No GHB in the wine this time

A few months back, I reviewed Marjolys' 'The Sleep of Reason' a la Google Translate. She's added a one-shot to her continuity - Arno being anally penetrated with no lube or condoms aside - where these two wonderful lovers go to Fontainebleau for a wine tasting ceremony. Thankfully, or not, there's no GHB in the drink. It's an 11,000 word one-shot, so you're in for a treat. 

Another thing that the Marquis had not left for several months: the young man from the capital whom the Saumanais saw from time to time walking around, then going back to the castle. Some had been able to exchange a few words with him, he was a charming boy, kind and helpful.

Arno, by this point, is in his mid-twenties. Hearing de Sade or the author refer to him as a 'boy', is rather creepy. More so since de Sade refers to him as such throughout the original story. Arno is his pet, his boy toy, and all he's good for is bending over.

The old people were thrilled: the marquis was spending time with his son! Others were more circumspect: was it not rather a conquest? But not yet another blow of an evening no, the chosen one of his heart! Two men ? Great gods! It seems that the marquis even shot por-no-gra-phi-c films, be aware! Oh my, do you think he is sleeping with his own son? These reflections became decidedly preposterous. The people returned to their occupations without thinking about it any more

To go off the original fic, de Sade was wanted by the highest French authorities for his porn films. To piss off the French in regards to sex, you need to do something quite heinous. In Marjolys' case, she made de Sade into a new Roman Polanski. If the passersby are wondering if de Sade is banging his own son, we've entered the realm of fuckery I haven't mapped out yet.

Arno gave an inarticulate groan. How could he have known that there were two Fontainebleau's? He really did not know much about France outside the Paris region. For him, there was Paris to the north, Saumane to the south, period. And between the two, fields of vines.

Arno works for a security company and is said to be an intelligent man, and yet doesn't know of the chateaus, cities or town outside of Paris. He's also never used Google once in his life. What a fucking idiot.

Arno spread his arms over the back of the seat and leaned his head back, leached. He had worked all the month of September in Paris to keep busy and keep his body in shape after these extended holidays in Saumane, coupled with a gastronomic stay in Japan.

You've been to Japan yet don't know there were two Fontainebleaus. Might I ask what other sort of 'exercise' you've been doing? I think it involves the pillow biting kind.

The bulk of their expenses went to the Château de Saumane and the Café-theater in Paris. The latter was still under renovation and was not yet bringing them any income. In addition, Sade having ended his activities as a film director, he had considered it wiser to separate from most of his servants in order to lighten their charges. A second salary was therefore not to be overlooked. And then there was not only that. Paris was his home.

These two are broke and aren't worried about income? Bad optics, Marjolys. You as a starving artist would know money and income measure your success. de Sade isn't making pornos, Arno isn't a bodyguard anymore, and yet he can take vacations to Japan and still not finish renovations at the Café. He doesn't even know how a business works. Chalk that to poor characterization.

The young man closed his eyes and let out a little laugh. Donatien and his love of wine. Since they had been in a relationship, the Marquis had tried to give Arno the taste of good wine, tasted in moderation; a passion cultivated through the prism of oenology, associated with the culinary art.

Yeah, about that. You wrote de Sade joking that he would put GHB in the wine to make Arno more compliant. Totally normal, healthy human behaviour.

"Always wanting to make you interesting," grumbled affectionately Arno out of the car.

"It forces you to pay attention to me," retorted Sade with a mocking smile. 

Yep. Not possessive behaviour at all.

Barely older than Arno, dark and not very tall, he stood upright and seemed confident. He had a hooked nose, long and narrow, and a small mouth which made him look a bit like a rodent, without making his face unsightly; on the contrary, his features were rather fine and distinguished. Dressed in a classic dark tie suit on a white shirt, he was armed with a filing cabinet which he opened wide, discovering a long list of names, some of which were checked.

Marjolys, the ethnicity you're looking for is 'Jewish', but oy vey, that's anti Semitic.

Arno felt butterflies pleasantly tickle his stomach. They were those of Sade. They had never talked about it, about entering into a civil union or even getting involved. Bah! Everyone would have taken the reservation by giving only their own name. He imagined anything.

Give me a break. You're considering marrying the guy who joked about drugging your wine, and who sodomized you without lube or condoms, thinking spit was adequate lube? Ho hum. Grab me that box of tissues, I need another accelerator.

"… We are Arno and Donatien de Sade," concludes the marquis loud and clear.

Arno's heart did a triple somersault. Sade gave him a broad smile devoid of any malice. No, clearly the Marquis was not taking this seriously, no need to make a fuss about it.

This characterization of Arno is terrible. He gets butterflies at every instance de Sade shows him affection, and I'm not going to forget the fact he doesn't know anything about his own country while his older lover writes travel logs about Japan. Logic.

Yes, Arno, he's being dead serious. Now go harass a Christian baker for your cake.

Later, Arno asks Bernadotte, an employee there, about his circumstances. Bernadotte tells him, and Arno sneers,

I didn't ask you to tell me about your life , Arno thought with a grimace.

No, you just happened to ask, you idiot.

Do you know what love is?

"Love?" repeated Arno, taken aback. "Well yes."

Having your 'lover' joke about GHB, treat you like a boy toy with no autonomy, and sodomize you with no lube and asking, over and over again, to star in your porn films doesn't sound like love to me. But what do I know?

He seemed to scan Arno with his amber eyes. Uncomfortable, he mumbled "all the fun is for us" trying to discreetly remove his hand from the embrace of Corsica without appearing rude. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sade's face frozen in a calculating, not to say hostile, expression - he was literally bombarding the winegrower with negative waves. It started well. Perhaps the Marquis was going to be the one having the worst day, in the end.

"How dare you hold my lover's hand for more than five minutes. Those are my hands to play with, dammit!"

"I must admit that I have no idea what your field of activity is, that said," Belmaison continued without taking his eyes off Arno.

"I'm a writer," replied Sade, "and Arno is ..."

"Service provider," finished the latter in a stuffy tone. 

 In this AU, the Assassins are not a Brotherhood but a security company providing bodyguards and other such services. It is assumed it's not all that secretive. de Sade is infamous in France for his films, and yet this humble wine grower has no clue who he is. This cannot be so as de Sade's exploits are known to everyone in France. If you asked modern day French intellectuals who de Sade was, they would easily tell you. Either Marjolys forgets what she writes, or she assumes her audience is stupid. Given the small audience she writes for, and the people who mindlessly praise her work, this assumption has validity.

"I'm not going to unpack my CV. And you then, you didn't tell him that you were a director of porn movies, basically."

"Military tactics, my dear. I don't want to put him in the wrong mood; failing to lend us a room for the night, let him at least camp in his garden. He and his boyfriend don't seem to be the type to do nouba every Saturday evening."

Again, this makes the assumption everyone has forgotten who de Sade was all because he hangs out in the countryside to avoid INTERPOL. There is no way this rich wine grower doesn't know who he is. This is also the era of social media and investigative journalism; no one lives in a bubble anymore unless they choose to do so.

The Marquis launched a "BRAVO!" Whose cynicism did not escape the wine producer, who immediately gave up and stiffened his posture more, if that was possible. Sade was practically hilarious. 

He's really not. This is equivalent to watching Lily Singh try to be funny on late night television.

Again the feeling was mutual, Arno had to admit. This dissuaded him from making a joke that Sade was getting old.

This dialogue is going to kill me faster than Lily Singh's "comedy."

Arno pinched the bridge of his nose. If he suspected that Sade's little visit had not been limited to a "glance", he refrained from making the remark that getting into people's homes was punishable by law; he himself had entered places where he had not been invited, as part of his work at the protection agency. Unity Protect being known above all for its effectiveness, its methods were far from being beyond reproach.

You know what is also punishable by law? Drugging people's drinks with the intent to sexually assault them. Using minors in pornographic films. Distributing said films that lead to French authorities descending on your business. Really, Arno, you helped a guy break all these laws all because he gave you a good dicking.

"Very funny ! I'd rather give up drinking, as long as he doesn't come near you."

"I'm big enough to reject his advances, it seems to me," softened Arno.

He kissed his companion's cheek to show him his good faith. Sade gave him a little smirk.

Not possessive behaviour at all. I really don't think Marjolys knows what she's doing here.

Sade gave a small approving sneer.

"I could simulate a seizure of senile dementia and you would take the opportunity to steal some good bottles. The oldest vintages are probably those placed at the bottom of the displays. Afterwards, nothing says that they are the best, but there are more chances."

"The money is overflowing from your pocket and you plan to steal wine from an independent producer?"

First, Marjolys established that these two were short on money. Now, de Sade is overflowing with cash to where Arno is an independent of him. It was written that 'the bulk of their expenses' went to de Sade's castle, whereas Arno is unemployed. Now they're going to steal wine! I would also like to add that Bernadotte saw these two as lovers. They're passing off as father and son.

Ick.

"Only because he can profit from it, while giving himself a good image. That of an admirable and respectable man, superior to others. All of that is snuff. Do you hear how he likes to listen to himself talk?"

"That…" admitted Arno with a little smirk. "Even more than you."

"Exactly! That says everything."

Marjolys needs to learn a word called 'hypocrite'. de Sade profited easily at the sexual exploitation of others, while giving himself a good image. He recruited Arno to protect him from a terrible plot involving a villain no one cared for and a twist absolutely no one saw coming (that is sarcasm, by the way). de Sade is emphatically puffing up his chest, and Arno the idiot goes along with it.

"I couldn't know that I was going to hate them before I came," pleaded Sade. In any case, I swear to you that I am ready with all my heart to adore their wine if it is as good as they say it. Hopefully they have the goodness to finally let us taste it."

Apparently, you don't bother to look up who actually owns the vineyard before you embarrass everyone in it.

"Wouldn't you be a little sassy, ​​young man?" attacked the Marquis with paternalistic superiority. "The customer is king, which makes you our servant. So just take our order and spare us your mean remarks."

de Sade pulling the 'I'd like to speak to the manager' Karen card.

For a moment, Arno thought Bernadotte was going to cry. Or stick his pen in the chin strap of the marquis, or both.

Honestly, I don't blame him. What a prick.

Arno rolled his eyes and rushed into the narrow corridor leading to the exit. He hardly liked the turn things took with Bernadotte; certainly the character was a little exuberant but he was not mean, and Arno did not want to be hated by him. He looked sad, basically. Obviously something was bothering him with his boss and Arno would have liked to know what, so - it was silly - to try to help him.

So much for Arno's good natured heart. I guess fucking a guy who doesn't use lube and goes in all raw and no rubber does that to you.

Arno hesitated for a second. It was not going to please his companion. At the same time, if he were to submit to imaginary crises of jealousy ...

Who's concerned about jealousy here? You're just going for a walk. Or are you that concerned your sugar daddy is going to leave you?

As it turns out, in their conversation, Belmaison knows full well who Arno was, but pretended to act as if he didn't. He still entreats the notion that de Sade is his 'father', though it's clear from their banter they are anything but.

At the mention of this first name, Belmaison's attitude changed completely; he turned red with anger and suddenly got up from his seat, spilling dishes in the process. Arno shriveled in his, eyes like saucers. By concentrating well, perhaps he would be able to teleport out of the room. In Saumane, in Paris, or even in the toilets, who knows.

Bernadotte tells this wannabe Napoleon that he's getting engaged. He throws a tantrum and Arno shrinks in his seat. If this didn't convince me this iteration of Arno was a bitch boy (all raw and no rubber anal sex notwithstanding), this would be the pivotal moment.

There was a short moment of silence, during which the air became heavy with meaning. The winegrower crossed his arms. He now seemed to apprehend the words of his employee.

" ... What?" ends up asking for Belmaison.

Bernadotte took a deep breath; it looked like he was playing his life.

"I love you, Leon !!!"

Arno spit out his tea. 

Wow. What a twist.

 I know but that doesn't prevent me from being more lucid than ever! Now I have the courage to admit things to you! Leon, I love you, I love you! I was jealous of Désirée! And Désirée was no more in love with you than with me! She is much better without us, and we are better without her! Forgive me, Leon.

This has all the markings of an overly acted, overly dramatic soap opera. It's not funny, it's not powerful, and it comes off as cringeworthy. Marjolys just doesn't know how to sell a script.

Hands on hips, the Marquis waited for Arno to join him; his assured posture in the center of the courtyard could have made him pass for the master of the place. Several cases marked with the name of the vineyard rested at his feet. Bernadotte had probably helped him to set up the boxes and then, when going to get Belmaison, had surprised him to take tea with Arno, that enough to trigger him a fit of jealousy and to want to unpack his bag. The boy was so sensitive. 

If taking tea with a guest is enough to drive de Sade crazy with jealousy, this is not a wholesome relationship. de Sade requires Arno to be at his beck and call 100% of the time, and cannot stand it when he even speaks to other people. Who's sensitive here? Arno or de Sade?

Arno returned Sade's knowing glance and rummaged in his pocket, almost certain to find something to help him in his noble task. Bingo. If Sade did not comment when the young man took out of his pocket a bunch of locksmith's hooks, his mocking look said enough. No, definitely Unity Protect was not a recommendable agency; only two small rusty hooks still hung from the metal buckle. Arno had no room for error.

Arno can pick locks but can't ascertain that de Sade is a pervert or knows the regions outside of Paris. Logic.

"If Belmaison saw us," sneered the marquis.

"He's obsessing you, my word. Do you want him to be asked to join us?"

"Honey, you know there is only one man who is obsessing me."

Yeah, the same guy who goes into fits of jealousy when you take tea with people instead of him and jokes about putting GHB in the wine. That kind of guy.

So saying, he tilted the Marquis to the side and reversed their positions. Framing the young man's cheeks with his hands, Sade drew his young lover to him and their lips came naturally into contact. An act that has become a ritual, which they knew by heart but rediscovered each time. And what followed very often was just as much.

The hay turned out to be very comfortable. 

Sex with no lube or condoms, because these guys are so afraid of a little rain and de Sade doesn't pack an umbrella for rainy days. Smart. Pretty sure Arno is going to have a blown out asshole by now.

The wine-grower began to chase them, barking incomprehensible words, accompanied by gestures just as abscond. Arno couldn't even tell if the man was really angry or not. Perhaps he hadn't recognized them yet, he hoped, even if it was highly unlikely. The best solution was still to run away and then deny everything as a whole.

You stole from this guy, fucked in a barn because of a downpour you didn't check the weather for, and even when the guy looks right at you, think that he can't recognize you. No wonder you quite the security force, Arno. Only thing you're good for is sucking cock.

Sade looked up at him, steeped in surprise, admiration and tenderness. Stars literally shone in his blue eyes with dilated pupils. Stunned, Belmaison had stopped in the middle of the field, mouth wide open and hands on his hips. Arno wanted to die. He had literally sacrificed a dream job for a moldy pun, all to impress Sade.

No fucking shit. It took you a story and a one-shot to discover this?

"After all, now that you're going to be there full time, you might as well introduce yourself to them."

"Introduce myself as ...? Your darling son?" teased Arno.

Sade shook his head. He pretended to think:

"My partner ? … Engaged?"

Arno's heart missed a beat.

"Fiancé?"

"Mr. Arno de Sade? It does not please you ?"

He made a sign of the chin towards the letter fallen on the ground and resumed in a fatalistic tone:

"I'm afraid it's already your official name."

You didn't even bother to talk to him about an engagement, and yet went ahead and got the documents to make Arno 'yours' without his consent. That's 100% wholesome, Marjolys, and not at all creepy. Am I to assume there was an unspoken agreement between them over fucking pancakes? Guess not.

Marjolys cannot write Arno worth shit. I'm going to have to wait to see if I get reported for telling her this, but her Arno can't manage a business, finances, his independence, or realize he was hired to protect a guy wanted by the highest French authorities. He vomited when de Sade came in his mouth when they had sex, and they routinely have unprotected sex without lubrication. Arno better make sure his seropositive status is stable.

She just can't grasp her own work's contradictions or realize just how stupid her characterization is. This is set in modern times; there is no excuse not to use the Internet or use the radio to find out if it is going to rain. He stands there, seeing teenage prostitutes fuck on film, and doesn't react to it. He has no concept of justice. He was hired for a job he doesn't take seriously, and hangs around a man who decides they're already engaged without having a discussion. Do you realize how creepy that is? It's not loving at all. Love is when you trust that person and you discuss your futures together. Love is trusting your partner not to get jealous when you take tea with guests of honour. Jesus Christ, Marjolys. Your art has gone down in quality and so has your writing style. No doubt Izzy Grinch and the 'aromantic' Kalincka (who blocked me on Twitter after I asked if I could comment on her work) and MoodyDisorder (an otherwise pretty girl who says she's 'non binary' with a shaven head) will love the work. But I'm not a clam licking salt out of desperation. I have a mind, I use it, and you bet your ass I am going to comment on you writing a story where neo Roman Polanski decides your already married without consent.

The dialogue is fucking terrible. Good lord, I actually breezed through this thing - and you know if I do that, your shit stinks to high heaven. It's not beta read, but even if beta read it wouldn't fix how bad it is. I have read plenty of beta'd works that read just as awful as they would if they weren't edited. You know why? Because the beta didn't go through it with a fine toothed comb. If you don't have an editor that can't ask the hard questions and point out plot holes, bad dialogue, bad characterization, inconsistencies, and borderline idiotic behaviour, your manuscript needs to be thrown in the woodchipper. Say a prayer for the trees while you're at it, because they died for your crap to be printed.

By the way, I won't forget the GHB in the wine 'joke'. Nothing says love like joking to your beloved that you stuck a drug meant for raping unconscious people and for loosening anuses at gay meth parties in their wine. Be sure to engrave those letters on your De Beers engagement ring. For posterity and all.

Update: it wouldn't be fair to not include these gems:

Kalincka has a habit of absolutely sucking the e-dick of this girl. "It's so French" for what's equivalent to a bodyguard who takes high ranking clients not to know much about his own country? Look, ask a Torontonian much about the countryside and they'll give you a shrug, but they know what it is. They know what it looks like. 

A modern AU without use of the Internet (or condoms, or lube before anal sex) is one of the dumbest things I've ever read, but hey, can't poke holes in wonderful French fiction. The French won't like it.