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butwhatifidothis · 3 years

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Tumblr is starting to VERY MUCH dislike how long the other reblog chain is getting, so this will be Reblog Chain 2 of my jotting down notes of this fic. Here is the first reblog chain for Chapters 1-20

But it appears as though I was correct in sleeping off Chapter 20, because Chapter 21 is. Hm. bad. Very. Not good.

Chapter 21:

Transcript under the cut:

Chapter 21: It's Called Scars so it Gonna Be Ass

- To be blunt, the constant need to reaffirm that yes, Edelgard went through terrible experimentation and that yes, they were very horrific, is tiring. This is chapter 21. The experiments occurred in chapter 2. Every single chapter between now and then have, at some point, mentioned that INDEED, Edelgard DID in fact go through horrific trauma. It is tiring to the reader to constantly have to reread the same thing - we know it happened. We know it was terrible. There's no need to constantly say so; we already understand as readers.

- "Every time the spark of life broke through Byleth’s blank face, it brought a flickering hope to the Flame Emperor’s heart." ->

- Firstly: Awkward use of the Flame Emperor epithet (its usage is on and off with how appropriate its been - this is off).

- Secondly: Once again, Byleth's face was rarely if ever blank. She was never the Ashen Demon, as even the last chapter showcased. The author is mistaking reservation with emotionlessness, which is simply wrong

- "There had been so many empty days and nights, without friendship, love or joy. With nothing to hope for, except someday, the peace of the grave." -> Suicidal tendencies: another trait that Edelgard doesn't have... (strikes against canon: 89)

- ...but Dimitri does. Counter: 12

- "Dimitri, too, was troubled by the thought, grasping the side of his head and frowning. As the spasm passed, he turned to Edelgard and smiled warmly." -> It seems a little callous to so casually toss Dimitri's symptoms into his interactions with others when such things simply don't occur in the canon interactions. It's not impossible, or strictly against canon, but it does not feel natural; it's more as though the author is shining bright neon signs that say DIMITRI HAS MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES than a genuine attempt at writing Dimitri's mental health issues. This is not the first time this sort of seemingly thoughtless showcasing of symptoms has happened (Noted separately: Dimitri having drastic mood swings)

- "No, this world must be ruled by humans…not cruel gods who ignored the prayers of little girls." -> This statement follows Edelgard internally chastising the actions of not gods, but the Children of the Goddess. This is a weaselly attempt at dodging Edelgard's racist beliefs that Nabateans should not be allowed positions of power by shifting the belief to apply to miscellaneous gods instead. While not inaccurate per se - she does also canonically believe that gods should have no power in human affairs - it is not honest

- "Byleth nodded with childlike simplicity. “We should all try to get along.”" -> Again describing Byleth as childlike and/or innocent. Counter: 3

- For those curious: yes, the rat scene is implemented, yes it is sloppy, yes it is out of character for Claude - so much so that it is being noted separately - and yes it is forced to all hell

- What will be noted here, however, is that this is yet another instance of a man being demeaned/humiliated for the honor of a woman. See quote: "Byleth was on him in an instant, a tempest forming in the sea of her blue eyes. “That isn’t funny.” She crossed her arms sternly. “Jokes are about bringing people together...about making them smile. Right now, the only person laughing is you.”" with Claude reacting awkwardly. Once again, Man Bad Woman Good

- In a showcasing of a complete lack of self-awareness within the fic: "“Maybe if you’d have taught the Deer instead…but since you seem to have no ambitions outside of cleaning up Edelgard’s messes…”" -> This is Claude being portrayed as the bad guy, not the one being completely and utterly right

- " She slapped Edelgard on the back, and smiled heartily. “I agree, Dimitri!” Edelgard grimaced, trying to hide the fact her teacher had just struck the wound she had received during the mock battle." -> As well as where undoubtedly countless scars would be, yes? Scars that still cause Edelgard pain? In fact, Edelgard has been slapped on the back by Byleth and Jeralt numerous times before, and yet expresses no pain or discomfort.

- Another thing, that I had not noted though ought to have: Edelgard, a victim of sexual assault (in this fic), rarely seems to mind people touching her. She gets a little surprised if someone tries to get her attention with touch, yes, but Byleth's constant unprompted and random touching of Edelgard is never said to do anything but bring warmth and joy and comfort to Edelgard. It seems as though Edelgard suffering through sexual assault is just another source of trauma for the author to dump onto her for nothing more than pity points

- This is incredibly harsh to say, yes, and I would usually refrain from attributing such harshness onto a piece of text, but remember that Edelgard's scars only cause her pain when it's convenient, that she only experiences headaches when it's convenient, that she experiences PTSD episodes (when Claude mentions the rat) when it's convenient (note that in this fic he does it outside of battle, where her getting triggered wouldn't compromise her chances at victory). Edelgard not being touch averse and being a victim of sexual assault are not inherently something bad - survivors react to trauma differently, after all - but it is another in a steadily longer line of instances where Edelgard is simply given trauma for the sake of making her pitiable to the reader and the love interest, not something that Edelgard genuinely has to struggle with.

- "As Claude and Dimitri looked at their classmate expectantly, Edelgard was wracked with another bout of guilt. Deep in her soul, the princess knew these peaceful days would end soon. When that happened, no feast or vows of friendship could make up for the chaos and horror she would unleash. It would be better to pull away, close off her heart, rather than fuel the flames of her inevitable betrayal." -> Aka, "Feel bad for me, I feel guilty for planning to cause the death and ruination of countless innocents' lives all because I convinced myself that my way is the only way to get things done my way without ever actually trying to see if more peaceful ways could have worked. I'm going to orphan children, force families to fight each other, have the land be rampaged by banditry, and overall bring chaos onto these days that I ADMIT ARE PEACEFUL all because I feel that my way would be better. Wah wah pity me but I don't wanna be pitied I promise wah wah."

- "Byleth shrugged with a characteristic blend of innocence and spirit. “I guess I just like winning.” She began to blush and grabbed Edelgard’s hand. "It's so exciting! I’ve never had anyone other than Papa to celebrate with before!”" -> Byleth = innocent/childlike. Counter: 4

- The fic likes to reaffirm again and again that Byleth is "now" only acting like this due to Edelgard's presence in her life. Note also these statements written previously: "Every day, [Edelgard] was watching the person she loved grow and change. Become who she always was supposed to be." This, perhaps unintentionally, again enforces the "Lesbian Love is Pure and Innocent" trope; these wlw are only allowed to be their good girl, innocent selves - who they were always supposed to be - due to the pure lesbian love they have found with one another

- Count Bergliez didn't know of the experiments initially, but he eventually found out and did nothing to stop them, fleeing from a young and tortured El who was pleading for him to save her - Unnecessarily painting Count Bergliez as a spineless coward too afraid of Duke Aegir to save a child in pain

- Once again, a man fails to save a woman and further traumatizes her

- It should be noted that Bergliez is fearful not for his own life, but for that of his children, who were the ones Duke Aegir threatened. He, very similar to Ionius, cannot save Edelgard, except Bergliez (unlike Ionius) has a tangible, physical, explainable reason as to why he couldn't, and yet it is him who is painted as the bad guy, not Ionius. He is worthy of Edelgard's scorn and hatred, but Ionius only receives a begrudging feeling of betrayal from Edelgard that she feels guilty for harboring, even though he failed her far more than Bergliez failed her.

- "Daughters must always be loyal to their fathers" trope

- "No decent person thought the things Edelgard did. Just as her body had been twisted and shattered by the experiments, her mind bore terrible scars. Scars that the monster kept hidden, so she could walk in the world of men." -> Dehumanizing oneself as a monster as well as having violent thoughts (that specifically stem from trauma) one feels guilty for harboring are not traits Edelgard shows in canon... (strikes against canon, 90, 91)

- ...but Dimitri does. Counter: 13, 14

- "world of men?" Did the author perhaps mean "world of man," as in mankind? Keep note of

- The reason as to why Bergliez is said to have witnessed young El's tortured state and did nothing to help her is revealed: in canon, he dislikes her. It is blatantly and objectively said that he and Edelgard share a mutual displeasure in the other's company. What this fic had him do will be used as an excuse as to why he doesn't hate her, since no one is allowed to dislike Edelgard on the "good" side

- Edelgard, upon being asked if revenge is the reason she is doing what she's doing (reuniting Fodlan): "“No.” Edelgard put her hand to her chin thoughtfully. “I think for a long time, it was…but after a while, I realized that revenge wouldn’t satisfy me.” She looked at the blue sky above. “After you go through that much suffering…when you beg for help, day after day, and no one cares...you realize that nothing will ever truly make you feel safe again. The only thing I want is for this madness to end.”" -> This is internally inconsistent. See chapter 15 note: ""You know why they created me in the first place.” / “To reunite Fódlan,” spat Hubert. “It was all my father talked about.” / “And I will give it to them. "" This directly connects Edelgard's want to reunite Fodlan to the wants of her tormenters (as this states she is doing it out of spite). Note how Hubert spits at the idea of reuniting Fodlan, and how it was all his father - portrayed as a villain - talked about. This is not what this Edelgard wants, at least not of her own independent want. Earlier in this very chapter, Edelgard internally states a want to hurt Bergliez for leaving her behind. To say that she now no longer thinks vengeance would satisfy her, or that none of the reason that she is doing everything she does is out of a want for revenge, is ridiculous

- Edelgard to Bergliez, upon being asked what will happen to him and his family should Edelgard rise to power: "“All those who distinguish themselves will be rewarded. Given your history, I have little doubt you will be among them.” She nervously played with her white gloves. “All I ask is that when I seize back control of the throne, I can count on the military’s support.”" -> Yes, all who distinguish themselves to Edelgard, for Edelgard's cause, that Edelgard can see and/or know of. How likely is it that a poor farmer who is exceptional at fighting will actually be noticed by Edelgard and be given the credit he deserves, when others who may not be as meritable but do have some merit have the connections to show themselves directly in front of Edelgard? What means will Edelgard give the poor soldiers (that she or Byleth aren't already friends with, notably Dorothea and Leonie) that will allow them to be able to be seen by her and have their merits recognized? Edelgard is the one who says who gains power after all, so it is her they must prove themselves to, but how can they realistically do that?

- What about professions that are not immediately beneficial to Edelgard's cause, such as the arts? How will they fare in Edelgard's society, when their works and talents yield no tangible, objective results (such as, say, farming)?

- Something the fic will address?

- Edelgard does not nervously do anything in front of those she is trying to negotiate with in canon, not even Thales. Strikes against canon: 92

- "[Bergliez] could only laugh in response. “I think we’re going to get along rather well, my lady…and the other?”" -> Except Bergliez and Edelgard don't get along well, ever. Pre ts they are stated to dislike each other, which continues even onto post ts with Bergliez being the only noble Edelgard couldn't bring to heel. Strikes against canon: 93

- As predicted: No one is allowed to dislike Edelgard on the "good" side

- Literally forgot Hubert was with Edelgard and Bergliez lmao

- Ionius tried to consolidate power to be rid of the consort system due to his unending love for Anselma -> A ridiculous idea, plain and simple. Ionius was Emperor. If he wished to be rid of the consort system there was no need for him to try and take away all power from the other Imperial houses.

- If Ionius truly loved Anselma, why did he allow her to be exiled from the Empire? Why didn't he step in and use his influence as Emperor to help her?

- Edelgard, when she is Emperor - passed down a supposedly empty crown, at that - showcases the all-encompassing power the title of Emperor truly holds to one willing to use that power. That Ionius supposedly wanted to do all of these reforms and yet nothing at all was done, ever (save for ruining Houses Hrym and Ordelia, something even this fic has as canon), if Ionius did want to make these reforms, means that he was too spineless and cowardly to truly go through with trying to pass them. This again unintentionally showcases how awful a ruler and weak-willed a person Ionius was when he had power when trying to paint him in this righteous light.

- Lambert was stated to be trying to pass reforms before he died in canon, not Ionius. From parents to the children, the author is attributing traits from Lambert onto Ionius just as he (author's confirmed gender is male) attributes traits from Dimitri onto Edelgard

- " Her father and mother…she had thought their romance a fairy tale-a story from her father to make a motherless child feel valued. But…they truly had loved each other." -> Edelgard does believe Ionius when he told her of the story of when he and Anselma (supposedly) met each other. There is nothing to indicate that Edelgard thought it to be a lie: in fact, in canon: "But I choose to believe there was genuine love between them." Strikes against canon: 94

- It seems as though finally, after around 18 chapters, Edelgard's scars will finally cause her genuine inconvenience due to her complex about them as well as her trust issues. She has a gash on her back from the Battle of Eagle and Lion, but will not have it treated if Manuela isn't the healer, and yet the woman is occupied dealing with the rest of the students who were injured. How will this fic deal with this?

- Ingrid, referring to her and Sylvain: ""We just switched from Felix lecturing us all day to listening to Edelgard moralizing, didn’t we?"" -> The author is trying to compare a childhood friend whose friends have had years to get used to their barbed tongue to a stranger that directly insults the dreams of one of them. Something which Ingrid canonically hates having be done to her, even from Felix, a childhood friend. Once again, Ingrid being so casual about Edelgard being so disrespectful of her dreams is out of character. Strikes against canon: 95

- "Sylvain shook his head knowingly, ignoring Felix’s truly alarming scowl. “You should have seen his face, Edelgard. Dimitri would go on and on about this girl he met when he was a kid…and Felix would complain about her for hours!” He looked at Felix and smiled. “For all his whining about the “Boar,” nobody loves Dimitri more than him.”" -> Oh? A romantic gay male relationship presenting itself within the fic?

- Another vision of SS experienced by Edelgard. Word from a nameless guard: "The woman, Byleth, leading their forces... She’s not human! She killed half my battalion with one swing of that sword of hers. She didn’t speak, she didn’t shout, she didn’t even change her expression!” The panicked man was teetering on the edge of hysteria. “All those people rallying around her, and it’s like she doesn’t care at all. Like she's a walking corpse!"" -> Obviously saying that Byleth becomes the Ashen Demon if not allowed to be with Edelgard.

- Unintentional statement: Byleth can't be the pure innocent (lesbian) woman without Edelgard's (lesbian) love granting her purity, reverting her to a monstrous, corrupt demon incapable of humanity

- See chapter 20 note: "Implying that choosing SS - aka, choosing the Nabateans - makes Byleth less human. Intentional?" Confirmed to be intentional. Also false: in canon, even when accounting for CF's lesser chapter count, Byleth emotes far more on SS than on CF, which matches with CF having Edelgard call Byleth detached in their A support. Strikes against canon: 96

- The same nameless soldier, same context: "And those Faerghus kids…” / Edelgard leaned forward in her chair. “Ingrid…Sylvain…what of them?” / “They…they were animals. Screaming and ranting about revenge for the King.” -> Is the author really demonizing Sylvain and Ingrid for (potentially!) being mad at Edelgard for murdering one of their childhood friends? Is that really the depths the Edelgard worship will sink to, that friends becoming enraged at a friend's unjust murder from a warlord is being portrayed as something sad for the warlord? Just what else should Edelgard be pitied for?

- "The scared girl desperately tried to drown out the thoughts that reverberated incessantly. / They’re going to despise us…it’s destiny. And how could they not? If we were truly good, the Goddess would have saved us…protected us. But She didn’t. The Goddess took Mother. She took our family. And soon, She’ll take everything else we love. She hates us. / It’s what we deserve." - Now confirmed that Edelgard hears multiple voices in her head tormenting her. That trait that, once again, Edelgard does not have... (Strikes against canon: 97)

- ...but Dimitri does. This is the third time this chapter that this has happened, and far from the only chapter to display such baffling characterization of Edelgard via Dimitri's traits. It is nonsensical.

- " Why had [Edelgard] even been born at all? Nonexistence would have been preferable to watching every faint dream be dashed, to suffering alone over and over. She was just…so tired of being alive." -> Once. Again. Suicidal tendencies/thoughts is not a trait Edelgard shows in canon... (Strikes against canon: 98)

- ...but Dimitri does. The fourth! The fourth time in one chapter the author desperately wanted to just write Dimitri!

- If the fic wanted to take Edelgard in a different direction than canon does and has her display some of these traits, it would be more passable, but this fic is under the delusion that it is in any way following canon closely, especially in regards to Edelgard, and so this can only be seen as a desperate attempt from the author to have Edelgard be sympathetic by donning the skin of an actually sympathetic character such as Dimitri

- "Edelgard looked at herself in the mirror. The back of her academy uniform was stained red, the rhythmic, soft dripping of blood assaulting the princess’ ears." -> And no one commented on this? No one was worried? Not Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix, who were sitting right by her? Not Lysithea, who saw her take the blow to her back and never get it healed? Not Dimitri, who delivered the blow? It just so happened that literally no one at all noticed this?

- Byleth literally slapped Edelgard on the back earlier? Wouldn't her hand come back red with blood if it were seeping through the uniform?

** The scene that follows the previous note is too long to quote, despite how truly terrible it is. Long quotes, even extremely long quotes, have been presented in these notes before, but the length this quotation would be if the full extent of it were written here would be a mess, and quite frankly, at that point it would do one better to simply go to the fanfiction itself and read the text from there. With the context received from these notes, if one wishes to see the words for themselves, go to chapter 21 of The Emperor and the Goddess, enter Ctrl + F (or Find in Page on mobile devices), and enter the phrase "Byleth crossed her arms, clearly frustrated" verbatim. The following note will not be quoting the entire scene from the fic (merely summarizing it), though context is needed to understand how truly bad the scene is. **

- To have hope in this fic performing anything correctly is proving to be a fool's dream, for it has yet to do anything right; that includes the aforementioned gash upon Edelgard's back. As stated, it did not draw the attention of those who were sitting around her nor did it draw the attention of the one who witnessed the injury itself, nor of the one who delivered the injury itself, so no one commented on the gaping, bleeding wound Edelgard was "hiding" from everyone as she turned her (bleeding) back to them and left for the baths to clean up (it must be heavily stressed: immediately after leaving it is revealed that the blood is seeping through her uniform). As she was washing - naked, of course - Byleth just so happened to step into the baths with only a towel wrapped around her "for modesty," much to the horror of Edelgard, for she does not want Byleth seeing her scarred body. A slight argument arises between the two over Edelgard getting her injuries checked, before Byleth warns Edelgard that she will go to Rhea and force her to go to the infirmary should Edelgard continue to refuse treatment, which drives Edelgard past the brink. She raises her arms from the bathwater and presents her scars (""Fine!... If you want to see so badly, here!""), to the horror of Byleth ("Byleth Eisner was not a woman given to strong emotional reactions, but she staggered back, hands over her mouth."). Edelgard cries in hysteria, fear of her beloved teacher running away in disgust over her ugly, mutilated body overwhelming her. But Byleth, childlike in her innocence, shared that she too is scarred in strange ways, and that she too is scared of failing those around her - that she has no ambitions save to help and protect those around her. Byleth reveals that it is Edelgard whom Byleth looks up to for always being so strong and always moving forward, and shows that without Edelgard Byleth wouldn't know how to handle the pressure everyone else puts on her. The exchange ends with Byleth reassuring Edelgard that she is beautiful and not the monster she thinks she is.

- There is no nice way of putting this: this is a classic example of how not to write someone opening up to another about something. Edelgard views herself as weak, ugly, repulsive, a monster, shameful, but it is Byleth's love and affection that gives her comfort and warmth, that gives her hope of something more. It forces Byleth to behave wildly out of character (the author can try to excuse this with "well she wouldn't normally behave like this!" all he wants, it doesn't matter when it goes against the base, canonical Byleth. Strikes against canon: 99) in order for Edelgard's scarred body to be seen as something that is repulsive, that is ugly, that is stained, so much so that the pure, childlike, innocent Byleth couldn't stand to see something so tainted. And yet it is that same pure, childlike, innocent Byleth's pure, innocent, childlike love that pushes away the pain of Edelgard's scars for just that moment. Other characters become suddenly blind and/or forgetful of Edelgard's obvious, bleeding wound so that it is Byleth who can be the one to save Edelgard with her pure, innocent, childlike presence and her pure, innocent, childlike uncertainty about her own insecurities (but only when it is convenient for Edelgard, as even Byleth didn't noticed the gaping, bleeding wound until she was alone with Edelgard where no one could interrupt their bonding moment). This scene is inorganic and forced, ham-fisting Edelgard and Byleth in the same room - the wash room, where both are either naked or nearly naked - so that Byleth is the one to find Edelgard, no one else. No one was worried enough about the sudden exit Edelgard took from the conversation she was having to follow her and make sure she was alright, and Byleth just so happened to enter the baths right after Edelgard. The scene is, to be frank, insulting.

- There have been a couple of joking references to a book titled Stones to Abigail in these notes, but in all seriousness, this scene plays unsettlingly similar to a scene in said book, where a scarred girl who is naked reveals her "ugly" and "revolting" scarred body to the love interest, who goes on to soothe and comfort the naked girl as best they can. The resemblance is uncanny

- Byleth described as childlike/innocent. Counter: 5

- Edelgard, in canon, never expresses feeling herself to be ugly, or repulsive, or a monster. Strikes against canon: 100

- Again, Edelgard's scars are only important when they are convenient - this time, in helping develop the romantic relationship between her and Byleth

- There are ways in which scars can be utilized without being problematic, but certainly not when this much focus is placed on them and yet they are only truly present when they cannot hinder Edelgard.

- Perhaps particularly insulting is this phrase from Edelgard: "Did she actually love Byleth at all, or just being saved by her?" Yes, Edelgard, you do simply want to be saved by Byleth, because that is precisely what the narrative has been drilling into the reader's heads ever since Byleth showed herself. Byleth is Edelgard's light, Byleth is Edelgard's hope, Byleth gives Edelgard back her humanity, Byleth is Edelgard's one source of joy, Byleth is Edelgard's entire life, and nothing, absolutely nothing in this fic has shown this to ever be a bad thing. This dependence on Byleth to bring Edelgard joy at the near complete expense of everyone else has been propped up as something romantic, and yet it's now, 21 chapters and over 85K+ words in, that we're supposed to believe that this was actually Edelgard being unhealthy? Even though the author himself said that this was what he enjoyed about their relationship, how much they found each other in each other? Even though we see what the author thinks would happen to the two of them should they separate - Edelgard, lonely and afraid without her beloved teach, and Byleth, the Ashen Demon who cares for nothing without her beloved student - in her visions of SS? This is a joke

- It cannot be overstated that Byleth came to the bathhouses completely independently of Edelgard. She did not come to specifically see her because she followed her out of worry for Edelgard due to her injury - she only knows that Edelgard's injured in the first place due to seeing bloody bandages that Edelgard removed in the bathhouse, before Byleth arrived.

- Author's notes: "On Bergliez, we find out very little in-game, but he 1) offers himself for execution so his men can go free in SS and 2) seems to be actually competent at his job. I thought a nuanced portrayal was more interesting, since I've been writing Aegir as the absolute worst person in the world." -> Note: this is what the author believes to be a nuanced take on someone. Someone who likes Edelgard entirely and does nearly whatever they can to help her, but they did one thing that's morally gray (leaving a child behind to save his own children from the same fate) that is portrayed as objectively bad, so now they are nuanced. While perhaps this sort of character would be truly nuanced in better hands, as it is with his actions being portrayed as something that is obviously so completely and utterly wrong and him someone who deserves complete and utter condemnation - and yet Ionius, who does far worse for far less understandable reasons, gets a comparative slap on the wrist - it causes confusion as to Edelgard's lines. Bergliez seeing her the one time and never helping her is enough for her to want to hurt him as she was hurt, but her father repeatedly coming to and "being forced" to watch her actively be tortured and doing nothing does little to invoke similar depths of resentment? Even granting the idea that "she gives more slack to her father," Ionius is objectively and far worse than Bergliez, down to doing hard things to protect their children, and yet it is only Bergliez who is shined in this unpleasant a light

- To be clear, Bergliez's decision was not a good one, but understandable. It is a gray decision to make. But notice how he is called "gray" and "nuanced" and yet Ionius is nearly completely innocent, as described by the author himself, despite their being no given explaination as to why "he was a figurehead" should be a good enough reason to wash him literally standing there and watching as his children - some of whom aren't even teens yet - get slowly tortured and killed.

- "There are many localization changes I understand (Byleth wanting to get drunk after the battle is one of them), but Treehouse's decision to remove Ionius' entire reason for power centralization (eliminating the consorts) was a big, big mistake." -> Given the history of this author's grasp on the Japanese language, this needs to be checked, as he cannot be trusted as a source as to whether this is true

******* Notes of Claude mischaracterization: Chapter 21, section 1, paragraphs 1, 21 & 23, 27 *******

#o captain my captain #is the Cap'n's name fuckin' Greg holy shit #this chapter was baaaaad #b-but hey maybe i'm just being overly critical?

66 notes · View notes

thorniest-rose · 4 years

Text

reddie halloween prompt #5 undead

On the sixth night of the third week after they destroy IT, Richie returns to Eddie.

The Losers all try to stop him. On that first night back at the Town House, Eddie breaks down at the bar, telling them that there had to be a way. That there must be a spell in one of Mike’s books that could reverse what had happened. That they at least had to try.

“He died by mystical means... that means we can bring him back,” he begs, while they all look at him pitifully. Even Stanley, who had understood Richie in a way the others never could, turns his face away.

“Think about what you’re saying, Eddie,” Ben says, eyes dark and wounded as he cradles a glass of whiskey. “People aren’t supposed to come back like that. It could go wrong."

“He’s gone, baby,” Bev agrees softly, placing her hand on Eddie's arm so gently it hardly feels like anything at all. It was nothing like Richie’s rough, boisterous touch. “We all have to accept that and move on.”

But Eddie was unshakeable, inconsolable.

He won't let himself be pulled into Bev's hug, and he refuses to take part in the ritualistic sharing of memories. Reminiscing about bug-eyed glasses and skinned knees; about the plethora of voices, or the way Richie had once held a baseball bat so bravely. The little monster slayer. Instead all Eddie could think about was the body that was currently on ice in Derry's small morgue down the street. The body that had once been Richie's, until the clown tore a hole through his chest. Right now his lips were probably turning blue.

The thought has Eddie staggering from the bar with tears stinging his eyes, ignoring the Losers as they call out to him, so he can lock himself away in Richie’s room. In the dark he peels out of his clothes and folds himself into a clean t-shirt from Richie’s bag. It’s an old tour shirt from 2012 and it’s so big on Eddie it almost swallows him whole.

For a single, overwhelming moment Eddie wishes he really could be swallowed up, that he'd chosen to stay down in the sewers with Richie’s body. That they had disappeared into the earth together.

But instead he was here. And all he could do was ache as Richie's body started to slowly disintegrate down in the morgue.

Eddie doesn’t know how much time passes before Bill comes to him. Bill, who knocks on Eddie's door until he answers, wrapped in Richie's t-shirt and nothing else.

After a second's hesitation Eddie invites him in, and the two men stand by the door, the silence between them growing like a cancer, until Bill reaches out and places his hand on Eddie’s tear-sticky cheek.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, voice on the verge of his old stutter. “I need you to know that I love you. I always did, even when we were kids. And I can’t have you leave without you knowing that.”

And Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t consider it. That he didn’t consider letting Bill press him down to the mattress and spread his thighs open. That for a moment he didn’t think about how it would feel for Bill to open him up. First with his fingers, and then his cock. To push inside him in the way Eddie had always daydreamed about as a boy with his bed sheets bunched up between his legs. Maybe Bill could help fill the emptiness that Eddie had felt opening up inside him from the moment they left the sewers.

But then he thinks of Richie’s body, how he looked when he died, what he said, and he pulls away. Out of Bill's warm embrace and back to the bed, the sheets still creased with the imprint of Richie’s slumbering body.

Eddie fixes his eyes on the bed and says, "It doesn’t matter, because I don’t love you."

Behind him he can almost feel the way Bill’s face falls. Can almost feel the hurt noise Bill makes in his own throat.

“Okay,” Bill says shakily. "You need time, I understand that. Maybe we should talk about this again tomorrow."

Sorrow makes Eddie's tongue sharp as he looks over his shoulder and says, “I don’t need time. I need Richie. And I sure as hell don’t need you. You're half the man Richie ever was."

The look on Bill's face feels like a knife, but he can't bring himself to care. All he wants is to be left alone and a moment later he is, as Bill slips out the door as quietly as he walked in. Richie would never have done that, Eddie thinks. He would have made a racket. He would never take no for an answer.

Richie had been the only person who'd never treated Eddie like he was made from glass.

Later, in the dead patch of night just after 3am, Eddie pulls on a pair of jeans and leaves the Town House. He leaves behind most of his things: his clothes, his pills, his toiletries. Suddenly, nothing really matters. Not his last Valium, and not the pot of moisturizer that cost more than Myra’s entire make-up cabinet. Definitely not the sad little life that marked his entire childhood in Derry. He doesn’t even leave a note to say goodbye.

Before heading to the airport he breaks into Mike’s room above the library to rifle through all the books the man had collected over the years. Half wrecks the place to find what he needs, the spell that will bring Richie back. When he finds it he makes a noise he doesn’t recognise, something like a sob but also a groan. Half desperate, half wild. He clutches the book so hard he almost rips the page.

A frantic Mike emerges in the doorway just as Eddie turns to leave. His eyes dart down to the book clasped in his arms and they grow shockingly wide.

“Eddie, stop. Think about what you’re doing.”

“You can’t stop me,” Eddie says, pressing the book tighter to his chest, against the stupid t-shirt with Richie’s cartoon face.

“You need to put the book down. You’re not thinking right. You can’t do this, sweetheart, Richie wouldn’t want you to.”

The sound of Richie’s name breaks through the haze. A second later Eddie’s pulling the gun out of his back pocket. The one he had found hidden in Mike’s old things.

He points it at his old friend and says, “Don’t tell me what Richie would want.”

Mike’s hands dart up. “Eddie-”

"Don’t talk,” Eddie snaps. “And if you come near me I’ll kill you. I’m not joking, I’ll do it."

“Please don’t do this,” Mike says. “This isn’t like you. You’re exhausted, and you’re angry. I understand, and all I want to do is help you. But please put the gun down.”

Eddie doesn’t put the gun down but he does cock it, even with his fingers trembling.

“Don’t tell me what to do. All my life people have only ever told me what to do.”

“You’ll regret it,” Mike says quietly. “You think you can just snap your fingers and bring him back? Things like this always require a price.”

But Eddie won’t be swayed. Not now.

“Step away from the door,” he says. "And don’t even think about coming after me. I’m done with this fucking cemetery of a town and I’m done with you.”

As soon as Mike steps aside, Eddie rushes past him, the book to his chest. He makes sure not to look at Mike’s face. At the hurt and disappointment etched there.

In the cold night air outside, Eddie hardly feels the tears on his face.

Eddie leaves Maine for the last time that morning on the first flight to New York.

When he emerges in the airport, Myra comes to him, her face swimming in tears, her chest heaving. She clasps Eddie to her, cooing over him, telling him how worried she was, how she had called the police, that she thought he was dead. And usually Eddie would feel contrite, would try to comfort her, but all he feels is that emptiness inside him grow.

Eddie can’t wait. The next day he completes the ritual when Myra is out food shopping. He spreads the red sand in a wide circle on their plush cream carpet and sprinkles the crushed animal bones in each key place. In the middle of the circle he places Richie’s glasses, still smudged with his blood. Then he recites the incantation from the book, not once stumbling over the strange words.

Myra finds him an hour later, passed out on their bed, a huge crimson stain half scrubbed out of the living room carpet, and demands to know what happened. But Eddie only mumbles that he can’t remember.

That afternoon Myra makes an appointment with one of the top therapists in Manhattan, saying her husband was suffering from a severe bout of melancholy.

There's no sign of Richie that day, or on the next, or the next. Eddie thought Richie would have magically appeared after the ritual. He’d expected lights and noise, like in a magician’s show, and that in a big puff of smoke Richie would be restored. But nothing happened. And maybe, Eddie thinks as cries into his pillow, he doesn't deserve it. He’d only ever been cruel and callous to Richie, maybe he doesn't deserve to get him back at all.

He waits and he dreams. Every night as he lies next to Mya, he dreams about Richie for the first time in years. He dreams of the two of them as children, touching hands and sharing ice-cream; and as teenagers driving around in Richie’s old truck, his legs draped over Richie’s lap as the other boy ghosted his fingers over his calves. And he dreams of a life they never had. Of first kisses, and love confessions, and slow bursts of love making during that sleepy time of morning when the sky turns milky just before dawn.

Every morning he wakes up with wet cheeks. And the emptiness continues to grow.

Over the next few days Eddie gets quieter and more withdrawn. He stops going to work and he doesn’t swallow any of the pills that Myra tries to force on him, spitting them into the toilet as soon as he can get away from her. She’s worried about him, he knows that, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He also doesn't care about all the missed phone calls from the Losers, or the string of texts and voice messages begging him to reconsider, telling him to call. He half types a text to Bev saying, when will it start to feel better? It didnt work anyway, i guess i cant do anything right but it lies half-written on his phone for two days before he deletes it. In the end he blocks their numbers and throws his phone into his bedside drawer.

But then, towards the end of the third week, Eddie wakes up and something feels off.

He can’t describe it, he just feels strange. Tense, the way he always felt before running. And slightly sick. That morning he finds himself watching the news as he chews on his thumbnail. A nervous little tick he hasn’t fallen back into since his late 20s. But there’s no impending catastrophe, no signal of anything ominous. He even scans the local Derry news on his iPad but finds nothing of note beyond a couple of farm cows found brutalised, torn open, their guts hanging out. A local nut job was blamed and arrested.

Just as he’s about to put the iPad down and make his egg-white omelette for breakfast, his eyes catch on a small story: a break-in at the Derry morgue. It’s dated as the same week that the Losers were in Derry, just two days after he disappeared. He realises, with a quiver, that it was the day after the incantation, the ritual to bring Richie back.

Eddie places his iPad down and goes to the bathroom, where he sits in the bath in the way he did as a child, when he was trying to calm the panic attack he felt growing under his skin. He sits there until he feels like his heart isn’t about to burst out of his skin and can go about his day again.

It doesn’t mean anything, he says to himself. Break-ins happen all the time. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

That evening he makes a simple dinner of grilled chicken and asparagus with a white wine sauce. But he can hardly eat. That feeling of unease had stayed with Eddie all day, and as the sky darkened outside it had only grown. Crawling up his throat, seizing his stomach, until he was choking on it.

Across the table he can hear Myra talking, but she’s muffled, like she’s talking underwater.

“A man was killed just a few blocks from us, Eddie, did you hear? It’s awful, apparently he was found ravaged, torn open.”

“Oh,” Eddie murmurs.

Myra frowns. “Are you even listening?”

And Eddie isn’t, but he nods his head.

After he’s pushed his food around his plate for a few more minutes, Eddie tells Myra he needs some fresh air, and before she can argue he slips out into the garden.

He ducks around the veranda outside. When he’s sure he’s completely hidden, he pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out his pocket. They’re not his, of course, they’re Richie’s. A pack he’d taken from his room at the Town House when he left that night. He hasn’t been able to smoke one yet, has only lifted one to his lips when Myra wasn’t around so he could pretend to taste Richie’s lips on it. But he suddenly wants to smoke one now, lighting it quickly so he can take a puff. The first one he’s ever taken. He hopes it’ll help him feel closer to Richie. But all it does is make his eyes water instantly and fill his throat with an acrid burn, bending him forwards to retch. It’s disgusting.

Eddie throws the cigarette away and crushes it into the ground with a grimace, wondering how Richie did that every single day. How that could ever be enjoyable.

But Richie had always been an excruciating anomaly, even when they were kids.

As he turns to walk back into the house, planning to go straight to the bathroom and wash the taste of smoke out of his mouth, the back of his neck prickles. Like he’s being watched. Eddie whips around, expecting to see a figure at the end of his yard. Maybe a dark silhouette half-hidden by the trees. But there’s nothing there. Not a flutter of a bird. Not the bright eyes of a cat skulking in the hedge. Nothing. And after a moment, Eddie swipes a hand over the back of his neck and makes his way back into the house.

Inside, Myra asks him what’s wrong, that he looks like he’s seen a ghost. The saying makes Eddie laugh, forcing out a strange, high-pitched noise that has her reeling back in her chair. But Eddie doesn’t stick around to apologise. He walks out of the kitchen and collapses into bed, suddenly exhausted.

He thinks of the text he’d half-written to Bev. When will it start to feel better? And a voice that sounded exactly like Pennywise's rings in his head. Never, Eddie baby! Haven’t you realised that? It never gets better!!

A noise wakes Eddie up that night. He’d only fallen into a shallow sleep, so the noise is enough to make him bolt up in bed, his heart racing. Next to him, Myra snores heavily, almost eclipsing the noise from downstairs, but Eddie’s ears still prick up, seeking out the source of the noise. He hears it again: the tinkle of broken glass, followed by a loud crunch, like someone is walking over it.

Fear makes Eddie recoil back against the headboard. But he can't ignore it. He slips out of bed and into the hallway, peering into the dark downstairs. After a moment, he swallows the sick feeling in his mouth and descends the stairs, feeling much too like a young woman from a gothic horror film.

It’s cold down in the hallway, and he quickly realises it’s because the front door is open. He pauses by the stairway, his body going taut. No, the door wasn’t open. It was broken, hanging flimsily from its hinges, shards of glass and wood on the floor.

But there was more too: smudged, muddy footprints tracking from the front door into the hallway, like someone had broken down the door and dragged their feet inside.

Eddie’s trying to mentally catalogue how far the phone is, how long it’ll take him to dart into the living room and call the police to report a break-in when the back of his neck prickles again. Behind him he hears the heavy exhale of someone breathing.

He spins around fast, heartbeat ratcheting up like a series of gunshots, and that’s when he sees him. Richie. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching him.

"Richie," he gasps.

And it was Richie, somehow. Despite the blue tinge to his skin, and the black tracing of veins skittering down his neck and arms. Even though he didn’t have his glasses, and his clothes lay in filthy shreds around his arms and legs, revealing large tantalising glimpses of the thick muscles at his thighs, the tendons popping like lines of rock on his arms. He’d look like a centrefold ripped from a woman's magazine if it wasn’t for the mud streaking down his legs and the scabbed chest wound dissecting his chest, right where the clown had pierced him.

“Eddie,” Richie says thickly, like his throat is clogged with dirt. “I’m here.”

“What...” Eddie stumbles, breath hitching. “What are you doing here?”

And he knows it’s a stupid question, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Because he feels like he’s about to pass out, the pulse at his neck frozen in fear.

“I came back for you,” Richie says. And his eyes are so shockingly blue. Bluer than they had ever been when he was alive. So blue they were almost silver, electrifying the air.

Eddie thinks, All the way here? From Derry?

“But you’re dead,” he murmurs.

But Richie shakes his head. “I’m not. Or at least not anymore. I remember the sewers. The clown. And then nothing. Blackness. Until I was pulled out... by you.”

Eddie feels faint. “By me?”

Richie nods, and starts walking towards him. As he does, the smell hits Eddie. It’s a damp smell, like a puddle of water, or the smell at the bottom of a well. Like mud left behind after a downpour of rain. And beneath that the faint smell of rot, like fruit that had started to turn bad in the basement.

“Yes, by you,” Richie says. “Your voice, it pulled me out of the dark. You were calling to me. I woke up and I knew I had to find you again. That I couldn’t rest until I did.”

The spell, Eddie thinks drunkenly as Richie comes close, it had worked.

“Richie,” he moans, feeling everything well up inside him. Everything he had repressed over the last three weeks. The grief. The rage. The yearning. All surging and crashing over him where he’d forced himself to go numb. It overtakes him completely, and Eddie thinks he might fall to the floor.

He starts to cry as he says, "Richie, I did everything I could. I wanted to save you. But the clown, it was too much. You were already gone and I coudn't- and I wanted to die too, I just wanted to curl up and fucking die-"

Richie shushes him, hand coming up to curl in the hair at the back of his head.

"You did save me, baby, don't you see? I'm only here now because of you."

That’s when Eddie notices the red staining on Richie’s chest. He blinks. And suddenly he remembers the story of the dismembered cows, how their blood had been drained. And the murder Myra had mentioned. The man a few blocks down. He had been found gutted, torn open from his sternum to his groin. How his viscera had been missing.

And Eddie realises it’s not staining at all. It’s a thick layer of gore splattered over his chest hair. His hands are mattered in it too, all the way to his wrists, like he’d sunk his hands into something and pulled out the meat.

“Richie,” he says. “What have you done?”

They’re interrupted by the creak of the bottom stair, and Myra’s voice as she calls out, “Eddie, what’s going on? Eddie, are you all right? I heard voices.”

“Myra,” he says, turning to see her staring in shock at their broken front door.

"Myra, don't-"

But that's when she sees Richie. This strange man standing in her hallway with muddy feet and blood on his chest. With his blue skin and black veins and strange silver eyes.

She starts to scream.

Richie is on her in an instant. He rushes past Eddie, pushing him to the wall as he dashes down the hallway. He knocks Myra down to the floor and as she opens her mouth on a fresh scream, his teeth land at the skin of her neck, tearing it open. He rips her apart, first at her throat, her screams gurgling thick with blood, and then at her chest. His hands come down and he rips her apart like she's nothing more than cellophane. Once she's split open, Richie dips his head down and feasts on her blood and bone. He looks like a starved, feral animal gorging itself on a bounty, and the noises he makes as he rips the meat from the pulsing cavity at her chest isn’t human. Eddie realises, faintly, that he’s eating Myra’s heart, that the blood dripping down his chin is from her arteries, and he trembles.

Mike’s words ring in his head. Things like this always require a price.

Myra dies quickly, her screams stuttering out, eyes going glassy, but Richie doesn’t stop eating for a long time.

Terror roots Eddie to the spot. He can’t run, he can’t scream. He can only lean back against the wall and stare. At the thing that used to be his best friend, the man he loved, eat his wife open from the inside.

The next thing he knows, Richie is rising, and he’s coming towards Eddie, a blue fire raging in his eyes. Eddie tries to scramble away, but Richie’s too fast for him, and the two men tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Richie presses him to the floor, his mouth at Eddie’s neck, weight crushing him down, and Eddie thinks, This is it. This is always how it was going to end.

But Richie doesn't kill him. He doesn’t tear his throat out or drink his blood. Instead Richie kisses him. Presses the softest, sweetest kiss to the base of his neck.

“I love you, Eddie,” he whispers when he pulls back, eyes bright, mouth clotted with gore. “I love you and I came back for you.”

Eddie blinks up at him, his chest heaving. He thinks dizzily, Richie, it’s really you. And before he can stop himself, his hands are flying up to grab Richie by the shoulders and he's pulling the other man down. Their mouths meet in a fierce clash of lips and teeth, more a bite than a kiss, Richie's tongue stabbing into him. And even though Eddie winces at the thick taste of Myra’s blood, at the hint of decay in his mouth, he still tastes so much like Richie that Eddie throbs.

“I waited for you,” he pants in the short gap between their lips. “I waited so long.”

“I’m here,” Richie says hotly. “I’m here and I’m never leaving you alone again.”

And Eddie had imagined what their first time would be like at countless moments over the last few weeks. If it would be fast or slow. If Richie would be rough with him or gentle. But he never thought it would be anything like this, with Richie tearing his clothes off him and touching every inch of his skin. He never knew Richie would look like this, with this dark, hungry expression, as he thumbs Eddie’s nipples to sore pink peaks and sucks a huge, dark bruise over his heart. He never thought Richie would act so desperately, as his hand disappears between Eddie’s legs to open him up, fingers wet with spit and blood. Eddie never knew it would feel this much like being claimed, like being consumed

When Richie pushes inside him, shoving his filthy jeans down and pulling Eddie’s hips up so he can slot his cock against Eddie’s small opening, it hurts. Eddie’s never had a man inside him before, and it hurts so much. It’s agony. Richie’s hard cock tearing up into him in a searing, insistent push. But Eddie still arches his back off the floor, trying to get every inch of Richie inside him, feeling the white-hot pain sealing up all the numb, dead spots inside him. Richie fucks him like that, like they’re animals, hard into the floor as he growls against him. He ruts against Eddie, pushing his cock as deeply as it can go on every thrust, Eddie’s pained moans never slowing him. He fucks Eddie like he’s trying to disappear inside him, and the thought only makes Eddie harder, makes him cum fast as he whines like a broken toy.

In the distance a phone rings. But Eddie can’t hear it. Because between the taste of Richie in his mouth, and the feel of his cock, he can’t bring himself to care. And as Richie sinks his cold teeth into Eddie’s bottom lip and groans, "You're mine, you’re fucking mine," Eddie finally feels okay. He feels something like peace. For the first time in 27 years he's right where he needs to be.

#halloween reddie #zombies #tw body horror #minors dni #reddie drabbles #reddie #kaspbrough #tw depression #tw suicidal thoughts #this is 4000 words and basically a fic #idk what's wrong with me #this is weird and gory btw #just as a warning

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icarus-imagines · 5 years

Text

Draco Malfoy X Male!Reader

Word Count: 1,904

Category: Harry Potter

~Scars~

"It's pretty."

"W-what?"

A smile makes its way to your (Pale/Tan/White/etc) face as you scoot closer, both your legs, under the black satin blankets covering you both, touching. The thick sheet acting as a protective barrier though it is nothing but mere fabric laid upon your bodies.

"It's pretty," you repeat staring down at his arm that had its black sleeve rolled up to his elbow.

Your fingers dancing along his left forearm that held the Dark Mark. A tattoo displaying that of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. A sign of/from the one and only Lord Voldemort that was given to only his loyal circle of Death Eaters.

"How could something like this ever be considered pretty?" he asked, confusion clouding his mind. He wondered what made you think such a thing.

"I guess...," you started, raising your (E/c) eyes to gaze into his own gray eyes, that you knew even though they were a sort of a dull color, hid thousands of emotions waiting to break through the seams and be unleashed. "It's simply the color."

He tilted his head, making his cute white blonde hair fall in front of his eyes a bit, possibly obscuring his sight of vision. "The color? I see nothing special about the color black. Does everyone else not have the same color?"

"It's not that simple," you quietly giggle at his reluctance to accept the fact this horrid symbol was anything but a constant reminder of his wrongdoings and previous failures.

Taking your right hand you began to lightly trace the black lines sharply etched into his skin. Skin that was almost impossibly pale. Like black against white. Pencil against a blank paper. You found that beautiful. His skin made something so cruel a wonderful work of art.

You watched carefully as his body shivered from your light caresses upon his skin. Giggling you brought his palm to cup your cheek. Nuzzling it affectionately with your eyes closed in pure bliss.

Being with him brought out your cuddly side. Behind closed doors, Draco was the same way. How you loved unexpected kisses on your forehead when walking down rarely used hallways. Holding hands under the desks when sitting together during class.

Despite the fact your relationship was hush, even from both of your parents, you didn't resent him one bit for not wanting to be open about it. In reality, you were grateful. Grateful that you didn't have to flaunt your loyalty in front of others. You didn't have to prove day in and day out that you were worthy of the silent Slytherin Prince known as Draco Malfoy. Because deep down you knew that Draco didn't care about who you appeared to be in front of peers. He ignored whatever bloodline you held and whatever Hogwarts house you presented. Even what gender you possessed.

All he cared about was you.

Snapping back to reality from your deep thoughts you remembered you were in the Room of Requirement, cuddling with your beloved boyfriend.

Slowly opening your eyes you blushed noticing Draco had been staring at you the whole time with a whimsical expression. Embarrassed you cuddled his arm, holding it a bit tighter so his hand cupped your cheek so you could rest it in his palm as he brought himself closer to you, wrapping his right arm around your waist.

"You're quite adorable," he said absentmindedly, burying his face in your soft (H/c) locks.

This made your mind go suddenly crazy with questions about your secret relationship. The most important of these making your brain pound painfully.

Why had he chosen you?

You had yet to discover the single reason why he had started to pursue a romantic, maybe even a sexual, relationship with you. Not only that fact but the fact you are a boy. A male. Out of all the beautiful girls and handsome boys residing at this magical school he had chosen you. To become your one and only partner.

You pondered this for a few minutes of silence. Gathering courage until you realized you had to voice your question before you popped unexpectedly like a balloon at a birthday party. So that's exactly what you did.

"Draco..," you started, softly massaging the skin that contained the dark tattoo slowly.

"Yes?"

You took a few calming breaths before talking once more. "Why...Why did you choose me?"

Your question must have caught him completely by surprise, evident in the way he hugged you closer and lead you to lie on the bed with him. You listened to his soft breathing until he finally explained his reasoning behind his precise actions.

"I don't know," he said simply. This made your heart start to crack ever so slowly from the nonchalant response, but it was quickly mended with his next choice of words that explained his reason. "Though it is cliche, I must say you're different."

"Different?" You ask tangling your legs with his, wondering what he could mean. "How so?"

He hummed, making you giggle for the third time that night, as you felt him vibrate in your own body. "The others that attend this school, not many acts like you do," he began saying, thinking deeply about the complex question. He hoped not to displease you and make you disappointed. "You are like a little ball of sunshine, really you are. Not at all sullen and saddened by the events these past few years have brought upon all of us. You manage to keep a bright smile on your handsome face even in the darkest of times. This may have been one of the many reasons I began to dangerously fall in love with you. This is also the first reason why I had ever begun to truly notice you. To notice you as something more than just another Hogwarts student not worthy of my time."

Your bright (E/c) eyes began to prickle with tiny gleaming tears at his heartfelt speech. You hadn't realized just how much you meant to him. How much he truly cared about you. How naive of you to think you were unimportant to him. You opened your mouth to speak up on your own thoughts, but he beat you to it.

"Another would be you simply do not care," he said, but quickly fixed himself realizing that he must have made it sound like you didn't care for him. "Not that you don't care for me-I mean you do-It's's just..."

You quickly shushed him for a second with your left pointer finger placed lightly on his lips, before he became a blushing mess. "Go slow, no need to rush Draco," you soothed lovingly.

He simply nodded at your kind gesture, taking a calming breath before starting again, this time not as flustered.

"You...you do not care about who I am. That I am the Malfoy heir, a long line of Purebloods. You push aside the fact that at times I can be rude, callous, and worst of all quite hurtful when I want to be," he said, his eyes moving to look at his arm which was still being held on by you. "The most important of these is you...You didn't laugh at me or anything of the like."

"Laugh at you," you asked curiously confused. "Why would I ever laugh at you?"

His eyes cast downward a bit till he looked back up at you, bringing you close so he could rest his face in the crook of your left neck. He breathed in your dazzling and oh so alluring natural scent along with the scent of your Hogwarts house (H/h) that somehow seemed to always calm him.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes just simply enjoying each others company in a world that was quickly crumbling down to the ground. He hums again, the feeling from his vocal cords soothing you as he pressed every closer to your soft chest. Then he finally began to speak:

"For who I am," he said talking slower than usual. "When I confessed to you I showed a side that if I told my Father I know I would be disowned. But you...you not only accepted this part of me you felt the same way."

You held him tight understanding what he was trying to say. The fact he was gay. The fact he put his whole reputation on the line to confess his love to you. Knowing that it could crash down on him if you confessed. Surely you would have told people that the Draco Malfoy confessed to you. But instead, you didn't. You accepted his love with a heart full of joy and hope.

He did the same and for the first time since meeting this lonely boy saw him genuinely smile after you also confessed.

A smile grew on your face fingers soothing still running over his tattoo. He pulled away a bit so he was able to look you in the eyes, but still very close. Glancing at your hand over his tattoo he looked up at you his face grew puzzled.

"Why do you always do that," he asked.

"This?" you said gesturing to massaging his mark. He nodded making you hum like he did. "Well, you call it a scar. And it reminds me of when my mother would massage my own in comfort. Telling the stories behind her own. I guess it just grew on me."

He nodded a smile on the edge of his lips now knowing you did so because you felt it helped him.

"We all have scars," you murmured laying you both back down on the soft bed as he curled against you with his head back in the crook of your neck. "Some you can see and some that are hidden deep down inside of a person. I can't start to imagine what kind lay inside of you Draco, but as a start, I will soothe the ones on your body until you realize it's okay to make mistakes and have things to remind us of them. For I love you no matter what you've done in the past and what you may do in the future. Just know that I love you and will always continue to love you."

"I love you too, (Y/n)" he whispered kissing your collarbone as softly as he could manage.

It was at that moment you realized scars were not something to ashamed of. They told the secret stories of a person's life. The hardships they have gone through, which they had obviously conquered and gotten past.

You knew he may never be able to accept the tattoo forever displayed on his arm, but with time he would accept the fact it was there. And it would forever stay imprinted upon his delicate pale white skin as a reminder of his past decisions.

Draco was just lucky you were always there to show him scars were blessings in disguise. For they reminded you of things you had gotten past. And every day until the day both of you died, due to old age and the curse of nonstop time, you constantly worshipped his fragile body that was littered full of scars.

~The End~

#oneshot #imagine #drabble #x reader #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco malfoy x reader #drack malfoy x male reader #male reader #death eaters #dark mark

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lunarity2013 · 5 years

Text

OC Details: Lucy Stone

So, I figured it was high time I told you guys about my Hogwarts Mystery OC! I got most of these questions on here from @thewasp1995 (Go check out his OC David, btw, it’s super detailed and so cool!) I really hope you guys enjoy!

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Name: Lucille Maria Stone

DOB: October 16, 1972 (turned 12 during her first year)

Parents: Candace and Sean Stone

Siblings: Nathan Samson Stone (oldest, 9-year age difference, Ravenclaw), Casey Andrew Stone (youngest, 6-year age difference, muggle)

Nationality: Irish

Ancestry: Muggleborn

House: Hufflepuff

Height: as of Year 4, she's 5'1". She doesn't get much taller until after graduation, stopping at about 5’3” by age 25

Eyes: large, round, dark brown

Hair: waist length, light brown, wavy

Sexuality: Demisexual, hetero-leaning

Likes: reading, writing, singing, helping others, cheering her friends on, card games, charms, astronomy, ancient runes, nifflers, cats

Dislikes: being the center of attention, hurting people, fighting, doctor’s offices, spiders, clowns, being betrayed, baking (she’s bad at it)

Friends: Rowan (best friend), Ben (best friend), Penny (surrogate sister), Charlie (competitive best friend), Bill (surrogate brother), Tonks (good friend), Barnaby (crush), Tulip (good friend), Andre (friend)

Enemies: Merula (formerly), Ismelda (thinks her constant threats are a big red flag), Rakepick (evil), Snape (his decision), Nathan (depending on the game's ending)

Neutral: Skye (she helps tutor her), Talbott (more Penny’s friend, but she enjoys seeing him), Merula (after finding Nathan), Liz (Barnaby and Charlie's good friend), Murphy (he's cool)

*Badeea, Jae, Diego, and others to be decided at a later date, after I actually meet them in-game*

Love Interest: Barnaby Lee

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Strengths/Weaknesses/Hobbies:

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What’s their personal philosophy? Do they even have one?

For much of the earlier portion of her life, Lucy’s motto would be “do unto others and you would have them do unto you”. Up until about the time Rakepick shows up, and Ben’s secret-keeping, and just the all-around mess that her life becomes when the Vaults come into question, this is what she lives by. After about Year 4? It shifts a bit, focusing her own values and energy towards protecting her loved ones and innocent people from those who would cause harm, and doing whatever necessary to stop them. And after finding Nathan, she begins to include him in the latter.

How do they feel about their status and reputation as the curse-breaker in the school?

Lucy was never one for the spotlight, even as a little kid. She was content for years to simply look up to her older brother in his successes, and then later to help her parents with her baby brother, showering him with love and attention. Actively searching for the Vaults, and subsequently breaking the curses within, was only part of her plan to try and find some closure as to her brother’s disappearance (something she has convinced herself he was merely a victim of and not an active participant, to save herself grief of her brother not being what she thought). She doesn’t like having so many eyes on her, especially for something she knows is dangerous and putting herself and her friends in harm’s way. But every time she tries to back out and leave it be, she gets dragged back in.

Did they get sorted into the Hogwarts House they expected to? Did the Sorting Hat have any problems sorting them? Or did it not even have to touch their head?

Before Nathan’s disappearance, she would have loved to consider herself lucky enough to be a witch, let alone be sorted into her brother’s house. After his disappearance, however, she had mixed feelings about the idea of sharing his crest and colors, and possibly having more eyes on her than before. Her values lined up differently than his, however, and the Sorting Hat gave her an out in the form of Hufflepuff house. She was still a little disappointed by being so far from her brother’s life there, but years later, she’d swear up and down that being put in the house of fairness, honesty, and loyalty is where she truly belonged.

What’s their personal style?

Lucy wears a lot of early Autumn colors, usually. Lots of oranges, yellows, browns, and olive greens are kind of signature to her style. She typically wears things that make her feel cute and kind of kid-like, so over-large sweaters with skirts or overall shorts and dresses with print tops (floral or stripes, typically). She usually pairs both with comfortable boots and long socks. She wears her hair down most of the time, except when actively exploring the Vaults and when studying for final exams.When it gets cold, she’ll sometimes “borrow” sweaters from her friends to stay warm (usually Bill and Barnaby).

What are their coping strategies for dealing with everything (the Vaults, Jacob, etc.), if they have any?

Lucy has terrible coping mechanisms for her problems, unfortunately. She convinced herself early on that her brother had probably been killed by the Cursed Vaults while trying to help protect others from the curses, and is thus even more broken up when she eventually does find him and sees what kind of person he’s really become. She tries at the start of every year to ignore the signs of another Vault opening, just trying to live a normal, Hogwarts-student life, only to be dragged into it when people have already been attacked or hurt. After the incident with the dragon and Rakepick, she tries to close herself off, thinking it’s because they’re so close to her that her friends keep getting hurt. It doesn’t work, and her friends end up finding her and hugging her as she cries about everything that seems to go wrong with her life.

What electives do they take throughout their time at Hogwarts?

If she could, she would take every class available because it was so hard to choose just a few! In the end, however, she settled on Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Ancient Runes, because Alchemy was only for 7th years, and Arithmancy was “just magic math”. Muggle Studies was almost chosen instead of Divination, but Luc decided she wanted something a little more challenging. (She didn’t realize her patience was what would be tested lol).

Are they in any clubs or extracurricular activities? What about Quidditch?

It’s really hard to find time to do extracurriculars when you’re trying to protect people from being frozen in ice blocks or sleep-walking into an acromantula nest. She did join the Frog Choir after third year, though unfortunately drops out between 5th-6th year to focus on her studies (and the Vaults). She occasionally goes to the music club, though is not an official member. Unfortunately, Lucy may be a decent flyer, but isn’t quite cut out for Quidditch. Besides, she’d rather be in the stands (huddled and warm) while watching her friends play instead. Sometimes she’ll help Madame Pomfrey with healing students in the Hospital Wing, but the smell of the potions and medicines reminds her of the doctor’s office, so she wouldn’t ever do it for a living.

How studious are they? What kind of studying strategies do they use? Do they have any study groups with their friends?

Lucy is a stickler for good note-taking, bringing a bunch of spiral notebooks and colored gel pens and highlighters with her every year to take “proper” notes to share with her friends during their weekly study sessions. She and Rowan usually lead for most classes, though Penny takes charge for Potions, Ben (and Rowan and Bill, sometimes) lead for Charms, and Charlie and Barnaby for Care of Magical Creatures. Lucy, Rowan, and Bill sometimes help some of the younger students set up study groups as well, and often let the younger Weasley siblings and Cedric join their sessions, too. Liz doesn’t always study with them, but will when she needs to, Tulip and Tonks only show up when forced or bribed, and Skye was wrangled into coming once, but got everyone off task getting into a trash-talk showdown with Andre over the Gryffindor v. Ravenclaw game the following day; everyone else either has a different group to study with or refuses to do so entirely.

How willing are they when it comes to breaking school rules?

Lucy hates getting in trouble, since it’s being put under a spotlight in a more negative context for her. The first three years of school, she tries whatever she can to avoid breaking the rules when possible. After the Fear Vault is closed, however, she starts loosening up a little bit. She still doesn’t like to break the rules, but she’ll do it with less coercing, and gets even sneakier to get away with it.

Do they hang out with any of their friends over breaks? If so, which one(s) and what do they do?

Living all the way out in Ireland, just outside of Dublin, it’s a bit harder to get to visit her friends before she heads into London for her school shopping at the end of summer holiday. Charlie and Bill make use of the fireplace to invite her over for dinner a few times during the break, flooing her there and back without much hassle. She makes time to spend with Rowan specifically during the summer, inviting her over to spend a week or so every year, and Rowan inviting her for the same amount at her house right after. She gets an owl (a cooky brown owl that her little brother named Bernard) for her family to send her mail during the year, and uses him herself to keep in touch with the rest of her friends until September rolls around again.

After they graduate, do they fall off the map and keep a low profile? Or do they continue to exist in the public eye?

After deciding very early on that she didn’t much care for being the center of attention, once she had the opportunity to fade into obscurity, she took it. She eventually married Barnaby and moved with him to Romania, where he and Charlie work together with dragons. Lucy decides a little later on to document some of her childhood, but feeling awkward about writing her own life story down, changes the names and some of the details to instead create a fictional book series for kids. It later gets published under a pseudonym and achieves moderate success in both the muggle and magical worlds.

How does their career path differ from what they thought they’d be doing? Or does it differ at all?

It took Lucy her entire life to figure out what she wanted to do. At Hogwarts, when asked what career path she wanted to pursue, she was so shocked that she asked if she could “just go back to bed”. She decided to take whatever classes could be most broadly considered for a number of professions, and even then wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do once she left Hogwarts. She decided to handle her personal life first, cheering her friends on as they found their paths, and then going with Barnaby so he could achieve his dream. It was only later, after beginning to just write things down, that she realized how much she enjoyed doing it.

Do they have any hobbies? What about any talents or aptitudes?

She loves taking some time to just goof off with her friends, playing Gobstones or getting some Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. She’ll spend some gloomy weekends curled up in a big armchair in the library, quietly reading to herself (and later, helping Barnaby with his dyslexia). She’s also a major card shark, winning almost every muggle card game she’s ever played and often tricking her friends into playing with her and losing anything from candy to wizard cards to even money, on occasion. She’s particularly good in Charms class, as well as Astronomy and Ancient Runes.

Do they have any favorite spells?

She likes spells that can used to help others, like Episkey or Protego. She has a certain fondness for Expecto Patronum, of course. She also likes using Lumos, to light up her bed behind the curtains after a bad nightmare.

What’s one thing they did or thought as a child that they later look back and cringe about?

Long after she and Barnaby finally get together, they both end up hearing about the bets their friends placed on their relationship and how lovesick they apparently acted before asking each other out. Tonks and Tulip will sometimes act out their mutual pining at lunch or at the Three Broomsticks, leaving both of them flustered and cringing over just how insufferable they must've been before they realized their feelings were returned. If she could go back and do it over, she might almost be tempted to have just kissed Barnaby at the Celestial Ball and avoided the whole mess. Almost.

If they could travel anywhere at all in the world—money, time, and language not being an issue—where would they go and who would they take with them?

It's a tough choice between some very good options, travelling to historical landmarks across the globe with Rowan, getting tasty food in Paris with Penny, or taking her family for a nice, normal vacation to Disney in the States. But eventually, she'd probably decide on travelling the world looking for various beasts and creatures with Barnaby, and writing about their adventures.

If they’re an Animagus, how easy was becoming one for them? Were they happy with their Animagus form? Or did they want it to be something different?

Lucy studied up on being an animagus with Talbott while at Hogwarts, but couldn't bring herself to actually become one until after graduation. She remains an unregistered sparrow animagus even after Voldemort is finally defeated. She would've liked to be maybe some kind of cat, but can't deny that being so small and being able to fly are some great advantages when the second war rolls around.

Do they like what they see in the mirror?

Had it not been for her magical abilities making themselves known as she grew up, she might've gone through all of primary school unnoticed. As it was, kids often ostracized and ridiculed her for being weird and different until she finally went to Hogwarts. Between that and the guilt she carries for everyone that gets hurt by the Vaults, it takes her a very long time to come to terms with herself and her self-worth.

How good are they at taking compliments?

Lucy is pretty decent at taking compliments, so long as it's not a bunch all at one time; she gets anxious when too many people try and talk to her at once. When Barnaby compliments her, though, she gets flustered and stumbles over her words while blushing really bright, almost blocking out her freckles.

How much do they trust their friends?

Lucy trusts those she keeps close to an almost impossible degree. It can sometimes lead her to trouble, such as leaving her vulnerable to pranks by Tonks or Tulip.

Are they pretty self-reliant? Or do they like to go to their friends for help?

At first, she's much more willing to do things as a group, having her friends' backs as much as they have hers. Later on, however, she begins closing herself off, trying to take on everything herself to avoid her friends getting hurt because of her. It doesn't last very long, however, as they all work better as a team.

Who is their favorite Weasley? Or can they not choose?

Ginny and Ron are just too cute, from what little she's seen of them. Bill is like another older brother, and she loves him dearly. She and Charlie are great friends, but anything and everything becomes a competition with them, starting with a "who knows more about dragons" contest that she actually won in their 2nd year. They could almost have been considered rivals up until later on in Year 4. Percy is alright, she Guesses, but even she thinks he needs to loosen up a bit. And she spends most of her time trying to just keep the twins separated from Tonks and Tulip, if only to avoid the Apocalypse.

What’s the thing they like least about themselves?

She's a little stuffy about rules, she worries too much, her actions and choices keep putting people in danger, and FFS, she faced a DRAGON and still can't kill one measly little spider??

What’s the thing they like most about themselves?

She cares about her friends and family, she would never go out of her way to betray them or to hurt others. She takes pride in the lives she's helped and saved.

How bad is their temper? Do they tend to lash out at others or themselves?

Her temper only gets really out of hand when someone she cares about gets hurt. She can usually handle someone hurting her with nothing more than a few years, but attack the people she cares about? That'll be the last thing you ever do.

What’s their biggest regret in life, if they have any?

She blames herself for far too many things. She wishes Ben hadn't been hurt and controlled by Rakepick, she thinks she could've done more to help and support him. She feels like if she had been more observant as a kid, she might've seen something going on with Nathan and could've stopped his disappearance. She's terrified about how the two of them being so involved in the Cursed Vaults with effect Casey as he grows up, and if he'll end up inheriting their legacy or not, if it might get him killed.

What kind of first impression do they tend to leave on others?

Lucy is sweet, doe-eyed, and a little naïve. A pretty face, very smart, but very open and trusting. Would apologize to you if you poured soup into her lap. Most would either want to protect the sweet, innocent child or absolutely take advantage of her trusting and kind nature.

What is the achievement they’re most proud of?

She once managed to eat an entire tin of her mom's homemade butter cookies without vomiting (her mom isn't a very good cook, and definitely can't bake). But now she's expected to eat at least some every time her mom bakes them when she's home. (Just another advantage to being away at a boarding school most of the year).

Do they like having photos taken of themselves?

She's a little camera shy, depending on who she's with; any groups larger than maybe 5 and she'll try to duck around and take the picture herself instead. But small groups, she can handle it. And she'll take any photo with Tonks, so long as she changes something about her appearance to take the main attention off of her.

What’s one big way that your MC differs from the in-game canon?

Lucy does not like searching for the Vaults. She would have been content with maybe a few of his journals and an official, personal explanation from Dumbledore. Sh didn't need this. She doesn't want to be the one fixing this, but apparently no one else knows how or cares to try, so she feels responsible. She's also not in the same house as her brother.

If they’re an Animagus, why did you choose the form for them that you did?

Lucy becomes an animagus much later than in canon. She becomes one right before the 2nd war, in order to evade detection. She becomes a little sparrow bird, small and common enough to escape notice. I chose it because of its relation to the second Fable game, whose protagonist is named "Sparrow".

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So, I hope ya’ll enjoyed! Let me know if any of you have any more questions!

(Edit: I am so sorry about the picture formatting, I know its hideous, but I have somehow lost the ability to use my mobile app to fix it (no fucking signal, my ass) but I promise I will try again tomorrow, when I am far away from the lack of signal at my house.)

#hphm #hphm mc #hphm oc #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery oc #jacob's sibling #oc details

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calliecat93 · 5 years

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Should Cinder Be Redeemed?

Ever since I posted this, I’ve been seeing a TON of people commenting and replying on wanting Cinder backstory and redemption. The former is understandable, and I do think that we’ll get something eventually. There are reasons why we don’t get backstories, immediately guys. Be patient, it’ll come when the time is right. But that is a topic for another day. For now, let's talk about redemption.

For the record, this is only my opinion so take naything that I saw with a grain of salt. But on the topic of if Cinder deserves to be redeemed... no. I really, really do not think so. Cinder’s actions so far have been incredibly cruel and callous. Her murder of Pyrrha one could argue made sense since Pyrrha was an opponent in her way. It’s still terrible, but there is some logic there. But... what about Penny? Who she orchestrated the murder of just to make her whole ‘who do you think that you can trust?’ speech with no remorse? What about spearing Weiss just to spite Jaune because he dared to land a scratch on her? What about killing that nameless Mistral girl seemingly in cold blood just to steal her clothes and life savings? Or killing Vernal just to have more Maiden powers? Or using Emerald and mercury? let alone being emotionally abusive towards Emerald. Or how she wants to kill Ruby and has screwed over plans that cost her and her allies just to get payback on her?

For all of those things, Cinder had no remorse. She only cared about getting power and being in control. The people who suffer due to her be damned. She is a selfish, arrogant, vindictive woman who has made it clear under no certain terms that she enjoys making people suffer. No matter how it is, if they either did something to her or have something that she wants, they will either suffer or die. Either way is fine, as long as she gets what she wants. This has been demonstrated since at least her full intro in Volume 2, and so far thee have been zero signs of it changing. After all, she learned nothing form V5 and is still gunning or Ruby and now trying to manipulate Neo into doing her dirty work since Emerald and Mercury aren't around. Which, BTW, funny how she has shown zero worry about them or wondered about them while Emerald was very much concerned for Cinder. Funny, huh?

But what about her backstory? We don’t know it, but as I myself argued, it was probably not a happy one. And what about Salem? Someone who has clearly been using her and instilling fear into her? Clearly, those affected Cinder and drove her to be who she is, right? Well... yes. Likely a lot of Conder’s character is fueled by her history and by Salem herself. If her backstory is like Cinderella, she started as nothing and was treated as nothing until she ended up with Salem. She got promised power, got told that it was rightfully her’s, and so begins her power quest. One that she sank into more and more until any morality that she may have had was gone.

Hmm... a character that is driven to spite and power by a higher authority figure who ends up doing terrible things and feeling no remorse. That sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Yeah, it is very similar to Adam. They’re both powerful. They’re both spiteful. They’re both arrogant and enjoy watching their enemies suffer. They both even have emotionally abused another person, Adam with Blake and Cinder with Emerald. Mind you Emerald hasn't left Cinder yet, unlike Blake, but still. And both were essentially enabled by their superior, Adam had Sienna and Cinder had Salem. As we know though, Adam’s story ended with him too far gone to be redeemed and thus, Blake and Yang killed him to defend themselves. Which even though we didn’t get a full Adma backstory, the brand told us pretty much all that we neede dot know. It explained why Adam became how he is... but it did NOT justify this.

This is the common issue that I see when it comes to people wanting redemption stories. They think that a backstory will be enough to give them one. Which... no. It isn’t. A backstory is meant to explain a character's history and their actions. It’s supposed to help us realize things about a character and puts things into a new light. But a backstory, in and of itself, cannot redeem a character. For a redemption to happen, a character has to realize that they were wrong and want to change. Zuko in Avatar: The Last Airbender worked because he realized what he did was wrong, wanted to be better had to prove that he meant it, and faced consequences for his past actions. We understood via his backstory why he was how he was, but it didn’t excuse it. It was only when Zuko decided that he wanted to change that his redemption worked. Whereas Azula wasn't redeemed despite her similar issues because she didn’t regret anything and didn’t want to change, hence her psychotic breakdown at the end.

But I’m not talking about that show. I’m talking about RWBY. But here is my point. You know why people want Emerald redeemed? It isn’t just because we know that she had a rough life prior to Cinder. It’s because she’s expressed at least some regret in the past, we see that she is clearly in over her head and scared, and out of all the cast the chance of her realizing this and turning on Cinder are the highest. Of course, right now, she’s still clinging to Cinder, but the build-up is there. Adam couldn’t be redeemed because he didn’t want to change, just wanting revenge on humanity for his torment and on Blake for daring to leave him because of what he had become.

It’s been six volumes, and Cinder has displayed no remorse. No desire to change. No change in her actions. She began as a smug power seeker, and she is still a smug power-seeker. Even if there are things that lead to her becoming that way, it doesn't mean shit unless Cinder wants to change. Which at this point, something big and unexpected is going to have to happen to make that happen. And even if she does turn on Salem, I don’t see her becoming good. It is unlikely that any of the heroes are going to forgive her. Maybe RUby, but there is no way that JNR ever will. And she wouldn’t care. She’d only help them if she can get revenge. She is self-serving, and she is likely always going to be. So at most, she could become an anti-villain. But again, considering the callousness of her previous actions, her lack of remorse, and how even now she’s trying to use her old tricks to make Neo kill Ruby for her, the path to redemption looks very sealed off for her.

Could it happen? Maybe. But form how it looks, it is very unlikely. Right now it looks like she’s on the same path as Adam, allowing her desire for power and spite to consume her until it all catches up to her and she ends up dead. Only time will tell though.

#rwby

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beastlycheese · 6 years

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Snow Globes

A Rumbelle Secret Santa fic for @rosexknight

Prompt: Dreaming of white Christmases

Mr Gold was crying. He was hiding it well behind his sunglasses and the curtain of his long salt and peppered coloured hair. But if you dared to look his way you could see the odd tear escape and run down his pained face. The man who only ever snarled at you or cut you down with a sarcastic jibe was sat on the floor in the corner of the vets, a crumpled mess. His usually immaculate suit was creased beyond help, soiled with mud and grass stains. His dog lay wheezing and twitching in his lap. The normally ruthless landlord whispered words of comfort to his bedraggled mutt while softly stroking the poor creature’s black and golden mane.

It was the fourth dog today brought into the overcrowded waiting room of Miss Green’s Veterinary Practice. One had been fitting on the floor while the nurses desperately tried to save it. Another had been put to sleep as Gold had entered, cradling his dog and dragging his foot behind him, his cane unusually nowhere to be seen.

The little sign lit up again, “Please be quiet while we say goodbye to a beloved friend” it proclaimed. A sobbing owner handed over notes, the final indignity of an horrendous experience. “You’ve ripped my heart out and now you want the last of my money too!” he managed to blurt out before grumpily stomping out of the side door. Miss Green smiled falsely and said “they sleep in peace now” to his departing back. Her bright red hair clashed uncomfortably with her green overalls, she scanned the room hurriedly looking for her next patient. Spotting Gold she paced towards him grasped his ailing dog and carried him away to the back, calling callously, “you will be called when we need you”. Mr Gold was too shocked and bereft to speak coherently, he desperately tried to get to his feet, but without his cane he struggled and slumped back to the floor. The Beast of Storybrooke was officially broken.

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Belle French was feeling brave. She would sort this out herself, she could sort this out herself. The closer she got into the centre of Storybrooke though, the more nervous she felt. This was the furthest she had ever been from her sprawling house right on the edge of town, she couldn’t even see the tower of the convent anymore. Although she was grateful for that, she always felt that Mother Superior was spying on her, continuing to judge her. She had spent her formative years in the convent, a ward to Mother Superior. Her father had been committed to an insane asylum, her mother dead. The authorities had decided she was best off in their care and so it had been off to the nunnery for the young French girl taken away from her home and her father’s workshop. She had hoped to stay with her father’s assistant, Jefferson. He was also a brilliant inventor but seen as far too unpredictable to look after a young girl and as Mother Superior had warned, he was far too male, far too ungodly and not far from being dragged off to the asylum himself. He had been too scared to fight it.

Just thinking of Superior Holy Pants made Belle walk with extra purpose. She clacked her high heels in defiance and swung her short, flared skirt from side to side. That woman mistook intelligence and curiosity as evil, favoured ignorance and expected a rigid adherence to her version of the gospel. Belle had seen no love or compassion for any living creature in that woman, instead she had found her hard and callous. Thinking of all the lonely years spent in her cell in that convent made Belle shiver. Her days had been filled with praying and cleaning, well mainly cleaning as Superior Pants had told her that no amount of praying would make Belle holy and cleanliness was her only saving grace. Her favourite time of day was the exercise hour when she was allowed to wander the vast grounds. Jefferson would always try and meet her, their secret conversations through hedges and bushes were always a highlight of her days, he would smuggle her in little treats and books and tell her of his latest inventions. He had been the one to convince her to stand up to Mother and return to her father’s home. It had taken a lot of courage to leave the safety of the convent behind. She was warned that if the Mayor ever caught her “out and about”, she would suffer the same fate as her father.

Now was the time to be brave again, she had arrived at her destination, the vets. Belle took a big breath in, pulled back her shoulders and opened the door.

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The vets waiting room was dark and silent. A few people sat, heads bowed, one man was slumped on the floor, the atmosphere was icy, however much the lone garish Christmas tree flashed cheerfully. Before Belle even got to the reception desk a fiery red-haired woman burst into the room.

“Right, everyone OUT!” she snarled. “The mayor and I have declared a State of Emergency. Every dog in this town will be put into quarantine, all their belongings need to be destroyed. I will be accompanying the Sheriff to make sure my orders are carried out.”

The man on the floor asked with a croaky voice, “Will I be able to see my d..”

The woman cut him off, “No Gold, your dog is diseased and, in a coma, get out and disinfect your house now, no exceptions.”

The waiting room started to disperse but as no one was assisting the man on the floor Belle went to help. “Don’t help him, he’s a beast, he deserves to crawl out on his hands and knees.” One said with a huff. Undeterred Belle crouched beside him and offered him her hands. Slowly they managed to get upright. “I lost my cane trying carry my sick dog here” the man explained. “Thank you, Belle. Could I trouble you to help me to my shop, it’s just a few doors down, but I don’t think I can make it on my own.”

“Of course,” Belle replied, “I couldn’t believe how cruel the people in here were.”

“No doubt I deserve it, I am not an easy man to get along with my dear. My only friend was that dog and now he is gone!” Gold said bitterly.

Using Belle as a crutch they managed to get to his shop. “So, I take it you must be Mr Gold” Belle said looking at the sign.

“Guilty as charged. And who may I ask is my rescuer, an angel you must be, fallen from heaven cursed to save the wicked?”

“Oh? I thought you knew who I was, you said my name as I helped to pick you up.”

“No, I couldn’t have,” said an incredulous Gold. “I don’t know you at all, which is very surprising because most of the residents of this town are my tenants.”

“I’m Belle French, I live out on the edge of town down past the convent.”

“Ah the inventor’s daughter. I have heard tell of you. I thought you were, erm ‘away’.”

“Oh, you mean locked away in the asylum like my crazy father.”

“No! Not like that I’m just surprised and confused and in a state of shock, you must forgive me, you have been so kind, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No offence taken,” smiled Belle. “Now let me get you comfy and let’s see to your foot.”

“What? You dare enter the beast’s lair and care for this old cripple?”

“Oh, shush now,” smiled Belle as she ushered him in and looked around, “you are no beast, all I see is a heartbroken pet lover.”

“You are too kind. Help me through the curtain, I have a spare cane and seats there.”

Belle and Gold shuffled through to the back. She was so intrigued by all the amazing trinkets in his shop and was desperate to ask questions. There was a day bed and a workshop, Belle helped Gold sit on the bed and got his shoes off, Gold closed his eyes his face scrunched in pain. His ankle was very scarred and terribly swollen.

“We really need to get some ice on this, Mr Gold. Do you need some painkillers?”

“There are some in the top drawer of my desk Miss French. Thank you. Unfortunately, I have no ice. But if I could trouble you to drop in to the diner at the end of the street, you could get some there. Here take some cash and get yourself something to thank you for your kindness. Probably best not to mention it is for me. The owner is not a fan.”

“What is wrong with the people in this town?” sighed Belle. “You have been nothing but courteous and gracious to me. I hate to hear you speak about yourself like that. Does nobody recognise a fine gentleman here? And you can stop looking so surprised I now know why Jefferson told me to go to Gold’s if anything happened to him.” With that declaration Belle marched out on her quest to find ice.

“Yep Jefferson is crazy too,” sighed Gold, as he lay down in pain, anger and grief.

----

Belle found the diner quickly. It was a hive of activity. There was a large queue, and everyone was talking animatedly about the dog crisis. Apparently, the sheriff was out rounding up dogs, sometimes at gun point, since no one was willingly giving up their pets, especially if they were well. No one seemed to have a good word to say about the vet or the mayor, who turned out be long-lost sisters. A lady at the counter said she was a nurse at the vets and that Zelena, for that turned out to be the vet’s name, had been putting the dogs in her care into comas. She had said it was for their own good. The nurse was dubious about this, saying that the injection smelt like some “god-awful scrumpy” and that she was glad she only owned a cat.

Eventually she got to the front of the queue and was served by a white-haired lady with a badge that proclaimed her to be GRANNY. Belle ordered hot tea for two, a cup full of ice for an injury to her friend and two specials, which turned out to be burgers and fries. Granny peered at her over her glasses and said, “You’re the young lady helping out Gold aren’t you? Now normally I wouldn’t piss on that man to put out a fire on his trouser leg but I heard what happened to his dog and when push comes to shove, at the end of the day, it aint right and he deserves a break today. And today only mind. But be careful girl you get yourself home safe and sharpish too. Don’t sign nothing. Now we only serve iced tea, coffee alright? ”

It was the other waitress, Ruby, that brought out her order. She wore the shortest red skirt that Belle had ever seen and looked like a girl from one of the fashion magazines that Jefferson had bought her. She had bright red lip stick on and her nails were painted silver and red.

“I love your nails” gushed Belle, “they are so Christmassy.”

“Don’t tell anyone but they are actually to co-ordinate with my favourite drink” she said with a wink. “Diet Coke, with just a dash of Bacardi in the top so Granny doesn’t judge too much. You were very brave helping Gold today no-one else would dare, but I’m glad you got him away from the Green witch. No one deserves to be treated like that when they have just lost their dog.”

Belle thanked Ruby and hurried back to the Pawn Shop before the ice melted. She was feeling very proud of what she had achieved today. She had made it into town and met a lot of the residents and maybe she had made a friend of Mr Gold. She knew it was a bit silly having known him for such a short while, but she felt close to him already, yes, she was sorry for him but also highly attracted to the man, he seemed so dashing, like a character in one of her novels. She had only been out of the house for a couple of hours and she already had a crush. What would the sisters think of that!

----

Belle found a towel to wrap the ice round Gold’s ankle and told him the news from the diner. Gold was furious about Zelena, but in his current state felt unable to do anything about it. He wasn’t on the greatest of terms with the mayor to say the least, their clashes at town council meetings were legendary. He would get back his dog and if he couldn’t nurse it better then he would make sure it had a decent burial. Obviously, he didn’t want to risk harming his dog if the vet could find a cure and bring them out of their comas, but something didn’t seem right about the whole business.

He looked over at Belle, she was an absolute angel. What had started off as one of the most terrible days of his life had seemed to be brightened by her presence. She was the light in the darkness and yet also so familiar. He wracked his brain trying to think if he had seen her before or maybe even a relative of hers.

“You look like you are enjoying that burger Miss French.”

“I am, it is my first ever one! We were never allowed anything so decadent at the convent and Jefferson is a vegetarian, so I don’t tend to eat meat at all. We mainly eat the vegetables we grow. We have become quite self-sufficient and I have learnt how to bake bread and cakes too. We tend to try an avoid the town, especially the mayor.”

“Very wise.” Gold nodded and continued, “So, tell me Miss French what brought you out of hiding and into the vets this morning? I did not see a pet with you.”

“Oh, please call be Belle, Mr Gold, calling me Miss French all the time just reminds me of Mother Superior.”

“Well Belle it is! I certainly don’t want to sound like her.”

“Why was I in the vets? Well, I couldn’t find Jefferson. He does tend to go missing for days at a time. He gets these terrible headaches, starts talking nonsense. Charming nonsense but crazy stuff like, I’m a princess that lives in a castle with a terrible beast and he must protect me until the beast returns to save us. As I said crazy fairy tale stuff. I’m apparently in love with the beast, I think it is my name that probably sets him off and an addiction to watching Disney films. Anyway, he always insists on calling me Belle of Avonlea, Beastess of the Dark Castle!”

“Belle, are you safe? Does he get any help with these delusions?”

“Well he was seeing Dr Hopper, but I think I misunderstood what he meant by ‘seeing’…But I do feel safe, he is always very protective and an absolute gentleman. It was just that I needed help with my dragon.”

“Your dragon!” exclaimed Gold.

“Oh no, you are going to think I’m crazy too! It is the name of my parrot, a Norwegian Blue. He is called Dragon. I can’t remember why. Which is kind of ironic because he is always screeching “Remember” along with a lot of insults. Anyway, he does tend to lie up in the rafters, Jefferson says he is “pining for the fjords” but he usually comes down if I tempt him with treats. But he just won’t come down and he hasn’t eaten or drank for days and he is so still and quiet. I need to get to him, but I have no ladder or net. I just hoped the vets could help me somehow. Maybe he is sick.”

“Now calm down Belle. I don’t think you are crazy I was just startled, because Dragon was, is, the name of my dog! I don’t remember why he is called that either.”

“Oh. What a coincidence Mr Gold!”

“I know! I will help you Belle. I may have to hop but I’m determined to save at least one Dragon today!”

------

Belle and Gold managed to find a large net in the pawn shop and strap a ladder on top of his Cadillac. They arrived at Belle’s house, a huge mansion on the edge of town. Gold couldn’t believe he had ever seen it before. She quickly ushered him into what must have been a large ball room. It was now crammed with weird contraptions, piles of junk, tools and unknown machines. This must be where her father and Jefferson worked on their inventions Gold thought. The magnificent ceiling was vaulted with fine carved oak beams. Dragon was somewhere up there.

They managed to manoeuvre a ladder into place and were arguing about who should go up.

“There is no way that you are going up there in those heels MISS FRENCH” Insisted Gold. “I will not be able to catch you if you fall.”

“And you cannot go up there on one leg!” Responded Belle.

Their argument was interrupted by a loud screech and a magnificent blue parrot glided down from the roof, landing on Gold’s shoulder, and started chanting “Rumple, Rumple, Rumple home”.

“Dragon!” cried Belle. “He is safe and well and seems to love you! He never goes on anyone’s shoulder and he has never said that before.”

Gold did not reply immediately he just stood there startled and confused.

“This is rather disconcerting Belle. Could you please remove your bird from my shoulder?”

“I don’t think I can. He has his claws really dug into your suit Mr Gold.”

While Belle tried to prise Dragon off Gold’s shoulder the parrot started to chant again.

“Snow globes, snow globes, snow globes”

“Belle what is going on? What does this creature mean, snow globes?”

“Ah, well, I do have a snow globe. It’s a bit embarrassing really, it is kind of my prized possession. It was my only ornament in my cell at the convent. It was like my treasure, my escape, it has a beautiful little log cabin inside I used to shake it and dream of white Christmases, snuggled up in the cabin by a roaring fire with my prince, sipping hot chocolate and roasting chestnuts. It was a silly girl’s little dream to escape from my cell for a while.”

“It doesn’t sound silly Belle. But why is the parrot still going on about it?”

As if to emphasise the point Dragon bobbed up and down screeching even louder.

“Snow globes, snow globes, snow globes.”

“Well Dragon is somewhat obsessed by it, but he tries to crack it open with his beak, so I have had to put it into a case.”

“Rumple, Rumple, Rumple home”.

“Would I be able to see it ?”

“Snow globes, snow globes, snow globes.”

“Yes of course. It is just over here.”

“We are all crazy here! Wanna make a deal, wanna make a deal”

“Does this thing ever shut up?”

“I am so sorry Mr Gold, I really am, honestly he doesn’t usually make such a fuss. I really don’t know what has got into him.”

Belle opened a glass fronted cabinet and handed Gold an antique looking snow globe. He turned it over and examined it carefully.

“Well, Miss French..Belle, I am not an expert in globes but this is very interesting, quite old, I really can’t date it. The first globe was invented by Erwin Perzy in 1900, in Austria, but this looks older, which is obviously not possible…

Dragon chose this moment to loosen his grip on Gold’s shoulder and lunged at the globe knocking it onto the floor. Gold managed to grapple it away from the irate bird and looked at it in horror.

“Belle I’m so sorry, it is chipped.”

He could see Belle tearing up and did not know how to comfort her, but he was soon concerned by a bigger problem. A purple gas was leaking out of the chip in the top of the globe. They were soon engulfed in the choking smoke and passed out, falling to the ground.

-----

When they awoke, they were surrounded by snow and pine trees. A quaint log cabin lay in front of them along a long snowy path glistening in an ethereal light.

“Rumpelstiltskin!” cried Belle

“My love, my Belle, my wife!” replied Rumpelstiltskin.

They ran into each other’s arms, kissing, hugging, crying.

“The curse, the curse has broken. I remember Rumpel. I remember our deal, falling in love, getting married and the curse to find your son. But why are we here? This is not the land without magic, this is the cabin where we went for our honeymoon.”

“I know, my love, this is all wrong. This was not how the curse should have worked. I made last minute adjustments, so we would be together, but this is not right. That darned witch must have meddled too. Jeez Belle, you were trapped in that cell, for all those years! I will kill her, she promised me! She also brought her sister with her. I didn’t even know she knew about Zelena!”

“The dragons!” cried Belle. “Rose and Thorn, where are they? Are they safe?”

“Well Rose managed to break that globe and wake us up, though when we find her you are going to have to grovel she is going to be mad with you.”

“Oh Rumpel, how was I know how to sex a parrot? It was not on the curriculum at the convent. But Rumpel I’m freezing! We are not dressed for snow, let’s get to the cabin and work this all out in the warm.”

They rushed along the path arm in arm towards their cabin. Smoke was coming from the chimney but on inspection their hideaway was empty. It was absolutely like it had been during their honeymoon, even the same flowers were on the table surrounded by their wedding morning buffet. It was untouched and still fresh. Not being worried by magical phenomenon they sat down, hand in hand, drinking piping hot chocolate and eating pastries.

“This is my favourite memory Rumpel” confessed Belle. Our cabin, in a winter wonderland, being together you and me, no crazy princes or witches, no curses, just you and me in paradise.”

“And there it was trapped inside a snow globe that even your cursed self treasured,” added Rum.

“You know when I looked at it, in your house, your name, Belle of Avonlea was written on the bottom.”

“I had seen that,” said Belle. “I thought Jeff had written it. I have another confession. I actually stole it. Mother superior has thousands of snow globes locked in a room in the convent. It was one of my jobs to dust and polish them. I didn’t think she would miss one. It just spoke to me, I had to take it.”

“Thousands of these things, you say love? What is the Blue Fairy up to? How is she connected to the curse? Is she in cahoots with Regina? How do we get back to Storybrooke? And more importantly where is Bae? I really don’t know what to do Belle.”

Rumpel looked confused and a bit heartbroken. His plans were in tatters. He was reunited with his love but back in the Enchanted Forest and still no closer to finding his boy.

Belle smirked and looked saucily at her husband.

“I know exactly what we do. You owe me Rumpel. I didn’t forget your promise. You said that everything was sorted that we would be together in the land without magic. We wouldn’t be separated, we may not have our memories, but we would still be in each other’s arms. Do you remember what you promised me if things went wrong master?”

“Oh Belle, no! Not now.”

“I know you need this master, there are somethings you cannot hide! Now strip! Mistress Underlea needs to be worshipped.”

Belle admired the naked and now only slightly sparkly body of her husband as he stood erect before her. She grabbed him by his engorged penis and pulled him along by it towards their marital bed.

-----

The loving couple were still lying entwined in bed feeling very satisfied when they heard a loud banging on the cabin door.

“Rumpelstitlskin come out I know you are in there!” It was the unmistakeable cry of Regina, evil queen and curse caster.

The couple quickly dressed and joined the former mayor on the porch.

“How have you opened this portal Dark One?” snarled the queen.

“None of your business Regina, what did you do to our curse? You promised me comfort and Belle.”

“Oh, please Rumpel. You telling me you didn’t put in a few tweaks here and there that I didn’t agree to? What is this portal and why have you brought magic back to Storybrooke? This is not my happy ending.”

-----

Epilogue

In the end after a lot of snarking the former apprentice agreed to work with her teacher. She would lead them back to Storybrooke and they would both confront the Blue Fairy and try and wake the animals from their sleeping curse.

It turned out that the Blue Fairy had crossed them all. Her magic beans did not take anyone to the land without magic, they kept them sealed in time and space inside a snow globe. Rumple was reunited with Bae, the Nolans with their daughter Emma, Regina with Daniel. The Enchanted Forest residents were all reunited with their loved ones in Storybrooke and everyone lived happily ever after.

Apart from the Blue Fairy who angrily flitted about inside of a snow globe with Zelena who was permanently green with rage because no one should separate people from the people or animals that they love.

Notes

I deeply apologise for the abrupt ending. Time beat me and I wanted to make sure you received your gift on time. Merry Christmas!

#Rumbelle Secret Santa #rss #rss2018 #rosexknight #beastlycheese #apologies for the abrupt ending time beat me

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lycorogue · 6 years

Text

Gabriel Agreste: A 3-Part Character Study

Part 1: Why a Character Study?

I actually had to revise this about three or four times before getting to a point where I felt comfortable posting it. Even so, I wasn't sure if I wanted to do this three-part series, or just post the second and third parts as separate entities.

See, this whole thing started off as a simple observation/shower-thought, and just grew. Shower-thought became a mini-essay on how Gabriel SHOULD have been written to be a sympathetic character, and how they got him wrong. As I was writing it, the mini-essay somehow transitioned into a sort of headcanon character-study short story.... thing. It would have been easy enough to post the short by itself, but I felt I would have also needed a bunch of “I'm not condoning Gabe's actions” disclaimers. Likewise, the “how he should have been written” mini-essay could have stood on it's own, but I like tying them all together. In the end, I felt this introduction to explain my train-of-thought would help improve the next two parts of this series.

If you want to just get to the short story that makes up Part 2, you can jump to it here. If you want to just get to my essay about how I feel Gabriel should have been written, you can find Part 3 here. If you do want to know how my mind created either of the above parts, you can read more below the break.

This whole project started on Friday when I was working on a scene where Adrien (as Chat Noir) hears a story of Tom and Sabine having a bonding moment with Marinette when she was only about five. Most people would probably default to “Adrien has no clue what that's like” or “He only had bonding moments like that with his mom.” I was going to have the same thought, but after watching Style Queen and how Gabriel spoke both to and of Emilie, I wondered if he was more affectionate when she was around. Maybe the reason Adrien still craves his father's love so much, and accepting of any shown, is because Gabriel has only been this cold since Emilie “disappeared.” Maybe Adrien is used to his father actually being a decent father. Adrien is smiling in the family portrait with both of his parents. Perhaps Gabriel used to laugh and run around with his son, having water balloon fights or something. Wouldn't that be fun to picture? Adrien even stated in the Adrien’s Double Life webisode that his father has changed since his mother's disappearance.

Something kept pulling me from that thought, though. Adrien still calls his dad Father. If this cold distance - this wall between them - is only a year or so old, why would Adrien be accustomed to calling his dad something so formal if he also calls Nathalie by her first name and his mother Mom. Clearly this isn't a strictly formal family or upbringing.

No, while I'd like to believe that Gabriel was more attentive and nurturing with his son at least while Emilie was around, I still don't see him and Adrien bonding. It still seems too formal a relationship. I've seen too many of my friends refer to the step-father that raised them and bonded with them as Dad while their biological father they barely see is “father.” It's an impersonal sign of reluctant respect.

That being said, Gabriel couldn't possibly be just this cold, cruel person; the epitome of this cruel characteristic shown in Sandboy when he ordered Nooroo to not speak, and sealing the kwami's mouth as “a joke.” (Side note: I’d like to think that Gabriel didn’t realize he had THAT much power, but didn’t want to show weakness by apologizing, so he played it off as “it was just a joke, seriously...”) Anyway, my point is that I don’t believe Gabe could have been this way his whole life. He seems to surround himself with too sweet of people: Nathalie, The Gorilla, and Emilie (based on how Adrien misses her and speaks fondly of her). If the school threw a friggen party to celebrate Chloe moving to NYC (as seen in Malediktator), there's no way the Gabe we know could attract the loyalty (and love) of the sweethearts we know are closest to him. Besides, I know Thomas Astruc must be trying to make Gabriel a sympathetic villain. All of the reveals about Emilie, The Scene between Gabe and Nathalie in the beginning of Queen Wasp, and the rare moments of Gabriel bonding with Adrien; they all seem to be leading us to at least sympathize with Gabriel's plight. Maybe even see ourselves in him: being so in love with someone no one and nothing else matters but them.

This is when I transitioned into my “how he should have been written” mini-essay which takes up Part 3 of this series. Again, if you want to jump to that you can do so here.

So then I tried to move back to my original quandary about Gabriel being so maddeningly in love with Emilie, but still distant from Adrien the kid's whole life. How could that be possible? How is this the same man: so full of love and yet unsure how to showcase it? That's when I thought about someone in my personal life who seemed to answer the enigma.

See, I was fortunate enough to grow up with parents very similar to Tom and Sabine, so a cold, distant, neglectful and/or abusive parent is a foreign concept to me. I knew that Gabriel had to have a reason though. He doesn't hate Adrien. He's not purposely cruel to his son (and we have seen that Gabe’s not above being cruel in order to try to akumatize someone). While it’s clear that Gabriel has no clue how to show it, and is going at parenting in a horrendous way, there are still scenes that prove that he does very much love Adrien and wants him safe.

Sure, Nathalie pointed out in Style Queen how much danger Adrien tends to be put in (if only they truly knew), however, Gabriel has a contingency. If he fails, and Ladybug cleanses the akuma, then she can restore Paris. And any harm that befell Adrien would be reversed. We'll pretend PTSD and other such mental/emotional trauma is also taken care of.... On the flipside, if Hawk Moth wins, then he has both Miraculouses and the power of a god. He can revive Emilie. He can heal or revive Adrien as well. He can do whatever the hell he damn well pleases, and his family will be healed and whole again. So, to him, Adrien isn't REALLY in danger. At most the kid would be scared until the battle is over.

So what IS the deal? I don't know if this is truly what Astruc is aiming for, but based on that IRL person I spoke of a couple paragraphs ago, I suspect Gabriel acts the way he does and seems so callous towards Adrien because he loves Emilie TOO much.

In the latest episodes we’ve seen more and more of Gabriel’s drive for being Hawk Moth. In the first Origins episode we are introduced to Nooroo via Gabe closing the Moth broach with a picture of Emilie inside. In the Christmas special we know that Gabe is more closed off than usual due to the loss of his wife. Zombizou closes the akuma portion of the episode with HM stating that he’s certain to have his wish granted if love is so powerful. We see him visit Emilie in Style Queen to talk about how much he misses her, and how much he's trying to get her back. Finally, in Queen Wasp we witness the anguish Gabriel feels in “failing” her, as well as his sincere belief that Adrien would understand everything Gabe is doing once Emilie is back home and with them again.

Long and short? It is painfully obvious that Emilie was this man's sun and moon. She was his world; his heart; his everything. He is but a shell without her. Nathalie tries to be his conscious and compassion, but it doesn’t have the same affect due to his blind, tunnel vision love for his wife. It SHOULD be sweet. Key word there though is SHOULD.

Again, I go into more about this in my “How Gabriel/Hawk Moth Should Have Been Written” essay in Part 3.

Getting back to my IRL example. I know a man whose wife was his everything. You wouldn't realize this at first, because the two of them were like the old couple neighbors from 1950s sitcoms. The Bickersons. Stick around long enough though, and you’d see that the wife was the pumice stone that filed off the husband’s rough edges. She truly was the light of his life, his everything, and even his compassion towards other human beings, which is now very much how I picture Gabriel and Emilie.

The wife of this IRL couple originally thought she couldn’t have children. Then, as a “honeymoon gift,” she got pregnant with her first. Of course this made the baby girl their little miracle. The wife doted on her daughter. She knew no love greater than that of being a mother. Her attention was mostly - and appropriately - aimed at her child. Unfortunately, this made the husband jealous.

He wouldn’t say as much, and I know he tried to not act upon it. He tried bonding with his daughter, and mostly did a good job. She does have pleasant memories of him. However, as she grew up, and her mother became her best friend - and vise versa – the husband became more jealous and salty. He loved his child, but he wasn’t as compassionate or empathetic as his wife was. His job with this young woman was to raise, to teach, and to protect. Not to bond. His wife was the only one worthy of bonding with. The rest of humanity sucks.

Thinking about this man was the initial inspiration for this whole trek to try to explain Gabriel, and potentially what Astruc had planned for him. I could see Gabriel being very much the same way: an overly devoted husband, and a descent father, even if he wasn't one that really bonded with his son.

As I was writing out more of this essay on how I now picture Gabriel as this man I know IRL, I realized it had a sort of story element to it, so I ran with it. You can read my pseudo-short about my new headcanon of Gabriel and his relationship with his family prior to us meeting him in the series in Part 2.

Please know that in no way am I condoning his behavior both as a villain and as a parent. I'm not even really condoning his actions as a husband. It does help me, though, to better understand him as a character. To understand why he acts the way he does.

For those interested, I'll see you in Part 2.

#ML #Miraculous Ladybug #fantheory #LycoRogue fantheory #long post #part 1 of 3 #Gabriel Agreste #Hawk Moth #Minor spoilers #season 2 spoilers #ML spoilers #Style Queen #Style Queen spoilers #Sandboy #Sandboy spoilers #Malediktator #Malediktator spoilers #Queen Wasp #Queen Wasp spoilers

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dawnsavant · 7 years

Note

★ Denastien~

From snowflakes drifting on a playful breeze, to all the cold fury of a blizzard obscuring in frigid white, to serenity in a crystalline world of ice…

Denastien.

Andreo breathed a quiet sigh to himself. He had a knee propped to a table in the manor’s library. Sitting in a chair leaned back on two legs, he teetered himself back and forth in small rocking moments. He thumbed a pen from side to side, its end catching the light with a gleam.

What could he even say of Denastien?

★ Lord Denastien Dalendal

I like you a whole lot and I might have to tell you that pretty much all the time.

I hate you / I dislike you

I love you, Snowstorm.

You are family, you are helping me feel like I even can reconnect with family, you are giving me a whole new family, and we are making ourselves into a family and how amazing is that. (Though I’m still not too terribly sorry for conspiring to murder one member of it in the past.)

I would take a bullet for you, with no questions or complaints, but please pamper me afterwards.

I would shoot you, but, uh, probably with one of those ridiculous training wands, or a water gun, or… I don’t know, if we needed to fake a death or something maybe.

I would lie to your face. I am not capable of lying to your face, or… in your general direction, oh, whatever. Also your face is pretty great, just so you know.

I would say something cruel to you on purpose, and I bet you’d like it, too.

I would say something cruel to you accidentally, because, you know, it’s an accident, and then I’d probably spend the next half an hour trying to make up for it.

I would cheat on you. No. I tell you my interests.

I would physically hurt you, and I bet you’d like it, too.

You annoy me

You amuse me, pretty much endlessly. Probably getting laugh lines because of you, uhg. All your fault.

I’d laugh at you, but you know I never mean anything callous by it. If it truly offends, I will absolutely make certain to not do so again at that situation.

I’d laugh with you, and sun, I hope we always can find things to laugh about.

I’d manipulate you, and I bet you’d like it, too.

You scare me. It’s pretty great. It’s by far and large the good kind of scary. Even the scares that are not so great are fascinating and learning experiences. I also get scared for your sake, which is an interesting experience unto itself.

You confuse me. I don’t think I’ve ever been too confused by you. Just a little miscommunication once in a while, but even then you are patient and have never balked at trying to find clarity.

I wish I knew you better, somehow?! I mean, I signed up for this. I am all in. I’m going to learn all of your weird secrets, man. Freckles in strange places? Childhood daydreams of wanting pets, or the name of that school instructor you hated growing up? I am THERE.

I trust you, implicitly.

I don’t trust you

You inspire me. You inspire me so much. Maybe not to frenetic periods of obsession and creation as I’ve suffered in the past, but on some level that I don’t know how to quantify or put into words properly. I know I tell you this every once in a while, but - light, you inspire me.

I consider you an equal in every regard, though our strengths, experience, and specializations may be different.

You are beneath me once in a while wink wink nudge nudge

You’re better than me. Strangely, I feel this deserves expanding upon in and of itself. I have idolized, grown limerent in regards to, and placed others upon pedestals in the past. After giving it some thought, I do not believe I fall into this pattern of behavior with you. Equal in every regard. I mean it, I am absolutely glad to have you beside me, rather than seeing one of us as better or worse than the other in some manner.

I would trust you with my life, and have plenty of times. Okay, there may be one exception to this. You know exactly what that situation is, and it so does not count, because even that thin line is very trusting and we’ve not made any major mistakes yet.

I think you’re mean, and I also think it’s equal parts hilarious - or prudent - in the situations where this is even applicable.

I think you’re pretty. Oh, light, and how. Delicate, eloquent, graceful, elegant. Ah, words. Singular descriptive words do no justice. A silken sash caught in a play of the breeze, shimmering as it catches the light. The bounce of shining curls as they fall just so after half a spin. The perfect jingle that bangles make as they slide down a slender forearm in a row. How it feels to watch a cat effortlessly leap from rooftop to wall with perfect precision and balance. Even these hardly feel evocative enough.

I think you’re petty, given the right circumstance and situation. But we had some pretty amazing conversations over some of the little things that we both get petty about, and I love it.

I think you’re childish. I think you go to some lengths to not have ‘childish moments’ as it were where most could see, but it’s absolutely wonderful when you let them slip through. There’s a… a… kind of enthusiasm and charm in these moments that is spectacular. I’m not going to forget playing in the snow, both real and imagined, nor some of the memories you’ve shared of your younger years.

I think you’re smart. In fact, I think you’re pretty damned smart. Smarter than anyone else, or even you, give yourself credit for sometimes. You’ve come up with some brilliant, creative spells and solutions, and I am absolutely convinced that you will do incredible things as time goes on and as inspirations come to you.

I think you’re stupid. Stupid hot maybe. Stupid smart. Stupid sexy. If I write this down where people can see it do I get a free kiss?

I think you’re a bad person.

I think you’re a good person. Maybe not always the nicest, nor the most altruistic, nor always patient with others. Maybe you have not always done so-called good things, even been outright cruel or destructive or harsh otherwise, and maybe we will continue to do some not so ‘good’ things, as it were. But you are a good person, and you are always trying to be better in some regard. That counts for so, so much. You’re good to me, too.

I’m not sure what kind of person you are

I wish you would listen to me. I mean, you do, but I want you to, too!

I want to make you proud. I hope I do, truly. I know I can be slow to act, and spend time overthinking or picking apart problems in excess, but… I hope I make you proud with what I do, how I have grown, how I handle myself, challenge and compliment you, and a host of other small details.

I want to impress you. With pretty much all of these things stated just previously, and, well. I want to surprise you, even when we’ve hardly any surprises left between us. I want to challenge you to new heights, inspire you, and frankly to be impressive alongside you.

I wish you would notice me. You do. But… I might do silly or sensuous things just to bask in stealing your attention.

I would hurt other people for you. Point me at the who and the when and I am THERE. Seriously. I’m a pretty healer priest: they’ll never see it coming.

I’m not sure how to make you happy. I think I have a pretty good handle on the kinds of things that bring you cheer, but if things need changing up over time, tell me!

I’m a bad influence on you, and I bet you like it, too. I readily confess to encouraging you on in manners and over matters which could be dangerous, under normal circumstances, for an average person.

You deserve better than me. Nah. I think you deserve better situations, and for your needs to be met whatever they may be, but I’m entirely intent to help you in any way I possibly can. If that includes other people who fit a niche or earn your adoration… we talk about it, yes? Yes.

We make a great team. Sun, I love working with you. Studying with you. Exploring with you. Figuring out how to move furniture with you. Fussing over flowerpots and lights. Working out little problems. Even the times where we see or want totally different things. You know, all that stuff.

I’d have a one night stand with you, and it’s like we might have had a whole year of them nigh-consecutively, or, you know, a whole lifetime of them. Is tomorrow good? And like all of next week? And–

I’d have a relationship with you. Fancy that. It sure would be nice. Be my friend, gorgeous?

I would marry you. Wait. Didn’t we… shit. Shit, this got real. I was even the one who proposed first. What the fuck. So much for my being absolutely, one hundred percent convinced I was ‘never doing that again’ right? Right. Now you’re stuck with me and my sense of humor.

I fantasize about our life together. It’s kind of corny to say it, but… true.

I would trust you with my most treasured belonging, and I have. Several of them in fact. I mean, an heirloom or two, some of those books are damned near priceless, and many of the things I’ve brought into the manor or placed in the vault have incredible amounts of sentimental value.

I would tell you my darkest secrets. If they come to mind, anyway. Pretty sure you know the lot, specific situations and bits and pieces of history that just haven’t come up in chatter aside. There’s nothing I am intentionally withholding anymore, that I can think of. I’ll always tell you about it if something comes to mind, though difficult memories may take a little coaxing.

You disgust me. With how good you make everything look.

You intimidate me, and I like it, too.

I hope I intimidate you. In the good way, anyway.

I’d hug you. I mean. This pretty much happens regardless. You’re getting hugged. You’ll never see it coming, I bet.

I’d let you hug me, I guess. If I have to. (Please hug me.)

I’m so very scared of losing you. It’s kind of existential crisis inducing.

I don’t think you like me

I want to be better for you. Frankly? I think I have been. You’ve helped foster an environment in which I feel as though I am thriving. And you’ve been growing. And we’ve both been doing… really well, all around, a few inescapable health and mental health issues aside for the both of us. Even those- we’ll be alright.

I respect you.

I don’t respect you

You’re my mentor. This is an interesting one. I think we both can learn a great deal from each other. Similar but different approaches to learning, casting, problem solving… I’ve already picked up some good tricks from you.

You’re my friend.

You’re my best friend.

I have a crush on you. Sorry to admit it to you like this. Could we, uh… you know, go out for tea or coffee sometime, maybe? Talk things out? I should probably ‘fess up about this to you face to face.

I could easily watch you die. Well. Certain circumstances and states of mind considered. And… precious previous experiences, um. Only if I did it to you, very carefully, which would immediately be followed by resuscitation and incredible amounts of pampering for you while re-evaluating myself. Anything else and I think I’d panic, and throw a fit, and shake the world to her core and tear the light from the skies above to bring you back.

I’d get drunk with you. I don’t exactly remember everything that happened the last couple times, but hot da-amn, Denastien.

I’d party with you.

I’d comfort you. I will always try my very best.

I’d prank you. A little bit, anyway. I do not enjoy elaborate or mean-spirited pranks, but silliness and fun is nice

I’d spike your drink? Maybe. If we outlined acceptable circumstances and courses of action beforehand.

I’d act behind your back only in situations of extreme and dire need. I would much rather have you watching mine, however. Possibly also to try to get you a gift without giving you forewarning as to what it might be.

I’d abandon you

I’d hurt you to get what I want, and I bet you’d like it, too. Only if this were an agreeable situation and we were open about it, honestly. Putting my self-interest above yours with no communication is no way to handle… anything. Balance is key

I would choose my happiness over yours / I would choose your happiness over mine / I despise how much I care for you

I need you.

I’m dependent on you. It… hm. This is rather true, but I think we operate well on our own. We can function apart without anxiety or shutting down. The context is more akin to ‘I do not want to be without you at any given time.’ The idea of co-dependence is a difficult thing to look at straight on, but… we are mutual, and we are equal, and should anything change this balance and how either of us feel, we can adjust and adapt as necessary. I do not think this is something unhealthy in how we currently interact.

I don’t know what I’d do without you. That is an unfortunate potential outcome of everything we face now, and… I’ve no answer, still. It is a daunting prospect.

I’m scared of you leaving me, in a manner of speaking. It is no fear that you will walk out.

I’d give my life for you. Maybe, if something dire and unexpected happened. I think we would both be far better served by ‘I would live for you’ rather than ‘I would die for you.’ Just as the thought of losing you mortifies me, I would not be so hypocritical as to think that you could any more easily suffer my loss.

You frustrate me, in the best of ways.

I’d call for you in a time of need. I want to put a booty call joke here to lighten the mood after some of those dour thoughts, butt a good one just isn’t coming to me.

I would will protect you, to the very best of my ability.

I’d visit you in hospital, I guess. I think I’d be more likely to doctor you in a less formal and much more comfortable setting if at all possible.

I’d carry you if you were hurt. Even if you’re not. It’s fun. In fact, maybe I’ll pick you up and walk off with you again sometime soon. Though, honestly, I would heal you, I would levitate you, I would do a great many things for you were you injured.

I’d feel guilty if I hurt you in some circumstances, at any rate. Unplanned, unexpected hurts. Emotional hurts. I do not want to do that to you.

I’d let you be near me when I am vulnerable, and I have. I am sorry if I’ve ever gotten snappish, or made you sad with my own sadness. I try to keep it under control because we resonate easily.

I’d ignore a phone call from you

I’d call you at 3am. I think I have, more or less.

I’d break you out of jail. Please don’t do anything to get yourself imprisoned anywhere.

I’d get angry at you. I think? Thus far, even in moments where we have disagreed or faltered in communication, I have never been anywhere near even remotely angry with you. I cannot imagine what would possibly set off such reaction, but I am capable. Perhaps… self-sacrificial or suicidal ideation, rude insults, or apathy and insultingly dismissive mannerisms. You have never shown such in my presence, however.

I would shout at you. / You’re too loud / You’re too quiet / You’re too sensitive / You can’t take a joke

You embarrass me … intentionally, privately, and with respect to not actually making me embarrass myself. I appreciate it. It’s fun. You are not, nor will you ever be, an embarrassment to me.

I feel nothing for you / You’re reckless

You’re bossy, sometimes. In the right moods. This is also something entirely amusing and enjoyable. It tends to work well with my moods more often than not.

You bore me. No. I do not get bored. I especially do not get bored with people. We are infinitely changing.

I would ask your advice. I appreciate the perspectives you bring me.

I would blame you for something I did, in entirely playful manners. In any serious regard, however? No.

I would cry in your arms. And all over the bed. And make absolutely certain I cry on your pillow and get it good and gross. Sorry not sorry. I’ll give you my pillow after, though.

You have the power to hurt me more than anyone else. This is true; we choose those who are capable of hurting us. I am open and honest with you. I share what I have with you. What you think of me and what you choose to do with this information can greatly impact my state of mind, if not my life. Though I would not word this as you have ‘power’ over me, so much as this is an integral part and parcel of sharing myself with you. Conversely, I will never use what I know of you to intentionally do you emotional harm. This seems a silly bit of wording.

Now, things I find sorely lacking from this list: You make me a better person. You make me WANT to be a better person. I enjoy your company. I appreciate the things you do for me, and the time you give me.

Thank you so much for everything thus far.

@denastien / @arhenadoesart

#prompts #long post #The Frozen Lord #The Dawn Priest #Mannerisms #in character writing

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animalistauntamedblog · 7 years

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If I said to you, “You are invited inside an animal research lab, free to venture where you will on an open access, 360-degree, street-view-style virtual tour,” what would you think?

Would you even want to – even in the interests of arming yourself with the facts? What if I added, “Don’t worry, there is absolutely nothing here to upset you”? Would you be ready to believe me and give it a go?

Well, it’s for real – times 4. Four animal testing facilities in the UK opened up their doors and welcomed in the film crew of the Lab Animal Tour. And so with this groundbreaking initiative, you and I, anyone and his aunt can now nosey around inside the labs to our heart’s content. Just click on the link.

I promise you will be impressed and reassured. It’s all gleaming and spotless and the animals are so well looked after – not that you will see that much of them. But when you do, they are looking healthy and well-fed, with clean dry bedding and constant access to water. Their pens or cages for the most part are of a ‘decent’ size, you might think. And they are not being kept in isolation. The very worst I saw was an apparently willing and calm rhesus macaque monkey placed in some contraption designed to keep him/her immobilised while being slid into an MRI machine. Not too terrible, one might consider.

What’s more, there are little videos embedded in the tour, with researchers or animal-carers explaining what they are doing and why. And it’s all very nice, clean and reasonable, and entirely devoid of anything remotely cruel or bloody.

Except….

Notably and significantly, certain rooms on our virtual tour such as the operating theatre, the post-mortem suite and the intensive care unit are displayed with no animal presence. We only get to view these rooms empty, in all their nice, shiny, glass and steel clinical cleanliness. But just the names of those rooms must surely sound alarm bells.

The Lab Animal Tour, a commendable project in open access and transparency? Open access yes. Transparency no. As you may have worked out by now, my take on the Lab Animal Tour is more than a little sceptical. The Lab Animal Tour is no better than a PR exercise, a carefully sanitised piece of propaganda on behalf of those who have no interest in animal testing coming to an end.

So who created the tour? And how is it funded?

It’s all the work of an organisation called Understanding Animal Research (UAR), a misleadingly innocuous title. Who are they? “A not-for-profit organisation that explains why animals are used in medical and scientific research. We aim to achieve a broad understanding of the humane use of animals in medical, veterinary, scientific and environmental research in the UK. We are funded by our members who include universities, professional societies, industry and charities.”

In other words, the force behind the Lab Animal Tour is none other than the designated spokesbody for the researchers themselves. Faultless PR is UAR’s remit, not impartiality.

Understanding Animal Research’s website purports to tell you everything you need to know about animal research in the UK. This is a flavour of their list of ‘Myths’ we the public have ‘erroneously’ swallowed about the use of animals in medical research – which they are at pains to debunk:

Research on animals is not relevant to people because animals are different from people

Systematic reviews demonstrate that animal studies are meaningless for human health

There is an endless list of drugs that have to be withdrawn because of side effects, and these side effects are a major cause of hospital deaths

Many pointless, unnecessary experiments are carried out

Researchers do not care about the wellbeing of laboratory animals

Laboratory animals suffer great pain and distress

How could we be so stupid as to believe such nonsense! There are lots more supposed ‘myths’ listed on this page. If you want to look at them and see the ‘facts’ with which the organisation puts us straight on our delusions, click here

Animal Aid though, paints a very different picture

The difference is that Animal Aid (with assistance from PETA) is courageously uncovering the truth animal researchers are at such pains to conceal. UAR’s carefully-edited version of life in the lab is designed to reassure a public only too happy to believe that testing on animals is both necessary and humane. After all, which would you prefer to be true: that animals suffer, or that everything is fine?

According to Animal Aid,“Each year inside British laboratories, around 4 million animals are experimented on. Every 8 seconds, one animal dies.” No mention of that in the Lab Animal Tour. And these are just some of the unhappy animals making up that number, everyone a person not a statistic

There’s a short video on Animal Aid’s website, “This will make you rethink animal experiments”, which I chose not to watch. So just to warn you, I can’t vouch for how graphic it is. Their Animal Experiments section is packed with impeccably resourced information. And another important fact you won’t discover on the Lab Animal Tour is that animals are being abused daily, not just for ‘vital’ medical research, but also for testing:-

Product safety – agricultural and industrial chemicals, food additives, paints, and household cleaning products

Warfare – effects of injury, shooting, radiation, chemical poisoning and gases

Pain analysis I won’t list the tortures animals are subjected to for this purpose. Refer to the Animal Aid website if you really want to know

Psychology – sounds innocent enough, but ditto the above

Animal Aid also tells us that hundreds of thousands of genetically modified animals are specially bred every year, mostly mice. “And for every GM mouse used in an experiment, hundreds more die or are killed, either because they are surplus to requirements, because they fail to exhibit the desired genetic alteration or because they are born with other, unintended malformations.” Another unpalatable fact that the Lab Animal Tour and UAR avoid mentioning.

UAR and their Lab Animal Tour/Animal Aid – diametrically apposed to one another

‘Have no truck with Animal Aid; it is the same lunatic animal rights brigade in a new package. Society must leave these dangerous fools behind’

That strongly worded statement appears on UAR’s website, on a page called Life Stories – ordinary people bearing witness to how animal testing “has changed their lives for the better.”

It’s unlikely any of us have ever heard of David Dade, the man who made that statement, and one whose ‘Life Story’ is featured. This unfortunate man has both parents suffering from cancer, and his son from diabetes. Understandable then that he’s willing to provide a testimonial for a website promoting the use of nonhuman animals in medical research.

He’s possibly unaware of what a glance at Animal Aid’s website would tell him: the large and growing number of reliable alternative methods – such as organs on a chip, and the use of human tissue – that can make animal testing a bad dream of the past.

The moral of the story?

It has to be, looking out for what we are not shown, not told. People who have something to gain by using animals, in whatever way, are always expert at putting a gloss on their activities. Think McDonald’s and their ads with kids and animals frolicking happily together on a picture-perfect farm.

Compared with other users of nonhuman animals though, the Lab Animal Tour, UAR and lab animal researchers in general have an additional and potent weapon up their sleeve. They claim to have moral right on their side. No-one is morally obliged to eat meat, or take a trip to the zoo. But who, they say, could be so callous as to deny those suffering from crippling diseases the hope of a cure? That is the way subjecting unwilling victims to horrific, and sometimes fatal procedures is justified.

What we can do

Click here for Animal Aid’s useful pdf document about human tissue donation (to donate your tissue you don’t have to die first!)

To ensure your charitable giving does not help fund research on animals click here for a comprehensive list of testing and non-testing charities.

Check out the Humane Research Trust

And Animal Free Research UK

Source New project gives you 360-degree, Open Street-like view into animal research labs

Throwing Wide the Window on Animal Testing – A Blessing or a Curse?

The True Cost of New Drugs

The Punk Rocker with a Snake Venom Habit – An Unexpected Hero for Animals?

Animal cruelty-free testing methods will be tested by U.S. Food & Drug Administration

Because THEY Are Worth It

Ten Fascinating Way Technology is Saving Animals

Taking the Lid Off Animal Research Labs -Don’t Worry, It’s All Good

#AnimalRights #AnimalTesting #Birds #Cats #Chickens #Dogs #Ethics #Health&Medicine #Hens #Horses&Donkeys #PersonsnotProperty #Primates #Rabbits

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sheseestheatre · 8 years

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some notes on hilton als, the glass menagerie and the not-so-fragile classics

Ugh. Hilton Als. Did you see his review of The Glass Menagerie? Double ugh. Look, he was already on my shitlist for two reasons:

First up: I sometimes doubt whether he even...likes theatre at all? In more than one review, he has taken a show (usually a musical) to task merely for adhering to genre conventions. I loved Hamilton (have I mentioned that I saw it at the Public?? Because I totally saw it at the Public * hairflip *), but I do think Als’ Hamilton review has some good stuff to say about the show’s relationship to “traditional” masculinity within the queer tradition of the musical. HOWEVER:

“But once Hamilton works his way into Washington’s inner circle, becomes the Treasury Secretary, and meets his future wife, the rich and socially prominent Eliza Schuyler (played by the genteel and thus dull Phillipa Soo), the show’s radicalism is slowly drained, and the resulting corpse is a conventional musical love story. “

Two things to unpack here. First, I think it’s unreasonably bitchy and even cruel to trash an entire performance in a parenthetical. If Soo’s performance was such a substantial obstacle, then you owe it to your readers and to the show to engage with it in a substantial way. Second: I know that “conventional” is a common critical pejorative, but like...musicals are a genre, and genres have conventions. Get over it. When this is a major sticking point in your review, it sounds to me like you’re saying, “It’s not like other musicals! It’s a Cool Musical! Well, until the part when it started acting like other musicals, and then it sucked because musicals suck.” There’s also a nice little dash of implied misogyny here - the show is fun when it’s just ~teh boyz~, but once the ladies get some air time, it’s snooze city. Which leads me to…

Second major beef: This review. Oh LORD LORD LORD, this review. And yes, this review is that review - the jaw-dropping take on Leigh Silverman’s New Group revival of Sweet Charity whose blithe sexism inspired a furious point-by-point takedown from the women of the Interval and a letter-writing campaign to the New Yorker. Most of what I have to say (and then some) is covered in the Interval piece, but I will say that I practically fell off my chair at least six times while reading it and immediately sent livid caps-lock messages to three of my girlfriends the second I finished it. For most of my childhood, both of my parents worked for weekly newsmagazines, and I have enough of an understanding of the editorial process to be I am truly shocked that this piece made it to publication without major adjustments. Especially at the GODDAMN NEW YORKER - which, famously, sends fact-checkers to the movies to fact-check their fucking movie reviews. Come on, people. Do better.

All of which is a long-winded way of saying that while I do think Hilton Als is a smart, interesting person capable of wonderful writing - not to mention a much-needed voice of color in a still-very-white critical landscape - his theatre writing does not always land him my good graces. All of that said, let’s turn to his recent review of Sam Gold’s Glass Menagerie revival on Broadway. Behold his opening salvo:

“The despair and disgust I felt after seeing the director Sam Gold’s rendition of Tennessee Williams’s 1944 play, “The Glass Menagerie” (at the Belasco), was so debilitating that I couldn’t tell if my confused, hurt fury was caused by the pretentious and callous staging I had just witnessed or if my anger was a result of feeling robbed of the beauty of Williams’s script.”

Wow, Hilton! Tell us how you really feel! (Just kidding. My mom always says that to me after I’ve expressed a particularly forceful opinion, and I always fucking fall for it!!! Don’t mess with people when they’re in high dudgeon, guys, it’s really rude.)

He spends the rest of the review bemoaning Sam Gold’s “desire to leave his mark on the play” (side note: please don’t psychologize directors!! Especially if you’re going to be really fucking ungenerous and condescending about it!!! It’s lazy lazy lazy criticism that wouldn’t pass muster in a freshman writing seminar!), comparing the stark production design to the descriptions in Williams’ famously rich stage directions, and complaining about the casting of a wheelchair-bound actress with muscular dystrophy as Laura (who is usually played as having a slight limp). There’s also some rhapsodizing about the genius of Tennessee Williams as well as a brief detour to pillory Ivo van Hove, on whom he blames the current vogue for directorly European minimalism (Gold first directed this production for van Hove’s Toneelgroep Amsterdam).

Okay. This review is almost 1500 words long. But Als’ complaint boils down to one question: “Why couldn’t you just do it exactly the way it is on the page?”

Here’s what this review reminds me of. Once, in college, I was in the dressing room getting ready for a performance of Coriolanus. We were swapping stories of our favorite productions, and I chimed in with a description of William Electric Black’s The Hamlet Project, which I saw at LaMaMa when I was in about fifth grade. (Yeah, I don’t know. My parents kinda knew the author? And they thought my then 7-year-old sister and I would enjoy it? Who knows, maybe they’re cooler than I give them credit for.) It was a hip-hop/pop/rock Hamlet, and y’all, it blew my prepubescent MIND. Gertrude wore a leather bustier and the best glittery fuschia lip gloss I have e’er seen, Ophelia had a group of backup singers called the Opheliettes, and I think there were puppets. It was VERY DOPE, is what I’m saying. And I’m like 19 and putting on my blush or whatever and jibber-jabbering about how this show opened my eyes and changed my life and the summer after I saw it I started going to Shakespeare camp, and this other girl in the cast who’s like, passing by on her way to pee, goes, “Ugh! No textual evidence!”

1) Rude. Rude!!! 2) Is that...seriously the only framework that you have to evaluate a piece of theatre? You will reject something out of hand because it’s not 100% Faithful To The Text? Ugh. I have encountered this attitude pretty frequently among Shakespeare People, to be honest: the idea that the best thing any production can be is a faithful rendering of exactly what’s on the page, because Shakespeare was a greater genius than any of us will ever be and we must approach him with proper reverence. (Frankly, this attitude is why I don’t spend much time hanging around Shakespeare People anymore.)

A lack of reverence for the text seems to be what Hilton dislikes about Gold’s production of Menagerie. And - as is common in this kind of critique - he seems to think that Gold has done some kind of violence to the play. He has “robbed” the audience of the text and its beauty. The most pedestrian rendering of this critical posture is “If it ain’t broke, why fix it?”; the necessary corollary is that doing anything to an unbroken text will break it.

Here’s my point: great plays are not fragile. A few backup dancers will not permanently disfigure Hamlet; a bare stage and a wheelchair will not smash The Glass Menagerie to pieces. These plays get performed all the fucking time. There will be another Menagerie on Broadway within five years! There will be another Hamlet...like, tomorrow! One aggressive reimagining - even a shitty one - is not going to do lasting damage; no one is going to get on the subway after seeing Gold’s Menagerie and think, “Huh! You know, I always thought that was a good play but I guess it’s garbage! Wow, so glad that got cleared up for me.” A truly great play can invite, support, and even flourish under a wide variety of interpretations, and that openness - in my opinion - is, in fact, a sign of its greatness, not of weakness.

This is not about my thoughts on the actual production. (Stay tuned for those, or don’t if you’re tired of my yapping or need to shave your legs or whatever. I don’t know. Live your life!) This is about my dismay at seeing such pedantic narrow-mindedness in the pages (webpages, but still) of a publication I admire deeply. This is maybe the only time I will ever say this, but Als would do well to look to Jesse Green on this one: this is not THE Glass Menagerie, it’s A Glass Menagerie. As with any number of great plays, there have been many and there will be more. Take the production on its own terms and stop pouting about how it’s not exactly like all the many, many others.

#hilton als #glass menagerie #sam gold #theatre #the new yorker #rantz

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