#pleasantly surprised that the doors were the most triggering part of episode 1

[anxiously-avoiding]

Okay seriously need someone to explain this to me. I finally started Takin' over the Asylum and how the actual fuck did they have the budget for The Beatles, but Doctor Who, with their big fancy Disney budget, couldn't afford it. What the fuck. Did they just not charge as much in 1994? Was it really not in the budget or did RTD make that up because he thought I should have "I've got a dog" on loop in my head?

[diamondcamefromhell]

Timeless love

Jaskier x female reader series part 3

[PART 1] ; [PART  2]

Summary: This is an AU, where Y/N is a young woman, trying to make ends meet with her freelancing writing job. She lives in her small Nottingham studio apartment along with her cat Apollo. Things change when one evening as she is waiting for her taxi, she meets what she thinks is Joey Batey, but the man in front of her is convinced he’s Jaskier, a character from her current favorite show. Y/N now has to figure out what to do.

Warnings: Swearing, vomit, alcoholism and alcohol-related borderline abuse

Word count: 2,251

NOTE:

This part has some heavier stuff than any other work Ive written, so please, proceed with caution for your own sake. nothing too graphic happens, but still want to make sure you know that it does have a certain character that could be triggering to some. he wont be a dominant feature in all parts, but i feel it’s important for Jaskier to interact with people like that, as he continues to learn about our world. 

hope you enjoy this part nonetheless. feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated <3 [im really nervous to see what yall think]

I don’t know when, but I managed to get some sleep. Not much, as it was just 7 am when Apollo started meowing and jumping on me, asking to be fed. I sit up, my gaze immediately going to the coach, where Jaskier seemed to be sleeping soundly.

I crawl out of the bed, going to the kitchen, where I see lute back by the fridge. He eventually put it down last night. I wonder how long did it take for him to fall asleep. I sigh, as quietly as possible pouring some food for my cat, who purrs as a thank you.

I stare out the window, as cars start going up and down the street. The town is waking up. I tiptoe around my apartment to go get my laptop from the coffee table. I am surprised Jaskier didn’t ask about it last night. But then again, he didn’t know most of the things in my apartment, he probably was overwhelmed.

I go back to my bed, opening and booting up my old friend. As I enter the password, I am greeted with a picture of him and Geralt on that rock, at the end of episode 6. I loved that whole scene so much. I stare at it, not believing the same bard is sleeping on my coach. I know better, so I change the picture to one of the default ones.

I open chrome, exiting the youtube page that has his song on it. He is not ready for that.

Or maybe I wasn’t. But it didn’t matter.

I go to email, checking for work. I have a few requests, and I decide it’s best to get some work done before Jaskier wakes up and we have to have more awkward conversations. I manage to write two articles, and then he awakens.

His face, for a second, is full of confusion, but then he seems to remember where he is. Now, his expression grows sad. I know he probably wished this were just a nightmare. I know he wished to wake up, back home. With Geralt and even Yennefer. But instead he got me and Apollo, who was already jumping on the coach, greeting Jaskier.

“So that wasn’t a dream,” he murmurs, but I catch it. I close my laptop.

“I’m afraid not.” I respond, as he looks at me, his expression still cold. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, what can you do.” He forces a smile, which I don’t really like, but I decide it’s best not to comment on that. Instead, I nod.

“I wish I could do something. Anyway,” I clear my throat. “Are you up to trying something new?”

“Depends on what it is.” Jaskier perks up, his clouded gaze clearing a little.

“Dirty beans.” I say, jumping out of my bed, I smirk at him. “Or as people call it – coffee.”

“I think I will pass on dirty beans.” He frowns and I giggle.

“You will not.” I say, as he smiles, just a little. And I know it’s genuine. A little hope in these dark times.

I go turn on my coffee maker, putting in the capsule. I decide to make him a latte, nothing too strong. I make myself giggle, when I realize he may be lactose intolerant. I guess we will find out. I stare at him, and decide to add two sugars.

For myself, however, I go black, with one sugar. I need the energy, as I feel absolutely exhausted. I take the drinks, giving him his cup. He sniffs the drink, taking a sip. I don’t sit down, closely watching his reaction.

He doesn’t frown, and actually looks pleasantly surprised. Smile curls his lips, and I catch myself smiling too.

“Glad you like my dirty beans.” I say, finally sitting down, sipping my own. The bitter taste hits my taste buds, waking me up in an instant.

“It’s nice. Thank you.” I smile.

“You are welcome, Jaskier.” I say, leaning back on the couch. “Let me know if you are hungry, I will cook something.”

“I will, thanks.” I glance at him, realizing how surreal it is. Yet we both seem calm.

“Then we might need to go out. Try to see if we can find something around here.” I feel anxiety rush over me. “It’s best if we do it in a day too. Safer.”

“What will we look for?” I shrug, closing my eyes.

“We’ll see it when we find it.” I look at his attire now. “However, you will have to change.”

“Sorry, I didn’t pack anything.” He says, smirking, and I feel a wave of ease wash over me. I am glad he is making jokes.

“I have some clothes that should fit you. I think.” He looks confused, nearly scared, so I continue. “Not my clothes, but I buy some for Dave, he sometimes needs them, because well… he doesn’t have that much.”

“Dave?” I cant read Jaskier’s tone, but he seems confused.

“He lives in the apartment in front of mine. We are… acquaintances at best.” Jaskier nods, as I place my coffee down.

I rush to my small wardrobe, going to the second drawer, where I keep clothes for Dave. Poor guy vomits on himself so often, and he doesn’t know how to wash clothes exactly. If they’re not too disgusting, I wash them, but I keep fresh ones at hand.

I get them at a thrift store, so most of them aren’t to fancy or anything.

I pull a pair of old black jeans, trying to imagine if Jaskier could fit in them. I think he should, but then again, I didn’t exactly examine how he looks that much. I’ve seen it for hours on tv. Dave is not a big man, and I thank my angels for that, as I pull a white shirt that should fit Jaskier too. I dig around to find a pink hoodie.

For a moment I think he wouldn’t wear it, but then I remember what he is wearing now and realize he probably would be fine with a bit of pink. I turn around, revealing his outfit, but Jaskier looks confused.

“Please tell me you know how to dress yourself.” I tease, and he laughs.

“I do, if you can’t tell, I dress nicely.” I chuckle, but don’t respond. “This is weird.”

“Just change.” I throw the clothes to him, and he starts undressing before my very own eyes. It takes me a moment for shock to pass away, before the blush rushes to my face. “In the bathroom for Christs sake!”

I point to the only other room in my apartment as the bard looks very confused. But one look at me, flustered and red sends the message, as he smirks, gathering his clothes and leaving the room. I fan my face with my hands.

Now I don’t meant to act like such a loser and fear seeing a man’s nipple. It’s just that I know I might have to stay with him for a couple more days, so it might make things weird. Also, I already had a crush on him, kinda, and I didn’t want to deepen it even more.

When he comes out, I am already seated, calmed down and drinking my coffee. I turn my face and immediately feel a wave of something rush over me. He looks so different. The pants are a bit big, I notice, but nothing a belt cant fix. The shirt, however, fits perfect, hugging his body. And the zip up hoodie ads a familiar pop of colour.

I feel my face become hot again.

“Verdict?” He asks, twirling around.

“You need a belt.” I say in one breath, rushing to get him the damn thing, before his pants fall off. Which, they nearly did already. When they are secure, I give one final look. “You look normal, so you’re good, I guess.”

“I don’t feel normal.” He says bitterly, and I sigh.

“I know, Jaskier. Not your usual attire, but this way, you will stand out less.” I stare at him, knowing there is a way bigger problem at hand.

He now literally looks like Joey Batey. An exact replica. And if someone, who has seen the hit show, sees him, it will be bad. I suddenly get a headache.

“We have a different problem. You look exactly like someone well known. That’s why I mistook you when I saw you last night.” I say, rubbing my temples.

“Who?” I sigh again.

“Joey. Joey Batey.” I grunt, closing my eyes. “If people recognize you as him, there might be… trouble.”

“Do townsfolk know him that well?” I glare at the man, but then I remember he seemingly knows nothing about my world. So I ease up.

“Yes. He’s like Geralt.” I compare. “The world just knows him. I guess we will have to stay close to home. And wear your hood up.”

I ignore my headache, chugging down my coffee, as Jaskier puts his hood up. He looks adorable, but I don’t say that, instead I nod, approving. I decide to go without breakfast, as the more I think about having to go outside, the more anxious I get.

And I am out of my medication, since I don’t like going to a doctor.  I silently curse myself out, as we make our leave. The corridor still stinks, so I give Jaskier an apologetic glance, who in return gives me a soft smile. I feel a chill rush down my spine, when the door behind our backs open. I drop my keys, thankfully after I already locked the door.

I quickly pick them up, turning around to face my neighbour. Dave is staring at Jaskier, his eyes wide with surprise. He has never seen me bring a man home.

Dave is wearing grey joggers, with various stains on it. I notice some blood, but realize it’s best not to ask, not with Jaskier in the earshot. His shirt also clearly has dried vomit on it, and he oozes of vodka and something else. It makes me dizzy and sick.

I try to imagine what the bard is seeing. A frail, tiny white male. Bald, but with a black creepstache. Shaking uncontrollably. It must be so confusing. I want for us to get away, only then I notice Jaskier shielding me ever so slightly. My heart beats faster.

“Hello Dave.” I say through my teeth, stepping in front of Jaskier, so now I would shield him from the curious stare.

“Y/N, sweetheart. Didn’t know you had company.” He says, holding on his door frame, stabilizing himself. I force a smile.

“Yes, well. He’s a friend.” I say, stepping in front of ‘my friend’ more. Dave wasn’t generally violent, but he could get jealous and insecure from every male person who ever walked this earth. Let’s say he has a fragile ego.

“Introduce us, then!” He smiles, and I notice he’s missing his front tooth now. Poor man.

“I’d rather not, Dave.” I say, firmly, as he takes a step forward, using me as a stabilizer now. I want to step away, but I know it would cause a scene. And he wasn’t generally violent, but there instances.

“C’mon sweetheart.” He leans in, whispering. “Your friends are my friends.”

“I said no.” My voice comes out weak as the stench from his is making me feel dizzy. I feel like I am about to throw up.

“She has said no, Dave.” Jaskier speaks, startling me. I almost forgot he was there. He steadies me, as I didn’t even realize I was drifting back. Then I notice my hands shaking. I’m beginning to panic. Fuck.

“We are in a rush, Dave.” I deescalate the situation, as my neighbor was shooting daggers at Jaskier. “Next time, I will introduce you two.”

“Where are you going?” Dave steps back, but he grabs my upper hand. I get startled, squirming a little. That seems to tip off Jaskier.

“Let go.” He steps in front of me now, his voice firm. Dave, to my surprise, listens, letting me go immediately.

“You got yourself a good man, Y/N.” He says, laughing. He steps in his apartment, slamming the door. I lean on the wall, taking a couple deep breaths, which don’t help as it stinks in here.

“Are you okay?” I shake my head.

“I need fresh air.”

I practically jump down the stairs, and when I reach outside, I go around the corner to throw up. My stomach hurts.

Dave is usually kind. He rarely ever lays his hands on me, but whenever he does, it’s never nice. I wish Jaskier wasn’t there to witness this. I glance over my shoulder, to see his worried look, I straighten up, wiping my mouth.

“I’m fine.” I grunt, ignoring the fact that his gaze doesn’t change.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that, a lady like you…” I lift my hand, annoyed. He get’s the hint, shutting up.

“In this world, Jaskier, I’m no lady.” I put my hair behind the ear, anxiously looking around. “Get used to that.”

“It’s not fair.” He argues, worry not leaving his face. I sigh, walking past him.

“The world isn’t fair.” I bitterly say, before taking a deep breath. I face Jaskier again. “Now let’s look for something that could help you.”

He knows this conversation is over, as I feel anxiety come back. I have no idea what to look for or where to even begin.

[PART 4]

~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST [if you wish to be added or removed from the tag list, lmk]

@ultracolorfulnerdcollection ; @viyamystic ; @sleepyblossom ; @killjoy-acid-crash

[violentpassionsurrogate]

The Haunting of Hill House (Netflix) review

I approached Netflix's "The Haunting of Hill House" with great trepidation. The 1959 novel by Shirley Jackson is, after all, one of my favourite books, and the premise of "reinventing" such a beloved tale via modernity in serial TV format with an entirely new story and characters seemed.. daunting, no doubt even more-so for Writer/Director Mike Flanagan.

My fears were occasionally realised. But so were my wildest hopes. It's confusing.

Flanagan walks a difficult line between adhering to the spirit of the source material (which he clearly understands deeply), and satisfying the expectations and attention spans of a 2018 TV audience. Often this succeeds spectacularly, demonstrating beyond my wildest dreams the unsettling power of terror over mere horror, more-so by a staggering margin than any other modern attempts at on-screen gothic horror. It regularly verges on genius, the season's mid-point in particular. But too often, it slips towards shock, spectacle, and cliche, its attempt to deliver the requisite number of scares-per-episode undermining its more subtle psychological groundwork. There were moments in the latter half of the season where I wondered whether they'd pulled in Jan de Bont, director of the 1999 Razzie nominated film adaptation (it wasn't even good enough to win that), to guest direct.

The book itself is retconned into the show as the childhood memoirs of celebrated author and paranormal researcher Steven Crain, an explicit erasure of Jackson that I found disrespectful to her memory. Almost as disrespectful was the jarringly out-of-context and random insertion of chunks of the novel's flowery prose into the mouths of characters who otherwise speak like they live in 2018/198? (poor Mrs. Dudley gets some of the worst of this). It's an odd tic for a show which otherwise has such confidence in its own vision.

The book itself features many spooky happenings, but no actual apparitions. When the show introduced these, I was pleasantly surprised to see them at first presented tastefully and with a surreal flair that made them seem, indeed, as creatures from a dream. And yet as the show progressed it came to rely more and more on these horrors, who became increasingly kitschy and ghoulish, an increasing weight on the show's suspension of disbelief.

Part of the problem is that horror, as a format, tends to narratively progress in a more-or-less straight slope from "everything's mostly okay!" at the beginning to "everything is the worst imaginable and we're all dead/insane!" at the end. This makes long-form horror difficult to pull off; you stretch that line too far and it starts to feel pretty flat. You cannot keep "upping the ante" in the horror realm without eventually approaching absurdity. Hill House more than dips its toe into it by its conclusion.

And yet, for all of those significant frustrations, I'll be good-goddamned if this isn't the most effective TV horror I've ever seen. I am a genre veteran. I am rarely shook. I have seen everything. I hadn't seen this. I had to sleep with my light on last night. That's a first for adulthood.

On that note, the show delves deeply and unrelentingly into  mental illness, trauma, grief, suicide, substance abuse, depression, anxiety, child abuse, PTSD, and other such cheerful and uplifting topics. There is stuff in there which may be triggering for some of my friends. There is stuff in there which will be upsetting for most human viewers. It's frequently fucking harrowing - one of the opening monologues had me pausing mid-way through to catch my breath and watch funny YouTube videos for a while. It's very, very good, but it's not for everyone.

It's a shame that the only ray of hope the show provides for its characters is so jarringly saccharine; copping out on its own setup at the last mile and mutilating Jackson's sacred words to deliver a fake and forced "happy ending". It did not surprise me in the least to learn that Flanagan originally had a darker ending planned, before a last-minute change of heart. He absolutely should have stuck to his guns. The show as a whole is significantly weaker for that one directorial decision.

Still, if you can handle scares and difficult themes (and they are.. difficult), and especially if you're a horror fan, you absolutely MUST watch this show. Fans of the novel or 1963 film will need to check their expectations at the door lest its liberties/atrocities detract from the experience. Fans of the 1999 film will need to put down that glue IT'S NOT FOR EATING.

There are 10/10 moments and 1/10 moments. Forgiving the latter is more than worth it for the former. I'm feeling both stingy and generous when I give it a 9/10. Really, it's an "it's complicated" out of 10. The series is as schizophrenic as the house itself.