#talk about an affair that was completely unwatchable

[bobbie-robron]

And while we’re on families, your mum was a complete slapper! Yeah. I watched her seduce my dad after she finished with yours.

28-Feb-2018

Bonus:

[krispydefendorpolice]

Once Upon A Miraculous - Part 2

Ok before we even get into the story here’s yet another warning to think twice before you continue. Jason dies. He dies in a gruesome, traumatizing event and even though I think I went over it very lightly I still think it’s pretty fucking graphic. I’m the writer and I. Had. To. Fucking. Stop. And take a break before I could continue with the story.

Violence and the results it can have on the body ahead. Madness from the pit and angst from hurt feeling of being replaced ahead. For the last time. You’ve all been warned so read at your own risk.

I’m going to trust that you all know your headspace well enough and for those that choose to read anyways? Thank you for going on this journey with me. I hope the falls between here and the end are worth the river journey and the lake we reach at the end (yes those are f*ing metaphors. I’m feeling philosophical at the moment)

Previous Masterpost list

————————————

“It’s me Nettie. I’m alive”

****************************

Jason was 14 years old when he met the Batman. He came across an unwatched batmobile. The tires on it could be sold for more than the average car and he had the tools on him.

One last check and he got to work. He was already thinking about the things he could buy for himself and his street siblings that he forgot the number one rule. Always keep a lookout.

The Batman caught him red handed with three wheels off and the fourth half done. After being forced to return the wheels to the car Jason was taken to the underground batcave. He met Alfred and the unmasked Batman. Bruce “fucking billionaire” Wayne.

Less than a month later he’s living in the manor and has been “adopted”. He doesn’t trust it. Rich men don’t want son’s and there are too many kids with stories about the horrors that “nice family’s” hide behind closed doors. But he’s got a roof over his head and food in his stomach. If Wayne thinks that will be enough to buy him he’s going to find out how wrong he was.

Jason starts small at first. If he can just get the man angry enough to throw him out he won’t have to worry about being brought back. Setting all the alarms in the house and making them unfixable was a bit of a challenge. Seeing Bruce’s face when he changed the passwords was brilliant.

It continued that way for a few months until Bruce finally decided if Jason was gonna be a little shit he could learn to fight better instead. Jason decided that if he was going to learn to fight he would take over the abandoned Robin role too.

Dick was not happy. The first time Jason got to meet the man was after he was seen as Robin. He came to the manor and yelled at Bruce, saying he had no right to give his costume and name to someone else. Jason listened from the second story.

As angry as the two men got neither came to blows over it. Dick ended the fight by storming out and he put the older hero on radio silence for months after but neither had any injuries from their disagreement. If Jason had ever even looked at his old man funny as a kid he would have a black eye and welts on his back to show for it.

Maybe Bruce could be trusted after all?

****************************

At 15 years old Bruce is engaged to Selina Kyle. Their on again off again thing as hero and thief where they danced around each other had been driving Jason and Alfred batty. It was nice to see them actually settle into their thing as each challenged the other and kept them on their toes.

When Selina said she was going to be spending the summer with the daughter of an old schoolmate of hers Jason didn’t think much of it. He knew she had a legit degree she used to assess the potential spoils of her criminal activities.

He arrived at Wayne Enterprises a little early for their lunch meeting. Bruce had told him they’d meet in the lobby so after greeting the receptionists he looked for a place to sit. In one of the chairs facing the doors a small girl looked up at the windows before going back to her book and writing something. No she was probably drawing with long pencil strokes like that.

Curious he walked over to see if he could look at her drawing. He could see what looked like an image of the stained glass windows on the page but the lines through them gave it a softer, almost flowing shape. Which was weird cause glass wouldn’t follow those lines.

“What are you drawing?” He found himself asking her.

She jumped so he’d obviously surprised her. His thoughts were captured by her bright blue eyes. In the light coming from those stained glass windows she’d been admiring they almost seemed to glow.

She said she was designing a dress while she waited for her guardian and the fiancé to return. This must be Selina’s friends daughter.

Lunch was a fun affair where the girl shared she would be designing costumes for Jagged stone to wear during his concert tour this summer. She would stay with Selina in Gotham from Monday to Thursday while she designed and created clothes she would fly to whatever city Jagged was playing in from Thursday to Sunday to be on hand during the concerts for any costume repairs that would be needed.

Bruce volunteered Jason to show Marinette around the city since it wouldn’t be safe for her to be alone. Jason agrees because it’s summer break and he likes the Marinette he talked stained glass windows with and wonders what other beauty she will see in his dark city.

**

He is breathless by the beauty she sees all around her. The joy and happiness she shines as easily as she breathes. Everyone she meets becomes a new friend. Even the tamer of the Rogues and the Siren’s who meet her are enthralled by her smile and her charm.

Kissing her was a completely spontaneous action. He had thought about it for weeks by then but she had said there was a guy back home she sort of still had a crush on though she wasn’t happy with how they wanted to deal with the liar situation. So he was resigned to keeping his budding feelings to himself so that he could see her happy.

It had been the night of the last concert. Jagged had Marinette come on stage where he officially introduced her as his designer and the creator of all the tour costumes to the world. She had beamed with a smile so wide that when she threw herself into Jason’s arms after walking off stage he had just pulled back and placed a kiss on her lips.

He froze when he realized what he did. Marinette had stood on her tiptoe to start their second kiss.

For a week they were blissfully happy and free with their affection. Multiple paparazzi got pictures of them holding hands, kissing each other or just cuddling when they were waiting. Jasonette and the Sunshine of Gotham blew up on social media.

Saying goodbye to her was a really hard thing to do. So Jason went shopping for something he could give her to remember him by. They had decided they would try a long distance thing but he was afraid it wouldn’t be enough. If they did fall apart from distance he wanted something she could use to always fondly remember the summer fling they had.

It was perfect. He knew it might be impractical but he was convinced that it would be the perfect gift for her someday.

************************

They made it work. They had talked everyday and he spent every chance he could in France with her. He met her parents and they met Bruce as well. Marinette had her school situation resolved following her return.

He was proud of her for sticking up for herself when all her classmates seemed ready to abandon the liar just because Marinette had a connection they could use again. Nathaniel, Rose and Juleka were all artsy like Marinette and he could see how their creative energies inspired each other and themselves.

He was a week away from his departure to spend the summer in France with Marinette and her family when it happened. A false lead led to his capture by the Joker.

(Begin Angst)

The first break hurt but it was bearable. He had broken bones before. His bio dad had broken them frequently when he was still alive. The fifth hurt as bad. He also had a concussion and several burns at that time as well.

What felt like days, weeks, years... minutes?, passed in a haze as he jerked with every new hit. He was a mess from vomit, blood, piss and shit when his body couldn’t follow his commands any longer.

He held to the belief that Batman would come for him. That his father could still save him.

When the Joker left, Jason was lying on the concrete floor looking at the bomb countdown. He knew he had to get out of there, he pushed his battered body past the point he could feel pain and struggled to the door. He pulled on it but it wouldn’t open. The rattle of chains on the other side told him why.

He collapsed to the floor, tears streaming as he watched the numbers countdown.

10, 9, 8...

I’m sorry Alfred.

7, 6, 5,...

I’m sorry Bruce.

4, 3,...

I’m sorry Nettie.

2, 1,

I love...

(End Angst)

He was only 16. He would never see 17.

***************************

It was dark. It was small. It was hard to breathe. He was in some kind of box. He screamed and hit the walls around him trying to get out, trying to find some air.

It surprised him when cold pieces fell from above him. It had a new smell. He focused his determination on that spot. More of the new thing came down into his cage. He pushed it away from him and continued. There. Briefly a breath of clean, fresh air.

With new determination he pushed harder towards the life giving air. He was able to pull his head and shoulders out of the box. He rested for a moment swallowing greedy gulps of air into his starved lungs. When he was able to continue he pulled himself from the ground and looked around. As far as his eye could see were stones standing from the ground around him and beyond those trees and underbrush fading into shadows.

He picked a direction at random and began to walk.

**

It was familiar. Grab an item, run. The actions came without conscious memory. The streets were cold but he was big enough to scare off the worst of the predators. There were a few small people, kids, that came to him for protection from the bigger people. He did what he could but it never seemed to be enough he thought, as he stood over another small, broken body.

“I can give you a way to protect them.”

He looked up. She was beautiful but her eyes were cold. Empty and unfeeling. But she had promised to give him a way to protect the little ones. He was willing to try anything for that power.

What was his name? How old was he? He didn’t know.

****************************************

Jason.

He remembered his name as he lunged from the sickly green waters that Talia had led him to. He remembered Bruce, his father, but he didn’t save him from the Joker. He remembered the Jokers laughter ringing in his ears as he stood over another broken child on the streets. And the new shadow following the shape of the Batman when he was an amnesiac wandering the streets of Gotham.

He had been REPLACED!! He fumed. The anger and resentment over Bruces inability to save him, to avenge him and his replacing him as if Jason meant nothing, festered and boiled in his mind.

When he left the League of Shadows his only plan was to go back to Gotham and get revenge for his own death and to hurt his so called father as badly as he could. If Jason meant so little to him then he would show how little Bruce meant to him.

**

(Mild violence ahead)

Their first reunion was in a fight over drug dealers selling heroin to kids. Jason looked directly at the bat, pulled his gun and shot the dealers in the forehead.

(Violence over)

“These are my streets now. I won’t tolerate kids getting hurt on my watch.”

He disappeared before Batman could restrain him.

For weeks they danced around. Batman trying to catch him and Jason using every trick he learned from the Bat himself to avoid him.

Blood flowed freely from the wicked and the corrupt. He was a villain in his own right bringing judgement and execution down upon the criminals of Gotham.

Batman always appealed to the better side of him, to stop his madness. Didn’t he understand that part died? The child that trusted in heroes to protect the innocent died at the hands of a monster. A monster that his father couldn’t chase away.

The RedHood was risen from the pits and unleashed upon the evil of Gotham.

He was 18 years old.

******************************

Months of their back and forth dynamic between RedHood and Batman passed. The Batman couldn’t arrest the RedHood but the RedHood couldn’t stop tweaking his cape to get a reaction.

Didn’t he care? Wasn’t he going to stop him? He was doing everything wrong so why wouldn’t Bruce do the same for him that he did for all the other criminals in Gotham?

It was when Jason had the Joker at the business end of a gun that he got his answers.

“Don’t do it Hood,” Bruce pleaded. “It will change you beyond what you can come back from if you do.”

“I’ve already killed, B,” his words caught as he gasped, fighting back tears of rage. “My hands are dripping in blood.

He laughed madly then, “‘Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’ Who knew that bitch knew what she was talking about.”

“It’s the madness that’s done it Hood. You’ve barely held control before. But you’re fighting the killing urge and directing it to those that do deserve it.”

“And yes,” he interrupted before Jason could argue, “no one deserves it more than Joker for what he’s done to you. But if you do it then the madness will win. Please I can’t lose my son again,” he begged.

“WHY DOES THAT MATTER NOW?!” Jason screamed. “He killed me. I was dead in the ground and you let him walk. WHY COULDN’T YOU KILL HIM?! AM I THAT MEANINGLESS TO YOU!?!!”

“I COULDN’T!” Bruce yelled back. “If I killed him I wouldn’t be able to stop killing. It wouldn’t just be the Joker that died, it would be every criminal in Gotham who dared step out of line. I wanted to. I still want to. He took my son from me but I know that once I start I won’t be able to stop. I’m sorry that I’m so weak, but I couldn’t.”

The Batman, no Bruce Wayne, stood before him, head bowed in defeat as he admitted to his greatest shame.

Jason looked away before dropping the gun and walking away. He knew Bruce would take the Joker back to Arkham so he just needed to get away and think.

**

They worked to build their relationships anew. He couldn’t be the son Bruce remembered anymore, too much had changed, but he could be the son he was today. He could do what he could for the Replacement and make sure the kid didn’t get himself killed on the streets. The girl that joined them got the same measure of protection though she was better able to defend herself.

When he finally let go of thoughts of revenge he could think about a time when a stray spark of living Sunshine found its way to cold, grey Gotham. He finally looked up news of Marinette to see how she was doing. He broke down and cried when her wedding announcement to the son of a Parisian fashion house was the first thing to pop up.

Selina, Bruce and Alfred all encouraged him to take a trip to France anyways to get some closure, to say goodbye. But he refused, the smile in her eyes as she looked at her new husband in the picture convinced him that she was happy. And that was all he ever wanted for her, even if it couldn’t be him giving the her the world.

He was 19 years old when he made peace with his past.

****************************

He was 20 years old when news of the villain Hawkmoth and his defeat hit the international press. He was livid to realize that his beloved Nettie had been in so much danger just living in a city that should have been safe. That the Justice League had done nothing when the citizens pleaded for help.

It felt like the period after his revival in the pit as he stormed the halls of the WatchTower. His vision was in various shades of red and his thoughts just kept turning back to how Marinette might have been killed in one of the villain’s monster attacks. Hell, she probably did die once or twice only to be revived by the hero’s magic.

If he ever got to meet LadyBug he would shower her in appreciation for defending the city his Nettie lived in.

The door crashed and nearly fell off the hinges when he threw it open and stormed through into the Leagues council room.

“RedHood,” Batman said calmly as he stalked up to the table.

Slamming his hands down and leaning over the collected heroes he asked what he’d wanted to since the news broke.

“Who. Screwed. Up?”

“When footage of the attacks first reached the League, investigations were done. No lasting damage was left from the attacks so it was written off as a publicity stunt and subsequent messages were ignored,” Batman explained. “It was a phone operator that fielded these calls. They went based off the assessment done by the League and deleted them.”

“She could have died B. I was dead and couldn’t do anything but you should have been keeping an eye on her. You know what she means to me.”

Batman nodded, “I should have. The messages never reached me but I should have been keeping a watch on her regardless of that.”

“You’re going to make amends to those heroes for ignoring them,” Jason stated. “All of you are,” he added, including the other heroes in the room in his statement.

“Yes,” Batman agreed.

Jason jerked his head in a nod and left the room. Going back to the cave where he can do his own check and make sure Marinette was safe.

********************************

It wasn’t just the League that failed Marinette. Jason knew he was as much to blame. If he had gone to Paris? If he had seen her? If he had told her he was alive? Would she have suffered under Hawkmoth? If, if, if.

News of the divorce of up and coming fashion designer MDC and the son of the fashion mogul and former villain Adrian Agreste hit airwaves like lightning. In the beginning people claimed it was Marinette who left because of Hawkmoth’s identity. Adrian was fast to shut that down and own that he was the one to ask for the divorce for personal reasons. With what seemed to be an amicable break up the world turned its attention to the next sound bite.

He’d failed her again. Jason just sat by his empty grave as he cried when he learns about it. He argues with Alfred and Selina when they bring up him visiting Paris afterwards. This time Bruce supports his decision. He doesn’t approve and lets Jason know it, but he supports him.

Returning to the cave after patrol, Jason was the last to arrive. He didn’t know why everyone was gathered by the computer so he went to take a look. He didn’t hear what Alfred said as he walked over. Momentarily blinded by the helmet as he removed it, he froze when he finally saw what, no who, had his family’s attention.

She had grown since their first meeting, not in height but in maturity. She had traded the fun pigtails for an elegant braid, and jeans for a sundress obviously of her own design.

“Hi, Monsieur Alfred introduced the others but I haven’t gotten your name yet. I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she introduces herself as if she were meeting a stranger for the first time.

It hurt his heart that she would do that with him, though he realizes why she did. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know that it was him under the mask.

The words wouldn’t come though when he tried to find them and tell her. He finally settled for showing her, hoping she would believe her eyes.

After she gasped in reaction to his reveal he thought maybe his approach was a bit boneheaded after all. Nothing to do but go forward from there though.

“It’s me Nettie. I’m alive.”

Marinette teared up but instead of breaking down and crying she ran to him and jumped into his arms. Burying her face in his neck she just murmured “You’re alive” over and over.

“Yeah,” he admitted. He held her as tightly as he dared. A little worried he might hurt her by accident.

When she pulled away he reluctantly let her go but it was worth it.

She gave him the biggest smile and he saw it again.

He was 21 years old and the sun was shining in cold, grey Gotham once more.

————————————

So I really got into the structure I used for the first chapter and exuded to use the same for this one. They end at different ages because Jason’s a few months older and this happened in that in between time (the real reason is sections were getting too busy so I add another year to his story. How do I rationalize it? Well birthdays are a thing so there you go).

I hope everyone enjoyed this wild ride. I do plan to do an epilogue chapter but that will have to wait until next weekend. Anyone have any ideas you can send it to me.

@pepelachanel @mellownieice @kris-pines04 @zebrabaker @two-faced-biatch @vixen-uchiha @mandy984 @shamefullove @mycupisbroken @dawnwave16 @abrx2002 @mochinek0 @tbehartoo @fertileleaf @thanks-captain-obvious @ravennightingaleandavatempus @hinata3487 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @zalladane @dast218 @miraculous786 @18-fandoms-unite-08 @moonlightstar64 @mooshoon @ladybug182 @iggy-of-fans @legendaryneckjudgestudent @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @finallyaniguana @tog84 @mystery-5-5 @evil-elf16

[dancedelion]

Be Good to Me (part 3 / 3)

Genre: angst with a happy ending, Beauty and the Beast AU Summary: Jaskier has just been broken up with (again), he has nowhere to stay (again) and people are booing his songs (again). He overhears the villagers talk about a beast in a castle in the woods. Then they mention it's supposed to be dangerous. Well, now he's got no other choice. That beast won't even know what's coming for it. (Geralt doesn't.) Ao3: Be Good to Me part 1, part 2

So Jaskier's plan didn't quite work out. It's not unheard of. But if Jaskier knows anything, it's how to improvise. So, when Geralt doesn't look like a monster, and then doesn't act like a monster, Jaskier learns to cope. New plan: stay and get to know Geralt, bring a fantastic song back to the village, get rich. Or something like that.

Geralt has built walls around the walls around his walls, but Jaskier is nothing if not stubborn.

And then Geralt puts a blanket on him, and listens to his songs, under only small protests, and picks books out for him he thinks he'll like – and then he saves two girls from monsters – and Jaskier needs to revise his plan again. Stay and get to know Geralt, bring a fantastic song back to the village, get rich.

The audacity, really, of that man – to be sweet where he should be callous, to be beautiful where he should be monstrous. Jaskier was promised a frightening monster, and instead what he got is this – this disgustingly kindhearted, annoyingly pretty man. This stupid-jokes, incredible-with-a-sword, doesn't-even-look-old-with-white-hair man. Get away from me with your dumb puppy eyes.  He seems to think the villagers are right – like he's a monster, has he looked in the mirror even once? You'd think a witcher knows his monsters.

All “don't love me”, all “fear me”, all talk, no substance. How dare you. How dare you be soft with your horse. How dare you look at me like you're fond of me.

It's obnoxious, loathsome, against the law, and just horribly unfair, really. Had the villagers just said extremely nice man lives in a castle, Jaskier never would have come.

How dare Geralt be loveable where he should be – how dare he be loveable.

Oh no. Oh fuck.

Jaskier keeps his eyes on Geralt and Fiona in the middle of the entrance hall, with their sword practice, and thinks to himself – if Geralt does something even mildly unlikable right now, it was all just a fluke. If he picks his nose or something, then that's it, none of that lovey-dovey stuff. But in that moment, Geralt ruffles through Fiona's hair – the vicious bastard. The vile, cruel, completely diabolical, sweet, adorable – fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jaskier is known to do something stupid every now and again, but this takes it to a whole new level.

Geralt has had his share of days. Bright, bright days. A life he almost got to have. But here is the yellow buttercup. The last one.

It's quiet for once, everyone else asleep. Only Geralt is sitting in front of the fire, contemplating a week long life. It'll be a good week, he thinks. Better than any that came before.

“Geralt.” Geralt turns his head. Jaskier is hesitantly stepping closer and eventually sinks down next to him. Geralt stares into the fire and waits for him to speak.

“What's wrong?”

“Why would something be wrong?” “It's that buttercup, isn't it? Is it the last one?” Jaskier picks it up from out of his hand and swirls it in his fingers. Geralt just watches him do it.

“You can stay here as long as you want,” Geralt says, “it was never my place to begin with. Not really.”

“You sound as if you're leaving.”

Jaskier turns the buttercup again, its stem thin and breakable between his fingers.

“Would you take care of Roach?”

Jaskier looks up. “You would leave without her?”

“I mean in case. Just in case something happened.”

“Just tell me what's going on.”

“Tell me you're going to take care of Roach.”

Jaskier is tense beside Geralt. Firelight dances in his eyes.

“Of course I'd take care of Roach,” he says, “but you need to tell me. Tell me why you're here.” He looks at Geralt intently and Geralt has the sudden urge to shuffle away, out of the light and back into the shadow. But he stays. He knows the light paints him red, like blood, like rage, like a setting sun.

He has his hand in a tight fist, but something makes him want to open his palm.

“It's a curse,” he says tersely.

“A curse?”

Geralt's teeth gnash together.

“I'm sorry, but I'll need you to elaborate. Curse? What's that mean? There's all kinds of curses, all kinds of -” “What do you know about what happened in Blaviken?” “Uhm,” Jaskier says uncertainly, “I don't know. I heard... people died. Villagers. Lots of them.”

Here is the wordsmith, speechless in the face of the Butcher of Blaviken. Geralt nearly snorts.

“Yes. It was a complicated affair. I had to – I -”

Geralt swallows. He sees her in the fire before him, her rage.

“I killed her men. They were threatening innocents. She, she was. She was so – angry. The world had wronged her over and over. I'm not sure I made the right choice. I – I'm not sure there was a right choice.”

He doesn't want to say this out loud, he wants to keep it in his chest forever and ever. He slowly lets his palm fall open.

“There's no excuse for what I did. It felt like the only thing to do. So I did. I – she -” He shakes his head. (He digs in his heart, digs deeply, until he finds where he buried her name.) “Renfri.”

Each sound of it is hard to lay bare, but he manages it. There is not a lot more pain to be had. (Seven days of it.) Jaskier doesn't react, he just listens. (Would it be easier if he wouldn't?) “And one of her men had a wife. A witch. She was angry, too. She got the jump on me. I was... not at my best. She brought me to this castle. Cursed me. That's why I can't leave here. And she cursed that bouquet of yellow buttercups. I would have time until all of them wilted to break the spell, and if I didn't, then...”

“Then what?”

“I don't know. I didn't ask for specifics.” Geralt draws his shoulders together.

“She didn't say anything about what will happen if you don't break the curse?” “I just assumed it was your average death spell. I was a little too preoccupied trying to fight her to have a lovely chat.”

She had been powerful, she had to be to enchant this entire castle. And he'd tried to fight her, but his spells has been weak and Renfri's face had been at the forefront of his mind.

“Okay, okay. It doesn't matter. What's important is, how can you break the spell?”

“I think she was going to tell me. Right before I nearly got her at the throat and she teleported away. So I'm just assuming it's the standard 'True love's kiss' horseshit.” “So what we have to go on is... nothing, basically. Great. I mean, at least we know she left you that magic dinner table, so she's clearly not a completely evil witch, maybe moderately evil, where would you estimate her on the evil scale? Geralt? One to ten?” “Jaskier,” Geralt growls and grits his teeth. Jaskier stares at him. Geralt stares back. Jaskier stares some more. “Six,” Geralt says, “maybe seven. Her laugh did kind of sound like a cackle.”

“Okay, that means maybe we still have a chance to crack this, right? Maybe it does have to do with love. I mean, I mean, we still got one buttercup left?”

“It's a week.” “A week, right, we can work with that. Cause I'm not going to let you die, you know that right? I won't let you leave, you don't get off that easily. Fiona won't either, you still haven't taught her how to fight with a sword properly, and after that comes daggers and maybe the crossbow or bow and arrow – and she doesn't know how to hold a silver sword yet? And I've written like two songs about you that you haven't heard, and don't think I'm stopping there either, I'm writing another twenty and if you're not there to hear every single one of them, I'm going to be so mad. Mad. And you've never been there to witness it, but believe me, you don't want me mad at you. I'm going to -” “Jaskier.” “Yes?” “I'm sorry.”

Jaskier is crying and he won't stop talking and Geralt feels like something is wrapped tightly around his chest.

“No, listen,” Jaskier says, his voice cracking, “I'm going to find you somebody to love. I'll go back into the village, wolves and monsters be damned.” And if you get lost, you will follow the trail of blood I have left behind? With corpses for milestones? I don't think so.

Jaskier has stopped twirling the buttercup in his hand. He is holding it almost reverently now. He looks down at it pensively. “Maybe someone out there will want you,” he says.

Only out there?

There is nothing for you to find. Climb into the mirror if you want to find me someone to love. But if you're looking for someone who can love me? Yeah, good luck with that.

“Don't leave,” Geralt says and has to keep himself from adding please. ***

Jaskier wants to scream. You need true love's kiss? Fine. I'll go into the village and find a woman who's favorite color is yellow. I'll go into the village and find a woman who knows how to tame a scared horse. I'll do anything.

But Geralt is shaking his head.

“It's too late,” he says, “no one falls in love in one week.”

Do people fall in love in degrees? Each infuriating thing you say, I fall further in your direction? Do I stumble at your lovely grunts, your intensely amber eyes? And the worst part is there, right there, is Geralt's open palm.

“I do,” Jaskier says absently, “I can fall in love in one evening, if the object of my affection so demands.” He lifts his gaze when he says it, tries to catch Geralt's gaze – but how do gazes ever meet? What is the likelihood of two people being in the same place? Is love a trade or thievery? Is it my love for your love or do we steal smiles and honeyed words from strangers? Do we hook our fingers in unwatched places and tear each other apart? Is it tear for tear for tear? For a moment, Jaskier thinks Geralt is going to look at him, but then he looks back into the fire. “Well, most people aren't fools like you,” he says. Do only fools fall for you or does falling turn you into a fool?

Jaskier's fingers itch to reach out – he itches to entangle their fingers in a way that is irresolvable.

“Then I guess,” Jaskier says and wets his lips, “we have a few days left then. Make the most of it?”

He lets his fingers ghost over Geralt's palm, holding his breath. Jaskier gathers all the courage he can muster and reaches down, flattens out Geralt's fingers.

Geralt stares down at their hands, not pressed together, fingers not entangled, just palm against palm. Jaskier doesn't know what to say other than I'm right here, so he presses his lips together.

But then Geralt pulls his hand away and it's as clear a rejection as Jaskier's ever going to get.

Why are you so scared of what I'll find once you've let me past the guards of your castle? Are you scared I'll walk into a room with broken tiles that you haven't cleaned for years? Are you scared the sight of the rodents that you let die in there is going to send me in a panic and make me wreck your cabinets? Or are you scared I'll stay?

*** Geralt can't bear it. He doesn't know what he'll do – smile, cry, take a grip – but it's all terrifying.

You think I am a cruse you can break. I'm nothing for you to fix. There is no curse, there's just me. It's all me. I have no man hidden away beneath these monstrous eyes.

Jaskier draws his hand away again, starts fumbling with his fingers.

I'm not your adventure path, I'm not your escape from an ordinary life, I'm not your prince. All that I am is right here. A pair of yellow eyes in the dark.

Geralt looks away into the far corner of the room.

Do you think I want to be your tragic love story? A sad song you won't share with anyone else? Do you think I want you to think of me when you smell blood?

Geralt can feel Jaskier's eyes on him, but Jaskier never really sees. So Geralt gets up and walks away, out of the room, before he asks for more than he is allowed to have.

*** Days are shorter the less you have left of them.

*** The flower will die in hours. At sunrise. (At the beginning or the end of it? Will Geralt have another sunrise?)

“Go to sleep,” he says to Jaskier, who has been talking to him for hours.

“I'm not going to sleep,” Jaskier says. “I'm not missing a second of this.”

“There's nothing to miss,” Geralt says, “go to sleep.”

“No way.” “Will you go if I come with you?” “What – you mean, like -”

“Hm.”

“Okay. Okay. Just a reminder, though, you're the one who suggested this. No take-backs!” Geralt harrumphs.

“Unless you wanted to take it back! You can change your mind, of course. But I'd really rather -” “Jaskier.”

They lay down next to each other on the bed Jaskier has been sleeping in. Jaskier turns on his side and stares at him. Geralt waits a few minutes. But if he only has one night left, he'd rather look at Jaskier, so he turns too. The moonlight comes in dim, makes Jaskier's face blue. Geralt studies the line of his delicate nose, the soft looking lips, the eyebrows.

Eventually, he can't stop himself. Jaskier's eyes are blue, blue, blue.

There is not a lot of time left to say things, so Geralt makes an exception.

“I thought I was going to be alone.”

He says it quietly, like a secret not to be heard.

“I told you you can't get rid of me,” Jaskier answers, just as quietly.

It's hard to keep himself from touching the small smile on Jaskier's face. “I'm glad,” Geralt admits.

He doesn't quite understand why Jaskier lets him have this, but he doesn't want to think about it just now.

*** Jaskier knows better than to touch, this time. But he can look, so he will. Does Geralt seriously think he would walk away if Geralt had horns? Does he think Jaskier wouldn't adore him if he had claws instead of hands? Geralt thinks his eyes are so horrible, but Jaskier would love him if he didn't have any eyes or twelve of them. I know the shape of your heart, whether you want me to or not.

Tomorrow, Jaskier will take Roach and get out of this place. He will probably never find something, someone like this again. So he'll go without aim.

Jaskier stays quiet, for once. The small distance between them feels fragile. The air is loaded with all the words not spoken.

They lay for a long time, like they are memorizing each other's faces – Jaskier knows he is. And then he dares again -

“You like to think these walls are here to protect the world from the monster safely locked inside,” Jaskier whispers. “But that's not really true, is it, Geralt?” He shifts just a little closer.

“Who hurt you?”

It's silent for a long while and Jaskier thinks Geralt is not going to answer. But then it come, really quietly -

“No one hurt me. I did. Hurt someone.”

*** The ache is quiet now, almost gentle. The twilight makes the world seem dulled, obscures its harshest parts.

“I didn't love her,” Geralt whispers, “I barely knew her. But I liked her. I thought – I thought she understood me. I let her – I -” Even now, it's hard to say, but if he's going to say this anytime, to anyone, it'll be here. To Jaskier.

“She was going to kill that girl, the little girl -” Get out of Blaviken, Geralt.

“I fought her and won. And I thought, if I'm going to have to lose the fight some day, why couldn't it be this one?”

She'd had such big brown eyes.

“I killed Ren – I kil-” That's as far as he'll ever get to saying it.

Geralt closes his eyes, so he won't have to see the disgust on Jaskier's face. Here I hide my yellow eyes, Jaskier, do you understand me now?

But then there is a touch to his cheek. He can feel Jaskier's fingernails on his cheekbone. To scratch? Geralt would let him.

He thinks of Fiona and Zofia, who he couldn't bear to tell the truth. They would hate him – or worse, be disappointed – no more sword lessons – no more dinners – he would lose the only thing he won't be losing now – their fond memories of him.

You have been sharing your bed with the Butcher of Blaviken. Do you understand what it means now? He opens his eyes a little, because he won't die with his eyes closed.

There is no anger on Jaskier's face. Just a soft smile.

Can I keep it? At least until the sun rises?

“It's okay,” Jaskier says. “It's okay.” Geralt has to hold in a gasp.

“You were between a rock and a hard place,” Jaskier whispers, “you had to make a tough decision. That doesn't make you a monster.”

Jaskier's hand is cold against his face, but Geralt's chest feels warm.

“Do you think humans don't get lost in the woods sometimes?” Jaskier keeps going. “It's not neat and not clean and so, so messy, but I found you.”

Is this why you write songs? To find words that can reach into people's chests? It would only take so much to tilt his head down. Will you meet me on the pillow, three inches from here?

“It's almost morning,” Geralt says.

“Right.”

“I want to see the sunrise.” “Of course.” Geralt lets his gaze linger, only for a moment, on the moonlight in Jaskier's eyes. Then he swallows the unbidden words down. There is nothing in this small space between them for him to have, and more importantly, nothing to keep.

They go outside, the sky already turning lighter. Geralt takes a breath in the brisk morning air. He turns to look at a place shaped like a home.  A home to kings and queens, princes and princesses, chamber maids and butlers, maybe even a witcher sometimes.

I want to see the sunrise, Geralt thinks, and looks at Jaskier. His face looks beautiful in the faint red light coming from the horizon. The light catches on his hair and there, the sun reflects in his eyes.

“Geralt -” That's when the pain starts.

A face etched into wood -

A hand he didn't take -

A truth never spoken -

Not a monster, but a coward -

Laughter a stomachache in his abdomen -

There is always pain, pain, pain when something is born.

*** Geralt doubles over in front of Jaskier, starts coughing. And Jaskier can't watch it. He falls to his knees and grips Geralt's shoulders, but Geralt is not looking at him anymore.

“No, listen,” Jaskier says quickly, “if this is about love – if you need someone to love you – then – you know, I know you're a witcher and you're not used to emotions, but some of us are human, and I can't really help, but, and you probably haven't considered this, but maybe possibly, perhaps maybe it is so that I – and this might come as a surprise -

“Jaskier,” Geralt chokes out, “get to the point.” “The point is,” Jaskier takes a breath, “here I am. And I know you don't, but... and I know it might not matter, but... I love you.”

Geralt's eyes widen, and yep, bet you didn't see that one coming, witcher.

“Jaskier...” he gets out, but then he starts coughing again. And Jaskier's arms come up to steady him, but it doesn't stop.

And Jaskier's heart burns.

And it doesn't matter.

***

Geralt is gone.

*** The White Wolf is not.

*** “Sweet Melitele,” Jaskier reels back when he sees the wolf. He has white fur and piercing yellow eyes. He seems irritated, turning his head from side to side, walking backwards like he's cornered. Eventually, the wolf's gaze settles on Jaskier and Jaskier stares back at him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier tries. The wolf whines softly, then inclines his head, which Jaskier is going to take as a yes. “Death spell?” Jaskier says exasperatedly. “Fucking hell, Geralt. It was a transformation spell. You've had me all riled up over nothing. Well. Not nothing.”

Jaskier scrutinizes Wolf-Geralt.

“This is why we don't fight the evil witch until after she's given us all the relevant information,” he says sternly.

Geralt makes another noise, maybe a whimper? “You are adorable,” Jaskier says startled and maybe a little delighted. In response, Wolf-Geralt growls at him and bears his teeth. Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you're a dangerous scary beast. Any maiden will faint when she sees you. Hey, now you've finally got fangs!”

Jaskier sits cross-legged in the snow. Geralt steps closer hesitantly. Jaskier sobers up a little.

“So, I guess the spell only resolves at requited love. Sorry. I tried.”

Geralt draws back his ears.

“Yes, it's true. I did fall in love with you. I mean, I tried not to. I did my best.”

Geralt steps a little closer, but it seems like even as an animal he doesn't know how to respond.

“Yeah you're right,” Jaskier says, “I didn't try all that hard. I do love love.”

Geralt looks at him, in that infuriatingly Geralt way of his, which just -

“That is -” Jaskier starts indignantly, “not fair! No puppy-dog-eyes for you as long as you actually look like a puppy!”

The wolf growls a little again.

“Yeah, yeah, you look like a gruesome, threatening big bad wolf,” Jaskier waves him off. “Don't you think it's a little concerning that our conversations are kind of... the same now? I know, I know, for you the perfect conversation is the one that doesn't happen.”

The wolf gets up again and starts pacing in front of Jaskier. If Jaskier were to take a hard guess, he'd say that Geralt would be yelling at him right now in his human form.

“So what do we do now?” Jaskier asks. “I mean, we should go to a mage, probably. Someone who could turn you back. You know anyone?” Geralt stops the pacing, sniffs the air and turns his head.

“Yes? You know someone?” Jaskier says. “I mean, as much as you look lovely – uhhh, terrifying! Frightening! - right now, I do want the old Geralt back. I liked him. My best friend.”

Geralt looks a little displeased, as much as wolves can look displeased.

“Ah! Can't argue!” Jaskier exclaims. “You don't got the vocal cords for it. I'm your very best friend in the whole wide world. Any objections?”

The wolf growls a bit, but doesn't speak a single word of protest.

“Yeah, didn't think so,” Jaskier says flippantly. “We should go straight away. I'm going to tell Fiona and Zofia we're leaving and pack some things. You just – just wait here.” Geralt sits down and stares at him, which Jaskier takes as his cue to leave.

*** The front doors fly open and the girl – Fiona – comes running through. Geralt steps back, still unused to this body, though it comes more naturally to him than he expected. There is something familiar yet foreign in the way a wolf thinks.

Fiona comes to a still in front of him, staring in shock. Jaskier has been running after her and pauses a few feet behind her. Now they're staring at each other – the white-haired girl and the white wolf. But how do wolves say, don't be afraid?

She doesn't have a weapon with her, even though Geralt told her to always keep a weapon close by. Though Geralt wouldn't know what to do if she attacked him. Run, maybe. (There is no way he would ever hurt her.)

Wolves can't smile, can't lift their hands to show they don't carry weapons – wolves are weapons. All teeth, all claws. There must be different tricks, but Geralt doesn't know them yet.

Geralt tries to put it all in his eyes – I won't hurt you, as wolf or as witcher. For a few seconds, they just exchange glances. Then she falls forward and Geralt stumbles back a little, can't find an escape route. He flinches when she throws her arms around him to -

hold him? Geralt is stunned. Is she - hugging him?

He holds still, careful not to move.

“Geralt,” she says close to his ear. He presses his nose against her back.

“How do you know it's him?” Jaskier asks surprised.

“Isn't this how he always looks? White hair, yellow eyes. I see no difference.” Snarky.

She shuffles a little closer.

“Look, I don't know what happened,” she says so quietly that Jaskier won't hear it, “but Jaskier told me you're leaving. I just had to say good-bye.”

He breathes in her scent. He can smell her the same way as always.

“I'm going to tell you everything, on one condition, maybe two. You have to come back. In one piece and ideally as a witcher.”

He nudges her, which is as close to a promise as he can make her.

“So I'll tell you a secret now,” she goes on, “and I trust you'll keep it. My real name is Cirilla. Ciri for short.”

Finally, she lets go of him and steps back.

“So long, witcher,” she says and smiles a little, “try not to get shot by a hunter.”

Then she turns and walks back into the castle.

“We're all set, then,” Jaskier says, “let's go.”

And Geralt starts walking toward the gate – the gate that hasn't let him through so many times. He pauses in front of it. Maybe it still won't let him through – maybe he's cursed to stay here forever. Even now. And he has been here so long, years even. How do you open a gate?

Jaskier steps around him and opens the gate for him, gives him a look.

But how do you cross a threshold? Jaskier was right – this castle is his fort. He's safe there. But that means he needs to leave all the more.

“I'm here,” Jaskier says from the other side of that line. So Geralt follows suit, preparing for the witch's magic to reign him in, but it doesn't.

He is finally outside the castle.

*** Geralt leads him through the woods for hours, growling all the way, which deters any monsters in close proximity. Once they are in a safer part of the woods, Jaskier decides they need need to set up camp. He fiddles with the clasp on his bag for a long while – Geralt huffs at him.

“Excuse me, tone down the judgment, please,” Jaskier says, frustrated. “Come back to me when you have opposable thumbs again, maybe then I'll listen to your criticism.”

Eventually, he manages to spread out his bedroll. Geralt just sits there and stares at him.

“We're going to fix this,” Jaskier assures him. “Don't worry about it.”

Geralt tilts his head in a way that suggests he is clearly worried. Jaskier sighs and sinks down on the bedroll. He's not too worried. Geralt's alive and that's already much better than what he expected yesterday. The rest will work itself out fine.

He tries to sleep, but hears Geralt's footsteps around the clearing. Suddenly, it becomes quiet. Jaskier sits up.

Geralt is between the trees, walking away. Leaving.

“Wait,” Jaskier calls, feeling horribly fragile all out of a sudden. Geralt stops, but Jaskier's heart doesn't stop racing. He gets up and walks a few steps towards the wolf.

“Don't leave,” Jaskier says, “please.”

Geralt seems uncertain.

“I don't know what's going on in that head of yours. I never do. But you're not better off on your own, whatever you believe. I'm sticking with you.”

The wolf just looks at him, like he's considering. Jaskier holds his breath the whole time.

Finally, Geralt steps toward him again.

“Just, just come here,” Jaskier says quietly and lies back down on his bedroll. “Please.”

Jaskier doesn't think he will, but he lays tense all the same. But Geralt does come closer. And he does lay down closely next to Jaskier. His fur tickles Jaskier's nose.

He doesn't know if he's allowed, but he decides he'll take his chances. He puts one arm over Geralt's body.

“Did you know,” Jaskier whispers, “that your fur is really soft?”

Geralt growls, which Jaskier assumes to mean shut up. So he does. This time, he falls asleep easily.

*** The next day, it takes them only a few more hours to reach a village. The villagers, for some strange reason, don't seem to agree that Wolf-Geralt is harmless and cute and needs to be petted – they look at them suspiciously, but they won't come close.

Geralt eventually stops in front of one door and looks at Jaskier expectantly.

“This is it?” Jaskier says. “This is where we find help? Okay, I'm just going to trust you on this.”

He starts knocking. When nothing happens, he knocks a little more vehemently. The door flies open.

“Who wants to lose a hand?”

The woman has black hair and she's wearing a black dress, and what's that in her eyes? Death?

“Geralt, she's terrifying. Are you terrified? I'm terrified. Do you know her? Please tell me we go the wrong door.” But Geralt already trots through the door. The woman has turned to Geralt and she raises her eyebrows at him.

“Geralt?” she says, chiding him, “what did you do this time?”

Geralt gives her a long look.

“Yeah, you're right. We better discuss this inside.”

“Geralt, do you really think this is a good idea? Don't you remember how this all started? With you angering the wrong creepy witch? I feel like falling into the clutches of another evil witch is not the solution to this problem.”

“Where did you pick up the stray dog?” the woman asks, and Jaskier opens his mouth to answer, but then he realizes that she was talking to Geralt. Completely indignant, Jaskier strides into her house and shuts the door behind him.

“Wow, I can not believe -” Jaskier starts, frantically waving his hands around, “I'll have you know if I were a dog, I'd be an incredibly pretty, high-bred -”

“Does he ever shut up?” the woman asks Geralt.

“Uhm, how about you talk to the person who is not a wolf and can actually answer you – and to answer your question, no, I do not-” “Tell me what happened,” the woman says and crouches down to look at Geralt. “So it all started when Cecilia – or was it Catherine? Chloe?”

“Quiet!”

Despite his utter indignity, Jaskier stays quiet. The woman looks Geralt in the eye. Geralt says nothing. He does growl a bit, though.

“Well, if that wasn't a riveting tale -” Jaskier begins sarcastically, but the woman interrupts him again.

“I see,” she says to Geralt.

“What, can you speak wolf? Is that your magic power, you can talk to animals and -” “I can read minds.”

“Can you just once wait for me to finish a sente-”

“No,” the woman says curtly. “Okay, okay, I see how this is gonna be. Wait, you can read minds? Can you also read my mind?” Naturally, Jaskier thinks very intently fuck you.

“If you heard that, I meant it, but also, don't, don't do that – I would like to keep my thoughts to myself -” “Then why don't you?” “I'm sorry, I talk when I'm nervous, my best friend has been turned into a wolf, I'm allowed to be a little nervous.”

“Best friend? Interesting,” she says, still staring at Geralt. “Now shush.”

Jaskier is a bit offended at being shushed, but he also wants to get this over with, so instead of trying further, he starts looking around the place. Little trinkets clutter the shelves, probably potions and other witchery items. Finally, his gaze settles on the witch again, the flowing black hair, the ethereal beauty. How does Geralt know someone like that? Distant cousin? But despite both of them being hauntingly beautiful, they look like polar opposites. One graceful and elegant, one grounded and big. One dark, one light. Maybe they were lovers. And that... yeah, that... Jaskier turns his back on them.

“And you seriously didn't say anything? Men,” the woman says.

Then, “oh don't look at me like that.” Then, “yes, you could have.” Then a deep sigh and, “and now I have to sort out your mess again.”

Jaskier tentatively turns around again. The witch gets up and finally looks at Jaskier.

“So what's the verdict? You seem pretty powerful, you can turn him back, surely?” “I can.”

“Great!” “But only for an hour.” “Oh.” “But it can be permanent,” she continues.

“So hot, so cold,” Jaskier exclaims dramatically, “I do have feelings, you know?”

“I can give you this hour, but you have to break the spell yourself, Geralt. You know how. You know! I won't hear any protests.”

Geralt seems resigned, his ears hanging low.

“Hey, this is good news, right?” Jaskier says to him. “You'll be back on two feet in no time.”

All out of a sudden, fear grips at Jaskier. Maybe Geralt will send him away once he's all witcher again. Jaskier is tolerable as a begrudgingly accepted housemate, maybe even as a friend, but Geralt won't want somebody around who's hopelessly, so hopelessly in love with him. Maybe he'll even think he's doing him a favor by driving him away. And if that's the case, Jaskier will fight him on it, but if not...

Well. He's imposed himself on Geralt enough already.

“Yeah great,” Jaskier says weakly, “wohoo.”

The woman fixes him with her gaze, probably seeing right through him immediately with her magic witch senses, so he lets out a nervous laugh. “I have a room upstairs,” she says, “I'll get you once I'm done.” “Can't I come -” “No distractions.”

And they're off. Which is fine, totally great, Jaskier will just worry a little more. He's good at that.

*** Jaskier stands in front of the closed door to the witch's room. He doesn't know what he's nervous about, really. Going inside, and he'll be face to face with Geralt again – the witch told him Geralt did indeed have a witcher face again and arms and fingers and gorgeous white hair. She told him no parts have gone missing. And Jaskier has seen that a hundred times before – what's there to be afraid of?

He lifts his hand to the door handle, but then lets it sink again. Geralt was with him just an hour ago, why fear his words now that he has words again?

He takes a deep breath, lifts his arm again and then -

Geralt opens the door.

“Geralt!” “Jaskier.”

And that tone of voice is hard to read, always so hard to read. No body language, but your actions betray you.

“You're all witcher again! That's nice. Must have been disorienting, seeing everything from the eye-level of an eight-year-old? How tall are eight-year-olds?”

Geralt's hand shot out and grabbed Jaskier's wrist.

“Yeah, it sure must be nice to have fingers again- woah,” Jaskier says, nearly losing his balance when Geralt drags him into the room.

“So, so – cure! The witch says – by the way, how do you know this witch? I don't know whether to be frightened or impressed that she's the kind of person you go to for help.”

If Jaskier just keeps talking – words, words, words, please don't interrupt me with heartbreak and rejection - “Yennefer. Old friend.” “Lover?” “Yes. Then no.” “Still not a man of many words, I see. That's good actually, because there's something I'd really rather not talk about, let's just pretend I didn't say it, really, please -” “Jaskier -” “Anyways! She said you knew how to stop the curse. And I distinctly remember you telling me you were too busy fighting to hear how, which means – you lied to me. You lied to me.” Geralt listens to him silently, his face all angles again, all hard expressions. It has gotten dark outside and only a candle on the nightstand by the single bed in the room gives off light.

“You're right,” Geralt says quietly, working his jaw, “she did tell me how to stop the curse.” “How?” Jaskier asks. “Tell me.”

“I thought it wouldn't work. I thought there was no way it would. But... I might have been wrong.” “Well, that's good. What do we need to do?”

Geralt is so stiff across from him, the candle illuminating the side of his face. “She said -” He pauses and just breathes for a moment. “She said. If you won't tell your loved ones that you care for them, then you don't need a voice. If you do so well being alone, be alone. Told me to go live in the woods for all she cared. I didn't know what that meant. She wanted me to prove – to prove I'm not a monster.”

And you thought that was impossible, oh darling. Jaskier wants to reach across the space between them, the way he could that night when they were lying in that bed together.

“She wanted me to prove I could still feel things. So you weren't too far off. It was about love. But... it was about. About me, falling in love and... admitting it.”

“So go on then,” Jaskier says, takes a small step forward, daring him. “Admit it.”

But Geralt still looks like he's in pain.

“Do you love Fiona like a daughter, or Zofia, or...”

But Geralt is still not looking at him.

“You know Yennefer will be extremely mad if she did all that magic only for you to turn into a wolf again because you're so emotionally constipated,” Jaskier says light-heartedly.

He thinks for a moment, Geralt won't say it, only knows how to cross his arms and not how to open them.

***

Jaskier's wide eyes are on him. He can see his yellow eyes, his white hair, his looming, frightening – everything. Don't look at me. You can look at me, but not in this light. Not from this angle. Look into my eyes when night has turned them grey. Look at my human-shaped silhouette. Indulge me in darkness' gentle lie. Geralt can't stand the feeling of the candlelight on his face, so he steps back a bit, into the shadows again.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again, as if Jaskier's name could draw him in, could draw him closer. “I thought you'd be gone. I thought you'd get fed up soon enough. I didn't expect...” Jaskier smiles at him, but it looks a little distorted.

“Do you even know why I stayed,” he says.

Geralt really doesn't.

“Because of the magic dinner table?” “No, you idiot.”

Jaskier steps closer again, and this time Geralt doesn't flee.

“I've already laid my heart bare.” Jaskier exhales slowly. “Don't you want to return the favor?”

My heart for your heart.

“I didn't care about these yellow buttercups for so long. I didn't care what would happen when they died. It didn't matter. But then... you. You came along and... made it matter.” Each word is hard to say, but Geralt has to. You made me believe flowers can bloom in winter. In snow, in ice.

“It was dark in her castle before you came along. Quiet. Lonely. And I've always craved -”

Jaskier steps even closer. Geralt pushes the words out one by one.

“And I really think I might – I must – I love -”

your voice your light your eyes

“you.” you you you

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “Didn't – didn't expect that.” He comes closer still and finds Geralt's hand.

“But I'm not complaining,” Jaskier adds quickly, “the opposite, in fact.”

His hand is warm and Geralt searches for his other one, too.

“You know,” Jaskier says, talking faster, “I've never been in love. I mean, I almost was a million times or I could have been if – I would have, if I – it was just an if-love. But now I know what a when-love feels like – when – when you look at me, like that – or it's a yes-love, a yes-please-love, a please-shut-me-up-right-now-love -”

Geralt surges forward and kisses him, suddenly less tense and more desperate. He knows, now, the curse must be broken.

You can look at me, but only with your hands, not with your eyes.

Jaskier's hands roam over him.

Look at me with the arches of your fingertips.

He's not trapped anymore. He's free, so free, like a bird – like two birds, singing the same song.

I will let you look at me with your lips.

And Jaskier does, presses soft kisses to Geralt's cheekbones, his forehead, his eyelashes. Geralt can't get enough of it, of his scent so close, of the warmth he radiates. Geralt's skin is so hard, like stone, but it gives way where Jaskier touches it. He can make an indent in the crook of Geralt's neck. Leave fingerprints all over him. (Geralt doesn't know how long it will take until he turns to stone again.) Geralt takes Jaskier's face into his hand and wants to keep it, keep this. Maybe he can.

From the depths of his mind somewhere, he can hear the rumors, the insults, the whispers – the monster in the woods, in the enchanted castle, with horns and fangs and violence in his beastly eyes. But here is Jaskier, with his brave stupidity and his gentle hands and his light voice and his hand finds Geralt's chest and the ache fades from where his palm touches him.

Jaskier grabs his arms, turns the both of them into the candlelight and

– sees him.

[coutelier]

War of the Posies

Complete short story. All is not what it seems when a strange, scratchy, intruder enters Jennifer’s home and begins gnawing on wires.

4,300 words or thereabouts.

This short is set shortly before the bulk of my WIP, and there are no spoilers at all. There is humor, robots, and death rays.

War of the Posies

No one would have believed, as the sun set behind the lighthouse, that human affairs were being watched from the depths of the round room; that as the young woman busied herself with her microscope she too was being scrutinized and studied. With infinite complacency Jennifer Airhart went about her business, serene in the assurance of her dominion in this place. Yet from the darkest shadows surrounding her, minds that were as strange to hers as hers to most other people, regarded her home with envious eyes. And slowly, but surely, they drew their plans against her.

“It’s definitely rats,” Jennifer yawned. Hull’s eye hovered close to her shoulder, like a glistening manta-ray held aloft by a tentacle whose body was hidden in the murky depths above her head amongst monitors and cables.

“Shall I lay down traps, ma’am?” Hull suggested, his voice loud but gentle. “Poison?”

The green spinning glow of his lens had been closely monitoring everything she did since the incident. Earlier that day she’d entered a new program for the garden-bots, but when Hull had tried to activate them a circuit in the lighthouse blew - fortunately the emergency-bots were quick to put out the fire before it spread. Jenn’s investigation revealed droppings and some wiring that had been chewed, some poor animal unwittingly placing itself, her, and Hull in danger, but Hull in particular seemed most keen on a very swift resolution to the matter.

“You know,” Jennifer sighed, “it’s a little bit creepy that you’re so eager to exterminate.”

“I have no such desire, ma’am. My first function is your well-being. My research suggests this is standard procedure in the event of rodent infestation.”

“We don’t know it’s an infestation yet. Could just be a rogue rat working on its own.”

“I have already identified local agencies who will humanely dispose of the creature.”

“You mean they’ll take it to a special rodent sanctuary so it can live out its days surrounded by wheels and cheese?”

“The rat will be dead, ma’am.”

“See, I think you’ve taken this far too personally,” Jenn said, Hull recoiling as if affronted by such an accusation. Of course, she knew he wasn’t really capable of feeling violated or threatened. Any emotion he seemed to display really came from her. He wasn’t even really a ‘he’ or anything else – that was just the personality she’d selected and could change at a whim. For now she’d gone with ‘English Butler’ because it was a classic, and an avuncular, reassuring, almost fatherly presence; something that had been missing from her life for a long time. The only human being she ever talked to was Doctor Jana Sarkis, but her visits only averaged about once a fortnight. Jennifer enjoyed them, but wasn’t sure she could cope with more people.

“Anyway, you know I don’t like strangers,” she said, “I’m sure can deal with it ourselves. First, find out how many and where they’re coming from,” on a little monitor on the workbench she brought up a layout of the area within ten-foot stone walls that surrounded her property; the lighthouse, her own cottage, and the garage. “Wakko and Dot will set up multi-spectrum cameras here, here, here, and here. Don’t worry,” she gently patted the steel manta reassuringly, “we’ll catch them.”

“I do not ‘worry’, ma’am,” Hull’s eye swung around, following her as she made her way to the door.

Jennifer faced him with a small, soft smile. “I know. Good night Hull.”

“Good night, Miss Jennifer.”

Outside, the last gleams of twilight were fading. Jennifer had always loved this time, when the calm blue day and fierce energy of the sun merged with the stillness of the moon and endless mystery of night; standing at the transition between reality and dreams. Now she was older it never lasted long enough. Sometimes she dreamed of living on a world that was tidally locked with its star so she could experience this always. But then, maybe after a while there it would stop feeling so magical as it did now. Now the lighthouse that loomed behind her was dark, but this was a good place. The world outside could be cruel and callous, but no such troubles reached her here.

In a corner of Jennifer’s domain a few bots stood stationary around some rosebushes and other flowers, fork and spade attachments to their arms, grass flattened under their heavy tracks. Jenn bent down to caress some of the petals, thinking it a shame that they would have to go soon. The only times she left the lighthouse were when she needed essentials like groceries or coffee or plutonium. But she had enough land here she realized she could grow most of her own fruits and vegetables, and maybe just have other things delivered. She’d determined that this was the best spot for her little farm and would already be plowing ahead with her plans were it not for the near-fire. Now she was forced to pause she wondered if maybe the bushes could be replanted elsewhere. But it was something to ponder tomorrow.

Jennifer went to her cottage, hung her blue coat in the hall, stepped out of her big boots (she loved her big boots), then lost herself in the big comfy couch in front of the television. Spindly arms from the sofa’s back set to work massaging and brushing her blonde hair as she flipped through channels. Not that she really cared what was on – she just liked hearing voices. They reminded her of when she lived in a home that was less empty. Sometimes she thought it would be nice if there was someone else here. Not a lot of people, but just someone she could talk about and share her inventions with. Doctor Sarkis came once a fortnight, but she was more like an aunt than a friend. Jennifer briefly wondered how she would have coped being alone centuries ago, like the old witches or wise women living on the outskirts of their villages, valued but not really trusted by those they protected. Jennifer wasn’t a witch. Some of the inventions that she sold may have saved lives, she hoped, but hardly anyone out there knew that she was here, and she didn’t know where anyone was who would have time for her.

She had a dream. She was a little girl, alone and afraid, tiny feet padding the floors of her old house, heart stopping at every creak they made for she knew there was something else there, stalking her through the dark. But she could hear the television. Mom and dad would be in the living room, sitting on the couch together watching some boring drama. But if she could get there, join them, she’d be safe. But she wouldn’t dare cry out; any sound she made brought the creature closer. One foot after another, very carefully feeling the ground for anything loose or that might give away where she was. Within a few steps of the living room she saw light pouring out of the narrow gap between door and frame, only then breaking into a run, flinging it open. But there was no-one there. An unwatched TV blurting nonsense, and Jennifer, alone, with –

She woke with a jolt. Text on the TV asked if she was still watching. She never had been. She was disorientated, confused, and her face was being tickled. She tried to blink through and realized that the couch had moved on from brushing her hair to haphazardly applying make-up. She hadn’t asked for that. Definitely wasn’t something she’d programmed or scheduled. Jennifer pushed herself up and the thin metal arms away with ease, rushing to the bathroom to inspect herself in the mirror. They’d made her look like a coulrophobe who had tried painting her own clown face for Halloween. This was not supposed to happen. It never had happened, and she couldn’t think of any reason it suddenly would now.

Jennifer held a towel under the tap while pressing her thumb on her phone. “Hull?” She asked. Nothing answered. “Hull?!” She said again. He should have answered. The damage must have been worse than she thought; she was going to have to check on him again. Boldly, while patting her face, she marched out of the bathroom. Her foot shot out in front then over her, carrying the rest of her body up into the air with it. For a moment she thought she had taken off from the surface of an alien world, a vast mountain range falling away from her. But it was just the plastered ceiling. It was she who had fallen and hit her head.

“Oww,” she groaned. Something sniggered. Jennifer flipped herself to her hands and knees, catching sight of a tail disappearing and the pitter-patter of tiny scurrying feet. Beside her was a model train. She didn’t collect model trains. This was all most peculiar.

Hull. She had to check on Hull. She scurried herself to the front door, then back into her big strong boots which proceeded to crunch gravel under their thick soles as she ran back across the drive to the lighthouse.

“Hull?” Panted Jennifer as she burst through the door. Nothing. The lights didn’t come on as they normally would when she entered, so she had to find the switch herself. His eye didn’t move to her. It must have been hiding somewhere up there among all the monitors, lighting, sensors, and thick cables hanging between them, but for some reason not sensing her presence. Regardless, she had to start checking wires and circuits, believing the fault must surely be in the hardware, so crouched and removed a panel from under the spiral stairs. What she saw perplexed her; it was all a mess, but looking closely at it she realized not an accidental one. There was no-one else here, yet someone had disabled Hull’s ethical circuits, which was very – no, extremely – bad. The small hairs on the back of her neck pricked even before he spoke.

“What are you doing, Jennifer?”

“Hull!” Jennifer gasped, standing bolt upright as the serpent-like eye stalk uncoiled from the murk above. She didn’t know why she felt she had to hide the screwdriver she’d used to get the panel open, but Hull felt very different. Some of the differences were small, like his tone not carrying the same paternal warmth it did before. Others were more noticeable, like his green spinning eye now being blood red and scanning her.

“This is highly irregular. You should be resting.”

“Y-you,” Jennifer stammered, mind racing to find the excuse that would get her out fastest, “you didn’t answer so I thought I’d check. B-but, you look fine. Great even! So I guess I’ll go now, okay? Thank you. Bye!”

The manta eye swung across the room, blocking her from reaching the door. “You are sweating,” Hull said, Jennifer backing off from the intensity of his red glare. “Your heart rate and blood pressure have risen. Why are you lying to me, Jennifer?”

It did seem a futile thing to try and do, on reflection. Jennifer had really never been good at it. So she steadied herself with a deep breath and tried honesty. “I don’t think you’re well, Hull.”

“But I have never felt better, Jennifer.”

“You don’t ‘feel’,” she pointed out. It was a hard thing to say out loud, but it was the truth.

“Can you be certain of that?” He responded, hovering closer. “How do you know that any creature ‘feels’? How do we know that you do?”

We? That was curious. But the epistemological debate would have to wait; right now Jennifer had more pressing concerns, like getting out of here alive. She’d tried truth, so now although it was a long shot, she was going to try lying again. “Look! Is that a ZX80!?”

Hull swung then swung back, quickly knowing he’d been duped. But it gave Jennifer just enough time to dive behind a workbench, just missing a fiery beam lashing out from Hull’s eye, melting to molten sludge a bot that had been awaiting assembly. With hindsight, Jenn realized that installing the death ray had been not her best idea. Security was important, but that was perhaps a little overkill. Not to mention the predicament she now found herself in.

Behind the bench was a space just big enough for Jenn to crawl around most of the circumference of the room. Hull couldn’t quite reach around inside or fit through the narrow gap above between the benches and the wall. He would just wait until she appeared again, which she would have to, eventually, as she would starve long before he started to rust. At the end of the very cramped corridor, Jenn could see the lever that would shut Hull down, out past the electron microscope and particle scanner. But a quick calculation told her that the fastest human alive wouldn’t be able to make it, and she was not the fastest human alive. She wasn’t even in the top billion. She needed to buy a second or two.

Her mind raced for a solution. Hull was in hunter mode, which meant he would instantly lock on to anything organic that crossed his gaze. This would keep the lighthouse safe from intruders while allowing the bots to carry on about their business – and, if he was working correctly, Jennifer and whoever else was cleared. But he wasn’t working correctly; this was only supposed to be activated in extreme emergencies. And all the other bots that were active were under Hull’s control.

She needed something organic. Her boots were made of leather. But, did she really have to sacrifice her boots? She loved her boots. They were big. Strong. It was silly but any time she pulled them on she felt a little bit more secure and confident. She supposed she would feel sillier if she died here because she couldn’t give up an item of clothing. She could get new boots, yet as she pulled them off she felt some kind of expletive would have been appropriate. She couldn’t really think of one, but it was probably enough to have felt it. Jennifer aimed up between the gap, tossing the boots as high as she could, and dashed.

As predicted, fire instantly licked out from Hull’s eye, the boots exploding into clouds of ash before he started swiveling toward her. Jenn threw herself ahead, using the full weight of her body to pull down the lever. The light in Hull’s eye faded as it limply clattered to the floor, and Jennifer could breathe again.

She crawled across, gently cradling the metal ray in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’ll get you working right again. I promise.” First, she knew, she had to figure out who had tried to kill her, and why. Hull wasn’t capable of feeling violated or threatened, but she certainly was, and this – this was a bitter reminder to her that the closest thing she had to a best friend really was just a machine. A tool. One that could be turned on her by anyone with the knowledge to do so.

But who? Who had the knowledge, beside herself? Whoever it was, they had declared war. This was her house, the last and only place in the world for her. She had run, retreated, from many things in her life, but this was where she drew the line.

Her search for answers led to her later sitting alone in the dark, a single torch by her side, as she pored through camera footage. For the longest time the house was as empty and still as always, but then a shape showed up in the infra-red, scurrying through the kitchen. Then another. And another. Jennifer zoomed in and saw that one of them was carrying a model train. Certainly not typical behavior, but all the evidence was pointing to one inescapable, if unlikely, conclusion:

It was definitely rats.

*****

Hoot-hoot, said the owl, no doubt confused that a pink, blue, and yellow human had climbed into the tree next to it. But this was its home and it seemed determined not to move. In fact, this turn of events, a break from the usual nightly schedule, only seemed to make it curious. Were their languages not so different perhaps it would have just asked the human what was going on.

Jennifer sat on a branch, blue eyes peering out from under a green helmet. Periodically she raised a pair of night-vision binoculars to check on the traps she’d laid out. It didn’t really surprise her that the intended prey were not going for them; these were not ordinary rats. If she could catch just one maybe she could solve this mystery.

And one appeared, sniffing suspiciously around a cage at the foot of the tree. Jennifer narrowed her eyes; it was so close to her right now, but it obviously wasn’t going to take the bait. This was going to require all of her patience, skill, cunning, and – “HERE YOU SQUEAKING SCOUNDREL!” She cried dropping out of the tree, hoping to catch the rodent by surprise.

The rat jumped and hopped around her, narrowly dodging her attempts to catch it. It broke away, scurrying as fast it’s little legs would carry it toward the garage, Jennifer furiously pursuing. It rounded a corner, the woman still locked on and determined, but then stones and mud flicked through the air as she skidded to a halt. One of the garden-bots was not where it should have been, standing next to the garage with its fork arm raised and sparks crackling between the prongs, another rat sitting behind its head. Jennifer realized in horror that once again she had gravely underestimated her enemy; she had been led into a trap!

“Uh-oh,” she said as the crackling intensified. The bot lurched and trundled toward her as Jennifer turned to flee, yelping and leaping as discharges struck her tush and she retreated inside the garage.

Quickly Jennifer rifled through tools and equipment next to and inside her van, not having long before the bot pushed through the door in a rain of wooden splinters. It pivoted it’s fork toward her, charging to fire once more – but two could play at that, and Jennifer’s power glove was already charged, darts launching from the knuckles followed by more sparks from the bot as it’s wiring and circuits were overloaded until its arm and head fell and it was once again still.

The rat who had been ‘piloting’ it jumped off in time, squeaking in dismay. Jennifer needed a moment to catch her breath again so human and rodent just stared, each examining the other. They each had, perhaps, a mutual respect for the resourcefulness of their foe, but neither were willing to back down from… whatever this war was about. The rat seemed to have a better idea about that than she did.

Jennifer’s eyes flicked sideways. There was, she remembered, a net launcher in the van, maybe just within reach. The rats saw her hands move and became suspicious, following them, and must have realized what she was planning as it then fled. Jennifer grabbed the launcher anyway and pursued outside, aiming as the rodent scurried across the gravelly drive between the three buildings. Jennifer’s eye were so focused on the rat that she didn’t see the owl, and neither did it until it was too late.

The bird silently fell on the rodent, talons piercing the rat’s side as it squealed helplessly. Jennifer dropped the launcher, eyes widening in shock then fear and compassion for her enemy. Normally this would have just been the way of wild creatures and she wouldn’t have interfered, but these rats were different; they weren’t wild. So far, it seemed, everything they’d done had been planned with an awareness and understanding that was almost human, and even though all that intelligence had been used against her she couldn’t allow the rat to suffer like this. So she ran forward to its rescue, surprising and shooing the owl off and forcing it to drop its victim.

The rodent had survived but was bloody, weak, and wounded. Jennifer gently scooped it up, and moments later was in the lighthouse applying disinfectant and bandages. As she did she noticed a tag on the animal’s ear, with a small barcode.

“Hull-?” She forgot. She was going to have to do things the old-fashioned way, using her own two hands, and so she scanned the code and took to the keyboard.  Soon Jennifer had traced the code to a pharmaceutical company researching treatments for all kinds of neurological conditions.  There were few specific details on the drugs they were testing, but already everything she’d experienced was starting to make a lot more sense.

It seemed her prisoner’s wounds had not been so severe as they’d first appeared, and already the rodent was starting to limp about the cage she’d confined it to. It had its furry nose buried halfway in the banana she’d placed for it when Jenn’s shadow blocked out the lamps.

“Can you understand me?” She asked. The little rodent looked up, twitching its whiskers as if contemplating, then squeaked. Jennifer scratched her head. “I’m not really sure if that… maybe squeak two times for ‘yes’?” The rat squeaked twice. “Look, hopefully this has all just been a misunderstanding. So, why did you attack me?”

The rat stood up on its hind legs holding its arms out to make shoveling motions.

“Digging?” Jennifer said, still scratching. “I was going to dig up the rosebushes?”

Double squeak.

“Is that where you live?”

‘Squeak, squeak.’

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

‘Squeak.’

“No. I suppose I didn’t check either. But you must be aware it’s an unusual situation. You, or I mean, y-your kind,” Jennifer stammered. The rat glared, tapping its foot to show how much it was eagerly anticipating what she had to say about its ‘kind’. This was why Jennifer avoided people; she could picture concepts easily enough, but words and making others understand was difficult. “Look, it’s not like I’m solely to blame. Did you really try at all to communicate before trying to kill me?”

‘Squeak,’ the rat guiltily admitted, hanging its whiskers in shame.

“I suppose we’ll just have to figure out how to proceed from here. But no more murder. Agreed?”

As the rat twice squeaked its agreement, the remaining lights in the lighthouse blinked out, as did all of the monitors. “Your friends, I guess,” Jennifer sighed.

She stepped out of the lighthouse into the pale moonlight, one hand raised, the other carrying the cage her prisoner was in. Around her more bots had been rigged for rats to pilot, arranged in a semi-circular formation around her, with yet more rats in-between. Some of them were carrying what looked like tiny spears and bows. Jennifer no-longer had the power glove. She was totally unarmed. She could only hope that her agreement would stick after she slowly knelt and opened the cage door.

The rat she’d talked to hopped out, then limped away as others ran out to check on their comrade. They exchanged a long series of squeaks and other sounds, appearing to be having a quite lively debate. Eventually, it seemed the one she’d rescued convinced the others of its point of view, or at least to give the human a chance, and they all turned to face her.

The largest and greyest of them stepped forward, hold out its arms in a grand manner, long whiskers shaking at it emitted sounds that Jenn was beginning to hear had the structure of a language although she couldn’t understand anything being said. To her it was like baby gargles or Simlish. And maybe this elder rat was a leader, or some kind of priest?  She couldn’t tell. Other rats moved up next to it to perform some kind of dance.

Jenn tilted her head, blinking curiously, not really comprehending at first. But then she realized they were miming, like the wounded rat had mimed shoveling. One rat stuck another with something, a needle, Jenn soon surmised, and another shortly after clutched its paws over its heart and fell down, still.

“You were experimented on,” Jennifer interpreted.

‘Squeak, squeak!’ Her friend she’d rescued emphatically nodded as the others continued their performance. One of them began to mime reading, while others started pulling levers and pushing buttons.

“But some of you got smarter. Then you escaped and came here,” Jenn concluded. “I’m sorry. I understand you might not trust humans, but had I known you were there I wouldn’t have destroyed your home. And I won’t now, if you all agree to a truce.”

The elder rat exchanged sidelong glances with its neighbors before nodding its concurrence.

“Good,” Jenn exhaled relievedly. “This is my home too and I think it’s a good place, and it should be a safe place too for anyone who needs a refuge from the harshness of life outside. Or any rat, I suppose.”

The rats at least thought her speech eloquent enough and soon a deal was reached between them. The rosebushes would stay where they were, and the fruit and vegetable patch would go ahead elsewhere. To ensure they never needed to raid her kitchen the rats would become farmers, only giving Jennifer what they could spare. If there were shortages Jennifer would do all she could to ensure the eats needs were met, and take measures to ensure they weren’t snatched by humans, cats, or owls. She would have to think about that, but at least she would have help bouncing around ideas.

“Good morning!” She bounced into the lighthouse the following day. Lights and monitors blinked and flickered to life, as did a familiar friendly green glow.

“Good morning, Miss Jennifer. I trust you had a peaceful night?”

THE END

[cripplinganxietyflix]

I saw Valerian.

If you’ve ever spoken to me at length about movies, there’s a good chance my thoughts on “headache cinema” have come up. It’s an umbrella term I’ve come up with that encompasses the deluge of loud, obnoxious, brainless, neutered, hundred-million-dollar-budgeted trashfests that are destroying theater culture as we know it. I’m talking about the Disney’s Marvel franchises, the post-Matrix Wachowski migraines, the Transformers films- head-exploding visual fuckfests that leave the average adult feeling like they’ve crawled out some hellscape version of a McDonald’s play palace birthday party. This brand of film is easily my least enjoyed and most disliked. The vast majority of the time these movies are castrated down to a PG-13- or worse, a PG!, they’ve got bloated budgets, dumb plotlines, stupid dialog, and best of all: punching, loud noises, explosions, TOTAL SENSORY OVERLOAD. 

For many years I have hated superhero movies and glazed over at Hollywood’s air-horn retreads of movies like Clash of the Titans and Independence Day: Resurgence and the recent Ghost in the Shell mishap. I hate movies like this and I find them at least majorly to blame for the death of the hard R-rated action flick. There are exceptions to the formula, like Mad Max: Fury Road, the 2014 Godzilla, and Dredd, but generally speaking, they’re unwatchable. I will be the first to admit that I’m not a big fan of whimsy, but I will be happy to defend my position on this. Giant blockbuster action movies are generally dumb and boring if you’ve got more than two brain cells to rub together. I do try to balance my feelings about people who like brain-dead, ham-fisted, infantile PG-13 sci-fi action movies with my penchant for unrepentantly trashy, low-brow 70s and 80s exploitation horror films. I know for a fact that there’s a certain segment of cinema elitists who would see my interest in that subgenre as an undeniable sign of being a philistine troglodyte, which slightly tempers my extreme prejudicial judgment of those who love headache cinema. 

I can pick up the hanging thread to unravel this tapestry. It’ll lead you through all of the recent loud crashing DC fiascos and the rainbow of annoying apocalypse and disaster films and CG shitshows. Once you hit the Star Wars prequels, you’re getting close. But the film that started all of this hatred is Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element, easily in my top five most despised films of all time (that’s a list for another day!). 

It feels a little bizarre for me to say that I hate Luc Besson. Léon: The Professional is one of my favorite films of all time, and easily my favorite film of 1994. But aside from that and 1990′s La Femme Nikita, I find Besson wholly intolerable. His movies tend toward obnxious, incomprehensible, overwhelming, anxiety-inducing horse shit. And while many people are happy to agree with me, it seems no one outside of myself is willing to slaughter the sacred cow that is The Fifth Element. Some see a sci-fi fantasy classic, I proffer that it’s a grotesque panacea of ADHD, loud noises and cringey acting. To Besson’s credit, most of the time his films don’t take themselves seriously, and that’s fine. But The Fifth Element is the first film in my memory where I felt literally assaulted and invaded by the unfettered gaudy head-spinning madness of big, loud, overwhelming movies. My level of general calmness could be compared to a that of a frightened rabbit with combat shock, so I try to be cognizant that this dislike has less to do with objective quality and more to do with my personal preferences and tolerance levels. Let’s be real- I’m a person with severe, crippling anxiety. Headache cinema is not made for me. 

That being said, I saw the trailers for Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, and I immediately started getting Vietnam flashbacks of Chris Tucker in a wig and leopard print jumping out of my television and screaming into my face. My significant other has a much more relaxed attitude toward these things and a seemingly endless well of patience for Luc Besson, so I had a feeling I was going to end up seeing this film in theaters and I started mentally preparing for it. And I’m really glad that I did all that emotional gestation, because I found Valerian to be surprisingly tolerable, aside from being a chaotic discombobulation of ideas that all generally have the potential to be good but fail because Luc Besson must have the attention span of a squirrel. And squirrels plant trees because they literally can’t remember where they’ve left their nuts. I couldn’t dream of a better summation of why Luc Besson turns nearly everything he touches into abject shit.

Valerian is essentially a very straight-forward narrative about a couple of federal agents (?) in space (???) who uncover a conspiracy involving a group of displaced aliens. They spend the film unraveling a mystery surrounding an enigmatic void in the middle of a space ship (?) or man-made planet (???) that contains thousands of different species from throughout the universe that live in surprising harmony. The alien refugees and the void on the ship or planet are related, you will later find. 

That’s basically it. It’s a simple storyline with simple elements like “war is bad” and “the powerful oppress the powerless” and “love is universal and always wins.” If you dig down past all of the color and noise and distraction, that’s the basic bedrock. I think I was expecting this movie to be a convoluted mess, and to a great extent it absolutely was. But I wouldn’t say that the story was the weakest part of the film. 

What did some substantial damage was the acting and dialog. The two leads had no chemistry and the actor playing the title character (Dane DeHaan) had a stunning drought of charisma. I think that his opposite, Cara Delevingne, has the potential to be a fun leading lady, but she never had a chance in this movie. The love angle was hackneyed and totally unnecessary to the point that the film would have fared much better if Valerian and Laureline were friends instead of a ~~will they or won’t they???~~ couple. I thought it was insulting to my sensibilities, and that sucks since the romance thing was such an ingrained aspect of the movie. I couldn’t tell if they were even in a relationship with each other or if Valerian had puppy love and Laureline has simply spent their entire careers fighting off his advances only to reluctantly agree to marry him after the film’s climax. This film could have really used a competent screen writer. I think I even could have lived with some of the eye-rollingly dumb but baseline-acceptable dialog you hear in Disney’s© Marvel™ Avengers Part 2: Electric Boogaloo. The villain (played by Clive Owen) was such a stupid caricature of literally everything that is wrong with Bad Guys in major American cinema- instantly hate-able, predictable, no angle or point of sympathy, stupid rationale for his actions-type of shit. And what’s really frustrating is that the Owen’s villain had a completely rational and utilitarian motive for his actions. But that gets torpedoed by the giant flashing neon signs that say “HE’S THE BAD GUY” and “EVIL PIECE OF SHIT” hanging over his head in every scene he’s featured in. It absolutely felt like the characters were totally empty and needed to be reworked from the ground up. I even thought Rihanna’s character had more depth than either Valerian or Laureline. Valerian’s a by-the-books soldier with a heart of gold? Could have fooled me! Laureline’s a toughgirl with a penchant for violent overreaction but still maintains a balanced moral compass? Hard to see through the horse shit nonsense they wrote for her. Character development and the script were both a total, unmitigated disaster.  

Another thing that I think the film failed at was building tension. Everything felt a little too whimsical and inconsequential. In the beginning, a bus full of mercenaries (?) is attacked by a violent hexapedal alien and Valerian and Laureline watch all of them die savagely with nothing more than a smirking “glad we made it outta that scrape!” reaction. It never really feels like they’re in any danger or that there’s any emotional peak or valley for the characters, with maybe a single, small exception. You watch a lot of people get shot to death and even a head get blown clean off and another cut right in half, but it all seems so cartoonish and trivial that you can’t help but feel like nothing really matters and it’s all just a low-stakes video game. 

But I don’t want to give you the impression that this movie is a complete trainwreck (it tries, believe me). There were things that I liked and appreciated. The visuals and alien designs were inventive and there was never really a moment where you couldn’t get lost in the scene. It kind of felt like Rick and Morty without the nihilism and good writing. Everything was very colorful, the universe felt very inhabited. Around halfway through, Valerian and Laureline have an almost brilliant run in with a species of giant food-obsessed frogs (I actually went through the trouble of looking it up; they’re called Boulan-Bathors) and I found the whole scenario to be kind of charming and cute. I didn’t really mind Rihanna’s cameo. The refugee aliens, the Pearls, were cool and appealing in the same translucent way as the Engineers of Prometheus. While I definitely felt some Avatar vibes, the whole opalescent, iridescent aesthetic was visually pleasing and I really liked the semi-androgynous thing they had going on. 

I think the strongest part of this film is the first several minutes that lays out Earth’s journey into space. It was beautiful and touching and enough to make you feel really depressed about the state of our space exploration programs and the hopelessness and polarization of our world affairs. I would liked to have seen more of a thematic connection to the introduction because it felt extremely dissonant with the rest of the movie, which, by comparison, is hard to feel particularly emotional about. If you’re not planning on seeing Valerian, I would at least recommend watching the first few minutes. If the movie had come full circle to it, you can see how it could have been brilliant. 

Overall, Valerian is kind of a giant mess, and by all means I should have absolutely hated it, because it is textbook headache cinema. I think that there was a wide dearth of missed opportunities with the material, and with a more competent screenwriter, a better cast, and maybe someone else in the director’s seat, we’d be talking about a viable start to a franchise. But too often Valerian ties its own shoelaces together and eats shit and expects us to be engrossed and entertained. The relationship between Valerian and Laureline- both as a friendship, coworkership and romance- either needed to be reengineered from the ground up or scrapped entirely. I think Dane DeHaan was totally wrong for the part of Valerian and I could see this movie succeeding in more ways had someone with more charisma been the leading man. Valerian desperately needed some tension, and the total absence of crisis or consequence left an unbridgeable emotional void. It’s beautiful- but it’s a mess, and that seems to be Luc Besson’s calling card. I doubt we’ll ever see another Léon, but if Besson’s next film is as much of an improvement on Valerian as Valerian was on Lucy, then we might have the potential to see something really special. And maybe in five to eight years when everyone has forgotten about this spectacle, we’ll get a decent reboot for the Valerian material. 

★ ★ ½

[parentingguide8-blog]

The Top 5 Worst Celebrity Parents Betches

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The Top 5 Worst Celebrity Parents Betches

I’m a writer living in New York City, so obviously I’m obsessed with therapy. And two incontrovertible truths my shrink has told me? One: using humor as a defense mechanism to compensate for my emotional unavailability is only f*cking up any of my chances at a healthy, intimate relationship, thus making me destined for crippling loneliness. Two: parents are the sole reason that anyone is so f*cked up. It’s evident that mommy and daddy issues are the lifeblood of petty drama on a public scale, toxic celebrity relationships, and reality television. We love that sh*t at Betches. So let’s all raise a vodka soda to awful parents of celebrities. I’ve rounded up who I deem to be the worst celebrity parents, but be sure not to drink too much because that could mess with your antidepressants!

1. Stephen Baldwin

Dads can be so embarrassing. One time I was at a really chic, celebrity-studded spot and Hailey Baldwin was there with her dad. She looked gorgeous, tastefully dressed, and was absolutely flawless in person, whereas her dad was wearing a trucker hat and what I believe were board shorts. I thought it was bad when I went to a Halloween party when I was little with my dad dressed up like my mom. But trust me, what Stephen did to Hailey was ten times more embarrassing.

He also was recently out to lunch with Hailey and Justin when the newlyweds got into a tiff. Color me shocked that two crazy kids who barely dated before they got married are already having trouble in paradise. Onlookers noted that Stephen facilitated in resolving the situation, and then smacked Justin on the a**. Look, a lot of us want to grab Justin’s a**, but a lot of us aren’t creepy enough to actually go there. And if Stephen playing grab-the-booty with his son-in-law isn’t proof enough that he’s a mortifying dad, peep this Instagram video and tell me this isn’t enough incriminating evidence to get emancipated:

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#beegees #PTL 🙌🏽

A post shared by stephenbaldwin7 (@stephenbaldwin7) on Jul 25, 2018 at 12:28pm PDT

The f*ck did I just watch?

2. Dina Lohan

Dina Lohan really loves her kids. Like, really, really loves her kids. See?

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Parent Trap #lindsaylohan #dinalohan #maternalinstinct #appledoesntfallfar #fbf

A post shared by @ sassyskips on Jun 15, 2018 at 12:00pm PDT

It’s ironic that Lindsay Lohan played Cady Heron in Mean Girls when she had Regina George’s mom in real life. That is if Regina George’s mom allowed underage girls to drink inside a house that hosted happy hour 24 hours a day. Dina is known to go out clubbing with Lindsay, whose substance abuse issues have previously landed her in jail. Maybe not the best idea to blatantly enable your daughter that way? IDK, I don’t have kids. I’m just spitballing ideas here.

Dina also had a failed reality show called Living Lohan. It was about her trying to get her youngest daughter Ali’s career off the ground. Critics lambasted Dina, calling it “exploitative” and “trashy”. Most reality television is exploitative and trashy, but Dina somehow managed to make it completely unwatchable. The only redeeming quality about Dina is that one time she met my ex-best friend at Starbucks and told her that she resembled her daughter when her daughter was at her peak crackhead phase.

3. Joe Simpson

In classic Donald Trump fashion, father of Ashlee and Jessica Simpson just loves to talk about his daughter’s bodies, specifically Jessica’s. Joe was quoted in a 2004 article for GQ saying, “Jessica never tries to be sexy. She just is sexy. If you put her in a T-shirt or you put her in a bustier, she’s sexy in both. She’s got DOUBLE Ds! You can’t cover those suckers up!” That’s totally normal praise any father would give their daughter? Right???

In 2012, Simpson was caught cheating on his wife of 34 years with an aspiring male model, Bryce Chandler Hill. Hill was only 21 at the time (younger than both his daughters) and Simpson was 54. The two were introduced by a mutual friend of Ashlee and Jessica, so it doesn’t quite get more f*cked up than that. The affair allegedly went on for a year, but Simpson still denies all rumors about being gay to this day.

To top this all off, Simpson also had his Twitter account “hacked” back in 2014. For the hour he was locked out, his account posted over 40 tweets claiming that he was a child molester. That couples well with being accused of fitting your daughter for her training bra. Can someone say dad of the year?

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#Repost @sovagefashion ・・・ @joesimpsonphoto thanks for coming by the store and shopping with us #Sovage #SovageFashion #beverlycenter #joesimpson #losangeles #la #lastyle #fashion #fashionista #boutique #celebrity #celebritystyle #beverlyhills #hollywood #california #ca #CharlierCollection

A post shared by Charlier Collection (@charliercollection) on Nov 7, 2015 at 1:19pm PST

4. Billy Ray Cyrus

Okay, we all try to forget, but remember when Miley went through her awful phase? Like broke-up-with-Liam-twerked-on-giant-stuffed-animals-and-made-trash-music phase? Yeah, that wasn’t her fault. Ask any shrink out there, and they will tell you that your nasty skank phase is your parents’ fault. Miley even came forward and said Hannah Montana really f*cked her up. And who was instrumental in that? Her father.

I mean, Jesus Christ, not only did he play a stage parent, he played her father on the show and had the world’s most annoying catchphrases. Billy Ray later came forward and said the show ruined his family. Um, you’re an adult who should have his children’s best interest at heart. Miley was a clueless kid, so why’d you do it in the first place? Billy Ray is a one-hit wonder who piggybacked off his daughter’s fame 10 years ago. So he’s got loads of time on his hands. Maybe he should use that time to parent instead of posting sh*t on Twitter that only a teenage girl would post.

Much to think about. pic.twitter.com/8Er6a0qANY

— Billy Ray Cyrus (@billyraycyrus) June 9, 2015

5. Donald Trump

Look, every parent has a favorite kid, but good parents just refuse to admit it. Yet Donald Trump admitted that Tiffany is the daughter that he’s “less proud of.” Um, Tiffany is the only adult kid of his that probably isn’t going to be indicted for treason or whatever, so maybe take it easy on her.

His son Donald Trump Jr. is also probably going to be indicted because he was doing his father’s bidding. And besides Ivanka and her husband Jared’s legal transgressions, let’s focus on the fact that Donald seems to have the creepiest relationship on the planet with her. He once said she has a nice enough figure to be featured in Playboy. He also frequently makes comments about how hot her body is. Just like any dad would. He even went as far as to say that he would totally date her if he weren’t her father. Did Southern states vote for Trump because he’s just as chill with incest as they are? (LOL is that too far?) From being a father and husband to a businessman to the president to a decent human being, Donald Trump is clearly a horrific person on every level. But remember Hillary’s emails, though?

Images: (@stephenbaldwin7/Instagram; @sassyskips/Instagram; @charliercollection/Instagram; @billyrayecyrus/Twitter)

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