#stayed up too late writing this

[non-online]

pulp fiction was a structurally bad movie

and here’s why

i started off pulp fiction with a few things in mind - that it had a non-chronological storyline, that it had a great soundtrack, that it had great acting, and that i’d probably like it. one of those things ended up being true.

this review contains spoilers for pulp fiction — it does not include spoilers for the movies i compare it to.

why do people call this storyline a non-chronological storyline?

well i see where the misconception comes from, because the movie uses parallel storylines, however this is different from non-chronological. a different movie that i believe does a non-chronological storyline well is 500 days of summer.

500 days of summer uses its non-chronological storyline to pose questions. why does summer break up with tom? when do summer and tom actually get together? why does the breakup affect him so much? all of which we eventually learn through the story, and i think the non-chronological storyline makes 500 days of summer what it is. so what does this do that pulp fiction doesn’t?

pulp fiction only uses parallel storylines. this is not non-chronological but, in my opinion, a boring us of non-linear storylines. we get 1 past scene, and that’s only the intro. all of the other segments happen at the same time as eachother, but they don’t overlap. this makes me as the logical viewer ask why we needed to see all of these perspectives if they don’t overlap? the characters overlap - but not what we see of them.

what ruins the soundtrack? its length.

many people say that pulp fiction is considered a boring movie by some because of its length and that’s definitely not true. i believe it’s due to how quiet everything is. for this comparison 8’ll be using the film spiderman: across the spider-verse.

spiderman: across the spider-verse is a film which is 2 hours and 20 minutes long - only 9 minutes shorter than pulp fiction. as both are considerably long films, what made pulp fiction feel like such a drag for me? the reason is the length of the soundtrack. to get your viewer immersed in a story, a captivating soundtrack is the key. pulp fiction’s soundtrack is 41 minutes long, which is a fair length - for a short movie. but only approximately 27.5% of the movie had music, subtly or not, which in turn dragged out the movie so long, because it felt so quiet. in comparison, the soundtrack to our comparison is 107 minutes long, making the percentage an extraordinarily larger 76%.

where is the reason for things to happen, and why should we care?

whenever i ask someone the actual plot of pulp fiction, i never receive a straightforward answer. this is because barely anything in this film has a reason for us to see. in comparison, i bring the film fight club.

fight club is a film where i believe we always see things that we actually need to see, and in these films i’m going to compare the scenes of marla singer’s overdose (fight club) and mia wallace’s overdose (pulp fiction). in the scene of marla’s overdose in fight club, it starts with marla singer about to die, where if tyler didn’t intervene, she wouldn’t have made it. but tyler does intervene, and that forms her relationship with tyler. this contrasts with that which is in pulp fiction. with mia’s overdose, it starts with us watching her commit the act of overdosing. this results in vincent going to save her, which ends in her ending up fine. within these two stories, we see that if marla had not overdosed, she wouldn’t have come back into the narrator/tyler’s life, while if mia had or had not overdosed, she would end up fine. so why as the audience should we be bothered wether she overdoses or not? i feel like there are many examples of this in pulp fiction - wether or not something happened, it would have ended the same way - but i won’t delve too deep into it.

where is the visual interest?

i am personally a massive fan of art design and cinematography in film, and watching pulp fiction, nothing really caught my eye at all. this is because of their underwhelming use of camera angles.

watching pulp fiction, it felt like a lot of the film was filmed at what’s known as a cowboy shot, or also known as an american shot. this is a head-on angle on an often unmoving camera, and often at a between a medium and full shot. now don’t get me wrong - there’s nothing wrong with a cowboy shot, not at all. i think it’s definitely useful when multiple angles are used, but in pulp fiction i found it overwhelmingly occurring, with a clip from early in the film as one of the first google search results for cowboy shot. from the opening scene to the dance scene to the scene where butch shoots vincent (from my memory) all are at a face-on angle.

then what separates this from other films which use similar angles throughout the entirety of the film? well a movie that i think used reoccurring angles quite well was american psycho.

a lot of american psycho is shot at a closeup state. the difference i find between this and pulp fiction is that american psycho is a psychological thriller. a well acted character’s facial expressions can tell the viewer so much of what’s going through their head, which for a psychological thriller makes the most sense. meanwhile, as a crime and action film, pulp fiction does little to show me what the characters feel and think via body language, as you can’t see the entirety of the character, while you also can’t intricately see the facial language either, which doesn’t help with them already feeling two-dimensional, which i can’t be bothered to get into.

so this makes me wonder,

what do people see in pulp fiction?

because i really can’t see how albeit very talented acting can make up for something with no structure - it’s like saying that muscles can work without bones.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 57

Jaskier likes hugs. Like a lot. Like dozens a day, a lot. Which is why it's so odd when Jaskier suddenly stops touching Geralt unless he he absolutely has to. Geralt is admittedly getting quite jealous, however, because Jaskier hasn't stopped touching anyone and everyone else. Has the horror of being a witcher finally set in for the bard? Is he disgusted to so much as lay a finger on him, now? Geralt starts just being concerned about it, however, when Jaskier keeps almost hugging him. So Jaskier clearly wants to hug him, but refuses to do so. Did someone say something? Is he worried about Geralt? He worries for Geralt an awful lot. Oh fuck, is he cursed? Geralt finally breaks and asks (demands) Jaskier why he stopped hugging him, when Jaskier clearly still wants to. "It's because you hate it! Obviously! I- I'm trying to be a good friend!" Geralt knows he can be a bit stoic, but he thought Jaskier would take the fact that Geralt hugs back and doesn't shove him away as more than enough motivation to keep doing what makes him so happy. "I never felt so bad. I really thought you had no problem with me being so- So clingy. If I had known better, I wouldn't! Honest, Geralt!" "Why do you think I have a 'problem' with it?" "You growled at me!" Oh fuck. He purred. Jaskier doesn't know he can purr.

[patolemus]

Uuuuuh here's my take on a Teen Wolf movie fix-it, because god do we deserve it.

---------------

“Stiles, think of her father! He finally has her back!”

“Think of his son! Scott, he’s a child,” Stiles’ voice breaks as he thinks of Eli, young and alone after losing his only parent. He thinks of himself, and who he might have been had he lost his dad at Eli’s age.

Mostly, he thinks of Derek. Selfless, martyr, stupid Derek who still thought he was disposable after all these years, after raising a son and settling down and getting the quiet life he always wanted. Stiles thinks of Derek, and he feels himself falling apart at the seams because why is it that life still likes to punish kind, battered souls like Derek Hale’s? Why couldn’t it decide that he’d had enough, why did it have to kill him before letting him rest?

Stiles can’t accept it. He won’t accept it. He’s going to bring Derek back from whatever kind of shit afterlife he’s in, and he’s going to force him to live out his quiet life with his son if it’s the last goddamn thing Stiles ever does. That is the only ending he’ll accept for this beautiful, broken man.

Fuck everyone who wants to stop him.

“Stiles, he’s gone. You can’t— he’s gone,” Scott says, voice softening, obviously trying to be placating. Stiles doesn’t care for it.

“You can keep your head in fucking Allison land all you want, Scott. Get your child bride, fuck off back to wherever it is you left Beacon Hills for. But don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do. If you want to keep her, you’ll do it far, far away from here,” and Stiles thinks maybe this is the moment Scott finally gets it. That he is not the same boy who left after high school graduation. Whatever soft spot Stiles had for Scott is gone, went away with time and therapy and the realization that Scott would never care for him the way Stiles did for him, that he was kept close for his usefulness until it ran out and he became disposable.

So yeah, Scott can keep Allison. Stiles will be happy for him, even. But if he dares interfere with his own plans, Stiles will put them both in the ground himself.

It’s not like it’d be the first time he’s done so.

[ambient-arena]

what if the narrative wasn't so horrifically fond of gideon. what if instead of the lobotomy harrow just straight up tore herself apart trying to pry gideons soul away from hers. what if she resorted to the same violent, animal desperation john did when trying to consume the earth but instead of trying to destroy she was trying to recover. what if harrow in an unimaginable fit of despair forced her entire soul and necromantic capabilities to their intense limits but it doing so inadvertently rendered the task she was trying to complete impossible. like trying so so hard to use necromancy to give gideon's soul back that she accidentally ended up cementing its place inside her as an eternal furnace even more. and then what if she just lived like that with gideons soul and memory inside her and it was terrible and everlasting. yeah what if also my brain is rotting out of my skull

[theinvisiblemuseum]

i bet we'd have really good bed chem…

[babychosen]

amangela au wip coming along beautifully

[lost-estradiographer]

I

know that voting for the status quo sucks.

To say it "sucks" massively understates the exact amount of suffering that exists under the status quo, an amount that I acknowledge I am too privileged to ever fully grasp.

I cannot magically provide some viable third-party candidate just barely a month before the election. I cannot solve Israel/Palestine Conflict that has haunted the world for over 70 years. I am a 29-year old transgender woman working her way through her own mental illnesses, trauma, and an undergraduate degree. I was never going to be the one to solve anything here.

All I can tell you is that regardless of whether you vote or not, there will be a presidential election. It's going to be a shitshow, regardless. Whether you vote or not, there will be a different president in January. Voting for the status quo may not be directly in your interests.

We had four years of Trump and we are still trying to unfuck ourselves from that. The beginning of my antagonistic relationship with the government was protesting in the streets of DC under his administration. I've fled from the Metro PD. I've put on a change of clothes and slipped out the back door of a gay sports bar.

Fucking vote.

Fucking vote.

Fucking vote.

Honestly, I

I don't want to see this voter apathy shit anymore.

People are going to keep dying under any president. Any president can, and probably wil, be morally culpable for the deaths of innocent people, both in the country and abroad. Carter might be the last president we had that wasn't overtly a war criminal and we still had foreign civilians killed by U.S. military involvement under the Carter admin.

I'm torn between asking you to block me, or asking you to message me, if you're taking the route of voter apathy. I'll tell you right away, here and now, that I probably don't have a solution to whatever problem is keeping you from voting for Harris. I can't even solve my own problems right, tbh. The government isn't really here for me, either.

But there isn't going to be some sort of miraculous revolution that results in The Ending Where Everyone Lives. If there's a revolution, then supply chains will falter and children and the infirm will die of preventable diseases and infections and complications in hospitals that would have otherwise been able to easily deal with such things. That's what happens in a revolution. I'm after the long-term idea where Humanity as a species lives. I'm after the route where we don't have an ending, we keep going.

Fucking vote, because exactly one of the two leading presidential candidates believes climate change is real, and it is the single greatest threat to all life on earth. We have spent the past 250 years, not just playing God with the environment, but actively creating an ecological niche in which future generations of humanity must continue to play God with the environment, dragging it back to a healthy place drop by drop, inch by inch, a degree at a time.

Or, I mean, don't vote. Either way, we'll all die at some point. Perhaps some of us will be lucky enough to die standing by our principles.

Those lucky few will become soil one day, just like I will.

I am begging you on my hands and knees to fucking vote, though, because our options are The Status Quo vs. Worse. That's

That's it.

There is no door number three right now. Our system, our flawed and broken and imbalanced and unjust system, does not accommodate for a third door. Whether you vote or not, you will be dragged through either Door 1 or Door 2 with all of humanity, as we whirl through the cosmos upon our tiny little speck of dust. The only other legitimate option is to allow oneself to become trampled; to become soil early. I don't say legitimate to give this option legitimacy, but to make clear that again, there is no door three. Door three is a casket. A one-way bed.

I didn't vote in 2016, and I'm hoping that you'll vote for the status quo this time, because that's the route that gives me the best odds of having a long and healthy life to regret my failure through inaction.

Just please

Fucking vote.

Or again, if you're taking the apathy route, probably just save me the time of blocking you, because you're not going to magically pull a viable third-party candidate out of your pocket less than six weeks before the election.

[cake-chad]

Something something Gideon always inevitably wakes up with Kremy on or curled up next to him because being cold-blooded he seeks out the literal furnace sleeping next to him every night.

Frost is usually nearby too, but only if they're sleeping outside and not in beds, he's not cold-blooded but he is a cat, of course he likes to be near a heater too.

And now that I think about it, Torbek would be there too, having gone through what he has and severly underweight, his circulation is terrible and despite having his own layer of fur, he just can't stay warm on his own, so he sleeps sandwiched between Gideon and Hootsie

Just. A whole cuddle puddle of all of them, Gricko curls up next to Hootsie, Twig sleeps under Gideons arm, and when Pigtunias around she acts as a pillow for him

I love cuddle puddles and I love characters who naturally make everyone more comfortable to sleep around them 😭😭

[azfellandco]

Hi friend this ask is a request for you to wax lyrical about Crowley slowly dying of a poisonous dose of laudanum, because it seems That Scene is still on all our minds. <3

Godbless (they said agnostically). This is going to be a mess of a response because I have been working a lot of overtime and am pretty sleep deprived, and also because there are a lot of angles to this.

First off: you're so correct to point out that laudanum is an analgesic and not literally a poison, because I think this slots in so nicely with the pattern of stuff we see Aziraphale consume and why (food and wine, for sensual pleasure) and stuff we see Crowley consume and why (alcohol for numbing and six shots of espresso to brace himself, and now laudanum, a medical grade numbing agent, at a dosage that would have killed Elspeth had he not intervened).

To really get into this I'm going to have to talk a little about something I have a lot of approximate knowledge about: Victorian era medicine. Why I find poison sexy (maybe compelling is a better word here) is partially tied up in the Victorian era and this exact subset of knowledge, which I am going to disclaim right now as not very precise. I research stuff primarily to regurgitate it in fiction, and not for complete factual accuracy.

First off, let's take a moment to admire Crowley's prognosticative abilities once again.

Antiseptic is 25 years off, germ theory is held in disdain by the western world, but here's Anthony "that went down like a lead balloon" Crowley just trying to be helpful to this guy covered in blood.

Antiseptic was not in common medical and surgical use until the 1850s. It was pioneered by Joseph Lister, who actually worked at the University of Edinburgh, which was kind of the place to be in terms of medical breakthroughs of this time period. Before the advent of washing your hands and sterilizing surgical equipment, something like 2/3rds of surgical patients died either on the operating table or of infection afterwards. Medicine during this time period was difficult, dangerous work with a high risk of complications, and surgery was haunted by death and disease. Dr. Darymple would have administered laudanum to a patient and then strapped their limbs down and put something in their mouth so they didn't bite through their tongue before cutting into them, and even if he was a good surgeon they might have died a week later from gangrene or sepsis anyway.

It's in this world that laudanum and opium more generally got romanticized by literature and poetry. The Victorians loved opium, but the symbolism of the poppy, from which opium is derived, has been sleep and death since the classical world. My go-to example of the blending of these themes (poppies as sleep and death symbolism and this time period's interest in the classical world) is The Garden of Proserpine by Algernon Charles Swinburne, of which I will include an excerpt below:

No growth of moor or coppice,          No heather-flower or vine, But bloomless buds of poppies,          Green grapes of Proserpine, Pale beds of blowing rushes Where no leaf blooms or blushes Save this whereout she crushes          For dead men deadly wine.

The symbolic connection between opium (and thus laudanum) and sleep and death is my strongest association with either drug. The poppies = death association is used all the time even in the modern day. See this song, Flowers, from the musical Hadestown:

Lily white and poppy red I trembled when he laid me out "You won't feel a thing," he said, "When you go down" Nothing gonna wake you up now

Poppy symbolism is doing a lot of work in this song, actually, drawing a line between virginity and death, and the flower imagery standing in for both Euridyce's sexual relationship with Hades as well as her death but I disgress.

This is my personal context for laudanum and opium. I think it's encouraged to read the sleep and death connection into both of these medicines, both by the artistic tradition that arose contemporaneously with their use and by continued references back to it in the modern day. I am thinking of the scene in Inception where the opium den they visit is full of people who go to be drugged in order to dream their lives away as just one of many other modern day examples. Opium is sleep and sleep is death.

So while the laudanum is not literally poison, I think there is cultural context in which it is possible to read it as symbolically poison, regardless of whether Crowley's not-actually-human body should be able to withstand it. I think that it is compelling to read it as such, given the above-mentioned pattern of Crowley's habits of consumption.

I've seen a lot of posts about how the next time Aziraphale and Crowley see each other after this flashback is the time Crowley asks Aziraphale to bring him holy water and Aziraphale refuses on the grounds that he won't provide Crowley with a suicide pill. While I think this says more about Aziraphale than it does about Crowley (Crowley has never struck me, by behavior or attitude, to be the kind of person who would kill themself, whereas for Aziraphale one of the worst things that could happen would be losing Crowley) there is something there, something in that tartan thermos, something in the idea that Crowley would drink his death.

There is one more angle to this, and this is going to be a bit of a reach. I once read an analysis post in another fandom about the symbolism of poison as a choice of weapon. This line will haunt me until my grave: "a man stabs, a woman poisons". Just as a sword is a phallic symbol, poison (to me) is a feminine coded way to kill another person. For more context, please read The Laboratory by Robert Browning, a poem about a woman procuring a poison to kill her husband's lover, written by another Victorian poet. Crowley dying being discorporated by self-administered poison compels me for all the reasons mentioned above but also for gender reasons. Nonbinary icon.

Crowley dying being discorporated by self-administered poison feels like it is in conversation with two events that happen chronologically later but narratively earlier: the "suicide pill" conversation and Crowley trying to wait out the apocalypse in the bar after the bookshop burned. For all intents and purposes he seems to have given up at that point and only pulls himself together because Aziraphale appears to him and proves he isn't gone gone. It makes sense as an exploration of Aziraphale's anxieties (the suicide pill convo), and the extent to which they might be justified (Crowley drinking as the world ends). It's interesting it's compelling it's symbolically rich it's consistent with characterization choices in the show.

I think realistically Crowley would keep from Aziraphale that he was in pain until he physically couldn't do so, because it would threaten the wall they've had to erect to keep each other safe to do otherwise, but in a scenario where Crowley was hurt, properly hurt, Aziraphale would find a way to excuse them because he would not stand for Crowley suffering.

Just...

The idea of Aziraphale gathering Crowley close in the dark graveyard, feeling him stumble, Crowley who is so bright and brave and beautiful reduced to clutching to Aziraphale and the pair of them trying to will him back to health the way they can choose to sober up, and failing... Crowley because by this point he's too weak, he waited too long putting up a front for Aziraphale, Aziraphale because of conflicting magic or because he's too anxious, his own personal moment of the gun shaking in Crowley's hands during the bullet catch, where he knows what he has to do but he can't do it, can't trust himself not to make it worse.

And then Crowley's body going cold, Aziraphale holding it and crying because despite knowing it's just a body and that Crowley can get another one, he failed to protect him. Crowley died for someone and Aziraphale couldn't prevent it. And the things they don't say to each other, all rushing in to fill the silence left by Crowley's stopped breath. Aziraphale whispering to him, kissing his temple, part of him wondering if he'd ever be able to do this if he wasn't already gone.

It would just be really good, okay. It would be really good.

[tathrin]

Don't want to derail the cool ghost post with fandom bullshit, but: imagine elves.

Imagine elves who have seen hundreds of years come and go around them, seen their mortals friends die and die and die each generation after the next after the next; seen civilizations rise and fall; seen the very land change while they themselves remain.

Imagine them wandering down once-familiar paths by habit only to find that where they expected solid ground instead there is only the hungry ceaseless sea.

Imagine one worn down so by grief or time or loss that they just keep walking anyway, surf up to their knees, to their thighs, to their neck: high enough that it becomes indistinguishable from the tears; and still the world moves on and they remain, walking on the unsteady shifting fading earth, watching stars wink-out one-by-one above them and still they remain.

Walking on paths long gone and forgotten by all but them.

[a-big-apple]

Gideon, Harrow, and "Wedding Vows"

i frequently see the interpretation that this:

"The land that shall receive thee dying, in the same will I die: and there will I be buried. The Lord do so and so to me, and add more also, if aught but death part me and thee," said Gideon. (GtN 438)

plus this:

"If I forget you, let my right hand be forgotten," her mouth was saying. "Add more also, if aught but death part me and thee." And, unsteadily: "Griddle." (HtN 360)

plus this:

It didn't even matter when Kiriona said, "Sure, Cam. Marry a moron, then die. I get the urge." (NtN 372)

equals Gideon and Harrow are married! crying face emoji!

i'm not disparaging that interpretation, i think it's valid and has some basis in the text, and even if it wasn't/didn't, i think fans should have all the fun they want. but for me, it doesn't fully capture the complexity of what Gideon and Harrow are to each other, and i want to explore a slightly less straightforward reading.

Catholic weddings, vows, and Ruth under the cut ;)

Gideon and Ninth House traditions

let's start with Gideon quoting Ruth. i've seen folks repeating the idea that this is a wedding vow. it's more accurate to say that this is a verse often used as a wedding vow, in other denominations of Christianity, and secularly as well. but in a (traditional) Catholic wedding, the couple can't write or choose their own vows--the Celebration of Matrimony has specific text, with one or two variations, that is always used.

now, we haven't seen a Ninth House marriage ceremony. if we do see such a thing in AtN and discover that Ruth 1:17 is part of that tradition, i will cry a million happy queer tears about it. but i think it's somewhat likely that Gideon has never even seen a Ninth House wedding, given how small and trending elderly the population is, and that we know no couples in her lifetime have had kids other than the Reverend Parents.

what i'm getting at here is that this quotation from Ruth doesn't seem, to me, to represent something that's religiously or traditionally binding in Ninth House culture. it uses some similar language to Catholic marriage vows, "until death do us part" etc, but i don't think these are words that make them married in the eyes of the Ninth or the Houses at large, i think these are words Gideon has chosen as a specific expression of her devotion. and where does she get them from, if not some Ninth House ceremony or scripture?

well, this is a slightly longer stretch, but at the point in the story when Gideon says this, she's already dead. Harrow has begun to absorb her--and thanks to "The Unwanted Guest," we know that souls are porous, permeable, and rub off on each other when they're in contact. Gideon's soul is at this moment being integrated into Harrow's; Harrow has certainly read all kinds of books on the Ninth ranging from usual to totally heretical, some of them probably extremely old, and it's not unreasonable to think writings from before the Resurrection might have been copied and recopied into something Harrow could access. And speaking of soul permeability, Harrow's had Alecto's soul clinging onto hers for seven years, and Alecto's soul is in intimate contact with John's soul--there are so many ways for this bit of scripture to make its way into Gideon's non-corporeal mouth. the STI (Soulfully Transmitted Infection) of biblical knowledge.

Ruth in context

now let's talk a little about Ruth, the book of the Bible and also the character of the Bible, and Naomi, who she is swearing her devotion to. tl;dr, Naomi and her husband and two grown sons are Israelites who immigrate to Moab, a "pagan" nation, to escape famine. Naomi's two sons marry Moabite women; then the sons both die, as does Naomi's husband. Naomi, having lost everything, decides to return home where she'll be penniless and have a bad life but at least she'll be among her people; she tells her two daughters-in-law to go back to their families. One of them goes.

The other, Ruth, refuses, and swears beautiful devotion to Naomi, as we've heard Gideon quote: "She answered: Be not against me, to desire that I should leave thee and depart: for whithersoever thou shalt go, I will go: and where thou shalt dwell, I also will dwell. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. The land that shall receive thee dying, in the same will I die: and there will I be buried. The Lord do so and so to me, and add more also, if aught but death part me and thee."

in a biblical context, this has nothing to do with a wedding vow. Ruth is promising to leave the comfort of her own people, religion, and homeland to stay with her mother-in-law Naomi, even though the connection they had (Naomi's son, Ruth's husband) is gone, and all they have to look forward to is a terrible life of grief and bitterness. this is frequently interpreted as a parallel to Jesus, who (in the religious perspective) made the sacrifice of leaving his place with God and becoming human out of devotion to humanity, in order to live and suffer and redeem us. woof, this is giving me flashbacks to CCD.

of course, many Christians resist interpreting what passes between Ruth and Naomi as resembling a wedding vow for homophobic reasons too--making it about Jesus is a way to make it less queer--but i think the point still stands that this is a more complicated, and less marriage-related, expression of love than it seems taken on its own.

Harrow's lamentation

when Harrow later echoes it back, she conflates it with a different biblical quotation: "On the willows in the midst thereof we hung up our instruments. For there they that led us into captivity required of us the words of songs. And they that carried us away, said: Sing ye to us a hymn of the songs of Sion. How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand be forgotten. Let my tongue cleave to my jaws, if I do not remember thee: If I make not Jerusalem the beginning of my joy."

it's a lament, an expression of mourning, a longing for home from someone who has been forcibly removed from it. when combined with the Ruth quotation, in which Ruth is giving up her home in her devotion, this really reads to me as both Harrow's grief, immediate and overpowering, and a realization that Gideon is her home, and failing to acknowledge that is as disabling as the loss of a hand or of the power of speech. Gideon is the beginning of her joy, and Harrow is, in this moment, putting Gideon above the Ninth House in her devotion. above Alecto. above everything.

and again, i'm not saying all of that can't be about marriage, but it's about a relationship much more complicated than marriage can encompass in the context House cultural norms.

Kiriona Gaia, saddest girl

this brings me to Kiriona, and "marry a moron, then die." consider the context of this, and the tone. Kiriona's deeply, deeply hurt. the saddest girl in the universe. she died for Harrow, avowed her devotion to Harrow, and then (from her perspective) was rejected; buried; excised from Harrow's brain and then from her body. Kiriona, as she did when she was Gideon, covers her emotions with humor and sarcasm. i suspect she's even less able to handle being vulnerable as Kiriona than she ever was before. she's making light of Canaan House and what happened there, and it's only in sarcastically downplaying what she's been through that she recounts her relationship to Harrow as a marriage--something she has almost no positive examples of, something that is in her experience frequently political and joyless. also notably, she frames it as a marriage that occurred before she died.

Their actual vow

what Gideon (and Kiriona) really wants--she tells us over and over again--is to be a true cavalier.

and what does Gideon's ghost repeat right before she devastates us with Ruth 1:17?

"One flesh, one end," said Gideon, and it was a murmur now, on the very edge of hearing. Harrow said, "Don't leave me." (GtN 438)

it's taken me a dozen paragraphs just to propose that this is their vow. "One flesh, one end" are the actual words that need to be spoken, in Gideon and Harrow's cultural context, to bring them into an official union with each other; a union that is arguably more fundamental in the Houses, and certainly more complicated, than a marriage. a union Gideon specifically wants, and has seen in action.

in the pool, they vow to each other as cavalier and necromancer. in the moments before Gideon's death, she forgives Harrow again, and exposes her heart: "'You know I only care about you,' she said in a brokenhearted rush" (GtN 430). then she repeats their oath again, acknowledges the pain she's about to cause for Harrow, and rededicates herself to the Ninth--a place she never really belonged, Harrow's home and people more than her own, as Ruth dedicated herself to Naomi's home and people. Gideon "married" her moron in the pool, and now she dies to fulfill that vow.

and as we saw above, after Gideon's death, she reminds Harrow again of their union--of its importance, of how she's fulfilling what she has interpreted to be her whole purpose as a cavalier--and it's in response to Harrow's "don't leave me" that Gideon offers a final reassurance of her devotion. in her mind, this sacrifice is its ultimate expression, the most inextricable and undeniable union two people can achieve.

Gideon believes she'll be part of Harrow forever.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 111

`Jaskier and Geralt are playflirting a lot more than they used to. Geralt allows more touches than normal. They had a heartfelt talk one inebriated night about intimacy and longing for someone to hold. Clearly, they're ready to move forward from friendship into romance, right? Geralt's finally caught wind of Jaskier's hints and is dropping his own? Geralt gave him a custom ring the other day! They're clearly about to embrace each other and make out wildly and it'll be the best day of Jaskier's life! Even if Geralt had just grunted when Jaskier confessed, Jaskier would prefer it to Geralt being disgusted and hating him forever. Jaskier finally plucks up the courage one night to tell Geralt how he feels. Jaskier picks wildflowers and makes a clumsy bouquet, and ties it together along with a handwritten poem about how much Jaskier loves Geralt, and how beautiful he finds him. He finds Geralt sat by the fire, and Jaskier stares at his back for a moment, before clearing his throat, and softly asking Geralt what Geralt thinks about love. Geralt speaks of grief, and loss, and pain. About how it's not worth it in the end. Jaskier is heartbroken but he laughs it off and hides the bouquet deep in his bags. He goes to bed early, and prays that Geralt can't smell his soul-crushing devastation.

Geralt is beginning to panic. Jaskier and him have been flirting, and Jaskier touches him more and for longer, and That One Talk they had that night. But everyone to ever love Geralt has died. Quite horribly. Sometimes by his own hand. He can't love Jaskier, for it'll end with his bard's beautiful lively blue eyes unseeing as he lays dead on the ground. He has nightmares about it for four nights straight. One night, he's poking around at the fire at camp when Jaskier from behind him asks him what he thinks of love. He gives his honest answer. Loving Geralt just isn't worth it. It always ends with pain and heartache.

A few nights later, Jaskier asks Geralt to grab him something from Jaskier's bag. It's nothing. It's simple and unassuming. And yet while Geralt rummages through the bags, he accidentally stumbles across a crumpled little withering bouquet of flowers, complete with a beautiful poem about loving... Him. Jaskier wrote a poem about loving Geralt? Were the flowers for Geralt? Why is it in Jaskier's bag? Did Jaskier lose his nerve? Did Jaskier think better of it? Or was- FUCK. The night at the campfire! Shit, he always does this- This is precisely why he didn't want them to fall in love in the first place! Jaskier would get hurt. But it's too late to stop them falling now, he supposes... He'll think more about the repercussions about it all later. First thing's first, Geralt has to make a bouquet and try his hand at writing.

[rainintheevening]

Okay, here goes.

The unicorn...

His name is Erah, or at least that's the most easily spoken version of his name

He can't talk, not human speech at least

He was born mute

He can talk horse, or the more complex dialect common among Talking Horses anyway

This is how he communicates

When they meet in Aslan’s camp, startling each other around a corner, Peter is honestly more struck by a creature who doesn't talk than he is by any of the ones that do

In all the fuss and hubbub, and with a sword hanging at his hip, Peter doesn't mind the unicorn's quiet

His eyes say plenty

Oreius translates for him

Philip also does this for Erah

Anyway Peter learns the unicorn's name, and that he thinks it would be the highest possible honour to be Peter's mount both in training and in battle

Unicorns do not let their riders fall

Except Erah does

He is horribly ashamed of this after the battle

Peter is desperately reassuring

"You got shot! You almost died! Lucy had to heal you with her magic cordial!"

Peter's never really ridden before

But on Erah's back he feels safe and strong and steady

On Erah's back he feels a lot more like the king he needs to be

When Erah first joined Aslan’s camp, along with his friend Philip the Talking Horse, he was planning to ask Aslan why he was born mute, why he'd been cursed in this way that had led to so much pain in the death of his dam and the sorrow of his sire

He wanted to ask Aslan to fix him, to make him like a normal unicorn

When Oreius brought him to Aslan, Erah could only whicker an approximation of the Lion's name, before he fell silent and trembling under the weight of that gaze, that saw every thought, and every suffering, and every way he felt inferior and broken, and... loved him.

And suddenly he didn't need to ask, he only knew that he was loved, exactly as he was, and oddly, that was quite enough of an answer

It became a blessing in one way, he later told Peter, as he would likely have left if Aslan had healed him, and then not met Peter

Peter learns him, learns every little way he communicates, the thousand different snorts and whickers and whinnies, the tilts of ears and head and back hooves, the shake of mane or swish of tail, the volumes read in his liquid dark eyes

They make their own language in a way, and Ed is fascinated by it, but can never really parse how they speak without words

So Erah the mute unicorn becomes High King Peter's battle horse

Legendary, iconic, the boy king of Narnia in his red tunic with the gold lion rampant, the silver sword called Rhindon, and the white unicorn he rides

No, riding a unicorn is not normal, but Erah doesn't care one whit, he wants to do this for Peter, his High King and his best friend, and Peter quickly comes to trust no other mount like Erah

Peter always leads the charge in battle, riding with the cavalry and the great cats

Edmund prefers fighting on foot, and often marches out with the foot soldiers

Philip is actually not fond of combat, and prefers it when Ed leaves him behind

Philip trains the girls to ride as well

Philip is also a great debating partner, and there is a running joke that Ed honed his conversation skills with his horse

Erah and Peter save each other's lives many times on the battlefield

Erah often takes Peter for a gallop when the High King is tired or discouraged or worried

Often Ed and Philip will join them, and the four are a beloved sight

Erah also likes being ridden by Lucy

She often tells him how beautiful and handsome he is until he would blush if unicorns could do that

Eventually Erah gets married to a sweet unicorn mare

Her name is Pearl

He still rides out to battle with Peter but doesn't live at the castle anymore

He doesn't want to have a whole herd like stallions normally would, one mare is enough for him, and he has to be there when Peter needs him

They've had three foals by the time the kings and queens vanish

No one knows exactly what happens

Philip is lost, uncertain, he spends days scouring the woods

Till he sees Aslan in a dream, and the Lion asks him why he mourns, asks Philip to trust, and tells him to 'be always ready for the coming of your king'

He comes home to Cair Paravel, and the worst part for him is having to tell Erah that Peter is gone

And Erah looks at him, and his eyes shine when Philip repeats Aslan’s words, because he'd heard the exact same thing in his own dream

'Be always ready for the coming of your king'

Back in England, the new school the boys get sent to has stables, and Peter is down there on the second day, talking to all the horses

He rides every chance he gets

The schoolmasters and boys who knew him before are surprised by how good he is

He's oddly regal in the saddle

Even more he often rides bareback

Ed rides too though not as much and only one particular horse

Edmund is a one horse boy

Peter gets very good with horses

They are much easier to talk to than his classmates

If anyone's having a problem with a horse, someone's gonna yell 'get Pevensie!' and more often than not, Peter can settle the animal down

But though he gets to know some of the horses quite well, nothing ever comes close to the bond he had with Erah, and as time passes and he misses Narnia more fiercely, sometimes riding is a painful reminder of what he has no longer

Now unicorns live long, and Erah lived near twice as long as most, saying farewell to many in that time, including his mare Pearl, and his beloved friend Philip, who also left many decendants behind

He never stopped waiting, never stopped looking for his king's return

Sometimes he would watch the sun set at the end of another day, and in the blaze of glory he would see Aslan’s face

He always wanted to ask 'why' but then he never did

He didn't understand why Aslan would take his beloved friend away, but he would never forget that he was loved, and Peter was loved, and they were all held between the great paws of the Lion anyway

Perhaps, he thought, near the end, King Peter had already gone ahead to Aslan’s country, and really it was Peter who was waiting for him

Erah did not see the Telmarine invasion

His great-grandsons fought in those bitter battles, and they suffered greatly in the losses

Unicorns were heavily persecuted as very obviously magical creatures and most of them fled north

North to the land that had been High King Peter's special domain

The legends of the high king and his white unicorn remained

It was a terrible blow to Peter, to return to a Narnia so changed, and to discover his old friend so long gone

Glenstorm knew the old legends, retelling several of them one night around the fire, while tears slid down Peter's cheeks, and Lucy curled close under his arm, and Caspian turned his head away, feeling like an intruder

Later, in a private moment with Aslan, Peter asked only one question: 'did he die at peace?'

Aslan said only (but very very gently), 'he waits for you still, son of Adam. Be at peace'

After they go back to England, Peter treasures his memories of Erah's friendship and loyalty, even writing a little memoir about the unicorn

He still rides whenever he can

He hopes he will see Erah again some day

In the end they are both rewarded

Erah finds he is mostly right for it seems he has no sooner arrived in Aslan’s country than there is the sound of much joy and the laughter of reunion

He sees two tall men, and he calls the blond one's name and Peter laughs, because, well, it's actually not surprising in the least that Erah should speak aloud, but it is still wonderful, and they run together

Peter wraps his arms around the warm neck, and Erah wraps his chin around Peter's back, and then Peter is up, astride him

Philip is talking next to them, and Ed is laughing and there is a whole wide open stretch of green in front of them, and the sweet smelling wind is singing their names with the Lion's breath

So they ride fast, and they ride free, and Erah and Peter are a king and a unicorn belonging to each other, and they follow the Lion wherever he goes

[fag4dykestobin]

i kind of sat down and thought about steve and robin cooking together, and then i entered a fugue state and came out of it with a little over 1.7k words written about them being domestic besties (domesties?). so um. enjoy :)

-

Robin has destroyed one of her mom’s pans again, so she’s been banished to Steve’s house.

Well, okay, let’s back up.

Robin, waking up and feeling especially productive, had taken it upon herself to make some scrambled eggs. Nice and simple, right? So she had grabbed the first spatula and pan she could find, and… scrambled those eggs! She even remembered the salt and pepper! Unfortunately, as Robin had remembered after she oh-so-lovingly scraped off the nonstick coating, metal utensils and nonstick pans didn’t really get along. Oops. Panicking, she had scraped her mess into the trash and called Steve to pick her up. So, really, she had banished herself, preemptively.

“How the hell did you even do this much damage?” Steve asks, holding up the pan. The look of befuddlement on his face is picture perfect; you could teach children how to identify emotions with that face. Robin would pinch his cheek if she wasn’t so embarrassed.

“I don’t know! I just tried to make some eggs!”

“Rob, there’s like, a solid cube of—”

“A cube is a 3D object, dingus.”

“This is a 3D object!”

“Not in that way! It’s not a cube! You mean a square!”

Steve throws up his hands, one of them brandishing the pan and waving it around. “Fine! There’s a solid square…” Steve gives Robin a look. She nods her head at him in acquiescence. “... Of coating rubbed off of this thing. Why were you punishing your eggs like that?”

Robin leans back on the counter she’s been sitting on, legs swinging. Her heel hits the cabinet once, and Steve’s eye twitches, but he says nothing. Because he loves her. But she tries to avoid doing it again, for his sake. “I had to get that yolk distributed! I was working fast, Evie, the burner was on and I wanted it evenly mixed—!”

“So why didn’t you mix it in a bowl before that?!” Steve looks so stressed. It's kind of funny, given how unimportant the subject matter is. Robin suppresses a grin.

“I forgot! I was groggy!”

Steve groans, setting the ruined pan down and rubbing a hand over his face. “... When we move in together,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Robin, “I am keeping my metal utensils in a locked safe.”

The warm, fuzzy feeling that always appears when Robin is reminded of their future together, their permanence in each other’s lives, it fizzes and pops in her chest like a sparkler. It’s still such a comforting feeling, even after all these months.

It doesn’t stop her from antagonizing him a little. “Like I don’t know what combination you’ll set it to,” she scoffs.  “I could just break in. To spite you.”

Steve sits with that for a moment. “You’re breaking my heart, Robbie, you know that? You break my heart.” Not a real comeback. She’s won their battle of the bits, this time around.

“Well, anyway,” Steve continues, “I am really hoping you didn’t eat those eggs after seasoning them with metal filings.”

“It wasn’t— I don’t think the coating is metal. I don’t know what it is, actually, but I don’t think it falls under metal filings.”

Steve hmms. “Well, it’s not, like, plastic, right? Or silicone? That would just melt.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, it can’t be metal, because it loses a fight with metal spatulas.”

Steve thinks for a second. “Is… God, I mean, I guess there are other, other uh… what’s the word? For, like, not from plants?” Robin scrunches her brow in thought. “Synthetic? Inorganic?”

Steve snaps his fingers. “Yeah, both of those work. There’s probably things that aren’t plastic or metal that can be used to cook with, but it feels weird. That there’s another category out there.”

Robin nods in agreement, and they sit in companionable silence for a moment, contemplating on the nature of cookware.

“Anyway, no, I still haven’t eaten.”

Steve curses, gets up from leaning on his kitchen island, and steps over to the cabinets where he keeps his pots and pans. “Yes, God, okay, let me feed you. Still want eggs?”

“You know it!” Robin says, and Steve gets to cooking, bustling around the kitchen with practiced motions. It’s nice to watch him cook. He gets very focused, in a way that doesn’t usually come naturally to him. Steve doesn’t usually like talking while he’s cooking, but he hums bits of songs, bobs his head to the beat.

In no time at all he has a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Robin, and she hops off the counter to sit at a stool at the kitchen island. She grabs the plate from Steve and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek, making him roll his eyes with a smile and subtly wipe her spit off.

Steve takes a seat across from her, and she notices that he doesn’t have anything. Did he already eat? “Did you already eat?” Robin asks.

Steve blinks. “Oh. No, I forgot.” He has a tendency to do that; when he cooks for someone, he can get so caught up in it that he forgets to make some for himself, and is left to scramble afterwards. “I’ll make myself some eggs after you’re done.”

An idea comes to mind. An attempt at redemption, maybe. “Let me?” Robin asks.

“And let you ruin my pans? No thanks.”

A flash of genuine hurt passes through Robin, and she lets it show on her face in the form of a pout. The comment isn’t unfounded, but… “No, please! I know what I did wrong, I’ll do better this time. I’m not sleepy anymore, either.” She just wants to take care of Steve like he takes care of her. She wants to feed him eggs, goddamnit! When was the last time anyone fed him eggs? Actually, if she thinks about that one, she’ll get sad, so she stops thinking about it.

Steve can obviously see her earnestness, and he softens. And rolls his eyes. But that’s just him being Steve, so Robin loves it. “Whatever you want, Birdie. Just don’t burn them. Oh, and use garlic powder.”

So Robin practically inhales the rest of her eggs and toast (very tasty, as always) and gets to work. Steve sits at his stool at the island, trying and failing not to watch Robin like a hawk as she bumbles around his kitchen (“That’s not enough garlic powder, Rob, put some more in there, it won’t bite!”  and “Use the small pan on the top shelf— no, the other small pan. No, the other—”), but she does eventually get a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. Not as good looking as the one Steve presented her, but it smelled good, and didn’t have weird inorganic pan flecks in them. Steve gives her a sloppy kiss on her cheek this time, over-exaggerating and putting way too much saliva in it, seriously, was he a dog or something? Robin BLECH’d and rubbed at her cheek, but he looked happy at his plate of food, so. Overall success, even if sacrifices had to be made.

Robin leaned on the island on her elbows, face a foot away from Steve’s as he picked up a forkful of egg. He side-eyed her.

“Do you… want some…?”

Robin waved a hand at him. “No, dingus. Eat it! Do you like it?”

“Okay, okay!” Steve rolled his eyes and ate his forkful. Robin stared at him as he chewed, looking out for emotions such as delight and wonder, but also disgust and revulsion.

She found nothing. Steve looked normal. He ate another forkful, eyeing her.

“So?” Robin prods.

“They’re eggs?” Steve says, mouth still half full.

“Swallow!” Steve rolls his eyes and does as she asks. “Nothing else? They’re just eggs?”

Steve nods, shrugging a little. Robin feels a little let-down. The first time Steve had made her eggs, it was life-changing. He put heavy cream in them. Robin doesn’t think her parents had ever bought heavy cream in their lives.

Robin guesses that it makes sense, though. This is just how he makes eggs, duh. Still, it makes her feel kind of bad, that she couldn’t give Steve the same feeling he gave her.

Steve seems to sense her inner turmoil. “They’re— it’s good, though! You did a good job. I do like it.” He seems kind of… embarrassed, but grateful. “You didn’t have to make them for me. Thanks.”

Robin bumps his shoulder with her own, and then retreats to her seat, allowing him a bit more personal space. But not too much! She kicks at his shins, and he kicks back, a smile on his face.

Cleanup is easy as Steve washes the dishes and Robin dries. It’s the small, domestic things, like this, that make her so excited to eventually live together. It’s so easy and companionable, full of chatter about band practice and Dustin’s latest science experiment. She can’t wait to graduate.

After the dishes, though, they’re both at the kitchen island again, silently staring at the pan Robin had ruined at her house earlier.

“... It seems like a waste to throw away,” Robin complains.

“I know, right? But it’s, like, useless now.”

Robin hums. “I mean, no, it’s still like… metal. I feel like we should be melting it down.”

Steve stares at her. “In what world would it be more useful melted down?”

Robin squawks, indignant at her idea being challenged. “You know what I mean!”

“No I don’t! Do you just want a, a… what’s the word? A bar of metal.”

“Ingot.”

“Do you just want an ingot hanging out on our mantelpiece?!”

“Well, I didn’t before, but now I do!”

They look at each other for only a moment before dissolving into simultaneous giggles, shared joy crackling and leaping between them.

Steve settles down first. Still grinning, he turns to put the pan at the very top of a relatively bare cupboard. “Fine, we’ll just… keep this to be melted down later.”

Robin can’t do anything to stop the twin grin on her face, not that she would ever want to. “I love you, Evie.” The words come easy, and the delight and surprise on Steve’s face is as wonderful as always. He pulls her into a hug.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[hythlodaes]

something good.

[moregraceful]

max and i are closing in on launching [redacted sports rpf charity fest] and i am once again pondering how do i write "experience with writing form emails and manipulating google forms in ways no one has dreamed of" in a cover letter without saying "i did it for the rpf grind"...like there's no way unless everyone in this microsoft teams meeting gets really cool about a bunch of stuff really quickly. you know