#Is it bad that I think this should be Canon?

[ohnoitstbskyen]

One of the more interesting theories I've seen is "The Arcane is a metaphor for The Narrative, and Act 3 is about the characters breaking away from the path the Arcane set for them". (Admittedly, there's still a good chance that they're going to become something close to their League selves, but for the sake of the fic, "League Canon" is different from "The Predetermined Path The Arcane Has In Mind".)

I mean, that's definitely A Way™ to try and thematically integrate something like Ekko's time travel into the story... but I don't think they should or will do that, because it kinda flies in the face of everything Arcane has otherwise been about.

Arcane has been about how class and systems of power push people to act in certain ways, it has been about privilege and deprivation, it has been about how cycles of violence and trauma forcibly replicate themselves under oppression, and it has been about the ways in which all of those things can push people to become the worst versions of themselves with the absolute best of intentions.

See Silco and Vander both acting out of love for their cities to try and make the best future they can for their children and fellow citizens, and the consequences of both their methods. See Viktor and Jayce trying their damndest to invent something that will make the world better, vs the pain and devastation their Hextech causes in the world.

Season 2 goes HARD on this too - Caitlyn being enabled and very actively pushed by her class position to turn her grief and trauma into authoritarian oppression, Vi letting guilt and obligation push her into becoming a part of it "for the greater good" because she's desperately trying to live up to what Vander taught her by example.

And saying "ah, no wait actually, it is The Narrative Of The Fiction that is causing this to happen to us!" very badly undercuts all of that. The whole narrative up until this point has been about how bad systems make monsters out of good people, and to pull back the curtain, Wizard of Oz style, and find that it was just A Guy doing it, some wilful entity imposing a narrative on the world... that's a very different kind of story.

At worst, it would turn Arcane into metanarrative wank - a corporation jerking itself off over its IPs and cinematic universe, or writers jerking themselves off over how important and powerful writing is, why, it is the most powerful force in the entire world of our fiction! (looking at you, Game of Thrones Season 8).

From the very start, what I have feared the most is that Riot would turn Arcane into a story not about its characters, but a story about the League of Legends™ family of exciting and highly engaging intellectual properties which we are excited to leverage in a cross-brand synergistic market activation. A story whose ultimate point is "buy League of Legends skins and get excited for Phase 2 of the League of Legends Cinematic Universe!"

So yeah... I would like The Arcane to be a thing inside of its own universe and bound by its rules, not a thing which represents the commercial concerns of the world we live in. I hope you are not correct about that interpretation.

[dearest-and-nearest]

That's my canon and most lovely route, but with one little thing: Aretha is a mage herself. She simply doesn't feel she's a part of magic as social group.

As we all know, Malcolm's personality changes to match Hawke's. So in my canon it was hard, cruel even man, who raised the same hard and cruel daughter. For me it seems fitting why Carver feels so unconfident and nervous

But back to the post. I was talking about this many times and yes, game almost begs you to support mages, always giving you an opportunity to change your mind if you're going with Templars, but almost never - if you're with mages. If you support none in the start of act 3, Orsino is the one who gives you quests, not Meredith.

And honestly, I think it's bad. Like mages are dangerous, no matter what Anders says and wants, they are dangerous. Just remember Broken circle quest or Redcliff. Orsino helped fucking maniac simply because he was a fellow mage. Do I feel sorry for ordinary mages, who will be slaughtered? Yes, and you can still don't kill them, btw. But mostly - mages here deserve their fate, they turns to demons more quickly, than I write this post.

And honestly? I have no wonder why Meredith gone mad, she hadn't even need red lyrium for that, just imagine: you're a head of a templars in city full of mages. Your superiors do nothing, but gossip about your cruelty behind your back, while you have to do all the job, they're so useless than even can't capture apostate who came right in their arms. You're working all the time, but no matter what you do, this city is still full of bloodmages, apostates and other dangerous people.

And by the way, act 3 starts with Orsino in hightown reading speech almost right near church (i feel he would be do this near church with pleasure, but near our home is more comfortable). He left the Gallows, swimmed to docks, then went through it, all Lowtow, almost all high town, all the way we do through finals of act 2 and act 3, and nobody stopped him. And in this time game tells us that Meredith is especially tyrannical in this act

I know it's probably devs' mistake and consequence of no time and money during development, but I don't care. I'm judging the story game shows me and it what it shows and what it tells me conflicts from the first act 3 scene and even before that. And I have tendency to believe my eyes and ears, not what devs wanted to imply, but couldn't.

So yeah, I genuinely think templar route can be perfectly logical for Hawke, should we remove sympathy for circle mages for whatever reason. Does Hawke dislike their sister or do they not think that all mages are their friends - boom, they have a good reasons to support Meredith. And it's really underestimated route in fandom, because people mostly play as good ans don't know what a cool things can be in "bad" routes

While writing that Dragon Age 2 post the other day, I made a narrative connection I had never made before.

I was writing about the Templar route, and about how the game makes no bones about how the Templar route is the evil route, it's clearly narratively marked as such. Because the structure of the game sets itself up from the start to make Hawke have some sympathy for the mages: they are the child of a mage and the sibling of a mage. This is an issue that Hawke cannot exempt themselves from having opinions on.

But that said, yes, you can choose the Templar route. You can decide that the tragedy of your family being ripped apart by the mage plight has hardened Hawke's heart against them. You can join forces with the Order that has hunted your family members their whole lives. You can choose to tighten the iron fist, instead of choosing to break it. You can become the ruler of Kirkwall. You can kill your sister.

And then I realized: That's Meredith's story.

Meredith, whose sister was a mage, the sister who died from it and ripped her family apart in the process. Meredith, who hardened her heart against people like her sister and dedicated the rest of her life to punishing others like her. Meredith, who joined causes with the Templar order who made that happen. Meredith, who took over the city.

You can choose to become Meredith. The game lets you do that. But you have to know -- as you climb over her corpse to ascend her bloodied throne -- that it's not a 'good' choice.

[dreemurr-skelememer]

Can you elaborate on " i think this is EXACTLY how he should be redeemed especially in regards to how actual canon ink works" ?

the way ink's apathy and placement works as a character is because of him LITERALLY being unable to feel and understand how the characters around him feels, both as a soulless being and also because of how he's MADE to observe everything around him like the creators

the only way for him to ever feel bad about what he did in underverse is to literally put him in the position of the characters around him, along with forcing him to feel and understand how the others around him feel about the situation

the infinite vial/xvial being the trigger that makes him literally FEEL and fully embody and understand everything that xgaster is putting everyone and himself through is the perfect switch for his redemption, because how else are you going to make the soulless being feel for you other than literally putting him in your position and feelings?

it's a really good way of justifying ink getting a redemption arc. core reiterating to him that he is now part of the story he usually just observed, and him enforcing his place in it all in the latest episode, also helps encourage the redemption

he went from observer, to a character that's part of the story. instead of just someone who just watches these things move for entertainment, he's now one with them, experiencing things with them and seeing them as equals.

he's characterized, dare i say fictionalized, himself.

and that's something canon ink lacks the ability to do. mostly because he refuses to (i.e. refusing to give himself a soul bc he has sustainability in the vials, he doesn't see a need for it whereas underverse ink is losing that sustainability)

and he wouldn't have found this out without the vial. SO EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU FRESH!!!! THANK YOU FRESH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[isabelawritesthings]

Mortal Kombat 1 dialogues with Loki reader

characters included: Liu Kang, Raiden, Johnny Cage and Shang Tsung

notes: The dialogues will be with both the male and female versions of Loki, and since Loki is a canonically gender fluid bisexual character, there will be flirting in both forms.

a/n: Loki and women are my new obsession, maybe I'll do more dialogues with Marvel or even DC characters.

Liu Kang

MALE VERSION –

Liu Kang: You're causing a mess in the timelines!

Reader: What? Is it so wrong to travel through the multiverse?

-

Reader: Are you as powerful as He Who Remains?

Liu Kang: Who is this, Loki Laufeyson?

-

Reader: Do I remind you of a sorcerer?

Liu Kang: Unfortunately, yes.

-

Liu Kang: Make peace with Thor.

Reader: Why? Isn't it enough to live in his shadow all my life?!

-

FEMALE VERSION

Reader: You're quite handsome for a Fire God.

Liu Kang: Focus, Loki (Sylvie).

-

Liu Kang: You need to stop with the time travel!

Reader: Why? Are you afraid I'll break your perfect timeline?

-

Liu Kang: Shang Tsung is seduced by you.

Reader: Tell him I won't be a concubine!

-

Reader: Does Johnny Cage know there is a difference between flirting and sexual harassment?

Liu Kang: I'll talk to him later.

Raiden

MALE READER –

Raiden: Does your brother have lightning powers too?

Reader: Believe me, creating illusions is more impressive!

-

Raiden: Have you allied yourself with the sorcerers?

Reader: Come on, Raiden, you know I'm greedy.

-

Reader: Is your amulet your mjonir?

Raiden: What is a mjonir?

-

Reader: Come back to Fengjian, farmer boy!

Raiden: Not while you're out there causing chaos!

-

FEMALE READER –

Raiden: Is Shang Tsung jealous of me?

Reader: He thinks you're my boyfriend or something like that.

-

Raiden: How many gods are there in Asgard?

Reader: Our pantheon is as numerous as the stars in the sky.

-

Reader: What does Hela want with you?

Raiden: I don't know, but I hope it's nothing bad.

-

Reader: Very handsome for a shaolin

Raiden: This isn't going to... Wait, are you flirting with me?

Johnny Cage

MALE READER –

Johnny: Thor is more badass!

Reader: And why should I listen to the opinion of a mediocre actor like you?!

-

Johnny: That Sylvie has no right to be so hot!

Reader: You know she's technically me, right?

-

Reader: You're a womanizer, right? Have you ever tried something different?

Johnny: Look, I respect people with different tastes, but that's definitely not my case.

-

Reader: I also had problems with my father.

Johnny: This isn't going to make me sympathize with you, superhero movie villain!

-

FEMALE READER –

Johnny: Are you sure Hela is the goddess of death? Because you can kill with this look!

Reader: It's not too hard to see why your wife left you!

-

Johnny: I bet Asgard doesn't have gods as beautiful as me.

Reader: Please, have you seen my brother?

-

Reader: Who is this Madam Bo?

Johnny: You would have to go to Fengjian one day to know, do you like Chinese food?

-

Reader: I think Liu Kang is mad at me.

Johnny: Of course! You and your variants have wreaked havoc on the timelines!

-

Shang Tsung

MALE READER –

Shang Tsung: We could both benefit from an alliance.

Reader: HA! I am a God! I make no alliances with mortals who came from poverty!

-

Shang Tsung: *laughs* shall we start, God of lies?

Reader: As you wish, sorcerer...

-

Reader: I invaded Earth once, it will be easy to dominate Outworld!

Shang Tsung: Good luck facing Liu Kang and Mileena's forces!

-

Reader: You are as evil as I am.

Shang Tsung: Correct statement, Loki.

-

FEMALE READER –

Shang Tsung: Think, Loki (Sylvie)! You could-

Reader: Be your consort? May Odin protect me from this cruel fate!

-

Shang Tsung: Your body, so beautiful I could-

Reader: Ewww... Keep your perverted thoughts to yourself, sorcerer!

-

Reader: What did you see in me?

Shang Tsung: Power, beauty and cunning... Everything I admire in a woman.

-

Reader: You took advantage of Sindel's desperation to manipulate her!

Shang Tsung: *laughs* and the idiot fell right into my plan!

-

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

6. Down The Road

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: i just was scrolling through tumblr and saw a post that a girl on twitter made and it was talking about a hot dad and I was like 'that's so me' and then at the end of the post it talked about how he called her miss aven and I threw my phone across the room because my name is also aven and i guess I am not the only one but anyways yeah all aven's are hot if ur name is aven ur hot.

Summary: The men of camp have begun to act strange, and Arthur seems to be the only one standing out... until a particular train job goes terribly wrong, then all bets are off.

Warnings: Not many, just some angst, canon typical violence, misogyny, and arguing... oh and some blood :)

WC: 12.5k (I went very insane last week)

He sensed your awkward reaches, even if he didn’t see them. He adjusted himself on the saddle before meeting your hands behind his back and pulling them around his sides to hold on. Your breath caught in your throat from how casually he’d done it, and how softly he touched you.  “That’s a nice flower in your hair, by the way,” he muttered, not even looking back before grabbing the reins and leading the horse out of camp. 

It was nearing fall again, and a year since you first arrived at camp, but things were beginning to get hectic. Not just with the attitudes of people in camp, but with the local law of Agua Fria getting more involved in the jobs the gang was pulling. You weren’t quite sure if you should be thankful for the distraction, or worried that it could make things worse for you. As far as you know, there’s not been bad feelings towards you, but there certainly weren’t friendly ones, either. It’s strange, since right after everyone found out your secret, they almost revered you in a way they hadn’t before. You supposed the walking on eggshells had to cease eventually.

The only people brave enough to talk to you now are Arthur and Hosea… you can’t say you don’t understand why. The lies finally caught up with most people, and it seemed to only get worse as time went on.

The men weren’t the only ones shunning you, either. The women, minus Tilly, were very straight and to the point if they had to speak with you, and if they didn’t, they just avoided you at any cost. 

It was beginning to feel more lonesome, almost like before you joined up with the Van Der Linde’s. 

The moment that all of it came to a head was around the campfire one night. You hadn’t spoken a word in fear of being over-talked or interrupted. You wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of cutting you off. 

Bill was the first to become irrationally drunk. Sean and Mac were next. You could swear Javier was drunk, too, but with every drink he took, his guitar rhythm never stuttered. Arthur was teetering on the edge of drunkenness, but the man was a unit, and it took a lot of alcohol to turn his mind. 

You felt relaxed enough to hit the bottle that Sean had set down, but then all eyes were on you. 

You forgot. The women don’t drink unless there’s a special occasion, though you aren’t quite sure why. You set the bottle down and let your eyes stay on the ground when you do until the conversation starts back up again. 

Arthur doesn’t really participate, he stays out of most of it, as do you. If you’re being honest, you don’t know why you sit at the fire with them anymore, because they don’t seem to give a shit if you do, and don’t seem to revere you like when they hadn’t been exposed to your secret. 

When the drunken chatter of the Agua Fria women comes up, you’re glad you took enough of a swig to boost your confidence. 

“I think they’re fine and what not,” Bill stumbles over his wording, barely making any sense. “Them girls in Charleston Town were better…”

“Better at what exactly?” You chimed in, finally taking part in the conversation.

“Screwin’, mostly… other things too I guess,” he coughed a little after speaking, taking yet another drink out of his mug. 

“Why’s it matter?” Sean started in, and though you understood he was a good kid and just mildly outspoken, you hated how these little talks seemed to only have started now that they knew about you. Almost like they’re pushing it in your face.

“Maybe because it don’t sit right with me, comparin’ girls like that,” you shook your head. It’s like talking to a sack of bricks, and it won’t change anything, but you try anyway. It angers you, how they used to talk about interesting things around the campfire. Sure, sex came up from time to time, but it was never just about their views of women and the only things they’re good for.

“You don’t needa worry, we ain’t comparin’ you,” Bill laughed, and even got the Calendar boys snickering under their breath. They should be keeping their mouths shut, since they were out of camp when everyone found out about you in the first place. They didn’t even realize it when they came back. 

“That’s because you’ve never had me,” you argued, and you could feel Arthur tense up beside you, almost like he was bracing himself for what he knew was coming. 

“I could if I wanted to.” The pure audacity, and all because of some drunken words. Bill was never your favorite amongst camp goers, but he’d grown on you when he got to know you as Charlie… Now it seems he hates your guts and will do anything to antagonize you. “I bet you’re nice n’ easy, huh darlin’?”

“You’re the last person in camp I’d let have me, jackass.”

Some colorful words for a pretty girl like you. At least Bill thought so. 

“You say that now… but I bet it didn’t take too much convincing to get you to spread 'em’ for Arthur,” he motioned to the gruff and stone-faced man beside you. 

“Knock it off, Bill,” Arthur chimed in, knowing that if he didn’t, the man would push you to your limits and then maybe you’d shoot him. Knowing that you didn’t miss your shots was a good reason to step in, even if he knew you could hold your own. 

“You can tell me, ol buddy,” Bill kept on, leaning forward. “Was it smooth as silk, or drier than the texas desert?” 

Everyone else in the circle was pretty damn quiet by this time, just watching as Bill repeatedly made a bigger fool of himself. They had participated, but only to a certain degree… but this felt too messy, and they didn’t wanna chance stepping in it. Especially where Arthur was concerned.

“I said knock it off,” Arthur was more stern, but felt the need to defend your honor further, and clear your name. “She ain’t done nothing with no one in this camp, ya hear me?” 

Bill let out a low and long whistle, looking back to you and seeing that your face was flushed. You were thankful for Arthur sticking up for you, but with the look on Bill’s face, it may have been just a touch too far. 

“Alright, Arthur… I believe ya,” he chuckled, eyes narrowing in while everyone still watched on. “You know, seein’ things clearly makes me think you’re the opposite of what I said.”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your brow in concern. You should have never asked. 

“Boys,” he laughed out, nudging Mac to his left and slapping his knee in gleeful manner. “I’d say we’ve got ourselves a virgin.”

Your eyes widened, and immediately you were panicking. You’d never felt unsafe in the camp until right now, with the gaze of half the men in camp beginning to take you in as if it were for the first time. The way you reacted, they knew it to be true, and you weren’t sure what you could even say or do to hide it at this point. 

“You ain’t got any idea what you’re talkin’ about, Williamson,” you tried to defend, and Arthur jumped on the bandwagon. 

“That’s enough,” he grumbled, standing to his feet, offering you a hand to yours. “You’re all too damn drunk to even be livin’ right now.”

He issued a few less kind words that ushered them off to bed, and they dispersed from the circle, most of them to their sleeping arrangements. 

Arthur went with you to your tent, and at first you weren’t sure why he stayed so close. When you went inside and he tried to close the flaps you stopped him. 

“I can close up, I’m not quite tired yet…”

He gave you a respectful nod, but still held the flaps in his hand. “I just think that maybe you should close ‘em. I’ll stay outside here for a while just to make sure nothin’ happens,” he explained, but now you were fearful. 

“What would happen?” You ask with the same amount of fear creeping into your voice. 

“Nothin’, I won’t let it,” he assured you, but even though he brought some ease to your mind, he didn’t answer your question. 

“Arthur, what would happen to me?” 

“I don’t know… I don’t think they’re stupid enough to try anything, but…” he trailed, his voice leading off into a soft spoken tone.

“But?” 

“Bill is very drunk right now, and he’s had some problems in the past,” he didn’t want you to think Bill was some sort of evil man, but if only for right now, he wanted you to be cautious of him. “Just want you safe, is all.”

You looked at him for a moment before concocting an idea. Probably a bad one, but that remains to be seen. 

“Would you come sit with me a while?” 

He looked back outside the tent, where across the camp, a few of the men still lingered, watching from a distance. Looking back to you, he couldn’t say no. It’s been part of his new curse, unwilling to see you upset or in need of anything at all. He doesn’t even know why, but his brain won’t let him function like he used to. 

“I s’pose, but it’ll fuel their rumors that we…” he let his words fall off, but you knew what he was getting at. 

“That’s the point,” you told him, a nervous smile on your face. “If you don’t mind the rumors, that is.”

“M’not understandin’,” he shook his head. Wasn’t that the whole reason he had to interject in the first place? To clear your name of any intimate relations with him that had been suspected?

“Even if it’s just lyin, maybe they’ll leave me alone,” you explained. The thought of people thinking you were impure was a strange one, but you’re sure it beats the feeling of being hunted like prey. 

“Alright,” he nodded, looking at you with a decent smile. “Yeah, it’s alright with me, Red.”

You smiled in relief, suddenly all too focused on how he was looking at you. His hat was tipped slightly, so the brim framed his eyes in the moonlight from outside. You closed the flaps and sat back down with him, trying to think of something to say. 

“How long do you think we oughta stay in here for?” 

He shrugged, leaning back against the furthermost tent pole. “For them to actually believe it? I’d say a few hours…”

“Oh, really?” you teased, crossing your arms and giving him a cynical look. 

He smirked, nodding his head around some. “I’m only kiddin’... mostly. But you can kick me out whenever it suits you.”

“So long as you’re willin’ to help me, stay as long as you want.”

He smiled again, genuinely, and though he could barely see your face in the dim light of the closed tent, the small hole in the fabric ceiling made for the prettiest glow in your hair. He got to thinking, and of course that’s a dangerous thing, but he had to ask. 

“If you don’t mind sayin’ so… why haven’t you uh-?” His gesture towards the campfire outside, still going but soon to be snuffed out by the desert winds. 

“Honestly?” you searched the files of your mind for something that didn’t sound too privileged. You knew you had it good growing up, and no one here could compare, but you still had issues that eventually changed your entire life. “My mother taught me to save myself for my husband.”

“Oh,” he furrowed his brow. Your wild and careless nature didn’t match what you were saying. “I didn’t take you for someone who would.”

“I’m not… but, I’ve been Charlie Brooks ever since I ran away, and no one ever knew me otherwise until you.” 

He seemed surprised, but it did make sense when he pieced it all together. You’d gotten so good at playing the role of a young man, that countless people believed it. So much so, that you’d never been able to take a lover, though multiple women tried.

“And what about now? You ever thought of it?” He asked gently, his questions, though a bit intrusive, didn’t feel hard to answer. You knew he was curious, and after what just took place, you felt you owed him at least a few things to be resolved. 

“I have, a few times,” you admitted, your voice becoming softer when you realized what you were about to share. It didn’t really matter, though, you trusted him more than anyone else in this world as it were, and knew he wouldn’t mock you. He acts all tough, but he’s a soft and gentle creature deep down. “I think I’m still gonna wait until I can give it to someone I love.”

He dipped his head. He definitely understood, and only wished he’d been wise enough to do the same. There was a time in his life before where he wishes he’d waited for a certain girl… but that was ages ago, and he knows his count is higher than it should be. 

“Do you think you’re close to findin’ that someone?” his voice was just above a whisper, now, and he knows that the question he’s asked is risky. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer, but without thinking, you give it to him. 

“Real close,” you told him, looking down at your hands when his dim-lit stare became too much.

“Yeah?” he smiled, genuinely and with a hope he hadn’t felt in a while. 

You nodded to him, tilting your head as you took him in. Not tonight… you’re not ready, and you know you won’t be for a while. It’s just then, however, that you’ve decided it will be him. You nearly decided that on the day you first arrived at camp. That day when he teased you and you swore on your life that you didn’t like him all that much… but then the very next day he went and surprised you. His kindness and gentleness will never be forgotten. 

“Thank you for doing this, Arthur. I know I’m probably dooming you to a whole list’a questions tomorrow, but I’m grateful.”

“You don’t needa thank me,” he shook his head, being his generous and benevolent self. “I’ll always help you, whatever ya need.”

You stayed silent for a moment until he chuckled under his breath. “What?”

“Oh nothin, just thinkin’ of the look on Bill’s face tomorrow.”

You gave it a single thought and it made you laugh, too. It would probably be a terribly inappropriate slew of nasty questions after a round of congratulations, but he would deal with it, not you. 

You crawled over next to him, sitting on the ground by his side, and leaning your head on his shoulder. He didn’t mind, nor did he say anything. He just picked up your hand that was laying strewn on your lap, and threaded your fingers together. It was a silent action, but both of you understood immediately what it meant. We’re gonna be something, just give it time.

You sighed in contentment and turned your head to look at him. His profile stared on into the edge of the tent wall, until he could feel your eyes on him. He looked back down at you, but didn’t make a move. That’s not what tonight was about, and there would be plenty of time for all of that soon, he was sure of it. He squeezed your hand and turned back to face the tent wall, dipping his hat a little. Maybe he’d fall asleep here, and it would be the perfect crime scene for everyone to experience the next morning. You’d no doubt let him slumber here throughout the night, but you’d likely drag him into the bed, knowing how sore his back got every now and then. 

You wanted to make sure he was comfortable, you wanted to take care of him. You knew by now all of his little quirks and strange necessities, and were willing to bend over backwards to make sure he got them. You were willing to do anything it took to make sure he smiled at you like he’d just done seconds ago, to keep that look on his face whenever your eyes met, even in a crowded room. 

You’d lasso the moon for him if he asked, and pull it down so he could know its beauty from a closer perspective. You’d come to the conclusion that no matter which way you framed it, you were in love with Arthur Morgan. Had been for some time, but denial was a strong presence within you, and you were stubborn as hell when it came to admission.

You both eventually fell asleep like that, leaning against each other on the ground, and no effort of getting into the bed came about.

-

Bill’s face was indeed priceless, but you think you got more of a laugh from Sean. You didn’t even need to see his face, you heard his hollering from across the camp. You’d been cleaning rifles when the other redhead’s bellowing voice made you giggle. You’re sure that Arthur was annoyed as hell, but you’ll thank him for putting up with everything later. 

The strangeness of the men lingered only a bit longer, but when a few days passed, and Arthur started acting more protective out of nature towards anything that was said about you, they backed off. In their minds, you were Arthur’s girl… Off limits to everyone else.

There were of course more than just the men who had heard about your ‘all nighter’ with Arthur.

The women, albeit a bit nosy, were actually quite fun to gossip with. It seemed like faking the loss of your innocence with Arthur did wonders for the whole camp and their acts of shunning you. Did it bother you? Only slightly… it would have been worse if you’d actually gone through with it and appeased the camp

“Is he a good kisser? He did kiss you, right?” and “Did it hurt? I bet it hurt, he’s a big man…” were your favorite contenders for questions asked. You did as you needed to, alluding to the facts without actually saying anything of substance. To be very clear, nothing happened in the tent that night, or in the morning before he left. You had no actual idea if anything you were hinting at was true, but that was the fun of it. 

“You measured your cycle, didn’t you? You don’t wanna end up like me,” Abigail chimed in, Jack thrashing around on her hip while he cried. He was a sweet baby, but sometimes he was just a mess to deal with, and being in a camp full of outlaws didn’t help anything. 

“Yeah, I did…”

“Did he uh… prepare you first?” Karen chimed in with her own curiosities, and a small giggle followed. They knew that Arthur was the best of the men, and he was good to women… but none of them had gotten up close and personal proof of that fact. 

“Yes?” You answered with a bout of confusion… preparation? Your mother never mentioned nothing about damn preparation.

“Lucky girl,” she sighed out, her eyes rolling dramatically. “You really are, I hope you know. Arthur’s the best of the men.”

“Oh I know, trust me,” you snickered at just how lucky you were. These girls were drooling over the details you gave them. All were false, but you knew he’d own up to every single one of them, because he was just that good and kind to you. He was like a loyal dog, Dutch said, and he was right. You were more than lucky to have his care and protection, and it started to feel intimate in a way that sex never could. 

There was a word for that, you think… devotion. 

“So, are you Arthur’s girl, now?” 

That one caught you off guard, because even with a fake answer, you weren’t quite sure what to say. 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you answered truthfully for the first time that morning, and it was almost refreshing to speak something that wasn’t just a blatant lie. 

“It was just a one off, then?” Abigail furrowed her brows. Since she’d rejected Arthur’s offer, she’d been starting to feel some regret. He was indeed the best of the men, and she’d turned him away in favor of a man who left her. How silly that was… but she knows it’s too late, now.

“I hope not,” you said nervously, again with truth.

“You’re fond of him, we can all tell…” 

You looked at them with surprise and a bit of alarm. “Since when?”

Karen leaned in on her elbows with a small giggle at your reaction. She quieted herself as to not draw more attention to this side of camp, in fears Miss Grimshaw would come force them all to start back on the chores. 

“It’s funny, when we found out you weren’t a boy, everything kinda made sense,” she chuckled. 

Abigail kept nodding along, her smile broadening. “You used to follow him around like a puppy, we all thought it was because you looked up to him, wanted to be like him.”

“Even I could tell, and I’d been pretty blinded by my own fondness of you,” Tilly joked, nudging you in the arm as you’d come to the realization that even under the guise of Texas Red, you had absolutely no subtlety. 

“Was it that obvious?” you asked in annoyance with yourself. You dipped your head into your hands when they all nodded in the affirmative. 

The girls were about to start round two of questions when Dutch and Hosea came out of the center tent, Dutch commanding the attention of all the members in the camp. 

“Everyone, listen up!” His large and brutal steps seemed angry, and you waited patiently to find out why. “We’re moving camp!”

Everyone was immediately caught up in the new announcement, conquests of nights past becoming completely forgotten. Questions of ‘Why?’ and ‘What happened?’ were uttered, as this seemed very sudden. The cash flow from Agua Fria was rather booming, and it didn’t seem like there needed to be a move. 

“I’ve just gotten word from Davey that the Pinkertons know we’re here. They’re looking for the camp as we speak, so we’ve got to go.”

His intense speech was followed by everyone leaving where they were, running around and trying to get things packed into the wagons, tents included. 

You were new to the ‘being on the run’ part of outlaw life, as even before when you were just a gunslinger, the law never chased you. You’d earned a reputation for killin’ folk, but the law deemed you harmless when they found out that you only shot those who wanted to shoot you first. You’d not ever committed a real crime among the citizens, and even paid your way for everything. It was only after becoming a Van Der Linde that you figured you were about to be in trouble. 

You had your entire living situation torn down and packed up within the hour, tying it all together and slinging it in the back of Arthur’s wagon. You came around the corner and saw that he was still packing up. Being here longer meant he had quite a few more belongings to take care of. 

“Need some help?” You smiled at him, ready to lend a hand. 

“You done already?” He responded to your question with one of his own, pleasant surprise in his expression. 

“Not much to pack away,” you reasoned, no longer waiting for him to answer you as you started dismantling his cot and rolling up the canvas around the iron bar pieces. 

You were happy to help him get done faster, you’re sure with his strength and size he’d be needed elsewhere soon. You did have a few questions for him, though. 

“I don’t think I ever asked… When did you all get here?”

“Not long before you did, I reckon. We used to be able to stay years in the same spot, the law would never catch us…” he shook his head, tossing some picture frames he had into a sack. “Times are changin’ for folk like us.”

“You were here before me?” You asked in confusion. Obviously they were at the camp before you… but you’d been in Agua Fria for over a year yourself. 

“Yeah, and we’d all heard the stories about Texas Red before we even met ya,” he chuckled, his speed increasing the more he saw other members of camp rushing with panic to get moving before sundown. “The day Dutch brought you back, I almost thought he was kiddin'.”

“Glad to know I made a good impression,” you teased, a laugh being huffed out with slight annoyance while you heaved his clothing chest up and into the wagon. Probably a heavier item you should have left for him, but then that wouldn’t be helping. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He assisted you in shoving the chest further in the wagon, since you struggled just slightly, and didn’t want to bend over in your skirt. “I just had it in my head that you’d be all big n’ scary.”

“You mean more like you?” you taunted, giving him a smirk to show you didn’t actually think he was big and scary. 

“I guess so,” he shook his head, throwing his sack of belongings in with the other junk. “But then I first saw you, talkin’ with Tilly and Abigail… you looked all scrawny and what not. I thought, this can’t be the kid I’ve been hearin’ about.”

“And what do you think of me now?” You asked honestly, stopping the haste of the afternoon for only a moment to share a gaze with someone special to you. He stopped too, a side smile pulling at his lips when he answered. 

“I think you’re much scarier, now…” he trailed, reaching his hand to touch your hair where it had grown just below your ears. 

“You think I’m scary?” You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Terrifyin’...”

He started to get closer, and in the setting light of the day, you almost thought he might close the small gap, but then-

“Arthur!” Pearson’s shrill voice rang out loudly, and you flinched away from the moment, coming back to reality. “I need you over here!”

“Just give me a damn second!” He shouted back, but by the time he’d turned his attention to you again, you’d jumped away from him from the startle, and the moment was cut short. “I better get over there…”

“I’ll finish up for you,” you waved him off, moving to the barrel with his shaving kit. It was one of the last things that needed packing. 

“I’ll owe ya,” he nodded, tipping his hat forward before having to run off. 

He wouldn’t owe you a damn thing. 

-

The gang traveled north and west for several days, until coming to a clearing in a nice little town called El Paso. What could be so great about this town? Well, for starters, the law was mighty thin in this region, and there were roads nearby that had rich folk traveling as well. Dutch said it was like an outlaw’s paradise… 

He’d also mentioned there was a railway station in the next town over, something to look into. 

Arthur had done so right away, leaving the newly set up camp for a few days to scope out the area and put on a good cover. He was always the best man for the job, so you couldn’t complain about him being away, but there was of course a downside. Neither you nor Arthur pulled a stunt in the new camp like you had at the old one, and with him being gone, it gave the men a bit of leeway to behave as they did before. 

It wasn’t as sexual as it had been, but their bad attitudes towards you, and now that you’re seeing it, the other women as well, was atrocious. You’d been so blind to it all when you didn’t have to deal with it first hand, but now that you did, it was constant. 

Bill was the worst, as you knew him to be. He often didn’t even wait for Miss Grimshaw to collect the laundry anymore, just throwing dirty shirts and trousers in your direction and telling you he needed it cleaned the next day. 

“Not my job, not my problem,” you threw the articles of clothing at him every time, and every time he’d just scoff and go to the next woman, who would do as she was told because, even though you’d lucked out in skill, the others still had to earn their keep somehow. 

Lucking out in skill didn’t even seem to be helping you recently. Every job you suggested you could help with, Dutch turned you down. It had even caused a fight with Hosea, who wanted you to go in his place. 

Hosea had kept his distance with you when your secret was first revealed. Not to be cruel or unfair, but because you’d been embarrassed about the whole thing, and he could sense you didn’t want to open up to anyone right away. 

He did, however, become far more acquainted with you on the journey to El Paso. 

“I think you’re a mighty brave person, you know,” he’d struck up the conversation. 

“Me? Brave? I just shoot folk,” you shook your head, watching the horses in front of you both as they towed the wagon you sat on. “Ain’t nothin’ brave about that.”

“Not for shootin’ folk… I think you’re brave for bein’ on your own as long as you were. Especially a young woman.”

“Well, I appreciate you sayin’ so… but nobody knew I was a young woman, it sort of helped.”

He’d nodded sweetly, giving you a smile and a pat on the shoulder. The gentle and comforting talks between you became common from then on. 

Arthur had come back to the camp one morning, when everyone had woken, bringing a few different things. His first stop was Dutch, obviously, giving the intel over so a plan could be formed. The next job was going to be important. If it went down well, then this little town could be a great place to settle for the months to come, but if not, it would allow you all to know just how involved the law in this town actually was. You’d heard it wasn’t much. 

When Arthur came out of Dutch’s tent, he made a beeline to you… or more specifically, your tent. He actually didn’t even see you sitting across from your living quarters when he approached it, but you watched him with great curiosity on what he was doing. He’d been distant since leaving Agua Fria and arriving here, and you wondered if he was trying to rectify that. 

He left your tent just as quick as he went in, and met your eyes with a small nod and a soft smile. He’d been caught. He just went on his way after that, and didn’t even bother to greet you properly. 

You furrowed your brows, dropping the rifle you were cleaning before going inside your tent. He obviously didn’t take anything, you knew that. You didn’t keep anything of value except for your pistol, thirty-two notches now carved into the stock, but you always kept it on you...

When you looked at your cot, you found only one thing out of place. A pretty orange flower laying against your rolled up woolen blanket. Its bottom petal was slightly bent, and you wondered if he had kept it in his satchel on the ride back to camp. 

It was very sweet of him to think of you, and bring it back. You don’t think you’ve ever told him how much you like the color orange, but you reckon he just brought back the flower without even thinking about the color. 

You wanted to go and thank him, to talk with him for the first time in several days. You missed him whenever he was gone… you always hoped he missed you, too. He probably missed everyone, but he brought you an orange flower.

He was somehow already on the other side of camp, hassling Pearson about something nonsensical you’re sure, getting the man riled up over probably nothing. Pearson was a decent guy, but he was a little obnoxious, so teasing him was something you could definitely condone. You thought about just marching up and breaking up the scene, but then thought it might be better to instead make a lesser deal of it, just like he did. 

The men left the flower with no words to be said, so you’d thank him for it the same way… unless of course he broke the silence first. 

You tucked the flower behind your ear, letting the orange color sit nicely against the similar shade of your hair. You ran over to Arthur’s shaving barrel, close to the edge of your living area, and checked how it looked before walking nonchalantly towards Pearson’s kitchen. 

They were still grobbling over nothing, but when you came to the table, leaning forwards on it they both stopped. 

“What can I do ya for, miss?” Pearson asked, having become a much kinder, albeit a little bit more sarcastic person to you since your secret came out. 

“Just wondering what’s for dinner tonight…”

“How about that, Arthur, she wants to know what’s for dinner,” the man laughed, hands on his hips when he looked back to the younger counterpart. 

“I’m goin, I’m goin,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, clearly knowing he was the one responsible for hunting today. He’d just gotten back, but of course they made him do damn near everything. “You wanna come with me, Red?” 

“Me? Huntin’? I’ve never been, I’d probably scare ‘em off…” you resisted slightly, but knew that if he asked you a second time there would be no hesitation. 

“I’ll teach ya,” he offered, nodding his head towards the horses. “Not like they’d get far with your shootin’, anyway.”

You followed him immediately, picking up your skirt and rushing up behind him. Hunting with Arthur seemed like a mighty good idea at first, until you realized Dutch would probably be upset with you for not finishing the rifles… Tossing it over in your head for only a moment more, you neglected the prospect of the rifles. 

You could tell that Dutch was slowly trying to keep you out of the shooting jobs, even if you were the fastest gun in camp. Somehow learning you were not a man had tainted his idea of you… the one he’d spoken so highly of that first day to Arthur and Hosea. You supposed that going along with Arthur could only help you in the long run. 

You went to saddle your horse, but he stopped you, a gentle hand on your wrist, letting go as soon as he had your attention. “We don’t need ‘em both, just ride with me.”

You nodded, doing as you were told and trying not to make a big deal out of it. He’d helped you up first, hands placed carefully at your waist when he heaved you upwards. He climbed up in front of you, and suddenly you didn’t know where to put your hands. You’d never ridden behind a saddle before, you never needed to. 

He sensed your awkward reaches, even if he didn’t see them. He adjusted himself on the saddle before meeting your hands behind his back and pulling them around his sides to hold on. Your breath caught in your throat from how casually he’d done it, and how softly he touched you. 

“That’s a nice flower in your hair, by the way,” he muttered, not even looking back before grabbing the reins and leading the horse out of camp. 

-

The train job had been decided, but not without long and strenuous arguments about the roles to be played. 

The first draft of said plan excluded you, and you didn’t even have to wonder why. None of the other women were included, either. 

The second draft of the plan included both you and Abigail, but as mere pawns instead of actual roles. 

The final plan will go as follows:

Abigail is going to make it so that a certain man never boards the train with his colleague. Fair enough, she is definitely the woman for the job, as even having her in the near vicinity of a man is distraction enough. You will board the train with the colleague, and lead him to believe that you’re frightened of the journey ahead, getting him to drink with you and become more ‘comfortable.’ After that, it’s up to you to lure him to the back of the train, where Arthur, Bill, and Dutch will be waiting to interrogate this man, and find out where his private safe is. From there, Javier, who will be at the front of the train, will cause it to stop by sticking up the enginemen so you all can hop off at a designated point. 

From there you’ll go find the man’s safe, and rob him before he even has a chance to understand what’s happened to him. This is the only chance you will have at this job, since the man in question will be leaving El Paso once and for all.

It sounds like a solid plan, except for the fact that it was suggested you don’t even need a gun. 

“Of course she needs a gun, Dutch, she’s the fastest one here,” Hosea argued, a hand running over his face. 

“If we’re not planning on shooting, what makes you think she needs to bring it with her? It could blow our cover,” Dutch insisted, arms waving around for emphasis. He didn’t even make a good point, because as it were, you always kept a gun on you in the holster on your thigh, a little present from the man you gave you flowers. 

“You’re sending her to do the most dangerous part of the job, she needs a weapon.”

“If Abigail doesn’t need one, then she doesn’t need one, either,” Dutch reasoned, but that just made you chime in. 

“Abigail should have one, too. Everyone involved on a job should have protective assurance, just in case,” you shrugged, uncrossing your arms and leaning on the table. “I don’t even leave camp without my pistol.”

Dutch sighed, having dug himself into a deeper hole the more he kept on talking. He was smart, and he had a way with words, but he wasn’t going to be able to pull something like this and now he knew it. You’d been attached to that pistol for far longer than you have been to the camp. 

“Alright,” he nodded, continuing his explanation of what happens after they find the man’s personal safe. 

The man in the plan was named Albert Templeton, and he apparently was a very wealthy man, looking to make it big in the west by covering as many territories as he could with his canning factories. From what Dutch says, he seems to be a very selfish, very ambitious, and very rich man. 

You agree to this job, unknowing of the way it will unfold, but when you finally board that train, handing over your ticket with your hands shaking, you don’t know what to do, suddenly. 

Everything is going according to plan, except for the fact that you have absolutely no experience in trying to get a man drunk on purpose. 

“You look, a bit frightened, miss, are you alright?” Mr. Albert Templeton asked, right after you ‘accidentally’ bumped into him. 

“Yes… Well, no… I’ve never been on a train before,” you huffed out, your stressed tone coming across perfectly for the job. “You seem like you’ve been on many.”

“That I have, my dear,” he smiled eerily, moving an unwanted hand to your hip to try and guide you to the bench he was sitting at. “Come and sit with me, perhaps I can ease your mind.”

“How gracious of you,” you played along, sitting down beside him in the seat closest to the window. You didn’t like feeling trapped between him and the wall, but there was no difference. You still had a gun up your leg if he tried anything stupid. 

“So, where are you headed?” 

“Oh,” you had forgotten to think of a backstory, so as quickly as you could, you made one up. “I’m going to visit my aunt. She’s very Ill, otherwise she would have come to see me. She knows I don’t like trains.”

“How unfortunate for her,” he nodded, snaking his arm behind you on the back of the bench seat, caging you in further. “I’m sure she’ll be happy for your company.”

“I hope so, we’ve always been a great comfort to one another.”

The conversation kept on like this for a while, until you realized you were getting closer and closer to the point of which Dutch needed him in the back, but he hadn’t even gotten to the bar of the train car yet. 

“Would you have a drink with me, sir? I feel that maybe it would ease my nerves a bit.”

He laughed, a smile on his face when he leaned back to you. “I never drink on trains. But I would be much obliged to buy you one, yourself.”

You started to panic from there. 

You smiled at him and nodded, getting him to stand up… however, before you got him to the bar, you tried to carefully and quietly take your gun from its holster, pressing it against the rib of the man before you. He froze, knowing what was happening immediately. 

“Don’t make a sound. Just keep walking until I tell you to stop, you hear?” 

He nodded, making his way to the end of the car, going into the next one, and the next one after that until you could see three familiar faces sitting and waiting for you. 

“What the hell is this?” Dutch asked, his eyes narrowing in on the gun in your hand. 

“He wouldn’t drink, had to come up with something else.”

Arthur ran a hand over his face. This is why you usually rode with him. You did things the way he would, and not with the gentle and intelligent touch of a female outlaw like Abigail. For all intents and purposes, you'd always been a man, and this was breaking the cycle for you.

“Please don’t hurt me, I have nothing you could want.”

“The hell you don’t,” Dutch manhandled Albert onto a cargo box, pulling his own gun and holding it to strike fear into the man. “We’ve heard about the safe.”

“What safe?” He played dumb, and then Dutch immediately got angry. 

“You see? This is why he needed to be drunk!” Dutch took out his anger for the situation on you, even though the majority of this was not your fault. 

“Told ya, she should be back at camp fixing buttons and shit with the others,” Bill shook his head, and you were about to pull your gun in his direction if he said another word. 

“He wouldn’t drink, it ain’t her fault. She still got him to us… I say we make him talk,” Arthur stood up, clenching his fists and intimidating the man by coming closer. “S’nothing I ain’t used to.”

“Do what you can, Arthur… and you,” Dutch pointed in your direction, his brow still angry. “Go back up there and make sure no one saw you pull that gun.”

You nodded, taking yourself away from the scene in order to keep your composure. Arthur stood up for you, but you could tell that even he was upset about straying from the plan. This was a big job, with many key elements. One thing going wrong could ruin it all.

You made your way back, but saw Javier rushing towards you in the bar car, his gun out as he tried to reach you. 

“Brooks,” he started to shove you back to the car you came from, and just over his shoulder you could see the men trailing not too far behind, looking like train security. “We have to go, they know we’re here.”

You started rushing for the last car again, tripping over your skirts here and there. This dress was not practical, and was far too formal for a job like the one you were pulling. You much preferred the one Arthur bought you, but Dutch insisted it didn’t ‘sell the story’ that you were trying to tell. 

“Why in God’s name are you back here?” 

Dutch didn’t have a minute to grill you, because Javier took the floor first. 

“They know we’re here, there’s about five men heading this way, now. Maybe more.”

Arthur sighed heavily, pulling his fist back to his side. He’d only hit Mr Albert Temlpeton a few times, but it seemed the job was going south, and he hadn’t said anything anyway. 

“Arthur, turn him loose, the rest of you, find cover… we’re gonna have to shoot our way out.” 

Albert taking off through the doors only allowed the train guards to know exactly where you all were hiding. With guns blazing, the five of you were able to get past the small group that had headed for you… but once you got to the civilian travel cars, there were more, and they had bigger guns, too. You got scared to pull a gun in a heavily crowded train car, especially one that had innocent men, women, and children inside. You held your aim, like always, but got scared when the second round of guards came for you. 

“Drop your weapons!” The man at the front of them shouted. “Get on the ground, now!”

“Or maybe we could walk right through,” Dutch was the first to shoot, nailing the man right in the face. It was challenging to stay focused on the task at hand, when so many people were screaming. 

A child was crying, and most everyone was just trying to duck in their seats as the bullets flew. You were too scared to shoot at first, seeing the windows break around you, and the high speed of the train causing the winds to blow inside the car, making it hard to hear anything. 

You tried to hold your ground, knowing you were a better shot than anyone here… but there comes a time in everyone’s life, when the chaos prevents them from doing the one thing they know how to… this was that moment for you. Everything was caving in. You’d completely ruined this job, and it was going haywire because of you. You put your friends, no, family, in a very dangerous position, and most of all, you put innocent men, women, and children on the front lines to fend for themselves. All because you strayed from the plan. 

You saw it, but it was too late… the man had pulled his gun directly towards you, and you barely had any time to react this time. You still fired first, and still shot him dead first, but his bullet still left the barrel, skewing downwards because of your own shot, and hitting you directly by your left hip. 

You collapsed into a seat, trying to get yourself back up. You started bleeding profusely with every steep movement you made, and once the last Guard had been shot down, Arthur saw what happened to you. 

“Red!” he shouted, reaching for your body, making sure you’d not been hit badly. He was relieved to see it was a hip shot, but the amount of blood concerned him greatly. “Can you stand?” 

“I can try,” you groaned out, holstering your gun before using him as a lift. 

The others went to the front of the car, not wasting any time, but as soon as they looked through the broken window, they could see more men quickly approaching.

“Shit, we can’t stop the train.” 

“We’ll have to jump from the back of this car,” Javier responded to Dutch, who was pacing back and forth, glaring daggers at you out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Are we close enough to the exit point?” 

“It doesn’t matter, the ground is even now, we need to jump before the bridge.”

Arthur was freaking out, trying to hold pressure to your hip and hold you upright, while they were talking about jumping off a train. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so stressed out about a job before. 

You start to get light headed suddenly, and sway in his hold, trying to keep yourself balanced, though the train is making it hard to do that anyways. 

The sound becomes fuzzy, but you can here when Dutch calls everyone back to the door of the cabin car. 

“Stay with me,” Arthur tells you, watching your head tilt forward and your eyes get heavy. He knew you would pull through, because even though you were losing a decent amount of blood, you were still on your feet, moving along with him. You were a fighter, he’d known since he met you. Probably because you liked fighting him on damn near everything he said. 

He stood at the edge of the rail, the only thing separating the gang from jumping the transport was a little dingy chain that hooked onto the edge of the cabin car. 

“It’s up here!” Javier shouted, removing the chain and getting ready to disembark. 

“We gotta jump, Red,” he tried to keep you conscious, and you nodded, but you were clearly too weak to do this yourself right now. 

You felt yourself being tucked closer to Arthur, his arms coming around you. You finally closed your eyes, unsure if they would even stay open on their own anymore. Then there was a lift and a jump. You felt the air around you flying fast until the wind got knocked out of you, hitting the ground. Arthur took the harder fall, but to be fair, he hadn’t been shot. 

You opened your eyes in a rush of adrenaline, but once you caught your breath, it started to fade again. 

Everyone stood up, including you, but you were still wobbling back and forth. 

“Well,” Dutch looked to Bill and Javier, “We’re alive, but we got nothing.”

“S’all the girl’s fault,” Bill spat out some blood from his bleeding lip and shook his head. 

You didn’t even have the motivation to call him out right now. Didn’t have the energy to stand, either. Before Arthur could even steady you, your head started throbbing, and you hit the ground again, hand over your open wound.

-

The sounds were familiar when you came to. The usual ruckus of the camp, nothing strange or out of the ordinary… except for when you tried to sit up you were immediately pushed back down. You had a look around and saw that you were not in your tent, but lying in Arthur’s cot. His gentle push was what kept you laid back, and you saw the look on his face when he found out you were awake. 

“Don’t get up, I gotta fix you so ya don’t bleed out.”

You didn’t say anything, just obeyed his instruction. 

He’d gotten that stupid puffed sleeve nonsense off of you, leaving you in a corset and chemise and a small petticoat. Of which he was having a hard time figuring out how to untie. 

“I’ll get it,” you leaned up slightly, groaning when you did. You untied the petticoat, and worked off the corset while you were at it. Being in a chemise and bloomers in front of the camp wasn’t an irregular thing, as it was standard sleepwear when on the run. There were not many normalities when being an outlaw, but even still, you nearly felt embarrassed being in such a skimpy state of dress, especially when he wasn’t even done. 

He looked to you, his hands on the hem of your chemise, and you nodded to him in permission. 

He pulled it back, only enough to see where the blood was seeping through. His face twisted in disgust of the wound before shaking it off and getting to work. You laid back and waited, knowing that when all was said and done, you didn’t want to watch yourself get stitched up. You’d never had to do it to yourself before, and thank God for that. 

“It was stupid, what you did…” He brought up, cleaning the wound with some whiskey on a rag. 

“I know,” you winced, squeezing your eyes shut. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

He paused his wording, unsure of what else to say to you. He’s sure getting shot was a revelation for you that you weren’t invincible, but he also wanted you to know you weren’t blameless in this endeavor, either. 

“You got some innocent folk killed today.” 

When the first and second stitch went in, you were about ready to die. Him telling you this was not helping with the outstanding pain. 

“You know I never meant for it to happen…” you trailed, thinking about those poor children that you heard screaming in the train today. Such a sad and significant moment, and you’ll never forget it. You knew you’d been the one to cause them such distress, and some of those innocent folk were dead now.

“You sure about that?” He looked up at you from his task, his hands still gently working your skin back together. His actions and words confused you, because they were so opposite right now, and you didn’t know why. 

“What do you mean?” You met his gaze, a furrowed brow on your face.

“As I see it… you used to kill a lotta folk just for fun before I met you.”

Why is he even bringing this up? You’d told him why you did what you did, and how much of a toll it took on you… so why now, when all this has transpired, would he bring up the origins of your gunslinger facade?

“Arthur… I did what I had to. They would have killed me first. I ain’t never started a duel in my life, n’ you know that,” you reminded him, and he seemed to understand that it was wrong of him to say. He didn’t apologize, though… just kept on with what he felt he needed to say. 

“Look, all I’m sayin is… you had one job today, and it felt like you went off the road just to spite Dutch,” he argued, tying off the thread that pulled your skin closed. There was still cleaning to be done around the wound, and some sort of bandage would need to be applied, just in case of excess bleeding… but you sat up, stopping him from finishing anything. 

“Is that what he told you?”  you asked, referring to Dutch, of course.

“No, I was wonderin about it myself.”

“I wasn’t tryna get anybody hurt. Dutch used to put me riding with you, remember? I always did good. Now he wants me to do a job he thinks a woman is suited for, and I’m not so good anymore. Why do you think that is?” You asked, the annoyance written all over your face and dripping in your words. 

“You could’ve called it off. We could have just told Javier to come back and wait it out until the next station. We’ve bailed on jobs before when it got too dangerous…” he explained, his voice raising just slightly again to meet your level of ferocity. 

You took a second to breathe when he spoke. In all honesty, you’d never had to leave a job before, because when you started riding with them as Texas Red, the jobs always went through. No one told you about the bail out rule.

“I didn’t know that...”

“Well you should’ve at least told us he wouldn’t drink. Then you wouldn’t be to blame.” He didn’t quite meet you at the calm state, his anger still peeking, even when yours had come down. Saying what he just said was about to make matters so much worse, though.

“You think I’m to blame?”

“I think you played a massive part in this shit hole, yeah…” he huffed out, nodding his head and looking at you as if that should somehow get you to agree with him. 

“I don’t wanna hear this anymore,” you scoffed, standing to your feet and grabbing your belongings. You felt the sting of the stitches pulling, and tried to be mindful of them, but the way he was speaking to you, especially while you bled on his cot, was not something you could take. 

“Get back here, I ain’t finished cleanin’ you up.” He stood to his feet, trying to take steps after you, but even injured, you were stubborn and quick on your feet, pulling away from his reach.

“Abigail will help me.”

“You stubborn ass, why can’t you ever just listen when you’re wrong?” He shouted after you, which had you turning on your heel to shout back to his face. 

“Maybe because I’m not!”

Your face didn’t even read anger as much as in did pain. Not the physical kind. The ailments you faced with your body, you took like a champ… but this pain in your heart and mind was far more complicated, and when he saw how saddened you were by him, he didn’t know what to do… but of course, his anger was still rising, though yours turned to something else.

“Damnit, Red… you’re gonna find yourself in a nice deep hole someday, and you’ll have pushed away everyone that cares to help you out of it.”

“I can climb out of it myself, then.” You muttered, taking the steps back to him so he could really look you in the eye when you said this… “I used to think you cared about me… wanted to help me. But you’re just like him.”

“Like who?” he asks, jutting his chin out for a moment to seem tough. 

“You’re just like Dutch… just want me to play the part of the sweet little pet that lures the men into your jobs. I won’t do it… I can’t do it, clearly.”

“That ain’t what this is about,” He grabbed your wrist as you went to turn away again, and you pulled it loose. “You know I think you’re talented with that gun.”

“Then why don’t you ever fight for me to use it? Why is it that every time Dutch wants to make me into something I’m not, you stand by and watch it happen?” You weren’t meaning it as a hypothetical question, you really wanted an answer. Standing here, the camp noise having been drowned out by your argument, you watched as he searched for something to say, but he couldn’t find anything… nothing that could save him, at least. “That’s what I thought… just stay away from me, Arthur.”

“Red?” 

“Leave me alone!”

-

You took to the new town, the argument with Arthur the days prior still fresh on your mind. You knew you’d messed everything up, and it was most definitely your fault. You can only see it now, Dutch giving a big speech while you’re away to convince everyone that you shouldn’t be doing big jobs anymore. If only he’d just given you Javier’s place on the train, and had Abigail or Karen go after Albert Templeton, the gang might be a couple thousand bucks richer right now. 

You’d not just taken to the town as the girl they wanted you to be, because that girl didn’t exist. 

There was only the girl you grew up as, and Texas Red, no in-between. It wasn’t the sweet Miss Brooks going into the bustling saloon of El Paso, it was Texas Red, the unkillable. 

Maybe that’s where you’d gone all wrong. Wearing dresses, letting your hair start to grow, and even wiping the muck off your face whenever it gets there… you’d practically handed them a reason to treat you differently. 

All of this is your fault. The mistreatment, the exclusion, the job gone wrong, everything. 

It’s the heavy weight on your mind when you roll up to the bar, gun hanging heavy on your hip, the now thirty-three notches becoming a bigger and stronger presence every time you reach for it. 

“Whiskey, double,” you knocked on the wooden bar slab, a grimace on your face while waiting for the drink. You put the money down immediately, just as always. It became a habit as soon as interruptions became common anytime you went for a whiskey. 

You threw back the first drink then ordered another, throwing that one back, too. You got into a steady rhythm until there was a tap on your shoulder. 

You turned around, eyes becoming glazed, and hands becoming tightly fisted. Whoever was bothering you has no idea how much of a mood you’re in, but if they aren’t careful, they’re gonna end up dead. 

“Hey, I know you,” the man spoke. He looked to be about early forties, with silver lines in his dark hair, and smile lines over his cheeks. 

You gave him a look, up and down, before you decided he was mistaken. 

“No, you don’t.” You turned back to the bar, but he tapped your shoulder again, and the pistol at your side was feeling oh so heavy, waiting for your hand to pull it. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen you,” he laughed, a broad and excited smile. “You’re that Texas Red fellar from down in Agua Fria.”

“Just ‘cuz I got red hair, it don’t make me Texas Red,” you slurred, slightly, the alcohol buzzing your senses, but not your reflexes. Your hands are practically itching to shoot something, or someone, and this guy seems like the perfect target. 

“Nah, I know s’you,” he seemed a little drunk, too… but probably not drunk enough to walk away. “Seen your face when you shot that farmer.”

“Farmer?” You don’t even recall a farmer-

“Robert Sims… good man that fellow,” he droned on, seemingly hesitant to get to the point. “But you were the better shot.”

“M’sorry if he was a friend’a yours,” you gave condolences, hoping it would shoo him away, but as you remember, they never go away. “I didn’t wanna shoot ‘im.”

“Nah, he wanted to shoot you,” the man nodded, backing away only slightly before pulling his coat back, revealing a pistol of his own, right on his hip. No notches. “I wanna shoot you, too.”

You rolled your eyes and heaved a breath, looking to the man with a direct gaze. “You’re too drunk, you’ll die.”

He tapped the wooden counter, where your unfinished drink was sitting. “You’ve been drinkin’ too, been watchin’ ya.”

“So you think it’s fair?” You laughed, knowing you were nowhere near drunk enough to miss even a moving target, and be fast enough to hit him first. Maybe your fingers had been itchin’ for a reason, and this was it. 

Shooting this man may not bring you joy, but it would bring some security. You’re still as good as they say, despite Dutch and some of the others back at camp. You’re still Texas Red, and you’re still unkillable. Earning the respect of this town, just as you did in Agua Fria would bring you that feeling of confidence that you had slowly been losing in the gang. 

“I think I like my chances,” he quipped, earning some oohs from the crowd in the bar. By now you both held almost every ear within the reach of your voices, and the attention was deafening. 

They always say that… Why do they always say that?

“Alright,” you turned back to the bar, slamming your drink. “Let’s take it outside.”

The cheering, followed by the chants of your challenger’s name were louder than you expected. They don’t know you, but they will. 

You set your pistol, taking thirty paces away from your opposer. As soon as you turn around, there’s a silence amongst the whole town. You watch the man’s hands, the alcohol doing nothing to stop your trigger fingers from getting ready. You never draw first. It’s already an unfair fight, why make it worse?

“Need me to count?” the man says, and you shake your head, thinking you ought to just shoot him. He’s an obnoxious bastard, but he’s cocky and confident, you’ll give him that. 

“I ain’t one for countin’,” you yelled, and saw that he almost seemed a little nervous, now. He was always nervous, but now it was on his face. He was drunk, and this was stupid. You should just shoot him in the hand and let him walk away… but you don’t. 

You’ve been angry since what happened with Arthur, and you have to take it out somehow. If you can’t drink in peace without ass-hats like this bothering you, then you just have to take care of the ass-hats. 

Suddenly, you see his hand dip, gripping the stock and beginning to pull it. You reacted like always, your hand on autopilot while your brain was elsewhere. 

The man was dead in less than a second, and you came back to reality with a hammering soberness once the shot rang out.

Thirty-four....

It was the adrenaline, finally kicking in, only long enough to give you a moment of clarity… and looking up from the dead man, across the way by the general store, stood Arthur. He was probably getting supplies for the camp. 

He’d stopped to watch, a look of disappointment on his face. He doesn’t think himself a good man, but he’s never had to go from town to town, striking fear into those he meets. He tries to be kind when he can, earning the trust of people, unlike you. You haven’t even earned the trust of the people in camp. You’ve lied to all of them.

The crowd’s cheers and encouragement pull you out of your haze, and a man jumps in front of you, separating your vision of Arthur. You didn’t want to see his sad eyes, anyways. 

Everyone pulls you back inside the saloon, and the music strikes back up again… maybe this ain’t so bad after all.

-

Ten drinks is a lot for anyone, but especially for you, who already had multiple drinks upon first walking into the saloon. No one else dared challenge you, nor did they want to. The drunker you got, the crazier you seemed to act, your reserved gunslinger facade melted right away, and you turned into something of a wild man. The people were very entertained by your stories, the ones about Agua Fria, and then of course traveling with a gang to explore the west. You left names out, of course. Just because you were drunk, didn’t mean you were stupid. 

It was after you started stuttering over your feet that two working girls came up to you. They were some of the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen, busty around the chest, with low necklines, and stunning faces framed by their bouncy brushed out hair. 

“Can I help you ladies?” You tipped your hat to them, a smirk on your lips from the last joke you told to the crowd. 

“We were hopin’ we could help you,” The blonde one spoke, and with a smile she started to lean against your arm. “We’ll knock the price for two…”

“That’s very kind’a you, but I ain’t gettin’ a room,” you told them, the same excuse you always had used for women of the night in Agua Fria. 

“We’ll get the room, handsome… just pay the price of one for a night,” the brunette girl said, trying to hang off your shoulder, running her hands over it. You had to slide back into the bar to avoid getting her hands on your chest. If she did then you’d be in deep shit. 

“How about I make a trip back here some other time, then I’ll come n’ see you two?”

The blonde girl didn’t seem to be holding back, her lips trailing mighty close to your ear. You always knew how to play the part, but you never expected that women would be falling over you this way. It was both alarming and reassuring.  

“You sure? Why don’t we just take a ride out back?” 

You were getting woozy, the way they pulled at your arms while you were leaning against the bar was swirling your head. 

“There ya are, Red!” Came a familiar voice from the side of you. “Knew I’d find you in here…”

“Arthur?” Your vision was only slightly fuzzy, but you could always make out the clear silhouette of the most towering and strongly built man you knew. 

“Thanks for findin’ my brother, girls,” he played it off, reaching for your arm to pull you forward. You resisted him at first. “C’mon Red, let’s get you a nice place to sleep tonight.”

“No,” you pulled out of his grasp, unwilling to be manhandled by the same person who told you all those awful things just a few days ago. “I wanna stay with my new friends.”

“They ain’t your friends, kid. C’mon, let’s go.” He tugged you forwards, heaving you up to stand on your own two feet, before picking you up like a hay bale, letting you dangle under his arm as he made his way for the stairs. 

“Hey! Let me down!” You cried, squirming in his hold. 

He’d already paid for a room for the night, but getting you up there was hell. “Would you stop fightin’ me?”

“No, I wanna go back downstairs…” You trailed, getting stood upright again as he shoved you into a room and closed the door. 

“If you do that, Texas Red is as good as dead.”

He locked the door and made sure to put a chair under the knob. He didn’t necessarily know how the folk in this town behaved yet. You’d seen more of it than he had since arriving. 

 “Ain’t no man ever killed me,” You droned on, your words pouring out like that of a child, with little to no thought. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You mean them pretty girls that wanted to take me for a ride?” You laughed, letting him push you until you were sat on the bed. He knelt down and helped you take your boots off before tugging your hat from your head, throwing it in a chair. 

“S’not the kinda ride you were thinkin’,” he sighed, unsure of if you even knew how drunk you were. 

“You mean the other kinda ride?” Your obnoxious and bellaring voice could nearly pierce the walls when you were this inebriated. 

“Would you stop bein’ so damn loud? Whole place is gonna hear you n’ yer blabberin’...”

“You’re just jealous cuz the girls were fallin’ all over me instead’a you.”

He rolled his eyes with a scoff. Those girls were seein’ an easy target. They thought you were a man they could distract and rob, and maybe have a little fun with along the way. 

“I’m sure that’s it… lay down and shut up, will ya?” He shoved you back into the bed, and you groaned, your head hitting even the soft pillows was jarring, and you were sure you’d be feeling it tomorrow. 

You figured you better do as you were told, with this situation feeling less ideal the more sober you got. Each minute passed by made you realize just how much shit you would be in with him once you woke up tomorrow. Still, you were drunk enough to start raking over all the earlier thoughts that lead you here in the first place. 

“Arthur?” 

“What?” He laid back on the other side of the bed, crossing his arms and trying to rest… but of course you weren’t done. 

“Do you think I’d be better if I were a real man?” 

“No, I do not.” He huffed, his tone flat and his motionless figure unchanging.  

“Why?” You turned on your side to look at him, and boy, he looked handsome in this light. Barely illuminated through a window, but you could see the dark outline of his features.  

“You’re just fine as a woman,” he claimed, still unchanging in position. 

“But everyone hates me as one, they love when I’m him.” You liked being him, too. You were confident as Texas Red. Stronger, Faster. Braver…

“They don’t hate ya, they just have different ideas about ya… not that it’s right.” He thought that maybe you’d drop it from here, maybe pick it up another time when he was less tired, and you were more in your right mind. 

“What are your ideas?” 

“Huh?” He finally turned to face you, unsure of what you were even talking about. 

“About me… what are your ideas?”

“Well… I happen to think you’re real strong, and smart. I think you’ve got gifts that even I don’t understand, and you’re good at using ‘em… I also think you’re a caring person, even when you shouldn’t be.” He listed only the things that came to mind, but he knew there were so many more that he was only not remembering. 

“Those are all good things…” You supposed. 

“Guess so,” he nodded, watching your face contort, as if you were debating on telling him something. You were still stone cold drunk, even if there was a hint of normalcy to you at this point. You wouldn’t remember any of it tomorrow, of that he was sure. 

“I think I love you, Mister Morgan,” you let out, looking at him, but not waiting for a reaction. Even in your tarnished state, you’d just wanted him to know what you were feeling.

“No you don’t, s’just the whiskey,” he argued, his whole body tensing up in fear of how to respond to this drunken revelation. Drunk words are sober thoughts. Everyone knows that. 

“I do, I love ya more than anything,” you rambled on, completely entranced with the silhouette of him against the cool light of the moonlit windowsill. 

“If you really do, you gotta tell me when you’re sobered up,” he instructed. He wanted it to be true, hell, he’d thought it might have been true when first arriving here… but the train job seemed to put you both at square one again, and he was getting tired of it. There was so much he wanted to say to you, but he couldn’t risk being wrong about you feeling the same way. He’s lost too much love in this life to blindly pursue it again. He was tired of getting his heart stomped on.

“I’ll tell you… Swear it,” you crossed your heart, giving him a doe eyed smile. “Do you love me?” 

“I can’t tell you yet,” he shook his head, looking back up to the ceiling. 

“But I told you…”

“I know, sweet girl… just be patient, alright? I’m gonna get there, promise.” 

You nodded, turning on your own back and staring up at the ceiling, a single crack in the painted plaster going along the corner of it, keeping you distracted enough to stop thinking about Arthur and fall asleep next to him. 

-

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

[juste-en-passant]

So I’m extra late to the party, I just fell randomly on your post. But I’m going to react, bc I really agree with a part of your view, especially the marauder part. Keep in mind that I haven’t read any of the books in years, so I’m going with the lingering impression they left me with. So I’m not going to compare with the Golden Trio, or with the Malfoy’s friendship. Because I never had big thought on them.

First thing being : the entire story is a harry POV, so a subjective one, and from a 11 year old child with skewered biased views on society, coming from his primary socialization: the Dursley family. In the first book at least. Of course, he is going to see his father’s friend as a cool group, and of course his childhood rival and friends are going to be ugly idiots. And he is going to make fun about people’s face’s, and be dehumanizing, because as a child he always was, and he witnessed his aunt and uncle being dehumanizing talking about everything and everyone. He reproduce a pattern, because no one ever call him out. He went straight from the Dursley’s to almost raising himself in school (and meeting trauma after trauma along the way). He had a few parenting figures after that, the Weasley parents especially, but he saw them what, a few weeks every year? And they already had to parent a lot of other children. He was a calm child who never really was mean or violent towards anyone, so he was left alone most of the time. nobody parented him, he reproduced things he saw.

So yes, he may have all the defaults you listed. He also may have had an unweakened bisexuality that only showed up as “this man is so handsome. Yes he murdered my parents, but he is objectively gorgeous”. And we need to read this POV more critically, because it is not an omniscient narrator, but a subjective POV, and as we are not 11 anymore, we can begin to search for little psychological cues about Harry’s bias, and about how things really happened.

About the Slytherins: I don’t have a specially negative feeling about them. I think they were a group already formed when they entered Hogwarts, so they didn’t completely mixed with the other kids. And yes, I feel draco really cared about Crabbe, who he knew since they were both in diapers. Their relationship can’t be compared to the one of the golden trio or the marauders, who met in their first yea at Hogwarts. It’s a different dynamic is all.

About the golden trio, yes, Harry imprinted on Ron who was the first nice kid to him, and had an epidermic reaction to draco being condescending to his new friend. The first interaction in Mrs. Malkin was not a bad one, I don’t remember him having strong feelings about Draco at that time, draco who was only doing small talks, as he was trained to do, not especially friendly, or unfriendly. He was eleven and overwhelmed because his whole world just went bang. About Hermione : yes, sometimes it feels like pity friendship.

The marauder analysis is going to be the big part of this. Because the fascinating part of the marauder, that I don’t think JKR intentionally made up, is that they are the perfect representation of the dynamic of a small group of school bullies. And I say that as a person who met some.

And you pointed some of those elements:

For me, the core of the Marauder has always been James and Sirius.

James was an only child from a rich family (I think that’s canon), who, at 11, was kind of arrogant, but also raised in some values that he should care about others. And then he met Sirius, eldest (but not only) child of a rich and not so good family (having “met” the eldest version of his mother in canon, this clearly was an abusive household).

Sirius who was already rejecting in his mind everything that came from his family (I don’t think he already had a deep consciousness awakening  about his family’s value, just that he was extremely unhappy with his life), met James, and latched onto him (like Harry on Ron), as his first friend. And we can at least give it to James: he did not held the fact that Sirius was a Black against him immediately. This beginning of friendship is what gave Sirius the courage to make his final decision to go to Gryffindor (and it took a great deal of bravery, the hat wasn’t wrong about that. Snape, in a kind of similar situation, didn’t. But response to trauma differ from people to people and I digress).

Then came the two “minions”, as you said, Remus, and Peter.

Peter is a follower. Pure and simple. He is attracted to the aura of James and Sirius, he admires them, and love being part of the “popular” group. He is not really their friend (not deeply). And they (as you pointed out) are not very nice to him either. They  still make fun of him, and belittle him. He is just (I think) trying to go through his school years without being picked on too much. In situations where the group was bullying Snape or other people, he may even have been an aggravating factor, adding worse and worse ideas just to get approval from them.

And then there’s Remus. Often presented as the “nice one”, the one following the rules. That they may have picked by the goodness of their heart, because he was alone and sad, but was also extraordinarily convenient to the group : he was a brilliant student (I don’t remember, but I felt at some point that maybe they used him a little  for homework.. like Ron and harry did Hermione) and later a prefect. And as a prefect, he was very lenient with them and let them get away with a lot. Because he felt he owed them that. Because like peter, he was not “popular” coded, and felt grateful they took him in, even after they found out he was a werewolf, and he loved them for that. So no he never did anything to stop them.

And you are right on something else: they are never really presented as a group of bullies. Even in the half blood prince where it all blows up. The fact that Snape was their primary victim lowers the effect of this revelation(in my opinion), because at that point nobody likes him, and because he was also a little bitchy in school. They all were. They were teenagers. With magical powers. Obviously thing were about to go bumpy. So Harry is shocked by the fact his father and friends were not just brilliant pranksters, but also vicious bullies,  but not that much, because it is snape. And then Snapes murders Voldemort, so somehow, emotionally to harry (and to the reader) this seems to justify the bullying (see: they were right to attack him, he was bad from the start! which does not means this is true. Because their treatment of him participated in aggravating tendencies already present).

So will regret forever that this revelation didn’t come from another person, maybe someone Harry likes, and discovers they knew the marauders. So harry comes talk to them and gets an awkward face of someone who doesn’t want to talk ill of the boy’s dead’s parent. But they stuck him into a ceiling in his underwear in the middle of November, repeatedly humiliated them publicly and destroyed one of their most prized possession as a prank so he really doesn’t have great memory to share. And thinking about all that makes a panic attack begin so they just babble banality and flee to hyperventilate in peace.

So I’m not anti marauder, and not anti anyone really. And I agree with you one a thing in particular: the Potters are not all perfect, and the Malfoys are not all Shallow. They all have layers, imperfections. Good and bad moments. And thank the force for that : they are fleshed out characters who feel like people.

....

Few. That was a big rant, sorry

Double Standards: Malfoys vs Potters Edition

It's interesting how people view the Malfoy vs Potter men. The Malfoys are often considered shallow while the Potters are lauded for befriending the "downtrodden".

James Potter befriended Remus Lupin, a disadvantaged werewolf. He and his friends became animagi for Lupin. That's great and all...but then why was Remus so hesitant to go against the status quo and speak out against the marauders - to do his job as prefect?

And James treated Wormtail like trash too.

‘How thick are you, Wormtail?’ said James impatiently. ‘You run round with a werewolf once a month –’

Nice to say that out loud where anyone can hear, Jamie.

‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’ Wormtail turned slightly pink, but James grinned.

“Lily and James only made you Secret Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backwards. “I thought it was the perfect plan… a bluff… Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you… it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.”

You really don't get the vibe that Sirius or James held little Petie in high regard, do you?

It can't be more obvious that Sirus and James were top dogs and Peter and Remus were just add-ons.

As for Harry, where to start with him? He shows little empathy for other people and has a nasty habit of describing people in dehumanizing ways (eg. Aberforth, Salazar Slytherin, Marcus etc). He has probably described Tom Riddle, the guy who murdered his parents, as attractive more times than his own girlfriend Ginny. He latched on to Ron because of his family and honestly, Hermione feels like a pity friend at times. Harry hardly likes being around her without Ron. Harry has another nasty habit of giving his best friends the silent treatment until they come crawling back to him, even when he is in the wrong too (re firebolt for Hermione and Ron believing Harry entered his name in the goblet of fire).

‘Hullo,’ said the boy, ‘Hogwarts too?’ ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,’ said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. ‘Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.’

Yet, no one seems to give Lucius and Draco any credit. These people are supposed to be snobby, pureblood supremacists. Yet, even though Harry was dressed in decrepit muggle clothes, Draco still engaged him in conversation. Draco had no idea who Harry was, had no clue he was famous at the time, and still made several efforts to talk with him and continue the conversation even when Harry was cold and aloof.

And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him, to where Lucius Malfoy, a prefect badge gleaming upon his chest, patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him …

Lucius knows 'Snape' is not a pureblood name. He could see Snape's clothes were probably old hand-me-downs. He knows Snape is way below his class. Yet, he still welcomes Snape warmly to Slytherin. What reason would he have to fake pleasantries with a poor half-blood? I doubt Slughorn or the other bigoted purebloods would care if Lucius left his seat in disgust at Snape's presence. Even as adults, it is indicated in the narrative multiple times that Lucius holds Snape in high esteem. Draco held Snape in high esteem too despite being a halfblood.

The same Snape that James Potter tormented for no good reason - because Snape existed. Instead of targetting the purebloods like Avery and Mulciber, James and his delinquent loser gang went after Snape, the poor half-blood. Harry literally did nothing as Snape lay dying in the same shack that Lupin almost killed him in two decades prior.

Harry describes Pansy as being pug-faced...yet Draco still dated her. Even though Crabbe turned on him, Draco still grieved for him afterwards. Compared to Harry who only dates the prettiest girls and body shames other girls if they don't meet his standard and only cares about people who do things for him, like him and are loyal to him. It's only when the people he dislikes die for him that he changes his tune and suddenly they become great people.

How can people say the Potters are less shallow than the Malfoys??Draco and Lucius will always be high-class elitists who believe in sticking with their 'own kind' but give credit where credit is due.

[raspberry-vinaigrette]

i am pondering dialtown peter since i just did the roger dlc good end. warning in advance for roger dialtown dlc spoilers. cool? cool anyways

i just think like. okay the good ending cutscene with peter is kind of. abrupt. and confused people according to doggo and i can see why, it's... a bit weird in tone and isn't built up to as well as it could've been imo. no shade to the ending though the ending is fuckin AWESOME and that roger speech shook me to my core. however i think the peter intrusion can be reinterpreted to be really interesting with a bit of canon wiggle room, so to speak, because like --

imagine you are peter. you're the straight-laced, responsible co-manager of the factory, and you have been for a while. you know that you aren't easy to get along with and you don't really try to change this. it keeps things under wraps. it's all you can really do when everything around you is chaotic and wacky and you're so consistently left out of the loop. things are done without you being consulted. you feel like a joke so you have to prove you're the only thing that isn't. and really, it's your fault, in a way. you're the villain here for letting these things happen. you are to blame.

and then there's your best friend roger. you feel, sometimes, like he's the only person youre tangibly helping. you got him off of alcohol. you're always the one he leans on, always the one checking in. he is a good man. life has dealt him a bad hand, and people laugh at him sometimes, but you know he's good. he tries so hard. you wonder if maybe you aren't trying hard enough, but maybe your destiny is just to be this way. you don't think about it. he seems happy around you and that's enough, you suppose. and then management changes.

for all you know you are responsible, you also believe there is something rotten within you. something that will only weigh others down. you are able to be so very normal amidst the chaos of work, but you believe you can't be personable. you're too methodical, too straightforward, too managerial. and people want a person to talk to them, not a rigid machine. you look in the mirror and wonder how much of you is just the phone on your head. you look in the mirror and wonder who you are. but you can't fathom a good man like roger could look in the mirror and see anything but the sun. you trust him. you know he's a trainwreck, a mess, clumsy and irresponsible sometimes, but he's a good man. you know he can prove himself. maybe if you just keep at arms length, don't take over too much like you tried last time...

and things are a mess anyway. things are worse. and you begin to wonder if maybe you're the issue. if maybe your destiny is just to take over and rule with an iron fist, because that is the only way things can be done. this rot inside you, this thing that is clearly only making roger worse by your presence -- it must be killed at the source. so you have to play the game. you know what has to happen, don't you? you have to take over. and then everyone will be miserable, and roger will see how good he is, how much potential he has, and he will usurp you. he will be good. he will surprise everyone. and the rotten festering thing will be taken out, and he will never be dragged down again. because it must be you holding them back. you're the common denominator.

you're the villain.

peter doesn't understand that not being the boss is better for roger. he doesn't comprehend he is likable as a person moreso than he is a corporate entity, a responsible manager -- the only person he may believe likes him beyond that is caroline, and even then he has a fucking board discussion about if he should be allowed to act more than completely rational and reasonable, with a pros/cons list! yeah that's meant to be a jokey dialogue scene but i still think it reflects how peter tries so hard to be rational and reasonable and i think to some extent he believes that makes him less human. roger is so bright, of course he can surprise people and show them the sun! peter may be good at management but how far will that get him when surely nobody wants to directly associate with him? he is a menace.

he does not understand that roger cares so deeply for him, the same way roger doesn't understand people love him without him having to prove himself. idk. this is only half canon and its kinda text extrapolation and interpretation to fit w the ending scene but its an interesting thought

[brucewaynehater101]

My bad, y'all, but uh... Here:

Also, obviously not strictly canon

Tw: attempted murder, mentions of canonical character death, aggression

Hurt no comfort

Jason... He's frozen. Every muscle in his body is locked as he tries to process the information. Deep down, past the onslaught of numbness and passive dissociation within his brain, several emotions and past experiences rage against each other.

He's not fully present as his lips creak open. "What?"

Tim, observing the older's state, pauses. He winces at his possible misstep and the obvious distress it's causing. "I-"

A omnious creak sounds out as Jason grips his holstered gun. "What did you just say?"

The numbness is being washed away by rage, and Tim nervously notices. He swallows. He can't tear his eyes from the threat in front of him even though the aggression sends bolts of fear into his intestines.

Jason removes his gun but doesn't point it at the younger man.

Tim's eyes flicker down to the gun and then back up to Jason's face. He nods slowly and shifts into a slightly more defensive position. "Superman stopped Batman from killing the Joker."

Jason stills once more.

He checks behind his shoulder before his head gradually swivels back to Tim. Even through the helmet, Robin can feel the oppressive gaze checking over him.

Red Hood doesn't find any wounds. There's no quickness of breath, frantic eye movement, or twitching. Tim is wary, but he's fully aware. He's not under any influence.

"Bruce was going to kill Joker?"

Robin slides a foot backward. He nods.

Jason's hands twitch. "Superman stopped him?"

Another nod.

"Why?"

The other foot slides back.

Red Hood takes a step forward.

They both freeze.

Jason is poised to leap for Tim and the younger one isn't certain he'd be able to escape. He grasps one of the batarangs as he answers.

"Joker somehow became Iran's ambassador. An American vigilante associated with the Justice League murdering the ambassador of a foreign country would have started World War Three."

Every line in Jason's body is tense. His muscles start to tremble with the sheer force and pressure he's exerting over them. His breathing becomes audible and distorted through the helmet as his chest heaves.

"Bruce was going to kill the Joker."

Tim nods.

"Superman stopped him."

Another more hesitant nod.

"Batman never tried again."

Robin grimaces.

Red Hood nods to himself. His head turns away from Robin as he tries to process his bitter acceptance at the inevitability against the crushing weight of disappointment when he had foolishly hoped differently. Jason knew, especially after his confrontation with Batman, that the man wouldn't have tried to avenge him. A crapshoot one-time effort doesn't count when Batman has access to finish the job at any point that clown is rotting in Arkham. The only part that's changed is Red Hood's opinion on the Boy Scout.

He should be used to heroes failing him by now.

Tim, as he sees the fury tightly coiled in Red Hood's fists and the sag in his shoulders, clears his throat. When the eyes of the helmet peer back at him, he tries to defend them.

"It was the right choice."

With the rage suddenly being pointed towards Tim, the teen can't help but flinch.

"What?"

Robin's hand fiddles with his collar as he uncertainly bites his lip. His eyes drift between the very angry man and various escape routes.

Red Hood snarls. "What the fuck do you mean by 'it was the right choice?'" With an angry stomp, he crowds Tim's space until he's towering over the younger kid. "Tell me what you mean by that, Pretender!"

Robin swallows nervously as he raises both hands in front of him. His palms face Jason in both an appeasement gesture as well as in preparation to push away the older teen if it calls for that. Despite the prickling stings of fear and anxiety, Tim continues. He's not one to back down from a threat.

"I mean exactly that. If Batman had killed Joker, it could have drawn America into a war with Iran. Superman made the right choice."

"You think- You-" A frustrated and pained growl leaves Jason's throat as he takes a step back. A hand drifts his helmet as he tries to calm his erratic breathing.

The crime lord releases a bitter laugh and takes another step back. "You actually believe that."

Tim doesn't respond.

There's another huff of resigned humor from Jason at this. "Of course you do." He takes another step back as he shakes his head. "Of course. What was I thinking?"

Red Hood grits his teeth. "Right. Yeah."

His gaze seems to drift to the city as he tries to order his thoughts. His emotions war in his mind, but overall he just feels tired.

"Batman was right not to kill the Joker. What else was I expecting?"

[captainzigo]

I need requests! I don’t know what to draw. You can fix this easily. My minimum donation is just five dollars and I’m not even keeping the money. I’m donating it. One of the great things about my taking requests instead of doing commissions is that you do not have to feel bad about sending me small amounts of money. Because it’s just a request. if you want a commission, I just re-blogged a whole bunch of commission posts from my friends. (also if you are a friend of mine that does commissions and I didn’t re-blog commission post, or a post from you and mention that you do commissions, DM me)

if for some reason you think that me donating the money means that you aren’t doing anything for me, I assure you that feeling like I can actually do something in the face of the horrors of the world does quite a whole lot. and it should feel good for you too. 

I take requests about anything. And while I obviously love request about canon characters, and I adore requests about my own characters (tho that’s only happened once lol) I take requests about anything. Including stuff that isn’t ponies. Including your OCs. Anything. The worst that’s gonna happen is I’ll ask you to request something else

here are some i’ve done recently

life has to go on.

i need to be ok. the internet is my escape. i have a small platform, and i feel compelled to use it, but spreading positivity is a use.

however i personally need to do something. i just have to.

firstly, if you voted for trump, unfollow me. i do not care about your reasons. delete my motherfucking number.

secondly, for the rest of 2024, i will be donating anything i make on kofi to relief in palestine. i was able to raise $85 when i did this in the month of september. for someone struggling to stay on top of bills, that is a lot of money. but i’m hoping i can make more this time. i’ve thought about opening actual commissions, and im going to see about expediting that process. please see my pinned post for details on sending me a request on kofi. my minimum donation is still just $5 and i do OCs or whatever

if you do not need to make a request and simply want to donate, i recommend doing so directly. here is the post i have been using to find people in need who’s campaigns have been vetted: https://www.tumblr.com/el-shab-hussein/749304296909225984/vetted-fundraiser-masterpost-masterpost

[spinchip]

Oooh in the find your way home au does Wu start searching for the ninja there as well?? How would the serpentine/great devourer be doing here too?? :oo??

in the world of Find Your Way Home Wu, and everyone who knows of the prophecy, is under the impression its years away. Wu and Misako know Lloyd is the green ninja, but the original literature surrounding the prophecy equates true potential with maturity, implying Lloyd would need to be an adult before he would face his father and fulfill the prophecy. He's still a child.

Wu and Misako are both more focused on discovering a way to change destiny and prevent Lloyds battle against his father than gathering the other elemental masters and preparing them for a fight. they're not NOT looking, but they aren't searching for them because there should still be plenty of time. and if all goes well, that battle should never come to pass. hopefully.

Find your way home is split into two seasons initially, the Tournament of Elements (part 1) and the Search for the Serpentine (part 2)

Just like in canon, Chen needs the essence of a true anacondrai to make the snake spell permanent, which means finding the anacondrai tomb. this sets off a race betrween chen's forces and the elemental masters to get to the anacondrai tomb first, freeing the other serpentine along the way yaaay

the Great devourer is like, a season 3 or 4 bad guy i think. Not in these seasons!

[thedawningofthehour]

I was thinking about how Draxum canonically is Weird about his hair and demands it to be cut to military specifications that apparently take hours to sort out every time he goes in for a cut. And I was wondering how that works out now because he's kind of a war criminal and going to a salon surrounded by sharp objects is kind of a dumb move even if he has absolute trust in his hairdresser. In my fic he doesn't let anyone into his house anymore besides the people who live there, to keep them from learning about/messing with his defenses and to keep people away from Galois.

But I thought it would be funny if his hairdresser was the one person he allowed to visit him at home.

Raph: "Hey, uh. There's a stranger in the kitchen. What do you want me to do with them?"

Gale: "Oh, that's just Father's hairdresser. She's over for his monthly cut and color, don't worry about her."

Raph: "I thought he didn't let anyone over. Like, he told me no one would ever be asked to come to him here, so if someone comes to the front door they're bad news."

Gale: "Yeah, he should have told you about her. She gets a pass."

Raph: "His generals aren't allowed in his house, but his hairdresser is?"

Gale: "He's gone to her for like 300 years. He's not worried about her."

Raph: "And she's fine with-you know, this whole situation?"

Gale: "Raphael, she has hunted my father for sport for missing their appointment. She doesn't take nonsense and doesn't care about politics. She does not care what he's doing. Frankly, he's more scared of her."

[twig-gy]

it’s not inherently mischaracterization to write hms gore what matters is the way you do it. gore is a tool that can be amazing or horrible just like any other depending on the execution. pun. gore is not necessarily more shallow than anything else. no one is going around saying ‘stop writing fluff that’s shallow and only meant to make you feel good’, so why does this apply to gore? if this sounds either biased or targeted, that’s because it is :)

less briefly:

yes, gore can stem from Nothing, or mischaracterization. it can also stem from traits that the character has.

sure maybe ‘soul STABS MIND 3000 TIMES IN THE CHEST because ???? uh why not’ is a bad usage of gore, but consider ‘soul stabs mind to punish him for doing something minor (because he is desperate for heart and mind to stop their fights at all costs, and feels as if he has no power, and feels as if the only way to gain power is by making them afraid of him)’.

maybe this doesn’t fit with your specific idea of soul, but there is still character depth there.

<SIDE TANGENT>

what mischaracterization even MEANS is dependent on person to person, because, you know, PEOPLE GET DIFFERENT THINGS FROM THIS ALBUM, and they INTERPRET THE CHARACTERS DIFFERENTLY. additionally, what seems like ‘mischaracterization’ can just be what the author thinks they would react like when placed into a situation, which can be incredibly different from how they usually act! for example, both of my aus are based on how i think the characters would react whenever placed into situation x

(with maybe their characters tweaked a little, which is fine sometimes as long as you aren’t going to claim it’s canon. it’s fine to have headcanons. it’s fine to have different versions of hms(w) that aren’t specifically au. and people who are mad about it - which is a group that may include me, sometimes, i am aware - can be mad! and that doesn’t mean you’re wrong and that doesn’t mean you have to get out the ukelele and be like i’m sorry for having fun with the characters (when you Should be having fun with the characters and if you aren’t then maybe. stop?))

and in my aus they are incredibly different from canon hms! which isn’t a bad thing, it is the point!

anyway you aren’t morally bad for talking about the characters without cited sources. (the annoying part is whenever you act like you /are/ being objectively correct, and right about everything, whenever you’re clearly Doing Shit To Them (also sometimes maybe consider making an oc and whether that would be more fun than saying it’s hms. however you aren’t. morally corrupt. for not making an oc. it’s fine))

(again please don’t say people are morally corrupt for being wrong about the characters. they aren’t. it’s annoying but it’s not bad morally, and they don’t need to get hosed down for it. It’s Fine)

</SIDE TANGENT> (yes i can reclaim the html angle brackets because i know html /joke)

again, compare ‘heart and mind snuggle and don’t argue ever because ???? why not’ and ‘heart and mind snuggle and don’t argue ever because they’ve resolved their conflict, and don’t feel like they need to anymore’ (an attempt to keep the level of fluff while adding a reason- though i admit i’m not good at writing pure fluff), or ‘heart and mind snuggle and don’t argue ever because they’re tired of the pain and want just one moment of peace’ (something more similar to what i write that keeps bittersweetness/tension there).

if reasonless gore is bad, why isn’t reasonless fluff bad? if reasonless gore is ‘immature’, then isn’t is reasonless fluff also ‘immature’?

sure, maybe one is less shocking or more to your tastes than the other: it’s fine to have preferences. what i don’t agree with is saying one is horrible and the other isn’t.

my opinion is that we should stop saying anything that one writes is morally bad: and if you want to anyway, just keep the complaining (because that’s what this is) to friends you complain with, or discord servers meant for complaining, or complain on your own blog without maintagging it, rather than trying to set these rules of what one should and should not write upon the entire fanbase.

thank you (i bow and leave the stage) (ALSO STOP ACTING LIKE IT’S NOVEL TO THINK THAT HEART ISN’T AN UWU BABY OR MIND ISN’T A DEMON IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE FANBASE WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS. WE WERE GOING OVER THIS LAST YEAR. I AM SO TIRED OF PEOPLE MAKING THESE POSTS AND EVERYONE CONGRATULATING THEM OVER IT AS IF IT’S DESERVING OF THE NOBEL PRIZE)

[vaperarmand]

armand and devil's minion have bewitched me body and soul please recommend some fics (i have read yours and they are incredible <3)

THANK YOU 💗 💗 💗

in general, check my #fic rec or #iwtv fanfic friday tags for more recs! there's like. an absurd amount in there. hopefully enough to satisfy ...

i will give you some of my ultimate favorites still to get you started 😈

cranefucker island circa ‘82 by katplanet if you haven't read the whole series yet you absolutely have to. but this one is like actual DM canon to me. it was the first fanfiction i've cried to since middle school and back then it was because i couldn't regulate my emotions normally. it's that serious to me.

warm-blooded series by flowermasters daniel and armand omegaverse. sorry not sorry. i really like it when armand is like i hate this guy ... but i want him so BAD. epitome of this series. it's so good.

lesson three: parasitic infections by kanxie have been thinking about daniel and alice lately and this one is sooooo. sickos voice yess ha ha yesss.

crawl into the birdcage by englishsummerrain i just like everything kels has ever written but this made me leap headfirst into the "show DM is a decades long affair that continues well after it should" headcanon. yay ❤️

[cpvnksabm]

Please stop trying to "fix" RTC's disability rep without doing prior research, especially if you are able-bodied.

I'm not just saying this because, on principle, I think it's important to centre & uplift disabled voices in discussions of disability representation. I'm saying it because in practice, I've noticed that when people take the "canon sucked so I'm just going to change it" approach to Ricky's depiction in RTC, they frequently end up erasing the parts of canon's representation that were valuable and important to me, sometimes doing things that are worse than canon.

It's important for a fandom to be able to recognise canon's flaws, especially in its depictions of serious topics. But I often feel that the discussion of criticising RTC's disability rep is dominated by people who haven't done a lot of research or don't understand the issue.

I've found that most of the things I actually consider objective flaws in RTC's disability representation are incredibly underdiscussed. Instead, criticism tends to focus on a few specific points, most of which are things I don't agree with or things that are just objectively wrong. For example - it was not ableist to remove the scene where Ricky concedes the competition. At all. I could even argue that this was a positive change, but it gets lumped in with the more ableist script changes (the 2022 rewrites removing Ricky's disability) simply because both happened after the most popular proshot was released in 2016.

Another criticism I see frequently is the idea that canon should have named Ricky's specific disability and was bad rep for not doing so. I understand the idea behind this and somewhat agree with it, but I also think it's more complicated than most people give it credit for - Ricky specifically has a rare disease, meaning most of RTC's audience would not be familiar with it, and when the musical was written, the intended "official" watching experience was for people to see it live, in a dark room with their phone turned off. While the majority of the fandom (who got into RTC through bootlegs) would benefit from Ricky's condition having a known name that can be easily googled, I think it makes sense for the the writers to avoid using terms the average audience member wouldn't be familiar with, given they wouldn't be able to Google it unless they remembered it after the show.

This wouldn't be an issue, if not for the fact that fans frequently use "canon wasn't clear enough" as an excuse to erase the things that canon was clear about. There is a big difference between a character having some sort of "blank slate mystery disease", leaving it entirely up to the fandom to decide what disability he has, and a character who is explicitly said to have a rare degenerative disease with a clearly shown set of symptoms, without the exact name of the disease being mentioned.

I think part of the issue here is a lack of awareness. Many people don't understand how one disease would cause both Ricky's inability to speak and his need for mobility aids, and so they assume canon must have just chosen these symptoms at random. And since "choosing symptoms at random" isn't exactly a great approach to disability depiction, these fans then try to "fix" canon by coming up with separate plausible explanations for Ricky's symptoms.

But the fact is that Ricky's symptoms were not chosen at random - they are in line with symptoms that are caused by real-world neuromuscular disorders. This is heavily implied to be the type of disability Ricky has (I've made a post explaining why, check it out on my account if you want).

Seeing erasure of Ricky's disability is always upsetting, but it's even more upsetting when it comes from people who think they are "fixing" canon by removing "unrealistic" depictions of disability. A person being unable to talk and a mobility aid user due to neuromuscular disability is not unrealistic. Just because you aren't already aware of how something can exist, doesn't mean it is unrealistic.

And there are other issues too, such as whether the "feed him through a tube" meant anything with regard to ricky actually having a feeding tube or generally how well canon handled ocean's ableism, where I feel like people are too quick to jump to "I don't know why canon did that, must be bad representation, I'll fix it" without fully understanding the issue. And if you try to "fix" canon without understanding where it went wrong, you might just make it worse.

I just think it's time for everyone to step back a bit and remember that it's okay to not know everything. Ricky is a character with an underrepresented disability, and it makes sense that some things about him might not be things you've seen before or things you understand well. It's okay to be confused. It only becomes a problem when people make assumptions and then spread these assumptions without fact-checking.

It's very easy for misinformation to get spread online. One person makes a claim in a post, and other people just believe it without fact-checking, because they don't see why the OP would lie about it. And often OP isn't lying at all, but they may be misunderstanding something. A lot of the time, complex subjects like disability representation can be accidentally stripped of important nuance in a game of telephone, when a discussion aimed at one group of people gets taken out of context. And the 2017/2018 RTC scripts frequently get lumped in with the ableist post-2022 script, purely because they both come after the most popular version (the 2016 proshot bootleg).

So before you try to "fix" RTC's disability representation, I think it's important to take a step back and think about what you think RTC originally did wrong. What makes you think these parts were wrong? If it's simply because you don't understand it, or because other people have called it bad representation but you don't understand why, it's time to do some more research to figure out how to best fix it. Otherwise, you might do something that is also bad representation, or plain erasure - and you might do this in an attempt to "fix" one of the things that RTC actually did a good job of originally.

My asks are always open if you're interested in hearing one disabled person's perspective on how RTC handled a specific topic. Please do not assume you don't need to ask because you already know what my perspective will be, and please don't feel like you're bothering me by sending an ask. I am much less bothered by good-faith questions than by people speaking over me, even unintentionally, or taking it for granted that i'll agree with their views.

I think getting a disabled perspective is incredibly important if you're planning on changing any aspect of ricky's disabilty in fanworks - there is a fine line between genuinely improving on canon's flawed rep, and just erasing canon's rep (including the good parts) and excusing it with "well it was bad representation anyway". Remember, disability erasure isn't only when a disabled character is made completely abled - it is possible to erase an aspect of ricky's disability even if he is still disabled.

This is a little more blunt than my usual posts, but it is very important. Thank you so much for reading.

[iwriteasfotini]

Where do we draw the villain line?

Something which is so intriguing to me about the Harry Potter fandom is how flexible *most/some/a few* (honestly IDK how many) people are in giving the villains of the story their own story. Personally I LOVE THIS. Because the best villains are the ones who aren't simply macho bad guys (or gals) who are bad because the author said so. The best villains are the ones you are almost rooting for. The ones you begin to think... wait maybe that person isn't so bad. Or the ones who earn some empathy. And then go and be total arse holes anyways. Because a good story needs a villain, it's simply a fact.

If there was ever a time to remember humans are each living our own story, it is now. It doesn't excuse ANYTHING. It is infuriating and sad. But it is reality. Someone's villain is someone else's hero. And vice versa. But let's not get off on a tangent.

Now the curious thing is while certain HP characters are given some grace where their evil deeds are concerned, others are not. Like at all. Have any of you read Crimson Rivers? Of course you have! If you want to shift your mindset on how you view most of the Death Eaters, read that fic. But in it, I do not remember Mulciber or Avery being mentioned in any sort of good light. Walburga... her terrible parenting is quite undisputed. Umbridge! Barty Crouch Senior! I think Vernon Dursley falls into this category. There are still characters who are seen as simply evil for the sake of evil.

So how did Tom, Bella, Barty, Draco (but I mean, Draco is really a terrible villain to begin with) and a few others end up with backstory, humanity, and quite a few people invested in them. I don't have the answer, but it is an interesting phenomena. Because I am quite new to the fandom and it took all of three tumblr posts to get me fully on board with Rosekiller. Bella, I don't like her, but she is a fascinating character to write for. And she has redeemable qualities. Tom is a cold hearted killer who might have turned out completely different if he didn't have the childhood trauma he did. I imagine Tom's orphanage life was about as void of love and affection as it is possible to be. Sure his basic survival needs were taken care of, but he wasn't loved. And that was his life from birth.

Perhaps it is the fact there is just enough humanity given to these characters in canon that in fandom we take that nugget of humanity and turn it into a full fledged backstory. Barty is a great example. He is screaming at his father during his trial and his father flat up ignores him, all while his mother is weeping in the background. His mother sacrifices herself for him, then DIES two days later (clearly she wasn't in good health to begin with... hmmmmm...). Does Barty even have a Dark Mark? WE DON'T KNOW. Does Barty feel like he has a personal connection with Voldemort, yes, their fathers were both pieces of shite. How did Barty learn this about Tom? It means Tom went out of his way to connect with Barty on a PERSONAL level at some point. Why would he bother, he so rarely give away personal information? Also I feel Barty has a relationship with Winky which is reminiscent of Regulus and Kreacher. Basically there is mutual love and respect on some level (while some wizards see house-elves as servants only).

The fact we can ask all these questions about someone who essentially guided Harry to his should have been death and then was kissed by a dementor (which Dumbledore was LIVID about BTW) makes him such great fodder for the fandom to sculpt a intriguing if not rich back story. It's why I was able to get on board with the Barty isn't a pure villain idea so fast. And I think it really enhances the fandom.

On a side note, Peter's an interesting one as I feel like he is often either forgotten about or lumped into the evil for evil's sake category. Peter made appalling choices, but I think he has a backstory, just like everyone, which can at least account for some of why he did what he did. And it does not have to do with him being bullied, pushed around, or constantly berated by his supposed friends. The Marauders loved each other, and Peter was included in that love.

That being said, there are plenty of people who disagree. Who like to see the Death Eaters as evil. Who cannot fathom how anyone in their right mind can ship Jegulus or be invested in a villain. But to those people I say, Regulus committed suicide as part of taking down Voldemort, Remus put peoples lives at risk every time he left the shack while he was at Hogwarts, Sirius has made some very questionable choices, Harry uses Sectumsempra on Draco, Severus was a Death Eater who changed allegiance, Ron deserts his friends/Harry when they need him, even Fred and George test products on first years and give Hermione a black eye. The lines between good and bad (which are at least somewhat defined in canon) become far less clear in fandom. As Sirius says, the world isn't split between good people and Death Eaters.

If you have read this far into my rant, kuddos to you. If you enjoy thinking and talking about backstory of HP villains, maybe we can connect in some capacity and exchange HC's and thoughts. I also hope you will check out my very epic series which has started posting on Ao3 because I am striving to tell a lot of people's stories in a fast paced, entertaining way.

Thank you for your time and attention. This concludes my rant.

[hemlock-user007]

Alex Hirsch as Bill Cipher!

Bill's real Canon design