#super good emotionally gripping start which turns into wasted potential

[mrlowell]

I cannot believe how disappoing FFVIIIs writing gets after disk 1/2. The game started off so so so strong (We don't talk about Quistis' love confession, yikes), but after the Balamb gang background revelation and the Gardens clash, all side characters (save the dream trio) become irrelevant and have almost zero character arc whatsoever. Squall turns from an interesting character who I wanted to learn more about to "I need to save Rinoa I'll kill you if you touch Rinoa I'll do anything for Rinoa" - this is literally 90% of his dialogue for many hours of gameplay. Now every time he speaks it's super annyoing because guess what? He doesn't care about ANYTHING but Rinoa. And Rinoa herself? After having a really cool exposition she just turns into...nothing really. Did anyone else feel like this playing it too?

[takerfoxx]

She Ra and the Power of Redemption!

A’ight, so, She-Ra’s coming back in a few days for their final season. Obviously I am SUPER excited about it, but before it drops, I need to get something I’m kind of worried about off my chest.

See, I’ve talked before about my big pet peeve in fiction, in which good or at least sympathetic characters do really bad things and don’t suffer appropriate consequences, sometimes because the writer just doesn’t understand the weight of what happened and wanted to rush a redemption arc or maybe get a little dirt on their heroes without really considering the implications or wanted to do something shocking and was clumsy and/or lazy about or even felt that they were justified even when they clearly weren’t. It’s even killed a few onetime favorite series of mine.

And I see the potential for She-Ra to make that same mistake here. And I think anyone who’s seen the show and has interacted with the fandom knows what I’m talking about.

I’m talking of course about Catra and Hordak’s potential redemption arcs.

Catra’s redemption is topic number one with the fans, because everyone wants to see it, but most people want to see it done right. The Catradora thing is the fuel on which the fandom runs, and I know quite a few people that would pop dem bottles if it were to become canon. And I totally get it: Catra is a magnificently written character, one who is super compelling, complex, and sympathetic, and her dynamic with Adora is just dripping with all sorts of tension. It’s the best friends to lovers AND enemies to lovers in the same package. Who wouldn’t want to see it?

Except, there is a problem...

See, one thing I have highly praised this show for is how, despite being a show targeted toward little girls, it paints a very realistic picture of abusive relationships and handles the subject with all the seriousness it deserves, from how they’re formed to how they continue to how the cycle goes from abuser to victim to next victim to so on. Horde Prime abused Hordak, Hordak abused Shadow Weaver, Shadow Weaver abused Catra and Adora, Adora broke free while Catra did not, Catra then abused Scorpia, Entrapta, Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio, you get the picture. And they show it so wonderfully, in all of its forms.

But that leads us to that problem, and that is despite definitely being a victim of abuse, and despite all of her sympathetic qualities, Catra is still a terrible person! She became as much an abuser as Shadow Weaver, with how awfully she treated Scorpia, with backstabbing Entrapta and manipulating Hordak, with bullying her subordinates, to everything she’s done to Adora and all the lives she ruined from her exploits as Hordak’s second in command. She masterminded the destruction of Salineas, sent Entrapta off to die, treated the only person who has given her unconditional love like shit. Her damage and insecurities have driven her to worse and worse behavior, up and to including almost destroying the fucking world just so Adora couldn’t win again! TWICE!

Basically, after handling the abuse themes so well, it would really, really suck for her to just be taken back and forgiven like nothing had happened or only minor consequences after she inevitably switched sides, because that carries the message, however unintentional, that abuse victims should forgive and take back their abusers, that it’s up to them to be the bigger person and invite those who hurt them back into their lives, which history has only shown will just restart the cycle all over again.

However, all of that does not mean I don’t think Catra is beyond hope, or that she shouldn’t be redeemed at all. She is absolutely a victim of all the terrible treatment Shadow Weaver and Hordak put her through since childhood, be it physical, mental, or emotional, and I am NOT about to hold an emotionally traumatized teenager to the same standards I would hold those more fortunate. Plus, we’ve seen how much her actions haunt her, from her nightmares about Entrapta to her psychological breakdowns to everything Double Trouble exposed about her. And I do truly want what’s best for her.

So how should the show go about it? Well, I think my half-joking wishlist from earlier just about covered it: after switching sides and helping the Alliance ward off the Horde, Catra should leave. Whether or not she makes amends with Adora, whether or not she’s forgiven, Catra needs to leave those she’s hurt and go somewhere else to start over, to separate herself from those she has so many insecurities about and work on bettering herself. Because after everything she’s done, she really does need to put in a lot of work in order to properly fix herself before she can even think of reforging relationships with Adora or Scorpia or Entrapta. 

And honestly, I still think the Crimson Waste is perfect for her. She thrived while down there. And it does seem like it’s been set up specifically for her. And then...maybe a few years down the line, after she’s come to grips with herself...well, we’ll see.

Now, as for Hordak...

Look, I like the guy, I honestly do. His relationship with Entrapta gave me life, seeing how he was literally grown in a vat to be Space Hitler Jr., it’s no wonder that he turned out like he did. 

Buuuuut...he’s still a murderous despot with buckets of blood on his hands. I’m sorry, but he can’t have a switch sides, now it’s all good happy ending. He just can’t. 

Fortunately, even though he was far worse, his possible redemption has an easier solution. You know how Horde Prime restored him to factory settings, wiping his mind and sending him off to be processed or whatever?

What if he stays that way? What if he never gets his memories back? What if Hordak, the evil conquering dictator that ruined so many lives, just stays gone? But the newly wiped Hordak, upon encountering Entrapta, is able to recall just enough to know that he cares for her, prompting him to break free from Horde Prime’s control for her sake? Call it the Kubo and the Two Strings solution.

As for Shadow Weaver...no. Just no. She has no redeeming qualities at all. Everything bad that ever happened to her are a direct result of her own actions, she doesn’t have the brainwashed/designed that way excuse that Catra and Hordak have, she’s never done a single decent thing since becoming Shadow Weaver, and even after switching sides has continued to manipulate Glimmer and gaslight Adora. No redemption for her. And since Noelle has said that she hates killing off characters, I don’t see her getting killed either.

So just swap her for Angella. Send her to the other dimension and get our girl back.

And as for Entrapta and Double Trouble...dude, I don’t even know. Like, they also did bad things, but they’re kind of in their own weird moral worlds, and I don’t want to let them off the hook but also can’t fathom how that would even work...

You know what? They’re the weird exceptions that prove the rule, I guess.

(also note that even if they botch this, it probably won’t kill the show for me, as it’s still a kid’s show and it has built up a ton of good will, so my overall feelings will still be very positive, I’d just be bummed that they dropped the ball in this one, albeit very important, area)

[bennyboyjones]

The Getaway (Ben Hardy Fanfic) Chapter Three

A/N: Hi! So, here is chapter 3 to my Ben Hardy AU Fanfic! There are currently several chapters written, which you can find on Wattpad, but I’ve decided to also upload it here as well. It might be a bit behind, but you’ll still get all the chaps eventually.

What it is: basically, a girl from a small town who is bored of her life decides to take a trip to Nice where she runs into ben, who is also running away from some shit and some romance ensues.

Word count: 3.9k

in this chapter: FLIRTING AND MAYBE A DATE?

WATTPAD LINK IF YOU WANT TO READ AHEAD

Spotify playlist

In case you missed it: MASTERLIST

here we go:

day three

I woke up thinking about him, the same way I had yesterday. I had a feeling it would last all day and I would spend every moment looking for his face or the back of his head because that’s what had consumed me the day before. The difference was that today I would actually call him.

Yesterday would’ve been too soon and I was afraid of looking too eager or desperate. I was so out of practice when it came to meeting someone new that I didn’t really know what the proper etiquette was or how long was too long or too short when you’re expected to call someone. I had managed to talk myself out of basing my decision off late 90s and early 2000s rom-coms because the three day rule seemed way too long as I was already slightly impatient to talk to him again; and I was worried that if I waited too long he could potentially meet someone else or take my lack of eagerness as a sign I wasn’t into him—which could’ve been potentially devastating.

I also spent yesterday trying to grip back onto my sanity. I spent my day at the beach, laying on the rocks, trying to get some sort of tan and attempting to convince myself that I wasn’t that into Ben. Rationally, I couldn’t be; I had met him once, talked to him once, and that was under the influence of alcohol. I had been with a guy for years and didn’t remember feeling like this, which made me really think about what I was doing with Liam for so long when I could’ve been feeling like this with someone else.

I called my mom that afternoon and expressed all of this to her; I told her that I thought I really liked him, which was insanity because I didn’t even know him, how I felt like a hormonal fourteen-year-old who was experiencing a crush for the first time and slightly desperate.

“You’re not desperate, honey,” she assured me, “you’ve just been stuck with dead weight for far too long. This is the first romantic experience you’ve had in a long time.”

I sighed, knowing she was right. There had been nothing romantic about my relationship with Liam, at least not for the past year and a half. It was kind of sad, now that I looked back on it. Even the sex was slightly platonic and I couldn’t believe I had let it go on for so long. “When should I call him?”

“Tomorrow. He’ll have gone a whole day thinking about you, wondering if you’re going to call. It’s good to leave them hanging for a bit.”

So I took her advice and waited until today. My plan was to call right after I woke up, that way there were plenty of opportunities for us to meet up: breakfast, a day at the beach, a walk, lunch, dinner.

I pulled my phone off the charger and dialed the super long number—I assumed it was a U.K number because there were way too many digits for it to be American and I couldn’t see the point in him getting a French number for only a few weeks.

I clutched it close to my ear and waited for it to ring, but it didn’t. Instead, there were several loud beeping noises and an automated voice telling me that this number was out of service. I felt my heart plummet into the pit of my stomach as the embarrassment flooded my cheeks.

He gave me a fake number, an out of service number. I sat on the edge of my bed with both my phone and the piece of paper in my hands, my eyes moving between the two. A fake number. I was so into this guy, with his charming smile and gorgeous eyes and great laugh and he, apparently, wasn’t into me at all. Did I read the whole situation wrong? I couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea that he would buy me a glass and then ask me to have a drink and then went so far as to settle for a coffee and talk to me for almost an hour, all without being the least bit interested in me. It made no sense.

I tried the number again, this time being super careful about punching in the numbers, making sure I didn’t miss one. Again, the same voice told me the number was out of service. Well, that was tragically disappointing.

As much as I didn’t want it to, the disappointment had ruined my mood. I no longer wanted to explore or sit in the sun or even stuff my face with pastries. All I wanted to do was wallow and, in my favor, it was raining. I could’ve just thrown on a rain jacket or grabbed an umbrella and still have done something fun today, but I didn’t. Instead, I stayed in my oversized QUEEN t-shirt I had worn to bed, made a coffee and sat on the floor in front of doors to the balcony and watched the rain.

I felt slightly melodramatic; this wasn’t some huge heartbreak. I even felt a little guilty for feeling this let down over a guy I didn’t even know when I barely mourned the final ending of a two and a half year relationship.

Despite the guilt, I found myself wondering what Ben could be doing, if he felt bad about giving me a fake number, if he had thought about me at all. I perked up when I realized there was a possibility that hadn’t crossed my mind: he made a mistake. He could’ve written the wrong number down; some people have two phones, I rationalized. They often have one for work and one for personal use. Maybe he gave me his work phone by accident! Then it would make sense why it was out of service because he doesn’t work there anymore and therefore would no longer need the phone or the number. I wondered if he realized his mistake and if he was disappointed that I couldn’t call him or if he was hoping to run into me again to make it right.

I knew that even the joy this new theory brought me was overdramatic; I was being so silly, acting as if I had never liked a guy before, as if this was the first person to ever take interest in me—like a complete amateur, pining over a guy who probably didn’t even really care about my existence, but if felt good. It was fun to be this emotional and it was something I hadn’t done in years. Well, I did it a little in London when I had small crushes on cute boys I had met at pubs but I never let myself fall into a feelings hole this deep; I was still technically in a relationship and refused to cross the line physically or emotionally. But now, there was no line to cross and I was free to feel as dramatically as I pleased.

I thought about going out and looking for him but quickly shot my own idea down because searching for him meant aimlessly walking around for hours with no real idea of where he could be. It would have been a major waste of my time, but so was sitting on the floor watching water fall from the sky.

I got ready in a rush; threw on a ‘The 1975’ tee, black jeans and my clear raincoat, didn’t bother with any makeup and left my hair in their natural waves, tucking my bangs behind my ears since they weren’t styled. I threw on my white sneakers, grabbed my umbrella and shoved my wallet into my back pocket before leaving the warmth of the AirBnB.

I wasn’t going to look for him. I was going cafe-hopping since there was nothing better to do on a day as miserable as this. I was going to fill myself to the brim with caffeine and pastries and if I just so happened to run into Ben then so be it (and if I didn’t, I was sure I’d have to find a way to derail another melodramatic sit down but I’d worry about that later).

It was five cafés later and so far, I had no luck. My hands were already shaking from caffeine overload when I settled into a chair at Brassiere L’Olympia. It was small, on the corner a  block or two from where I was staying. It had a deep red awning with gold trim, a pale yellow front and a large gold doorknob that my hand barely fit around. There was no one else inside and upon my entering, the woman behind the counter called, “No food, only coffee.” I nodded and took a seat all the way at the back of the beige room, right next to the windows that looked out on the street. It was almost evening and the rain was still coming down hard.

I decided this would be my last stop before swinging back to the apartment to grab the two reusable bags I bought and heading to one of the grocery stores. I still hadn’t bought any snacks or foods I could pack for the days I spent at the beach and for the past two nights I suffered at the hands of my midnight snack withdrawals.

I ordered a noisette like I had at the last five spots, feeling myself become slightly nauseous at the idea of downing another but it was only €2.50 and I was fully committed to the cause, despite my growing disappointment. I hadn’t seen Ben, or anyone who had looked like him the entire day and I finally let the hope slip out of me and settled on the idea that he could’ve easily stayed inside today or that he was wherever I was not.

Again, my mind went to him and the way he looked in the dim glow at the restaurant and I tried remembering what his voice sounded like but it was hard.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

I jumped in my seat, the voice breaking my stare down with the lamppost across the street. When I turned my head to see who it was, I almost started laughing. Just when I had given up, I found him; of course, when I stopped looking.

“Happy to see me?”

“Something like that,” I tried to subdue my smile as I motioned for him to take the seat across from me.

“You didn’t call.” He shrugged off his jacket and put it on the back of his chair before taking a seat.

I spun my cup in a circle on its saucer, not meeting his eyes, “I did, actually. It was out of service.”

He acted surprised, “What?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started fiddling with whatever was on his screen.

“It’s okay,” I held up my hand, “You don’t have to make some big show about it. I can take a hint—I mean, I guess I can’t since, you know, I was kind of surprised it wasn’t real. I thought we, I don’t know, got along really well—“ I was slightly nervous and babbling. Sure, I had convinced myself that he made a mistake when he wrote down his number, but what were the actual odds of that? In my mind, they were very very low and the more likely reason the number was out of service was because he intended it to be.

“No, seriously, that can’t be right,” he interrupted me, “you must have done it wrong.”

He read out his phone number and my eyes grew wide.

“Wait, did you say, ‘three’?”

“Yeah, I said, ‘three’. What else could it have been?”

“An eight!” I laughed in relief and pulled the small piece of paper out of my back pocket and placed it on the table in between us. “Look!”

“That is obviously a three. Just admit that you didn’t actually call me and that you’re trying to get out of having to explain yourself.” He threw the paper back on the table and picked my cup up and took a sip.

“Trust me, I called—twice.” After the admission left my mouth I immediately wanted to take it back.

He raised his eyebrows, “Twice? Hm.” He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table, crossing his arms, “That makes me feel a bit better about waiting for your call; decreases the damage to my ego.”

“You waited for my call?” I leaned forward, taking on the same position as him.

“Of course I did; I’d be stupid not to.” His eyes never left mine as he brought my cup to his lips the second time. After a moment of us staring at one another, he pointed down to the cup, “I should get you another one of these.” He raised his hand, about to turn around to get the woman’s attention but before I could stop myself I put my hand on his forearm.

“You definitely shouldn’t. I’ve already had five; if I have another I’ll have a heart attack.”

“Five?” He rested his hand on top of mine, “Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“Your hands were really shaking,” he said while maneuvering the umbrella between us.

“I told you, I had five.”

We were walking with no where to go. Once he saw the state my hands were in, he asked if I was interested in getting dinner and, without hesitation, I said yes. I made the assumption that this was a date, but was too afraid to ask for confirmation. I was slightly aware of the fact that I probably looked like a wet dog, having spent the whole day going in and out of the rain, while he looked like an actual god. His hair was brushed back off of his forehead, he was clean shaven, in dark jeans and a light grey crew neck sweatshirt, an army green raincoat thrown over top. His eyes looked just as they did the other night: sparkling green and clear—I wanted so badly to kiss him. He looked kissable. I was sure I looked like a disaster and with every step, regretted not putting makeup on or doing my hair. One or the other would’ve balanced me out but instead, I could feel both my wavy hair frizzing and my un-mascara-ed lashes drooping down.

I always tried to be one of those girls who preached about not looking good for anyone but herself and believed that a guy should like me for the way I looked without makeup and not just deem me fuck-able when my lips were painted blood red—but, I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel better about myself when I was wearing lipstick or when my lashes were curled or when my hair was done perfectly. I felt prettier and more confident when I looked a certain way and that was my cross to bear.

I could feel the insecurity weighing on me in the way I covered my mouth when I laughed and let my bangs hang slightly over my eyes but I needed to shove it away because that wasn’t the girl he had met in the restaurant. She wasn’t the girl he had asked to have a drink.

“Interested in some crepes?” He pointed at a sign for a small crêperie .

“For dinner?”

“Why not?”

I shrugged, not being able to argue. He held the door open for me and lightly pressed his hand into my back as we walked through the door. We both ordered two; I chose one with lemon and sugar and one with a caramel filling while he went with hazelnut spread for both.

“Surely they have Nutella in the States?” He questioned when I told him I wasn’t big on hazelnut after he offered me a bite of his.

“They do! But I’m not really into it.”

“Not into Nutella? I don’t know if this is going to work out.” He let out a breath as if my dislike of the spread made things between us extremely awkward.

“So there’s something here to work out?” I smirked.

He winked, “Could be.”

I felt my cheeks flush and didn’t know what to say.

The idea of something happening between us made butterflies launch themselves around my stomach. It seemed ridiculous, considering we were complete strangers and anything that started between us couldn’t last; we lived an entire ocean apart. It would never be anything more than a fling and I was more than okay with that. What girl didn’t dream of a fling in Europe? This was a fantasy that was meant to exist solely in easy reading romances, where the girls had lives I lusted over and the boys were described as being so charming and beautiful that they didn’t really exist.

“So,” I started, while he was in the middle of taking a bite, “why advertising?”

He shrugged and finished chewing before answering, “The money, mostly. I had planned on going to school for business and advertising was what I was best at. Also, it was the only bit that allowed a little creativity.”

“If money wasn’t an object, what would you be?”

“An actor,” he broke eye contact with me and his face turned a light shade of pink. “I always wanted to do something like that, be in plays or movies, but financially, it’s not very feasible.”

“I get it. I mean, being a writer isn’t the most financially stable profession either. Do you like advertising?”

He sighed, “At first I did, but not anymore. The hours are long and even if I wanted to try to do something on the side, I can’t. It’s kind of become my entire life.”

“I know the easy answer is to say that you should just quit, but I also know that it’s usually a lot more complicated than that.” I laughed lightly.

“It’s not. I did.” He smiled at my surprised expression.

“You quit?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m here. I don’t know what to do now.”

“Ah, running away. I’m good at that.”

“Well, cheers to running from our shit.” He raised his glass of water and clinked it against mine. “Want to grab a real drink?”

This time, I didn’t turn him down.

He paid our bill and after I thanked him, we walked out of the crêperie and into the cool air.

We walked close to each other, so close that our arms and fingers brushed against one another with every other step. Each time I felt his fingers swipe against mine, it felt electric, a small tingle shot through my arm and something inside me fluttered. I wondered how long we would let this go on, whether he would move away so we no longer touched or finally grab my hand.

We walked past several bars and restaurants and I started to wonder where exactly it was we were grabbing this drink. “Are we going somewhere in particular?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at me before pushing his fingers through mine and holding my hand.

We walked for the next few minutes in a comfortable silence just enjoying each other’s company. His palm was warm against mine and his fingers were long and his skin wasn’t rough but it wasn’t as soft as mine. Every few steps, he brushed his thumb over my hand reassuringly and I couldn’t stop blushing.

When he stopped, it was in front of a small grocery store.

“Oh.” I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“Disappointed?” He asked as he squeezed my hand.

I shook my head quickly, “No! Just…confused?”

“Come on,” he said before pulling me inside.

He took us straight to the wine section and pulled two coteaux bourguignons off the shelf before moving on to grab some fruit, bread, and cheese. I had figured out what his plan was, slightly worried that we would be taking these things back to wherever he was staying. I admit, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to do more than that, but technically, this was a first date and I wasn’t about to fuck him after hanging out with him for only the second time.

The last thing he grabbed was garbage bags, and when I gave him very confused and concerned look, he said, “We need something to sit on.” I nodded as if my confusion had completely evaporated with that simple explanation.

After a small argument over who would be paying for the two armfuls of supplies (I wanted to pay because he paid for dinner but he argued that since it was his idea and this was an extension of our first date that he should pay—and frankly, his argument was too good to deny), he lead us towards the promenade and took us down the steps to the rocky beach.

“Is this allowed?” I whispered as we walked over the rocks.

“Probably.” He shrugged.

When he found a spot he liked, he pulled out a plastic garbage bag from the pack and placed it on the ground like a picnic blanket. It was raining anymore, but everything was covered in a thin layer of water. Once he had that set, he took everything out of the bags, one by one, arranging it all a very specific way.

When he caught me staring and trying to stifle a giggle, Ben gestured towards his setup, “I’m just trying to make it as perfect as possible. I’m doing my best!”

“The garbage bag is perfect, I swear! It’s…cute.”

He opened the wine with the opener he bought and poured it into our paper cups and waved at me to take a seat next to him. We opened our snacks and started munching in comfortable silence despite the crepes we had inhaled only an hour before.

It was dark now, the only light coming from the flashlights of our phones we had placed in between us. We could hear the waves lapping against the store but could barely see them. There was a chill in the air, as the breeze was amplified closer to the water and I felt myself shivering slightly. We were sat against the wall of the promenade, hidden away from any on lookers.

“Come here,” he said when he noticed my slight shiver and pulled me into him. We sat with our backs against the wall, his arm around me, looking in the direction of where the water would be if we could see it. His body was hard against mine, signaling to me that I was right about how fit he was and I felt the muscles in his arms flex every time he moved it slightly. He rubbed his hand up and down my arm trying to warm me up as we slowly sipped our wine.

“This would be a lot more romantic if it wasn’t so bloody cold.” He laughed.

I hit him lighting in the stomach with me free hand, “Stop! I think it’s just the right amount of romantic.”

“Hang out with me tomorrow.”

“Was that a question?” I turned my head to him to see that he was already looking at me.

“Not really.” He smiled, “Come on, you know you want to.”

“Fine.” I leveled him with a smile of my own.