#shes very miserable. her daughter may have been groomed by someone but look away from that

[yuridovewing]

character that deserves better is featherstorm. boy the writers love wringing out her agony

[theredsuzuran]

Yandere Muzan x Reader

I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, also for my crappy writing I hope It does not bore you lol. Slight mention of gore

It was the time of summer

A multitude of people hovering over one another in the vast space of the lively Asakusa city occupying the streets like tiny ants. Unfortunately it was same monotonous sight for kibutsuji Muzan progenitor of the morbid demon race, who seems to be roaming around uninterestingly looking for a suitable prey to hunt. The fleeting lives of mortals, their compassion, happiness, sorrow, pain held no value to him. They are pests who belong in the dirt or beneath his feet, inferior compare to a perfect being like himself. Nothing more than a tool that he won't hesitate to discard after his desires are fulfilled. All of a sudden his gaze felt upon a petite figure near a tailor shop, a large number of people gathering around her.

What's the matter, mister? Muzan inquired to a man next to him.

"if you are new definitely try her kimonos, now make way" the man said quickly as he rushed to the shop pushing all the people away. He was interested to know what the deal was about so he decided to stay for a while hoping it's worth the wait.

After a long delay muzan finally got the chance to view the women. As their eyes locked the dazzling city lights broader than the day itself felt dull in comparison for a moment, the once monochromatic world seems to change vibrantly with her luminous presence, As if goddess Amaterasu, the diety of sun herself have ascended from the heaven into the mortal realm. The demon lord stood there mesmerized by her breathtaking beauty, how can someone so close to perfection exist alongside those barbarians.

"How can I help you mister?" She questioned politely with her soft vocal. His endless thoughts were interrupted breaking the silence.

"Show me your kimonos"

And so his obsession started..

Days passed since his last encounter with the woman. He have come across numerous marvelous humans in everlasting lengthy life but never have his ruby eyes caught a glimpse of someone as alluring as her. The girl possesses an unique aura that differentiated her from the rest of the crowd, able to draw attention from the cold hearted creator of cannibalistic demons. At first muzan was just curious to know about that woman, possibly persuade her to become one of his underling because of the potentials she may carry. He frequently begun to visit her shop to but or sew different fabrics. Gaining basic information, like her name, likes and dislikes, etc. Her grandfather owned the tailor shop which sold finest quality garments from the beginning and were highly respected for their excellent tailoring. Continued by (y/n) at her family's will, who runs the shop with equal undying devotion.

She treated him with such kindness even though he was a ruthless demon not that she knew about it or let alone the existence of demons. The deepest corner of his dark heart illuminated with pure light whenever she was around and he came to the conclusion that she was the ray of sunshine he desires to perceive. Eversince he was cured from his fatal illness the only goal in his life was to conquer the sun which prevents him to achieve absolute perfection, in order to live an eternal and indestructible life or so he thought until that very day his eyes laid upon you. It would be stupid to think that demons are capable of experiencing love, concepts of feelings are completely foreign in their conciousness, it was more like obsession. His megalomania makes him believe he needs you no he wants you.

Alas, if only it was a fairytale. The king does not always gets what he desires and same goes for the demon lord when he finds out that his beloved darling already has a lover. As he witnessed the sight of you hugging your partner with passion. The way her eyes flutter infront of him when he caresses her cheeks making her turn away bashfully and how she hold his hand with her delicate ones while exchanging vows of love and loyalty towards each other made his blood boiled with fury. If anyone who can hold her fragile frame is none other but the demon lord himself yet there she was sharing intimacy with some filthy creature. His narcissistic self was put down with a lowlife, he cannot accept that his (y/n) was claimed someone else's. It was something he would never allow to happen.

"Kibutsuji san would you like to buy something today as well?" The women who now acknowledge his presence asked him cheerfully.

"Should I visit you later" a force smile graced on his pale features.

"Oh no, it's fine, let me introduce you to my fiancee" she said excitedly.

"Nice to meet you kibutsuji san" your fiancee said

"Pleasure to meet you as well" The demon scoffed under his breath but Kibutsuji was quite adamant he knew it was not hard to turn the tables anytime sooner as with a blink of an eye he can get rid of him by simply ordering his underlings without even hesitating to dirty his hands exclusive for his precious darling. But that was not what muzan was planning to do at all as his mind was engulfed with much sinister thoughts.

To insanity?

"You have been restless for a long time, what's wrong my child?" A man asked with a look of concern written all over his face looking straight at the figure of an anxious woman roaming around impatiently within the house.

"Its been a week father since he last wrote a letter to him" she mumbled softly disappointment painted across her features. The father could not help but laugh a little by her daughter's remark.

"Father please it is serious"

"I am sorry sweetheart but it might be that your fiancee is busy with wedding preparation" which made sense because the wedding would be taking place after three day and it was obvious that he was caught up with the arrangement. However there was a strange feeling inside her stomach which made her believe otherwise.

As the days passed the wedding day came close, with (y/n) still not receiving any message from her lover. Worried her to the core at this point all she wanted was to make sure of his safety as something constantly felt off. The guests came in one by one for the wedding ceremony but there was no sign of the groom.

It was getting unbearable for her to remain confined. Ignoring her father's request to stay inside she went outside in hope to check whether or not her lover was approaching but once again she was greeted with emptiness. Her eyes swell up with tears forming on both corners allowing her body to slowly hit the surface as she convinced herself that her lover will never come. The worst was yet to happen and before she could make any movement the ground beneath her feet started shaking and a shoji door opened consuming her into the darkness.

It was just the start of her miserable life under the demon's control.

"So you are finally awake", a sudden voice came echoing into her eyes as she slowly opened her eyes after regaining her consciousness. She moved her hands upwards in order to ease the headache only to find her hands tied up with shackles, a chilling sensation of overwhelming fear filled her entire senses as she remembered what happened prior.

"Where am I? Why am I chained?" Who are you?" she demanded furiously at the mysterious figure infront her which was now advancing at her direction from the dark corner of the dimly litted room.

"You are quite an impatient one?" The man gripped her chin roughly as her eyes protruded out with bewilderment.

"Can't even remember your daily customer?" A wicked smile curved across his countenance.

"K..Kibutsuji san" she parted her lips. Tears forming in her eyes once again. This made muzan even more irritated as he tightened his grip on her chin. (Y/n) whimpered with pain crying out loud.

"Your shouting won't help dear nobody apart from me can hear you scream" he said bluntly with his cold apathetic voice.

"Why?" (Y/n) lowered her head down holding his hand with her delicate ones trying her best to get a hold of him.

"Pardon?" Muzan inquired as he stared at your quivering form with his souless eyes there was no empathy in them or whatsoever although he felt pity. He cannot deny the fact that he was indeed attracted to her that's the reason why he put her into so much hassles.

"Where is my lover?" She asked sternly with her voice shaking a bit.

"Oh" muzan responded his hand still holding her chin tightly. This made her even more anxious she was unaware of the power he might possess and definitely she didn't had any intentions to risk her life.

"Why can't you humans move on and accept circumstances given before you?" it startled her as she cannot process what he meant.

"I don't.. u..understand" she said.

"Then you have to learn to accept me as your partner" muzan replied coldly (y/n) sat there looking at him with disbelief her heart and soul belonged to someone else and for a long time they have been together it's absolutely impossible to change the reality she was accustomed with just because some maniac wants to make her his partner.

"I can never" she murmured with disgust hinted in her voice. "I love him" throwing daggers in his direction not ready to submit her futile attempts of protest should pissed the demon lord even more but to her surprise she saw him smiling menacingly and in the corner of her eyes she saw the figure of her debilitate lover.

"Start from his fingers" muzan ordered one of his subordinate as they began chopping one of his finger making him scream in pain.

"No! please don't hurt him" trying to break free from the shackles she was tied with realizing it was fruitless she fell on the demon's knee begging with all the strength left within her in a last desperate attempt.

"You left me with no other choice, dear" he explained playing his sick games of manipulation on her. This was exactly what he needed to break her mind and she cannot help but rely on him pleading for his forgiveness feeding on his massive ego providing him ultimate satisfaction to witness the quivering frame of his darling clinging onto his knee in pure submission.

"Please I will do anything you say" she requested shaking like crazy.

"Anything?" Muzan questioned raising his eyebrow

"Yes" she replied without any hesitation.

"Be mine"

She already knew that he wanted this and she readily obliged in order to save her beloved, sacrificing her own life. Her only purpose was now to satisfy the demon lord, he was successful until the very end and it won't take long to make her completely his.

[kiitsume]

a few thoughts on six the musical because nobody asked for them

(also excuse any historical inaccuracies, i've done only cursory reading thank you)

let's start light. the costumes are pretty but they completely take away any sense of historical context, unintentionally minimizing the degree of awareness the audience has of the culture surrounding the women at the time, which is actually pretty important to the message the writers are trying to construct.

the music is good. like, it's catchy and generally well written, and of course well performed. but the writers giveth and the writers taketh away. mostly they take away. all of the songs are reductive and collapse six people-- who they claim to attempt to honor the memory of-- down into platitudes and general notions of people, caricaturizing them into something that's barely recognizable.

the set up the musical to be a "competition between these six women to get the respect the deserve for the amount they suffered" and then they turn around at the end and shame the audience for doing that-- for picking favorites along the way and actually considering which ones they empathize most with.

the opening song, "ex-wives" uses modern lingo and whatnot, but it's not any more jarring that the costumes, so it's not until "don't lose your head" that the text speak really throws you off. it was honestly uncomfortable to watch in context of the musical, at least upon my viewing.

do i know they went chronologically? yes. will i ever forgive them for putting the most jarring joke of a song, "haus of holbein" right after arguably the most heartfelt song of the musical, jane seymour's "heart of stone"? absolutely fucking not.

haus of holbein has it's merits. i won't lie. it addresses the beauty standards of the time and the way that women were expected to destroy their bodies and give up their lives in order to appeal to men, which contributes to the larger narrative the writers were trying to build in saying that all these women would've led remarkable lives if they hadn't been forced to give themselves up to a life that made them miserable. but all of that is erased by the fact that it has air horns in it, i'm sorry, that can't be overlooked. literally die.

katherine (we're going with the musical's spelling okay) howard's song? a fucking bop. "all you wanna do" is iconic. but it has been brought to my attention by my girlfriend, who is much more knowledgeable on the six's actual history and writings, that pretty much the entire song is a complete disregard for who she was in life and her actual feelings, and that's especially irritating because they did it specifically for the purpose of constructing a much more simple narrative and, in the process, did the exact thing they claim to condemn: writing over her, and all the others, with what they think they know and bending them and their lives to fit their ideal message. how so? my girl k howard actually did have feelings for thomas. you know, the one person in the song she's like, "just mates, no chemistry/ i get him and he gets me/ and there's nothing more to it." they just throw that out to make thomas look like a nice guy and like people were just constantly taking advantage of her, which to some extent was true. but it also strips all the agency out of her life, and ignores the fact that "serious, stern and slow/ gets what he wants and he won't take no," francis dereham was the one who got jealous of her and thomas' relationship and snitched to the king and got her executed. there's literally no acknowledgement that he was anything other than just another fling or something. and, by omission, it implies that her music teacher, henry mannox, was the one and only one who groomed her (and molested her at 13). in reality, dereham's relationship with her started when she was 15 and he was 32. oh, and she was 17 when she married the 49 year old king. if the musical is supposed to form a cohesive narrative around how these girls were taken advantage of and thrown out by history as a joke, her story is literally ideal for that purpose. but instead we got naive girl uses sex to get ahead and then it backfires and she's killed for it.

not that thomas is innocent in all of this-- when the affair was brought to public light he blamed everything on howard and continued to deny ever sleeping with her, though he eventually admitted to intending to. there's some debate over whether their private meetings were actually an affair, but howard's writings on it make it seem as if she did have feelings for him, so. we may never know. but again, this is just to show the disservice the musical did to her.

i don't know as much about the other queens i'll admit, but here's just a few things that would be useful for the narrative the musical tries and fails to build: catherine parr was 15 when she was married to henry's brother arthur, who she couldn't speak to because they'd corresponded in latin but had different pronunciations-- this marriage was to give arthur greater legitimacy, because she was considered more strongly royal by blood; anne boleyn resisted henry's attempts to make her a mistress-- she was extremely smart, which was desirable in a mistress but not a wife!-- as her sister mary had been, and her daughter, unlike parr's is never acknowledged by the musical, the subjects called her "the king's whore" and blamed her for his tyranny, and-- oh, did i mention? historians debate whether there were any actual grounds for the charges brought against her that led to her execution, and most scholars regard it just something the king did so he could move on to seymour; jane seymour was married to henry the day after anne boleyn's execution, and she was never publically coronated in part because of a plague (woo!) but some also theorize that henry didn't want her to be coronated until she'd done her "duty as queen" and bore him a male heir; anne of cleves was described as extremely beautiful, so when the king met her and described her as "plain" he was incredibly let down, and immediately decided that he wanted to avoid the marriage altogether-- she was not considered ugly, as the musical makes it sound, just not good enough for the kings "selective" tastes (you know, the same henry who had a festering, ulcerated wound on his leg from a jousting accident); catherine parr is done the most justice, actually acknowledging the work she did in education and writing, the role she played in the establishment of the Third Succession Act which allowed her daughters access to the throne, and her two previous marriages (one of which was to someone twice her age) but it fails to acknowledge that her protestant sympathies got her targeted by arrest warrants before she reconciled with the king, and she was able to marry her lost love thomas seymour (different thomas, different seymour) in secret four months after the king's death, only to die a year and four months later.

also this: catherine of aragon was the only wife older than henry when they married, with her being 24 when and henry being 18; boleyn was 32 while henry was 42; seymour was 28, married to a 45 year old henry; anne of cleves was 25 and henry was 49; i repeat, howard was 17 when she was married to the 49 year old king; and parr was 31 and henry was 52.

and they were all flawed individuals, too, don't take my defenses of them to mean otherwise. in fact, as historical figures, i don't necessarily like all of them. but despite their flaws, they didn't deserve what happened to them, which is something the musical fails to portray in every way. it glosses over everything so quickly, which i understand is to be expected to a degree when you give each queen a six minute song to tell the story of their entire life, but the writing distorts them so badly they're hardly recognizable, and their stories are changed willy-nilly to fit the lazy empowerment theme rather than addressing them as they were.

the final song, "six." boy do i have thoughts. it's meant to seem empowering, and to an extent it is, because the characters they've given us get to talk about having a happy ending and making something of their lives that made them happy to have a legacy. but none of it's true, and it feels incredibly forced, especially because they take the concept of these women and pay no attention to them historically or what the figures they're based on would've actually wanted, and instead just says, "they all sing and dance and have a great time! question nothing!" and it just feels so hollow. it honestly made me feel even worse about the historical figures themselves and the suffering they endured, because it felt minimizing and shallow, like a platitude to make you stop thinking about how horribly they were treated. it was genuinely upsetting from that point of view, and despite how uplifting it's meant to be in the context of the show, it acknowledges that it's only a dream by giving a time limit to their happiness-- five minutes. and after that point you're supposed to go on continuing to be happy, having connected with these people and been empowered by their stories, when you are given very little of their actual stories and are shamed for analyzing things through the lens they gave you at the opening of the show. not to mention how horribly they trample over their message of how restrictive and repressive their lives were by nature of their station and says that, "well, if they could've just made different choices they would've been happy!" ignoring how the culture gave them no other choice and there's a pretty good chance that, even if they had made the choices they wanted to, they would've still been held back by virtue of their gender and station. the story behind six is not empowering, and it feels horrible to have it twisted around that was to make it seem empowering. i understand not wanting to beat down your audience and make them miserable, but rather than reducing these women down to such simplified caricatures and then having them all bond and have a girl power moment, it would've been much more impactful to have their actual concerns be what they bonded over-- being forgotten, talked over, held back, so on-- and talking about the people they actually were. having them write their own stories is fun and all, but having them actually tell their stories and feel heard, even if it's in a time they'll never see, is a much less reductive sentiment.

tl;dr: so basically i thought the musical was badly written for the message they were trying to send, and no amount of good music or talented performance can save a boring or badly written musical, and the six queens still deserve better.

[theemightypen]

“So. It was you.”

The sound of furious whispering is the first thing that greets her as she enters the royal chambers. The second thing she takes note of is the equal parts humorous and endearing sight of the heads of her three children bent together, clearly conspiring something.

“Olfete, Ecwen, Elfwine,” she says, smothering a smile when they all jump in surprise. “Dare I ask what mischief you’ve gotten into this time?”

Olfete cringes–as the oldest, and most level-headed, she’s most accustomed to to cleaning up the messes of her younger siblings, with varying success. Ecwen, on the other hand, offers her best, most guileless smile, which means something is afoot indeed. Elfwine, at only 3, hasn’t mastered lying in any capacity, so it’s he who answers her, saying, “We let Fi out of his stall!”

Fi is what poor Firefoot has been dubbed since Olfete began talking. He’s in his old age now, much more gentle than he had been in the height of the War, little as Eomer wants to admit it. All of her children are as fond of him as their father, but generally with more disastrous results.

“Ah,” Lothiriel says. The mess in the courtyard–an overturned watering trough, a very shaken groom, and a rather muddy warhorse–makes much more sense now. “I see.”

“It was Ecwen’s idea,” Olfete says. “I tried to stop her but–”

“Tattle tale!” Cries Ecwen. “You helped! I couldn’t lift the latch on my own anyways, Modor knows that–”

“I helped too!” Elfwine declares, proudly. “I gave Fi an apple!”

“Did you now,” Lothiriel murmurs. She drifts closer and Olfete–holding off a now wailing Ecwen with one arm–presents her free hand for inspection. It’s dirty, certainly, but there’s no other sign of injury. Ecwen’s hands are much the same and Elfwine’s are entirely clean, likely thanks to his smaller role of apple provider.

“And why did we decide to unleash Firefoot on Edoras?”

“Faeder said he needed a good walk soon!” Ecwen says, through tears. “We were just trying to help!”

“Who was to walk Firefoot once you’d released him?” She asks, gently lifting Ecwen to place her on her hip. She’s nearly too big for it now, at 6, especially with the way the new babe has set her stomach to swelling, but Lothiriel knows there is no better way to calm her middle child’s tears.

“W-well, I thought I could hold his bridle,” Olfete admits in a small voice. “I am 9 now, and Faeder said that is plenty old enough to manage my own horse–”

“Yes, your own horse,” Lothiriel agrees, giving a small sigh of relief as she settles into the chair nearest the fire. Her back hurts nearly all the time now, and it is not helped by Ecwen’s added weight. “A gelding or a yearling, swete, not Firefoot.”

“But Fi likes us!” Elfwine protests, coming to lay his head against her knee. “He does, Modor!”

“I know he does, lytling. But Firefoot is much bigger and stronger than you. It isn’t safe for the three of you to let him out by yourselves. You need to ask someone to help you take him for a ride. And you should always as your faeder’s permission first.”

She doesn’t miss the guilty look that crosses Olfete’s face, nor the nervous way Ecwen starts chewing on her fingernails.

Oh, Valar.

“Olfete, Ecwen,” she sighs, knowing the answer before she can truly formulate the question, “did you even ask Faeder if Firefoot needed a stretch?”

“He said so last night at dinner!” Ecwen protests. “He did–he was telling Uncle Eothain–”

Resisting the urge to groan, Lothiriel places a finger to Ecwen’s lips. “What have I told you about eavesdropping, dohtor?”

“That it’s not nice manners. But Faeder’s voice carries, Modor! I didn’t mean to hear it.”

“And he’s let us all ride Firefoot before,” Olfete adds. “Even Elfwine.”

“I held the reins!” adds Elfwine. “Faeder said I was good!”

That is news to Lothiriel, and certainly something she and Eomer would discuss in detail later. Once he’s been fully convinced of his beloved horse’s lack of injuries. And once likely all of their children have been suitably chastised.

“That is beside the point,” she says. “He was with you then. If Firefoot were to accidentally hurt one of you, or you to accidentally hurt him…”

She trails off, watching realization dawn on all three of their dear, sweet, troublesome faces.

“Faeder would be sad,” Elfwine says, lip quivering.

“No, Faeder would be furious,” Olfete amends, twisting her fair hair nervously.

“Nu uh!” Protests Ecwen, contrary to the last. “He’d be proud of us for being eorlingas and taking care of Firefoot–”

“So,” comes Eomer’s voice, cutting across their daughter’s argument, “It was you.”

All three children flinch. Elfwine tucks himself more securely against Lothiriel’s legs, Ecwen does her best to hide her face in Lothiriel’s hair, and Olfete–who takes after Lothiriel most, in all things–turns bright scarlet.

Lothiriel can’t say she blames them; Eomer looks anything other than happy. She shoots him a look–be gentle, they meant well–that has his shoulders relaxing, at least a little, as he crosses the room to stand in front of them. In nearly 12 years of marriage, Lothiriel doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so stern.

“Faeder,” Olfete starts, “it was my fault, I turned the latch–”

“Yes, under considerable duress,” he interrupts. “Or at least that’s how Heurbrand tells it.”

Herubrand, Master of the Stables since Eomer was a boy, would not lie. Lothiriel presses a hand to her temple. Ecwen, for all her good intentions, is trouble made flesh in many things. In contrast to Olfete’s natural responsibility and Elfwine’s innate sweetness, she is the source of most of the mischief the children get up to. It would seem now is no different.

Ecwen is crying again, tears dripping down on Lothiriel’s neck. “I just wanted to help,” she whispers miserably. “Modor says–”

“Modor says to help when you can and if you can, Ecwen. Firefoot is not your responsibility. You could have been hurt. Olfete could have been hurt. Elfwine could have been hurt. Poor Freca very nearly was hurt when he tried to get Firefoot back in his stall.”

“Is he alright?” Lothiriel asks. Freca has been a loyal groom for years and has a family to feed.

“He is fine, thank Bema,” Eomer confirms. “But you owe him an apology, Ecwen. And Firefoot as well. He is an old man, now, dohtor, and does not do well with surprises.”

Lothiriel purses her lips to keep from smiling. Eomer’s eyes narrow; he knows her too well to not easily read the he’s not the only one so clearly writ on her face.

“I will go with her,” Olfete offers. “I should apologize to them too; Ecwen could not have opened the door without my help.”

“Yes,” Eomer agrees. “And then to your rooms. You will eat dinner alone tonight.”

“B-but the spring festival starts tonight–!”

“It does. And you should have thought of that before disrupting Firefoot and the stables.”

Lothiriel presses a kiss to Ecwen’s forehead before gently depositing her on the floor. “You owe your faeder an apology too, swete. It was kindly meant, what you did, but not well done.”

Sniffling, Ecwen murmurs a muffled sorry into Eomer’s hip as she hugs him. Eomer sighs, stroking her hair once before giving her a nudge towards the door. He chucks Olfete under her chin as she passes him, earning a wobbly smile. She takes her younger sister’s hand and leads her back out into the hall.

“M’I in trouble too?” Asks Elfwine, finally removing his head from her leg.

“That depends on what your role in this was, my son.”

“He gave Firefoot an apple,” Lothiriel murmurs. Eomer pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yes. You’ll stay with your sisters during dinner as well. And no more rides until the festival is over.”

Elfwine frowns. “But Faeder–”

“I agree,” Lothiriel interrupts. “And it is high time you had a nap, Elfwine.”

His frown only deepens, but he mercifully doesn’t cry even when one of Lothiriel’s ladies appears to take him to the nursery. Eomer sinks into the chair opposite her with a groan when the door closes behind them.

“Bema, what did we do to deserve this?”

“I certainly got up to my fair share of mischief as a child,” Lothiriel says, crossing the distance between them to run a soothing hand through his hair. “And with a sister like Eowyn, I suspect you did too.”

Eomer snorts. He wraps an arm around her waist and reaches for the swell of her stomach with his other hand. “And yet we have been mad enough to try for another.”

“I do not recall you complaining during the trying–”

He snorts again. “Well, I may be mad, but I am certainly not a fool.”

She’s still rolling her eyes, albeit fondly, when he rises to pull her into a kiss.

“And perhaps,” he says, pulling away just enough to press his forehead to hers, “this little one will be less trouble?”

It’s Lothiriel’s turn to laugh. “Do you truly think we could be so lucky?”

Eomer’s expression softens. “Do you not think we already are?”

And what can she do but kiss him for that?

(Five months later, when Mistress Deorwyn emerges from the birthing chamber to inform Eomer is father to twin boys, he cannot help that think that lucky may not be quite the right word.

“Well,” Lothiriel says, smiling despite her weariness, “they do call you ‘the blessed’, my love.”

“I did not think they meant it in terms of number of children,” Eomer grumbles–though he remains as helpless as ever at the sensation of one of the babe’s–their babes–tiny fingers wrapped around his own.)

[melodyfromanotherworld]

Cat’s Cradle - A Chapter 46 Omake

Dedicated to @dinosaurdragon who asked for a ‘talk’ between Genma and Ryou after the events of chapter 46 (and also because he is an endless font of inspiration when it comes to Ryou and also happens to be Kitty Cat Family’s biggest fan).

It was long past nightfall when Ryou finally managed to tuck Umeko into bed. Today had been far more terrifying than he’d expected. Of course he knew that coming to a wedding – especially a royal wedding – was going to put him in a bad place, but he’d never even thought that he’d end up fighting to protect his daughter from fucking bandits.

He shook the thoughts from his head as he pulled Umeko’s blanket up under her chin. He had no idea where Hanako’s maids had found the toddler bed on such short notice, but he suspected it’d been Hanako’s at one point – especially given all the pale pink flowers that someone had painstakingly painted on it.

He stood, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the popping sound they made. He didn’t flinch when two warm hands settled on his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into his muscles. He turned slightly to catch a peek of Genma’s brown hair before his gorgeous, wonderful boyfriend stole a kiss.

“I swear she likes you more than she likes me,” Genma joked, resting his chin on Ryou’s shoulder as he watched Umeko slumber away. “Always wants you to put her to bed.”

“That’s because you always forget something,” Ryou ribbed in return. “Remember that one time you forgot Patchineko-tan? I thought she’d shatter windows with her crying.”

Genma grumbled, hiding his face in Ryou’s shoulder, “Make me feel like a shit dad, why don’tcha.”

“You’re amazing at everything else,” Ryou assured him, turning in Genma’s arms to fully embrace him. “You can be bad at the bedtime thing, it’s okay.”

Ryou did not like the look Genma gave him after he said that. It was a look the guaranteed a long and painful conversation. He tried to pull away, to make his way to their own bed in the far-too-fabulous room Hanako had given them, to put off the conversation with sleep.

Genma took a hold of his hands as he tried to pull away, holding them firmly but gently.

“Speaking of okay,” he started calmly, softly, as if talking to Toaster. “Are you okay? You seemed like you were having a rough time of it towards the end there, today.”

“We’d just been attack, Genma, of course I was having a rough time. Everyone was,” Ryou said, desperate to brush off his (wonderful, caring, understanding) boyfriend’s words.

Genma pulled him a little closer, and Ryou’s gaze focused on everything except the warmth in Genma’s brown eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Ryou shuffled his feet, tugged (halfheartedly) at the grip Genma had on his hands, and, eventually, started to lead Genma towards the bed. If Genma was surprised when Ryou simply sat on the cushy mattress, he didn’t show it.

“Weddings were…” Ryou paused as he tried to find the words. “Weddings were the grand finale when it came to my parent’s work. Everything they’d manipulated and plotted for culminated in this huge ceremony. Everything had to be perfect: the kimono, the decorations, the seating arrangements, the food, the bride, the groom. There was no room for feelings. No patience for a crying bride who hated her groom. No tolerance for a loud, naive child who opened his mouth to say how unhappy everyone seemed. Love had nothing to do with those weddings – only money and influence and how much more of it you could accrue. I remember…a young man – the youngest son of some high and mighty silk merchant – who dared to argue with my mother and his father about his bride-to-be the night before the wedding. He didn’t like women, you see, but no one was supposed to know that. That’s why the marriage was so important to them. They were…I’d like to say they’re old fashioned, but noble families and those who liken themselves to them are always more interested in expanding the family tree than they are actually making sure the fruit of the tree is happy. My mother struck him across the face while his father watched and said nothing. When he cried, his father said that it was good that he was marrying a woman, since he cried like one. They were bound to get along, he said.

“To see a wedding – especially a noble wedding – not only mention love but seem to embrace it as necessary…is very different from what I’m used to. It seems almost too good to be true. I keep looking for the cracks in the façade. Keep waiting for Hanako or Suzukaze to slip up and give away how miserable they are to be marrying each other. And I can’t find it. It feels like a miracle…and I’d always been taught that miracles don’t happen.”

Genma reached up and brushed away the thin tear trails that cascaded down Ryou’s cheek. “I think you’re pretty miraculous. With everything you went through, you managed to find a way out. And…I’d like to think you still believe in love – like to think you love me and Umeko like we love you.”

“God, I have to love you,” Ryou said, his tone forcing a joke. “You’ve put up with me this long.”

“Ryou…” He flinched at the utter dejection in Genma’s tone.

Ryou was never good at being honest…but somehow Genma made it easy. “I think I fell in love with you that first morning…when I woke up before you. Because…sex was for having children. The idea of ‘making love’ to someone was beyond my grasp for the longest time. The fact you could sleep with me when there was no possibility of having children…I convinced myself that you loved me. And I fell for you in that moment. Because I had to love someone who loved me. Because that’s how it worked. Because if I didn’t…I’d be alone.”

“So that’s why,” Genma murmured. “I always thought you were just kind of embarrassed about the sex thing, and wanted to redeem yourself by actually trying to date me.”

Ryou shook his head, unable to look Genma in the eyes once more. “No, but that’s a far kinder way of looking at it, I think. You’d probably have been scared off if you know the real reason.”

“I bet you would have chased me down and talked some sense into me,” Genma said, his tone light and playful, as if he was trying to lift Ryou’s mood.

Ryou rolled his eyes. “You’re confusing me for Kourubi. I’d just hide in my room and cry. And then Mai and Kourubi would hunt you down and probably kill you.”

“I’d deserve it,” Genma agreed casually.

Ryou head-butted his shoulder lightly, laughing quietly. “No you wouldn’t, you big idiot.”

“Anyone who hurts you deserves to get the snot beat out of them,” Genma told him seriously. “And I hope to god if I ever do, your bodyguards give me what for.”

“I doubt you’d ever give them a reason,” Ryou murmured, settling his head more comfortably against Genma’s shoulder. “You’re a goddamn saint for putting up with me.”

“I’d hardly call it ‘putting up with’ you,” Genma mused. “More like I just love you.”

Ryou felt his heart pound a little harder in his chest. He squeezed Genma’s hand, not bothering to hide his smile. “I love you, too.”

[winedwords]

Seven| Fade |Dunne

Title: Fade

Pairing; Past Trent Seven/Reader, Pete Dunne/Reader

Words; 2457

Summary; Now all I can do is say congratulations and fade into the background.

Warnings; Mildly NSFW. ANGST. Brief description of oral sex. Unhealthy coping methods. Minimal editing, because I will die like a boss. Drabble.

 A/N: repost from the old blog

Why was I even here?

I had been standing alone outside the church for thirty minutes, trying to collect myself.

My hands were shaking and clammy. My head was filled with ghosts of another life. It felt like there was an iceberg in my stomach, chilling me to the bone. Every part of my body felt like it was filled with slowly drying cement.

It was going to start soon.

I thought I had put this all behind me. I thought I had left the feelings for him in my early twenties. We were ancient history, better off as friends he said. And maybe we were, but my feelings had apparently never died. They only went from being a roaring bonfire to a dull ember. I was too selfish to actually let him go, accepting the friendship he had offered as a pale substitute for what I wanted.

Then that delicate cream and ivory invitation had turned up in my mail, stuffed haphazardly between a Vogue magazine and my light bill.

And now five years later…

I was woken by the warmth of the sun on my face, the smell of brewing coffee, and the feel of his mouth on my core, beard scratching at the delicate flesh of my inner thighs. My back bowed involuntarily and my hands travelled down underneath the sheets to grasp at the long hair between my thighs. He chuckled, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through me and my heels digging into the mattress.

“Trent…”

I was knocked out of recollections of lazy Sunday mornings past by a small silver flask being pressed into my hand.

“The ceremony starts in ten. Figured you might want some liquid courage before you go to your seat.”

God fucking bless Zack Sabre Jr.

I glanced gratefully at him as I took the flask and worked the cap off of the silver container. He looked sharp, the tailored suit of a groomsman fitting his long form perfectly. Without asking what mystery liquor was in the flask, I tilted my head back and took three hard pulls, the liquid searing my esophagus.

Whiskey.

God, I was turning into a regular American country song.

I was silent for another moment, savoring the almost unpleasant burn of the alcohol, and wiping my lipstick from the mouth of the flask.

“You’re a treasure Zack. I appreciate this.”

The lanky man’s face was soft, his eyes understanding. I frowned at the look, shaking my head. I handed him the flask back and turning on my heel.

“Don’t. Let’s just get this thing done.”

The eyes of our friends and the bride and groom’s families were like lasers as I walked in to the church. The chatter went from a dull roar to a murmur, the sound of my heels clicking against the stone floors echoing through the chapel as I took a seat in a pew towards the back. The mother of the bride had barely concealed her sneer at my appearance.

Momma Seven though… It was her eyes that were the hardest to meet. Even from my seat to the rear of the church, I could see the subtle quiver of her chin and the suspicious brightness of her eyes. She gave me a watery smile with a discreet nod and it took everything I had to force back the tears I could feel burning at the back of my eyes.

I didn’t know if I could do this.

“I’ve never seen my boy like this with anyone. You must be something special.”

I smiled, flushing from the roots of my hair to my chest. “You raised an excellent man Mrs. Seven, I’m just lucky that he chose to spend some time with me.”

The older woman leaned in close, the delicate scent of her perfume tickling my nose, her hand clasping mine.

“I look forward to the day you become my daughter.”

I was forcibly jarred from memories of the past by the music starting to announce the entrance of the bridal party.

I turned to face the bridal party a beat after everyone, the whiskey dulling my response time by just a hair. I was thankful that Zack had provided me with the whiskey before the ceremony because facing the faces of friends from both the present and the past before the love of my life’s wedding was going to be rough.

Scurll.

Nods exhanged.

Andrews.

More nodding.

Sabre.

A small smile was met with a weak one of my own.

Dunne.

A barely concealed snarl? Curious.

Bate.

His arched brows were met with a glower.

Then there he was.

Trent.

He was perfection in his tuxedo, his chest puffed out with pride as he began to walk down the aisle. The grin on his face was a mile wide and he was glowing as he looked over the gathered assembly of his family and friends. Then our eyes locked for just a second and I could feel my skin heat and the hair raise on the back of my neck before Trent continued down the aisle. It was the sight of his back to me that dispelled the warmth his look had inspired in me, leaving me cold and my stomach roiling.

“I love you (Y/N), I always will…”

The opening keys of Here Comes the Bride and we all stood. She was radiant in all white, the delicate veil pulled over her face, and my heart sunk at the stony look in her eyes as she saw me. She knew all about who I was and what I used to be. That it could have been me instead of her. That she might have been me, sitting in the pew.

And just as quick as the stoniness appeared, it disappeared. She was all grace and polish as she practically floated down the aisle, her arm hooked with that of her father.

“But I’m not in love with you anymore.”

I tuned the opening remarks of the priest out, staring unblinkingly at a spot just beyond where the bride and groom were now holding hands and staring lovingly at each other. If I were to glance to them, even for just a moment, I don’t know if I could keep it together.

“ If anyone feels this couple should not be united in Holy Matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Tension tore through the chapel. Some people not so discreetly turned their heads in my direction and I steeled my eyes, my lips pursed. The bride herself had turned her head ever so slightly in my direction and Pete had clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

Time slowed.

I loved Trent. I loved him like a sailor loved the sea. I loved him like the sun loved the moon and the stars loved the sky. He was lazy Sundays spent in bed wrapped around each other. He was the dark, smoky nights in a pub, hunched over a beer with our thighs brushing against each other and hands clasped tightly together.

Trent was simultaneously this wild, passionate, all consuming love and steady, soft, comforting love. I respected him like one respects a force of nature and like one respects a healer.

A small, vocal part of me wanted to object loudly and vigorously. This was the little torch I still carried for him, five years later, that wanted to rage and riot and do everything in its power to convince Trent that he was making a mistake, that we still belonged together, that I wasn’t just a friend.

He’d made his choice.

And that choice wasn’t me.

I stayed silent, my eyes firmly on my shaking hands, and just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. The priest seemed to let out a breath of relief, before continuing on.

Pete’s heated eyes didn’t move from my form, the look on his face unreadable.

I owed Zack. The whiskey had been drunk on an empty stomach and the pleasant buzz in my veins had made a ceremony that should have left me broken and sobbing pass in a blur. I was still helpless to the way my breath hitched and my body seized when the priest announced them man and wife.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Trent, that sap, grabbed his new bride and dipped her into a deep, borderline inappropriate kiss.

He wasn’t mine anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time.

There had been a little bit of hope for that little candle I still carried for him. But now?

Trent Seven belonged to someone else.

Mamma Seven had come by the apartment I had shared with Trent before… everything fell apart.

I was just coming down the stairs, another box in my arms to load up into my little car. I’d seen her approaching and I tried to walk faster to avoid what was coming.

“(Y/N)?”

My shoulder shuddered, but I kept going.

For an older woman, she was fast and she had caught me by my elbow. I turned to look at her, my vision bleary from unshed tears.

“Oh sweetheart I am so sorry.”

It was when she wrapped me into a warm embrace that a wet sob wracked through my body.

“I told ‘im to not do it, y'know.”

I had been essentially hiding on the outskirts of the reception, sipping on my third Jack and ginger, waiting for an appropriate time to say my congratulations and goodbyes and leave. If I was going to be the most miserable person at this party, I was going to at least take advantage of the open bar. Pete, who had spoken was to my left, his expression inscrutable.

“Told him to not do what?”

I took a long pull from my drink, knowing exactly where this conversation was going to go and keeping my gaze away from his sharp face. If the younger man was going to bring up what should be ancient, buried history, I’d need something to make the dull the ache in my chest.

“I told ‘im not to send ya an invitation. Told ‘im it was fucked up.”

I snorted, shaking my head a little too long before sipping again at the near empty drink.

“We’re just friends, Peter. We’ve been just friends for a very, very long time.”

His laugh was condescending and harsh, head shaking. I glowered at him, as he took a sip of his own dark beverage. The smirk on his face made me want to hit him with something heavy.

“Yeah, darlin’ yer not foolin’ me. What ya feel towards Trent is the furthest thing from fuckin’ just friends.”

My knuckles were white from gripping the tumbler as hard as I was. I had to grit my teeth and employ every bit of willpower I had in my repertoire to keep from flinging the glass into his face. Pete’s smirk widened by just a fraction at my silence, leaning in much closer to me, his gray eyes darker than charcoal and almost predatory. Some primal portion of my psyche was very, very responsive to his body language and the way he was looking at me.

“If ya need it, ya can use me (Y/N). Ta get Trent out of your system. What he asked ya ta do was fucked and ya don’t deserve that. Ya can take it out on me. Ya might even enjoy it, I know I would.”

My cheeks filled with color at his words in a way that could be misconstrued as embarrassment or anger, but the way my thighs clenched involuntarily. I had been with other men since Trent, sure, but there was something about Pete…

“Put your money where your mouth is Peter.”

He looked triumphant as he stood, an arm proffered to me to bid our goodbyes to the bride and the groom.

I was guided by him to the table on the dais where the bride and groom were holding court over the reception with the bridal party.

“I’m gonna take off Trent. Congratulations.”

My smile was so much more confident than I actually felt, but the whiskey provided a false light to my eyes.

Trent’s face was soft and warm as he stood to hug me.

Fuck he even smelled the same as he did back then. The embrace was a long one, so much so that I could feel his bride shifting next to him.

“Thank you for coming, (Y/N). It really means a lot to me that you were here.”

I could feel my eyes going glassy and I had to blink rapidly to prevent them from filling.

“Anything for you Trent. I wish to you all the love and happiness in the world.”

His arms dropped away from around me, leaving me cold.

Pete’s jaw was tightened again, his eyes dark with something that most definitely was not the predatory lust from just moments earlier. He nodded his farewell to the bride and the groom as I spoke to the new Mrs. Seven.

“You looked beautiful. Treat him well would you?”

She nodded stiffly, her smile wooden and eyes sharp with distaste. Not that I could blame her.

Pete was practically glued to my side as we said our goodbyes to other friends. Mama Seven seized me into a firm hug and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek.

“Take your happiness where you can find it, (Y/N). You’re allowed to be happy.”

We turned to leave.

I didn’t see the steely glare that Trent sent to Pete, who had only responded with a victorious baring of his teeth.

I didn’t see Trent’s clenched fists as I left with the younger man’s thick arm draped dangerously low across my hips. I didn’t see Mamma Seven place a hand on the newly married man’s arm, her look stern and fiery. I didn’t hear her murmured words.

“You don’t get to have that feeling anymore, Trent. You made the decision.”

I did catch Zack’s disappointed stare and sober me would spend entirely too long dissecting that look and the consequences of my decisions.

I was going to lose myself in Pete and I was going to leave Trent and everything I had ever felt for him here at the reception hall.

The cab ride back to Pete’s flat was spent in his lap, the kisses feverish and desperate, the windows fogging. The cabby had grumbled about horny kids and Pete had just barked back to “Drive, old man.” before returning his mouth to mine, a hand disappearing up the hem of my dress.

If that took just one night or multiple nights, Pete had made clear that he was game for however long I would have him.

Maybe… just maybe.

[misscrawfords]

Sparkling like granite?

So ITV is making a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice which is going bring out its “darker tones”.

Here are my thoughts at considerable length (which nobody asked for) about this adaptation (which nobody asked for).

My initial response was mixed. On the one hand, I’m actually not averse to a new adaptation of P&P. Sure, it’s over-adapted and there are lots of novels which deserve a multi-part adaptation more than P&P. (Mansfield Park? The novels of Fanny Burney, Maria Edgeworth, Walter Scott?)  However, P&P is one of the world’s most popular novels and there hasn’t been a straight TV adaptation of it in over 20 years. Adaptations of P&P often say as much about the time in which they are made as they do about the source material and a good adaptation, even if one doesn’t necessarily agree with the choices made, can make you see the book in a new light and provoke discussion. I’m not averse to that.

So there’s that response of muted interest. That warred with deep misgivings about the “darker tones” of Austen’s “adult” novel which is “much less bonnet-y” in an adaptation by someone who has apparently never watched an adaptation of the book, despite loving it. Really? Has she been living under a rock? P&P is so much part of popular culture that it seems impossible to adapt it in a way that does not pay homage consciously or subconsciously to previous adaptations. Can one avoid a “post-modern moment” as Lost in Austen so delightfully made explicit? I’m deeply sceptical. (Does one even want to? Intertextuality can add so much... but that’s a discussion for another day.) Anyway, back to the “darker tones”. My instinct is to say that this seems terribly wrong. Of all Austen novels, P&P is the most light-hearted, the most sparkling, the most comforting. Why oh why, would you want to mess with that? For goodness sake, let us have our romantic comedies and laugh out loud satire and implausible happy endings! Why must everything be marred with the brush of making things grim and dark and equating that grimness with gritty reality? Reality may be sometimes grim and dark but it is also sometimes hilarious and warm and full of love. Why must the former be prioritised? I have a massive problem with reinterpreting texts to “make them dark” as if that is a naturally good thing. But that’s probably also a discussion for another day.

So, mixed feelings. But naturally the purists are up in arms about this idea (and a part of me certainly wants to join them) and that makes me desperately inclined to take a second look and examine the possibilities of this adaptation and some of the potentially intriguing things the writer has said. 

“Darker tones”

Okay, so firstly what does this mean? Does P&P even have darker tones? Surely you have to squint? Weeeeeell, yes and no. It’s a mistake to assume Austen never wrote about the nastier aspects of human nature and experience. The more obvious examples (leaving out Mansfield Park’s troubled potential references to the slave trade) are the fate of Colonel Brandon’s ward, Eliza; the decline of Mrs. Smith; the condition of the Prices in Portsmouth; the fate of Maria Rushworth; General Tilney’s treatment of his wife - and of course Wickham’s role in P&P. Just because Austen doesn’t write rape, seduction, abuse, death etc. explicitly on the page and just because her novels end (mostly) happily doesn’t mean she lives in a fantasy world untouched by these things.

Let’s look at Wickham. He attempted to seduce a vulnerable 15 year old girl who knew him and trusted him and used a woman in a position of authority to her to gain access to her. To use modern terminology, how long, one wonders, had he been grooming Georgiana? The elopement was prevented but only just. And while Darcy clearly thinks his sister’s reputation is intact (and her virtue), is it? Could Wickham have persuaded Georgiana to sleep with him before the elopement? I don’t personally think so - I think she would have somehow told Darcy if that had happened - but it is a possible and interesting idea, even if I don’t know where you would go with that except to show what an awful person Wickham is... which we know.

Wickham then successfully elopes with another 15 year old girl in a vulnerable position away from her family a year later - this is looking like a pattern of a rather unhealthy interest in underage girls (again to use modern theory, which is dangerous as an interpretation but sometimes useful). He’s the same age as Darcy after all - 28. Not an unheard of age gap in those days but still creepy considering the vulnerable positions of the girls in question. Lydia is ruined and by proxy, so are her sister’s chances. Wickham causes a LOT of problems by this one act. And all to get revenge on Darcy for refusing to give him money after he spent all his.

There is, moreover, the Meryton gossip: “He was declared to be in debt to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman’s family.”

Is this true? Has he been seducing (raping?) respectable girls in Meryton? Who knows! This is the wisdom of Mrs. Phillips after all. But they are talking about it openly in the text, there is rarely smoke without fire and it would hardly be out of character.

Is this sufficiently dark? It’s certainly not exactly a riotous comedy. Pride and Prejudice from the point of view of a Meryton tradesman’s daughter who loses her virtue and her father his money would be a very different novel. Georgiana’s history bears close examination. As with Eleanor Tilney’s story in Northanger Abbey, a real Gothic tale right under Catherine’s nose which she doesn’t even notice, there’s something pretty horrible going on in P&P if you care to look. 

Perhaps this is what the writer Raine means by “actually a very adult book”.

What else could that refer to? (Because I give her sufficient credit to assume she’s not going to add in random pornographic scenes for the sake of it. Honestly.)

Jane Bennet. Jane is basically depressed for the duration of the novel. Elizabeth constantly worries over her low-spirits and concern for her affects her own happiness. In fact, Elizabeth herself is miserable for a lot of the novel. She goes on a journey of self-discovery but that comes at a cost. She is affected by Charlotte’s marriage, Jane’s disappointment, her own disappointment in Wickham, the effect of reading Darcy’s letter, Lydia’s elopement and finally realising she loves Darcy and will never have him. That’s a lot to throw at even the most resilient, good-humoured and optimistic person. Just because Lizzy loves to laugh doesn’t mean she is not unhappy in some way or other for a lot of the novel. For example:

After disappointment re Bingley and Wickham: 

“Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! I am going to-morrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.”

“Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment.”

(I am always struck by the great bitterness in Elizabeth’s humour in that scene. It’s often overlooked IMO.)

After reading Darcy’s letter: 

...it may be easily believed that the happy spirits which had seldom been depressed before, were now so much affected as to make it almost impossible for her to appear tolerably cheerful.

The only other use of the word “depressed” in the novel also applies to Elizabeth.

When Lydia has returned with Wickham:

Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran out of the room; and returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to the dining parlour.

You’ve got to be pretty much at the end of your tether to run out of the room at the age of 20 because you cannot bear to hear your sister talking any more.

Elizabeth is not happy. Jane is not happy. Mrs. Bennet is certainly not happy. Sure, it’s a comedy and Elizabeth has the delightful ability to laugh at herself and others and Jane tries very hard to overcome low spirits and always sees the best and Mrs. Bennet absolutely must be a caricature or else the humour is lost and everything becomes terribly heavy and not like the novel at all, but we feel triumphant with Elizabeth at the end precisely because she has actually suffered so much along the way in very human ways - romantic disappointment, losing a friend to a lifestyle choice she can’t understand, family troubles... These are not the things of epic but that doesn’t make them unimportant. The Lizzie Bennet Diaries conveys this aspect of the characters so well without losing the comedy. It is possible. Certainly I don’t think any other period adaptation has succeeded so well and I would love to see an adaptation that does. It’s not graphic sex, but I would describe this as in the realm of adult themes.

“Much less bonnet-y”

Okay, I don’t really know what this means. I suspect it’s a dig at the period dramas of the 1980s and 90s with beautiful aesthetics and no dirt and everyone speaking very properly. I thought we got the reaction to that overwith in the 00s and I really don’t want more sackcloths and pigs in the corridors, please. Ladies in that period wore bonnets. Get over it. This strikes me as the most provocative statement in all the things that were said, but it is also largely meaningless without more context. Productions like Poldark and Victoria have made an effort with costumes and sets so I don’t see why this would skimp on them. Will it be set in the 1790s this time with more of a rompish Georgian feel than a neo-classical Regency tone? Time only will tell!

"I hope I do justice to Austen’s dark intelligence – sparkling, yes, but sparkling like granite.”

Now this intrigues me! This is what makes me curious and also hopeful. Because Austen pulled no punches and had a very good understanding of dark impulses and the awful ridiculousness of human behaviour - and she absolutely skewered it.

In Paragon we met Mrs. Foley and Mrs. Dowdeswell with her yellow shawl airing out, and at the bottom of Kingsdown Hill we met a gentleman in a buggy, who, on minute examination, turned out to be Dr. Hall — and Dr. Hall in such very deep mourning that either his mother, his wife, or himself must be dead.

Or

Mrs. B. and two young women were of the same party, except when Mrs. B. thought herself obliged to leave them to run round the room after her drunken husband. His avoidance, and her pursuit, with the probable intoxication of both, was an amusing scene.

Or

I give you joy of our new nephew, and hope if he ever comes to be hanged it will not be till we are too old to care about it.

Or

How horrible it is to have so many people killed! And what a blessing that one cares for none of them!

You get the point. All expressed in very nicely balanced phrases and a genteel tone and they are very amusing - but what sentiments! In short, I think Raine’s description of Austen’s wit and intelligence actually very apt. Similar things are found in P&P as in her letters. Consider Mr. Collins.

You ought certainly to forgive them, as a Christian, but never to admit them in your sight, or allow their names to be mentioned in your hearing.

Ouch.

“She had better have stayed at home,” cried Elizabeth; “perhaps she meant well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see too little of one’s neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied.”

A nice thing to say about your friends and neighbours...

Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to think of, and it gives her a sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers enough in Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably.”

“Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane’s good fortune.”

“True,” said Mr. Bennet, “but it is a comfort to think that whatever of that kind may befall you, you have an affectionate mother who will make the most of it.”

Such kind parental support!

Mr. Bennet’s sarcasm, Mr. Collins’ pomposity which is eventually revealed as truly cold-hearted, Elizabeth’s biting and often undeserved satire, Mrs. Bennet’s foolishness - all of these are funny and the adaptation must make them funny. The dialogue must glitter and shine or you lose the absolute light-hearted sparkling joy of the novel and everything becomes heavy. But there’s an edge to the humour, there really is. And you treat like the stereotype of Sunday night bonnets and swoonable men jumping in lakes to romantic soundtracks at your peril.

You know what, I’m willing to give someone who describes Austen as “sparkling like granite” a shot. Love and Friendship for the first time presented an Austen adaptation that took absurdity, satire and caricature as its starting point in adapting Austen and I would love to see an adaptation of P&P that did the same, with all the greater subtlety that this novel requires over several hours, considering that it is a beautiful love story as well.

Will this adaptation deliver? Who knows? And there are a lot of things to be concerned about in this endeavor. But it might be really quite interesting.

tl;dr Austen is uncomfortable funny, she has a dark side, but they can’t make the adaptation dark and grim because that misses the point.

[vicandsade]

1941-11-20 - A Miserable Object of Public Ridicule (Rush Humiliated On Thanksgiving)

[See additional commentary at The Crazy World of Vic and Sade]

File too big for tumblr – get the episode at the above link or HERE.

Nicer Scott is at it again. He has discovered a dirty secret about Rush and is spreading it all over town.

I love what this episode says about families, and the way that each family has its own unique quirks that no one ever mentions because they’ve always done something a certain way. It can be either eye-opening or embarrassing to have the outside world come into your private family sphere and look with fresh eyes at the way you do things. It never even occurred to Rush that his little knife and fork were unusual, until someone else called attention to it.

What did you find out was weird about your family later in life? I learned that most families don’t put weird-tasting dead bacteria on their popcorn, that animal skulls are not as widely-used in home decor as I thought, and that cars that don’t work anymore usually go to the junkyard, not just the backyard.  

Transcript

———–

ANNOUNCER: Well sir, it's a few minutes past eight o'clock as we enter the small house halfway up in the next block now, and here in the living room we find Mr. and Mrs. Victor Gook spending a quiet evening at home. Vic lounges in the davenport and gazes dreamily at his shoes. Sade is seated in her husband's easy chair beneath the floor lamp, reading aloud from the newspaper. Listen.

SADE: "The bride, leaning heavily upon the arm of her father, was radiant in a goin'-away costume of off-apricot, with stockings and pumps to match, with burnt-caramel accessories and a small cloche hat. She carried a bouquet of mixed garden flowers. Out-of-town guests were Cyrus L. Freech of Kansas City, Missouri, a former employer of the groom; Ed and Will Fulper, Lexington, Illinois; Mr. and Mrs. U.O. Dimp and son Walrab of Red Wing, Minnesota; Harry K. Montgomery of West Pittston, Pennsylvania; Mr. and Mrs. Clark Dunlap of Cleveland, Ohio; Mr. and Mrs. Bill Lacey of Toronto, Ontario; Cadwalder--"

[telephone rings]

VIC: Uh, telephone is ringin'.

SADE: Wanna answer it?

VIC: Prob'ly Ruthie Stembottom.

SADE: No, I'm sure not.

VIC: Then let me hazard a guess it's good old, dependable, down-at-the-heels, solid concrete foundation trustworthy Bluetooth Johnson!

SADE: [laughs] Yes.

VIC: [answers phone] Hello? [pause] Yes. [pause] Why, no, he isn't. Who is this? [pause] Oh. Uh-huh. [to SADE] Sadie...

SADE: Yeah?

VIC: [joyously] Bluetooth Johnson!

SADE: [giggles] Oh, really.

VIC: Good old, sweeter than the flowers of May, it matters not who won or lost but how you played the game, reliable Bluetooth Johnson!

SADE: You'd better talk to him, hadn't ya? Otherwise, he'll hang up.

VIC: [on phone] Uh, Bluetooth? [pause] How are ya, Bluetooth? [pause] Glad to hear it. [pause] No, Rush ducked out someplace right after supper. Any message I can give him? [pause] Oh? [pause] Vernon Peggles is out in the lead? [pause] Okay. [pause] I see. Tomorrow he's gonna buy his second United States Defense Bond, huh? And that puts him way ahead of the rest of you guys. [pause] Uh-huh. Okay, Bluetooth. [pause] You bet. Goodbye. [hangs up] Where is Buttonhook, by the way?

SADE: I haven't any idea. He walked out the kitchen door as soon as he finished wipin' the dishes. He can't have gone very far or planned to stay away very long; otherwise he'd have said something.

VIC: Mmm.

SADE: [continuing to read] Uh, "Cadwallder J. Urquhart of Twillman, Oklahoma--"

VIC: What's this?

SADE: Still readin' what the paper states about the wedding.

VIC: Oh.

SADE: [reading] Uh, "Cadwallder J. Urquhart of Twillman, Oklahoma; Mazda, Esther, James, Donald, Arnold, and Eugene Yeeble of Indianapolis, Ohio; Mr. and Mrs. R.E. Greep of Cincinnati, Indiana; Mrs. William Yonker and infant daughter Rudolfina Margaret Annabelle Beulah of Fishley, Michigan; and J.U. Ebsen of O'Brian, Texas, a college classmate of the groom." Quite a turnout! Hmm?

VIC: Yeah.

SADE: "Immediately after the ceremony, the guests--"

VIC: Oh, here's Stone Bruise. [calls] Hi!

RUSH: [off] Hi.

SADE: "Immediately after the ceremony, the guests were served dainty refreshments at the home of Mr. and Mrs. John H. Wheeper, 917 South Center Street. Fun-lovin' friends of the happy couple painted humorous signs on their motorcycle and decorated the handlebars with old shoes. Since the motorcycle has no sidecar, the newlyweds rode away one seated behind the other."

RUSH: 'Scuse me, people.

VIC: Hey, hey.

RUSH: Kindly forgive the intrusion.

VIC: Think no more about it. You live here in the house and are entitled to come and go as you please.

RUSH: Uh.

VIC: Good old true-blue, heart bigger than all outdoors, reliable old Bluetooth Johnson just phoned.

RUSH: Yeah?

VIC: He said Vernon Peggles is gonna buy his second United States Defense Bond tomorrow.

RUSH: Oh? That puts him out ahead of everybody.

VIC: So Bluetooth allowed.

RUSH: I thought I'd better drop in and tell you somethin', Mom.

SADE: What's that?

RUSH: Nicer Scott is sittin' on his front porch steps.

SADE: Pretty cold to be doin' that, isn't it?

RUSH: I'm goin' over and paste him one upside the snoot.

SADE: [sternly] What's this, now?

RUSH: [dramatically] Once more, Nicer has goaded the human body to the point where civilized flesh and blood can't stand it!

SADE: Has he?

RUSH: He has. And I'm goin' over next door and wang him one upside the bean. Thought I'd better notify you first.

SADE: Maybe you'd better sit down.

RUSH: I can't spare the time! Can't take any chances on lettin' him escape! Any second he might go in the house!

SADE: Sit down.

RUSH: Human flesh and blood refuses--

SADE: Listen, Willie, I'm good and tired of every little while havin' to go over this business with you and--

RUSH: Remember tonight at supper? Nicer comin' in our kitchen and bein' nice as pie and obligin' as a horse?

SADE: I remember--

RUSH: Axlegrease wouldn't melt in his mouth, would it?  He was the fine gentleman with the slick manners, wasn't he?  

SADE: He was certainly poli--

RUSH: Well, every second he was in our house, he was castin' around his eyes.

SADE: What do you mean by that?

RUSH: He was lookin' for stuff!

SADE: [perplexed] Lookin' for stuff?!

RUSH: Lookin' for stuff to pin on me!

SADE: I haven't the slightest notion what--

RUSH: Well...he found some stuff to pin on me. What time did we eat supper?

SADE: Rush, would you kindly--

RUSH: Six o'clock, wasn't it? Six o'clock or a few minutes past? Okay. Well, by seven thirty, he'd been all over town with his meanness.

SADE: I think maybe--

RUSH: Strolled up to the corner of Kelsey and Virginia. Smelly Clark, Willis Rohrback, and Leland Richards were sittin' under the street light. When they saw me, they let out a screech! Mom, in less than an hour and a half, Nicer Scott had made me an object of ridicule before the human race.

SADE: [to VIC] You ask him what he's talkin' about.

VIC: Whatcha talkin' about?

RUSH: [sighs] It's my knife and fork.

VIC: [confused] Knife and fork?!

RUSH: Yeah.

SADE: I think the weather's done something to the child.

VIC: What ABOUT your knife and fork?

RUSH: When Nicer was in the kitchen tonight during supper he SPOTTED my knife and fork.

VIC: Vinegar Cruet, old Saddle Soap, papa's completely in the dark--

SADE: [realization dawning] Oh! Your little knife and fork?

RUSH: My little knife and fork.

VIC: You have the key to this mystery?

SADE: [laughing] You know his little knife and fork he eats with!

RUSH: I eat with 'em because you put 'em beside my plate!

SADE: I always put 'em beside your plate. Never heard ya complain.

RUSH: I never complained because it never occurred to me a snake-in-the-grass like Nicer Scott'd use 'em against me.

SADE: What did Nicer tell the boys?

RUSH: He told 'em, "Rush Gook eats with a knife and fork a third the size of regular knives and forks. Rush Gook eats with a knife and fork where there's angels engraved all over and 'Darlin' Baby' printed on the back."

SADE: [laughing] Why, that little dickens!

RUSH: He spread it all over town! I'm the miserable object of public ridicule.

SADE: [laughing] Why -- Bess give him that knife and fork. When he was three years old.

VIC: Mmm.

SADE: They aren't REALLY baby things. They're smaller than regular knives and forks, but not any two-thirds smaller. Person'd hafta look twice to tell the difference.

RUSH: Nicer Scott looked twice. In fact, he musta stood there STUDYIN' the halfwit knife and fork. He told the guys about the angels engraved all over. Told 'em about "Darlin' Baby" printed on the back.

SADE: [giggles] Well, I expect he did make it sound funny to the kids. A monstrous great big grown-up high school gentleman fourteen years old usin' sweet dainty little knives and forks...

RUSH: He's made it sound funny, and he's had his fun. Now I'm goin' over and smash his head.

SADE: Oh, no you're not.

RUSH: You suggest I leave him get away with this?!

SADE: I suggest you sit still.

RUSH: Right this minute he's seated on his bottom front porch step. Wouldn't take me four seconds to step over and paste him one upside the snoot.

SADE: Well, you're not gonna do it.

RUSH: Imagine! Come over to our house this evenin' while we were eatin' supper. Was all friendship and soft talk and high-class manners. "Been a warm day, Mis' Gook! You're lookin' well, Mr. Gook! I see ya enjoy jelly on your bread, Rush!" And all the time, his eye was rovin' around. He spotted my little knife and fork with the angels on it and "Darlin' Baby" printed on the back. He got the details well in mind, then he excused himself and went outdoors and run like the dickens all over town to spread the news. You shoulda heard the screamin' and yellin' when I showed up at the corner of Kelsey and Virginia. On account of Nicer Scott's polite visit this evenin', I am now a miserable object of public ridicule.

SADE: Oh, I doubt it's that bad.

RUSH: It IS that bad. I'm goin' over and punch his dimwitted jaw.

SADE: I say you're not. Now, listen, Rush, we've been through this business again and again and again and you oughta understand by now I don't intend--

[telephone rings]

VIC: Telephone is ringin'.

SADE: --to take chances on bein' on the outs with next-door neighbors. Kids' quarrels is one thing and grown-up quarrels is another and I--

VIC: Telephone is ringin', telephone is ringin'.

SADE: Answer it, Rush.

RUSH: Probably somebody callin' up to josh me.

SADE: Well, answer it; you're right there.

VIC: Gee, wouldn't it be wonderful if it was good old, trustworthy, "love me love my dog," Mary is a grand old name, reliable Bluetooth Johnson again?

RUSH: [answers phone] Hello? [pause] Oh, hello, LeRoy. [to VIC and SADE] LeRoy Snow.

VIC & SADE: Hmm.

RUSH: [on phone] What is your business, LeRoy? [pause] Will you repeat your question, please? [pause] No, LeRoy, I do not wear a baby bonnet when I go to bed. No, and I don't wear bibs or booties, either. [pause] Was that all, LeRoy? [pause] Very well, LeRoy. [pause] Not at all, LeRoy. Anytime, LeRoy. [pause] Only too happy, LeRoy. [pause] Certainly, LeRoy. [pause] Depend upon it, LeRoy. [pause] Now allow me to bid you goodbye, LeRoy. [pause] Goodbye, LeRoy. [hangs up] See?!

VIC: [chuckling] They're just havin' a little fun at your expense.

RUSH: I'll smash Nicer Scott's chin.

SADE: Of course you'll do nothin' of the kind.

VIC: Pete, allow me to tell ya a little story about Benjamin Franklin and what he said to his manservant while flyin' a kite near the city of Philadelphia early in the year 1820. It just so happened this manservant's name was Charlie, and there was nothin' he liked better than bread with sugar on it. Well sir, accordin' to history, Benjamin Franklin --

[telephone rings]

RUSH: Telephone is ringin'.

VIC: Oh, so it is, by George! If it could only be good old, brown as a berry, even steven, dependable Bluetooth Johnson!

RUSH: [answers phone] Hello? [pause] Oh yes, Milton. [to VIC and SADE] Milton Welch.

SADE: Ah.

VIC: Hm.

RUSH: [on phone] What brings you to the telephone, Milton? [pause] Hope you didn't disturb me while I was sittin' on my father's knee while he sung me to sleep, huh? [pause] Not at all, Milton. I assure you I wasn't sittin' on my father's knee bein' sung sleep. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. [pause] You bet. [pause] Well, just AWFUL nice of ya to call. [pause] Yes, indeed. [pause] Uh, call again sometime, won't ya? [pause] Okay, Milton. You bet. Sure thing, Milton. Goodbye, Milton. [hangs up] Wonderful stuff, huh?!

SADE & VIC: [chuckle sympathetically]

RUSH: I will step next door and fix Nicer Scott good!

SADE: No, you won't! Goodness, talk about makin' a camel's back out of a molehill. Now, what do you care? It IS kinda halfway comical, a big fourteen-year-old high school gentleman usin' a dainty little knife and fork with "Darlin' Baby" on it to eat his supper with.

RUSH: Is it kinda halfway comical that a BABOON like Nicer Scott'd enter my private home like a wolf in sheep's clothing--

SADE: Why, sure! You'd probably have done the same thing. I bet if you caught Heinie Call across the street eatin' his supper with a little knife and fork like yours you'd--

[telephone rings]

VIC: The telephone is ringin'.

RUSH: I'll get it.

SADE: [low voice] Always something, huh?

VIC: [chuckles] Yeah.

RUSH: [on phone] Hello? [pause] Yes. [pause] Who? [pause] I seem to recognize the voice, but I can't quite place it. [pause] Mildred? Mildred who, please? [pause] Risdel? [pause] Fizdel? [pause] Bisdel? [pause] T like in 'Tomahaw--' Oh, Tisdel! Oh, sure, I recollect ya now.  Uh, Mildred Tisdel, isn't it?

VIC: Hey, hey.

SADE: Hey, hey is right.

RUSH: What is your business, Hildred? I mean, Mildred? [pause] Do I feed myself with my little knife and fork or do my parents do it? Uh-huh. Why, I feed myself, Mildred! [pause] Yes! [pause] Not at all, and thanks for calling. [pause] Certainly. [pause] Certainly...goodbye, Mis'...Risedale, or whatever it is. [pause] Ah, yes, Gisdel! Goodbye, Mis' Gisdel. [hangs up] See?! Even the girls!

SADE: Oh, you lead a miserable life.

RUSH: I'll go next door and lop Nicer Scott's ears down around his chin.

SADE: I don't think you will. Listen, you can explain to your friends it was your mother's fault. [giggles] It is, too.

VIC: Uh?

SADE: I've always thought of that little engraved knife and fork just bein' what Rush uses to eat with. Year after year, ever since he started eatin' with knives and forks, I've put 'em beside his plate. And like I say, they're not actually baby things. They're almost as big as regular knives and forks. When I set the table I invariably get 'em outta the drawer and put 'em beside Willie's plate. Never crossed my mind I had a grown-up fourteen-year-old man for a son, and was givin' him knives and forks covered over with angels and marked "Darlin' Baby."

VIC: [chuckles]

SADE: [chuckles] Silly, huh?

VIC: [chuckles] Yeah.

SADE: Oh, forgive me, ashtray.

[pause]

RUSH: Oh...it's okay, I guess.

SADE: Is it?

RUSH: [chuckle] Sure.

SADE: Begin to see the comical side, huh?

RUSH: [chuckles] Yeah.

SADE: Where ya goin'?

RUSH: Upstairs.

SADE: Read a nice book?

RUSH: [down] Uh-huh.

SADE: Well, that's fine.

RUSH: [down] Uh.

SADE: I'll put your little knife and fork away in the buffet someplace.

RUSH: [off] Okay.

SADE: Stuff happens, don't it?

VIC: [chuckles] Yeah.

SADE: Stuff happens. [pause] Where was I here in my newspaper piece?

VIC: Uhhh.

SADE: Why, say, I left out a whole paragraph!

VIC: Did you?

SADE: List of names.

VIC: Hm.

SADE: Out-of-towners.

VIC: Hm.

SADE: "Mr. and Mrs. David Yasher and sons Chauncey and Beef of Pittsburgh, Iowa; Ed K. Frapp, Junior, Mulish, Vermont; Sidney, Lila, Hobert, Gus, Vivian, Grace, Howard, and Stungle Houch, Dismal Seepage, Ohio; and Miller Y. Miller of Itcher, Montana." A real turnout, hmm?

VIC: Uhh.

SADE: "Immediately after the ceremony, the guests were served dainty refreshments at the home of Mr. and Mrs. John H. Wheeper, 917 South Center Street. Fun-lovin' friends of the happy couple painted humorous signs on their motorcycle and decorated the handlebars with old shoes. Since the motorcycle has no sidecar, the newlyweds rode away one seated behind the other."