#Beth Death

[cryptocollectibles]

Garbage Pail Kids 4 Sticker Lot (1986) by Topps

Drawn by John Pound, Tom Bunk, Written by Mark Newgarden, Art Spiegelman.

[annacoleman]

WAKE UP - HILARY DUFF

[tokyosmega]

just realized that its a stampler family tradition to watch your father die right in front of you.

[invisiblegarabgetruck]

maybe I could get behind the concept of jerry being secretly unhinged, maybe, just maybe.

[linusbenjamin]

You keep telling yourself you have to do whatever it takes just until this is all over. But it isn't over. This is it. This is who you are and what this place is until the end.

[glitterslag]

I had to make more of em sry😭

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Pilot:

Finale:

[arthursfuckinghat]

"He saved my life and I could not save his"

Kieran Duffy - Scarlett Meadows

[princesssarisa]

Sometimes I'm still annoyed by Little Women analyses that take take demeaning, ableist views of Beth's character in the name of "feminism," like...

"Beth has to die because she's too fragile and self-effacing, lacks ambition, and represents an outdated, stifling model of femininity."

I wonder exactly why those readings seem more popular nowadays than, say...

"Beth shows that even a shy, unassuming, chronically ill person, who is never able to leave her parents' home or live a 'normal' adult life, and who eventually dies young without having 'achieved' anything, can still live a wonderful, precious life of enormous value to others."

...which I'd like to think is closer to Alcott's intent.

I wonder if it's because some people think they can't view Beth's life as precious and valuable without it leading to this:

"Therefore, Jo needs to give up her ambitions and become a gentle, self-effacing domestic angel like Beth was."

Personally? I don't think that's what the book aims for. It's what Jo temporarily thinks, yes: at first she does renounce her ambition and dedicate her life to caring for her family the way Beth did. But that's not the end of her story. If the ultimate goal of Jo's character arc were to teach her to be like Beth, then she would stay in Beth's place as a saintly housekeeper for her parents; Alcott writes that if Jo "had been the heroine of a moral storybook," then that's just what she would do. But she doesn't. Instead she starts writing again, finally finds success as an author, and later opens her school with Friedrich. Beth's kindness and unselfishness will always be an example for her, but she's still allowed to be her own active, achieving self.

Yet that fact doesn't mean we should belittle Beth either. Her way of life was just right for her, just like Jo's is just right for Jo.

Maybe this dilemma would be solved if critics would view all four of the March sisters as co-protagonists for a change, rather than just viewing Jo as the protagonist and treating the other three as if they only exist to serve Jo's character development.

[bolly--quinn]

The craziest part of the episode to me is the ice cream table exchange about Beth tbh like Morty truthfully believes that Rick would say

“This may as well be our real daughter because she’s just as real as you.”

and

“Put it this way. You’re all basically NPCs. Only Morty and I are real, so your side quests don’t matter. The main quest is us.” (referring to he and Diane exclusively)

And when Diane, rightfully, combats him for his thinking with

“You’re disgusting. You’re talking about our baby girl like she’s theoretical?”

Beth throws in “Welcome to the family.”

Which might be one of the most heartbreaking lines in the whole thing to me because Morty has observed Rick enough to believe that this line of thinking is entirely in character for not only Rick but for the rest of the family too. Like Morty truly believes that Rick doesn’t care about them in anyway and that when faced with this, even Beth would just respond with the belief that this is the norm, at least from Rick anyway. So much so, that he uses an outside character in Diane to call out how insane it is.

Morty believes that Rick only cares about Diane and literally everyone else doesn’t matter and that’s just so sad to me, especially when we have seen otherwise but he can’t be faulted for thinking that when Rick carries that facade with him almost always, and especially to Morty directly.

[clubglee]

EVERY EPISODE OF BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ↳ 1.12, Prophecy Girl

I would say the end is pretty seriously nigh.

[passivedemonic]

"Like them, I would choose to starve & hold the soft body"

"Holdfast" | Robin Beth Schaer

[laylakeating]

LAYLA KEATING Outfits in All American, 6.04

[softpine]

you gave me a life i never chose wanna leave but the world won’t let me go

[transcript]

[laelior]

The Weight of the World

To: Master Operations Chief (ret.) Margaret Shepard

This letter is to inform you that your granddaughter, Lieutenant Commander Bethany Shepard, was presumed killed in action following the destruction of the SSV Normandy by unknown enemy forces on December 5, 2183. 

Lieutenant Commander Shepard’s service with the Alliance was an example to us all and her heroic actions in service both to Earth and the Citadel Council will never be forgotten. 

At this time, we are unable to publicly announce details related to the destruction of the SSV Normandy. At such a time when we are able, rest assured that the Alliance will lay Lieutenant Commander Shepard to rest with full military honors.

Please accept my sincerest condolences for your loss.

Adm. Steven HackettAlliance 5th Fleet Command

Anderson sat in the back of his skycar, numbly rehearsing the words of the letter in his hands over the neatly-folded Alliance flag and Alliance-stamped urn in his lap. God, for such a small jar it must have weighed a ton. Nevermind that it was empty.

His eyes continually wandered to the shallow, formulaic words on the flimsy paper in his hands, hoping that somehow they’d magically rearrange themselves into something less weighty than the gravitational pull of a whole damn planet before the skycar touched down.

Hackett had already sent nineteen letters just like the one in his hands to nineteen different addresses. Letters addressed to Preslies, Dravens, Tanakas and so forth. Letters only confirming what the rumor mill had already been circulating for months. Letters delivered by NCOs and junior officers with black bands around their arms as a thin show of solidarity for their losses. It had been tempting to pass this particular letter off to someone else, too, but some things just had to be done.

“We’re almost there, sir,” the driver said.

The skycar gently touched down on the street next to a neat little house with an immaculately maintained garden. Even in the dead of winter the hedges were neatly trimmed and the flower beds were freshly mulched.

The driver went out to ring the doorbell while Anderson slowly gathered himself for the news he had to deliver.

The woman who came out to the front porch to greet him after a moment was smaller than he expected. He’d never met her before, but Peggy Shepard was a legend in her own right. One of the founding mothers of the Alliance non-commissioned officer’s corp and one of the best damn sniper instructors the service ever had. Hell, her 500-meter longshot record had stood for nearly forty years and had only been broken a few years ago by Lieutenant Coats.

And she didn’t need a letter to tell her why he was here. That was obvious from the hard, steely look in her eyes that flicked to his uniform, the flag tucked under one arm, and the black band around the other. Her eyes lingered on the captain’s stars on his lapel and her hand twitched at her side, fighting the reflexive urge to salute. Old habits died hard, and habits drilled in by a lifetime of military discipline were harder to kill than most. When she looked him right in the eye, though, Anderson had to fight the urge to flinch.

Throughout his military career, Anderson had faced more threats than he cared to count, from the petty political rivalries that riddled the service right up to Saren himself. And just then he would have rather faced down Sovereign itself if it meant getting away from the look in her eyes.

She was no stranger to this ritual. A casual glimpse at the Shepard family tree told him how many of its branches had been pruned like this. But that never meant it was easy to be the bearer of this particular news.

“Ma’am,” he intoned formally. Formalities were good. They were safe. He held up the folded flag and offered it to her with both hands. But before he could so much as open his mouth to say the words that were the next part of the ritual, she held up a hand and drew in a shaky breath.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What they’ve been saying?” She asked quietly. No need to ask what they were saying.

Anderson could only nod stiffly. “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

She quietly accepted the flag, taking the weight from him and hugging it closely to her chest. 

“The Alliance offers its sincerest condolences for your loss,” he intoned, getting back to the words of the ritual. “If there’s anything we can do for you….” He trailed off. There was nothing the Alliance could do for her that would remotely make up for the magnitude of her loss, and there was no point pretending otherwise. 

She nodded in acknowledgement of the harsh, unspoken truth that passed between them.

“I need to make arrangements,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, before turning back into her house and letting the door slam shut behind her. The large wooden door closed with a resounding thud that made him flinch with its finality. He set the urn and the letter down on the porch table next to the door and went back to the car, his duty thus discharged.

If it was a tragedy for a parent to bury their child, then it was an utter goddamn travesty for a grandparent to lower their grandchild’s casket into the ground.

The driver cleared his throat, cutting across the uncomfortable silence that filled the car. “Where to next, sir?”

“Norfolk,” he said, picking the closest Alliance base he could think of off-hand. The car began its ascent, leaving the view of the Shepard household behind.  “Drop me off at the officer’s club, and tell them to have a glass of Ardbeg 16 ready, no ice.”

Something to wash away the ashy taste of having been the one to send Peggy Shepard’s granddaughter to her empty grave.

[inspiteallthedanger]

this is apropos of nothing but it suddenly struck me today how funny it is that even at his absolute most burn-it-all-down bitter, there was still this totally casual acknowledgement from john that paul was super hot. like, sure, at his worst he sometimes presented it in an intentionally gross and emasculating way (john the manly working class true artist vs. paul the vapid pretty boy), but it remains fundamentally hilarious imo.

It’s sooooooooo funny. John was just in a constant state of, “He’s the worst man that’s ever lived. Hot af obviously. But what a cunt.” Honestly, one of the more relatable sides to John.

I’m also not sure that he always meant it to be emasculating either. Some of the time for sure. But I also think he was like, “There’s only so much I can expect the public to swallow. That he broke up the Beatles by being a little bitch? Sure. Untalented? Absolutely. Deliberately sabotaged his bands own songs? I’ll give it a go. Doesn’t really love his wife? Easy! But not the most beautiful human anyone has ever seen? Now, let’s not go too far, we’ll look ridiculous…”