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hamliet · 3 years ago

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Ahhh well, I have written much on Romeo and Juliet before, because it's one of my favorite works of Shakespeare and of literature itself. It is criminally underrated and scorned because of sexist anti-romance sentiment. So uh, yeah, I'm more of your opinion.

To start with, I wrote this here, and highly recommend this old post by someone else as well. It's quite comprehensive.

But, because I love Romeo and Juliet and the more I learn about it, the more impressed I am with the absolute art of the story Shakespeare told, I have more to say. Essentially:

Juliet is one of the most astounding female characters in all of literature, and most of her brilliance has been lost with the loss of Shakespearean context. You see, Juliet was a deliberate deconstruction of the idealized, virginal, holy creature of Woman. Yes, that's how the medieval poets like Petrarch (the inventor of the sonnet, which Shakespeare adapted and wrote his own versions of in Romeo and Juliet and hundreds more on their own) and even Dante Alighieri (yes, that Dante, the Inferno guy) wrote their women. For Petrarch, Laura (whom he like, never talked to) was the object of all his love poetry. For Dante, Beatrice was written as his spiritual guide into Paradise in Paradiso.

Not to simplify their love for these women, but Shakespeare was essentially like "RIP but I'm different." He wrote Juliet as a human character with flaws (hardly a spiritual guide) who was not this virginal, holy creature. She starts off the play extremely obedient to her family and polite, almost like that ideal, but as the play goes on she begins to let her fire grow.

Romeo's poems for Rosaline are deliberately trite and parody Petrarch's sonnets, as well as other sonnets from the day (for example, Rosaline is literally sworn to chastity forever, which wasn’t even the case for Laura or Beatrice). While the fact that Romeo can switch loves from Rosaline to Juliet so quickly does indeed emphasize his flaw (impulsivity and deep passion), it also thereby emphasizes his humanity, because the unique imagery Romeo uses with Juliet show that he is really in love with her as she is--not as an idea like with Rosaline, but as a human being. As with many of Shakespeare's other renowned plays' characters, Romeo's flaws are also his strengths. He's complex--human.

So what am I going on about? Why did Shakespeare write Romeo and Juliet this way?

To emphasize their humanity. Which is interesting, because Romeo and Juliet's first meeting, the one where they both create a sonnet together, is all about idolatry:

Romeo If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Juliet Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Romeo Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Juliet Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Romeo O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou lest faith turn to despair. Juliet Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. Romeo Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. [He kisses her]

He describes her as a holy shrine and a saint, but the more their romance goes on, the more human she becomes. He kisses her right away. When they meet in the balcony scene, Juliet herself tells Romeo that the only thing she wants him to swear by--no gods or moons--is himself. In other words, Romeo and Juliet can be seen as a deeply humanistic play.

Also, the more their romance continues, the more human they become and yet the deeper their love becomes. As one of the posts I linked above states, Romeo loves Juliet more after they’ve had sex, not less. Juliet loves Romeo more despite the fact that she knows he killed her cousin--and she is not happy with him for that, either. The more they learn of each other, the more they love each other.

Oh, and about the extra gross modern take that "it's actually a story about a 13 year old and a much older man"--that is complete bogus, as the above post says. Romeo is almost certainly 15 or 16. While people can be squicked out by it (as it was designed to do with some Italian stereotypes), to say it shows anything creepy is basically literary blasphemy and betrays an utter lack of reading comprehension.

Juliet sets the parameters in their relationship: she tells him if he really loves her, he has to marry her before she will sleep with him, and Romeo does. She muses herself how much she wants to sleep with him in a way that clearly expresses Juliet’s very human desires. Juliet is going to assert who she is and go after what she wants.

So to go back to your question, it’s not just about their families, but about society as well, as Prince Escalus says in the final scene:

Capulet! Montague! See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.

Everyone is punished for participating in the feud, which, keep in mind, we were introduced to via an intro fight scene between the servants of the respective families joking about raping the women in the opposing family. Yes, really. It’s almost like toxic masculinity was being called out before its time.

Society is extremely sexist, as we see when Juliet’s father essentially sells her to Paris for the sake of having political clout to win the feud (literally, as Paris is the Prince’s kinsman) and threatens to send her on the streets to prostitute herself if she wants to survive for asking him not to make her marry Paris. But the cat’s out of that bag: Juliet is not going back to being the docile, obedient idol. She’s decisive. She wants to write her own story, and if that makes her a sinner, well then, she’ll go to hell. In the end, when the Friar suggests that Juliet come with him so that he can hide her away in some convent (after Romeo’s death), Juliet refuses and kills herself. She is not going back to being a figure shrouded in some kind of ethereal, unknown glow. She is a person, and people die. But she shouldn’t have had to die for people to see her as a person.

There’s also another layer here: the imagery Romeo uses for Juliet (the sun) and that Juliet uses for Romeo (the moon) is the inverse of how imagery was typically presented in those days. The moon was feminine; the sun, masculine. Even if we look at Romeo and Juliet’s respective character traits, Romeo is the flighty, impulsive, love-struck one who cries all the time, while Juliet is the decisive, bold, and loyal one. That’s the first thing Juliet declares to Romeo in the balcony scene: that she will always be loyal, and she shows this in every choice she makes in the story.

In other words, Shakespeare was deliberately playing with gender and its stereotypes in the play, which gains an even more interesting layer to it when you consider that Shakespeare was himself almost certainly bisexual (his sonnets are preeeetty explicit). It’s not a patriarchal narrative; it can well be seen as a queer narrative in a patriarchal society. And it shouldn’t take two kids having to kill themselves to get society to realize how effed up it is. It isn’t an out-of-touch play, but instead one extremely relevant to our society 500+ years later.

But, Romeo and Juliet’s story is also one of hope. Because instead of no one listening, finally, Montague and Capulet realize how wrong they’ve been. They grieve together, and Capulet vows to let Romeo remain in his family’s tomb, by Juliet’s side (also different, you know, that the husband stays in the wife’s tomb). Montague vows to build a statue for Juliet:

For I will raise her statue in pure gold, That whiles Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Gold is associated with the masculine as well; silver with the feminine. She is remembered as someone “true and faithful,” aka for her loyalty and bravery.

But no statue can bring Juliet back. She was not an idol, and it’s tremendously unfair that that is all she can become now. Same for Romeo. Even so, the fact that their deaths have finally brought peace to the city means that there is life growing from their deaths. They will never be able to birth a family of their own, but the city will grow and live, because of them.

#ask hamliet #shakespeare #romeo and juliet #juliet capulet #romeo montague #romeo & juliet #sorry i accientally posted this before i was finished so had to delete it #and thus the ask is a screenshot

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thecharmingchimaera · 2 years ago

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I’ve just had my first medieval literature class and I’m about to hit the stratosphere in sheer excitement, so here’s how I think various historical literary figures would have gotten along:

Shakespeare would have ADORED Chaucer. He would the type to follow him around, wide eyed and delighted. He would ask him so many questions about romans and lyric allegory, and they would bond SO HARD over Petrarch and Classical Greece, and aaah, the thought makes me so happy. Poet bros for life.

Chaucer would be flattered if a bit amused by Shakespeare’s fanboying. Like “I appreciate this kid is a fan of my work but he’s started appearing outside my house at 3am and it’s a bit— wait, WHAT, you’re a fan of Petrarch, you wrote a version of Cressida, YOU’RE A POET TOO, YOU LIKE SONNETS, holy shit, come in, I’ll show you my library”. Shakespeare would take him to see his plays and Chaucer would be amazed and delighted.

Lord Byron would have loved Shakespeare (both in a professional way and in a 🌈 way, omg can you imagine, they’d be the best chaotic bi4bi historic literary power couple), but he’d pretend he really didn’t. You know that painfully obvious adolescent thing like “nah, he’s lame, I don’t like him THAT much, honest, I’m too cool for that (but also I’m vaguely intimidated by your reputation, but I’m the best, So There)”. Shakespeare would like him but in that chaotic “hahaha you’re hysterical, yeah you go do dumb shit while I watch, I wanna see how this goes down”

All of them would be bemused by Poe, of course. Byron would be the worst - “yeah sure Edgar, you’re a real writer, such a good writer, loook at you being such a good writer, so professional and serious, look at you, awww”, and then later after reading him Byron would turn to other people and whisper “shit, he might actually be onto something here, look at this teeth-stealing scene, huh that’s actually not bad, I might steal it for Don Juan”

Shakespeare would be a bit nicer but still amused. Like “oh wow, that’s really interesting. Yes, I see what you’re getting at, that sounds really cool. … Could you run that one by me again? I want to see if we can portray that character’s mental breakdown onstage. Oooh, there’s the sound of a disembodied heart you say? Fantastic, let’s do it”.

Ten minutes later: “There’s a WHAT. Poe, you’re fantastic. Get me an orangutang. We can put it in with the bear”

In the tea room between rehearsals:

Poe: “So umm… I wrote detective fiction to be ironic about 19th century society’s need to incriminate people rather than just enjoying analysis for analysis’ sake. People think they’re whodunits, but it’s not about ‘whodunit’ at all. That’s why I included the orangutan, to emphasise that who did it doesn’t actually matter. It’s the process of analysis that counts”

Agatha Christie, scribbling at warp speed on a notepad: “Go on”

#literature #literary studies #writers #history #historical figures #Agatha Christie #Edgar Allan Poe #Shakespeare #Lord Byron #George Gordon byron #romantic #romantic poets #chaucer #medieval literature #Middle English #Geoffrey chaucer #murders in the rue morgue #tell tale heart #Berenice

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glittergummicandypeach · 5 years ago

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Fake Hafez: How a supreme Persian poet of love was erased | Religion | Al Jazeera

This is the time of the year where every day I get a handful of requests to track down the original, authentic versions of some famed Muslim poet, usually Hafez or Rumi. The requests start off the same way: "I am getting married next month, and my fiance and I wanted to celebrate our Muslim background, and we have always loved this poem by Hafez. Could you send us the original?" Or, "My daughter is graduating this month, and I know she loves this quote from Hafez. Can you send me the original so I can recite it to her at the ceremony we are holding for her?"

It is heartbreaking to have to write back time after time and say the words that bring disappointment: The poems that they have come to love so much and that are ubiquitous on the internet are forgeries. Fake. Made up. No relationship to the original poetry of the beloved and popular Hafez of Shiraz.

How did this come to be? How can it be that about 99.9 percent of the quotes and poems attributed to one the most popular and influential of all the Persian poets and Muslim sages ever, one who is seen as a member of the pantheon of "universal" spirituality on the internet are ... fake? It turns out that it is a fascinating story of Western exotification and appropriation of Muslim spirituality.

Let us take a look at some of these quotes attributed to Hafez:

Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, 'you owe me.' Look what happens with a love like that! It lights up the whole sky.

You like that one from Hafez? Too bad. Fake Hafez.

Your heart and my heart Are very very old friends.

Like that one from Hafez too? Also Fake Hafez.

Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.

Beautiful. Again, not Hafez.

And the next one you were going to ask about? Also fake. So where do all these fake Hafez quotes come from?

An American poet, named Daniel Ladinsky, has been publishing books under the name of the famed Persian poet Hafez for more than 20 years. These books have become bestsellers. You are likely to find them on the shelves of your local bookstore under the "Sufism" section, alongside books of Rumi, Khalil Gibran, Idries Shah, etc.

It hurts me to say this, because I know so many people love these "Hafez" translations. They are beautiful poetry in English, and do contain some profound wisdom. Yet if you love a tradition, you have to speak the truth: Ladinsky's translations have no earthly connection to what the historical Hafez of Shiraz, the 14th-century Persian sage, ever said.

He is making it up. Ladinsky himself admitted that they are not "translations", or "accurate", and in fact denied having any knowledge of Persian in his 1996 best-selling book, I Heard God Laughing. Ladinsky has another bestseller, The Subject Tonight Is Love.

Persians take poetry seriously. For many, it is their singular contribution to world civilisation: What the Greeks are to philosophy, Persians are to poetry. And in the great pantheon of Persian poetry where Hafez, Rumi, Saadi, 'Attar, Nezami, and Ferdowsi might be the immortals, there is perhaps none whose mastery of the Persian language is as refined as that of Hafez.

In the introduction to a recent book on Hafez, I said that Rumi (whose poetic output is in the tens of thousands) comes at you like you an ocean, pulling you in until you surrender to his mystical wave and are washed back to the ocean. Hafez, on the other hand, is like a luminous diamond, with each facet being a perfect cut. You cannot add or take away a word from his sonnets. So, pray tell, how is someone who admits that they do not know the language going to be translating the language?

Ladinsky is not translating from the Persian original of Hafez. And unlike some "versioners" (Coleman Barks is by far the most gifted here) who translate Rumi by taking the Victorian literal translations and rendering them into American free verse, Ladinsky's relationship with the text of Hafez's poetry is nonexistent. Ladinsky claims that Hafez appeared to him in a dream and handed him the English "translations" he is publishing:

"About six months into this work I had an astounding dream in which I saw Hafiz as an Infinite Fountaining Sun (I saw him as God), who sang hundreds of lines of his poetry to me in English, asking me to give that message to 'my artists and seekers'."

It is not my place to argue with people and their dreams, but I am fairly certain that this is not how translation works. A great scholar of Persian and Urdu literature, Christopher Shackle, describes Ladinsky's output as "not so much a paraphrase as a parody of the wondrously wrought style of the greatest master of Persian art-poetry." Another critic, Murat Nemet-Nejat, described Ladinsky's poems as what they are: original poems of Ladinsky masquerading as a "translation."

I want to give credit where credit is due: I do like Ladinsky's poetry. And they do contain mystical insights. Some of the statements that Ladinsky attributes to Hafez are, in fact, mystical truths that we hear from many different mystics. And he is indeed a gifted poet. See this line, for example:

I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being.

That is good stuff. Powerful. And many mystics, including the 20th-century Sufi master Pir Vilayat, would cast his powerful glance at his students, stating that he would long for them to be able to see themselves and their own worth as he sees them. So yes, Ladinsky's poetry is mystical. And it is great poetry. So good that it is listed on Good Reads as the wisdom of "Hafez of Shiraz." The problem is, Hafez of Shiraz said nothing like that. Daniel Ladinsky of St Louis did.

The poems are indeed beautiful. They are just not ... Hafez. They are ... Hafez-ish? Hafez-esque? So many of us wish that Ladinsky had just published his work under his own name, rather than appropriating Hafez's.

Ladinsky's "translations" have been passed on by Oprah, the BBC, and others. Government officials have used them on occasions where they have wanted to include Persian speakers and Iranians. It is now part of the spiritual wisdom of the East shared in Western circles. Which is great for Ladinsky, but we are missing the chance to hear from the actual, real Hafez. And that is a shame.

So, who was the real Hafez (1315-1390)?

He was a Muslim, Persian-speaking sage whose collection of love poetry rivals only Mawlana Rumi in terms of its popularity and influence. Hafez's given name was Muhammad, and he was called Shams al-Din (The Sun of Religion). Hafez was his honorific because he had memorised the whole of the Quran. His poetry collection, the Divan, was referred to as Lesan al-Ghayb (the Tongue of the Unseen Realms).

A great scholar of Islam, the late Shahab Ahmed, referred to Hafez's Divan as: "the most widely-copied, widely-circulated, widely-read, widely-memorized, widely-recited, widely-invoked, and widely-proverbialized book of poetry in Islamic history." Even accounting for a slight debate, that gives some indication of his immense following. Hafez's poetry is considered the very epitome of Persian in the Ghazal tradition.

Hafez's worldview is inseparable from the world of Medieval Islam, the genre of Persian love poetry, and more. And yet he is deliciously impossible to pin down. He is a mystic, though he pokes fun at ostentatious mystics. His own name is "he who has committed the Quran to heart", yet he loathes religious hypocrisy. He shows his own piety while his poetry is filled with references to intoxication and wine that may be literal or may be symbolic.

The most sublime part of Hafez's poetry is its ambiguity. It is like a Rorschach psychological test in poetry. The mystics see it as a sign of their own yearning, and so do the wine-drinkers, and the anti-religious types. It is perhaps a futile exercise to impose one definitive meaning on Hafez. It would rob him of what makes him ... Hafez.

The tomb of Hafez in Shiraz, a magnificent city in Iran, is a popular pilgrimage site and the honeymoon destination of choice for many Iranian newlyweds. His poetry, alongside that of Rumi and Saadi, are main staples of vocalists in Iran to this day, including beautiful covers by leading maestros like Shahram Nazeri and Mohammadreza Shajarian.

Like many other Persian poets and mystics, the influence of Hafez extended far beyond contemporary Iran and can be felt wherever Persianate culture was a presence, including India and Pakistan, Central Asia, Afghanistan, and the Ottoman realms. Persian was the literary language par excellence from Bengal to Bosnia for almost a millennium, a reality that sadly has been buried under more recent nationalistic and linguistic barrages.

Part of what is going on here is what we also see, to a lesser extent, with Rumi: the voice and genius of the Persian speaking, Muslim, mystical, sensual sage of Shiraz are usurped and erased, and taken over by a white American with no connection to Hafez's Islam or Persian tradition. This is erasure and spiritual colonialism. Which is a shame, because Hafez's poetry deserves to be read worldwide alongside Shakespeare and Toni Morrison, Tagore and Whitman, Pablo Neruda and the real Rumi, Tao Te Ching and the Gita, Mahmoud Darwish, and the like.

In a 2013 interview, Ladinsky said of his poems published under the name of Hafez: "Is it Hafez or Danny? I don't know. Does it really matter?" I think it matters a great deal. There are larger issues of language, community, and power involved here.

It is not simply a matter of a translation dispute, nor of alternate models of translations. This is a matter of power, privilege and erasure. There is limited shelf space in any bookstore. Will we see the real Rumi, the real Hafez, or something appropriating their name? How did publishers publish books under the name of Hafez without having someone, anyone, with a modicum of familiarity check these purported translations against the original to see if there is a relationship? Was there anyone in the room when these decisions were made who was connected in a meaningful way to the communities who have lived through Hafez for centuries?

Hafez's poetry has not been sitting idly on a shelf gathering dust. It has been, and continues to be, the lifeline of the poetic and religious imagination of tens of millions of human beings. Hafez has something to say, and to sing, to the whole world, but bypassing these tens of millions who have kept Hafez in their heart as Hafez kept the Quran in his heart is tantamount to erasure and appropriation.

We live in an age where the president of the United States ran on an Islamophobic campaign of "Islam hates us" and establishing a cruel Muslim ban immediately upon taking office. As Edward Said and other theorists have reminded us, the world of culture is inseparable from the world of politics. So there is something sinister about keeping Muslims out of our borders while stealing their crown jewels and appropriating them not by translating them but simply as decor for poetry that bears no relationship to the original. Without equating the two, the dynamic here is reminiscent of white America's endless fascination with Black culture and music while continuing to perpetuate systems and institutions that leave Black folk unable to breathe.

There is one last element: It is indeed an act of violence to take the Islam out of Rumi and Hafez, as Ladinsky has done. It is another thing to take Rumi and Hafez out of Islam. That is a separate matter, and a mandate for Muslims to reimagine a faith that is steeped in the world of poetry, nuance, mercy, love, spirit, and beauty. Far from merely being content to criticise those who appropriate Muslim sages and erase Muslims' own presence in their legacy, it is also up to us to reimagine Islam where figures like Rumi and Hafez are central voices. This has been part of what many of feel called to, and are pursuing through initiatives like Illuminated Courses.

Oh, and one last thing: It is Haaaaafez, not Hafeeeeez. Please.

The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera's editorial stance.

This content was originally published here.

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minaofmayhem · 4 years ago

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DRABBLE #13 - The Library

I’m happy to post the first Drabble requested by @merlinsluxuriousloungewear! 😀 I really liked writing it with our fluffy Alexander ❤️ I hope you’ll like it ! Thanks for having proposed this idea! 😘

Let me know if you want to be tagged for the next ones 😀

Summary : Reading is your favorite hobby. You are doing your thesis in English Literature at Columbia University in NY. You spend all your time at the national library and there you meet a very interesting Swedish guy...

Pairing : Alexander Skarsgård x Reader

Warnings : None just fluff everywhere ! ❤️

“Ah...There you are Byron”, you say to yourself as taking the book from the shelve. You were searching for that damned book for 5 minutes now because someone had misplaced it. Going back to your desk, you mentally curse those who did this. How can it be possible to not respect the rules ? "We are in a library, for god sake". You sit down on your chair, in front of the place where all your stuffs were, and sigh. The book you were carrying finds a place next to the others in a muffle sound.

You were actually working on a big project that you have to give back in two weeks for a final exam. The subject is “The English literature within the ages”. This is a real complex subject and you don’t have time to waste. You quickly take the books you need to complete your references in front of you, open them at the right pages and put your headphones on to lock yourself into your favorite workspace. You absolutely love working at the library but most of all with your favorite music into your ears. Well the library was quite quiet but you were always distracted. Sometimes because of a new incomer who just ask a bit too loud some informations at the desk or other times by distracted people who make fall their stuffs on the ground. It’s exasperating you but you can’t do anything against that. You love so much being here that you tolerate such things with your music on.

Ten minutes later, you raise up your head from your book to choose an other one when your heart make a jump into your chest. At the main entrance, you recognize the guy that comes almost everyday since a week now. Well he’s quite noticeable cause he’s really tall, like he could take a look above the shelves! But what aroused more your curiosity was the fact that he looks absolutely gorgeous. It is not because some people consider you as a bookworm that you are completely out of reality. You watch guys like any other girl and had some boyfriends too. You can have feelings for beautiful men but this one is really special. It’s the first time that someone catch your attention like this.

As usual, he takes his wallet from his back pocket to bring out his member card. He shows it to the secretary at the entry and comes inside the library. As discreetly as possible, you follow him with your eyes. He really have a smooth walk for someone so tall. You notice that he is carrying a little notebook and a pen. He poses them on a desk just a few meter from you. Sometimes, you just pretend to check some things on your computer ; you really became an expert in spying these past few days. It’s incredible how fast you can develop some tricks to not be caught. After placing his stuffs, he takes a little piece of paper, probably with some references on it, and goes directly into the shelves.

You breath when he’s out of sight. “My god what are you doing (X/Y)”, you mentally say to you to get yourself up. This is really impolite to spy people. You know it and yet you can’t prevent yourself from doing it. This guy literally become an obsession, this is crazy. Since the first time you noticed him, you can't stop searching for him at the library. You noted that he was there every day in the afternoon. Sometimes, you were even checking your watch more than usual just to be sure that he will be here soon. You started to pay more attention to your appearance, wearing nice clothes, hoping for something. Maybe just a glance.

Five minutes later, he comes back at his desk with three little books and sits. Behind your computer, you give some discreet glances in his direction until you finally get caught. He raises his head and his look directly goes straight in your direction. Immediately, the fire rises at your cheeks and you pretend to search for something into an other book. Your movements become a bit untidy and your hands are nearly shaking. You feel really stupid at that moment.

Did he notice your insistent glances ? Or was he just looking accidentally in your direction ? You really pray for the second option otherwise he'll really think you are a crazy girl or something like that. Now, because of that, you can't look at him anymore during the day or it will be very suspect.

You go back to your work, a bit frustrated but that’s part of the game. Too bad but it’s like that. “What were you expecting after all?”. You close a bit sharply the Byron’s book and go to search some others. Now it’s time to talk about Shakespeare. You do a quick search for references on the net, write them on a piece of paper before going to the right shelf. After a little walk, you find the “English Theatre” shelf, settled on a isolated side of the library. with no desks or sofas to sit around. You go into the shelf and search among the books. You eyes looking quickly at the references and your note at the same time. After some seconds of searching, you finally find the first book you need.

“Oh no...”, you whisper as you notice that the books is situated at the last level of the shelf and of course, you are too short. Classic. You take a look around but there’s no sign of a stool that could help you. You sigh and search for an other solution. Impossible to ask at the help desk because you don’t have time to waste. Plus you know well the secretary and she’s quite slow when it comes to take decisions.

“Ok then. If I really have to...”. You put your hands on the shelf, checking the strength. You are really thin and these are really old shelves made with strong woods. You won’t fall and it won't broke. At least, you hope so. When you feel that you have enough support with your hands, you put your two feet at the base of the shelf. Then you slowly climb, level after level. Luckily you had put a pants today. You don’t want to imagine what it would look like with a skirt...

At the second level, you try to raise your hand to grab the book but you are stil to short. You could just reach the start of the last shelf.

“Damn...”, you whisper, out of breath. It’s quite hard to stay in balance in this position with your right hand up. You rise up a little bit and raise your hand again, a bit higher.

“C’mon (X/Y), just a little more...”. You were just about to reach it when you suddenly feel that you were losing balance. Like in a movie, it was like the time just slow down as you were falling down. You close your eyes, knowing that you don’t have the possibility to grab something to hold you back, except books but it won’t really help you. You just wait for your fall until...

“Wow...are you alright miss ?”.

You don’t fall on the ground, like expected, but into arms. You open your eyes and discover that you were just lying into the arms of the perfect stranger you were stalking. You open your mouth to say something but for a moment, no sounds come. You feel really stupid, even more than when you get caught.

“Oh...Hum...Yes...” you manage to say, being shocked by what happened and embarrassed at the same time. He looks at you with a smile, apparently amused by the situation. It’s the first time that you see his face so close and you aren’t really disappointed. He really have a beautiful face, with delicate features and fascinating eyes. You feel the red coming again at your cheeks. Gently, he drops forward to let you feel the ground again. Your right hand lean on his shoulder as you go down.

“May I ask you what were you doing on that shelf ?”, he asks with a hint of humor. His voice his really cool and you notice a little accent but from where ?

“Well...I just wanted to take that book”, you answer as showing him the little Shakespeare book that moved a little bit from his place. You then realized that you endangered and made a fool of yourself for just a stupid book. The guy lets out a smooth laugh and just takes it easily to give it to you. Being that tall can really be useful!

“Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. Good choice”, he reads the title on the cover. You grab it and thank him with a shy smile. You feel the red coming back again and you try to calm yourself.

“You had chosen a good one too”, you declare as showing him the “Othello” he was carrying. He looks at it and smile. God, he’s so delicious when he’s smiling.

“Oh yeah”, he answers as showing it. “I was doing some searches for a role I’m going to play soon. Some kind of a medieval tragedy, you know”. So that’s why he was spending time at the library...He was maybe an artist. You feel surprised by the fact that he is easily talking to you, like if you knew each other for a long time. But you really enjoy his company and you don't want this little chat to end.

“Then maybe I can advise....” you say as searching for “Macbeth” among the books in the shelf. Of course, this one was at your level so you quickly take it to take him. “It will help you more for medieval tragedy”.

“Wow, are you a Shakespeare’s expert or something?”.

“Not really”, you laugh a little, “I’m learning English literature so Shakespeare is of course in the program”. He whistle, impressed apparently but it make you feel a bit embarrassed.

“Well...Since Shakespeare has no secret for you...Would you like to take a coffee or something with me? You could share me all your advices ?”. He proposes that after coming a bit closer. You look at him, in disbelief. 30 mins ago you were just stalking him behind your computer and now he was proposing to take a coffee ? That was really an unexpected day. You couldn’t missed this opportunity.

“I’d love too. After all, I owe you a coffee, you just saved my life”, you answer with a little smile, placing a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“You’re right. I’m Alexander” he says as showing you his hand with a big smile.

“(X/Y). Nice to meet you”.

#alexander skarsgård #alexander skarsgard #alex skarsgard #alexander skarsgard imagine #drabble #the library #requests done #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgård x reader

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straynstay · 6 years ago

Text

Hyunjin - Hybrid AU!

being popular wasn’t something you looked forward to when entering college, but it happened

now here you were making necks twist to watch you walk down the hallway

that’s what you get for being one of the few humans in a hybrids-inclusive college

most people wouldn’t even consider applying to study here after it became pretty much ruled by hybrids, but you didn’t mind

you like your course, you like your teachers, and your colleagues, even though they follow you around making you look like an idol or something

you entered your classroom already knowing that your favorite seat will be vacant with candies or a snacks on top

“oh, there’s cards too” you smiled reading the cheering words from your admirers

since day one boys and girls go out of their way to please you somehow

need a pen? here’s seven! hungry? let me buy you the entire menu! need a ride? you can have my car!

it’s been a year and a half, but you’re still not completely used to it

they’re so nice to you because you’re human, sometimes you wonder if that’s the only reason for it

hybrids were created to be men’s pets and obey their orders, but after decades of evolving they began conquering their own space

yes, some still prefer to be companions, but others are trying to live life in society like normal human beings

however, their genes still make them bow to human’s will, and it bothers you because you feel like you’re taking advantage of them most of the times

“good morning” your Medieval English Literature teacher entered the classroom and you put your stuff down to start your day

“I’m dead tired” Lia, a sheep hybrid and one of your closest friends, said plopping her head on the library table

you both decided to study together for your Shakespeare on Contemporary Media exam, which would be in two days

“I’m seeing Shakespeare everywhere, I’ll probably won’t even flinch if his ghost shows up in front of me”

“thou comest in such a questionable shape” you quote Hamlet in a funny voice, earning a laugh from Lia

“hopefully he won’t tell me to murder anyone” Lia’s ears were hiding in the curls of her black hair and you knew she was really tired

“go rest, Lia, we can study more tomorrow”

“yeah, guess I’ll do that” Lia gathered her belongings “you’re staying?” she asked

“uhum” you sighed, stretching your arms above your head “I still need to finish my paperwork for Mrs. Ray”

“good luck” Lia raised her eyebrows “see you tomorrow”

“see ya” you smiled seeing Lia leaving the shared study room

you decided to move to the single tables on the common area of the library because they were closer to the bookshelves

you shoved your stuff quickly into your backpack and left

fortunately there was almost no one at the library at night, so you could choose which table was best, setting your backpack on it

not far away from your table, though, someone was thoughtfully observing your every move

Hwang Hyunjin was the librarian’s assistant this semester

he was a shy and awkward alpaca hybrid, but in love with you, like everyone else in this college

although he doubted anyone liked you more than him

he felt his heart beating faster when you walked towards his counter, but you turned right on the English Literature aisle

Hyunjin let out a short breath, running his fingers through his hair to calm him down

you didn’t even notice him, why was he so nervous?

you returned from the aisle with two books and sat down, allowing him to admire your profile

Hyunjin could only stare from afar, wishing one day he’d be bold enough to say hi

you were so beautiful, your skin so smooth without any fur or scales

his fingertips itched to touch you, to feel your warmth, to caress your hair and be intoxicated by your scent

Hyunjin muffled a wail watching you so close yet so far from him

it was slowly killing him inside knowing that it wouldn’t take long for another hybrid to ask you out

and what if you say yes? what if the hybrid asked to be your pet? or even worse, what if you become their partner?

oh, Hyunjin was dying thinking about these things

but there you were, focused on whatever work you had to do, unaware of your effects on the poor boy

you were so smart, so dedicated, Hyunjin felt himself falling harder in love

not too long after, you got up again to adventure yourself on the the same aisle

Hyunjin tried to take a peek at your table to see what you were working on, but his counter was a bit too far for that

he did, however, draw what he could see from the two books you got on a random piece of paper just to check them out later

maybe if he read what you’re studying, he might have a topic of your interest to start conversation someday

he was waiting patiently for you to show up with another book, but that didn’t happen

you were taking too long for a simple task such as grabbing a book, Hyunjin got worried

he got up from his seat and went after you

he entered the English Literature aisle only to see you on your tiptoes, right arm stretched out, struggling to grab a yellow book from the top shelf

the boy let out a funny noise unconsciously, calling your attention to him

“I-I’m sorry” he said looking at his own feet, babbling “I didn’t mean to spy on you, but you’re here for quite some time, so I came to check on you, and, well, you’re short and I’m sorry again but it was really really cute seeing you try to reach that book over there, and I’m really tall, so maybe I should grab it for you?” he moved towards you, still staring down, and easily pulled the book you wanted, handing it to you

Hyunjin was embarrassed, but with your cheeks burning from the proximity, you were even more

“thanks” you replied sweetly, finally being able to see his face because he was brave enough to look at you

“you’re even more adorable up close, oh God, I’m going to die” Hyunjin placed his hand on his heart, closing his eyes and holding his breath

you would laugh at his dramatically cute reaction if it wasn’t for a wild boar hybrid interrupting you two

“yo, llama boy, where’s Kafta’s books?” the guy towered over you two, but you didn’t feel intimidated at all

“i-it’s o-over there in the-the-the German section” Hyunjin stuttered a lot, but pointed to the right direction

“I’m gonna need help with this paperwork, alright?” his words actually meant: you’re doing it for me

Hyunjin only nodded in fear, trying hard to stop shaking and humiliating himself even more in front of you, ruining any tiny chance he ever had with you

that’s when you saw the dude’s smile of satisfaction, and you couldn’t take it anymore, you had to confront him

“hey, idiot, he’s an alpaca, not a llama, can’t you see his small ears and fluffy hair? Besides, it’s Kafka, not kafta, you uncultured swine”

the wild boar hybrid was taken by surprise and lowered his ears in respect to you

“I’m sorry” he said almost whispering

“you better be! now go write your own paperwork and leave Hyunjin alone” your glare made him go away in a blink of an eye

“y-you didn’t have to…”

“it’s okay, I know he’s been an asshole to you, I had to do something about it”

“you know?” Hyunjin’s neck got red “wait, you know my name too?”

“yeah” you replied holding the book tightly against your chest, blushing even more

no one knew, but he was your long time crush and you were getting tired of just stalking him around college, so you thought it was the right time to finally confess your suffocating feelings for him

“is it weird if I say that I sometimes go to the coffee shop at the Arts building just because I know it’s your favorite place to hang out? and that I’m studying at the library almost everyday this semester because you’re here?” you let out an awkward laugh

“aaand that I’ve been trying to find any excuse to talk to you, but I never think of the right thing to say, so I end up giving up? and that maybe I’m dying to go on a date with you if you want to?”

was Hyunjin hearing things right? you were not only saying that you like him, but you’re asking him out?

oh, this is probably the best day of his life!

out of all of the hybrids you liked him? the shy alpaca whose special trick is spitting long distances?

the one who cries every night for being away from his family group?

who whines all the time to himself for being too awkward to have friends?

who dies everyday seeing his crush walking around the campus thinking he’ll never have a chance?

he was nothing special compared to the other hybrids, but here you were in all your adorableness confessing your feelings

he could at least muster up some courage and say something, right?

“how about…” Hyunjin cleared his throat to avoid stuttering, he was so nervous, he felt like his heart would leap out of his chest

“how about we go grab a coffee, then?” as soon the words were spoken, his eyes got sad “oh… nevermind, I forgot I have to close the library tonight”

you wouldn’t let this golden opportunity pass by so easily, so you smiled at him

“it’s fine, I’ll go first and order for us before they close too”

“are you sure? I mean…”

“yeah, don’t worry about it” you smiled again to reassure him

“oh, okay, well, I usually have-”

“a hot chocolate with extra toppings and a slice of quiche” you interrupted him

Hyunjin’s eyes were wide

“I notice you, Hyunjin” you shook your head “I’ve been noticing you for a long time… too long, to be honest” you admitted

the boy was at loss for words

how was this happening? was he dreaming? the person he likes likes him back? what? what was he supposed to do now? he never thought his biggest wish would come true

“can you wait a bit?” Hyunjin left the aisle quickly, running back to his counter and screaming at the top of his lungs that the library night shift was over

you couldn’t believe Hyunjin was kicking everyone out thirty minutes earlier

you laughed seeing him smiling so brightly for the first time, and your heart was filled with joy for you were the reason behind it

Hyunjin was exultant, barely able to contain his long awaited happiness

he was on cloud nine, over the moon, on top of the world, on seventh heaven… he was feeling it all!

you not only notice him, but want to be with him, the shy, awkward alpaca hybrid

what else would Hyunjin wish for besides being loved by you?

#i almost didnt post this today #my wifi sucks #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids blurbs #stray kids drabbles #stray kids AU #stray kids hybrid #stray kids #skz #hyunjin #5/9 #190518 #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop AU #kpop hybrid

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verecunda · 4 years ago

Text

The ancient history tag

Tagged by @pythionice. Thankee, dear! :) This has been sitting half-done in my drafts for ages - sorry! x__x

1. The Stone Age: One of the first books you ever remember reading.

The first one that springs to mind is this huge book of nursery rhymes. I can’t remember the exact title or who collected them, but each one had really fantastic illustrations. Every page was so bright and colourful. And now I think about it, Bobby Shaftoe looked suspiciously Nelson-like. ;)

2. Ancient Greece: Your favourite myth inspired book.

Right now, I’m gonna have to say Sword at Sunset by Rosemary Sutcliff. She does such a masterful job of paring away the later medieval trappings of the Arthur legend and setting him in the immediately post-Roman period. Despite going for a gritty, realistic take, without Merlin and the fantasy elements, she imbues the story with so much raw folkloric symbolism that it still feels like great myth all by itself. (Admittedly, a lot of this symbolism is drawn from older theories ie. Margaret Murray, which are largely discredited today, but in terms of the cosmology of the fictional universe, it’s so expertly woven in and coherent, and resonates so wonderfully through the story, that it works.)

3. Roman Empire: A book that features an impressive Empire or a Kingdom.

I'm not long after finishing Cinder by Marissa Meyer (a rec from my sister @fandom-butterfly). It’s a sci-fi retelling of Cinderella, set in the futuristic Eastern Commonwealth, a conglomerate of former Asian nations ruled by an emperor based at New Beijing. There’s also a kingdom on the moon, ruled by mysterious beings (evolved humans? I’m not quite sure yet) who have the power to manipulate human minds.

I enjoyed it a lot. The characters are cute, there’s some good banter, the anime influence is very present (the author’s notes at the end indicate that Meyer is/was in the Sailor Moon fandom, and it shows!), and the fairytale elements are woven in nicely to the sci-fi setting. There’s a good amount of intrigue too, which I imagine is only going to get thicker, since this book is the first in a series.

There’s also a major subplot about a deadly global pandemic, which... yeah.

4. The Middle Ages: A book that is an absolute bummer (positive or negative).

I had to wrack my brains a bit for an answer to this, because I don’t generally read books that look set to be a bummer. Tragic, yes. Devastating, absolutely, but I’m not a fan of books that just make you go :| What’s the point of that?

That said, coming back to Rosemary Sutcliff, I’m going to say The Shining Company. You know what the end is going to be, but even when it comes, I felt the book lacked Sutcliff’s usual poignancy - that theme of hope and healing despite great loss and pain, of the lantern being carried forward into the dark, that usually makes her books so emotional. I think, too, the fact that I never got hugely attached to any of the characters meant that the final twist wasn’t as devastating as it should have been. So it was pretty much just a bummer.

(As you can probably tell, this is my least favourite Sutcliff novel.)

5. Renaissance: A book that you have learned a lot from OR a book that made you think a lot.

This is a strangely hard one to answer! I read and mine through lots of history books for research purposes, so I’m always learning some new fact or anecdote or other. But books that have rocked me to the core and made me re-evaluate fundamental truths... um... nothing recent springs to mind. (Which probably tells you everything you need to know about the sort of literature I consume, but... ehhhh.)

So - a history book rec it is! The Victorian House, by Judith Flanders. It’s a lovely big doorstopper absolutely crammed full of fascinating stuff. She takes you round a typical Victorian terraced house room by room, and by doing so explores how Victorian daily life, upstairs and downstairs, was acted out in these rooms. It’s a brilliant book, eminently readable, full of fascinating information about how domestic life was theorised and compartmentalised in the Victorian mind. It’s great stuff.

6. The Enlightenment: A book about knowledge, science, discovery, or exploration.

Admittedly it’s been a while since I delved into this particular corner of the Age of Sail, but as I recall, Richard Hough’s biography of James Cook was really good for this, setting his life and voyages in the context of the scientific history - advances in geographical and astronomical knowledge, development of accurate measures of timekeeping, cartography, navigation, etc., etc. (which in turn spirals out into the history of trade- and empire-building, etc.) Just... yeah, there was a lot going on in that book.

7. The Industrial Revolution: A book featuring an invention or a concept that you would love to have in your own life.

Gosh, I don’t know! I hardly read any sci-fi, so I can’t think of any books featuring technology or anything that I really wish existed in my own life.

8. World War I. and II.: Your favourite historical fiction book featuring either of the world wars.

I love Carrie’s War - I reread it last year and it was just as great as I remembered! - but even though I don’t think it technically counts as historical fiction, the WW book that has had the most enduring effect on me is definitely All Quiet on the Western Front. There are so many scenes and passages that I remember so clearly (often more clearly than I’d like).

9. Present day: A book you think everybody should read in present day.

I really don’t know what this means. I don’t think there’s such a thing as one book that everybody should read. Apart from like, Shakespeare. Everyone should try Shakespeare at some point. On your own, out of school.

Not sure how many people I’m meant to tag, but here goes: @themalhambird, @drusilla-951, @vicivefallen, @bryndeavour, @ciceros-ghost, @seaglassandeelgrass.

#meme #books!

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hallowedhuntress · 6 years ago

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Hey! I am a Volturi S T A N and I really enjoy how cultured they are. They’ve had enough time to study every era in art intensively, and I wonder what their favorite would be. From Ancient to Romanticism, what era in art is the favorite of each Volturi guard?

Welcome fellow stan! Sorry this took longer than expected! I’ve taken a lot of art history courses so I probably gave this more thought than necessary! Also I went more with art styles rather than time periods, because that just seemed to make more sense to me. Hope that’s okay!

Aro - You’re asking Aro to choose just one art style? Not going to happen. He’s collected art from everywhere and everywhen will insist that all of it has equal artistic merit. Yes even that broken new-age art mobile made of paper mache and plastic straws stuffed in the corner behind one of Botticelli’s angel paintings.

Marcus - Without Didyme, he’s got a maudlin streak. So he’s quite into vanitas paintings, and Gothic Architecture. Mostly, he prefers history to art, however.

Caius - He prefers art that is technically impressive and realistic as possible. For this reason, Realism has a strong appeal. Scientific drawings also fascinate him. He’s got a large collection of “undiscovered” Michelangelo’s. He also prefers technically impressive Baroque music. And minimalist architecture. But he has absolutely no understanding of or interest in heavily abstracted styles, like Impressionism, Cubism, and thinks most modern art is a phenomenal waste of time. It’s his most common argument with Aro, outside of official business.

Sulpicia - Has a strong preference for female artists, especially those who depicted women being violent. Style isn’t especially important. Her favorites include Minoan bullfighters, a lot of angry women in the 1970s/1960s and Artemesia Gentileschi. She’s also big into fashion and makeup. A choker of pearls, blood-red lipstick and eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man are her go-tos.

Athenodora - She’s more into poetry than pictures and sculptures. She especially likes poetry that’s flowery, but has a rigid structure. Free-form poetry is for the weak. Haikus, Greek Dramas, and iambic pentameter are where it’s at. She’s also got a fondness for plays, Shakespeare, of course, but also Opera, Kabuki theater, and modern musicals. She drags Caius along whenever she can, and he not-so-secretly enjoys it.

Didyme - (She’s still alive, dammit). Art to her is about emotion. If it doesn’t make her feel something, why make it? She especially loves the colors in Impressionism. But also has a fondness for abstract geometric patterns and loud, splashy Modernist art. Like her brother, her tastes clash horribly, and any room decorated by her is an absolute eyesore. Marcus (who thinks it’s kind of adorable) is good-natured about it. And he’s a bit less grim with her around.

Alec - That picture of George Washington riding a T-Rex and wielding a light-saber while wearing 3-D glasses just about sums up what Alec likes. He’s 12, so add enough flames, guns, robots and lasers and he’ll love it.

Jane - Medieval art. It’s what she grew up with. But it’s also pretty grotesque at times (we’ve all seen those medieval art memes, right), and strikingly pretty on other occasions. Which suits her. Also, all the paintings/tapestries depicting witch burnings are good motivation.

Heidi - She’s got a sense of humor, so she likes the Rococo Era. Not so much the architecture styles, or the dresses–that’s more Aro’s speed��but she likes how most people look at the paintings (like this one) from the era and just see a bunch of fancily dressed people and completely miss all the innuendos. They certainly go over Felix and Demetri’s heads, and that’s the way she likes it.

Demetri - Art Deco. It’s clean, sharp, angular, stylish. He loves it as an art style, as an architecture style, and if he could get away with it, he’d wear 1920s tuxes all the time too.

Felix - Roman art and especially Roman Architecture is Felix’s favorite. So stately and strong–like he is. He kind of wishes the Volturi fortress was built a little bit more like a Roman temple than a labyrinth of sewers, but he gets why it has to be that way.

Renata - Music is more her forte than painting or sculpture. And, while it’s hard to compete with Aro, who can learn new instruments just by touching a virtuoso, she’s gained proficiency in the harp, the flute, the cello, and the piano. She also sings. But never anywhere she thinks someone else can hear her. Of course, thanks to super-vampire hearing, they all can. And they think her singing voice is lovely. But they know she would die of embarrassment if they admitted they could hear, so they never tell her.

Corin - Prefers embroidery and hand-sewing to most other arts. She also took up knitting and crochet. And prefers to make things with flowers on them. She also likes literature, especially those by women authors, like the The Tale of Genji, the works of Jane Austen, Eileen Chang, and many anonymous women writers.

Santiago - Dadaism, Surealism and especially Salvador Dali, whose political paintings greatly influenced his country while he was human.

Chelsea - Art has never been the reason why she’s part of the guard. To her it’s eh… okay. Which was always a source of frustration for Aro when he tried to pamper her with gifts. “What do you mean you ‘don’t like paintings’? You cannot simply dislike all paintings?” But it got even worse when Afton arrived.

Afton - Doesn’t understand art at all, and it’s one of the many reasons Aro hates him. You see, Afton was born after the invention of the camera and thinks realistic art is a waste of time (why not just take a picture?) and abstract art is just pointless splatters that any child could replicate. Oh, and cartoons are only for children. All of which he’s managed to get Chelsea to believe too.

Yeah….

He does appreciate practical art like pottery. But he refuses to call it “art” and insists it’s like furniture, which he claims is somehow different. (hint: it’s not!)

#volturi #volturi headcanons #twilight #twilight saga #the whole gang is here #aro volturi #marcus volturi #Caius Volturi #afton volturi

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et-in-cinerem-reverteris · 5 years ago

Text

Class of 1953 - Chapter 1 - Hatful of Hollow (3.7k)

“Will you be... here, next Thursday? Same time, same place?”

“Oh, er, yes, we meet here every week,” Phil stutters, “the photography club, that is. We meet here on Thursdays. Weekly.”

“Alright,” the boy laughs softly, “I’ll see you then”.

I am proud proud proud to announce that the first chapter of my DNP Oxford Au is finally here! It is my baby, my child - I have been working on it for weeks!

Read on AO3 here!!

Or, on Tumblr down below :)

Chapter 1

"Philip! Glad you could make it old chap."

Bright lights flood into Phil’s vision as he adjusts to the blinding white glare of the overhead lamps. Every Thursday, the 5 members of Oxford University’s photography club meet in a small, dusty room in Keble College, where they spend many hours developing prints, sharing successful shots, but mostly just fooling around together as they take a break from the stresses of Oxford’s intense academic atmosphere. Currently inside the room are the founders of the club; John, a stocky blond maths student with blue eyes and ruddy cheeks, stands a metre or two away from Bill, a lean, gangly physics student whose pale hands are currently adjusting the dials on what appears to be a shiny new camera. Phil puts his leather satchel on the table, and rummages inside it for a roll of film that’s in there...somewhere.

Bill clears his throat.

“As you may have guessed by now, we can only assume that Mary and Beth are engaged in more exciting activities once again this week” he sneers, raised eyebrows betraying a mocking, yet joking intent.

The three boys chuckle in unison. Phil glances over the table, studying Bill more closely.

“Blimey, is that the new Zeiss-Ikon Contessa?”

A smirk twinges on Bill’s lips as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his reddening nose, carefully conceiving his growing embarrassment.

“It was a gift from John. I tried to tell him that he didn’t have to, but he absolutely insisted,” he replies, swiveling round to face the boy behind him. “You shouldn’t have, honestly John. You do spoil me.”

The blond turns round and smiles, giving Bill a tender punch to the shoulder. “Oh William, it was really nothing” he attests, before twisting away to turn his attention back to fixing a small lamp.

‘William’? Phil had never heard anyone call Bill by his full name before! As he glances back at over, he notices a blush spread over Bill’s previously pallid cheeks. The relationship between the modest, restrained physics geek and the confident, amiable mathematics whizz was an enduring mystery. Making a mental note to keep an eye on the pair (purely to make sure that nothing out of the ordinary was happening, of course...), Phil turns once more to his satchel and pulls out a roll of film he’s planning to develop in today’s session. Before he manages to do this however, giggling erupts from a nearby corridor.

“Alas! The latecomers arrive at last” declares the bespectacled brunette, still poring over his camera. As the sound gets nearer, the laughing hushes to a stifled whisper as two figures appear at the open doorway.

“Having fun are we ladies?”

“Oh, put a sock in it you old fart” quips the taller of the two, ignoring Bill’s steely eyes as she strides towards the table and sets a heavy black bag onto the floor with a clunk.

“Evening everyone! Sorry we’re late” Beth says with a warm grin as she shrugs off a grey duffle coat, hangs it up on the dark, wooden door and turns towards the table, rubbing her hands together to defrost them.

“What were you up to?” Phil asks nonchalantly, rising from his seat to search some cupboards for trays to develop his film in.

“Beth and I were... in the library, writing an essay. You know, the err, one that’s due soon” answers Mary.

“You mean the draft on Early Medieval Literature? Wasn’t that only set yesterday?”

Mary shoots a glance at Beth.

“Draft, essay - what difference does it make? Anyway, these things take time, and I’ve always thought that it’s good to get on top of something like an essay” she replies, hand on hip as her grey eyes squint dubiously.

Bill shifts in his seat. “I can think of someone you were getting on top of.”

“Cheeky git! I’m keeping an eye on you” Mary retorts, striding to the other side of the room to bury her blushing face in a sea of dusty wooden cupboards. “And you John, for that matter.”

This night sure has opened his eyes! Smirking to himself, Phil turns his attention to his own set of cupboards. Aha! The empty trays have been found.

“Hey John, Mary - I’ve got the trays for the stop baths” he announces, handing them over to the former.

As he does this, the two girls have already reunited, huddled in a corner of the room as they whisper and snigger to themselves about something or other. At 5’10” Mary towers over Beth, who is a good 6 inches shorter. As they exchange a glance, Phil contemplates how different the pair look despite existing hand in glove. A flash of red lipstick spreads over Mary’s wide smile as she sweeps a strand of long, dark hair away from her angular face, looking fondly at Beth who beams up at her with brown eyes twinkling under a long auburn fringe. Phil has known Mary since secondary school; she has always been pale - ghostlike, even - taller than most of the boys and more intelligent than them too. Her quick wit proved to be essential in fending off unwanted comments from overeager private school twits, which she was often the unfortunate recipient of. Known for her harsh tongue when it came to the male sex, Phil was apprehensive when first approached by her in an English class many years ago, only to be quickly reassured by the fondness she gave to those she took a shine to. “We’re the same, me and you,” she announced almost uncomfortably soon after they had broken the ice, “I can sense it.” Phil had never figured out what exactly she had meant by this, but he had the feeling that here was a girl who truly had his back for years to come.

“God damn this tap! The water’s bloody well cut off again. One would assume that Oxford University would have a better plumbing system than this” John bemoans, wrinkling his blonde brows in frustration. “Phil, would you be a dear and fetch a jug for us?”

“Yeah s-”

“We’ll go!” exclaim the girls with a questionable amount of excitement, barely waiting for a reply before dashing out of the room arm in arm.

John frowns for the second time. “O-kay. Guess that one’s sorted then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour passes, and there is still no sign of either the water, or the girls who volunteered to retrieve it. Slightly exasperated, Phil offers to be the second party to set out in search of the all-important liquid as he’s fairly certain he knows of a working tap in some room or other from across the Liddon Quad. Putting on his woolen coat and grabbing the largest water-vessel in sight, he frantically tries to rack his brains for the room in question as he prepares to brave the winter cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scurrying across the Quad, Phil plunges his hands into silk-lined pockets as the icy wind nips at his pale face. As he drinks in his crepuscular surroundings, his eyes fix upon the red brick checkerboard of Keble College’s Victorian chapel, the beauty of which is enough to reduce his previous flight to a mere stroll. He gazes at the building in awe - stained glass windows emit a warm, inviting glow as metal crosses glisten like stars against the black night, and the scene is straight out of the decadent Gothic novellas he loves to pore over in his spare time. Although he’s been at Oxford for a couple of weeks now, there are still times where Phil is struck by the romance of the place, creating pools of emotion inside his chest that well up and threaten to bubble over. Tonight is one such night. He sighs to himself, content and calm.

After reeling around the quad’s fountain for a minute or two, he belatedly approaches the open chapel door. As he does so, his ears catch the sound of people speaking - not only are they speaking, but if Phil’s knowledge of Shakespeare is correct, they are acting. Without giving a single thought to his aquatic assignment, he climbs up the steps, treading softly to conceal the sound of his presence, and steals around the doorway to the entrance of the chapel where he comes across a dozen or so students stood close to the altar, scripts in hand, eyes on page. Their voices echo around the stone walls, dancing from floor to ceiling. He listens in.

“...see your son:

Towards him I made, but he was ware of me

And stole into the covert of the wood:

I, measuring his affections by my own,

That most are busied when they're most alone,

Pursued my humour not pursuing his,

And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me”

So it was Shakespeare! A tender nostalgia washes over him as he reminisces upon his own memories of studying Romeo and Juliet many years ago. And what splendid surroundings to rehearse in! Lofty ceilings bounce words from pew to pulpit, as low lamps give golden mosaics a magic sparkle. Leaning against the old wooden door, Phil focuses on the students, with one in particular catching his eye.

“My noble uncle, do you know the cause?”

The boy playing Benvolio is... a handsome devil, to put it plainly. Phil notices the way he speaks with such fervour, such infectious vigour, and a passion which tugs at the heartstrings and fills one’s soul with a pathetic sense of hope. His tie is pulled awry on a shirt unbuttoned, green jumper sitting loosely around his neck. Phil’s heart flutters ever so slightly to see someone who is evidently as fond of Shakespeare as he is, and for a reason unbeknownst to him, becomes fixed in a kind of trance, observing the boy as he delivers his lines.

Phil had known that he was “queer” from a relatively young age. He had heard the word uttered under hushed tones between his parents as they discussed relatives, family friends, celebrities, or indeed anyone whose campiness stuck out sorer than the lacquered nails on an East-End boy down in the dole-house. But Phil didn’t wear makeup, and he didn’t sound like a woman, and he didn’t spend his time discussing boys with his female classmates. What he did have however, was one fateful family holiday at a beach in Corfu.

It was a torrid, languid, lethargic day, and another year spent back at the old house in Greece. The sun beat down in waves, burning Phil’s pasty skin as brother Martyn shoveled sand onto his feet. The summer reading he had brought with him wasn’t tickling his fancy right now, and Martyn’s japery was beginning to get tiresome. He sighed, staring out towards the vast expanse of clear azure water. As he pondered over ways to alleviate his boredom, a delicious, impulsive desire to indulge in mischievousness began to trickle into his veins, filling him with all sorts of ideas. He rises from his spot on the towel.

“I’m going for a walk. I shouldn’t be too long.”

His mum looks up from her book and squints, shielding her eyes from the sun while simultaneously expressing amazement that her youngest son is actually choosing to do physical exercise.

“Okay, stay safe poppet. Oh - and be back before three o’clock!”

After an hour or so of traipsing across rocks and traversing through trees, he eventually arrives at a secluded alcove on top of a steep stretch of warm rocks, away from tourists, facing a small bay with not a soul in sight.

Laying down on the smooth stone he places his head under the shade of a tree branch, feeling the caress of the sun on his bare chest as a slight breeze tickles the prepubescent hairs on his abdomen. He closes his eyes, wind tracing the surface of his skin.

Finally, peace at last.

A brief slumber is interrupted by talking coming from below the rock face. Sluggish after basking in the lazy heat, he takes a moment to opens his eyes and crawl over to the side of the rock, peering gingerly over the edge to investigate.

A man has wandered into the bay, with a woman by his side.

As they talk together, Phil’s eye meanders over the man’s body. He is blond, he is tall, his stance is confident, and the muscles on his back ripple as he stretches his golden hands towards the sky before landing on his toned waist. Peeping Tom is mesmerised. The man checks his watch, and the couple turn their heads as if looking out for someone before coming together for an embrace as they stand watching the waves crash on the bay.

Phil stares on.

There’s something about the way the man’s body presses against the woman’s back. There’s something about the way his hands wind around her waist, smooth over her chest, and briefly wrap around her neck. There’s something about it, conjuring up a feeling that Phil has never experienced before, something that feels heavy in his ribcage.

The woman turns her head and taps her partner on the shoulder, pointing at the rocks just beyond Phil. Damn! Heart racing in fear, he ducks behind a bush, blushing furiously and wincing as his feet land on a sharp stone. Through the leaves he sees an olive-skinned man with dark, curly hair appear from the side of the colossal boulder, stepping towards the couple as the woman pries herself from the embrace and runs towards the newcomer, landing into a hug that sweeps her off her feet and swings her in the air as she laughs. The hug endswith a hand around the waist, a brief peck on the lips.

Phil adjusts his glasses. Was he mistaken, or did he just see this lady go from fondly embracing one man to sharing a kiss with another? The pair links arms and stroll towards the first man, who fiddles with the hem of his tight navy swimming trunks as he beams back at them. The dark haired fellow opens his arms, and shouts a few words in Greek to the blond man.

“Είσαι τόσο όμορφος, χρυσέ μου!”

A slap on the back, a playful punch - and then they too lean in for a kiss.

Not a peck on the cheek. Not a swift gracing of the lips. Phil is fairly certain that this is the act that the boys back at boarding school have described using the word “French”. But two men…? Phil takes in a deep breath. Shuffling out from under the shrub, he brushes some leaves off from his trunks, only to freeze in confusion when he feels something hard underneath.

He looks at the trio below him, then back down at his shorts, before looking back to double check that he’s alone.

It would be terribly, terribly awkward if someone caught him m-

“Splendid job everyone, I could really feel the intensity tonight. Let’s call it here. Oh, and remember - we haven’t got long now until the real thing!”

Snapping back to reality, Phil adjusts his eyes to see actors and actresses put down their scripts and begin talking to each other, evidently weary, but animated nonetheless. He searches once more for the boy playing Benvlio, immediately managing to locate him.

They lock eyes.

The boy is staring directly at him!

In a flash, the lad looks away and resumes his conversation with the girl next to him, who hoists a long brown coat over her shoulders, preparing for the winter cold that Phil has just emerged from. Cripes! Turning away rapidly as his heart thumps in his chest, he decides that it’d be best to evacuate the chapel before the situation becomes ever so slightly awkward. A hot flush creeps over his cheeks and the flutter in his bosom amplifies. The image of the boy’s brown eyes repeats in Phil’s mind as approaches the ancient wooden door.

Damnit.

In an unexpected burst of confidence, he whips his head around before leaving, and sure enough he is met with those same brown eyes that make him feel like melting right then and there. Panicking, fumbling and stumbling, he dashes out of the portico, heart racing and nerves alive as he speeds across the quad. He checks his watch - nearly 8 o’clock. Forget this godforsaken water!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bill and John appear to be in a cheerful mood when Phil nervously slinks back into the photography room, and as such he is instantly forgiven for being the third person in one night to give up water collection in the name of secret romantic pursuits. Feeling guilty nonetheless, he volunteers to be the one to lock up the room for the night as compensation, enjoying the peaceful silence as he sees to the mess left behind.

He roams around the room, closing cupboards here, pulling in stools there. There’s a spatter of black ink on the table, no doubt left by Bill and his insistence on using a dip pen to write everything from letters, to classwork, to scribbled ideas on dog-eared notebooks. As he gets a cloth to wipe it up, Phil feels a soft sense of contentment as he reflects upon his new life here at Oxford. Secondary school was rotten, absolutely rotten; teased for being smart, teased for being tall, teased for wearing glasses, teased for any reason which made him he different to the brutish, snobbish bastards that ruled his school’s hierarchical roost. Before they can bubble up to the surface, Phill tries to quell those raw, rough memories, reminding himself that it’s in the past and he should be focusing on the present. He’s growing into his authentic self, he’s started dressing however he likes, he’s made genuine friends who he can talk to, he’s academically stimulated without the fear of being called a geek and, in time, maybe he’ll be able to express that part of his personality too. With a sigh, he throws Bill’s inky rag into the sink, puts John’s screwdriver into a drawer, tucks in the stool that Mary dragged out from the desk and picks up a pen that must have fallen out of Beth’s pocket. The peace in his chest leaves him with no doubt that he’s got everything now - no more fear of rejection, no horrible need for awkward explanations. Just friendship, companionship, and unspoken understanding. Blinking slightly more rapidly than usual, he cleans up the last of the mess.

*knock knock*

Mary and Beth? In the split second it takes him to turn around, Phil prepares a quip or two to tease them with.

To his surprise (and his horror), he is met with the sight of 'Benvolio' leaning against the open door, arms folded, ankles crossed, sly smirk plastered onto his mischievous face.

"You could have just come in if you wanted to, you know. We don't bite."

Phil’s heart races and his stomach sinks at the realisation of what’s happening. It was bad enough that he’d been caught staring by the object of his admiration, but multiple times? And now said object is here, standing in the doorway, smirking at him? Phil can’t help but hungrily consume the face opposite him. Tousled chestnut curls flop onto strong brows that sit intentionally indifferent, trying to appear nonchalant, but with such purposeful neutrality that he betrays a sense of impatience - desperation, even. Freckles speckle his cheeks like stars that lie next to petal pink lips.

The handsome devil chuckles at Phil's silence.

"Ah, apologies - quite rude of me not to introduce myself first. I'm Dan," the boy continues, " and um, we're putting on a production of Romeo and Juliet in a few weeks, if you want to come and see it" he offers, patches of his jaw flushing red.

Phil blinks, unsure of what to say, and the young man’s eyes fall to the ground briefly before thrusting his large hands into trouser pockets.

"Sorry, perhaps I assumed that-"

"No, no, it's alright" Phil finally replies, desperate to stop the potential tragedy of this charming man leaving him forever, never to speak to him again. "That'd be great. I um, I really like Shakespeare."

The boy’s eyes flick upwards to meet Phil’s briefly before he nods, turning his vision towards the ground once again as he bites his lips together to stifle a smile. His eyes dance across the floor as if plucking up the courage to look back up at the blue eyed boy, which he does, thank God, for when their eyes lock together (and Phil swears it’s not his inner English student making him think this), it feels as if two worlds connect, two universes collide, two strings of the soul’s yarn reaching out and tying knots and weaving together, two hands meeting and fingers intertwining and feeling his knuckles and scars and hairs and prints that read like maps of the other person’s existence. It’s breathtaking. It’s almost too much.

The boy unleashes a grin, and Phil is so, so thankful, for when he does his entire face lights up like a candle burning in a dark attic, wide flash of white teeth and crinkled eyes brazen and clumsy like hot wax spilling and dripping down bare skin. They maintain their electrifying gaze. The other one sighs.

“Okay, fantastic. Dates are yet to be confirmed, but so far it’s looking to be some time after Michaelmas ends. I’ll er, I’ll let you know.”

“Great, yeah, I’ll come along!” Phil beams, drumming his fingers on the counter behind him.

“Mmm.” Another moment of silence. “Will you be... here, next Thursday? Same time, same place?”

“Oh, er, yes, we meet here every week,” Phil stutters, “the photography club, that is. We meet here on Thursdays. Weekly.”

He curses himself for tripping over his words in front of someone who had spoken so confidently and so eloquently in the chapel. He takes in a deep breath, calming himself.

“Alright,” the boy laughs softly, “I’ll see you then”. In one swift movement, he pushes his back off the door frame, grabs the other side and swings himself off down the corridor, heels clacking on the tiles as he goes.

Buckling up his satchel, Phil strides out of the room, managing to catch the sight of ‘Dan’ speeding off down a flight of stairs. As he turns the lights off and shuts the door, he closes his eyes and exhales.

He checks his watch. Only 6 days, 23 hours and 38 minutes until he’ll be here next Thursday, same time, same place. He parades down the corridor, slight skip in his step.

Maybe he’ll get to explore that side of his personality a little sooner than he might have previously thought.

#phanfic #phandom #dan and phil #phan #phannie #my writing

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krahka · 5 years ago

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The KleskizhAUs and their Poetic Styles

Under read more because lomg

SWTOR Kleskizhae

Ridiculous Sith Juggernaut. Excessively proud of his Sith ancestry but also ridiculously light side and somehow doesn’t see this as a problem. Loves lightsabers, loves the Empire but is a little less clear on whether he likes the Empire as an institution or the Empire as the people, and hint, it’s the people, he’ll pick the people if he had to.

Poetry: ALL CAPS HAIKUS FREE VERSE ASTRONOMY METAPHORS EXTREMELY VIOLENT REFERENCES TO ANCIENT SITH HISTORY BEAUTIFUL WORDS BEATEN STRAIGHT OUT OF HIS HEART OF DARK PASSION

DS!SWTOR Kleskizhae

Ridiculous and awful Sith Juggernaut. Believes himself morally and genetically superior to all others. Delights in toying with his inferiors, especially in breaking their hearts with his charm and facade of kindness.

Poetry: Flowery and romantic and flattering. More or less copies of ancient Sith poems, but with the words changed a bit. They’re mostly for showing off how cultured he is and how much he loves you babe, so he doesn’t put in much effort.

ESO Kleskizhae

Altmer Battlemage. A scion of the Direnni but not on great terms with his family due to his allegiance to the Aldmeri Dominion and his marrying a Bosmer because of Spinner shenanigans. Ambassador of the Queen and definitely not one of her Eyes nosir. Got pressganged into the Buoyant Armigers after impressing Vivec by exemplifying all of hir favorite virtues and vices just by accident.

Poetry: Sonnets. Ballads. Sexually explicit but it’s so purple that you can hardly tell just how sexually explicit it really is. Mostly about his own adventures and the people he knows. Melodramatic as fuck. The stuff he wrote when Vivec specifically was taking an interest in him is his best work, since he starts getting more experimental and tones down the silliness without losing that red hot emotional core that really elevates the verse to something that so many people try and fail to replicate in the future that it’s become its own genre.

DS!ESO Kleskizhae

Altmer Battlemage what dabbles in necromancy. Believes himself the rightful king of all of High Rock with the Bretons as his rebellious subjects. Allied with Mannimarco because he promised him that when Planemeld happened, he could have his ancestral holdings all to himself, with all the people there living only to glorify him. The kinda guy you end up killing in the Daggerfall Covenant quests or in a Balfiera focused dungeon DLC.

Poetry: Pretty similar to light side ESO!Kleskizhae, but if he thinks you didn’t appreciate his work he’ll torture you until you do. Try and critique it and he’ll just plain murder you and raise your corpse to grovel for his forgiveness and admit that you were wrong. Also his poetry is his annoying boss mechanic somehow. Didn’t read the books in his dungeon? Too bad because that’s how you defeat him.

GW2 Klejskizae

Norn Herald. Skald, champion of Wolf, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers. A Delight unto all people of Tyria! Your new best friend who is not using your friendship with him to learn your secrets! Come and listen to him channel the spirits and the Legends next Dragon Bash!

Poetry: Actually more into prose. Veddas. Stories about heroes, exaggerated for effect. Tales that he keeps in his mind that he tells differently each time he’s asked to tell it, depending on what he thinks his audience needs to hear. The poetry tends to be more personal, often taking the form of prayers to the Spirits that are between him and them. Also will write songs, also about heroes, with calls to action for the Pact.

TES!Specifically Klejskizae

Nord Skaald. Traveling yeller. Delighter of audiences all throughout Tamriel. Follower of the Old Ways. Probably also in the Blades.

Poetry: SCREAMING TAVERN SONGS. Great heroes, sometimes gets kicked out of taverns in Skyrim because he’s performing songs about non-Nord heroes but how can you not be excited by EVERYONE

SWTOR!Specifically Klejskizae

Mandalorian what will scream battle poems in your ear as he faces you in glorious hand to hand combat. Has some very weird ideas of what being Mandalorian is, but they’re closer to reality than his Sith version’s ideas of being Sith.

Poetry: You thought Sith Kleskizhae’s poetry was gory and violent? You haven’t heard Mando Klejskizae. They are ridiculous. Everything ends with lovers embracing for the last time as they die in battle and their death is described in excruciating detail.

FFXIV Kleskizhae

Ishgardian adventurer. Dragoony Bard. Got kicked out for being way too scandalous for the theocracy and for talking too much about how he thought that maybe we should just smooch the Dragons?

Poetry: The poetry isn’t why he’s not liked back in Ishgard, though that poetry was a means to transmit his unpopular and scandalous ideas and activities. The poetry specifically is why he’s distrusted in Gridania after he met an elemental and challenged it to a rap battle and it went very poorly. (Kleskizhae won and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise or that that’s not the point and there is no winning because he definitely won)

West Coast Fallout Klaus K. Zheng

Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. Sort of into the whole BoS thing of keeping dangerous tech out of people’s hands but also he’s into protecting people in any way he can, since they must protect those who will inherit the past, yes? That is what we’re doing, right? Right?

Poetry: He found a book of poems about Arthurian legends and they changed his life, as did Grognak the Barbarian which he’s sure is in the same canon. He’s also read a bunch of Shakespeare and only sort of understands it. So yeah, sonnets that are Shakespeare ripoffs. Casting modern topics into medieval terms. Sometimes it’ll get weird and his BoS worldview will come in and make them anachronistic but it’s unintentional because he just wants to write like the knights of yore.

East Coast Fallout Klaus K. Zheng

Enclave soldier, later deserter once he sees that oh shit killing everyone wasn’t supposed to be what they were going to do! He wasn’t listening to the quiet part! Ends up aiding synths because it pisses off the BoS and also saves lives. Still believes in America but it’s one that maybe never existed.

Poetry: The Enclave did preserve a lot of good American literature in their databanks, though they’re kinda sketchy about distributing it to their soldiers since even before 2077 they realized that a lot of the American canon contains like, anti-war, anti-corporate ideas and they couldn’t have that in their new society. He read Leaves of Grass once and it blew his mind. He might just surrender to the Brotherhood if they let him have access to their books, because he needs those. But also he might not because they would probably kill him and he’s also spending his post-Raven Rock time helping synths out of the Institute and that’s something they’d kill him for. And probably also kill a lot of other people if they realized that the Railroad had ex-Enclave in there. And the Institute doesn’t care for the humanities, which is why they had to create machines to teach them how to be human and then proceed to do such terrible things to the humans they’ve created; because they are less machine than they are and they resent them for it.

Modern Vlogger Klaus K. Zheng

Relationship advice vlogger, specifically as a counter-voice to all those shitty misogynist PUAs that are targeting lonely straight men. Also here for the lonely women and the lonely queers since he’s a queer man himself.

Poetry: He’s got a Master’s in Poetry and he feels it was time well spent, even if he didn’t care as much for academia as he did for the writing and the reading. One of the rewards for donating to his Patreon at a higher tier is a short poem written just for you about whatever subject you wish. (Assuming that it’s not extremely objectionable. He’ll gladly write poems about all sorts of sex acts, but he won’t write one about the virtues of white power.)

HZD Kleskizhae

Carja Warrior. Participated in the Red Raids because that was what the will of the Sun was but he couldn’t take the violence and the genocide and ended up joining with Sun-Prince Avad to overthrow the murderous king literally as soon as he could. Has been on a tour of goodwill ever since.

Poetry: Overuses the words “glinting”, “scintillating”, “resplendent”, “radiant”, “brilliant” and other words that mean A LOT OF LIGHT because he’s really into writing ridiculous songs about the Sun. A lot more personal and emotional than a lot of Carja poetry, since it’s more about love than about praising the Sun or the King. It’s a new dawn, and what the world needs is love’s shining rays to heal her wounds. With the help of some Oseram who wanted to promote the newly invented phonograph, manages to become the first real pop star after the apocalypse.

DA Kleskizhae

Tevinter Battlemage. Was sent off to the front lines against the Qunari to keep from embarrassing his family and his master. Accidentally ended up embarrassing them anyway.

Poetry: So he’s really into bringing up the Old Gods in his poems. He doesn’t worship them, he’s a good Andrastian, but you know how in the Renaissance everyone was a huge Greeceaboo? Yeah, it’s like that.

WtA Klaus K. Zheng

Fianna Galliard. He’s a werewolf poet who sings ballads of his pack’s glorious battles and lifts their spirits in the name of Gaia and Stag!

Poetry: He’s got a soft spot for dirty limericks. All of the Kleskizhaes will make improv poems upon request when they’re drunk enough but Fianna!Klaus is the master of the drunken on-the-spot poem. Like they get way better when he’s drunk and they’re improvised, as opposed to the usual thing where they’re charmingly bad.

VtM Klaus K. Zheng

Toreador. Got the vampire bug some time in the Victorian era, I dunno if he was actually British or what.

Poetry: Lord Byron himself once called his poems “a bit maudlin.” His sire was certainly fond of his work, but if he had more time in his peak living creative years he would have probably been a better known figure in the Romantic movement. As it is he’s fairly irrelevant and forgotten by all but a few intense scholars of the period, and even they consider him a minor figure.

Shadowrun Klaus K. Zheng

Elven Street Samurai. Just wants to make the world a better place through the power of love and also katanas. Probably unfortunately involved with Aztechnology which is gonna end badly for him probably.

Poetry: Machines and corporations have not yet conquered the metahuman soul, and that is why he writes. Has been banned from a couple of Runner BBSs for constantly posting about his latest runs in the form of epic poem, and that’s not what these boards are for, @GLORIOUSSAMURAI, please turn off your caps lock

Star Trek Kleskizhae

Romulan Tactical Officer. Fought in the Dominion War, joined the Romulan Republic after Romulus asplode, because they wouldn’t let him quietly desert and because he believes in the true Romulan spirit that can never be repressed!

Poetry: He’s trying to revive ancient pre-Awakening Vulcan poetic traditions whilst failing to recognize that lots of it doesn’t work in the modern Romulan language. He’s always been super into poetry but after the destruction of Romulus, he becomes obsessed with writing the perfect series of poems to describe it for the future, so that people will remember what it’s like long after everyone who remembers it is dead. He hasn’t been successful yet and it’s upsetting him but he can’t just not do it. He owes it to the dead.

Bionicle Kleskizhae

He's a proud Skakdi warlord of Fire who is trying his best to unite his proud and noble people against the wicked deprivations of the Makuta and might also be in the Order of Mata Nui because sometimes Kleskizhae is a spy? But always he is very loud.

Poetry: Extremely long and elaborate war chants with 40 verses that he’s trying to get his guys to chant into battle but no one else but him can remember it all and he keeps adding more verses. But also he’s written love poetry that’s gone all the way around Greg and made romance canon again! He’s done it! With the chiseling of the tablets he’s made love real!

#oc: kleskizhae #all screaming together in perfect harmony #long post

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mediaeval-muse · 5 years ago

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Book Review... Maria Hudgins, “Death in an Ivory Tower”

Rating: 2/5 stars

Genre: mystery

Part of a Series? Yes, #5 of 5 (so far)

Summary: It's a scholarly conference at Oxford and the subject is The Lingering Effects of the King Arthur Tales on Life in Elizabethan England, but two participants don t fit in. Dotsy Lamb, PhD candidate from Virginia, has inadvertently invited a couple of New Agers from Glastonbury. Their agenda is to prove to these arrogant academics that King Arthur and Guinevere were real people. As a big surprise, Bram Fitzwaring plans to produce their royal bones. Fitzwaring doesn't show up for his scheduled address because he s still in his room. Dead. An insulin-dependent diabetic, Fitzwaring appears to have died from hypoglycemia. But Dotsy, also diabetic, says his symptoms prior to his demise do not spell hypoglycemia. They spell murder.

***Full review under the cut.***

Overview: I need to tell you how I came across this book and why I decided to read it. A very close friend who is an Arthurian scholar took me to Half Price Books to buy me something for my birthday, and as we were browsing, she came across this book. Keep in mind, we’re BOTH medievalists, so when we saw the synopsis on the back, we immediately went “this is it... this is the birthday book.” And so I read it. And it was a wild ride, alternating between amusement and tedium. If you’re an academic, particularly one who studies medieval literature, you’ll need to just push past all the bizarre things that the author thinks a graduate student (of any age) does. Despite all that (or, perhaps, because of them), I was highly entertained for a good portion of the book while simultaneously being bored in parts where the plot dragged.

Writing: Hudgins’ writing isn’t very difficult to follow, so you can skim the book if you’re the type of reader that likes to finish books quickly. There were never any moments where I was confused as to what was going on, yet I also can’t say there was anything about the writing that stood out either. It was just kind of a middle-of-the-road, “popcorn” style. What was a bit more irritating for me was how the writing bogged down the plot. Because Dotsy takes the time to describe what she does in the order she does it, as well as drop in huge chunks of backstory or historical information when she feels like it’s warranted, the sense of urgency or suspense is absent. It rather feels more like “I did this. Then I did this. Here’s how this character’s past went. Then I did this.” For example, it takes 4 paragraphs for Dotsy to explain how she is able to decipher some of the murdered victim’s notes - and it could have been done in 1. As a result, there’s not really any clue as to what details from the text are significant for the mystery, nor am I interested to see how the plot unfolds.

Characters: Dotsy Lamb was actually a very enjoyable character for me. When I learned that she was a woman in her 60s pursuing a PhD, my first thought was “You go girl!” I also liked that she was diabetic - I can’t recall any other books I’ve read in which the main character is diabetic. It’s pretty great for representation, all around. Everyone else was just kind of incidental. Some of them had interesting quirks, but a lot of them just popped in and out at random. I guess they were distinct enough in personality and function that I could remember them and tell them apart, so that was good.

Plot: The idea that someone might have been murdered by academics in order to cover up the fact that Arthur was real was too good to pass up. But to be honest, I did find the pacing of the plot to be rather slow. Dotsy doesn’t make much headway on the case for the first few dozen pages, instead summarizing her experience to others. She doesn’t seem too determined to solve anything either, and while I know she’s no detective (professionally), I would have liked to see more drive from her. Personally, I found the mystery itself to be rather underwhelming, once it was unraveled. Due to the lack of suspense, it didn’t really feel like much was at stake, and the writing style made it difficult for me to feel invested in one theory or another. I think more careful, deliberate plotting would have helped in this regard.

Other Academics: As an academic myself, I was constantly going back and forth between “That’s ridiculous!” and “No, that’s legit” whenever Dotsy did anything related to her PhD. The fact that Dotsy is writing about Shakespeare, but teaches Classics and Medieval Literature without knowing any Latin (she says so explicitly) and goes to an elite conference on Arthurian Literature (which seems to only have 9 attendees) was wild. On the one hand, yeah, pre-modern studies people are expected to know everything about the world before 1800. On the other, why on earth is Dotsy going to this conference if she’s not writing about Arthuriana? The conference itself also seemed very surface-level, so it felt like a basic history course rather than a gathering of elites. No one would go to a prestigious academic conference to give a paper on the definition of courtly love nowadays, or a paper on the dissolution of the monasteries without a unique angle on it. Of course, most people don’t know how academics work, so I have to cut the author some slack. But it did make for some amusing reading. One thing that was accurate, unfortunately, was the relationship between Dotsy and her adviser. The adviser seemed to be puffed up by his own brilliance, but still relied on Dotsy’s labor to make himself look good. It’s not right, but it exists.

Continuing on with the series? No.

Recommendations: I would recommend this book if you’re interested in dark academia or mystery novels.

#book reviews

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opcelia · 5 years ago

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name/alias & pronouns:

cat, she/her.

favorite book & author:

wow! listen, this is a HUGE question because I have so many and idc, I’m going to ramble tf out of this Right, so straight off the bat - anything by Lemony Snicket ! A series of unfortunate events were my LIFE ! I also would die for Margaret Atwood - The Handmaid’s Tale & Blind Assassin being my faves ! Ian McEwan’s Atonement destroyed me for my A-Levels, and urgh, the fucking tropes and urgh !! I adore Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, like seriously, I have written is back to front, analysed the shit out of it and still love/hate it lol. The Catcher in the Rye seriously changed me, I got it for my thirteenth birthday and am ever so grateful for it. Sharp Objects, The Beautiful and Damned, The Great Gatsby are also serious favourites. ANGEL MOTHER FUCKING LETS DESTROY THE PATRIARCHY CARTER, my badass bitch - with the BLOODY CHAMBER. the classics - PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, WUTHERING HEIGHTS, LITTLE WOMEN, JANE EYRE, OF MICE AND MEN !!! SHAKESPEARE (I Know he WrItEs pLaYs) , but HAMLET & MACBETH & ROMEO AND JULIET - fucking classics. SPEAKING OF PLAYWRITES - THE CRUCIBLE BY ARTHUR MILLER!! LIKE ARE YOU JOKING ME ?? I SAW GOODY PROCTOR WITH THE DEVIL. AND ALL MY SONS. and ofc, THE HARRY POTTER BOOKS were my childhood, and fill a hole nothing else every could.

pick one:

ancient, medieval, or modern literature?: modern literature.

if you could be any deity, who/what would you be?:

APOLLO ! what a g ! able to bring such light, music, happiness - warding off evil !! the fucking prophecies !! ALSO being able to give and or take diseases !!

which skeleton has caught your eye & why them?:

honestly. all of them. but, i definitely have my eyes on MILLER as my heart weeps for a tragedy. I long for muses with backgrounds that destroy you, and with little hope to cling onto.

would you accept an invitation to a society such as invictus yourself?:

accepting seems as though you an have option. So yes, I think I would. after all, who wouldn’t wanted to be accepted? gfre4fr3edw but i would be vv shit, not really turn up to meetings !!

#noctalk #!!!#guess who got a bit excited when talking about fav books/authors #I APOLOGISE #on my life

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steamworksandshadows · 6 years ago

Text

TimePunk/PunkPunk: The Textening

Been largely absent from this blog this year, so of course I figured I’d make it up to you with two extremely long text posts two days in a row. Love you all!

This is the Timepunk/Punk Punk post from 2015 updated for 2018, in a format you can copy/paste, and accessible to screen readers. Added a few more *punks and clarified a few more definitions. (Feel free to message me if you know of a *punk not on the list.)

Timepunk: Advanced technologies develop in a historical (or future) period, which changes the associated society, fashion, and magic. TVTropes explanation: Either exchanges the basic technology for that of another historical period or mixes in another genre.

These are not definitions or in-depth in any way. I describe each with associations and imagery, as I’ve found these to be useful shorthand for explaining to strangers and newbies. I tried to make sure each punk had more than one discussion or labeled work online (otherwise the list would expand to include every silly discussion thread on the internet).

Note: none of these have much to do with 1960s-70s Punk music culture, other than some possible overlapping anti-authoritarian themes. These genres are derivatives of steampunk, which arose from cyberpunk.

stonepunk: Prehistoric, Neolithic, Stone Age

bronzepunk: Bronze Age, Ancient Egyptian, Ancient Mesopotamia, Ancient Mediterranean

sandalpunk, classicpunk, ironpunk, togapunk: Iron Age, Classical antiquity, Greece, Roman Empire, Atlantis, Antikythera mechanism

biblepunk: Biblical Middle East, emphasizes adventure over morality

middlepunk, dungeonpunk, candlepunk, plaguepunk, castlepunk: Medieval European, medieval fantasy, Black Death

dragonpunk, vikingpunk, wizardpunk: high fantasy, medieval fantasy, Tolkien, wizards, Vikings

clockpunk: Renaissance, early Baroque, Leonardo Da Vinci, Galileo

bardpunk: Shakespeare sci-fi

rococopunk, lacepunk: Baroque, Rococo, Colonial, Marie Antoinette, American Revolution, New Romantics

rococoa: rococopunk based on black history, Assassin’s Creed Liberation

piratepunk: Golden Age of Piracy, Age of Sail, Assassin’s Creed Black Flag

steampunk: Regency, Victorian, Edwardian, Art Nouveau, Industrial Revolution, Jules Verne, HG Wells

steampulp, gaslamp fantasy: steampunk focused on fantasy/adventure/romance over science fiction

steamfunk: steampunk based on black history, sometimes combined with 1970s funk aesthetics

steamgoth, dreadpunk: period gothic, supernatural, horror, Penny Dreadful

dustpunk, cattlepunk, Weird West: North American cowboy, American Indian, Wild West

Amishpunk: giant wooden robots?

gauchopunk: South American cowboy

slavicpunk: Eastern Europe, rural/pagan/mystical themes

teslapunk: steampunk focused on electricity, free energy, Nikola Tesla

nerfpunk: steampunk in bright Nerf gun colors

stitchpunk: rag doll steampunk

fairypunk: steampunk fairy tales

decopunk, flapperpunk: Roaring Twenties, Jazz Age, Art Deco, Prohibition, flappers, gangsters

dieselpunk: World War I & II, London Blitz, tank/sub warfare, bomber planes, military, noir

dieselfunk: dieselpunk based on black history

Blitzpunk, Nazipunk: dieselpunk focused on Nazis as super-villains, alternate Nazi-ruled history

atompunk: Atomic Age, Space Age, pulp, raygun gothic, Fallout

transistorpunk, psychedelipunk, weedpunk: Cold War, Vietnam War, psychedelic drugs, disco, Space Race, James Bond, Philip K. Dick

spacepunk: space opera, space exploration, sword and space, futuristic utopia, Ziggy Stardust, Star Trek

Cassette Futurism, formicapunk: late 20th century analog technology, VHS, cassettes, primitive digital, 8-bit, no internet or cellphones, The Fifth Element, Max Headroom

gothicpunk, cybernoir: post-modern, dystopian, goth and punk fusion, old World of Darkness, The Crow

cyberpunk: cyberspace, cyborgs, dystopia, Blade Runner, Neuromancer, the street finds its uses for technology

postcyberpunk, cyberprep: cyberpunk without the assumption of dystopia, Ghost in the Shell

biopunk: cyberpunk focused on genetic engineering and organic technology

nanopunk: cyberpunk focused on nanites and nanotechnology

bugpunk: cyberpunk/biopunk starring bugs

solarpunk: near-future, solar tech, environmentally-friendly tech, neo-Art Nouveau & African, Asian art

post-apocalyptic, apunkalypse, wasteland: survivalist, Mad Max, Burning Man, Fallout, west coast tribal

junkpunk: post-apocalyptic using trash and repurposed scrap for material

Geographic punk: These punks are also about advanced technologies developing in a historical society, but are based on geography and culture rather than time. So the time period and technology can range anywhere from bronzepunk to cyberpunk, though steampunk is often the springboard.

silkpunk: Silk Road, classical Chinese antiquity, Ken Liu

bamboopunk, ricepunk: East and South Asia

jadepunk: East Asia, wuxia, mystical jade tech (sometimes mystical aether tech)

edopunk: Japan

rajpunk: India

SEAsteampunk: Southeast Asia

Environment punk: Advanced technologies in an environment rather than time period. Technology can range from stonepunk to cyberpunk.

desertpunk, sandpunk: survival in a very harsh environment, often post-apocalyptic, neo-Bedouins

oceanpunk: mostly watery/oceanic world, often piratical, One Piece, Water World

skypunk: sister to oceanpunk, the sky is an ocean

Falls outside the timepunk umbrella, but still has punk in the name. Mostly literary and musical:

seapunk: oceanic, aqua, spacey dance music, “Venice Beach Acid Rave 1995”

clownpunk: clowns + punk

wizardpunk: wizard rock, Harry and the Potters

splatterpunk: extreme horror, graphic violence, nihilistic

carniepunk: urban fantasy and horror set in carnivals

mannerpunk: fantasy focusing on elaborate social structure plots

elfpunk: fairies and elves in modern-day settings

mythpunk: myths and folklore through postmodern urban fantasy or science fiction

arcanepunk: fantasy where both magic and science exist

capepunk: superhero fiction deconstructing (or reconstructing) superheroism in a “realistic” manner

feltpunk: humans and muppets live side by side (in a dystopia?), Greg the Bunny, The Muppet Show

dreampunk: overarching meta-punk examining or rewriting history to address oppression, human rights, and environmental issues, or creating new myths to address the same. Employs dream logic. Draws on other *punk genres for material and influence.

nowpunk: contemporary literature. Yes, it was coined as a joke.

#steampunk #timepunk #punkpunk #cyberpunk #solarpunk

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