#one of my characters used to be named Mari. I changed it to Mary and forgot until looking at these screenshots | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

edwardteachswombtattoo · 16 days ago

Text

The interior of Ed and Stede's relationship is well-tread both in analysis and the show itself. We know why they fall for each other, how they fall for each other, when they fall for each other. We've been inside their heads. We could, if we wanted to, probably compile a rough timeline of events from Point A (Ed hearing of Stede's existence) to Point Z (Ed and Stede retiring from piracy to open an inn). Has anyone done that? Someone should do that. I might do that.

But a thread the show keeps pulling on from their first meeting all the way to the end of Season 2 is the persistent showing that no one else seems to fully understand what Ed and Stede have going on.

There are exceptions to this. Lucius with his emotional intelligence and arguably the whole crew of The Revenge understand that Ed and Stede feel something for each other that is somewhat outside the framework. The Revenge is a safe space where they are allowed to explore and hold feelings like that and their influence (Stede's, but really the whole crew's) outgrows the ship and spills out into the wider culture of piracy. They don't fundamentally change the whole culture of piracy, but their influence forces characters who would otherwise be immovable and rigid in their personal philosophies (Anne and Mary Read, Zheng Yi Sao, Auntie, Ned Low's crew, etc.) to rethink their relationships with each other.

I already made a post about Jack and how he seems to think Stede is just a passing fascination, so I won't repeat myself. But this is not the first nor will it be the last time a character fundamentally misunderstands how much Ed cares about Stede. Izzy in Season 1 legitimately believes that Stede's death will force Ed back to normal, to the extent that he does not even try to comfort or console Ed during Stede's almost-execution. And he is caught totally caught off guard when Ed gives up his life to save Stede's.

Ned Low demonstrates an awareness of something being there, but he dismisses it the same way Jack did: Ed only cares about Stede because he's new and interesting. Ed will move on once that shiny new pirate smell wears off. "Ed only cares because you're interesting" and "Ed only cares because you're inexperienced".

These are easy assumptions to make when you only have one half of the picture. And when you don't understand that Ed exists as a multi-faceted whole thinking person outside of his Blackbeard persona and piracy. The distinction between "Blackbeard" and "Ed" was made very early on (Ed introducing himself as "Ed") and reinforced later with "His name is Ed". When other characters refer to Ed, it's useful to ask: are they talking about Ed or Blackbeard? Ed and Blackbeard are not fundamentally distinct personalities, but Blackbeard is a performance and a mask Ed puts on. His arc at the end of Season 2 deals with reconciling his past, Blackbeard, The Kraken, and all these other facets of himself into one cohesive person who is just called Ed.

Yeah, Ed is fascinated by Stede's things. His fabrics, his wardrobe, the model ship, the secret passages, the books. But even from their first meeting, Ed and Stede are not just connecting over Stede's clothes and his books. Ed is sharing his love of soft things with someone for probably the first time in his life, he's being vulnerable and truthful. He remains guarded through their first interactions, but he's being more open and candid than Blackbeard would be. "Do you fancy a fine fabric?" is not a question Blackbeard would answer honestly. And when Ed casually makes the reveal ("I'm Blackbeard") in the auxiliary wardrobe, Stede does not treat him any differently after the fact. Everyone else is like "big scary pirate Blackbeard!!" but Stede is like "That's Ed :) He's my friend :) He's very cool and he likes fabrics and did I mention he is my friend?? :)"

Ned Low, Izzy Hands, and Jack all ask the question Why does Blackbeard care so much about this fucking muppet? and collectively decide it must be because Stede clearly does not know what he's doing and/or he has a lot of cool stuff and Ed is into that shit. And there is a part of Ed who probably did at one point think it was just Stede's stuff he was into, that he just wanted what Stede had and then realized it was not about the fancy stuff it was about Stede as a person. That is why Ed starts to really fall for Stede at the end of "The Best Revenge is Dressing Well". They have their intimate moment and Ed is like oh fuck I might be in love with this guy for real oh fuccccck I want to kiss him so baddddd oh shit oh fuck. I've always been of the (maybe controversial? idk) opinion that Ed was flirting during their first meeting and making it obvious as possible he was DTF if Stede was into that, which is the maximum amount of physical intimacy and wanting Ed could allow himself to express without getting scared. He wasn't full bright lights in love with Stede at first sight, but he was infatuated at first conversation.

Interestingly, we never see this on the other side. It is always assumed that Stede just doesn't understand Ed, that he doesn't understand how Ed really feels about him and if he only knew The Real Ed (Blackbeard) he wouldn't have so many soft feelings. In Season 2, Stede is continuously confused when people suggest Ed might try to kill him. Because Stede alone knows that the last time Ed tried that, he ended up having a panic attack and hiding in Stede's bathtub. Izzy tries to pull the whole "you don't know him like I do" and Stede rebukes that fucking instantly by describing Ed's entire mindset in a single sentence while Izzy was just last season struggling to understand Ed's sudden shift in behavior. Izzy sees a change in Ed's behavior and is at a loss to understand, while Stede sees a change in Ed's behavior and instantly clocks what is going on.

"You don't actually know him" is how outsiders rationalize Stede's feelings about Ed and "he's just a momentary bit of fun" is how outsiders rationalize Ed's feelings for Stede.

The key to these intimate moments between Ed and Stede is that they really are between Ed and Stede. Ed never shares these memories with anyone. Even when he's talking with Mary Read in "Fun and Games", he brings up the stabbing because it's relevant and then tries to brush it off a little by saying he had to force Stede to do it and calling Stede "fragile". He does not even allude to the intimacy of that moment and his own being vulnerable. Stede and Lucius are the only people Ed reveals those parts of himself to.

#ofmd #just a thought i had that turned into...this??

148 notes · View notes

jointherebellion215 · 11 months ago

Text

Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly.

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?”

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands.

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.” You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.”

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely.

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her.

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her.

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd.

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you.

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile….

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.”

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over.

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love”

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base.

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred.

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

426 notes · View notes

girlystories · 1 year ago

Text

Two sides on the same coin

— pairings: Joseph Descamps x ex-rebellious reader

summary: you get expelled from your all girls school after an incident you get yourself into. cutting all ties with your troublesome friends, your parents send you to voltaire lycée in hopes you change your ways. an annoying prick, though, gets in the way of that, making you constantly on the verge of breaking your promise to your parents.

additional warnings: underage smoking, usage of foul language, mention of boobs ig?

authors note: very creative chapter title, ik. also really sorry for this late update, but i honestly don't haven't any excuse. it's finally here so I hope you enjoy. also i added a character from another movie cuz i can.

words: 3.9k

Chapter 1: The bastard with the dumb glasses

[Name] [Last Name] certainly wasn't expecting her first day to occur like this.

She fell down on her knees next to the wounded boy, who held on his left eye. He was whimpering in pain, making it obvious the punch he took to the face was serious.

Placing a hand on his back, she tried to receive any attention from him. She called out his name but didn't get an answer. Blood was dripping from between his fingers and his groaning increased before she was pulled away from him.

...

Lumière Lycée was nothing but a memory now, all what happened there only for the driven girl to want go remember, whenever she even wanted to. If she wanted to. She couldn't lie to herself and say it was a good time. On the contrary, it was a living hell for her. It wasn't a catholic school, but it was somehow aiming towards it.

She'd gotten in trouble one, two, three, or more times. Times she couldn't even keep track of.

Not that it even mattered now. No one would know of her past, her previous troublesome and somewhat rebellious nature in a place for her old school and only herself. It was a year ago from now, certainly she'd have changed from then. Or, in better words, she wanted to mask it deep inside. She promised it to her parents.

Moving schools meant moving overall, but she was sure she'd get used to the new environment sooner or later. Voltaire Lycée, the only academy daring to take things further and expand into a mixed school containing both boys and girls. Such a big change, things were seemingly passing so fast. It was the only thing the newspapers and radio were discussing about all day long for the past three days.

She was now brushing her hair, styling it while in her bathrobe. She added a small touch of makeup on her lashes, in a effort not to seem as tired from sleeping late the earlier day. Her anxiety forbid her from it. To bring some sort of color to her lips, she applied some chapstick. She didn't want to impress anybody, but didn't want to stand out by appearing like some sort of messy girl. That'd make a horrible impression. She opted to blend in with everybody else, which wasn't as easy since she was expected as one of the other few new girls. She'd stand out either way. How many girls would even attend that school anyway?

Either way, she hoped for a change. From having more than fifty absences, five to nine out of twelve marks, constantly snapping at her other classmates and breaking into fights, to becoming a lady with a future ahead of her.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, "[Name]," a soft voice called from behind it, "are you ready yet? Your father could give you a ride to school."

"No, it's okay," she got up from her chair, giving a last look at herself from her mirror. "I'd lather walk on my first day."

Her mother nodded and left without a word, leaving her to finish in getting ready.

[Name] opened her wardrobe, inspecting her clothes and in the end decided upon a matching set of a top and short skirt that she tried out the day before. Before leaving her room she wore her pair of Mary-Jane's.

She headed to her kitchen, where her parents were already awake, eating their breakfast before work. She took a seat and took a sip of her prepared coffe. "Good morning," she said.

Her father swallowed his own coffe before speaking, "Good morning. How do you feel about your new school?"

"Rather anxious."

"No wonder," her mother said. "A mixed school? It's a much troublesome shift from what we're used too. Wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Her dad finished his coffe, placing his mug down. "Well, we do what we can do. If only you would behave, [Name]."

"[Father name], " her mother glanced at him with knotted brows. "Don't start again."

He ignored her warnings, "Now make sure to get your shit together or else things will be really complicated. I'm saying this from the bottom of my heart."

"I know," [Name] simply said.

Her mother still kept an eye on her husband and sighed, turning her attention at her daughter. "Now you have a nice day, okay? Be home right after school or if you want stop by the bakery."

[Name] finished her butter bread, taking her bag as she got up and went to the front door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she got interrupted. Internally groaning, she went back and kissed her parents on the cheek.

"Alright, bye," she finally said and left.

Since it was still early, she stopped at her neighborhood supermarket to buy herself a pack of Gauloises, thanking the owner and lighting one while on her way. Just then she realized she didn't know the way.

Minutes later she regretted not accepting her parents' offer to drive her to school. Cursing under her breath at her possibility of being late on her first day, she kept her fast pase as she took a turn on the street she thought the school was located.

To her utter luck, she was right. When she noticed the front gate inspector closing the door she jogged there yelling for him stop. He rose his head towards her, earning his attention.

He threw his cigarette, chuckling softly. "Lucky for you, it's your first day, miss, otherwise I'd have left you locked outside," he said and opened the gate for her.

"Sorry, it won't happen again..." she breathed out.

"Well, they haven't made their way inside. Mr. Belanger is giving a speech."

"Thanks," she said and walked hurrily where everyone stood.

On top of the building's stairs stood the school staff, the students surprisingly listening from bellow. She shoved herself between the crowd to catch a word he was saying.

"-Gentlemen, I expect you to...to be as polite, respectful, magnanimous and dignified as I know you can...when on your best behavior."

"Who is that?" she asked herself.

"The school's Dean," she wasn't really expecting an answer, yet a guy replied from beside her.

She nodded at him, staying silent for a moment before talking again. "Damn, I don't even know in what class I am."

"Don't worry. They'll call your name anyway."

Just then, a woman walked forward, holding a sheet or paper. "I'll now be calling the first-year's, then proceed the second year's due to the addition of female students."

"Just like that," he smirked and Mr. Bluebeard began reading the paper.

[Name] breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good. Because I was afraid of almost getting detention from being late."

He let out a laugh, "On your first day? There's no way a person could achieve that record. Not even me. I can assure you I've tried. I don't think you get detention from being late."

"No," she said. "I said almost. Wait, what do you mean y-"

The call of her name interrupted her question.

"That's your name, right? Seems like you're in class 1B."

"Oh, yeah," she said looking as some other students walked up the starts when their names were called. "See you."

She took a seat behind two girls, and as she did so smiled at them when they seemed to acknowledged her. Little by little everyone gathered in class, each taking their seats.

The woman that was calling out the students from before walked in. "I am Mrs. Giraud, your homeroom teacher."

Then, a girl with blonde hair entered the class, eyeing the empty seats anxiously. She had her hair styled with a headband that matched her dress which was beautifully complimenting her figure. It was no surprise everyone was looking at her with either admiration or a tint of desire.

She took a seat at a desk in the front, and [Name] felt somehow disappointed she didn't choose to sit next to her instead.

Mrs. Giraud noticed her gesture. "What's your name miss?"

She got up from her seat, holding her hands together politely. "Annick Sabiani."

"Where do you think you are, miss Sabiani?"

She didn't get enough time to respond at her question.

"Do you think it's okay to sit next to a boy?" she asked sternly. "Get your things."

She began doing so, but Mrs. Giraud interrupted her again. "No. You," she pointed towards the boy next to her. He looked at her for a moment and she continued, "Get up. Go sit in the back."

"But I can't see from there."

"Back row, now," she then looked at [Name], realizing she failed in noticing her presence before. "And what's your name, miss?"

She got up, awkwardly looking around the class and trying to ignore the stares. "[Name] [Last name]."

"You sit in the front."

She gathered her bag and did as she was told, still feeling the stares accompanied with whistling sounds and whispers. The boy tried to do the same, but someone put his foot in the way. That made him trip and almost fall, the group of boys laughing and making pig noises. "It's not your day, piggy."

The teacher did nothing about it, only complaining about being interrupted. "Quiet! As I was saying... Mrs. Giraud, with a "D" as in "discipline.""

[Name] wasn't listening what she was saying anymore, glancing at the person who was at fault of tripping the poor guy. He was grinning at his friend beside him, finding it wholehearted hilarious, like it was comedy gold. He fixed his glasses before he pretending he was paying attention to Mrs. Giraud. Instead he wrote a note and showed it next to him, the duo starting cackling quietly.

Next period was Latin, where she was met with Mr. Douillard. She ultimately ended up not having a really good idea about him, earning already a bad impression by him ignoring the girls when they raised their hand. She grew more and more annoyed when he pretended not to noticed her and she just stopped trying. Sabiani did not back down, though. Still, Mr. Douillard picked the only guy that had raised his hand.

"I think she raised her hand," the same guy with the glasses pointed out in a snarky tone. He pressed his lips together to hold himself from laughing.

Much to the teachers dismay of having to pick a girl student, he side-eyed Sabiani. "Indeed. So?"

She pushed her chair back, fixing her dress. "The Romans welcome Horatio with joy and congratulations and escort him to his house."

"The Romans "cheer" Horatio," he corrected, obviously not wanting to lower to the level of ever praising a girl, wanting to dismiss their existence entirely. "Can you conjugate the verb "ovare"?"

As Sabiani was answering, [Name] noticed the guy from before writing something on a paper, giving it to the person next to him and whispering something. The note was passed down until the teacher noticed.

"Give me that," he ordered, interrupting Sabiani.

The poor guy sighed and stood up walking up to the teacher and handing the note. From where [Name] sat she couldn't see anything but by the expression of Mr. Douillard she could tell it wasn't good.

The unlucky person sighed and stood up walking up to the teacher and handing the note. [Name] knew of him. He was Alain Laubrac, a guy who happened to be in the same gang she used to hang out last year. She stopped hanging out with them after her expulsion, when she was grounded all summer, cutting all ties with them thankfully. She hadn't spoke to him since like the rest. From where she sat she couldn't see anything but by the expression of Mr. Douillard she could tell it wasn't good.

"Think this is funny?"

"It wasn't me."

"Who is responsible for this masterpiece?"

No answer. The guy who drew it pretended he didn't know a thing, placing his pen under his bottom lip.

"Your name?"

"It wasn't me," Alain repeated.

"'It wasn't me'," Mr. Douillard sighed, "All culprits have the same name. They must be related. Okay, Mr. 'It wasn't me'...'"

"My name is Laubrac," he corrected.

"Are you the boy from the foster care?"

The whole class chuckled at that.

"Some nobody's son's trying to graduate? How amusing. Didn't anyone teach you discipline in the care system? I won't let a bastard disrupt my class. Get out."

"But he didn't do anything!" a girl with blond pigtails protested.

"Nobody taught you to raise your hand in your girls' school, Miss Magnan? Or maybe you think you have a free pass because your uncle is the Dean," the teacher mocked, hitting the paper on his palm. "Escort your new friend to your uncle's office. He'll give you detention too."

They both left the room with their heads low, the class filled with silence.

[Name] bit the inside of her mouth, raising a hand.

"Yes, miss?" the teacher complained.

"With all due respect, sir, but you're being really unfair," she said. Mr. Douillard was taked aback and she continued before he interrupted. "It was Picasso over there who did it," she eyed the glasses-guy from the back.

The smile he wore dissappeared, now glaring at her and preparing to argue something back.

"You've got a nerve talking to me like that, miss [Last Name]," the teacher said. "Don't think I haven't been informed of your performance in your past school. I'm not afraid to get you expelled here too."

The class suddenly filled with murmurs.

"Unless you want detention as well I advice you to sit back down."

She looked down and without having anything else to say she sat on her chair. Her grip on her pen tightened when she looked back and seeing the guy still stare at her, slowly forming a winning smirk.

Bastard, she thought.

Finally lunch came, and she exhaled a sigh of relief as she stood up from her seat, an instant need to stretch her body overtaking her. She only wanted to smoke as soon as possible, the necessity of nicotine calling out to her from not being present for a while. She closed her notebook and walked out the classroom as soon as there was space for her to walk through the students.

She walked down the big row of starts, avoiding in pushing the boy in front of her, but still having trouble keeping her patience.

Just as she was about to turn a corner she felt her face being hit with a flat surface, being jolted back.

"Woah, what's the rush?" she felt an arm on her shoulder and was met with a silly smile. It was the guy from earlier in the morning.

"Sorry," she said, feeling embarrassed. She allowed herself to groan, feeling free from expressing her feelings. Even in front of this guy she just met. "I just couldn't stay in that room anymore."

"I didn't know class 1B was that far off," he joked.

"You know anyone from there?"

"Certainly. I could name quite a few if you ask me."

"Ugh, then I'm sure you know. Speaking of, in what class did you end up?"

He placed a hand in his pocket. "2B," he smiled. "If my last name was different we could've been in the same class. Maybe then the school year wouldn't be so bad."

"Yeah, talk about luck," she played along his playful attitude. She didn't know where he was getting at, but he was at least tolerable. "Oh, hey, we haven't met properly before."

"You're right," he extended his palm, smiling at her. "Mick Travis."

She replied with her name, shaking his hand. "Mick Travis? Is that French or..."

"I'm originally from Britain, but I've moved here for a while. I don't know for how long but I'll do what I can in the meantime. Second year in this school and I can't wait to get out of here."

"Did something happen last year?"

"It's a long story," he said simply, changing the subject. "So, where are you headed?"

In the end they sat at a bench, under a tree to avoid the bright sun from blinding their eyes and having to constantly squint at each other. Travis sat sideways, his one leg crossed while the other was extended freely, his head resting on his palm, the other holding his cigarette.

[Name] lazily looked up at the tree as the wind moved it's leafs, making her almost fall asleep. "Are they gotta tell us something for not going to eat?"

"Hell no, I'm sure they know how ass the food is anyway. We're just saving our lives at the moment."

She hummed, putting out her finished cigarette.

"So," he adjusted his head, in a way to look at her. "What do you think of this school?"

"I don't know. But I hope this year passes quickly. Last year was the worst year of my life."

This peacked his interest. "How so?"

"Long story," she laughed when she realized he responded the same way before. "Maybe I'll tell you if I skip a class."

"Fine."

Break ended too quickly for [Name] to enjoy and she dragged her feet to class, with Travis having to sometimes push her while she groaned in annoyance.

She walked inside, making eyecontact with Sabiani and giving her a look of "I can't stand being here already." The poor girl only giving her a sympathetic smile in response.

She was about to sleep on her desk, when a commotion made her raise her head to see what was going on. Descamps and his friends – whatever their names were, she didn't even bother to know – were making a fuss over something, and she noticed quickly a bucket filled with water behind the door. Descamps grabbed it and attempted to place it on top of the door, ordering one of his friends to keep watch from outside in the process.

The class did nothing, and so did [Name]. It took her a while to realize that a prank was happening, so whoever were to walk in would get drenched in that dirty bucket water. She rose from her seat, throwing her chair back and scaring Sabiani from beside her. She did promise not to act out, in hopes of not getting unwanted attention from the teachers, but she had enough from that Latin teacher anyway. She wouldn't let anyone stop her now.

She walked up to him, pushing him and making him almost spill the water. He narrowed his eyes at her, before he flashed her a cocky smile. "What's that? Didn't you learn your lesson from getting expelled from your last school? Are you planning on doing the same thing here?"

She clenched her jaw at the nerve he had. He didn't even know of her, yet acted better than her. "I'll get expelled for this? You're the one putting a bucket on top of the damn door."

She felt a hand grabbing her wrist and she turned around. "Don't get involved, just continue sleeping on your desk like you were before," it was one of Descamps friends.

She snatched her hand away, "Don't touch me." Turning her attention back at the vile glasses-wearing guy, she attempted to take the bucket away from him, only for him to raise it over her head, mocking her in the process. She would've been intimidated by his height, but she was already used to scarier guys from last year. Descamps laughed at her unsuccessful attempts, then motioned something to his friend. He got the memo and held back [Name] by restraining her.

"Let me down!" she yelled, but they ignored her, finally Descamps putting the damn bucket where he planned from the beginning. She looked at the rest of the class, everyone doing nothing about the whole thing and staying silent in their seats. She made eyecontact with Laubrac, her eyes seeking for his help. He only looked away, hiding his shame.

The victim of the prank was Magnan, as the water completely covered her from head to toe. Her braids were starting to fall apart from her cute style. Her frozen body left in shock as she looked around the class, everyone watching her without reaction. [Name] felt shame when she realized the water made the fabric on her chest area visible, being stuck on her skin.

Descamps and his friends were the only ones breaking the silence in the room, chuckling to themselves and breaking out laughing, [Name] being no longer being held back.

Suddenly he swallowed hard and composed himself at the sight of Mrs. Couret. He looked at her nervously and placed both his hands in his pockets.

Mrs. Couret was in shock at first, but acted quickly, taking of her jacket and putting it around Magnan. She ordered [Name] and Sabiani to look over the class, but they knew that with both of them combined they couldn't control Descamps and his dumb crew. Moments later, they exited the classroom, headed to the nurses office.

If that wasn't enough, Descamps even drew on the chalkboard, being a picture of who she assumed was Magnan, her chest area being the most prominent. [Name] was about to go off again, but Sabiani grabbed her wrist instead, shaking her head at her to tell her to stop. After a bit of contemplating she backed down. Before she could even sigh in disappointment, a senior barged inside the classroom.

He pushed a guy from his way and swing at one of the guys that indulged in the "prank". Sabiani yelled at them to stop but it escalated even worse. Descamps went to defend him, and this lead to him being hit. In the eye area. Next thing she knew, he was kneeled to the ground. Everything had happened so fast, [Name] was frozen in place.

Without thinking she fell next to him, trying to get a look at his injury. It was pretty hard to do so, as he pressed onto his left eye, his back slouching more and more as he couldn't contain his pain anymore. His groans made him so he couldn't hear the girl from beside him, but the warm touch on his shaking body comforted him even for a bit.

[Name] felt herself suddenly being pushed back, and she calmed herself when she realized it was the Dean.

"Let me see," he said, crouching to Descamps' level.

"My eye...! I can't see..."

"Don't touch it okay? Can you stand up?" when he nodded, he helped him get up. He then ordered Pichon to get the nurse, but she was already there.

"He's got some glass in his eye," Mr. Belanger said softly at his wife, as she placed a hand on his back and led him outside, mentioning something about taking him to the hospital.

"Get back to your class!" he yelled at the students that were watching from outside the door. "Dupin, take your seat. Jean-Pierre, my office. You two, put the chairs back. You wipe that off. And you, clean that now!" he looked at the rest of the class, his piercing look sending shivers down [Name]'s spine. "Everyone else, take your seats!" he ordered and the tone of his voice made everyone do so without question. "Quietly!"

He sighed, "I'll leave you to it, Miss Couret," he said, giving a last look to the teacher that had just arrived before storming off.

The rest of the day seemed to pass way slower that before.

tagging: @kpoploverxx-12 @puchosdementa @tropicalheart13 @luvmacyyyy @aiuragf @idontlikemonday @helchronicles @bubblegum-bitchhhhhhhhh @visndcaitswhore @blueberryblood11 @remusmuse @pookayyyyy @blvckdress @lirominissss @issoais-blog @murxhavia @b3l1z8 @nikkoiiii @beau-min

©ssnowville ©snowville

#:girlystories #:girlystoriess #joseph descamps #[🌸]#mixte1963 #joseph descamps x reader #mixte #mixte 1963

725 notes · View notes

thenightshadowqueen · 1 month ago

Text

Death for a Dollar watchthrough thoughts

Holy shit, this was unhinged. I loved it so much. (That’s too many italics, but I don’t care.) I’m kind of speechless; the number of times I actually covered my mouth in shock (usually because of Sam, but Tom was insane in this one, too) was staggering. I adore this play.

Anyway, I’m going to get into my actual thoughts instead of just rambling.

Just to start, ‘Death for a Dollar’ is a great title, so kudos to whoever came up with that

Oh my god, Hank and Gareth 2.0!!!!

“You don’t know what he did for this place.” “That—Tell me!” This is off to a strong start

“Where was your showmanship?” I love it when they work mini games of Change into the plays

Mr. Twilliger is an incredible name

“This is me being the bartender, getting the stories out of the customers, so they reveal things, and then they want to drink more because they’re reliving their trauma.” I mean, it’s a valid tactic to get more money; yay, capitalism! (sarcasm)

AJ forcing Tom to be musical… Caesar and Juliet, anyone?

I love that Luke knows off the top of his head how many keys a piano has (I’m honestly not surprised)

Is Sam’s hair a little longer than normal? Because it looks really good

“I got three keys, three teeth, three toes. I’ve been through a lot.” I love Tony the piano player (who was also referred to as Bill once)

“My mind can take an awful lot; there’s not a lot in there” I love him, actually

“You ain’t trying to seduce him!” “But I get bigger tips when I do!” Sam

Can I just thank whoever edited this for giving us that little shot of Tom laughing? Because I love it when we get to see him actually laugh.

I love Mrs. Prostitute (and I love Tom for including positive representation of sex work)

“This is what feminism looks like” West End Big Boys flashbacks

“My mum is crazy” SAM

Also I think my favourite thing about the microphones is that we can hear them laughing so much more clearly (brought to you by Luke, on this occasion)

I adore Sam’s weird little harmonica thing he does in western-genre pieces

Ooh, younger versions of characters being played by different actors; I don’t think we’ve seen that before

I love Sam being confused and Tom’s response being to start clapping

I love Sam being annoyed and retaliating at AJ with a bald joke

“I told my daddy that I was real fast with a pistol, and that maybe I could go and work in law enforcement, but he wouldn’t have it.” “No! No son is going to go work for the government!” AJ trying to paint his father as the villain and Sam trying his very best to make the audience like him… This is gorgeous

“Telling a man if he’s allowed to own people or not” okay, never mind, I take that back

I don’t know why Sam picked the Watson-clown voice, but I’m glad he did (also I love that the voice made Luke break)

“Many Fingers Pussy” Jesus Christ, Tom

“They thought I had the devil in me” god damn it, now I feel bad for Bill

Sam is so good at playing wide-eyed innocent characters

“God, I wish they had that law in America in the modern day” I wish I had enough faith in people’s judgement to wish that

“I didn’t know you could do magic” I love it when Sam causes trouble

I can never see a reference to a one-man band like that and not think of Mary Poppins

“I can’t wait to hear those four white boys do those accents” oh dear

Luke speaking Spanish!!!

You know what, that vaguely Mexican accent could have been a hell of a lot worse, so well done, Sam

“So you can work on a farm, or you can jerk people off” oh my god, Sam

“He offered me a job” and then AJ realising what it sounded like and walking it way back

Tom entering the scene and waiting for a moment to join in and then Sam just throwing him in without warning is amazing

“I work here jerking people off” Tom

“She said she helps people el secrete-o” SAM

“Hand stuff Jesus is okay with” Sam

I don’t know why the fact that Tom knows little bits of Spanish brings me so much joy, but it does

Holy shit, Luke speaking Spanish with an American accent might be my new favourite thing

I love Maria, the bank robber/prostitute

You know what, I get Bill; the little, slightly mosquitoy “yeah”s are alluring

Half-kiss!!!

“A beautiful flower turns to a crooked leaf” I fucking adore AJ’s weird little sayings

“It’s a well-known expression” and then the advert with the merch saying ‘more well-known expressions’

“Something went worse than wrong. It went really wrong.” Gorgeous.

Sam’s slip oh my god

I know I already said Sam’s hair looks good, but Sam’s hair looks really good

I already said it but I will never be over Luke’s Spanish-in-an-American-accent. Never.

“I’ll keep my hands moist for you” it seems like Tom like using the word moist (the moisturiser fairy comes to mind)

I love audience participation

I’m sorry, as someone who struggles with mental math, that quick multiplication from Luke was impressive

“Got a lot of spunk in you, have you?” I love Tom using his English degree to make dirty jokes (obviously this doesn’t require an English degree; I just mean that it’s a wordplay joke)

I love Sam making sure to bring the story full-circle, with Tony losing his teeth and toes

Jesus, Tom

“Have we invented the electric chair yet?” I looked it up, and it looks like it was invented in the 1880’s, so not quite, but it wasn’t nearly so far off as I thought it might be

“I’ma travelling electric chair salesman” … honestly, I’m not even surprised at this point

Tom is right; this is really dark

I don’t think Sam knows how electric chairs work (affectionate)

Okay who the fuck let Sam wink like that

“Well, I guess that’s the end of the Shoot from the Hip show” I love when they get meta

“What could go wrong with giving a southern American teenager a pair of guns? I’ve got school tomorrow!” Holy fucking shit; may I present Sam Russell, the king of risky jokes

“…when we faked my death…” I love Tom so much

“I think this is the first time we’ve used the principle of the unreliable narrator” I actually love this so much; this is such a cool concept, especially for an improv show

Tom is unhinged in this one and I love it

I love this so much

I already made as post saying this, but it bears repeating: this is BUS levels of insane

#you know every time I make these I think they might come out a reasonable length #but no #anyway in case you couldn’t tell #I adore the insanity #this was an amazing play #nightshadow’s watchthrough thoughts #I know I always say this #but if anything came across as negative #that wasn’t the intention #I adore everything about this play #shoot from the hip #sfth #Death for a Dollar

85 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Sense and Sensibility 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Peter Parker (reader is Kitty from Death Wish)

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: Things in your life are changing and a new face is just one of many startling new realities.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The mail keeps coming. It’s the one consistency left in your life. You go out as you do every day and lift the flap to fish out the contents. That day, however, it’s more than just the flyers and the flimsy bills. You have to shove your hand fully inside to grasp the bulky weight.

You pause and peer out at the street. You expect the black car to pull up at any moment. At least, you sense something waiting... Or you’re just paranoid.

You bring it inside. You hear your sisters in the kitchen. Adrienne is cleaning the dishes as Stony sits at the table. Her fingertips anxiously draw circles on the wood.

You approach and put down the usual envelopes and a few filmy pamphlets. You keep hold of the thick brown envelope. It has your sister’s name on it. You put it in front of her and say her name. She flinches.

“Is he on his way?” You ask.

She nods. Odd. That means someone else delivered that.

“Mail,” you point as her gaze remains on the wall. She sighs and looks down.

“Take it,” she pushes it across the table.

You grimace, “it’s for you-”

“It’s for groceries. Or whatever else we need.” She says dully. “Take Adrienne to the bakery. Have something sweet.” She stands and gives a sullen look to the picture of your mother on the wall. “I’ll go wait outside.”

She pushes the chair into the table and turns away.

“We love you,” you call after her.

She stops in the doorway, “love you too.”

She disappears into the hallway and you frown. You grab the envelope and open it, checking the contents. A hunk of bills pad the paper. A lot.

“Wow,” Adrienne lifts her chin to peek inside.

“Yeah, wow,” you echo. “Well, how about it? Scones and tea?”

“It sounds nice. It’s nice to have nice things,” she giggles at her repetition. “I wish...”

“I wish she could be here too,” you agree. “But ma is better off.”

She nods with a glum expression. She’s still the baby. Still the one with hope. And you still can’t bear to bring her down. You know this won’t end well. Nothing does. Just look at your father; dead at the hands of another. And your sister; promised to a man even more dangerous than your patriarch.

“We should bring something back for Stony too. For when she gets back,” Adrienne suggests.

“That’s sweet of you. I’m going to grab a sweater. You should too. It’s supposed to get chilly.” You gird.

You go upstairs as your mind wanders outside those walls. You doubt Stony will be back that day to enjoy the treat. Not if it’s up to Barnes and everything in her life and your life is now in his hands. You’re not stupid. You might put a smile and keep the peace, but it doesn’t mean you’re stupid.

You take out your favourite brown sweater; the one your mother embroidered for you when you were in high school. It pairs well with your thrifted dress. Not that anything you wear is especially flashy.

You go back to the first floor and step into your brown scuffed mary-janes. Adrienne appears in her trademark striped pullover. You grab your purse and count a few bills out, shoving the rest behind the mantle. As you go back to the front door, she ties her sneakers. She no longer has to hide as your father can’t rant at her for the unladylike footwear.

You follow her out with keys in hand. Your eyes skim the street. Stony is gone but that shadow isn’t. You turn to lock the door, your mind clinging to the speck near the bushes diagonal from Erlich’s rusty old truck.

“We should make something special tonight,” Adrienne says.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” you smile. You always loved cooking. You would help your mother in the kitchen often and when you made your father one of her recipes, he was a little kinder. As kind as a man like him ever was.

You rub your cheek instinctively. Sometimes, a lot of times, he was less than kind. He was vicious. Venomous. You’re happy he’s gone but in the same, you’re sad about it. Not because he was good, no, he was never that, only because he was a constant. Losing that sort of permanence is earth-shaking.

Adrienne takes your hand, “he wouldn’t like this, but ma would.”

You smile at her, a bittersweet twinge in your eyes, “she would. I think I’m going to try one of their tea lattes. I always was eyeing that strawberry parfait one on the specials sign.”

“Oh, that sounds delicious.” She swings your arm. You feel like a child again even as those years feel so far behind you. “I need coffee. Double espresso at least.”

You laugh. She’s still young enough to have bad habits. Yours are just starting to really bug you.

As you come up to the cafe, another customer approaches from the other side of the pavement. The man opens the door and grins as he waves you in with a hand. You look him in the face, something you don’t often do but the prickle on the nape of your neck draws your eyes up.

He seems familiar but you can’t place him. Reddish brown hair, parted neatly and combed, a darker shade in his eyes, and a square jaw that frames an otherwise boyish face. He wears a burgundy suit and his lips slant in a grin.

“Ladies first,” he insists.

“Thank you,” you say and squeeze Adrienne’s hand.

You nod and pull her inside. Your hackles are up but your doubt is just as needling. It could be genuine intuition or it could be the effect of a lifetime of fear. No, you know better. At first glance, you know he’s one of those men. Like your father, like Barnes, he is dangerous.

He steps up behind you to join the line. Amid the crowded cafe, it is only him that you are aware of. There’s just that voice telling you to pay attention. The same one that screamed at you when your sister came home the night before you found out about your father. There’s something amiss here, and again, you can’t figure it out.

#peter parker #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #peter parker x reader #mob au #au #drabble #series #spider-man #avengers #mcu #marvel #sense and sensibility

93 notes · View notes

2demondogs · 3 months ago

Note

With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader #neutralreader #arthur morgan #ask #oneshot #fluff #sfw #rdr2 #reader insert #proposal fic

112 notes · View notes

dsknsk · 10 months ago

Text

I love how PM keeps playing with tropes. We've seen the tropes that they deconstruct within Limbus (in fact, it is a theory of mine that each Sinner is based on a stereotypical character from gachas), the way that they pick up the cyberpunk trope and basically throw it across the room, but another huge one is...

Carmen.

Look. I think that Carmen was and is based on the traditional 'Mary Sue'. Because...well, some traits that are said to belong to the 'Mary Sue', are turned brilliantly on their head by PM. So, for typical 'Mary Sue' traits, there's:

Pretty in the traditional sense. 'Mary Sues' always look perfect, peerless and never have to work hard to maintain their image. While, as far as I know, there hasn't really been made an in-universe compliment on Carmen's physical appearance...you'd rather stop and listen to someone who at least looks like they can be trusted wouldn't you? She's likened to the sun, as Oswald called her that, and is inside the light. (Also, out-of-universe: she is certainly pretty in my eyes. She adheres to the modern beauty standards at the very least).

Related to the above: charming. The 'Mary Sue' often has an innate charm that attracts others to her. The way that Carmen has this is through her voice, which already was powerful enough to let her traverse the dangerous Backstreets unarmed, standing out from all those other Backstreets preachers somehow and draw in the most cynical noblemen, but is even more charming after death. She doesn't even need to give a breaking speech or anything, as we've seen, she just gives you questions and comments on things. Which falls in line with...

Powerful, yet without having to break a sweat. Even before dying, she was already drawing in people without having to get physical (at least, none we know of). The only time we fight her as of yet (Kether realisation), Angela needs to use an attack that depletes all her HP to win, after five phases have already passed.

The 'Mary Sue' is often a so-called spotlight stealer. She will have a major role in the story, inexplicably, at least one other character will fall in love with her and she will overall have a large presence. So far, Carmen is the only character who has appeared in all three of the games, and if you count the Distortion and the Library, she has influenced WonderLab, Leviathan and Distortion Detective as well. She was also relevantly connected to the main cast of LobCorp and has influenced most of them in some way (i.e Ayin, Angela, Giovanni, arguably Kali, etc.). She remains to be relevant to several major story turns and has left her mark in them, in some way.

Unusual eyes. It's a stereotype that 'Mary Sues' always have unusual eyes. A common type is heterochromia (which is why I often jokingly call Hong Lu a 'Mary Sue'), but other types exist like sparkly rainbow or them changing like a mood ring or something. Carmen has red eyes, which are a common side-effect of body enhancements (Vergilius had them and the R Corp pack leaders too)...except, as we said, for as far as we know, Carmen hasn't had any. They are also a trait of Bloodfiends, but she isn't (yet) confirmed to be one. Either way, red eyes are a sign of the not-weak in the City.

Oftentimes, 'Mary Sues' are referred to as divinity, as pure grace from an utmost high all-powerful deity. They may or may not even be that deity. With Carmen, she practically had a cult of personality around her when she was alive...and she also had an analogue in another pale-skinned, red-eyed being that is also treated like this. She was described as this paeon of altruism and someone who genuinely wants the best for humanity.

Meaningful name. While not so immediately on-the-nose like 'Flowersparkle', Carmen's name can be seen as a reference to the infamous prototype of the femme fatale, once again hinting at that charming quality of hers.

Perfect. A 'Mary Sue' never fails at what she does...and that's where PM shows through that...

...Carmen is a parody on the 'Mary Sue'. A so-called 'Parody Sue'...but not played for laughs. The thing is that she is described as being all this...by those she already has enthralled. Those that aren't really involved with her - Hokma (was more loyal to Ayin), Binah (who wasn't in the picture during Carmen's life), and Roland (a stranger to LobCorp to begin with) have their say during Ruina and offer us another view at Carmen, our first, and one thing becomes clear:

A real 'Mary Sue' would be weird as fuck.

Carmen shows us how weird a 'Mary Sue' would actually be in a world that isn't sunshine and rainbows - an extremely uncanny, severely misguided being who nonetheless draws people to herself, who show a creepy amount of belief and devotion to her. Carmen thinks that the 'be yourself' message - so omnipresent in media - should prevail...in a world where the majority of people are either pieces of shit or are living such a dreary, miserable life that they just give up all hope.

But all of this is only revealed in the second game and pulls the player out of the dream. And so, Carmen does end up failing to convince some people like Dongbaek and Dongrang who manage to develop E.G.O instead.

Because despite what she was painted as in the past, in reality, Carmen is not a 'Mary Sue'. And she is not perfect.

That's why she's such a great PM character.

#limbus company #library of ruina #lobotomy corporation

217 notes · View notes

applepie2523 · 3 months ago

Text

" HOTD's Issues Writing Women Part 2: The Whitewashing of Rhaenyra

**This is part 2 of my analysis on the issues with the writing of the two main female characters. If you haven’t already please read my part 1 post where I analyze Alicent’s character assassination which you can find on my profile.** I think many fans on the Blacks and Greens and in between regarding HOTD have been concerned and disappointed with the way the two main female characters: Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower have been written in HOTD seasons 1-2. This is very understandable. Female characters in general in HOTD and I think a lot of Hollywood films nowadays are not being written as well as they used to be and could be. Go on Youtube or Google and you'll find many film reviews/tv show reviews that critique the Mary Sue and Girlbossification or just poorly written in general female characters that are taking up a chunk of characters in Hollywood. Rhaenyra and Alicent to me were such great characters in F&B. They were two different kinds of medieval women in a fantasy setting. One, the medieval queen who gains power/influence through her relationship with men and advocating for her son. Two, the medieval queen who sought power in her name and defied some norms that make her compelling but also immoral in their eyes. They are two deeply flawed and complex characters fighting on opposite sides of a dynastic civil war.

This post is here to address the main issues of whitewashing when it comes to writing Rhaenyra Targaryen.

\***Some disclaimers: This is no issue with the actor themself. Emma D'Arcy while I may disagree with their opinions from time to time, they are a wonderful actor who is doing the best they can with the scripts they're given, so this is by no means a critique of them. I am going off of the show canon although the book will be mentioned.**

**So firstly... What is whitewashing?**

The modern definition of white washing is to cast in a show/movie or rewrite a character of a minority and make them white. For example, if someone decides to do a movie about Rosa Parks and they cast Emma Stone. However, white washing has another definition. It means to essentially remove or hide negative unpleasant facts or traits of a person or thing. I think Rhaenyra Targaryen suffers from this problem as many of her written negative traits or deeds so far are either not shown, projected onto another character close to her (Daemon Targaryen mostly), or severely downplayed. This results in a character that is almost too virtuous and bland for the setting she is in and a far cry from who she should be. A character whom doesn't seem to fit in the ruthless at times immoral world of Westeros. A character whom is almost a close to a Mary Sue. As I am very much on the belief that flaws versus virtues are what make a character compelling and human.

**I will say not every change made to Rhaenyra story arc and personality are necessarily all bad. Some are good ideas just poorly executed (ex - exploring more of Rhaenyra's hinted bisexuality, as there are hints in F&B that her close relationship with Laena may or may not have been more than platonic) and others are just good changes in general.**

*1. Victims vs. Villains - Biases in Writing Female Characters*

In the words of the iconic Grey's Anatomy actress Ellen Pompeo, “Women are one of two roles. You’re either the victim or the villain. But the victims are only victims because they don’t have what it takes to be the villain.” I think she states the major issue with writing female characters nowadays that HOTD has an issue with. Women must either be victims or villains. The character assassination of Alicent and white washing of Rhaenyra to me stems from this: Alicent is the villain in Rhaenyra's story to Rhaenyra's victimhood.

*2. Rhaenyra's Negative Traits: Arrogance, Hot Temper, Frivolity, and Bad Decisions to Peace-Loving and Plainness*

Rhaenyra had many great qualities in the book but it is only when coupled with major character flaws are we truly compelled. She was a loving mother, passionate, intelligent to a degree, etc. However, she was also very ambitious and power-hungry, arrogant at times, quick to anger, slow to forgive, and frivolous at times. **As a writer myself, I firmly believe that characters are truly humanized and compelling when they have major character flaws coupled with their virtues. Flaws they either have to overcome or use to their advantage. Flaws that make them who they are. Flaws create layers of complexity in a character. Or Flaws that help foster the characters downfall.**

I'm not saying the Rhaenyra in the show isn't flawed. She is! For example, I think what's great is that a flaw they gave Rhaenyra is something show Viserys also had: the ability to ignore or downplay potential conflicts or hard truths versus facing them head on. Viserys refused to see the potential conflicts in naming Rhaenyra heir or pretending her elder three children are trueborn. Rhaenyra in the show refused to listen to Jace whose concerns regarding his parentage as her successor and the dragonseeds were ignored or dismissed. The issue is thought, Rhaenyra is not given the flaws that she most certainly had, **flaws that helped lead to her downfall**. She's not flawed the way she's supposed to be.

Similar to many other Targaryens including her half-brother Aegon II, Rhaenyra was quick to anger and slow to forgive. We have some brief moments where we see Rhaenyra's temper and quick witt, but we don't see the major moments where her major character flaws are shown. Alicent provokes Rhaenyra for example in season 1, having her take Joffrey to her moments after he is born. We never see Rhaenyra provoke Alicent back. Any times where we should have seen Rhaenyra's sharp temper at the slightest of remarks are not shown.

Rhaenyra's actions herself were also very whitewashed with how they were portrayed. We either see their negative consequences downplayed, not shown, or the actions were projected onto another male character. In the books due to how similar Laenor and Rhaenyra were in looks (I mean they were both white) there was still a tad more ambiguity as to whether or not Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were bastards. Race changing the Velaryons made it even more obvious her elder three boys were bastards. I took issue with the writing of Rhaenyra's dialogue and that of the characters around her, not truly showcasing why having bastards, especially as a woman, is a truly egregious thing. The potential chaos Rhaenyra could cause was completely downplayed.

A few actions for example that were incredibly violent and evil were butchered. First example being the murder of Vaemond Velaryon. I was disappointed with this scene. Firstly, we only see Vaemond protest Luke inheriting Driftmark which sets it up as more so an ambitious second son seeking power versus a man who doesn't want his house to be run by someone not of his blood. We don't see other Velaryons protesting with him. After Vaemond made his little speech, Rhaenyra orders him dead and Daemon kills him on **her orders**. She then viciously has his corpse fed to her dragon Syrax. I think this scene was crucial as it foreshadows the danger Rhaenyra would be in the future to House Velaryon and sow more seeds of discontent that are crucial to the house's eventual turn to the Green side. Not only is Vaemond killed more viciously, Viserys orders the tongue removal of even more Velaryons who sided with Vaemond with Rhaenyra's consent! Instead, the show projects this entirely onto Daemon. Daemon goes Rogue (see what I did there) and kills Vaemond on his own accord. Rhaenyra stands there shocked and doesn't even order the body fed to her dragon. Rhaenyra is absolved from all blame to Vaemond's unjust execution without trial.

The thing about B&C is Rhaenyra was paralyzed with grief for her son, Luke. The moment her child died was the moment where her descent into madness and powerful wrath began to truly manifest and she would stop at nothing. I was very disappointed in the fact that she has one episode of grieving and then continues to be so level-headed. I couldn't feel her grief, rage, and resentment towards the Greens for her son's death that makes the war even worse. Daemon tells Rhaenyra that he would avenge her son. I loved the acting of Matt and Emma during their argument about the aftermath. However, I felt like Rhaenyra wasn't acting on character with the book. I don't think book Rhaenyra was 100% okay with a child dying as her vengeance, but I do feel with how angered and filled with grief and hatred Rhaenyra should be, Rhaenyra should be a bit more hardened. She should have not been so sorry about the child's death.

I also think that one of Rhaenyra's most controversial and evil decisions in the future are going to either not be included, blamed on someone else, or downplayed. It's very clear at the end of season 2 episode 8 that my favorite dragonseed Nettles is being cut and given to Rhaena who had her own plot and dragon hatchling. After Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer betray her, Rhaenyra's paranoia goes overload and declares that all the dragonseeds are traitors. Corlys advocates for Addam Velaryon and Nettles and Rhaenyra responds by having him arrested. He warns Addam, and is then bound, beaten, and thrown into the black cells. One of her most powerful allies is now thrown in the black cells. This causes the fleet of House Velaryon to turn against her. Later, she attempts to violate guest right, which is sacred in Westeros (which is why the Red Wedding was so horrific to Westeros even more so), by plotting to have Nettles murdered. As Nettles is being cut, I doubt they'd show this truly negative action as Rhaena can't have Nettles's complete plot. Rhaenyra's unjust arrest of Corlys and House Velaryon turning from her from what they're doing so far might just be blamed on someone else, have a different excuse that is not the one that the book gave, or not shown whatsoever.

I also think they might just be setting her up to be innocent of the torture of Tyland Lannister. After the Greens flee with most of the treasury leaving Rhaenyra in Kingslanding pretty broke, he refused to tell her where the gold was sent. Under Rhaenyra's orders he was tortured and castrated and blinded and disfigured to point of being disgusting. They might just have him be tortured by Mysaria or Daemon on their own accord without Rhaenyra's orders, leaving her innocent, or they will have him tortured by the Triarchy or something. Maybe after Mysaria and/or Daemon torture him, they'll frame it as vengeance for Jace and then Rhaenyra might let him go to appear merciful to an audience. As they cut Maelor whose murder was the breaking point that caused Helaena's suicide, we might not see how another child under the war was murdered by her faction. I worry that they won't show how how her cruelties that she did on her own accord caused her to be hated just as much if not more than her half brothers Aegon II and Aemond. They might not truly set the tone and show actions that lead to her being "Rhaenyra the Cruel" and "Maegor with Teats" they might not show the actions, or blame them on someone else or something else. They might not have her tax into oblivion the smallfolk or send her knight inquisitors to execute dozens upon dozens of supposed or proven Green traitors. I was also confused by the characterization of the smallfolk as these naive little lambs who will follow whatever. There is no famine or riot against the Greens at the point the show showed it. I was pleased with the fact that we saw the book-accurate support the smallfolk gave to Helaena after her son was murdered and how angered they were at Rhaenyra and the Blacks. However, days later they are singing her praises. It makes no sense to me that they would forget something so easily. Of course, I argue in another post on my profile why the riot and famine made no sense. So they might continue to get rid of her all of her negative actions.

**These evil actions make her even more compelling and even more realistic in a violent medieval world. It shows how both sides commit great evils as both Rhaenyra and Aegon II were not remembered fondly by their own descendants, smallfolk, and nobles alike.**

I also hate how they hardly showed just how feminine almost girly Rhaenyra was. Rhaenyra notably loved fashion and wearing beautiful intricate gowns that always showed off her beauty and figure. She dressed very richly as befitting her station, wearing gowns of purple with maroon velvet and Myrish lace. Her bodices often had pearls and diamonds. She always wore rings on her finger that she'd play with and turn when anxious. I honestly found these traits very endearing and relatable as someone who is a girly girl. Finally, a "strong female character" who is a leader who is also very feminine and girly. She doesn't need to be a tomboy and wield a sword to be a badass. But no... we don't see that. Yes the costumes Emma D'Arcy wore were nice I guess on the show but they didn't feel like something book Rhaenyra would wear. I get they had budgets but still... you couldn't have made something else? Like where is the purple and maroon? She's mostly wearing just red and black. No rings. No nothing!

*3. Unequal Screen Time and Too "Modernized": Rhaenyra is the Main Modern Girl*

I feel like HOTD has a problem with perspective. GOT had it perfectly done! The original ASOIAF were written from the perspective of multiple characters so we got a perfect ensemble cast with writing that highlighted the stories and perspectives of many different characters. Jon Snow's narrative didn't overtake Daenerys's screen time and vice versa which is just how it should be. However, I feel HOTD makes a mistake especially in season 1 with framing. Rhaenyra as the main with secondary-main perspectives of Alicent and Daemon. We get most of season 1 from Rhaenyra's perspective and to a lesser extent Daemon and Alicent when the show should have been formatted like GOT as multiple perspectives were given in F&B. We should have gotten an ensemble cast with equal development and perspective from multiple characters, especially an equal development of both Aegon II and Rhaenyra. We get both of Rhaenyra's weddings, two births, her raising her children, many scenes with her dragon, her perspective, and her interactions. Our first intro to her sets her up in a more heroic light as she's a beautiful princess riding her dragon. We don't get Aegon II's wedding or Alicent's. No birth scenes for Alicent or Helaena. We hardly get their perspectives compared to Rhaenyra. We should have seen more of Aegon II's childhood and perspective versus just him being a bully and later a rapist. While they improved perspective a bit more in season 2, it's not enough to take away from what was done in season 1. Rhaenyra is the protagonist and **THE main character versus A main character.**

What I think they should have done is showcase the real dynamic of Alicent and Rhaenyra more. They can start off with their friendship but then transition it to the dynamic that both women had at court: competition. Both women wanted to be First Lady of the Realm and first priority to King Viserys. The Queen vs the Princess and named heir.

Rhaenyra does at times come off as more modern than she should be. I think her and even her aunt Rhaenys. For example, in the book Rhaenyra is at times very homophobic by our standards to Laenor. When she discovers she's to marry Laenor Velaryon in the show, we see her initially not too excited about it, but not fully antagonistic. She in fact has a very decent and friendship like conversation where she uses the metaphor of preferring roast duck to insinuate she understands and accepts Laenor for being gay, deciding to do their duty and support one another, while pursuing their own pleasure with each other's consent with whomever that may be. They appear to be very supportive of one another times, at least on Rhaenyra's end. She compliments him deeply when he says he wishes he were different.

While I'm sure on some level Rhaenyra wishes Laenor was bisexual at the very least so they can have more than a friendship and have trueborn kids together, Rhaenyra is almost too accepting for her medieval context. In the medieval world, same sex relationships were a HUGE no-no. In fact being gay was considered a mental illness and sickness up until the 20th century! Rhaenyra appears too accepting of Laenor, appearing too modern in just how accepting she is. In reality, while I'm sure Book Rhaenyra cared for Laenor on some level and had some kind of respect for him and affection, it wasn't this deep and this accepting. Laenor did mean something to her on some level, after all he is still the man she married, and very important to her storyline---however Rhaenyra in the book as a much more medieval reaction and medieval view on his sexuality. She was notably very unhappy about her betrothal to him. It took serious threats from King Viserys to remove her from the line of succession in order to get her on board and she did so reluctantly. She notably even said that "My half brothers would be more to his taste." This is a very cutting and almost homophobic statement. I mean her half-brothers were still toddlers. However, we never get any true antagonism, frustration, or even subtle or outward homophobia on Rhaenyra's end. While this statement is mean and homophobic, that is a more medieval response. It's sad, but it's true. Rhaenyra is a medieval woman in a medieval setting. She is a product of what her society raised her to be, which is being gay isn't something one should accept.

The same issue occurs with Rhaenys having an almost too modern point of view or opinion that doesn't fit with her medieval setting. When she discovers her husband Corlys Velaryon has bastard children, Addam and Alyn of Hull, she is neither furious nor disappointed or horrified. In fact, Rhaenys advocates that they deserve to be "raised up and honored not hidden in the tides." This is an incredibly unrealistic and unfitting reaction on Rhaenys's end. In our modern day society, even, if a woman finds out her husband cheated on her and sired kids off his side chick, she'd be furious. Of course, I think a moral modern woman wouldn't take her anger out on the children, but still. Rhaenys's reaction is almost too modern and too gracious. Characters are products of their circumstances. Despite Westeros being a fantasy world, we feel how medieval the characters are through their beliefs and behaviors. Catelyn Stark or Cersei Lannister's reactions to their husband's bastards is far more realistic---specifically how Catelyn and Cersei hated what their husbands had done and felt it was an affront to them personally. Corlys in the books was terrified of Rhaenys finding out as it would dishonor him, her, and their dead children together which is why he tried to pass them off as Laenor's no matter how ridiculous is sounded. Rhaenys should have been more realistically horrified at Corlys and angry. She shouldn't be advocating for them to be anywhere near her house or imply they should have been raised amongst their own trueborn children.

I think this does two things: 1) Makes it though Rhaenys is fully on Rhaenyra's side when raising her bastard children of Harwin as if they are her trueborn grandsons and 2) Modernizes her too much. That is a main issue. The show attempts to modernize her and make her appeal to a more modern audience. However, there is a way to do that without modernizing her so much that she doesn't seem to fit with her medieval context.

was very disappointed when I heard that the directors told Olivia Cooke to portray Alicent as "woman for Trump" and Rhaenyra is this "punk-rock Hillary Clinton." Modern day politics and movements and ideologies have little to no place in the way Westeros should be written as its a **realistic medieval setting with realistic medieval characters in a fantasy world**. Rhaenyra is too modern in her interactions and beliefs that she doesn't seem to fit well in Westeros. Rhaenyra as well is also presented as this more feminist character.

*4. Two Things Can Be True At Once: Women Can Be Victims of Sexism AND Still Do Terrible Things, Be Self-Serving, and Wield Significant Amounts of Power*

**What I ultimately believe that Condal and the HOTD production seem to get wrong is that in a medieval setting like Westeros, women are ALWAYS overlooked and dismissed and cannot take so much significant power. I feel like they believe that women can't do terrible things in the patriarchal system of Westeros while being victims of sexism.**

Women in the real middle ages and Westeros in Martin's story are not feminists by our definition. At times we see women take advantage of and gain power from the sexist patriarchal society they live in. We see it with Cersei Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Daenerys Targareyen, Catelyn Stark, Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, Lysa Arryn, Melisandre, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, every woman in the original GOT series were victims of sexism and an oppressive patriarchal system of Westeros just like real women of the Middle Ages AND YET they still were able to wield some power and do terrible or morally gray things. We can view them as victims of a horrible system but still see how they take advantage of it, gain power and agency as they have no choice to use the system versus fight it, do horrible things, but still view them as victims.

Rhaenyra is one example! I will say that this is partly more so the interpretation of the modern casual audience versus a writing issue, but it is still a writing issue that there are people who believe her to be a feminist. She's not! Of course just because she isn't one doesn't mean you can't root for her, but don't root for her if you think she's a feminist. We might never see the moments where Rhaenyra herself is denying women rights of inheritance from Lady Stokeworth to Lady Rosby. We should have been emphasized that Rhaenyra is not the closest thing to a modern day feminist. She is not advocating for women's rights or to make the world better for women, but to be an exception to the rule. Like most medieval woman in power, she takes advantage of the patriarchal system and gets power from it. Laena Velaryon is older than Laenor. She takes advantage of patriachal rulings to install her (bastard) "son of Laenor" as future Lord of Driftmark versus advocating that the eldest child, Baela Targaryen, daughter of Laena Velaryon, the elder sibling, to inherit Driftmark.

Victims can be villainous too! Soft power. Rarely in the Medieval world do we see women wield a hard power in their own name. Of course we have outliers, but in the end most medieval women wielded a soft power---gaining influence and power through manipulating their relationships with men (their husbands, fathers, brothers, sons, etc.). Did real Medieval women know they were oppressed? Perhaps they did, and perhaps they accepted it. Did real Medieval women make efforts to change it? I wouldn't say so. Many women upheld the status quo of men being dominant.

For example, in keeping with British history that Martin is so inspired by, going off of blood-ties alone, Lady Margaret Beaufort had a stronger claim to the English throne via her Lancastrian blood than her own son Henry VII, and yet she advocated for her son not herself to be the next ruler of England. Queen Elizabeth Woodville had three daughters (Elizabeth, Cecily, and Mary) before she had her son Edward V. Like any medieval woman with three daughters alone there was growing pressure to secure her husband's line and her own position by producing a male heir. She never tried to name any of her elder daughters over her son once she had him nor did she ever try to advocate to her husband King Edward IV that he didn't need a male heir, he had his eldest daughter Elizabeth of York.

Rhaenyra Targaryen as well is presented almost like she's pursuing power to make Westeros better and that she has more altruistic and kind intentions behind her actions. I mean this weird "Aegon Prophecy" contributes to it. I think we should have seen a more realistic medieval and Westerosi character by having Rhaenyra, just like Alicent or Aegon II, pursue power because she can! Pursue power and queenship for the sake of having it and because she believes herself entitled to it versus these more "virtuous reasons." I mean in the book she never considered accepting the peace terms despite how generous they were because she refused to renounce her claim and back down! She wanted power because felt entitled to it and because every character in Westeros wants power to some degree. Ambition is a theme and characteristic that unites every character in Martin's world.

**My Takeaway? The Writers are Biased and Fail to Understand the Medieval Context of Westeros and Martin's Female Characters. Don't implement modern politics and biases into a medieval show**

I love that Martin tries to write his women the way he writes his men. He has explicitly stated that he writes his women the way he writes his men. He states that women are people too. They can be driven by the same things men are in Westeros and/or the real world: love, anger, hatred, a desire for power, vengeance, grief, guilt, bringing glory to their name and themselves, a desire to protect their family, etc.

Most of all: **Westeros is a realistic medieval world with realistic medieval characters in an unrealistic fantasy setting.** So you have to look at it from primarily a medieval lens in order to fully understand it and its character. While its okay to analyze using some modern concepts and lenses (ex - analyze how Daemon is a pedophile) you have to couple it with a lot of grace and understanding of their medieval context and morals that impacts the way the characters behave as we are products of our own historical context (ex - remembering that pedophilia and child grooming isn't much of a concept in the medieval world. The moment a girl has her first period, they are a consenting woman in his context).

So I find it disingenuous to write off all of Rhaenyra Targaryen's negative traits as just nothing but maester propaganda and due to sexism. I disliked how they downplayed her ambition, arrogance, rage, and cruelties to make her appear more modern and peaceful and the most virtuous character on the show. Yes, perhaps sexism could have had some tie into how Rhaenyra was viewed in Westeros. However, historians in the real world can't just dismiss reports about what a medieval woman was like simply because of the sexist world they were living in. By that standard, perhaps a woman like Queen Anne of Brittany wasn't all that bad or Margaret of Anjou. By that standard anything that was negative about the personalities of any medieval woman in power is all just rubbish and not true.

I felt we should have seen more of the kind of women that Martin writes. The kind of women that fit with his medieval-fantasy narrative that showcases how pursuing power at all costs leads to nothing but ruin. We should have seen layered women. We should have seen a more book-accurate Rhaenyra. We shouldn't have to settle for a lackluster story where Rhaenyra is nowhere close to her book counterpart.

**And most of all, the HOTD team shouldn't subtly or outwardly bash the original source material as nothing but sexist propaganda to excuse the lackluster writing of the female characters being nothing like their book counterparts or subtly or outwardly write off critics and fans like myself as toxic for pointing it out.**

**If you like this analysis, read on my profile my part 1 when I delve into the issues with HOTD’s Alicent.** "

#house of the dragon #hotd #anti hotd #hotd meta #team green #hotd critical #anti rhaenys targaryen #anti rhaenyra targaryen

62 notes · View notes

primeofprimes115 · 5 months ago

Text

A "Marvel"ous Discovery - Mary Marvel/Shazam x Male Reader

Contains: Fluff 🥰

A/N: Something different for a change, about time I did a different character other than my girl, Kara. Now shall we??

SHAZAM!!! ⚡

Attending Fawcett Community College in Fawcett City was something of an experience for Y/N, he himself obviously didn't attend this College on his own, he moved into a dorm who was someone he had met back years ago, reunited at last when he wasn't expecting it.

Her name was Mary Bromfield, who was adopted at a young age before the both met in school, starting a friendship that sparked for a while until he had to unfortunately move out of Fawcett City, due to his father's business trips, cutting off contact with Mary but she'd always remember him...

And so did he.

The reunion was... Emotional, almost nerve-wracking at first since Y/N had known he'd be Mary's roommate, she was informed of having a roommate but the details were scarce, she had no clue until he stepped through the door to meet her, there was a moment of shock, then questions, then tears falling down her eyes before she walked over and gave him the biggest hug she could give him, if she was showing her 'secret' to him, she'd be floating off the ground with him in her arms.

"Y-Y/N?" her heart dropped like a rock hitting the pavement upon him turning around. Her eyes struck wide, looking at the boy in shock as he dropped his bags and hanged up his coat on the coat rack on the door of their shared dorm. "Y-You're..."

The young man turned around to face the girl he grew to love, at least in secret, or he did have a thing for her or two back then, never even saying one word about it. He looked at her with an inviting look in his eyes, and with an all familiar smile, one that she missed seeing.

"Hey, Mary. Been a while?" he quipped, talking a little step forward as Mary stood still, unsure of what to even say or do next upon seeing her lost friend's presence, standing in front of the dorm she was to share with the unknown assailant.

She planned out ways to keep her secret away from whoever it was going to be sharing the dorm with her, figuring out different excuses to use if necessary. Her secret was that she was and is Mary Marvel, the renowned Superhero that worked alongside the main Shazam for a time along with other Shazams that this main Shazam shared his power with, before they disappeared one day. It was revealed they lost their powers and superhero form due to losing a connection to what was called 'The Rock of Eternity'.

However... Some time later... Mary as a new adult, gained her abilities back and became the New Champion of Shazam, though many call her "Shazam" now, she was and always has been Mary Marvel, eventually leading down to her reclaiming the title of Mary Marvel again later down the line.

Things did get complicated now that she was attending College now, she used to go to a College down in New York, away from her family, but recent issues surfaced that forced her to move back near her family's home, attending Fawcett Community College to continue her studies in Science, mostly Biology and Medical Science, she already knew most about it and vowed to get a job with it. A proper job without being Mary Marvel all the time.

And the last thing she didn't expect, was finding out her new roommate, is an old friend she hasn't seen in many years, even before getting her full powers of Shazam.

Mary began to walk forward, her vision got a little blurry due to the tears forming up in her eyes and wrapped her arms around Y/N, giving him a big, strong hug which made him chuckle. In response, Y/N wrapped his arms around her as Mary quietly sobbed in joy, overjoyed to see Y/N again. She didn't feel like letting go.

Y/N remembered the Mary he knew all those years ago, the innocent, sensible and cute brunette girl, and here she was... And still is the same girl he had to leave his friendship behind with all those years ago.

The two eventually would catch up with all things that has happened in their lives since they last seen each other, Mary had to keep most subtle details out of being Mary Marvel/Shazam mostly, wanting to keep him out of that business so he didn't get hurt by her family's enemies, or anyone bad for that matter.

Low and behold, the whole reason why Y/N had arrived to study at Fawcett Community College was to study under Science, Biology also which sounded like music to Mary's ears, bringing the both closer to each other again.

Mary recounted all the times she had spent with him when they were younger, how she viewed him as this sweet, out-going boy who wanted to be her friend one day, she had barely any from what she recounted, only her adopted siblings she had much communication with.

He was always by her side, even at lunch, most boys would poke fun at him for hanging out with a girl, until Mary had, in her way' heard enough of Y/N being picked on one day and decided to take matters into her own hands.

In a way, it was a cute gesture, a sweet one at best.

With more revealed coming from Mary, Y/N had told her he took self-defense classes, under his father's guidance, his father's "business trips" weren't exactly normal, he worked under the United States Government and at the time, his family was in danger, the only suitable option was to move his family to a safer location, which Y/N had no choice in.

All the time for catching up came to be and the pair became friends again... Or so they thought.

Y/N's feelings for Mary soon came back up after two weeks, from all the times they spent with each other at the end of studying together, going out for lunch and all the teasing he did on her, he couldn't help but begin to catch feelings for the brunette girl again.

Even though she sometimes and oddly disappeared whenever something she was informed about was happening, or when danger was being reported, she'd later come back, finding Y/N all safe and sound, though one time... He was caught in the midst of danger - searching for Mary before a red blur transported him to safety from a villain tearing through the city, who had a grudge to settle with Mary Marvel herself.

He had heard about the Heroine before plenty of times, but never got to see her up close much, the only time he did was at that moment of the blur saving him, which was Mary Marvel herself, telling him to get to safety quickly, though her voice did sound very and oddly familiar, he listened and did as told.

Of course that day, he was going to confess his feelings for her and ask her out, though they've been getting lunch together and are living in the same dorm together, he really liked her and wondered if she felt the same way...

"In truth... Yeah. I did like you for a time" Mary gave him a genuine smile, shifting her hand over to his and planted it in his palm, feeling his warm hand close up against hers. She looked away for a moment as Y/N's heart paced rapidly. "And... I still do, I still have... Butterflies in my stomach every time I think about you" she admitted with her cheeks flushing warmly, her gaze coming back to him.

She still likes him to this day, she often hanged around in space, out of Earth's orbit or on Earth's Moon, trying to configure a way to even tell how much she had feelings for him, it felt like a weight coming off from her as soon as Y/N told her how much she meant to him. However... The other weight on her shoulder was her secret of being Mary Marvel, which is an even more nerve-wracking explanation to tell him.

Y/N's heart swelled in that moment, a part of him wanted to jump up and celebrate but that would be a little too vague, he was shocked to say at least, he'd thought it wouldn't end well and she'd be mad at him, but Mary has never gotten mad at him once.

Sure, she did tell him off for running into danger to 'search for her', though she was lying to him at the time of being safe at that part then, being Mary Marvel and all, she never raised her voice or yelled at him angrily. She was a pure and innocent person at heart.

The same could be said for Y/N, who's just defensive over her, especially around guys his and her age looking her up, though she could defend herself quite fairly which was a surprise to him to say at least.

"That's... That's great!" Y/N said, overjoyed. The two sharing a big hug afterwards on the couch...

Days turned into weeks after the confession, the two currently were holding hands, walking down the street. The pair haven't kissed yet but there has been some pecks on the cheek and on the hands. The both agreed to take it slow first to see how it goes.

And it was going well, very well in their experience.

Mary always had bad luck when dating guys, as she was inexperienced much, so was Y/N but the pair were happy nonetheless. They had to keep their slowly building romantic relationship under the rug in College, in case anyone would find out, as it was Mary's obligation to suggesting that idea, and Y/N agreed.

However... Mary Marvel was needed mostly than rather not very much, now that she was apart of this 'New Justice League' that's been set up and put together by Supergirl, the Woman of Tomorrow, who was a mutual ally and friend towards Mary. Which meant she had to skip dates unfortunately.

It was only a matter of time until Y/N was going to eventually discover that Mary Bromfield is in-fact Mary Marvel/Lady Shazam, the Marvelous Innocent Superhero, and it worried Mary.

But fortunately, today was a day for Mary to relax and not go out as Mary Marvel as often as she had to be, as much as she finds it enjoyable to fly around and keep the world safe.

She had rather a goofy, innocent smile plastered on her as she walked hand in hand with her boyfriend, who in turn looked back at her while she thought back on what had been going on in her personal superhero and normal life, while in the midst of walking back to their shared dorm.

"What's got you giggling?" Y/N's voice brought her back to reality, she looked at him and softly laughed to herself for a moment.

"Oh, sorry! I was just thinking on some things" she brushed aside happily, sparking Y/N's curiosity.

"And what may they be, mi-lady?" he cocked his eyebrow up with curiosity, smirking in her direction as the brunette giggled with her cheeks slightly flushing.

"Oh... Just back when I defended you from those rude boys back in Elementary" she replied softly, clutching his hand tightly and warmly before colliding her shoulder into him gently.

"Oh yeah, I remember that" he thought back on it with her, softly laughing at himself about it next. "For an innocent girl, you sure know your way with words back then".

"And I still do" she sent a wink in his direction.

"And it's cute, honest" he smiled in her way. "Have I ever said it's adorable when you come up with words instead of swearing?" he brought to her attention.

"Well..." she shrugged innocently before giggling and pecking his cheek.

The pair continued walking down the streets of Fawcett City, eventually stopping near an alleyway which Y/N thought of taking the shortcut.

Much to Mary's suspicion of seeing it completely empty, as any other alleyway would be but she had a feeling it was reeking of suspicion.

"Here, we can take a shortcut through here" he suggested.

"Uh, Y/N, are you sure?" Mary asked with a worried tone, looking down the same alleyway.

"Yeah, it's a shortcut".

"I'm not really sure, it looks... Ominous" she showed her suspicions toward the idea but Y/N rolled his eyes nonetheless.

"I've been using this route all the time, it'll be fine! Trust" he replied softly, holding her hand still.

"Okay..." she sighed after a few seconds of careful thinking, knowing if things didn't go well through this... 'shortcut', she'd have to reveal her secret as Mary Marvel at least.

And so... The pair walked in through the alleyway... All was going well...

Until someone stepped out from the corner, as another followed behind the pair.

"Ah shit" Y/N mumbled to himself. "Maybe I should've listened to you" he said towards Mary.

"What we got here? Two stranglers walkin' in our turf, huh?" one thug talked with a New York accent.

"Mary... When I say run, you run" he whispered to her.

"What?!" she whispered back to him, completely took aback by his suggestion.

"Just do it, okay? I can take these guys on".

"When they have guns and shoot at you?" she pointed out with her observation, the two thugs had sidearms on them, one aiming toward them and the other, his hand reaching the inside of his jacket where his concealed firearm was.

"Shit" he whispered again.

"So, pretty girl. Give us the purse, see what ya got" the thug who originally spoke walked forward, closer to them while backing the young couple in the corner.

"If you want to get to her, you'll have to get through me!" Y/N bravely defended her, opting to shield her like a real gentleman, as the thugs laughed at his eagerness to defend his girl.

"We got guns, pointed at you, you ain't some superpowered being".

"Ha!" Mary scoffed loudly. "Ironic" she then said with a sarcastic tone, while the boys looked at her in confusion.

"Enough talk, lady! Now give us-"

"I am a superpowered being" Mary then said loudly to them and to her boyfriend.

The thugs laughed at her, thinking her delusional, an idiot even, much to Y/N's displeasure of hearing them insult her.

"No seriously, let me show you" she was dead serious, walking past her boyfriend and out in front of all of them.

"Mary, what are you...!" Y/N immediately stopped himself from talking, originally he was going to plead her to not do something stupid like he was about to do, which was getting herself killed.

But the moment he saw a glint in her eye, like an electric beam phasing across her beautiful chocolate brown eyes... He saw it.

He saw what she meant and his eyes widened...

"You're -".

"SHAZAM!!!" with a shout out to the sky, and the magic word, a bolt of yellow lightning came crashing down onto Mary's body, blinding the thugs and Y/N for a brief moment with smoke covering where she was...

And when the smoke cleared...

Mary was wearing something different, clad in a white and gold outlined cape, connected to a clasp that was just over her left corner of where the lightning bold was on her chest, dressed in a red long-sleeved top and skirt with a gold outline on the basis of her skirt and red shorts underneath. A gold belt over her skirt and gold braces over her arms. And to top it off... Gold boots.

She transformed into Mary Marvel!

"Alright boys, times up" Mary quipped while striking a superhero pose, before she zoomed her way up to the thug on Y/N's right and punched him once, sending him flying onto a dumpster down the alleyway as his friend watched in horror.

The thug couldn't even believe it... The boy he was about to rob was hanging out with Mary Marvel?! It seemed he didn't even know it was her.

"Oh, that's gonna hurt for an entire week" Y/N felt a little bad for the thug his now superhero girlfriend knocked across the alleyway, tumbling down from the closed dumpster and onto the concrete floor, groaning in pain.

Then, Mary zoomed near to the thug who was about to fire at her boyfriend, using herself to shield Y/N from getting shot with the bullets bouncing off her as she stood heroically.

"Did anyone tell you, no guns in my city?" she scolded the thug, zoomed up to him in a whoosh, her cape billowing behind her like her dashing hair, flicking away the last remaining thug into a nearby wall with her finger, knocking them out.

"That. Was... Amazing!" Y/N praised her girlfriend's efforts as she turned around with an all-around, guilty look on her face while she began walking up to him. "You look... Marvelous" he laughed at his own joke, making her smile and cringe a little.

"That was... Bad, but in a good way" she replied, before sweeping him off his feet and into her arms, before the wind began to get a little stronger.

It was then he noticed Mary was taking flight up into the air, while carrying him, her hair, skirt and cape billowing in the wind as she began to fly in the sky, above the city foremost with a look like she had been caught trying to open the cookie jar when she wasn't supposed to.

She failed to notice how optimistic her boyfriend looked currently, he had just witnessed his girlfriend turn into the superhero, Mary Marvel, confirming his little suspicion, and watched her embarrass the thugs that tried to rob the both of them on their weekend date.

"I... I know you probably have a lot of questions" she broke her oath of silence, Y/N seemed lost in thought of being carried by her, she noticed him blushing about it. "And... Whatever questions you have, I can explain... I'm so sorry-".

"Sorry for what? Being a superhero this WHOLE TIME?!!" he said with excitement in his voice, something Mary didn't think how he'd react. "This is mind-blowing! I never thought our relationship would be more magical, but this?" he chuckled very happily, gloating over the fact he was really close to a superhero this whole time. "It's... It's spectacular. I've never felt more safer until now".

Mary couldn't help but smile but a sense of dread came over her, she'd lied to him, when she promised she would never, NEVER EVER, lie to him, she was always genuine with him.

"The thing is Y/N - I lied to you" her smile faded, replaced with a saddened expression, much to Y/N's displeasure of seeing her unhappy. "I lied to protect you, when lying can put strain on relationships, I promised I wouldn't lie but... But this-".

"Mary" he placed a hand on her cheek, while his other arm was still wrapped around her neck, her wavy hair in the wind tickled his arm which he liked. "It's okay that you had to keep this from me" he eyed down the part of the lightning bolt on her outfit, which glowed in the shadow of him as she carried him and soared through the air. "I understand the rules of being a superhero, I mean... My mother was one back then".

"R-Really?" she asked with a surprised look.

"Yeah, she was a vigilante back in the 90s, but enough about that" he brushed it to the side for a moment. "I know you had to keep this away from me because you wanted to keep me safe, and that's okay" he rubbed his thumb on her cheek as the white caped brunette superhero with the full powers of Shazam began to smile. "And I gotta say... Dating a superhero is something I didn't expect until I began to suspect of you being a superhero, I know it was a wild thing to think, but when you kept disappearing, Mary Marvel - - you - - would show up to save the day, and I still remember you saving me a month and a half ago as well, I had a feeling that was your voice I heard, nice trying to cover it up by the way" he smirked near the end as Mary rolled her eyes with a groan.

"I thought it worked! Should've known you'd figure it out sooner than later" she grumbled before giggling away. "But of course, you know me very well".

"That I do" he smiled before looking out to the view as Mary Marvel soared through the air. "So this is what flying is like? The view is beautiful" his eyes lit up with pure joy, feeling the breeze hit his face as he was being flown by his girlfriend still.

"I know, I've always wanted to show you this" she exclaimed, Y/N looked back at her and smiled.

"I'm happy you are now" he said, the sky-blue sky around them as he smiled deeply at her with him closing his face in toward hers.

Mary's eyes saw what he was doing, she stopped herself from flying for just a moment to share the view with Y/N like she was originally going to do and met him halfway, closing the gap.

A spark of joy erupted between the two as their lips touched, strong senses of feeling sparking in them while it seemed the world around them just faded in the background, only the wind and the movements of Mary's skirt and cape being picked and blown around in the same wind could be heard.

Their eyes closed, lips softly pressing against each other's, it soon drowned out Mary's butterflies that were in her stomach while a loving sense of spark was sent through her body along with Y/N's as the two shared their first ever lip-to-lip kiss.

And it was at the perfect moment...

Soon the two pulled away, a smack of their lips prominent as all smiles were shared towards one another with their eyes slowly opening.

"I know we're in College still, but I can't imagine my life without you in it, and the fact I'm dating a superhero makes it so much better" Mary's smile turned bright and joyful upon hearing his words. "I really want to build a life with you after College, to one day have our own house, and everything we've ever wanted. The thing I've always wanted... Was to just be with the best and dare I say it, marvelous person I've ever met, who is in fact the most beautiful girl that's ever came into my life, who needed a friend in a time of need".

"Aww, Y/N" Mary puckered her lips. "You're gonna make me cry".

The young man softly laughed at her response, he couldn't help it.

"Mary... I love you" three magical words is all he needed, not the other magic word that could transform one person into a superhero form, or at least... Put a superhero suit on in Mary's case.

She choked up on hearing his three magical words, smiling ever so lovingly as she tried to hold back her tears from earlier. "I... I love you too!" she brought him into second kiss, her lips pressing against his firmly but gently, knowing she was in Shazam form, any wrong slip-up, she could break his nose accidentally... Though she had firmly crashed her lips with his without realizing.

"Ow" he muttered in her lips, prompting her to pull back quickly.

"Oh my heavens, I'm so sorry!" she panicked, her face scrunching up thinking she screwed up.

"Haha, it's okay" he gave her a smile. "I'm okay" his drew his face closer to her again and lightly kissed her back on the lips, continuing it for a brief moment before pulling back. "This is why I love you, you're so sweet".

"I thought I hurt you badly there, forgot we were in the air for a moment there that I thought I wasn't Mary Marvel there for a moment, which you probably know what my powers are" she expressed her worry.

"Lost in the moment type of thing, completely understandable" he reassuringly smiled at her. "Hey, are you gonna fly us back or... Continue flying me around..." he looked at her with a mischievous look. "Mary Marvel" he smirked the next, making her smirk back at him.

"Hmm, well... I've always wanted to take you on a flight, so..." she puckered her lips suggestively, before smiling right at him.

"Then, what are you waiting for? Let's go... My Hero"...

______________________________________________________________

Fin...

Word Count: 4145

#dc comics #male reader #female x male reader #mary marvel x male reader #shazam!#batson #mary bromfield #mary bromfield x male reader #shazam x male reader #dc heroines #dc #dc universe #fluff imagine #dc imagine #dc girls x male reader #mary marvel shazam #mary marvel x reader #mary marvel imagine #mary marvel x male!reader

83 notes · View notes

tuquidflamingo · 15 days ago

Text

Some words about Doffy's goals and motivations (1/??): Imu

So I've seen a lot of nice takes about Doffy's character, his psyque and his motivations. It's really nice to see so much people annalyzing and discussing him, and I would like to share some of my thoughts about it.

My main point is the central importance of Imu in Doffy's goals and motivations, something that is clearly implied in Dressrosa original dialogues but lost in western translations.

This was originally planned as a single post, but as it kept growing, I decided to divide it 😅. The more we learn about World Goverment's story, the more details we can connect to Doffy's role, as he is deeply tied to that plot. Be aware that there will be spoilers from the lastest arcs and even from the anime in general, as some important details were cut.

My first point is the importance of Imu in the lives of the Celestial Dragons, even though most of them probably don't know that Imu is still alive and ruling the world. This influence is reflected in the number 16.

In the manga, we learn about a Celestial Dragon who kills with 16 shots during Doffy's flashback (this dialogue was cut in the anime):

Recently, again in the manga (and sadly not shown this way in the anime), the Kingdom of Lulusia was erased by Imu's divine order, using the Mother Flame to fire exactly 16 beams:

According to Artur from Library of Ohara, that the number 16 can be read in japanese as I-MU. And do you remember the name of Doffy's main attack, his most powerful execution method?

So Celestial Dragons, including Doffy, kill in the name of the King of the World, even if most of them are unaware of Imu's current existence, let alone their immortality. This connects to Imu's role in the World Government's triumph 800 years ago, but without more details about those events, we can't delvelop deeper into this matter.

But Doffy is not like other Celestial Dragons, not just because he was rejected, but because he knows that Imu exists; that they rule the world from the shadows; and that their immortality is tied to the Ope Ope no Mi (this is also why the World Government wanted Doffy dead ever since he was a child).

This fact might be obscure in the west because some information was lost in translation and has never been corrected. The thing is, during Dressrosa, Doffy talks about something important hidden in Marie Geois:

The translations, lacking context and having to deal with the complexity of the wordplay in japanese, chose the word "treasure" to describe what is hidden. But, again according to Artur, the original term can also mean "someone of importance", which completely changes the interpretation (and japanese fans had their first direct reference to Imu years before western readers).

In the following page, Doffy talks about using Marie Geois' "treasure" to seize control of the world. But if we reinterpret the meaning, he refers to stealing power from the person (Imu) who currently holds it:

It's interesting that the Ope Ope fruit plays a key role here. This was recently confirmed by Ivankov, but in Dressrosa Doffy we already give us clues: Imu's immortality comes from the fruit's ultimate ability, the Perennial Youth Surgery. Doffy probably knows (or deduced) that someone used this ability to grant Imu eternal life, and he planned to have the operation performed on himself to gain power (alternatively, he might have considered switching bodies with Imu).

This surgery doesn't make one invincible; it simply stops aging. However, Doffy has worked for years on methods to recover from serious injuries, as shown during his battles with Law and later Luffy. During these fights, he is obsessed with protecting his head, knowing that losing consciousness would make it impossible to "repair" himself.

So Doffy's ultimate goal is to usurp Imu's position and rule the world. This can be seen as a form of a "god complex," which includes destroying the World Government and the Celestial Dragons. For Doffy, the current status quo failed him catastrophically, and he is determined to completely dismantle it:

Doffy's core motivation is power: he needs power to achieve his goals and has worked meticulously for years to accumulate it. Even in defeat, he has managed to maintain a win-win position. But this, along with his position in the underground world, is the topic for the next post.

Before finishing, I want to mention that destroying the current status quo is also the main motivation of the D's. In one way or another, all the D's seek power (not just physical strength, but also knowledge, influence, or the ability to protect others) to change the world and achieve freedom. This being Doffy's defining trait as a character has led me to consider that he might also be a "D." There are many other facts supporting this theory (an amazing amount tbh), but this also is a subject for another post.

Sooo what do you think???? 👀

#doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo #meta #my thoughts #I'm honestly amazed I could write a big text #I'm not good at writing even in spanish #and this post already had took me days to finish it

48 notes · View notes

melefim · 7 months ago

Text

Swearing in Dead Boy Detectives: Episode 1- The Case of Crystal Palace

Episode Overview:

29 total, 12 different words said by 9 characters.

Edwin: 1 Fuck, 1 Damn, 1 Bloody Hell

Charles: 1 Fuck, 1 Shit, 1 Bastard, 1 Piss

Crystal: 2 Fuck, 2 Shit, 1 Ass, 4 God, 3 Jesus, 2 Screw

Jenny: 1 Shit, 1 Jesus

David: 2 Fuck

Esther: 1 Jesus

Tabby: 1 Fuck

Emma: 1 Twat

Simon: 1 Prat

Curses Per Character:

Edwin: 3

Charles: 4

Crystal: 14

Jenny: 2

David: 2

Esther: 1

Tabby Cat: 1

Emma: 1

Simon: 1

Uses Per Word:

Fuck: 7

Shit: 4

Ass: 1

Damn: 1

Bloody Hell: 1

God: 4

Jesus: 5

Twat: 1

Bastard: 1

Prat: 1

Piss: 1

Screw: 2

Lines:

Edwin: Bloody Hell! (when running from the gas mask ghost on the street)

Charles: Edwin, hurry the fuck up!

Emma: Fine you twats. How much?

David: I'll fucking gut you! (x2 while possessing Crystal)

Crystal: Oh my god, why can’t I remember?

Crystal: It's just a stupid fucking name.

Edwin: I'll jot that down in my journal of opinions I do not give a damn about.

Crystal: Jesus, where did he go?

Charles: Piss off, cat.

Tabby Cat: Fuck you. I'm not telling you nothing about that house or the witch inside

Crystal: Oh, Jesus. I'm gonna wait in the bathroom until they leave.

Crystal: Holy shit, did you take some of my memories? I don’t have some screwed-up amnesia, you took them.

Crystal: God! I just need a second, okay?

Crystal: So maybe he's our fucking demon now!

Simon: Give this little prat a proper scare.

Crystal: God, I just want to take their heads and just crush them together, I am so mad!

Jenny: Maybe you catch someone on a good day and they care about you for like a minute, and then they go right back to caring about all their own bullshit.

Crystal: Jesus, I am such an idiot.

Crystal: Oh my god, I never even thought about the fact that they could still be alive.

Edwin: Police don't know what to do with a fucking witch!

Charles: The little bastards are pretty clever, and their scratches sting like fire.

Jenny: Jesus! I thought you were like a meat robber!

Crystal: Which was totally my bad and very screwed up and I should have told you everything.

Crystal: Holy shit. (Edwin tells her about girl turned into small piece of plastic)

Charles: Look Edwin, you're the smart one, and I'm the one who does shit like this.

Esther: Monty! Jesus! I'm trying to threaten some kids!

Crystal: He's still a stalker, still an asshole. But I am going to get my memories back.

Notes:

Both of David’s “I’ll fucking gut you”s are said while possessing Crystal during the subway fight. These were counted under David’s total, and not Crystal’s.

Not Included:

Crystal flips off Edwin in the malt shop

Not a curse, but…

A “Mary Ann” was slang for “an effeminate male homosexual; a young boy used as a catamite in prison.”

Edwin is called this 8 times during his sacrifice: three times by Simon, and then it is chanted an additional five times by all the boys.

Is this a curse? I dunno, I’m not British:

Charles: “Piss off, cat”

Simon: “Give this little prat a proper scare”

UPDATED:

-Updated to include the two British curses above (thanks @cheriebryantsart!) , ‘screw’, and an ‘oh my god’ from Crystal I missed- all charts and text should now be updated and accurate!

- Replaced ‘Uses Per Word’ chart with a version with better labels.

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

More Dead Boy Detectives Swearing Posts:

Masterlist

Swearing by episode

Swearing by character

Swearing by word

All Swearing posts

And if you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detective ones here!

When Charles’ Shirt Colors Change

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Full soundtrack with timestamps

Moves, Incidents, and Cases Masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detectives swearing #dead boy detective agency #the case of crystal palace #edwin payne #charles rowland #crystal palace #jenny green #david the demon #esther finch #dbda swearing #dbda #dbda netflix #compiled by me #swearing by episode #Dbdshow

82 notes · View notes

maxwell-grant · 18 days ago

Text

I managed to finally read The Chimera Brigade and it's given far, FAR more to talk about than I ever expected, and much like last time with Mina Murray and my LOEG breakdown, I'm devoting a separate post to a specific character that gives me far too much to talk about to include in the main write-up. The character in question is a French pulp hero I've covered some years ago by the name of Leo Saint-Clair a.k.a The Nyctalope - here presented as the "protector of Paris", entrusted by Marie Curie herself to watch over the city, and just about detested by everyone who has to interact with him on a daily basis, with the feeling very much reciprocated. He is a profoundly funny character, one of the smartest and most purposeful usages of a classic pulp character I've ever read, and one of greatest, most incisive takes on a pulp hero I've ever seen.

The official English translation of the comic calls him "The Eye", because despite being from 1911 and not having seen any kind of continuous publication since his author was disgraced for becoming a Nazi collaborator, apparently there are Nyctalope rights holders from Jean de La Hire's family who forced them to change the names for this comic and to alter it for all releases of the prequel series Lehman and Gess did, which is a hilariously obscene and yet fitting note to start this on - the very idea of Nyctalope rights holders invested in the sanctity of their hero, which is very funny considering that, within the story of The Chimera Brigade, the Nyctalope is driven in no small part by the fact that his legacy was entirely penned by hack pulp writers, and he desperately wants to correct that so he can take his place next to the greats that he claims he used to be on equal level with. It's an extension of the all-consuming insecurity that completely defines him and makes him such a pathetic, funny, and ultimately compelling character to watch, regardless of how much context you have for who The Nyctalope is.

Saint-Clair, as his alias indicated, has the ability to see in the dark after an injury. He has an artificial heart. He leads a crimefighting organization, the CID.

His decline is all the more pitiful: after traveling through time, rediscovering Atlantis and exploring an errant planet called Rhea, Saint-Clair becomes a collaborator in a 1944 tale called Night of the Nyctalope.

Even as an outcast, he remains a major figure in the French imagination, the missing link between the "gentlemen crimefighters" of the end of the 19th century and the modern adventurers of whom Bob Morane is emblematic.

He is painfully aware that, next to the likes of Lupin and Fantomas and Holmes, he is an insignificant nobody, that history will simply not remember The Nyctalope the same way it did them, and he has no idea why. We can certainly understand easy enough why he is generally despised by the other characters: he's a weasel, he's a cop, he's vindictive and petty, he's a reactionary, he's uncomfortable to be around, he's rude and snooty and demanding, he's self-obsessed, he's a piece of shit, he's unlikable, and we eventually learn he failed his most important promise on the most profound level possible and has only aggravated the problem ever since. And he is aware of all of that, and none of that, in his view, should have any kind of bearing on his record. Up until the finale of this, he had brushed off his failure to protect Spain from fascism, the dying promise that Curie entrusted to him above all else, as a quirk or flaw on the record, comparable to Holmes' cocaine addiction. None of these flaws explain to him why is it that he is not on the level of Lupin and Fantomas, despite having known them and been, theoretically, on their level. He has no context for his own existence.

He doesn't know how profoundly the world is gonna forget him. He doesn't know he's the last of a kind already on their way to extinction. He doesn't know what Jean de La Hire is gonna do in 1940. He doesn't know that whatever legacy he could have as a proto-superhero is gonna be tainted to shit because his author was a hack who sold out to the Nazis and fled town for it. He just knows that there is a Canon, and he is not a part of it, and this fact is killing him and blinding him to everything that doesn't revolve around his attempts to secure a legacy for himself.

The streets of Paris are adorned with big signs of him as it's protector, he is invited to political conferences as an international player of note, and Marie Curie, whose discovery of radium and whose scientific institute defines the backstory of the entire setting, entrusted him to protect the city, a huge unthinkable honor that her own children are baffled by, and none of this truly matters to The Nyctalope, because it's not enough. He holds a position of authority and power, but he is far less concerned with the impending war and bloodshed than he is at what's going to happen to his own legacy. Best exemplified by a particularly funny sequence in Issue 4, where he attends a Soviet conference and and learns firsthand about the alliance/treason kicking off the war that's gonna ruin all their diplomatic efforts so far, and his immediate concern is "what about the Eisenstein biopic I was promised??".

A single hour of darkness, and the vampires will tear the city apart.

What is Saint-Clair waiting for?

The first deaths. The public will crucify us, all he'll have to do is name the place. Well played.

It's in large part this obsession with legacy and imagery that makes him such an unpleasant person. The Curies even state in Issue 3 that the Nyctalope is willing to let the Chimera Brigade fail publicly and let casualties occur if it means he can take greater credit for fixing a problem they failed to contain, and eventually you can even see why he is so obsessed with the public perception: all of his victories and achievements have been hidden. Defeating and killing the secret ruler of the world, protecting the city from the shadows or up top in his airships, keeping dangerous beings hidden in his cave, none of that gets the public applause the Chimera Brigade got for stopping that alien frog.

If he'd kept up his promise to Curie and saved Spain, no one would have seen it happen. He says as much in the last issue that even now, to him, Mabuse is nothing, no more of a threat than Cagliostro, and certainly not as big of a priority as those dirty communists at the Curie Institute he will publicly deal with first. If you stop the threats before anyone sees you do it, they might as well not have existed, and he can't afford that anymore. He needs to have something to show for it all, he needs to have a victory that matters, he needs to belong in The Canon, and he has no way of understanding why he doesn't already.

I've said before, on my old post about the Nyctalope, that he is inherently emblematic of failure in a way that I find very interesting in so far as what it can say about the genre he's part of. How, disturbing origin and weird sci-fi adventures and design aside, he really was essentially a fairly clean-cut superheroic do-gooder. A Superman, a Captain America, indistinguishable from any other idealized patriotic do-gooder, and how none of that changed when his author sold out to the Vichy government. How just that single turn exposes how contextual and finnicky the entire premise of a pulp hero/superhero is, and how what happened to the Nyctalope could have befallen any number of other characters within the medium.

The Chimera Brigade's take on Nyctalope isn't even really about that historical fact surrounding him, although it is very much cognizant of this fact - it is more so about the failure state he represents and lives in. He stands for France, and thus stands for the failure of France in the pre-war era, the failure to do anything against it's fascist neighbors, the failure to assist in containing the threat of Nazism until it was far too late, the obsession with legacy and preservation of image coming at the cost of human lives. The failures of the Nyctalope are the failures of France, and he is a perfect character to stand in for failure. He is the perfect character to do this kind of thing with.

Significant and recognizable enough that he matters, not too significant or recognizable enough to not be irrelevant. A guy who was a perfectly ordinary pulp hero, if not for these strange proto-superhero quirks and that inescapable shame of his creator. He is part of the Canon, but he doesn't define the Canon, and the Canon will not wait for him to join it. He is just one of many pulp heroes, significant as a missing link between the ones that actually matter, and nothing more. Self-proclaiming as the last of the greats, instead of just being one of the greats or the next step of the greats - of course he wants to be the last of the great Gentlemen Vigilantes so that no others can come after him and overshadow him - ultimately a historical curiosity rather than a true step in the genre.

There is indeed real pity, even sympathy, for this contemptible schlub. There is an acknowledgment that his past deeds indeed mattered, and that it's his failure to move past them and grapple with his true present obligations that damns him more so than anything else. A lesser story absolutely would have cared about giving this guy some due, some respect or acknowledgment, but The Chimera Brigade is unflinching and the Nyctalope is not spared. He is laid out in clear terms as a colossal fuck-up loser too obsessed with his own myth to be of any help, and why would he be depicted otherwise? What does it actually mean to be The Nyctalope? What does he want to be remembered for? What does he HAVE to be remembered for?

For his great past deeds that nobody really saw? For his great magnetic personality? For the promise that he never kept, for the city that he doesn't protect, for the country he's failed, for the allies he's pushed away and the enemies he enables? For all these great adventures and accomplishments boiled down to nothing anyone really cares about, penned in cheap disposable pulp magazines? He desperately wants you to overlook everything else that surrounds him and listen to his assertions that he is one of The Guys, because his legend doesn't speak for itself, so he has to babble for it instead. And that's the note he ends on - finally realizing that there truly is nothing left for him, and that he failed on the most profound level possible. That even his tragic realization of failure is accompanied by a hilariously pathetic reveal - that all this time, in his most private quarters, he has all of his supposed "peers" framed in posters looming above him, and he was waiting to put himself next to them.

Holmes, Lupin, Fantomas, they were seismic shifts, they were major notable steps in their genre, they changed the world as a result of them, they were The Guys - and The Nyctalope wasn't. He was noteworthy, respectable, but just that, and he couldn't deal with that - that his legend will fade instead of endure. Ultimately, all he wanted was a spot on the wall next to them, and he's at last acknowledging that not only he will never have it, but that he never deserved it.

Whether you knew all this context about him or not going into this story, all along, deep down he knew the same thing that you did.

#pulp heroes #the chimera brigade #nyctalope #comic books #pulp fiction #le nyctalope #leo saint-claire #serge lehman #gess

28 notes · View notes

tossawary · 10 months ago

Text

When writing both original fiction and fanfiction, it's my personal preference and style to remind people who characters are in the narration when I feel it might be needed. It's especially handy when bringing OCs into a fanfiction. Example: "The person calling out to them was [Character's Name Here], the baker they had met earlier that morning." This quirk of narration often reads to me as the POV character internally reminding themselves who someone is.

Sometimes, a character is quite bad with names or wasn't given one, which is where it's handy to refer to this other character by a fixed epithet. Example: "The person calling out to them was the square-faced man from yesterday, who had given them those bad directions." OR: "The person calling out to them was the mayor's daughter." This reads to me as though the POV character is distinguishing people by a particular feature or remembers them by their relationship to someone else, which is a common way to remember people, until their own name becomes more fixed in your mind.

I also think it's important to keep an epithet / title the same across a scene. Epithets are best used, in my opinion, when that particular feature or quality is actually relevant. It's a little weird for a POV character to suddenly think of their own husband as "the tall man" unless his height is suddenly important in some way, and it might confuse the audience into thinking another person is in the room. If a character doesn't have a name, then "the square-faced man" or "the mayor's daughter" effectively becomes their name, and it's confusing to have a character's name change too much with every other paragraph. (It would be fine to also refer to "the mayor's daughter" as "the girl" or "the young woman" as long as there aren't any other nameless girls speaking in the scene.) Keeping the same title allows it to blend in in the same way that the word "said" does, rather than break up the flow of a scene.

Not every person or character is bad with names and remembering people, of course, or is inclined to give them funny little internal titles. There are people who are very good at names. There are tricks to use to get yourself to memorize names as you're introduced to someone. Narrative styles are going to be different by author and by the current POV character. (Sometimes, you might want the audience to be confused and disoriented!)

In fact, thinking about how different characters think about each other is one of my favorite starting places for crafting a perspective voice. A single character might be referred to in the narration as "His Majesty" by one character, "my husband" by another character, "the king" by a third character, "the usurper" by a fourth character, and "Dad" by a fifth. The name that a character calls someone else by will often say a lot about their relationship and their opinion of that other person. If the prince appears to think of his father as "the king" rather than "Father", that implies something about their relationship.

But back to introducing character names, you as an author, in my experience as a writer and reader, generally can't rely on the audience to easily recall very minor character names unless they're very distinct or the character was introduced in a particularly memorable way. Like, if you introduce a character as the protagonist's best friend, Mary, and immediately start refering to her as Mary because it's followed by a conversation between the protagonist and Mary, that's fair! It's reasonable to expect the audience to just learn Mary's name here! But then if Mary disappears after Chapter 1 and doesn't show up again until Chapter 10, I think it's reasonable to subtly reintroduce her to the audience again. Example: "It was Mary smiling at me from the doorway, and I jumped up to hug my best friend immediately."

Like, there's no one way that you have to refer to characters and introduce them and reintroduce them, of course. Characters have different levels of importance and sometimes we don't really need to know who they are. Sometimes, an author wants an audience to feel grounded, to recognize people, and sometimes they want their audience to feel lost and scared. It's all situational. Style is a thing.

But because it's all situational, this is something I like thinking about and I think it's something worth studying when you're reading original fiction. It's interesting to pay attention to how characters enter and exit scenes in different forms of media, and how the narrator introduces them and how other characters greet them aloud. (Shakespeare comes to mind as a neat thing to look at, to see how theatre does it. Comic books and films and visual media will do it differently to a text-only story.) The audience doesn't have the background that you, the author, carry around in your head all of the time, and you often need to give them a helping hand in keeping your cast of characters straight. Even in fanfiction, without including OCs, not everyone in the audience has the whole canonical cast perfectively memorized, and not every character in any given cast actually knows every other character! It's not just OCs who need introductions, whether those introductions happen subtly or a character enters the story with a bang.

Kind of another side note:

One of my favorite character introductions comes from the book "The Princess Bride", in which Princess Buttercup is kidnapped by three men who are referred to only as "the Spaniard", "the Turk", and "the Sicilian". You don't know their names for quite some time. Buttercup doesn't know these people.

You only learn the Spaniard's name when the Sicilian leaves him at the top of a cliff, tasking him the Spaniard fighting and killing "the Man in Black" who is pursuing their kidnapping. When the Spaniard is about to fight someone to the death, the book pauses to tell you that his name is Inigo Montoya, and then there is an ENTIRE CHAPTER dedicated to Inigo Montoya's long and tragic backstory, in which you learn about his decades-long quest to find the six-fingered man who murdered his father. And then the book abruptly dumps you the audience back out onto that cliff, where Inigo (no longer just "the Spaniard" and no longer just some random kidnapping thug) is about to fight for his life.

I think it's a terribly fun piece of whiplash that suits the comedic style of the book really well. (The book is a little different to the movie and there are things about it that I don't like, the movie gets across a level of a sincerity and love through the acting that the book misses in places, but there are lots of really funny elements to the book that the movie sadly couldn't cover.) The transformation from "the Spaniard" into "Inigo Montoya" is really neat to me.

#tossawary fandom #tossawary reading #long post #tossawary tpb

138 notes · View notes