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vilevexedvixen · 1 year ago

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Fowler's Flower Pt. 1 - Uprooted Abijah Fowler x servant! Reader

Summary: Fueled by anger at what the English / Tudors did to him, Fowler keeps a handful of English Roses to take out his sadistic tendencies on as a form of passive retribution. The reader is a commoner caught stealing during a feast and is offered an indentured servitude contract as Fowler's servant by the town Sheriff as an alternative punishment to execution (the punishment in England for theft at the time). Takes place before he stopped using the dungeon, so before 1647.

Dividers by @roseschoices

It's ironic that such a man as Fowler, starved of stimulation and novelty, would become dull to both. To the point that he began to crave the mundane and familiar, a taste of home. For these rare occasions were mistresses shipped over from the English Isles along with the two beeves he brought for milking. As good as cattle, and just as hardy. For they had to last as long as he needed them, indefinitely. At least in principle. Night after night spent shackled and beaten in the dungeon, but eventually their bodies would cave even as their eyes bled with life and spoke every curse their throat could no longer even whimper. Their attire stained progressively deeper shades of red before rendered entirely black and blue by the end of it. Perhaps fortunately, then, it wasn't often that Fowler found himself craving the touch of an English maiden. He'd only need a handful, and could bare to wait a while between shipments if he exhausted them sooner than intended. Sparing however many from his ever expansive "imagination" which so often craved exoticism instead, an ever rarer commodity when grounded at one station for decades at a time. His spring pilgrimage alongside a ready supply of local flesh at his associate's behest somewhat sated his frustration and brought some respite from his cabin fever, but this supply was always quickly burnt through and the delights of the pilgrimage soon stale and forgotten. The girls brought in being too fragile and easily broken to enjoy for long. And while the heady high of seeing his dissatisfaction being met with swift replacements and adjustments instead of outward (though still very apparent) disgust and horror at what he costed the brothels in blood did amuse him, he still needed toys not trinkets. To feel the slight more effort it should take to make them break. Still like porcelain, but not as precious as bone china. And all the sweeter to hear crack at the hands of someone the English so often spat at in all his years over there. Ideally someone he could even tangentially say was directly culpable for manufacturing the suffering he endured, but good graces with people like that was what kept his pockets lined fatter than the breadth of the Atlantic... so commoners would have to do.

"You boy, bring us another round!", another sloshed patron blurted, barely holding onto his pint which dangled loose from his fingers with his arms snug around his mates' shoulders, keeping him afloat from practically drowning in ale. His clearly costly cloak now soaked damp in the stuff both by his own inebriated hand and that of his well-to-do peers. They had all gathered to generously shower their decadence like a fountain of obnoxious charity upon the Woodward Farmhouse, as the town's representatives had done every Easter since its construction. A tithing of sorts, to be sure the wood about St. Ann's well stayed pleasantly pristine for all to enjoy its miracle water.

Inside the farmhouse the air sat thick with tobacco smoke, stale breath and abuzz with disorderly glee as folks stumbled to and from the bar back to their tables. Barely holding together the clusters of steins they brought. Every round overflowing with beer. Each haphazard step tipping more of the precious brew onto the floor which lay already slick with the spillages of other patrons. Ironically making those who'd mustered the audacity to clamber onto the tables and dance of steadier stance than anyone else there. Even as the more lively maidens among them began to gladly chant,

"My granny is sick, and now is dead, And we’ll go mould some cockle bread. Up with my heels and down with my head, And this is the way to mould cockle bread!"

-before either being curtailed mid-chant by a stumble off the table's edge or being hastily ushered down by their attending kin before they could so much as bend to reach their skirt's hem, let alone perform the dance that accompanied the chant. Faces flushed red with embarrassment rather than intoxication.

As appreciative as the Woodward and nearby townsfolk were for the funding, that didn't make their rowdy display any less exhausting to accommodate. What it DID make was a perfect distraction for opportunists like _______ to swipe every loose coin and discarded luxury the nobles might lose track of amidst their merriment. Not that they'd miss any of it, mind. They came here to walk out bellies full and their purses spent, and that's exactly what they'll be by day's end.

Having waited until the festivities were well underway, the greatest challenge (besides remaining unseen, a fairly easy feat given how blind drunk all but the staff seemed to be) became dodging wayward hands flying or being crushed if any brawls broke out or someone proved too unsteady even when idle. As the thought passed _______'s mind, some poor sod began to tip backwards from his chair and nearly onto her had she not skirted so quickly past them. An amused cheer resounded across his table at the sound of him crashing onto the stone floor, much like was customary to do when any crockery shattered in a tavern such as this. "Lightweights...", she muttered so herself, smug with the fat payout the day's already granted her. Enough that there was barely any space left to covertly tuck anything away. Might be worth heading home and stowing away what she had to free up space again. Maybe just another handful...

Taking a moment to pause and see who had anything by their side or on the floor that she could swipe on her way out, she started thinking of all the food she could afford and store for winter with what she's already accumulated. Even if prices inevitably rose again because of yet another crop failure. Or because of more people flooding the town and driving up demand after being enclosed on by the damned Willoughbies like hers had been in Sutton Passeys. Or whatever war the powers that be demand the food should be diverted to instead. She won't go hungry, not this time!

Just as she felt drool begin to well up in her mouth, she spotted a particularly well dressed gentleman just past the open door laying down a round for his table. The two men sat beside him were oddly dressed, in much plainer clothes than the puffy, blouses and jackets expected by the feast's usual attendees. Come to think of it, she didn't recognise any of them from previous years. The man who brought the drinks didn't look rich per-say, but was certainly smartly dressed. Hair dark brown cut to shoulder-length and a feathered cap atop his head. Perhaps a merchant? The other two had a strangely cool tinge to their skin and such dark eyes it was as if their pupils were as wide as a rabbit's and hair dark to match, styled much higher and tighter than their fellow's loose tie-back. Their robes more like a shawl with sleeves and less gathered. Unrecognisable patterns resembling a grid of angular flowers dotted the fabric, but beyond that little decoration darned their outfits. Remarkably modest given their company and the occasion.

As she sauntered closer, she attempts to fain disinterest by periodically gazing about the place and hums along with the raucous singing blasting from within the farmhouse. Every so often darting a glance at the table both to scan for goods and to take in more and more odd details they noticed about the people sat there. In spite of how shoddy her attempt at "acting natural" was, it shouldn't matter as they surely should be too drunk to notice her pinch his coin pu- "There it is!", a hand had grabbed her wrist before she could register what happened. She froze as the Englishman tightened his grip on her wrist before plucking his coin purse back from her aching hand, "Thought someone might have nabbed it there for a second, thank you kindly for returning it to me..." No manner of tugging freed her from his grip, which kept her uncomfortably close, her frantic squirming further broadcasting her guilt as the thief in front of his associates, who simply stared unbothered. As the man turned in his seat to face her, she could see the ornate badge pinned to his breast pocket and his less ornate but still remarkably well-kept attire... a uniform?

"This isn't the usual way I'd spend Easter, but word is this feast has been swarmed with thieves these past few years," he snaked a hand under her chin and held it there, forcing her to keep eye contact, "I'd be careful if I were you. You wouldn't want to lose something valuable tonight... would you?"

With that he let go, and her wrist practically flew free of his grasp. Rubbing it gently to sooth the sore mark he'd left, she hastily scampered off to hide her stash somewhere safe. Who was that? Who were they? Those people? Was that their first round? Of all the tables she picked a sober one last, fantastic!

In the mad dash back home, she hadn't noticed the trail of coins she was leaving behind like breadcrumbs leading back to Lenton village. Some coins dropped on the heads of sleeping vagrants and children playing nearby snatched up what they could once they realise what had littered the ground, scrubbing off the mud that now caked each coin. Unknowingly covering _______'s tracks, at least through the main street, but still too preoccupied in their frantic gathering to notice which alley she'd darted through next. Pushing through her backdoor and clambering for somewhere to hide the goods (or herself) her hands spread wide, feeling the floor for any loose boards. In her panic the floorboard she lifted to stuff the goods under got jammed slightly out of place, and no manner of prying could correct it while in such a state. She'd force it back into place once she'd calmed down. Before she could, though, a daunting knock at the door could be heard. Timidly she peered through through the window. The unnerving man from earlier. How did he know where she went? Doesn't matter. Just keep quiet and unseen and he will leave. Hopefully. The man knocked more forcefully after a minute or two of silence. Then again... and again, before finally sighing and demanding, "If you don't open the door you WILL be arrested. You know the charge for theft. Open. The. Door." Keep quiet.

Luckily the feast had most people out and about for the day, but a worrying patter of footsteps upstairs tore _______ between trying to sway the man to let her go, hand herself in, or let him loudly break down the door and potentially rope in her kin with her punishment since the stash she added to could be implicated as everyone's under the roof. She'd weaseled herself out of tighter situations before, but that was when she was alone. It's all different now! What- Her indecision was cut short by the abrupt kicking open of the door which slammed hard onto the cold stone floor, small fragments of wood breaking off at point of impact with the hinge swinging loose like a doomed man's head. Her decision was already made. She held in her yelp, mustering a whimper, but the sound of the break in already alerted her kin upstairs who clattered downstairs, only to stop at the top step, the eldest of them immediately recognising who was at the door.

"Sheriff! What a lovely surprise, what brings you to our humble abode?" Playing dumb was never her grandma's strong suit, as senile as she was she wasn't ignorant by any means, the darting of her eyes hinting as much. The awkward silence lay like an unmoving layer of fat over water, hardening as the room grew cool with the Sheriff's imposing demeanor freezing everyone in place. His eyes scanned the room, flitting between faces before landing at the jammed floorboards by the stairwell. His attention drawn by the faint glint of sparkling gold. Raising a finger to the gap, he asked, seemingly to no one but clearly directed at _______, "Is this yours?" Shifting in place, _______ was about to say "N-" but her aunt interjected, "It's mine. My dowry. My husband, his family wouldn't let him marry a vagrant but he brought what he could and married me despite their wishes." Her stunned confusion blatantly on display, _______ caught herself and nodded along with the best slack they had. God bless you Auntie, I owe you one. "That looks like far more than eleven pence right there. Rather risky to keep such a valuable asset on display right by the back door, don't you think?" Saving face her aunt doubled down, "Well... that's why it's exactly where a thief wouldn't think to look! You see?" attempting to look chuffed with herself, forcing a confident grin as best she could.

"I DO see, so you're saying you can think like a thief, eh?", a smirk crept up on the Sheriff's face, something he'd clearly been holding back the whole time he'd been standing in the doorway, blocking our nearest exist. "And uh, Ma'am you do realise vagrancy isn't exactly... appreciated, well, anywhere in God's land? You look able-bodied, I assume you've made yourself useful since your marriage?" The questions stewed in their minds, bringing their patience to a boil. Days spent toiling at the spinning wheel, knitting until the skin on their fingers thickened into boot leather. 'Made yourself useful?' as if the Sheriff himself wasn't a bloated mouthpiece for the inept aristocracy that didn't so much as blink before they shoved people like them off of land they'd subsisted on for centuries, for what... aesthetics? So they didn't pollute their lovely view? _______'s fists clenched, tighter and tighter with her family glancing over and back like if they looked away too long she'd set ablaze. "YES. They have..." _______ said firmly through gritted teeth. Closer and closer, the Sheriff stepped, circling _______ as her kin hugged the banister like a lifeline. Wanting to hide back upstairs, but not wanting to abandon their child to the whims of the law. After tracing her curves with his gaze up and down, he crouched to pry open the "dowry". As he did the metal caught the light, brilliantly gleaming in the spring daylight. Certainly not rusted. Not in the slightest. The kind of money no one has touched in years. Could be a dowry, then. Could be new, counterfeit (more likely, he thought). Could be the pretty pennies of the drunken nobles who needn't worry about directly paying with money but once in a blue moon.

"I'll ask again... is this yours?" A trap. She wasn't sure how, but the way he phrased it made it seem like any answer she'd think to give would lead to a trap. Yes, and that could be an admission that she'd stolen it. No, and that could be admitting it's not hers and she stole it. Please Auntie, please, you or grandma. She wished they'd speak for her, like they always did, now was the time but they stayed quiet. This time it was her gaze flitting to them, back and forth as they evaded hers. The Sheriff reached down and pinched a coin from under the floorboards, rotating it to catch the light, eyeing it closely. Not counterfeit. The real deal... He chuckled, bemused by their awful attempt at saving face. "I know it's not yours. I just needed to see if it was all of you who needed executing, and not just this-" he grabbed _______ by the forearm, raising it like an unwilling volunteer, "-skank here I caught in the act!" Despite being but one man, running from the house didn't seem wise, where would they go? Hide? He could just nail the door shut and burn it down with everyone still inside. He didn't need to shackle anyone to keep them right where he needed them.

"Please, I asked her to do it - we needed the money!", Grandma blurted, hoping to help. Honest to a fault. Auntie shot a death-glare at her, not in anger but fear. Now they absolutely would be implicated in the theft, not just _______! Desperate, she kept going, "She was only doing what she was told. If you should prosecute anyone, it should be me, I'm culpable." Her frail, old form gently slinked down the stairs, leaning on the banister for balance. Before she even reached the last step, the Sheriff -raising a palm to halt her- refused. "How noble, but you're already on death's door you old Crone. It wouldn't be much of a punishment at this point." Offended wasn't quite the word. Disheartened? Shocked? It didn't really matter. An embarrassing withdrawal; Grandma held herself by the bottom of the stairs not sure what to do with herself anymore. The Sherrif's smugness grew, seeing them all so flustered and disheartened. While he couldn't change the law (legally speaking, they deserved death), anything he offered would seem better at this point, and that's exactly what he needed. Or rather, what his associate needed...

Unfortunately, only one here would be suitable for his associate's tastes. The other two were clearly too worn and delicate to withstand a long-term tenure with his associate. No, only the skank will do.

"Tell you what! Unless you'd rather let the gentlemen back at the farmhouse sober up, realise they've been robbed blind and let them hunt you down... I have the means to make it look like you're as good as dead and they'll be none the wiser!", he paused, as if waiting for someone to question his proposal, but all that rose was curious silence amidst a flurry of glances between the three women as if performing furious wordless debate amongst themselves. He continued, "I can redistribute the evidence accordingly, and you'll be long gone from the reach of any gallows rope." "Banishment, then? To where?", _______ demanded, exhausted with his drawn out charade. "Oh, nowhere you'd know. A land in the far East, but don't worry! If anything, where you'll be is far grander than this... dusty hovel.", he said, gesturing about the place. _______ could feel their brow twitch, if he was so disgusted by their humble lodgings he shouldn't care what they stole, they clearly need it and couldn't afford anywhere "better". "Since you stole a hefty sum, you can pay it back by working under contract as my associate's servant. With how much is here, I'd say it should last roughly...", squinting, he sucked in a breath for dramatic effect, "fifteen years".

"WHAT?" _______ yelped, "You've got that wrong, surely?" "It's adorable how you think you grasp the severity of your situation, when you clearly don't.", he scoffed before letting out a small chuckle. Reaching in a hand under his cloak, he pulled out what was presumably the contract and unfolded it to show only _______. "Do you intend to only spare her?", tentatively asked her Auntie, voice hushed like her words might kill her if she spoke them any louder. Again, he scoffed, "The old Crone there isn't worth the trouble of an execution, and she", he pointed right at _______'s face, barely a centimeter from slapping her as he did so, "Is young and clearly fit enough to work this contract as written. YOU are neither. I'll give you a chance to live by still confiscating the evidence but any suspicions that lead back to you shall leave your fate thrown to the wolves. Tag along if you wish but I doubt you'll be of much use to my associate." A chance to stay and live, especially while Grandma (sturdy as she was) would still be here in need of care, even if it was but a chance and not a certainty seemed too vital to cast aside. No, better she be here for Grandma rather than risk both herself and _______ dying and leaving her to fend for herself. "I'll... stay, thank you." _______ shot her a desperate glare, pained and conflicted. She can't really be serious? The contract was still held there, the Sheriff growing impatient, so she took it from him to glance it over. "...", she looked back up, "You do realise I can't read this?" Snatching it back briskly, he began to read aloud the contract in full, she assumed. The terms seemed fair. Room, board, food, pay contributing back to her debt she owed the nobles, doing general duties expected of a servant / maid, even tending a garden of sorts? It seemed strangely described and involved caring for some animals? Her family did pasture sheep they made the wool yarn from that they weave for a while so, that shouldn't be too hard. "Now, normally you'd sign your name, but since you're illiterate I'll just sign your name on your behalf. What was it again?" "_______" "No, your full, legal name." Confused, she repeated, "_______" "Right..."

#blue eye samurai #abijah fowler #💌resources by rose!#abijah fowler x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #fanfic

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skaruresonic · 9 months ago

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I doubt my words will mean anything of substance, bit if if it helps in any way: don't ever feel like you deserve any of the shit these people have been flinging at you

The truth of the matter is that someone who spends so, SO much time online obsessing over some strangers, just to compile a list of reasons to hate them is, in all likelyhood, an insecure little dipshit, the very picture of a loser, basement dweller, who's got nothing worthwhile going on in their miserable life and feels a whole bunch of frustration over it, so they pick on easy targets to make them feel even more miserable than they are. If they feel like they've made someone else feel even worse than they then they'll be able to get high on that feeling of power.

Unfortunately I realise that may not really fix the fundemental issue of having so many of them jump down your throat all the time, especially when nowadays modern internet fandom spaces outright encourage this type of behavior as being morally acceptable. But if it means anything try to hang in there, and confide in your friends, irl or online, when things get too much for you to handle

Like bruh, it's 9 in the morning. Maybe let me wake up before dropping that kind of ask on me lol.

Tbh, I've been noticing a certain... maybe, passive-aggressive? ...tone in some anon asks I receive, as if implicating me in something (ex. mention in a post how Shadow gets Sonic's goat, anon immediately asks "Weird how fans never mention Eggman getting Sonic's goat," as if I'm included in that group).

Might be overthinking it. Part of me wants to believe I'm misinterpreting the tone. It's difficult to tell because I usually want to give people the benefit of the doubt, but after a while the backhanded nature of such remarks erode your self-esteem.

I'm not sure if that was what they were aiming for, but they chose a really bad day to send such an ask. I'm sorry for the rants, just really emotional rn.

They're not jumping down my throat as hard as they've jumped down Crusher or Beev's throats, but the constant nature of this stuff really is a big part of the reason why most of us are quietly jumping ship. Even when they have no reason to, they can't help but crawl in through the kitchen window. After a while you just have to say "Fuck it, I tried" lol.

#asks

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beevean · 4 years ago

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Child of divorced parents who thinks they should have divorced much earlier, I agree

Sometimes children are happy that their parents divorce because it means they’ll finally stop arguing from day to night.

(it should also mean they’ll stop involving their child in their mess, but that’s much rarer)

no hate to my fellow children of divorced parents who wish they would get back together but i think we need more representation in media for people who learned their parents were getting divorced and were like. "god, finally"

#relatable #beev stuff #i don't think i'll ever forgive my parents for getting married #if my mom lowkey blames me for 'throwing tantrums' when they tried to separate when i was 5 #i can blame them for being spineless idiots #sometimes the trauma doesn't come from the divorce #it comes from parents staying together longer than they should

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friedmatsu · 3 years ago

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totty be upon ye

#matsuno todomatsu #all the deco is there to look like cookie packaging.. btw ... <3 #it is late.#todomatsu #beeves #q #theres a version where i made the logo & stuff but this one looks better #osomatsu san

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thetruequeenoftheabyss · 3 years ago

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My first animation made in storyboard pro!

Made this Gif of beeves for class enjoy y'all

#original character #original art #beeves #oc beeves #my own stuff #my oc #ocs #beeves the clown #clown #clown oc #animation #2d animation #my art #digital art

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latin-dr-robotnik · 3 years ago

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Sonic Advance 3 is fun (for real)

#sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #sonic advance #sonic advance 3 #yo beev i heard you were having fun running adv3 levels #may i join with the lovely couple #last third of the stage was pretty sloppy ngl but i was aiming for sub 1 minute just to begin with #so it's good enough to me :P #i'm still trying to figure the best route for these two #and before you ask no i don't really watch wr speedruns unless i'm going serious #like some of my spark 2 speedruns #i like to figure stuff on my own first and see how far i can push times

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beevean · 1 month ago

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Went from struggling to lift 83 kgs to easily lift 88 kgs in a month

That is very much more than my own body weight, not to mention a surprise for the others in the competition lol

I aim for the 90 kgs. Which is the weight brought by the one who is currently projected in first place.

I'm really happy :)

#beev stuff #coach also bought a fancy new bench which is much more comfortable #that might have helped a lot because i had to strain less #(that and i've also taken to eat almonds before a heavy lift lol)

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miraakulous-cloud-district · 2 years ago

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Hello, it's Gigi falling into your inbox like Santa Claus through the chimney bringing questions/gifts:

🔥, 💪, and 🥵 for Ravonna, her Miraak, and Max!!!

Gigi falling into my inbox is my new favourite thing! <3

Ohohohoooo I get to answer these for Ravvy, Max and Miraak? Thank you so much for this! I can't beeve I get to ramble about Miraak too!

link to the ask game

🔥 : What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered?

Ravonna: something that draws her insane at first (and in a future chapter) is Miraak's ability to commit to a bit! In her line of work, lying is sometimes better than the wrong people finding out something they shouldn't about her or anyone dear to her, so improvising on the spot is her thing. Like she did with Rumarin when they got fake-married in Riften. Sometimes she's just doing it for fun. So, when she starts her act and Miraak is able to keep up with it and even add more insane stuff to it, she is very pleasantly surprised.

That, and also him healing her. Every damn time :))

Miraak: By no means is Ravonna smooth, but this doesn't matter in the slightest to Miraak, because he will get flustered at EVERYTHING. Her mostly not being smooth and romantic make the times when she is all the more meaningful.

He gets flustered whenever he hears her sing, whenever he sees her passionately telling a story, but mostly, he gets flustered when she starts showing her protective nature with him. Also, right now we're at the point in my fic where he kind of gets flustered every time she looks him in the eye. He is not used to this after spending so much time in Apocrypha and in the Dragon Cult. There's a certain intimacy whenever they look directly into each others' eyes. Besides, she is kind of intimidating, yet captivating and beautiful. It's terrifyingly amazing to him.

Max: Literally anything flirty from his crush aimed at him will make him so flustered! He has absolutely zero trouble when playfully flirting with Cassandra, just to tease her, because they are just friends, but when Dorian makes a move on him (and the oblivious bastard actually figures out it's flirting), he will start rambling, stumbling on his words, rubbing the back of his head, all that stuff. (This is really making me think of how the romance with Cullen would have gone. Two adorable awkward blorbos! Too bad Bioware didn't have enough time to make Cullen have a bisexual romance as well)

💪 : What is your OC’s most physically attractive attribute?

Ravonna: Hmm, I would say her face. I mean, she has a great face! I love her green almond eyes and her expressive eyebrows! Her long, black hair also draws attention, especially since she likes to have it down and free and uses a protective spell so she wouldn't burn it in battle or something.

Miraak: His eyes and hair, for sure! When the sun strikes at the right angle, his blond hair almost looks like an aura. He's a little angel boy with brown disney princess eyes!

Max: His muscular arms and back! He's an archer so he's very built and has lots of upper body strength. EVERYONE is staring whenever he wears something sleeveless hahaaha

🥵 : Is your OC perceived as physically attractive to others? Is it at first glance or is it something that takes more time to reach fruition?

Ravonna: She is very conventionally attractive. She's got umm... good genes. I won't elaborate further on that. For now. Gigi, you already know what I'm talking about :)) But she is perceived as attractive to people who find nords attractive. At first glance, most people would agree that she is very pretty. It's the face and hair that they see at first, as she always wears big mage robes, never revealing her body, but I think that what really makes her attractive is her genuine-ness and how true to herself she is always!

Miraak: It's pretty much the same as Ravonna: people who find nords attractive will be attracted to him. He is very lovely to look at, and his gentle and kind aura make him more approachable than Ravonna, who is often seen as untouchable. He kind of looks like the perfect image of a nord, equivalently in our world to an ancient viking, but with less roughness.

Max: By nobility and 'Thedasian society', Max is not essentially conventionally attractive. He's got some rough features, such as a crooked nose (which has been broken at least 3 times), his hair is messy and all over the place and his eyebrows are very bushy. He's got freckles all over the place and a sharp jawline. He has a scar that splits one of his eyebrows in two. He's also standing out because he is a tall, buff and awkward redhead. However, I think all of these things make him, so *so* endearing and he is one of my favourite designs for an oc I've ever done. Not everyone may find him attractive instantly, but as you see him more and more, you realize that all of his features go together so well and they actually compose a very beautiful person

#thank you so much for this #it was so fun to answer for Miraak too!!#ask game #oc: max trevelyan #oc: ravonna #miraak #wygtya #miraak x ldb

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bloodgulchblog · 3 years ago

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A non-spoiler list of my KT beeves for @undisciplinedcowboys

Overall cynical, paranoid, and smug about it in an IP where the most compelling stories come from the value of hope and trust against long odds and despite terrible history.

Holding characters to different moral standards depending on if she wants us to like or hate them.

Revisionist approach to previous canon in order to further agenda of making you hate the characters she wants you to hate. (Her construction of Dr. Halsey in particular is absolutely insulting to the character's prior characterization, and I cannot stand it.)

Gets various details wrong. Uses plot devices to start simplifying the problems/inconveniences in the universe's technology which made for interesting points of story conflict in the past.

Overall aggressive and meanspirited approach to the canon that makes it feel like she thinks certain fans that like certain things are having bad wrong fun, so she must make them feel as bad about it as possible. (It's hard to explain this without providing specific examples but you know it when you see it.)

Rife with uncomfortable parallels to Serious Real World Shit.

She seems to be a shitty person based on how she interacts with stuff about her IRL views and beliefs.

She seems to be a shitty person based on her history of aggressive, petty, nasty interactions with people over fan nerd shit.

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 4 years ago

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Give them what they want ch. 5

A split mushroom/pepper pizza or just allowing Aziz and Lonnie to make their choice of portobello mushroom pizza. That was the question of the day.

Ever since, she arrived back in Auradon, she decided to put in action her plan to give people what they want. The girl everybody liked and desired. Not just for her powers. How?

If there was anything that she learned from being used that there for every question, there were three things lying underneath. 1st. What he said he wanted. 2nd. WHat he secretly wanted but didn't have any telepathic powers to convey it. 3rd. What they would most desire yet knew was unlikely to happen.

She was going to be that 3rd option. For once she was going to use the idea that a genie was to sup pose to give people their biggest wishes to her own advantage. She wouldn't grant wishes, but she would definatly act personable and generous enough that no one would dare critize her for being selfish and bitchy.

"Jord? Still here?" Aziz snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Yes." She snapped back, "I'm just thinking before I answered."

"Dude, not a life or death decision."

Jordan inwardly scoffed. Sure, not a life or death decision. But wars had been commited for less. Relationships and friends still left her for aN unknowable (unknowable to her at least) reason lying in her personality.

So while Lonnie and Aziz were allowing the option to split the pizza, she knew they would much prefer to eat a whole pizza filled with mushrooms.

"You can have the mushrooms." Jordan answered.

"Cool!" Aziz grinned and slapped her on the back.

Lonnie placed the order to the cafeteria lady to the dorms and they spent their free gorging out while Jordan daintily nibbled at the edges of the pizza not occupied by the mushrooms and their disgusting smell.

So she barely ate. The smell kinda ruined her appetite. After she accidentally swallowed one of the portobellos when she was trying to take off the crust, she pleaded a rain check. Rushing early to her next class to stuff her face with cherry-filled chocolates before anyone else arrived.

At twelve on the dot, Fauna arrived to start her class, Fae and Humans Throughout the Ages. It was a simple class, try to take notes, read the homework and be able to argue persuasively. At the end of each chapter Fauna assigned, she put two theories on the cause of what had happened.

There was a correct theory and those that got it had full credit (as long as they gave a proper reason why) and those who chose the incorrect theory got half credit depending how good their argument was.

She heard her stomach grumble, and almost regretted her decision not to split the pizza.

"No. Don't think so selfishly. That is exactly why people can't stand being around you." She reprimanded herself.

She knew better than to try to please everybody. So she just stuck to those that she wanted to keep around, that it would hurt too much if they left and reviled her.

But it still exhausted her. Up till now, she didn't know how many requests and questions people asked of her in a day. And taking the time to think of the option that the person really wanted actually took more concentrating than she liked.

An almost instinctive, subconscious part of her wanted to give up trying to figure out what people wanted and to please them. It was too hard. She just wanted to scream, "Please just tell me what to do! Be honest, and tell me exactly what you want. Be the master and tell me so I can do it for you."

"Tell me what is so horrible about me so I can change myself!"

She couldn't make decisions on her own. Obviously she sucked at them. She somehow kept missing the important things, the things that influenced people to stay or leave her.

But she knew she couldn't say that. It would give more of a reason for people to see her as a genie. She had to repress it, she had to stick with what she was doing.

Thinking, analyzing, weighing what people SAID they want, the undercurrent of what they would desire but not say, and what action or words that make them happy and be pleased with her.

Yet every time a decision, a question was thrown her way she felt a small primal paralyzingly fear.

She would say the wrong thing, something insignificant to her, but big to them. And then it would be the last straw, and they wouldn't forgive her, they would leave her. It was stressful, she wasn't used to all the mental gymnastics but she would stick it out, and follow through.

Because when she did they would smile at her and praise her, and for a brief moment, she would be safe. Safe in the knowledge that for the time being, they wouldn't think of leaving her alone. That she worthy enough for them to stick around in the long run. She was good, and nice and useful.

They wouldn't see the ugliness that was so obvious to everyone else. Though she wondered what it was.

"I think Theory A is the correct one. I mean, you agree that the Salem Witch Trials were obviously started by evil witches as to get rid of witches that stood against them. Come on stand by me on this one." Doug nodded eagerly at her from the seat over, snapping Jordan out of her mental reverie.

In truth, she didn't. She thought it had beev made up by human girls who wanted attention and exasperated by superstitious adults. No wizards or other fae had been involved whatsoever. That had been confirmed by some history books written by fae that witches rarely populated areas where superstitions were rampant. Nor would they really try to hide that they were witches in the first place.

But...she liked Doug. He was so sweet. She wouldn't mind to keep hanging out with him and learning some chemistry dooda from him or video to his musical talent.

If she agreed, he would be pleased. It would keep up his high grades in Fae and Humans Throughout History and improve his GPA that much more. Plus with a high GPA, he would get what he most desired. Being accepted to a collage and going on to a occupation not in the mines like his forefathers and the rest of his family.

So she bit back her convincing argument that would have knocked most of his case away and coyly nodded her head. "I agree. Doug is right. After all witches are well-known for keeping their status as number one and jealous of other competitors."

Jane raised her hand, "I disagree. The right answer is Theory B. According to the chapter you assigned last night, most fae didn't even live in the area. And if they did, witches are not known to hide the fact that they are witches as the status of a witch can lead people to come to them for help in healing and other good magic arts."

Fauna nodded her head at Jane's answer, "Class take note, Jane has the right idea..." and so on went her spiel. Doug, then passed her a note.

I didn't think you would completely agree with me on Theory A without offering more of an opinion to support it. Usually you are good at this class. Did you space out on last night's homework?

Jordan quickly scribbled her own note. I thought you wanted me to agree, and support you. Let you take the lead. From the corner of her eye, she saw Doug opening the note and look at her curiously. Like she was an abstract picture he just didn't get. Once class was over, Doug stopped her on the way out. "You want to support me?" He said dubiously.

Jordan's chest squeezed with anticipation. The anxiety that he would insult her for her stupid decision, that she was useless in helping him. Another calculation. What did he wat to hear from her? What would make him happy with her?

Some flattery would probably work here. "I think you do have good ideas. I already say my opinion enough, I was letting the teacher see that yours could stand on their own." It sounded awkwardly phrased and vague to her ears, and she could see from his reaction that he was even more confused than ever from her answer.

"I'm sorry that I didn't support your argument well and made you wrong in front of everybody." Jordan whispered softly.

"It's not a big deal." Doug told her. He opened his mouth to say something else but she interrupted.

"Good." Jordan chirped brightly to keep Doug from asking further questions and she ended up making a bigger mistake. "So we're cool." "Yeah..sure?"

"I'm glad. You're a nice boy, Doug. I'll see you around." While Doug blushed at the unexpected compliment, Jordan walked away thinking. Okay, she said things that she never would have done if she acted like she normally did.

Which kept her in his good graces. He still liked her. She must have done something right.

Which only proved one thing, there must be something horribly wrong with her usual personality. She was right. She was a bad person as herself.

She would just have to change that. Do what people wanted to hear. After all, it was better to be good, and beloved than alone as herself.

#disney descendants #give them what they want #doug dwarf #jordan #chapter five #lonnie #aziz #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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talenlee · 2 years ago

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Talen Month 2023!

Ah, tis April, and an even month and since I organise things in a particular way because of my particular brain in a particular stage, this is the month I dedicate to Talen Month. This is to say, the month where the only thing a topic needs to be deemed worthy is for me to say oh yeah I love talking about that. It’s a time for very specific silly niche interests, it’s a time to bring up old beeves, it’s a time to abandon what’s contemporary or current and instead reflect on the accumulated construction of mess and trauma and false memories that is me.

It’s really dumb that I need a reason for this!

There’s something fundamentally busted in my head, in terms of my personality and the way I envision ‘appropriate’ behaviour that on my blog, a platform I pay to maintain and which I alone contribute to (I guess I could have some more guests), but where I feel that hey, I should ease up on focusing on the topics that I personally find the most engaging, and the most emotionally satisfying. I shouldn’t write an article calling something crap and sucky, if you know, it wasn’t an appropriate time, like the one month of a year I dedicate it to my favourite stuff to do.

This is obviously a very silly habit, but it’s a big part of my brain. This blog is one of the largest single artifacts and projects of my entire life; I can think of one other intentional thing I’ve done that I could describe as a conscious and deliberate project that I’ve spent longer doing. Part of it is, I think that the way we talk about blogs is kind of fundamentally bored. I think about it a lot, about how I think the primary work that springs to mind about ‘putting stuff on the internet’ is a pair of Penny Arcade strips, which are about how ridiculous it is for dudes to put their opinions on the internet as a blog.

Yes.

I feel bad about showing my writing on a digital space because of something I was convinced of as a young man by the most successful English webcomic of all time, who wanted to argue that putting your creative endeavours on the internet for an audience is a boring shitty thing that you only do so you can bother your friends to engage with it.

I’m staring at that paragraph now, looking at my own mental process in public. Penny Arcade convinced me that nobody should post on the internet. That’s such a fantastically silly way to think about things! First of all, why the hell should I be listening to the Penny Arcade guys about how stupid it is to share your opinions on the internet? Those guys share their opinions, and on the internet, all the time, and it worked out really well for them! And that was something like ten years before this blog even started!

What’s more is that the Penny Arcade franchise is this long form exercise in guys a few years older than me thinking they’re funny online, and then riding the tiger that ensued in a part of the internet’s life that’s hard to think of as anything but tiresome. I do think of the early webcomic days as a tiresome time with bad jokes, but it’s a fact that I loved a lot of these comics, and they formed foundational parts of who I am now as an adult. I still use ‘wench’ as a joke insult sometimes, which isn’t even a successful webcomic thing. I spent a chunk of a week rereading Megatokyo this year and that wasn’t because it was unimportant.

And part of unpicking that and considering the nature of what it is to be me means that I have to look back at a history of the webcomic era and realise that I was part of this space and then I escaped it and it was only upon reflection that I realised how much I had grown from the time when I participated in those things. I think that part of this is why I was so bitter about stories that failed to end, or stories that didn’t have a reasonable handle on where they were going, or what was important to them, because for every 8-bit Theatre there was a Dominic Deegan, a thing that someone was pumping out every day, trying to make a story that became their job and build a fanbase and –

Oh no.

I don’t mean to compare myself to webcomics. But I do think that it’s worth remembering the origin of who I am. Yes, I bring up the cult experience and the weird, wonky, deformed childhood and teen years, where I basically turned 21 and had a tiny drop of experience of making friends, then had to try and catch up and did it badly. Sure. But in that same period, I was captivated by the mysterious potential of things that let people make things. I thought webcomics were cool. I thought web forums were cool. I thought that online roleplay and collaborative writing was important. I thought games that let you make things were fascinating.

And the webcomics I read were a lot of formative texts for me in how I told jokes, and it seems, how I look at myself, and look at how I approach making things. I have people talking about one of the most ephemeral bubbles of media space in my head as advice for how to make things, and there’s a lot of weird toxic failed hustle culture in there. Webcomics didn’t fail because the demands were too high for creators, or because the returns and support was nonexistent, they failed because people didn’t try hard enough, they didn’t do an honest good job, they fell into mistakes like filler arcs or gag-a-week stuff or lazy art days or…

… all the stuff that now, years later, I am using as guidance for making my own blog.

Which is dumb.

I need to be kinder to myself.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Diary

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