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jade-marie · 4 years ago

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Besides rio shooting the little money maker girl he's never done nothing that doesnt make sense to the situation but Ive gotta admit I wont ever get past that (obv) but everything beth done was what she had to do at the time, yall are a little too harsh its not like the other girls werent gun and go abt the whole thing from the start so everybody got their problems relating to that. Lot of the times it was their ideas they went ahead with and she was right there with em and it caused probs with bossman so cut her some slack man I love that big mommy milkers bitch shes trying her best and if that was my man id shoot him too sometimes 😂

I have absolutely no idea why you sent this to me, honestly. I’m not sure if you think I’m suddenly going to see the error of my ways, decide I’ve been too harsh on Beth this whole time, and go back to loving everything but whatever.

Rio’s never done anything that doesn’t make sense to the situation

I would largely agree with this, the way I see it, Rio operates by a very different moral code to Beth. He is part of a world where the stakes are much higher, so reward and punishment is also much more extreme. To anyone looking in, his behaviour probably seems extremely harsh but if you look at how he typically handle situations, you would see that Beth gets off very lightly. She should be dead and there is absolutely no way that she doesn’t know that. So the fact that she keeps taking liberties, even though he’s very obviously letting her off lightly, pisses me off. She effectively takes advantage of the knowledge he won’t kill her, by pulling shit she wouldn’t dare pull with anyone else.

Everything Beth did was what she had to do at the time

This is where our opinions massively diverge. Saying she did what she had to do is the same thing as saying she didn’t have a choice, and it completely removes her agency. We can go all the way back to 1.06 where she says, no one took advantage of her, it was a choice, she wanted to. When she found out her family was struggling for money, she didn’t try and get a job or a payday loan, she committed armed robbery. Once her debt with Rio was cleared she didn’t wanna go back to her old life, she wanted to continue working for him, again, another choice. She then made the choice to launder money through the dealership, then she decided to wrangle a 50-50 partnership in the pills. Once Rio was gone she started her own printing operation. Nobody forced her to do any of this, she didn’t have to, she wanted to.

If you want to talk about specific acts between her and Rio - she didn’t have to shoot him three times in the chest, she didn’t have to leave him to die. That was a choice, a conscious one. When he came back and it was clear he was not going to kill her, he was taking her money (which lots of people would consider pretty fair given the circumstances), she didn’t have to hire a hitman, she wanted to. With the current Secret Service storyline, also a choice. This isn’t me saying she should have chosen Rio over the Secret Service, this is me saying she could have. Both options were available to her and she chose to go against him. She didn’t have to, she wanted to.

The girls were always part of it and it was their ideas which caused Rio problems

They literally weren’t and that has been one of the biggest sources of conflict between them from the outset of the show. Beth originally shut down the idea of robbing a grocery store, then when she found out she was in trouble she convinced the girls to do it. Beth went behind their backs and asked Rio for more work. The secret shoppers were also Beth‘s idea. Beth was the one who asked Rio to increase their drop to $500,000 when the other 2 girls wanted to quit. Beth threw a set of keys in Rio‘s face and got them all fired, then she convinced the other 2 to help her get him locked up. It was Beth’s idea to launder money through the dealership, she was also the one who stole his pills and a 50-50 partnership. It was also Beth who fucked him. Beth was the one who shot him, Beth was the one who decided to print money, Beth was the one who decided to hire a hitman. It was also Beth’s idea to rat out Rio in exchange for witness protection. While the girls agreed to do these things with her, they were Beth‘s ideas and more often than not, the decision was already made without them so they didn’t have much choice.

As for specific things which caused problems for Rio - the original robbery was technically Beth‘s idea. It was Beth who wanted to get him arrested, which brought the FBI closer to his operation than they’ve ever been. It was Beth who decided to let Boomer go, when Annie was more than willing to shoot him. It was Beth who was sloppy keeping the books at the dealership which burned his cash operation, as well as the means for moving pills. Once again, it was Beth who shot him. It was Beth who targeted Lucy, it was Beth who hired Fitzpatrick. Beth and her sloppy bookkeeping at Boland Bubbles alerted the authorities and to save her own ass, she decided to offer them Rio. The girls weren’t part of any of that.

The only instance where you could say the other 2 specifically caused problems for him is when Ruby and Annie tried to do a job behind Beth’s back and they didn’t follow through. Aside from that, she has very much been the de facto leader, making decisions on everybody else’s behalf.

I’m too harsh on Beth and should cut her some slack

I’m not sure why anybody should cut her slack, actions have consequences and she’s yet to face them. Instead, everyone around her has to suffer as a result of her choices, but she doesn’t care. She keeps pulling the same bullshit and doesn’t take responsibility for anything, unless you count the occasional “woe is me” pity party where she calls herself a monster.

If Rio was your man, you would shoot him too

Contrary to popular belief, Rio has never been her man, he was her boss that she fucked a couple times. Putting that aside, I don’t particularly care that she shot him. If she turned around and said “fuck you, you deserved it. You kidnapped me in the middle of the night and put a gun in my hand, what did you expect?�� I would fucking respect her for it. Besides, if we’re going by the logic that he deserved it, she should’ve caught a bullet ages ago and I can guarantee the reaction to him shooting her would be very fucking different.

What actually bothers me is the reason that she shot him, that entire rhetoric of him essentially being the cause of her problems because she doesn’t want to take ownership of anything she does. Until she changes that mentality, she won’t get an ounce of sympathy out of me.

#fuck that got long #good girls nbc #rio good girls #beth boland #brio #nbc good girls #rio #rio x beth #asks #anon

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

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Hi I dont know if you want jercy requests at the moment but i had an idea for one :

Dark percy murdering calligula as a revenge for jason

Hello angel! Whew this request was willldddddd and I had soo much fun with it. There isn't any jercy per se (in fact Annabeth and Percy are together in this) but Percy is furrrrrious about Jason and he exacts a very twisted sort of revenge for his friend's honour. Basically this was an excuse to write dark!percy and by gods I hope I delivered!

CW: revenge driven, grief, graphic depictions of violence

Burning Maze Spoilers

he used to be nice.

He used to be nice.

Percy had been digging around the weapons room when his name had been shrieked like a dying animal. He had been looking for protective gear to give to little demigods in his sword-fighting class, when a scream like broken bones cracked through his body. He had been starting another calm, routine-controlled day at camp half-blood when he heard the news that made him snap.

*Two hours earlier*

“Jackson,” Annabeth knocks at his cabin door. He hears her voice carry through the open windows, and over the continuous sound of the ocean. “Pers, we have breakfast in half an hour and you have a sword class to teach today.”

The event had been printed on her wall of “to-dos” so that neither of their adhd brains would have the chance to forget. But he groans at the reminder, not wanting to escape his warm bed, or the duvet that wraps around him like a hug, or the pillows that hold his head as if he is a god. Sometimes he wishes he was a Hypnos kid. Their whole thing is sleeping . The knock sounds again.

“Seaweed Brain, come on,” His girlfriend sighs, “You promised we’d talk to Chiron about the—"

The loud and obnoxious cry of a harpy sounds somewhere in the distance and whatever she says next is drowned out completely. He knows though. Knows what she’s going to say and what they have to do. So he drags himself out of bed, like the last sack of potatoes on the crate. Heavy and bruised and discarded for the most desperate of the lot.

“I’m up,” He manages to rasp. He doesn’t like talking to people till he’s brushed his teeth, and eaten something, and spent at least half an hour staring at an empty coffee cup. A New Yorker through and through he supposes.

“Okay,” He hears Annabeth call, “I’ll see you at the dining hall then.”

He makes a sound half way between a grunt and a yawn and hopes she understands because that’s the best she’s getting out of him. The morning routine is quick, even done at the speed of a stubborn toddler. Soon he is sitting at the Poseidon table, scarfing down eggs and toast, and washing it done with a second cup of coffee. The buzzing in his veins is completely normal. And he’s definitely not speaking at a thousand miles an hour. This is how he always talks. Why on earth they allow coffee in a camp full of adhd kids, he’ll never understand. But it works in his favour so he isn’t going to complain.

By the time him and Annabeth are done talking to Chiron about introducing therapy to the camp, he feels like his eyes are moving faster than his sensory receptors can process and his thoughts are moving faster than his ability to process at all. So when his girlfriend, smiling at him about something, stops outside their training room he looks at her with furrowed brows and asks, “What are we doing here? Are we training for something?”

She frowns, “How much coffee did you have this morning?”

“Only three cups.” He shrugs, and clenches his hands in his pockets as if she can see through the fabric to the shaking body underneath.

Her grey eyes widen as if she’s about to scold him, a petulant child being chided by their ever tired caregiver. It makes the part of him still attempting to function slightly wild. He squishes that part down with the force of a thousand ships. Someone calls Annabeth’s name so with a quick peck to the cheek she leaves him in front of the training room and jogs towards the middle of camp and out of sight.

He stares at the room, trying to get his brain to stop focusing on things he doesn’t need to focus on right now, like the three lines of a song he heard at the grocery store a week ago that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head.

He used to be nice.

Entering the training room he scans the schedule and sees he’s teaching a class of small people, campers younger than ten who are just learning the ropes but should disaster ever strike will be ushered to the Cabin 9 bunkers to wait out the storm. It is a rule that no-one under the age of twelve be subject to war if they need not be. And he will make damn sure the need never ever surfaces.

He gathers swords of various shapes and sizes, along with a few daggers, and the straw dummies that have seen better days. It boggles his mind that they’re at a camp for children of literal greek gods but somehow there’s no funding for basic necessities like extra cots in the Hermes cabin, and better dummies to stab.

Muttering to himself he moves aside metal and stacks of straw, trying to find protective gear in the pile dumped at the corner of the training room. When he doesn’t see any he lets out a long suffering sigh... he has to go to the weapons room, which is more of a broom closet with deadly devices than anything else.

The room smelt musty, and the reek of rust slams into his nostrils at dizzying speeds. It reminds him of blood, and it made his skin itch with the need to get out. But still he bends down and searches through the mess of celestial bronze, and gold and—

The scream cauterizes his happiness. He is panic and pain and death and everything brutal in a single awful instant.

“PERCY!” His name has never sounded so full of agony, each syllable holds the stages of grief.

He is running towards the anguish before he’s even fully realises what’s going on. But what he sees when he crests the hill is enough to make the warmth of his heart run burning cold.

Annabeth is curled on the ground, tears like rivers of woe streaming down her cheeks and a purple flag clutched tightly in her fists.

“What happened?” His voice is soft. If he hears himself too loudly he’s going to shatter.

Annabeth cries harder, her whole body shuddering. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is all consuming. Grief will make itself known like thorns in your thumb or bullets in your heart.

“What happened?” He repeats.

And someone, far away, right next to his ear, inside his head, says, “It’s Jason, Jason Grace. He’s dead.”

He used to be nice.

It takes him three days. Three days of non-stop travelling, by foot, and air, and sea, to reach Caligula’s home. A palace. A grave. It is three days too long. Too long for a murderer to be walking free as if there are no consequences to his vile actions. But still he is here now and he will see the fall of a great, and watch how he bleeds just like everyone else. Not gold, the colour of the emperor’s one true love, but red, the colour of his victims.

Percy's eyes are almost black with violence, green so dark it reflects the night sky. His hands clench and unfurl as if practicing to wrap around a throat and squeeze till the symphony of breathing plays its last note. His body is strung taut, a bow string waiting to release. He is murder. He is nothing. He is your worst nightmare.

“Caligula.” He scrapes. It is the exact sound of a sword sparking against stone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing but scared silence greets him. He can feel the fear coating the walls of this burial ground like a fresh coat of paint. He will make a playground of the blood he spills, will invite all manner of creatures to use it as a park. He will revel in the slaughter he is about to participate in.

“Caligula!” His voice is the sharp edge of a small knife. Unassuming but deadly. ‘“It is no use hiding. There is no place you could go where I couldn't find you.” He feels the earth sway underneath him, and he grins. Oh this is going to be fun.

“Fine Emperor, if this is how you want to do it.”

With a shrug, he flings out an arm and turns three columns to dust. He watches the stone crumble, feels the sand on his palm as if he was crumbling the columns in his hands like soft cheese. With a small stomp of his foot a crack rivaling the river Thames splits the marble floor in half. The entire structure shudders, creaks right above him. His grin only gets wider, more dangerous.

“I will level this place to the ground. I will erase it from history as if it had never been. You will not exist Caligula, because you will go with it. Will be crushed under the weight of your own wealth.”

“You’re a fool,” A voice, reedy and nasalled in a way that has his soul curdling, shouts from somewhere on the far side of the room. “You will crush us both."

Percy laughs. He laughs and the sound widens the cracks in the floor. It is deep, and wild, but in the way a wild thing is caged: snapping at it’s bars, hissing to be free. He laughs.

“You are a fool Caligula. A fool if you think i am not willing to die if it means you suffer. A bigger fool still if you think it will not give me great pleasure to spend my last moments watching the life leave your eyes,”

The distant sound of bubbling starts to fill the room. Percy wonders if he can make blood boil. His mother has certainly said so enough times.

“Leave now half-blood,” The Emperor spits. There is still something of arrogant, misplaced bravery in his voice. It amuses Percy. “Leave now and you will not face the consequences.”

“And pray tell,” He contemplates, “Who you think will deliver your consequences if i leave?”

A scoff that echoes into the pathways of his brain comes from the back of the room. “I do not need consequences dealt. I have done nothing to deserve them.”

The sound of bubbling is getting louder. He looks curiously at the cracks still spidering around the room. “Ah Emperor,” He tuts, “That is where you are wrong. People who deserve consequences hardly ever get them. It is those who don’t think they deserve them that become the unlucky bearers.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” He snarls.

The bubbling is loud enough now that Percy almost checks to see if a small brook has carved its way through the floor. There is nothing there except ever growing cracks, turning to rifts and canyons before his eyes.

He used to be nice.

“We can do this one of two ways Caligula.” He starts, honey bees with a sting a little too sharp to be defence. “You can apologise and I’ll kill you quickly, or…” His smile is sickening. “And this is my preferred method, I could watch you die slowly, watch the life drain from your body and into the soil of blood-crops that will grow here, and your dying words will be the mercy you will inevitably beg for.”

The bubbling spills over the cracks, leaking salty water onto the dying marble floor.

“Better choose soon oh dear Emperor,” He giggles, “I am the only thing holding this room together. As soon as I let go the floor will split like your loyalties. You will be crushed to death by your own greed. And if that doesn't happen you will surely drown.” To emphasise his point water starts gushing from the floor, no longer a bubbling stream but a raging river. His laughter is carried along the ripples that hit the walls, already leaking with the all encompassing ocean. “Wouldn’t it be a pity Caligula? To drown in your own home, surrounded by all the things you killed for, watching as they drown with you?”

“Shut up half-blood,” He screeches, “You do not have the power it takes to kill me. You are nothing compared to the centuries I have been alive.”

“Do you know who i am honouring Caligula?” He asks softly, a stark and terrifying contrast to his smile a moment before. “In all your centuries can you remember but one demigod, a dear friend of mine, but just another victim of yours?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, “They are all the same in the end. All bleed, and cry, and piss, and die the same.”

The grin Percy lets loose starts hurricanes. It is the absolute wrong thing to say. ‘“If it is all the same to you Emperor,” He becomes terror. “Then i think i’ll spill your blood at his altar.”

And before the doomed emperor could react an invisible hand wraps around his throat and he was being dragged to the middle of the room. His eyes wide, popping out of his head; hands clawing at his neck as if trying to remove the grip they cannot feel; feet flopping helplessly underneath him.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.” It is a command.

Caligula glares, attempting to spit at his feet.

Percy tilts his head and with a single crook of his finger he slams the emperor into the wall. The crack is deafening. It makes him grin.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.”

Caligula produces an ancient roman gesture, passed through time as if centuries cannot dismantle the insults of humans.

Percy twists his wrist and the emperor’s body contorts into something unrecognizable, bones snapping and shattering to fit their new mold.

“Apologise for killing my friend.”

“Fuck you,” He manages to choke out.

A wave of ocean water alarming in its beauty rises behind him. He is its god. And with a wink he shoves all of it down the emperor’s throat. The column of that pale neck bobs as if attempting to take the water down. He can see the body trying to retch it all up, unable to handle the sheer amount, the salt that comes with it.

“Watch Caligula,” He motions to the palace sinking under the weight of his ocean, “Watch as everything you have ever cared to love drowns.”

Percy grabs a shard of mirror, uncaring of the gash it sweeps across his palm. He holds it up to the ancient powerful Emperor, who is convulsing into nothing. “Watch.”

He used to be nice.

Sometime later when Percy Jackson walks up a hill, and into the fading sun there is nothing but content mania lining his features, and behind him where a grand home once stood, is a trickling river and a single spear carved with the words, “Neo Helios”. The only sign that Caligula, Emperor and murderer, ever existed,

He used to be nice.

Until someone killed his friends.

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[image id: printed text that reads, "I used to be nice." end id]

#Percy Jackson #Jason grace #Annabeth Chase #Caligula #PJJG fanfic #He used to be nice #Firerose requests #PJJG asks #burning maze spoilers #toa spoilers #trials of apollo spoilers

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dwellordream · 3 years ago

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“…When the two lovers meet after Parliament's decision, Criseyde offers Troilus the opportunity to "ravish her" as her uncle has suggested. She begs for his aid, crying "Help, Troilus!" (IV, 1150) and falling into a dead faint. For once, she wishes that another would take control and make decisions for her. Not realizing that Troilus has relapsed into an impotent, emasculated state, Criseyde expects him to interpret successfully her intent and to act boldly in order to rescue her from her terrible plight. Troilus, however, is no longer the valiant, empathetic young man transformed by Criseyde's love; consequently, he fails to play the role of the manly hero. He does not seize this moment to carry the maiden off; instead, he convinces himself that she has died and poetically beseeches the heavens to hasten his own demise (IV, 1191-1211).

His behavior contrasts greatly with Criseyde's when he had fainted. She roused herself to action, doing all in her power to revive her lover, who, like Criseyde in this later scene, seemed at the precipice of death. Criseyde begins to argue eloquently upon the advantages of biding her time behind enemy lines only after she awakes to discover that Troilus has not heeded her cry for help. A careful reader would recognize, how ever, that she still yearns for her lover to prevent the exchange, for she interrupts her own argument to assure Troilus "what so ye me comaunde,/ That wol I don, for that is no demaunde" (IV, 1294-95). In arguing in favor of removing to the Greek camp, Criseyde tests the extent of Troilus's affection. …Criseyde thought that surely a man willing to slay himself for her would be willing to risk ruining his reputation for her love, but Troilus finds himself incapable of performing such a heroic feat.

When Troilus fails to make even the slightest attempt to rescue his ill fated lover, Criseyde realizes that she must bring about her own salvation. As she spins out her plan, she gains more confidence in her abilities to effect her own rescue. Sheltered within the walls of Troy, Criseyde knows little of the true horrors of war, only what she has gleaned from gossip and from the books that she has read in her cloistered garden. Her overconfidence stems both from her ignorance concerning the actual situation facing her nation and from her earlier successes in effecting her will.

In contrast, Troilus has been out in the trenches, and he should recognize the implausibility of Criseyde's plan of action. His attempts to dissuade her, however, seem half-hearted at best. Indeed, he feels relieved that she seems to exonerate him from taking any rash action, for such a view accords with his own and enables him to rationalize his impotence as simply a chivalric attempt to uphold his lady's desire: This Troilus, with herte and erys spradde,/Herde al this thyng devysen to and fro,/And verrayliche him semed that he hadde The selve wit. . . (IV, 1422-25) Although Troilus finally does argue with Criseyde that they should elope (IV, 1503), he does so only to determine the extent of her loyalty, for he beseeches her "That of hire heste he myghte her trewe fynde" (IV, 1439).

For nine stanzas he dwells on his potential desolation should Criseyde forsake him and displays little concern as to whether she might suffer from the trade as well (IV, 1436-98). He does not want Criseyde to abandon her plans but only to assure him that she will remain stead fast in her love for the Trojan prince. Troilus now behaves like Percival's maid, arguing against his lover's bold plan only to make her more resolved to carry it out. He succeeds, for Criseyde dismisses his worries, assuring him that she can achieve all that she has set out to accomplish. Thinking of the state of her city that "hath now swich nede / Of help" (IV, 1558-59), she chides Troilus for wanting to abandon his home, reminding him that he plays a vital role in his city's defense.

Concern for his city, however, does not motivate Troilus in his insistence that he and Criseyde run off; rather, his hesitancy to allow her to leave stems from his hitherto unwarranted fear that Criseyde will prove untrue. After Criseyde's eloquent argument, which included an impassioned declaration that she would remain constant in her love (IV, 1527-54), Troilus still asks her to leave with him: "But for the love of God, if it be may,/So late us stelen priveliche away;/For evere in oon, as for to lyve in reste,/Myn herte seyth that it wol be the beste." (IV, 1600-1604)

After listening to this plea, Criseyde finally experiences an awakening, realizing that her lover does not hold the values that she herself cherishes. She recognizes his plea stems only from jealousy and not from any noble concern for her or for their country's grave situation. Sighing with exasperation, she once again defends herself against the charge of infidelity: "I se wel now that ye mystrusten me, For by youre wordes it is wel yseene./Now for the love of Cinthia the sheene, Mistrust me nought thus ca?seles, for routhe,/Syn to be trewe I have yow plight my trouthe." (IV, 1606-10)

Criseyde now recognizes that Troilus, who had shunned jealousy during his earlier blissful state (III, 1805-6), has relapsed into a suspicious suitor, one who holds little faith in his love's sincerity. He has forgotten that the last time he questioned Criseyde's trustworthiness he nearly lost her favor (III, 1054-85). Troilus's hypocrisy at Criseyde's departure serves only to alienate her further and to make her resolve to return to Troy begin to evaporate. The Trojan prince not only refuses to heed Pandarus's advice and openly declare his love; he also feigns joy at the arrival of Antenor (V, 77). Even if he believed that openly expressing his love for Criseyde would imperil her, he need not seem joyous concerning the exchange. Criseyde does not mask her emotions so easily but instead weeps piteously as Diomede leads her away (V, 82). She feels distraught not only because she must leave Troilus and Troy but also because she now recognizes that she has misread her lover's nature.

Troilus's behavior undercuts the narrator's contention that the young prince refuses to act only because he fears some harm may befall Criseyde: But why he nolde don so fel a dede,/That shal I seyn, and whi hym liste it spare:/He hadde in herte alweyes a manere drede/Lest that Criseyde, in rumour of this fare,/Sholde han ben slayn; lo, this was al his care./And ellis, certeyn, as I seyde yore,/He hadde it don, wi thou ten wordes more.(V, 50-56) These assurances concerning Troilus's desire to behave valiantly seem to reflect anxiety on the part of the narrator, who suspects, perhaps, that he recounts not the tale of a hero but of a coward.

W. A. Davenport believes Troilus's poetic apostrophes to his lost love as he waits for her in Troy indicate that the young prince's despair is primarily a pose. Troilus's letters also reveal that he continues to play a role. These solipsistic missives to Criseyde seal his fate, for they leave no question that Troilus remains a courtly lover. He does not consider the needs of his auditor, for instead of tender, solicitous queries concerning the hardships she must have endured, he stresses his own affliction. Cox comments that "Troilus sings of his woe with little regard for Criseyde, . . . and his letter, . . . full of fin’amors platitudes, blames her for going to the Greeks."

As in Book I, where he allowed his misery to paralyze him, Troilus has succeeded in making himself overwrought. It is as if the communion he experienced with Criseyde in Book III never occurred, for the Trojan prince once again acts like the lovelorn suitor of a lady he scarcely knows, whom he can address only in the most artificial, contrived manner. Troilus pens his letter ostensibly to convince Criseyde to return to Troy. Such a demand, however, is absurd, and he knows it. He, who remained completely passive while the Trojans forced his love to leave, now expects Criseyde to risk her life by rushing across the battlefield to return to him. Even if she succeeded in reaching Troy, Troilus knows his father would send her back to the Greeks.

Troilus does not really expect Criseyde to reunite with him; rather, he expects her to behave like a proper lady and die for her love. One can speculate that he wants her to act like the nondescript tragic heroines in the Legend of Good Women, to pine away like Ariadne or to commit suicide like Dido. Such behavior would prove a fitting end for the object of Troilus's desire, enabling him to compose tragic lays about the death of his beautiful, beloved dame. Criseyde sees through Troilus's importunate letter, and, instead of playing the expected role of the bereft lady, she assumes the role of a courtly lover herself. As Davis notes, "when his [Troilus's] thou becomes an it, it rightly opts out." Criseyde might have risked her life or wasted away for the valiant Troilus of Book III, but she deems this poseur unworthy of such deep, abiding affection.

John McKinnell contrasts the structure of Criseyde's letter to Troilus's, noting that her epistle flows eloquently and follows the rules of artes dictamen. Criseyde's controlled prose reflects her nature; she will determine her own actions and certainly will not be dictated to by a man whose own convoluted letter displays an utter lack of composure or self-discipline. The time for impulsive behavior on the part of Troilus has passed. He should have displayed such passion when Criseyde was taken from him; he should have acted rashly when such behavior would have proved effective. Now his raving falls on deaf ears, and his former lover tersely retorts "Nor other thyng nys in youre remembraunce, / As thynketh me, but only youre plesaunce" (V, 1607-8).

In abandoning Troilus and accepting Diomede's suit, Criseyde behaves like a male lover jilting a woman with whom he has grown weary. Criseyde knows that men behave in this manner, for prior to accepting Troilus's advances, she complains about the faithlessness of men: "ek men ben so un trewe,/That right anon as cessed is hire lest,/So cesseth love, and forth to love a newe./But harm ydoon is doon, whoso it rewe:,For though thise men for love hem first torende,/Ful sharp bygynnyng breketh ofte at ende."(II, 786-91) Criseyde follows the consummate courtly lover's, Pandarus's, advice to Troilus, an act that leaves both uncle and lover astounded. Her behavior provokes Pandarus's violent exclamation "I hate, ywis, Cryseyde; / And, God woot, I wol hate hire evermore!" (V, 1732-33), as well as his wish that she will die soon, a desire to which Troilus, by not gainsaying, seems to give his silent assent.

Criseyde's unconventional behavior confounds the narrator as well. He cannot quite grasp why she gives Diomede Troilus's brooch, for instance, despairing that there "was litel nede" for such a deed (V, 1040). The narrator cannot admit that Troilus deserves to be abandoned by Criseyde, for to do so would be to recognize that he has recounted the story of a dithering, self-consumed man. By giving Diomede her brooch, Criseyde sends Troilus a clear message that no matter how much he rants and raves she no longer will accommodate his desires. She lets him know that not only does she refuse to return to Troy; she also refuses to waste away for love of him. Criseyde never wanted to involve herself in an affair constrained by the rules of courtly love, and she takes up with a new lover, who, like her, eschews such conventions.

Diomede's desire for Criseyde does not emasculate him, and he never complains of her cruel heart or hints that she causes him great pain. Instead, he treats her as his equal, engaging her in an intellectual conversation concerning the siege and seeking her opinion about the war: He gan first fallen of the werre in speche Bitwixe hem and the folk of Troie town;/And of th'assege he gan hire ek biseche To telle hym what was hire opynyoun. (V, 855-58) Diomede understands Criseyde's nature, for he recognizes that she is a woman interested in much more than silly love games. Instead of harping about himself, as Troilus tends to do, Diomede at least feigns empathy for Criseyde's plight, telling her he has noticed her sorrow and wondering if she laments a lost love (V, 871-82).

His concern indeed may be motivated merely by lust, but compared to Troilus's self pitying posturing, it strikes the Trojan beauty as a welcome change. In Criseyde's estimation, Diomede now seems much closer to the ideal she seeks than the Trojan prince, for Diomede pretends at least to admire both her beauty and her intellect. Indeed, Chaucer hints that Diomede may prove a much better match for feisty Criseyde than the young, oversensitive prince. The poet reveals that the Greek warrior and the Trojan beauty share the same pragmatic philosophy. Determined to court Criseyde, Diomede reminds himself that "he that naught n'asaieth naught n'acheveth" (V, 784). His words echo Criseyde's own, who, while contemplating Troilus's suit, mused that "'He which that nothing undertaketh, / Nothyng n'acheveth, be hym looth or deere'" (II, 807-8). Troilus, significantly, does not subscribe to this self-sufficient view.

Readers should not scorn Criseyde for turning toward Diomede. After being so bitterly disappointed in Troilus, who proved himself incapable of transcending the conventional, Criseyde continues to believe in the possibility of attaining the ideal in love. She may not remain loyal to a man who has failed her, but she does remain loyal to the notion of a healthy, wholesome love, a love based on mutual desire and a meeting of minds. Her passion for Troilus has changed her; she does not revert back to the cynical young widow of Book II, who regarded love as little more than a trap set by men. For one fleeting moment, Criseyde found her affair with Troilus liberating, because it enabled her to express and to sate finally her own desires. She embarks on a relationship with Diomede yearning to recapture the bliss that she once felt with her Trojan prince. Diomede, she hopes, will prove a more worthy recipient of her stalwart heart.

Troilus also finds himself altered by his love affair with Criseyde, but his transformation occurs only after his death. His demise releases him from the courtly love conventions that he found impossible to escape while on earth. In Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi describes the metamorphosis that occurs when her female students remove their mandatory black robes in the sanctuary of their professor's apartment. Freed from these black garbs, symbols of the repressive Iranian regime, they indulge in the luxury of laughter. Upon his death, Troilus finds himself similarly released from the strictures of his society. He can now shed his pose as a courtly lover, and, looking at the world from his heavenly perch, he too can laugh, both at his weakness in constantly allowing the values of the majority to dictate his actions and at the temerity of the woman he once loved, who refused to do so.”

- Mary Behrman, “Heroic Criseyde.”

#troilus and criseyde #geoffrey chaucer #medieval literature #mary behrman #courtly love

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hela-avenger · 5 years ago

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poison & wine- part 10

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1810

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: A little backstory for ya which ends with a pleasant surprise! Shoot me a message if you’ll like to be tagged!

Hela-Avenger Masterlist

Loki takes you on a tour of the royal garden. You knew he wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of his princely heart. He wanted more than you already gave him and you wondered what it could possibly be. Loki knew that you knew something was up and so he decided to just get ahead of it.

“I have questions,” Loki states. “Questions pertaining to you and your half-immortal life.”

“Oh, so now you want to get to know me,” you sneer at him. “Funny how things change.”

“Now that I know you’re not completely mortal, I find you interesting enough to actually want to,” Loki remarks sensing your annoyance immediately. “So let’s start shall we? How old are you?”

“I’m sure that question is rude to ask a woman in every realm in this universe,” you point out, earning a scoff from him. “But fine, I’m… I’m about 198 years old.”

“And in Midgardian standards?”

“24ish.”

“Hmm,” Loki hums. You were young as he previously suspected you to be. “Does anyone else know about your true lineage?”

“Only Tony and Steve,” you answer. “Tony because he was told by Fury after his death and Steve because… because I knew him from before.”

“From the war? You were there with him?” he asks surprised. You nod and he tries to make sense of it. “You were there when they first found the tesseract.”

“Contrary to popular belief I never encountered the nuisance of an object,” you tell him. “It wasn’t until later that I found out that it even existed.”

Loki couldn’t help but stare at you wondering what else you’ve lived through. You were aware of his intense focus on you and you tried very hard to ignore it.

“My story is a long one,” you tell him as you let yourself get distracted by the flowers that seem to reach out for your touch. “It’s best if I start from the beginning and work my way till the end.”

Loki nods in agreement and prompts for you to begin.

“I was born in 1822,” you answer. “Grew up fairly normal and comfortable to my mother’s content, managing to hide her secret for the first twenty years of my life before it all came to a stop.”

“You stopped aging,” Loki comments.

“I did,” you sigh out. “After turning 19, aging seemed to have grown to a stop. I remained that way for another fifty years. I watched my mother age and die alone because she was afraid of what people might think if they saw me.”

You take a deep breath trying to relinquish the pain that had taken hold of your chest.

“I found her journals soon after her death,” you answer. “And I couldn’t… It took awhile for me to actually read them. Found some oddities in the entrances before my birth and that was just the first hint of many that I wasn’t normal.”

“I was on my own after that,” you tell him. “I left her estate to be taken care of by distant relatives and had to keep moving in order to avoid getting caught on this ageless lie. I managed to avoid all of the wars in my travels. Lying became second nature wherever I went and I avoided getting close to people because of it.”

You shake your head out of the thought knowing you were giving more than was necessary. You hope Loki didn’t notice but he did. He caught the emotion on your voice.

“Anyways, I avoided the first world war,” you mention. “I was helping out where I could and everything was in such a disarray that no one questioned my agelessness or my not having a husband or kids. Once the war was over, I was on the move again. Time was slipping by quicker by then that I didn’t even notice the change.”

You pause as you recall the horrors you’ve seen.

“Another war started up,” you continue. “It was more awful than the last that I couldn’t stand idle on the side anymore, I had to help. I managed to get my hands on some false documentation that allowed me to sign up to be a nurse.”

You couldn’t help but snort at your cluelessness then.

“I worked my way up the ranks so easily,” you tell him. “I didn’t know why I was so immune to the many diseases going around at the time, nor my inability to get gravely injured or healing as quickly if I did end up hurt. I felt invincible… I hadn’t realized then that I technically was. And because of this mentality, I volunteered to go to the most dangerous locations which then led me to…”

“The Howling Commandos,” Loki interrupts knowing this story from Thor. “The good old brave Captain.”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “He was… He was amazing to work with. Not as much fun as…”

You stop yourself at the thought of him but he’s already invaded your mind. The sound of his laugh echoes in your mind. You feel the brush of his lips against your ear as he quietly sings the word of the song you’re closely dancing to.

Loki notices your pause and from the look on your face he recognizes where your mind has gone off too.

“You had a lover?”

“No, I mean… I…” you quickly stammer out a response. “We didn’t have a label on it but we were close. Bucky and I…”

“Wait,” Loki interrupts. “This Bucky isn’t the one they call the Winter Soldier, is it?”

You sigh at the label even though it was true.

“Yes, he is,” you answer.

“So he knows about your lineage too?”

“He’s aware there’s someone besides Steve from his past,” you correct him. “He doesn’t know it’s me.”

Loki glares down at you and you don’t comprehend as to why.

“Carry on with your story.”

“Well, from there it’s kind of all textbook,” you answer. “We were turning the tides of the war, releasing so many of our trapped troops, and regaining enemy territory but of course, nothing good ever lasts.”

“The Man of Winter plummets to his death and soon after the Captain crashes the plane to bury the tesseract.”

“Against all the rules I had set for myself, I managed to break them,” you sigh out. “I got too close to the squadron and I suffered the consequences of loss. I promptly resigned which in a way didn’t matter as the war had already come to an end.”

Amidst your walk, Loki had led you to a beautiful marble fountain. A bench was nearby and Loki prompted you to take a seat.

“I disappeared because I had to and I was on my own again,” you tell him. “And I returned to my family estate in need of some change. I repaired what was damaged in my home, updated it, and opened it up as a home for orphan children. I helped run it for as long as I could but had to leave it once the kids started to grow older. I left it with my trusted staff and checked in when necessary.”

You pause as you notice the figurines in the fountain shift into a different position before freezing up once more. You marveled at it in distraction amazed at the action.

“What happened next?” Loki asks snapping your focus back to him.

“Nothing really,” you answer as you turn to him. “I travelled the world like I always do until I was caught by SHIELD, most specifically Director Fury.”

You chuckle at the memory.

You had been in the middle of the frozen section at some grocery store trying to decide which pint of ice cream to take home. Nick had just plucked one and thrown into your basket making the decision for you. That was the only time you let him do as he pleased when it came to you.

“Apparently, Thor’s arrival on Earth prompted them to do some research which then made them aware of an incident two hundred years prior,” you explain. “And that’s when Fury found me, realized who I originally was, and made me aware of my true lineage. He tried to convince me into working with him but I refused. Threatened to lock me up and I laughed.”

Loki can’t help but join you in your amusement. Fury was not a man he was fond of and it seems you hadn’t liked him either.

“In the end, he let me go. Said he would keep an eye on me in case I tried something,” you tell him as your laughter died down. “But then he calls me up again, hoping that I would be able to help him with a private matter.”

“Steve Rogers…”

“Yes,” you answer. “And that’s how I got reunited with an old friend. I tried to help him acclimate to the modern world but it became disrupted upon your arrival. Fury tried to have me stay back and help but I feared for the aftermath of war and knew that my help was needed there. So I aided New York in recovering from the attack and that’s how I became acquainted with the rest of the Avengers. They all think I was a very brave civilian but Steve, and later on, Tony knew better.”

Loki nods happy that you skipped his role in your story. He did not enjoy being reminded of his failures.

“Things kind of blur together from there,” you tell him. “There was that mishap in London, Fury’s death, Hydra, Bucky being alive, Ultron… and a few bumps and bruises later here we are now. The end.”

Loki rolls his eyes at your conclusion knowing you failed to mention one very major detail.

“You wasted a lot of time on information that I could frankly care less about.”

“Alright, your majesty,” you mutter in annoyance. You had hoped your tale of woe would satisfy him but it hadn’t. “What is it that you want to know?”

Before Loki could ask the remaining burning question in his mind, he hears a chorus of laughter nearby. He seeks out the source noting the familiar dresses of his mother’s ladies in waiting from across the fountain. Loki didn’t enjoy their new audience and curious gazes on them. They were most likely gossiping already which after slight consideration could work for him if he played it right.

The opportunity for Loki to ask you about your father is gone but he was still able to gain something out of you.

“Loki?” you ask, gaining his attention once more. “What did you want to ask me?”

Loki’s grin makes an appearance again and you grow weary of it.

Your suspicions are confirmed right as he takes a gentle hold of your chin and sets his lips onto yours.

poison & wine tag: @damalseer @just-the-hiddles @jessiejunebug @nonsensicalobsessions @smollest-soybean @assassinoftheworld @readerbandit @doyoufeelikeayounggod @strangemcuvlogs @ha-tep @i-dont-know-eiither @gene-king @day-dreaming-fox @bn-studies @is-it-madness @sigyn-njorddottir @devilbat

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak

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eligos-venator · 4 years ago

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In regards to Villainy

I’ve been watching the villain post make its rounds and reblogged it earlier quietly with a small rant in the tags about personal concerns of my own. It’s shown up multiple times since then to where I feel some clarification is required on my part personally, as Eligos’s writer.

Communication and mutual agreement is required on all sides in RP, and nobody gets a free pass to do whatever they please because of some label that helps define their typical position in a roleplay. My gear gremlin was made for me as a player to enjoy watching him learn and grow as a person, and to provide minor inconveniences for other players should they wish him to get in their way as a way to help provide character growth for their muses. Not to be some big bad boss who gets their jollies by harming others. And I will not change him to suit anyone’s personal tastes but my own.

Read on if you want to see my whole take on this. Or not.

Let’s start with what the definition of villain actually means, given it’s a vaguer concept than most would like to think:

Definition of villain

1: a character in a story or play who opposes the hero 2: a deliberate scoundrel or criminal 3: one blamed for a particular evil or difficulty

These definitions are a rough guideline, but overall, all it takes to fall into the category of being a villain is a willingness to oppose a hero, regardless of reasoning or intent. Even in a clash of two heroes, you could call one the villain in that particular story for how they oppose the other. It’s a matter of perspective. One could be the villain of a story merely because they aim for the opposite goal of the hero of that tale, even if both end goals are suitably noble in the scheme of things. We often see in literary works that the villains of stories oft have either selfish or noble intentions, and in the case of the latter, what turns them into villains is how they view the world and how they may have let other important aspects fall to the wayside in their single-minded devotion to their goal.

Rarely is it that a good villain is written to be cruel and harsh for its own sake. The villain’s view of the world may be twisted, but there’s always an element of logic and reason, the same as you might see in a heroic character. Even initially good motivations and desires can be twisted into something absolutely horrendous and monstrous with the right pulls of the string in a character’s history. Some can have their world views changed for the better with time, while others struggle in vain to understand to the bitter end. But that’s how the cookie crumbles. Not all endings are happy, and not every character deserves a happy ending in a story book, especially so when considering how many that they have made suffer through their actions. But by that consideration, heroes aren’t above similar karmic justice as well, simply because they wore the mantle of hero. Nor are they automatically entitled to their happy ending. Harming others, regardless of role one sees themselves in a story, inevitably begets wrath and a desire for similar harm upon the one who originally inflicted it. And while that may lead to interesting interactions, it doesn’t always unfold in a way where things work out where each party gets their just desserts as people believe they should. We watch what happens as a story unfolds, and the job of the mun in roleplay is to portray the character as their motivations, desires, and ethics would bid them do, be it for weal or woe.

But there are additional aspects to keep in mind when roleplaying, and it isn’t simply limited to keeping to the character. Communication ahead of time, and discussing what is acceptable, what isn’t, and what one expects to come of roleplay with another, must all be done in order to ensure things go in a manner both parties are ok with what may happen and are on the same page. There never should be any ‘well that’s what my character would do’ bullshit when it comes to discussing boundaries and hard limits on what one finds acceptable versus unacceptable in roleplay. If you feel your character would not be able to be played in a manner in which you prefer due to said boundaries or rules, it is best to find roleplay elsewhere. To push or pressure one into ignoring their own personal comforts and boundaries is unacceptable. Even when walking up to someone, there still is an expectation of some communication on an out of character level should you intend to harm their character. This isn’t reserved only for villains to do. That’s placing undue burden on one player type while relaxing standards for the rest. All players must heed this if communication is to be healthy, in order to avoid crossed wires.

Which brings us to concerns people run across in roleplay. There indeed are players who play a character type due to the power fantasy, and do not properly communicate with their fellow players, nor keep in mind what they may face for their actions. Please note how I did not specify sides. In my time in roleplay, I have seen many players of heroes pull the same exact thing that they are so quick to accuse villain players of: ignoring what consequences they would logically face for misdeeds and attacking others in the street, as well as attempting to kill without communication or agreement on an OOC level, on top of trying to maim and cripple characters in permanent ways over small slights, such as spilling a beer on them, or harsh words exchanged. All of this, with not a single word of communication or planning ahead of time. One person falling into one side or the other between ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ does not give them a free pass for such behavior. It’s reprehensible behavior no matter who does it, and using the OOC information that someone happens to play as a character on the other side of what one considers good or evil as reasoning for a free license to do so is even moreso. Actions have consequences, no matter what side you are on. It is better and more interesting roleplay to roll with the consequences of a muse’s actions than it is to straight up ignore them. Talk shit, get hit. Hit someone, be hit in return. No party should expect a blanket immunity due to what they consider themselves. But neither should players feel they are given an automatic pass or ability to control the fate of another’s character. That’s still up to the writer of the character themselves, regardless of how much you may dislike the character being portrayed.

In particular, I’ve seen a disturbing number of individuals who feel it is within rights to execute player characters with zero communication out of character, and it’s mostly the players who play the ‘good’ characters saying this. If you feel you have an innate right to execute a character played by another, without any sort of communication ahead of time, you may be better off writing by yourself than with others. No player is allowed to force character death on another, regardless of the roles played. You may discuss and plan, and plot ways any encounter may go, but the moment one tries to bully or force another player into killing their character off, regardless of why, they have gone too far and should not be surprised if the player in question chooses to remove themselves from the roleplay or ignore it entirely.

In regards to the claims of that the guards would not allow such characters in, that is ignoring just how vast a city is and the limited number of troops that would be there to patrol, in comparison to the rest of the populace. What we see ingame doesn’t necessarily correlate to the actual size of each location, as areas have been limited in size both due to technical limitations of the game as well as to ensure a relative amount of convenience for the players.

Certainly, should a character with a bounty and known face get noticed for their deeds or a guard is called for, they should be prepared to potentially face consequences for their actions or try to escape. Actions have consequences. But one cannot simply whip up a dozen super-powered city guard NPCS to try to execute another player simply because they dislike that the player is not playing the type they want them to. Especially if the character in question may not even have a wanted poster or have done anything that would warrant the guard’s attention. That is gatekeeping roleplay at its finest, deciding who should be where based on personal preferences with little regard to others beyond personal feelings. By that sort of standard, any player who disliked someone else could do the same and merely claim that the face is close enough to a bounty that they should be killed on sight. Better to alert a player of a guard character and let them handle it, if you do want to have guards interfere, or plot with said character’s player to see how guards can be involved and then step in if they are agreeable to such. If not, drop it and either watch, or ignore. Whipping up random NPCs to do your bidding and to try to force someone out of roleplay without any discussion will not encourage people to do as you expect, and instead is more likely to earn you a spot on the block list.

Often times, a player character that falls on the villain side of the spectrum may not necessarily have a bounty because they have handled their personal situations or misdeeds in a way that keeps them under the radar, or they are skirting the line between legal and illegal. Assuming that all deeds are known and skipping straight to confrontation is poor form at the least and is considered metagaming. No player gets a free pass to do that. Many villain players have rules that one must adhere to when engaging their characters precisely because as players we’ve all seen people assume what our character would and wouldn’t be let known, or what they would say, and then run with it without even a word to us as the player of said villain. The rules we have are used to avoid such mischaracterization and help ensure that communication is healthy on all sides. Players of both sides get particularly upset when key details are left out and things they do not want nor did they agree ahead of time to are sprung on them.

Finally, a character does not represent the writer. A character may adore strawberries and peanuts, but the writer may be highly allergic to where they are sent into shock even on mild contact with either of them and thus loathes them. And what a character may think of said foods may also differ drastically between what the writer thinks of them as a result of those differences. This is the difference between in character and out of character. I explain it as such as I have seen the community grow progressively worse over time in understanding that what one’s character may do may not necessarily reflect the writer’s view in real life at all. Too many see a character that is morally questionable and believe that the writer behind them will behave in the exact same way as the character, and that how the character may see things is no different than how the player does. If you struggle to comprehend that a character does not necessarily represent the player, then you misunderstand what roleplaying is. It is not merely and only inserting yourself into a game setting down to the last detail. You may do that, but others have just as much right to write out something different, and approach a character not from a perspective of how they themselves feel, but from a point of analyzing of how someone who experienced the history forged for the character might behave and in doing so explore the resulting mindset.

Such history may scar a character or traumatize in a way that brings out behaviors that the player themselves would never consider till they sit down and consider just how the character may respond after all factors are taken into account. Just because one character hates something or someone does not mean that the writer does as well. Darker characters and villains often have traumas that skew their views to some degree, but just because the writer has taken the time to consider what that may result in does not mean they require therapy themselves as a person or that they share those same views or ideals. To say so and paint all players with such a broad brush and claim them to be mentally unwell is disgusting and indicates that, as a player, one cannot separate themselves from their character enough to comprehend that others are able to portray views other than their own personal set of beliefs held as a person. It also discourages dialogue, as it shows an innate, hostile bias, and there are not many that are willing to put up with such hostility and narrow-mindedness as it is being aimed at them as a person and attacking them as a person rather than disliking the character forged. You cannot expect someone to willingly listen and try to see your side when attacked on a personal level for little more than having made something you dislike seeing in your personal roleplay. If you dislike it, don’t interact or involve such a character in your plot line. If they ask for your view, you can always provide constructive criticism, but if you offer it unbidden you should not expect it to be listened to or taken. Especially if it is very clear from how you approach it that your problem is personally with the player and not the details or how they portrayed the character.

As a personal example, Eligos would be categorized as a villain. He works for whoever pays him the most as a minion, and while he mostly does perfectly legal work, he absolutely has done less-than-legal work and then carefully covered up his misdeeds after by pulling the strings of the people who owe him favors. He is considered a villain mainly as he will do whatever he is allowed to within his contract in order to succeed, and often times finds himself working for the wrong [losing] side because his messed-up priorities led him to see the extra money offered as indication of good faith in his abilities and also valuing him as an asset, and not being able to see why acting on behalf of someone he thinks valued him more is a bad thing. He will work with anyone if he’s given a good enough reason or money, or against them if someone else makes a better offer. He won’t kick puppies or harm kittens, or hurt anyone unnecessarily, and if it does boil down to combat, it’s something I absolutely discuss ahead of time to find out limitations and also what one desires to see happen, so that personal growth for the character he is facing off against or with has that opportunity to grow and learn as a person. If someone says they dislike something? That’s now off the table and no longer up for discussion, period. But by virtue of his poor life choices and habitually finding himself on the wrong side of conflict due to his values, he is a villain, through and through.

But playing a character like him isn’t a simple power fantasy made to flex virtual muscles. There’s easier and simpler options, and if I wanted to do that, I’d have just made a hero, as those characters tend to not be analyzed so hard for compliance as villains are. If Eligos had been made to be some stupid power fantasy and nothing more, he’d not be yeeted into a wall half as often as he has by both those around him and his own tools malfunctioning. Nor am I mentally unwell and think the same way he does, simply because I let him say and do the shit that he does. I personally dislike many of his life choices, but do find it amusing to watch him go, and then pile on karma later for all of his misdeeds so he regrets his actions later. He’s an arrogant little gear gremlin who exists to help further stories of others while providing entertaining moments. Just because one individual personally may not see the karma carried out or get to execute him simply as they dislike him doesn’t mean he gets away with no consequences for his actions. As the player, I decide how to punish him. Not others. Him being a villain does not strip me of that right and give it to you simply because you dislike seeing him around.

#mun speaks #mun rants #villain

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normal-thoughts-official · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Maryse actually earning a redemption? I liked her character post redemption but the whole arc felt rushed, unearned, and too easy. Especially with her victims (both her children and downworlders like Magnus) forgiving her so easily like she didn't do anything that bad...

oh mood. i actually have lowkey conflicted feelings on the whole maryse thing because like, on the one hand, they didn't do the thing i hate the most with this kind of "arc" - having the character b like "sorry that i was an asshole" and then continue to be an asshole but not on purpose this time and so it's fine now. on the other hand, they did the opposite - maryse did actually change and become a non-abusive person, but it didn't fucking make sense and she basically never bothered to acknowledge that she was a uhhhh terrible fucking person

there's also lowkey projection feelings that make me a little fond of maryse, like, damn, i wish my mom just decided one day that transphobia isn't sexy and completely changed overnight. u know? lmao

but anyway yeah i do have thoughts on a maryse redemption arc that doesn't suck ass. especially because i think there are elements that could make a cohesive story if the show actually, like, bothered with them. i'll warn u that i'll mostly ignore the cheating plotline because 1- it has kinda yikes vibes like "oh she's suffered now so we have to forgive her", and 2- i don't really care about cheating plotlines tbh. like rationally i can understand that it's essentially betrayal of an agreement, but emotionally, i simply don't understand why anyone would give a fuck lol i just can't connect emotionally with it in any way so it feels very abstract and forced for me to write about

so i think the starting point for her redemption would be her being deruned. so i’m gonna start from there, and just assume that everything that went down before the announcement of her deruning was the same

i say the deruning because like.... her entire life, this was her absolute top priority. being a shadowhunter. being a part of that society. upholding these values. being essentially shadowhunter royalty. and now, she's lost that. and she's forced to look back at everything that she did without the looming threat of her losing what she's been working so hard for (since she already did) and it suddenly feels way clearer

not that like oh she never realized how shitty she was! she fucking knew how shitty she was. there's no way she didn't. she manipulated her children, she purposefully humiliated them and withheld affection, she hurt them, she participated in genocide, she killed people, and she did it with the intent of doing all those things. but i think - especially with the part about that her children - that the way she looked at this was always distorted by the fact that the clave/the lightwood name/her position of power and prestige took precedence. also, the constant threat that she would lose that meant that she could justify it to herself saying that it was what she had to do. now, she can no longer do that, because it's already happened. and guess what? life went on now that she's deruned. so she's forced to look at everything that she did for her position as a shadowhunter from a distance this time, because her goals are unattainable now, and that means she can look at it more rationally, especially since she ran out of excuses. and here's the picture: none of it was worth it

and i'm talking about her children specifically. the literal fascism shit is more complicated since like, she is a radical racist and i don't think she would see a problem with that, tbh. she has no reason to care about that, yet

so okay, she's looking back and she realizes not only that her excuses for her behavior were made of paper, but also that her priorities were all fucked up, because now that she's deruned, it isn't that in itself that hurts her the most. it's the fact that she's alone

and again, i don't mean that like, boo hoo, poor her. that was the consequence of her own actions and honestly good for all the people in her life that they didn't feel obligated to give her emotional support when she was out there ruining their lives

what i do mean is that this is what moves her to want to change and mend things, if anything, because she wants comfort

and initially she would be super fucking selfish and shitty about it, because like..... obviously, maryse was selfish. she might have said "lightwood name" this and that, but let's be real here, she wasn't even born a lightwood to care all that much about that. it was about her, her power, her prestige. if overnight the lightwood name stopped being a symbol of status she would drop it like a hot potato, she held it close to her chest because it meant ascension for her personally. she manipulated her children and drew away her friends and supported genocide for herself, not out of some obligation with the concept of lightwoodship or whatever

she would try to "mend" her relationship with her children for herself, and it would show. robert would probably drop her like a hot potato too after the deruning, lbr, and i don't think she cared all that much about him anyway, so i'll focus on izzy, alec, and jace. jace is kind of weird since she was never shown to abuse him, but she also was willing to throw him on the trash when she found out he was valentine's kid, so. but overall i think he would be the one to mend his relationship with her more easily, but also - jace is just as selfish as her and even more self centered, so she wouldn't get a lot of support/satisfaction out of that relationship

so she tries to make things better with alec and izzy and they're both like... lol. especially alec because as we've seen he had no qualms about being completely ruthless with maryse once he broke out of her claws (good for him!) and while izzy had this whole "i don't care about maryse" facade.... she did, honestly. like she was visibly hurt by maryse not hugging her despite that being expected, and maryse's presence there in itself was enough for her body language to completely change. when izzy wanted to prove that she could be mature, she emulated maryse's style. so i think, especially since izzy was obviously the fuckup kid, that a part of her is kind of desperate to get any sort of approval or affection from maryse

but that doesn’t mean that she’s going to humiliate herself for maryse, and she also gets some satisfaction in being able to flip the tables and be the one to reject her, for once. and alec is straight up like... “you never gave us any support, but now that you’ve lost everything, you want it from us? i’m just doing what you taught us, mother”

i think jace would probably be the one to be like “oh, come on, alec, she wasn’t that bad” almost scoffing at the idea and it’s just like... “between what she did to me, izzy, and magnus, she has to work a lot harder if she wants my forgiveness” and maryse is kind of taken aback because tbh up to this point she hadn’t given any thought whatsoever to what she did to magnus or downworlders in general

she’s probably kind of appalled by the idea tbh

but she also starts to like... lowkey... get it? i mean obviously she’s not a downworlder and she’ll never suffer what downworlders went through, but now that shadowhunter society has turned her back on her, now that she’s become depised by them too, she has a tiny little taste of what it feels like, and it’s not nice

especially cuz like, again... robert would drop her like a hot potato lol and like i don’t even blame him cuz she wasn’t exactly a great wife either and maryse would have done the same, i don’t think either of them ever had any illusions when it came to their marriage tbh. but robert uses her exact m.o. against her (since well, it was his, too) and that means that she gets to feel at least a little bit of forced sympathy for the people she’s done the same thing to

so i think she would come to luke (no i’m not going a lukemaryse route keep calm)

and luke is kind of like... well, i was waiting for this to happen. you know, because he is the one to comes closest to having been in maryse’s situation, since he’s also an ex-shadowhunter - except worse because he’s been turned downworlder, not just mundane

and it’s the first time she actually shows some level of empathy because she’s kind of like “i was just wondering... how did you deal with it when they... when all of us... turned our backs on you?” and she apologizes for that and that shocks luke because he didn’t expect it

and it’s easier for luke to forgive her because 1- it’s been a while; 2- they aren’t super close; 3- luke was also a fascist so like lmao; 4- there is one (1) person who understands what he went through, kinda. again not really because being a downworlder is way worse than mundane but who else comes close?

and look i’m not saying they become best friends or anything but they have a good talk about what it was like, and maryse is again forced to meet her own shittiness dead in the eye because when luke talks about what he went through when he was Turned, well, maryse was there. and now she is basically forced to empathize with him, who was on the other side, and see herself as the tormentor that other people are being to her now

and like again it’s not like she didn’t know that she was a shitty ass person and what she was doing was terrible but now all the walls he had put up to avoid acknowledging that are straight up torn down

she apologizes and he just kind of shrugs because it’s not like he’s gonna be like “yeah np lol” and this is not the kind of thing that you resolve easily, especially after such a long time, so it’s awkward. but again, he doesn’t exactly resent her anymore either, he’s more kind of... neutral i guess. like he made his peace with it a long time ago and an apology from one of the people involved is way more than he ever expected to get, so

also maryse doesn’t cry her woes because she is way too proud for that, which means that luke doesn’t have to deal with her Shadowhunter Tears on top of everything else. it’s more the opposite, really, it’s luke who talks and maryse who listens, and for the first time, luke gets to talk about how he felt about being turned and shunned without... i don’t want to say fear, but like, reservation? because obviously talking about this with a downworlder is worse and more awkward and more painful. because maryse was essentially worse than him, he gets to talk about it without shame, if that makes sense? and he also gets to say everything he’s always wanted to say to shadowhunters/circle members in general, and it does him good

they go their separate ways and luke is left feeling emotionally exhausted from reopening that wound but also like its scar has faded further, you know? and maryse is starting to actually genuinely want to be better, not just to convince people to not leave her

also, luke is by far the one who treated her best up to this point, so she feels a little lighter, even if it was far from a good interaction

i think the next she would go to would be magnus?? kinda?? like not right away of course, this isn’t shtv so i’m going with a long timeline that involves plenty of her living as a mundane and Thinking About What She’s Done and trying to find a purpose for her life now

i guess she would have that fucking shop? so there’s that. and in that time she gets to meet some mundanes and make tentative local-shop-owner/client sorta friendships and talk about what she went through in vague terms and get some advice that might actually be useful

anyway, magnus! so she would go to magnus because he’s one of the downworlders (and her experience with luke makes her think that they are more likely to forgive her since they weren’t close) but mostly because she wants to win alec over and she knows that will never ever happen if she isn’t nice to magnus. she’s racist, not stupid

magnus doesn’t let her into the loft, but he also doesn’t close the door on her face. from previous scenes (mostly max’s rune ceremony thing) we know that magnus is at least willing to try to have some sort of truce for alec’s sake, but there’s that, and there’s maryse marching into his home like nobody’s business expecting forgiveness when she directly killed at least a few people magnus cared about and/or was responsible for protecting

also it’s transparent that she’s doing it for alec, so magnus is like “while it is nice to know that you care this much about alexander... i can’t just forgive you” and she is a little outraged, but she leaves without making a fuss

meanwhile magnus is just emotionally depleted even from this very short interaction with her, because she’s just... too much

lowkey has a depression day after that because that is way too much and he’s just kind of in a slump, feeling empty and reliving the worst memories of the people he’s lost in that war. alec notices and magnus is vague about it, just like “maryse.... visited” and alec wants him to talk about it but magnus is not going to talk about everything alec’s mom did to him cuz she’s like... still alec’s mom. so it’s awkward and heavy but they both lowkey comfort each other for the rest of the day and cuddle and shit

also there’s max! with max it’s a little different because he’s not going to like, straight up not want to talk to maryse, and his relationship with her seemed to be a little different from the others anyway. he was still heavily influenced by her ideals, and even with the dirvorce/distancing/idk, obviously she and robert are still like, sharing the custody. and she asks max about alec and izzy (as well as jace when they get to talk) and max is very blunt about it too, very “they’re still pissed at you” and she’s like gee kid thanks, i know that, but how are they. are they ok?

and again max is a nosy bitch so whenever he sees alec and izzy he’s like “mom keeps asking how you guys are doing. she wanted to know about izzy’s new project” and izzy is shocked like “since when does she know about my projects?” and max shrugs like “idk”

and again, emotionally exhausting. especially when eventually max starts to say that maryse also asked how magnus was doing, and that hits alec like a billion bricks, because maryse is acknowledging their relationship? without him like, basically threatening her? lmao

cue their own version of depression days/weird coping mechanisms because they don’t know how to deal emotionally with this. izzy would probably throw herself headfirst into work like “emotions what emotions haha never heard of that anyway check out this corpse” and alec... shoots arrows until his hands bleed, as usual

because look, it’s hard, and i say that from firsthand experience. even the thought that your prejudiced parents might change gives hope. and alec had always been so loyal to family, to him, it was family before everything else, and that included maryse. and yes, he was manipulated by her, but he also did value family and he had some good moments, or moments that he saw as good (like the whole guy whose nose he broke thing) with her. so it’s just like... a lot of conflict because he kind of wants to turn his back on her and has been ever since he came out, but there’s a lot of emotions swirling inside of him

again magnus sees his bloodied hands and he heals them softly, asking him what happened. and alec is like “maryse is asking max about us” and magnus is like “oh” and again, alec is not going to go into the details of his relationship with his mom who killed magnus’ people, so it’s a little silent and awkward again, but they can again draw comfort from each other just from being together in silence and cuddling and shit

me? talking about malec cuddling in a maryse post? it’s more likely than you think

for a while alec and izzy do this weird dance around each other where they’re both like “you’re overworking yourself, want a break?” without actually acknowleding it because they know that if they actually tried they would both just keep uno +4 carding each other like “oh so why don’t you talk about how you feel?” “well why don’t you talk about how you feel?” “well but why don’t you talk abou-”

i think izzy might be the one to break first. if anything, because alec’s Big Brother instincts mean that he doesn’t want to come to her to cry his woes, because he feels like He Should Be The One To Protect Her. and she’s like “alec, i’m not a child, you can talk to me. and if we aren’t going to face this together, who are we going to face it with?” and alec just looks at her with that intense stare and izzy goes, “i feel disappointed in myself because a part of me is so happy that she finally cared about something i was creating” and just like that, alec’s walls are gone

he finally gets to really talk about how he feels with the whole maryse and magnus thing and admit that a part of him is also happy that she asked and that it sucks and he hates it and feels weak, basically

lightwood siblings mutual support because we are all about that shit! who’s maryse again

anyway max is kinda their bridge for a while, not even intentionally, but alec and izzy get to get used to the idea that maryse is trying because he tells them about it and he gets to see the small changes in maryse’s behavior you know? and so alec and izzy hear about that

it’s also probably because of max that they get to see her again, i mean, they are all family. and they’re both kinda bracing for some emotionally loaded interactions at the very least

but instead she has like kind of accepted that they don’t feel comfortable with her and that it’s her fault for using them instead of protecting them most of their lives so she leaves them be beyond the pleasantries and they find themselves... relaxing? not enough to talk to her but just to be able to breathe in her presence which is already a lot

so this goes on for a while. also, maryse does end up genuinely trying to help in the anti-valentine crusade, but like, she’s respectful about it? she definitely isn’t taking charge or going after downworlders when they couldn’t trust her, but she has A- intel because she knew him for most of his life and can help predict what he thinks (as can luke) and B- fierceness and willingness to do what he’s told. the fact that whenever a downworlder like luke or magnus tells her what to do she just nods and does as she’s told earns her a lot of points. she also doesn’t demand their trust in any way and doesn’t ask for any information so that helps even if of course it’s still tense for everyone involved. but maryse understands and acknowledges this. in this case the shadowhunter training also helps because she is very used to dealing with following orders, not being told things, and tense/uncomfortable environments lol so that means that she can be there without putting her shadowhunter fragility all over the place or demanding things she doesn’t have the right to

also whenever people ask her why she’s doing this (which happens frequently since you know. why does maryse lightwood care) she says that just accepting her punishment is not enough to undo her mistakes. she is responsible for this mess and it’s on her to help take it down as well as she possibly can

so slowly she starts to gain trust? and slowly her relationship with them both mends

i’m unsure whether alec or izzy would forgive her first. a part of me wants to say izzy because again, i feel like she is really desperate for maryse’s approval, while alec’s whole thing is that he's over needing it. i mean obviously alec is still human and like i said, a family man, so of course he also wants maryse to approve of him and them both to have a good relationship even if he hates that he does. but he’s been working too hard to break out of needing to be on maryse’s good books to start now. in a way, having maryse’s approval is almost triggering because he’s coming to associate maryse’s pride on him with his own suffering

but on the other hand, alec is a family man, and he was closer to maryse than izzy, so i could also see him being the one to forgive her first. maybe he is the one who gets back to talking to her first, but izzy is the one who once starts mending their relationship lowers her guard for real? while alec still has like... snappy and defensive tendencies (which are perfectly valid and healthy of him to have)? you know? like once izzy is like fine let’s give her a chance she actually does, while alec takes a long, long time to lower his guard, and that only happens like, way after valentine is defeated and magnus starts feeling more comfortable around maryse (obviously magnus and maryse won’t ever be BFFs, but over time he can handle her presence, you know? make small talk, have a sorta “i have my mom-in-law but what can we do” dynamic)

and yeah those are my thoughts? it takes some years for them to actually have a good relationship but it builds slowly and maryse does do her homework as much as possible so that’s nice

again, thank you so much for this question and i hope you like my answer

EDIT: here's some more on alec's response to the whole thing. thank you, anon!

#ask #anonymous #shadowhunters #sh #anti maryse lightwood #anti sh writers #anti sh #maryse lightwood #meta #alec lightwood #izzy lightwood #max lightwood #jace herondale #lightwood siblings #magnus bane #luke garroway

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bbq-hawks-wings · 5 years ago

Note

After the DabiHawks shippers took on the “he’d hate Endeavor if he found out his past then ttly became a villain!” I’ve had this rage about the subject lol. Endeavor is not Enji. That’s been stated by even Natsuo and a lot by Shouto. Hawks is a fan of Endeavor the hero and he’s shown to be great at compartmentalizing so I don’t think it’d matter much to him. (Like how Deku was.) Especially since Endeavor became self aware and is changing. Really what we need is more background. HORI! 😡

"That last ask reminded me how much I dislike fanfics' portrayal of Hawks' reaction to Endeavor's past, lol. I guess that's more to do w/ people hating Endeavor but they forget that these two have a good relationship that goes beyond hero worship by now. Endeavor cares for Hawks and Hawks got to see his change, to support and trust him. That's why the reveal will be extra painful and Hawks' reaction cannot be predicted, it's very complicated." -Another Anon (We'll call you A2)

All this interaction and just from something I plunked down in my blog without major tags? I really do have a significant amount of people who read my stuff, thanks everyone!

Tw: Abuse of various kinds

Before responding I'd like to take a step back and frame this is real-world terms for a second: abuse is rampant in our local communities even if you may not realize it. Both my parents came from backgrounds with abusive parents/step-parents - some of which was on par with what the Todoroki's went through. That scratches the tip of the iceberg of people I personally know who have suffered some sort of domestic abuse, including myself, let alone the people I know of who have experienced it.

We really need to be sensitive to the fact that some respond to Enji the way they do because they don't see a fictional character with a story and message to tell in the larger scheme of the series - they see their own abuser, that person who on whatever level ground them down and made them feel like something less than human for however long and may even still be doing so. Have compassion for these folks. Not every Enji-anti is a cancel culture party planning purist ambassador.

Hawks is a comfort character for a lot of people, and many have used his ambiguous/mysterious personality as a blank canvas to project their woes onto and triumph over them vicariously through him. I've even done so. When his canon past came to light, a lot of them doubled-down on it, believing their victory was near. For those with open wounds, vehemently rejecting that abuser is a common cathartic release dream - especially if they've only recently come to terms with the fact that they aren't the ones at fault for what they went/are going through. Anger is a normal reaction.

For many of these people, the idea that someone who had it in them to do THAT to a human being could EVER, ACTUALLY want to change and CAN change is, frankly, actual insanity.

On the other side of the coin are people who believe that while those individuals need to have consequences of some kind for what they've done, they are allowed to make strides to improve who they are moving forward. They can never erase the evil they've inflicted on others, and it's up to their victims to decide if they forgive them individually; but never letting a genuinely remorseful person try to be better one day at a time leaves the world at least as ugly as we left it.

You had a good word for it, A2 - it's complicated.

Part of forfeiting your right to forgiveness as a former abuser includes not only giving up your right to be forgiven by your victims but by anyone you lied to as you commited and hid the abuse.

To A1's point, Enji and Endeavor until recently have not been the same person. He's Enji Todoroki first, and he lied to everyone to maintain his image as Endeavor the hero. In fact, he sacrificed the integrity of Enji to exist as Endeavor, so Endeavor the hero is not free of the crimes of Enji Todoroki.

For someone like Hawks who may have looked up to Endeavor, after coming to the conclusion that Papa Takami was a garbage human being, and thought "That's what a good man looks like! He would be a good dad to me if I was his kid," he would be justified in not forgiving Endeavor/Enji for implicitly lying to him for years, enforcing a false version of reality that lead to him selling his freedom as a child and not fighting back harder when he was older because to Hawks they are the same person - if you're this good to the public, you're this good in private. If Endeavor did all this, lied to Keigo and the public, with the HPSC's blessing, Hawks has the right to spit pure venom because in his mind you can't separate the hero from the person. Recognize that there isn't anything of Keigo Takami that isn't Hawks, and Hawks exists at the cost of Keigo Takami. If Hawks goes down, so does Keigo.

"If it means getting my hands dirty to put the minds of others at ease, I'll gladly take on this task."

The series is trying to tell us that, too. Have you noticed that none of the "big three" have real hero names atm? They're Shouto, Bakugo, and Deku. Even Izuku's choice to be called Deku is symbolic in this sense. Deku isn't a hero-proper, he's just Deku doing what Deku does because that's who Deku is. Call him by any other name, that's who he is at his core, it's who he was before he ever got a quirk, and it would be that way if he was recognized as a proper hero or not.

The HPSC has tried to strip Hawks of Keigo Takami unsuccessfully because they can't - if anything, by choking out Keigo Takami's ability to exist outside of Hawks they've reinforced a sense of personal identity and responsibility over his own actions that they can't undo. All Might only exists because Yagi Toshinori wanted to create a paragon, and in feeding All Might's existence Yagi Toshinori withered away. And on the same note, when Jin Bubaigawara reached the end of his rope and had nowhere to go and no one left to turn to, he became Twice and found a place that wanted him.

Now, Jin felt like his own most ideal version of himself as Twice, and even despite his laundry list of crimes up to and including murder Hawks still felt he was worthy of redemption - even just the chance for it. Will Endeavor, whose list of crimes also stack up in similar fashion also be worthy? Does it matter what you call yourself or what you've done that matters, or does it come down to what you want to do and who you want to be that counts?

It's hard to tell. It's complicated. We'll just have to wait and see.

#spoiler!hawks

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jericho-rk3k · 5 years ago

Text

A Fleeting Glimpse of Love (DBH: Connor/ Reader)

Author’s note: So I wrote half of this months ago but only managed to finish it now. Anyway, feedbacks are encouraged and until next time, my darlings!

Pairing: Connor x Gender neutral! Reader

Prompt: For as long as you can remember, you feel like there’s a gap in your memory. Who could it be; the one who plagues your dreams with incoherent bits and pieces of memories?

Warning: angst

— 🌹 —

Seconds stretched into hours, and hours into days when you thought of the gaping hole, which was expanding along the ticks of the clock, that your heart bore, and as if the God of Misfortune decided that their first gift for you wasn’t altruistic enough, there came those shallow depressions and faults on the surface of your memories that became a sunken cave with its wall coloured in melancholy.

The more you welcome them into your mind, the harsher their affects on you became, and the damage done to you in emotional terms was only acknowledged by you when you could finally feel the emptiness consume every bit of joy in you. Even after all these were done to you, the culprit was painstakingly yet to be found.

Ever since the injury sustained by you during the android revolution, you could feel a slight breeze in your memories which was supposed to be stacked, indicating that there was a spot somewhere along the shores of the sea of memories purposely dug by someone. The void in your heart made you feel like there was single damning piece in the entire puzzle, that was your heart, that was missing and seemingly lost in the maze of scattered emotions and memories -- damned to the point that the thought of an escape to this suffering was something that belonged to a horror film, and hope deemed an enemy of this place.

Who was it that formed this unfortunate chasm in your heart?

Who was it that shattered your masterpiece of a life that took years to paint -- who was it that made the canvas of life so barren and lifeless -- who was it that painted your walls black and white -- who was it that began all of this?

Brown.

After an unknown period of time, you unconsciously developed an attraction to the colour of earth: brown, the colour of the roots of ancient oak trees; of the chestnuts that provides an excellent, rich taste to the tongue; of the bitter, bold cacao that was yet to be tainted by the hands of humans, only to be turned into something that contradicted the originality; of the man-made strands of short hair that would dance along with the wind as if they bore some sensation of their own exhilaration and life; of the auburn tint in his eyes that spoke of great love, putting Shakespeare’s odes to a test.

His eyes.

When staring into the eyes created by the clumsy hands of humans themselves, profound, were they of gauche passion of an amateur; and yet, ever so deserving of so much love and attention that it was painful. Eyes, which on the surfaces were the barks and songs of nature that you dearly loved, and as one traveled deeper, that was to gain a deeper understanding to them, one would see the side that was touched by the silvery rays of sunlight of humanity. He was just that beguiling, and the feeling of staring into those eyes of his: heavenly.

Why? Out of all the memories of your beloved that were forcibly taken away from you, this was the one that created an abyss of sorrow that had no ends nor predictions of when it would strike you. Maybe this was because you were never really granted closure to the absence of the person who must have went through all sorts of hindrance and glory to offer them to you, and the inability to grasp even the silhouette of that person was enough to burden you with the guilt of thousands; it was as if letting something that your beloved had entrusted to you go without any vain attempt to halt its undue departure.

His love for you and only you; it amounted to the millions of fireflies during a rancorous desolate night that would guide you to a path that you have dreamed of ever since you were a child. Magical, was his love for you and only you.

By that time you were kicked out of your verdant forest of thoughts and flashbacks, you realized that you had unconsciously wrote ‘Connor’ on a piece of barren paper laying on your desk. Even if you have no recollection of when and why did you write that, you could sense a hint of intense despondency and separation of two lovers that took place sooner than what was planned by fate.

No great importance or attention was granted to the mysterious name, but after a few restless nights and unforeseen flashbacks of the blurry past that came in a tiny debris-like manner, you decided to inquire about it from your longtime best friend and colleague, who you fortunately reconciled with after the unfortunate accident resulting in the loss of certain memories, North.

“North?” you called out, your voice mildly shivering with uncertainty and fear, to which the reply was a simple ‘what’s up?’. “Do -- did... I know of someone named ‘Connor’?”

If only you had the ability to observe the tiniest actions and behavioral changes, you would have noticed the lips that trembled in hesitancy; the discomfort and worry that were etched in the delicate wrinkles that surrounded the eyes, then gradually scintillated and burst into hues of passionate woe and abnormally, relief. It was as if one was watching the play of Romeo and Juliet, only to feel the tragic tale stinging one’s heart throughout the period of time in which the prominent play took place, and the difference in the ending that was yet to shock the audience who were destined to heave a sigh in relief, as if they were blessed by a happy ending to the distressing tale.

Another twist to add to the list was the shoulders that tensed up after momentarily relaxing, “Not that I know of... why do you ask?” North replied, and only if you had noticed the sudden change in the way she articulated, however you were too busy indulging in the disappointment, and for an unsaid period of time, you let loose and was soon, once again, engulfed by the profound feeling of his absence and the void in your heart.

But by the end of the day, you were not an Android and because of that, you failed to analyze the minuscule inconsistencies in your friend’s behavior. Perhaps fate had decided that the time when you would be blessed with refills of the gaps in your memory had yet to arrive. Perhaps fate had decided it would be best if the meeting between the both of you was the last in the blurry sea of memories. Perhaps you had forever lost his identity, and the chance for new memories to be created deemed futile.

At times when the clock struck twelve and when the moon rose proudly above the dark sky, you laid in bed, listening to the occasional sounds of fabric and comforter ruffling according to your restless tosses and turns, and as vigorous as your movements, your mind was tempestuous with indecisive thoughts and flashes of incorigible scenes before your eyes. Over and over again, you wondered and pondered about him, and whether he was dealing with the consequences similar to yours. Did he trouble himself as much as you did over the absence of one another? A thousand of questions risen and demanded to be answered but by the end of the day, a mystery and fruitless questioning were all they ever were.

Contrary to your expectations, your line of work refused you to dwell on seemingly pointless conceptions, and before you knew it, you were entangled with the police as one of the higher ups at the place of your work was accused of money laundering and scamming, and occasionally, you were called into for questioning. Despite the process being mentally and physically exhausting, you were intrigued by one of the Androids that was stationed to the case.

Brown eyes and brown hair that seemed so familiar to you, and yet, the icy blue eyes and bitter frown that looked so... strange to you, as if they were supposed to be something else— something different; perhaps it was the colour of the eyes or the way the corners of the eyes were sloped and the warmth or lack thereof from the lips. How could someone looked so familiar yet so peculiar to you?

RK900.

That was everything you knew about him, other than the fact that he worked alongside the police and was partnered with a man named Gavin Reed. So far you hadn’t made the attempt to gain some sort of answer to this mystery, and often at night, you would think otherwise. Maybe you should let curiosity take over your logical side once in a while.

Still, despite your nonexistent efforts, your eyes would often travel towards the direction of the wordless man standing beside his human mentor whenever you were bought into question. As sneaky as you thought you were, the Android was far more adept and skilled than you would have expected and had noticed your interest in him ever since day one, hilariously, but chose not to comment on the fact. That was, until one particular day when he seemed to make an abrupt decision out of nowhere to talk to you.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice deep as the ocean, smooth as silk and as cold as the Artic, one day just as you were leaving your work building. You may not know or may never know but he had been waiting for you hours long before the end of your work hour for some reason, and despite looking as composed as a man who has reached the highest level of understanding as life, he was as curious as you were. His feelings of interest and inquisitiveness were in contrary to what he was programmed to do; perhaps they were the result from being taught by his older model.

“RK900,” you replied quite dully although you would be lying if you said you weren’t shocked at his sudden appearance. The case involving your accused superior was over recently and there shouldn’t be any reason for the two of you to meet again, right?

“I... I noticed your occasional stares directed at me, Y/N,” he stated, sounding so bitter and cold towards the world yet quite nervous that he refused to look at you. After all, you were someone unique which he learnt from him. “I know I remind you of someone,” he continued, and as soon as he finished the sentence, your composure began to eat itself and you were, once again, disturbed and bemused.

“Connor. RK800. #313 248 317. Produced in August,3038. You met him months before the final Android Revolution,” he began, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you to check your response to the bombardment of information. Surely, from the way your lips quiver and hands tremble, he knew that you were starting to remember something. He could certainly thank himself for making the decision to come to you on that day out of his own will. Things were bound to end tragically but he thought that you at least deserved to be filled of the void in your memories and heart.

“The two of you bonded rather quickly and... things happened shortly afterwards,” he continued, referring to the time you fell in love with the Android first disregarding the situation and tension between the two races at that time. At this point, he was hesitant to continue since he knew what happened afterwards.

“I... I...,” you stuttered, desperately racking through your disorganized thoughts jumbled with recovering memories for something to say. Connor. Connor. Connor. RK800. The Android who evacuated you from the riot. The same Android who captured your heart with his corky and unoriginal attempts at jokes and adorable behavior unexpected from an Android of high caliber such as him.

“Ah... how could I forget him,” you laughed bitterly as you recalled the time you spent together with you tagging along him and Hank as an eager journalist. You remembered the way you two bonded and the amusing way he worried about the risks that came with being a journalist. Despite his concerns, you continued with the job and in the end, it was your foolish drive and carelessness that led you towards your demise; with you mortally wounded due to a failed attempt to photograph the confrontation between Marcus and the humans.

Sure, you were fond of the sweet memories that came first but you weren’t so certain about what was coming at the end. Your legs were wobbling like an earthquake was just beneath the very ground you stood on, so you had to take a deep breath and take a seat on a bench bellow a nearby tree. The man near you followed suit and sat awkwardly beside you, making sure to leave a generous quantity of space between you two. Although he knew how solemn and troubled you were, he was unsure on what to do; whether to act as himself and stay still or do something according to what he would have done.

“Blood,” you mumbled, desperately wiping the hot, stinging tears streaming down your face before covering your face with her hands, plopping your elbows down on your thighs. You finally remembered, and as much as your head throbbed painfully, the excruciating pain in your chest was something else. It was simply heart-wrenching and suffocating, as if you were buried 6 feet below underneath all the memories and pain, guilt and self-blame.

Blood. The sanguine red liquid was everywhere, as you recalled, and it was yours that leaking from the wound on your head from the collision before with the concrete ground. However, you wished and wished that it was only your blood there, but at last, your pleas and cries for help went unheard. You knew and remembered the weight on your body as you laid on the ground, barely conscious but sheltered and protected from the lifeless body above you. The cold, bitter blue liquid dripped onto you from the gunshot on his forehead, and before you knew it, the last thing you saw before you blacked out flashed before your eyes at a painfully slow rate.

“Oh god... please, no, please tell me it was all a dream,” you begged to no one particularly as you broke down once again. The pain of his absence and lack of final goodbyes devoured your mentality, and the guilt and blame on no one but you clung onto you with their malicious, poisonous long claws that dug deeply into your heart.

You hoped that his lifeless eyes were the last thing that you saw. You hoped that the reality was something different. You hoped... only if you hadn’t made the stupid decision that almost took your life... only if you had listened to him... only if he was alive now. Only if you could convince yourself that things didn’t turn out the way it did. Only if you could turn back time and... and save his life. So many only ifs and so much pain; it was almost unbearable; the feeling of having somewhat brought your beloved to their demise was damning, and you felt like you couldn’t ever forgive yourself for not paying heed to his warnings.

But most of all, you cursed yourself for having the audacity to forget almost everything about him. Perhaps you wouldn’t be suffering if you hadn’t learnt about him; however, you still felt it wasn’t right for you to forget someone who sacrificed himself for you and only you.

‘If he was only here,’ you told yourself, ‘I would tell him how much I love and treasure him and never let him go.’ Only that was impossible now that he was gone definitely. He wasn’t here anymore to tell you how much you mattered to him; he wasn’t here anymore to tell you jokes that he googled on his search engine; he wasn’t here to make you smile and laugh and cherish you. One moment he was here and the next, he was gone.

“I am so sorry... Connor,” you cried uncontrollably, wanting to rip your heart at this moment as it thumped painfully and rapidly within your chest which suffocated and strangled you from within. Your cries and screams resonated throughout the neighborhood as you grieved and grieved, and desperately wished for end to these mournful feelings.

“Y/N,” the man beside you whispered gently, reaching out to grab your hand tightly to try to reassure you. The LED on his forehead whirled into a brilliant yellow as several thoughts and memories flowed through his mind, but the most prominent emotion was sorrow and detachment as he knew that these memories didn’t belong to him. It had belonged to the man you had dearly adored and loved you. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you how his predecessor passed— by desperately transferring his memories into the system and screaming your name over and over again until his voice broke and distorted into that of a horror; slow and robotic and devoid of life.

“He would have wanted you to move on, Y/N,” he said before pulling you in for a hug, surprising yourself and himself as he was unsure if that action was based on his own will or Connor’s memories. Nonetheless, the two of you stayed locked in that embrace for a long time before the agony and despair in you began to subside. When you emerged from the hug, you were noticeably calmer yet still pained to the core.

“Thank you for coming here to tell me,” you said emotionlessly and numbly with a heavy sigh, staring at your own feet and feeling your nails digging into your palm as you tried to manage your composure.

“It’s alright... everything will be okay, Y/N.” He said with a smile that seemed like a rainbow after a heavy downpour for you. It was flamboyant and abundant of emotions and familiarity. You bit your lips at the sight as you felt tears threatening to fall once again. He looked so much like him and reminded you so much of him that it stung a bit.

At the end of the day, your final wish was to be able to meet him again one day, no matter the place. Even if the time spent together was transient, it was heavenly and you were grateful.

‘I love you, Y/N.

Love,

Connor.’

#reader insert #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction #detroit become human #detroit become human fanfiction #angst #genderneutralreader #male!reader #female!reader #rk800 #detroit: become human

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writingonthemoon · 5 years ago

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Old Clothes Part 4

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Word Count: ≈ 2116

Warnings: Mentions of death, murder, fear of failure

Author's Note: Okay, so I accidentally started previously that Odette first Burned when she was nine. That was incorrect as she was much younger. Also, this isn’t exactly what I wanted for this part, but I think it sets up my plans for the next part nicely.

Old clothes are always a little strange. Someone once loved them—cherished them—and now they’re nothing more than a mask. The quality vanishes with the donation bin. Dresses for the rich are now for the poor and those for the poor are falling to pieces. Those stitched by mothers have a different energy about them. The love that holds the fabric together never quite fades and it always remains soft, even after the countless storms and attacks of nature. The items warmed your soul whenever they were held and the rush of emotions was overwhelming in the most brilliant way possible. My sister missed the opportunity for that feeling.

My mother used to make my clothes for me. She would buy the fabrics and spend an entire Sunday making me a new outfit. They were my favourite things in all the world. We only kept one when we first left. It was the one I was wearing, but it wasn't the same when it was handed down to Clara. Ashes had woven their way into the seams and the smell of fire lingered no matter what we would do. The warmth of love carried the burning of a fire. Delicate lace that lined the edges were rough with hardened emotions.

I sighed and motioned for my audience to sit down. Jack and Davey pulled chairs out from my table, still staying quite close. Albert grabbed a seat for Crutchie and himself, while Buttons plopped himself on the ground with his legs crossed. "Before I say anything else, you have to promise you won't tell anyone. Not a soul. I shouldn't be telling you any of this since it puts more people than just me in danger, but I think you deserve to know. Promise." I made eye contact with every one of them and they all nodded in reply. "Great. Fantastic. Brilliant." I ran my hand through my hair once again.

"I was born in London, I believe, in 1791. My father's name is—was James and my mother's name was Lilijah. At least, that's what their names were while I was growing up. The Burn existed long before I was born, probably back when the first monarchies began. It was never meant to be a way of life. The Burn... it was always a safety procedure, a cautionary plan if you will.

"Say everything goes wrong. You're being framed for murder or are being chased by the police or mafia or it's anything else that's basically the end of the world for you. Well, in my family, that's the end of the world for whomever you were. Then, you are reborn, so to speak.

"It's simple enough, really. Everything you once owned, your clothes, books, anything that could identify you, would be taken out to an empty space. There, you set a match to it, lighting everything ablaze and erasing all evidence of you ever existing. It worked exceptionally well when I was little since towns and cities were so spread out and people just died suddenly, but people would notice if you just disappeared since there were so few people living in the area. Today, it's easy to vanish, but harder to locate a burn spot.

"Once the ashes lay at your feet, you build yourself again. New name, new place, new story. Of course, this plan wasn't meant for frequent use. So you have to get creative sometimes. I can't even tell you how many people I've become. My name is Odette Davenport, though. It's the one thing I've always known. I don't know my birthday, where I'm truly from, how I prefer my tea or if I even like tea. At this point, Odette is just another character I'm to play before I move on from this place."

My gaze met the ground as I paused, not knowing how to go on. Two of these boys were related to me. They have a right to know, but should they? Who knew how many times Clara and Elijah had Burned before settling down and washing the ash from their nailbeds. Did they even share the family shame with anyone or was it the secret that killed them? No, they should know. They should know why.

Jesse. No, he's not Jesse. Jesse is gone now, he doesn't matter. This one does. He's different, better than Jesse. In his eyes, I'm a person. A real person who feels the same as others do and thinks the same thoughts. I'm just older, suffering a long-lasting curse, just as he is. His leg was the poison that was crawling through his body and killing him slowly. The water rushed through my veins, stripping away any sign of illness or death, keeping me alive. How I wished I could switch with him, feel sickness and pain and worry about mortality instead of harbouring the fear of my past coming up behind me and pushing me over the edge, only to fall forever.

Jack and Davey must think I'm insane with my tale. That or they're calling into question what they knew about life and the universe. Perhaps it was both at once. The two need not be here, listening to my woes, yet they sit in anticipation, awaiting my next breath. But why? This has no consequence upon their lives. I’m merely a single person in a list of thousands that they’ve met just in a day. Compared to the years they would exist, it’s an interaction that means most nothing. Yet they are content with sitting and giving me their attention as if I were the Queen during a time of war. An odd comparison since my actions would lead me down a far less noble path where I would abdicate the throne and flee the country.

"I was four when I first Burned. I had accidentally stolen food and my parents feared the worst. We weren't living in a town known for forgiveness. We packed up in the middle of the night, brought everything out to the field. I still feel the scorching heat on my face sometimes, when I’m at my lowest. The smell of burning memories in one you never think you'll know, but you’ll never forget it either. We kept very few things from my first life. My grandmother's ring," I held up my hand to show off the flat gold front with worn initials carved into the front, "some money, the clothes we were wearing, and our names." There was a small gasp from Buttons and Albert. The family trait for worry and fear of failure seemed to run deeper than I thought.

"My brother Elijah Burned when he was five and Clara was only one at the time. Once again, it was all my fault. My mind escaped me and I wandered to follow it. I was only ten and they shouldn’t have blamed me for what I came across." I huffed and shook my head, clearing the daunting image from my brain, "It was a body, what I found. I...They thought I killed him. Me, a ten-year-old, killed a fully grown man. I was going to be arrested, put on death row, for something I didn’t do. So we Burned. After that, it became frequent. The five of us carried matches on our person just in case we had to leave in a hurry. We no longer controlled the burn. It controlled us."

"Wait, you was four when youse did this?" I nodded to Jack, confirming the answer he knew, "But you was just a kid! That ain’t right!"

"I lived in different times, Jack. Very different times. I was British in America not eight years after the War for Independence. They would do anything to get rid of us. It was like we were a plague when we wanted out of England the same way they did." I glanced out the dingy window, seeing the onset twilight, "Oh god, I best be going." I pushed myself off the table I was perched on, "Thank you for the supplies to fix myself up and I guess for listening to part of my life story." My mouth met the cheeks of each boy in thanks, something I had picked up in my travels. I started backing out of the room when Crutchie’s face caught my eye. He was crestfallen, the corners of his mouth turning down as he sighed and kicked lightly at the ground. I couldn't just leave like this. Not after what I had told them all. But I needed to. "Do one of you think you could walk me to my hotel? It is quite dark and I don’t want to be in any danger."

Before anyone could respond, Jack stepped forward, "I'll take ya. I know dese streets betta than anyone else." He led me out the Lodging House as I waved at the boys in a final goodbye. I uttered the address of my temporary arrangements and we stalked the streets in silence, becoming long shadows that extend for miles around sharp corners. I watched Jack more than the path ahead of me, trying to piece together the mystery I wanted to know. He and Davey... what was it about them?

"You know, if ya wanna look at me, starin' like that ain't too covert."

"Davey," Jack's posture straightened and I could tell his breaths were shallowing, "there's something about him you like, isn't there. More than just a friend perhaps."

"I don't know what youse talkin' 'bout. Dave is one a my best friends," I saw the slight fall in his expression, turning to sadness and bitterness, "Why would there be anything else to 'im that I like? It's not like I'll just listen to him go on hours 'bout nothin'. And it ain't his pretty eyes or soft hair or anything. Definitely not." He shook his head and met my gaze, a pleading look on his face. Nobody could know. Even if Jack couldn't help himself when it came to talking about his counterpart, no one could know.

"Definitely not." I winked at him and we chuckled. A quiet followed afterwards until Jack broke the invisible barrier

"You ain't gonna leave us, right? Not yet?"

I stared him dead in the eye, ready to avoid making the real decision, "Of course not. There’s still so much you all don't know yet."

"Great. I think Al and Buttons really enjoy having you here. Crutch too. He doesn't trust many too much. There's only a few of us he’s real close to. Somethin' about you is different. I could see it in his face. I think he really likes ya." I blushed at the thought of Crutchie liking me. It wasn't a concept that was foreign to me, but I didn't expect it from this boy after hearing I was immortal.

The middle-class building loomed above us, beckoning me towards the room I had booked, "I guess this is me." I shrugged and thanked Jack for walking me. he stole a hug before running back into the night. My fingers found my hair as I entered the building, climbing the stairs. The room I had booked was tiny, a single bed crammed against the wall and a trunk placed at the end. A window was across from the door, leading to the fire escape, and there was a cracked mirror mounted by a closet that would fit only a child.

My fingers found their way around the room, collecting my things as my mind ran around the world, searching for a place to run to. The checklist was losing empty boxes and the panic inside me wasn't reflected on the outside. This was normal. My footsteps were almost nonexistent as I floated out of the room and to the empty bathroom shared by all the guests on my floor. The lock flicked shut at my will and I carefully stacked my items within the confines of the bathtub. I opened the window to filter the air into the black night.

But the boys. I couldn't do this to them. My family. Crutchie. It wasn't fair that I was leaving them in the dark, no idea of the end or middle of the story. then again, life was never fair either. Certainly not this one. The moment I started this, it went downhill. I studied the pile across from me, spinning the historic ring around my finger. My hand found the box in my pocket. A snap of the wrist later and my face was illuminated with the soft glow of the burning match. Ashes were always the beginning, but what was the end?

#ooo cliffhanger #old clothes

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sebeth · 6 years ago

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Young Justice: Torch Song

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

The return of Young Justice begins with the release of the first two issues of the prequel comic.

Let’s begin…

My boy Conner is on the cover. Along with Miss Martian. Can we please end this unhealthy relationship? Both Conner and Megan need to expand their circle of friends and, more importantly, romantic partners. Preferably in a non-obsessive capacity.

The issues are titled “Torch Songs”. That doesn’t sound promising for the duo’s continued relationship.

The Watchtower, Team Year 6: August 8.

Miss Martian, Beast Boy, and a non-paralyzed Batgirl are at the Watchtower.

Superboy arrives. Megan appears excited until Superboy states “Huh. Didn’t know you’d be on this mission.”

Yeah, I’d say the reunion from last season’s finale didn’t last long.

Batgirl begins the mission briefing: Psimon has returned to the United States. Batgirl, Superboy, Miss Martian, and Beast Boy are team Alpha.

Megan confidently states she can handle Psimon.

Conner questions: “How?! By putting him in another coma?!”

“No! I wouldn’t do that!”

“Meaning you wouldn’t do that again.”

“No…you’re right…I won’t do that…again.”

While the duo bicker, Babs ask Gar: “What’s up with them? I know things were bad after their breakup, but I thought they were friends again.”

“They were. They got along great on Mars. I even thought they were heading towards couplehood again.”

“Well, something’s changed because they don’t look like a couple now.”

If I had to guess, I would say once the adrenaline wore down, Conner realized he still couldn’t trust Megan. Not only was Megan destroying the minds of villains she attempted to alter Conner’s free will and memories. That doesn’t even include Megan’s season 1 molding and manipulation of Conner to fit into her fantasy life.

Very unhealthy relationship.

Shouldn’t Babs have a stronger reaction to the “you wouldn’t do that again” line? Megan escaped any consequences of her mind-destroying spree.

Were the Justice League even aware of Megan’s actions? I can’t believe they were or Batman would have evicted her from the team. DC has established Batman’s feelings on tampering with a person’s mind. It would also cause great concern for J’onn J’onzz. Megan’s actions would not only violate J’onn’s personal and cultural ethics on the use of telepathy but it would also reinforce the initial misgivings he had of bringing a White Martian to Earth.

What about the Young Justice members – even the founders? Megan was warned about the misuse of her telepathic abilities in an early season one episode. Even if the team overlooked Megan’s excessive use of her telepathic powers on villains, an assault on her fellow teammate would surely provoke a response.

Poor Arsenal suffered a PTSD flashback and Dick kicked him off the team. How does Megan keep escaping from the consequences of her actions?

The Alpha team arrives in Hollywood at a classic film festival. Megan has shape-changed into a human appearance, Babs is in civilian clothes, and Conner, true to form, is having nothing to do with subterfuge and is rocking the “Superboy” shirt. Gar has turned into a mouse and is hiding in one of Megan’s pockets.

Megan and Gar sneak into a panel that showcases an actress that appeared on the “Hello, Megan” show.

Conner has snuck into the auditorium and encourages Megan to ask a question: “M’gann, you’re the bravest woman I know. Are you really afraid to ask a question?”

Please, Greg Weisman, do not continue this relationship. It’s all I ask.

Megan asks about Marie Logan. Gar admits Marie was his mother.

Megan thanks Conner for the encouragement: “Happy to help. I mean, ‘cuz…we’re still teammates. Just teammates.”

Babs, the only one actually working on the case, encounters Psimon. The other three Young Justice members are chatting with the actress when Psimon attacks.

Psimon projects the team – minus Babs – into the “Hello, Megan” show. Starring Miss Martian as Megan.

Gar freaks out: “Oh my god! We’re trapped inside Hello, Megan!”

Conner disagrees: “No. We’re trapped inside M’Gann’s mind.”

Conner and Gar struggle while trapped inside Megan’s mind.

Babs doesn’t believe Psimon has the ability to trap Megan.

Psimon gloats: “All I did was guide her to a pocket of emotional safety hidden deep within her psyche. Now, Little Miss Powerful’s own insecurities keep her trapped there.”

Psimon then attacks Babs.

Gar realizes Megan needs Conner’s forgiveness to break free from the “Hello Megan” fantasy life.

Conner confides to Gar: “She tried to psychically mess with my memories…”

“Oh my god, Conner, that’s horrible!”

“Don’t overreact, when I caught her, she backed off immediately. She had the power to force things. She didn’t.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

Yeah, Conner, do no try to justify abuse! I’ve known too many abused men and women and heard way too many variations of this type of justification.

Conner continues: “I know. That’s why we broke up. But c’mon, that was months ago. We’ve been through a whole alien invasion since then. She took full responsibility and apologized.”

“And you forgave her?”

“More or less. You know what? Fine. I’ll tell her I forgive her right now.”

“Conner, you don’t have to forgive her. But if you do, you have to mean it or…”

“Or she’ll know I’m faking ‘cuz she’s psychic.”

“She doesn’t have to be psychic. You two were together for five years. Long enough for her to know when you’re sincere.”

“So can you really forgive her or not?”

Megan sings a song lamenting her woes over her former relationship.

Conner confronts Megan: “I need to talk to my best friend. I need to tell her that I don’t know where were going or what’s going to happen but that I forgive her for anything and everything. And no matter where we go or what we do or who were with, I will always love her.”

“Really?”

“Really, that is, if she can forgive me.”

“We got so close on Mars, it scared me, and I pulled away. I’m sorry for that.”

The trio is freed from Megan’s fantasy life. Psimon has escaped.

Megan thanks Conner: “We’d have been stuck in that fantasy forever if not for you.”

“Hey, we’re a team, aren’t we?”

“Always.”

The issue ends with “Never the end”.

First, Conner’s apology/confession/forgiveness made me throw up in my mouth.

If the genders were reversed, and the abuse was physical and not psychic, no one would support this pairing. See Hank Pym, who slapped Jan in the midst of a psychotic breakdown, and has never been forgiven by the fans or the comic book creators.

Megan attempted to forcibly alter Conner’s mind out of pure self-interest, convenience, and cowardness, and’s it just hand-waved away.

“Bravest woman I know”. Please, Megan has consistently shown an avoidance to truth and accountability for her own actions.

Second, the “that I don’t know where were going or what’s going to happen but that I forgive her for anything and everything. And no matter where we go or what we do or who were with” along with the “never the end” tagline. Please do not give us another season of “will Conner and Megan get back together or not?” Season two was more than sufficient for that storyline.

I can accept this ending if the “forgiveness” allows for a clean break, settles accounts between the two, and allows Conner and Megan operate as functional teammates with no sniping and longing looks between the two.

If the first two issues are setting up a full reconciliation between the duo, I will not be happy. I might be over sensitive to abuse justifications as I’ve sadly known so many victims of abuse but the Conner-Megan sends the wrong message to abuse victims.

Third, Conner – you’re absolute, for real, soulmate is on your team. And it’s not Megan. His name is Tim Drake – he’s the slender boy in red. Check it out – expand your horizons. TimKon for life!

The cartoon debuts tomorrow. It will be interesting to see the time gap between the comic and the cartoon. So excited despite my mixed feelings over the prequel comic.

#Young Justice #Young Justice Outsiders #Superboy #Conner Kent #Miss Martian #Kon-El #Beast Boy #Barbara Gordon #Batgirl #Psimon

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geekmedium · 4 years ago

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Amazing Spider-Man #243 is never gonna be in anyone’s top 10 issues/stories. It won’t even be in anyone’s top 50. Even if you do a best Roger Stern’s Spider-Man list, this won’t come close to the top. But this is without a doubt my favorite Spider-Man issue of all time.

Not that I think it’s the most action packed, or most emotional, or even all that impressive on an objective level. It’s essentially a day in the life of Spider-Man issue, without any big villains or fights, and a twist at the end I’ll get too. But in this story was everything I love about the webslinger as well as a personal connection I wasn’t expecting.

We start it off with Peter dealing with relationship troubles as Mary Jane re-enters his life at the wrong moment. As always, Peter tries his best, and even helps out a rival get his relationship sorted out. But as a result of his kindness, his own relationships become more complicated.

Amy completely disappears from the narrative after this, as far as I remember, but MJ is here to stay and keep Peter on his toes. In an interview with Roger Stern, he said he never wanted Peter and MJ to hook up, and just saw her as someone to come in and occasionally pull the rug out from under Peter. While I’m glad that didn’t come to pass, I think I can sort of see where he was going with that.

Mary Jane could provide a constant feeling of things being off balance or messy. She shows up in just one scene and she already makes a fairy complicated situation spiral out of control. And their history together combined with a genuine friendship would have been a case of having your cake and eating it too; Stern could keep Peter a free bachelor while also giving him someone who, depending on the story, either be a trusted friend he could confess too, or someone that shakes things up for drama. Again, I prefer Spider-Marriage, but I could see the appeal of this dynamic.

So with Peter’s personal life on the downturn he decides, like usual, to blow off steam by web-slinging. First making a quick stop to get help with a minor villain problem from last issue (that goes nowhere) from Curt Connors. While there, Spidey’s professor comes in and he is able to sneak a peak at his grades because he’s been having academic trouble, and is surprised to find that he passed the exam with an A. Elated, he bounces around the city in dynamic panels I wish we saw more of in his comics.

I’ll talk about this more down below, but I think so many people get obsessed with a miserable Peter, the plaything of misfortune, that they forget he gets win, on a fairly consistent basis. Of course sometimes people over-correct and make him a clown, but again I’ll talk about that later.

Anyway all good things must end, and he ends up going to stop a somewhat mundane crime (it was a terrorist attack on the church). With little effort, he saves the day, and even gets thanked for his help, which is a welcome change of pace from the constant slander. Again, small victories. He develops picks for the Bugle, and with prospective money in hand, he visits Black Cat and contemplates his future both with her, and his general financial future.

Other people have commented on this better than me, but Spidey’s sense of responsibility and duty doesn’t just come down to fighting villains. He feels responsible for those closes to him, and the next few panels where he debates his options are a nice encapsulation of that. John Romita Jr. has a nice trick where he uses several clocks around the city to show Peter contemplate for literally hours as he swings around. He isn’t just about to randomly do things, even if it’s to help others. He thinks it through until he’s almost neurotic from over thinking.

His mind made up, he goes to his college to make a request and the issue ends on this:

Here is everything I want from a Spider-Man issue/arc/run. Complicated relationships, love drama, interesting side characters with their own stories, action, a sense of fun and energy, and hard decisions. And that last one is most important of all, because that is what I think was essential to me ‘getting’ Spider-Man.

I liked Spider-Man, and thought he was a fun character, but I had never made a big connection with him. I bought into a lot of fandom opinion that Spidey is just a woe-is-me, kind hearted, light character. Someone to enjoy in a small bursts, but not on the level of other great characters I loved like Daredevil and, especially, Superman. But #243 changed that and I think it comes from the fact I was in the same headspace as Peter when I first read this.

I won’t go super personal, but I was coming to what I thought was the end of my college career, and to say I was anxious was an understatement. I felt I had no future, no prospects, and no choices. I was depressed. But when I read this issue, I was stunned. Peter was making a decision similar to mine, and grappling with the same problems and fears as me. And he made his choice and what’s more, he lived with it. The choice had ramifications for more than just an arc, or even Roger Stern’s run, it affected him for, both in-universe and out, years of time. But you know what, despite the problems it dealt him, he made the most of it. More still, that choice opened opportunities he probably wouldn’t have had if he made a different one. This was so different from other characters, comic or otherwise, that I read. It was more real. More relatable.

And it was at that point that I think I ‘got’ Spider-Man. He isn’t relatable in the sense he is exactly like you. Or in the sense he is always suffering, either comically or tragically. He’s relatable because he, like us, makes deeply human choices.

All good characters are forced to makes choices of course, but his aren’t often on fate of the world stuff like the FF or Avengers. His choices are often things like who to trust and forgive or career and relationships decisions. And these choices can be tough and complicated in a way that other characters don’t have to grapple with. There aren’t usually any easy answers, and sometimes the consequences are genuinely horrible and unlucky. But like us, Peter has to deal with them the best he can and move on.

And I think I love this more than any other aspect of Spider-Man. There is no real set status quo; he grows and changes and enters new areas of life. And sometimes it’s scary and unpredictable, but Spider-Man helped me realize you can keep moving forward. He made that decision in college, and he made a lot more after it. Decisions to get married, or where to live, or dealing with new people in his life, good and bad. And because he lived with those decisions to even middle-age (because I consider Spider-Girl semi-canon) I know I can too.

#80s marvel was peak marvel #Marvel Comics #Roger Stern #Spider-Man #meta #personal stuff

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heavens-light-and-hells-ice · 7 years ago

Text

Home in time for Starlight.

This late in the Moon of Nophica, the pale sun cannot even keep its head above the horizon through dinnertime; it nods, and the early winter cold falls with it.

The walkways of the lower Pillars, spotted with ice-puddles in every unevenness of stone, are perilous indeed this time of year. They might even be deadly, save for the faint light streaming down from the Crozier, gaily twinkling every bell of the night, by which the traveler picks a careful path to his destination, gingerly testing the ground with his cane before committing a foot to it.

Late he may arrive, but with no broken bones.

The inside of the building is joyously warm, the heat and aroma of the kitchen billowing out into the street when the door is opened for him. His host first scrapes, then leaps up to take his hat and greatcoat. "T-t-t-to think you walked in this weather, milord!"

Both of them glance outside, where, from the window of his two-bird hackney, a fur-wrapped driver peers back at them, scowls, then draws the black velvet curtain shut.

They look back at each other; a moment passes, and then Rosaire inclines his head and murmurs, "I am sorry to have kept you both waiting."

"No t-t-trouble, no trouble," the traiteur chirps as he, too, draws the curtains shut. An awkward pause; when he turns back to the highborn, he wrings his hands, hunched and smiling. "Your... guest, ah, is at the table."

The former inquisitor's keen eyes spot what crosses his face when he says that, prompting a laugh. "Thank you, but, pray," he chuckles, "don't fear for my lady at home, Master Denisot. We are here only to talk; there will only be the usual sort of stains to scrub out of the tablecloth, I promise you."

"Yes, milord," with a blush and another low bow -- though as soon as Rosaire turns to step into the next room, he shuts the curtains of the other window as well.

The dining parlor glows, golden light bouncing from surface to silver surface. A large mirror hangs over the fireplace -- a new addition, he notes, since his last meal here -- and the substitution of beeswax for tallow gives him pleasing evidence of the host's prosperity. Careful inspection would, of course, reveal the wallpaper to be painted-on and the domanerie to be imitation, and one of the tapestries upon the wall appears to be a repurposed rug -- but the colors, rich and lovely, provide an adequately decadent atmosphere for the traiteur's usual highborn clients, who, Rosaire imagines with a tinge of amusement, would be less pleased if the decor outshone their manors', anyway.

Rising from one of the two chairs at the table is the woman he has come to meet; he returns her curtsey with a bow. In some ways, her appearance surprises him; already she is back in lush red wool satin with lace at her sleeves and throat, and her head is heaped with blond curls that he can’t imagine are her own. Her lips curl in the way they always do -- but her cheeks are hollow and her color, though hard to judge in the candlelight, pale, and that is as he grimly expected.

"Inquisitor," she greets, in a low murmur.

"Madam."

The traiteur, stepping into the room behind him, pulls back a chair for him to be seated. He does not do the same for the woman; she seats herself, paying it no mind. Then, heading for the kitchen, he left them to sit facing each other in silence.

She speaks up first, in a tone of coy amusement: "Well -- what is your conclusion, after all this observation?"

He smiles. "That it has been but eighteen moons since I saw you last, yet you've grown remarkably old."

She bursts into bright laughter at that. "I have? No, milord, I have but neglected to put on my face, as it is only you I am meeting tonight. No," and she eyes him up and down again, "I fear you are the one a single year has greatly aged."

He chuckles quietly. "You are right." His one good hand reaches out to touch the head of the cane leaned against the table. "... You are right."

The chef and his apprentice bring out from the kitchen what has been long awaiting the second guest’s arrival: a single course, but well-appointed, with trays heaped high. While the seated woman may sigh at how the plates no longer steam as hot as they might have, the man across from her gives no sign of being anything but pleased, and takes up a manchet in hand before the wine is poured. She shakes her head and extends her fingers to pluck a browning slice of apple off another plate; "And I shall soon be as young as I ever was, after a few moons on this diet," as she dips that slice into a bowl of syrup.

Rosaire chuckles again, though this time with only feeble humor, and does not speak until that manchet is nearly gone. "... And how is your situation?"

She hums a note, setting a pie-lid aside. "Losing the location was most unfortunate, yes. Really quite sad. My girls had to scatter across the city, very inconvenient for them. But my top students did well and kept the business afloat without me, bless them, and at this point we’re nearly recovered."

"That… is good," he supposes. After a long pause filled only with uncomfortable chewing, he at last adds, in a low murmur, "I am… sorry I could do naught for you."

She hums another note; this one is flatter. Yet there is no other sign of bitterness in her face when she answers placidly, "You warned me of the outcome, and I proceeded -- and though I did my best for Mother Ishgard, 'twas not enough."

"No," he sighs.

And she, too, falls silent, taking a long sip of wine.

"... I pray the privations you suffered were not too great."

She snorts. "They were considerable. But not as bad as I might have expected, I admit. Your little nephew seems to have spoken in my favor, and they treated me gently."

"Thank you for keeping him safe."

She dismisses his sentiment with a gesture and a laugh. "It benefited me to do so, didn't it?"

"Even so, he is blood… for weal or for woe," and he rubs the bridge of his nose.

She smiles but falls silent. When she speaks again, her voice is soft: "It seems as though you, too, did your best for Ishgard, and that yours was also not enough."

"... Yes."

"And so what shall you do now, Master Marguerite?"

"Survive," he answers, sagging with resignation. "Remember the truth and keep it alive. Someday the time will come -- in our children’s lives if not our own -- when the people are ready to hear it again."

She looks at him, pauses, and then suddenly laughs again. "Is that why you are now, of all things, married?"

He gives her a weary, unamused look, even as his cheeks erupt into an unbidden flush.

"I seem to recall, from many years ago, some words to the effect of your troth being long-ago pledged to your profession -- or at least protestations that you would never wed. And yet," she wags her spoon at him as she teases, "what is the first news I have of you once I am out? That you had a stroke and then were married."

"Ha," he replies.

"So was it the happenings at the Vault that brought about this sudden change of heart, or the apoplexy?"

He grimaces at her horrid joke, but then he lowers his gaze, falling silent. As he contemplates his stew, his face, characteristically grim and creased with tension, begins to soften.

"I had thought," he answers, distantly, "as a young man in Her service, my heart too full to admit another. And then, to my surprise, she fit into it, perfectly."

"I am sorry I asked," she groans.

It is his turn to laugh now. "Then I shan't go on, save to ask your advice on one specific matter -- and not that sort of matter."

At this she leans forward, grinning again. "Well, this will be interesting. What on earth could I advise you about if not that sort of matter?'

He shakes his head with a sigh, the color lingering in his cheeks, and chases a piece of mutton around his bowl for a moment while he thinks. Then, softly, he begins, "My wife… is Hyuran, as you may have heard."

"I did indeed."

"... And it is not done, in Ishgard, for Elezen to marry Hyur."

"No, it is not."

"But that it is not done is not of consequence to me," his voice finding its confidence. "I would rather measure my actions by Halone's laws as She gave them to us, not by the secular concerns of our inbred nobility and its obsession with blood. And as I know no coherent theological argument against a marriage of two faithful, chaste and orthodox in all other ways, I am not afraid of opprobrium from the ignorant."

She holds up a hand. "And you will have none from me, Inquisitor, as you should already know."

"I do," and he inclines his head. "Forgive me for going on. What I mean to say is… I have no legitimate cause for shame in my marriage… though there is one cause for anxiety. That being, that… as common as you and I know it has ever been for highborn, despite their protestations of disgust, to get children on Hyur, it has ever been the custom to discard such women and forget their children. Noblemen have never cared -- or dared, mayhap -- to record the histories of those women and their pregnancies, nevermind any complications thereof. And so--"

"-- you seek my expertise, as a woman of that industry that has seen more Hyuran women bred by Elezen than any other."

"... Yes."

She hums with thought, leaning back in her chair. "Well, you're not mad for asking me, though I've tried as little as possible to be a midwife. I call in someone else to deal with it, either to get rid of the girl's problem or help her deliver it. But, let's see… what exactly are you asking?"

He flashes a brief grimace, but in a moment his expression is returned to calm solemnity. "My fear is that… my wife's health might suffer, should she be forced to carry my child. If it should be too large for her, either in the carrying or delivery. She…" he swallows, "is a small woman, even for Hyur. And…"

"And a half-blood might be too big to get out." She taps her spoon thoughtfully to her lips, missing -- or else ignoring -- his twitch at her use of that word. "Well… again, you're not mad to wonder. Even purebred babies kill their mothers from time to time. But..." Her gaze wanders to the ceiling, and then, after some long consideration, settles back on Rosaire. "I must ask our midwives before I can say for certain, but -- you've not seen many half-bloods as children, I imagine. But those I have known -- when they are small, they're not much different from Hyur, save for the ears. Most of their arms and legs -- like Elezen kids' -- come in as they're just maturing. So there's that; and none of girls I knew who died in labor were Hyur carrying half-bloods, 'least as far as I can remember. And so when you said Halone has no objection to your marriage, you may have already been right. Society may punish you for it, but mayhap the Twelve will not."

He exhales a long-held breath, reflecting in silence. Finally, he murmurs, "I must pray that you are right."

"I'll speak to our usual midwives. Shall I send them direct to your address?"

"Yes, you may." He reaches for his glass -- then pauses. "And…"

"Yes?"

"As you re-establish your business… if you find that any of your girls have come to be in search of a different profession--"

"-- you are, as ever, here to serve?" She pops a sweetmeat in her mouth. "I know."

He sighs -- but then, he smiles. "... Truth be told, I am glad you are back."

"As, of course, am I." She takes up her own glass, raising it jauntily towards him. "Let's have a toast, then: to freedom."

"Aye." He lofts his glass in answer. "To freedom."

"However long it lasts… which," she adds with a merry sparkle, "shan't be very long for you, Papa Ledigne."

"Pray, madam--" he groaningly objects, and she laughs.

And they talk, and they eat, and light seeps from the windows, smoke from the chimney. Outside, ice twinkles on the rooftops and the streets; the wool-barded chocobos snuffle in their standing sleep, and the stars turn slowly above.

And, despite everything -- all seems, once again, to be almost as it should be.

#ffxiv rp #ardently faithful #stories #rosaire ledigne #denisot bonnefon #morning glory #pregnancy //#stroke //#racism //

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prairiechzhead · 7 years ago

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PrairieChzHead Rewatches Poldark S3 Legally--US Ep 6/UK Ep 7.

I’m going to come right out and say it: this episode is my least favorite of S3. It made me feel things. Bad things. Bad as in angry things. Once scene in particular still makes me feel stabby. This is the first time I rewatched it since last July.

When I submitted my answers for this one to the @poldarkpodcast, I tried to not mention that Thing That Made Me Stabby, but unfortunately, the stabby feeling would not go away, nor would it calm down.

Let’s see if I calmed down since last July, shall we?

What did you think of this week’s episode?

This episode made me angry. If and when I rewatch this one, I’m going to have to have copious amounts of alcohol with me in order to get through it.

No booze this time, although the first time I rewatched I was sitting with a tennis ball digging into my lower back because my muscles tensed up from bending over in the shower when I was shaving my legs. It’s supposed to help work the knots out.

The second time I rewatched it, my lower back was still hurting and I’d slathered enough Salonpas (aka Wasabi Ben-Gay) over where the muscles were knotted up to make my eyes water.

(Not that my back problems have anything to do with Poldark, but I’ve been having back problems lately.)

After rewatching, I think I’m more depressed than angry. Almost everyone was miserable in this episode.

Your favourite? Why?

The final confrontation between George and Agatha. The acting between Caroline and Jack was phenomenal.

This is still my favorite scene. George ruins Agatha’s party, but Agatha gets the last word, in a manner of speaking, because she gets into George’s head and plants doubts about Valentine’s parentage.

There is a bit I saw on the DVD where little Clowance grabs a toy cow from Jeremy and I swear the little girl who plays her had a smirk of triumph on her face, which made me smile.

Least favourite? Why?

When Ross learned that Agatha died and all Demelza could do was bitch at him about George becoming MP. I’m still LIVID over her behavior. Demelza is someone who has a quiet strength and grace, which is the perfect foil for Ross and his moodiness and impulsiveness. She is not submissive in the books. At least I didn’t feel she was. This Demelza is anything but that. I’m confused as to why Demelza would be surprised or angry that Ross would not want to be an MP. She’s always complaining that he’s never home. He hates the constraints of his social class, which he would be held to even more as MP than he is now. Ross is a grassroots kind of person and I think he knows this (which explains why he gifted land to the village and basically started Cornwall’s first CSA). He hates parties and balls and all that stuff and he’d be expected to go to more of those. She’s been married to him for 8 years or so. Shouldn’t she know this about him? Part of the speech she made in S2 E9 about her pride in Ross was that he was not like other men of his class. But now she wants him to be someone he’s not? Is this how the writers are going to justify her affair with Lord Byron, I mean, Hugh? Lord, I hope not.

Ross’s remark about men not paying attention to Demelza was annoying, but it annoyed me because it was a heavy-handed way for the writers to get across the point from the books that Ross took for granted Demelza would never act on the attention that she received from other men. That could have been handled better.

This final scene would be That Thing That Made Me Stabby.

I have this emotional trigger about seeing people basically crap all over or pile on someone who is hurting emotionally or in an emotionally vulnerable place. Especially if the person taking that emotional crap is a spouse, significant other, or a parent.

Let’s just say that this behavior hits too close to home and that I was the one being crapped on. It is tone-deaf, self-centered, and just hurtful to basically ignore and dismiss someone else’s feelings as if they don’t matter.

That it is Demelza doing this is especially galling to me. This is the same woman who went to Trenwith and took care of Francis, Elizabeth, & Geoffrey Charles when they all had the putrid throat, despite the fact that Francis had called her a trull and basically banned her from Trenwith for her part in Verity’s elopement in S1. This despite the fact that she was jealous and wary of Elizabeth. This is the action of someone who is selfless and giving and compassionate, which is what Demelza is and what makes her such a strong, likable character in the novels (and the show).

The woman who went to the beach to berate her grieving husband over something that could have waited, is not the real Demelza. The woman who would not allow herself to be baited by George, was baited by George. She is not the real Demelza. She is Pod Demelza.

What is Pod Demelza? If you’ve ever seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers (or as Monday Night Football commentator Jon Gruden calls it, “that body snatchers movie”), you know what I mean. Pod Demelza is a fraudulent double put in to take the place of the Real Demelza, who was probably abducted by aliens or something like that.

Ross’s remark in the show about men not paying attention to Demelza is heavy-handed and I still think it is heavy-handed. However, due to the time constraints on the TV adaptation, there is not enough time for DH to gradually develop the Very Bad Thing 2: Electric Boogaloo Story.

Novel spoilers ahead.

In the Four Swans, as Demelza’s attraction to Hugh grows, she is upfront about this to Ross. At the same time, Ross doesn’t seem bothered by what she is telling him because he takes for granted that she would never act on her attraction. When she does, and he suspects that she has, it affects him in such a way, the consequences spill into the next book.

However, since DH is not given the time needed to develop this properly, we get Ross making asshat remarks like this.

So while, as a woman, this annoys the piss out of me (and my middle finger would have suddenly gone upright), as a viewer who has also read the novels, I get why it’s necessary to have Ross say things like this.

I still want to flip a bird, but it’s easier to resist the urge.

Favourite new character? Why?

Emma. I think Sam has met his match. :)

I love Emma. I love her sass. The storyline with her and Sam will come to a head in S4, but I’m not that thrilled that their storyline got short-shrifted in S3. I would have liked to see more of Sassy Emma and Pious Sam.

Least favourite new character? Why? New and Improved Season 3 Demelza® ! Now with 75% more feistiness!. If being selfless and kind and compassionate means you’re being a housewife and in the background, then please, let Demelza be a housewife again. It’s like there is virtually no trace of the Demelza from S1 that selflessly went to Trenwith and took care of Francis, Elizabeth, and Geoffrey Charles when they had the putrid throat because she couldn’t bear to know that they were suffering. There’s no trace of the Demelza, who, in the middle of her marital woes with Ross in S2, put that aside to console him when the mine caved in. Instead, we’re left with a snarky, bitchy, shallow person who answers to Demelza Poldark, but doesn’t resemble the woman who is Ross’s counterbalance, partner, and sounding board. Demelza of Old would not have run after Ross to bitch at him about not accepting the offer to be MP when he found out his oldest living relative just passed away. Prudie showed more compassion towards Ross when he learned of Agatha’s passing than his own wife did.

I will not apologize for hating Pod Demelza. Never. Never ever, not ever. George put that bit in the letter in order to bait Ross and Demelza fell for it.

If I had to pick a different least favorite new character, it would be Rowella, because I know her storyline. She’s a conniver, that girl. (Although in her defense, she is conniving against Reverend Toe Sucker, and he gets what he deserves.)

Ossie is gross and nasty and vile. Horribly, horribly vile.

What made you cheer?

Dwight and Caroline’s 30 seconds of screen time. I’ve given up on them getting any substantial storyline in this series, so I’m going to take whatever moments of screen time I can get and cherish them.

Also...

The bit when Armitage was going to go up to Demelza at the Carolight Nuptials but Ross cut him off, leaving Lord Byron to stare forlornly at the two departing figures. That made me cheer.

What made you want to throw things at the television/computer screen?

Demelza. I don’t know what the writers did with the Demelza of old, but I’m not liking season 3 Demelza very much and this episode just cemented all the reasons why. Demelza is supposed to be a grown-ass woman and mother of two kids, but suddenly she is acting like an immature teen-aged girl. It felt to me that Demelza was constantly trying to pick fights with Ross. One example, from a conversation I was in about this on Tumblr, was that it seemed like she would bring up something prickly, like Valentine’s rickets for example, and then when Ross wouldn’t react the way she expected, she would get angry with him. From what I’ve seen so far, I’m not liking the direction of how this Demelza/Hugh thing is panning out. There were some conversations in the books between Ross and Demelza in this particular story thread that I would love to see acted out on screen, but I doubt that those conversations fit within the “Ross is ignoring me so I’ll find another man who will give me attention” storyline.

Three months later and this scene still makes feel things. I still want to hurl things, but not necessarily heavy things.

A second thing that made me want to throw things at my TV was when other people *cough, cough* Lord Falmouth & Hugh Armitage *cough, cough* who hijacked the Carolight show wedding and made it about Ross, who was clearly embarrassed about this. (But yes, I do get that the wedding is supposed to be a “stand in” for other parties in the novel, and the excessive praise for Ross happened at another party.) Dwight can toast whomever he wants because it’s his wedding. The others...well, it’s pretentious and rude.

A third thing that makes me still want to throw things at my TV is the “whose Valentine’s Daddy” speculation. There was no talk or speculation about Valentine’s baby daddy in the novels until Agatha got into George’s head and George’s behavior towards Valentine and Elizabeth changed. So then, out of nowhere, Demelza brings up Valentine having rickets and Dwight treating the child. She does this as if she suspects that Ross is Valentine’s father, and when she gets irritated because he doesn’t care like she thinks he should, I’m feeling the stabbiness return.

In order to make the Demelza/Hugh thing plausible for TV, they have to make Demelza have a reason to be ticked off enough at Ross to go out and roll in the dunes with Armitage. I hate this in general, but I specifically hate this because it has Demelza picking a fight when that is out of character. She gets annoyed and they argue, but I don’t recall her purposely picking fights in the novel. However, Ross, in this instance is still true to the novels in that he neither knows nor speculates on Valentine’s parentage. He doesn’t until the church scene in Four Swans and even then, it doesn’t occur to him when Elizabeth brings it up.

A fourth thing that makes me want to throw things at the TV is not that Demelza feels Ross is ignoring her. It’s how she reacts--that she is behaving so passive-aggressively and at times, looking for reasons to be ticked off with him. But she won’t tell him what is wrong. I dislike people who do this. It’s so manipulative and childish.

A fifth thing that makes me want to throw things at the TV is that Demelza wants Ross to be an MP, even though in the novels, she agreed with his decision to turn down Bassett’s offer because she knew he would chafe at being on someone else’s leash and having to bend to someone else’s will.

A sixth thing that makes me want to throw things at the TV is Hugh contriving to be invited to a party thrown by Francis Basset even though his uncle, Lord Falmouth and Bassett hate each other. Subtle, Hugh. Real subtle. You’re as subtle as the air in a room full of people after they ate Taco Bell.

By the way, that party looked deadly, deadly dull. I can’t blame Ross for not wanting to go.

I know, the books are not supposed to be the same as the show. But once you read the novels, you get very attached to these characters and when you see them being out of character, it can make one feel strong feelings. I can overlook some things, but not others.

What was your performance of the week? Jack Farthing & Caroline Blakiston and how they performed the final confrontation between George and Agatha. This is one of those scenes from the book I was looking forward to seeing on the show and both of them delivered.

I will miss their barbed exchanges. I am glad that the final exchange was true to the books and that the outcome, Agatha getting into George’s head, which is her having the last word, happened. Also, George’s “there will be no party” was spot on. You could literally feel the hatred between the two characters.

Bravo and well-done!

Any other observations you wish to share with us!

Sam is growing on me. :)

I liked that Elizabeth referred to Agatha as “my aunt” when Agatha died. Technically she wasn’t her aunt, but it’s one of those little things that shows that Elizabeth did still care about Agatha. It’s also one of those little moments that show us Elizabeth’s humanity, especially after her seeming to cross over to the Dark Side.

I know that Elizabeth is not a nice character. But it’s nice that they showed that she did care about Agatha.

Sam had to grow on me because his religious fervor is more heavy-handed than it is in the novels, and that heavy-handedness can be off-putting.

I’ve felt that the season 3 episodes were rushed. With the edits that PBS makes, the episodes feel rushed and choppy. The slight edits (the one or two seconds shaved here and there) are more noticeable than they were in S2. The larger edits are especially noticeable.

My local PBS station starts with their local sponsors at 7:58 pm. The "previously on Poldark” and the national sponsors begin at 8:00 pm. The actual opening credits start at 8:02.

Also, there was a new donor this week, one Carol Vasiladis. I wonder if she’ll ever get to tell us in person how much she enjoys Masterpiece Theater.

Demelza still comes off as a stroppy, snarky teenager, which is totally opposite of her characterization in the novels, but it’s more pronounced in this episode. I still hate this and I always will.

Also, I just listened to Four Swans on Audible.com as I am rewatching this episode, and it’s making the things I dislike about Demelza’s characterization even worse than when I first saw this episode.

Like I said, when you read the novels, you get very attached to the story and the characters.

And Favorite Aunt Agatha memory #RIPAuntAgatha

There are so many Agatha moments to like. I think the thing I will miss the most about Aunt Agatha is her running commentary. She’s like a living, breathing episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000.

There are many Agatha moments I love. But I think this one will always be my favorite because it sums up her sassiness. (Plus there’s Bonus Francis footage, because I miss Francis. I think everyone misses Francis.)

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Next week is US Ep 7/ UK Episode 8. We’re getting deeper into the Hugh Armitage storyline, which is not one of my favorite things in the novels. It’s really not one of my favorite things on the show. It’s also the second to last episode of Season 3, which also means that the December Pledge drive is coming up.

#poldark #poldark pbs #poldark spoilers #poldark s3 #prairiechzhead watches poldark

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imagine-loki · 7 years ago

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A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Fifty AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

Loki immediately sent a second boat to catch up to the first, to tell Thor of Odin’s death. The funeral was a sombre affair, with the children mourning their doting grandfather as the realm mourned its king. As his funeral boat was set alight, Loki held his mother as she attempted to hold herself together in front of the gathered crowd, while Sif and Maebh stood holding their infants, with the other children by their sides.

With Thor not on realm, the full responsibility fell on Loki’s shoulders to organise everything required after Odin’s funeral as well as Ásvaldr’s visit. As a result, Maebh was constantly at his side, even as Heimdall discussed Thor's coronation arrangements for after his return, Loki insisted Maebh even feed Vali in the room, terrified to be without her for the shortest of times, as she was more focused than he.

“How are you able to do such?” He demanded in frustration. “You organised everything, and fed our son at the same time.”

“Because I have not just lost my father, so my mind is clearer.” She stated factually as she winded Vali. “You are being too hard on yourself, taking on too many tasks at once.”

“They all need to be accomplished.” Loki snarled back.

Maebh ignored his anger and continued to speak calmly. “I am aware, but you try to do them all at the same time, that is causing nothing to be accomplished, do them one at a time and you will achieve more.” She explained. “And as for Vali, I need not concentrate too much with him. It is merely, eat, wind and sleep, with your mother stealing his company most of the day.”

“She is not taking it well.” Loki sighed in frustration, wishing to be of better help to his mother.

“She said they were married almost forty summers, I do not expect her to. She will get better with time.”

“Thor sent word this morning.” Maebh listened. “He is coming back early, but not immediately.”

“That is to be expected; there is nothing he can do now. What has he done with regards those who are loyal to Uí Neill?”

“Well there were a few actually attacking them, they were easily dealt with, but overall, people are not wishing to interact with the ‘brutish invaders’.”

Maebh placed Vali in his basket. “I see.”

“Maebh?” Loki knew that tone.

“Sean was saying that there is an idea to revolt against us, backed by Uí Neill.”

“Yes, he told Thor, what of it? Any that have been seen to act in such a manner have been dealt with as I stated, fear not.”

“I cannot help but fear. And Ásvaldr, what is the situation there?”

“He is currently dealing with issues of his own, apparently there are a few more that are displeased with his dealings with us. I am not sure how that will affect things.”

“Tell him to deal with that before his arrival; we need little notice for his coming here, we are prepared, so tell him not to concern himself with us, but with his upstarts.” Maebh suggested.

Loki rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. “I am sorry for my moods, I am just overwhelmed, I would have been lost without you.”

“I know.” She came behind him and rubbed his shoulders. “I know.”

“I am sorry for how I have treated you of late.”

“You are under duress my dear Loki, I take none of it to heart.” She smiled as he groaned in pleasure.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“You overestimate me.”

Loki pulled her around so that she was on his lap. “I would not be alive but for you my darling, I would merely have given up without you and our sons to keep me fighting for my life in Svartálfheim. And even in something as simple as listening to my woes, you are there, faithful and taking note of what I need.”

“I am your wife, is that not my duty?” She stroked his face as she pressed her forehead and nose against his.

Loki leant forward and captured her lips with his. “Well then, as well as being a wonderful being, I must commend you on being the most wonderful wife.” He smiled, kissing her again.

“There is a baby in the room need I remind you.”

Placing his hands under her upper thighs, Loki hoisted himself and Maebh up in one strong movement before carrying her to their bedroom. “One child in training, one sleeping in the living area, and we are not going to be disturbed.” He grinned wickedly against her mouth as he ceased speaking every few moments to kiss her, pushing her against the wall and using himself as a means to keep her there. “And were you to become with child again…”

“Is that your plan?” Maebh smiled, kissing him back, ensuring her legs were wrapped tight around his waist.

“It’s a good plan.” He slid his hands up her dress, pushing it out of the way as he pressed in against her more.

X X X X X

News had reached Thor of Odin’s death, but he would not leave Midgard until their interests there were secured and there was little risk to those who remained. Until such time as he felt that was achieved, he gave his full backing on his brother to continue as he was in Asgard.

Loki listened as one realms person informed him of some plague on their crops, the entire of which had seemed to be stricken by some illness and rotted.

“And have you brought some with you to prove your claim?” Heimdall demanded.

“No sir.”

“Good.” Loki stated, the shocked farmer and the high ranking lord looked at him.

“If they were brought here, they could have spread among other plants.” Maebh stated as Loki nodded in agreement.

“So how do we find out if his claims are true?” Challenged one of the older men that made up the council.

Maebh looked to her husband, who nodded for her to continue, seeing that she clearly had some suggestion to make. “I would suggest having someone go and verify his claim and report back to my husband. After that, dig up and burn all the affected crops, and plough the land again, do not grow anything on it that will die, perhaps grass for a year, keep some sheep or goats on it.”

“But how will I survive on grass?” The farmer asked in fear.

“Anything you require to feed your family will be given to you with some assistance.” Loki stated.

“Your highness, that is absurd.” The councilman stood. “We cannot simply give food away just because his crops failed.”

“I never stated it would be ‘given away’, I merely stated we would assist. The milk yield from the animals would aid in the costs also.” Loki sat straighter in the throne. “I am not going to have a hard working family starve for reasons outside their control. As my wife stated, we will send one to check his claim, if it is true, he does not deserve to suffer.”

“Thank you Your Highnesses.” The farmer bowed gratefully to both Loki and Maebh.

After he left, Loki gave a small smile to his wife, who turned to go to Vali, whom she suspected required another feeding.

“So we are just going to become charity to any who require it, is that it? We all suffer because one has?” The councilman bellowed furiously.

“Know your place Randúlfr.” Loki warned. “I will state this one last time to you, we will not let an innocent family suffer. My father would not have allowed it, my brother would not allow it, and by the Gods, I will not allow it.”

“You think with your heart boy and not your head, that is why you are not fit to be king.” Randúlfr stated.

“You dare speak to him in such a manner.” Maebh turned and walked towards the older man, Heimdall and one or two others hastily making room for her as she passed them. “He is still of higher standing than you and you best not forget such, lest you wish to feel more than the crack of leather on your back for such insolence.” She snarled viciously. “You think you will suffer for the few crops it will cost to feed that man and his children, you, born into a fine homestead, with plenty of lands, of your fathers hard earned work, while you sit back and get others to do your work for you while you grow fat on meats you do not deserve and crops you did not plant.”

“I think my wife put it even better than I, and her idea of punishment for your insolence is just.” Loki smirked. He turned to two guards by his chair. “Take him outside and ensure all know why he is receiving a whipping.”

“Your Highness, please.” Randúlfr begged, realising that he was about to feel the consequences of his actions.

“You are all for titles when you think they will save you for punishment.” Loki stated coldly. “If you think it unjust, ask my brother for his opinion upon his return, I very much doubt he will be any more lenient than I, matter of fact, I would wager he will give you a few more for your continued insolence.” Loki rose to his feet. “I think I shall go check on my sons now, Maebh?” Giving Randúlfr one last glance, Maebh turned and walked back to where she had been previously heading. When they reached another area of his parents dwelling, Loki rubbed his face. “Why must they fight change so much?” He groaned.

“You did the right thing. Though I would suggest to Thor on his return to think about altering the council somewhat. There are too many old fat wealthy men with only their own interests at heart on it for his rule to be a smooth one.”

“I think you right my love.” Loki pulled her close to him. “And may I say, you were exceptionally vicious with old Randúlfr there.”

“He spoke ill of you, I could not but be angered.”

“And he will be reminded for a long time to come that I am married to the most formidable woman in all realms.” Loki leant down and kissed her forehead lovingly. “I still cannot fathom what I did to deserve you.”

“I cannot fathom either, but pray to the Gods in thanks for it.” Maebh smiled. “Now, if I do not feed our son in the next few minutes, I fear I will explode.”

“They are looking rather full.” Loki grinned looking down her dress.

“Do not even think about it.” Maebh warned, knowing the look in his eye. “I will feed our son, and then you can make such comments.”

“Spoil sport.” Loki quipped as his wife went to retrieve the infant from his grandmother.

“Your Highness?”

“Heimdall.” Loki gave consent for the other man to join him.

“Randúlfr has been punished, ten lashings. The people agree with you and Princess Maebh.”

“Of course they do, they fear this could spread and they may be the ones requiring our assistance next. And how is Randúlfr now?”

“Angered and humiliated, but very much humbled. I think the most of other councilmen enjoyed Princess Maebh’s somewhat blunt words.”

“They were quite amusing it must be said.” Loki grinned thinking for his wife making a man twice as tall and three times as wide cower from her. “She is feared, many are willing to attest to her skill and ability.”

“Indeed, there is a messenger here from Svartálfheim.”

“Bring him in.” Loki instructed, fearing what was awaiting him.

“It is a simple message I am afraid. Ásvaldr is dead.”

“What?”

“His home was burnt to the ground as he and his family slept. None could have survived such a blaze apparently.”

“What does this mean for us?” Loki asked fearfully.

“War. The next in line after his family despises us; his brother is the man who attacked you.” Heimdall answered, his face stern and solemn.

“Send a boat, we need to get Thor here immediately.” The men turned to see Maebh standing at the door, her fearful face echoing their own.

#loki #other #submission #submitted fic #wolfpawn #a warrior's life #chapter 50 #viking au #village #raiding #pillaging #intrigues #asgard

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