarge’s wine-shop door, they are not easily purified when once stained red.

[gellavonhamster]

Tagged by @robertcapajpg (thank you! <3)

1. what do you prefer to be called name-wise?

Natasha or Natalia. Or Gella, it’s basically my second name by now  

2. when is your birthday?

November 7th

3. where do you live?

Latvia

4. three things you are doing right now?

filling in this ask meme, llistening to music, thinking gloomily about how tomorrow is another working day again (and I worked a little today and yesterday too, so it didn’t feel like a full-scale weekend)

5. four fandoms that have piqued your interest?

First of all, definitely ASOUE/ATWQ/Snicketverse in general - I think it’s the best fandom I’ve been part of in years, maybe ever, with so much fascinating material to analyze and so many theories to explore and extremely talented people (mwah!). Dark is also great for similar reasons - fertile ground for all kinds of theories and interpretations and filling in various gaps, and a lot of amazing fan content as well. As it is easy to see from this blog, I am currently very much into Dracula - it’s strange that it hasn’t happened earlier, honestly, because old novels and found family trope are things that I’ve always adored. For the fourth one... let it be The Folk of the Air, I loved this series much more than I expected to, and I check its fandom tags and read fics often, though my own involvement is mostly limited to making niche content that no one else cares about, lol

6. how has the pandemic been treating you?

Not too bad (fingers crossed!). I am working from home, just like I did during the first wave, and, although I hate it, I recognize that it is a privilege. 

7. a song you can't stop listening to right now?

She’s Kerosene by The Interrupters

8. recommend a movie

St. Trinian’s (2007) is one of my all-time faves - it’s hilarious, irreverent, action-packed (Ocean’s 8 WISHES it was St. Trinian’s), with a stellar cast (I’m talking Gemma Arterton, Colin Firth, Lena Headey, Lucy Punch, Stephen Fry, Rupert Everett, the list can go on and on, everyone and their mother was in this movie), and I honestly don’t understand why it didn’t end up becoming one of the cult classics about teenage girls like Mean Girls or Jennifer’s Body. Part 2, The Legend of Fritton’s Gold (2009), is not as good, in my opinion, but also a lot of fun. 

9. how old are you?

27

10. school, university, occupation, other?

I’m a translator of technical documentation in a construction company

11. do you prefer heat or cold?

neither is good when it’s too much of it, but probably cold

12. name one fact others may not know about you

I was born with a black eye :D My mother thought it was a huge birthmark and was worried, but it disappeared later.

13. are you shy?

mostly yes :/

14. preferred pronouns

she/her

15. biggest pet peeves

People putting their bags on separate seats on public transport when it’s crowded and other people have nowhere to sit. Also when the wire of the earphones gets caught on something and they fall out, it’s the easiest way to make me swear out loud

16. what is your favorite "-dere" type?

??? I have no idea what this means tbh

17. rate your life from 1 to 10, 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be

About 7? It’s quite nice and comfortable, but there’s room for improvement both in terms of what depends and does not depend on me. And I don’t see how anyone’s life could be 10 in the middle of the pandemic and Everything Else Going On, honestly

18. what's your main blog?

this one

19. list your side blogs and what they're used for

@javert-jajaune-jarouge - Les Mis sideblog, @grecocerullo - L’amica geniale/My Brilliant Friend sideblog. Also I’m one of the contributors (moderators? I can’t change blog layout or block users (unfortunately) or anything, I can only reblog posts) of a Snicketverse aesthetic blog @veryfinedisguises

20. is there something people need to know about you before becoming friends?

Probably that I am always (well, maybe 99% of time) willing to hang out but my default reaction to people being friendly is “they are actually just being polite and don’t find me interesting at all” so I am constantly afraid of being too clingy, and that’s why I might often be reluctant to contact and invite them to hang out first (especially if there have been such attempts before but plans got cancelled for some reason). It’s a stupid problem to have in one’s late 20s, I guess, but it is what it is. 

Tagging (if you want to answer, of course!) @claudiatiedemann, @hensons, @olivia-calidamn and @thebeautifulsoup

[mikauzoran]

Ask Game: Mikau’s Headcanons - This Should Be a Drinking Game

Anonymous asked:

5&6

Thank you for the ask! ^.^

(The questions are from this list. So far I’ve done five, six, eleven, and fifteen.)

5. What’s your favorite headcanon you use in fics?

Oh my gosh. There are so many headcanons. XD I was actually just thinking last night that I needed to compile a list and turn it into a drinking game or something. 

Take a sip of tea every time:

1. Félix is Adrien’s older brother (eight years older). He left home at sixteen, married Marinette’s cousin Bridgette, and now lives in Marseille where he’s a homicide detective. Bri runs her own bakery. They have a daughter named Noëlle and a son on the way. Fé used to play the violin competitively growing up, and Adrien learned to play Danse Macabre and the first movement of Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata from him.

2. Émilie was a stage actress, and Adrien used to do the child roles in whatever production she was in, so he grew up backstage and going to the theatre to see his mum a lot. Her signature role was Viola in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. When Gabriel and Émilie met going to high school in Marseille, she was performing Viola and dragged him into being on the costume crew for the school play once she discovered he was an aspiring fashion designer.

3. Adrien decides to pursue a career in acting. He misses performing from when he did it with his mum when he was a kid, and it makes him feel connected to her. He likes getting to portray all kinds of different people and experiencing what it’s like to be someone else. It’s a safe space for him to experience emotions since expressing emotions was frowned upon in his home growing up. The roles he really wants to play are Jean Valjean from Les Mis, the Phantom from Phantom of the Opera, Elphaba from Wicked, and Viola from Twelfth Night.

4. Adrien is originally left-handed but has learned to be ambidextrous. This is my hill to die on, and you can fight me over it. ^w^ It’s probably just production error/the creators not really caring, but I’ve noticed several times in canon where Adrien has been shown doing things left-handed. (I mean, he uses his right hand for things too, but...) In Origins, when he’s walking to class and signing autographs left and right, he does so with his left hand. In Marchand de Sable/Sandman when he’s doing homework in his room, his writing supplies are on his left side. (I just want some left-handed representation. Is that too much to ask? ;-;)

5. Adrien is biromantic asexual. Even when I pair him with Marinette, he’s never not bi. I don’t always write him as ace; sometimes he’s bisexual in my works, but I could see canon Adrien as ace.

6. Adrien’s comfort foods are mint tea and salad. When he was little, when he or  Émilie had a bad day, she would kick the kitchen staff out of the kitchen, and they would make a big salad and some mint tea and enjoy it together. Now that she’s gone, he has mint tea and/or salad when he’s feeling down, and it’s comforting because it reminds him of his mother.

7. Adrien is a total anime nerd. He grew up relatively isolated from the outside world, so he learned about life and “normal”/“acceptable” human behaviour from Disney movies and anime. He’s always wanted to be a Disney princess and a magical girl. He was really inspired by Disney and anime protagonists who overcame the difficulties in their lives to achieve their dreams and find happiness and love. He has a lot of strong, female role models, starting with his mum, so he tends to identify with female characters more strongly than male characters.

8. Adrien is a polyglot. Obviously, he knows French, and he’s learned English because it’s required. Chinese lessons are canonical. He taught himself Japanese so that he could read manga and watch anime in the original (and pass it off as “studying”). He also speaks Russian (see “9″ below). He doesn’t speak Italian, but he has a passing familiarity with the language. He knows some phrases from opera from watching it himself and his mum’s career. He has some of his favourite portions memorized. He can insult someone’s sartorial choices in Italian from listening to his father do so on trips to Milan for business, and he knows survival phrases, but he can’t actually construct sentences or have conversations. He just hasn’t invested himself in it.

9. Adrien’s bodyguard’s name is Victor (really Viktor, but he uses the French spelling to fit in). He’s originally from Russia and still has family there. The reason why he doesn’t speak is because, even though he understands French just fine, he’s self-conscious about speaking it because of his accent. He’s also afraid to make mistakes, especially in front of Gabriel who is not a patient or tolerant man. Victor taught Adrien Russian, so now they can speak together, and no one knows what they’re saying. (Nathalie has picked up a little bit here and there, but not enough to have conversations.) Victor calls Adrien Adrianka. (It’s the Russian diminutive.)

10. Nathalie speaks a little bit of Mandarin Chinese. Her tones are so-so, but she can get her point across. She learned from listening in on Adrien’s lessons so that she could make sure he stayed on top of his curriculum. When Adrien has to miss Chinese lessons on short notice, Adrien’s teacher works with Nathalie instead.

11. Luka loves all music, not just rock or punk like we’ve seen on the show. I mean, the guy is portrayed as music being his whole life, right? He came to music through rock and roll because that’s what he was exposed to through his mother and her music career, but if you dig into the music and look at its history, where it came from, what inspired it, you start wandering back through time until you get to the big names of classical concert music. Luka is an inquisitive, thoughtful guy. I can see him digging into the roots of the music he grew up with and finding all sorts of cool influences. I can see him learning about and experimenting with different types/genres of music.

12. In university, Luka studies Literature with an emphasis on nineteenth and twentieth century Russia. Why? Below is excerpted from my response to a comment asking about this point.

Especially in the nineteenth century during the height of Romanticism, a lot of literary elements and themes made their way into classical music. Program music uses literary texts as a base and illustrates the story with music. Composers drew from the Russian literary tradition as well, particularly in opera. Tchaikovsky's The Queen of Spades is based on Pushkin's short story, and I just found out a month ago that Shostakovich turned Gogol's short story The Nose into an opera. In the arts, one thing always leads to another. It's like looking up something on Wikipedia. Two hours later you've become an expert on botany or Balkan folk dance. I think Luka would dig into the sources of inspiration for the music he was consuming in order to better understand the works and as a means of getting inspiration himself.

So that's why Russian Literature. I think he'd eventually find his way to it through music. Then, once you find Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky, you really get sucked in. For me, those two have such a way of depicting real human beings and what it means to be human. They really get at deeper human truths. Anna Karenina, Crime and Punishment, and The Idiot really capture that essence for me. (War and Peace too to some extent, but not as much as the other three.) I think Luka would really be drawn to Russian literature too and come to love it for itself apart from the musical inspiration he was able to derive from it.

13. In his teens, Luka takes more of an interesting in the piano and falls in love with the violin. He adds piano and violin performance majors halfway through university and ends up becoming a professional solo pianist as well as a first violin with the Orchestre de Paris.

14. Luka wears reading glasses. I don’t think I’ve used this one much. Actually, I can’t find where I’ve used this at all. :/ Well. I suppose there will be no tea drinking at this time for this headcanon. ^.^;

15. Luka has tattoos. I don’t think I’ve gotten around to this one yet either. Adrien and Luka talk about possible tattoo ideas in Chapter Four of Nachtmusik, but... At any rate, the full extent of the tattoos would be a stylized snake on his pelvis, Odin’s raven’s on his shoulder blades, a stylized snake bracelet under his regular bracelets, and a Chat Noir paw print under his ring. So far the paw print is the only one that I’m one hundred percent positive that will happen. The stylized snake on the pelvis is pretty up there too because in the Jabberwocky/Daisy universe I was going to have Adrien and Marinette squabbling over Luka, and Adrien was going to say that he bet Marinette hadn’t seen Luka’s snake tattoo. When Marinette asks Luka where he has a snake tattoo and learns how low on Luka’s stomach it is, she’s left wondering what’s going on between Adrien and Luka. I’m undecided about the ravens and the snake bracelet.

16. The children are always named Hugo, Louis, and Emma, but the birth order depends upon the pairing. Lukadrienette have Hugo (biologically Luka’s), Emma (Adrien’s), and then Louis (Adrien’s). Lukadrien have Emma (Luka and Rose’s), Louis (Adrien and Rose’s), and then Hugo (Adrien and Juleka’s). Adrienette have Louis, Hugo, and then Emma.

Which is your favourite of my headcanons? Which one would you like to see more of? Did I miss any? ^.^;

[thelawsofdaylight]

enjoltr replied to your post “the hardest part of being in the les mis fandom is the fact that...”

honest to god im a bit in love with this concept.. could u please elaborate a bit on why hes a hufflepuff to you im genuinely interested

Oh my god thank you so much for asking I’ve been waiting my entire life for this moment. I’m so sorry this turned into an absolute monster of a post but here you have it: Collected Arguments for Why Enjolras is Definitely a Hufflepuff.

First of all, if we run with the idea that your house is more of a reflection of your ideals and aspirations than anything else there’s no question. Justice, fairness, equality... isn’t that everything that sums up who Enjolras is/what he fights for? He’s the marble lover of liberty, he’s single-mindedly devoted to justice and equality in all its forms it just doesn’t make sense for him NOT to be in Hufflepuff.

Also like, going beyond what the houses represent if you go back to the founders and rationale of the system, Helga Hufflepuff was the only founder who questioned the idea of dividing people based on what they all thought were ‘superior’ qualities... there’s a reason Hufflepuff is often made fun of for being ‘the house for everyone else’ and that’s because it’s partly true. She took a look at her colleagues and said what the fuck is this shit I’ll take anyone who wants to learn and they can all have a home in Hufflepuff (this is why Feuilly is also 100% a Hufflepuff and no I will not be considering other options) which is also SUCH an Enjolras thing like... the family of it all! It’s the same kind of concept that underlies key Enjolrasian moments like calling everyone citizen and using mostly ‘tu’, the ‘my mother is the republic’ moment, praising Feuilly for being ‘man of all peoples’, and the ‘Love, the future is thine’ part like... all the evidence is right here!

Even if we’re considering Hufflepuff just in terms of personality... it’s still an amazing fit. 

Hardworking? I think you’ll be hard-pressed to argue he isn’t hardworking, this guy commits 100% to The Cause. Loyal? He’s loyal to his country, to his ideals, to republicanism... again ‘my mother is the republic’, answering ‘Patria’ when Bossuet teases him about not having a mistress, the loyalty he possesses for his friends (willing to hand over Javert at the barricades in exchange for Jehan), the list goes on! Unafraid of toil? Oh my God okay so the whole Symbolic point of Enjolras as a character and at the barricades especially is to present him as the priest of the ideal who can do what needs to be done; in other words, he’s not afraid of toil and here I think it translates perfectly to both in a very real context (the barricades, fighting, death, prison, etc- he’s willing to risk it all) but also in a very Symbolic way like when he shoots Le Cabuc or when he has to kill the artillery soldier knowing damn well that he’s condemning himself, the ‘Death, I use thee but I hate thee’ speech- it’s Hugo’s whole way of exploring the concepts of change and progress and revolution and necessity. It practically defines him; he is willing to do what has to be done (and whilst this is arguably a Slytherin or Gryffindor trait also, I’d argue that the specific combination of why he does it, his ideals and motivations- not for himself or for glory but for something bigger, for progress, for the future, for justice and equality and all those other key ideals- switches it right back to Hufflepuff)

Also (and I get that fanon makes this one complicated but bear with me) he is patient! He listens more than he speaks, he waits for others to finish before talking, he considers everything so carefully- he lets Marius rant about Napoleon for two pages and is the only one to stay behind after everyone leaves following Combeferre’s devastating ‘to be free’ comment- even with Grantaire, he displays an awful lot of patience (trusting him with the Barriere du Maine incident, trying to reason with him to sleep somewhere else, his acceptance in OFPD, etc) like yes some interactions can read as harsh but that’s because he has to be firm to establish what is/isn’t acceptable.

Whilst I see the arguments for other houses (Gryffindor particularly) I don’t think any go as particularly deep into his character as Hufflepuff does. Like yes he’s brave and daring and courageous and all that but that’s not the whole story. I have no idea how to articulate this other than Les Mis will always be about the symbolism for me, and Enjolras especially is a symbolic character whose function within the narrative is largely to personify a specific set of ideals/principles- which just so happen to correlate somewhat to Hufflepuff values.

Anyway, this got way too deep and way too out-of-hand for a simple Hogwarts house analysis and I’m deeply sorry for the essay I just wrote. I just have a lot of Thoughts about Hufflepuff!Enjolras.

[kneelbeforeclefairy]

Me vs my father in the enjolras is javert's son Les Mis AU that is my life

So. Me. 28. THIS close to her master's degree. Liberal. Socialist. Mixed kid. New Yorker. Just got home from living on her own in Greece. Been living away from parents for seven years. Queer. ADHD . Rsd. Imposter syndrome. Bad at rejection. Torn between two parents who are STILL fighting for me.

Living with Father because who picked the year of the coronavirus to give up her life .62. Barely completed high school. Said Regan was the best president he lived through. Trump voter. New Yorican who doesn't understand the world doesn't see him as white. Conservative who moved south and got worse. Blue lives matter dude. Not Batman.

Will not STOP. Provoking me.

It started with him mentioning you can't get aunt Jemima syrup any more because....you know . Me saying yes you can. The brand firs of all hasn't rebranded itself yet. It currently is still aunt Jemima and the packaging hasn't changed, still widely available. It's just going to rename itself. Get told no it's not "you can't do that any more." interrupted. Get to squeak out the bit about its gonna be the same recipe just called something else. Auntie J maybe. I think that's a good syrup name. He laughs and says it's gonna be BLM syrup.

(and you know what I find that trivializing but if that's what they wanted to name it who cares.)

(more context. His grandfather was black. He told me about being told as a kid by his father that little brown boys just say yes sir to the police. He got The Talk)

And then it goes to Porgy and Bess. Porgy and Bess is on so we watch it. All of us enjoy it thoroughly. He says "isn't this racist? What's the difference between this and aunt Jemima?"

Me.....

I have to get this information put as fast as possible . He's not really listening. He doesn't care. He's not asking . He doesn't find them both genuinely racist. He just....seems to want to catch me out. I try to explain. Porgy and Bess DOES Have some problems. But it was written in 1935 and was one of those Fair For It's Day things. Launched the careers of a lot of black classical singers. Still does. Some charecters might be a little sterotypical (Sportin Life did not age well) but in the hands of a good production and a good actor depth can be found. Rewrites have been made.

But I don't get to SAY any of these things. I try. I, well spoken, bordering on eloquent, stumble through a few poorly thought out points about interpretation and employment and he didn't see the difference between a classical singers playing Bess at the met and being well payed singing beautiful music and even if the roll is somewhat sterotypical and a product of it's times, through a good actress can become a wonderful three dimensional role, or at least no less than any other opera heroine and a poor black woman playing a completely one dimensional mammy sterotypes to sell syrup to enrich white people while playing off their own created nostalgia for oppression of the black race cause I WASNT PREPARED FOR FUCKING WAR OVER PORGY AND BESS. He just asked the questions. I'm on the defense. I've never even SEEN it before. I'm not ready to defend it. I didn't know I was going to have to. Hell, I'm not sure if it IS racist or problematic yet, we're 15 minutes it. He seems to know why I'm watching it at all if I'm so sensitive that a syrup name must trigger me.

He's not concerned it IS racist. Just seems to want to catch me in inconsistancies. Why do you watch this but you want the syrup renamed

(I didn't bring up the syrup. We were talking about the difference between brands in the north and south. He just brought up the fucking syrup and said it wasn't there any more. By the way. It is. I saw it in the fucking Kroger. And I literally do not care about the name of syrup. it's largely symbolic sure but if they want to rename themselves because yeah totally cringe history that's their business. Fine. It literally does not affect me. The recipe is there I'm just gonna call it aunt j or whatever)

And then this morning when I showed him a picture of the Alexander the Great statue o took on Thessaloniki

(masters degree in macedonian history/archeology, me)

He says

He SAYS

"I'm surprised they haven't taken that down."

In this stupid sing song way.

(like obviously this statue thing is an American thing with some England thrown in. I don't know much about Greek politics but I'm PRETTY FUCKING SURE they weren't invovled in the American transatlantic slave trade or the age of exploration my dude)

But he says "it's imperialism isn't it?'

Me "well yes but..."

"he conquered the world didn't he? Did he or did he not conquer the world. You think he did that by being nice to people?"

"well you'd be surprised how much alliance building and diplomacy was used but yes but--"

"so how's it different? Did he conquer the world? Did he own slaves?"

"actually probably not as macedonia wasn't really a slave society and the Persians DEFINITELY didn't have slaves"

"well I just think it's the same"

(frustrated. Can't show emotion or he wins. Already cracked a few days ago when he was talking about a cop iniured by "the mob" and COULDN'T because how many of my people were injured by them? And had to tell him to stop. Told he wouldn't talk politics. Does the above count)

Me. Lightly. "You're unable to grasp nuance. And you're just trying to provoke me"

Something happens. Subject changed. Did I win? Did I lose? We're always battling.

Thing is.

Yes.

There is an INCREDIBLY subtle and nuanced discussion to be had about imperialism in general and its effects and how even ancient imperialism effects us to this day. And how we view warfare and conquest in general and the stories we tell. I would argue Alexander was great because of his kindness, the cultural exchange he sparked, his clever tactics , his mastery of grand strategy, his diplomacy, his ability to use image, and only last his undefeatedness in battle. But I wasnt the one who called him Great, to whoever that was it was about the war. There is A LOT about Alexander and his affect on Persia,which, while we shouldn't layer modern politics over it (especially race based one. Yes Alexander was Caucasian but WHITENESS didn't exist then and Persia was the sophisticated empire , Greece was tiny and insignificant. It's just that Greece wrote the story and got to paint them as barbaians but it has nothing to do with race and they REALLY REALLY WEREN'T and even the Greeks knew that) did destroy an empire and affects the region to this day. Persian perceptions of Alexander are obviously not as kind, and equally important.

So yes there is a discussion to be had about that. And why we venerate a man who did kill thousands and why, I would argue, he still is a very good person who, despite his faults, does deserve that statue.

But we weren't having that

We were playing gotcha.

Cause even if he Couldn't grasp the difference between Alexander the Great, who yeah, totally did sell thebans into slavery in a system that attributed slavery to bad luck and if he had lost would have expected the same treatment to anyone who was not killed,and Confederate generals who thought and entire race was inferior due to their birth, fought for their continued enslavement, committed treason to the country he loves SO much, and LOST, and were memorialized in stupid statues by a bunch of sore loser white supremacists in an attempt to rewrite history to turn what could have been and should have been an Embarrassing chapter in a regions history that should have been healed from into the DEFINING THING about that area despite lasting onl five years and still the symbol of pain and murder to a large percentage of our population within VERY CLOSE TO LIVING MEMORY that has affects that are still here in a very real way because *gestures vaguely at everything* and have caused riots TWICE in your lifetime because it hasn't changed has it and also YOU'RE NOT SOUTHERN and why do you care?

Then I'm not sure what to say.

I don't know what he wants. He wants me catch me out? Debate the liberal cause they're so stupid ? Vent frustration at the liberal because fox news tells you to hate them? His way of processing Something he doesn't understand? Men can't ask for directions? He wants me to argue him, some nerd version of beating the old man at basketball? He feels inferior to his kid so he's gotta put me in my place? A nerd version of not letting the kid beat you at basketball? Test me? Make me prove myself? Make me represent all liberals so he can win?

I don't know what he wants. But I'm SICK OF IT.

And I'm sick of being torn between the mother who is frightened and overbearing and the father who seems to want to always make me keep up.

And I cant

Deal

With

Conservatives

Any more!

[maraschinocheri]

A novel no one needed on the Les Mis filmed concert: 1,800+ words of stuff and nonsense.

The first thing that jumps into my head is that I am so glad the concert run is over, and the second is that it’s a very strange feeling when the strongest vocal performances on stage seemed to belong to Enjolras, Eponine, and … Cosette. But let’s get the rest of it all over with first.

• Alfie Boe’s acting has improved since he last played Valjean, thankfully, but good lord, he really needs to not get involved in any even moderately extended run of anything, because he clearly cannot hack it physically or vocally. And while it may seem churlish to say so, I am so bored of his Valjean. Warble warble warble, seeming so out of place with everyone else’s voices, and just. Enough. He looked lovely, of course, and I’m sure his fans truly enjoyed this repeat of him in the role, when … he was actually there, but he sounded absolutely exhausted. I’m afraid I spent a lot of his performance wishing I were watching JOJ on film instead.

• Michael Ball’s mention during the encore that this was his last performance as Javert seems a fair thing; he is not—and never was— meant for this role on any level (I maintain he has all the threatening menace of Snidely Whiplash), though Stars was not bad, especially because he left himself, you know, sing and not bark or growl or spend so much damn time and energy trying to not be *~MICHAEL BALL~*. The gritted teeth “m’sieur! mayor!” was just a boring choice, the Confrontation was a muddy mess, the Intervention played too much for comic effect (though MASSIVE POINTS for bringing back the original why the hell did he run? instead of why on earth did he run?), the barricade scenes had too little punch, the Sewers had so much potential that disappeared, but … 

But. While Ball’s is not my preferred style of Javert and never could be, I have to take a deep breath and blinkingly applaud his wild leaping commitment to batshittery in the Suicide. I mean, if you’re going for full on batshit at that point, you have to really sell it, and with any luck make it a different range of batshit than previous batshit Javerts, and he did. My dad, the sole member of my family not much prone to show commentary, said “That was excellent.” firmly after the Suicide, and a part of me grudgingly agreed. But please, never again, Michael. Honestly I think he’s relieved it’s done.

(Also honestly, the most amusing moment of the entire concert experience for me was my mother’s interval exclamation that she had “a new boyfriend!” Assuming she meant Bwadders, I laughed and asked oh really, who? And she said … Javert. After I recovered myself, I reminded her that Javert was Michael. Ball., who has been at one stage or another my—and everyone else’s—mother’s boyfriend since 1985. She had entirely forgotten he was playing Javert in the concert and was bizarrely fooled by wig and costume, but assured me that even now, she “could swim in his dimples.” My mother, everyone.)

• Shan Ako was a marvelous Eponine, and I loved her On My Own. She’ll be great fun to watch in the actual production, I think, and I so appreciated a tough cookie Eponine with old school vocal power but newer school technique and touch and oh my god subtlety without losing anything in characterization, even given the limitations of a concert performance. Houchen’s Marius wouldn’t have deserved her, anyway.

• Speaking of Houchen. You know, I was fond of Rob while he was in his actual run as Marius, but he’s absolutely checked out of it mentally and emotionally, and it shows. He still has a lovely voice that really works as Marius sometimes, but there’s nothing … there underneath the pretty sheen, and after the few years’ distance since his proper run, I’ve seen enough Marii who enjoyed the role and found substance in it that the lack of depth in Rob’s take was disappointing. However, I acknowledge that some of Marius’ actual-show chances of showing range don’t happen in the concert version, and perhaps if they’d been included my opinion would change. He knows he’s aged out the role now, however, and I highly doubt he’d ever want to do it again even if invited to do so. But who knows.

• I walked into the concert film with no opinion of Lily Kerhoas’ Cosette other than knowing she could sing it beautifully, but I was actually impressed—and sort of want to sit nearly every principal Cosette of the last, oh, decade in front of her performance and say, see you’re allowed to act; it can actually work—and I look forward to her work in the proper show as well, especially if they get her some costumes that actually fit and don’t look made of tissue.

• God, I hate Matt Lucas. The end.

• Katy Secombe has added some different touches to her Madame T, some good, and some—obviously Lucas-influenced—bad. It’s unfortunate that some of the Thenardier ~comedy absolutely cannot work in a concert setting—the wedding was awful—but she made a decent hash of a bad deal.

• Which brings me to Bwadders. Oh, Bradley. He’s just so very, very good at Enjolras, and always has been. This concert!jolras, however, had one very different vibe from his run’s take on the role, which was … a hopefulness, maybe? A joy and breathless hope running beneath the passion passion PASSION that’s always been there, and it was beautiful to watch in his eyes and mannerisms. The concert contained Bradley somewhat, in that his strong physicality wasn’t allowed to sort of fill the room (and barricade) as it had at the Queens, and I missed that. Also—and there is no getting around this, sadly, for me—that manbun still ain’t it. (Gingerfather—whose fave character in the show is Enjolras—just sighed heavily and said that there should’ve just been one of the Ponytails of Yore instead, and you know, he’s not wrong.) Bradley also nailed two of the three Big Notes, but his until the earth is free was done differently from how he approached it during his real run, and not for the better (the Ghost of THAXTON giveth, and it taketh away). And yet … it didn’t matter. It truly didn’t. He was the best of the principals, and at least for me would probably have been even if he’d bollocked the other two Big Notes as well. Anyway, Bwadders. A thrill to watch, and alive with energy so much of the show otherwise lacked.

• You will note no mention yet of Fletcher. I refer to the point above re: Matt Lucas.

• The Amis, as one. I am aware that many, many people adore Raymond Walsh’s Grantaire, and I entirely understand why. He was fine. Craig Mather’s Combeferre and Niall Sheehy’s Courfeyrac both allowed both actors to show off some real oomph in their voices, though I’m still much too rattled by a Courfeyrac wearing Joly’s clothes. I love Vinny Coyle because he’s just so obviously, thrillingly in love with the show, but he’s also a fabulous Feuilly, and I merrily handwave the not-so-great we’ll be therrrre because a) it’s a horrendous note few people can carry well, and b) I’ve seen and heard him do it brilliantly so many other times when he was covering Feuilly as a swing. And it was delicious to see Will Jennings as a background onstage SwingAmi. Everyone else was just sort of … there, though all very pretty. It was extremely clear who had been in casts properly educated and invested in the show, but that’s a record I’ve played enough.

• I will never not love seeing Sarah Lark, Jo Loxton, and Tamsin Dowsett. I also deeply appreciate seeing Oli Brenin doing everything, everywhere, all the time.

• It is never not wonderful seeing Earl Carpenter bishoping, but my god EARL WHAT EVEN with that Bamatabois. What even. There was active squeaky recoiling happening in my row.

• Gavroche was excellent and adorable and GINGER. Full marks.

• And so to the encores. The only point I could see to the coat handover from Michael to Bradley was to give Michael a Moment along the lines of the Valjeanfest, as it’s not like the role of Javert is new to Bradley. However, I was fascinated by the strangeness of the harmonized Stars, and I think I need to watch and listen to it again about a thousand times to really confirm my proper opinion. I know Bradley doesn’t sing Stars that high for real—and certainly doesn’t need to—and what they did here doesn’t really … show his approach to the role, but it was interesting, and I give them credit for the try. (I did attempt to imagine others—let’s be real, I was imagining THAXTON—even being asked to make a go of this, and my imagined Thaxtonic response will make for excellent nightmare fuel.)

• Then, then, then. All Valjeans all the time, including some Potato in a tour costume that still has me hissing at its wrongness. Anyway! Leaving aside Alfie—whose section just really sounded like jesus christ I cannot believe I have to do this again; I just want to lie down for a thousand years and block Cameron’s number from any further contact with me put to music—I found the whole thing much more palatable than the 25th anniversary Valjeanfest, perhaps mostly because of my fave part of the whole concert—the whole two lines JOJ and Killian shared—but also because the four Valjeans not actively praying for their own deaths all seemed to have physical, emotional, and vocal respect for the role, the show, the audience, and each other. It was a strange joy to watch.

Which, truly, this concert was as well, in enough places to ensure that I will buy the inevitable DVD. On some occasions I may even start its playback before Look Down (Paris). Maybe.

(One more small thought, though, on this concert and why I am glad it’s over: I know the run sparked a lot of joy for a lot of people, but if I saw one more bitchy tweet from the cast members I might have screamed. Are some audience members dickheads? Absolutely. Then enforce the fucking rules. Train and allow your FOH to go after those people (and force the management to back the FOH staff up!), remove them, throw one of the old pest catcher boxes from under the Queens seats at them, whatever. But shut up. I don’t even follow any of the whingers I saw! Twitter just enjoyed throwing their tweets into my feed like a toddler’s wall-splattering food. #blessed)

Anyway. That’s that done. The show’s world turns, though obviously it no longer revolves.

[official-michael-afton]

Some Theatre AU fluff

GUESS WHAT I WROTE THIS IN ONE SITTING- NO PROOFREADS OR SECOND DRAFTS ON THIS BLOG WE PUBLISH OUR FICS AS CRUDE AND UNPOLISHED AS THEY COME- ALSO NO ONE ASKED FOR THIS BUT YOURE GETTING IT ANYWAYS

No content warnings- just Michael discovering he has a knack for performing on stage and some Mike/Will fluff at the end!

Michael had never considered himself to take the spotlight. That was his father, his mother- hell, even his younger sister Elizabeth had the natural knack for performing in front of others. Not Michael, though, he kept more to himself. Not that there was anything wrong with that. No, Michael was just the more… introverted type.

Not that he didn’t love theatre as much as his family! He was raised on it, practically. He would listen to Les Mis while working on homework, Phantom of the Opera sent chills down his spine with every performance, once he was older, he was allowed to indulge in Jekyll and Hyde’s musical, and even recently he got into the more modern tones of shows like Hamilton.

Even when he turned teenager, his father let him work alongside Henry in taking care of backstage work. Michael was nothing short of ecstatic to help out however he could- and he got to see the strings behind the magic! Every prop and set piece, where actors would rapidly change costumes between scenes, and every last piece of equipment. It was like he was let in on some mystic secret, knowing what went into making every scene as powerful as possible for the audience.

Today, the theatre was empty, and the teen marveled how his footsteps echoed through the room as he walked down the aisle. Something about “acoustics”, Henry would describe it as. He didn’t know the science of a hall like this, but it was still super cool the way sound bounced all around. He trotted up to the sound and light board, flicking through each stage and spot light, testing to make sure nothing burned out since their last performance. Once he determined everything was in order, he went through a sound test with a pre-recorded track(it’s not like the orchestra was there quite yet).

Michael hummed, a feeling of serenity washing over him as sound filled the theatre hall. As the tech crew were not set to arrive until later that afternoon for their performance, and the actors all in a rehearsal room to go over their songs, Michael had the entire stage all to himself.

All to himself…

That gave him an idea as one of the main tracks began to play, and the teen stepped away from the light and sound board, and instead favored approaching the stage. It was high up from the audience seats, but he was able to hoist himself up onto the frontmost lip of the stage. The music picked up from the orchestral prelude, and Michael felt his heart swell alongside the music.

Every light was on him, and it was warm- hot, even. He could hardly see into the audience- imagine how many loving audience members these actors are unable to see… Though, that didn’t sadden Michael- not at all. It felt… different. Working behind the scenes, he was able to watch the audience and see how they reacted to the magic… but being blinded by the stage lights… it felt like he was in a world disconnected from the audience. He felt like he was a part of the magic that the audience drank up.

Next thing he knew, his feet were going along to the music. He saw the lead perform this song dozens of times, he knew the choreography by heart. Every movement across stage- granted, he wasn’t able to do any fancy footwork, but he knew his way around the set, and found himself climbing the stairs of the set house, standing right in the spotlight. He began to mouth along to the lyrics-

Only, there were none. He must’ve played the instrumental track, shoot, and he was really getting into it…

Michael looked up at the lights that seemed to radiate energy onto him… and remembered the theatre was empty. It was just him and the stage. Maybe it’s not that bad if he sings along… since there’s no one to judge him. It’s just him and the magic of the theatre hall.

… So, he began to sang. He of course knew every track by heart, and since he had the security of being alone and unheard, he had no qualms in singing full volume. It was something he never really had done before… and holy shit, did it feel good. As he reached the end of a verse, and had to hold a note for a few seconds, he felt the air leave his lungs and leave him lightheaded… and yet, it filled him with more energy. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling how his lungs inflated to prepare for the next verse, and suddenly he felt the need to move again.

Navigating across the stage felt natural- as if he wasn’t on a stage, but rather in the actual location of the set they built. His imagination ran wild- he could see himself as the main lead, serenading a full house and moving an audience to tears; sending chills down their spines just as he feels watching every show. His legs ached from the running back and forth, from the movement he never practiced, yet it felt so wonderful, it felt like every step- every note- was an extension of himself. Every last ounce of his energy- of his being- went into his performance… he began to see the thrill of why so many choose the acting life.

His heart was racing as the song reached its end, and he ran to the front of the stage- right under every light- feeling how they warmed him and set his soul on fire… here he was, just him and the stage, him and the show…

The music gave one final swell as Michael belted the last note- inwardly surprised he was able to not only hit such a high tenor note, but hold it. His arms were outstretched as he held the note, eyes closed and feeling magic replace the air that left his lungs, feeling some unseen energy swirl around him and fill his being. In this moment, he felt more alive than he ever had before, and in this moment, time almost seemed to stop…

Suddenly, time had returned to normal, and the track ended, leaving Michael breathless and tired… oh, but did he feel so fulfilled. His chest heaved and he held the pose, smiling up at the lights above and imagining a full house in the audience- cheering and giving a standing ovation, throwing roses at him, clapping-

Clapping?

It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t imagining it, but someone has been applauding him- When did they get there?! How long had they been watching him?! He tried to see, but the lights were blinding him from being able to see out into the seats!

Suddenly, the stage lights dimmed and the house lights brightened, making it just as bright on stage as it was in the audience, and Michael could finally see past the stage… only to find his own Father and the sound and light board.

“Wh- Father-!!!” Michael’s face flushed in pure embarrassment to find he wasn’t as alone as he led himself to believe. “How long had you been-?!”

“I saw nearly the whole thing, to be blunt.” William chuckled, stepping away from the equipment to approach the stage “I was going to check on you and make sure you were alright, though when I stepped in here, you were going through… quite the sound check. The stage mics work quite well.”

“Oh, bloody hell…” Michael sat down on the edge of the stage, burying his face in his hands and wishing he could just shrink into his hoodie and hide there forever. “Why are the gods so cruuueeel…”

“Hey, hey, and here I was told I’m the dramatic one.” William chuckled to himself, then finally reached the stage and hopped up beside his son, placing a reassuring hand on his back “Why are you so embarrassed? Michael, that was… wonderful! Especially for someone with no practice!”

“…” The teen hesitantly pulled his hands away from his face, which was still red, and looked up at his father “You really think… that was good?”

“Listen, I know I’m your father and everything you do is amazing to me, but… speaking from a purely theatrical standpoint… Michael, that was amazing! Not many can hit a high note like that so naturally!” … He smirked “Maybe I should replace our lead with you.”

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!” Michael hid his face again, shaking his head “It’s bad enough when one person was watching me!!!”

“Okay okay, no leads for you quite yet… But… Could this possibly be my chance to convince you to audition for our next show~?”

“…” Michael stayed still and quiet, clearly taking his time to answer… but soon gave a very muffled, but very definitive “Maybe…”

“That’s not a no!!!”

“DAD!!!”

[inthedrift]

More Chaleigh headcannons

Because I’ve been spreading a lot of sad recently so

Who hogs the blanket? - Chuckles, Raleigh doesn't feel the need for the blankets half the time, he grew up in Alaska for gods sake, a blanket in Sydney might just finish him off. Also Chuck gives off the heat of a dying star and is always adamant about wrapping himself around Raleigh's back and causing him to almost expire from heat exhaustion. So it's less Chuck hogging the blanket and more Raleigh fighting to have the thing as far away from him as possible

Who eats the others uneaten pizza crusts? - Rals, he spent 5 years on rations, he doesn't let anything go to waste. Even before that when Richard bailed and Dominique got sick they didn't have a lot of money so every bite of food counted. They get plenty of food now but it's still a hard habit to break if its on a plate in front of him he's not gonna leave it.

Who is more likely to cry over a sad book or movie? - Honestly I think Chuck, like he's this emotionally walled off kid effectively. And he probably didn't get to watch or read a lot of stuff and when he did it will have been engineering books or something. So Raleigh comes along and he had a childhood before the kaiju attacked he was 15 before the world even started ending, he didn't even enlist till he was 17 so like he spent his childhood with films and books. So he picks these films that Chuck missed that he has to see and some of them are sad, like super sad and Chuck has spent so long bottling in any emotion that wasn't anger or smugness and Raleigh makes him feel safe so these films the sort of shock the tears out of him. And at first he's embarrassed but Raleigh is always there always comforting and honestly sometimes it's more beneficial than their mandatory therapy sessions as he feels so much safer crying about a film with Raleigh and just being normal.

Who talks smack while playing video games? - Both of them. Are you kidding me? Raleigh is a middle child like, he probably grew up with a wii, bet you he tried to beat Yancy to death with a wii remote once for blue shelling him (they hurt, my brother broke my finger with one). So like Raleigh was raised on smack talk and video games, but Chuck who no doubt missed out on a lot especially like COD or stuff, is a competitive and contrary little shit. No way is he taking anything lying down, bet you he starts teabagging Rals the first time he kills him even though he has no clue what it is or that it has a name. Also bet you they've fallen out/actually had a physical fight over Mario Party just saying.

Who sings along with the radio? - Raleigh probably, like again he was old enough when the war started. So most songs that come on the radio he will know and he'll take great delight in pissing Chuck off by singing at the top of his voice and out of tune (he can sing in tune, fairly well tbh, but were is the fun in that). Chuck surprises him though, like ok he doesn't know any of the modern stuff but he knows like everything 80's and some vague 90s stuff and Raleigh is kinda shooketh, and the kid is adorable when he knows a song on the radio and he just can't help himself singing along, (Raleigh won't say it outloud but he's not a great singer, but he loves Chuck's voice so he couldn't give a shit) also and Chuck would kill Raleigh if anyone else ever found out but Chuck knows musicals. Like he doesn't know movies but Angela loved musicals and Chuck has a playlist - he listens to it in the shower.

Who would accidentally set the kitchen on fire while cooking? - Chuck. Raleigh had a sick mother, who lets be real he would have had to cook for as Yancy must have been working to bring some money in other than any benefits or sick pay or whatever. So Raleigh is like a super competent cook, maybe he hasn't done it in a while but it's ingrained into him. Chuck on the other hand he hasn't lived anywhere but military bases and shatterdomes since he was 12. Food just kinda appears, like he tips up to the mess hall and there it is. So the first few times it will go as expected the food isn't great, but it's edible like Chuck is too much of a perfectionist to fuck up that badly. But then he'll get a little confident a little bit cocky and will try and do two things at once and before you know it he's put a towel on a burner ring and all the sprinklers go off.

Who would throw the other into a pool? - Raleigh? Again he's a younger sibling, I feel things like that come from either having a sibling or high school shenanigans and seeing as Chuck has experienced neither he just wouldn't consider it. But Raleigh decides it would be fucking hilarious to grab Chuck off the stretcher he's been reading on by the pool bridal style and it takes Chuck a second to react first by dropping his book followed by an "Oi, Ray, fuck do you think you're doing" and before you know it the kid has been dropped in the deep end. Queue all out war, Raleigh still has a tan line in the shape of a dick on his back.

Who shops for groceries? - Raleigh, Chuck comes along and just throws garbage in the cart like he'll 100% see how many snacks he can sneak in there before they get to the check out. If Raleigh sent him alone they would have exactly nothing with any nutritional value.

Who kills the spiders? - Max, Raleigh is scared of them like not to the point where he'd die if stuck in a room with one, but he isn't getting close enough to the fucker to kill it. And Chuck well Chuck is deathly afraid, like would happily just burn the house to the ground and leave kind of afraid. He trained Max to eat spiders, because if there's even one in the room with him he can't sleep, can't focus on anything but where the thing is. Like he's slept in the mess hall a few times to avoid a spider.

Who is the morning/night person? - Raleigh is a golden retriever personified, he's all baby Anna from Frozen "The sky's away so I'm awake", so like it will be 6am and he'll be raring to go and he's not exactly quiet or tactful when he wakes up, and Chuck will be jostled awake and every morning without fail Chuck will have to debate whether he punches Raleigh hard enough in the throat that he passes out. Chuck has learned however that Raleigh will sleep in later if he's well and truly fucked the night before so that's usually his tactic, alternatively if Chuck can wake up long enough to give Raleigh a good blow job he tends to go straight back to sleep, so yeah Chuck is certainly not a morning person and has learnt to use sex or violence as a way to get more sleep.

Who proposes? - Honestly I think it would probably be Chuck, like Raleigh probably wouldn't even consider it. He loves Chuck like with his whole being, but Raleigh's experience of marriage is a father who had a whole other family and bailed on his mom so he's not exactly the sort of person who would consider it the ultimate declaration of love. But Chuck his happy memories were from when his mum and dad were together and it was the three of them and Herc still loves Angela so of course Chuck would see it as a way to show Rals he loves him and Raleigh would be so shocked and awed that Chuck would want to saddle himself with his has been ass and of course Raleigh says yes.

Who forgot to put the cat dog outside before sex? - I mean Raleigh probably as Chuck has experienced that awful feeling of eyes on him during sex only to turn and see Max staring woefully at him from across the room probably way more times than he wants to admit but Raleigh. Raleigh has probably never had a pet and has never had to worry about being watched by anything other than another human which they tend to remove themselves from the situation fairly quickly when they've grasped what's about to happen. So yeah Raleigh would forget and they'd be happily cracking on as it were and Max instead of just watching in that creepy unblinking way that pets tend to have he'd come up and actually lick any part of either body he could reach standing on his hind legs and Raleigh would actually fucking squeak and Chuck would be laughing to hard to focus on much of anything else for a good while. So they don't forget anymore.

Who posts vines of the other doing embarrassing shit? Chuck? Like I can see Raleigh doing more embarrassing shit, like tripping over constantly or just being a fucking dork and Chuck just films it. But Raleigh is 100% the more likely one that if Chuck did trip over or he caught him singing Les Mis or something to post it somewhere. He’s also the one that’s gonna get a bo staff to the head for the trouble but he’d probably only regret it when he’s lying in bed with the lights off because he has a minor concussion and the light makes his head want to explode but at least Chuck is stroking his hair and hasn’t turned them back on so that probably counts as a win.

Who breaks the most phones? Raleigh probably. I see him as being the clumsy one but if Chuck is mad he’s so gonna launch phones at things like walls or people. But I think Chuck accepts that failing and would have a proper case on his phone, Raleigh on the other hand is always adamant that he won’t drop this one cue two weeks later having to admit to Chuck that the screen is in a million pieces and the battery might be leaking as he dropped it off one of the engineering decks.

Who thinks they can do something really well even though they can't? Neither? Like Raleigh isn’t that sort of cocky, he would never think he’s good at something that he isn’t - he knows what he excels at and is perfectly accepting of what he can’t do. And Chuck honestly I think he’s pretty good at a lot of things and he’s far too proud to do something that he’s bad at and wouldn’t be willing to make a fool of himself in front of others. So I think they both know what they can and can’t do

Who is more likely to get kicked out of the bed? Rals 100%. Like he’s an eternal sunshine child, he goes from 0-60 in the blink of an eye and Chuck is not into the whole being awake before a reasonable hour unless a goddamn kaiju is here and about to fuck shit up. So I don’t doubt that if Raleigh is being either too noisy or too handsy before Chuck is either willing to wake up or willing to have morning sex before having a nap then I can bet Raleigh has either been pushed/kicked out of bed forcefully onto the floor, punched somewhere usually the throat or his balls or Chuck has actively tried to smother him either with a pillow or just his own body. That and I’d put money on Raleigh taking great delight in coming back early from being outside maybe just taking max for a wee and putting his cold hands/feet against Chuck’s skin, and Chuck has just removed him not just from the bed but the entire room and left him out in the corridor until he’s ready to get up.

[drivingsideways]

Episode 69

Me: I’m not ready for this, I’m not ready for this

This is a direct call back to what his mother said to him in the end, the talisman she left for him, to tell him to find his “mission” ...although in her vision/hope for him, his “mission” did not involve  sacrificing himself to the throne...

me: *whimpering * let me live 

In (the redecorated) Fengyun Palace, Ning Yi rewards Gu Yan and Ning Cheng by giving them high positions in his administration and orders them to investigate the Huofeng Gang who has been “causing trouble in the capital”. We’re never told what this trouble is i.e. has something gone down AFTER the Emperor’s death/ attempted coup or is this Ning Yi acting on the information he had before about their collusion with Ning Qi? How long after the attempted coup did the coronation take place anyway? Anyways, he orders them to capture the gang members and bring Ning Qi to the palace for trial. 

A note on the redecoration: the beautiful, large tapestry is gone, and replaced by a simpler one (can’t quite make out whether it’s fabric or not). The carpet has more muted colours. While Fengyun under Ning Shizheng was incredibly beautiful but also a little stifling in its grandeur, Ning Yi’s room is simpler, though still elegant and beautiful: I think it goes with what we are used to seeing him surrounded by in his older residence. Also, the Emperor continues to dress in muted brown/ blue/green hues; unlike Ning Shizheng who often wore yellow (apparently a favoured Imperial colour during the Tang dynasty? unless I’m mis- remembering that)

Headmaster Xin has been summoned to the Palace (evidently). 

I can’t even begin to capture Ning Yi’s emotions here- again, absolutely fantastic job by Chen Kun- anticipation, nervousness, but also determined to “play it cool” as befits The Emperor- GOD I DIED A THOUSAND DEATHS IN TWO SECONDS- THESE TWO FUCKING FOOLS- 

because, honestly, ZIYAN IS STILL THE FUCKING WORST, AS WE IMMEDIATELY SEE

HE SPENDS LIKE AN ENTIRE MINUTE INSPECTING THE RENOVATIONS IN THE ROOM INSTEAD OF LOOKING AT THE GODDAMN FUCKING EMPEROR IN HIS FACE POWER MOVE BUT ALSO YOU’RE A FUCKING DICK ZIYAN AND YOU DON’T DESERVE HIM YOU REALLY DON’T

Like, I can’t get over NY’s expression here, annoyance, amusement and the underlying fondness, and just..like of course Ziyan would do this

And I can’t capture that expression on Ziyan’s face as they finally make eye contact. 

BUT ZIYAN IS DETERMINED TO BE A FUCKING ASSHOLE, HE’S STILL SO ANGRY

And that tips Ning Yi over from a fond exasperation to real anger

SO OF COURSE ZIYAN IS IMMEDIATELY FAKE RESPECTFUL

and Ning Yi seems to accept that he will have to be the one that gives in- he takes a few steps toward Ziyan

aksdjhakdhaskehakhd

JESUS ZIYAN WHAT WILL IT TAKE

Of course, that really annoys Ning Yi (who strides back to the throne and puts distance between them) Why, he asks?

Because there’s chaos in the Capital since you took over, replies Xin Ziyan, and 

me: JESUS H. CHRIST ZIYAN TWIST THAT KNIFE SOME MORE WHY DON’T YOU

SO OF COURSE HE ORDERS HIM-

AND ZIYAN...

God,I hate to admit it, Ziyan is right...as Feng Zhiwei will soon find out...

ARE WE STILL ON THAT? WE’RE STILL ON THAT. 

In response Ning Yi says FINE, IF YOU WANT IT THAT WAY. (Someone please correct me if I’m wrong, but in this conversation he now switches the pronouns he’s been using for himself, I think- previously he refers to himself as Ning Yi, or in the manner he would when addressing a friend? but now he seems to switch to the “I, The Emperor” mode, and also he calls him by his full name “Xin Ziyan” instead of Ziyan xiōng )

i love how the tone and words is utterly contradicted by his outstretched hand

ZIYAN YOU FUCKING DICK YOU ARE THE BLOODY WORST DON’T HURT MY BAE LIKE THIS both of you have made mistakes, and he deserves an apology from you as well.

HAVE YOU GOT YOUR POUND OF FLESH YET YOU FUCKING DRAMA QUEEN

AND HE STRIDES OFF DRAMATICALLY, LEAVING NING YI ISOLATED 

JESUS THIS SHOW DOES NOT FUCK AROUND. 

Ning Yi has learnt the pain of isolation when stripped of all power, and now that he has it all, he’s learning it all over again. 

AND THAT IS HOW YOU WRITE A TRAGEDY FOLKS

Meanwhile, on hearing that Ning Cheng and the Royal Guards are on their way to arrest him, Zhangsun Hong tells his lieutenant that Feng Zhiwei must be here to witness the cruelty of the Tiansheng Empire- must be there to witness his death. Zhangsun Hong basically wants to ensure that Zhiwei will never forgive Ning Yi, and thus complete his revenge on the Ning family. 

WHICH BEGS THE QUESTION: WHAT IS GOING ON WITH FENG ZHIWEI SINCE THE EMPEROR’S DEATH AND NING YI’S ASCENSION TO THE THRONE. 

WHO KNOWS? 

BECAUSE THE SHOW REFUSES TO TELL US. ARRRRGHHH. 

Anyways, very Dramatically, Feng Zhiwei and Gu Nanyi reach in time to see Zhangsun Hong be killed by Ning Cheng- although Ning Cheng had only wanted to arrest them, but y’know, FATE. 

ER WHAT?

LIKE THIS MAKES NO SENSE. FENG ZHIWEI IS LITERALLY ONE OF THE CLEVEREST PEOPLE IN THE EMPIRE, YOU’RE TELLING ME SHE COULDN’T PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER AND MAKE FOUR? IN ALL THIS TIME????? SHE ALREADY KNEW THAT NING QI AND HE WERE HAND IN GLOVE. AND THAT’S PUTTING ASIDE THE FACT THAT ZHANGSUN HONG LITERALLY TOLD HER ALREADY THAT SHE NEEDN’T KILL NING SHIZHENG BECAUSE HE WOULD INSTEAD. AND THE NEXT THING HE TELLS HER BEFORE HE DIES IS THAT SHE SHOULD TRUST YUELING (WHICH IS THE ONLY REMAINING PART OF THE PUZZLE SHE DIDN’T KNOW.)

LIKE COMPLETELY APPALLING WRITING. I CAN’T EVEN.

There’s a tense moment where Feng Zhiwei almost kills Ning Cheng- but Gu Nanyi stops her. 

Feng Zhiwei is grief stricken, but again repeats “What were you hiding from me?”

THE WOMAN WHO COULD SOLVE THE RIDDLES IN QINGMING ACADEMY CAN’T DO SIMPLE MATH. 

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK. 

Anyways: Ning Qi is hiding out in the House of Lanxiang, which Yueling has bought out; alone, drunk, slightly insane, clutching the Emperor’s edict. Yueling encourages him to continue opposing Ning Yi, and not even Yijun can bring him back to his senses. 

AGAIN: HE’S LITERALLY A STONE’S THROW AWAY, AND NING CHENG AND THE ROYAL GUARDS CAN’T FIND HIM???? DID THEY NOT INVESTIGATE WHERE YUELING DISAPPEARED TO?

Feng Zhiwei requests Helian Zheng to provide protection to her people, and he agrees. She plans to return with him and the remnant of Dacheng to Jinshi. 

When Helian Zheng informs Ning Yi that he’s leaving, Ning Yi warns him “not to be blinded by love” ie don’t let your wife, the Princess of Dacheng, con you into launching an attack on Tiansheng. Helian Zheng’s answer reveals he has no qualms about NOT listening to the Emperor, and also pretty much warns Ning Yi to stay away from Zhiwei.  Ning Yi is furious, of course, and though he does nothing at that moment, you get the sense that Jinshi is not going to be safe in the near future. 

Yueling sends an anonymous message to Ning Cheng that Helian Zheng is concealing members of the Huofeng Gang in his entourage.

Our two babes meet on their bridge for the last time and have a brittle, poignant conversation where both are in so much pain, but cannot find a way back to each other.

ding ding WRONG ANSWER DUDE

But Ning Yi presses his case, that before they didn’t have the power to stop themselves being separated, but now that he’s Emperor, 

(again, correct me if I’m wrong, but he refers to himself as The Emperor here)

He makes a desperate confession, to stop her from leaving- about how he had gone to Jinshi to see her, but then, when he saw her happy and laughing with Helian Zheng, he lacked the courage to approach her. 

UGHHHHHHHHHH

“What do you want?” he asks, once, twice, thrice but the regret soon turns to anger, in the face of her silence...and she walks away.

but all his power can’t bring her back to him, and he’s left, again, alone. 

“Fate” takes a hand again, as Ning Cheng runs off to apprehend the Huofeng gang that Helian Zheng is escorting to Jinshi. It’s kind of odd that Ning Cheng does this without informing the Emperor- like diplomatic disaster, excuse me- but I suppose if I squint really hard, I can put it down to Ning Cheng’s deep sense of failure and regret that he couldn’t protect or save Ya Le, the person most important to Ning Yi. 

But of course, disaster strikes. 

Helian Zheng’s death leaves a furious Feng Zhiwei 

who breaks the token of their connection to each other

back in the control of The Emperor....who’s equally furious...

and so alone, he’s playing Go with himself (THIS SHOW DOES NOT FUCK AROUND, SERIOUSLY)

Me: this show is only pain, pain and more pain. WHY. 

[kounfetti]

[Diabolik Lovers: Dark Fate] Subaru Sakamaki Ecstasy Epilogue Translation/Traducción

Please no reposting onto other sites, just link back to this post-and ask me before translating this into other languages!—-Por favor no republiques y preguntame antés de traducir a otras idiomas.

English

Scene: Exterior of the Sakamaki Castle

Subaru:....

Subaru:...I understand.

Shin: Ehh...He’ll do it?

Yui: Subaru! What do you think of doing! Stop that!

Yui: That’s something you absolutely can’t do!

Subaru:...Shut up!

Yui:....

Carla: What will you do. Are you going to do it? Or else...

Subaru: Killing them, is fine...

Carla: I see.

Subaru:.....

Subaru: Until I return, if I see that you did something to Yui...

Subaru: At that time...I’ll really break you to pieces. 

Carla: Fu...Fine.

Shin: Heheh. Well, we can just talk to her. 

Subaru:...I’ll come back. 

Subaru leaves

Yui: (Stop...)

Yui: (Dont leave, Subaru...)

Yui: (Thats the one thing you shouldn’t do.)

Yui: (I know. That you will regret it forever...)

Yui: (Because, over anyone, you’re a gentle person.)

Yui: (And over that, I can’t see you get hurt.)

Shin: Now then, I wonder how long it’ll take to kill all of them...

Shin: I mean...How much would you really be able to kill with that lack of ability...ua!

Carla:...Shin?

Yui: Kuh...!

Yui leaves

Shin: Tch! She, bit me...! ...Wait! 

Shin and Carla go after her

Scene Change: Sky

Yui: (I have to get away...)

Yui: (To stop Subaru, there’s no other alternative...)

Shin: Oi...What do you think you’re doing getting over that fence? Wont you die from this high up?

Yui:...Thats why.

Yui: If I fall from here, there’s no reason for Subaru to kill everyone...

Yui: And over that, I wont let Subaru do your bidding!

Carla: I see....

Carla: This woman...is almost starting to think as bad as Subaru. 

Yui: Dont come near me!

Carla:.....

Yui falls 

Shin: Brother!

Yui:....

Yui: (Goodbye, Subaru.)

Yui: (I honestly wished we could spend more time together. I always wanted to be by your side to support you.)

Yui: (But, for you to feel more hurt, I wont let that happen...)

Yui: (I’m sorry for doing something selfish...)

Yui: (It’s because I adore you.)

Yui: (I love you.)

Shin:...It’s an endgame! [TN: Shin says よせ which can also mean a last move, either works.]

???:...Guah....!

Yui:...!?

Yui: (....)

Yui: (...I’m...?)

Scene Change: Forest

Subaru:....

Subaru: What a stupid thing to do! 

Yui:...Suba..ru..?

Subaru: That was careless! For what reason could you do that...

Yui: Subaru!

Subaru:...

Yui: Please...dont kill them.

Yui: I...didn’t want to see you do something so cruel...

Subaru:....

Subaru: How many times do I have to tell you to not do selfish things...Dont mess with me...

Subaru: Haha. You didn’t want me doing something so cruel?

Subaru:...So!

Subaru: Until the end of the world, I’ll never let you die withouot my permission!

Yui:...!

Subaru: If you did that, I would never forgive you....

Subaru: Losing something this important...again I’d...

Yui:...Subaru....

Subaru: Now...The only thing I have left is you...

Yui: (Right...)

Yui: (Being betrayed by Karlhienz in that way, and then losing Christa...)

Yui: (When it comes to Subaru...this is the one thing that can’t be done.)

Yui: Sorry, Subaru...I was wrong...

Yui: I, wont leave your side.

Yui: We’ll be together forever.

Subaru:...Yui....

Wolf howl

Yui:....

Subaru: They’re coming...Stand up.

Yui: Yea.

Subaru:....

Yui:...? What...Ah!

Yui: (Subaru’s arm is bleeding...Surely from my fall...)

Yui: Subaru, give me your arm! We have to treat it right now...

Subaru:...It’s fine. Anyways, we need to go now. 

Yui: But...

Subaru: Tch. My body doesn’t work as you would normally think. ...In this state. 

Subaru: Because of the eclipse...

Subaru: Oi, hold me tight. 

Yui: Ah...

Subaru:.....

Yui: Subaru...Where are we running away to now...

Subaru:...Oh, right.

Subaru: Running away...Let’s stop that, already. 

Yui: Eh...?

Subaru: There’s something I need to settle. ...About my mother.

Yui:....

Yui: Uhh...Subaru, about Christa...

Yui: (Christa, those two...)

Subaru:...Where the ones who gave my mother that poison, the Tsukinami guys?

Yui:... You realized that...?

Subaru: Its what I gathered from what you guys spoke about before. 

Subaru: To get me away from you, they killed my mother...

Yui:....

Subaru: Of course, I’ll never forgive those guys. I’ll be sure to kill them with my own hands. However...

Subaru: After all, what Carla said was right... The one who was weak, was me.

Subaru: All of this is because I was weak. The fault is...

Yui:...That’s not true!

Subaru: No, it’s true.

Subaru: Because I was weak....

Subaru: Because I kept running away, my mother ended up dead.

Subaru: At this rate...I’ll lose something else, surely...

Subaru: Yui...I dont want to have regrets anymore.

Subaru: You’re the only one I dont want to lose. 

Subaru:...So, I wont run away anymore. 

Subaru: From here, we’ll go to Eden...I’m going to kill...my father.

Yui:...Thats...!

Yui: (After all, I dont forgive Karlhienz...)

Yui: (For him to speak of Christa in that way, there’s no way I could ever understand it... But...)

Yui: Thats unreasonable! Cause, you’re already injured...

Subaru: Even so....I have to settle this. 

Yui: Subaru....

Monologue

While holding me, Subaru looked straight forward. 

I dont want him to be at risk.

-----But.

As I looked at his profile, he looked like he had grown up. And I realized, there was no way I could stop him. 

As I tightened my grip, I prayed. 

At the end of this battle, I hope that Subaru is safe----.

Monologue Ends

Scene Change: Eden Entrance Hall

Karlhienz:...You came?

Yui:....

Subaru: Ha, you’ve finally come out....

Karlhienz: Fu...Subaru. As usual, that’s quite the tone you have while speaking to your father. 

Subaru: I dont consider you to be my father!

Karlhienz: Oh, I see you’ve grown more hateful towards me. 

Subaru: Of course I would be! 

Subaru: You...What have you done to my mother?

Subaru: If you didn’t love her...why would you make her your wife!

Subaru: Because of you, those guys...my mother...!

Karlhienz:..This again. 

Karlhienz: When I spoke to Eve before, weren’t you outside listening? 

Subaru:...Shut up!

Yui: (...Karlhienz knew...)

Yui: (This person...)

Yui: (He knew that Subaru was listening, and yet he still said those awful things...)

Karlhienz:----Because I needed to.

Karlhienz: For my plan, I needed someone of close blood...

Karlhienz: Subaru, bringing you into this world was vital.

Karlhienz: There’s no other reason. 

Subaru:...! Dont fuck with me!

Subaru: We’re not your pawns! 

Subaru: I...you’re the only person I could never forgive...

Yui:...

Yui: (...It’s futile. Should I look away from the knife? No, I have to see...)

Yui: (This is something that he must do. Subaru will really kill this person...)

Yui: (Because of Christa...Subaru is more than willing to go through with it this time...)

Yui: (I’ll watch Subaru until the end.)

Yui: (So, when everything is over, I’ll tell him properly.)

Yui: (Hey, Subaru, You...)

Yui: (You’re not weak.)

Subaru: Karlhienz! I have to kill you!

Karlhienz:...That’s fine. 

Karlhienz: Become Adam, my son!

Subaru:...Uaaaaaaa!

Ecstasy 10 ♥ Vampire End ♥ Manservant End ♥ Brute End

Español

Escenario: Exterior del Castillo Sakamaki

Subaru:....

Subaru:...Entiendo. 

Shin: Ehh...¿Lo va a hacer?

Yui: Subaru! ¡Que pensas hacer! ¡No lo hagas!

Yui: ¡Es algo que absolutamente no puedes hacer!

Subaru:...¡Cállate!

Yui:....

Carla: Que harás. Lo harás? Si no...

Subaru: Matarlos, esta bien...

Carla: Veo. 

Subaru:.....

Subaru: Cuango regreso, si veo que hicieron algo a Yui...

Subaru: En ese momento...realmente te voy a destruir. 

Carla: Fu...Esta bien. 

Shin: Heheh. Pues, solo vamos a hablar con ella. 

Subaru:...Regresaré. 

Subaru se va

Yui: (No lo hagas...)

Yui: No me dejes, Subaru...)

Yui: (Esa es la única cosa que jamas puedes hacer.)

Yui: (Lo sé. Que te vas a arrepentir.)

Yui: (Porque, comparado a cual quier otra persona, eres una persona amable.)

Yui: (Y más que eso, no quiero verte adolorido.)

Shin: Ahora, ¿me pregunto en que mucho tiempo los matara?

Shin: Quiero dicir...Con su abilidad, no puede ser facil, ¿no?...ua..

Carla:...¿Shin?

Yui: ¡Kuh...!

Yui corre

Shin: Tch! Ella, me mordio...! ...Espera!

Carla y Shin va tras ella

Cambio de Escenario: Cielo

Yui: (Necesito escapar...)

Yui: (Para que no lo haga Subaru, ya no queda otro alternativo...)

Shin: Oi...¿Que piensas que haces con esa cerca? Vas a morir de esta altitud. 

Yui:...Por eso. 

Yui: Si me callo de esta altitud, ya no va a ver razón para que Subaru los mate...

Yui: Y sobre todo, ¡no dejaré Subaru ser ordenado por ustedes! 

Carla: Ya veo....

Carla: Esta mujer...esta empezando a pensar en la misma manera que Subaru. 

Yui: ¡No se acercan! 

Carla:.....

Yui cae

Shin: ¡Hermano! 

Yui:....

Yui: (Adios, Subaru.)

Yui: (Honestamente me gustaría tener más tiempo contigo. Siempre quieria estar a tu lado para apoyarte.)

Yui: (Pero, hacer algo que te da más dolor...)

Yui: (Perdóname por hacer algo tan egoísta...)

Yui: (Es porque te quiero mucho.)

Yui: (Te amo.)

Shin:...¡Ya es el fin! 

???:...Guah....!

Yui:...!?

Yui: (....)

Yui: (...¿Soy...?)

Cambio de Escenario: Bosque

Subaru:....

Subaru: ¡Que cosa tan estupidad!

Yui:...Suba..ru..?

Subaru: Que descuidada! Por que razón harias...

Yui: ¡Subaru!

Subaru:...

Yui: Por favor...no los maten. 

Yui:Yo...no quieria verte hacer algo tan cruel...

Subaru:....

Subaru: Cuantas veces quieres que te diga de no hacer cosas egoísticas...No juegues conmigo...

Subaru: Haha. ¿No quierias que yo haga algo tan cruel?

Subaru:...¡Y que!

Subaru: Hasta el fin del mundo, ¡nunca te voy a dejar morir sin permiso!

Yui:...!

Subaru: Si haces algo así, nunca te lo voy a perdonar. 

Subaru: Perdiendo algo tan importante..otra vez...yo...

Yui:...Subaru....

Subaru: Ahora...la unica cosa que me queda eres tu. 

Yui: (Tiene razón...)

Yui: (Después de que Karlhienz hizo, y luego perdiendo a Christa...)

Yui: (A Subaru...es la única cosa que no le puedo hacer.)

Yui: Perdoname, Subaru...No tenia razón...

Yui: Yo no voy a dejar tu lado. 

Yui: Siempre estaremos juntos. 

Subaru:...Yui....

Aullido de lobos

Yui:....

Subaru: Estan veniendo...Levantate.

Yui: Si.

Subaru:....

Yui:...? Quet...Ah!

Yui: (El brazo de Subaru esta sangrando...Seguramente por mi caída...)

Yui: Subaru, ¡dame tu brazo! Necesitamos tratarlo ahora...

Subaru:...Esta bien. Sin embargo, necesitamos irnos ahora...

Yui: Pero...

Subaru: Tch. Mi cuerpo no esta actuando como lo normal ...En este estado. 

Subaru: Por el eclipse...

Subaru: Oi, subete. 

Yui: Ah...

Subaru:.....

Yui: Subaru...a donde vamos a escapar esta vez...

Subaru:...Ah, verdad.

Subaru: Escapar...Ya paremos de hacer eso. 

Yui: ¿Eh...?

Subaru: Hay algo que tengo que resolver. ...Sobre mi madre. 

Yui:....

Yui: Uhh...Subaru, sobre Christa...

Yui: (Christa, los dos...)

Subaru:...Los que dieron a mi madre el veneno, ¿fue los Tsukinami?

Yui:... ¿Lo sabias...?

Subaru: Era por lo que hablamos antes...

Subaru: Para alejarme de ti, mataron a mi madre...

Yui:....

Subaru: Por supuesto nunca los perdonare. Seguramente voy a matarlos con mis propios manos. Pero...

Subaru: Despues de todo, lo que dijo Carla tenia razón. Quien era débil fui yo. 

Subaru: Todo esto paso porque fui debil. La culpa es...

Yui:...¡No es verdad!

Subaru: Si, es verdad

Subaru: Porque soy debil...

Subaru: Cada vez que me paso algo quería escapar de mis problemas, y por eso, me madre salio muerta. 

Subaru: En este curso...Voy a perder más, seguramente...

Subaru: Yui...no quiero arrepentirme de nada. 

Subaru: Eres la unica quien no quiero perder. 

Subaru:...A si que, ya no voy a correr. 

Subaru: Desde aquí, vamos a el Edén...y luego...voy a matar a mi padre. 

Yui:...¡Es...!

Yui: (Despues de todo, no perdono a Karlhienz...)

Yui: (Hablando de Christa de esa manera, nunca llegaré a entenderlo... Pero...)

Yui: ¡No es razonable! En este momento, ya estas herido...

Subaru: De cual quier manera....Necesito resolver esto. 

Yui: Subaru....

Monologo

Mientras en sus brazos, Subaru vio hace adelante. 

No quiero que este a riesgo. 

----Pero. 

A ver su cara, aparenta que maduró. Y realice que no pude hacer nada para que no lo haría. 

Mientras me sostenía, yo me puse a rezar. 

Al fin de esta batalla, Espero que Subaru este a salvo----.

Monologo Termina

Cambio de Escenario: Pasillo de Entrada en el Edén

Karlhienz:...¿Veniste?

Yui:....

Subaru: Ha, ya pudiste salir de tu cuarto...

Karlhienz: Fu...Subaru. Tienes la misma manera que siempre en hablar con tu padre...

Subaru: ¡Yo no te considero mi padre!

Karlhienz: Ah, veo que tu desprecio hace a mi ha grecido. 

Subaru: ¡Por supuesto que si!

Subaru: ¿Que...le hiciste a mi madre?

Subaru: Si no la amabas...¡por que la convertiste en tu esposa!

Subaru: Por tu culpa, ellos... a mi madre...!

Karlhienz:..Esto otra vez. 

Karlhienz: Cuando hablaba con Evá afuera, ¿no estabas escuchando?

Subaru:...Cállate!

Yui: (...Karlhienz sabia...)

Yui: (Esta persona...)

Yui: (Sabia que Subaru estaba escuchando, y todavía dijo esas cosas horribles...)

Karlhienz:----Porque fue necesario. 

Karlhienz: Por mi plan, necesitaba alguien de la misma sangre...

Karlhienz: Subaru, tu existencia fue algo vital. 

Karlhienz: No hay otra razón

Subaru:...! ¡No jueges conmigo!

Subaru: ¡No somos tus peones!

Subaru: Tu...eres la única persona que no puedo perdonar...

Yui:...

Yui: (...Es inutil. ¿Deberia voltear a otro lado del cuchillo? No, necesito ver...)

Yui: (Es algo que necesita hacer. Subaru va a matar a esta persona de verdad...)

Yui: (Por Christa...Subaru ya esta preparado a hacerlo...)

Yui: (Lo voy a ver hasta el fin.)

Yui: (Cuando todo ya a pasado, se lo voy a dicir.)

Yui: (Oye, Subaru, Tu...)

Yui: (Tu no eres debil.)

Subaru: ¡Karlhienz! ¡Necesito matarte!

Karlhienz:...Esta bien. 

Karlhienz: Seras Adán, mi hijo!

Subaru:...Uaaaaaaa!

Ecstasy 10 ♥ Vampire End ♥ Manservant End ♥ Brute End

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#200-191)

#200: Alice Babs -- Lilla stjärna (Sweden 1958)

“Lilla stjärna i det höga, svara mig, svara mig, Kommer han som jag ska få så kär?”

“Little star up above, answer me, answer me, Is he coming, the man that I will love?”

And so we begin the top 200 with an innocent and sweet number, and which resembles the best of 1950s Eurovision. I'm not a fan of the decade, because most of the songs are a bit too old-fashioned for my taste (especially since we have the beginnings of rock-n-roll outside the contest), but Lilla stjarna is one of the better soundtrack-like songs.

Before Sweden became the superpower in Eurovision we all know and love (or love to hate), they debuted with this dainty, beautiful song that was selected internally. There's a sense of longing in the lyrics, with the narrator hoping that their loved one would return. It’s definitely a fairytale, with that classical instrumentation and Alice’s innocent voice.

Personal ranking: 2nd/10 Actual ranking: 4th/10 in Hilversum

#199: Domenico Modugno -- Nel Blu Dipinto di Blu (Italy 1958)

“Penso che un sogno così non ritorni mai più Mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu Poi d’improvviso venivo dal vento rapito E incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito”

“I think such a dream will never come back I painted my hands and my face blue Then suddenly I was ravished by the wind And I started flying in the infinite sky”

The original classic from Eurovision, and the biggest hit of them all. It topped the Billboard charts in 1959, won two Grammys in the first-ever ceremony in 1959 (and still the only Italian-language song to do so), and is covered and over again to this day.

Considering the lack of attention most of the songs got in the first two contests, it's possible without Nel blu dipinto di blu's commercial success, we wouldn't have a Eurovision Song Contest to speak of. Or it would've been done for by 1960, haha.

Sometimes, I forget about this song when thinking about favorites, but when I listen to the intro, it starts bringing you into its little world, where I’m actually flying! The lyrics are quite cool and imaginative, adding to that feeling.

And of course, that "Volare..." is enough to keep people singing along!

Personal ranking: 1st/10 Actual ranking: 3rd/10 in Hilversum #Italywasrobbed

#198: Korni -- Moja Generacjia (Yugoslavia 1974)

“Mene majka moja rodi da sanjam o slobodi, U prvoj noći da čujem zveket, Da plačem sa rukom na usnama,”

“My mother gave me life to dream of freedom, The first night to hear gun sounds To cry with my hand on my lips”

World War II in Yugoslavia is not something I've learned about in depth. What I do know is that the Axis powers were able to take the whole country, and two major groups arose to collaborate with them. The Ustashas (Croatian nationalists) and Chetniks (Serbian nationalists) also both sought to destroy the other ethnic group and there was a bit of a mess all around.

(If you have any more information on this topic, let me know as I do want to learn)

Moja Generacija is a harrowing but powerful progressive rock song about those born during the Second World War, and their lives as a whole. I like the dark soundscape along with the instruments that accompanied it too. The orchestration at the chorus is especially noteworthy, because of the sweeping strings and the brass which highlight the times as a whole.

(And apparently, there's a seven-minute English-language cut, which makes it even more of a progressive rock song.)

Personal ranking: 3rd/17 Actual ranking: 12th/17 in Brighton

#197: Shiri Maimon -- HaSheket Shenishar (Israel 2005)

המבט אחר והקור חודר אתה מסתתר, את גופי שובר

“The glance is different and the cold is piercing You’re hiding, breaking my body”

Israel in the 2000s wasn't the best song-wise. I can only think of two songs that were really good in that period--of which this was one of them, which held Israel's best placing this century until Toy won three years ago. And it couldn't be anymore different from the song Israel would eventually win with.

Initially, I didn't get it, as it felt a bit derivative. Even now, it has offgrown me a bit because of pop ballad structure. But what I really liked was the smooth transition between Hebrew and English, along with how well Shiri sings it. She has a really sweet tone to her voice, which really helps in conveying the sorrow of being in love with a cheating partner and having to let go of it for her own happiness.

And that dress--it has to be one of my favorite performance outfits of all time!

Personal ranking: 4th/39 Actual ranking: 4th/24 GF in Kyiv

#196: Inga and Anush -- Jan Jan (Armenia 2009)

“Can't ya see, we aren't free?, Fixed like a tree to the holy ground, With my sound, gotta be always around, I wanna dance, don't ya stand, sister give your hand,”

"Sister, here we go!"

For a dance song, it's actually quite sedate--there isn't many moments of true boppiness, but there was something more "psychadelic" about the production and how it was put together. Either way, it works well all the same.

The sisters do a good job singing together, and I like the mix of ethno and dance music. Plus, their costumes are absolutely expensive and glamourous--I would like to wear them if I ever got the chance.

Also, for some reason, Azeris like to spam the comments on this song and claim that the Armenians "stole" their traditional clothing and music. Considering the two countries' proximity, I'm not so shocked about their similarities, but if Azeris would like to share a bit more of their ethnic music, it's always welcome!

Personal ranking: 8th/42 Actual ranking: 10th/25 GF in Moscow

#195: Sabina Babayeva -- When the Music Dies (Azerbaijan 2012)

“You, you are the best of me The reason that I believe, so don't leave me now...”

(Yes, Azerbaijan can send ethnic-influenced music. Hehe.)

Azerbaijan’s host entry when they brought the contest to Baku is a bit of a standard ballad, but with an ethnic twist. The use of balaban really highlights the melancholy of the song, and the mughum vocals pierces one's soul when performed.

I could feel how Sabina sings every word, pleading with her lover to stay with her despite it all. And that doesn’t begin to add with the beautiful LED dress, adding to the drama of the song as we see it in white, but it gets overlaid with sparks, shades of turquoise, and its final form with reds and oranges. That was a particularly beautiful moment.

A lot of fans believe this was the song that should've won it for Azerbaijan, and I can't disagree! This is a gem indeed.

Personal ranking: 6th/42 (a bit awkward here because I left out my runner-up of 2012 in this ranking, so amongst the songs here it's 5th/42) Actual ranking: 4th/26 GF in Baku

#194: Milestones -- Falter im Wind (Austria 1972)

“Tanz um die Lichter, Schmetterling, Deine Farben flammen auf, Tot ist die Nacht, in deinem Tanz, Ist das Leben hell wie Tag”,

“Dance around the lights, butterfly Your colours flame up The night is dead, in your dance Life is bright like the day”

My first forays on pre-1990s Eurovision was with the British blog, Lovelovepeacepeace. She would recap every year between 1968 and 2000, and 1972 was one of the years I went through the songs because of her. Coincidentally, I got to like Falter im Wind as much as she does.

It definitely fits with the hippy era, in terms of folk music and the general aesthetic. There's even a prominent (weird little) flute motif throughout. The lyrics talk about the life or a butterfly and how it shouldn't go to far into the sun. A bit strange, considering what most other songs are about, but it's a nice and gentle sentiment (with a message not unlike that of "Waterfalls", how strange).

Austria is not usually known for their highlights, but this is definitely one of their best (and a personal favorite of mine). Feel free to go an a road-trip playing this (though not with the studio cut--that's a bit slower)!

Personal ranking: 1st/18 Actual ranking: 5th/18 in Edinburgh

#193: Roger Bens -- Femme dans ses rêves aussi (France 1985)

“Mélodie, mélodrame, sourire et puis larmes Amoureuse ou sans âme, elle est d’abord femme...”

“Melody, melodrama, smile and then tears In love or without soul, first of all she’s woman”

ESC 1985 is notable not only because of a certain ripped-skirt incident, but also because they have a live album with the first eleven songs of the contest. Among these is the French entry, which has one of the best orchestrations of all-time, thanks to Michel Bernholc's arrangemnt.

(And because of that, it is my most-listened to song on Spotify)

The violins primarily make this song what it is—there are synths in the studio track, but don’t pack the same punch. The bass really provides some depth, and the brass at the bridge really sells the whole thing home.

The sense of drama in the song also includes the lyrics about being a woman and embracing her in all the ways. Despite the occasional eyebrow-raising and lip licking, Roger sings this with gusto.

To add to this, where is Roger Bens? This was the last known sighting of him and he is presumed to be dead.

Personal ranking: 3rd/19 Actual ranking: 10th/19 in Gothenburg

#192: Nina Zilli -- L'Amore È Femmina (Out Of Love) (Italy 2012)

“If you were my king, would I be your queen?, Stop breaking up my heart, you kill me – boom boom boom”

No, she's not Amy Winehouse resurrected for one night, but Nina Zilli! She also competed in Sanremo that year, and Emma (see #223) won it with the harsh but determined "Non è l'inferno".

Beyond the retro music and Nina's bouffant on the night, I didn't notice any similarities to Amy Winehouse. This doesn't mean "L'amore e femmina" have its own charms--it falls into the jazz theme that "Madness of Love" (#232) continues, but is the opposite in more than one way.

The English-Italian mix is a but clunky at times, especially in the choruses but it doesn’t take away from the attitude this song brings. I love the jazzy vibes and how Nina sings it with a sense of sassiness and charm. Her backing vocalists really help with conveying the mood, and don't do a bad job when the song goes back to Italian!

(As for the two Sanremo songs in question, I prefer Non è l'inferno to Per Sempre--the former is quite determined, and I really like the lyrics. Though I think the latter would have more appeal in terms of themes, even it's a bit more derivative musically)

Personal ranking: 5th/42 Actual ranking: 9th/26 GF in Baku

#191: Hovi Star -- Made of Stars (Israel 2016)

“Dance with me like we are made of stars...”

This is one of the first songs which got me into Eurovision. I would put this on repeat over and over again, because it's just so beautiful. (Or it was because it's Israeli, haha. Another country bias of mine will appear later.)

The first version of Made of Stars was a trashy and dull dance song, but the rework into a ballad makes it more magical. It’s serene yet touching, with a calming piano motif and a dramatic crescendo at the end.

The staging of Made of Stars also helps; while I'm still put off by the LED face when the backing vocalists sing "you hypontize me", everything else just works. The otherwise starry LEDs, the hoop dancers, and Hovi's glowing presence make this into a sweet, albeit overlooked package.

Personal ranking: 6th/42 Actual ranking: 14th/26 GF in Stockholm

[magistralucis]

Hello! Now that i have acquainted myself with the Bloody Beetroots music a bit I can't help but ask you to share your knowledge and thoughts on Volevo Un Gatto Nero if/whenever you feel like doing it. I am so confused.

Holy Christ you’re in for a ride.

Alright. For anyone else reading this - not that I know why you’d, uh, want to - while the song referred to in the ask is ‘Volevo Un Gatto Nero (You Promised Me)’ (2013) by The Bloody Beetroots, I’m going to delve into the original ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ (1969) and its variants for most of this answer. The Bloody Beetroots’ version is a cover, and so can’t really be discussed without keeping the original song in mind, mostly because the history of this song since its release has been convoluted as heck. What a doozy this is going to be!

As you can see, the original is now nearly fifty years old. There’s an Italian children’s song festival called ‘Zecchino d'Oro’ that has been ongoing since 1959, and ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ (sung by Vincenza Pastorelli) was one of the entries for 1969. It tells a rather harrowing tale. I’ve bolded and underlined only this translated section, to indicate that it’s for the original.

Un coccodrillo vero un vero alligatore(A true crocodile, a real alligator)ti ho detto che l'avevo e l'avrei dato a te(I told you that I have it, and I’d have given it to you.)Ma i patti erano chiari: il coccodrillo a te(But the terms were clear: the crocodile, to you,)e tu dovevi dare un gatto nero a me(And you were meant to give me a black cat.)

Volevo un gatto nero, nero, nero(It was a black, black, black cat I wanted)mi hai dato un gatto bianco, e io non ci sto più(You gave me a white one; I won’t stand for it!)Volevo un gatto nero, nero, nero(It was a black, black, black cat I wanted)siccome sei un bugiardo con te non gioco più(Because you are a liar, I won’t play with you any more.)

Child, it’s just a cat! Jesus!! Chill out for a moment!!!

At least, I guess you’d be tempted to say that for just the first verse, but this child apparently also offers a giraffe and an Indian elephant and an entire zoo to obtain this one black cat. So the longer this song goes on, the more you have to sympathize with them - because, you know. It is a pretty rough deal! The song finally culminates in them snapping and vowing to just keep the cat - whether it be black or white (’ma insomma nero o bianco, il gatto me lo tengo’) - before they play take-backsies on the other gifts. You can’t really blame them. Nobody ends up getting exactly what they want, but the singing child still walks away with a new cat. And that’s why you keep your promises, children.

So far so good. The very same year, a version was recorded in Japan with completely different lyrics. The Japanese version is called ‘Kuroneko no Tango’ (’The Black Cat’s Tango’), and the first verse goes like this:

君はかわいい ぼくの黒ネコ(You are my cute black cat)赤いリボンが よくにあうよ(that red ribbon suits you well;)だけどときどき 爪を出して(but sometimes you show your claws)ぼくの心を 悩ませる(and you hurt my feelings)黒ネコのタンゴ タンゴ タンゴ(The black cat’s tango, tango, tango,)ぼくの恋人は黒いネコ(my lover is a black cat)黒ネコのタンゴ タンゴ タンゴ(The black cat’s tango, tango, tango,)ネコの目のように気まぐれよ(you’re as fickle as the gleam of cats’ eyes.)

And yeah, it does actually say ‘lover’ in the second line of the chorus. (The original word is 恋人, ‘koibito’.) No further comment to make on that.As you can see, it’s become a rather more cutesy, generic song under the Japanese influence, sung to the same tango tune but basically unrecognizable from the tale of bribery and betrayal depicted in the Italian original.

But the thing is.

This version got popular.

So popular, in fact, that since the time of the Japanese release, pretty much every foreign-language cover of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ has talked about cute black cats and/or tangoes and/or the general amusing habits of cats - without having any semblance to the original. Faithful Italian covers of the song exist, of course, because it’s a song that’s been around for a long time and the tune has been recognizable in so many contexts as it is; in an excellent example of recursion, the Japanese singer MEG covered the song in the original Italian in 2012, too. (Listen to it here.) But even so, when you hear the tune of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ and it’s not in the Italian, the popularity of the Japanese version and other circumstances have ensured over the past decades that you are almost 100% certainly not going to hear a tale about crocodile bartering. It’s the Japanese version that’s being homaged most of the time, like for example in the Finnish version (’Mustan Kissan Tango’).

Jos mustan kissan saisin, mä sitä tansittaisin.(If I would get a black cat, I’d make it dance.)Sen mustan kissan tassut ne sitten hassut on!(Then the black cat’s paws would be funny!)Kun pitkän narun päähän mä laitan paperin,(When I put paper on a long string,)niin kissa tanssii aivan tangon askelin!(the cat dances with the tango rhythm!)

Hei, tanssi kissa tango, tango, tango,(Hey, the cat dances tango, tango, tango,)  nyt mustan kissan tanssi sen ikioma on!(now it’s the cat’s very own dance!)Soi mustan kissan tango, tango, tango,(Play the black cat’s tango, tango, tango,)se japanista lensi tänne meillekin.(it flew from Japan to us.)

Bolded for meta-commentary. This version’s pretty self-aware, at least. (It’s also the single most catchiest version of this song for me, but your mileage may definitely vary.) As far as covers of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ go, ‘Mustan Kissan Tango’ and ‘Kuroneko no Tango’ relate to each other very well, but not so much to the original.Still better than the French version (’Je Veux Vivre Tango’):

Mes parents exagèrent, ils ne me comprennent pas(My parents exaggerate, they do not understand me)  Et parfois j'ai les nerfs noués au bout des doigts(and sometimes I have nerves tied at the fingertips)Pour aller a l'école je me lève à 6 heures(To go to school I wake up at six o'clock)Et j'ai les yeux qui collent et j'ai les yeux qui pleurent(and I have eyes that stick, and I have eyes that weep)

Moi je veux vivre tango, tango, tango,(I want to live [a] tango, tango, tango,)mais mon père et ma mère sont toujours après moi.(but my father and mother are always after me.)Moi je veux vivre tango, tango, tango,(I want to live [a] tango, tango, tango,) vraiment ils exagèrent, ah quels parents j'ai là(they really exaggerate, ah, what parents I have here!)  

… That’s… not even…. remotely close to… Ah, never mind.

As for why I know so much about this one song, it’s because the Korean version (or versions) was quite popular when it came out. I know of it in two forms, the children’s song version in 1970 and a rather poplike version by a group called Turbo. The latter is what most people my age remember, but the title remains the same: ‘Black Cat Nero’.We’ve actually kept the ‘nero’ aspect of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’, but in Korean that’s merely a name, so I don’t know if that counts as particularly faithful to the original. Still has the black cat, though.

그대는 귀여운 나의 검은 고양이(You are my cute black cat)새빨간 리본이 멋지게 어울려(That scarlet ribbon suits you well)그러나 어쩌다 토라져 버리면(But if you end up sulking somehow)얄밉게 할퀴어서 마음 상해요(you scratch out of spite, it’s very hurtful)검은 고양이 네로 네로 네로([My] black cat Nero, Nero, Nero,)귀여운 나의 친구는 검은 고양이(my cute friend is a black cat)검은 고양이 네로 네로 네로([My] black cat Nero, Nero, Nero,)이랬다 저랬다 장난꾸러기(you’re full of mischief all over.)

I like to think of the Korean versions as a synthesis of the Italian original and the Japanese cover, I guess. We’ve done our best with what was given, even though the ultimate final result just reads like a translation of the latter for most part. I’m sure the 1970 version was a direct reaction to ‘Kuroneko no Tango’, anyway, so it was inevitable.Also, you may have not needed to know this at all, but the ‘[my] black cat Nero’ (’검은 고양이 네로’ / ‘geomeun goyangi nero’) part is an excellent mondegreen in Korean for ‘gum is made of cat brains’ (’껌은 고양이 뇌로’). The sheer amount of playground bullshit I and so many other kids sat through over this one mondegreen is unbelievable. I couldn’t forget this song if you paid me to. Should I fall into a coma one day and lose all my memories, I will bet that this is still the one song that will remain in the depths of my mind, its claws sunk in like… like, well, a cat, I suppose. What gives.

Anyway. I could go on and on, but I really need to approach the question of what The Bloody Beetroots made of the song. And to be quite honest with you, I think this is one of the most truthful covers of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ out there, not just because of the translation but because it preserves the intent and emotion of the original pretty much dead on. The song only makes use of the chorus bit, but take a look.

You promised me Bob Rifo, Rifo, Rifo,you gave me some fake muso, and not the one that’s real.You promised me Bob Rifo, Rifo, Rifo,you’re such a little liar, you don’t know how I feel!HOLY SHIT

Isn’t that perfect? Though it’s done away with black cats, the rest of the lyrics can basically pass for a translation of the Italian original, if you allow for the rhymes! While other covers go on about tangoes or cutesy cats, The Bloody Beetroots’ cover has kept the ‘you promised me x but delivered y instead, and I ain’t having it’ part of the original, which is the central argument of the song. So this cover is still telling a story about a deal unfulfilled, complete with calling the other person a liar. I’d say that the emotion and general tone of the narrative has been kept in those lines.

The chorus alone isn’t the only well-adapted part of this cover, either. If you listen to the rest of the song, you hear interjections of ‘FUCK YOUUUUUUU’ during a couple of points, and while the original singer of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ -Vincenza Pastorelli - was far too young to express the song’s emotions in such strong language on national television, I think it’s a pretty adequate summary of the song’s intended message. I mean, I don’t know about y’alls, but the anguish of not receiving the Bob Rifo that I ordered and being forced to accept an inferior substitute would fairly piss me off too, I think. And so would the idea of not being able to get my promised cat after resorting to extortionate bribery, in fact - just like the Italian original. The sound of a child bursting into tears at the very end of The Bloody Beetroots’ cover is just the icing on top. 

Sure, it’s not a direct translated cover of the Italian, and it’s like 10000x more hardcore than the children’s song it was meant to be, but I reckon these elements I’ve just pointed out are not accidental. Cover versions of songs change lyrics all the time - even though I’ve spoken of the covers listed here with bewilderment for most of the post, I do hold sincere affection for most of them, and they were all excellent hits in their respective countries - but I do think it speaks well of faithfulness to source material, if you preserve most of it as it already stands. ‘Volevo un gatto nero (You Promised Me)’ delivers on that for the chorus, and keeps the emotions of the original intact despite not having lyrics for the other 70-80% that it missed out. 

I’m so, so happy about that. I think that’s amazing.And with that, that’s ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ for you. :D

tl;dr: Sir Cornelius Bob Rifo is somehow the one person who managed to make the most faithful foreign-language cover of a fifty year old song, due to numerous mistranslations and variants of said song becoming more popular than the original.

Oh, yeah. And it’s, like… freakin’ metal.

[hamil-tots]

Hamiltots: Alex's Birthday part 3 by Bobandkevin8804

Angelica sighed and walked up behind her friend giving him another hug. “I’ll talk to you later, ok Alex?” She said turning to him. He nodded seeming distracted. Then the young girl walked away. 

John grabbed Alex’s hand and pulled him back to the table.“Come on we can show Mr Washington our pictures!“ He says grabbing all the pictures, passing them out, and then leading the other two boys to the chalkboard, where Mr Washington stood listening to the SpongeBob vs. Peppa Pig debate. As soon as they neared Maria stopped talking and smiled at Alex. She walked over and gave him a hug. “Happy birthday Alex.” She said in her cutesy voice, which made John roll his eyes. “Thank you, Maria.” He said smiling at her. Charlie finally acknowledged Alex’s and the others presence. “Hamilton, Laurens, Lafayette, Mr.” He says nodding his head. “Lee,” Alex says nodding at him. Then he turned his attention Mr Washington.

 “ Look at our pictures Mr. Washington!” Alex said holding his paper up high. Mr. Washington look down at his, John’s, and Laf’s pictures. “Oh, I see a turtle, a Eiffel Tower, and…Alex what is your picture?” Mr Washington said with confusion in his voice. Alex looked down on his picture,“It’s supposed to be me and my favorite people from class,” he said pointing to the different figures. “There’s you, me, John, Laf, Herc, Eliza, Angelica, Maria, Peggy, and Aaron.” Clarity crossed Mr. Washington’s face. “Oh, I see it now.” He said with a smile, which makes Alex smile. “Ok let’s get ready for snack time!” Mr. Washington says. “Yaaaayy!” Yelled all the kids surrounding him.

 They all hurry to their spots at the tables. At one table there is the Schuyler sisters and Maria. Then at another was Thomas, James, Charlie, and Aaron. And then at the last table Alex, John, Laf, and out of no where, Herc. “Where did you come from?” Asks with a questioning smile. “A good spy never tells his secrets.” Herc says winking. They all bust out laughing. Then Mr. Washington comes around with the Sammy A’s Apple juice and carrot sticks.

 “When you finish your carrot sticks you can have to cupcakes Alex brought in. Make sure you thank him also.” Everyone at once said “Thank you, Alex.” And then began on their carrot sticks. After about fifteen minutes Mr. Washington began passing out the cupcakes and watched as the small children made quick work of them. “Alex, these are great!” Said John stuffing a bite of chocolate cupcake into his mouth. 

“Oui, très bien!” Said Laf who had frosting all over his mouth. “Thanks guys, I’ll tell my mom you liked them.” Then they all looked at Herc who was busy stuffing the entire cupcake in his mouth, wrapper and all. Then they began to laugh again. Then Mr. Washington called them all outside for recess. 

On the playground John, Alex, and Laf sat in the sandbox. Maria and Eliza were on the teeter totter. James and Thomas were on the monkey bars. Angelica and Charlie were fighting about if the color blue was only for boys. Peggy and Herc were no where in sight. And Aaron was sitting on top of the slide with Theodosia (the cat) reading. While at the sandbox Alex and the two boys built sand figures and castle, all with stories behind each one. Then Alex noticed someone approach.

 “Alexander.” That person started. “Thomas,” Alex says then quickly adds on “James.” When seeing him trailing behind him. “Happy birthday,” Thomas says trying to be nice, “Those cupcakes were really good.” He finishes.

 “Thanks…” Alex says squinting his eyes at Thomas, trying to figure out what he was up to. 

“Anyways, I came over here to see if Marquis wanted to play with me and James.” Alex turned to look at James, and as it seemed to much of his own dismay, he nodded his head in agreement. “Hmm, ok, then ask him.” Alex says then turns to Laf, who looks torn and very uncomfortable. “Umm, if it’s ok with you, it being his birthday and all…” he says looking at the ground, “I’d um like to play with Alex.” He finishes. Thomas rolled his eyes,“Fine then, I’ll see you later Marquis.” He says as he grabs James hand and pulls him away. There was a moment of silence in the sand box. “Well that was weird.” Said John who was staring at a disappearing shape of Thomas and James. “Let’s just get back to playing.” Said Alex as he grabbed a little blue shovel. “Oui.” Said Laf grabbing a green bucket.

 Twenty minutes pass and Mr. Washington calls all the children inside. “Ok kids, grab your blankets and mats for nap time.” He says as he shuts the door to the classroom. All the kids do so and find their spots in the carpet.

 Mr. Washington turns off the lights, closes the blinds of the widow, and plugs in a small nightlight. Within five minutes all this kids are sleeping soundly. 

Mr. Washington looked at the clock on the wall: 2:45. Time to wake the kids up. He flicks on the lights. “Time to wake up kids.” He says softly so he doesn’t frighten the children. 

They rustle under their blankets and one by one pop up to stretch. Alex awakes to find he is being held down by Johns arms. He giggles at first because he turns to face John and finds a weird smile on his sleeping face. Alex sits up and gives John a little shake. John stirs and slowly opens his eyes. He lets out a yawn and then smiles. 

“Hi Alex.” He says before stretching. “Hi John” Alex says back smiling, then laughing when he looks at John’s hair.

 “What’s so funny?” John asks confusedly. 

“John, you need to fix your ponytail.” Alex says as his laughter dies down. 

John touches his hair to find it all out of place. He gasps. “Mr. Washington!” He yells as he runs up to him so he can fix his hair. John returns and they go to find Laf and decide to find the Schuyler sisters(even though John didn’t want to). 

They were in the corner playing games like patty cake and doing each other’s hair. “Hey, do you girls want to play with us?” Alex asked looking at each sister. They look at each other for a second and nod their heads once agreement after a silent conversation. “Sure,” Angelica answers,“ But we wanna play house.” She says looking at Alex. 

“Ok.” Alex agrees without asking the other boys. “Alex you have to be the dad, Laf you can be the uncle and John you can he one of the sons.” Eliza says assigning roles. “I’ll be the mom, Angelica you can be the aunt, and Peggy your the daughter. Philip is the other son.” She says smiling. “Everyone ok with this?” Angelica asks.

 “Umm, can I be something else, I don’t want to be you and Alex’s son.” John says. “Ok, what do you want to be?” Eliza asks. John’s face reddens slightly and his eyes un focus. “Um, never mind.” He says as he looks at the ground. “Ok then!” Eliza says excitedly. 

They begin to play for half an hour when parents started arriving to pick up their children. 

First Philip Schuyler to get his girls, then Aaron Burr Sr. to get his son, then the Reynolds with their older son James to get Maria. After that the kids left bit by bit.

 Laf and Herc had already left so it was just Alex and John plus some other kids. John was looking down at his shoes the entire time. “What’s wrong John?” Alex asked with concern. “Nothing, just thinkin’.” He says as his eyebrows smush together. “Whatcha thinking about?” Said Alex watching his friend. “Ummm…” John started before his face turned red again. “Never mind its stupid.” He says shaking his head. “No John, you can tell me.” Alex says grabbing his friends hand. John looks up at him for the first time since people started leaving. “I um like um you a lot, Alex.” John says turning even redder. Then looking down. Alex sees his mother in the door way talking to Mr. Washington.

 He stands up and pulls John with him. He gives John a quick hug and then pecks him on the cheek. “John, I like you a lot too.” He says then turns and runs into his mothers arms. “Hola mami!” Alex says hugging. “Hola mi amor.” She says smiling. “¿Te divertiste hoy?” She says looking at him. “¡Sí! ¡Mucho! A todos les gustaban los pastelitos.” He said. He waved goodbye to Mr. Washington and a smiling John. Alex and his mother climbed into her car and instead of driving home, she pulled into the parking lot of Kings Restaurant. Excitement flowed from Alex. His mother looked in the rear view mirror and smiled as she saw something that truly made her happy. Her son. ‘Happy birthday Alex’ she thinks to herself as she grabs the hand of the little boy that holds her heart. 

***** AHHHHH! It’s finally finished. It took me while to figure out where this was gonna go and I decided this was a good ending point. Please don’t hate me for the Lams I really couldn’t help myself, I just thought it would be really cute. Also I tried to add Kings College somewhere in there and it ended up being a restaurant lol but in my defense there really is a Kings Restaurant in my home town so…yeah. And if the Spanish I put in there is incorrect please forgive me I’m only in my first year of Spanish and google translate can only get you so far lol. I kinda tried to incorporate some of your drawings like with Mr. Washington and the pony tail thing and such. And finally I just want to say I hope to continue to submit Hamiltot writing to you, I think your an amazing artist and have the greatest most awesome imagination for coming up with Hamiltots in the first place. It’s been fun, (signed) Bobandkevin8804. (Not really tho because I’m typing this lol)

[copperbadge]

lightwit replied to your post “So what music do you like to listen to if you don't like most music?”

Do your parents/family listen to music? I'm asking because my music taste is similar to yours and I come from a family where no one really listens to music (from grandparents down to cousins). So I always thought it's an inherited thing (either through genes or by exposure) that I don't listen to music much. Just interested to know if it's similar for you.

My father played the piano and my mother is very musical -- she plays a couple of instruments (well, not really anymore, but she knows how, is my point) and sings. They had me in music education from a very young age and I think it was probably pretty upsetting to them that I just couldn’t give two shits about any classical composer except Tchaikovsky, and him really only at first because I had a cassette tape that was the story of his life interspersed with his music and I think he had a really interesting life. 

I think it was probably a relief to all involved when I quit the piano. I’m actually truly surprised Mum gave me any kind of musical instrument this past Christmas, even a learner ukulele, because I remember how frustrated she was with my total disinterest in music as a child and her HORROR at my musical tastes as a teen (ran strongly to Alternative, which is like Pop Designed To Annoy Your Parents). 

tagathax replied to your post “So what music do you like to listen to if you don't like most music?”

Can I ask you what you mean by that music's very mathy? I'm terrible with maths but I love music and I've always thought they're very opposite of each other. Although I remember reading somewhere that Bach's music has some math elements in it but I don't see it myself (or maybe I just don't understand it as maths).

All of music is basically counting and number values. Like, if you’ve ever listened to someone try to explain musical theory it’s literally all “music is twelve notes in seven tones in eight octaves and everything’s a ratio”. 

I can’t actually explain this to you because I don’t understand math or musical theory, but yeah, music and math are heavily interrelated. (I googled quickly and there appears to be a great overview from the American Mathematical Society here.)

What this means is not that if you don’t understand math you can’t enjoy music. What it means is that people who make and teach music are predominantly extremely comfortable with mathematical theory and tend to apply it in their work -- and something that is mathematically beautiful is not always audibly so to someone who doesn’t understand the underlying theory.

I believe there are also studies that link the musical and mathematical centers in the brain but I’m not interested enough in this topic to google. :D 

hystericblue replied to your post “So what music do you like to listen to if you don't like most music?”

"music's very mathy" ??? *all the question marks* so what I'm getting is, you like musicals and probably early Disney stuff where they sang parts of the story.

Not really. Early musicals in particular were zero about using the music to tell a story and 100% about showing off the vocal ability of the performers. This also influenced early film, including animated but also live-action musicals. Look at any given musical made before about 1970 and you’ll see that most of the songs aren’t about forwarding the action but are about either describing a situation or expressing a feeling. Most songs in a musical don’t tell a story so much as set a scene. Andrew Lloyd Weber, you don’t have to like him, but he changed the way stage musicals exist -- he brought the pop sensibility into the musical theatre world and made the narrative the focus. Which on the one hand is why you get ALW movies where the leads aren’t operatic diva quality, but I can’t emphasize this enough, I don’t give a fuck and can’t tell anyway. 

I love Les Mis (not an ALW joint, I know, but a part of the pop-musical movement) and I love the narrative quality of its music and I went to see the movie and thoroughly enjoyed it and couldn’t tell for a second who could and couldn’t sing. I listen to people say the singing ruined it for them and like...I didn’t notice. And it’s okay that people did, and I understand how that might have been an issue for them. But what I’m saying is that vocal quality, beyond a basic competence, is a non-factor for me, and it’s not the biggest factor in pop-musical tradition. The story rules. Hence not caring much for early musicals. (There are some old showtune songs I like. Summertime, Blow Gabriel Blow, a few others, but those are songs plucked from musicals where I may not enjoy any other song in the show.)  

There are a couple of Disney films whose music I really enjoy, but they tend to be later, from my childhood, which has a nostalgia element -- but also my childhood was a really great time for Disney movies, and a lot of the songs were written by pop stars. And pop stars DO know how to tell a story in a song and are aware that most people listening give zero shits about the vocal quality of the performer beyond “can they hit the right note at the right spot”. Elton John is a great vocalist, but he’s also aware his voice is not why people love his music. 

Uh, that got long, sorry. But yeah, I often have to defend my near-total disinterest in musicals, as a former theatre kid, because I have no ear for good singing and thus don’t care about vocalists. 

secondalto replied to your post “What are the podcasts you like listening to then? (in reference to the...”

Have you ever given Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me a try?

I’ve actually been to see it live! I never remember when it’s on, though, and sometimes their guests are real duds or they’re not that interesting but Peter is SUPER NERDY about whatever it is they do so they end up talking forever. (Nobody else cares as deeply about Portlandia as you do, Peter.) So it’s something I enjoy when I happen to catch it but it’s not on my feed or anything.

[salty--parabola]

all the cafe asks (your turn !!)

thanks el!!!!! hey guys go check out when el did these here and also follow her because she’s really cool

Vanilla Chai Latte : Are you in love?nopeFlat White : Coffee or Tea?tea i wish i could drink coffee but its too much caffiene… my small brain can’t handle itCappuccino : What’s your middle name?alexaMocha : Dream Job?maybe an environmental forensic scientist?

Pumpkin Spice : Dream car?i really havent thought about that muchJasmine Tea : If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?to go visit friends because i miss themOld English : You’re stranded on an island, who do you bring with you?either one of my friends or someone who can get me tf out of thereIced Chocolate : Do you have a crush on someone?nahCaramel Frappe : Favorite video game?i’d agree with el that mario kart (in any incarnation) is a masterpiece of a gameIced Lemon Tea : Favorite song/band?tbh im liking les mis and fun home right nowIced Cafe Mocha : Favorite thing to do on rainy days?go for a really long walk and get really cold and then come inside where its warmHot Chocolate : Are you an affectionate person?not really? my family never really did the whole affectionate thing so i don’t exactly know how to?Caramel Macchiato : You’re travelling the entire world but you can only take one person with you. Who do you take?probably one of my friends most likely el because we haven’t seen each other in half of foreverGreen Tea : How tall are you?5′6″Early Grey Tea : The inevitable Zombie Apocalypse is upon us! What’s your plan of action?i’d probably be ok because i don’t really go outside and i have a huge stockpile of clif barsMint Tea : How do you relax?mostly listen to music and read and talk to friendsVanilla Latte : Board games or drinking games?still underage and tame af so board games, y’allIced Coffee : Do you like reading? If so, what’s your favorite book?i love harry potter, and to kill a mockingbird. im currently reading libba bray’s beauty queens and alison bechdel’s are you my motherItalian Soda : Describe your dream datean aquarium or something? if it was the first date probably something that i didn’t have to talk much because i make awful first impressions

Sparkling Water : Describe what qualities you look for in a personmakes it feel not-awkward even if it is

Orange Juice : Have you ever had a valentine?nahRose Hip Tea : Describe your first kisswell i kissed my best friend in sixth grade right after she had pneumonia? does that countHerbal Tea : You’re at a candle shop, what scented candle do you buy? lemon

thanks el!!! here’s the original post if you want to reblog it