#but he has to have some sort of relation or life there Tumblr posts

[dykedvonte]

Something something perhaps the reason Curly lacks a truly undamaged ID where his face is visible is to represent how much damage Jimmy had already affected on him throughout their relationship and the way Curly obscured part of who he is and what he stood to unintentionally cater to this toxic influence in his life.

[krunklys]

Why Batcest is a Thing

I was talking with my friend the other day and while she's not a batcest shipper, she asked me why I was. I said that I don't think I take it to the same extremes some other people do, a few things that aren't a personal favorite of mine would be any of the REALLY younger kids with Bruce or say Dick and Damian. It's mostly the age gap that gets to me.

But she asked why I liked JayTim and I had a time explaining it to her and I wanted to bring it here as a sort of explanation, I suppose for people who might not enjoy batcest ships.

first of all, the name. Batcest is... an interesting name. A lot of arguments you'll come across is that they're not actually related, or there are some fanfics out there for aus where one of them (most commonly Tim or Jason) were never apart of the Batfamily in the first place. Of course, there are some where they are! Because, at the end of the day, in Canon they do share a family. But the implication of it being incest can be a real no no for people, even if it's not. Dick wasn't adopted into the family for quiet some time (I think he was adopted around the same time Tim was but I'm not a 100% sure, not to mention he acted as his ward and then aged out of it), Jason was adopted but after his return to life has regularly denied his part in the family (Look at literally any Red Hood Comic, though I do prefer to look at the New 52 Red Hood and The Outlaws for his feelings towards Bruce and the Wayne's in general), Tim was adopted but was later emancipated (in Red Robin), and Damian has a blood relation to Bruce only. Morally, there can be a problem with it but for mow shippers, since this is fiction, the lack of blood relation means there's no problem. Remember! They're not real people. Adoptive relationships, or pseudo familial ones, they don't see these relations as any reason to not ship them! And in later points, I go into why. And if people really had a problem with this pseudo familiar relationships, take for example Tim and Jason who have never once lives under the same roof nor have any legal connection to each other through Bruce, then on principal alone they should have a problem with Cassandra and Stephanie - Cass is adopted by Bruce, yes, but Bruce has also claimed Stephanie as part of the family and includes her in family talks. Does that not make them family members? No. They're friends or girlfriends, depending on how you want to interpret them.

Secondly, the canon relationships that any of the Bats have with their partners. I could go through all of them and explain the nuance of the relationships but I'll simplify for the sake of the post. In Bruce's sake, whether it be Talia or Selina or for the more fanon ones like Clark and Min Khoa (i think that's how you spell that, I'm not sure though!), there's no denying that in Canon these relationships don't pan out. Talia and Bruce have moral problems, even if she was originally a spy and didn't kill, and Selina and Bruce have an entire history of problems. For Dick, himself and Barbara are much of the same. A sweet beginning until something comes in to ruin it and they break up. Take, for example, the newest Nightwing run (on webtoon and not technically canon, i know). Barbara breaks up with Dick because she feels disconnected from him and like he's still preforming for her, but they have no conversation about this prior to it. With Kori, I'm not as knowledgeable about why they broke up, all I know is that they did and it was ugly. Another example is Tim! Himself and Stephanie didn't work out because she couldn't trust him, due to now knowing his identity, and then she faked her death, causing the distrust between them both. These are only a few examples of how relationships work out for Bats and in my personal opinion I think it's because of a ack of understanding for the characters, their love interests I mean. And in fanon, partners for Batfamily members tend to be washed down - Kon acts as an emotional crutch for Tim, Roy has morals he simply does not stand with anymore in Canon in JayRoy fics, Barbara is an anecdote in DickBarbara fics, and Selina is barely featured in Bruce fics. Not to mention the simple lack of wlw fics in the fandom that aren't background.

Due to this, the shipping of Batfamily members together is only natural. The characters share similar morals or in the case of Tim have such complicated morals that in fandom you can pick and choose what to use. They're fleshed out, have a canon relationship with multiple layers to it, and complete each other in many ways. In comparison to some of the fandom favorite ships like SuperBat or BirdFlash, where we only see a two dimensional aspect of their relationship recently, then the shipping of characters like Jason and Tim or Tim and Dick together is a natural conclusion to reach.

And Finally, History and old characteristics. It was mentioned before in another post that I'll try to hunt down for you guys and link in a repost because it will be WORLDS better than what I could write and have much more research thrown into it than this does, but originally there were a lot of implications under their relationships, specifically Bruce and Dick. Wardships programs were used by a lot of gay people when gay marriage was illegal, so were adult adoptions. It was to have a legal connection in whatever way possible. And I think in a really old comic, Dick has a dream where he's living in the manor as an adult still with Bruce. Bruce has a portrait of them together. They eat breakfast together in their pajamas or underwear, and spend all their time together. Batman regularly saves Robin over civilians and for his relationships, sometimes they wouldn't work out simply because of Dick. It worked this way for many Superheroes and their sidekicks in the "golden age" of comics! Batman has always had queer undertones since his creation but adding Robin into the mix just proved this. Like it or not, Bruce and Dick had sexual and romantic implications to their relationship since the character was first introduced in the 40s.

As for Old characteristics, in the New 52 i feel as though some of the characters have been washed down do their base characteristics. They lack depth in a way some characters don't or in a way some do, particularly in fanon. Dick's possessive originally and I see people talking about his anger issues as a child a lot, especially in comparison to Jason's Robin run, but either way - the characters have changed throughout the years. That doesn't mean that people can't cling on to their old relationships or even their old personalities. People are so fond of making Jason insane and crazy and Hella mean when in recent adaptations, he's a normal vigilante for all intents and purposes. He's not even a crime lord anymore, I'm pretty sure he still owns the Iceberg Lounge. That's all to say that the boys used to be a lot closer than they are now, especially Tim and Dick and Dick and Bruce.

The conclusion to my explanation to her is that batcest is much of the same as any other ships - picking and choosing what to take from canon to put two people together into a relationship that you like. It's a work of fiction and while that's important to remember, it doesn't say anything about you in real life! you don't enjoy real life incest if you like JayTim. That's all to say si that there's reasons behind it that some people like and some people don't. She wasn't swayed by my answer but accepted it since she couldn't deny that the Batfamily has been explored on and their relationships together so much more than their relationships with anyone else, canon or fanon.

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Six - Wasteland, Baby!

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 6.6k

warnings: mentions of violence, arranged marriage

song: Wasteland, Baby! - Hozier

a/n: she juicyyy

“Rather small, isn’t it?” 

Benji snorts next to you, but you don’t find it humorous. 

The castle is small. Not even remotely comparable to what you are used to. 

Which you would not mind, if it didn’t showcase so blatantly how little your father cared about where he had sent you off to. 

Not remotely deserving of your status. 

You clutch the reins and nudge Fury forward, breaking from your cluster of company until you were the one leading them up to the gates. 

You don’t exactly do it to spite anyone. In fact, you’re not even sure if this is wrong. Traditionally your suitors would have to travel to you and not the other way around, but you figure being the first face seen would perhaps assert some kind of dominance that you so clearly lack otherwise. 

You try not to think of the fact that Benji had shared a bed with you last night. 

Not in a promiscuous fashion, at all, but because you were embarrassingly overwhelmed with the way your life was moving forward at the moment. 

Now you won’t really look at him again, and it pains you a little bit, but you had to at least somewhat have your head in the right place when meeting your future husband. 

The sun is shining today. Perhaps it’s a good sign. 

Somebody yells something, an introduction of some sort, trumpets sound out and the gate creaks open. 

It whirls up grey dust that stains the shiny black of your dress. 

Marion had snuck it in for you, you were certain, nobody else would have approved a mourning gown to meet your Lord Husband.

Sitting on your horse like this, you melt into one, colourwise. It makes you look taller, stronger, powerful.

You trot forward, across the small bridge and into the court of the castle. 

Lord Cathcart has his arms flung open, a wide grin on his face. You can’t bring yourself to return the small.

“Ah, the princess of the realm in my humble abode,” he greets you and finally as though saying your title reminded him, he bows. 

Briefly, not appropriately low enough. 

You nod at him, unwilling to get off your horse just yet. “Lord Cathcart.”

He makes a discarding hand gesture. “Please, call me Erik.” 

“Erik.”

He doesn’t look bad. Of course not, neither does his sister. They’re both bronze-haired beauties, not particularly the kind of beauty you cared for, but undeniably beautiful nonetheless. 

“I hope your travels were safe,” he continues. It is a painfully uncomfortable ordeal.

You glance at the castle residents, all lined up behind him, none of them moving and all of them staring at you as though you were perhaps a particularly interesting cow. 

Livestock is becoming increasingly relatable to you as time goes on. 

You haven’t answered yet. “Yes. No disturbances.” 

Erik stares at your dress but then decides he would not address it. 

Fury trudges forward until she is face to face with him, and you want to feel bad for the way he flinches at her height. 

“Well then,” he croaks out. Your eyes flit over to Benji, who unlike you, is not concealing his amusement at all. “I suppose you will want to get rest and settle down in your chambers.”

You nod. “Very much so, my lord.” 

Somebody is whispering something, eyes filled with curiosity and confusion.

You can’t blame them, the picture that is commonly painted of you — soft, sweet, kind — doesn’t exactly align with the entrance you’ve just made. 

It is quite foreign. To remain seated. To not do the polite thing. It isn’t as though you’re being rude or as though you’re obliged to appease these people. The only reason you’ve ever done it was to be nice and you really don’t have the energy to be nice today. 

“Lord Cathcart, I should inform you that her Highness’s horse Fury is unfortunately stubborn. The princess prefers to bring her to the stables herself,” Benji says. The sentence is shaped like a cautious reminder but his voice has an edge to it. You wonder now, whether the edge is natural. 

Lord Cathcart nods, eager, excited, like a dog who’s been shown a bone. 

“Where To then?” 

“Oh, of course!” There’s a strand of hair that bounces. Like a tail. Many dog similarities about the man. “My stable boy will lead the way.”

A young lad breaks from the row and bows to you before approaching. 

“Ma’am,” he mumbles. 

Ma’am? 

You open your mouth to correct him, but a loud smacking sound interrupts you. Your mouth falls agape in horror. Lord Cathcart had struck the boy.

“It is ‘your highness’, you fool,” he yells. Then he turns to you, wide-grinned once more, as though he had painted an entirely new painting in the blink of an eye. “Apologies, we aren’t quite used to such important visits here.”

You want to vomit. “Ser Benjicot and I will go ahead. The rest of you may wait.” You slide off Fury, grab her by the reins. “Come on, sweetling.” 

The boy mumbles his sorrows through welled-up tears as he scurries across the court toward the stables, you and your knight right behind.

Once you are out of sight, tucked away behind the oaken doors, you rest your hand on the boy’s shoulder and force him to face you. 

He’s perhaps three and ten moons, by the looks of it. He looks a bit like Tristan did at his age, but rougher around the edges than a young prince would be.

“You may call me anything you want,” you tell the boy. 

He looks up at you. “My apologies, my highness.” 

Benji chokes a laugh. You send him a warning look. 

“If you wish to call me so, you would have to say ‘your highness’,” you correct him. “But you mustn’t worry. If you wish, you can even call me by my name.”

The boy nods. “My apologies, again.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Matter of fact, he looks as though he’s waiting to find himself trapped somehow. 

You retract your hand and tilt your head. “How often does Lord Cathcart get violent?”

His eyes widen. “I don’t- His father before him– I don’t know, ma– uh, your highness.” 

When you look at Benji once more, as though he might have an explanation for this dilemma, he has a face like a knife ready to be swung. 

“Well, if I am to wed him, then things will have to change around here.”

Still, he doesn’t believe you but he doesn’t seem the type to disagree with you either and so you simply guide Fury to her resting place for the next few weeks. Or moons or years. 

She doesn’t seem all too pleased, a spoiled girl, used to palace stables and quality carrots reserved for her. 

“Marvellous first impression,” Benji huffs at you. 

“What, on my part?” 

He’s close to you suddenly and you wish that you didn’t enjoy it as much as you do. He somehow smells intriguing. “Obviously on your part. What kind of man strikes a child?”

You don’t unsaddle your horse, it is not your duty to do so but you rest your head against her side and sigh deeply. “Lord,” you sigh out and if it weren’t for the deeply rooted feeling of nothingness you would have probably cried. 

Benji rests a hand on your shoulder. He’s behind you, an arm’s length of distance and yet you suddenly are struck by the thought of how distant he actually is from you, how you had fallen asleep in his arms, likely even drooled on him in your sleep and yet he is still your knight. Nothing more, nothing less. Bound to you and not a friend. Or a lover. 

“I shall rest,” you cough up. “I shall rest,” you cough up. You cannot face him and you wonder if you could ever again do so, knowing who you were set to marry and knowing what might have happened in another life. You wish you had some sort of consolation. 

Like perhaps your betrothed might not be the kind of man to strike his servants, but you do not and so you wish to go to your chambers and stare at the ceiling for the next few hours.. 

When you emerge onto the court you do not bother to walk back to Lord Cathcart. 

"I shall see to it that I get my rest now, my lord. There will be room to talk another time." 

He is narrowing his eyes at you. Be that because he is suspicious of your behaviour or because he cannot see you well from where he is standing, but he hurries towards you on his slender limbs. "I will see you to your rooms, your highness. If you wish, we can have a bath drawn for you."

A bath was not a bad idea at all, you must smell of horse and sweat and uncomfortable humidity but for some reason you cannot fathom the thought of doing anything at all. 

"No thank you. I will bathe before supper has come and passed, but for now, my bones are too tired."

He pushes out his bottom lip in an odd childish manner, as though your rejection had hurt him in some way. Such a peculiar man. "Follow me," he says. "We have prepared your room the best way possible."

You nod and then glance at your entourage, still standing around, looking morbidly out of place. Capital men, your young new maid, none of them of high status and yet they are engulfed in a blanket of regality by comparison to the courtier's of Lord Cathcart. 

"Say, where will my people be staying? And my knight?"

Erik offers Benji a more than disapproving look. "Downstairs, where they are in the best position to protect you." 

A huff escapes you, at his disregard of rules. "Erik," it drags across your tongue like the bitterest of poisons. "My knight is to wait outside my door until nightfall where he is replaced with a member of the King's guard. Must I remind you of protocol, so early on in our courtship?"

"I have guards of my own, and you will be my wife soon. You are no longer in need of anyone else."

By god, you would have jumped at a chance like this, to be rid of your guards, the most luxurious prison of all, just a few moons ago. But now, as you stand there, you suddenly feel as though protection at all times is much more important than you had previously thought. 

"We are to be married, on that I agree, my lord, however, it is of the utmost importance that my dignity is not compromised beforehand. Therefore my guards will keep watch until God in heaven has blessed this arrangement."

You give him the most saccharine of smiles, so sweet it would make your teeth hurt. "I'm sure you understand."

He clears his throat and looks back and forth between Benji and you and then over at your father's men. Really, they are more Tristan's than the king's at this point. Loyal to you either way. 

Young Lord Cathcart shakes his head as though he is trying to get rid of something and then he grins his idiotic grin. "Why of course, your highness. I suppose it is better to be safe than sorry."

"I am certain you will have no trouble accommodating the lot of us. It is a small castle but it shall do."

You speak the tongue of the snake now. Never in your life have you made comments like this. Never had you been one to participate in the ill-speaking of others. 

You had listened to gossip, had grasped at the tiniest bits of information the loose tongue of any lady would give you and soaked it up to safely put away into a corner of your mind. Knowledge is power. 

Never in your life had you returned the favour to those who would gossip. Not one secret had fallen from your lips, not the slightest of jabs at whether somebody was getting quite rounded around the belly, or that they had worn the same dress on one too many occasions. 

It doesn't feel as good as you had imagined it to, to be a participant now. With how much people talk and talk and talk, you had figured it would be more fun being mean, but you cannot ignore the uneasy pit in your stomach. 

Lord Cathcart leads you to your chambers,, Tamsyn, your new maid hot on your heels, Benji to your right, your left arm looped through that of your betrothed and it feels as if you're walking toward your execution. 

Hours later, you find yourself bathed and dressed in the most god-forsaken gown you have ever put on your body. 

You are dressed as a peacock. 

And worse so, you are wearing an old dress of Lady Cathcart's. You know it because she had worn it to the very costume ball at which it had become blatantly obvious that sin was afoot between your father and her. 

Tamsyn is working hard at your face, perhaps she is hoping to take away from the fact that there are humongous feathers attached to your back. You wonder how much the dress must have cost just for it to be so desperately ugly that you want to scratch your eyes out upon seeing your reflection in the mirror. 

"Tamsyn?" You whisper. 

She croaks out a yes. Poor thing, so far from home, you think to yourself. 

"Have you ever heard anyone speak of Lord Cathcart?"

She pauses, cheeks cherub-red, powdered brush frozen in front of your face.

"What do you mean, princess?"

You shrug. "Just that young boy from earlier. Have you heard of such behaviour before we came here?"

Her expression is that of a trapped animal. "I do not know if what I hear is true, princess. People talk a lot at the capital." 

So she had. You wonder who else had heard of these matters and had not spoken up. People in power. Not your maid, but rather so the other Lords, the Barons, Dukes, Viscounts. Who had known what was happening and had let it happen? Who had known where they were sending you and had let you go? Has your father known? 

You can picture it. Your father, with his red face and his horrid slur, laying in the bed he had shared with your mother, Lady Cathcart there as they laugh about the mean joke they would impose on you. Oh what a joy to send your child away, your daughter who carries her mother's face, whose disdain for your actions you cannot escape. What fun, to have her marry so low, to have her be forgotten by history as an unimportant Lady married to a weak, little man. 

"Princess, may I speak freely?" Tamsyn says, no whispers. 

You look into her big brown eyes. "Always."

"Your father has made a mistake sending you away. The people of the city barely tolerate him these days. They starve while he feasts upon their animals. They like you. Perhaps even love you. Times are changing...," she trails off. "I fear if something is not done, the people might do it themselves."

A knock sounds through the room and you nearly jump out of your skin, haunted by her soft and tender voice and her harsh and haunting words. 

"Your highness, Lord Cathcart, wishes to see you," Benji says. "Are you decent?"

"NO!" you exclaim, louder than need-be. "He will see me once I make my way downstairs."

You think you hear a bit of a commotion on the other side but it quickly dispels.

Carefully you take Tamsyn's hand. "Whatever do you mean?"

She swallows thickly. Her moment's courage is gone. 

"It is not treason to warn me of things," you mumble. "I would not betray your trust."

She nods but she doesn't wish to speak further and you are concerned that if you push too hard now that she may never speak again.

Another knock. "What?" You yell out across the room, more than annoyed. 

With much care the door is opened and Benji walks in backwards, for modesty's sake. 

"I'm decent Ser Benjicot." 

He turns around and you wish you could wipe that expression of amusement right off his face. 

"What?" you repeat. 

He tilts his head. "Just here to report that Lord Cathcart has urged you to hurry up, as he would like to have dinner before sundown. Apparently the lighting is marvellous during." 

You take the powder from Tamsyn, any more and you might have looked like a jester, anyways. "Let us go then. If Lord Cathcart insists upon it then so be it."

As you get up you damn near fall over, dragged down by the weight of your dress. All the curses in the world, you mentally send to Lady Cathcart. 

"Do not say anything," you threaten your knight who has to fight his laughter harder by the second. 

To make matters worse, the Lord of the house had sent a tiara with equally oversized feathers attached to it for you to wear. 

You do not pride yourself in being fantastically tasteful like your sister Cordelia but you know for certain that you never could have come up with an atrocity of this scale in a million years. 

You loop your arm through Benji's, praying that you will not stumble down the stairs to your death. Or perhaps that might be a kind fate, rather than having to spend the remainder of your life attached to a spiteful gnome. 

But then, who would Benji have to offer his arm to? 

Surely somebody, you remind yourself. He is a renowned rebellious man. It would be a miracle had he never lain with a woman before. 

It crosses your mind that you have no reason to be thinking about this and so you push these thoughts back. 

The pair of you walk through weird and winding corridors, decorated with stuffed animals and you stare at them as they watch you pass them by. "Have you heard of any commotion back at the capital?" you whisper to your knight. 

He tenses beneath your touch. "Why do you ask?"

"Just— No reason. But I was thinking of my friends." You cough. They are not your friends, rather than simply people who you've offered your service to. "And they seemed so tense when I last saw them."

You don't need to look at him to know he is raising his eyebrow. "And when was that?" He asks with a tone of great authority for somebody of his rank.

"Before you were here. You know of my sole attempt, Ser Benjicot."

He takes a sharp turn to the left and you nearly trip. 

You had never been known to trip. It bothers you greatly, how swiftly things seemed to be changing at the moment.

Benji sighs. "Nobody is quite happy with how things have been going along in the kingdom. After the death of your mother and the removal of Ser Attenborough from the position of hand the smallfolk has been growing uneasy."

You glance over your shoulder. Is it dangerous to speak so freely in a foreign place? Likely. "Is there reason to fear?"

For my brother. My sister who is visiting. For Marion even. For all the people at court that aren't corrupted by their own wealth. 

Benji doesn't answer for a moment. "It is not yours to worry over such matters."

Of course. You scoff but you cannot be offended in truth, for you know that he is right. What would you even do? You held no true power, all you could do is warn Tristan and even so, what would you warn him about? Everyone knows of the dire situation in the kingdom. 

You take another turn and you are not sure you would be able to find your way through this castle by your lonesome, as topsy-turvy as it is. 

Finally you reach the grand hall and the sight before you is chilling. There are no guests at all. 

Erik is sitting at the head of the table, whispering to a priest. 

Servants stand in row along the cobbled and dark walls, statues or perhaps living dolls. 

A shudder runs down your spine. 

"Lord Cathcart," your voice chimes through the long room, reverberating from its hollowness. You've never particularly enjoyed hearing your own voice so intensely. 

His eyes shoot up and his teeth are bared. "Your highness! My, you look just marvellous. Peacock is certainly your colour."

If it is a joke you don't laugh. Your smile is meek and you make your way towards your seat to his right. The only other of the about twenty chairs that has a dinner set resting in front of this. 

Benji pulls your chair out for you and you squish the thick layers of dress down beneath the table. 

"You may be excused," Erik tells your knight. 

Your eyebrows raise. 

"Have we not discussed this earlier?"

Erik nods. "That is what the priest is here for. To protect your virtue."

Benji does not say anything at all, not an ounce of protest and you can already hear his footsteps retreating.

"What of intruders? Kidnappers? Enemies to the crown? My safety is just as important as my chastity," you plead, exasperated, desperate to not be left alone with these strange men. 

But you are waved off as you so often are.

The door opens and closes and you have to watch the closest thing to a friend you have here leave. 

The sting of betrayal surprises you. 

Lord Cathcart is delighted. "We have guards at all doors princess, you need not worry. I will protect you."

He couldn't protect you from a small dog, you are certain, but what use is protest? Somehow you will have to find a way to tolerate him. 

Your wine is poured and you take a gulp and are hit with an instant wave of regret. "What is this?"

"Our local wine, princess. Do you like it?"

You consider lying for a moment. "Do you perhaps have anything sweeter? Cider?" 

He claps and one of the frozen servants scurries quickly. Your chalice is replaced with a new one and the cider is only a tiny bit better. By god, you had not been aware just how spoiled you are. 

The priest lingers by the fireplace. An ugly man, undeniably. Small bird-like eyes and wormy, moist lips. He's watching you with the eyes of a predator. 

"Now, Princess," your betrothed says. "I am quite sorry for these circumstances,."

Your food is plated. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I am well aware that you must have expected a better match. Maybe even a love match."

The meat is cold in the middle. "I tried to not delude myself into thinking I would marry for love's sake."

He gives something of a look of consideration. “Still. Had we at least had the chance to know one another before being thrust into the other’s arms.”

He is not being thrust into anybody’s arms, you think to yourself. A husband is not the wife’s prisoner, it is the other way around. You don’t disagree with him, just keep chewing your hopeless, bland food.

“I am aware of my sister’s wrongdoings, princess.” 

His voice has lowered to a whisper now, as though he is afraid of the shame his sister might bring upon him. As though his housekeepers do not quiver before him.

“What wrongdoings? Meddling in politics which do not concern her? You must clarify, my lord,” you demand. 

The priest stares at you, unwavering.

Erik is uncomfortable. “No. I cannot. I do not know what she did, but I assure you she must have done something for you to be here now.”

“Where are your parents? Are they not concerned with their daughter’s actions?”

“They have long left the kingdom, as you surely know, princess.” There is a piece of lettuce stuck between his teeth. “They have no care for their children.”

“Well, at least we seem to have one thing in common.” Your voice drips with resignation.

He beams at you like an excited dog. “Yes!”

A bit absurd to get quite so excited about such a sombre fact.

“Lord Cathcart,” you say. You have to say this now. “I do hope we can find a way to make our marriage tolerable. But I must warn you that I will try to fight it until I am dragged down the altar. Once we are wed, I shall be an honourable, dutiful wife.”

There is a film of something strange across his face, the sheen of light disgust or aversion. 

“Princess, this is an agreed-upon arrangement.” 

You shrug. You wish you weren’t so scared. You wish your knight were here with you. “I am still the king’s daughter. I outrank you.”

Your heart is trembling with the fierceness of your words. You can't remember another time where you had spoken so frank.

But you had tripped today. It is due time you adapt to the world.

The air feels sharp. "Princess, you are my betrothed. There is no way out."

His knuckle blanch from how hard he grips the table. "I am sorry for the ordeal. But I will be your Lord Husband, you are not free to run your mouth like this." 

It flashes across your mind how Benji had respected you more after you had spoken your mind and how disgusted with you Erik seems. 

"I will not disrespect you in any regard. But if you are yourself sorry, why would you still agree?"

You know the answer. Wealth. The glory of marrying an Apricate girl. Proximity to the rulers. 

He doesn't speak these things. "I will work hard against your unhappiness. But to remove myself from this betrothal would be undignified."

Have you gone too far? Had you been too crass? You do not know these unfamiliar waters, you do not know how much is too much, you have always given too little. 

"I am sorry, my Lord. I do not mean to offend. I am simply-"

"Tired," he cuts you off. He rests his hand against yours. You wish you could remove it.. "How could I make you rest easier?"

Your gaze catches that off one of the paintings behind him. "Why do you lay hands on your people?"

He squeezes your hand and it feels like a threat but he catches himself. "For discipline."

"That is a foolish reason. Not even the king hurts his servants."

His beauty is so painfully tainted by the face he is making. "But this is the most efficient way. How else would they learn?"

The priest is still watching. Would a true man of god let this happen under his watch? 

"Is it not god that taught us to treat each other with kindness?"

It feels as though you are speaking to a child and he truly doesn't understand what you are trying to imply. 

But he gives in. 

"If this is what you wish for then fine. I shall follow your command," he says. 

You nod and take another sip. If you drink fast enough you might be able to interpret this as a win. 

And perhaps while you are at it, you might unburden yourself by the plague that your knight is.

Comparison is the thief of joy and the way you cannot help but see how much of a better man Benji is, in comparison to the wimpy Lord Cathcart.

You never should have let him comfort you. It is like a gate in your mind has been opened and cannot be closed. A flood of thoughts, all repeating the same face over and over again.

"Princess, I must inform you of something and I am doubtful that it will make you happy."

Your stomach twists. "What is it?" Another big sip.

"Well, once we are wed—" He pauses. Which we will be, is what he is trying to suppress but the warning look in his eyes says it for him anyways. "You will be assigned a new sworn protector."

You pray to god that he doesn't see the frown you immediately pull into your chalice. "Pardon?"

"You will be assigned a new protector. My family is close with House Bracken and has been for many years. I cannot have that unhinged young lad running around my castle."

Unhinged is a strong choice of word, coming from him. "He swore an oath. How would I dispose of him?"

"In the same way your last knight was disposed of. It is not a dishonourable thing, but merely a precaution. I do not wish to run into trouble."

"My knight was picked in very specific conditions. He is part of the peace treaty in the Riverlands. If he returns, trouble will surely be worse."

It is quite funny how suddenly the tides have changed. Just about one moon, or two ago you were beyond upset with Ser Benjicot Blackwood, and had prayed for a way to rid yourself of him. And now, you were fairly certain that if he left, you would be the most lonely person in the world.

He isn't even your friend. You are not even sure he doesn't still partly despise you but with Marion gone and your siblings gone and your work (if one can call it that) taken from you, you had to call him a friend. Otherwise you might fall into a pit of deep despair. 

Lord Cathcart had perhaps not considered the treaty. Or he hadn't considered that you might be aware of it. Either way he doesn't speak for a very long time and decides to aggressively cut his lamb up. 

"You must know, it is a liability to have Bloody Ben running around my home. I can't imagine why your father would ever have him assigned to you in the first place, but I surely do not want this."

You disregard your food entirely. "Well, if you wish for it, I do not hold any power over who is sworn to me. But you hold no power either. If we were wed perhaps it might change, but even still. The Blackwood boy was chosen by the king and plays an essential role in keeping peace in this glorious kingdom. The choice is with him and his counsel."

And as you speak you wonder if they might execute him. Where else would they put him? Surely Lady Cathcart would find a way to have your father listen to her brother's request. And then what? He isn't allowed to return to the Riverlands, but how could they ensure that he wouldn't? 

You must write to Tristan. Or perhaps Cordelia could offer him refuge in Arbormere. Without her husband''s knowledge.

It is becoming more noticeable by the second that this dress is not yours by the way parts of it dig into tender flesh. 

Erik clears his throat. 

And gets up.

You stare at him perplexed. 

"Your highness, my princess, the realm's delight. I do not wish to sadden you." He grips your hand again, both of them this time. "But I cannot have you talking in this unwomanly manner. Politics do not concern you. Discipline does not concern you. How I handle things is not your concern. Speak disrespectfully again and I assure you, I can be much unfriendlier."

You swallow thickly before you rip your hands out of his. "I am still the princess. Do not dare threaten me ever again."

Tears of anger betray your coldness and you get up with enough force to send the table wobbling, wine stains the cloth spread. 

"I bid you goodnight."

You turn to face the priest. "And you father."

He doesn't speak, still just quietly watching with bird eyes and nods. 

Apparently luck is on your side after all, and the Lord of the house does not attempt to follow you. 

You storm out of the room and do not slow down when Benji calls after you. He must have waited by the door. Has he heard your conversation?

"Do you even know where you are going?" 

You ignore him, hectically climbing the stairs with your stupid, stupid gown. 

Ser Corrigan nearly runs into you when you hurry around the corner but you ignore him too. 

Since you have no idea where you are going you decide to continue climbing the stairs. You can hear Benji tell Ser Corrigan that he has not a single clue what has gotten into you. 

You aren't even crying. You wish you were, you figure that would suit you more than an erratic outburst of anger. Maybe you are your father's daughter after all. 

Finally Benji catches up to you and you are once more reminded of how restricted you are even by something as minute as the clothes you wear. 

Forever the most privileged prisoner in the world.

"What on earth happened?" He asks, matching your speed as you keep going up and up and up.

"I cannot marry that man," you huff. This is surprisingly exhausting; your face feels like it's aglow from the heat. 

"Did he do something?" 

Did he? Not really. Can you even blame Erik for anything? He is doing what he has been taught his whole life, how he has seen women be treated by their husband's for forever. This is a tradition older than you or your mother or her mother before her. Generations of women who could do nothing but obey. Rage runs hot in your veins.,

"No," you say. "He did what was expected, I just figured I would—" Be successful in your rebellion. That if  you had never spoken ill or not done what was expected that would mean it would be more effective once you do. But it wasn't. Not at all. 

You can only place your hope with God now, and you have not done that in a very long time.

You reach the top of the stairs, the bell tower. Closer to the sky but not remotely a free bird.

With an exasperated sigh you lean against the wall, tilt your head to peek at the sun setting on the horizon, a fiery orange hue. The ridiculous feather tiara slips to the ground. 

The dining room must be looking marvellous about now, it being faced west-way and all. 

Benji also looks marvellous. Not nearly as out of breath as you, dressed in black leathers, his raven pin twinkling as his chest rises and falls.

"He wants to get rid of you," you tell him. 

He nods. "That makes sense."

"How does that make any sense? You are here based on a contract, a deal, an entire peace treaty. He cannot just rid you of me."

He smiles halfheartedly. "Rid you of me? I thought it would be the other way around. That you'd be glad to be rid of me."

There is not an ounce of energy left in you to take such jests. 

Benji is across from you. You are so high up, the tip of the tower. He feels too tall for the space. "I knew he was friends with the Bracken pack. I figured I'd run into some issues with that."

A strange sensation grows in your overwhelmed heart. "Why would you not tell me this?"

"You're so well-versed in gossip I thought you knew this."

You had known. But you had not realised that the bond between Bracken and Cathcart was strong enough to warrant such behaviour. 

"He is like my father," you whisper. "But worse in some ways." 

You consider it for a moment. "Better in others."

"So why are we up here? Are you planning to jump?"

You roll your eyes at him. "Idiot." 

He nudges his boot against the bottom frills of your dress., and they leave a small splotch of brown. Somehow he is never fully clean. There are always specks of mud trailing him. You don't know how he manages it.

"Am I too not know love, ever?"

He nudges you again. "You are loved by so many. I'm quite certain that you are one of the most loved people in the world."

"It isn't tangible love. The smallfolk think they like me but they don't know me and soon they will have forgotten me in favour of my father's shortcomings. My siblings love me. Marion perhaps. Ser Rodrick once, but he hasn't written me any letters." 

Benji sighs. "That is still more than what some people have in a lifetime."

There isn't a way to deny him because he is right. He has backed you into a corner with his words, but still he must be aware how none of that could make up for the marriage that was luring in your future. You do not even want to think of the consummation of it. 

Silence remains as it so frequently does between the two of you. 

He stretches his hand out toward you and you take it, not questioning why, as he pulls you forward, until your skirt wraps around both your legs. 

With gentle hands he does the same, wraps around you until you are engulfed in his arms, his scent, his warmth. 

Your head grows dizzy, as it rests against his shoulder.

"I am not familiar with the ways of the court," he whispers, his breath hot on the crown of your head. "But many noble women find a way to be with their husbands in a way that isn't too straining. Your sister seems content, doesn't she?"

"She wasn't always and she still is not. Her husband will not relent until he has an heir to take the throne. They get along fine but the bearing of children is laborious for her. My mother died when she had me." 

His hand draws a circle on your back and you hope he never stops doing it. 

"You're a witch. That won't happen to you."

You laugh but it is laced with venomous sarcasm. "I'm a terrible witch. I couldn't even say goodbye to my cauldron. Or my sick people."

He pulls away, yet just far enough for your noses to touch. "That was not your fault. And besides, you did try to leave the castle. You just weren't quite...tactical about it."

Your laugh dies in your throat when your eyes meet his. You're certain that nobody has ever quite looked at you like this. Least of all Benji. 

That legendary young man, with a supposed undying thirst for blood. And while you had seen him angered, the way he is looking at you now makes it hard to imagine that he had ever been anything but tender. 

The moment stretches out, up into the sky and across the two of you like the dome you are standing beneath. 

In hindsight you won't be sure how it happens but something pulls the two of you together and your lips meet. 

Your breath hitches, heart hammering the way Fury's hooves do when she gallops across a field and it is better than the rush of any wine you've ever had. 

Your head is screaming at you to put a stop to it, but you cannot bring yourself to, when every fibre in your being is yearning for more, your hands in his hair. It is foreign and odd but in a fantastical way.

And in the end, it is him who pulls away. 

"Oh," you breathe, chest rising unsteadily. 

The grin on his face is prideful. "Mhm. Oh."

A twig snaps in the court, but it does not matter. His lips are on yours again. 

[d-apperc-adaver]

PART I

Thinking about Beetlejuice’s love life made you filled to the brim with rage. This havoc created by Delores and thinking about his past with her…lit your fuse.

It was quite obvious. You were tapping your finger obnoxiously on the table thinking about it.

And now he also has the nerve to say that Lydia was the love of his life?!! Damn that man! Damn him! Eternally!

Superficial deals for his own benefit. Or so at least you tried to convince yourself.

He was outright ridiculous at this point. The Beetlejuice you knew would’ve moved on already. And you know Beetlejuice.

You saw the man have an Elvis phase, get a fixation on speology, teach you medieval languages, lie that his middle name was Pete because he lost his shit when he heard Louis Armstrong sing Cuban Pete.

You always stayed. Just to be seemingly made out of cellophane when you tried to talk to him about anything relationship related thing. Didn’t matter whose problems were. If it weren’t about something he did in the past, a rendezvous, he would avoid it like a devil running away from holy water.

Everything made you internally explode.

He drove you crazy.

And you kept tap tapping at the surface of your table, the poor thing might just get a dent.

But the thing is, why did you even care about his poor “love choices”. Why did you put up with this then organise a mental pity party, “it should’ve been me! ME!” for yourself?

Fair enough he talked a good chunk about them and about how what a catch he is, but still. You accepted his way of being when you took the commitment of being his friend. A gross, perverted, ridiculous in every capacity and disgustingly charming ghost.

And you loved it. You were in absolute awe with his way of being.

You don’t quite remember when you started to fancy him. But in moments like this you sure do wonder why the feelings remained.

You really wished he would have seen more in you but unfortunately you seem to not have bewitchingly cursed enough eyes or some other bullshit.

But with the sound of your thoughts growing louder and louder and getting thrown off by your own feelings that you wanted gone and substantial amount of jealousy, you got back to work.

I mean. Doing him a favour. Sorting leftover business flyers..yeahhhh.

Ironically enough this was the fuel to all of your fire.

If you could say so.

“Looking for a…

LOVE CONNECTION?”

“DEAD-ICATED TO FINDING YOUR MATCH?”

It’s as if you could smell the cheap candles, satin robes and rose petals right in your face.

Makes sense to get angry at a lovey dovey flyer he planned on sending to any woman, VERY MUCH preferably a breather he would have to “woo” to do that weird wedding ritual, in his close proximity. I mean he already went ahead and conjured one for Lydia. But the worst part of this is that he seemed to have more of a romantic obsession with her now rather than his just do it for his own freedom. Ew.

So while doing that. You tried your best to keep your mind quiet from the suppressed feelings for Beetlejuice out of all ghosts, and moved to the normal classic good ol “TROUBLE WITH THE LIVING” flyers. You packed them up neatly in boxes, hell even put labels on them.

You got up from the table with a loud sigh of relief of finally getting away from things that reminded you of your adoration for the demon (oh how you’d love to just staareee all day into those big blue eyes) and rising your head up you were met with a horrifying:

“What’s got your panties in a twist hun?”

———————————————————

Hope u enjoyed the fanfic ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ thx for reading through

I’m cooking up a part two…

[igglemouse]

This is new isn't it? Pascal is going outside for his jog instead of pounding away at the treadmill. I can't blame him, it's a really beautiful Thursday morning with the sun providing a comforting warmth to the start of the day and a caressing breeze to go along with it. I'm wondering, does he really need to do it without a shirt? He can be such a showoff sometimes but I guess he's preparing for some future sportswear commercial that he'll be starring in.

When Pascal makes it back home he's practically glowing. It's nice to see him in such a good mood and with an infectious smile. I feel like he's been a little detached lately. I'd like to think that maybe approaching fatherhood is getting to him but I find out there is something else on his mind.

"I made the all eleven!" he announces, grin widening, eyes bright and open with excitement that I simply don't understand.

"The what?" Yeah, I'm completely blank. I know it' fútbol related but I still have no clue what he's talking about. Living with him means I've learned a little bit of the jargon so I'm not completely hopeless. I know there are eleven players on the field for each team for example so progress?have no idea what he's talking about, I'm sure it has to do with futbol. Everything regarding him has to do with that.

"It's the best eleven players for the season!" he says full of pride. "It's a huge honor, lets everyone know that I'm playing well," and while it might seem silly to me I can tell for him it is everything. It means a lot to be recognized by your peers after all.

"Well, I always tell you that you rock, don't I?" I say with a grin and a nudge of my elbow. He really is bursting with pride and I know he deserves it. No one on the team works harder than him and I say this not knowing any of his teammates at all but how can you doubt his dedication?

He makes a playful scoffing sound. "I mean, you do, but you never watch the games so how could you know?" He's teasing, at least I hope! He's never made me feel bad about not going to the games...

"Oh, yes, but-"

"Oh! I am only just kidding," he says quickly, realizing that he was about to send me on a guilt trip. "It doesn't botther me, you know that!" He gives me his easy smile, the one that had drawn me to him at the start of the year, the one that always makes me feel better about him despite his obvious flaws. "I love that you're not into it, honestly. It's nice to have someone that sees me as something more than a player, more than my stats or performances, that sees me as a person."

"Oh..." I didn't quite expect that, he doesn't open up much as you all know. "Of course! I care more about your diaper changing skills right now than your kicking. You could go the rest of your career without scor-"

"Hey! Don't jynx it!" he yelps out as if I had the power to do that. I just share a laugh with him because I know his dirty little secret. He's very superstitious. I hear most athletes are. It's actually amusing and adoring. So I mock zip my lips tight to make sure I say no such thing but I'm imagining him breaking the record for most goals in my mind to reverse any sort of bad mojo I put on him with my suggestions.

Honestly, the main thing on my mind is the baby. It's hard to think of anything else. I'm just thinking about all the things I'll need to do for her and how much she is going to change the outlook of my life. Even as I bake sugar cookies I'm already imagining what she might like, what kind of diet she will need, will she have my nose? Will she have his chin? I just hope that she takes from me and Pascal and not the man that is unfortunately my father...

Any ways, I baked the cookies because I have a serious sweet tooth right now and it needs to be appeased!

I sit down and settle into my seat and fully prepared to devour the whole plate but just as I start nibbling on the first one there is a loud and insistent knock at the front door. It must be Sara, I think, or maybe even Irene, I have not heard from her lately and I know she's been busy searching for investors so I really should talk to her soon.

It was neither. Unfortunately my warm and cozy day was about to get a lot hotter.

It's Martin. Yes, that Martin, the one who fired my friend Irene for merely being a friend of mines and the same Martin who has gone out of his way to sabotage my food stand and here he is before me with a pleasant smile on his face as if he's done something praise worthy.

"I warned you," he says smirking and smug. The very look on his face makes my blood boil. I'm not sure why I stepped outside, maybe it was to face my enemy, show him I'm far from scared of this old man.

"Why are chu here?" my voice is thick with anger as I try my best to speak Simlish. "Estás loco..." Normal people don't go out of their way to destroy a small business then show up at the victims door to brag about it. The man is a living breathing cliche of vindictiveness.

He doesn't reply at first because he's too busy looking me up and down, his gaze falling to my belly. "I see you've been eating too much of that terrible food of yours."

"Im pregnant," the excuse slips out of my mouth before it is too late. I mean it is obvious but I don't want to share anything about my personal life with this husk of a man. Maybe I said it hoping that it would draw some sympathy from him, some guilt of what he's done to me, but I can tell by the scowl on his face that he's incapable of that. "Please, go-"

"Oh great, a terrible person is bringing another terrible person into the world. The father really wasted his seed on you," his insult is of course laced with venom and son intense that it confuses me. I've done nothing to this man but deny him my employment. That's it.

So I straighten my back and lift my chin and show him that his insults will not land with me. "Why. Are. Chu. Here?"

"To make sure you realize that you can't just open your crappy food stand wherever you please. There are rules and regulations and licenses to get, you know," he's enjoying this. He acts as if he's some noble enforcer of the law and not just a bitter man who wants revenge for me pricking his ego.

"Yes yes, I know..." I keep my tone steady and calm although I know my face is red, I know my anger is evident. "Gracia-"

"Of course," he continues, his voice softening. A mockery of concern. "I figured you might need a job so the offer of you coming to work for me is still on the table-"

I grow tense, my body tightens and I am sure I am ready to snap. My fists ball up against my sides and for a second I imagine how satisfying it would feel to drive my right hand right through his nose. I'm not very strong but he's old and it would knock the smile right off of his face. I would do it if not for the baby. What if he retaliates? What if he pushes me? It's not worth the risk, so I just grit my teeth.

"Vete a la chingada..."

He just laughs and the sound makes my skin crawl. He's feeding off my anger I think. "Ah, I know I've made you mad now. Can't speak Simlish when you're pissed off huh? Are you even here legally, I wonder?"

"L-leave."

He wasn't going to. He stands there, feet firmly planted on the ground, smirk firmly on his lips, and lets me know that he's not leaving. I could feel the urge to strike, a need to show him that I wasn't going to be pushed around, and just when my shoulder twitches the front door opens...

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?" Pascal voice comes booming in and I swear its the loudest I've ever heard it. There is fire in his eyes and intention in his movements as he shoves his finger towards Martin with such intensity that the old man is stepping back without being touched. Pascal is usually so laid back, so indifferent, to see him flipped onto protective mode was thrilling. Now it was my turn to smirk.

"W-wait, P-Pascal!?!" the old man is stammering, wavering, and clearly confused. "H-hey man calm down I'm a big fan! I-I didn't know-"

"Who. Are. You? You're harassing a pregnant woman?!" He continues, each word a hammer and aimed directly at Martin. The old man is frozen, wondering what to say and what to do and I admit it feels so good to see but I'm starting to worry about Pascal. If he punches this man or harms him in any way it'll be his career that will be in trouble and so I step in.

"Pascal, ess okay, he's nobody-"

"Frida, get inside. I'll handle this!" His tone is firm and leaves no room for argument, and for a second it does sting. While I'm happy he's ready to protect me I feel like this is my fight and the least I can do is watch Martin tremble and read the regret in his eyes but I think I'm over thinking this. Instead I should realize this is the first time he's really shown any passion when it comes to his daughter. So I sigh, give his shoulder a squeeze, and retreat inside.

"M-Mr. Alcocer I-I'm sorry! I had no idea s-she was your w-wife? S-she's beautiful a-and-"

and that was the last thing I heard. Heh, he thinks we're married. Not yet any way...

Well, this was supposed to be a relaxing day...and a relaxing week...but it's been the opposite and mostly thanks to Martin. I really hope Pascal has scared him off but I can't spend too much energy worrying about that, not with a baby on the way...

Frida Varela Index ~ Episode 8.4

[csolarstorm]

Thoughts on Agatha All Along - Finale!

Well, I've managed to piece together a post from the notes I took after that awesome two part finale. I enjoyed it a lot, so this is gonna be a long one! So follow me, my friend, as I give my thoughts on Episode 8 and 9 of Agatha All Along.

Now this is one of the most interesting character redemptions I've seen in young adult/family media, because it isn't really a redemption! 

Agatha's redemption goes just as far as her motherly bond with Billy, but other than that, the show is less about redemption and more about retribution.  We thought when Episode 5 said "Punish Agatha", that would be an outlier, a temporary obstacle to the coven coming together.  Nope.  There's too much red - I mean, purple - in Agatha's ledger.  Agatha is who she is, and the show never rewards her for her treachery.  In fact, her cynical, callous worldview costs her everything…even her death.  Agatha is literally reduced to a ghost because she rejects the literal embodiment of the life cycle.  (And she can't face Nicky.)

She's literally "mommy Voldemort"!  That is one of the weirdest things I've ever written!

The only thing Agatha doesn't lose at the end of the series is her bond with Billy - and that's even a close one.  He almost banishes her! That's a fun inversion of the beginning where he deliberately seeks her out. But in mentoring Billy, Agatha has a sort of second chance at parenthood after losing her son. So she is given that grace.

Okay, technically the show does kind of give Agatha the anti-hero treatment, or else she wouldn't end up Billy's mentor.  Clearly Agatha has something to teach Tommy about the nature of power and ruthlessness of the world.  Billy's chaos magic is unfathomably powerful - like his mom, he was bound to accidentally hurt people at some point.  And Agatha was absolutely right about this: "get used to this feeling if you're going to be a witch".  That's unfortunately what being powerful is like.  Think of all the collateral damage the Avengers have caused.  Heck, Wanda at Lagos.  Billy really does take after his mother.

It's the same way in the real world. Any decision a politician makes, money a billionaire invests, has ripple effects the victimize somebody, a shadowy cost to match the reward.

It's one thing to trample others on accident when you swing around your power, but hurting others on purpose actually does actually hurt you, and I think this show expertly portrays that.  It doesn't fall into this trap of making Agatha some amoral badass that people idolize for giving them permission to be assholes.  The power of virtue is not a metaphor, not just a moral gimmick meant to promote societal adhesion.  The callousness of treachery actually affects your ability to form meaningful relationships, which is part of living a satisfying life. Under that facade of bravado and villainy, Agatha is suffering deep inside.  Of course, your mileage may vary, only the good die young, yadda yadda.  There's plenty of happy monsters and sociopaths in the world.

This show has some really interesting parallels with Loki.  You can even argue that Agatha ended up with a parallel but also opposite fate to Loki: a ghost to the world, cut off from life and death.  Only unlike Loki, she can still interact with others.

Agatha All Along DEFINITELY follows Wandavision's footsteps when it comes to flipping audience expectations.  Only this time it's not as simple as Ralph Bohner or those "devils in the details".  Agatha All Along is deliciously character driven, so all the devils in these details are character-related.

The Coven and Sisterhood

Let's start with the biggest "twist": around the middle of the show, the story was about sisterhood: four wayward witches and one familiar setting aside their differences and learning to work together as coven. 

That all goes to hell with Agatha kills Alice and Billy yeets everyone into the mud.  (In retrospect, that's definitely part of why I was disappointed with Episode 5. I could feel the change in direction in the awkward writing.) Sure, Lillia embraces the coven before her death, but Jen definitely does not find kinship with Agatha in the end.  In fact, Agatha screwed her over a hundred years before the show began, and Jen's final challenge is getting away from Agatha's toxic influence. 

And then the whole coven plot definitely goes to hell when it turns out that not only was the road not even real, but the legend of the road itself was just Agatha's lie to lure witches into her coven to murder them over and over again!  Granted we knew that Agatha wanted to kill the coven from the beginning, but this is a whole other layer of deception.

I know this pisses some people off, because obviously it feels like Alice and Lillia died for nothing now - or at least died for a cause they never signed up for.  This was all about resurrecting Tommy, not working together for sisterhood!

Even though the coven didn't last, I think it still matters that it was part of the show, and it was explored. The theme of sisterhood is there. And like Vision said, something is not beautiful because it lasts. 

But I know a lot of people wanted to see this conventional story where everyone survives, and Sharon learns analog witchcraft and her skills come in handy in the last trial when she saves everyone from a sticky situation, and the newfound coven of sisterhood teams up to defy Death and save Agatha and Billy.

That's why we have fanfiction.  *sigh*

Defied Expectations

Speaking of fan disappointment, there's no moment where all is revealed about Agatha's relationship with Rio, at least not all that the fans wanted to see.  Instead, we get an admittedly cute and emotionally compelling flashback to Agatha raising Nicky that shows us exactly how she started the legend of the Witch's Road, and how the ballad started as their song as mother and son.  I'm not disappointed that they went this route instead of a more Rio-centered flashback - I think it brings the story full circle.   

I could tell people were going to be disappointed when Agatha didn't end up in a fulfilling relationship with Rio/Death.  Their relationship had such rich chemistry and it was so intriguing - but to me, the writing was on the wall that it would not be a particularly positive relationship.  I don't imagine Marvel would show a relationship between a serial killer and the embodiment of death and make that a happy, healthy relationship.  My condolences to shippers who wanted this to be a positive representation of lesbian relationships.

And on that note: I'm not sure why Agatha tells Rio that the truth about Nicky's death is too terrible.  Was she absorbing life to keep Nicky alive, and once he refused he finally died? Is that why she says to baby Nicky "You like that? I think we're going to work together just fine."  If this is what they were going for, then yeah that truth is terrible enough for me. Obviously Agatha isn't going to tell the coven she needed to kill other witches to keep Nicky alive.  There's no use trying to rationalize serial murder, even if it's to support your son.

I like how Agatha's name for Nicky follows the "Namor" rule. Since they changed Namor's origin, instead of his name being "Roman" backwards, they made him "N'Amor - the one without love!" So sure, sure, Nicholas Scratch isn't named after Nick Scratch, an old name for the devil, perish the thought! Agatha names him Nicholas Scratch because she made him from scratch. Aww, that honestly was adorable, name retcons aside.

We don't flash back to Agatha's first coven.  The Salem Seven and Evanora originally seem like they're going to be a bigger part in the story, but they're a footnote by the finale.  And although I'm glad they chose the story of Nicky and the origin of the Witch's Road, it would have been nice to commit to actually explaining some of Agatha's actual origin. 

Did Jen's trauma bind her magic?  Nope, Agatha did it.  I mean it doesn't exactly rob us of Jen's trauma narrative - it was still there, implicitly, it's just funny that everything in the series really is Agatha All Along, except for that one big time it was Billy All Along.

Oh, and I guess that one time it was Lillia All Along.  But that's different, that's Patti LuPone.  You have to get Patti Lupone in on the fun.

There are always some editing mistakes in TV shows, but it seems like Marvel needed to go back and tweak some (alleged) discrepancies in the story that don't match the final version of the series, or at stop and clarify things more often.  (For instance, how was Rio "torturing Agatha" throughout the years?  Was she responsible for all the disasters around Agatha, hoping to break her into finally accepting her death?) 

This lack of clarity is a problem with the series overall, to the point that Jac Schaeffer had to keep explaining things that the narrative didn't make clear.  But I have to say, the fact that we were so on the edge of our seats wanting to know means that the story was doing its job.

All Roads Lead To...

So in the end, I think that just like Wandavision, the show went in a direction that a lot of fans weren't expecting - but unlike Wandavision, in some ways I think that's to its benefit.  The coven may not have lasted, but damn that is a richly emotional character study of Agatha Harkness, and I am excited to see "The Ghost and Billy Kaplan" return in Vision Quest, or maybe Young Avengers. 

There were some (alleged) plot holes from Marvel's trademark editing process, and they should have been clearer about some things - but holy triple goddess was this an amazing series nonetheless.  Pound for pound, I think it's the best series Marvel has to offer right now.

Follow me my friend, to glory at the end.

[fisheito]

I started reading beastars so now HE's reading beastars .wait

THEY'RE reading beastars

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Anyone else just not feeling like a real person much lately?

[lovrbooy]

i feel like i have very unpopular opinions on dennis within this fandom. i am scared of fandom spaces so. to the tags i go

[sysig]

But would you tho (Patreon)

[mechahero]

//A WHOLE bunch of pen doodles!

[dykedvonte]

You know, I just find it funny how much our fandom hates Jimmy (totally deserved). Like, even characters like Griffith (also a r*pist) have a bunch of dedicated fans. But Jimmy? Not even a single hear-me-out (from what I have seen, at least). I wonder, would that have changed if he was a cute twink ot something. Pretty privilege could have saved him lol (I doubt it).

Anyway, Anya should have shot him like a dog, like in your fic. Which is really awesome, thank you for sharing

-💀

I think it's because there's nothing to endear you to Jimmy.

The game is very purposeful in showing you what should be the characters worst moments and recontextualizing it through the mode of story telling to make them their best moments. Some of the greatest scenes in the game are during dire, dreary moments where in any other game they would be treated as the characters biggest flaws turning them all into monsters in the end, but it doesn't.

Except for one.

We don't just get one worst moment for Jimmy. We don't just see him being a monster once. We see him time and time and time again show no growth, no hesitation, no real thought on what the right thing to do is. We don't see his sacrifice or really try. We see him at his worst moments time and time again, to the point those are just what he exists as. He is a monster countless time that only gets bigger and more ghastly as the moments happen. We don't get redeeming qualities or details that make it anything but his fault his life has led to this.

Even if he was more conventionally attractive, we see how horrible and ugly he is on the inside. How he thinks and that no part of him has any remorse. He's just pathetic and desperate and while an excellent character, he's just not personable in a way to having fawning fans. This is not to say no one can relate to Jimmy but the point is you can't empathize or have compassion for him. You can feel a sort of pity for what a self-destructive person he has become and is but its is thoroughly overshadowed by how he destroys other people.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I still very loathe the Media Trope of ‘’cold genius man doesn’t feel emotions and never has relationships... UNTIL.. one random relatively bland Preddy Woman comes along and warps his entire personality and ability to think, his heart has grown and his seeming asexuality has evaporated, he is now Normal :)” or whatever like... AS a walking generic hermit archetype myself.. we would NOT act like that .... just let people be detached weirdos in peace, you cowards .. OR, don’t bother to write one in the first place if you find us too boring to exist realistically in our natural state lol.. pathetic 

[eggmeralda]

I wish there was a way you could put like. every song in the world on shuffle

[dashiellqvverty]

i have a headache and can NOT think clearly enough to really gather my thoughts but as much as i really did like atsv there were just. things about it that didnt work for me. and like mostly i was not big on how they did the “canon events” stuff like im not AGAINST it just at points felt like sort of redoing the moment in itsv where after aaron dies the other spiderpeople are able to comfort and relate to miles because they’ve been through similar things and this is like... that but in a technical lore way and not hitting the same emotional beat?? like obvioulsy they’re taking it somewhere different and its about like defying the story that’s laid out for you and i LIKE that but. idk. and im like yeah obviously theres stuff thats part of the spiderman origin story we KNOW this we did it already in the last movie and it was a great scene. and also like theres no way everything they referenced is 100% true for every version of spiderman, even every single one that cameos in the movie?? idk. it just Frustrated me in a way that i truly cannot put my finger on

[seddair]

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