#this one goes out to the girlies who have public messy fights with their fathers

[dashedwithromance]

BRUTUS IS AN HONOURABLE MAN — iii

this is where the fun begins (:

The war was, after three long and brutal years, finally over. A small part of her, selfish and scared and a coward deep down, wished it wasn’t.

If it wasn’t, maybe she would still have a home. Anakin would be alive and she could come home to him, be welcomed and loved in return.

[The war ends, not without sacrifice. In the ruins, a terrible secret is revealed that changes everything. How do you reconcile the brother you loved with the man who slaughtered innocents? Does the red on his loving hands rub off? Are you stained forever?]

[i-like-your-face]

How Mo from Lemonade Mouth Became Margo from The Magicians: A Mini Essay

Raised in a traditional Indian family, having to hide who she really was, not able to balance her girliness, her smarts, her creativity, and her values, she grew up feeling suppressed. In high school she 'rebelled' by secretly dating Scott. For most of their early relationship, it was much more about what he needed and wanted than her. They broke up and she found a new friend who tried to Good Guy himself into a relationship. Eventually things turned out pretty okay, with her and Scott making amends and getting back together and him joining the band (taking us to the end of the movie).

The band sees a pretty high level of success afterwards. Her father, though he said he would support her, never gets used to seeing his daughter in short skirts, lots of make up, putting college on hold for a silly music career, in this very public relationship with a white boy, and ultimately doesn't really support her. Her mother, being a dutiful Indian wife, follows his lead, and her relationship with her family becomes all but nonexistent. As the band continually gets more successful, things get shaky with the band too. Wen's temper only gets worse from what it was. Like her father, who wound up in jail for it, Olivia starts dabbling in drugs. Stella being so outspoken means there's venues that won't allow them to play and opportunities they lose out on. As their fame rockets, Scott's self-motivated attitude comes back, acting like he was always a member of the band, and eventually she finds out he cheats on her. They get into a huge fight over this, resulting in Scott leaving the band. The band, which as we've seen, largely works off of collaborative mojo is thrown off. Charlie, who always harbored feelings for her and is bitter about not being chosen, lashes out and says she never should have brought him into the band in the first place and all the bands problems are her fault. The band finally crumbles to a point where it can't be brought back any more.

So she returns home, with no band, her father upset she 'wasted' her early 20s by touring with her band and not going to college. She lost all her friends when the band fell apart and, well, Charlie isn't the only one who blames it at least slightly on her (they always have played blame game when things go wrong). She has nothing..nothing but a whole lot of pain. And it's started to make her bitter. One day, on her way home from the store....she's suddenly transported to a college campus instead.

She takes the Breakbills exam and passes with flying colors (as Fogg points out, you didn't /really/ think your whole band could just suddenly know lyrics to a song they'd never heard before and be able to sing and play it together while harmonizing on the spot without a little magic, did you?). When someone asks her name, she goes to reply but stops herself--Mohini just reminds her of the family she now has broken ties with and was always shortened to that godawful masculine Mo anyway, and she's tired of being expected to live up to Indian stereotypes because of her looks and her name--so she gives a new, more anglo name, Margo (in timeline 40, one time it was Janet, she's had a few over the timelines, depending on what she feels in the moment).

She sees this boy, clearly out of place, a bit of the country boy reminding her of Wen under the surface, with the confident arrogance of Scott, the messy hair of Charlie, the outspoken in your face type like Stella, but with a secret heart of gold like Olivia....and she clings to him immediately making friends. And thankfully he's gay so there won't be a repeat of the Scott/Charlie situation (which is why she's so upset by the three-way because ding dong she was wrong but it's totally on her this time; also why she gets so upset every time things are shaky between her and El because it's like losing her whole band again). She spends a massive chunk of the money she made in the band to get she and Eliot all new wardrobes (no, no, he cannot be wearing those Indiana farm clothes), paying off Todd to use the name Todd not Eliot, and throw leaving parties in the Physical Cottage to become year one royalty all but worshipped by their second year. She had already transformed herself once, it was all the easier the second time.

And by the end of it, Margo winds up fulfilling little Mohini's biggest dream--being High King of Filory, the books she so loved in her childhood (remember, she says she loves them too and is the only one besides Q and Jules, and really, little Mohini reading is daddy's favorite) and has learned to take no shit and rely on no one because you never know when it's going to all fall away. And she may have made little Mohini's dreams come true, but Mohini, that naive self conscious unsure girl from high school? She's So Gone.

[laststops-blog]

☯ + masaru's battle....

CANON SCENES.

‘what? you can’t tell just by looking? these guys are the demons i’ve hunted down!’

the hero spreads his arms in a ‘v’, savouring the screams of his adoring crowd. he payed attention when they taught him about ancient rome. he imagines the italian sun beating down on his empire, baking the decaying bodies in the heat, casting him in fantastic light. give him his laurel crown and his imperial sword: masaru caesar, emperor of towa. not a king or a tyrant, but a benevolent leader that loves his people, that builds straight roads to a future without fear. 

two silly girly demons won’t stand in the way of his city. they may try to stop him, but they will die doing so, and join the pile of the dead beneath his feet. it will be a shame to break the combo, but two girls will no doubt be lost amongst the sea of men masaru had cut down and built up. he’ll just leave them at the bottom, like the flavour of sweet he likes least. they will turn to sludge in the pools of maroon collecting in the dirt, and he will forget their names, and paradise will draw ever-closer.

they don’t seem impressed. ‘how ‘bout it?’ he crows, jumping up and down in his glee, ‘it’s worth one trillion brazillion points!’ because this, like everything else, has been turned into a game to hold his interest. the leader wins everything (rock paper scissors, fights for territory, footraces, hunting games), and this is no exception! 

their green-tinted skin and unabashed horror annoys and upsets him. he’s sick of having his efforts overlooked! if they want to cry and howl, he’ll give them something to cry about! ‘just because they gave birth to us and raised us, they thought they could control us all!’ he turns to his peers, the children, mouth open and grimacing, arms spread wide, encompassing, welcoming. ‘as hero,’ he proclaims, reminds them all exactly who they have to thank, ‘i hunted them down and let everyone go free!’

masaru folds his arms in defiance, chin jutted. they haven’t caught him doing anything wrong. demons are demons, and violence is violence, and some things need to be done. some adults need to die. the kids chant for him, love him, need him. ‘now, now,’ he giggles, waving the crowd down from their frenzy, ‘don’t praise me too much.’ he is a humble emperor, after all. ‘i just did what any good leader would do…’ and he is a good leader. the best! he might not be smart like nagisa or cutesy like kotoko, but he knows how to get things done. he’ll do anything to fix what he needs to fix. they don’t get to protest his position, because he won it, fair and square. 

as a good leader, he understands the concept of sacrifice. he and the others, they know how this needs to end. ‘i made a promise with the warriors of hope,’ that rabble-roused group they are, the shoddy little party they’ve become, ‘if i’m gonna turn into a dirty, mean, ugly, smelly demon, i’d rather die as a kid!’ 

rather die than lose his fight. rather die than see himself change. rather die than outgrow his jersey. rather die than become so cruel.

they cheer. they love him so, so much.

‘you see? you can hear it, right?’ they need to. they have to know the extent of his reach before they die. he is powerful, and he is worthy, and he is in control. he is in control! ‘everyone loves me… they appreciate me… because i’m their hero.’ and they’d needed one, because towa city is a place of fear. because towa city is a breeding ground for hatred. because towa city is his playground, now, not theirs. because his first order as leader was to tear apart a corner store that mattered to no one but him. because he killed the one that wronged him, and everything felt lighter. 

the one that wronged him was dead. still, masaru hunts. still, he doesn’t feel better. the world isn’t better.

‘if i… hunt down every single demon, then nobody has to be afraid anymore.’ children don’t deserve to cower. children don’t deserve to cry. children are the future, and masaru needs the future, and he needs the children, and they need a hero, and ‘they won’t need to be afraid of the violence, and the pain!’ his voice breaks and ‘w-won’t have to… afraid…’ he needs to keep talking because if he stops, he’s scared he ‘i-i won’t be afraid, i’m not… scared! at all!’ might start to cry and ‘i don’t have to be scared of the dark,’ crying makes it worse and ‘the pain, and the alcohol smell… not anymore!’ the door will slam and the glass will smash and he’s going to hurt, hurt, hurt ‘not anymore! no matter how much you beat me,’ you stupid big girls, you stupid vicious bullies ‘i won’t be afraid anymore! you hear me?’ 

oh, they hear him alright. they hear him sob, tears streaming down his face. in the imaginary italian sun, they boil, turn to mist. in towa city, they fall.

‘not going to be… afraid…’ 

the tension that means the trembling begins, as always, in his longest fingers. he pulls his left arm from where it had been viced (protectively over his head), stares at the callous and filthy palm as it shakes and wavers. this is weakness. right here, this! this is what he needs to destroy before it destroys him and his plan and his city and his people and his italy and his hope and – (and all of his games are messy, blurring, wrong!) he’s getting mixed up.

‘yeah, th-that’s weird,’ he mumbles, still smiling at his public. they wave their fists in the air, thumbs tucked firmly in. 

the first blow never hurts. adrenaline never catches up to him until he’s too deep to turn back (like when he ran, ran, ran for a full day and still couldn’t collapse). his arm keeps shaking. that deserves another! he strikes again, again, harder, snarling at himself, at the defiance in his own body. he understands hatred. he understands humiliation. he understands his father. 

he falls to his knees and pins his fear against the floor, slams it into submission over and over and over until it learns its lesson(!), until it learns how embarrassed he is(!), until it learns to never make a fool of him like this again(!). ‘a hero isn’t afraid of anything! a hero isn’t afraid of dying,’ in a locked closet padded with filthy clothes to drown out his crying, ‘of killing,’ of how long it takes for a body to stop squirming, for those that recognise him to stop looking so sad, ‘nothing! so just stop it! stop shaking!’ 

eventually, it goes numb, more blue than it is flesh. eventually, he stops, breathing hard, ready to play. eventually, he starts to cackle. eventually, he always wins. 

‘it… finally listened to me,’ he tells them, the implication being you will, too. the limb hangs limp, unmovable, practically dead. the feeling will creep back in, soon, and when it does, the real game can finally begin!

his fighter lands in the killosseum, defence and attack maxed. he holds the controller lop-sided, favouring his strongest hand. the other, still purple and swollen, twitches. ‘watch me, everyone!’ he throws up his good arm, commands their attention, their adoration, all for himself! ‘the leader of the warriors of hope! the hero!’ he needs them to know. he needs them to agree. ‘i am gonna defeat these wienerless demons in no time!’ they love him! they need him! he can’t lose! 

the emperor makes his decision. 

thumbs down.