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dilemmaontwolegs · 7 months

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Hiiii I absolutely loved you Max fics I don’t know if you ever would want to do that but if your interested please do a mafia storyline with Max or Mick! ❤️

Little Lion Man || MV1 & CH16

Pairings: dark!Charles Leclerc x fem!reader, Max Verstappen x fem!reader Summary: you find yourself caught in a war between the mafia families that ruled Monaco. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, guns, murder, pregnancy, slight non con/reluctant vibes, forced marriage WC: 3.5k

For a nation so small it was hard to believe that Monaco could be home to not one but three mafia families. There was the Leclerc famile, Verstsppen familie and the Sainz familia. The Leclerc’s had always called Monaco home but the Dutch and Spanish families had made their arrival known in the 90’s, almost burning the city in the war that broke out.

Just over 30 years later, it looked like history was going to repeat itself as the prodigal sons took over the family businesses.

“You are my daughter, if I say you will marry Charles then you will marry him. End of argument.” You would hardly call it an argument when you weren’t even given an opportunity to say your piece but your father left no room for a rebuttal as he slammed the door closed behind him. There was a reason the Sainz’s called him the Peacemaker.

You were a bargaining chip, a pawn in your father’s arsenal to end the war between the Leclerc’s and the Sainz’s before it could spill out into the street and affect everyone’s bottom line. The last thing anyone wanted was to lose their men, their money and their product.

Two weeks later you were shoved into a wedding dress that could have been a film prop for any 80’s rom-com, puffy sleeves and all. It was hideous.

“You are quite beautiful,” Charles said as you reached the dais where the priest waited. “I suppose that will make this easier.”

By ‘this’ you assumed he meant the moment the reception was over and you found yourself stepping into his bedroom, your bedroom too now. Charles had been quiet for most of the evening, indulging in a handful of whiskeys over ice as he mulled over what his life had become, but he found his voice as he tugged his tie off. “On the bed.”

Your fingers tightened around your waist as you hugged yourself, trying to fight back the tears you thought you had finished shedding when you resigned yourself to your fate. “You don’t have to do this, we can come to an arrangement.”

Charles scoffed and continued to unbutton his dress shirt. “This is the arrangement.”

You swallowed as he shucked the shirt over a leather armrest and you saw the dark tattoos that curled over his biceps and down his forearms. A snake moved with his muscles and entwined around a gothic cross. Beneath it, thorny roses with blood drops splattered over the petals decorated the otherwise sun kissed skin.

“I don’t know what my father told you but I-”

“Your father said you would be an obedient wife,” he interrupted as he pointed a ringed finger to the bed. “I’m only as terrible as you make me.”

You took a step back as he stepped closer, his hand lifting to your face. It was reflex to flinch from his touch, knowing the violence his hands were capable of dealing to those who displeased him. You couldn’t help shivering as his cold wedding band touched your cheek and his other arm snaked around your waist, dragging the zip of your dress down your spine.

“What does that even mean?” you whispered. You took a breath and grew the courage to tip your head back and met his uniquely green eyes - the colour brighter than the soul behind them.

He pushed the puffed sleeves from your shoulders until the dress fell to the floor and inhaled at the sight of your body being bared to him. Biting his lip, he stepped back and ran a hand over his shadow of a beard. “Behave yourself, and I will too. Push me, and I’ll push you back harder.”

You felt the colour drain from your face at the threat and he chuckled as he closed the distance between you, forcing your lips apart with a demanding kiss. His palms ran down your spine and over the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against the hard expanse of his body.

“One other thing,” he murmured against your lips. “Disappoint me or my family and, well…it will be the last thing you do, chérie.”

You collapsed into Max’s arms the moment he opened the door, your fingers digging into the straps of muscle along his back as you clung to him like a lifeline. The penthouse apartment was quiet except for the tv playing in the master bedroom and your sobs filled the foyer before he could even close the door.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Max said, despite holding you just as tight. “He probably has Arthur or Lorenzo following you.”

You started to pull back but his arms caged you in his embrace so you settled for talking into his chest. “I know how to lose a tail. I was careful.”

He sighed and rested his cheek on your head, inhaling the floral scent of your shampoo he had missed. “I know, liefje. How long is he gone for?”

You screwed your eyes closed and wished he had never brought Charles up, but you knew Max wanted to know how long he could have with you. “He’s in Nice for a meeting. A few hours at least.”

The hatred for your husband had led you into the arms of Max, his rival and head of the Verstappen familie. The three families would meet each quarter for negotiations and settle disputes, or at least that was what it was meant for, but they just used it as a way to flaunt their wealth and success over each other.

It was after the wedding when you went to your first one that Max had caught your lifeless eyes as you sat beside Charles, decked out in a custom designer dress with diamonds strung around your neck, slowly choking you. He had been struck down by the vision before him and had never wanted something for himself so much in his life. He had been willing to go to war for you and he didn’t even know your name. He had learned it soon enough.

“Do you know who he’s meeting?” Max asked. Even when he wasn’t meaning to he was phishing for information, a reflex he couldn’t seem to stop with a mind as sharp as his.

“Please, mijn leeuw, not tonight,” you whined as you buried your face in his neck. (My lion)

“I’m sorry,” he said with a kiss to your forehead before he tipped your chin back to meet his ice-blue eyes. “What do you need from me, liefje?”

“I need to forget. Please, help me forget.”

Max closed his eyes as rage hardened his features and you knew he was rueing the day he let Charles live. The solution to your problem couldn’t be solved with a bullet and although Max knew that, it was still a bitter pill to swallow. He wanted nothing more than to bathe in Charles’ blood for what he had done to you, but the retaliation would be catastrophic. He had too many people relying on him, friends and family alike.

All Max could give you was a few short hours of his time to show you how he would treat you if the circumstances had been kinder. For a few short hours of stolen time he could erase the touch of Charles from your mind.

Max took your hand, his fingers easing your wedding ring off before placing it on the hall table with your handbag. You relished the freedom that came without the constricting band and flexed your fingers like it had been physically painful to wear the gold jewellery. In a way, it had.

Linking his fingers with yours, Max led the way through the apartment and into the bedroom you found comfort in. This should have been the place you called home, the solace you returned to at the day’s end. It was the one place you felt safe, even though just being here put your life in danger. If Charles ever found out you knew you would be dead, your body left somewhere it would never be found.

“Max…do you believe in God?” you asked in the quiet afterwards. Your arm was curled around his waist, fingers tracing the lion tattoo that covered his rib cage. You could feel the time ticking away with each heartbeat in his chest that you rested your head upon.

“No,” he said honestly, his accent thickening with his amusement. “Do you?”

You looked at the slight change in skin tone where your wedding band usually sat and slipped out of his embrace to find your clothes. “I have to,” you whispered as your throat began to tighten at the thought of returning to the cold mansion Charles owned. “There’s got to be something more than this hell. Maybe one day he will answer my prayers.”

Max could remember the feeling of taking over the family business, how he thought he was invincible - godlike even. Now he felt powerless to the situation. He didn’t like the feeling. He wanted to be the one to answer your prayer.

“One day…” he promised himself aloud, missing the way your spine stiffened at the words. There was no guarantee you would survive long enough for him to keep it.

You stared dumbly at the two pink lines and felt the walls of the bathroom constricting around you. You couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world you were imprisoned in, it was unfair and deadly. What if the babe had dirty blond hair and ice blue eyes? A new fear sent a shudder down your body and you looked at your stomach, nothing to show - yet.

The door crashed off its hinges as Charles busted it in and you screamed at the surprise, cradling your abdomen on reflex.

“I called you ten fucking times!” Charles growled. His eyes narrowed as they scanned the room before settling on the pregnancy tests lined up. For the first time since you had wed him, Charles looked lost for words, and after a moment his hard stare softened. “We are having a baby?”

You couldn’t remember when he ever addressed anything as ‘we’, it was always you and him - separate, not together. You didn’t know how to react to the instant change in him but you nodded stiffly as he waited for an answer.

A smile grew on his face as he stepped forward and pulled your hands away from your stomach to place his own beneath your camisole. “My son, my heir,” he chuckled, the warmth of his palms almost blistering your skin.

“It might be a girl.” You flinch at the look he gave you and muttered an apology. Just because he was suddenly being gentle didn’t mean he would stay that way, especially if he ever found out the child wasn’t his. Nausea rolled through you and you pushed away to hurdle yourself at the toilet before you emptied your stomach.

It wasn’t morning sickness.

It was a sickness of the heart.

You knew if Max were to believe the child was his then he would have no choice but to go to war, it was a matter of pride and family. On the other hand, Charles would never let the child live if it wasn’t his and despite just learning of its existence, you were willing to do anything to protect it. You needed to tread carefully and that meant no more escaping your guards to see Max. It meant playing the good wife, at least for the next eight months.

You could feel his intense stare from across the table, willing you to meet his eyes. Too many times you felt them drifting up from your husband’s hand clasped on your lap only to snap them back down before you could give in. It would do no good to look at Max. You hadn’t seen him since the night before you took the pregnancy test and you had dreaded going to the quarterly meeting.

There was no hiding the bump in the tight dress Charles had chosen for you. There was no way that Max had missed it when you walked in on your husband’s arm. He had seen it and he had questions.

“I’m going to the ladies room,” you excused yourself after the meal, while the men talked business.

“Arthur will go with you,” Charles said with a nod to his younger brother sitting at his other side. “I don’t trust any of these assholes.”

His hand lingered on the small of your back as you stepped out and you glanced across to see Max’s eyes fixated on that touch. Though you did not welcome the hands of your husband, you no longer feared them the way you used to. Charles was far gentler now that you were, potentially, carrying his heir. It could also be Max’s.

A hand clasped over your mouth and silenced the scream that rose in your throat. “It’s me,” Max whispered, soothing your racing heart.

You looked around the powder room wondering how he had made it past Arthur and saw a narrow cleaner’s entrance left open a crack. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You never came back, never answered my messages.” The hurt in Max’s voice made your chest ache and your hands dropped to the growing swell of your abdomen. He followed that movement, his chest filling with the deep breath he took and the pearl buttons on his shirt started to strain until he exhaled. “I didn’t believe the rumours.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, the biting tone wanting detailed explanations like you were one of his men answering for your actions.

Your lips parted, ready to tell him exactly what you were sorry for, before they slammed shut. “I should go.”

He caught your arm as you moved past and he pulled you flush against his body to bury his face in your neck. “Tell me, please. I’ll make it happen, I’ll answer your prayers, I’ll go to war for you - for both of you. Just tell me, is it mine?”

The confession threatened to slip past your lips, the truth that you didn’t know, that he very likely could be. The confession threatened to eat you alive like it had done every time you saw one of Max’s men around Monaco. They always managed to get a message to you, but you never had a response to send.

“No,” you muttered as you pushed him away.

He rocked back on his heels but remained steady as he watched you retreat to the exit. “No, it isn’t mine or no, you won’t tell me?”

Your back hit the door and you blindly reached for the handle, sparing one last look at his shimmering eyes so you could remember them a little longer. “Whatever helps you to sleep at night.”

“Dammit, liefje, just tell me. I need to know.”

You broke away at the endearment that weakened your resolve and your shoulders curled in on themselves. “I can’t tell you, Max, because I don’t know. I. Don’t. Know.” Your voice cracked and the weight of those words fell tenfold on your shoulders as your hand slipped from the doorknob. “I don’t know who the father is, Max. I-I’m sorry.”

His strong arms grappled you into a tight embrace as you broke down in them, your knees giving out as you felt his lips on your forehead, smelt his cologne on his neck. “It’s okay, liefje, I'm going to fix this.”

You pulled back with eyes and blinked away the tears as you placed your hand on your belly. “How? What if it’s not yours?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” he promised as he tipped your chin back. “Mine or not, this baby is yours and that’s enough.”

A knock sounded at the door and you panicked as Arthur asked if everything was alright. Your reply was muffled as Max stole a kiss and quietly repeated his promise before disappearing back into the cleaner’s room. Wiping your eyes, you unlocked the door and met your brother-in-law’s narrowed eyes before they searched the room behind you. “You’ve been crying.”

“Pregnancy,” you said with a wave of your hand. “It’s called hormones, Tur. Happens all the time, just ask your brother.”

Max’s chair was still empty when you reached the table but he entered from the main door a few minutes later. The mask he often wore in front of those outside the familie was firmly in place as he unbuttoned his suit with one hand and dropped back into his seat, apologising for taking an important call.

“Your men can't handle one evening on their own?” Charles baited over the rim of his wine glass with an antagonising smile.

Max returned the grin with his own as he slipped his phone into his suit jacket. “You have no idea what my men are capable of.”

You could feel the ripples of those words across the table, the feel of a threat in the air. It not only set Charles on edge but Carlos too - the two sharing a look of concern before facing the Dutchman once more.

Max took a mouthful of his gin and tonic and bit into the lime wedge without reacting to the strong citrus taste. Taking his time, he picked up his napkin and cleaned the drops of juice from his fingers before laying it over his lap as everyone watched closely.

It looked as if he were nervously fiddling with his rings under the napkin and Carlos snickered, relaxing back into his chair until your lion spoke again. “But you will…”

The air stilled for a moment as the napkin drifted to the floor and warmth splattered your cheek. You couldn’t think fast enough to process what had happened or why the wetness on your cheek was red. It could have been minutes but it felt like hours before your brain connected the dots and you saw your husband's body slumped in his chair before you, his green eyes open but unseeing.

Across the table, Max had risen to his feet, the fidgeting revealing a silencer he had been screwing onto his gun. He was cold and precise as he took out Carlos next, his accuracy unmatched. Around the seats he went, faster than they could react as the doors were busted open and his second in command arrived. Danny was ready to die protecting Max’s back while you dropped to the floor and prayed for protection of your own.

“We have to get out of here,” Arthur growled as he caught your ankle and dragged you back where he was kneeling, his white chinos turning red as they absorbed his brother’s blood. “Stay low, protect my nephew.”

“Do you have a gun?” you asked with a shaking voice.

“Of course not,” he spat angrily. No one was meant to have weapons at these meetings and you were assuming Max had retrieved his from the reception area before returning.

“Then you’re fucked.” You kicked your Louboutin into his face and scrambled away as he howled in pain, reaching the edge of the table close to Max.

“Liefje, are you alright?”

“Arthur, under there,” you rushed as you pointed behind you, closing your eyes as he lifted the cloth and the muffled gunshot rang out.

“Not anymore.”

“Time to go,” Danny suggested, reloading his magazine and kicking a few bodies to check they were truly dead.

“Is that it?” You asked, hope filling your voice despite the devastation in the room surrounding you.

Daniel threw his head back and laughed but Max just shook his head and said, “This is just the beginning. We just declared war.”

“But they’re dead.”

“Someone will take over, and when they do - we will need to be ready.” Max reached out and wiped the blood from your cheek. “You’re free of him now, you both are.”

Your breath rattled out of you as you felt the weight lift from your shoulders and as the sirens grew in the distance you managed to smile, the first genuine smile in months. Your prayers had finally been answered. “Thank you, mijn leeuw.”

Five Months Later

Ice blue eyes met yours before a piercing cry erupted and Max’s laugh was one of pure joy. “Mijn zoon,” he cooed softly as he rested his cheek on your head and you watched the midwife gently bring your son to your waiting arms.

Tears blurred your vision at the warm comforting weight of his tiny body lying chest to chest with you. You had never felt anything more precious, never held anything more delicate. He was perfect.

“My little lion man,” you whispered, brushing a kiss over the tufts of dark hair he already had. “We love you so much.”

As if he knew what the words meant, his eyelashes fluttered and he peeked them open to bear twin green irises. He would be an heir. He could unite the families. Or, he could tear it all apart.

Only time would tell.

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thetarttfuldickhead · 6 months

Text

Fic: Roy & Jamie & and that time when Jamie was NOT in a car crash

With ten minutes left until training officially began and still no sign of Jamie, there were a few raised eyebrows and murmurs and Isaac telling Will to put the player down for a 100 quid fine, but no one thought to be worried. People ran late, sometimes. Not usually Jamie, no, but Colin figured there was a first time for everything. Besides, he was busy listening to Bumbercatch explain the intricacies of post-Brexit labour shortages and the way it served to reproduce notions of capitalist realism, none of which Colin understood, but Bumbercatch was at his fittest when he was passionate and mysterious so Colin hung on to his every word all the same.

When Roy stepped into the dressing room a little while later and noticed the distinct lack of number 9 and rang Jamie to demand where the hell he was only to receive no answer, a slight sense of unease settled over the room, though Colin suspected that had more to to with the sinister look on Coach’s face rather than any real fear that Jamie might be in danger (at least not until he showed up and had to deal with Coach anyway).

And then they heard about the car crash.

---

It was Sam who – always eager to play peacemaker, bless him – checked his phone to see if Jamie had left any messages in the group chat to explain his absence, and Sam who went very quiet and stared at his screen in silence for so long that everyone else fell silent too and turned to stare at him. Never a good sign, that sort of silence in the dressing room.

“Yo, bruv, he write something?” Isaac asked when it became apparent that Sam was not going to volunteer whatever information he had found.

“No, nothing,” Sam said. “But… “

“But fucking what?” Roy demanded, words sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“There’s been a car crash,” Sam’s voice was quiet and slow and reluctant. “A big one, not far from Jamie’s house. At least two people are dead, and several injured. It doesn’t say anything about Jamie,” he quickly added into the collective intake of horrified breath. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah,” Thierry agreed quickly. “He probably just got delayed because it caused a traffic jam or something.”

Eager nods around room, and Colin found himself nodding along because of course that was the most reasonable explanation, of course Jamie hadn’t— he wasn’t—

“But then why didn’t he pick up his phone?” Bumbercatch asked. “Or call to say he’d be late?”

A relevant question, and as with most of Moe’s questions, without a ready answer.

“We would have heard, wouldn’t we?” Nate suggested uneasily. “I mean, they would have called, if— “

He didn’t finish the sentence. No one else spoke.

Trying to distract himself from the quickly growing pit in his stomach, Colin turned his gaze on Roy, who had gone so still that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. His face was a blank mask, utterly devoid of any emotion, but his fists were clenched so tight that Colin’s own hands twinged in sympathy.

“I’ll go talk to Higgins,” Beard said abruptly, breaking the fraught silence.

“Yeah, no, that’s a great idea,” Nate quickly chimed in. Like Colin, he’d been eyeing Roy nervously. “He’ll know what—“

The door slammed open. Jamie rushed inside. “Sorry, sorry I’m late,” he called as he dumped his bag on the bench by his cubby and started pulling his vest off, “been this massive car accident, was stuck for ages and then the road was closed off so I had to go round and— Eh?“

Cockburn, by virtue of being closest, had pulled Jamie into a tight hug, and the rest of the players immediately closed in to follow suit, Colin among them. In his relief he wasn’t sure whether to kiss Jamie or smack him on the head for worrying them, and in the end he settled for briefly squeezing his neck. Jamie grinned at him, at all of them, looking a little bemused but very much delighted by the attention.

“Fucking hell, lads,” he laughed. “Thought I’d be getting a fine, not a fucking group hug. Realized how dull training would be without me, huh?”

“You are getting a fine,” Isaac told him, even as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder and shook him gently. “But we’re fucking happy you’re here, yeah?”

“We thought you had died in the car crash,” Jan explained.

“Sí, amigo, we were so worried for you!”

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m fine. Not fucking Colin, am I? I don’t get into any car crashes.” He caught Colin’s eye and winked, sticking his tongue out like the utter tosser he was and Colin rolled his eyes and was so, so stupidly happy the idiot was there to be annoying.

Eventually, after everyone had gotten to hug Jamie or pat him on the back or ruffle his hair (to his loud but clearly half-hearted protests), the team drifted back to their own cubbies, happily chatting amongst themselves—

— leaving Roy standing on the middle of the floor, staring at Jamie with a look on his face that had Colin take an involuntary step backwards. Their gaffer did not look relieved. In fact, he looked absolutely murderous.

“Why the fuck,” he intoned, emphasizing each word, “did you not fucking call to say you were fucking late? And why the fuck did you not answer your fucking phone?”

The tone of voice would have had anyone with even an ounce of self-preservation running for cover if directed at them, but Jamie just blinked. “Oh, er, left it at home, didn’t I? Already had it in me black bag, right, only I realized the tan one went better with this outfit so I grabbed that instead, but I forgot about the phone ‘cause I was in a bit of a rush, yeah?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “It was stupid. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you’re sorry about that, are you? Do you have any fucking idea—“ Taking a step closer, getting right up into Jamie’s face, Roy launched into a dressing-down of such volume and viciousness Colin was convinced it had the walls vibrating. Even by Roy Kent’s considerable standards, it was a lot and it lasted for well over a minute until Roy growled, “If you’re not out on the pitch running laps in two minutes you won’t have to worry about getting into any car crashes going home ‘cause you’ll be here all night, running ‘til you fucking drop in your own puke, got it?”

Initially, Jamie had seemed slightly taken aback by Roy’s furious remonstration, but then something that looked strangely like understanding passed over his face and he settled into a determined stoicism, neither talking back nor looking cowed. By the end of it, though, there was definitively barely suppressed anger glinting in his gray eyes, leaving Colin worried he might snap and then they’d have a full-on brawl on their hands, just like back in the bad old days when Roy and Jamie well and truly hated each others’ guts and wouldn’t that be exactly the sort of fun they all wanted on a Tuesday?

He gave a sigh of relief (and could hear Richard do the same just next to him) when Jamie just offered a curt, “yes, Coach,” and set to getting changed at an appropriately hurried speed.

“And fucking apologize to your teammates for delaying training!” Roy barked.

“We’d be out there already if you hadn’t spent the last hour shouting at me,” Jamie muttered to the boot he was tying.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, Coach. Sorry, everyone.” He looked up. “Really am,” he added, sounding quite sincere about it. “Didn’t mean to hold you up or, you know, worry you or nothing.”

---

Training was an awkward and quietly tense affair. Once Jamie had finished his laps and was allowed to join the rest of them, Roy pointedly and resolutely ignored him, refusing to so much as spare him a glance while the team muddled through the day’s exercises and scrimmage.

Jamie, for his part, seemed utterly determined not to give a shit. He went through the drills as diligently as ever, dribbled and passed and shot with his usual flair, shouting encouragements and slapping Colin’s butt after a particularly good free kick. For all intents and purposes, it was just another day at the job for Jamie Tartt – but Colin saw the looks he kept shooting Roy when he thought no one was watching, and he noticed how Jamie didn’t just play well but played brilliantly, stubbornly lining up one little footie miracle after another on the pitch. He wasn’t being a prick about it either, prompting Colin to mutter to Isaac: “Looks like Jamie’s trying to get back on Roy’s good side by going for player of the year.”

Isaac glanced over at Jamie, then shook his head in dismissal. “Nah, bruv,” he said. “He ain’t trying to appease the gaffer. Sticking it to him, innit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Colin frowned. That… didn’t make a lot of sense, really, but Isaac usually knew what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like Colin begrudged Jamie a little bit of pushback, not after the way Roy had chewed him out in front of everyone. It was just that, if this escalated and the two of them got into it properly, the way they used to back when Roy was still the captain rather than the coach… Well. It’d be a shit time for everyone. Colin could do without it. They could all do without it.

Not that that sort of consideration had ever stopped either Roy or Jamie before.

On the other side of the pitch, Jamie threw himself down in a bicycle kick that saw the ball soar right past two defender’s and Thierry’s outstretched hands.

“Whistle,” Roy snapped. “Training’s fucking over.”

---

“Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Colin, with Dani, Jeff and Jamie in tow, had almost made it out of the dressing room, freshly showered and changed and very ready to put the training session behind them, when Roy’s bark brought them to abrupt heel. Dani stopped so suddenly that Jeff almost walked straight into him, and Colin himself accidentally elbowed Jamie when he startled at the sudden roar.

You’d think they’d be more than used to Roy’s yelling by now, Colin thought. Then again, he supposed it’d been a strange day and they were all a little on edge. Jumpy.

“We’re going to my place, Coach,” he quickly offered, hoping to stave off another round of shouting. “To play some FIFA.” He briefly considered inviting Roy to join them, it would only be polite, right, and could be good for morale maybe, but he was held back by the notion that the gaffer might say yes.

“Tartt isn’t,” Roy informed him curtly.

Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I’m not?” Definitively a hint of challenge in his tone, and Jesus, this was all going to go straight to hell, wasn’t it? And after they’d almost made it out of here, too.

Roy was unmoved; unyielding as stone. “No, you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you since you’re too much of a fucking child to be trusted on your own.”

For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, both faces shadowed by stubborn scowls. Colin realized he was holding his breath, and glanced over at Isaac getting ready for dinner with his parents in front of the mirror to check if he, as captain, was maybe planning to step in and deescalate the situation. How he was going to do that Colin had no idea; he wasn’t the captain.

Isaac said nothing, though, just watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. Figures, Colin thought a little sourly; his friend was utter shit at keeping secrets but could pull inscrutable like nobody’s business when it suited him.

“Fine.” In the end, Jamie relented with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m taking me own car, which I have, what with me not actually being in a car crash today and all.”

Roy looked furious at that, as if Jamie’s lack of fiery death in a burning inferno was somehow a personal insult to him, but then he pressed his lips together and jerked his head in a sharp t nod. “Fine.”

He spun around and stalked away, leaving Jamie rolling his eyes and muttering Jesus fucking Christ you overdramatic grumpy fuck under his breath. Then he turned to the rest of them and shrugged. “Sorry, lads. Another time, yeah?”

Dani made a small, unhappy sound. Colin exchanged a look with Jeff, who looked about as unsure and uncomfortable as Colin felt. Over on the other side of the room, Isaac was still quiet, potentially a sign to the others to keep out of it as well, but in spite of that Colin found himself compelled to ask: “Boyo, do you want us to… talk to Coach?”

It was a mildly terrifying idea, and it very much went against the unspoken agreement that nobody interfere with the continued absurdity that was Roy and Jamie’s relationship these days. But, today had been weird in a way that seemed to have little enough to do with training, extracurricular or otherwise. A particular kind of weird, even for these two. Besides, his whole idea of an impromptu game night had been, at least in part, a bid to cheer Jamie up after all that, and it seemed a shame that he’d miss it for more of the same.

Jamie, however, waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, mate, it’s fine.”

He looked like he meant it, too. There was a frown on his face, sure, but as far as Colin could tell it spoke more of mild annoyance than actual upset or worry.

“But forgetting your phone was a simple mistake, and it is not your fault you were late. It’s not right that Coach should keep punishing you for it.” Sam, who had declined FIFA in favour of being a responsible restaurant owner (“and bad fucking flirt, it’s been almost a year mate, why haven’t you asked her out yet?”), had walked over from his locker and was eyeing Jamie with customarily earnest concern.

Jamie just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and off their worried stares added, “He’s not going to do anything bad or anything. It’s just, I fucking scared him, right, and he’s being a twat about it ‘cause he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to have feelings properly and he’s only been in therapy for like three months and it’ll probably take a year for anything Dr. Sharon says to go through his big stupid head, yeah? That’s all.”

Which. Okay. Colin could see how the prospect of Jamie actually dying might scare even Roy, but on the other hand… it was Roy. Roy Kent. And besides—

“I don’t know, man, he didn’t seem scared,” Jeff ventured.

“No, amigo, he seemed like he wanted to rip your head off,” Dani helpfully filled in. “And maybe use it as a football.”

“Yeah, because he’s a twat,” Jamie said. “But it’ll be fine, I promise. Probably just wants to make me dinner or something.”

Colin blinked. That… was a leap. Even by Jamie’s particular kind of logic, that was definitively a leap.

“He’s right.” Oh, so now Isaac decided to speak up. “Roy’s not mad at Jamie, he’s mad because he was frightened.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at their captain. “Yeah, that. So don’t worry.” Adjusting his cap he shot Colin a cheeky wink. “Whoever plays me better score a fuckton of goals tonight, yeah? See you tomorrow, lads.”

And he was out the door, fucking humming as he went. Doing that Jamie Tartt thing of untouchable and unshakeable confidence and you think you can get to me? Nothing ever gets to me and even now that Colin knew Jamie wasn’t quite as invulnerable as all that, some of the old awe and jealousy stirred, mixed with concerned incredulity.

“Is it just me,” he asked after a protracted moment, “or are those two getting even weirder?”

“It’s not just you,” Jeff muttered.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Dani promised brightly, “I will play Richmond tonight and score a fuckton of goals and I will crush you for the sake of our amigo Jamie.”

Colin sighed. “Fantastic.”

At least he’d have the comfort of knowing that getting trashed by Dani Rojas was still far, far better than whatever cruel and unusual punishment Roy had planned for Jamie.

---

Jamie leaned back against Roy’s surprisingly comfortable couch and let out a small sigh of contentment. He wondered whether he ought to be still annoyed with Roy for being a massive wanker or pleased with himself for how utterly he’d called this. He settled for alternating between the two; he was complex like that. People didn’t know it, but he had depths.

Roy hadn’t tried to make him run a marathon or do a million burpees or whatever Colin and the rest had imagined. He hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t said much at all, really, since Jamie stepped through the front door without knocking; mostly he’d glared and grunted and used those funny little head jerks to communicate that Jamie should sit down and be quiet and drink the water Roy put in front of him.

Jamie had sat down and drunk the water. He had not been quiet. He’d watched the Spurs game on the telly last night and he had opinions relevant to their upcoming match against them, which by rights should interest the gaffer and if it didn’t, too fucking bad.

Roy hadn’t told him to shut up.

Instead, he’d made them dinner (fucking called it), a nutritionist approved salmon pasta with saffron and fennel that Jamie was particularly fond of, and then sent Jamie off to the couch while he did the washing up. He hadn’t said a word about Jamie’s choice of entertainment either, when he appeared a little while later with two steaming cups of tea and found the telly turned on to an old episode of Doctor Who. The show had been a staple of Jamie’s early teens and remained a nostalgic comfort; just a bit of silly fun, really, and so naturally something Roy fucking loathed, sad old fuck that he was.

Normally even the suggestion of watching it (or anything else even halfway interesting) would have been met with foul-mouthed refusal and something about Roy’s house, Roy’s rules, but tonight Roy just put the tea down wordlessly and sat down next to Jamie, as on the screen Martha, Jack and the Tenth Doctor (fittest of them all, although Jamie had a soft spot for Eleven) narrowly escaped an exploding flat.

Jamie smiled to himself. For all Roy was utter shit at saying stuff, he could be fucking transparent at times.

It had been dead obvious when Roy’s anger finally and fully faded, and guilt started trickling in to fill the void. It was right there in the way Roy went all the way quiet and started shooting him little looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought Jamie wouldn’t notice throughout dinner; there in the way he sat down far closer to Jamie than he normally would on the couch now, their legs all but touching.

It was as blatant an invitation as you could ever expect from Roy Kent, and tempting, but Jamie stubbornly held himself to himself, upright and with his arms crossed over his chest. Roy had been a right proper arsehole today and he hadn’t even said sorry so if he wanted a cuddle he could fucking ask for one, or he could wait until Jamie felt inclined to indulge him.

Eventually, though, after what Jamie deemed an appropriate amount of time (which may or may not have amounted to two whole minutes), he relented and allowed himself to lean against Roy, casual like, and tipping his head to rest Roy’s shoulder.

He smirked at how Roy not only failed to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing but also was very quick to put a tentative arm around his shoulders, the grip growing firmer when Jamie didn’t shrug him off or ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

For a while there was only that; the warmth of Roy’s body pressed into his; the sounds of the television. I love it when you say my name, the Master declared.

“I’m sorry about today,” Roy said suddenly. The words came haltingly, reluctantly. Still, he pressed on. “I … fucking overreacted.”

Jamie snorted. “Little bit, yeah.” Then he added, not bothering to conceal his smugness, “All the lads think you were dead mean to me.”

He glanced up at Roy who was determinedly staring at the telly while his eyebrows were doing something complicated and seemingly painful. “I think that… maybe… I got a bit… fucking worried, when we thought you’d been in that car crash.”

He offered like it was some great admission, a grand fucking reveal, and Jamie rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, mate, I know.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to his face at that, all disbelieving like, so Jamie rolled his eyes again, even harder. “Come on, man. Pretty obvious, that.”

For a long moment, Roy didn’t respond. He looked away from Jamie again. Then finally, “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

And the thing was, Roy sounded so fucking unhappy about it that Jamie clamped his mouth shut around a reflexive no, but you’re an idiot.

“Maybe something for Dr. Sharon, yeah,” he suggested instead, noting with some satisfaction that he was being really mature about all of this.

He’d have liked pointing that out to Roy, too, but had a feeling that maybe that would take away from the maturity a little. He’d mention it to Keeley later instead.

“Yeah,” Roy said after a moment of looking like he’d rather let Isaac kick a football straight at his head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And maybe fucking apologize to my teammates for delaying training,” Jamie added innocently, feeling a smirk tug at his lips and then blossom into a full-fledged grin when Roy pulled back a little to stare at him, seemingly trying to gauge whether he was serious or not.

“You’re a prick,” Roy said eventually, relaxing again and sounding right fond about it.

“Mmmhm,” Jamie agreed happily, pulling his feet up on the couch and curling up closer to Roy. It was nice, this. Worth all that, maybe. “And here you are, fucking glad I’m not dead and all.”

Roy sighed. His arm around Jamie’s shoulder was warm and solid.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly enough that they might both pretend it wasn’t meant for Jamie’s ears at all. “I am.”

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wonder-worker · 3 months

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I really dislike (the second half of) David Baldwin's biography of Elizabeth Woodville, tbh. It's the first modern biography of her, and probably the most "academic" one out there till date, but it's unfortunately heavily flawed.

He takes Elizabeth and her family's "general unpopularity" as a given.

He wrote that after Edward IV's death, "Elizabeth allegedly urged Rivers to bring the young King to bring the young King to London as quickly as possible and with as large a force as he could muster...There can be no doubt that Elizabeth wished to see her son crowned before anything could frustrate it." In Baldwin's view, it's only after Hastings expressed reluctance that she decided to act as a "peacemaker" instead. How on earth is this any different from what Ricardians have said about Elizabeth during this time?

He claimed that after Richard of Gloucester seized 12-year-old Edward V - against his will, I might add - "The Woodvilles [Elizabeth and Dorset] tried, unsuccessfully, to raise an army to recover the initiative", referring to her unpopularity as a reason for why she wasn't successful, and incorrectly states that both Croyland and Mancini refer to this. They don't - only Mancini does. Croyland, on the other hand, does not write of any Woodville attempt to raise arms, but does write that after Elizabeth sought sanctuary, adherents gathered under Westminster "in the queen's name". Mancini presents Elizabeth as aggressive and unpopular, Croyland presents her as understandably worried and widely supported.

He believed that Elizabeth of York genuinely wanted to marry her brother-vanishing uncle Richard III and quoted George Buck's letter on this.

Even worse, claimed that Elizabeth Woodville "approved and encouraged" her daughter in this, because she was "cynically hoping that a marriage between King Richard and her daughter would restore her [meaning EW] to her position at the centre of affairs". Like. Do I really need to say anything?

And lastly, he believed that Elizabeth genuinely plotted against Henry VII and her own daughter in Simnel's Rebellion due to her own desire for power and prominence, along with "resentment" towards Margaret Beaufort, and was subsequently imprisoned and deliberately depowered for it.

While Baldwin certainly gives credit and sympathy to his subject, his biography of Elizabeth during Richard's usurpation and Tudor rule is effectively no different from the way Ricardians and other general histories write about her. He is inconsistent, objectively incorrect, and never once questions the blatantly propagandic narratives (both misogynistic and classist) that were spread about her. Some of the things he said about her in his book "The Kingmaker's Sisters" aren't expecially great either, but I'll leave those out for now.

Again - this is the most academic biography of Elizabeth till date, and this is the crap it said about her. That's literally how bad historical studies of her have been till date.

This epitomizes another problem I have with most - tbh, pretty much all - of Elizabeth's historians. They focus primarily on contradicting post-contemporary rumours and accusations about her (Thomas Cook, the queen's gold, the Earl of Desmond's death, etc). It's understandable to an extent: these are "safer", less contrary, less disruptive. They probably won't offend most of their readers. But when it comes to actual contemporary accusations? Every single historian till date has been utterly lacking and disappointing. This applies to both Warwick's rebellions and Richard III's usurpation. They never question the fundamental narrative of 1483. If they do focus on propaganda, it's the more overt ones (eg: Richard's letter accusing Elizabeth of treasonable necromancy). And even then, they never acknowledge - let alone emphasize - the true extent of what was said about her, and how much of it was very unprecedented when it came to queens.

The greatest irony is that it's two of Richard III's historians - Rosemary Horrox and A.J Pollard - who have done a better job highlighting the extent of Ricardian propaganda (reflected by Mancini, an innocent newcomer, who unknowingly painted Elizabeth and her family as aggressors and Richard as a victim of circumstance forced to defend himself). Of course, while Horrox and Pollard analyzed this mainly from Richard's perspective, with little attention given to Elizabeth herself, the mere acknowledgement is still somehow better than anything that any of Elizabeth's historians have ever done till date. That's a shame, tbh.

#elizabeth woodville #arlene okerlund's is better in the sense that she doesn't repeat such trash but hers is very generic and in some places equally frustrating #is routledge making a biography of her? I remember reading it somewhere but I've lost track...if they are I really hope it's good

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novafire-is-thinking · 1 year

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Gentle Visionary, Scholar, Peacemaker, Reluctant Revolutionary, Protector…

It is unfortunate that TFP only gave us a small glimpse of Optimus: who he was, what motivated him, who he became, and who he wanted to be. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen him referred to as “the most boring Optimus,” and while I understand that opinion, I disagree. For a while now, I’ve been wanting to write an in-depth analysis of his character to hopefully give others a better idea of who Optimus is and why I love this version of him.

While this post series is focused primarily on canon, there is a bit of personal speculation thrown in as well. <- I shouldn’t have to say this at all, but I’m doing so because I was once mocked for expressing a “far-fetched” theory based on canon.

It’s been almost 2 years since I read all of the Aligned novels in full, so if I glossed over an important detail, my apologies. Feel free to correct me if you know better.

The post titles in this series:

The Last Prime?

Orion the Dreamer

Luminary or Revolutionary?

The Thrill Pain of the Kill

A Dealer in Hope

Megatron Has Fallen

Little Inconveniences

Desire vs. Destiny

Per aspera ad astra

#transformers prime #maccadam #tfp #tfp character analysis #tfp meta #tfp optimus prime #nova’s nerding out again #who is TFP Optimus? series #the one and only op ❤️💙

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poorlittleyaoyao · 10 months

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Now. I know that translation choices can sure be something. And maybe this will be contextualized later in the section! But right now?

XICHEN IS BEING SO DAMN WEIRD

In the drama, I get it; since the rescue in that canon happens after Meng Yao’s banishment and right before he infiltrates the Wen clan, Lan Xichen there is probably worried about blowing Meng Yao’s cover as a spy and (ever the peacemaker) is reluctant to dredge up all of Nie Mingjue’s baggage around Meng Yao while they’re in the midst of planning major military operations.

Here, though? What’s going on? Nie Mingjue thinks highly of Meng Yao! They’re on good terms! Hearing that his trusted deputy (promoted in large part because of his diligence in assisting civilians before and after battles) undertook great personal risk to shield Nie Mingjue’s best friend from danger would just confirm what he already believes in a way favorable to everyone! It would also explain why the two of them were having a one-on-one conversation indicating prior familiarity. And even if Lan Xichen having to flee the sack of Cloud Recesses wasn’t common knowledge (though it says two pages prior that Gusu is now stabilized, implying it previously wasn’t, so everyone should know), why on earth would he think Nie Mingjue would think less of him? If the memory of Cloud Recesses’ destruction is too painful, can’t he simply say “he protected me from the Wen clan after my home was destroyed, but please forgive me, I don’t like speaking of that awful time” or something like that, which answers the question and shuts down additional prying? I genuinely do not get Xichen’s thought processes here.

If I were Nie Mingjue, and I just overheard my deputy and my best friend having a conversation that showed prior familiarity, and my deputy just confirmed that they’d met before but my friend was then super cagey about it and refused to tell me anything at all about when or where or how, I’d be weirded out to say the least. I’d start speculating and assume the circumstances were worse than they were, given the secrecy, and wonder what the hell my friend was hiding from me.

And if I were Meng Yao, and right before this conversation I had to sit there like 🙂 while the men I’d served tea made a show of wiping off their cups after I touched them because I was ~unclean~, I sure would be feeling some kinda way that the guy I thought was my friend is unwilling to tell his higher-ranking friend that I rescued him because being under my protection was apparently “the greatest disgrace of his life.”

#Xichen you’re supposed to be the Lan brother with the social skills! why are you failing this interaction so badly!

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prompts-by-anjali · 1 year

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prompts masterlist

*smoothly turns around in swivel chair, petting a kitty in my lap* oh, hello. i didn't see you there. all the same, thanks for dropping by. i hope this little side blog helps you with some character inspiration and dialogue. else, try petting the kitty. it always helps me. *kitty jumps over to you for pets*

if the feline isn't the fix, requests are open. feel free to request dialogue prompts, an overly specific character archetype, or submit your own :)

✨ overly specific character archetypes ✨

the unhinged character

the wholesome fangirl character

the “i am shit” or “i am THE shit” character

the pure adrenaline character

the coward character

the villain-turned-mother-hen character

the reluctant villain

the well-meaning jinxed character

the polite rogue character

the tone deaf character

the infinitely armed character

the unassuming genius character

the “never hurt kids” character

the parent figure character

the himbo character

the comic-relief-turned-tragic character

the “ray of sunshine with a dark backstory” character

the “light among shadows” character

the broken ace character

the secret heir character

the gentle giant character

the “it’s all about the presentation” character

the “hopelessly pining” characters

the character who clearly needs therapy and a hug too probably

the "horror movie first kill" character

the extremely prepared character

the character who finally snaps

the character who breaks away

the "exponential gratitude" character

the "harem magnet" character

the character who will fight for your honor at all costs, even if you don't need them to

the character who appreciates culinary artistry

the "boy cried wolf" character

the "save the world" character

the "screw the world" character

the withering ace character

the parentified child character

the masked ace character

the "well-read by no bedside manner" character

the "sixth sense" character

the olive branch character

the wilted ace character

the "bridges have been burned" character

the "peacemaker in the battlefield" character

the "can only trust one person" character

the "soulless avenger" character

the "needs to take their own advice" character

✨ dialogue prompts ✨

that was a bust

i assumed you'd be disappointed

this isn't where we're supposed to be

i trusted you

do i know you?

i love you

why are you staring at me

and that's another case, all wrapped up

you had everything

you don't understand what i've been through

i never thought i'd see you again

i need your help

you love me?

i can, y'know. patch you up good

how long have you been spying on me, you pervert

go get out

i've wanted to ask you this question

you're three minutes late (princess x commoner)

what are you hiding

i can't believe you did that

and don't say fake-out make-out

can you not get killed so much

i'm not going to let you do this alone

these are how fights go

this isn't what i signed up for

i thought you said you had a plan

you're not too bad at this

dude! you just saved my life

that was a mouse

why don't you ever stay dead?

don't leave me here. please

i told them the ransom and they asked me for a discount

you're not real

i would do anything for you, your highness

oi. can you stop crying so loud

don't give me the silent treatment

you did this

we survived!

i could kiss you right now

will you not scream in terror now

get it over with

i'm home

that's it. im leaving

how have you not left yet

you're hurt, human

it's always been you

hey (meet disaster)

here to make fun of me?

you're so cute when you struggle

#masterpost #masterlist #will update in batches!#writing prompts #dialogue prompts #prompt masterlist #creative writing #character prompt #character prompts #requests open

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odd-one-advocate · 6 months

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Thoughts on Boston's ending in Only Friends

I've finally managed to articulate my thoughts into a more coherent stream of words, because I was so fucking upset about the last OF episode I didn't even want to engage. But now I just feel like word-vomitting about everything that pissed me off about Boston's storyline in the last episode.

The Boston-Boeing arc

We know that monogamy isn't Boston's thing, which is perfectly fine, you go king! But that kiss was so poorly timed, out of character, and just an unnecessary plot device to give Nick a sudden moment of clarity.

Boston has always been open and honest about his non-monogamous nature, even during their friends-with-benefits phase. So why NOW would he say one thing and do another? He told Nick in the last episode that he'd only sleep with him from now on, not that he's the only one he'd love, THE ONLY ONE HE'D SLEEP WITH. Why would he say that if he didn't intend to do it?

We knew he genuinely started to love Nick. So, why would he kiss someone else after promising Nick that he only wanted to be with him? Why would he LIE and hurt the person who loves him, especially after all the character development he'd undergone? Especially after realising he doesn't want to hurt the people he loves?

If Boston wanted an open relationship with Nick, he would have communicated that, as he ALWAYS did. He wouldn't have been unfaithful and started making out with a random guy at the bar 5 seconds after being all lovey & romantic with Nick.

Like he didn't even WAVER before making the moves on Boeing which doesn't make sense at all. Because even with Atom, he showed reluctance in the beginning, but he didn't even wait to THINK before seducing Boeing, while his boyfriend was waiting for him 10ft away? That scene just felt like it was written to undo all of Boston's growth in the last few eps & justify giving him a shit ending.

The arc with his (ex) friend group

First of all, FUCK CHEUM, all my homies hate Cheum! I absolutely hate that the narrative turned Cheum into this unproblematic peacemaking fairy who could solve all problems with a swish of her wand, when in fact, she's the worst type of friend.

Her apology to Boston was half-assed at best, given the SEVERITY of the allegations her stupid excuse of a brother made against him. Boston was falsely accused of RAPE, and had an anon acc exposing him of the same & NOBODY APOLOGIZED TO HIM FOR BELIEVING IN IT?

Cheum was portrayed as a generous forgiving figure for inviting Boston to the New Year's party for RECONCILIATION but actually all she did was force him into apologizing for all his wrongdoings without getting a single apology in return.

Boston apologized to Ray for filming him and Mew kissing, but no one apologized to Boston for spreading his nonconsensual sextape, threats of revenge porn, and the constant slut-shaming. How come none of THEIR wrongdoings against Boston were condemned?

When Boston expressed that moving to New York might change him, they were like changing his surroundings wasn't enough; he needed to change his inner self. NO FUCK YOU, I think it would significantly benefit him to change his surroundings and the PEOPLE he associates with. Like maybe finding a genuine group of friends would actually heal him, you self-righteous fuckers.

Like okay, Mew's reluctance to forgive Boston is understandable (even though his air of moral superiority pisses me off), but he's not been a good friend to Boston either.

And the others acted all holier-than-thou, despite having done terrible shit themselves. No one showed real concern for Boston's move to New York & nobody asked if he's okay, given how miserable he looked throughout the party.

Boston's final ending

Oh, his ending was SHIT. Like fine, Nick's decision to break up with Boston due to their differing desires for an open relationship versus monogamy was reasonable. Like yes, it broke my BostonNick heart to pieces, but it makes sense they didn't work out cause they wanted different things. I'm glad Nick chose his OWN desires over Boston's.

BUT, Nick telling Boston that a guy like him should roll alone was so unnecessary and contradictory to everything he's stood up for throughout the show. He's always understood Boston like nobody else, told him that he's not a bad guy & what not? Heck, Nick was the one who made Boston realize he wanted to be loved, but now he's leading Boston to believe that he should be alone?

Boston doesn't want to be ALONE; he needs & craves love, but also values the freedom to have sexual experiences outside a romantic relationship.

Perhaps NICK couldn't provide that, which is okay, but it doesn't mean Boston should just stay alone? It felt like the show suggested that if you're a 'slut', you don't deserve love.

And my last straw was the last shot of Boston alone, abandoned on a sidewalk, a HUGE contrast to all the lovely happy endings of other characters.

Boston was left friendless, boyfriendless, degreeless, and also with zero respect, solely because he was a promiscuous gay man.

Everyone else got redemption, forgiveness, and a seemingly happily ever after. But Boston?

So yeah, fuck this show, and FUCK any possibilities of a season 2. I'm so over it already.

#only friends boston #neo trai #bostonnick #neomark #ofts finale #only friends episode 12 #ofts ep12 #ofts #only friends the series #this show ruined my life #NEVER AGAIN

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cantsayidont · 1 month

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WYNONNA EARP: Cheerfully derivative supernatural Western based on a Beau Smith comic book, originally aired from 2016 to 2018 with a fourth season in 2021, about the bad girl descendant of Wyatt Earp (Melanie Scrofano), who's inherited the family curse of battling white trash demons in the small town of Purgatory with a magical revolver called Peacemaker, aided by the cynical but handsome Marshal Xavier Dolls (Schamier Anderson), her adorable younger sister Waverly (Dominique Provost-Chalkley), the mysteriously immortal Doc Holliday (Tim Rozon), and cute local sheriff's deputy Nicole Haught (Katherine Barrell), who eventually becomes Waverly's girlfriend.

Created by Emily Andras, this by-the-numbers nerd show is a great improvement on the original 1996–1997 incarnation of the comic (above left), but it's a sloppy goulash of ideas obviously lifted from BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, ANGEL, SUPERNATURAL, CHARMED, and TRUEBLOOD, executed with the expected allotment of self-consciously quippy dialogue, cheesy special effects, convoluted internal mythology (little of which makes any sense), adolescent love triangles, and cute but rather one-note characters who act like high school kids regardless of their actual ages.

It remains watchable mostly on the strength of its attractive leads and sensible reluctance to take itself too seriously, although if you're not a connoisseur, I'm not convinced it would pass a blind taste test comparison with SUPERGIRL, LEGENDS OF TOMORROW, or other such nerd media. Also, like far too many of its nerd show ilk, its treatment of its Black characters is consistently appalling. (The Shamier Anderson character, positioned in the first season as a co-lead and romantic interest, is marginalized in a deplorable way in the second season before being abruptly written out midway through the third.) CONTAINS LESBIANS? Indeed — many were watching mostly for the Waverly-Nicole romance. VERDICT: Dopey fun if you like this sort of thing.

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horizon-verizon · 7 months

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Where does this popular bullshit idea come from that Daemon would do anything to put Aegon III or Viserys II in power in the future instead of the Velaryon children if the dance hadn't happened? It's literally based on nothing except "We know Daemon - Daemon is Daemon" which literally means nothing? Daemon never showed any signs against their rights to inherit, quite the contrary. And be careful, this is an idea that resonates even among real fans of Daemyra and the respective characters of Rhaenyra and Daemon. There is also this idea that Aegon III and Viserys II if the dance had not taken place would have waged war against their brothers for power upon discovering that they were "bastards"... we think about everything That ?

People's arguments for Daemon trying to kill the V boys or else trying to genuinely get them passed over for his own sons stems from:

people seeing him as power hungry at the cost of those he considers family, which is exacerbated by the fear of his irreverent violence at times people think violence is not "honorable", further exacerbated by us not having PoV chapters that explicitly tell us what's up

some people seem to think that because we have an unreliable tertiary/secondary source telling these epeople's lives history book instead of a PoV novel no one can pick up on things and how they are told. The writing of Fire and Blood, especially regarding the Dance, tends to take Daemon's disobedient, violent, and lusty person and run with it, so people assume that he was always and primarily trying to steal or consolidate power for his own sake

the fact that he is a man, some people use his gender+ the Westerosi/patriarchal desire for a man to be more physically competent and thereby the idea of him potentially being more violent to say that Daemon is simpler than he is.

from the third part: how the show itself is making its story on the terfness of the argument that women are "naturally" peacemakers and less violent and men are "naturally" violent [rhaenyragendereuphoria], lacking-in-self control monsters--basically that women are meant/should be the ones to temper male aggression bc they are "naturally" disposed towards peace. Hence Rhaenyra's reluctance to flame the greens not bc of any strategic sort of thing for her own ambitions but bc her daddy would disapprove, they're supposed to be the "good guys". (Despite Rhaenyra, in the show, knowing that Viserys couldn't have told her brother about the prophecy and given him that responsibility when he barely could pick himself up to defend her in episode 8 and for years he refused to replace her.) How Daemon was rewritten to physically abuse her and undermine her authority in the black council and demand that she just attack KL, when in the book he actually said they should wait and send ravens to various lords (partially to keep his stepsons out of danger). Just as how Alicent lost her ambition and willingness for Rhaenyra to die in childbirth, her pressing the council to crown Aegon knowing full well that this would lead to war, and her victimization at the hands of her father when there was little indication of that in the book. Rather, Alicent was the driver & leader of the green faction even when Otto came back after Viserys dismissed him until she called the council to crown Aegon.

Another person some severely misunderstand bc the maesters and eyewitnesses they record already have preconceived notions about how one should act and display themselves is Visenya, the Queen who rode Vhagar. Because of how Andal lords and some masters portray Visenya (beginning with how they write Aegon loved Rhaenys more, thus Visenya seems to look like she's trying to compensate for a lack of power granted to her from Aegon's favor), her enabling her son to usurp Aenys is taken as her just trying to jolt her relatives for power...ironically this is exactly what Alicent herself canonically does when she is usurping Rhaenyra. Unlike Visenya, Alicent had no regard at all for Rhaenyra bc they were not related and her main motivation has always been to uphold patriarchal Andal-Faith power and then she could use her son's position to become the most powerful and highest ranked women in Westeros. Yes Alicent loved her kids, but her mission was not to elevate-maintain Targs in power but to elevate the Hightowers/herself. Visenya hated the Faith (and not a little because if they had it her way, no Targs would be rulers AND she would not have as a chance to be a leader or autonomy as she does bc of her gender).

The difference bt Visenya and Daemon are their genders, the sociological disadvantages and privileges that ensue for Daemon bc of gender...but neither is doing things either unreasonably or unprovoked nor incapable of using nonviolent means and they both have some trait or behavior whose main criticisms come from a lack or a willingness to understand how they think bc they deviate in some way from normative or expected behaviors starkly.

This is who Daemon is, in my conclusions.

#daemon's characterization #daemon targaryen #asoiaf asks to me #fire and blood characters #hotd characterization #fire and blood writing #fandom critical #HotD fandom #visenya's characterization #character comparison #visenya the conqueror #alicent hightower #Alicent's characterization

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