#the scene with the horse near the end is so heartbreaking

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 2 EPISODE 08 || THE FOX'S LAIR ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

I snuggled deeper into the comfort of the goose-down bed and turned toward sleep again, hearing with half an ear the baby’s whining, interspersed with hiccuping sobs, and Jamie’s deep, tuneless humming, the sound as comforting as the thought of beehives in the sun.

“Eh, wee Kitty, ciamar a tha thu? Much, mo naoidheachan, much.”

The sound of them went up and down the passage, and I dropped further toward sleep, but kept half-wakeful on purpose to hear them. One day perhaps he would hold his own child so, small round head cradled in the big hands, small solid body cupped and held firm against his shoulder. And thus he would sing to his own daughter, a tuneless song, a warm, soft chant in the dark. The constant small ache in my heart was submerged in a flood of tenderness. I had conceived once; I could do so again. Faith had given me the gift of that knowledge, Jamie the courage and means to use it. My hands rested lightly on my breasts, cupping the deep swell of them, knowing beyond doubt that one day they would nourish the child of my heart. I drifted into sleep with the sound of Jamie’s singing in my ears. Sometime later I drifted near the surface again, and opened my eyes to the light-filled room.

The moon had risen, full and beaming, and all the objects in the room were plainly visible, in that flat, two-dimensional way of things seen without shadow.

The baby had quieted, but I could hear Jamie’s voice in the hall, still speaking, but much more quietly, hardly more than a murmur. And the tone of it had changed; it wasn’t the rhythmic, half-nonsense way one talks to babies, but the broken, halting speech of a man seeking the way through the wilderness of his own heart.

Curious, I slipped out of bed and crept quietly to the door. I could see them there at the end of the hall.

Jamie sat leaning back against the side of the window seat, wearing only his shirt. His bare legs were raised, forming a back against which small Katherine Mary rested as she sat facing him in his lap, her own chubby legs kicking restlessly over his stomach.

The baby’s face was blank and light as the moon’s, her eyes dark pools absorbing his words. He traced the curve of her cheek with one finger, again and again, whispering with heartbreaking gentleness.

He spoke in Gaelic, and so low that I could not have told what he said, even had I known the words. But the whispering voice was thick, and the moonlight from the casement behind him showed the tracks of the tears that slid unregarded down his own cheeks. It was not a scene that bore intrusion. I came back to the still-warm bed, holding in my mind the picture of the laird of Lallybroch, half-naked in the moonlight, pouring out his heart to an unknown future, holding in his lap the promise of his blood.[...]

~~~

“He and his niece seem to have got on well together.”

The picture of them came back to me, Jamie talking in earnest, low tones to the child, tears slipping down his face. Jenny nodded, watching my face.

“Aye. I thought perhaps they’d comfort each other a bit. He doesna sleep well these days?” Her voice held a question. “No,” I answered softly. “He has a lot on his mind.” “Well he might,” she said, glancing at the bed behind me. Ian was gone already, risen at dawn to see to the stock in the barn. The horses that could be spared from the farming—and some that couldn’t—needed shoeing, needed harness, in preparation for their journey to rebellion.

“You can talk to a babe, ye ken,” she said suddenly, breaking into my thought.

“Really talk, I mean. Ye can tell them anything, no matter how foolish it would sound did ye say it to a soul could understand ye.” “Oh. You heard him, then?” I asked.

She nodded, eyes on the curve of Katherine’s cheek, where the tiny dark lashes lay against the fair skin, eyes closed in ecstasy. “Aye. Ye shouldna worrit yourself,” she added, smiling gently at me. “It isna that he feels he canna talk to you; he knows he can. But it’s different to talk to a babe that way. It’s a person; ye ken that you’re not alone. But they dinna ken your words, and ye don’t worry a bit what they’ll think of ye, or what they may feel they must do. You can pour out your heart to them wi’out choosing your words, or keeping anything back at all—and that’s a comfort to the soul.” She spoke matter-of-factly, as though this were something that everyone knew. I wondered whether she spoke that way often to her child. The generous wide mouth, so like her brother’s, lifted slightly at one side. “It’s the way ye talk to them before they’re born,” she said softly. “You’ll know?”

I placed my hands gently over my belly, one atop the other, remembering.

“Yes, I know.”

She pressed a thumb against the baby’s cheek, breaking the suction, and with a deft movement, shifted the small body to bring the full breast within reach. “I’ve thought that perhaps that’s why women are so often sad, once the child’s born,” she said meditatively, as though thinking aloud. “Ye think of them while ye talk, and you have a knowledge of them as they are inside ye, the way you think they are. And then they’re born, and they’re different—not the way ye thought of them inside, at all. And ye love them, o’ course, and get to know them the way they are … but still, there’s the thought of the child ye once talked to in your heart, and that child is gone. So I think it’s the grievin’ for the child unborn that ye feel, even as ye hold the born one in your arms.” She dipped her head and kissed her daughter’s downy skull. “Yes,” I said. “Before … it’s all possibility. It might be a son, or a daughter. A plain child, a bonny one. And then it’s born, and all the things it might have been are gone, because now it is.” She rocked gently back and forth, and the small clutching hand that seized the folds of green silk over her breast began to loose its grip. “And a daughter is born, and the son that she might have been is dead,” she said quietly. “And the bonny lad at your breast has killed the wee lassie ye thought ye carried. And ye weep for what you didn’t know, that’s gone for good, until you know the child you have, and then at last it’s as though they could never have been other than they are, and ye feel naught but joy in them. But ’til then, ye weep easy.” “And men …” I said, thinking of Jamie, whispering secrets to the unhearing ears of the child. “Aye. They hold their bairns, and they feel all the things that might be, and the things that will never be. But it isna so easy for a man to weep for the things he doesna ken.”

35 MOONLIGHT~DRAGONFLY IN AMBER

... tha obair agad. 'se an obair sin, a chaileag, gum fàs u làidir agas sona. Na diochuimhnich......

...have a role to play. Yer role, wee lass, is to grow. strong and happy. Ne'er forget...

... gu bheil do theaghlach timcheall ort, fad na tide, fiù 's nach bith sinn ri fhaicinn. Do sheanar 's do sheanmhair, mo bhràthair Uilleam, mi fhéin, Sorcha. Tha sinn san fhiodh, sa chloich agas ann an gach fuaim's fàileadh an àite seo..

... yer family is all around ye, all the time, even when ye canna see us. Yer grandsire and grandmother, Uncle Willie, me, Aunt Claire. We're in the wood and the stone, and the sounds and smells of this place...

[droughtofapathy]

The Gilded Age's Broadway Divas: Mrs. Bruce (Celia Keenan-Bolger)

Despite having a largely underdeveloped Downstairs role in The Gilded Age, Mrs. Bruce runs the Russell household like a tight ship. From averting near-disastrous soup escapades, to catching escaped dogs in the dusty streets, she approaches her job with no-nonsense competence, all while totally unable to reach the high shelves.

For the first time, Celia Keenan-Bolger (45) has broken free of her child typecast cage to play a fully grown adult with adult responsibilities and it must be such a thrill for her. Those unfamiliar with Celia may not be aware of her illustrious career playing children on Broadway as a grown adult.

In 2005, Celia (26) made her Broadway debut in The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee as twelve-year-old Olive Ostrovsky, a precocious spelling bee contestant who should have won, dammit, and I'll die on that hill. In 2011, she (31) played thirteen-year-old Molly Aster in Peter and the Starcatcher, nominated for a Tony the same year as her brother Andrew Keenan-Bolger (Newsies). In 2018, she (40) starred in To Kill a Mockingbird as six-to-nine-year-old Scout Finch, for which she won a Tony. This coming spring, Celia (46) will once again be a child on Broadway as she takes on the role of Jessica Lange's teenaged daughter in Mother Play. (List non-exhaustive)

#1: "Green Finch and Linnet Birds," Sweeney Todd (2002)

In one of her earliest professional roles, Celia (24) takes on sixteen-year-old Johanna Barker, the daughter of the titular Sweeney Todd, who has become Judge Turpin's ward. This is not great for her. But the role was. Too often, this particular song gets the short end of the stick. It's long, slow, and very high, yet Celia approaches it with a controlled vibrato that makes us all sigh in relief.

The Kennedy Center production featured a fantastic cast, including Mary Beth Peil as The Beggar Woman, Broadway's Leading Man Brian Stokes Mitchell as Sweeney Todd, and our very own Agnes van Rhijn, Christine Baranski as Mrs. Lovett.

#2: The Light in the Piazza - Pre-Broadway (2003)

Before Kelli O'Hara took on the role of Clara Johnson, a young woman whose mental development stunted at age twelve after being kicked by a horse, the role belonged to Celia Keenan-Bolger (25). Ultimately, when the production moved on from Chicago, the creative team decided they wanted a Clara who was a little older. Kelli, who had been playing Francesca, the sister-in-law, was unwilling to "steal" a role from someone she considered a dear friend, but either way, Celia was out, so Kelli was in with minimal damage to their friendship, which persists today.

However. Some years later, when South Pacific was auditioning their Nellie Forbush actresses, the final three came down to Kelli O'Hara (who got it), Celia Keenan-Bolger, and Victoria Clark, who won a Tony for playing Margaret, Clara's mother, in Piazza. Talk about awkward.

#3: "The I Love You Song," The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee (2005)

Losing out on Clara wasn't all thunderclouds for Celia (26). Shortly after, she landed a role in the off-Broadway production of Spelling Bee, and when it transferred to Broadway, she received her first Tony nomination.

In this scene, Olive sings the most heartbreaking and beautiful number in the entire show. It is just devastating. Up until this point, the show is a barrel of laughs, and then suddenly you're sobbing your eyes out over a lonely little girl in a bad home situation.

Will Celia Keenan-Bolger ever be allowed to play an adult again? How long until she is no longer able to play children? How did she get the role of Mrs. Bruce if she's only allowed to play kids? All questions we have no answers to.

LINK TO MASTERPOST

[honeybee-taskforce]

1x02 Rewatch Thoughts and Feelings

same disclaimer i’m on my phone typos and grammar errors can be invoiced to my publicist for review (its me)

-I WHIP MY HAIR BACK AND FORTH I WHIP MY HAIR BACK AND FORTH what a fuckin fever dream hearing that song again

-oh wow they are grilling the hell out of him for this routine lmfao i forgot how much they tease him about all of this

-this was one of those scenes i mentioned where the emergency escalated so quick and was not what i expected it to be at all lmfao

-the aging with the bird box netflix comment zzzzzz i hate when media does this but i can overlook it here

-paul doing a thing we need another of these on season five. TWO if i may be so brave to request

-where the hell did this delivery driver even get the mercury for this now that i really think about it

-there’s some weird liberty mutual ad playing right now that has a baby talking about insurance im kind of in awe at the absurdity

-owen struggling to let go of his hair treatment goofy ass

-judd in therapy hits so hard ugh grace being there with him and he is truly trying and even has his comfort pillow for hugging because he needs something but it just isnt enough yet my heart hurts for him so much

-i forgot that grace is near sobbing when he leaves jesus christ that hurts too she loves this man so much and his pain is hers (and vice versa of course) i’m so glad that never goes away as the show goes on. Even if i could use more of it.

-michelle helping this little boy is a great foil to her introduction and i love it a lot, BUT overall i can’t find a way to care about this whole plot with Iris missing. Probably because i know it doesn’t go anywhere after this season except for the start of season 4…. I really wonder how different everything would have been had liv stayed and plot lines not adjusted accordingly. -“what the pissed off look on my fave aint enough proof” judd you teddy bear you know its not lmfao

-“he doesn’t know i’m sick” YOU NEED TO TELL HIMMMMMM

-my extended family cooks a pig just like this in a pit and everything and it tastes soooooo good

-“but just so you know i am a homosexual 😉” this whole bit is so silly and i like that they added it after a few intense back to back bits with the first emergency, michelle’s stuff, and owen’s chat with judd

-shakes ass to last night in my stillettos while these two hook up for the first and definitely not the last time

-tk give him back his damn belt you know that is not yours you rude city boy!

-carlos is all doe eye and soulmate smitten ahhhhh you cutie pie

-michelle goes to a psychic what the hell i dont remember this. BUT NOW IM REALIZING ITS THE SAME LADY WITH THE WORMS LATER ON IN THE SHOW HUHHHHH (right? Or am i losing my mind)

-spongebob movie voice: BALD BALD BALD BALD BALD

-the lady leaving herself to die in a fire because hes bald????? I know its a nightmare but wtf i forgot about all of that too 😭

-owen embracing this guy’s fantasy about the overlords but not being able to wrap his own head around his health’s reality is heartbreaking… at least he’s forced to address it once TK finds the meds

-owen and judd riding horses already getting that brotherly bond started ooooo i love them so much

-oh god first date time oh wow olay here we go CARLOS YOU'RE SO SMITTEN BUT NOWS NOT THE TIIIIME

-the boys miscommunicating for the first and certainly not the last time but its okay because it’s all a part of their story <3

-carlos calling this a hookup boy you know damn well that is not how you feel about this

-tk is so sad when he apologizes for the misunderstanding because the last thing he wants is to hurt anyone else but he can’t stop himself and it all just gets worse and worse in his eyes…. At least we know it gets better eventually. -grace helping judd count to 5 and she is so proud of him oh i love these two so goddamn much they are perfect and i need even more of them in season five

-does every episode of season 1 end with a song playing over a montage of stuff happening like did i just block that from my memory

-owen taking the first step to being more comfortable with his reality outside of the obvious therapy and treatments ugh so good.

god season one feels like a completely different show from the rest of it? Obviously the changes with casting and covid messed somethings up but i wonder how different everything would have been had the pandemic not happened and they were able to collow through on plot lines they wanted to from the beginning

[thisbelongstoniragi]

it's almost 2 years since i first watched AIB with my best friends and i'll always remember how the night before we watched it, we were outside buying liquor for our country's new years eve party, i accidentally dropped a full bottle of vodka in the supermarket and the security guys were chasing us around the store and yelling at us to leave 😭 (kinda similar how arisu, chota & karube were chased by police in the first episode) and how as soon as we got outside, we saw fireworks. it's like the borderlands were 'calling' us, in a way. and me discovering the show altogether was also quite a destiny moment on its own; the day after the nye party, i was bored out of my mind, went on instagram and saw a random niragi edit. yeah. he was the first person i saw from the entire cast. not even arisu, not even chishiya who were blowing up at the time. it was him, from the very beginning. and when i found out him and i share the same birthday, i immediately told my friends 'DIBS', because i firmly believe it's a soulmate moment when two people share really rare birthdays 🥹

it's really strange that we decided to watch a 8 episode tv show because all of us have attention spams of a singular cockroach, and we get bored so easily, but when i tell you we INHALED this show from start to finish. there were no breaks, just cigarettes after cigarettes, tears, disbelief and fear. from happy friendship moments in ep1 to devastating, heartbreaking scenes in both ep3 and ep8. i'll never forget how i couldn't fall asleep later, because i thought the horse head guy from ep3 would chase us. and how the next day nothing felt the same. we started listening to japanese music, watched all of the AIB's cast dramas & movies, created fake scenarios at sleepovers, my friends even had DREAMS about playing games, talked about the show, plot & characters for MONTHS later. it got so bad to the point that i started acting way more impulsively than usual, picked fights with people who looked at me the wrong way/insulted my friends all because i was so influenced & mesmerized by niragi and his freedom to do whatever the fuck he wants. i wanted to be just like that, and never act like my previous insecure self. not just that, but the three of us completely changed our hairstyles to match our favourite characters. it was literally more than just an obsession, it was absolute insanity over a simple japanese tv show.

my own personal feelings and experience aside, i truly believe the second season will never sniff near the first season's level. it's just that girl, she just does it so much better. the games were so much more interesting, the characters were obviously so perfect for the plot (and they weren't boring, almost every single character had depth to them and multiple layers you can see them through, both good & bad) THE BEACH ARC, niragi's absolute dominance and PRIME moments during that era, chishiya's intelligence & cunningness on display, hatter's speeches, arisu's godlevel abilities to see through the minds of his opponents, MIRA. so many things. almost every single thing. and the most interesting part is that even two years later, i still feel the same. i still love it more than i've ever loved anything before and i'm still rewatching it almost every single month. it's no longer an obsession, it's a part of me.

man, if i ever end up having kids, the first show they'll watch is alice in borderland. this needs to be passed on to generations to come. it's just that good. and writing all of this totally didn't make me sob. good night 😭🫶🏻

[iron-touch]

Writing Hol Horse

(I wrote most of this in September and forgot to post it oops)

Since reaction to Polnareff and especially Giorno in chapter 1 was mixed, I’m going to write a longer piece that more thoroughly explains his character. Spoiler alert: he’s gonna stick around for a while, so establishing who he is is kind of important. First I’m going to analyze how he appears in Stardust Crusaders then talk about how he’s changed in the last 20 years up to the events in Iron Touch (some very minor spoilers below!)

Also, with Demonic Heartbreak (the Morioh spinoff) coming out soon, it’ll be interesting to see how my interpretation of the character matches up.

This is the probably the only time I will do an in depth analysis like this, at least on this blog, so don’t expect anything more like this from me in the near future.

If you — whoever you are scrolling through JoJo tags on Tumblr or following this JoJo fanfic blog — are reading this, you already know Hol Horse’s fundamental traits. He only fights in a pair, he Respects Women™, and he lives and dies by his cowboy aesthetic. That’s not what I’m going to be talking about. I’m going to go a little more in depth here.

Whenever people talk about Hol Horse, it always bothers me when people dismiss him as “too dumb to use his Stand properly.” I don’t think idiocy is his main flaw (at least not the same way it is for a character like Okuyasu), it’s his insecurity. Hol Horse is very insecure, and we see this manifest in a few different ways. The most obvious is how he only fights in a pair and books it as soon as his partner is put out of commission. Idiocy is not what holds him back, his biggest flaw is his inability to take the initiative. This is also partially why he insists on being the “Number 2″ of whatever duo he’s in. You can see this most clearly in his introductory arc; Hol Horse only ever tries to directly shoot Polnareff on his own once, and it was only after he insulted him (the joke is originally a Japanese pun that has never worked very well in English, but in every translation Polnareff either mocks him or Emperor). J. Geil calls the shot once afterwards and every other time he directly swerves his bullets into glass to provide Hanged Man more leverage to attack. Even when he’s paired up with Boingo he constantly awaits approval from him and Thoth to fire Emperor rather than going “I don’t need this kid, I can just finish off Joestar and the others from a distance.” This is all relative, of course, and is probably only related to combat decisions. He seems perfectly comfortable taking the initiative with his “romances,” as we see with his brief scene with Nena. He also never hesitates to secure himself an escape option on his own.

One thing that sticks out to people as soon as they finish Stardust Crusaders is Hol Horse’s villain decay. When he’s introduced, he’s presented as being menacing and manipulative, whereas he’s mostly played for laughs in his final appearance. While you could chalk this up to legitimate villain decay on Araki’s part, I think there’s more to it than that. Hol Horse first partners up with J. Geil, who is still one of the most vile characters in the series over 30 years after his debut, and ends off the series partnered off with Boingo, a literal joke character. Hol Horse is a habitual liar and will alter the way he carries himself depending on who his partner is. This also feeds into his insecurity. This trait is also made painfully clear during the Justice arc. When she asks whether or not he was friends with J. Geil, Hol Horse lies out his ass and tells her that yes, they were friends, and now he’s come here to help avenge him. This is all done in an attempt to get on her good side, even if it ends up backfiring. I think the same thing happens with J. Geil and Boingo. He acts threatening and villainous around the murderous rapist, while he makes an attempt to be friendly and sympathetic around the kid with anxiety. So he’s at least decent at reading people and telling them what they want to hear.

That being said, he’s not entirely passive and will bite back when he feels threatened. No matter how he presents himself, he won’t hesitate to sell out any of his “partners” and will always take the chance to use them for his own gain. It’s just business to him. He doesn’t take sides, he just wants to win (and get paid). While the Justice arc and Shooting Dio chapter most clearly demonstrate this idea, he also shows this off through his interactions with women. For a guy who claims to respect all women, he doesn’t really seem to mind emotionally manipulating Nena into acting as a meat shield for him. Since she was one of Dio’s assassins as well, some people like to say that she was only allowed him to escape because they were both working towards the same goal of killing the Joestars, but Hol Horse literally says in his introduction that he focuses on romance so that his girlfriends will “do anything for [him], even risk their own lives.” Everyone that Hol Horse encounters is expendable to him.

(As a side note, the fact that he goes out of his way to explain that he won’t hit a woman because he “respects” them but doesn’t hesitate to lie and emotionally manipulate them screams that he had an abusive dad to me, but that’s not really relevant)

Since he is a habitual liar, we rarely see what Hol Horse is “really” like. Obviously he’s a bit of a coward, but still arrogant enough to think he could take down Dio as easily as he thought he could. He doesn’t take too well to being mocked or looked down upon, which is when he shows his rare instances of initiative. He only tries to shoot Polnareff, Enyaba, and Dio on his own when they offend or attack him. He’s somewhat versed in strategy games, as he briefly compares Emperor’s long ranged advantage over Silver Chariot to military chess.

So with all that in mind, how does this affect how Hol Horse will be portrayed in Iron Touch?

While Iron Touch does take place a little over twenty years after Stardust Crusaders, Hol Horse hasn’t changed drastically.

Arguably the biggest difference between Hol Horse in canon and Hol Horse here to account for is the fact that he’s working in a group rather than in a pair. How does this affect his “always Number 2″ mentality? Does he insist on being the second in command, or does he just trail behind the group and do whatever they tell him to?

I think it’s the latter for a couple of reasons. Firstly, while Sara is obviously the leader of the group, she’s not the one he’s initially focused on. Michelle is his main concern. Sure, he could care less who her parents were, but he knows that Polnareff certainly would care about who his daughter was traveling the world with. Dead or not, that’s going to bother him and put him more on edge around her. In his current state, dealing with more old “friends” is the last thing he wants, especially not one who holds a grudge. Because of this, he’s more likely to adjust to her and do what she tells him to at first if only to get on her (and therefore Polnareff’s) good side.

Secondly, Hol Horse’s whole reasoning for being “Number 2″ stems from his passivity. He never wants to be the one who calls the shots, and these insecurities have only strengthened with age. He’s well past his prime as an assassin, and now he’s been thrust back into the fray and needs to survive against the Masqueraders, none of which have any restraints against fighting him. He doesn’t want to have to call a shot that ends up in one of his new allies dying. Not because it would put a damper on his consciousness, but because then he’ll have to deal with the rest of the group blaming him for their friend’s death.

Hol Horse is good at reading people, so he’s well aware that the group mostly sees him as a walking, talking reservoir of cash. This doesn’t bother him — if anything, it’s a positive since it gives him leverage over everyone else. It also means that he’s not trying as hard to butter them up as he would with say, a fellow assassin. He doesn’t need to be their friend, just their bank account, because this is all temporary to him and he doesn’t think he’ll ever have to see anyone in the group after he finds an opportunity to part ways.

With all that being said, Hol Horse is by no means going to be a static character in Iron Touch. I have a very defined arc planned out for him, so his behavior is going to change overtime. This is just a starting point. I’d also like to add that whatever he ends up doing in Demonic Heartbreak, it won’t be canon to Iron Touch. I’m not going to alter my plans for the character.

[jacksonlamb]

i finished bad actors like two weeks ago now but anyways. some incoherent thoughts:

I MISS RIVER feel like pure shit just want him back /ref. my biggest fear is that he'll come back in book 9 and then die for real though

also i wanna know what sid is up to. i know shes not gonna be a series regular again. but i hope shes with river and theyre happy together. they deserve it

claude whelan!!!! he is Not a character i wouldve expected to come back, and i wouldnt have wished for him to either. but im so glad he did!! he and shirley are Such a duo

"you shouldn't eat chicken if you need medical treatment"

catherine looking out for shirley!! god. it means so much to me.

these books have me so set up for heartbreak that i look into every little thing. im sooo worried about the bit near the end where catherine forgets she already told shirley the "we have to look out for one another" line. is she okay

the likelihood of lamb dying seems very low bc. obviously. but also what if he does. would that be fucked up or what

i want more john bachelor content. pathetic horrible guy. i love him

shirley :(( god. she deserves the world. first marcus,, then coe,,, can something Please go right for her. can she not lose another partner please (though tbh im worried abt lech, he might be my next death prediction)

speaking of deaths. nobody died at all in this book. so the pattern of a slow horse dying every 2 books is broken. what the fuck happens now

if anything happens to catherine standish i will kill everyone in this room and then myself /ref. shes been through so much. that scene from whichever book idk. where she sits in her office and wonders whos gonna die next. that haunts me. she deserves so much happiness

[badboys-imagines]

Just a fluffy imagine because I needed it okkkk.

Pairing : Geralt x Y/N

Summary: basically, unspoken feelings between Y/N and Geralt make a mess of everything.

Warning : Tiny bit of angst, cheese & fluff

•

Geralt knew he was in trouble when he first heard Y/N’s laugh and his heart literally danced to the sound. From this moment, he did his best to avoid her, and forget about any emotion linked to her.

Travelling together only made things worse.

*

Y/N wasn’t much into cliches. Truth be told, she was tired of the old tune “his eyes were so blue I drown in them...”.

Well, not that she had something against beauty standards. It just wasn’t her thing. She was way more fascinated by Geralt and that, was her biggest problem. 

However, every time Y/N feared for him, every time she craved his presence, her mouth remained shut.

After many awkward trials, Y/N had been incapable to tell him how she felt and she decided to stop trying. Geralt wasn’t the kind of man you admit your feelings to and expect a happy ending.

It was until this night, when Jaskier, Ciri and Y/N waited in the background and the innkeeper handed a set of keys to Geralt.

“4 rooms, 4 people...”

Exhausted from their journey, Geralt kept nodding at the man who warned him about how important it was to close the curtains after midnight. But the long and not so useful monologue slowly faded away and a few words came very clearly to Geralt’s ears.

Understanding Geralt was a Witcher, the innkeeper assumed he didn’t have a family and the people accompanying him were just his team, or clients.

“And who is that beautiful woman you travel with ?”

The innkeeper was pointing at Y/N.

Suddenly, the air became thick in the tavern and Geralt took a step towards the bar, glaring at the man,

“Beautiful, is a lazy and lousy way to describe her.”

Jaskier had spotted the scene, knowing what that look meant on Geralt’s face. Not that impressed, the innkeeper threw a salacious comment.

“Let’s calm down here...” Jaskier intervened, but it was too late.

Geralt’s fist landed in the face of the innkeeper who fell against a shelf with a loud noise of broken glass.

“Damn it, Geralt, what’s wrong with you ?” Jaskier yelled, “We needed these rooms !”

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N noticed a mix of anger and despair in Geralt’s gaze.

It was something she’d already seen before, but she couldn’t tell when.

Jaskier was still whining about how they’d have to sleep under a tree, and how they wouldn’t sleep in a bed for a whole week, when Geralt stormed out. 

Y/N’s heart clenched into her chest. Jaskier was right. Something was off.

On the road, Geralt kept sighing and grunting at Jaskier’s complaints.

He was so noisy, Y/N had to punch him in the chest to make him stop.

Eventually, they found shelter under a bunch of trees, deep in the woods.

Jaskier was about to comment their situation, but Y/N shot him a murderous stare,

“Don’t.” she simply said, “Make yourself useful and start a fire.”

Y/N took care of her horse and soon, she heard footsteps behind her.

She didn’t turn around. She knew who it was.

The soft sound was soon covered by the fast beat of her heart pounding against her ribs and echoing in her whole body.

After a moment, Geralt’s voice broke the silence,

“Are you mad at me ?”

“I’m not.” she said, scratching her horse’s neck, “We’ll be fine. It’s not that cold outside.”

A slight frown came up his forehead,

“How come you’ve been abnormally nice to me lately ?” he suddenly asked.

This time, Y/N turned to face him and she chuckled,

“I can still punch you in the chest, if you prefer.”

A tiny smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth and Geralt rubbed Roach’s shoulder.

“I’m serious.”

Y/N glanced at him. The piercing eyes of her partner plunged into hers, sending shivers down her spine. She took a moment to find the words. But there was no good way to put it.

“I was thinking of... leaving.”

Silence fell between them and Y/N looked down.

Geralt was a warrior with a fighter’s mind, and he knew how to recognize a lost battle. Without looking up at him, she could now feel his iris scanning her. He’d just frozen, staring at her as if she wasn’t here.

“Hm...” he grunted, eventually tilting his head down.

A part of her hoped he didn’t care about her at all. It would make it easier to leave. Geralt had never really expressed any feeling for her, not even friendship, and so, Y/N wasn’t surprised when he just walked away.

No. What surprised her was the moment he hurried back to her.

Something was changed in his attitude. Progressively losing his self control, Geralt inhaled deeply. He seemed really annoyed this time.

He hated talking, but when he did, words could come out like knives.

Eyes widening, fingers tightening around the halter of her horse, Y/N mentally prepared herself. She was ready to hear anything.

Y/N held his gaze as he abruptly stopped near her.

In a split second, the space between them was filled by his heat and... Oh dear, did he look angry.

“Blood doesn’t make a family, and you became part of this one. You came to us, you stayed with us. Now, we need you. You can’t just leave.”

Family.

Oh. 

Yes, she would miss it. But this thing that floated between her and Geralt, these emotions Y/N had to keep for herself were too painful to stay.

“I’m not abandoning you.” Y/N sighed, “You won’t need me for the rest of this trip. We’ll meet again. I can promise you that. In two weeks...”

Geralt closed his eyes with a grunt and cut her off,

“I, need you.” he said bluntly, surprising Y/N even more as he kept talking, “You keep me calm. There are a lot of things you don’t know.”

Stomach in knots, Y/N couldn’t move a muscle. She moved back from her horse to lean against a tree, her heart racing in her chest and threatening to break her ribs.

Geralt came closer and his scent invaded her lungs.

He was intoxicating.

Desire crept through her, but Y/N shook her head,

“Enlighten me, then.” she breathed.

His facial expression was serious, but Y/N liked how it softened slightly when he looked at her. Unable to say more, Geralt clenched his teeth and stepped back. One second, and he was lost in his thoughts again. Always thinking, never speaking to her.

Y/N slowly nodded in understanding and gave him a small smile,

“Thank you for taking me in when I still tasted of heartache and war. I won’t forget that. I’m leaving tomorrow, and I’ll meet you in two weeks in Kaer Morhen. It won’t be long, and after that, well... After that, we’ll see.”

Maybe it was her shaky voice, or the way her eyes avoided his, but Geralt spluttered clumsily,

“Thank you, for making me feel things I thought I could never feel.”

Y/N blinked in confusion, not sure what she’d just heard. Her heart had stopped beating, just so she could listen to what he was saying. His voice sounded strangely desperate, almost interrogative.

“That’s what family is for, right ?”

Y/N walked passed him and she heard a fuck.

The little word of frustration made her stop.

Who was she fooling ?

Two weeks would never tame her feelings.

It was enough. Enough waiting for nothing, enough heartbreak.

Closing her eyes, Y/N bit down her lip and turned to him,

“I love you.” she said bluntly.

These woods were so calm. Without a sound, her heart burst and she waited for a “Hm” or even a “uh”. But instead came his hand barely touching hers, and a soft whisper,

“What did you just say ?”

Y/N opened her eyes, only to see the confusion in his.

“I said, I love you.” she huffed.

Geralt’s mouth silently opened, taking a short shallow breath. She immediately stilled, as if she’d made a terrible mistake.

Blood rushed to her head and Y/N released a long sigh.

“Forget it. I’m sorry...” she started.

Without warning, Geralt circled her waist and gently pulled her closer. The simple touch of his hand on her hip, the way his body felt against hers made Y/N shiver. Like an instinct, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss. It was sweet, and fierce at the same time. It was all she had ever dreamed of.

After a moment, Y/N slightly moved back to look at him.

Geralt gazed at her for a moment, as if it could all be a lie.

But it wasn’t.

His voice came out hoarse and unsure, melting her heart at once,

“I love you, Y/N.”

Each little caress sent a wave of uncontrollable emotions coursing throughout her body. 

At this moment, everything made sense. His breath on her cheek, the sight of his eyes shimmering through his lashes...

It all felt just right.

Y/N’s fingers ran up his chest, feeling it rising up and down. His heartbeat used to be so slow, and now it was so fast it felt like a regular human’s.

Geralt took a deep breath of her scent and pressed his forehead against hers. Y/N felt his fingers slowly gliding along her back and knew he was completely engrossed in their intimacy.

Slowly then, she lifted her head up,

“What are we, now ?” Y/N whispered.

Geralt looked down at her lips, then back at her eyes,

“You and me ? Hm...” he grunted with a lazy gaze, “Some forever kind of thing.”

Y/N chuckled,

“Sounds good to me.”

[ikeromantic]

Curiosity

Mitsuhide finally gets his answers and it’s more than he bargained for!

@yukina-otome who’s comment inspired this continuation of the scene from

Mitsuhide and the Mystery (of a Woman’s Purse)

Mitsuhide Akechi main route start of Chapter 5, fluff, around 1500 words. This ended up longer than I intended but it was a lot of fun to write. 

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Mitsuhide and the Mystery of a Woman’s Purse

Mitsuhide felt ashamed of himself. The little mouse had bested him at his own game, and worse, seen right through his carefully crafted mask. Despite her flushed cheeks and galloping heartbeat, she’d told him she wanted nothing from him. That she would answer all his questions without any persuasion.

The hollow victory was deflating, but at least he would have the answers he sought. And her cooperation. That was the most important thing. His little mouse would be safe, and Mitsuhide would be able to continue his carefully laid plans without her interference. 

They sat across from each other. Teacups steamed in front of them, lending a sense of comfort to the uncomfortable conversation. The items from her strange bag were laid out across the desk. His little one looked at him intently. “Please understand that everything I’m about to tell you is true.”

And then she launched into the most ridiculous, convoluted fable Mitsuhide ever heard. It was like nothing he’d ever heard. Worm holes in the sky. A world where buildings and lights blotted out the stars. Where metal carts rolled horseless through smoothly paved streets . . . But she seemed to mean every word. He contemplated the objects between them, wondering where they fit in her narrative.

“You still haven’t explained these -” Mitsuhide gestured to the desk.

The chatelaine yawned. “Oh, I forgot. So that -” she pointed at the strange sack, “is a purse. Women in my time carry their personal things in it.”

“What is it made of?”

“A poly-blend.”

Mitsuhide looked at her blankly.

“Ah, like plastic? You don’t have it yet but -” she struggled for the best way to explain it. “It’s cheaper than wood or leather, and keeps water out. In the future, we use it for a lot of things. Probably too many things. My purse is a blend of plastic fibers and cloth - that’s why it keeps its shape.”

Mitsuhide picked up the bag and squeezed it experimentally. “And it keeps what is in it dry?”

“Yes . . .”

The warlord set her purse down and picked up the smartphone. “And this dark mirror? What is it for?”

“It’s for -” she paused, chewing at her lip thoughtfully - “for talking to people far away and looking at pictures and playing music. It does a lot, actually.”

Mitsuhide held the plain rectangle to his ear and listened. He shut his eyes, trying to focus but he heard nothing in it. 

“That’s not how it works,” his little mouse giggled. 

He set the thing down, blushing. “Then show me.” 

“Like this.” She squeezed the side of it whispering, “Please be charged. Please be charged. Come on.” 

The mirror lit up with an array of colors and then glowed a steady blue. She slid her fingers across it in patterns, and the colors changed, resolving to a picture of her with two fingers up, the ocean behind her. 

“It is magic,” Mitsuhide whispered. Kyubei had been right to suspect. Here was proof. 

“No,” she laughed again, “It’s a smartphone. All I did was turn it on, but there’s not much battery left.” She handed it to him carefully.

The warlord looked closely at the image. It was a near perfect replica of his little one. “So this was painted on your . . . smartphone? Who painted you?”

“It isn’t a painting, it’s - let me show you.” She scooted around to his side of the desk and put her cheek against his. “Smile!”

Mitsuhide did not smile. The clicking sound surprised him and he would have dropped the device if the chatelaine had not also held onto it. She touched the front of it a few more times, and then he saw himself. And her. Just as they were a moment ago.

“This is . . . amazing. You said it talks to people as well? Far away?”

She nodded. “Yes but, well, there’s no one else around with one for me to call. So I can’t show you that. But I can play you some music from my time!”

Mitsuhide gave a nod of assent. He was curious what music would sound like in 500 years’ time, though it would have been more interesting to see how the communication with it worked. He could think of a lot of uses for a magic that was faster than horses or boats. 

His little mouse tapped away at the thing again, and more colors shifted. Then a strange, discordant sound began. The beat was fast, and the singers’ voices were high pitched and cheery, yet he couldn’t pick out the instruments in the melody, or identify many of the words they sang. “What - what is this called?”

“It’s a pop song. Very popular right - well, 500 years from right now.”

Mitsuhide listened to it until the song came to an end. He couldn’t decide how he felt about it. He considered himself well versed in music and poetry, but this was outside his knowledge completely. “How is it played?”

“Ummm, probably a keyboard, a guitar . . . I’m not very good with music. I just like listening to it.” She slid her fingers along the glass again. “I should probably turn this off. The battery is almost dead.”

“It is broken?”

“No, it just needs to be charged. I can’t really do that though.” She squeezed the sides of the smartphone again, and it went dark.

Mitsuhide picked up the thin rope with metal ends. “Then let’s move on. What is this? Is it some kind of weapon women in your time carry?” He held it up to show how he thought it could be wrapped around a throat and felt very clever about figuring it out. At least, he felt clever until his little mouse laughed again.

“No, oh - most women - we don’t carry weapons. That’s my - my charger cable.” She got the words out between giggles. 

“For the, ah, the smartphone?” 

She took the rope from him and showed him how one end fit into it. “The other plugs in, but there aren’t plugs I can use here.” She shrugged and set it down. She picked up the other small case from the purse, one that looked like leather but wasn’t. “And before you ask, this is my wallet. These are bank cards - they have money, in the future. Or they would if I had a good job. And this is my ID.” She held up a shiny rectangle with writing on it, and her image painted to one side. Another excellent likeness.

“Not a painting either. A photograph.” Mitsuhide took it from her, still in wonder over how the images were made. 

“Yes, exactly.” She beamed. 

It was awkward to be the student, Mitushide reflected. Yet he was getting the answers he asked for, even if they were so far beyond his expectations as to be fantasy.

“And this - this is my makeup kit.” She popped open a slim container. In it were a variety of powders in several colors. 

This was something Mitsuhide recognized, though the case was odd. “Ah, for a stage performer or an entertainer.” His eyebrows went up, considering his little mouse working as such.

She must have seen his thoughts on his face because she flushed pink to the tips of her ears. “No, no, no. Most girls in my time wear make up. Not like that - not like . . . anyway -” she set the case down and reached for the painted scroll. 

“Ah, now this object. This gave me many questions. Some of which you answered in your story. But why are all these men . . . hot? Is it summer painting - ah, photographs?” 

If she was pink before now she went crimson. “Y-yes! Summer! Hot summer!” She rolled the scroll up and shoved it into her purse. “There are lots of umm, scrolls like this. We call them magazines. They have pictures and stories. This one . . . it’s a tourist guide. About the warlords from this era.”

“And I am in it.” 

“Mhmmm.” His little mouse looked like she would rather talk about anything else. Curious. 

“And it is about me, in the summer?” Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow. Something was not adding up in her explanation. “The . . . guide . . . didn’t mention summer. It did mention my ‘silver white hair and golden eyes’. And the term heartbreaker?” 

“D-did it?”

“Yes. Along with the physical attributes of the other Oda warlords.”

She was still sitting on his side of the desk, and now she inched away from him with every word.

Mitushide gently took the purse from her and opened up the magazine. The first page was about his lord. He held it up and read the first line. “Nobunaga is a hottie? Do explain, little mouse.”

She actually squeaked. “It - it means attractive. Good looking.” The chatelaine wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s about all - all the most attractive . . . historical . . .”

Mitsuhide leaned forward and tipped her chin up with a finger. “And I am one of them?”

“Yes?”

“You consider me a . . . hottie?”

His little mouse scurried over to the other side of the desk, not afraid but - embarrassed? Yes, that was definitely it. 

She stared down at the other items still on the desk. “You shouldn’t ask a girl things like that. Now . . . what else are you curious about?”

Many things, the kitsune thought, but he kept them to himself for now.

Next: One Kind of Temptation

[dragon-fics]

Shruikan's Rider (SR): Prologue: A Broken Bond {Inheritance Cycle fanfic}

Book description: Alys Emmasdaughter is going through the worst pain any Rider can ever go through--her dragon is dying and there is no way to save him.

While she mourns his inevitable death, the Eldunarí at the Dragon Riders' Academy inform her of a dragon who is suffering a similar fate

Alys led her silver steed up the path to the Dragon Rider Academy, high on Mount Arngor. Icy wind skimmed against her bare, almond arms as she focused on the dirt path beneath her. She felt and looked unkept; her frizzy, black hair was like a bird's nest; her clothes torn; and her skin filthy and dotted with scars.

The attack had been unprovoked; all she and her dragon, Ugauc, wanted to do was to visit the Stone of Broken Eggs near Ellesméra.

But that didn't happen.

Several hooded figures had struck them down, all baring spears that glistened with what Alys found out later was Seithr Oil; the product known to be used by the Ra'zac.

Every night, all she heard was Ugauc's cries as spiked nets doused in the erosive liquid dragged him down. The scene played over and over in her head; his cries, the pain, the figures emerging from the night's shadows, and them stabbing him to death as she killed them all with her blade. One by one, they had crumbled to the ground, leaving nothing but their scarlet cloaks behind.

From there, she ran to Ellesméra, seeking the aid of the elves, who insisted on her leaving as soon as Ugauc was stable, saying his recovery would be long and waiting there would render her useless.

But where she was wouldn't matter; without her beloved partner-of-heart-and-mind, she was useless.

Alys paused where she was and looked up, fighting off the tears forming in her eyes—again. It surprised her she had anymore tears to cry after her long journey back. She'd sob as she rode, keen while she ate, and cry as she slept—she was empty without him.

the ball of sadness in her heart was heavy, growing on its own accord throughout the day, causing her to crumble into tears unannounced.

And now was one of those moments.

Alys' throat grew sore and her lip quivered. Why had they done what they did? And why now, of all times, had the sadness grown stronger?

She placed her hands over her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. The last time she had walked along this path—or rather had to walk along this path—was when she was summoned, six years ago, by Eragon himself to be tested at the age of sixteen. According to the Eldunarí, her dragon Ugauc was the one for her. And they were right.

She wanted to reflect further, to remember his hatching and their training and his personality and how perfect he was, but she'd just end up wailing halfway up a mountain near people who she was supposed to tutor; now wasn't the time to bawl.

Alys continued her breathing, slowly gathering herself and drying off her eyes. "Kausta, Epona," Come, Epona, she said to her elf horse, putting on the bravest of faces she could muster and continuing up the path.

As she climbed, she thought of ways to distract herself; like what to put in the letter to her family for this month, or which eggs were ready to hatch next month; all the while fighting off any memory of a green dragon that emerged in her mind.

Finally, she stood in front of the large, open black-painted steel gates, looking in at the large sandstone courtyard. A few Riders stood about, talking to each other and preparing their dragons for slights.

Again, her sadness swelled.

Not now, she insisted. Don't think about him.

Alys pushed her head up high, pushing back any tears that were read to form and walked through the courtyard, focusing only on the large oak doors in front of her. On one door was a lifelike carving of a dragon, surrounded by fog at its feet with a tongue of fire escaping its maw. It looked down at the figure carving in the opposite door—its rider. The Rider seemed to be neither elf nor human, male nor female. Its features were pointed, like an elf's, yet its build was broader like a human's.

As soon as she reached the door, Alys turned to Epona and removed her belongings—a small pack of food and a book along with a rolled-up blanket. "Elrun ono, fricai," Thank you, friend, she said, stroking Epona's face.

The mare leaned into her touch and backed away before trotting out of the courtyard and out of sight.

Alys drew in a breath, shoving a new pulse of sadness aside and pushing open the varnished door. On the other side, she saw a few students bustling through the hall, with small dragons following them. She swiftly turned to the nearest set of stairs, jogging up to the dormitories.

From the outside, all the dorms looked like the inside of a beehive, openings in the rock connected by balconies and stairs. Each hole was big enough for most dragons to fit through, just like the corridors in the Academy. on the inside, it was nowhere near as intricate-looking, just three levels lined with average-sized doors and a large open balcony on each floor, so the dragons could fly up to the balconies if they couldn't fit through.

Alys loved the layout. It was so simple yet so thoughtful, allowing the dragons and riders to be individual yet have they stay in the stay quarters.

Alys continued her walk to her dorm, slowly opening the door with a quiet creak. She half expected to see Ugauc land on the balcony and make his way towards her, past his nest and her bed and her bookcase overflowing with books to nuzzle her. She closed the door with a quiet click and tossed her stuff onto her bed and looked out through the balcony, holding her arms akimbo and breathing deeply.

Alys shook her head, her sadness growing. A tear fell down her cheek, slowly, as she looked at the bright sun. She looked down at Uguac's nest, a large indent in the stone floor, lined with a thin cushion, littered with green scales and tufts of fur and feathers.

She smiled sadly at it and looked over at the green fragments of Ugauc's dragon egg on her ebony bookshelf. She drifted over to it, picking up the largest piece of the emerald shell, the intact base of the egg, where Ugauc had comfortably sat after he hatched, looking around at the hatchery and his Rider with his curious amber eyes.

Alys sighed sadly, wiping away her tears and swallowing hard, burying the lump in her throat as best as she could. She returned the fragment to its spot and stood back, tears returning to her cheeks again. "I miss you," she whispered.

The heavy flapping of dragon wings came close to her balcony, and a sapphire blue dragon landed on it. Alys looked at her, wiping away her tears. "Hello, Saphira. Eragon," she greeted.

Eragon slid off his saddle, brunette locks bouncing as he landed. His brown eyes softened. "Alys... I got word from the elves as soon as you came to them," he started, coming closer, Saphira following close behind him. "And may I say, I am so, so sorry. I should've sent someone with you." He drew in a breath, smoothing his hair with both hands. "It shouldn't have happened. I promise we'll find out who's responsible."

Alys looked down. "That's thoughtful, Eragon," she said. "But I... I don't think I want to find out; it's not going to change anything."

Eragon paused. "Alys, you can't say that. It's important that someone is held responsible."

She shook her head, fighting off more tears. "I'm sorry. I—I can't do this now," she turned around, holding herself. "Please, let me grieve."

Eragon went to reach for her, but retracted his hand. "I will investigate, to save others." He sighed and glanced at Saphira. "When you're up for it, I'm sure Eldunarí would like your company; they want to talk to you."

Alys nodded dismissively and listened carefully as they left before letting out a choked sob.

*-*-*-*

It took Alys weeks before she could force herself to leave her room to actually talk to people. A few would stop by throughout the day, giving their condolences and offering her the food they had brought. She excepted most of the food but ate little of it.

She plodded her way to the Hall of Colours, keeping her head low as she nibbled on her last apple slice. She ignored everyone that passed, focusing solely on her meeting with the Eldunarí. Finally, she began her climb towards the eyrie—Eragon's sleeping quarters—high in the hold, and at the last stop, he turning into a small side tunnel. She entered the large, disk-like chamber, looking ahead at the many tiered daises that held the array of gleaming Eldunarí. Multi-coloured flecks of light beamed around the room, brightening the cool room immensely.

Alys' mind grazed against the dragons' minds. She found it soothing, feeling their calmness when all she had felt was heartbreak for so long. Her eyes landed on Umaroth's white Eldunarí. He and Glaedr were one of the few she always remembered.

Welcome, Alys-vinr, Umaroth greeted.

Hello, Umaroth and everyone else, she responded, keeping her mind as pain-free as possible. I heard you wanted to talk to me.

Yes, we have some news, Umaroth said elusively.

Alys' heart skipped a beat; could they help Ugauc? Could they save him?

Her joy and thoughts of Ugauc flowed to the Eldunarí.

No, I'm sorry. We cannot help him.

Her heart sank, but she forced herself to push it aside. Pray tell.

We have found a dragon who needs your help, Shur'tugal, Glaedr explained.

Alys sighed, aware they couldn't hear her irritation; she was in the worst shape to help anyone. Though she could admit that she needed a distraction. I appreciate the thought, but I'm not ready to help anyone. I'd only make things worse for them.

You misunderstand, Umaroth stated. This dragon has been without a rider for some time and is lost without them. Please, only you can empathise with him and save him from himself.

[greenhatsinthesky]

lockdown film no. 33 - Gladiator (2000) dir. Ridley Scott

13/05/2020

- I saw this film the first time when I was maybe 13? My dad decided that it was time for me to watch this Oscar winning epic, but we had to watch it in two parts because it was so long, and pretty damn violent for squeamish, baby me. Me and Dad managed this all in one, seven years later

- the opening is… really something isn’t it

- (just found out it was filmed in Surrey. Gutted)

- I got shivers right through to my scalp when he made that first speech to his soldiers that ends with “Brothers — what we do in life echoes in eternity.” Genius (there’s a chance it was because my room is the temperature of the arctic but nonetheless it was very moving)

- I had a foley workshop this morning and my tutor was talking about how foley should be subtle, but often the sounds need to be exaggerated so we’re absolutely sure that what we’re hearing is what we’re meant to be hearing. Likely because I came in with that mindset, they went absolutely ham thick on the foley for the opening battle scene

- “Enough of politics. Let us pretend that you are a loving daughter, and I am a loving father” — the fact that this line was said quite gently by Richard Harris’ Caesar Marcus Aurelius makes it so heartbreaking because there is absolutely no pretence that their family’s relationship is outrageously dysfunctional, and that’s not even getting onto the incest

- Joaquin phoenix is great in this. When he’s told he isn’t going to be emperor he’s like a stroppy kid who just wants to make his dad proud of him and now he’s a psychopath. That scene’s fantastic anyway, I love how the statue of caesar is right on commodus’ shoulder the whole way through, and really oppressive after commodus has killed Marcus Aurelius

- also fun fact about that scene — apparently phoenix was so stressed out about shooting it that he fainted right after they cut

- the little *fwoop* when he flipped the sword over was a bit much and then saying “the frost. Sometimes it makes the blade stick” before slicing the other guy felt a bit too bondy for this but you know what ? I respect the swagger

- there was an absolutely ineffable sense of dread and pure terror when the roman army was approaching maximus’ home and his son was running and waving thinking it was him. I hated that bit

- “those giraffes you sold me. They won’t mate. They just walk around eating, and not mating. You sold me… queer giraffes.” Whoever wrote this deserves every Oscar this film won, and I want it framed in my kitchen

- I enjoy the fact that they could have so easily done a training montage gladiator style when Maximus had been bought by proximo. Instead they took time to get a bit more into his character and for us to meet juba and the other gladiators. We didn’t need to see him training as a gladiator, that’s not what we’re here for. This film isn’t about fighting — sure, it’s got some great scenes in the colosseum which are entertaining to watch, and there’s stacks of gratuitous violence, but I feel in this case it’s warranted because you can’t get away from the brutality of the games in this context. The film itself is more about Maximus as a general, a gladiator, a husband, father and person and how he relates to the ever conflicting idea of “Rome” and the permanent violence it seems to require to keep that idea going under the reign of commodus. Maximus was required to kill in the army, but there it felt like it was for a purpose: to protect the idea of Rome and the emperor and the people that he cares—here he is required to kill just because he is required to kill. That would obviously change the dynamic but it says a lot about his character that he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about killing a person he doesn’t know for the entertainment of more people he doesn’t know and will likely never meet

- when Maximus walks through the cage it exactly mirrors the opening scene and him walking by all his soldiers as they salute him as their leader and I really liked that

- “i did not say I knew him, I said he touched me on the shoulder once” — why does this film have so many relatable lines 

- one of my favourite things about this film is essentially nothing to do with the film itself, and it’s how my dad will yell stuff from it at opportune moments. When I was learning to drive and going round corners, he would say “hold the line” like Maximus does in the amphitheatre. once, when we were climbing up a hill and it got a bit steeper near the top and I got a bit more tired and started to slow, he clapped me on the shoulder, pointed up the hill and yelled “STRENGTH AND HONOUR! HOLD THE LINE! STAY WITH ME!” just to encourage me up this hill and I love him so much for it

- absolutely cannot stand the bit in the chariot fight where the archer woman gets fully sliced in half. Couldn’t deal with it in 2013 and can’t deal with it now

- fun fact this film got the thumbs up thumbs down thing the wrong way round. In the scene where maximus’ identity was revealed to commodus, he moves his hand from a neutral position to his thumb pointing upwards, which means that he is sparing maximus. Often the emperor would use this code to signal to the winning gladiator if they should kill the loser. However, apparently thumb down didn’t mean “finish them”, it actually meant “throw down your weapon”, and the thumb pointing upward was meant to symbolise the sword thrusting up into the loser’s body. However this might also might be incorrect, I have not by any means done extensive research

- “it vexes me. I am terribly vexed.” Another classic dad quote

- just ruminating on ancient rome. Legitimately cannot imagine a worse occupation than being a gladiator. I’m sure if I thought about it a bit more I’d think of worse jobs, but right now, this is the one

- they used… real tigers for the scene with Tigris ??? Not happy about that. First of all, how ?

- I love the constant talk of the dream that was Rome, and the constant talk in tandem of the mob and how fickle they are. There is the dream that is Rome and there is the reality of the fickle mob. They obviously can’t coexist but those everyone we meet wants something better, in some way

- I don’t know if phoenix made a conscious decision about his speech but it really fit with what I said before about him being a petulant child because his speech didn't sound completely developed and reminded me of a child’s speech in how he pronounces certain letters. It adds so much to the character because he is a completely abhorrent person who wants to sleep with his sister and have a pure blood heir, have complete control over the roman empire and kill anyone who comes between his dream of what that empire could be under him. But then at the same time he sounds like a kid who’s not getting his own way

- I do not want a snake in my bed

- ‘“Strength and honour,” Maximus said to Juba. The two men smiled and rested their foreheads together.’ I did beam at this bit

- apparently proximo was meant to live in the original version of the film, but Oliver reed died during production, before all his scenes were filmed, so his character had to be killed. The last shot of him is from the back, so we don’t see his face, and a shot from earlier where he says “shadows and dust” is cut in right before he dies. The film was dedicated to reed’s memory

- OH another thing I Loved about commodus was how he had a white horse, and white armour in the final battle with maximus, while maximus has black armour, which is the standard. Because commodus has such an idea of who he is, and in his mind, he is Rome’s saviour, even though he knows full well he doesn’t have any of the qualities of a good emperor. White is typically the colour used to signify that a character is good, and pure, etc. so I really enjoyed the inversion of that to show commodus’ character and the character he wants Rome to see

- this isn’t a film about violence, it’s about a philosophy

- one last thing is that when I rewatch films to write up these things, I often skip parts because I get the gist of what’s going on and I don’t need to watch the whole thing. With this, even though it was 2 hours 35, I watched the whole thing, and I think that says a lot about how good a film it is

[he-is-mine-i-am-his-blog]

Wild geese 5/18

Fandom: Painter of the Night

Pairing: Baek Nakyum/Yoon Seungho

Ratings: M

Word count: ~1900 words

Story summary: When Nakyum enters an arranged marriage with Lord Seungho, he does expect to find himself in a situation where he does, fighting for his life. ***An arranged marriage AU, set in the Joseon period like the canon.

Warnings: This story contains graphic depictions of violence. These scenes are not terribly gory, excessive, pointless, and violence is not glorified in anyway. I will not give warnings with specific chapters as not to spoil the plot.

Read below or on AO3.

***

Nakyum is sitting behind Seungho on top of his horse. They ride silently. Not a single word has been exchanged between them since they set on their journey.

With a light hand on Seungho’s shoulder, he holds onto him to keep himself steady. He does not dare to sit closer to his husband, to lean against him, even if he craves for the comfort of closeness more than ever. It is not his to have now.

There are tears streaming down Nakyum’s cheeks. They do not ease the further they get in their journey. They continue to fall because they can do so now as his face is hidden from all. He cries in complete silence if only to hide his sorrow too.

His accident had put the hunt to a halt. After they had determined that Nakyum survived it largely unharmed, despite the dangerous situation, their attention turned on his mare.

She was not as fortunate.

More tears well into his eyes at the memory of his horse, and he can’t quite keep quiet. A sob escapes his lips before he can swallow it down.

When it became clear that she had severely damaged one of her legs, that she could no longer walk, that she could no longer even get up from the muddy bank, the decision was made. It rushed in with blinding clarity. There was only one humane option. They could only end her suffering, as there was no way for her to walk, there was no way for her to heal from an injury as serious as hers.

The mood at the hunt was dampened by what took place, as this was not a death any of them were keen to witness.

The elder master Yoon had ridden to see what happened. He looked at his son silently, as the horse was freed from its misery. It was Seungho, who then decided to bring Nakyum back, so that the rest of them could finish the hunt. Nakyum was clearly too shaken to continue, even if they could get him another horse. Seungho’s father had just nodded at his son, and so, they left the forest, the two of them on the road back.

Nakyum’s tears only cease when they must, when they near the Yoon residence.

As they arrive at the stables, Seungho swings his leg over and hops off the horse. He turns back to Nakyum and helps him off the horse too, his hands wide and firm on his waist.

His hands stay on Nakyum, even after his feet find the solid ground. One hand lingers at his side, another comes to hold his shoulder.

For a moment, they stay so close to each other there, when neither of them steps back. They remain silent. Nakyum has his eyes lowered, his head bowed down, although Seungho must be watching him now. He must see the red eyes and the tear-stained cheeks.

Nakyum cannot meet his gaze.

The pain of what happened is still too fresh and vivid, too heavy on his mind.

Seungho then turns away, and he hands over the reins to a servant who had come to greet them. He grabs Nakyum’s hand blindly, and Nakyum winces as a sharp ache lances his wrist, but he bites down the pained yelp.

Stalking towards the house, Seungho begins to drag him behind. It isn’t until they are in the middle of the courtyard that Nakyum tugs against the hold.

Seungho stops and spins around to look at him.

There is still that fire in his eyes, even if it has morphed into something that Nakyum can’t quite understand.

“Stupid,” Seungho spits out as if he can no longer keep the words in, “So horribly irresponsible.”

Nakyum has to lower his head again only to avert his eyes. He feels like crying, but he will not allow himself to break down in front of his husband. He refuses to do so.

“A horse died because of your actions,” Seungho says, “You should have not participated in the hunt if you can’t even ride!”

Nakyum flinches at the words.

He is not as skilled of a rider as the others are, he knows.

He had not grown up like Seungho – or any of the other noblemen had – with the freedom to go gallivanting in the forest on horseback whenever he wanted. He had learned to ride, only because they were one of the few commoners in their village to even afford a horse. He had learned!

He was not as good as a nobleman would be, he knows, but he could ride.

Still, the words bring tears to his eyes. They do because they rush at him with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

He thinks of his mare, of the way that she had looked lying on the bank. Her mouth was foaming, her eyes rolled up, her voice so pained when she tried to rise from where she had fallen. He thinks of how she had acted before and during the hunt, how she had seemed agitated, how she had not seemed herself.

Nakyum shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have pushed her as he did.

“I hope you are proud of yourself.”

The words hurt, even if Seungho’s tone has lost its heat.

Nakyum can’t stay, he can’t listen anymore.

He turns on his heels and scurries off the courtyard.

He goes directly to his private sleeping quarters. The door has barely had time to close behind him before he tumbles down on the floor and cries. He lifts a hand to his chest, clutching at the jacket, because it hurts. It hurts too much.

  ***

  Nakyum cries hard, slumped down on the floor of his sleeping quarters. The stormy waves of his sobs rack his body. The violence of his sorrow is quick to pass though, burned out by the intensity of it.

The last of the tears are falling down his cheeks when he hears the careful knock.

He hesitates for a moment, until he gets on his feet. He wipes with the edge of his sleeve. It is in vain, he knows, given that anyone could tell he had cried just looking at him.

When he opens the door, he finds Seungho’s personal servant at the doorstep. His eyes are cast down, the look on his face solemn.

“I heard what happened,” he says quietly, “I have come to see how you are doing.”

When the older man lifts his eyes, Nakyum has to look away. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he can speak at all, so he doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t even invite him in. He just leaves the door open, as he walks over to sit down on the mat in the middle of the room.

He lowers his eyes, he hangs his head in shame. It’s enough that the nobles knew, but now the servants did too.

Mr Kim hesitates, but he then approaches Nakyum and asks, “Are you okay?”

The question is only met by silence.

The older man looks at him for a moment, until he places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it lightly. When he is given no further reaction, he sighs.

With tender touches, he examines Nakyum again to confirm that he is not physically hurt. His careful attention has tears welling in Nakyum’s eyes.

When the older man reaches down the right forearm to examine it too, Nakyum flinches and tries to pull away. He had felt the pain blooming in the wrist before, in the forest, and again at the stables when Seungho had gripped it. It felt nothing compared to the heartbreak inside his chest though.

“I will call for a doctor to come and see your wrist, Sir.”

“No,” Nakyum says determinately, looking down at the hand lying limp in his lap.

He doesn’t want it to be looked at, to be treated either. This can serve as a punishment for what he has done, what he has caused with his carelessness.

Mr Kim sighs again, sitting back on his legs, where he has kneeled in front of Nakyum.

“Sir, it really would be best if this is seen by a doctor. It could be injured wor-“

“No!” Nakyum says again louder this time.

His eyes snap up to meet the servants. He means his words to be heard, to be listened and respected.

The older man looks at him for a moment, before he nods. He gets up silently and leaves the room. The door left ajar in his wake.

Nakyum is alone again.

He looks to his side.

The silence of the room is oppressing, heavy. It only adds to the heaviness in his heart. He can’t help but feel guilty, to feel hurt, to feel so much more than that.

Staring towards the closed windows, he can’t help but think of what happened.

He thinks of how it was not right, how none of it was right. He thinks of how she had not acted like herself even when they were just leaving the residence.

She was a mature mare, well trained, that did not get easily agitated or spooked, except today she had.

It is not his fault. It should not have been his fault.

And then, Nakyum’s eyes fall on the pillow on the floor by the windows.

He remembers the snake that they had discovered in his room, the snake that was not supposed to be there. Just as the horse that was not supposed to get agitated and try to throw him off, without much of reason – with no reason at all.

The air is stolen from his lungs by the sudden realization.

None of it was an accident, none of it was a coincidence.

Someone wants him hurt, someone wants him dead.

It is then that he hears the quiet exchange outside his door. He doesn’t see, he doesn’t hear much at all. He can only make out the words spoken by the familiar voice of Mr Kim.

“… best if I do, Master,” he says, “He’ll be okay, I assure you.”

When the man returns to the room, he has a small basket with him. He closes the door behind him before he rejoins Nakyum, placing the basket on the floor beside him.

He is gentle as he removes Nakyum’s outer clothes. He then takes the injured wrist in his hands. Nakyum doesn’t stop him this time. He only watches him silently, as he sets on his work. 

He binds the wrist carefully, using a few smooth pieces of wood for support, adding padding and binding it tightly with long strips of cotton.

“It was probably scary what happened to you,” the older man finally says, his voice soft and kind, “It’s okay to feel fear. It must’ve been scary for others, too, seeing you get in such a terrible accident.”

Nakyum looks at the servant silently. He knows he shouldn’t tell anyone, he knows he shouldn’t trust anyone, but after a moment of silence between them, he speaks the words.

“Not an accident,” he says, so quietly that it can barely be heard.

Mr Kim’s hands still. He lifts his eyes to meet Nakyum’s, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Nakyum knows he shouldn’t tell anyone, but he can’t help but confide in this older man who reminds him of his own father.

“It was not an accident.”

[the-desolated-quill]

It’s Summer And We’re Running Out Of Ice - Watchmen (TV Series) blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

I’m not going to lie. I was incredibly sceptical going into this. This isn’t the first TV adaptation of a classic novel to go beyond the source material and try to continue the story, and they nearly always suck (see The Handmaid’s Tale and The Man In The High Castle). There’s a reason why books end where they’re supposed to end. If the author intended to carry the story on, they would have done so. This is why I get angry when the TV industry arrogantly oversteps the mark and try to continue a plot that has already come to a satisfactory conclusion. Doing a sequel to Watchmen, a story that hinges on the ambiguity of its ending, is just utter madness to me, and allowing Damon Lindelof to write that sequel borders on moronic at first glance. This is the man behind the TV series Lost, a show that ran out of steam within the first couple of episodes due to the fact that the plot was complete and total bollocks and the fact that nobody could be bothered to come up with satisfying answers for these ludicrous mysteries and series arcs beforehand. They were just making that shit up as he went along. Now you’re handing Lindelof the keys to one of the most intricate and detailed comic book properties of all time?! Fuck, why don’t you just let JJ Abrams direct the next Star Wars mo- Oh yeah, I forgot, he already did that.

Thankfully, judging by this first episode anyway, HBO’s Watchmen is nowhere near as bad as Lost. It’s certainly far more engaging and coherent. Does that mean I’m looking forward to the rest of this season? Well... I don’t know if I’d go that far. I’m definitely intrigued though.

HBO’s Watchmen is a sequel to the graphic novel (Lindelof called it a remix, but come on. Grow a pair and call it what it is. A sequel). Superheroes are still illegal, Robert Redford is now the President, Rorschach’s death has inspired a white supremacist cult, and it’s raining squid.

Yeah, the raining squid thing feels like the only egregious bit of fanwank in here, to be fair. Maybe they’re going somewhere with this, but I have my doubts. Are we supposed to assume that Ozymandias has been making squid rain for the past thirty odd years in order to keep up the whole alien invasion ruse? Why squid rain? And why is everyone so nonchalant about it? Shouldn’t people be just a bit concerned by this, considering what happened in New York?

Speaking of Ozymandias, we see him riding a horse and writing plays for his butler and maid in some fancy mansion. Quite what the significance of The Watchmaker’s Son is, I don’t know. All I do know is I’m not going to be able to sleep at night without thinking about Jeremy Irons’ thighs from now on, so thanks for that.

Putting my cynicism aside for a moment, I do like what Lindelof is trying to do here. He’s not merely cashing in on the Watchmen brand. There is a genuine effort to do something fresh and different with this material, and I commend that. Watchmen’s central theme has always been about power, but whereas the source material focused mainly on its relation to sex (Comedian’s hedonism, Nite Owl’s impotence, Rorschach’s mummy issues and the sexual objectification of Silk Spectre), the TV series seems to be zeroing in on race as a topic. This I applaud. Expanding on certain areas that the graphic novel only ever really touched upon is a great idea. This doesn’t feel like a repeat of the graphic novel, but rather a clarification of it, exploring areas and themes that Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons may have overlooked. This helps set this series apart from the outset. 

The opening scenes where we see the Tulsa Massacre of 1921 is a pretty harrowing way to start. I’m ashamed to say I had no idea about the Tulsa Massacre prior to this, and we could have a whole other discussion about why schools seem to have been avoiding teaching specific topics like this in favour of the broad strokes of the Jim Crow era, but now is not the time. The fact that it’s depicted here sets the stage for what’s to come. Some have criticised the show for the length of time the opening focuses on Tulsa, claiming that it sensationalises the pain of black people at that time. I personally don’t think it does. It’s not overly graphic or gratuitous, at least in my opinion, but it is a very shocking way to open a series. Some might say even upsetting, but I think it’s important that we saw this because it’s relevant in setting the tone for the episode and indeed the season as a whole, as well as letting the audience know that this show isn’t going to fuck around or shy away from more sensitive topics, and I can respect that. Unlike Zack Snyder’s overly stylised adaptation from 2009, Watchmen the HBO series is grounded very firmly in reality.

Let’s discuss characters. This episode mostly focuses on Angela Abar, also known as Sister Night. Regina King has given some terrific performances in the past and this is no exception. She’s simply phenomenal. The way she switches from light-hearted wife and baker to violent, no nonsense vigilante cop. The shift is noticeable and yet both personas feel like they’re aspects of the same character. It’s exceptionally good. It also helps that the character herself makes for a great protagonist. Having survived the ‘White Night’ four years prior, where the Seventh Kavalry attacked the families of forty Tulsa police officers in response to the government giving special reparations to the victims of racial injustice, Angela has become cynical and battle hardened. She has no sympathy for Kavlary members and is willing to skip due process by beating one of them to a pulp and bundling him in the back of her car. She’s angry and in pain, and yet retains the audience's sympathy. I’m interested to see what happens to her over the course of the season.

I also really liked her friendship with Don Johnson’s character Judd Crawford. Johnson is a charismatic performer and Crawford is a charismatic character. He really dives into the olde western sheriff persona and seems to be having a lot of fun with it. Crawford is the only other character, besides Angela, who stayed on as a police officer after the White Night, and the two characters seem to have a great relationship. They laugh and joke around and there’s clearly a mutual respect between the two. I genuinely like this character, which is what makes his murder at the end so much more heartbreaking. Not to mention all the little details that force us to realise he may not be what he seems. We see him sniff cocaine in private and there’s a photo on his desk featuring the kid from school who aggressively asked Angela why black people deserve reparations. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Crawford himself is racist, but there’s clearly more going on with him that we don’t know about.

The final character of interest at the moment is Tim Blake Nelson’s character Wade Tillman, aka Looking Glass. We don’t know anything about him yet other than he’s a human lie detector, which I find very intriguing and I hope will be explored further as the show goes on. There’s a lot to play around with there, and the moral implications are tantalising. A conviction based not on physical evidence, but rather on the observations of one man. Even Sherlock Holmes has to back his deductions up with evidence, and yet Looking Glass clearly doesn’t need to. That just raises so many ethical questions. What if he has a particular bias towards someone? What about burden of proof? What if forensic evidence contradicts him? If Looking Glass is supposedly that accurate, does that mean the police will side with him regardless? It’s a great premise for a character and I really like Nelson’s performance, giving him a cold and detached personality that contrasts beautifully with Angela’s.

The characters and ideas are solid, however where I feel the show is lacking is with the consistency of its world building. Let’s analyse. This is an alternate history where Nixon used superheroes to extend his term limits, but after the New York attack at the end of the graphic novel, he’s been kicked out in favour of Robert Redford (nice nod to the source material there by the way. lol). As a result, black people got reparations for the racial injustices their ancestors went through and police are now unable to openly carry firearms without special permission from Panda (literally a cop wearing a panda costume). However, after the events of White Night, the government agrees to allow cops to wear masks to protect their identities, hence why quote/unquote ‘superheroes’ like Sister Night and Looking Glass are around despite the existence of the Keene Act. These are, in effect, legal vigilantes. Except already there’s a problem with conflicting messages. I like the idea of masked cops. In the current age of Black Lives Matter and police accountability, it makes sense and could be interesting to explore. However this is hindered by the whole ‘no guns’ stuff. Again, not a bad idea. America’s current gun laws are, to put it mildly, woefully inadequate. What if we went the other way? What if not only was it near impossible to own a gun, cops couldn’t even use a taser without special permission. Both ideas could work... but not at the same time.

Cops being allowed to wear masks creates the effect of empowering them through anonymity, and runs the risk of officers overstepping the mark and normal citizens being unable to hold them to account. But on the other hand, we’ve also got cops whose lives are constantly at risk and who are hindered in their duties by an overprotective nanny state, which effectively depowers them. So... which is it? It can’t be both. I like the scene where Panda reads the law about how the use of firearms can only be permitted in extreme circumstances, and everyone just angrily shouts him down because it tells us how the police feel about this new system. The fact that they’ve made one cop the sole arbiter of these new restrictions and forced him to dress like some ridiculous furry demonstrates the sheer amount of disdain they have towards this policy. But having said that, with the masks on, they have the power and freedom to break into people’s caravans and basically kidnap and assault them without consequence anyway. So what the fuck are they complaining about? It just doesn’t gel together. Either have it that the rules and regulations of the police are the same as our world except that cops can wear masks now, which has led to an increasing problem of police brutality and corruption, or have it that the police are being too heavily restricted and so a few have chosen to turn toward more ‘unorthodox’ methods of crime fighting out of frustration. Pick one and go with it.

Then there’s the Seventh Kavalry. Again, not a bad idea. In fact I love it. A white supremacist cult that’s taken Rorschach’s journal as gospel and have banded together out of a fear of being sidelined in a more liberal world. Very relevant and very interesting. Except... well... there’s not an awful lot to it, is there? In the original graphic novel, there was no clear bad guy. Ozymandias believed he was doing the ultimate good by killing millions of people to save the world, and everyone reluctantly went along with it. It was morally complicated. This, not so much. They’re unambiguously evil. The end. So what? What is there to discuss? It just feels lacking compared to the graphic novel and it runs the risk of creating a conflict that’s too clear cut. Obviously we’re going to end up siding with the cops, regardless of what they do, because the alternative is objectively bad. Hopefully Lindelof is going somewhere with this, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t say I was slightly concerned.

So on the whole, would I say I enjoyed this first episode? Well... I’d say I did, but with reservations. There’s some good characters and ideas that could be interesting to explore and develop, but its execution feels a little shaky in places. Hopefully the episodes to come will offer further clarity.

[buffyversefanfiction]

Tristan Tormented

Volume 1 - Before He Rises

Warnings: I do not own the rights to the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its spin-off series Angel, its dark horse comics continuation series, or any of the characters created by Joss Whedon and others in the Buffyverse.

Moderate violence, scenes of a sexual nature, inappropriate/threatening language, lgbt, f/m, f/f, m/m, gen, other +

Follow up series to “Twisted Tristan”

Mandi found herself frantically running through the woods as the sun began to rise in the sky somewhere on the outskirts of New York City desperately searching for any sign of a corpse, the corpse in question being Buffy Summers’ son who had recently been killed by Drusilla. She knew that the rising sun would eventually set once again and if she did not get to Tristan Summers’ body in time then he would rise again as a vampire, a vampire they would have to kill and she wanted to spare Buffy of that heartbreak but as she continued to charge through the endless woods she began fearing she would never get to Tristan in time. Of course she was not alone in her search or in her despair as Spike was held up in an abandoned hospital nearby, having no choice but to stay in the shadows as the growing sun would turn him to ashes if he did not. Spike hoped with all of his undead heart that witch Mandi Jenkins would deal with Tristan before either Buffy or Angel had to deal with their undead child, knowing Buffy would never come back from killing her own son and fearing Angel would do anything to protect any form of the child that until recently he had no idea he had.

Drusilla had found herself a small cave within the woods to find shelter in and hide from the burning power of the sun after burying the child she had claimed as her own, not wanting to leave him alone but knowing her vampirism would only lead to her burning if she attempted to stand in the direct sunlight. She stood within the caves in a rare moment of not knowing for the psychedelic Drusilla as the sun was only beginning to set giving the slayers and their friends plenty of time to find where she had buried Tristan not knowing if she would get to the slayer’s son before they would, wondering if Tristan would be killed once more before he even had a chance to rise.

Willow sat next to Buffy as the two sat within the first class seating on an airplane heading straight for New York City fearing the worst possible outcome as she continued to stare at an emotionless Buffy who was at the window seat staring blankly into the sky, the two not sharing a single word since the redheaded witch was forced to tell her blonde haired best friend that she may have to slay her own son. “I am sick of the sacrifices,” Buffy announced, breaking the silence between herself and Willow as she turned to face her bewitching friend. “I am done with the heart wrenching surprises how the chaos always bleeds throughout my life how people I care about become body after body…all I ever wanted was to protect him from all this and now I have no idea what he is becoming.” “I know Buffy,” Willow replied as she reached out her hand and held her friend’s hand. “I really wish things did no turn out like this that we could have saved him but in a way we still can…” “I do not want to kill him Willow!” Buffy said as her voice began to break and tears began falling from her eyes. “Maybe we can try giving him a soul somehow? I mean it would not be the exact same spell as Angel’s but hey if Spike can get himself a soul then I can surely whip one up somehow for Tristan.” Willow suggested, hoping to find some last-minute fix to get themselves out of the dreadful situation they were heading straight for. “And then what everybody he kills until then is on us for not being able to stop it?” Buffy asked as tears continued to fall down the cheeks of her face. “I hate that I always have to choose between the world and who I love!” “Last time Angelus payed a visit Wesley, Fred, Gunn and a heavily possessed and pregnant Cordelia had him locked up in a cage maybe we can take a page out of their book and keep him locked up until we re-soul him.” Willow told Buffy before coming to a worrying realisation. “Although when Tristan had a soul and was human, he was killing people and attempting to kill you and Angel so even if we do get his soul back…” “He will just go straight back to trying to kill us all, there is already far too much blood on his hands, the vampirism with or without a soul will only help him to cause more pain and take more lives.” Buffy cried, knowing that there was no way out of what she had to do. “He is my son; I took him into this world and because I failed to protect him, I am going to have to be the one who takes him out of this world.” Willow wanted so badly to say something that would comfort Buffy or think of something that could stop her best friend from feeling the pain of losing her child but she knew as much as the slayer herself knew in that moment that there was no magical solution to their problem and that Tristan Summers had to die again, so instead of rambling more or trying to come up with solutions she already debunked in her mind she just continued to tighten her grip on Buffy’s hand, tighter and tighter, letting her know that whatever Buffy had to face she would never have to face any of it alone.

Faith and Angel had also found themselves on a different airplane heading to New York as Angel began his quest to find his son reminding him all too well of the troubles he faced with his firstborn son Connor but despite all the chaos that ensued with Angel and Connor, Connor had never lost his soul which gave Angel the undying hope for their relationship to be redeemed. Angel had only came face to face with his second son Tristan a hand full of times and each time it had resulted in his son trying to kill him, which was before he lost his soul and began his process into joining the undead population. The vampire with a soul wanted to mourn his son’s death, grieve the man he could have been or even learn to love the monster his son would become but all he could feel in that moment was rage, rage towards Buffy for never telling him about Tristan until it was too late, rage towards Willow for accidentally losing him within time and rage towards Faith for keeping their secrets from him. “This would never have happened if I was there to protect him!” Angel announced to Faith, ending the awkward silence between the strained friends. “You were not there, Angel…B, Willow and I tried everything to protect your kid, but the monsters just kept coming.” Faith replied, trying to justify her betrayal while knowing she could not. “I owed it to B to be there for her after everything!” “You owed it to Buffy?” Angel snapped at the redeemed slayer. “What about me? I always had your back and yes you had mine until you helped keep my son away from me.” “It was not supposed to happen like that Angel, Willow opened that portal to the past, but we were all meant to go through it. Nobody meant to take him from you or abandon him to be raised under Drusilla’s delusions but that is what went down and all I can say is I am sorry.” Faith explained, knowing it would not help their fractured friendship. “If I was there or if I had known where he had been sent…” Angel began to say. “It is just like Connor all over again only this time the craziest vampire in all of existence, the woman I tortured before turning has stepped in to play pseudo parent to my child. Holtz has nothing on her!” “I am not giving up on Tristan I saw something in him the moment I met him and vampire or not…” Faith declared, making it clear she had not giving up on Angel’s son just yet. “He is a god damn vampire!” Angel shouted at her, raising his voice so loud that the other passengers on the plane began to take notice. “There is no other way out of this that does not end with a stake in my son’s chest and that is because of you, Willow and Buffy!” Faith wanted to argue Angel’s fear away but she knew she could not, she wanted to apologize until Angel accepted it but she knew he would not and so she just shut her mouth and embraced the silence once more as they travelled to New York hoping to save Tristan just like she had hoped time and time again since that first day they met outside Tristan and his vampire ex Dante’s demonic dive bar but she knew the odds were few and far between and that if she did try to save Buffy and Angel’s son she may even have to go up against his parents to do so.

Daylight was at it always is limited, and just like that the sun rose and the sun set as Mandi found herself lost within the woods located somewhere near New York City but as darkness once again returned she was far from alone as somewhere in those very woods was Tristan’s slayer mother Buffy, his vampire father Angel, Faith, Spike and unfortunately for her Drusilla too. Mandi had spent all day searching for Tristan’s makeshift grave but had found nothing, she had tried spell after spell until she had exhausted herself and still nothing it was like Drusilla had seen all this coming which for once she did not but Drusilla had not lived as long as she did without knowing how to survive and those survival instincts had clearly extended to her soon to be rising son Tristan. Suddenly Mandi began to feel the hairs on her neck rise as she heard a loud crackling noise which sounded like somebody had just broken a tree branch forcing her to turn around and face the noise coming from behind her only to be left shocked to see Drusilla now standing in front of her in full vampire face. “Did you mother never tell you not to go into the woods at night?” Drusilla asked, sounding as sinister as she always did before letting out a haunting giggle. “Talking of mother’s, you sure turned out to be the worst one in history Dru.” Mandi snapped at the female vampire, trying to hide her fear behind her fury. “We came with you that day and it was the worst decision we ever did, following you has turned out to be a mistake for everyone involved.” “Now let us not exchange such harsh words not on the eve of my son coming back to me.” Drusilla replied. “Do not worry I have not forgot about you; you will be my baby boy’s first feed as a vampire!” “Figures you would want me dead; I mean you killed Tristan and then there’s Dante who let’s face it might not have been you, but it was certainly because of you.” Mandi told Drusilla, as she began to think of a spell to use against her. “No!” Drusilla repeated frantically as she tugged on her own hair manically. “Dante was supposed to be here…” As Drusilla continued to cry “No” frantically a quick thinking Mandi began chanting in a long forgotten language summoning a fireball between in the air between the witch and vampire just and just as Drusilla began to notice what she was doing the fireball launched its way towards Drusilla launching itself into her chest and sending Drusilla backwards into the dirt as Mandi quickly began running away from the vampire and further into the woods now only hoping to make it out of the woods alive.

Unlike Mandi who had searched before them to no result, Buffy and Willow did not search long within the woods before they had found the markings of a clearly makeshift grave that they knew had to be the place in which Tristan was buried, in fact they had found it too easily, so easily that they both felt as if someone or something wanted them to find Buffy’s son’s grave. Buffy wondered if it was a higher being helping to take out a potentially great evil or if Drusilla had cruelly planned for her to find Tristan to have to watch her son rise from the ground just to have to kill him as Willow wondered if her powers had grown so strong everything had become too easy for her or if somehow it was fate to find him before he rose but one thing both the slayer and the witch knew was that they had no choice but to kill Buffy’s boy. “I guess we all got here in time then.” Faith said with a clear look of dread on her face as her and Angel appeared from out of the woods in front of Buffy and Willow, walking towards them both until they stood on the other side of Tristan’s temporary grave. “Question is what do we do now we are all here?” “The thing we always do,” Buffy replied to Faith as she pulled out a wooden stake from her jacket pocket at the same time as Angel before the two parents shared a look of acceptance over what had to happen next. “Normally I am all up for staking a vamp, but this is not just any other vamp…we can find another way other than killing him.” Faith argued, hoping for them to come across to her way of thinking. “Sure, he was kind of crazy with a soul but we can make it work, I mean Angel’s the OG of making vampirism work so surely his son could pick up a trait or two from him.” “Things do not just work out like that Faith!” Buffy snapped at her, clearly exhausted with arguing over what had to be done. “Even if I did restore his soul it would not make him any less…” Willow began to say. “Evil?” Faith interrupted furiously. “At some point in time we have all done some pretty messed up shit that would declare us evil but that does not mean he cannot be saved! I say we shove a soul back in the guy and then get him straight to therapy.” “Faith, just stop!” Angel demanded, having heard enough. “We came here to end him not to save him…that time has passed.” “Angelus was always much better at condemning rather than saving, weren’t you?” Drusilla said as she creepily appeared as if out of nowhere. “I had hope to get my boy a snack first, but I suppose any of you will do if not all of you.” “Try me!” Buffy threatened as she marched towards the vampire that had claimed her son. “You could not take me on my worst day and after what you’ve done I am going to show you a whole new kind of torture that makes what Angel did to you look like child’s play.” “I’m not alone though,” Drusilla giggled before turning to look directly at Faith. “I’m not his only protector here! In fact, I hear another coming as we speak.” “What the hell are you talking about Dru?” Angel snapped before turning to look at Faith, only for her to punch him in the face. Faith then pursued to kick and punch Angel multiple times before getting his head into an armlock, snapping his neck, and throwing the vampire to the ground. “Faith this is not the time to go back to team evil!” Buffy shouted as she turned to face the brunette slayer. “I am sorry B, but I cannot let you or Angel kill your child,” Faith replied as Willow began chanting in a long dead language. Drusilla quickly punched Buffy who turned around with speed to catch the vampire’s fist in her hand, twisting Dru’s hand and snapping her arm in the process before she kicked the vampire to the ground as Willow’s chanting caused Faith to go flying into a nearby tree, magically pinning her there, making Faith unable to move. “I am going to enjoy finally getting to kill you!” Buffy revealed to Drusilla as she hovered above the menacing vampire, too fixed on Drusilla to notice a hand rising from out of Tristan’s grave. “Buffy!” Faith screamed while still pinned to the tree. “You cannot kill your child you cannot come back from something like that!” “She has no choice Faith!” Willow snapped at her before seeing before her own eyes Tristan pulling himself out of his narrow temporary grave. “I have no choice…” Willow suddenly felt a piercing pain coming from the back of her head, forcing her to fall to the ground as Buffy and Faith noticed Mandi standing where Willow once stood holding a brick that she quickly threw to the ground. “Mandi!” Faith said in shock, forgetting for a moment she had left Spike and Mandi out here in the woods, as Faith felt the magic holding her back disappear as Willow lost consciousness on the ground. Buffy quickly charged at Mandi, jumping at the witch and forcing her to the ground before delivering a killer punch while on top of her, knocking the witch out instantly as Faith began cautiously walking towards Tristan and Drusilla quickly rose to her feet. “I guess this results in a classic Buffy and Faith fight.” Faith said to Buffy as Buffy rose to her feet, looking at both Faith and Drusilla. “Now, do not be forgetting about me.” Spike said as he appeared from out of the woods to see Tristan stood above his grave, covered in dirt, and directly staring at him with confusion. “Guess we have a vampire to kill Buffy.” “Kill Drusilla like we came here to do!” Faith shouted at Spike. “We can still save him Spike.” Spike looked over to Buffy as he noticed the look on her face which told him that they were to kill Tristan does not save him as Faith realized the only ally she had in this fight was the deranged Drusilla. “Mum.” Tristan said in an almost childlike voice, breaking his own silence since his ressurection, the word mum tugging on Buffy’s heartstrings as she felt her heart begin to break. “I am right here my darling boy!” Drusilla replied to him as Tristan glanced over Spike and Buffy and turned to face Drusilla.

[studiok2sims]

7 Comfort Movies thingy...

I was tagged by @drawing-way-outside-the-lines​ to do this...  

Lets be honest a minute, shall we.  I don’t watch movies very often.  I can’t remember the last one.  Like literally.  Because I fell asleep 10 minutes in.  That’s how it is for me.  It doesn’t matter how good, loud, scary, interesting.  I call it “movie-narcolepsy” and I can’t help it.  The only way I can get through a movie is if I am doing something. But that means I’m not watching the movie fully.

So... These are movies I remember liking for various reasons.  Some are mental candy and some more thought-y. Some are not really comforting (welcome to my disquietude)  I’m pretty shallow though... reasons... don’t get your hopes up...

Oh and before we get to it.... I tag ALL Y’ALL.  Yes, you over there. DO. IT. All of your friends are.  Blame me.

The Fifth Element

Do you really need me to describe it? Seriously? You know the movie in all it’s campy splendor.  Gary Oldman, Bruce Willis, Chris Tucker and some other people... But Gary Oldman.  Did I mention Gary Oldman???  Cuz, Jean Baptiste Emmanuel Zorg.  Come on. Seriously.  The Man.

Delicatessen

Probably need to give a blurb on this one... Probably not gonna know it.

"Post-apocalyptic surrealist black comedy about the landlord of an apartment building who occasionally prepares a delicacy for his odd tenants."  

It was directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet... you would probably recognize his other film, Amélie, which is good too... but... THIS ONE.  

(SPOILER: It’s a comedy about cannibalism..)

A Clockwork Orange

Maybe, maybe not need a description here... It’s an oldie.  But it’s Kubrick. And Iconic.  So yeah.

"A Clockwork Orange is a 1971 dystopian crime film adapted, produced, and directed by Stanley Kubrick, based on Anthony Burgess's novel A Clockwork Orange. It employs disturbing, violent images to comment on psychiatry, juvenile delinquency, youth gangs, and other social, political, and economic subjects in a dystopian near-future Britain."

Okay... not really “comforting” in the classic definition.  No spirit uplifting, but if that is what you are looking for... you shouldn’t have tagged me, I’d imagine.  But I will watch it again and again.

Gattaca

Another maybe ya heard of it, maybe not. Jude Law, who I like but can never remember his name and I have to do a 6 degrees of who the f*** starting with Ewen McGregor in Eye of the Beholder, working sideways through The Talented Mr. Ripley and  landing here.  Don’t as me why.. but that’s how I get to this one. I can’t remember shit.

"In the not-too-distant future, a less-than-perfect man wants to travel to the stars. Society has categorized Vincent Freeman as less than suitable given his genetic make-up and he has become one of the underclass of humans that are only useful for menial jobs. To move ahead, he assumes the identity of Jerome Morrow, a perfect genetic specimen who is a paraplegic as a result of a car accident."

The antithesis of “comforting”.  Its fucking soul shatteringly depressing to me.  I am destroyed every time I watch it. Oh, sure, he goes to space... but THE FURNACE SCENE. OMFG. I die. GUTTED.

Titus

Oh, you probably aren’t gonna know this one... but ya should. My favorite Shakespeare play...  Anthony Hopkins, Jessica Lange and Alan Cumming. Mmmm hmmm.  (And Arya Stark's scene in GoT where she cooks the Freys into pies... Guess where they lifted that from...)

"Adaptation of Shakespeare's `Titus Andronicus', an epic revenge tragedy of brutal savagery based in Roman times. Titus the general returns to Rome victorious and decides to sacrifice the son of his enemy, the Goths, to appease the Roman dead. After the Queen of Goths pleads for her son's life to no avail, she sets out on a mission of retaliation that leaves few of the participants unscathed."

And now back to campy goodness... My favorite flavor of mental candy.  I’m not even going to describe them.. cuz you have to know these ?!?!?!?!? I mean RIGHT?

Serenity 

(Firefly not that other thing that came out later with the same name...) Arguably I like the TV series better.  And Jayne! THE HAT!  So many good quotes...

Hellboy (2004) and Hellboy 2: The Golden Army (2008)

Yes, both of them.  And not that new re-make of it.  Ron Perlman. FIGHT ME.  And Guillermo del Toro.  I didn’t care for Pan’s Labyrinth (reasons) but Hellboy 2.. the creatures.  Loved the creatures.

BONUS ROUND: Tom Hiddleston

Okay, so not a movie.  But HIDDLES!   And, sorry, babydoll.  Your movies don’t make the cut because I didn’t like any of them I actually saw (but Loki!!! LOKI OMG. I feel asleep 5 minutes into that one... Avenger something or other where he was in it?  And I startled awake right when he first shows up and i was obsessed from then on but when he wasn’t on screen... Zzzzz), But then I haven’t seen all of his movies.  And I’m afraid that the good ones are going to crush me.  So I don’t watch... 

CUZ SOMEBODY TELL ME - DOES THE HORSE DIE IN WAR HORSE?!  I can’t even. NO. I don’t want to know.  Don’t tell me.

And see. What did I tell you. Shallow end of the pool.... :shrug: Heartbreaking.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Ladyhawke: Facets of Film

There’s more to a good film than a solid story and compelling characters.  Otherwise, it’d be a book.

There’s a lot that goes on in the process of making a movie, in taking a story and putting it on screen.  There’s costumes, sets, props, special effects, camerawork, music, and, perhaps most importantly, performances that best get across what the script is trying to convey.  It’s a project containing a lot of different elements that all come together perfectly to tell a story in a visual medium in a meaningful way.  It’s not a movie without ‘movie magic’, after all.

Of course, some films do better with this than others.

See, the point of all of these things is for one simple reason: to better express the story and characters already present in the script. They are there to accentuate, to enhance, to be good enough to dazzle, but not so good that they overshadow the rest of the movie.  It’s a difficult balance, one that can be achieved if the same effort is put into both story and the actual movie-making itself.

The question today is, is that the case for Ladyhawke?

Does Ladyhawke use its storytelling devices well?

Let’s take a look, starting with one of the most important elements in a film: cinematography. (Spoilers below!)

The camerawork in a film can sometimes make or break it.  When done well, it is breathtaking, when done competently, it is adequate, but when it’s done badly, it’s really bad.  There’s more to camerawork than just pointing it at the action.  There’s a lot to consider.

The cinematography, teamed with the editing process, is designed to evoke a reaction out of the audience.  A good director knows how to use the camera to emphasize certain details, or overall feelings.  The camera is used to help tell the story, while leaving a visual mark on it.  Such scenes in Ladyhawke include the stunning shots of the landscapes, giving us wider looks at the expansive world that the characters reside in.

The camerawork in Ladyhawke is, most of the time, good.  Not fantastic, but good.  Most of the shots are standard uses of the camera to get us to take note of the dress in Navarre’s bag, or the emphasis on his sword.  The long takes in the fight sequence in the climax are notably impressive, building a steady rise in tension, as well as showing off the semi-realistic, brutal sword fight.

There are two scenes, however, that surpass ‘good’ camerawork, in my opinion, and become great.

The first occurs semi-early in the film, when the Bishop wakes up in a cold sweat in his bed.  He sits up, and we are granted a look at his bed and room: above him, carved into pillars, are birds of prey.  Hawks. Given his connection with Isabeau, it’s fitting enough, but then comes another work of brilliant editing.  Right after that shot, there is a wider one which reveals something else: carved into the bedpost are wolves, facing away from him. It’s an interesting and effective way to hammer home his connection with the pair before we even know what it is.

The other scene that I’m referring to is a little longer, but is, in my opinion, the best use of camerawork in this entire film.

It comes towards the end of the film, after Navarre (in wolf form) has been rescued from the ice-water and brought back to camp.  Isabeau waits with him as dawn nears, signaling both of their transformations.  There is an instant, made longer with movie magic, where the two watch each other transform, both fully aware of what is going on.  That moment is full of shots of their eyes meeting, and transforming, never actually showing the pair’s bodies change.  In another film, this edit would be an excuse to show off the transformation itself, but Ladyhawke doesn’t.

By using the camera effectively, this scene takes on a different emphasis, one of mutual love and grief.  This is the scene that fully drives home the couples’ love and separation, and the audience feels it, which, once again, is the point of good filmmaking.

Oddly enough, there are very few ‘special effect�� shots in the film itself.  It’s all very down-to-earth, with no outlandish creatures or large set-pieces. For being a film made in the era of big special effects, there’s nothing accomplished in the film that isn’t done with simple camerawork.  We never see a transformation in full, we only see before and after, with some clever shots in the middle to give us the idea.  While that may seem disappointing, it’s actually very smart to portray the scenes like this: it emphasizes the emotional impact of the sequence, and prevents any ‘dated looking’ special effects in hindsight.  It also adds to many of the film’s unique qualities and elements.

There’s more to a film than the camera, however.  Let’s talk about the rest of the visuals.

While nowhere near the iconography of The Wizard of Oz, Ladyhawke has its fair share of memorable images, notably Navarre’s black armor and gem-encrusted sword and Isabeau’s mid-air transformation into the titular Ladyhawke.

Part of what makes these images memorable are the distinctive looks of the characters, assisting with the expression of the character. Phillipe’s clothing is scavenged, looking appropriately thrown-together and unremarkable, further demonstrating his scrounging lifestyle and ‘normalness.’  Navarre is dressed in black armor, in a subversion of both the unscrupulous ‘Black Knight’ trope and the upright ‘Knight in Shining Armor’.  Neither villainous nor a champion, Navarre is a good man on a quest for revenge, a darker path than most heroic characters in fantasy films.  He rides a black horse and carries a unique sword that he plans to use in this revenge quest: once again, completing a memorable image.

By contrast, there’s Isabeau.

Isabeau doesn’t get armor, but she does get a simple, yet elegant enough, dress, combined with Navarre’s black cloak.  This gives her an ethereal vibe that slowly dissipates the more we find out about her, but still retains her sense of otherworldly dignity.

Speaking of otherworldly dignity, let’s discuss the score, which is anything but.

Now, I’ve mentioned this before, but it bears mentioning again: Ladyhawke’s musical score was recorded by Alan Parsons, and the result is a combination of orchestral instrumental and synth music. Does it fit?

…..Sort of?

Once again, the music is a part of the film’s individual identity, for better or worse.  Sometimes the music fits, (mostly the instrumental bits) but one of the biggest complaints about the film is, in fact, the soundtrack.  Many people’s complaint is that the music is incongruous, and takes them out of the film experience.  On the other hand, lots of people agree that it does add to the ‘individuality’ of the film.  So which is it?

Honestly, this one is usually personal opinion.  Depending on what one is looking for in a fantasy film, people either enjoy the soundtrack or dislike it.  Personally?  I enjoy it’s differentiation from contemporary fantasy soundtracks, but can understand why some would disagree.

No matter which way you feel about it, you do have to admit that it’s distinctive.

The musical score does rise and fall with the action, playing triumphant fanfares over battle sequences and quieter, introspective music over reflective scenes, and it does do what a soundtrack is supposed to do: get a reaction out of the audience, and help influence the emotion in a scene.

Another one of the odd things about this film is the lack of sets within it.

There are sets, obviously.  The cathedral, the prison, the barn, etc. are all examples of sets used within the film, but an equally large portion of it is set outside.  The film feels very natural in this sense, by using very grounded sets, further adding to the relatively realistic tone of the film as a whole.  The scenes in which the actors are performing are very tame, plain, and in a way, more accurate to the period and setting they are actually trying to portray. Unlike many contemporary fantasy films, Ladyhawke feels very real-world in comparison.  Being set in medieval Europe, there are no ornate palaces or magical caverns.  As a result, every set and landscape feels like it is genuine and solid, adding weight to both the story and the performances that are coming across.

And after all, the performances are arguably the most important element.

No matter the thought or quality put into sets, special effects, costumes, music or cinematography, in the end, it’s on the performances to sell the story and characters.  Each individual scene rests on the actors and their ability to compel the audience.

Matthew Broderick’s performance as Phillipe Gaston is charming, managing to pull off a semi-comedic character in fairy-tale circumstances. He’s sly and smart, but out of his comfort zone, rendering him rather helpless at times.  He is a character struggling to catch up with events, slowly becoming a part of the story and learning to do the right thing, even at risk to himself.  He’s humorous and later compassionate, expressive and outspoken to the other characters, and in his private discussion with God.

Navarre is almost the opposite, closed off and mysterious. Rutger Hauer’s turn as a good man cursed is very compelling, portraying both the grim determination for revenge, and the broken heart of one half of two star crossed lovers.  (Special mention goes to the above scene with the mutual onscreen transformation, appropriately heartrending, and his confrontation at the Bishop at the end.)  Hauer also has good chemistry with Broderick, depicting the growing friendship between the two very well.  He portrays the full gambit with restraint, giving the impression of emotion bubbling under the surface until his joyful reunion with Isabeau at the end.

Michelle Pfieffer as Isabeau is haunting and heartbreaking, a woman living a half-life, cursed to be with the man she loves, but unable to have a relationship with him.  Separated from all she knows, with little choice in her life’s direction, she also becomes friends with Phillipe, revealing the sad, borderline hopeless existence she is forced to live in.  (Again, special mention to that transformation scene, and her cold confrontation of the Bishop.)  She portrays a woman containing quiet strength, forced to go on and remain solid for both herself and Navarre’s sake in the face of the curse.

John Wood as the Bishop is appropriately disgusting, an old man motivated by jealousy and lust, taking out his anger on the couple.  He cannot bear to take rejection from Isabeau, and he remains obsessed with her after the curse that he dredges up.  He portrays a man attempting to retain control until the end. Unable to take Isabeau and Navarre’s bond, he attempts to break it, once and for all, leading to his own demise.

Leo McKern’s performance as Imperius is both comedic and remorseful, a man atoning for his past mistakes by trying to help the couple.  He contributes dry wit as well as his sincere services, and his connection with Phillipe allows him to help the couple. McKern shares many scenes with members of the cast that perfectly showcase his gravitas that effectively balance out his lighter moments, rounding out our memorable main cast.

Every character in this film is perfectly realized, coming together as a team against a rotten man.  There is no good vs. evil in this story, only the power of love over the power of jealousy and obsession.  These characters come across as slightly fairy-tale-esque, but slightly twisted in odd ways.  The performances are appropriately subtle and reserved, coming across as very genuinely human and understandable to a very genuinely human audience.

The acting, like everything else in this movie, is understated, and very simple.  It’s not bright or colorful, or loud, or epic, it is very down-to-earth and modest. It tells a compelling story with compelling people, assisted by the work done to make it (with the exception of the music) a very realistic and grounded story.  The performances perfectly match the rest of the movie, subdued, but genuine, and gripping to an invested audience.  Every element in this film is tailored to fit a specific mood, moving the plot along without being obvious about it.

Ladyhawke has been called a cult classic, unpopular upon its theater release.  It was greeted with mixed acclaim, labeled as ‘inconsistent’, and debated since then as to whether or not this film was actually good or not.   Yes, the music can seem a little incompatible with the film, but overall, it comes across as a reasonably consistent, grounded film with a compelling story and characters, and it really works.

Join me next time as we discuss the behind the scenes story of Ladyhawke with a segment titled: Facets of Filmmaking.  Don’t forget that my ask box is always open, and I hope to see you in the next article!

[michael-weinstein]

What depression tells me

NOTE: The title is a paraphrase on titles Mahler used to give to movements of his 3rd Symphony.

Well, I got my depression back. Again, school is to blame for this (mainly). Tons of assignments and expectations. This arrived almost at the most terrible moment. Yesterday (I’ll keep it short, for means of privacy), 2 members of our server left, and so would a third were it not for the fact that she founded the server, and didn’t want it to go to dust. No fights really (at least as I understand it), but simply mental health, anger and study preoccupations. As the ego-centric person which I always hope never to be, but deep down always am (which is frankly human and almost natural), I needed support this time, and the three that decided to take the time off, two are the better-acquainted with me from the entire six. In addition, they will feel missing, that something is wrong.

That’s absolutely the right thing to have when I have a monstrous history assignment to hand in in 3 months from now (in stages), trying to catch up with math homework, and having a Bible assignment, which is not as big, but is still annoying.

Now, I have a confession to make, and it’s the first time I’m letting out in a public sphere (or people that aren’t closest to me): I have autism. Always had it. Rather low on the spectrum. But here’s the interesting thing: whenever I panic, or suicidal or whatever, I never think first of autism, or at least I don’t consider it seriously. I always think I’m wrong because I have some kind of neurotic psychological disorder which needs to be cured. Or maybe I belong to the psychiatric ward. My mindset is that I am mad, but I don’t have autism. I’m just a regular madman.

Anyway, because of this specialty (that is, the autism), ever since 1st grade I have been with a small number of kids in a seperate group along with also participating in the main class. Over ther years, the number of classes spent with the seperate “little” class (as it’s used in our lingo) diminished in favor of the “regular”, “big” class, but it never entirely disappears.

Why did I tell you all of this? Because a shutdown started in September (it kinda finished now, but not really?), and during it, the “little class” members could arrive to certain hours in the morning to study online from there, and get assistance in homework and assignments. Until the beginning of this month, I denied going there, because I wanted to avoid school physically as much as I could. The problem was that, even though I could go to synagogue on holidays (more about that probably in another post), and I would walk the dog nearly twice a week, I didn’t get out of the house, and I became depressed. Eventually, on the 1st of November, I decided to take the day off. I had nearly 12 math homeworks to hand in, as well as nearly 6 Bible assignments. I decided, eventually, to try to go to school the next day and see how things go. I came back home that day much more relieved and useful. I felt this could really help me.

My “little class” teacher, however, has been much more nudging than she had been before the pandemic. This just got on my nerves, she became irritating. My first days in school learning online were fine, because I was feeling better mentally, but now I just want her to leave me alone (remember that phrase, don’t you?), and have her stop asking me what assignments I have left, and telling me to get done with them.

Last night, I needed to do some math (geometry, unfortunately, as it is my weak point). While doing it, I decided to draw out a musical doomsday weapon I haven’t used yet. For the past few weeks, I have been looking outside the obsessive Shostakovich box, looking a bit for the Second Viennese School and Mahler, looking for remedies in Wagner, Schubert and (briefly) Bruckner, as well as Berlioz and Liszt. I decided to draw a work incredibly important for me, ever since I came to know of it 2 years ago, but which I haven’t actually listened to in a long time - Alban Berg’s opera Wozzeck.

Wozzeck, an opera based on a somewhat-unfinished play of roughly the same name by Georg Büchner, is named after its title character, a soldier, who goes quasi-moralistic tirades from his captain, and earns money as a subject for the experiments of his merciless military doctor. After some while, he begins to hallucinate and turns mad. In addition, his life partner Marie (they’re not married, but they have a son, declared “illegitimate” by the captain) starts flirting with the better-looking (though not necesarily younger!) drum major. Wozzeck recieves these news step by step, first by further humiliations from the captain and doctor, then he sees Marie and the drum major waltzing in a tavern, and finally with a humiliating boast of the drunk drum major himself that night in the barracks. So, driven to his nth degree of insanity, he murders Marie, and while trying to hide the evidences, drowns in the nearby pond.

Marie, however, isn’t a selfish whore. She has been trying to hide the affair from Wozzeck, and feels sympathy for him. In addition, she has a real love to her son, and has deep religious feelings, as illustrated in a scene where she reads from the Bible on Mary Magdalene and Jesus, where he forgives her, and Marie (notice the symbolism?) cries out for forgiveness. In the same scene, however, she practically prophesizes the son’s future (I made a photo with that caption). The last scene, straight after Wozzeck’s drowning, is preceeded by a 3-minute orchestral interlude, based on a sonata fragment that Berg composed while he was studying with Schoenberg. It’s a practical lament for people unrecognized, not treated properlly, and having this opera being composed in the aftermath of World War I, it’s also a funeral to the old world, being crushed by global war and then by the Spanish flu. The curtain then rises, on a scene of children, among them Wozzeck and Marie’s son riding a hobby horse, singing a German equivalent of “Ring-a-ring-a-roses” (guess what this is subtexting). A group of other children then runs in, telling they found Marie dead in a pond. Despite having been told it straight to his face, he keeps going on the hobby-horse, uncomprehending. While everyone else rushes to investigate, he limps on with his hobby horse to discover the bad end. It is simply heartbreaking.

I’ve come to know Wozzeck nearing the end of 8th grade (I’m currently in 11th), and fell in love with it, and also studied it partially from the excellent book written on it by George Perle. Both its music with its Mahlerian legacy (Berg has often been called the most “accessible” member of the Second Viennese School), and the plot, with its anti-glamorous location and short cut scenes. And I also immediately identified with the character of Wozzeck. A man with a highly wild sense of imagination, crushed by the norms and conventions of society, not taken care of properly, somebody who’s cared about only to be condemned. It’s an identification both potent and dangerous.

I’m now currently fearing that I am becoming a Wozzeck myself. I always had that fear to a certain extent, but now I understand better the grave consequences of this. To begin with, coronavirus itself made us locked at home and all our basics which we used to take for granted are now elevated to a high degree of importance, all while trying to keep through a world of Kafkaesque hypocrisy and alienation. Then the education system reacted to that in a bad way, either intentionally or unitentionally, and I’m currently being swamped with assignments and homework. And remember this is 11th grade, there are lots of tests to arrive too, and how are these going to take place? In short, it’s hard to keep yourself intact.

All of these are just potent ingridients for disaster and insanity, and I’m feeling more than ever before the idea of becoming a Wozzeck, and I don’t want that.

PS: This post was originally written last week. Somehow I forgot to submit it until now, when it was in my inbox! (lol)