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julescarstairs · 3 years ago

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If Aught but Death: Chapter 1

(An AU to the Dark Artifices)

The Shadow Market wasn’t as busy as Julian recalled it to be; though, he supposed, nobody would yet be brave enough to come visit the market after the display in Idris only days ago. Perhaps Downworlders didn’t yet feel safe, were making themselves scarce so the Cohort couldn’t come for them. If Julian were in their shoes, he certainly wouldn’t have been trading like normal after such a colossal loss. So, sure: maybe it wasn’t as busy as it should have been. Maybe that was Julian’s fault. Maybe he’d feel guilty later. But right now he felt it was an advantage. Less clients meant stall owners might be more desperate for exchange.

And desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Bold of you to step foot in here after the shitshow in Idris, nephilim,” said a werewolf clerk selling charms that protected against silver. She spat the word at him like it would hurt, and Julian’s lack of reaction to her bitterness seemed to throw her off. She sank back on her stool, stared at him for a moment. Julian stated right back at her. What was she going to do— attack him? He wasn’t armed. Whatever loose rules bound the salespeople Shadow Market, he was certain that one of them was to not attack potential customers without good reason. Even if they were Nephilim. “Jesus Christ, you look a mess, boy. Is all that misery of failure eating you up inside?”

“I never promised victory,” Julian said calmly, but didn’t deny that he probably did, in fact, look below average. He felt like a mess. “Resistances aren’t always successful. We all lost something in that failure. Myself included. This isn’t my fault—”

“Of course,” the clerk threw her hands up. “You lost a friend—“ it was the understatement of the year, but Julian didn’t have it in him to argue that without opening the wound he had only just covered up. “I’ve lost my whole business! Faeries, werewolves, vamps and warlocks alike are cowering because of your stupid idea to resist your own damn government! But, sure, we’ve all lost something in the wake of defeat. I’m sure you’re also going to be persecuted like the rest of us once the Cohort gains momentum again, aren’t you?” The amount of sarcasm in this woman’s voice would have even given the sharpest Herondale a run for their money.

“Probably,” Julian agreed, which seemed to tip off the clerk more.

“Ohh, you’re asking for it, boy,” She leant over the stand, pointing at the table with an air of entitlement, “How dare you—”

“Clementine, enough.”

Julian turned to see Hypatia Vex hurrying towards them, arms swinging at her sides with an air of purpose. Her bronze hair was tied into a ponytail snugly behind her head, which swung back and forth with every determined step she took. Though her expression was smooth and stone-faced, there was a look in her starry eyes that made him hopeful that she wasn’t about to turn him away. “Hypatia,” Julian said. “You’re looking well.”

“If only I could say the same about you,” Hypatia reached out and pressed a hand to the small of his back, pushing him along, away from Clementine. She shot the werewolf a withering look. “Miss Prophe, if I catch you intimidating another potential customer again, I will personally see you banned from the Los Angeles and London Shadow Markets. Given your supposed lack of customers, I’m surprised you didn’t know better than to take your anger out on one.”

Hypatia walked with Julian for quite some distance, and didn’t talk until Clementine’s spluttering protest was out of earshot. Then she turned and touched his cheek, a maternal gesture that took him by surprise. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said softly to him, “Mortality is so fickle, and even more so for you Shadowhunters. But that doesn’t make the loss of those closest to you any easier to deal with. I could tell that girl meant a lot to you.”

“Thanks,” was all Julian said in response. Word travelled fast in the Shadow World, it seemed.

Taken aback by his dismissal, Hypatia leant back, blinking. She seemed to be trying to read his expression for some sort of emotion. Julian was certain she wouldn’t be disappointed in his findings. He felt cold and despairing right to his very bones. It would surprise even him if that didn’t show on his face or in his eyes. “Right,” Hypatia sighed, seeming contented with whatever she got out of his expression. She pat his cheek once more before stepping back, “So, what can I do you for? I’m guessing you’re not here for a friendly visit at this hour?”

The question made Julian’s stomach rock with unease. Can I trust her? The question rebounded inside his mind the way his voice would echo, loud and high pitched, inside the caves he and Emma explored as kids. Part of him wanted to, seeing as she spared him any further confrontation with Clementine Prophe, had expressed condolences at the loss of his Parabatai and the love of his life. But the other part of him recalled what she had actually said to Clementine upon ushering him away. Given your supposed lack of customers, I’m surprised you didn’t know better than to take your anger out on one.

How could he be certain that Hypatia was truly sympathising for him, and wasn’t using that to make financial gains from him? Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

Deciding his approach, Julian said, “I’m having trouble sleeping. I was hoping someone here had something that would help.”

“Hm,” Hypatia turned on her heel, the stiletto digging into the compacted dirt beneath her. “Understandable. Right this way. I know a few stalls up ahead that sell plenty of fine sleep remedies.”

And they set off again, up and around the corner into a square littered with stalls. Some were full and operating, business as usual, while others were sparse and untouched. Julian looked around himself; this was where he had been the time he had come with Kit. He turned and looked over his shoulder, saw the old stall which had previously been advertising the Lottery, the Guardian and its Followers.

The memory of dancing with Emma rose up in his mind, a sharp slap whose pain he welcomed. It had pained him to be so close to her, to murmur into the space between them, but not be able to have her in the way that he did in his dreams. It pained him to think that at that time, the feelings he felt were his alone — that Emma did not feel the same. But it was still just as glorious. Having Emma all to himself, in a ballroom full of people. Feeling like royalty.

It felt so far away right then and there.

Julian noticed there was a little card holder on the bench of the stall, newer than any of its surroundings. He couldn’t make out the features of the card, the text on it; he would need to get closer for that. But wouldn’t it look suspicious? Walking up to a condemned stall which no one had even bothered to clean up?

Don’t. He told himself. It’s not worth your time.

But what if—

“It’s about as busy as a ghost town,” Hypatia had come to a stop in front of him, and was gesturing bitterly at the scene in front of her. “Don’t worry, Julian. This isn’t your fault. It’ll be business as usual in no time.” She pat his shoulder, winking at him, “Stay right here. I’ll go ask about for some remedies. I’ll bring them back to you, and you’ve just got to hand me over the money.”

Julian had only as much time to give a terse nod before Hypatia Vex disappeared into the eye of the Shadow Market. He watched her go until she was gone, then turned around and approached the old stall. He picked up a card and turned it in his hands. It was blue and white with silver edges. They were sharp, he noticed, as he ran a finger along its edge. It could be used as a weapon. He turned it in his fingers again, reading the blue, shimmering font typed out across its front. There was only one word, centred, on the card.

“DESIDERATING?”

What?

There had to be more to it than that. It was a deceptively useless business card, Julian thought: no name, no address, no point of contact. Just a word that one might only use in a game of scrabble. Desiderating?

He recalled the ticket to the Lottery that he and Emma had discovered at Wells’ house, how they had to mark it with a stele to reveal the whole message on the golden card. Julian briefly looked around himself before sliding his stele out of his pocket. He etched a rune into the bottom corner of the card, small and artful, and in a matter of seconds the small card began to glow from within. It grew warm in his fingers. The letters of the word rearranged themselves, and others appeared in curling, smaller font beneath it. A name, a phone number, an address. A call to action.. It was like watching a piece of art create itself. He slid his stele read the card once all the words had been formed.

“Thinking about RAISING THE DEAD? Contact Eris Flake, professional Necromancer, for all your death-defying needs. No lock in contract. No judgement. No laws broken. Your perfectly legal necromancy institution.”

It was like a blessing in disguise. Julian’s heart was in his throat. He peered down at the phone number stamped in the bottom corner, at the address stamped beneath it.

“Las Vegas?” Julian muttered to himself. The address itself was oddly vague, he thought. Only the city and state were mentioned. He stroked his thumb across the card, committing its texture to memory, convincing himself this was real. Nevada was only one state over, he supposed. If travelling to Las Vegas a few times was all he had to do to bring Emma back, he would. It was much less than he had been prepared to do, after all. The only issue would be how he would get away from home long enough without his siblings growing suspicious. They had all been hovering around him like hawks since Emma’s passing, as if they were afraid he would do something to himself.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. Julian slid the card into his pocket as he heard Hypatia’s heels approaching quickly behind him. You don’t know if she’ll actually help you yet. It could be a scam.

But it was so hard not to get ahead of himself when the solution to all of his problems had been so perfectly laid out in front of him. All the more reason not to trust it, Julian supposed. He should have known better than to have hope.

“Good, good. You didn’t make tracks on me,” Hypatia smiled keenly, and handed Julian a tote bag full of miscellaneous remedies. “A few Faeries gave me some powders and teas that help with sleep. I also got a candle which emits an aroma that soothes the mind and helps with nightmares. And one of those eye mask things, courtesy of myself. Sometimes pressure on the eyes is soothing.” She seemed proud of herself, held out a hand demandingly, “I’ve done my part. Now pay me for my service.”

“Name your price,” Julian said, peering down into the bag. It smelt strongly of lavender and apricot, dizzyingly strong. He guessed that if he used more than one of these at the same time he wouldn’t wake up for a month. Minimum.

“Three hundred.”

“Three hundred?” It wasn’t that he didn’t have the money to pay — he simply didn’t believe the goods were worth one hundred dollars let alone three. He could have bought the same herbal remedies from an incense shop in central L.A.

“Three hundred,” Hypatia confirmed, and Julian obediently placed the money into her palm. Her elongated fingers curled around the stack of money, and she grinned. “Thank you, dear. Now, you go off and get a good night’s rest.”

***

Julian sat in the car, parked in the parking lot outside Canter’s. It was the same car park in which only weeks ago Emma had saved his life. The sun was beginning to turn the sky from a midnight blue to a delicate peach colour as it rose over the horizon. He couldn’t see it past the buildings around him, but he knew it was coming. He looked down at the business card in his hand. It hadn’t changed since he left the market. The phone number was still stamped in the corner, beckoning for him to call it. He tipped his head back against the headrest, drawing in a shaky breath. Stop it, he told himself. Stop overthinking it.

But what if he wasn’t overthinking? What if it was all a set up? What if it was the Cohort’s doing? The Clave’s? Maybe they had set up tabs to try and catch him out. To catch others out. To put a stop to the dark magic that had put their society in this mess in the first place.

It couldn’t be. The Clave was still trying to reconstruct itself, the Cohort was doing the same. This was his one shot to fix everything. To be whole again. Stop stalling.

He dialled the number into his phone, lifted it to his ear. It rang out once, twice, three times, and Julian could feel the onset of a wave of despair coming when suddenly the phone picked up.

“Desiderating?” Came a voice, low, on the other end of the line.

“Yes,” Julian nodded his head, once. “Who am I talking to?”

“Eris Flake.” Yes. Relief flooded his system like water bursting through a dam. He tried not to give any indicator of the tense excitement coursing through him, even held his breath so she couldn’t hear its shaking. “Professional Necromancer and Dark Magic Dealer. I’m guessing you’re in need of one of those two things, otherwise you wouldn’t have picked up my business card, decoded it, or dialled my number.” A pause, then. “So tell me, who am I dealing with?”

No going back now. “My name is Julian Blackthorn, and I—I need your help. I’m desperate.”

#julian blackthorn #emma carstairs #blackstairs #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #lady midnight #lord of shadows #QoAAD #queen of air and darkness #mark blackthorn #cristina rosales #ty blackthorn #tavvy blackthorn #thedarkartifices

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asixteenthrosecc · 2 years ago

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Every hair I mentioned in my new video, linked here (because the description was too long for youtube), Enjoy!

1. Greta Hair 2.Hayley Hair 3. Lefinia Hair 4, Luisa Hair 5. Thelma Hair 6. Cassie Pigtails 7. Shelley Hair 8. Luna Hair 9. Veronica Hair 10. Fleur Hair 11. Claire Hair 12. Ivy Hair 13. Eva Hair 14. Joseph Hair 15. bmh hair 16. Harper Hair 17. Lily Hair 18. Beth Hair 19. Valerie Hair 20.Delancey Hair 21. Sharon Hair 22. Raibyn Hair 23. Eilae

24. Evque

25. Batrice Braids 26. Monet Hair 27. Audrey Hair 28. Mia Hair 29. Anara hair 30. Zenais Hair 31. Chloe Hair 32. Lila Hair 33. Nelly Hair 34. Vega Hair 35. Bulak Hair 36. Yasmin Hair 37. June Hair 38. Eva hair + flower crown set 39. Miranda Hair 40. Clementine Hair 41. Janette Hair 42. Anne Hair 43. Tyra Hair 44. Megan Hair 45. Dahlia Hair 46. Cassandra Hair 47. Angeline Hair 48. azalea hair 49. Melissa Hair 50. Raven Hair 51. Rosa Hair 52. Bessie Hair 53. Skye Hair 54. Juilette Hair 55. Rory Hair 56. Vexed Hair 57. Lily Hair 58. Maple Hair 59. Cheila hair 60. Sandy Hair 61. Willow Hair 62. Meltie Hair 63. Hayley Braids 64. Cassandra Hair

Extras Eyebrow set Whispy Eyebrows Lush Eyebrows

I do not claim rights to these CC items! All links take you to the creators page!Thanks for watching!!

#youtube #the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4cc #maxis match #create a sim

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nerdasaurus1200 · 3 years ago

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I can't remember if I ever posted this here but here's Caine's entire pirate crew that Cass ends up joining in my version of a Cass spinoff

Lady Caine

Cassandra

Brock Thunderstrike

Stalyan

Ginny

Captain Quaid

Vex

Dale

Andrew

Clementine

Kai

Juniper

Maisie

Pocket

Otter

Grifol

Bastion Thorson

Franz Schmidt

Mumps

Leftie

Dwayne

Moby Dick (but not really cause they kidnap him sometimes)

Fidella

Owl

Axel

#tts #rta #tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #nerd talks #cassandra #cass spinoff #lady caine

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bestworstcase · 3 years ago

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do you have sexualities for every one? even if they’re not apart of the main cast, or just for a few characters?

not like. everyone everyone but if they’re important enough to have more than a couple scenes then i tend to have like. an inkling kdhfdjzjk uh

(before diving in i want to clarify that when i say “ace” i here mean specifically asexual-as-a-sexuality, ie “aroace”, rather than asexual-as-a-statement-of-sexual-preference, a la “gay ace” - i don’t spend much if any time dwelling on the particulars of how a character feels about sex or wanting sex or having sex 👍)

(also these are sort of rough out of universe labels rather than how the characters themselves would identify or describe themselves, like trans/nb/cis terminology is not how the characters understand gender this is just kinda. *waves hands vaguely* how i think of them.)

(and also a lot of this is like. headcanon that may or may not come up in the story itself ksjfjfks so def don’t take this as a list of Traits That Will Be For Sure Be Textually Confirmed)

ANYWAY.

core cast!

cass - trans lesbian obv. butch

rapunzel - bi, nominally cis? i think of her as someone who has this vague diffuse discomfort with womanhood that she would probably wrestle with a lot more if she hadn’t been trained her whole life to ignore her discomforts, and i can conceive of her in her thirties having a long period of questioning and introspecting before ultimately settling on: ?

moira - cis lesbian

varian - cis, bi, the older he gets the more gnc he becomes,

eugene - cis bi

lance - cis bi

zhan tiri - lesbian and, insofar as she grasps what gender is, nb

coronans(+ adjacent)!

arianna - cis bi

frederic - cis het

gilbert - 😐

ludolf - cis ace

sir peter - cis gay but he is so so so closeted

willow - nb lesbian. femme

abraham - cis het

xavier - cis bi

feldspar - cis gay

nigel - cis het but i think he’s in kind of a similar boat to rapunzel? where if he hadn’t grown up in such a rigid environment he would probably fall somewhere in the nb zone

crowley - cis lesbian

friedborg - cis het

miriam (varian’s mom) - cis het

zampermin crew!

pocket - trans het

sitheach - nb + exclusively into men

mael - cis het

renard - cis gay

sobēl - nb ace

[sidebar the saporian third gender category, źanghē, is inclusive such that you can be both that and another gender simultaneously - i think sobēl does also use the neuter pronoun źa but only in certain contexts & with certain people - her default is za/she which is why she’s referred to that way in the story.]

helcha - cis bi

otter - trans gay

tirian - cis bi

elis - cis ace

separatists!

andrew - cis gay

juniper - cis lesbian

clementine - trans bi

kai - nb bi

other saporians!

lada caine - cis het

neasa caine - cis bi

sahane mosel - trans lesbian

sirin - nb lesbian

maíne - cis bi

cornaīn - cis het

tathēdora - trans bi

others!

stalyan - cis lesbian, eugene was a comphet thing

quaid - cis gay

vex - she is Figuring It Out

catalina - trans girl obv. liking people is not even close to being on her radar yet

kiera - cis, also, the babiest baby lesbian

rosalia - nb lesbian

ornella - cis bi

quirin - trans het

adira - trans lesbian

hector - nb ace

[sidebar: there is a. high correlation between being trans and joining the brotherhood because It’s Free Transition Magic]

edmund - cis bi

liora - cis het

donella - cis lesbian. butch

nuru - cis lesbian

yong - trans gay

ulla - trans het

locusta (she is a surprise! for! later!) - trans bi

scions!

dione - nb bi

sorchā - trans lesbian, monsterfucker,

tanith - trans ace

źatīr - nb + exclusively into women

idris - cis gay

hyacinthe - cis bi

alizarin - nb ace

amaranta - nb lesbian

tromus - trans gay

sugracha - nb lesbian

calanthe - cis bi

#bitter snow

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apenitentialprayer · 4 years ago

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Wives of the Watchers: Textual Variation in Enoch 19

After Enoch has been shown extraordinary sites (1 Enoch 17-18), he learns from the angel Uriel that one of the places will serve to detain the angels who mated with women. As if the forbidden union was not problematic enough in terms of the cosmic order, Uriel reveals that the spirits of the fallen angels will lead humankind astray so that they will sacrifice to demons. Though the fallen watchers appear to be subject to some sort of physical containment and punishment (see 1 En. 10:4-6, 12-14; 18:9-12; cf. 21:7-10), their spirits are allowed to afflict humanity until the day of great judgment by leading people into acts of idolatry (19:1). Uriel then communicates to Enoch information about the women who partnered with the angels. According to the Greek tradition Panopolitanus [fourth of fifth century, Egypt], Uriel reveals that the wives of the angels who transgressed will become sirens. Panopolitanus 19:2 reads: καἱ αἰ γυναῐκεϛ αὐτων των παραβάντων ἀγγέλων εἰς σειρῆνας γενήσονται (“and the wives of the angels who transgressed will become sirens”). Ethiopic manuscripts preserve another reading: the wives of the angels will become peaceful (wa-’anestiyāhomu-ni ’asḥiton malā’ekta kama salāmāweyāt yekwwenā, “And their wives, those whom the angels led astray, will become as peaceful.”) Let us consider first the reading offered by the Greek text and how “sirens” would fit in the narrative context. Panopolitanus envisions the wives becoming sirens, an appelation that suggests to the modern ear “temptress,” or a woman who entices. From the perspective of the narrative, though, seduction or acts of fornication have already occurred between the angels and women. Moreover, the text makes it clear the women who associated with the angels will become sirens, employing γενήσονται, a verb in the future tense. The focus remains, therefore, on the pending status prescribed for the wives, suggesting that further examination of the connotation of “siren” in 1 En. 19:2, as well as in antiquity, is in order. Literary and archaeological sources from antiquity provide a rather incomplete portrait of the siren. Homer presents sirens as creatures that lure sailors to their death with captivating song. In this respect, one might think them seductresses of a sort who enticed and ensnared by means of music. These femmes fatales were frequently depicted as creatures with the heads and busts of women attached to the bodies of birds. The earliest extant literature describes them in groups of three or four and assigns them particular names. Sirens appear in later works, however, in a more indiscriminant manner, were they are associated with mourning and with the singing of dirges for the dead; Euripides, for example, has Helen call upon the sirens to assist her in bereavement. As companions to Persphone, sirens also had a connection to the netherworld (Ovid, Metam. 5.551). Sirens may, in fact, come to symbolize the souls of the dead since they were depicted in popular funerary status of ancient Greece. Which image of th siren deos the translator of Panopolitanus, a hellenized Jew, have in mind? Are the women who mate with the angels supposed to evoke the frightening creatures that seduce, entrap, or otherwise plague humankind, like the sirens of The Odyssey? Or are the women to become symbols of mourning like the funerary statues, eternnally sorrowful for their participation in this illicit union? In fact, the narrative context of 1 En. 19:2 seemingly would lend itself to both images: sirens as deadly seductresses and as mourners. As for the former option (sirens as dangerous seductresses), one recalls that in the context of the narrative, the archangel Uriel has shared with Enoch the manner in which the fallen angels will be punished; he has also just explained to the seer that the spirits of the watchers will continue to trouble humankind until the day of judgment by enticing people to commit idolatry. The statement concerning the fate of the angels’ wives follows. The implication of the text could be that just as the watchers continue to vex humankind, so too could their wives in the guise of sirens. How exactly the sirens would still participate among the living -would they entice mortals to fornicate?- is not clear. Curiously, we do not read further of the wives as sirens in Jewish and Christian literature. The notion that the spirits of the angels lead people to sacrifice to demons -who are, in fact, the offspring of the angels- becomes a rather common trope, in contradistinction, recurring in literature ranging from the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies. One might expect in contexts that discuss the watchers’ sins, their punishmnt, and how they (or their offspring) continue to play a role in the affairs of the world, that the wives, if they too plague humankind, would be mentioned. Perhaps the author of 1 En. 19:2 had in mind, then, the other image of the siren, one equally familiar to ancient audiences: the siren as singer of dirges, a mourner, or one associated with death. Since Enoch and the reader have just been made privy to the place of punishment for the watchers, in this interpretation of 1 En. 19:2 one learns as well of the unfortunate outcome for their wives. The women are to become symbols of mourning and will henceforth be associated with the realm of the dead. This interpretation accords well with a second possible use of “siren” in the Enochic corpus. In the Etiopic 1 En. 96:2, we read that on the day of tribulation the rigteous will ascend like eagles, whereas the sinners will sigh and weep like sirens. Although this image of sirens appears more plausible, either image -creatures associated wit seductive song or mourning and death- reflects an essentially negative view of the fates of the wives. The Ge'ez of 1 En. 19:2 preserves a very different understanding of what becomes of the angels’ wives. In this case the women are said to become peaceful. This interpretation offers a more positive outcome for the women, one intimating the women’s blamelessness in the union and perhaps even their victimization at the hands of the angels. The text would be suggesting, then, that after their involvement with the watchers, the aggrieved women finally acquire some repose. The strength of this particular interpretation is that other passages in 1 Enoch seem to exculpate the women. James VanderKam observes, in fact, that the author of 1 Enoch 6 accents the lustful nature of the angels and makes clear that the guilt of the sinful union lies with the angels alone and not the women.

- Kelley Coblentz Bautch (What Becomes of the Angels' Wives? A Critical Study of 1 Enoch 19:2). Reformated slightly so not as to be a wall of text.

#Book of Enoch #Sirens #Judaism #Oriental Orthodox Christianity #long post

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qtubbo · 2 months ago

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My cool house part 2

Second House:

Chickadee's Room

Evaporation's Room

Clementine's Room

Mozzarella's Room

Aithne's Room

Gwen + Tron + Almos's Room

Perrito's Room

Licorice's Room

Marzipan's Room

Vex + Angel + Lim's Room

Luvi Luviane's Room

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4

#qblrsmp #val ramblings #qblr house

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sparklespectres · 4 years ago

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I feel like I remember Chris Sonnenburg justifying the lack of moms in the show to him being a man/dad and understanding that better, but that’s not a good enough justification for me (I’m pretty sure he said that but it was a while ago so feel free to correct me if he didn’t). The fact that Arianna was the only living/decent mother that any of the main characters had (that I can remember) and that she was in the background most of the show without any development is just unfortunate.

And now that I think about most of the female characters in the show other than Rapunzel (and Arianna, but, like I said, she barely did anything in any episode she was in. Also the queen and princesses from Ingvarr. But they were trying to take Cass away from Corona, which, from Rapunzel’s POV, was a problem so...) are at least somewhat viewed/portrayed negatively/as villains at some point in their time on the show, if not for their whole appearance. Like I just looked at a list of all of the characters on the show and:

Adira was viewed as cryptically annoying and untrustworthy

Calliope was labeled annoying and pretentious

Cassandra had all of the stuff with the moonstone, and before that Eugene always commented on how she was “cold-hearted”

Captain Creighton pretty much just wanted to kill the wolf for her whole episode

Kiera and Catalina were thieves and Catalina ended up being a werewolf

Clementine was a separatist (the negative attitude towards the saporians, who, if I remember correctly, were led by a woman, is a whole other issue)

Fernanda Pizazzo was competition for Varian and portrayed as caring more about making something look fancy than having it have any purpose

Friedborg is viewed as creepy and was given an unnecessarily odd set of facial features that didn’t have any relevance to the show; I guess they just did that because they could?

Lady Caine was portrayed as vengeful because of Fredric’s corrupt, unnecessary arrest of her father, and then was sent to jail for that logical desire for revenge

Madame Canardist was shown to be greedy and dishonest (not to mention the stereotypes contributing to that)

Mother (from freebird) manipulated Raps and Cass into turning into birds so she could keep them for her collection

Mrs. Crowley almost always seemed angry or annoyed

Mrs. Sugarby was a disciple of Zhan Tiri

Petunia was a thief who pretended to be Kiera’s mother so she wouldn’t blow her cover

Ruthless Ruth was rumored to be a violent, mean thug

Seraphina was running from the ocean police (that’s definitely not what they were called but it sums it up pretty well)

Stalyan was Eugene’s ex who put him and Rapunzel (and others) into bad situations in an attempt to get him back

At first, Vex was okay with helping the Baron and endangering others for a bribe

Willow was portrayed as immature

The other ladies in waiting/Handmaidens were gossips or just didn’t have any role. Faith was portrayed as incompetent by Crowley and by Raps bc of her unrealistic expectations based on Cass.

And those are all of the notable female characters that make an appearance at any point in the show. The only ones I didn’t mention were Gothel and Zhan Tiri (who was in Demanitus’s, a man’s, way) , who, guess what, were villains.

Some of these portrayals did change with time, but the fact that almost EVERY female character was portrayed negatively at some point is kind of problematic?

And sure, you could say around the same amount of male characters also had negative portrayals but with the Pub Thugs, Eugene, and Lance, the only references to their past crimes and stuff are for jokes, which is not the case for the women of the show. They make sure to make it so that the bad things they have done seem like they happened decades ago, unless the character is one that it just a flat antagonist with no redemption. Even with Varian, in between Rapunzel’s Return and Be Very Afraid, he’s just chilling and everyone acts as if he’s done nothing wrong (for the most part). They only bring up his unhappiness with his crimes when it’s convenient for the plot. Otherwise he’s just the “perfect sweet baby” that the fans want him to be.

Then there’s all of the guards (like Stan and Pete and the Captain, although the captain is much more vilified than the other two), and the Corona citizens (like Feldspar and Xavier. Also Monty who is a jerk to Rapunzel but mostly gets ignored by season three and he just helps fight against Cass/ZT). They, along with characters like Quaid and Nigel and other characters like them, really don’t do much wrong, and if they do, the criticism is much less emphasized than with female characters.

Frederic never really has to deal with the repercussions of his actions. He just kind of lets Rapunzel follow the rocks and has the memory wipe as a get out of jail free card. Edmund is also just accepted by Eugene and everyone else almost immediately, and the backstory they give him makes him a character that people don’t want to dislike bc of sympathy.

But here’s the funny thing: even if the same amount of male characters were portrayed negatively/criticized, there are more male characters in general than female characters, so the proportion is less. There are around 30-40 notable female characters in the show, while there are 50-60 men. This theme continues with the animal companions, where the only girl is Fidella, who is also the least fleshed out of all of them.

Regardless of what’s going on with the male characters, if a show is about a princess and her desire to be independent, and the show is able to make an attempt to portray her as a strong, generally unproblematic woman (although a lot of us know that she does have flaws, they are brushed away very easily bc they don’t want her to be in the wrong) it should not be that difficult to make other female characters that share those traits and aren’t royalty/related to her.

Anyways this is just a personal observation and you can disagree with whatever you’d like. This is how I feel and I am not trying to persuade anyone to feel the same way if they do not want to; I am simply calling something out that I just noticed while thinking about it.

#tangled the series #cassandra #cassandra tts #tangled #rapunzels tangled adventure #tangled the series cassandra #rapunzel #rapunzel tts #eugene fitzherbert #eugene tts

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cozycryptidcorner · 5 years ago

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Chapter Three

Read Chapter Two Here

Two Days Prior to the Arrival

“This… was the person we were going send in before you matched up.” The admiral gestures their hand out to another human, a thin, lithe girl, her brown hair tied up in a puff on the top of her head. “I am well aware that you can hold yourself in a fight, but you haven’t dealt with driders before. You need to know how to handle them when things go to hell.”

“Alright,” you say, flexing your fingers, “but I doubt there’s anything you can teach me in the time we have.”

The girl looks at you, wholly unamused by your presence. “Don’t bet on it.”

“Well,” the admiral says, “I’ll leave you and Clementine alone, then.”

Now

You wake, on your own, which is strange unto itself. The Starward Matchmakers™ representative usually wakes you up in one way or another, so the fact that you are allowed to sleep in is rather… suspicious, on her part. She probably wants you to do something strange and specific, something that you would dig your heels into the ground over, so she’s trying to butter you up. Well, if she thinks she can just order you around like a little puppet, she’s got another thing coming her way, you think, swinging your legs over the side of your bed and stretching. The clock tells you that it’s not atrociously early in the morning, though not exactly the time you’d rather be up at, you might as well rip the bandaid off and see what that crazy rep wants.

Even more peculiar, the Starward Matchmakers™ representative isn’t in the common room area, waiting for you like a phantom in the dark. That only leaves you more concerned about your own safety, because that probably means that she’s planning something right at the moment. Biting your lip, you head over to the kitchen area, a tall, dully shined refrigerator fully stocked with all sorts of food. The drow servant that the prince had assigned is already busy cooking up some breakfast, her graying blue hair up in a tight ponytail. The moment she catches sight of your still-sleepy figure, she curtsies, stepping away from the hot cooktop, so her arm doesn’t brush against the metal.

“Your grace,” she says in greeting, her voice lowered with age.

“Oh,” you wave your hand, “you don’t have to do that.”

She seems confused. “Begging your pardon, your grace, but I don’t understand.”

“The bowing. I don’t need for you to bow to me every time we meet eyes,” you elaborate, “neither of us will get anything done, and besides, I’m not anyone important.”

“But you are!” Her crystalline blue eyes widen. “Begging your pardon, your grace, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“It’s fine, you’re fine.” You try to think of another way to explain that all the respect you’re suddenly getting started to get on your nerves without insulting her. Or the prince. “I’m just not used to it, and I suppose it makes me… feel a little uneasy. Like how far away from home I am… and how distant everyone I know is… and, um,” you try to think of something else inconspicuous, “I mean, I’m not exactly royalty, you know, so-”

“Would you rather I call you ‘my lady’ or ‘ma’am?’” The drow servant asks, her eyes suddenly gentle, her tenseness relaxed.

“I think I would deeply prefer that to ‘your grace,’” you respond. It sounds like you’re their savior, which is ironic, considering what you’re really here to do.

“Of course, my lady. If it pleases you, breakfast will be ready shortly.” She doesn’t curtsey again, much to your relief.

“It does, thanks,” you stand on the tips of your toes, peering into the pan to find some kind of egg, you think, bubbling against the heat of the metal. “Smells great. Did you by any chance see the matchmaker rep out and about before I got up?”

“Yes, ma’am. It was well before you woke up, she left in quite a hurry.”

Oh, that’s interesting.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Time to shower and wonder what else you plan on doing for the day. Wandering back into your room, you go over to your open suitcase and rummage around for something comfortable to wear. You’ve bent over backward wearing all sorts of fancy clothes the last couple of days; suits, dresses, the works, so now it’s time to get comfortable. Unfortunately, you weren’t wrong about the shoe situation the night before, as a decently sized blister has formed on the back of your heal, the other rubbed raw. You let out a hiss as you run your fingers over the sore, biting your lip. You hope the prince isn’t opposed to flip-flops, because that’s probably what you’re going to be wearing for a few days.

It’s been a little while since you’ve had some time to yourself without the oppressive presence of the Starward Matchmakers™ representative watching your movements from afar. While it can be nice to be pampered every now and then, the constant stream of people hired to turn you into some kind of plastic model soon became… vexing. When all is said and done, though, you’re glad to wash your own hair and scrub your own body than have someone get all up in your business to do it for you. But you guess that if there is one thing that you’re thankful for, it would be the free laser hair removal procedure, as painful as it was.

Breakfast is waiting for you once you wander out, still kind of damp from the shower. A single place is set at the table, though the drow servant is scrambling quickly to set up for a second person.

“Um,” you run your fingers through your wet hair, flipping it from one end to the other, “is the rep back, then? You know that she doesn’t actually eat food, right?”

The drow servant gives you a look that must mean something significant, then glances somewhere behind where you stand. You catch the drift, turning around to see the prince standing in the common room area, a book in hand.

“Oh,” you say, standing a little taller, “hi.”

“Hello,” he responds, placing the book back on the shelf, “I wanted to stop by and bid you good morning before I begin work.”

“Aw, I appreciate it,” you say. The gesture is… sweet, you think, but you don’t exactly have the experience to compare it to anything else. The drow servant gives a subtle gesture, and after a second of wondering, you get the gist. “Do you… want to join me for breakfast?”

The prince looks over your shoulder. “If you would be so inclined to have me, then I would appreciate being in your company.”

“I’ll see about helping the servant put everything together-”

“Why?” He asks, almost interrupting your train of thought.

“Why…. would I help put together an extra breakfast?” You don’t mean to sound so incredulous, but it still comes out that way, because is he seriously asking you why you should bother being a decent person? “Because she was expecting only me? And now has to put together a fancy whatever breakfast for you, as well? The least I can do to help is pull out another chair or something.”

He stares at you for a moment, and you aren’t exactly sure what he is thinking. Despite the Starward Matchmakers™ representative being uptight and all over your case, whenever the prince goes silent, you wish you could look over at her face to see whether or not you were doing a decent job at winning him over. Finally, he says, “why don’t I show you the gardens while the extra breakfast is being made?”

“Uh, sure?” You glance over at the maid once more, just to make sure she was fine. “I could go change, if you need me to look presentable for, um, anyone who might see us.”

His head cocks ever so slightly. “It does not matter to me what you wear.”

“Other people might talk, though. I don’t know if you care about that or not.”

“They will not dare.”

You wait for a beat, then say, “okay, then. I’ll follow you.”

Most anyone else would refer to the long, darkly lit hallways as tunnels, since a good percentage of people who aren’t used to living underground would find the architecture somewhat ‘rustic.’ You have noticed, though, that most of the lights closest to your room are lit just a smidgen brighter than most other places, which means that whoever was in charge of your environment has at least put some thought into your comfort. You don’t dare complain about any of the little things that have been bothering you, though, since you don’t wish ill of the staff the prince has assigned to serve you.

The prince walks much slower than his usual pace, and still, you have to keep your legs moving much faster than your own typical speed just to keep up with him. Which is fine, you guess, trying not to pant like a well-exercised dog, this will keep your heart pumping and your legs toned. It’s good, it’s fine. It only reminds you that you stand no chance to outrun most driders, and you need to remember how dangerous these apex predators are. The prince can almost make you forget that he can rip your spine out with how… not gentle, no… tame his words and gestures are. Just because he hasn’t shown you his violent side, though, doesn’t mean he lacks one.

Clementine made sure you understood that.

The fastest human runners in the Olympics can reach a speed of sixty-three kilometers per hour (about thirty-eight miles per hour for the barbarians still on the Imperial measurements) during a one hundred meter sprint, but a drider warrior has been clocked at going ninety kilometers (almost fifty-six miles) per hour at the San Ria massacre. She showed you the recovered footage, it’s certainly something to balk at. So yes, in a hypothetical situation where you try to run away, you’d be caught and quartered before you can even take in a second breath.

The gardens are just how you remembered from the day before, soft, bioluminescent flowers lighting the pathway in a delicate cold blue light. You try to draw your thoughts from things less pleasant, the prince is beginning to look at you strangely. Or, you think he’s looking at you strangely, you haven’t exactly had the experience to fully map out his facial expressions, but in any case, you uncurl your fist and try offering him a smile.

“Your mind is preoccupied,” he says in a passing observation.

“I’m… sorry, it’s just been a lot in the past few days.” When he says nothing, you try again, doing your best not to stumble over the words. “You know, I’ve gone from barely the rags on my back to… this,” you wave over the finery of the garden, “and it’s hard to pull myself out of having to think about how and when I’ll get my next transport contract from. Believe it or not, I keep panicking because I can’t remember where I parked my ship.”

That pulls the corner of his mouth up. “You didn’t bring a ship here.”

“I know, but humans are creatures of habit. It’s a hard mental check to stop.”

“I see.” After a long pause, he asks, “how did you end up being a pilot?”

“Oh,” you shrug, “I’m from a mining colony out in the Resynn Belt. We all could fly whatever the mine boss could get his hands on, and since the old bastard was a cheapskate, we all ended up able to adapt to whatever was thrown our way.” You pause, looking down at your fingers, silently cringing at saying bastard when you were told to keep the language mild. “There was a crew that needed a pilot for a quick run up the solar system, and I volunteered. I just wanted a break from the dust and the minerals and the monotony, you know? I planned on coming back once the run was over with… but…” you shrug.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I… did, actually, even though it was hard at times. But it paid well, so long as you knew where to look for work.” That will probably be the closest you’ll come to admitting the smuggling gig for a long while. “Something is freeing about never having to stay in one place for long.”

He looks you over, then offers a single nod in agreement. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

A ping of annoyance runs through you, though you are relatively certain that the prince didn’t mean it in any kind of insulting way. But still, something about it rubs you the wrong way. "You do have siblings, right?"

Immediately, he looks away. "None that remain alive."

"Oh, shi- I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up or anything, I didn't know." You almost trip over yourself changing the subject, but you could almost swear that someone mentioned that he had a brother and a sister. “Why don't- um, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

That puts him off even more. “I’m sure you have read or heard everything you need to know.”

He stops walking, standing in front of a tree. The ends of its branches fall towards the ground like tears, and the leaves’ glow pulses gently, as though an unreliable core powers the light, you can see its reflection in the glassiness of his eyes. “People have plenty of things to say about me.”

“Yes,” you respond, not actually believing what you say, “but rumors often don’t hold much truth when it’s about a single person.”

It works though, since when he turns back to you, he seems marginally more relaxed.

You try again, “do you enjoy going for walks in the garden?”

“Sometimes.” He reaches out, touching one of the tree’s vines, “only if I wish to be interrupted, though. If I need to be alone, then I must lock myself in my private chambers.”

“Right,” you say, remembering how... hands-on he is with his people and the war, “your duties must keep you busy. I can’t imagine having that much attention on me all day every day with very little time for myself.”

“You might have to start.”

Again, with the assumptions. But, you suppose, a fair one, since you have been contracted to stay here for quite some time. You haven’t felt any waves of attention, yet, however, you suspect they will begin shortly.

The prince must have noticed your expressions darkening, because he is quick to add, “I could have someone keeping any news articles from circulating about you, if you wish to remain anonymous, but that won’t stop any word of mouth rumors from flying around.”

God, your reputation is going to be in tatters when you leave, but it doesn’t matter. You were promised a new one.

“It’s fine, I doubt it will do anything, anyway.” You fold your hands together. “I suppose I will eventually get used to it.”

His hand reaches over, and before you can even think about what he is doing, he cups your face, the golden claws gently pressing up against your skin. It’s a stupid observation, one you’ve made many times before, but the prince is… tall. Large. Exceptionally so, to the point where he has to bend over so that you don’t have to crane your neck merely to make eye contact. A few strands of hair fall over his shoulder, swaying with the prince’s slight movement as his thumb runs along your chin. He smells like cinnamon and cedarwood, you realize, and wonder if it’s some kind of imported aftershave or cologne.

“You will tell me if, by any chance, you begin to feel overwhelmed.” He says in a quiet demand.

“I- I will,” you stammer.

“I don’t like it when people lie to me.”

“I won’t,” you lie.

He pets some hair away from your face, then pulls away. “The Mandarian blossoms are in bloom, I believe you will enjoy them.”

You follow him again, sticking as close to his side as you can manage without being impaled by his legs. There is dew along the ground, which you think is strange since the plants don’t have a normal day cycle to collect it in. Maybe it’s from the atmospheric controllers? Do they have heating elements in the ground to help keep the soil at acceptable temperatures? The garden seems impossibly lush for being underground, and while you know that vegetation that needs minimal to no sunlight naturally exist, surely some of these plants are engineered in some way or another to get their nutrients from methods other than light.

You walk along the path, broken pieces of stones polished and cobbled together, the ground buffed to a dull gleam. The prince glances at you every now and then, probably trying to gauge your mood in the silence that has overtaken you as you think, brows furrowed.

“You look like you want to ask me something.”

Astute observation. He’s already begun to read your expressions in such a short time, you are kind of torn about how you feel about it. On one hand, it’s interesting how quickly he was able to gauge your emotional response, but also, you were never the most perfect liar to begin with, and now you have to get better. “I don’t want to bother you with mundane questions.”

He offers you a pair of arched brows. “Try me.”

You fold your fingers together, chewing on your lip. “Is there a single atmospheric unit that controls the climate throughout the entire palace? Or is it lots of little, separate systems that are operated by different people at different times?” When the prince looks a bit taken aback, you try to clarify why you want to know. “Well, a larger, single unit would be easier to manage, with one control panel to plug in the numbers with, but the energy loss between it and the far reaches of the palace would be considerable, whereas the smaller units would be preferable for certain spaces that need certain conditions without the worry of crossing any two opposite settings… but…” you tap one of your fingers against your lower lip as you try to strain your eyes towards the ceiling. “I don’t see any vents.”

The prince doesn’t seem to know how to respond, because it takes a moment for him to offer up any kind of reaction. He looks at you, then says, “I don’t know.”

You figured he wouldn’t, after all, how many people in metropolises know the model and efficiency of the AC or heating units of their houses and workplaces? But you were still curious, so you tried shooting in the dark. And missed. Maybe you’d bug the drow servant about it.

“Elias, do you know if our atmospheric control unit is a unified system or in separate sections?” The prince is speaking into his watch, much to your surprise, with a focused look on his face.

After just a moment, another voice answers. “Uh, it’s a unified system, keias.”

“That will be all.” the prince flips something on his watch and turns back to you, and says, as though you didn’t hear the entire exchange. “It’s a unified system.”

“Oh!” You try to babble on, even though your brain wants to immediately jump to strategizing, “that means that there are probably heating plates underneath the soil to keep everything within their acceptable temperatures. My apartment is a lot cooler than everywhere else I’ve been, which is great because I’m used to those almost unbearable temperatures we’d have to keep the mining pod units to save power.”

“I didn’t realize you wouldn’t handle the heat well.”

“Well, whoever was in charge of my accommodations did.” You have already decided to give whatever staff assigned to you as many compliments as possible.

And, on another note, you realize suddenly that you are starving. “You know what? I bet breakfast is ready. Maybe we should head back to my quarters?”

“If you wish,” he responds, offering a hand in your direction. “I could show you the blossoms some other time.”

“I would very much enjoy that,” you say, hesitating only briefly before taking his hand. His fingers are long, spindly, and thin, his razor-sharp nails could easily dig into your wrists and cut open your veins. The prince doesn’t, though, and is surprisingly gentle, cradling your hand as though it is a frail bird. That’s how you walk back to your apartment, as though the two of you are a honeymoon couple, unable to keep from touching each other for long. It’s… awkward, at least, for you, because of how much taller the prince is from you, but he doesn’t seem to find anything strange with the arrangement.

The drow servant had already finished setting the table, an extra drider-sized chair now placed where two humanoid ones had been. Before you sit down, you dodge out around the furniture to where she is putting the finishing garnishes on the plates, and whispers, “is there anything that you need me to do?”

She offers a confused look.

“I mean help with. Do you need me to get out a pitcher of water or anything?”

The drow servant’s brow furrows before she gives a simple shake of her head.

“Alright, just checking.” You step back over to your chair and take a seat, placing a napkin in your lap since you’re clearly not a savage, and give the prince a smile.

Breakfast is uneventful, which you believe is better than really eventful. You could definitely go without jumping through all those mental hoops of having to keep your guard up, and the prince doesn’t seem to be in a talkative mood anymore. Briefly, you wonder if you insulted him in some way, or maybe he’s just as drained as you and doesn’t feel like speaking. Or perhaps he’s planning a creative way to execute you. Either scenario is just as likely, you think. Once you and the prince are finished eating, he excuses himself from your presence.

“Before I leave,” he says, twisting his powerful body around to face you once more. “My family is holding an official dinner to welcome you into our family tomorrow evening.”

“Oh, how kind of them. What time is it?”

“I’ve already declined your invitation.”

It takes you a moment to fully understand what he said. “I’m… not going to the dinner being held in my honor?”

“No, you aren’t.”

You think for a moment, not looking him in the eye. “Alright,” you say, “I… I trust your judgment.”

Another lie.

His eyes soften, only briefly, and he places a hand on your shoulder. “I would not do this if I did not think it was necessary.”

You nod. “Of course.”

After he leaves, you go sit on the couch, staring straight at the wall, your brain simmering with the information you had collected during the day. So little things, you begin to feel frustrated with what you’ve scrambled together, and you want to leave now. It’s been two days, and you’re already over this shit.

“My lady, if I may?”

You spin around and see the understanding eyes of the drow servant, her old, wizened hands drying against her apron. Taking a deep, grounding breath, you say, “yes?”

“The keias means no insult to you or your person when he refused the invitation.” The drow servant tucks an escaped tuft of hair back behind her pointed ear. “His family is, as I’m sure you know, rather... Toxic. I believe he doesn’t wish to expose you to such drama so soon after your arrival, as it might overwhelm you. His cousin is especially known for stirring up trouble, and he is, apparently, just itching to see you.”

You sit up a little taller, offering up a weak smile. The drow servant had completely misunderstood your close miss to tears, but still, her concern is deeply appreciated. “And which cousin is this? I apologize, my memory is a bit out of sorts today.”

“It’s of no trouble at all, my lady. The cousin I speak of is the vice-marshal of the royal fleet, Thyone Iakhose.”

Oh, that asshole. “Thank you.” You pause, then realize something that you lack the knowledge of. “And, again, I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“Of course, my lady. I am called Semele.”

“Thank you, Semele. I appreciate your kindness.” You stand, gripping the side of the couch as you try to think of what you plan on doing. “I’m going to be in my room for a while. I need to be alone.”

She nods, “I understand.”

You make sure to shut the door and lock it behind you, even though you are reasonably certain that Semele would have the keys to it anyway. Though you doubt that she is the type to break it down to see just what you are up to, you can never be too careful now. You are, after all, deep in enemy territory, and everyone is suspect. This isn’t like neutral regions where whoever you meet has a 50/50 chance of turning you into some organization for some extra coin, anyone here would report odd behavior, and that’s it for you. It’s over.

There, up on the ceiling. A small square, one that you might barely fit through one you removed the finely cut grate covering it. If you scooted the bookshelf just so, you’d be able to climb up and into the atmosphere control vents. Maybe you should ask the Starward Matchmakers™ representative before you go do something reckless, but she’s not here, and you’re getting impatient. The bookshelf is heavy, but you manage to push it out from the wall, moving the one side so that it sits right under the grate, and then you climb. It’s latched on one side for easy-access maintenance, and it swings open as you press the release button.

Maybe you’ll end up going to that dinner, after all.

Just not as a guest.

Next Chapter

#exophilia #male drider #drider/human #drider/reader #monster lover #monster boyfriend #sfw

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