#his downfall is entirely his. and we have no Evil Woman to blame for it.

[ladymacbeths]

yeah um No actually i think that any1 who reads macbeth as “good guy who’s manipulated into murder by his ambitious wife who Uses him” should 1. die 2. be forbidden from speaking about this play Ever bc ur doing Both of those characters a disservice

[portfolio-]

It’s Okay Not to be Okay, Episode 4

There are different kinds of parents in this world, and It's Okay Not to be Okay gives us a taste of them through these complex characters we're growing to love every minute of the show that passes.

I hate it when families neglect their family members because of their mental illness. As if these people are hopeless cases. I am mad, so mad at Kwak Dong Yeon's mother in the series, for blaming him about his outburst. Can't these people spare even a bit of affection for them? Don't they need it more? And that slap that he treated more as a sign of affection than a show of anger is more brutal that her scathing words against him. And his father, forgive me but he's evil and selfish. Psychiatric hospitals are not lodgings made for persons with mental illness when families find them dispensable. It should be a place of recuperation, not a dead-end they are left to rot in. I have seen similar stories first hand, and it breaks my heart to see them pining for their families. A lot of families have their reasons, but I cannot accept other reasons from families like Kwak Dong Yeon’s that won’t be borderline cruel and inhumane.

(If you are sensitive to these topics, I apologize. I have thrown scathing remarks, and I won’t apologize for them.)

On the other side of the spectrum, we have Kang Tae's mother, who poured herself into Sang Tae's well-being while forgetting that he has another son in need of her affection. The child Kang Tae has always called to her, "Mom, you are so warm." Do you know how painful that is, to crave affection and not satiate even a smidge of that longing? It is a wound that Kang Tae carried up to this day, and in my opinion, he overcompensates by outpouring all the love he can give to Sang Tae. He plays the role of an entire family to him, and he has done so well. His legs have been buckling for so long. I wonder when his knees will give out.

Poor Kang Tae, taking on the responsibility of taking care of his brother after years of neglect. Have you observed how Kang Tae has always taken the downfall when things begin to fall apart? As if it's second nature for him to be a punching bag. Why is it so difficult to strike a balance when it comes to loving people? "But you're more like a kid...because I can see that you want to be loved." I have gone soft by the way Moon Young gently touched Kang Tae's hair against the backdrop of downpour. This is the difficult thing about getting someone pegged and still wanting them. Lee Sang In warned Kang Tae that Moon Young will devour her, and I have no doubt she will keep on pushing him unless he bites back.

That scene where Moon Young's father chokes her in real time is a powerful one. Of course, the patient comes first, but don't they see that something is going on? Will anyone ever reach out to Moon Young and try to understand her? It is a catastrophic cycle. Moon Young's PTSD will always kick in, and that hate she carries on her heart will continue to harden her unless someone takes her hand. Come on Kang Tae, keep on giving her that bone-crushing hug!

My lovely children are all victims of dysfunctional families. My heart goes out to them.

Now, what about Nam Ju Ri? I never talked about her in my previous entries. One would have thought I would advocate for her because she is the nurse in the story, but it is clear that she has her biases. I hate biases in health care professionals; it’s hypocritical to the nature of the profession and goes against the root of providing service. The Hypocratic Oath and Nightingale Pledge said it better. It also appears like she is pining for Kang Tae, and while second leads add spice to the story, it just doesn't warm her up to me. I don't think I will like her anytime soon.

And to my main woman, Goo Moon Young. So broken, so full of emotions that she molded into a near impenetrable armor. She is not an empty can. If anything, she's popping full. I wonder how many hits can she still take before she explodes.

Lastly, that final shot of Kang Tae and Moon Young and the lighthouse. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Kidding aside, isn't this scene symbolic for their own characters, that they will find their way home by guiding each other amidst the storm? I love it.

This drama has hit all my sensitivities when it comes to psychiatry. I can't not tell the world about it. It's realistic and empathetic at the same time. Keep those crumbs coming, producer-nim and director-nim!

[yellowmagicalgirl]

All the ways we couldn't save you

Ladybug and Chat Noir defeat Hawk Moth and Mayura late on Friday night. On Monday morning, Mme. Bustier tells the class Adrien won't be coming to school anymore.

I don't consider myself to be in the Miraculous Ladybug fandom anymore, and I haven't watched most of seasons 2 and 3 nor do I have any desire to. However, I had this idea and I wanted to write it.

Timeline-wise, I guess this takes place sometime after Marinette becomes the Guardian? Though, the episode "Dark Owl" did not occur in order for this to properly work.

TRIGGER/SPOILER WARNING: This fic is about suicide. There is no happy ending.

AO3

FFN

Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawk Moth and Mayura late on Friday night. Ladybug had taken the Miraculous from the two unconscious adults, pocketing them to take back to the Miraculous Box when she and Chat were done. Chat had found rope, and he and Ladybug had tied up Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie Sancouer. When the police arrived, the superheroes handed over the now ex-supervillains and re-entered the mansion, looking for any underlying threats.

"Should we wake him? Tell him?" Ladybug asked as they passed by the portrait of Adrien and his father.

"No," Chat said, eyes oddly downcast. "When Adrien wakes up, he's not... I don't think he's going to like having to live in the world he wakes up to. Let's not force him into it so soon."

Ladybug shivered as they made their way up to Hawk Moth's lair. Not because she felt cold, but something felt very wrong about this situation. She couldn't place why, though.

She shook her head, briefly. It must have been being so close to the Peacock Miraculous. That was what was setting her off. It had to be.

They found notes. Blueprints to a secret room. Ladybug pressed her lips together and glanced at her partner. She couldn't tell if it was the lighting or something else that made him seem so pale.

They found the coffin in an underground garden. There was something beautiful about it, in a horrifying way.

Adrien's mother looked so peaceful. She looked like might just be sleeping.

She wasn't breathing.

Chat Noir gasped. It was an ugly, wet, choking sound. "Why?"

"I don't know. Let's face it, Gabriel Agreste was an evil man. He kept his son locked up for years. Of course he'd keep his wife's corpse locked up, too."

"And not even tell his son."

After a minute of searching (and Chat staring at Emilie Agreste with an odd look on his face), Ladybug found the plugs to the life support. She wrapped her hand around one.

"What are you doing?" Chat asked her. He did not move.

"Chat, she's already dead."

"You don't know that."

Ladybug took out the butterfly miraculous, and pinned it to her suit. "Is she alive?" Ladybug asked, looking between the kwami and the woman in the coffin.

"No. Well, technically yes, but only because of life support. Her mind is gone," they said, shaking their head. "I already told Ma- Gabriel this before he even formed his first akuma, but he wouldn't listen."

"Is there a way we can bring her back?" Chat's voice was strained.

"That's why he wanted your miraculous," Nooroo said. "If you combine the Ladybug and Chat Noir miraculous together, you can grant a wish. But, that wish comes at a great cost. I tried to tell Gabriel this, too, but he wouldn't listen."

"What sort of cost?" Chat asked. Ladybug wrapped her fingers around the plug once more.

"A human life, and probably the one of someone he cared about," Nooroo said. Ladybug pulled the plug loose.

"What are you doing?" Chat turned to Ladybug, horror evident on his face. Ladybug continued pulling the plugs. "We're not the bad guys, Ladybug! We save people!"

"She's already gone. She's been dead for months," Ladybug said, dropping the last plug. "And sacrificing someone, anyone, isn't the right thing to do."

Chat stood rooted to the spot, eyes vacant.

"I'm going to go tell the police about her, so they can take her so she can finally get buried," Ladybug said. "Trust me, Chat, I didn't want to do this either."

"Go ahead." Chat's voice was flat.

Ladybug gave him a soft smile. "I'll meet up with you later. I'm glad this is over, but I'm also really tired."

"Yeah. I'm tired, too. It's over."

Marinette went to school on Monday morning, a smile on her face and a spring in her step. She had a box of celebratory cookies with her.

Hawk Moth and Mayura were gone, so she could be a normal girl with a normal life. She could go through school without worrying about having to miss class because of an akuma, or that her frustration with a failed quiz would lead to the downfall of Paris. In fact, she probably wouldn't fail as many quizzes, now, because now she could spend more time studying.

Adrien and Chloé weren't at school. Marinette frowned slightly as the minutes passed and neither of them walked into the classroom.

Mme. Bustier walked into the classroom, her arm around Sabrina's shoulders. Sabrina went to her seat, hugging herself. Sabrina seemed paler than normal, and her clothes seemed darker. Mme. Bustier's eyes were downcast, and her lips were pressed together. Her face looked slightly red.

"Adrien isn't going to be coming to class, anymore," she said. "Chloé will be... when she returns, don't press her about it. She's already not doing well."

"What? Why?" Alix asked. "Do the police think Adrien was working with his dad?"

"He did never get akumatized," Max said, and shrank down into his seat when the class turned to glare at him. "I'm not saying that he's at fault, I'm just saying it looks bad to an outside observer!"

Sabrina sank further into her seat.

"Okay, but didn't M. Agreste get akumatized himself? Into the Collector?" Alya said.

"Yeah, he did, Adrien was really torn up about it afterwards," Nino said, looking sadly at the empty seat.

"So the authorities shouldn't be blaming Adrien, then," Max said.

"Adrien isn't in any trouble," Mme. Bustier said. "He... Adrien was sick, and he succumbed to his illness on Saturday evening."

"Stop using euphemisms," Sabrina said. Her glare was so icy that it could've frozen the tears in her eyes. "Adrien killed himself."

On Monday night, Ladybug tried to call Chat Noir. She had given him space, because she had known he was mad at her, but she needed the one human who'd know why she felt so guilty.

He didn't respond.

On Tuesday, Marinette saw a tabloid wondering if Adrien's death was a cover up - if someone thought he was a threat. Thought that he would become the next Hawk Moth.

Marinette had never wanted to become Lady Noir again so badly as she did then, wanting to cataclysm the entire stand.

She called Chat Noir again that night. She still got no answer.

She didn't think he killed Adrien. If anything, Ladybug had killed Adrien.

Chloé came back to school on Wednesday, but it took Marinette a moment to recognize her.

Her long blonde hair was in a loose, low, lopsided ponytail. She didn't wear any of her usual eye makeup, and her foundation did little to disguise the redness around her eyes, the bags under them, and the paleness of her complexion. Her posture was hunched, like she was trying to make herself smaller. A plain golden ring was on her middle finger, but she wore no other jewelry.

Sabrina went to hug her.

"The funeral's on Saturday," Chloé said; her voice was soft and hoarse and didn't sound like her at all.

Throughout the lesson, Chloé stared at her ring with unfocused eyes.

On Friday, Mme. Bustier gave a lesson on mental health, and how to recognize signs of depression in someone else. It surprised her, that suddenly being happy after being sad for so long wasn't always a hopeful sign.

Out of the corner of her eye, Marinette saw Chloé flinch when their teacher mentioned that a suicidal person will give things important to them away.

Marinette didn't remember seeing most of these signs in Adrien. She remembered seeing some of them in Chat Noir.

Chat Noir still wasn't answering her calls.

It was a double funeral for both Emilie and Adrien. It made sense. Gabriel had not been allowed to go to his son's funeral, so the task fell to foreign relatives. It would be easier to bury both at the same time.

It was an open-coffin funeral. Emilie looked the same as she did when Ladybug had killed her.

Adrien looked so peaceful. He looked like might just be sleeping.

He wasn't breathing. If Marinette squinted the way she did when she used her lucky charm, she could almost see the signs underneath the mortician's makeup, showing where his neck had broken. They also hadn't covered up the tan line where Adrien's silver ring had been.

Chloé hugged Adrien's cousin, still wearing the gold ring she had worn to class.

Ladybug went out on patrol again on Sunday evening. She needed to clear her head so that all she would be able to think about would be way she had to swing in order to not fall.

She checked her yo-yo's map, to see where she was because she got too caught up. She saw an indicator to Chat Noir's location.

It was time to go find her partner.

The holder of the Cat Miraculous sat on a rooftop, knees curled to their chest. They stared at the Agreste mansion with unfocused eyes, specifically where Adrien's room had been.

They weren't Chat Noir.

She had long blonde hair was in a loose, low, lopsided ponytail, held by a dark green ribbon. Her torso, legs, and arms were coal-colored. Her collar, gloves, and thigh-high boots were the color of midnight, and all were at v-shaped angles. Her bell was on a dark green ribbon, and a dark green ribbon formed her tail as well. Her blue eyes had tears in them.

The Cat Miraculous holder looked up at Ladybug, and then back at Adrien's room. "I couldn't stop him." Her voice was soft and hoarse.

"Stop who?" Ladybug asked, sitting a few feet from the girl.

"The previous Chat. I couldn't stop him, and I should've known better. I should've known something was wrong. I should've known that something was wrong when he gave me a small jewelry box. Not that he had been Chat, of course, because it was a plain black box. But he wasn't wearing his ring when he gave me the box. I should've stayed with him."

"What happened to Chat?"

"It was all over the news."

"I didn't know his identity. He didn't know mine."

The girl's eyes narrowed as she glanced towards Ladybug. Her eyes unfocused again as she started staring at the Cat Miraculous.

"He hung himself. And his name was Adrien Agreste. And his body was still warm when I found him."

Ladybug hugged Chloé as she burst into tears.

Author's note: Here is how Chloe looks when she uses the cat miraculous.

[noshitshakespeare]

just discovered your blog a few days ago, & I'm madly in love. I would like your opinion on something. a huge focus of my English lit professors is identifying the fatal flaw of Shakespeare characters and I find myself wondering why/how this concept started & why it's so stressed in Shakespeare characters. do you think he meant to write them with a flaw in mind. also, do you think the flaws have standard answers ( like Macbeth's is always ambition ) or it's whatever a reader interprets it to be?

Thank you @scvthian​! Glad you like the blog. 

The concept of the fatal flaw comes from the idea of hamartia theorised by Aristotle in his Poetics. It may have existed before then, but Aristotle is the earliest existing record of such an idea. But the concept has become a little bit diluted through the ages and in coming to be known as a ‘fatal flaw’. But for Aristotle, hamartia isn’t actually a negative term. It’s an error, but more like a misunderstanding, something the person couldn’t possibly have known would lead to such tragic circumstances. In its original form, it certainly doesn't mean a moral flaw of character or a vice. The protagonist of a tragedy, Aristotle says, should be noble, but not exceptionally good or evil, just a person who makes a mistake, sometimes fated, that leads to his tragic destiny. Aristotle’s chief example is always Oedipus Rex. Oedipus couldn’t possibly have known that the man he killed was his father, or the woman he married is his mother. The hamartia here is an error or failure of recognition that’s not because of a personality trait, though it is made worse by his hot-headedness, part of what makes him not entirely virtuous.  

I explained once in this post here that I don’t think the concept of the tragic flaw or hamartia is actually very relevant to Shakespeare. I don’t know what Shakespeare was thinking when he wrote the plays, but if he did know Aristotle, he barely ever follows the conventions when writing tragedies, so there’s no reason to think he wrote with an idea of hamartia in mind either. 

Still, you can certainly find a flaw if you’re looking for one, and there’s nothing wrong with looking for fatal flaws as a way into Shakespeare as long as you can go on to recognise that such an idea really simplifies the more complex issues Shakespeare depicts. It’s certainly a good classroom exercise, so I wouldn’t fault your professors for focusing on it either, particularly as it introduces a key literary concept (the tragic flaw). The key thing here is to recognise that concepts and categories are not clear cut or set. Sometimes they’re useful as ladders to get to your next stage of study, where you can discard it.

As for how to define a tragic flaw if you’re looking for one... Since we can never know what Shakespeare was thinking, whether he even had a tragic flaw in mind, or, (if he knew the concept) whether it was the same as the one people think of now, it’s certainly not a case of trying to work out a correct answer. But things aren’t completely up to the reader either, because you have to have reasons (preferably textual evidence) for believing what you do. For instance, you say that ambition is often given as Macbeth’s tragic flaw. What’s the evidence? Macbeth, who says ‘I have no spur / To prick the sides of my intent, but only / Vaulting ambition’ (1.7.25-27). So if we believe Macbeth, then his vice is ambition. Another possibility is that he’s too easily influenced, and one might bring as evidence the fact that Lady Macbeth can encourage him to murder. Lady Macbeth is also ambitious, perhaps, but that’s not Macbeth’s own flaw. You could even say his inability to see through the weird sisters’ equivocation is what leads to his downfall, if you think they were responsible for sparking macbeth’s ambition to begin with. Macbeth himself identifies ‘these juggling fiends... keep the word of promise to our ear / And break it to our hope’ (5.7.49-52). You can raise anything that you can prove, basically. 

But here’s the thing, the very fact that you could come up with several possibilities for what constitutes a tragic flaw suggests that one flaw isn’t enough to encompass what happens in this play. I’ve said this quite often before, but my own approach is to think about the essential questions. So maybe it’s all true: Macbeth’s ambitious, he trusts too readily in the supernatural and he’s a pushover. Why does Lady Macbeth try to influence her husband? What gives power to the weird sisters’ prophecies? What drives ambition? I would suggest that the more fundamental issue is that there is a hierarchy that means some people are above others, and that murder can be rewarded with more power. If Macbeth didn’t live in such a competitive world, then the weird sisters, his wife, and murder itself wouldn’t be such a temptation to begin with. Ambition wouldn’t be relevant. While it doesn’t make Macbeth’s crime any less hideous, where his flaws derive from is an important question, because he can be blamed for murder, but not as much for ambition itself. 

[femmereddie]

strong as the steel we carry (we rise like the sun) [2/6]

pairing: adora/catra fandom: she-ra and the princesses of power rating: general summary: A collection of drabbles from canon moments over the course of She-Ra, Catra/Adora related. This post contains all my drabbles from season two and three. read on ao3

S02E05 White Out

Several hours later, long after Adora and her friends returned from the Northern Reach, Adora lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Her body was exhausted—she could feel it in her bones—but her mind refused to let her rest.

Adora may have been entirely out of it when she was tethered to the First Ones artifact, but it didn’t mean that she forgot what happened. If anything, she wished she could forget. But she’ll always remember Scorpia’s seething jealousy. The pain and defeat Scorpia portrayed in her voice. Scorpia was so vulnerable when she spoke about her feelings for Catra. Her frustration. Adora wished she could be like that.

She’s misunderstood, you of all people should know that! I mean, you grew up together. I can’t compete with that. The words continued to ring in Adora’s head, blocking her from a good night’s sleep. Scorpia had a point to what she said—Adora and Catra were close. Despite being sworn enemies now, whenever they faced each other, there were still whispers of a relationship that had once so deep; it could slice steel. Their friendship was supposed to be unbreakable, but then it broke, and in many ways, Adora blamed herself for it.

Maybe if Adora hadn’t left… no. Catra made her choice, and Adora gave her several chances to join the Rebellion. She had to stop feeling guilty for Catra’s decisions. There was nothing Adora could have said or done that would have made Catra change her mind, and Adora couldn’t stay with the Horde. She had to leave. She could have never forgiven herself if she chose to remain.

Yet, Adora couldn’t stop agonizing over Catra. She worried about her. She always had, ever since they were kids. Adora knew that Catra was a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. Catra always had trouble channeling her feelings; she was always emotional. Caring is a beautiful characteristic to have, but since Adora discovered the price of caring too much, she worried about Catra falling apart and having nobody there for her. Adora always had Catra’s back, but she joined The Rebellion, and suddenly, Catra had no one.

Of course, Catra could take care of herself, Adora knew that. Catra was one of, if not, the strongest people she ever knew, but Adora always felt partially responsible for her ex-best friend. Adora dragged Catra through a lot of mischiefs, and Catra would blindly follow, trusting Adora faithfully. Adora knew that when she left, she must have shattered Catra’s trust in people in general. Adora figured that Catra wouldn’t have anyone she’d be able to trust ever again, but then, Adora met Scorpia.  

Looking back, it was so obvious to Adora that Scorpia had feelings for Catra. At the same time, Adora understood Scorpia’s frustration with being unable to break down Catra’s walls. Adora felt responsible for that—she was the one that forced Catra to build a fortress around her own heart. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop Scorpia, and Adora genuinely admired Scorpia’s patience and persistence. She wished she was able to grace those qualities. Scorpia would turn out to be a better friend than Adora ever could be because of those qualities.

Adora sighed and turned over in her bed, a wave of relief washing over her. Even if Catra never let Scorpia entirely in, Adora knew that Scorpia would never give up. Catra would always have someone to look out for her. To have her back when Adora couldn’t, even though she wanted to. Scorpia would be there when the world closed in on Catra. Catra could fall a hundred times, but Scorpia would catch her on every single one. Then, Scorpia would hold Catra through every step until she was steady on her feet again. This realization made Adora sleepy, now that she knew someone would always be there for Catra, even if Catra didn’t want them. She had someone anyway, and so Adora was grateful for Scorpia. In more ways than Scorpia will ever know.

Adora remembered what Scorpia had said shortly after admitting defeat. You two. Even when you’re trying to kill each other, you could tell there’s a real bond there. This observation did not pierce Adora the way Scorpia’s other one did. In fact, it was reassuring. No matter what happened, no matter how far apart they’re torn from each other, Adora and Catra still had a sacred bond. Nobody could take that away, no matter how grim things may seem.

So, Adora fell asleep, Scorpia’s words soothing her like a lullaby.

—

S03E01 The Price of Power

As Scorpia’s footsteps grew fainter, Catra leaned back against the wall of her prison cell, feeling utterly defeated. She slid to the ground, unable to feel anything but the numbness that froze her body.

Caring about people is what got me into this mess. Boy, was she ever right. It wasn’t even about Shadow Weaver’s betrayal; it goes far beyond that, at this point. Catra’s downfall wasn’t falling for Shadow Weaver’s trick; it was why she fell for it in the first place.

Catra was desperate to feel loved, to feel like someone truly needed her. So, she fell for the mind games, secretly hoping that Shadow Weaver was telling the truth. And when Shadow Weaver betrayed her, Catra finally realized why she craved love—Adora. Catra’s desperation was born out of the feelings she had when Adora left the Horde. When Adora left her.

It always comes back to Adora. No matter what Catra does, everything that goes wrong in her life is because she cared too much about Adora. The worst part was, it still bothered Catra that Adora left without a second thought. Adora was the one who abandoned the dreams they always had of ruling Etheria side by side. Catra remained faithful to her friend for all these years, and for what? Just to get carelessly tossed like trash, without a second thought? Catra gave Adora her all, and Adora left. She left because some stupid princess rebellion that she discovered not five minutes prior meant more to her than Catra ever did. Even now, long after Catra placed her heart in a protected prison, Adora still somehow got to Catra. She still managed to make Catra care. Adora was Catra’s weakness, no matter how much Catra tried to push Adora out. Catra wished she could scream at Adora, make her hurt the way she hurt Catra. At the very least, make Adora care as much as Catra did, but Catra knew no matter what happened, nothing would ever change.

Because in the end, Catra meant nothing to Adora, but Adora was everything to Catra. No one had ever fueled Catra’s feelings the way Adora had. Adora was the reason Catra cared too much, and ultimately, the reason for her downfall.

—

S03E03 Once Upon a Time in the Waste

“I have to go check on the prisoner.”

Catra walked away from Scorpia, mulling over her words. We could, you know, be happy. Catra couldn’t even remember the last time she was truly happy. It had to have been before Adora left for Bright Moon. Could she let herself be happy again? She had a new band of subjects who were loyal to her. Scorpia as her right hand woman. And it wasn’t like the Crimson Waste had new visitors every day. It was a large chunk of land, and Catra could have it all. Maybe she could even let Adora go, for real. Being at peace didn’t seem so far out of reach anymore.

Before Catra opened the prison door, she took a deep breath, determined to remain resilient in front of Adora.

“Catra, you can’t do this!” Adora shouted, still struggling against the restraints.

“Well, hello to you too.” Catra nodded at the guard, who gave her and Adora some space. “What can’t I do this time?”

“Hordak is trying to open a portal. He wants to bring the rest of the Horde army through to Etheria. We can’t let that happen!”

Catra was surprised at the information Adora knew, but she refused to falter in front of the prisoner. “The rest of the Horde army?”

“Hordak is part of a gigantic evil army from another world—”

Catra crouched down to Adora’s eye level and burst into laughter. She was unable to contain herself with how serious Adora looked while talking nonsense. Catra would never admit it to Adora’s face, but she sometimes missed Adora’s wild imagination. “Never a dull moment with you. Why would I be against more Horde? That means we win and you lose.”

“We’ll all lose if Hordak uses his portal machine. Light Hope and Mara both said that opening a portal will endanger everyone.”

Catra stood up and began walking away, even though Adora was talking. So far, Adora hadn’t offered anything of importance to Catra, but her ex-best friend could still be of some use. “You’ll listen to anything weird old holograms tell you, won’t you? You should really try to get over that. Besides, how do you know about what Hordak’s doing?”

“Shadow Weaver told me.”

As soon as the name fell from Adora’s lips, Catra’s eyes widened in disbelief. She could feel her anger, hot and writhing, desperate to explode from under her skin. Shadow Weaver? The very same person who tricked Catra into letting her escape? The reason Catra was in the Crimson Waste in the first place?

“We know all about Hordak’s plan,” Adora continued.

“Shadow Weaver told you? How exactly did Shadow Weaver tell you this?”

“You didn’t know?”

Catra walked back to Adora and grabbed her by the collar, losing control of her emotions. “How?”

“Catra… Shadow Weaver is in Bright Moon.”

Catra released her grip on Adora, falling into a trance. Everything she ever felt since Adora left—jealousy, rage, heartache—hit Catra like a train all at once. Shadow Weaver told Catra that she was more like her than Adora ever was. She had bought every single word Shadow Weaver said, hook, line, and sinker. And it was all to get back to Adora? The wheels in Catra’s mind were turning so fast, she was afraid her head would explode. “Shadow Weaver left me… for you. All of this happened because of you.”

Catra blocked out Adora’s cries as she marched back to the party. There were no words to describe the pounding in her heart and the screaming in her head. Shadow Weaver abandoned Catra, leaving her to fend for herself. All for Adora. Once again, Adora had won, and she had lost. No matter how hard Catra tried, nobody would choose her over the precious, perfect princess Adora. She was She-Ra, after all. Catra was just… Catra. She had to work several times as hard to get a fraction of what Adora could without even trying. And to think Catra was enjoying their banter. Well, she wasn’t going to let it slide anymore. Catra knew that no matter what she chose going forward, she would never lose ever again. This time, Adora would know what it was like to lose everything you had.

“Hey, Catra!”

Catra looked up, completely broken from her trance. Scorpia looked down with an earnest expression, but all Catra wanted was to wipe it off her face. No, not wipe it off her face—crush it.

“Whoa there, gotta be careful, boss.”

Catra didn’t respond, attempting to collect herself instead. She remembered what Scorpia had suggested earlier in the evening, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. Staying in the Crimson Waste would never make her happy. Catra wasn’t sure there was anything that could make her happy, ever again. And truthfully speaking, the light from her life burned out when Adora left.

“Catra? You okay?”

Despite more tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, Catra did not falter at her next words. She stood firm, still, unmoving. Not even a hurricane could knock her down at that moment, but it wasn’t like she could fall apart. You can’t break something that’s already been broken.

“We are going back. We are going to open a portal. And we are going to crush. Them. All.”

—

S03E04 Moment of Truth

“Oh, you can’t trust anyone, especially a princess. They’ll just use you to get what they want.”

Catra’s words pierced Adora’s ears, the same way Catra’s look pierced her soul. Adora had never seen Catra look at her with so much contempt in her eyes. It completely broke Adora’s heart, even though she knew she was beating a dead horse. No matter how many times Adora told Catra she never meant to make her feel second-best, or to make her feel used, Catra didn’t believe her.

Adora closed her eyes and wished more than anything for her former best friend to be on her side. At the very least, Adora hoped that a part of Catra still cared. Adora knew it was hopeless, that Catra was indeed a terrible person. She’s made so many bad choices over the last year, that Adora thought Catra was lost forever.

And yet, a part of Adora would always secretly hope that Catra would realize how wrong she’s been, purely for selfish reasons. Adora dreamed that one day, Catra would see that she was on the side of evil. That she could be better than she was. Even though Catra was too far gone, Adora would be first in line to support Catra if she ever wanted to change. After everything, no one believed in Catra’s abilities more than Adora did, regardless of whether Catra used those abilities for good or for evil.

“Open the portal, and let’s end this.”

Adora opened her eyes and saw Hordak reaching for the lever. She screamed behind her mouth restraint, but it was useless.

Suddenly, Bow, Glimmer, and Shadow Weaver burst into the room. Adora shook her head until the cloth fell off. “Bow!”

“Forget about them, pull the switch!”

Adora’s friends began fighting against Hordak, who seemingly forgot about the portal for the time being. Eventually, the lab had fallen into chaos, and everyone was blocked from the portal’s switch. Everyone, except for Adora and Catra, that is. Adora couldn’t help but think there was some poetic element to all of this. Catra and Adora grew up together; they were always two peas in a pod. Everything used to be about the two of them together. Now, their world was crumbling, and like always, it was down to her and Catra. Definitely poetic.

Adora noticed Catra’s eyes were fixed on the portal’s switch. Catra approached the destructive weapon, and Adora began to panic.

“Catra, please, don’t!”

Catra turned back and looked at Adora. Adora could feel the intense burn of hatred simmering in Catra’s eyes, but for a moment, Catra remained still. Adora’s heart lifted. Maybe her friend wasn’t completely lost, after all.

But then, Catra grinned. She pulled the lever, and Adora couldn’t help but scream in defeat. Everyone in Hordak’s lab stared as the glowing portal grew bigger and bigger.

And then, everything went black.

—

S03E05 Remember

“Don’t you get it?! I am never going to go with you.”  

Adora stared in shock as Catra laughed maniacally. “You always have to go and ruin it. Don’t you?”

Catra leaped at her, so Adora immediately began to fight back. Once she was able to push Catra far enough away from her, Adora exclaimed in desperation. “Catra, look what’s happening! You’re going to destroy everything!”

“I don’t care! I won’t let you win. I’d rather see the whole world end than let that happen.”

Suddenly, the ground they stood on began crumbling beneath their feet, splitting into pieces. The girls were losing their balance. Catra grabbed Adora’s collar. “Catra, no!”

Catra pushed Adora away and began to fall. “Catra!” Adora screamed, reaching out for her, but it was no use. Throwing Adora one last glare, Catra let go of the cliff and fell to what Adora presumed was her doom.

Despite everything, tears welled in Adora’s eyes. She always wanted to do what was right and save the world, but her friends came first. And even though Catra was anything but a friend, Adora still tried to save her, too. How could she be She-Ra if she couldn’t also help the person who knew every nook and cranny about her?

Adora took off into the woods, not allowing herself to stop running until she made it to safe ground. When she did, she collapsed, unable to control her sobbing. Adora couldn’t stop thinking about how she searched Catra’s eyes, but all she saw were black voids.

Adora stupidly kept going in circles around Catra, and there was no one she could blame but herself. Assuming that she could somehow restore reality, Adora knew that she would never be on the same side as Catra, ever again. She saw that when Catra’s eyes burned with utter loathing.

There was no point in denying the truth. After all, Adora knew that you couldn’t save someone who wanted to be saved. Catra was far beyond that. If Catra ever wanted to come back, it would be something she’d have to do on her own. It was time for Adora to move on. It would take time, but she would, Adora owed it to herself, because it was hopeless.

The girl she loved was truly gone forever.

[renee-writer]

Frank's Child Chapter 16 Culom

“I made her Mistress Fraser.” Jamie calmly says. Claire is amazed that his voice doesn't shake.

“You did what?” He takes a step closer and it is only Jamie's strong hand that keeps her from taking a step back.

“We are hand fast and the marriage consummated.”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“The short answer is I love her and she me,” his voice reflects the wonder of this. “The longer, I ken’d she would have to marry someone as a pregnant widow. I wanted it to be me. I ken you wouldn’t give permission. So..”

Claire realized he was taken full responsibility. Full blame if blame was to be had. He wasn’t telling him she had asked. She starts to speak and Jamie squeezes her hand.

“So, you do have a lot of your father in you.” He replies with grudging respect.

“It is proud I am of that fact.”

“Doesn’t seem you have given me an out. By taking her as wife, you have made the child she carries yours. At least we know she can breed. Love shouldn't be the basis for marriage.” He shakes his head and sighs. “But she has skills and the ability to give you a family. She will do. I wanted you to marry a virgin of your clan and kin.”

“Well uncle, I thought it a grand thing one of us knew what to do.”

Colum broke into laughter so loud it echoed around the room. “And there is our side of the family.” He says through his tears. “Oh Christ lad, did she teach you?”

“Aye she did.”

“I will have Mrs. Fitz assign you a room appropriate to a married couple. We will get you in front of a priest soon. Now that is settled, what is this about this Randall you brought into Leoch?”

“He is a teacher, the twin of Black Jack but nothing like the bastard. He was separated from his birth family. He dinna ken who he was getting when he tracked his brother down. When he came to understand how evil he was, he fled. We found him wondering in the woods. Startled me, I admit, until I came to know he wasn’t him. When he told his story and the fact he was a teacher, well, I recalled ye and Leticia were looking for a tutor for Hamish.”

“You have a huge heart Jamie. I will talk with him.”

“Aye Uncle Colum.”

“You know I wished you as my successor. None will accept you now married to a Sassanech.”

“Truly that was not my attention. I just fell in love.”

“Just fell in love. It has lead to the downfall of many a good man. But maybe it will be alright. She is a good woman.” He finally directly addresses Claire. “Congratulations Lady Broch Tarauch.”

She nodded and curtsies to him.

He rings a bell and sends the servant that enters to get the teacher. Frank enters dressed in clean well fitting breeks and a linen shirt. Jamie made the introductions.

“Franklin Randall, the Laird Colum ban Jacob Mackenzie. Uncle Colum, the teacher Franklin Randall.

Frank, who had studied this time his entire adult life, knows exactly how to behave. He bows low. “Your servant sir.”

“My nephew and his bride tell me you are a teacher. Where have you studied?”

“Oxford sir. I am qualified for a professorship there but when I discovered I had family here, I came to find them,” his eyes flick to Claire for a second before moving away. She stands leaning against that blasted Jamie. “What I found wasn't what I expected. I seek a job to save the coin to return to England. To my place. As winter approaches, I will stay until spring, if that is acceptable to you sir.”

“My son Hamish is a bit spoiled. My wife Leticia and I have let his unfiltered childhood go on a bit to long. If you are willing to take up the challenge of starting his formal education, then you will have a room here, food and clothing, as well as 20 shilling a week. Is that acceptable?”

“Very much sir. I thank you.” He bows again.

“Very good.” He rings the bell again. “Mr. Randall is Hamish's new tutor. See him to a room near the lad. See that a school room is prepared near there. Oh, and have Mrs. Fitz prepare a room for the newlyweds.”

“Aye my Laird.” A deep bow.

“Mr. Randall, I will let you rest up and get settled. You will start the tutoring tomorrow.” He nods. “Jamie, as you are newlywed and I assume your marriage was consummated in the outdoors.” Claire feels the weight of Frank's eyes on her. She keeps her eyes down as befitting a lady of this time. “So, take your bride to the room Mrs. Fitz is readying. See that food is delivered to your room. I will need you back at the stables tomorrow.”

“Aye Uncle Colum. Thank you.” He nods to Frank, bows to his Laird, and escorts Claire out. Neither turn back.

[newavengersfan]

Avengers Reassemble Ch 2

The king fondled with the silver ring on his finger, almost as though it would drop anytime soon. It looked as though T’Challa’s entire focus was solely on the trinket on his hand.

“Are you going to keep on fondling that ring all day,” his sister, Princess Shuri, joked. She walked towards him, a hologram of what looked like a finished building in her hand.

The two were standing before a construction site in Oakland where a few buildings were being built. The sound of drills and jackhammers filled the air, as well as what sounded almost like lasers. Construction workers, both American and Wakandan, ran back and forth, discussing plans and designs.

T’Challa rolled his eyes, “Oh, hush now. How goes construction?”

“Everything is going according to plan,” the teenager nodded, “The Outreach Centre should be finished by next month.”

“That is good,” the king nodded, “So many in this nation need our help as soon as possible.”

This area was once a symbol of Wakanda’s failures and mistakes. Where T’Challa’s father not only killed his own brother, but abandoned his own nephew. A nephew who almost caused the downfall of Wakanda itself.

Now, this place was going to be a symbol of Wakanda’s generosity and successes. A bridge between Wakanda and the rest of the world, where the technology and practices of T’Challa’s people could save lives.

However, to some people, it wasn’t enough.

Shuri’s smile slowly dropped as she looked around, “T’Challa, I know we are doing good work here, but do you not feel like we could do more?”

T’Challa sighed, having grown tired of this conversation, “Shuri, we have discussed this. We have been gone for five years. We need to concentrate on rebuilding our own nation and our ties to the rest of the world.”

While the Snap affected the lives of many, it hit T’Challa hard. The entire royal family was turned to dust, leaving the nation without a Black Panther to protect them or rule. The heart-shaped herbs were only to be consumed by those of royal blood, so no one could take the title. The Council and the Dora Milaje were the only ones keeping order.

Unfortunately, once the royal family returned, it’s been a difficult process returning to the original status quo. Even worse as outside of Okoye’s work with the Avengers, the nation has been keeping out of the issues the rest of the world was dealing with. It was as if they were backtracking to before Killmonger’s rule.

Shuri groaned, “I know the Council has been keeping you busy, but is there not a more proactive role we could take? Maybe while wearing a certain Panther uniform?”

“The role of the Black Panther is not only to fight off evil, but to bring hope and aid to those in need,” T’Challa shook his head, “I must not only-.”

“ ‘Break bones, but also build bridges’,” Shuri finished his sentence, a small smile crossing her face, “That was the only way Baba could get you to memorize your duties.”

T’Challa grinned, remembering his father’s words. He already had a lot of responsibilities to handle before Thanos’s attack. Now, that amount has doubled.

“I still feel like there is more we could be doing,” Shuri argued, “Like in New York. Fighting for a righteous cause, to protect people like we promised.”

“I understand,” T’Challa nodded, “But this is where our focus should be.”

The two stood in silence, their gaze on the construction, until an odd sound rippled through the air. Something that sounded like fires sparking.

“Wait, do you hear something,” the teenager asked.

They turned to see an amber-colored ring start to form behind them. Sparks flew from it as it looked like a figure was coming through.

T’Challa tilted his head, “Is that-?”

From the portal came a man wearing a long red cloak and a blue uniform, a golden necklace around his throat. It was the Master of the Mystic Arts himself, Doctor Stephen Strange.

“King T’Challa,” the sorcerer spoke in a deep voice, “I believe we have business to discuss.”

Shuri chuckled, “Well, if it isn’t the doctor with the cheekbones!”

“For Bast’s sake…,” T’Challa cursed, “What brings you to Oakland, Doctor Strange?”

“I need you to come with me,” Strange asked, “I have a proposal for you.”

The king turned to his sister, who laughed, “Like that movie Baba hated. Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, eh?”

T’Challa looked to the sky, asking for death, before walking towards the portal, “Just stay here.”

The king walked through the portal and found himself inside what looked like a large mansion. Like the ones his parents took him to when they made diplomatic trips to Europe.

“Where are we?,” T’Challa asked.

“Bleecker Street. New York,” answered Strange, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea would be nice,” the king nodded.

“Alright,” Strange turned to look at the collar of his cloak, “Cloak?”

Suddenly, the cloak fell off of the doctor’s shoulders and flew off to another room, bringing back a teacup with a spoon in it.

T’Challa warily took the cup into his hands, his eyes focused on the floating piece of clothing, “By the goddess…”

He only looked down when he felt the cup heat up. He looked down to see it slowly fill with hot tea, “Incredible...How are you doing this?”

“I’m not creating the tea out of thin air,” Strange explained, “Right now, that’s coming from the kettle of some college kid from London. Sugar?”

“Yes please,” the king nodded. Two cubes of sugar surfaced out of the cup, dissolving in the drink, “Impressive. Now, what is it that you wished to discuss?”

“It’s a simple invitation really,” Doctor Strange cleared his throat, “I have been sent to offer you a position amongst Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.”

T’Challa almost spat out his tea before gulping. He slowly began to realize what this was about, “You want me as an Avenger?”

Strange chuckled a little, “As odd as it is to say, yes, I’m here to bring you into the Avengers Initiative.”

The king began to eye the wizard carefully to make sure he wasn’t joking. He always respected the Avengers even before he actually met them, but he would’ve never thought in a million years that they would wish to have him as a member.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that the team has returned,” T’Challa said.

“Not all of the original members have, but a few have come to me for help in choosing members,” Stephen explained.

“I assumed a man such as yourself would prefer to stick to your own corner of the universe,” T’Challa said, “Focusing only on the more...paranormal.”

“The people of Kamar-Taj have been protecting the Earth for centuries,” Strange described, “However, we always needed aid from more...earthly heroes.”

“Such as the Avengers.”

“Yes,” Stephen nodded, “That’s why I and a few others have joined to bring back the team. I believe a man of your prestige, power, and heroism would be a great addition.”

T’Challa was genuinely amazed to receive this offer and maybe in a different time, he would have immediately accepted the position. However, this was definitely the wrong time.

“I understand your concerns. If Thanos has taught us anything, it’s that the world needs protectors,” the ruler agreed, “However, I have my own dilemmas at the moment. I have my nation, my people,...”

“Your recent engagement?,” the sorcerer finished the statement, before quickly adding, “Congratulations, by the way.”

T’Challa nodded in thanks. A year after he returned to the world of the living, T’Challa decided to propose to his beloved Nakia. The woman inspired him to go out into the world in the first place and there was no one that he would’ve rather dedicated his life to.

“I don’t know if I have the time to act as a crime-fighter,” T’Challa frowned, looking away.

Stephen sighed and nodded, understanding the man’s concerns. As Sorcerer Supreme, he already had a large array of responsibilities. However, he knew that he needed to join this team if we wanted to make sure this reality was 100% safe.

“Sir, I know this is a lot to deal with and I’m sorry,” Strange apologized, “But the world...It needs heroes. Especially now that we’ve lost…”

“Now that we have lost Stark,” T’Challa ended the sentence, nodding somberly. 

He learned of how Strange told Stark about the one of fourteen-million outcomes where they would be successful and how in the end, Tony had to die to accomplish it.

Strange looked down at the floor, his face covered with guilt, “I may not have killed him myself, but I set the dominos up...I took an oath as a doctor not to do harm to others and I failed.”

T’Challa shook his head, “Stark made the choice of his own free will. Blaming yourself will get you nowhere. Believe me. I know.”

The king couldn’t help but think back to his crusade against the Winter Soldier, where his guilt for letting his father die overtook his senses. He knew the power of regret and grief and he knew that that wasn’t something he should face alone.

“I shall consider your invitation,” T’Challa sighed, “However, I cannot promise that I will accept it, Doctor.”

A smile finally came onto Doctor Strange’s face, “Thank you, T’Challa. Just contact me when you’ve made a decision.”

The doctor began to spin his arm in a circle, which opened up another amber portal behind T’Challa. Through it, he could see the construction in Oakland right there.

“I shall be in touch,” T’Challa nodded before walking through it.

Once the portal closed, Strange began to straighten his back and levitate, “Now, off to San Francisco.”

After a few seconds, his astral form surfaced from his body and vanished from the mansion, reappearing in a lab to greet two figures.

The doctor’s spirit looked down at the two, “Mr. Lang, Ms. Van Dyne, we need to talk.”

Scott’s eyes widened as his jaw almost dropped to the floor, “Oookay. Yeah, this is happening.”

Hope threw her arms up in frustration, “Oh, what the hell now?”

[ariainstars]

Rogue One or Why I (Probably) Won’t Watch This Movie Ever Again

It’s not as if I disliked “Rogue One”. I found it excellently made, from the political, philosophic, psychological point of view as well as with regard to settings, action scenes, acting, music, effects etc.

But why didn’t anyone tell me how deeply sad this story is?

“Rogue One” tells the story of a group of persons who all, for different reasons, have nothing left to lose and thus sacrifice their lives to help the Rebellion against Palpatine’s Empire. There is no reason for us viewers to get attached to the members of this crazy suicide mission: it is their destiny to die and we can sense that right from the beginning. Personally, I never felt compelled to root for them, I only felt terribly sorry for them.

It sure is interesting to be confronted with the reality that so many heroes gave an important contribution to the end of the war but never got anything good from it; also, how bleak and dangerous their lives in this totalitarian Empire were, constantly on the run, always oppressed, losing another piece of themselves over and over - family, health, mental sanity, safety, integrity, in the end life.

The only character I could feel with a little was Cassian, who stayed by Jyn’s side to the bitter end so she wouldn’t have to die alone. Jyn on the other hand never requited his feelings; her entire being was set on doing her father’s will, and Cassian, like everybody or everything else, was just a meaning to this end for her. (Though, in all honesty, she never compelled or manipulated anyone.) She may have been meant as a strong female character, but I didn’t find her in the least compelling or admirable. Jyn did what she had to do because she did not know what else to do with her life.

Jyn’s fate is a somewhat sarcastic take on the bond between child and father emphasizing that a father may give his child’s life direction and purpose but that this must not necessarily make him (or her, in this case) happy.

What baffled me most, in retrospect, was the reaction coming from most Star Wars fans. Long before I had watched the film, I had heard respectively only read of enthusiastic responses, usually culminating in “A real Star Wars film again, at last!”

Of course setting and design remind very much of “A New Hope”, because the story is set shortly before; and for brief periods we see the Death Star, Governor Tarkin, Leia and Darth Vader.

So then, this is what fans want, this is allegedly “real Star Wars”? Excuse me, depressing? Not the aesthetics and the message of the Prequels, the energy and drive of the classics or the new impulses and hopeful glimpses of the Sequels? Does it only depend on cosmetics whether a film is defined “real Star Wars” or not?

This whole story is a tragedy. It’s not a call to adventure with a happy ending like “A New Hope” or “The Phantom Menace”, a Greek-style drama like “Return of the Sith” or anything of the sort. It’s supposed to bring home that there is nothing wonderful about war and that everyone involved will lose much more than they win. This also fits to one of the Sequels’ themes, when we meet the old heroes again; they had won a war and founded a family - but before that, Luke and Leia had lost their old families, Luke had to give up his dream of becoming a pilot, and all of them suffered through tremendous physical and psychical horrors. And, as we learn, after a period of peace they had to watch their victory go up in smoke again as the embodiment of their hopes, their son and heir, nephew and pupil, turned his back on them and devoted himself to becoming evil like his grandfather, the very person they had fought against respectively tried to rescue and redeem all of these years before.

Yes, in a way “Rogue One” is “real Star Wars”. There is a person with father issues at the center, it’s an authentic, honest story, the characters are well-developed and the narrative is well thought out. But I was left almost in tears thinking how the hope Leia expressed in the last scene was founded on the absolute lack of hope of the protagonists of the crazy Death Star mission. I felt depressed for two days after.

Even “Revenge of the Sith” doesn’t make me feel that bad when I watch it, though the outcome is so terrible. There is Padmés funeral scene that leaves the viewer space to mourn, and the scenes with the twins and their surrogate families announcing that not all is lost. “Rogue One” just makes a quick cut when all is said and done and that’s it.

No one will ever think about these persons ever again, no one will mourn them, no one will be grateful to them or call them heroes. A brutally honest take on war and rebellion, opposite to the end of “A New Hope” where the heroes are celebrated and seen as such, though they are responsible for the death of everybody who lived on the Death Star. (Not that I’m blaming them, in that situation it was either destroy them or be destroyed.)

Luke Skywalker, hero of the first classic film which directly follows after this one, never knew his parents, lost his foster parents and his mentor during the course of a few days, but he joined the Rebellion and thrived on it. For Jyn, the loss of her family is a dead weight which hangs on her shoulders until it leads to her death. Jyn merely survives, making one heavy step after the other; she never rebels and goes her own way like Luke did.

I was also surprised since I had heard that Jyn was supposed to be a strong-willed woman, designed to be a role model to female spectators. I wouldn’t want any girl to choose Jyn as a personal example to go by: she is a cold, cynical person whose life never knows fulfilment, not a symbol of hope but of relinquishing of life, hope, happiness.

Her characterization is particularly bitter when we compare her to Han Solo, to whom Star War’s second spin-off was dedicated two years later. Though Han has a sarcastic streak, he remains generous and humorous, and he always cares and is cared about by someone. Despite his name, he is never really alone: he bonds with Qi’Ra, Chewbacca, Lando and Enfys Nest, while Jyn never is close to anyone. (Is it a coincidence that the names “Han” and “Jyn” are so alike, I wonder?)

Also contrarily to Jyn, Han turns his back on his father figure Beckett, deciding to go his own way. And in both cases, this attitude is not heroic in the conventional sense, but personal; Jyn does her father’s will because she feels committed to him, not to some greater cause. Han, too, rejects Beckett when he feels personally betrayed and let down by him. No wonder Han, as we get to know him in the classic films, is the most independent and worldly-wise of the characters. He initially had no father figure, then he found one but in the end, he chose to do without him. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence, when Han kills Beckett in self-defense, that his last words are “You made a wise choice”.

The difference between Han and Jyn, or also Luke, Anakin and Rey, to name other Star Wars heroes, is that he doesn’t have a father figure but he also doesn’t look out for one. He gladly befriends Beckett who is more experienced than he, but when he finds he can’t trust him he turns his back on him, with regret but not mourning him for long.

Han never knew where he came from, but with that also came the freedom to make his own choices; and as we know, contrarily to Jyn he still had a long and fulfilling life and found real friends, a home and a purpose. Very fittingly, “Solo - a Star Wars Story” is a feelgood film and not in the least depressing.

In both cases, we have a very realistic and not at all starry-eyed outlook on what “heroism” and “fighting for a just cause” means. Star Wars remains true to itself by hammering home all over again that it is not at all gratifying to be a lonely hero, and that on the other hand having a family may be a good thing, but being defined by them is a crushing burden. Picking up that burden and doing what you believe you have to do in order to feel connected to them may lead to the desired end, but then the question arises whether that end is really so desirable if the cost is so high. Again, Star Wars is not about the good guys blowing up the bad guys, but about growing up.

Luke Skywalker never knew about his family for a very long time, and after he had learned about it his father died, leaving it to him to repair the damage Vader had caused together with Palpatine; and as we see him again in “The Last Jedi” his character shows a bitter parallel to Jyn - lonely and disillusioned. This also follows the line of the Prequels: even if you have the best intentions you may still err, and deciding to give your life to what you perceive as a higher cause may literally become your, not exactly happy, fate. Becoming a Jedi master Luke became emotionally detached, which brought to the downfall of his temple; only when he communicated with someone again - Rey, Yoda, Leia, and also with his nephew a little - his existence gained new purpose.

In his last moments, Luke announces that he will still be there as a Force spirit; and after death he is remembered by many people in the galaxy, whether they knew him personally or not.

Jyn and Cassian die in the blaze of the Death Star fire, giving up what little they still had or were; Luke’s death is illuminated by the light of the twin suns which this time rise instead of setting. He loved and was loved, that is why he will never be truly gone. Jyn, Cassian and the other members of the Rogue One mission are forgotten, despite the invaluable service they did to the galaxy at large. This is what “Rogue One” ultimately is about: complete, utter and inescapable loneliness.

So, thank you for the food for thought, “Rogue One”. But I don’t think I will watch you ever again.

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

Hubris ... [Duchebus]

In which Duchess goes to Phoebus after learning he has been arrested...[takes place: January 16th]

@the-duchess-lablanc

[tw -- uh phoebus being phoebus, talk of murder and revenge all that good stuff]

DUCHESS: The past few months had been tumultuous. Really, the past year had been a rocky one. So much had happened that Duchess was not sure that Swynlake was the place for her anymore. It had turned her into a woman that she didn’t recognize and one that she hadn't ever wanted to be. She’d hurt one of her dearest friends, had nearly destroyed a marriage that was just beginning to flourish. But out of everything had come Phoebus and he was a light in the dark. A light at the end of her long, long tunnel of suffering.

Where Thomas had left her reeling and feeling lost, Phoebus had swept her off of her feet. He was absolutely everything that she wanted in a man. And while he had kept his secrets and their relationship had started off rockier than she had wanted, it had been dealt with easily. Maturely. There was no screaming and yelling and crying. No immature displays of masculinity. Instead, he had given Duchess exactly what she wanted. A relationship that she could be proud of.

So much so that she had packed up everything in her home, had even put it on the market again, so that she could move with him to Denmark.

It was a terrifying thing to think about but it was always calmed with the thought that Phoebus had asked her to come with him because he could see their future. Just as brightly as she could it seemed. And regardless, she was ready to go. All her life all she had wanted was to be better than Adelaide. To do something that would make her parents as proud of her as they were of her older sister. She had her fashion empire, she had won a seat on the Board, and now-- Now she was going to start her biggest venture yet and for once all that mattered was the fact she was happy. So incredibly happy.

At least she was until her phone had rang and Phoebus’ voice reached her.

Fury fueled her as she made her way to the jail, ready to tear into anyone and everyone that got in her way.

“Where is he?” Her voice was shrill as she entered the police station, eyes blazing as she glared at every deputy there. It only took a few seconds before she was being ushered to where he was being held. Seeing him behind the bars only slightly dampened the fires of her rage. “What the bloody hell happened, Phoebus? What--- I thought it was supposed to be easy… How long until you are allowed to leave? They cannot just hold you here.”

PHOEBUS: Phoebus was defeated.

He knew this as he was handcuffed, as he was shoved unceremoniously into the back of the cop car.

The demon had gotten away with it. The bitch Mundus girl too.

His only comfort was that it was not his fault. The plan he had slaved over was excellent. If Merida had not surprised him--with her betrayal, with her curse--things would’ve been perfect. He could still see, in his mind’s eye, the flickering of Hades’ flame dying, the decision there in his eyes. He would have given himself up for Belle and after he was dead, there would have been nothing stopping him from finishing the rest.

But in this cursed town, it was the bad guys who won. Or, perhaps there was no such thing. This place was just full of vile blackness--no matter what Phoebus would have done, he could not have cured it from its evil.

These thoughts comforted him as he sat silently. He knew anything he said could be used against him. He was an officer, after all. And a Prince. They did not wag their tongues. Phoebus refused to do so. He sat stoic and silent.

Inside his jail cell, it was the same. Phoebus held his breath. Phoebus waited. When he got his phone call, he was almost surprised--but why would he be? The people here were idiots. Not that he was going to use his phone call for his parents, though he should. No, he needed to sit with the disappointment coursing through him for longer.

(And there was a part of him that feared his family would not fetch him. His disgrace once more, the final nail in his coffin. They could not stand to lose him, could they? Phoebus knew that they rather would than continue to be disgraced and embarrassed.)

In the echoes of the holding cells, Phoebus could hear Clemens’ laughter.

When Duchess arrived, that guilt dug itself deeper into his gut--and he wondered how long he would carry it.

For the record, it was not guilt at what he had done. Oh, no. If you thought that, you were very, very wrong. It was guilt at having been caught. Guilt of not ridding this town of those demons. Guilt at not fulfilling his promises to Duchess.

“It was Merida,” he snarled at once to Duchess, ignoring the way his face twinged from where Hades had punched him. He hoped she would not shy at the blood on his shirt as he came forwards, for it was not his.

“She’s a fucking werewolf. Apparently, a werewolf with a conscience.”

DUCHESS: Seeing Phoebus behind bars was--- She did not like it. It made her blood boil and part of her wanted to demand they let him out. There was no reason for him to be there. No reason for him to be held like some sort of criminal. She had no idea what he had done to warrant such treatment simply because she hadn’t asked but she was sure that all he was doing was getting rid of a threat that the entire town refused to deal with.

It was only after she got over the shock of seeing him behind the bars that she registered the blood that coated his shirt and the cuts and bruises on his face. Hades had done this to him. All of this was Hades’ fault. If this stupid town had just locked him away when they’d found out about those damned hell hounds none of this would have happened. And now Phoebus was the one being locked away? Like he was some dangerous criminal?

“What do you mean Merida is a werewolf? What did she do?” If Merida had begun to work with Hades… She was as good as an enemy. Duchess would do whatever she had to ensure that her future was not destroyed because some little girl had decided to have a conscious. Hades was dangerous. There was ample proof of that. This should not have happened.

Carefully she reached through the bars, wanting to grab hold of Phoebus in an attempt to ground herself against the current of emotions she was feeling. Again she could feel everything she had worked for slipping through her fingers. Her future was supposed to be secured. They had made plans. They were supposed to be starting their life together in Denmark. It couldn’t end like this.

“What are we to do now? Tell me what I must do to get you out of here.”

PHOEBUS: Duchess reached for him and Phoebus almost wanted to pull away. Not because he did not want her to touch him, but because he was ashamed. They should be on the road by now. Their bags packed. They would stay at the castle whilst they chose a house to live in. And then, they would move in. The Tourney would be soon. If all went well, Phoebus’ family would be the new Kings. Which meant that he could take some time off hunting, to help his father begin to get everything in order.

Could be there whilst Duchess (with input from his mother, he was sure) set up their home.

He would propose, after a few months. They would get married. Have children. It was supposed to be a good life.

Hades and Merida had taken that away from him. He blamed Merida more than Hades, honestly. Hades was going to surrender. He’d seen it in his eyes. Hades defeated. He clung to that look, even if it was fruitless.

But the fight was extinguished. He knew he would not have another shot at Hades. The threat would not be eliminated. Even if he was acquitted (unlikely, unless he was tried elsewhere), he would not be able to come back to Swynlake without detection. He could send someone new in, but the baby would be born by then…and whatever curse that was bound to befall Swynlake would have already come to passed.

Now, he needed to think of this new future. To plan what he needed to do, in order to keep Duchess safe. In order to begin his plans anew.

So, he did not shrink from her grasp, though he wanted to. Instead, he reached forward to grasp her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“The Order has failsafes in place, in case of situations such as this. Do not worry, my love.” He went to touch her hand to his cheek, but remembered that he was still covered in Merida’s blood. So, instead, he took a single step closer. “I will get my revenge on that demon and that mutt.”

DUCHESS: She refused to cry. Even if her tears were only because she was so, so… angry. Angry at Hades for getting out of this. At Merida for being the cause of this downfall. Even slightly at Phoebus for allowing himself to get caught, for not being so totally diligent that he figured out that Merida was a werewolf. If he were not behind the bars, Duchess had a hard feeling that she would have slapped him. Which would have promptly been followed by those hot tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

But no. Now she to pull herself together. Think of what exactly came next.

His parents would need to be contacted, a lawyer hired. They would need to push to get Phoebus out of Swynlake. There was no way that he’d be able to stay in the town. Any court here he was brought to would be biased. Hades had already won over so many people in the town. No, he needed to be taken elsewhere. That was the only way that they’d be able to have their future.

“I won’t let them get away with this. Either of them. Whatever you need from me, darling,” she promised as he stepped closer to her. Her fingers curled around his, wishing for a moment that she could press herself against him. Or that he could hold her at least one last time before the literal shit storm that was about to fall over them.

PHOEBUS: Duchess’ words made Phoebus’ heart clench two-fold.

First, he was touched that she was so fierce about the whole situation, vowing revenge. Her eyes flashed and his heart stirred. He’d always liked her best dressed in rage. The first time they’d slept together had been after she’d told off that awful woman and he had licked the rage off of her body, tasting it sweet and salty on his tongue. He had always wanted someone by his side who was just as ferociously dedicated to the cause as he was.

However, the idea of Duchess attempting revenge on that devil (perhaps the Devil made flesh and bone), clouded his heart with worry like a thunderstorm. She was not equipped to handle such things. Phoebus had not had a chance, once Merida turned on him. If he had been with someone else, perhaps he could have done it. Duchess on her own? Phoebus knew his darling was strong and fierce, but she was not a Prince.

And he did not want her hurt.

Phoebus stepped closer and slipped his free hand through the bars to touch her cheek. “You must promise me that you will not attempt revenge alone, my love. He is powerful. More powerful than anything I have ever come across. I would hate to see you hurt because of me.”

DUCHESS: She understood why he did not want her going after Hades. It was the same reason she had been wary about him going after the demon. But she was not weak and she was not foolish enough to go after Hades alone. And she would not go after him in the same way that Phoebus had. Even though she was still quite fuzzy on the details of his exact plan, she still knew that it was more than likely termination. Duchess didn’t want him to die, though. She wanted him to suffer like she no doubt would with Phoebus gone and their town no longer safe from Hades and his demons.

Still, she nodded as his hand rested against her cheek. There was no denying that she would miss his touch, would miss his presence all together. It would not be long, though, is what she told herself as she leaned into that soft touch for a long moment before taking his hand in hers.

“You know I would not go after him alone,” she all but whispered, wishing once more that there were not bars between them. She wanted one last embrace, a chance to memorize his particular musk to memory before he was shipped off to some other holding cell away from Swynlake.

Easily she pressed her lips to his knuckles with a soft sigh. “I will not go after him but I will not make things easy for him.” She vowed this to him because Hades did not deserve to go about acting like a victim or garnering sympathy from the town. “When this whole mess is dealt with there will be more information on him. More of his weaknesses will be known. And that disgusting wolf will be of no concern. There will be no one to stop you from doing what need be done.”

PHOEBUS: Phoebus smiled as she kissed his hand. If only he could reach through these bars. If only he could bend them out of the way and go to her. If only there was someone on this police force that he could bribe to open the door. He wouldn’t even run (though, he would like to, if he could bribe them to let him go, he’d take it.) No, really all he wanted was to hold Duchess. To kiss her. To tell her that everything was going to be alright.

He did believe everything would be alright. Truly.

And he believed even more strongly than that in Duchess. She was a powerful, strong, elegant woman. There would be no one else that he would want by his side through this.

His hand lifted to touch her cheek, then her golden-spun hair, soft as silk. He imagined it was what the hair of Aphrodite might feel like. He would claim perhaps even softer, but he was no fool, he knew the myths. (Not that he believed in those gods, he believed in his God that would not let this injustice go unpunished.)

“Your strength gives me strength,” he told her. It was true too.

He stepped closer to the bars, drawing her closer too. He kissed her through them, just once, just softly. The kiss a promise.

“I love you,” he told her. “I promise I will never stop and that we will be happy. You deserve that.”

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Second part to deep water prompt 846? I really enjoyed and would love to see more of it!

Here you go! Also tagging @frostymoon11 since I think you requested this one as well. Hope you enjoy it! 

Original story can be found here. 

He was no longer on the ocean.

The waves carrying me slowed down, bringing me to rest on a sandy beach. The man I was chasing, the one I needed kill, had passed by here. I could feel the trace of his presence, like a poison residue on the fine grains of sand below my feet. The trail moved inward, away from the ocean towards land. I fell to my knees, the water cool against my skin, soaking the tattered, dirty remains of what had once been a beautiful gown.

He had escaped me.

Tears of rage blurred my vision. After all the struggles I had been through, now that I had gotten my powers back I thought my dreams of revenge had finally become a reality. But he was heading far inland. Once I had left my territory, my powers would be severely limited, I would be little different from a regular mortal.

I thought of my boasting, that I would make him regret meddling with the heart of a sea spirit. But here I stood, at the junction of sea and land, just as powerless as I had been in my deepest despair.

“Need help?”

A warm voice, bringing to mind images of sunny days and crackling fires, broke through my regretful musings.I looked up, confused. A man stood before me, smiling gently. He drew closer and it was then that I realized that he wasn’t truly standing but floating just above the ground. His eyes met mine, and within them I saw burning flames.

“Fire spirit.” I whispered to myself.

I rose up, the waves carrying me high into the air. Storm clouds gathered, lightning striking the water around me. My voice was soft, but the wind carried it to the area around me.

“You bought my true name.” It was not a question. It was a statement with not a small amount of hostility underneath.

He looked up at me, still smiling despite my show of force.

“I gave it back.”

I thought back to the scroll I had received , with the flame emblem inscribed in the corner. It was true, he had returned my name, and my powers had been restored with it. Slowly the storm around me calmed and I lowered myself to stand on the ground in front of him.

“Why?”

He looked me at me silently for a long few moments.

“I wonder.” He murmured, almost as if talking to himself.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

He chuckled at my annoyed tone. “To be fair, little sea spirit, you never answered mine: ‘do you need help?’”

It was my turn to stare silently. He didn’t push further, his gaze was open and honest looking. I wanted to believe him, but I had been fooled before. I wasn’t feeling quick to trust.

The sight of the land further in mocked me. My revenge was in sight but beyond my reach.

I sighed, I never had a choice. Sacrificing my pride, I turned back to the fire spirit. “Please help me.”

He nodded solemnly, his eyes serious. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to kill him.”

We traveled together further inland, moving at a speed far beyond what most mortals could accomplish. His flames propelled us, I had to hold on to him, which annoyed me, but without my powers I couldn’t keep up. We landed outside a large palace, magnificent and grand. It was surrounded by iron fences, and attended by armed guards.

“Paranoid little bastard, isn’t he?” The flame spirit beside me muttered as he studied the defenses.

“He should be.” I could feel him, resting deep inside his home, safe, secure and happy. I clenched my fists, the nails digging into my palms hard enough to break skin. Golden blood dripped down onto the ground below.

“Stop.” Warm hands grasped my own, gently pulling them open to examine the wounds. “Why are you so desperately seeking revenge?”

I glared at him. “You were the one who bought my true name from him, can’t you figure it out?”

“If I hadn’t, someone else surely would have, someone not interested in returning it.” He shook his head. “But that’s not what I meant. Why must you do anything? With your powers back, you’re immortal. His lifetime will pass in the blink of an eye for you, just sit back and soon he will be nothing but dust and memories.”

I pulled my hands from his grasp. “And he will live his life happy, and die of old age, never regretting the pain he caused me.”

Silence.

“What did he do to convince you? How could you trust a mortal with your true name?” His question was barely audible, but it struck me like a blow. I swayed where I stood, avoiding his burning gaze.

“He promised me the one thing I wanted above all others. The thing I would give up my very soul to have.”

“What?”

It hurt too much, I couldn’t say it. I lifted my hand slowly, touching it to his cheek. The touch was uncomfortably warm, burning against my skin. I felt him shiver beneath my palm. Through the touch I let him into my mind, seeing the memory of the conversation that had led to my downfall.

I thought his eyes had burned with inner fire before, but now they glowed with the red flames that danced behind his gaze.

“Children. Family.” He whispered.

“The only thing a lonely immortal really wants.” I said it like a joke, but I could feel tears running down my cheeks. With a shaking hand he wiped them away, before stepping back, putting some distance between us.

“Do you want me to kill him now?” Shocked, I studied his face. The fire spirit was serious. If I asked him to, he would take his life here and now. I was touched, but still, I shook my head no.

“I may need help, but this is still my revenge to take.”

He nodded, understanding. “Well then we need to lure him back to the ocean. You’re no match for an angry toddler this far in land, much less an evil man who’s been trained to kill.”

I wanted to refute that, but really couldn’t. I was too far from my source of power. “But how do I convince him?”

The fire spirit smiled. “I know someone who can help.”

“So let me get this straight.” The partially transparent silver spirit paced in front of, the moonlight collecting around him like a second skin. “You need me to show this man a dream that will lure him to the ocean so the little sea sprite can kill him?” He shook his head. “You two are crazy.”

My companion laughed. “Are you saying the spirit of dreams can’t do it?”

“I never said that. Of course I can do it.” He clapped the flame spirit on the shoulder, his hand partially passing through. “I’m just stating an opinion don’t be so touchy.”  

I stepped forward. “This means everything to me. What will it cost to have you do this?”

The dream spirit grinned, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve owed this idiot a favor for centuries, I’m so happy to finally clear my debt.”

“But…” I wasn’t happy about using up someone else’s favor.

“Oh let him do it, dear one. He’s been mooning over you for so long, let him play hero…ugh!” He ended on groan as the fire spirit punched him in the abdomen and covered his mouth with his other hand.

“Don’t mind him, being a dream spirit he’s prone to spout nonsense occasionally.”

I took in his embarrassed expression with a chuckle, “Sure.”

“So what sort of vision should I bestow upon our villain to draw him to the ocean?” The dream spirit shrugged. “Treasure? A beautiful woman?”

My voice was bitter. “Nothing ever mattered to that man but one thing: revenge. Make him think one of his enemies survived and is hiding on the coast.” I looked off into the distance, not seeing my surroundings. “Once you get him there, I’ll handle the rest.”

“Are you sure you want to deal with him alone? I can help you…” anxious flames burned around him as he made his offer.

I patted his warm cheek. “Thanks, but I need to do this myself, or it means nothing.”

“As lovely as this is…” the dream spirit interrupted impatiently “I have an important job to do.” With that he flung himself into the sky, heading to the place.

With a laugh the spirit beside me held out his hand. “Back to the ocean?”

I took it firmly in my own. “After you.”

Hours later, I stood alone, ankle deep in cold sea water, waiting patiently. The only movement came from the wind. The moon lit up the entire beach, bathing the entire space in a ghostly glow.

“Why are you here?” 

So few words, but hatred and spite colored each one. The man I hated more than anyone walked out onto the beach. I stared at him silently, studying the form of the one I once loved. He was so similar to how I remembered him, older, crueler. The revenge that had driven him was complete, he seemed lost without it. It had been such a large part of him, he was almost a different person without the weight on his shoulders.

But still, enough remained of the man who betrayed me, enough for me to remember, and to hate.

“No words huh?” His smile was bitter at my quiet form, “still haven’t forgiven me for selling your true name?” He stepped closer, coming to stand within arm’s length. “You promised to help me with my revenge, said you would give me anything, but when it came time to pay up, you blamed me.”

“And what of your promise to me?” My voice was cold, I could barely recognize it.

His expression turned sour. “Never too late for me to make good on that, darling.” His hand reached out to me, but in the moonlight it looked like a grasping claw.

I brushed it away.

“Touch me and you’ll regret it.”

“What can you do?” He chuckled. “You’ve lost your name, your powers, everything that made you useful.”

He reached out again.

Laughter, loud, cold and cruel, broke the dark silence. It was unrestrained, almost beast-like in its intensity. It was torn from my throat but it sounded nothing like me. The waves rose higher and higher answering my call, the clouds gathered overhead, the wind and the rain striking deeper than a knife. The moon was hidden, the only light from the lightning overhead. The world around me was gathering at the beckoning of my power, waiting to be formed at my will.

“What the…?” He was frightened, it made me smile.

“Did you really think you could get away with betraying the spirit of the sea?”

His answer was drowned out by the roar of the waves, the crashing of my power against the rocks, the scream of my rage against the sky. His last words were lost, but they didn’t matter.

Nothing about him ever did.

The ocean pulled him under and his frightened cries only served to pull the water into his lungs faster. I tore him to pieces, until there was nothing left to destroy. Finally the waves calmed.

I sat on the beach, my head in my hands.

It was over.

“Are you okay?” The words of the fire spirit could barely reach me. I shook my head slowly. I wasn’t crying, I was far past tears. He sat down next to me, and waited.

“I thought he loved me. I thought I had found the other half of my soul.” It was a shameful whisper, but all I had left were truthful words.

He sighed. “You will be happy again, I promise.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can.” His confidence was overwhelming. He leaned over and whispered a single word into my ear. It was filled with power, shaking me to the core. I looked up and met his eyes. The flames still burned brightly behind them, but his expression was unreadable.

“Your true name?” I didn’t understand.

“I know yours, now we’re even.” His smile was complex, I felt my heart beat faster within my chest. Slowly I reached out a hand towards his face.

“Ahem.” An awkward cough startled us. The dream spirit stepped forward, grinning.

“Is no one going to mention how great of a job I did?”

I laughed, standing up to clap him on the back. “You were wonderful.”

“Good! Someone buy me dinner.”

Laughing, we all moved forward. A warm hand grasped mine tightly. I smiled, putting the past behind me, moving forward to a brighter future.

[fedonciadale]

Don't you think D&D have made it impossible to conclude the show in a way that has Daenerys turning out as anything but victorious? Year after year they give her scenes that have turned her into a feminist icon for the popular audience, much more so than in the books. Her weaknesses are ignored. In Hollywood political terms, it would be hard to show anything truly defeating her at this point. It would be politically unfeasible. They built her into this position themselves. Why?

Dear nonny, this is not an easy ask. There are several things to say. One is that I doubt if D&D on their own would be capable of doing a good twist towards DarkDany. With the bad writing of season 7, I could fathom something as the Khaleesi show were it for D&D alone. But I believe that GRRM planned for Da€nerys as an antagonist from the first book onwards and they promised the same endgame as GRRM.

I add that the triumphant scenes of Da€nerys might get a different shade in hindsight, when we will have her turning into an antagonist. The triumphant scenes only strengthen the impact her fall will have on the audience and we should remember that D&D went into this enterprise wanting to do Ned’s death and the Red Wedding because of the shock value. And time and again they have proven that they like shocking twists very much, even though they are not that good at preparing them. Just compare Shireen’s death and Hodor’s death - two things I do believe will happen in the books as well - and how brilliantly Hodor’s name fit into the story of Bran coming into his magical abilities - to the downfall of Littlefinger in season 7. We’ll have that in the books as well, I’m quite sure, but they really did Arya and Sansa a disservice by keeping everything that happened in Winterfell so ambiguous. And all for the single moment the audience was not entirely sure if Sansa would strike against Littlefinger or her own sister. So, they love their twists, even if not executed well. And I would argue that there is at least still potential for doing the plot twist in a satisfactory way. I would not say, that the twist is impossible, I would rather think that it has been prepared and foreshadowed and I think it is highly likely we’ll see it.

And I think this is highly likely because of the somewhat exaggerated way of her triumphant scenes. The seed has been sown in season 7, and we had scenes where the PoV turned away from Da€nerys. It do not blame D&D that the General audience somehow did not realise that it were Jaime and Bronn who were shot as the heroes in the Field of Fire 2.0. It’s just that the General Audience is accustomed to read Da€nerys’ arc as the arc of a heroine, because of the PoV trap and because of the visual trap. It is because of all the ‘accidental saving’ Da€nerys did. She freed the slaves because she had no money and needed an army, but she took the opportunity to legitimise her quest for power with the justification of going against a horrible custom. And people fell for it, on the show and in the General audience. In this case I do not blame D&D that people are somehow unable to see the red flags. They are there.

Also, I think D&D don’t give a fuck about Da€nerys’ status as a feminist icon. I mean these are the people who wanted to make the show ‘confederate’. I don’t think they care about taking down a ‘feminist icon’. Again as much as I have my issues with D&D it is not their fault that for some people feminist icons still means the same as ‘badass woman who fights’. I’m still waiting with bated breath that a woman who is kind or a woman who is smart is glorified as feminist icon..... Apart from the fact that I do not understand how anyone can misunderstand Da€nerys as a feminist icon because she is the ‘badass heroine’, I’d still say she has the potential to become a feminist icon. I mean we don’t have many good female villains, where we can understand the journey of the villain. Female villains are more often than not the evil seductress, rarely given any reasons for their acts. But when Da€nerys turns into an antagonist, she would be a really well written, interesting antagonist, whose road to villainy the audience understood to such a depth that they rooted for her. If D&D manage to pull that off, Da€nerys can be a feminist icon, just not in the way everybody understands her to be now.

I personally love an antagonist, who is beautiful, the ‘hero from the other side’.

You know, I would say that there is a Doylist reason for why the Starks have been punished for their mistakes again and again, while Da€nerys’ arc has been on the raise for several seasons (much more in the show than in the books). The arcs are juxtaposed: The Starks are in the decline and will be on the up only in the last book (a time for wolves aka  a dream of spring) while Da€nerys’ triumphant arc only accelerates. I do think in the last book and the last season their dynamics will be reversed. And the possibility for that is still there. I don’t see a further upward curve for Da€nerys. It won’t be a Targ restoration at the end.

Da€nerys as a feminist icon might get a totally different meaning.

Thanks for the ask. You probably waited long for this! I’m still trying to catch up with all my asks!

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                               Wong Yukhei, who is known by no other name;                                                   a 19 year old son of Poseidon.                                                                He is a student.

FC NAME/GROUP: Wong Yukhei, NCT CHARACTER NAME: N/R AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 19, January 25, 1999 PLACE OF BIRTH: Hong Kong OCCUPATION: Student at Phoenix University, though he’s not too sure what he wants to do afterwards. HEIGHT: 183cm WEIGHT: 143lbs DEFINING FEATURES: Yukhei is easily identified by his unmistakable full lips, messy brown hair, caramel eyes, and towering height. His voice, though not a physical feature, is also quite deep and unique to him.

PERSONALITY: While most people think that Yukhei would be a rude, stuck up, intimidating person at first glance, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He loves making people laugh, smile, and generally tends to be a mood-maker no matter what group he finds himself in. He tends to get along with people easily and is both effortlessly confident and goofy at the same time.

While he likes to play the happy virus, he also isn’t afraid to speak his mind if he disagrees with something. He stands by his morals among all else, regardless of if his beliefs can get him in trouble with others… Which has been the case on multiple occasions.

He’s also a little bit of a casanova and definitely one of the biggest flirts out there. Yet another thing that could lead to his potential downfall, it can be hard to tell if he’s genuinely flirting with you or if that’s just “how he is.” However, it usually tends to work out in his favor.

HISTORY: Wong Yukhei’s early life before arriving at Mount Phoenix was relatively average and unexciting. Born just outside of Hong Kong, Yukhei never had a father. This was a common occurrence in his town; There were millions of kids in China—and across other countries in Asia— that were the results of one-night-stands gone wrong. After all, men vacationing in the country on foreign business trips wasn’t exactly new. He’d always imagined that his father was among them: a wealthy man who lived off in a first world country like England or America. Or perhaps that he spent his days sipping overpriced wines from glass flukes on yachts. He liked to picture the first time that his father had seen his mother as something ridiculously romantic. He imagined that the first time he saw her, gorgeous, confident, and strong, that he knew he had to risk his luck to talk to her. He blindly believed as a child that they had fallen in love in one night and, because they were so perfect for one another, he had been born. But that wasn’t the case once he started to ask and move past the book’s cover.

He knew from the start that his father was never going to come back, but he’d never resented him for the fact that he hadn’t been a part of his early life. He’d always wondered what the man was like and if he’d ever get to meet him. On most nights when other kids were off playing with toy cars, he liked to imagine things about his father. His imagination brought so many assumptions and fairytales about the man that it was hard to tell where fiction broke into reality. His mother was part to blame for his fantasies, she never discouraged him or told him something wasn’t possible, but she was also the reason that he didn’t hate the man. If Yukhei had known the truth from the start, he would’ve never forgiven him.

His childhood and early years were filled with the same imagination and seemingly misguided hope. Instead of bedtime stories, his mother would tell him adventurous tales about what he would be when he was older or talk to him about how he and his father would one day meet and fight off evil side by side. Why? Because he was “special”. Like every kid, Yukhei just assumed that was what parents told all of their children. He listened to her with stars in his eyes and hope in his heart nevertheless. He wanted to believe more than anything that he was more than just a Thai-Chinese boy living with his mother in the middle of a lie. As he grew up, he realized that they probably didn’t mean anything. They were, after all, just bedtime stories; They were nothing more but fables and narratives fabricated by his mother’s sweet mind. Much older and pulling on pants with no pockets to hold fairytales in, he certainly never believed he would ever discover the man that captivated his young mind… Or that he would possess any of the cool superpowers he had in his dreams.

When he was a freshman in high school and strange occurrences began around him, Yukhei’s mother finally told him the truth. She explained everything: the story of how she met his father, who his father was, Mount Phoenix, and who he was. He didn’t believe her of course. If your mother were to look you in the eyes and tell you you were half god, you probably wouldn’t believe her either. Especially after telling you your entire life she had no idea who your father had been, was, or what he was up to. However, when the conversation about his identity and his father turned into an argument and the water in Yukhei’s cup on the table sparked upwards with his anger, he realized that it hadn’t been a lie after all…And how truly dangerous his abilities might’ve developed into if left to their own devices.

He moved into homeschooling to finish his years of high school as an enlightened demigod with his mother. It allowed him time to adjust and experiment with his newly awoken powers as well as time to bond with the most important woman in his life and to bring magic back into her life. At the age of 18, and with the first semester of college looming over him, he then decided to move off to Mount Phoenix to understand more about himself and to meet other people born from the same circumstances.

PANTHEON: Greek CHILD OF: Poseidon POWERS: Enhanced ability to hold his breath underwater for long amounts of time, and control over water.

STRENGTHS:

He’s a fun to be around and you never know what to expect with him. He’s funny in unconventional ways and is always good at lightening the mood in rough or stressful situations.

He gets along with pretty much anyone he meets; He’s got a special charismatic charm that easily resonates with people.

His self confidence is through the roof and he’s very aware that he’s attractive. He makes jokes about his looks a lot, and sometimes might come across as conceited, but self confidence and belief in himself tends to help him when nothing else will.

He’s great when it comes to comforting others. He’s not exactly the best when it comes to offering advice, but his heart is always open and his ears are always ready to listen to someone’s problem. Even if they’d never talked to him prior, he’d still gossip and chat with them like they’d been friends their entire lives.

WEAKNESSES:

He’s always been a weak where relationships were concerned. Bisexual and open to relationships with both males and females, he’s had his fair share of them. Because of his passionate, protective, and loyal nature, he’s extremely protective of those he cares about, especially his lovers. It’s easy leverage to get to him. If you threaten someone close to him or that he loves, he’ll do whatever he as to to ensure their safety.

He has really bad short-term memory. If you tell him something small to remember in the morning, chances are that he’ll have forgotten it by the time dinner comes around. On the flip side of that, his long-term memory is exceptional and he can remember the smallest details about his early life and things that’ve happened to him.

He acts more on impulse rather than on actual calculated thought. If he gets an idea, he goes through with it. He doesn’t waste any time on thinking about the outcome. If he likes it, he does it. Regardless of the consequences, Yukhei will do what Yukhei wants to do. Nobody can convince him otherwise once he has his mind set on something.

[aion-rsa]

How Wonder Woman 1984 Treats Its Villains Sets the Movie Apart

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This article contains Wonder Woman 1984 spoilers. Our spoiler free review can be found here.

It’s widely acknowledged that between DC and Marvel, DC has the best villains. From the volatile anarchy of the Joker to the delicious anti-heroine of Catwoman, some have even become worthy of their own spin-off movies. So it was a fascinating decision by co-writer and director Patty Jenkins to take a different route with the baddies for Wonder Woman 1984. Namely, that neither are truly villainous.

Max Lord

Ok, Pedro Pascal’s Max Lord is a selfish, greedy con man who doesn’t care about what he does to society in the pursuit of money and power. He’s not evil per se, isn’t out for revenge, doesn’t actively wish death upon anyone; he just doesn’t care about the consequences of his actions. He is the embodiment of corrupt ‘80s capitalism and the pursuit of more, more, more, regardless of the harm this might do to the environment, to society, or to the world as a whole. 

Lord might nearly bring  about the apocalypse, but he can’t be held solely to blame. He doesn’t force the President to ask for more nukes. It’s not his fault the Egyptian oil baron wishes for land restrictions. He didn’t make the sex tape the televangelist wants erased, right? Lord is completely self-serving and amoral, but it is society as a whole – the ‘80s society of which Lord is a product – that ultimately causes its own downfall, and eventually its own redemption, too. It’s Diana’s job to remind us to be our better selves, the film says, but she can’t do it for us; we, ultimately, have to take action and responsibility for ourselves and for the world. 

By the close of the movie, Lord has learned his lesson just like every other citizen who has made a wish. And just like them he is delivered – he survives the movie and is reunited with his son, who still loves and needs him. Diana may have been the reminder of kindness and reason that most of the world needed, but, for Lord, it was Alistair who is the tangible reminder of the abundance he always had. And, in the world of Wonder Woman, Lord, despite the chaos and pain he has caused, deserves that chance at redemption.

Barbara Minerva and Cheetah

The character of Cheetah is far more complex.

In the comics, Cheetah is often considered Wonder Woman’s arch nemesis. She’s had various incarnations but Barbara Minerva from the comics is powerful, wealthy, and ambitious and, rather than being given powers thanks to a wish, she gains them via a plant god on an expedition to an ancient African tribe. This comics-based version of Cheetah wants to steal Wonder Woman’s lasso of truth and sometimes goes head to head with her because of her damaged pride. 

But the Barbara Minerva of Wonder Woman 1984 isn’t like that at all.

Embodied by Kristen Wiig, Barbara is instead a good hearted dork. She is highly educated and specializes in a number of different disciplines (it’s hinted at that this might be because she didn’t have much of a social life at University), but she’s often forgotten or overlooked. This Barbara wants to be friends with Diana, and when they do spend an evening together both women have a good time and a good laugh. 

Despite being beautiful and strong, it turns out Diana doesn’t have much of a social life either. These two women could be firm friends and allies, and indeed for most of the duration of Wonder Woman 1984 they are just that, with Diana calling on Barbara for help to investigate the mysterious citrine that appears to grant wishes. 

Barbara, though, has allowed Max Lord to take it, who has now become one with the stone in order to wield power over anyone who uses it to make a wish. Barbara is attracted to Lord and her judgment is clouded, but she is not a “less actively developed” woman, as Wonder Woman and Cheetah creator William Moulton Marston once described the character. While his Cheetah embodied the dangers of jealousy, our Barbara, at first at least, doesn’t want to beat Diana, she wants to be like her. She wants to be strong, sexy, cool, and special. Who doesn’t want that? 

Before Barbara even really realizes the extent of her new powers, the way they manifest is in the way people respond to her. Suddenly her colleagues at the Smithsonian listen to what she’s saying. People notice how she looks. This isn’t a ugly duckling to beautiful swan transformation. This is Barbara putting on a tight dress and learning how to walk in heels, and having the confidence to do so after a shop assistant is nice to her. Barbara already was sexy, cool, and special, she was just never treated that way. 

Diana, on the other hand, has always been treated that way. It’s worth remembering that Diana grew up entirely among women. She has no confidence issues, she is not used to being objectified, insulted, or rejected, she takes her strength and power for granted and has no reason to ever feel inferior to a man, or indeed another woman. Barbara is a product of society just as much as Max.

However, it’s notable in the film that while she is obviously beautiful and a total clothes horse, even in the ‘80s, Diana isn’t exactly cool. In WW84, Diana is almost willfully unfunny. The exchange that she and Barbara have when they agree to go for dinner about the citrine is hilarious in its crapness. Neither woman has nailed small talk. Diana eats alone, has few friends, and presumably hasn’t dated since the first world war. 

Both women make a wish that they desperately don’t want to undo and both struggle, together and apart, to prevent ever having to do so. Barbara is not evil. She has no villainous intentions. She does not plan to use her power to do harm. And although she commits an act of violence on another person it’s a guy who has harassed her and other women in the past; it’s a flavor of on-screen vengeance that is not only becoming increasingly encouraged to root for, but that is deeply and recognizably human. 

It’s only when Barbara is threatened with having to give up her newfound power that she becomes monstrous. In this desperation, it’s not enough for her to be the same as Diana, there’s too much risk of being bested (she doesn’t have a lasso of truth, for starters). Barbara becomes an Apex Predator so that there’s no one above her that can take her down, put her down, and make her feel like prey ever again.

The downside of wishes made with the stone, we understand, is that there’s always a catch. For Barbara, it’s that, in gaining powers, she loses the warmth of her humanity. Or that’s what Diana reckons, anyway (the rules of the stone are wooly at best). 

But Barbara’s fights with Diana comes from a place of desperation to keep her powers rather than any malice. It’s telling then, and important, that Barbara/Cheetah survives the film. She’s not evil. You can’t even really call her selfish, for just wanting to be seen – she’s certainly no more contemptible than all the city boys who wished for Porsches and it would feel terribly unfair to her if she were punished that much more harshly. It is important she is portrayed with compassion (and Wiig is perfectly cast) not vilified. 

This is Cheetah’s origin story, as much as Wonder Woman was Diana’s. It is what she will do next that will define her path – villainous or otherwise. At the end of the movie, after Diana has convinced the world to take back their wishes, that unearned success comes at a price. As the revelation comes that we must behave as a society and not just selfish individuals, the camera lingers on Barbara. Max takes back his wish, and in doing so is allowed redemption with his son. Did Barbara take back hers though? 

“We didn’t want it to be this typical mousy girl turned villain” explained Kristen Wiig at the Wonder Woman 1984 press conference. “What is it about her that makes her so lonely and so invisible, and then what does she really, really want? She goes through three really big stages.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Barbara’s villain arc does not end with the third stage, instead that could be only just beginning. If she takes back her wish, she will be Barbara again, deserving of Diana’s forgiveness and perhaps even friendship. But if she doesn’t – even after seeing the damage done to the world, even after seeing Max rescind, even after Diana’s impassioned speech – then Barbara has made a choice that might lead her to becoming actually villainous, rather than accidentally so. It’s a fitting way to introduce an iconic baddie with the nuance she deserves.

The post How Wonder Woman 1984 Treats Its Villains Sets the Movie Apart appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[supernatural-imagine-fanfic]

Flowers from Ashes Part 1

A/N: rewritten first part of the story. I think you’ll find it’s much more interesting.  Words: 1107 Author: Fangless Pairing: Reader x ????? Warnings: This might get kinda angsty sooner than later. Medieval!au (But you can imagine it however you like)

“Who are you?”

There was a man standing across from you. A tall, and quite handsome man, but he had seen you use magic, which could mean the downfall of your very existence.

You hadn’t seen him there when you originally veered off your path to dispel the excess magic that was welling within the pit of your stomach, knowing that if you held onto it for much longer it would begin to take over the branch of your vessel in which your soul resided.

When you strayed from the path you came across a fragment of land that was partially lifeless, the grass itself turned to a perfect circle of ash from spanning out from the source of its misfortune. Simply dispelling the surplus of your energy had turned earth around you into a beautiful garden of wildflowers settled in the shade of a beautiful willow tree.

You could feel your mouth opening and closing, looking the right justification that wasn’t the  blatant and self telling truth. If he was anything like the people you had met on your endless expedition, he would do whatever it took to deliver you to the Naturalists.

You began to look around for a way out, his stature giving you perfect awareness of his ability to  outrun you. In the moment of hesitation, he doubled over his dark blond locks mixing with the dirt beneath him.

Your instinct moved you to his side, trying to figure out what was wrong. Your hand landed on his back, and the moment you made contact you understood. The energy that was flowing through him was the same as that which created the desolate space that had surrounded you not that long ago.

“What are you doing?! If you hold on much longer, the energy will start to tear away at your soul.”

“I know that, but you need to get away first.”

You were puzzled by his comment, you had never met another Imperial who could harm you with their power, the potency of your creation energy being one that had gone unrivaled your entire life.

You didn’t move, “I’ll be fine.”

“No,” his voice was gruff as he stood again. You followed suit, your hand still on his back. “You don’t understand.”

For a moment, you felt the energy build within the man, a dark essence that placed a feeling of absolute dread in the pit of your stomach. Then you started to feel a strain on the skin of  your hand, and pulled it away immediately, only to find that it was burned.

The terror in your eyes must have struck a chord with him, as his reflected sorrow and dread.

“Shit.”

In the blink of an eye, the man had shoved you as far as he could, and ran up nest to the willow.

Standing only a few paces from the circle, you watched as the man released the energy that had built inside of him.

He was consumed in fire, the earth itself becoming ash around him.

After the fire depleted, he turned back to you, sorrow written on his face. He then flew to where you were standing, taking your hand in his surprisingly delicate grip. “I’m so sorry,” his tone turned sour as he began to direct the blame at himself, “This is exactly why I come out here, I don’t want this cursed power to hurt anyone.”

You laid a hand on his shoulder, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“This is nothing,” You smiled at him, which drew a quizzical look to his face.

You smiled at him and gently pulled your own hand away from his. Taking a moment to focus the small amount of essence you had left, you watched as it’s power rippled across your hand and in seconds it looked like nothing had touched it in years.

You met the man’s eye, his expression aghast.

“No one’s ever… How did you.”

“Every Imperial has their equal, I guess you have finally found yours.” You smiled at him, his face lightening as he realized the full weight of the word you spoke to him.

“You think you’re my equal.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“SAM!” Dean yelled for another the moment he entered what you could only assume was the stables of the large caved complex that the resistance called their home. Within seconds, an extremely tall man walked into the area, followed by another younger woman.

“What is it?”

“The legend was right, I found her,” Dean proceeded to gesture to you, directing the other’s attention.

“How do you know?”

“She healed one of my burns, with little to no effort.”

Sam looked at you, surprised. From simple context clues you speculated that healing such a wound was a grand feat.

“We should bring her to the elders,” The two exchanged a knowing look, and you were quickly ushered away by the two boys.

The confusion on your face must have been evident, as while they were guiding you through the tunnels to the end, Sam spoke up and tried to inform you that there was a prophecy that most of the people in this community lived by, one that was told to conquer the evil that was the Naturalists and their queen. You nodded your head in an understanding cadence as he spoke, trying to let everything sink in. You couldn’t help but feel completely overwhelmed by the situation. To be very honest, the new sights, sounds and people were not helping you process everything.

The small posse of people slowly grew as you walked through the halls, people wanting to know what granted the rush that was evident in your stride.

Suddenly, you were brought through large doors into a room that was covered from head to toe in books. They evidently ranged in size and the spines of the books disclosed that they ranged in languages as well. In the middle of the room was a large oak table resting in the middle of it all.

There, sitting at the table, was a gaggle of people ranging in age, nevertheless you found wisdom etched into the foundation of each of their masks.

There was a woman leaning over the head of the table, half of a sentence caught in her throat.

“What’s this about,” she straightened out, directing her question to the two boys who had pulled you to the room in the first place.

You looked at the man you had met first, still blown away by the whirlwind that your life had become within a few hours.

“This is Y/N, she is the inception.”

Part 2

[ruffoverthinksthings]

There's something I have to ask you that has some of its roots far before Descendants, but seriously....wtf is up with Frollo?! I'm interested in his character because of his deep complexities for a Disney Villian (never mind the Hugo novel), but why cant he get a grip on raising children and building a healthy family? Even as a product of the medieval era , that can't be an excuse for his dysfunctional relationships with others(progressive people like Esmeralda and Phoebus existed back then 1/2

Mymain question to you is ,what do you think it is about him that cantsee the pain he causes to claudine/ not esme and the entire HONDcast? What ever happened to him in his childhood ( nature vsnurture), that makes him nearly impossible to reach past his veil ofdarkness. Even in his attempt to redeem himself in the eyes of hisLord, with Claudine, is he forever delusional? Can he change in thisuniverse and what would it take? 2/2

There’sthree key concepts that explain why Frollo still can’t redeemhimself, see the pain, the suffering, the wrongdoing he’s causingin the name of God and his ideas of what is “Good.” These are:

CognitiveDissonance

TheMyth of Redemptive Violence by Walter Wink, and

SexualSuppression in the Catholic Church, and the ideas of ReligiousLeaders being beyond the common man

Allof these are actually easily explainable using the lyrics ofHellfire:

BeataMariaYou know I am a righteous manOf my virtue I amjustly proud

BeataMariaYou know I'm so much purer thanThe common, vulgar,weak, licentious crowd

Thentell me, MariaWhy I see her dancing thereWhy hersmold'ring eyes still scorch my soulI feel her, I seeherThe sun caught in her raven hairIs blazing in me outof all control

Here,we see what Frollo thinks of himself: a saint among sinners, a man ofstrong faith in a land of unbelievers, someone who does Good whereasthe rest fall into Temptation and Sin.

Likemajority of the leaders of the Catholic Church, and especiallybecause it’s in the Medieval Era, he is seen as someone who isinherently above his fellow man, better, purer, more virtuous, whichis why he deserves to hold his position, and use all the power andinfluence that affords him.

Butthen, Esmeralda comes along, he is tempted by her beauty, and herealizes that he is not as invulnerable and incorruptible as hethought he was.

Unfortunatelyfor all of us, he refuses to take responsibility for it.

It'snot my faultI'm not to blameIt is the gypsy girlThewitch who sent this flameIt's not my faultIf in God'splanHe made the devil so muchStronger than a man

Here,he refuses to believe that there’s any fault in him, that he isstill prone to temptation despite his beliefs; rather, he engages inwhat is called “Scapegoating,” putting all the blame inEsmeralda, going so far as to irrationally cast her as some wickedenchantress with powers that he doesn’t stand a chance ofresisting, than just a woman he is fully capable of getting over.

However,that involves him admitting that he was wrong about his belief thathe is incorruptible and “holier than thou,” and he wants toprotect that idea, more than he actually wants to be it, simplybecause it’s less distressing for him.

Thisis called Cognitive Dissonance, the stress someone experiencesfrom having a belief or more than directly oppose their actions andbehaviours.

Otherexamples of Cognitive Dissonance are:

Someonewho believes themselves a healthy person despite having a pack-a-daycigarette habit;

Someonewho buys a product or a service and it doesn’t turn out nearly asgood as they thought it would, so they make all manner of excuses andjustifications to make it better (in their minds); and

Someonewho stays in a relationship that has long past its expiration date,because they don’t believe themselves to be someone who gets it“wrong” with something as important as romantic relationships.

Peoplesuffering from cognitive dissonance often find ways to “spin”things and defend their original beliefs, rather than reevaluate whatthey thought was true and their identity. Rationality, logic, orconsistency ceases to matter to them; sparing themselves from thedistress that they were wrong or are acting against their beliefstakes priority above everything else.

Withthe above examples:

Thesmoker convinces themselves that cigarette smoking isn’t reallythat bad for their health (it’s actually worse);

Thatthe price, the manufacturer, or some other quality of the product orservice automatically makes it better despite the reality of it, likewith the exploding Samsung phones incident, and people refusing toreturn them in spite of the danger to themselves and everyone else;and

Thatthey can still salvage the relationship, that all the problems andissues are not nearly as bad as they are, and that they simply haveto try harder.

WithFrollo, he chooses the Myth of Redemptive Violence.

Inits essence, it’s “Good Vs Evil,” “The Final Clash,” theBook of Revelations where the forces of the Righteous do battle withthe Wicked, purging all that is unholy and ushering in a new, betterworld, or bringing all those deserving into heaven.

It’sinteresting because you see this constantly with all of Disney’sfilms with a classic “Villain” antagonist: there’s PrincePhilip slaying Maleficent; Tiana and Naveen outsmarting Dr. Facillierand letting his Friends from the Other Side do their thing; andTarzan doing battle with Clayton.

Theymay or may not have a direct hand in bringing about theirdoom—Clayton accidentally hung himself because of his refusal toaccept Tarzan’s help, for example—but it’s always VERY clear tothe audience that A) the protagonists are “good” people, B) theantagonists are “evil” people, and C) there is no redeeming the“villains,” there’s only killing, jailing, or trapping them inan enchanted lamp, because they will never turn to good.

Asstated above, Frollo believes himself to be a righteous man, theepitome of goodness, the Holy Servant of God, and people that don’tfit into his worldview are declared “Wicked” and must beslain. He has killed numerous gypsies, has been responsiblefor the death and/or suffering of numerous innocent civilians, andalmost drowned Quasimodo in a well, if it weren’t for the ArchDeacon warning him of his hypocrisy.

Inhis views, there is no salvation, no forgiveness of the sinner, noramending for your wicked ways—there is only judgment, and yoursentence is death.

Protectme, MariaDon't let the siren cast her spellDon't let herfire sear my flesh and boneDestroy EsmeraldaAnd let hertaste the fires of Hell!Or else let her be mine and mine alone

Here,Frollo shows just how extreme and devoid of nuance his sense ofmorality is—either you live, or you die. He also shows more of hisCognitive Dissonance and Redemptive Violence once more, where hepleads that—against the customs and the traditions of the church,and the scandal that would erupt— Esmeralda be “given” to him.

Thisis especially poignant as the Catholic Church has a massive,well-known history of suppressing sexuality and policing the sexualbehaviour of their followers and especially their ordained leaders,usually to disastrous results.

Insteadof giving them a chance to it in healthy ways, or to treat havingsexual urges as a natural thing, the Catholic church paints it asweakness, a flaw in you, a sign that you have failed and that you areshameful, awful, and a sinner for having them in the first place.

“Shaming”someone is the BEST way to get someone to do the thing you’reshaming them for—as you cut their self-esteem, and make thembelieve that they are weak and deficit in some manner, the morelikely they will be to do the vice or the crime because they want tofeel better, and the more likely they will accept that they truly AREbeyond saving, that there’s no hope for salvation, so fuck it,let’s do the thing.

Itgets even worse in the ending of Hellfire:

HellfireDarkfireNow gypsy, it's your turnChoose me orYourpyreBe mine or you will burnGod have mercy on herGodhave mercy on meBut she will be mineOr she will burn!

Here,Frollo shows the depths of his hypocrisy and the amazing mentalacrobatics he’s performing, saying “God have mercy” whilstpromising the opposite of mercy: death, or enslavement.

Here,Frollo shows that he’s no longer following the doctrines, the laws,or the traditions of the church, what God decreed or Jesus relayed tohis followers.

Here,Frollo shows that all he truly follows is what he believes to beRight—what is Right for him.

Iassumed that this behaviour follows him onto the Isle, where he has avery warped sense of religious morality that is really just hisselfish desires, being justified in his eyes by tacking the name ofGod onto it, much like Richard “Rick” Ratcliffe.

Whycan’t he get a grip on a loving marriage, relating in healthymanners to people, and building a loving family life for Claudine?

Because,like the rest of the Villains, he wasn’t marrying and having kidsfor unselfish reasons, he was using his ex-wife Salome to satisfy hissexual needs, is still using Claudine as a means to fulfillhis broken dreams and ambitions, and is unconsciously using them bothto serve himself first and foremost.

Thesexuality that was Frollo’s downfall has not disappeared—it’sstill there, and I’d argue it’s actually stronger consideringthe constant state of stress and despair in the Isle that forcespeople to resort to their basest instincts, and engage in whateverwill give them some measure of relief.

However,instead of going the healthy route of acknowledging that he isflawed, and that he should return to attempting celibacy in spite oftemptation, Frollo merely twists his lustful desires into somethingthat would be acceptable in his beliefs, and that of hiscongregation.

Howdoes he achieve this? Marriage, with all the intercourse for thepurpose of reproduction, and reproduction only.

I’dimagine that, after becoming the only Catholicreligious leader alive or not yet renouncing his faith, and thedeplorable state of everything and the VKsbeing raised, he sees himselfas some kind of New Adam,meant to be the progenitor of anew race of “Good, Christian People” who would eventually becomethe inheritors of this wretched hell, take it away from the hands ofthe Demon Queen that rules it (Maleficent), and rebirth it as aparadise.

Beforeyou ask, yes, he could be the CELIBATE steward of this new world,taking care of his non-ordained congregation’s children, but thatwouldn’t let him satisfy his sexual needs, and is thus not anoption in his mind.

Andbefore you ask why he doesn’t get flack about this, all of thepeople on the Isle are criminals, and if you weren’t living in thedeplorable conditions they were BGU, you learn to loosen yourstandards right quick here.

That,and they can be manipulated easily and lead to believe that undercertain circumstances, marriage and sexual intercourse with Judgesare possible—a lot of these people can’t read, and have noconcept of critical thinking.

Whyis he like this with Claudine, raising her up to be an ideal ratherthan a person?

Becausehe know he’s old, he knows he’s weak, and he’s essentiallytrapped in his church and a small area around it in Temple Way—he’sunable to bring the fight to the Islanders (not including hiscongregation, because they’re obviously theexception), be it ideologically or especially physically, so he hasto raise an army to do it for him.

Claudineis not just his daughter to him, or his Flock—she is a Messiahfigure to them, the “child that will lead them” as the actualJesus Christ was, the true successor to Frollo’s church when heinevitably passes away.

Sowhenever she starts to deviate from his ideals (i.e. growing up to beher own person, independent of her father’s desires), he doesn’tsee it as cruel and manipulative to mess with her emotions likethis—he sees himself as a sculptor making sure that this livingclay does not end up malformed, that she is completely, absolutelyperfect in every waypossible.

I’dalso be remiss not to mention that poor nutrition, dementia, and oldage have taken a serious tollon him.

Ishis being a product of the Medieval Era an excuse for hisdysfunctional socialinteractions?

Itis, actually!

Phoebusand Esmeralda are shown to be progressives in the movie, but theproblem is, they’re still the exception,not the rule; the world ofFrance in 1482 is nowhere NEAR the level of multiculturalism anddiversity we see today.

Mostpeople of that erawill never even leave the towns they live in, let alone be able tohave the means to travel vast continents and entire oceans to meetpeople unlike themselves—and as European Spice Expeditions haveshown, the interaction is more likely to be lethalto the natives than friendly, let alone romantic.

There’salso the fact that if a foreigner lives in France, it’s usuallyfrom a slave trade of some sort or as part of a roving band of apersecuted minority, like Esmeralda and the rest of the Romanipeople.

Thetimes they live in are very xenophobic, with very black and whitemorality—there are only sinners and the faithful, and again, withFrollo, there is no room for outsiders like Esmeralda and the Romanipeople, whom he believes only deserve death.

Andagain, there’s also the fact that Frollo is a Judge, and alongsidehis religion and his authority, believes himself to be inherentlyabove and better than people, and that he cannot do anything wrongbecause he is of that high position, as only a “Good” person canhold that office.

Tohave a wicked, sinful man capable of cruelty and madness would beparadoxical, and would absolutely never happen! (/sarcasm)

Thisis why he can’t see the pain and the suffering he inflicts onothers with his actions—he simply believes himself to be BEYOND andincapable of doingevil.

Withthe question of nature and nurture, I won’t headcanon aboutFrollo’s childhood, since the Nurture has the lion’s share ofblame here.

He’svery old, he’s obviously a very senior member of the church, andhas a lot of respect—he has spent almost all of his life beingtreated as higher and better than his fellow man, he has massivepower other people, and the beliefs of his church (and consequently,himself) is that he is a reliable, infallible authority for what is“Good” and what is “Evil.”

Andas the saying goes, power corrupts.

Mostpeople behave in fear of some higher authority, be they the police,their parents, or that of your superior at work. Unfortunately forall of us, Frollo only really fears two people: the Arch-Deacon, andGod.

Thewords of the “commoners” matter not to him. Maleficent has longknown that these people are beyond reason or are not worth it, sodoesn’t exercise her authority. And even within hiscongregation—more of a cult, at this point, really—dissent isimmediately silenced, murmurs that “Father Frollo” might not beas virtuous and holy as they think he is shushed like a motherreprimanding her child during Sunday mass.

Toend this rather long, lengthy tirade, can he ever break free of thedelusion, and can he truly change his ways?

Realistically,no, and no.

Unlikeactual dogs, you can’t teach Frollo new tricks, especially onesthat contradict his worldview, and he’s already shown time andagain that he won’t accept any objective evidence that he’swrong—every action of his is justified to him, and that subjectivedecision is what makes it “Right.”

Itdoesn’t help that, as I’ve said in other headcanons and mentionedabove, the people of the Isle of the Lost tend to be the ones whohave lost all hope, and are desperately clinging onto whatever it isthey can for comfort.

Ifyou bring him to Auradon, and have him meet up with the (much sanerand reasonable, but not entirely) congregations of Auradon, it’dlikely end in shouting and claims of heresy and going against God.

Havingyour everything pulled out from under you and getting throwninto the great big unknown is terrifying and painful.

Andfor many people, they’d rather be wrong and not realize it, thansuffer that—thus, Cognitive dissonance, and belief in RedemptiveViolence, with both exacerbated by the Catholic Church’s stance on“deviant” sexual behaviour.

[anongoingsoliloquy]

  In the production of Macbeth, directed by Eve Best (which was originally performed in 2013 at the Globe Theatre, but was filmed and shown in theatres in 2015), the three weird sisters are first portrayed as common prostitutes. By the costuming and mannerisms of the actresses, it is easy to see that these “witches” are different than many other adaptations. The sexual jokes in the opening scene with the sisters sets the tone for the remainder of the play, influencing the performances of the actors portraying Macbeth (Joseph Millson) and Lady Macbeth (Samantha Spiro). By portraying the witches in Macbeth as prostitutes, it creates a layer of sexual subtext that influences the characters of both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, which brings them into the demonic underworld of the supernatural.

  It would seem that Best’s idea to show the three witches of Shakespeare’s Macbeth as prostitutes, is not an original one. The witches were “also imagined as [prostitutes] in many pamphlets” that were distributed in the Globe during Shakespeare’s career, marrying “the witch’s transgressions with the circumstances of lewd sexuality” (Friesen 127). The implications of the sexual nature of the witches has deep roots in the play text that are not easily seen or fully explored in Best’s adaptation. Traditionally, witches were thought to exact “revenge for refused charity by causing illness and domestic ruin”, but in Shakespeare’s play, the First Witch “demands a sexual retribution from the sailor whose wife refused to provide” (Friesen 128). In 1.3.19, the First Witch says, “I’ll drain him dry as hay”, which casts her in “the part of a succubus” (Friesen 128). It is believed that the idea of the witches as demons and engaging “in sex with demons, with one another, and with ordinary persons of both sexes dates at least to Augustine’s writing”, although it was Thomas Aquinas who “delineated a process of malefic reproduction” (Friesen 128). This process includes a demon first transforming into a female shape (becoming a succubus), so it can seduce a mortal man and steal his semen. The demon then takes the shape of a male (an incubus), who would then engage in sexual relations with a woman, often a witch (Friesen 128). This reading of the Witches “may demonstrate Shakespeare’s broad knowledge of the subject [of demonology], but it also suggests the amount of information concerning witchcraft that circulated at the time” (Friesen 125). It is debated whether or not this fascination with witchcraft is based in the historical legal prosecutions or it was part of the topical knowledge that the audience found entertaining. The popularity “of witchcraft and diabolic magic […] resonates with audiences by asserting the universal nature of sin and the hunger for power – themes that are contradicted if the […] protagonist’s fate is blamed more on his occult prowess than on his decisions to deceive, exploit, and murder his cohorts” (Friesen 122). So although Macbeth is lured in by the weird sisters, he is still presented as fully responsible for the bloodshed that takes place in the play. It is also “difficult to determine whether [the Witches] reflect Macbeth’s own perversity back to him, reinforcing and enabling his desire to transgress in the process, or whether they direct him towards sins that he would have otherwise not have perused, making them the agents of a damnation into which Macbeth must be lured” (Friesen 123).  

  Eve Best’s production of Macbeth seems to take a stand on this debate, portraying Macbeth as a character who must be lured into transgression. This is starkly shown when Joseph Millson’s Macbeth falls into a fit of laughter after hearing the Witches’ prophecies. In his review of the play, Simon Edge states that this “is one of the smartest moments” of the play. Because the weird sisters are not “nearly so weird or unnerving as [...] on other occasions”, it works better in showing Macbeth’s downfall (Brown). In his review, Peter Brown describes Millson’s Macbeth as “striking and imposing […], slender and tall with black hair and a black beard, which lends a darker note to the character, he is totally convincing as a fighting man, especially as he has two lethal-looking axes dangling from his belt. Violence seems ingrained in his nature”. Despite this, Millson’s Macbeth is presented as a good option for the role of King. He plays Macbeth as “dashing” and “more sure-footed than usual these days with the verse and with plenty of moody fire and fierceness” (Craven). It is not until Macbeth is coupled with Lady Macbeth and they begin to conspire together to kill King Duncan, that it is seen that Macbeth is “a man with more than a glimmer of the manic about him, or that he is at the very least psychologically fragile” (Brown).

  The sexuality of the Witches effects the portrayal of Macbeth in the Globe production as well. Millson’s Macbeth “has plenty of dash and energy, a constant, rather starry suggestion of sex” throughout the entire play (Craven). Millson’s presence on stage is commanding. There is no doubt that he is the central character when he firsts steps out on stage. The idea of Millson’s Macbeth being a constant suggestion of sex is seen in his constant movement around the stage, and always having a layer of perspiration on his face from this exertion. By connecting Macbeth so closely with the sexuality of the Witches, it suggests that the “sisters appeal to Macbeth through the same sin and avarice by which hell might have seduced them” (Friesen 123). The power of the Witches, is not however to force lewd sexual practices on mortals, but to create chaos and discord to over throw the norms of the “community, church, and cosmos”, and in Macbeth, this is exactly what happens; the audience is presented with “a corrupt, diseased landscape brought about when Macbeth’s healthy human reason is confronted and overwhelmed by the seduction of unreal, superhuman agency” (Friesen 123). If the folklore of witches is to be followed in the reading of Macbeth, the witches would have been seduced into performing evil deeds by demonic energy because of their greed for wealth and empowerment, the same reasons that Macbeth is so easily manipulated by them (Friesen 129). Despite the fact that Best’s adaptation positions Macbeth as someone who has to be pulled into the evil deeds he commits, the Witches “cannot force him to do it” (Farnham 61). It is clear that the Witches reveal Macbeth’s fate, but what is often overlooked is that they never make mention of evil-doing or bloodshed, nor do they blind him to evil (Farnham 61).  Nor do they, or their masters predict that Macbeth will have Macduff’s children, wife, and servants murdered (Farnham 62). This trickster speech forces Macbeth to “assume full moral responsibility” (Farnham 61). In the play text, Shakespeare does not “allow the reality of the witches to remain in doubt”, but in Best’s adaptation, the Witches are not shown to be supernatural creatures until Macbeth begins to go mad (Friesen 125). The further Macbeth falls into madness, the deeper the audience is pulled into his mind, until the Witches (or prostitutes) become twisted and demonic, covered in dirt and ash. This is similar costuming to how Lady Macbeth is dressed at the end of the play.

   In the review by Peter Brown, he calls Samantha Spiro’s Lady Macbeth “impassioned” and someone who truly “begs the spirits to ‘unsex’ her so she can do the necessaries in dispatching the King”. He also comments on that “in spite of her fervent desire to acquire the top job for her husband, Ms. Spiro also demonstrates a more humorous side” of the character (Brown). This humour reflects the “form of [the Witches] bodies and the bawdiness of their humour” (Friesen 122). The character of Lady Macbeth is just as connected to the Witches as her husband is. When we first see the two Macbeth’s together in the play, Spiro’s character throws herself into the arms of Millson’s Macbeth and kisses him fervently. This aligns with the sexuality that the Witches first bring into the performance. Lady Macbeth is strongly connected to the Weird Sisters, just as Macbeth is, but in a slightly different way. Instead of becoming a sexual creature because of association with the whore-like witches, Lady Macbeth becomes a witch herself. Not only are witches thought of as bisexual based on witch folklore, but in the play text, they seem to have gender ambiguity. This is depicted through the line, “You should be women, / And yet your beards forbid me to interpret / That you are so” (1.3.47-9). This is also seen in the folklore of sex demons. They are able to switch between male and female genders. Lady Macbeth represents this in the play by her “desire to be unsexed and sterilized” (Friesen 129). There is an odd “dichotomy of fruitfulness and infertility” connected to the Macbeths (Friesen 129). They, as a couple, are rendered sterile as opposed to Duncan and Banquo, who are physical representations of “healthy offspring and hereditary rule” (Friesen 129). It is odd because by taking on the role of the succubus, who were said to “exploit and abuse their victims, Lady Macbeth also assumes an infernal role as corrupter of nature and facilitator of monstrous birth – and in this case, the offspring of her unholy transformation in regicide, committed by a husband aroused to it ‘as to an act of ghastly love’” (Friesen 129).

  In this adaptation with sexually charged characters, Lady Macbeth is depicted as both barren and fertile. Lady Macbeth “articulates the theme of restricted potency by imagining murder as an ‘unnatural or nonhuman, sexual act’ when she presents these ‘horrifying violent images of a depraved rejection of womanly ties” (Friesen 129). This also plays into the idea of the Macbeths having lost a child. There is a subtle indication of this in Best’s production, when “Millson’s Macbeth momentarily strokes the face of the boyish offsider – played by the same actor […] who plays Fleance and Macduff’s son” (Craven). Later in the play, Lady Macbeth says herself that she has “given suck, and know[s] / How tender ‘tis to love the babe that milks [her]” (1.7.61-2). In 4.1, Best’s production does not show the apparitions that the witches conjure, rather they are depicted as figments of Macbeth’s imagination. The second apparition, which is said to be a bloody child in the play text, plays into the psychological effects of losing a child.

  It is ironic that Lady Macbeth should request the “darkness to hide the wounds made by her blades”, when it is in the dark of the night that she is most clearly seen as a witch-like figure (Friesen 131). In the Globe production, when Lady Macbeth comes back out onto the stage for her mad scene in Act 5, she comes out in the same costume that the Witches wore in the first Act. Throughout the play, Spiro’s Lady Macbeth has very long black hair, but in the mad scene, her hair is cut very short. She is also dirty and bruised, much like the Witches were to Macbeth’s mind in Act 4. Although she is not covered in the blood that prompts her to ask, “will these hands ne’er bee clean”, she is battered, dirty and bruised which would indicate domestic violence or self-harm. This also raises the question of whether or not the change of appearance of the witches, is the physical manifestation of the guilt that Macbeth feels for abusing him wife. Lady Macbeth is shown as someone who has given “herself up to the Devil, in a scene of nightmarish obscenity, before the spectators’ very eyes’ and who is punished for her malefic conduct as the sisters never are” (Friesen 126).  

  By portraying the three Weird Sisters as prostitutes not only brings in an added supernatural element to Macbeth, but it also forces the Macbeths to be fully morally responsible for their actions in the play. This is shown very clearly in Eve Best’s production of Macbeth from the Globe Theatre. Not only does this factor influence the other characters in the play, the sexual connotations of the opening Act brings in elements of demonic energy and infant death. The sexual energy of Best’s adaptation brings out chaotic and psychological characteristics of both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. It is this revelation that “ultimately makes this play a thing of tears, not just blood” (Craven).