#I want him to be shown to be the awful but powerful deity he is

[whalehouse1]

Co-worker who knows that I’m a nerd, “What are your plans for the 4th?”

Me, trying my best to figure out how to explain that the Thunder Saga is dropping for Epic, “Uh, well, YouTube is going to have a premiere for something I’m excited about.”

“Oh? What’s premiering?”

Me, literally stumbling over my words, trying to figure out how to explain Epic.

Him, “It’s something nerdy isn’t it?”

Me, “Yeah, so some guy seemingly got a hyper fixation on the Odyssey during Covid and decided to make a musical about it in parts, and the part with one of my favorite Greek monsters is this one.”

Him, confused cause he 100% was not expecting that type of answer, “Well, I hope it’s good.”

[straight-to-the-pain]

I don't know if anyone else in the whump community has read 'A Constellation of Vital Phenomena' by Anthony Marra but it is genuinely a really good book and also has some of the best depictions of torture and its aftermath that I have read in fiction.

I wanted to share some of my favourite quotes, hopefully without too many spoilers as it is out of context, but maybe skip this post if you don't want to know anything at all going in.

To give a brief summary, the book centres around the lives of people in Chechnya during the first and second war between the Russian government (Feds) and the separatist rebels. The main story focuses on a man (Akhmed) who is trying to save his neighbour's daughter from being killed by the Feds after her father is taken away in the middle of the night. He does this by taking her to a hospital where he then volunteers. One of the people in his village (Ramzan) becomes an informer for the Feds after being tortured, and this is explored in the excerpts below.

‘Information the Feds would torture them for was written here on the walls for all to see. It was well understood among the men that the Feds had as much sense as two bricks smashed together. It was also understood that pain, rather than information, was the true purpose of interrogation.'

'During his first detention in the landfill, in 1995, in the first war, he had refused to inform. They had wrestled down his trousers, shown him the bolt cutters, and still he had said no. Screaming, thrashing, with his manhood half severed, he had said no. He had done that, and now he was ready to start saying yes.'

'He would have confessed everything, but they didn't ask, weren't interested, threatened to cut out his tongue and put pliers to his teeth if he spoke one more fucking word. Electric wires were wound around his fingers. A car battery was drained into his bones. God might have been watching, but it wasn't God's finger on the battery switch. The interrogating officers didn't speak. Instead he was an instrument they played, performing a duet, and in their own way they conversed through his sobs. They both wore very shiny shoes. That was all he would remember.'

'He had trouble walking, He had forgotten torture could be so exhausting. The new interrogator, the one with less shiny shoes, held him upright, using his whole body as a crutch, and helped him walk. He carefully wiped Ramzan's forehead with a handkerchief before opening the door to the next room.'

'The interrogator with less shiny shoes crouched behind him. His hands were wet. Ramzan promised everything, and the interrogator, like the parent of a child too old to believe in ghosts, watched him with disappointment, his clear eyes saddened by Ramzan's sincerity. The interrogator took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, laid the live wires on Ramzan's chest and mapped the border of their shared humanity. Ramzan offered his soul. He begged to be enslaved. The known universe contracted to the limits of the cement floor, and on it, the interrogator was both man and deity, prophet and god. By ten o'clock the interrogator with less shiny shoes asked his first question. By eleven the electrical wires were unwound from Ramzan's fingers. By noon he was allowed to dress. By one he was on the FSB payroll. He kept thanking the interrogator with less shiny shoes.'

‘Greed didn’t motivate his informing, at least not primarily; primarily he informed by necessity, to survive, for his love and hate and above all awe of the power wielded by the interrogating officer with less shiny shoes.'

'That was his greatest fear. Could he stay silent? Could he withstand what awaited him? He told himself that his love for the girl should fortify him against any torture, but this, like so much of what he told himself, was a lie. After all, he was squeamish at the sight of blood, what would he say when lying in a puddle of his own? But he saw no other way. He would pray for the strength to stay silent, for a quick heart attack, and leave the rest to God.' (This is Akhmed POV)

'When they threatened to beat me, I said nothing, Akhmed. When they threatened to beat me, I said nothing. When they threatened to electrocute me, I said nothing. When they threatened to castrate me, I said nothing. I said nothing, Akhmed. Whatever you think of me, you remember that once I said nothing when a wiser man would have sung. And the interrogators, they couldn't believe it. They called in others to examine me. I was there on the floor, and above their faces were dark ovals silhouetted by the ceiling lights. They had beaten me hard and I couldn't hear right, but I kept saying no, with every breath I had. The main reason they let me go, the only reason they didn't shoot me right there was out of perverse respect, some sort of professional courtesy. But I wish they had shot me, Akhmed, because the good part of me died there, and all this, everything since, has been an afterlife I'm trying to escape.'

‘I knew what was coming. I knew it never stops. They put a shame inside you that goes on like a bridge with no end, the humiliation, the fucking humiliation of knowing that you are not a human being but a bundle of screaming nerve endings, that the torture goes on even when the physical hurt quietens. People treated me differently when I came back the first time.'

[theoceanoasis]

I saw a fanart of Rodimus as a deity and I loved the idea and I started to think. (I dunno why but my brain went whit a mix of IDW and Cyberverse)

Deity Rodimus/Hot Rod who hides that he actually is a deity. Soundwave went whit Ravage on the lost light and hit stuck there.

I just imagine Rodimus/Hot Rod get shown to actually be a deity and the reaction of everyone there. Mostly soundwave.

It happened in slow motion. Tarn was reaching towards Ravage and he suddenly had a vision of him being ripped in half.

Panicking he shouted at the cyber panther even though he knew it wouldn't help.

"Ravage!"

He raised his hand watching in shock as Tarn suddenly caught on fire. Which allowed Ravage to escape unharmed. Having not used his powers in a long time it was shocking to see them in action again.

He felt his body shift. Changing into his true form. Gold markings he'd had since he was born revealed themselves across his body, glittering in the planets light. His whole body seemed to glow as a halo appeared around him. As he felt his body change he could feel the stares of shock and awe

The D.J.D charged at him. Raising a hand he stopped them in their tracks. He made them turn around and leave him and his friends alone. Going back to their ship they took off leaving the planet behind.

He felt a rush of power through him and he could hear people talking about him. Asking questions and wanting to know what was going on.

He didn't truly understand what was happening, lost in a haze of fear and worry about Ravage. It wasn't until he looked down seeing his true form revealed that he started to panic.

He looked around feeling dizzy as everyone gathered around him wanting to know what happened and how he did that.

Feeling overwhelmed he ran off. Transforming he drove as fast as possible wanting to get far away.

His body feeling like it was overheating made him transform. He collapsed against a nearby rock and cried. He'd tried so hard to hide what he was. Wanting to have a normal life.

He was a child born of Primus. Deity of the flame and hearth. His patron city was Nyon which had called to him in times of need. When Zeta used his machine. They called to him one last time, asking him to set the city ablaze and end them all.

That was the last time he'd ever used his powers. When everyone in Nyon died no one called upon him again. He banished himself choosing to fight in the war not as a deity but as a regular soldier.

However Primus would not let his youngest go and when Megatron shot him in the chest. He used the Matrix of leader to heal him changing him into a Prime.

He'd always run away from that position never wanting to be a prime or a deity always feeling like a failure. That's why he created the lost light because he wanted to get away. Although he was most known for being the deity of fire and the hearth. He was also the deity of family and found himself making the lost Light a family without even realizing it.

Now however all of that was gone. His secret had been revealed and no one would want anything to do with him.

He shuddered crying in distress. He'd recently started something with Soundwave. It was something special that made him feel happy. When he was around Soundwave he found himself letting down the barriers he'd created to keep people out showing the real him.

He loved Soundwave so much and now it was all gone. He keened fire erupting around him in response to his pain.

"Hot Rod!?"

He looked over to see Soundwave coming over looking worried.

"Are you okay?"

He found himself unable to speak as he stared at Soundwave in surprise. Becoming concerned Soundwave came closer ignoring the fire raging around him. He kneeled down next to him and pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you for saving Ravage."

He nodded feeling tears in his optics.

"I don't know what's happening right now but I'm here for you."

"Why? I'm a monster you should hate me."

"I could never hate you. I love you Hot Rod and this doesn't change anything."

He sobbed and Soundwave held him for a long time reminding him how much he loved him. When he finally calmed down he let Soundwave carry him back to the others.

He didn't know what was going to happen with the others but he knew as long as Soundwave was there he would be okay.

[walkingwiththegods1]

Pagan Misconceptions Clarified: Why Krishna, is NOT "Only The Blue-Skinned God, That is The Reason of The Existence of The Hare Krishnas?!"

    Well... Is true that this is two of his well known characteristics, but I think that Krishna is much more than his skin color; and the fervient devotion of his followers.

    Krishna, is too: The God of Compassion, The God of Tenderness; The God of Protection, and... The God of Love!

    Krishna, is the eight Avatar (Incarnation in the material form of a powerful Deity, God; Goddess or Spirit; on Earth) of The God Vishnu; who is the Hindu Deity that belongs to the Trimurti, (The Indian Trinity) who is in charge of preserves; protects and transform The Universe: According to myths... When the world is threatened with chaos, evil and destruction, Vishnu descends to The World as an Avatar; to restore the Cosmic Order. Of the Ten Avatars of Vishnu, two are the most important: Rama... And, Krishna!  It was profesied, than Krishna will killed to his uncle; Kamsa, than was a terrible tyrant; and after his uncle couldn't killed him, he sended monsters to the child; but he defeat them one by one, including to a dark skinned giant demoness than breastfeed him; to the purpose to killed him, with her milk... Krishna killed her too, but his skin ended of being of a black or blue-skinned tone; permanently. (Just in case you was wondering, why his skin color; is showned as pitch black, or blue!) He is of a loving and playful character, and it seems playing the flute as a young man; or as a kid stealing butter to eat, as one of his lovelies mischiefs; showing than life must been live with love and fun, to make it worthy.

    Krishna, is one of the most important deities of The Hinduism; and he is The Main God of The Krishnaism, which is a form of Vaishnavism; (One of the mayor Hindu denominations, which cult is around Vishnu) than is very popular in India... And, beyond!

    Note: Hinduism, is a closed practices too; and if you are really interested in any of his forms, remembered to investigate ever single text; (The Vedas and Baghavad Gita, by start) learn the meaning of the symbols and terms of your desired path, and search a group of Hindus; asked them if you can join, if yes; behave in an respectful way, and take the time to learn by observing to the one than known; (be serious about it) be patient, and... Remember: The real thing, requieres time; but if you are patient, you will get there!

    And now... The other atributes of Krishna!

    The God of Compassion: He consolate to the hunter than mortally wounded him, and married with many women; to helps them.

    The God of Tenderness: When he is depicted in art, (Specially, with Radha) he is seen showing afection in such an tender way... You can feel moved, for how sweet the scene is! (Yes... I found after being a Pagan, than I STILL have a tender side... Go figured!) He is seen with women been attentive, and for all of this... He is, The God of Tenderness!

    The God of Protection: He became de husband, of 16,000 women; than after been rescued from the demon than kidnapp them, couldn't returned to their families; because they were married before, and Krishna; to avoids them misery and humiliations, decided to marry with all of them. (Very thoughtful of him, considering than most people; never desired to get married, with somebody than was married before: He did this, to protected all this women of the awful treatment they could have recieved; for being without a husband!)  In one story, Krishna acted as a charioter of his cousin Arjuna; to protect him during a cruel war, to prevents he got wounded or kill. In another myth, he protected to a woman that was pregnant; when a horrible man pointed his deadly weapon against her, because he wants to kill the baby in her womb; who was one of the last survivors of an enemy tribe. For these stories and more, he is; too... The God of Protection!

    The God of Love: For the aforementioned story of the 16,000 women, than he atracted women with his music and beauty; and than he is generally depicted with his love, Radha... He is considered, as The God of Love!

     Krishna, after participated in an important war to help to his cousin; Arjuna, innagurates a golden city with his people; where all was peace and love, called; Krishna Dvārakā: A beautiful prosperous place in an island, with many flowering gardens and lakes; where the 900,000 royal palaces were made of silver and crystal, adorned with huge emeralds; and he lived with his people; wives and sons in peace, for 36 years... Until, a hunter killed him by accident; and... The city was destroyed, by sinking in the sea. At the time of his death, he have 125 years old, preserving his youthful look. (I can only assumed, than The City was keep alive; by Krishna's Energy and Power, and while Krishna lives; all will be well, so... That explained the destruction of the same, after Krishna died.)

    Sri Krishna, (as he is called, as sign of respect) have many temples through India; so if you have the chance to travel to India, and you don't know were their may be; to see to Krishna, don't worry: There are hundreds of ancient Temples of Krishna! (But, don't worry for that neither; 'cause you only have to investigates, if there is a Krishna's Temple near of your planned route; or, in the same route of your future trip!)

    Krishna Janmashtami, is an Indian Festival celebrating Krishna's Birth; and Holi, is the Festival than celebrates the triumph of good over evil; and at the same time, celebrates the divine and eternal love of Radha Krishna! Both are very colorful, and are the big demonstrations of the love and respect Krishna awakes; in his devotees. (If you want to go, search the festivals date online, and... Starts to prepared for your trip; to India!)

    Curious fact: In Today's Indian Cities of Dwarka and Bet Dwarka, were found satellites towns and an City-State; (The last one underwater) than mades to the archaeologists and investigators to concluded; than the submerged city-state, could be... Dvārakā! The fascinating finding, appeared in an episode of a series of The History Channel; called "Underwater Worlds", and; if you hasn't seen it yet... You have too, if you believe in your heart; than Dvārakā, existed! (...It is really worthy to see it, by the way: I was mad with joy, even hours after the episode ended!)

    In my opinion... Krishna, is a being than embody the supreme qualities of Compassion; Tenderness, Protection, Playfulness, Resilience; but, his major quality... Is Love! And, I'm not talking only about romantic love; but about Love, in general: When he is only a boy, he protects to the inhabitants of his city; he protects and guide to his cousin to do what is right, he put to his grandfather in the throne after being unfairly put in jail; and he even forgived to the hunter than wounded him, before to die. He embody filial love, love for others; love to the ones than makes a big mistake, and is a love than doesn't demand nothing in return; is transparent and sincere, and goes beyond the material love: Spiritual, eternal and pure love; for all!

    This is all, about the God than is revered in India; and in many temples around The World, for his Love and Kindness; towards Humanity: Krishna!

     Have all of you a life of Joy, Love; and of choose always being Kind, first... So Be It!

[mystic-shadows42]

Burden to Bear

A/N: As you can see I couldn’t choose between the two gifs. This ended up longer than it probably should have. Not edited. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,892

Pairing: Hvitserk x fem!reader (ft. Ivar)

Warnings: Violence, language, kidnapping, taunting, and death

You were a prisoner in your own home. Invaders from the north raided and plundered your land. They hadn’t simply pillaged, they had made camp. They treated themselves to the food, treasures, and women.

At night, you prayed and would cover your ears whenever you heard the screams. The awful screams of someone else’s pain that you could do nothing about. It was too much. Too brutal. You had been lucky to haven’t endured such an atrocious act.

The person who had found you was a fair blue-eyed man. He didn’t yell or use force when he found your hiding spot. He simply gazed at you in admiration. He beckoned you out with soft gentle words. You didn’t want to abandon your safe haven but when others barged in with hostility you found yourself running behind the man seeking any sort of barrier from these bloodied broad men.

Your captor held some sort of power. He walked with a crutch and held no weapon but he was respected for when he spoke on your behalf, they left you alone entirely. 

The man had shown you kindness and kept you in a room. You had been grateful not to be in chains.

You bide your time. There was an advantage with it just being him and no one else. All you had to worry about was the others that were beyond the house.

When the opportunity did present itself, you did escape that was when you learned the hard way how fortunate you had been being kept away. You stumbled upon piles of bodies, an animal sacrifice, people fornicating in various areas, and interrupted some sort of ritual going on. You were beyond terrified and in your state of panic, Ivar had captured you once more but this time you went willingly.

Several days had passed, too many to count. Every day was much of the same: Ivar coming into the room to try and talk, giving you food, and then locking the door.

You were grateful to at least be in a grand room. Though there were no windows. No light to tell you what time of day it was. You felt as if you were withering day by day. A little piece of yourself chipping away. You saw no one else but Ivar and it sickened you to think that you craved a little interaction with the man who held you captive.

Your captor, Ivar would try and coax you to speak to him but you’d turn your head to look elsewhere. He’d speak in a soft comforting voice. He’d tell you all sorts of things such as he would never harm you, provide you with the best care but couldn’t let you go, and how he can give you a life full of happiness if your heart would allow it.

He cared for you which was confusing. This man didn’t know you, just as you didn’t know him. He spoke how his gods whispered in his ear how you were there for a purpose. He took it as a sign that you were for him to love and cherish.

His gods were nothing more than false deities he and his people chose to live by as a way to do inexplicable acts without consequence. So that’s why every night you chose to ignore Ivar even going so far as not eating the food he provided.

You prayed for a miracle. Something or someone to save you from this hell.

****

“I heard you’re hiding a great beauty from me, brother,” Hvitserk spoke as he approached Ivar who was guarding the house that the men had told him about. Word had spread far and wide that Ivar had conquered yet another village but was reluctant to move on, all because of a mysterious woman he wanted to coax into loving him.

Hvitserk didn’t hesitate to jump on a boat and sail here. He hadn’t forgiven his brother for all that he’s done. He wanted to make Ivar pay. Killing him would be too easy so he’d take little by little until Ivar will only be a shell of a man.

“What if I am?” Ivar’s posture was defensive. His blue eyes were bright and alert at the arrival of his brother.

“I’m just a little curious as to why you’d do such a thing? The men have said you’ve been hiding her in this home. She’s left unbound, fed better than most, and isn’t being used for pleasure or for labor work. Why is that, Ivar? Do you have a new obsession I’m unaware of?” When Ivar said nothing, Hvitserk smiled condescendingly. “Let’s have a look, shall we?” Hvitserk took a step forward only for Ivar to stop him with his crutch.

Hvitserk looked down crossed between his inner anger and smugness. He hit a nerve within Ivar and he wanted to keep at it.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that brother.” Ivar dug his crutch deeper into the wood making his point known.

Hvitserk clicked his tongue in distaste. “Why not?”

“We both know why you came here. You’re not here on my behalf but your own.” 

Hvitserk’s mouth quirked into a smile. He would not make it easy on his brother.

“Don’t want me to tarnish your precious jewel as you did mine?” This time when Hvitserk spoke, he looked at Ivar. His expression now became serious as he thought of Thora and the fate that Ivar sentenced her. She was burned alive. One of the worst possible things a person can befall. She was nothing short of sweet and Ivar did that to her. Hvitserk’s nostril flared as he got in Ivar’s face. “What would you do if I were to taint your precious jewel? Would you look at her differently? Would you still want her or would you let me have her?” He asked, cocking his head.

“She’s not to be touched,” Ivar spoke through clenched teeth.

Hvitserk chuckled. “Like you did with Thora?”

Ivar sighed heavily. “It was different with Thora.”

“How was it different? You burned her alive.” Hvitserk had his fists clenched. He had to remind himself not to pummel his brother just yet, afraid that if he did so, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Ivar didn’t deserve to die just yet not until he suffered first.

“If you were in my position of power you would’ve done the same,” Hvitserk shook his head but Ivar kept going. “You would eliminate any and all those oppose to your rule.” 

Each time Ivar spoke it only infuriated Hvitserk more.

“That’s the difference between us, brother,” Hvitserk seethed. “I wouldn’t have ordered a family to be killed. Only cowards have others do their bidding.” He got close to Ivar making sure he’s to hear what he has to say. “If I’m to do something drastic, I’d do it myself.”

He pushed away the crutch from Ivar’s grasp and then kicked his foot before walking past. Before Hvitserk could make it too far, Ivar crawled and grasped his legs tripping Hvitserk too.

They scrambled on the floor kicking up dust and dirt.

Hvitserk was quick to jump on top reaching for Ivar’s crutch and hitting him once with full force knocking his brother out cold. He breathed heavily getting high off the adrenaline he was feeling.

Hvitserk stood up looking around to see that no one was in sight to see the brothers quarreling. He gathered himself and headed straight for the house where Ivar’s prized treasure resided. He checked every room until there stood but one.

He turned the handle only to find it locked. He muttered profanities at his frustration then brought out his knife trying to pry the lock loose. After several minutes, he gave up and decided that perhaps he was wasting his time.

He started to walk away when thoughts of Ivar arose. He thought of his Thora and how helpless she was against his brother. He used that to fuel his anger. He turned around quickly and kicked at the door with newfound fury. It didn’t budge, but at the sound of it, he was sure he could get in if he persisted, so that’s what he did.

Little by little the door started to crack under the pressure. As the wood started to splinter Hvitserk kicked harder than the last. He used all his energy in one final attempt and the door gave way bursting open.

Upon entering the establishment Hvitserk eyed the room disgusted at how big it was. He was angry with the fact that Ivar provided a stranger, no a slave, with this much luxury while warriors slept outside. 

He was so very angry that his Thora was dead by being burned alive while this woman was being doted on by his brother.

His eyes wandered looking for the woman in question. There was hardly any place to hide so he looked at the bed knowing she was under there. He stood on one side before he got down on his hands and knees to look underneath.

He saw her scrambling away on the other side to get away. He smiled then stood upright just as she had. His smile began to falter as they locked eyes, both breathing heavily.

Looking at her felt familiar somehow. At that moment, he didn’t want to hurt her like he intended. He was more confused than anything just like she seemed to be as she stared back completely ignoring the broken-down door that she could just as easily run out of.

Hvitserk kept clenching and unclenching his jaw as he debated with himself. He felt something. A different feeling that had his heart racing, only more soothingly. He took in the features of your face and how brightly your eyes shined. He liked how delicate you looked but also a sense of capability. Knowing that you can hold your own despite not being a warrior. He wanted to approach you carefully without scaring you off.

You looked back at the stranger before you trying to catch your breath. After hearing him trying to break the door down you thought the worse but now he stood there simply staring.

There was something in the way he looked at you that you hoped he wouldn’t do anything to cause harm. It was as if your eyes were communicating what your souls couldn’t.

It was a strange feeling to try and put trust in him. This beautiful stranger. He lowered his head but didn’t break eye contact as he tried to take a step around the bed that barricaded you two.

Your breath hitched watching him try to get closer. He was still dangerous. The fact that he had weapons on him proved so. You clenched your dress trying to stable yourself but not being able to move whether from fright or curiosity.

He raised his hands in the air you gathered as a means to calm you. 

He was only able to take a few steps before he kicked the leftover food you hadn’t eaten. The plate clattering on the floor is what snapped you out of it. He closed his eyes already knowing he messed up. When he looked up you had already taken off towards the door and out of the house you’d been confined in.

You knew the layout of the land but not where they had set out headquarters. All you knew were the areas to avoid the last time you escaped. The best option was to head towards the open hills that led into the woods. It would expose you but if you made it to the woods, there was a chance.

It was a risk you were willing to take. You took off in a sprint ignoring the yells and horns. Your heart was pumping as your only focus was the woods just ahead, so close yet so far.

You didn’t dare look back, fearing that what you see will stop you completely. When an arrow pierced a spot just a few inches away that’s when you began to alternate your running to throw them off course.

Upon entering the woods, you hadn’t looked to see where you were going and tripped on a tree branch. Just as soon as you fell an ax pierced the tree ahead, mere seconds from killing you hadn’t you been tripped.

Your knee burned and your hands were scraped but you swallowed back the pain and continued on. Survival was your only option. You began to breathe heavily growing tired. These men knew how to hunt and would be in their element hunting you in here. You tried not to let those thoughts deter you from your goal.

The sounds grew louder but you kept going.

It all abruptly stopped when you were tackled from behind. Your face was dug in the dirt before you were hauled up.

“Fast little bitch, aren’t ya?” There were a total of five men all circling you. The one that caught you pushed you into another.

“So this is what she looks like,” he gripped your chin harshly as he examined you head to toe. That’s when you spit at him.

“Whore,” he seethed before slapping you to the ground. The man you spat on clutched the front of your dress lifting you towards him. Before he could do anything a sword was unsheathed and a grunt was heard followed by a thump.

The man let you go and stepped back as he looked at something behind you.

You sat up and looked behind to see the same stranger from before. His sword was bloodied and the man he killed was lying face down. He had a different expression on his face now. 

“Hvitserk,” the man spoke in surprise. “We were only trying to apprehend your brother’s possession.”

“He will not be too pleased to see that you have inflicted pain on her.”

Your heart raced at hearing him speak.

The man he spoke to said nothing in return making you wonder what type of authority he held.

Hvitserk wiped the blood on the dead man’s shirt before he sheathed his weapon. He approached you carefully. He bent down on his knees and raised his hand cautiously before touching your face near where you had been slapped.

“Does it hurt?”

You closed your eyes hating that his touch was gentle and how he was making your heart race. This was the enemy. You opened your eyes seeing that he was still here and waiting.

You nodded, “it stings.”

“They’ll pay for ever laying a hand on you. This I swear.”

You believed his words knowing that he’d see it through. He brushed your hair aside and then gathered you in his arms as he began to walk back. As he was walking all you could do was stare up at him in wonder.

“What are you going to do with me?”

He clenched his jaw and sighed. “I don’t know yet.” He seemed to be just as conflicted.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

At this, he looked down at you. “Don’t trouble yourself with all these questions. My brother will take care of you. The best thing for us both is for me to leave.”

You inclined your head to take a better look at him. Ivar was his brother? He was going to leave after your encounter? It was unexplainable but you felt a little down after hearing all of this.

“Take me with you.”

Hvitserk let out a chuckle thinking you were joking then it died down once he saw your serious expression. He stopped walking and lightly touched your bruised cheek. “I can’t guarantee your safety especially since I fully intended on hurting you to get at Ivar. I’m not a good man. None of us are.”

You grasped his hands in yours, desperate to just leave this place.

“I know you won’t let anything happen to me.” You looked down, a bit bashful for what you were about to say. “I feel a connection with you and I know we’re unlikely partners. Ivar will never let it happen and he won’t ever let me go. I don’t have to stay with you long, just somewhere safe.”

Hvitserk gently tipped your chin up to look into his eyes. He was closer than he was before and you hadn’t noticed. “My brother has a temper. He may say he loves you now but betray him and leave with me, there’s a possibility he’ll come to kill you. Are you willing to take the risk?”

You nodded. You were going by instinct and they were telling you to trust Hvitserk rather than Ivar.

You both sat out on that hill looking at each other knowing that there would be a mess once you both left but there needed to be a plan. First, he needed to deal with the men who had hurt you. Second, dealing with Ivar once he awoke. Third, plan the escape. Fourth, leaving it all behind and forgetting the consequences.

That night the man who shot his arrows at you was pierced by multiple. The man who threw his ax was decapitated. The man who slapped you had lost both his hands. The rest were hanged.

The executions were all ordered out by Hvitserk himself.

[espressokiri]

Ok, I have a request! Class 1-A with a classmate who's a witch and is very curious about quirks since she didn't know anyone with quirks growing up (really like's Baku, Kiri, Nejire, Kami and Todoroki's quirks, she thinks they're pretty)

Class 1A x F!Reader

In which Class 1A deals with a classmate who has been hidden from the world of quirks and practices witchcraft.

Warnings: Possible wrong depiction of witchcraft (I was not sure if you meant witchcraft like something from the MCU or actual practice so I'll mix them both in.)

Genre: Fluff

It was a sight for neighbouring students to see class 1-A flabbergasted. It was especially pleasing for the one and only Monoma Neito of class 1-B, who was cackling in the background, to hear something as absurd coming out of Y/n's mouth.

"So you're saying it's not magic but a mutation in human genetics?"

"How are you even in class 1-A without a quirk or knowledge about quirks?"

Y/n shrugged and pointed at Aizawa who merely slapped her hand away at the rude manner.

"Y/n may be quirkless but she has shown something far more spectacular for someone as mundane as her, something I don't believe anyone with a quirk could achieve." Aizawa drawled, "Y/n is a witch and has mastered the art of witchcraft."

"Isn't that technically a quirk?"

"Whoa a real witch! In our school!"

"Do you ride broom sticks?!"

"Whoa! Do you have a wand? Is it like that really old movie, Harry Potter?"

It's going to be a long day.

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

"You're like a human firework!"

"HUH? WHAT'D YOU SAY WITCH?"

Bakugou's hands released his quirk dangerously close to Y/n's face but she kept staring in awe, despite the loud sounds the small explosions emitted, Y/n found it absolutely amazing at how the human body was able to create such a thing.

"Your quirk is so cool!"

"EH? OF COURSE IT IS! I'LL BE THE NUMBER ONE HERO!"

"THERE ARE HERO RANKINGS???"

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

"Kaminari! I don't know if you know this but you could definitely come in handy during medical situations! That electricity you can produce can help someone restart their heart! Like a defibrillator! You’re like a stun gun, defibrillator, and a generator! Three-in-one!”

Kaminari had grown increasingly red as Y/n went on about his quirk, never has the boy been this ecstatic about this own quirk until this new girl showed up and praised him every second. Ego slightly inflating each time. 

“T-thanks Y/n! I’ll be the best hero for you!”

“Yes, you will! With all this practice you’ll even stop frying your brain after extensive amounts of voltage discharge! You’ll be unstoppable!”

“Marry me.”

“What was that?”

“AH! N-Nothing!” 

Kaminari continued to let out a screech as he spotted multiple spiders around the training room they were in, “ah, Loki must be calling me.”

“E-EH?”

Kaminari had forgotten she worked with a norse deity.

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

“Awe man I ran out of matches and lighters.”

Y/n was pouting as she gently held a candle in-between her hands, She was ready to make an offering to Loki but had no access to lighting up the candle. She knocked on the door across from her room and waited patiently.

The door swung open, revealing a confused Todoroki as he stared down at his new classmate. “I was wondering if you have a lighter or a matchstick? I need to light this candle urgently.”

Todoroki stared at her with furrowed eyebrows before he lifted his pointer finger up, a small flame barely licking his skin.

Y/n blinked once. Twice.

“I FORGOT ABOUT QUIRKS!”

Todoroki ignored her outburst and lit the candle with ease.

“Loki would like you! You’re half flame! Well, I think he’d like you.” Y/n muttered as Todoroki looked slightly intrigued. “Who is Loki?”

“Oh! He’s a deity I work with! I needed to light this candle to give him my offerings!”

“Offerings?”

“Yeah! He really likes cinnamon or candy!”

“How does he help you?”

“Well, he gets me out of tight situations, I don’t really know how to explain that but he does help! That and helps me own up to my problems or situation! There’s so much more but I don’t want to take up too much of your time! Thank you for your help, Todoroki.”

Before Y/n could go, Todoroki stopped her. “Maybe one day I can learn more?”

Y/n’s eyes shone bright at his interest and nodded excitedly.

»»——���——————————————————————-————-««

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE DEATH CARD?” Kirishima screeched.

“It’s not a bad card! It just means you’re afraid of the changes that will come or that are happening in your life right now!” Y/n reassured as she placed it back in her tarot deck and shuffled them. Kirishima calmed slightly and slumped back down in his seat.

“Hey, Kirishima?”

“Hm?”

“Can I see your quirk?”

“Uh, sure. It’s nothing special or flashy!”

Y/n scooted closer to the male and pressed a finger to his arm, Kirishima gave her a confused glance before hardening the area her finger was prodding. “Whoa!”

“Do it again!”

“Eh?”

“Again! Again!”

Kirishima could swear she looked like a child at that very moment, excited at the thought of feeling his quirk despite him being nonchalant about it. “Oh man that’s so cool! I wish I had a quirk, or knew about them! It sucks how my parents kept me around the quirkless so I wouldn’t get bullied or something. That’s what they said anyway, but look at me now! In U.A! Filled with people with quirks!”

“You’re so cool, Y/n.”

The words came out before Kirishima could process them.

Y/n smiled at him before focusing back on her cards, “lets see where these cards take me.”

Immediately a card falls out and Y/n picks it up before flinging it across the room. It was The Tower.

“NO!”

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

(A/n) Hey there! I hope you like this depiction of your request, I did try to write Nejire’s but despite having caught up with the manga and seeing more of her quirk being used in it, I need more visuals and detailed information regarding her quirk as my brain simply cannot understand it. I do know it is motion waves and it’s a really powerful quirk but I do not know enough information about it to be able to write to my satisfaction. I apologize for leaving her out.

[magpie-scribbles]

Sweet Relief

For the spicy BNHA Server Collab!

!!!WARNING!!! This contains piss kink! do not read this if you are not into that sort of thing! !!WARNING!!

Pairing: Rappa x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Smut, piss kink, mention of PDA, dirty talk 

Honestly...he shouldn't have had that last pint, but hell you dared him to drink it in ten seconds flat and he was never one to not accept a challenge. You hadn't even offered him anything in return if he had done it but fuck, sometimes he liked to peacock...well more than sometimes...Either way he had shown you, though he doubted you actually doubted him. But now he was more than a bit tipsy and more than a little bit horny, especially after the way you had wiggled your hips at him as you crawled into the cab...it didn't help that you had also placed your hand on his thigh, fingers kneading him teasingly the whole ride back to your shared apartment.

 And now you're pulling him out of the cramped car and fixing him with bedroom eyes…

You tug your massive boyfriend up the stairs to your abode, desperate to get him alone, not that you wouldn't let him take you right then and there. You both definitely liked to make a scene every so often...but tonight you wanted him all to yourself, you were tipsy and felt absolutely primal. 

Barely able to get the key into the lock as Rappa cages you in from behind, you would have laughed if you weren't so horny. Because of his height you could feel the press of his hardening cock between your shoulder blades, his thick fingers brushing against the back of your neck. God, he could crush you if he wanted to…

Finally you manage to get the door open, having no time to ground yourself before the brick house of a man behind you is shoving you to the floor of the entryway and pouncing on you. You hear a well placed boot to the door and a slam, and then he's dropping to his knees behind you, lifting your ass up so he can rut drunkenly against you.

"You're such a fuckin' tease, fuck." He grunts and humps against you, you can feel the heat radiating from him and it makes your head spin.

"You make me that way." You whine, turning to look at him. 

Once again he catches you off guard; snarling he lashes out, mindful of his own strength, pushing your face against the floor, one cheek pressed against the cool tile, the other smooshed against his palm.

"I think ya need to be punished yeah? For bein' such a brat." He pulls your hips higher and grinds himself harder against you.

"Is it punishment if I like it?" You say smartly and you hear his deep rumbling laugh...and that should not make you as wet as it does…

"Fuck you're a feral lil' thing aren't ya?" His hand moves and then...you feel his hands gripping the back of your blouse and...riiippppp.

"Kendou!" You feel the fabric around your upper body go lax, you don't have any time to react further when you feel him grip your leggings as well…"My favorite leggings!" You cry as he rips them as well...you wonder if they're anything more than tissue paper to him.

"I'll buy you a new pair sweetheart...fuck I'll buy you three, but right now these are in the way." He's tugging the remains down your legs, mercifully NOT ruining your panties as he removes them too (you knew they were his favorite). 

He removes your blouse as well, also sparing your matching bra from his wrath. Balling up the ruined clothing he throws it down the hallway and presses into you again, your now bare body against his fully clothed one.

"No fair, Kendou, you have everything on stilllll." You whine, pushing your now bare ass back against his dick.

"Well I said I was gonna punish you, so you can wait a little bit darlin’ " he rumbles as he ruts against you. 

Rappa looks down at you, watching you writhe and beg for him...fuck. Running his hand down your spine he marvels at the way you tremble at his touch. 

He palms himself through his jeans, desperate for some relief...but fuck...he really shouldn't have had that last beer. Even in his lust-addled brain he could feel it, he had to piss like a goddamn racehorse; he pushes the sensation to the back of his mind.

“Look at you.” he groans, one hand on your hip, the other reaching to tease your clit. “Fuck you’re already sopping, ya like me pushing you around? Taking ya here on the ground like an animal? Fuck doll, imma make sure ya got bruises on your knees by the end of this.” 

You feel like you're going to lose it, his words, his touch, you need him so bad, everything he has to offer you need it, your blood sings for it. 

“Rappa...Kendou, please, please…” you whimper, glancing back at him, nearly melting then and there. He’s a sight, disheveled but so incredibly powerful, cock pressing against the confines of his jeans, biceps taught as he grips your hip and teases your pussy. You feel more slick run down your thighs.

“Fuck you’re so goddamn good.” he husks, reaching for his belt, desperate for relief, the article was also not helping his other need for relief either. So off it comes.

You hear the clinking of the metal and then feel the cool kiss of it against your backside, you mewl and Rappa chuckles.

“Later.” he promises and you swoon.

You hear the scratch of the zipper teeth as he unzips his pants and then...you moan when you feel his hard cock slap against your ass, the heat and weight of it heavenly.

“Still can’t fucking believe you take me so well.” he groans giving and experimental thrust against your ass, his finger at your clit dipping between you lips to collect more of your juices to swirl around your swollen pussy, continuing to be an awful tease.

“Please…” you whine softly, almost delirious from the need for him, you’ll take anything he’s willing to give...you just need.

His finger presses against your entrance, prodding.

“Since ya asked so sweetly darlin’ ” and then, bless him, he thrusts the digit in all the way to the last knuckle and you howl. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” he hisses and twists his wrist, already setting up a brutal pace as his finger pistons in and out of you. 

He lines his cock up between you plush ass cheeks and begins to rut against you, chasing his own pleasure as he fucks you with his fingers.

You nearly sob when he adds another finger, stretching you even further; in the back of your mind you wonder how he even manages to fit his cock inside you when you're already so full on just two of his thick fingers. Honestly it doesn’t even matter, you praise whatever Deity brought you this beast of a man.

Rappa groans and presses closer, his cock leaking, making the slide of his thrusting easier, shit he needs this so bad, his mind is a haze, he needs this. But the horrible little sensation of another relief keeps pressing at him, making it impossible to completely focus on his own pleasure and fucking you silly; once again he pushes the need to the back of his head as he continues to finger fuck you.

“Kendou...Kendou I need you dick, please I want it…” you whine, pressing back into his finger and his thrusting cock.

“Nah you’re gonna cum on my fingers like a good girl first.” you can practically hear the cruel smile in his voice. “Ya teased earlier, so now you’re paying the prices…’sides I know you can cum from just my fingers, needy little thing.”

Fuck he knows you so well and it’s not fair, your know you can cum from this, but you are a greedy creature and you want more, more, more.

“You’re such a needy little thing...I fucking love it.” he groans, gripping you hip tighter and pressing impossibly close. “Wanna paint ya with my cum.”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” you chat, as you twist your hips down against his fingers, you’re so close, so so close.

He chuckles but realizes his need to relieve himself has definitely taken front and center, it didn’t matter how close he was to cumming all over your back, his need to piss was greater.

“Don’t think I can darlin’, I’m gonna make you howl, then imma take a piss and then I come back to fuck you nice a good like you deserve.” 

“Do it.” you whine softly.

He pauses in his actions, cocking his head.

“Do what?” he questions.

“...Relieve yourself.” you face is so incredibly red, but the idea, hell, the idea shouldn’t make you this hot and bothered.

“Not gonna leave without you cumming on my fingers.” he doesn’t get it… you feel your face heat up further.

“No...here...do it here.” you’re so fucking embarrassed but you want it so bad.

“I-What?” for the first time in a long time you hear Rappa falter and fuck if that doesn’t do things to you.

“Piss on me, mark me, PLEASE.” you are begging at this point, already so debauched in your need that you don’t care at this point.

There is a long pause of silence and you begin to wonder if you’ve actually pushed Rappa too far...and then.

“Fuuuuuck darlin’ you filthy little minx.” and his fingers are pumping in and out of you with renewed vigor, he even adds a third to your needy hole. “You want me to just fucking ruin ya don’t ya?”

“Yyeessssss.” you mewl, so close to the edge, you can feel it tingling in your spine.

“Shit, I love ya, I fuckin’ love ya.” he trusts his cock against you harder and then he shifts, tapping his cock against the cleft of your ass before rising up a little bit. “Gonna ruin ya for anyone else, gonna mark you just like ya want.” 

“Yesyesyesyes!” you're delirious with need. 

And then you hear him groan and the sensation of warm liquid splashing and trickling down your spine greets you. 

You cum then and there, stars behind your eyelids, a silent scream upon your lips as Rappa relieves himself along your back. 

“Holy shit.” he breathes as you clamp down on his fingers. “Holy fuckin’ shit.” if he wasn’t pissing he’d definitely be cumming.

You hadn’t expected the intensity of your orgasm, and as you slowly come down from your high and you feel the last of Rappa’s piss trickle down your back and pool on the floor, you shiver, absolutely wrecked.  

“Stay right there babydoll, I got ya.” his still hard cock slaps against your ass as his arm comes around you to keep you from collapsing into the mess below you. Not that it would matter it was already all over your back but you can’t help but feel impossibly warm and soft from his care. 

You sigh as he removes his finger from you and carefully brings you to sit up on your knees, gently nosing at your temple as he kisses your cheekbone.

“You’re perfect. So fuckin’ perfect.” he whispers against your skin and you melt into his strong arms. “Imma, take good care a ya; take you to the shower, get ya cleaned up, take care of this mess and then…” he bites at the shell of your ear and you shiver. “ Imma take you to the bedroom and mark ya up again.”

The heat that pools in your belly is instantaneous.

[rjhpandapaws]

I Will Always Find You

Prologue: Keeper of Wisdom and Revolution: With You Lies the Power of Change

Translations at the end!

He was the first of them that The Beginning had made. He was he keeper of Wisdom and Revolution. Bringer of knowledge and war. He could change the course of humanity if he so wished. His brothers had come shortly after; Curiosity, Balance, and Loss. The were tasked with protecting humanity and left with a warning not to get to close. “Do not get attached.” The Beginning had warned, “They live short lives, but many times. They will not soothe your loneliness.” Curiosity had been, well, curious. He had always been fascinated by humanity. He wanted a closer look and into interact with them. His closer presence had brought with it the need to chase the unknown to the farthest horizon. Humans began to band together into tribes and make their way out into the world. The age of wonder had begun. Curiosity was the first of them to fall in love. A sturdy human with vibrant blue eyes that held wonder for the world. He ventured out often, and Curiosity would wait for him anticipating his return and tales of his adventures. One day he ventured off and did not return. Curiosity had been devastated. The first of them to learn the fragility of human life and be introduced to the fickle mistress that was death. The reassurance that he would see his love again didn’t come across as the comfort Wisdom had intended it to be. He left that hornets nest alone for the time being and tried to comfort Curiosity as best he could. He didn’t realize he would be the next of them to fall.

The age of wonder had passed and the age of learning was ushered in. It was Wisdom’s turn to leave his mark on the world. To give humans a way to keep the things they had learned from Curiosity, to foster it. That they may thrive on their own while the keeper of their wonder nursed his wounds. Wisdom was the first of them to be worshipped. He was called Jalib Almaerifa. He was not given a form as he had not shown himself, but he was prayed to and believed in. He preferred to give his knowledge through dreams and signs. He loved seeing what humans made of his gifts. He would learn from Curiosity’s mistake and watch from a distance. He would not fall for a human, it was not worth the pain it would cause. He did keep his distance for a time. Made his mark as a kind but distant deity. Though it seemed he would follow Curiosity into the pit of spikes that was love. There was a human that asked for his guidance almost regularly. He called himself Saymun and had the desire to learn everything there was to know. He wanted to learn to make the lives of those around him easier. Wisdom sympathized with that and took his time putting together dreams and signs for Saymun. He didn’t want to risk their meanings being misinterpreted. He wanted to see this human bring change to the world. He believed Saymun capable of great things.

He shortened his distance some. He would visit Saymun in his dreams even when he wasn’t called on. He gave himself a form close to human so that if Saymun came across him in his dreams he would not be frightened. He began to change the world around him, it was slow going and he likely wouldn’t see the fruits of his labor in his lifetime, but things were changing. He translated the knowledge he had been given and did his best to share it with those around him. A voice lost to the crowd. Wisdom wished to see more done. He wanted to see Saymun achieve his goals. So he placed himself among them in a human form. His eyes were the only give away to his divine origins. One blue marking the serenity of knowledge and the other green to signify the growth brought through revolution. He searched for Saymun, and when he found him, he felt something blossom in his chest. Saymun was beautiful, fair wavy hair and sky colored eyes that held gifted knowledge and the hunger to learn more. When he spoke Wisdom found himself pulled further in by the lull of his voice. He had wound up following Curiosity step for step and falling into the same trap. He fell for a human that had accepted his gifts and used them well. He often spoke in Saymun’s dreams so it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did when the human’s dream from had approached him one night. Gaining knowledge always lead to the seeking of more. This meeting had been a long time coming. Saymun looked at his almost human form with a mix of awe and recognition. He reached out toward Wisdom tentatively.

“You look familiar.” Saymun eventually said, his ever-present curiosity hanging on his every word, “Have we met?” “In a way.” Wisdom said with a polite nod, “Your people have often called me Jalib Almaerifa. Though my name in your language would be Hikma.” He watched Saymun go through the stages of recognition, first of the name he had been given, then to the one he called himself. “Hikma, like the man from the streets. He has eyes like yours. They are very unique.” Wisdom changed his shape once again, taking his human form and gave Saymun a kind smile, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you Saymun. I was planning to introduce myself during your waking hours, but this works just as well.” “You gave me this knowledge. Why would you listen to me speak it?” He asked and tipped his head to emphasize his question. “I have the knowledge yes, but I am not able to use it, I am only able to give it away.” He explained, “Seeing you use what I have given you to better those around you instead of just yourself intrigues me.” “Don’t get your hopes up.” Saymun said flatly as he looked away from Wisdom, “No one listens to me.” “They do. You just can’t see it yet.” He reassured and reached out to give his human companion’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “It is almost time for you to wake. Do not falter in your endeavors. I will be by your side even if you are unable to see me.”

That earned him a smile from Saymun. Wisdom left him to his dream and once more watched from a distance. He was looking forward to the start of the day, to seeing Saymun again. He knew this was a risk, he was getting attached and that would only hurt in the end. Seeing the way Saymun lit up when he had an audience was more than worth it in his eyes. He and Saymun grew closer after that. Wisdom found himself staying confined to his human form for days at a time. It was easier for Saymun to rest this way and Wisdom could be closer to him like this. They drifted closer together and Wisdom found himself tucked in beside Saymun more nights than not. Until he just didn’t leave. Wisdom spent most of his nights running his fingers through Saymun’s hair and telling him the secrets of the world. Knowledge that he normally wouldn’t trust a human with, but Saymun was different. He could be a force of change, he could be the one to bring humans into their next great age. Moreover it was that Wisdom loved him and wanted to show him in as many ways as possible. He had about five amazing years with Simon before things had begun to change. Saymun began to have intense bouts of pain, both physical and otherwise, followed by waves of extreme exhaustion. It got bad enough that he eventually stopped trying to teach, but instead he wrote down the things he had learned that were safe to share. He hoped to create a library of books and share what he had come to learn that way.

Saymun and Wisdom worked on the library together until Saymun’s memory began to fail him. Wisdom did his best to help him as best he could, but he hadn’t dealt with anything like this before. He didn’t know what to do to make it better, to make it easier. To help Saymun be well again. The most he could do was make him comfortable. It didn’t feel like enough, not for all that Saymun had given him. He still held Saymun at night. Even when Saymun’s memory had stolen Wisdom from him. The pleasant happiness that this nightly ritual had once brought was overshadowed by the growing possibility of him losing Saymun while the human slept. They were little more than strangers now in Saymun’s eyes and that had hurt Wisdom in ways he hadn’t known were possible. He still wouldn’t give the years he had gotten with Saymun up for anything. The last night he spent with Saymun went much like many of the others in recent years. There was no air of finality to it. Wisdom hadn’t known this would be the last night he would get to have with Saymun. If had, he wouldn’t have left so much unsaid. He would have looked into those once wise and lively eyes one last time. He would have made sure Saymun knew how much he had been loved. Had he only known, he would have done so much more. Only, he hadn’t known, and all he could do was plead for more time as the man he loved slipped away in silence.

Wisdom blamed himself. Perhaps if he had not shared the secrets held by the universe with Saymun he would have been granted more time. If he had kept his distance as he had intended maybe Saymun would have had a longer life. Had he used his head as he was made to do rather than his heart. If he had loved from a distance. If he had told Saymun he had loved him one more time. There were so many ifs and they haunted him. Left him feeling both enraged and hollow. He pulled away from humanity, left them on their own for some time. They would not use his gifts the way Saymun had. It was only when they had nearly destroyed themselves that he returned. He kept his distance and gave his gifts much more sparingly. Humans lived short lives and lived them many times. He missed Saymun dearly, there would be no replacing him. All Wisdom could do was wait to find him again in another life and time. Perhaps he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

-

Names and translations. Names and Meanings used for Markus Wisdom. Hikma = Wisdom Jalib Almaerifa = Bringer of Knowledge

Names and Meanings used for Simon Saymun = Simon

[peach-the-owl]

23,38 and 46. With Jester where the M9 is going out to this mission that was was assigned to them but won't take the kid, we get in a argument with Jester about it and we run off ,then traveler finds us and it convinces us to go find them and save them. (SORRY IF THIS TO TOO MUCH! keep it up btw :3)

Conflict…… I love it, and don’t worry it’s not too much. Actually I’m not sure what to consider "too much" just yet, I guess I’ll cross that barrier when it’s reached but for now… conflict 😁

Divine Intervention

Child of the Nein (Jester & Child!Reader)

23- That's not fair! 38- I hate you, 46- You came back

Doing odd jobs for people was both a nice way to help the small communities and make some nice cash for future shopping needs. The town you’d stumbled in was paying a generous reward to anyone who could deal with the chimera that’s been terrorizing the place. The Nein were in one room discussing their course of action while you were in another, happily jotting down in the notebook Jester gave you some little doodles of you fighting the beast as if you’d already won. The door creaks open and Jester walks in, you bounce up to her not noticing the nervous look on her face.

"You’re back! That means you’re all done talking and we can go kick some chimera butt." You say pumping your fist in the air.

"Yeah, ummm, about that…" her voices trails off a little, you still none the wiser as you grab her hand.

"C'mon, c'mon, we can’t keep everyone waiting!"

"(Y/n), I know you’re excited but-"

"Just tell me about it on the way there!" You quickly cut her off before she can finish, making your way to the door.

"Your not coming!" You pause, the smile on your face instantly disappearing as you turn to look at Jester confused. "We were all talking and have decided that you should stay here." She spoke slowly as if having a hard time speaking her words aloud.

"But… but why not?" You look at her with big eyes, she rubs at her shoulders, clearly up having a hard time with this.

"It’s just that this could be really dangerous and we don’t want anything bad happening to you."

"That’s it!?" Your confusion and disappointment bubbled into anger. "We’ve been in lots of dangerous fights before, why is this so different? I know how to handle myself, I can fight!" You argue, Jester bites at her lip.

"I know you can, but you’re also still little and you don’t have a lot of experience, so you can’t come." She crosses her arms and gives you a hard look, your growing anger refuses to let you give up.

"That’s not fair! I’ll never get to learn if I don’t try! What happened to us being the unstoppable team? It’s not fair!" Tears stream down your face as you stomp your feet around and flail your arms up and down in frustration. For a moment Jester looks like she’s about to cave but she shakes her head and looks at you with a stern look.

"That’s enough (y/n). I have to learn to take responsibility for you and I say you’re not coming, that’s final!" You both stare at each other for a second try to make the other back down, when neither one of you does you scream in frustration.

"I hate you!" You yell then quickly turn and dash out the door before you can see Jester's look of pure heartbreak.

"Wait (y/n), come back!" Jester calls to your retreating form, but you were already too far to hear her. She tries to go after you but is stopped by Caleb and Beau.

"We need to leave, now." Caleb simply says.

"I-but I…" Jester shifts her gaze from them to the direction you’d run off in.

"Look," Beau sighs, "whatever it is that’s bothering you will have to wait till we get back." Jester takes one last look at where you’d been then gives a sad nod and follows after them, but not before giving a silent prayer to the Traveler to watch over you.

You were sat by a small pond in town staring at the reflections in the water seeing birds flying around freely in the bright and beautiful sky, you grab a stone and chuck it into the pond making the image shift and shake, than another. Soon you were standing and grabbing whatever seemed close enough to you, throwing them into the pond watching the reflection ripple around before settling down again every time. You reel your hand back but stop yourself this time before throwing the object and stare at it, this was the holy symbol to the Traveler Jester made for you and you almost threw it away. You grip the item tightly and hold it to your chest remembering and feeling guilty about what you shouted at her earlier, slowly sinking back down onto your knees. You hear a soft sigh, seeing a second presents approach you out of the corner of your eye.

"This sour look on your face really doesn’t suit you, I much prefer it when you’re smiling." You turn your head and stare in awe at the clocked figure that takes a seat next to you.

"It’s really you." You speak softly, still absolutely starstruck that you were talking with the very deity Jester's told you so much about and the one you'd come to serve as a paladin to. You hear a chuckle come from them.

"Tell me child, why are you here instead of with everyone else?" You tilt your head in confusion at his question, he should already have known the answer to that.

"I thought you knew everything, so you must have heard me and Jester argue earlier."

"Indeed… I just wished to hear it from you," he pauses a moment. "An unfortunate thing for me to watch really. I rather like seeing the two of you working together to cause such marvellous chaos. Now why don’t you get up and rejoin them."

"But I can’t! Jester said I had to stay here." You cross your arms and pout a little.

"Now when have rules like this stopped you from doing something fun." You look at him again and can see a devious smirk from under the large hood. "If you ask me, rules are more like highly regarded or overly glorified… suggestions others choose to follow, when nessessary." The Traveler hums, you were slowly starting to get the idea being placed before you.

"You really think it’s okay?"

"Oh absolutely, and if they ask you just tell them I was the one to send you there." Your smile brightens for a second but drops when you realize something.

"Wait but I don’t know where they are!" You look to him with concern, he raises his hand and licks at his fingers? Strange, but who were you to question his methods. He then points towards a rocky hillside area.

"If you head in this direction you’ll find where they are, and if you hurry you’ll make it just in time too."

"In time for what?" You ask, feeling him place a gentle hand on top of your head. He leans in a little closer and says.

"Why, in time for them to see just what a paladin of the Traveler can really do." You smile at this and quickly go grab your gear, you take one look behind your shoulder and see that the Traveler was now nowhere in sight but sensed he was still watching over you.

With everything ready you run off in the direction the Traveler had shown you and it’s not long until you find a rather large cave entrance amongst the rocks. There was something about this cave that, when you entered, made you feel icky. As you walk deeper you tap into your Divine Sense in hopes that it’ll help you find the source and to your surprise you were able to detect something fiendish just within your senses radius and decide to follow the awful scent. As you follow your senses you can’t help but wonder what sort of fiend would be here, and more importantly weren’t you supposed to be fighting a chimera. You find your answer when you reach a pitted out area, the source your senses lead you to was in fact a chimera but it was far different then what books have described. It still had the heads of a goat, lion and dragon but it’s wings were more bat-like, it’s tail was that of a scorpions and it had quills on its body like a porcupines, not to mention its abnormally large size and the odd chains that wrapped around its body. The Mighty Nein were down there fighting the beast, they all looked badly roughed up though the chimera itself also looked pretty beaten but not as badly it seemed. It lets out a variety of snarls as it closes in on everyone, you had to think fast, looking at the chimera you notice that the chains on it all linked to one spot on its back where a mysterious stone was wedged into it, that stone had to be the source of the fiendish energy you detected. The only way to get to it was to get onto the chimeras back, fortunately it was in this pit but you were gonna need to make some good distance if you wanted this to work. The chimera swats at the everyone scattering the group to get out of the way its sights then set to the nearest target and as luck would have it that target was Jester. You had a plan, would it actually work you weren’t sure, but you prayed to the Traveler for help and take a few steps back then sprint forward using a combination of the Grease spell you knew and your shield to slide gaining an extra boost of speed. You rocket off the edge and kick off your shield for even more distance, by some divine miracle you managed enough distance to arc yourself right on target with the chained stone. With a loud battle cry, using all your strength and help of gravity you bash your mace into the stone using up a Divine Smite for extra power, so when you hit the stone a large and bright burst of green light pulses from the chimeras back and you hear a loud crack as the stone shatters into pieces the energy within shooting up into the air before dispersing into nothing. Chains clatter to the ground and the chimera collapses, shrinking in size and its extra features revert back into their intended form, you tumble to the ground in a not so graceful way but you didn’t care. The party stares at you in silence and you look over at Jester who slowly picks herself up and you can see tears in her eyes. You run to her ignoring everyone else and practically jump into her waiting arms.

"You came back." Her voice teeters close to a sob while you both share in a much needed hug.

"I’m sorry about what I said, I didn’t mean it, I don’t hate you." You on the other hand couldn’t stop your sobbing, and feel her press a soft kiss to the top of your head. You stay like this for a little while, no one bothering to interject with your sweet little moment.

"How were you able to find us?" Jester asks when you finally break the hug.

"The Traveler came to me, he showed me." You say with a smile, Jester stares shocked for a second then a large smile of her own spreads across her face.

"Isn’t he the best." She says more as a statement, one you nod eagerly to.

"I don’t mean to interrupt, but we should be gettin' out of here." Fjord steps in, pointing to everyone else who were waiting somewhat impatiently. You both give him a nod and make your way back out of the cave.

"I told you all we should’ve brought (y/n) with us." Jester huffs a little.

"It seems you were right," Caleb says then looks to you. "We never should’ve underestimated your abilities." You just give them all a nice smile.

A little ways away a clocked figure watches the party leave the cave, casual banter and laughs now being shared with everyone, the cloaked figure gives a sigh of relief before disappearing from plain sight.

[punz4lyfe]

Professor Cerise SUCKS

TLDR: Cerise’s design is so lame, he’s hardly involved, he just seems so incredibly lazy, and he’s just plain awful in his job.

Hello, all you people of planet earth. Today, I’m going to talk about a character from Pokemon Journeys: Professor Cerise. And why he sucks. So let’s just get this started.

Reason #1: Design

Firstly, let’s take a good look at Professor Cerise, and already I’m incredibly annoyed. Look down below and pay close attention to Cerise’s design, and then do the same to Oak’s design.

Do you see it? Can you see where I’m going to go? That’s right...

From too identical clothing to almost similar hair styles, Cerise’s general design is way too similar to Oak’s. Why? Does he have some kind of huge admiration for Professor Oak that he dresses up in a similar fashion in hopes of one day being as highly regarded as him? Why would you do this to us, anipoke?

Are they trying to do the whole Red-Blue motif that Journeys has been doing with Ash and Goh? Oak hardly appears, so I don’t see why they would do that, but even if they did, it would be mess. Because of his colors, Cerise would represent the blue of the motif, but Ash represents that as well, so it would make more sense to have Ash and Oak both represent the red motif since they’re both the veterans to Goh and Cerise respectively. Also, isn’t Ash supposed to be the anime version of the game verse’s Red. I’m already getting a headache from this, so let’s move on.

Anywayz, Cerise’s design just seems so unoriginal that it hurts. I’m not kidding when I say that his entire family have way more unique designs compared to him. They, especially Chloe, also have way better personalities than him because I literally get nothing from this nerd.

Reason #2: What are you doing with your life, man?

As of now in Journeys, Cerise’s main involvement in the anime can be summed up as this:

“Hey. You two idiots. Go to this place and capture me some sweet Pokemonz. And no, I can’t go with you because I’m too busy sitting on my lazy butt, staring a oversized computer screens. Run along now.”

It gets even worse when you consider the fact that Ash, Goh, and his own son are more involved in Chloe’s life and trainer progression than he is. But going back to his main contribution to the series, he is apparently focused on studying as many Pokemon as he can, which also contributes to Goh’s goal of catching every mon out there, including Legendaries. So Professor Cerise, you’re apparently okay with a young kid catching powerful Legendaries so you can study them yourself at your lab away from their natural habitats where they could be needed? In a grander scale, you’re literally not that different from the many villains Ash has fought in both the series and the movies. Yes, you don’t want to hurt them and they could probably go back to their needed locations like Suicune did, but the fact that you still want to see them up-close and personal for your own little research still does seem a little selfish. Why can’t you go to these specific locations yourself? You are able to afford three children plane tickets everyday. The day where you set your sights on the Creation Trio or the Island Deities will be the day the world will really be in trouble.

Reason #3: Horrible, HORRIBLE Professor

Professor Cerise is supposed to be this series’ main professor, I get it. Doesn’t help that he completely SUCKS at his job.

Remember all those Gengar episodes? Apparently, Cerise knew of Gengar’s creepy tricks that occurred at the lab’s would-be location, and he continued to make his mark there anyway. It’s one thing to love a challenge and it’s another to be completely inconsiderate. What if your assistants have a fear of spooky apparitions? What if Gengar ended up attacking a Pokemon completely defenseless against it? You’re supposed to be smart, dude. At least act like it!

And now going to Ash and Goh, WHY did you think it would be a good idea to hire two little boys in the first. We know that Ash is capable as the audience, but literally the only reason you hired them was because they got lucky and ended up on a Lugia’s sweaty backside. Literally could’ve happened to anyone if they were there at the right time. If Jessie, James, or a random hobo ended up encountering Lugia, would you hire them, too? If I was writing anipoke, I would have Oak or Delia bring up Ash’s Champion status and the blatant fact that he has already traveled through almost every region known to man, and that would’ve been good enough for Cerise to recruit him. Goh would be easy, too. Just have Chloe, his only friend before Ash, reference him as someone very interested in Pokemon since school. Otherwise, Cerise just looks completely stupid and lazy.

Returning to the lab, remember Episode 23 when a food shortage occurred due to Skwovet’s Big Chungus appetite and many disputes happened afterwards? If you think about it, it’s kinda Cerise’s fault, too. Dude, you will potentially have over 800 monsters at your lab. You should be ordering food trucks by the dozen every day to keep everyone fed and satisfied. Ash and Goh are only kids, so why should the ENTIRE shibang be in their hands? You can afford these kids plane tickets every day. Use your money more wisely, nerdo.

Additionally, with so many species compacted into a single space, there are BOUND to be disputes. Plus, you are well aware of Ash’s goal and how often he trains and uses Goh’s fodder mons as training dummies. Why the heck haven’t you installed any healing machinery yet? As Episode 60 has shown, whenever Ash or Goh’s mons get injured, they have to take down out the lab and to the Pokemon Center, which is quite the distance away. Now with this in mind, Cerise, why the heck did you decide to have your lab so far away from the Pokemon Center in the first place?! Even taking Ash out of the equation, Pokemon will inevitably fight due to spacial disputes, food, or just for the fun of it. Clearly, you haven’t thought your whole career through. The day Goh catches a Zangoose and Seviper will be the day the lab falls into fire.

Final Points

So overall, Professor Cerise sucks. His design is so lame, he’s hardly involved, he just seems so incredibly lazy, and he’s just plain awful in his job. Why couldn’t Sonia or Professor Magnolia be this series’ main professors? Even though we haven’t seen them since the Darkest Day Arc, they at least have WAY better personalities and designs than Cerise could ever hope to have.

[theprettyinthemundane]

Who’s right about the myths and what does it mean to be culturally Christian? (using Pan as an example)

Thanks to @will-o-the-witch for looking over the part on Judaism!! : )

Disclaimer:

The ancient world was incredibly diverse and ideas about the gods themselves and the myths varied a lot across space and time, which is something I’ll be mentioning again later. I feel like it’s important to have a better understanding about the myths since they’re so prevalent in culture. Essentially, while many people today may tend to think there’s only one “right” way to see the myths or a god this was and is not the case for many faiths. To show this, I wanted to use Pan and his parentage as an example. This also connects to a broader idea: cultural Christianity (which isn’t “bad” or “good”, it’s just something to be aware of). This isn’t about Christians either, just about how cultural Christianity can affect peoples’ perception of other faiths. Whether or not someone is Christian themselves, growing up in a Christian place can incorrectly inform how they learn about other faiths which can lead to misinformation being spread. Sometimes it can (even accidentally) reinforce very harmful ideas that can contribute to bigotry like antisemitism, which we have to fight against!  (Seriously, bigotry sucks! Also I hope the way I word all this makes sense because it’s something I care a lot about!)

So, who are Pan’s parents and who’s right?

Pan is often known as Hermes’ son, even the Homeric hymn to Pan says so (1). Hermes is widely known as the “second youngest Olympian”, which would make Pan among the very youngest if this genealogy is considered (2).

           However, that isn’t the genealogy everyone in the ancient world used to describe Pan. There are many variations on his parentage, and I think it’s worth going over because of how interesting it is. Who Pan’s parents are often changes depending on who you ask or where you ask it. For example, at times he has been called the son of Hermes (1, 3: pg90,151), if you ask 5th century Athenians he is the son of Chronos (3: pg42, 88), he was also known as the son of Zeus and twin of Arcas’ (3: pg43), the great grandson of Pelasgos who was a mortal, bother or foster brother of Zeus (3: pg113) and in Thebes he was believed to be the son of Apollo (3: pg180). He was also called Son of Aix (the solar goat too bright to look at, equated with Amalthea nurse of Zeus) (3: pg100). There were likely other variations too that were lost to history.

           One thing worth noting is that Pan originated in Arcadia and before the Battle of Marathon in 490 BCE, his worship was mainly preformed here and it was only after that battle that his worship spread widely to the rest of Greece (4, 5). So, the myths of Pan from Arcadia are typically older and reflected older views that worshipers held of him. One example is that Pan helped Zeus in the war against the titans and these myths point to Pan’s father being Chronos (or at least placing him before Hermes’ birth):

 Pan has been described as “the source of that "panic" fear with whose aid he helped the gods in their war against the Titans …” and the son of Cronos and a she-goat (3: pg42). In fact, Aeschylus believed Pan to be two gods: both of which had the power of panic and one of them fought against the titans with Zeus (3: pg42) this is interesting because in other myths Pan was able to split up into a swarm of pans, so Pan being a multiplicity  of gods and also a single god isn’t unheard of (3: pg100). Overall, most people understood him to be one god (like we do today), but this just shows how much diversity there was in how people saw him.

And in Egypt he was viewed similarly to the Pan who fought in the war with the titans (as one of the oldest gods):  

“…the Egyptians Pan is considered very ancient and one of the eight gods said to be the earliest…(6)”

Here he was identified with the Egyptian god Min, which may seem a bit problematic to some because otherwise they were revered as different gods (6). However, the practice of identifying gods with other gods (aka syncretism) was not uncommon in the ancient world; Hekate-Artemis, Selene-Hekate, and Selene-Artemis were identified with each other commonly (7, 8). Other syncretisms were between Isis and Demeter, Isis and Persephone, Isis and Aphrodite, and Isis and Venus (9: pg 20). I am not a classics student, but what I have taken away from this is that the identity of the ancient gods is somewhat fluid and many worshipers could have differing and even contradictory views without either of them being “wrong”, even though some likely did argue or disagree to some extent (6). I’m not claiming there wasn’t debate in the ancient world about the gods, there definitely was. What I’m saying is that people did not fight to discredit new or different ideas just because they conflicted with already established ideas. There was a great deal of variation in how people worshiped and most weren’t interested in a one “right way” to do things.

           This isn’t only an ancient practice: it still happens today in Shinto in general and with the kamisama* Inari Ōkami (稲荷大神), who has been portrayed as a group of kamisama, as masculine, androgynous, and feminine (10). So in general this practice of seeing kamisama (or supernatural beings, or gods) in many different ways with acceptance is more common than one might expect (10, 11). This also happens today in Judaism, where debate is very common:

“Nevertheless, the general trend throughout Jewish history is to value debate and not to stifle it, and the history of Jewish texts supports that trend. (12)” Some examples of this are how many Jewish people debate the Talmud (a religious text) and how there are many different sects of Judaism.

          One important thing for people who are interested in this subject and were raised in a Christian culture (even if they aren’t religious) is to not overextend the characteristics of Christianity onto other religions ancient or modern (this is often accidental, which makes it even more important to be aware of it). This is relevant to both ancient and modern religions such as Shinto and Judaism because misunderstanding these faiths can contribute to terrible things like antisemitism and xenophobia (more so with Judaism). So, we need to guard against bigotry like that by being open to learning and changing our opinions when they are wrong both for learning and fighting bigotry. 

          In fact, one scholar noted that even in Arcadia Pan’s cult and myth were not standardized although what I have mentioned before was certainly the more popular (13: pg 63) So, even though Herodotus heard from people in Egypt who worshiped Min, it is not unheard of or unreasonable to understand that some people did understand him that way. To answer the question I asked earlier: each myth about Pan’s parentage has some element of truth to it and none of them are completely “right” or “wrong”. For example, Hermes being Pan’s father echoes the fact that both of them are liminal deities and usually are shown being close to mortals (3: 178).

Conclusion:

          Pan is commonly considered the son of Hermes, however there was immense variation in how others saw him, both across space and time. One specific idea- that Pan helped Zeus in the war against the titans and that he is among the eldest of the gods- would contradict the Hermes genealogy and was prevalent in some areas. This is the case in Egypt where he was conflated with the local god Min. While this could seem confusing to modern readers (both the Min thing and the various genealogy thing), many faiths both ancient and modern do not push for one “right way” of seeing things and this is important to understand when learning about these things.

              Another way of looking at this concept is the idea of cultural Christianity. It does not matter if a person is religious or even Christian, by growing up in a culturally Christian place their assumptions about other faiths are automatically informed by Christianity, which does not reflect most other faiths. This is not good or bad, it’s just something to be aware of and work around so that we can better understand these other faiths. It is especially important to keep in mind today as misunderstandings about religions can contribute to dangerous bigotry like antisemitism, which we must stand against!

*In Shinto kami (or kamisama) are supernatural beings who inspire awe, they are the main object of worship in Shinto. Please don’t call Shinto kamisama “gods”, it’s inaccurate and doesn’t represent how people see them. Due to how Shinto and Japanese mythology are different from Western mythology we need to take care when talking about it to keep it in its original context.

Citations:

1: Hymn 19 to Pan Hugh G. Evelyn-White, Ed. http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=HH+19

2: da Costa Martins, P. A., Leptidis, S., & De Windt, L. J. (2014). Nuclear Calcium Transients: Hermes Propylaios in the Heart. Doi: 10.1161/CIRCULATIONAHA.114.010675

3: Borgeaud, P., & Atlass, K. (1988). The cult of Pan in ancient Greece. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ISBN 13: 9780226065953

4: GARTZIOU-TATTI, A. (2013). GODS, HEROES, AND THE BATTLE OF MARATHON. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies. Supplement, (124), 91-110. Retrieved June 23, 2020, from www.jstor.org/stable/44216258

5: Haldane, J. (1968). Pindar and Pan: Frs. 95-100 Snell. Phoenix, 22(1), 18-31. doi:10.2307/1087034

6: Griffiths, J. G. (1955). The orders of Gods in Greece and Egypt (according to Herodotus). The Journal of Hellenic Studies, 75, 21-23. Doi: 10.2307/629164

7: MANOLEDAKIS, M. (2012). Hekate with Apollo and Artemis on a Gem from the Southern Black Sea Region. Istanbuler Mitteilungen, 62, 289-302.

8: E. Hijmans, S. (2012). Moon deities, Greece and Rome. In The Encyclopedia of Ancient History (eds R.S. Bagnall, K. Brodersen, C.B. Champion, A. Erskine and S.R. Huebner). doi:10.1002/9781444338386.wbeah17276

9: Witt, R. E. (1997). Isis in the ancient world. JHU Press. ISBN-13: 978-0801856426

10:  Smyers, K. (1996). "My Own Inari": Personalization of the Deity in Inari Worship. Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, 23(1/2), 85-116. Retrieved June 23, 2020, from www.jstor.org/stable/30233555

11: Lya. 2015. Interview with Gary Cox - Inari Faith International (VO) https://www.equi-nox.net/t10647-interview-with-gary-cox-inari-faith-international-vo

12: Mjl. Conversation & Debate. www.myjewishlearning.com. https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/conversation-debate/

13: Ogden, D. (Ed.). (2010). A companion to Greek religion. John Wiley & Sons. Print ISBN:9781405120548 |Online ISBN:9780470996911 |DOI:10.1002/9780470996911

[marichatlenoir]

The Power of Destruction

Adrien's worst nightmare is to be imprisoned. Chat Noir's power of destruction allows him to break free and is metaphorically the resource Adrien needs to break the chains that imprison him. For this, as Chat Noir, he feels free.

Adrien's nightmare.

When he is Chat Noir, Adrien also becomes free to choose, to make mistakes and to learn from his mistakes, all things that are not normally granted to him or forgiven. He is perfect because his heart is perfect and animated by kind and selfless intentions, not because he is never wrong.

The freedom of being Chat Noir.

The altruism of his heart does not depend on the mask he wears, but precisely because his heart is deeply altruistic and is never touched by the desire for revenge, Adrien is the only one who can wear the mask of Chat Noir and control the immense power of destruction.

The one and only Chat Noir.

On the rare occasions when Adrien has allowed selfishness to take over or influence his choices as a hero, he has not simply shown his flaws, but has given up on controlling the power of destruction, setting off a chain of catastrophic events.

The devil on Adrien's shoulder.

By lying to Théo about the nature of his relationship with Ladybug, Chat Noir sparked his rival's envy and jealousy. From Théo's disappointment and desire to take the place of Chat Noir, another power of destruction emerged, identical as the reflection of a mirror.

Chat Noir's lie.

Copycat is the fake cat who slanders the real cat, pours his sins on Chat Noir, imprisons him and prevents him from using the Cataclysm to free himself. Chat Noir's lie makes him a prisoner of the revenge of his double, who wants to destroy him in order to live his life.

The real cat and the fake cat in the mirror.

Chat Noir learns from his mistake, realizes that he has been consumed by his own jealousy and is deeply ashamed of having lied to Théo; despite his suffering, Chat Noir decides to leave him alone with Ladybug so that Théo's desire to meet her and get to know her can come true.

The broken heart.

With the awareness of having been chosen by Ladybug as a hero and hoping to be appreciated by her, Adrien renounces to be himself and his cat nature, to use his Miraculous, in order to transform into something he cannot be: a charmer snake.

The temptation of the snake.

Aspik sees Ladybug vanish before his eyes, becoming a slave of his own mistakes in the temporal loop. Adrien is unable to use the Snake's power because he has given up on being Chat Noir, the part of him that sets him free and in perfect balance with Ladybug.

The temporal and emotional loop.

Despite never having intended to use the Snake Miraculous in the wrong way, Adrien acknowledges that he is unable to control its power because he is too focused on Ladybug. So he decides to give up using the Snake and goes back to being Chat Noir.

The emotional breakdown.

The Miraculouses must always be used for the greater Good. Only a person with a pure heart like Adrien, who can put the good of everyone else before his own, can be able to accept the extreme consequences of being the holder of the power of destruction.

The last defense.

If the greater Good requires it, the Black Cat Miraculous holder must also be ready to sacrifice himself: destruction, taken to the extreme as a price to pay for the greater Good, cannot but coincide with self-sacrifice. This is Chat Noir's mission.

The ultimate sacrifice.

At the same time, the Black Cat Miraculous holder must know the true value of freedom as a gift that cannot be taken for granted. Adrien establishes a unique and special bond with Plagg, allowing the kwami with the most dangerous power the freedom to do whatever he wants, almost all the time.

Adrien: "I know what it's like to have your freedom restricted".

Adrien proves Plagg to trust him; theirs is an equal bond between the holder and the deity of destruction, because it is based on the absolute trust that neither of them will ever use the power for Evil. This is why Adrien is not only Plagg's holder, but his friend.

Plagg: "I barely destroyed anything".

With a holder other than Adrien, Plagg would be forced to obey; for this reason Plagg cries secretly thinking about the awful fate that has befallen Nooroo: between Hawk Moth and Nooroo there is a bond of subjection between the master who imposes his will and the kwami who becomes his slave.

Plagg's tears for Nooroo.

If the power of the ring were not used to protect the Good, the holder of the Black Cat would voluntarily create Evil: depending on the malign intensity of the desire, the destruction would require the sacrifice of others and it could coincide with the end of the universe.

The ring of Destruction.

[jeremys-blogs]

Belos: What Does He Want?

Disney has a long history of great and memorable baddies, and with the Owl House they've given us one more to add to that list in the form of Emperor Belos, the mysterious despot of the Boiling Isles. The supreme figure of the witches who rules over them and their society with an iron fist. Throughout the first season we're told of him and his "big plans", but it wasn't until the emotionally devastating Agony of a Witch, near the season's end, where we finally saw him. And that, coupled with the actual season finale, definitely set him up as a force to be reckoned with. This is no joke villain like Yzma or Captain Hook, this is a guy that it would be most unwise to take lightly, and since our heroes have already gotten on his bad side it's likely we'll be seeing a lot of him when Owl House returns to us. But I'm not here to discuss the character, but rather his so-called big plans. Because thus far we have no concrete answers as to what Belos' endgame is or what he's trying to achieve. So today, I'm going to try and piece together what we know about his schemes and try to guess what it could be leading to.

To start off, let's just lay out what we know about Belos so far. He's been ruling the Boiling Isles for a long time (about fifty years) and established the coven system to prevent witches from mixing different types of magic. Additionally, he believes only he and those directly working for him have the right to use more than one school of magic, and that anyone who breaks away from this control he has is to be deemed an enemy of the state. He is a revered, if secretive figure in witch society with many speaking of him in a way that suggests less a leader and more a deity-like being. According to him, he is able to communicate with the Titan, the ancient corpse that makes up the Isles themselves, and that everything he has ever done has been by that creature's wishes, adding more than a touch of zealotry to his personality. And on top of everything else, we know that his plans involve getting hold of Eda's portal to the human realm, which he is at least partly successful at by the time the first season is over. Aside from that, and his clear mastery over magic, we know very little about him, though this is likely to change once the second season comes along.

Admittedly, this quick rundown of him tells us very little other than the fact that he's an incredibly powerful control freak. And as such trying to figure out his plan is going to be difficult. The one concrete thing we've been able to find out so far is that he needs the portal to the human world for some reason. And this opens up a rather interesting thing to consider. You see, at the start of the series it was established that every bizarre thing humans have in their culture is a result of something from the Boiling Isles crossing over into their world, such as griffons. And even entire species, like giraffes, can be banished there wholesale. This tells us that, at least at one point, travelling to the human world was something that used to happen a lot more frequently for the denizens of the Isles. But this has clearly changed, and it seems that Eda's portal may be the only door to Earth that's left to the witches. Because it's not unreasonable to assume that, if there were other portals out there, Belos would simply try to find them instead, rather than going for the one owned by someone famous for escaping his clutches for who knows how many years.

When I first heard that Belos was after the portal, my first suspicion, as well as the first suspicion of many in the audience I'm sure, was that his plans involved invading or conquering Earth. After all, this is a tyrant who wants to get to another world. Nine times out of ten that scenario always involved wanting to take over said world. Yet Belos outright stated in the finale that ruling Earth is "not part of the Titan's plans", indicating that he doesn't want ownership of the human realm. Now, this seemed to undermine my initial prediction of his goals, until I remembered that Belos has already shown himself to be a massive liar to others. Remember, he deceived Lilith and got her to capture Eda so he could get that portal, going back on his promise to heal her curse. So it's established rights away that he'll say anything to get what he wants. Because of this, I maintain that he pulled a similar move with Luz. Telling her he's not going to conquer Earth as simply some means of convincing her to part with the portal, only to then go back on that assurance once he actually got it. So as of this posting, I'm harbouring the belief that conquest is still on the table for him, even if he hasn't admitted to it.

However, for the sake of argument, let's just assume that what Belos said to Luz was true. Yes, I know that ascribing honesty to a dark overlord in a fantasy story is a tall order, but let's attempt it all the same. So, if we take his assurance that he's not planning to invade Earth at face value, we have to ask what other interest that world would have for him. And there was one moment in the season finale that gave me an idea of what might be happening. In Luz's brief fight with Lilith, the two stumbled back through the portal and onto Earth, and Luz attempted to use her glyphs against Lilith, only to find that they don't work. But Lilith's magic, by contrast, was successful. So we learn that Luz's brand of magic doesn't work in her own world, and only works in the Boiling Isles. This is the first time this information comes to us, and I can't believe that it's coincidence that we learn this at the same time we learn about Belos' desire for the portal. There is a chance, however small, that his plan to get to Earth is somehow connected to the fact that witch magic is the only kind of magic that works there.

I think it's also important to consider that this is a modern Disney cartoon that we're talking about, and as such it's entirely possible that we're going to get one of their more recent staples, that being the surprise reveal that causes us to question what we thought we knew about a character. And Owl House has already done this a couple of times, with characters like Amity and Lilith. Behaviour and actions that were shown as negative being revealed to have some other motive behind them that, once shown to the audience, caused those actions to be seen in a new light. Amity cut off her friendship to Willow, but it was shown that she did so in order to ensure the girl had a chance of getting into school. Lilith served the Emperor and hunted Eda down, but it was then shown that this was all in order to fix her greatest mistake and heal her sister. As criticized and maligned as the "twist reveal" has been in recent stories, Disney has already primed us for seeing Owl House as a show that gives us more to its antagonists than meets the eye, and there is no doubt in my mind that they might try to pull the same trick with Belos.

As for what that reveal might be, I have my suspicions, mostly from the fact that everything we've seen of Belos thus far has been, for lack of a better word, off. He's unlike any other witch we've seen in the show, both in his mannerism and, more importantly, in how his magic works. Owl House has been very good in establishing very strict rules for how magic goes in this world, and the one consistent rule is that, aside from Luz, witches need circles to perform it. Belos, by contrast, uses no circles, and seems to have a brand of magic all his own. And the way it seems to work just comes off as disturbing and unnatural, even when compared to some of the more unnerving imagery we've seen in the show. Additionally, his staff is unlike any other witches artefact seen so far, having more of a technological bent, rather than the wood and palismans we see in the likes of Eda or Lilith. Belos is someone out-of-step with every other witch of the Isles, and that's interesting because there's one other person in the show for whom the established rules of the Isles don't seem to apply, and that person is none other than central character Luz herself, whose differences in magic have all stemmed from her being a human, rather than a native witch.

Now, I'm sure a lot of you can already see where I'm going with this, and yes, my prediction here is that Belos will eventually be revealed to be a human who, like Luz, came over from Earth. Remember, travel between the two worlds is apparently old enough for numerous myths about creatures of the Isles to take root in the human world, and given how old those myths are, it seems unlikely that no human besides Luz has ever made the jump to the Isles before now. Also, consider that when we're given the true history of the Isles, as told by King at the start of the season finale, it makes no mention of Belos prior to his establishing of the covens and his ascension to Emperor status. As far as the Isles are concerned, the guy just came out of nowhere one day and immediately started having an influence on the place, which sounds an awful lot like Luz's own arrival. What I'm guessing here is that Belos is someone who started out much like Luz, and who went on something of a similar journey, learning about the Isles and its magic, but unlike her went in a wholly different direction, winding up as some sort of dark reflection of her and as a form of cautionary tale of what she herself might be if she stays there too long.

Imagine, for a moment, a young kid, over fifty years ago, perhaps no older than Luz. A boy who obsesses over fantasy and adventure stories, and whose interests have isolated him and made him something of an outcast among his friends and family. Then, one day, he happens upon one of the entrances to the Boiling Isles, and with his over-eager thirst for discovery, goes through. Here, finally, he has his escapism, a whole new world to explore and a fantasy epic he always dreamed of, but a dangerous and often horrific place where magic is unlike anything he'd ever expected. Though bewildered and taken in by such strange new sights, he eventually comes to a conclusion. This place is all wrong, and so is the magic. This isn't what he dreamed of when he imagined other worlds in his childhood. No, this world needs to change, and he, as the "heroic youth" from the ordinary world, is clearly destined to be the one to change it. So, he sets to it, learning all he can about this world and, more importantly, its magic. The work is long and difficult, but in the end his efforts bear fruit, and he emerges onto the scene as a powerful magic-wielder. He finally makes his presence known and, eschewing the identity of his original world, takes on a new name for himself; Belos.

Thus, Belos begins his efforts to reshape the Isles into his perfect vision, his perfect fantasy. It takes years, but finally, he manages it, becoming the undisputed ruler of all witches. Then, both to ensure that he is the only one of Earth to come here, and to ensure he can never go back to his ordinary life, he seeks out and destroys every portal to the human realm, succeeding at eliminating all but one, which will one day wind up in Eda's possession. Content that he has fulfilled his self-appointed destiny, he enjoys his position of lording over everyone else, even going so far as to use his unique human-based magic to prolong his life to experience this reality forever, making him less and less human as a result. But as the months lead into years, and the years lead into decades, his love of this new life begins to fade. And eventually, he realizes that he's made a terrible mistake. He sees the Isles not as an escape, but a prison he's made for himself. And so he devotes himself to a new cause, finding a way home. And this new plot eventually leads him to discover the final portal, Eda's portal, which he pursues relentlessly, until he finally gets his hands on it with his battle with Luz. But once again, he's denied his way out, with the portal engulfed in Luz's flames, causing him to have to try some other means of using it.

So, there's the theory. Belos is a human who travelled to the Boiling Isles and wanted the exact same things Luz did. Adventure, wanting to feel special, all of those things. But while Luz has managed to grow out of that, Belos didn't, and as a result he was twisted into a selfish tyrant who now wants to go to Earth for the exact reason he left it in the first place. Escapism, plain and simple. And he knows that human magic, his magic, won't work back on Earth, so his hope is that, once there, he can undo whatever he did to himself to make him the way that he is. His feeding on palismans? A way not to extend his life, but to alleviate the pain he feels from having already extended it himself. His day of unity? Not an attempt to unify witches, but to unite himself with his old life, and maybe whatever family he left behind. After all, it wouldn't be the first time Disney would have revealed the construction of a mysterious portal to really be an effort to reunite with lost loved ones. Taking the portal instead of asking for it to get home? Merely a result of spending decades of getting what he wants by force. Belos will, I think, be revealed to Luz as someone she herself might become, or could have become, had she not gone down the more selfless path she had walked by the time the first season was over. That's my speculation, but hey, I could just be totally wrong about it all. That'd be fine too 😅

[momentofmemory]

Hi! I just saw your commentary on the post regarding Hans Holbien's The Ambassadors painting. In your breakdown, you provided a picture of the Sistene Chapel's ceiling. I had never seen the full ceiling before and was curious what knowledge you may have regarding the various scenes painted. Thank you!

HOOBOY do I ever have thoughts!! 

First, a quick caveat: you have to understand that the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is huge. Like, huge huge. Five thousand square feet huge. There’s only nine (9) main frescos running down the center of the area, but there are 47 separate pieces in total—not even counting the 20 ignudi (nude youth), architectural framing, 10 medallions, or various bronze characters—adding up to very nearly three hundred and fifty individual figures.

There’s a reason it took Michelangelo four years is all I’m saying.

OKAY so the ceiling can broken up into roughly four main categories:

The Nine Frescos - aligned directly down the center and meant to be read sequentially (starting when on the altar side of the room, not from the door), these depict prominent scenes from the book of Genesis. They can be grouped further into sections of three: 1-3 depict God creating the world generally, 4-6 depict the creation & fall of man, and 7-9 depict the story of Noah.

The Twelve Prophets - these squared paintings surround the center line, featuring an alternating set of five sibyls (famous historical but non biblical prophetesses) and seven Old Testament prophets. The particular individuals were chosen based on their Messianic prophecies (because even though all the images on the ceiling are from the OT, the point is still to direct the viewer to the Christ of the NT).

The Four Pendentives - triangular in shape and forming the corners of the ceiling, these showcase moments of Israel’s deliverance in the OT, with particular interest in the heroes that were popular at the time: Moses (The Brazen Serpent), Esther (The Punishment of Haman), David (David and Goliath), and Judith (Judith and Holofernes).

The Ancestors of Christ - made up of eight triangular compositions on either side of the length of the ceiling, these are located directly above the lunettes (moon-shaped compositions arched over the windows). These show various figures from the family/ancestral line of Christ.

You can see a visual breakdown in this diagram:

There are additional sections besides those four—the ten medallions (two on every other of the main frescos), which depict more (mostly violent) OT scenes; the twenty ignudi (two nude males on either side of each medallion), which are maybe angels maybe Peak Humans™ maybe who knows; and the lunettes (arched sections above the windows), which at one point portrayed all of Christ’s genealogy as found in Matthew, but two of them were covered over by Michelangelo himself in 1537 to make room for The Last Judgement, making the set incomplete.

Aight now that you have the tl;dr of the layout, you can see that it is A Lot™. Since picking even one section can easily (and has easily!) filled entire theses, I’m actually going to pull back a bit and talk more generally about form and structure, because—in large part due to his background as a sculptor—Michelangelo’s perspective and dimensionality is just masterful.

A quick reminder that the Sistine Chapel ceiling looks like this:

And, for a close-up, like this:

Obviously the figures are gorgeously done, to the point that they could be confused for sculpture rather than paintings (let it never be said that Michelangelo didn’t love himself some muscles), but what really makes me go feral is that that there ceiling?

That ceiling’s flat.

Okay not technically flat in that it’s dome-shaped, but flat in that there are no columns. The original, unpainted Chapel looked something like this:

Which, as you can see, is missing all that lovely architecture dividing up the ceiling.

The columns, structure, and forced perspective were painted, not sculpted, using a technique known as grisaille. The monochrome style was frequently used to call to mind classic Roman architecture (such as the pediment reliefs on the Pantheon and Parthenon), as the Greco Roman aesthetic was generally seen as the height (no pun intended) of artisan culture.

It’s no coincidence that Michelangelo took this route as, up until this point in his career, he wasn’t known for his painting much at all. He’d certainly made a name for himself as a sculptor through pieces like David or The Pieta, but this was to be his first major painting project—one he nearly turned down, because of the enormity of it all. The Pope, however, was quite set on it, so he eventually accepted—with a blank check to paint “whatever he liked.”

So he did—and his background in sculpture uniquely prepared him for creating more “active” bodies, such as in The Libyan Sibyl.

There’s a billion and one essays on her but for now let’s just notice the half-turned position, the musculature of her back (Michelangelo used a male model; do with that what you will), the sweeping lines of fabric, and the way her toe is just barely resting on the ground.

This is a painting that is alive: it gives off the sense that these figures are doing, rather than simply being.

Dynamics & motion were key to the composition Michelangelo wanted to create, partially because it’s that flow of motion that helps pull the viewer from one side of the ceiling, in the first fresco, all the way across the room to the last—and therefore, through the biblical narrative it portrays.

It’s so common it’s arguably kitsch to talk about The Creation of Adam (the fourth fresco), but what I want to point out is, like in the Sibyl painting, the movement of it all. 

The bodies are twisted, muscles flexed and coiled; there’s a languidity to Adam’s movements as opposed to the fierce, powerful forward momentum in God’s. 

Traditionally, the Christian God and other deities were shown in more staid, immobile positions, and while Michelangelo was not the first painter to break from that—that right arguably goes to Giovanni di Paolo—he was rather instrumental in shifting that paradigm, and once again, establishes this set of frescos as one interested in movement.

Finally, it would be hideously neglectful to discuss the form of the Sistine Chapel without mentioning colour, so one last thing.

As you may or may not know, art restoration is... controversial in the art world, to say the least. However, the Sistine Chapel went through a restoration beginning in 1980 and eventually completed in 1994, with the result washing away of several hundred years’ worth of grime and candle smoke, applying an awful lot of glue varnish, and touching up details/mending cracks:

Rather drastic, no?

It sparked a rather intense debate (that has still not eased up and doubtless ever will) about whether or not the conservators removed too much of the grime (for various reasons—the conservation work assumed all the painting was done buon fresco, which meant if Michelangelo had added any touch-ups after the fact those would’ve been removed; some suggest some of the smokey look wasn’t just smoke but actually a deliberate carbon black wash, etc., etc.).

Regardless, it at least allowed for a better look at some of the dynamics Michelangelo incorporated through his shading and highlights, as well as giving his brighter colours a chance in the limelight. This new, brighter version will keep the ceiling intact for many more viewers and critics for years to come.

(...At least until the next person decides to mess with it. It’s also had restorations in 1547, 1625, 1710, and 1935, so, y’know. Wait another 50-70 years and we’ll probably give it yet another go.)

[dogbearinggifts]

“He Made Me What I Am Today”: Thoughts on Pogo and Complicity

It’s taken me a while to understand this fandom’s hatred of Pogo. 

He’s never been a favorite character of mine, but I’ve always liked him. In the show and in the comics, he serves as a sort of surrogate father figure, providing the siblings with much-needed level-headed advice and guidance free from abuse. In the show especially, he’s stern yet kind, intelligent and understanding of the children’s limitations. This is precisely the sort of parent the Hargreeves siblings needed. 

So you can imagine my surprise when I found fans expressing disgust toward his character—some going so far as to cheer his gruesome death at Vanya’s hand. 

Vanya, it seems, is at the center of fandom’s disdain for Pogo. Many arguments as to why he allegedly deserved what he got center on his actions the day Reginald had Allison Rumor her into forgetting her powers, and on the fact he never told her the truth. These arguments tend to treat Pogo as the only truly rational adult in that house since he lacked Grace’s manipulative programming and Reginald’s sadism. Because he was the only one who saw Reginald for what he was, he had a responsibility to stand up to him and put an end to the abuse. According to this view, Pogo chose to be complicit in Vanya’s abuse. He chose not to stop it, he chose not to undo it, and it is this choice that makes him irredeemable. 

What it fails to account for, though, is that Pogo isn’t the only clear-headed adult in that house. To say he chose to go along with Reginald’s orders is a drastic oversimplification. Because, like Grace, Pogo too was programmed to never disagree with Reginald. Like the children he cared for, he was abused into compliance; and like Vanya, he was made to forget the power he possessed. 

Pogo Is a Product of Abuse

In the comics we get a moment where Five, having donned Reginald’s monocle, sees Pogo as an apparently ordinary chimp suffering in a lab*. The show implies Pogo’s origin with a single line: “In all respects, Sir Reginald Hargreeves made me what I am today.” 

I want you to ponder that for a moment. Pogo wasn’t born with human intelligence or a human personality. He was born as an ordinary chimp with no more intellect or insight into the universe than other chimps possess. Then, one day, he’s taken captive. His captor torments him. He hurts him. He leaves at night and returns in the morning to hurt him again, and again, for hours and hours and he doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what’s happening, he only knows it hurts and he hurts and he wants it to be over but it’s not over—

And then one day it is. 

It’s over. The pain ends. The ongoing fear and despair comes to a halt as Pogo understands more than he ever thought possible. 

Reginald could have explained every step of the process to Pogo, once he had the intellect to comprehend it. Or he could have kept the details somewhat vague, but made the link between Pogo’s newfound sapience and the horrors he endured clear. Whatever the case, it stuck with Pogo for the rest of his life. 

Everything Pogo has—every word he speaks, every thought in his head—is the result of those experiments. Every aspect of his life exists because he was held in that lab for perhaps months on end, dragged from cage to table and back again, pricked with needles and cut with scalpels. Without the horror Reginald inflicted on him, Pogo would still be an average chimp living in a jungle somewhere, unable to comprehend things we humans take for granted. 

No one is more aware of this than Pogo. 

His Attitude Toward Abuse is Fundamentally Broken 

Reginald didn’t need to abuse his kids. This fact is so apparent it almost need not be said, and I only say it because by the end of the first season, all seven of those kids either know this or are in the process of learning it. Exclusion from the family dynamic, exile to the Moon, being locked in a tomb with the dead—none of these things were necessary, and the people who suffered them are aware of this. 

But in these cases, it’s obvious that the methods used did boundless harm and negligible good. Vanya’s exclusion left her depressed and bitter, with few social skills and no friends to speak of. Luther’s exile sent him spiraling deep into suicidal depression, led him to self-harm, and robbed him of whatever ease with social graces he might have possessed. Klaus’ stints in the mausoleum left him with untreated PTSD and a crippling fear of the dead, leading him to cope through drugs and alcohol. Each of those kids can tell a similar story: Reginald put them through hell to try and make them stronger, and instead they were broken almost beyond repair. 

Pogo’s abuse, on the other hand, worked as intended. Reginald planned for it to give him sapience and high intelligence (in the comics he’s referred to as Dr. Pogo) and that is what it did. 

I’m certain that, given a little time and a conscience, Reginald could have devised a way to grant Pogo his intelligence without the need for experiments or persistent cruelty. A man who can grant humanlike intelligence to an ordinary chimp is a man who can refine his methods to make them as painless and noninvasive as possible, but for whatever reason Reginald chose the most sadistic method. The abuse was not necessary, but it’s a part of Pogo’s origin story and a part of his past. 

The horrific abuse Pogo suffered resulted in a clear, tangible benefit for him. If that sounds twisted, it’s because it is. Pogo’s abuse is twisted, and his story is twisted. Rather than backfiring as it did in the cases of the Hargreeves siblings—and in real cases where parents resort to abuse to make their children stronger—it did precisely what it was meant to. It made Pogo stronger. It improved his mind. It gave him everything he never knew he wanted. 

So when he sees Vanya being locked in a soundproofed room or watches Luther depart for the Moon on a pointless mission, his thoughts are almost certainly not on what sort of awful man would visit those horrors upon his own children. Chances are, they’re on how some good must come of this. While he suffered in that lab, he couldn’t have known he would wake from those horrific, invasive, degrading experiments stronger than he ever thought possible. Surely Luther and Vanya and all the other children will emerge from their own suffering stronger than before. 

He Doesn’t See Reginald the Same Way the Siblings Do

It’s rarely addressed in fandom, but Pogo and the Hargreeves siblings come into Reginald’s care in markedly different ways, and they are intended for markedly different roles. The children are adopted as infants, presented to the world as Reginald’s children, and brought to the dining room table each meal. They’re given rooms in the upper stories of the Academy and, while not treated in any way resembling decent or humane, are at least granted the status that comes with being the child of a reclusive billionaire. 

Pogo, on the other hand, began as a science experiment. When the torture he endures attains its goal, he is never treated as anything more than a butler. His room is sparse and in what appears to be the servants’ quarters, and he is never shown seated at the table with the rest of the family. When speaking to the very children who seem to regard him as a secondary father figure, he calls them Master and Miss—deferential even as he exerts authority. 

To the siblings, Reginald Hargreeves is Dad. He’s cruel and unreasonable, sadistic and uncaring even when it would behoove him to show a modicum of kindness. Under his roof, his authority is absolute—but that authority extends only to the outer walls of the Academy. If Reginald had never adopted them, Klaus would still be Klaus and Vanya would still be Vanya—hopefully with more confidence and less trauma, but they would still be the same people. Their personalities and intelligence would have remained constant regardless of who raised them. 

Without Reginald, Pogo as we know him would not exist. Philosophy and physics, morality and mathematics would have remained foreign to him. Even if he had lived and died as content as a chimp can be, he would have gone to his grave without enjoying a good book or understanding why people seek out music that makes them cry. Reginald might be Dad to the siblings; but to Pogo, he’s God—reaching down from on high, plucking Pogo out of the dust and demanding his will be done. 

It’s an understatement to say that Pogo knows Reginald is smarter than he is. His intelligence and personality exist because Reginald possesses the capacity to grant intelligence and personality to animals like him; and if he has the power to bring animals up to a human level, then his intelligence must far outstrip even the smartest human. He’s brought Pogo to a level on par with the children he cares for, but he hasn’t brought Pogo up to his level, because that level is so far beyond that of an ordinary human that it’s impossible to conceive. As far as Pogo knows, Reginald Hargreeves can see in nine dimensions and remembers every point in human history. 

The programming instilled through religious abuse can be overcome. Those raised to see their deity as an all-powerful version of Reginald Hargreeves—harsh and demanding, quick to find fault and quicker to mete out punishment—can and have conquered this view and managed to either renounce faith entirely or define it on their own terms. It can be done. But it’s also extremely difficult. The abusive deity survivors are raised to worship is all too often made out to be a deity with humanity’s best interests at heart, whose abuse will eventually bring about humanity’s good. 

From all the evidence we’re presented with, it appears something very similar has happened with Pogo. It’s doubtful Pogo worships the man, but it is clear he not only reveres him, but trusts him—and trusts that the crimes he perpetuates against his own children will ultimately benefit them. 

He Tries to Mitigate the Abuse 

He doesn’t step in and try to stop it. We see him assisting Reginald at several points—pointing Allison toward the security footage, withholding the truth of his Moon mission and Reginald’s suicide from Luther, holding the door as Reginald ushers Vanya into that soundproofed chamber. He’s never enthusiastic about this support—in Vanya’s case, he is clearly pained by what he’s enabling—but he doesn’t put his foot down and refuse to do as he’s told, either. But he doesn’t treat the children as Reginald does. If anything, he strives to be Reginald’s opposite in as many ways as he feels he is able. 

If later seasons reveal that Reginald rose each morning and made a list of ways to make Vanya feel unwelcome in her own home, I would not be surprised. He places her at the end of the table; he makes her stay upstairs while her siblings get tattoos; he refuses to let her be in the family photo. All of his actions toward her, large and small, made it clear that she was inadequate and that he barely considered her part of the family. Yet when she returns to the Academy for Reginald’s memorial service, Pogo greets her warmly, addresses her with the same honorific he uses for Allison, and tells her “This is your home, and it always will be.” Reginald may have treated Vanya as unworthy of his approval, but Pogo treats her as her siblings’ equal. 

From the quick temper he displays at Five’s insistence he be allowed to time travel and the obvious fear the other siblings have of him, it seems clear Reginald’s punishments were anything but fair. Discipline, it seems, was a chance for Reginald to vent his anger on whichever child displeased him, rather than a means to correct bad behavior. But when Klaus steals the box and throws the journal away, Pogo doesn’t fly into a rage and toss Klaus out on the street—or do something even more twisted—as Reginald might have. Instead, he confronts Klaus, informs him of the error and why it matters, and gives him a chance to correct his mistake. Reginald’s discipline was likely capricious and disproportionate; but if this example is anything to go by, Pogo’s approach is stern, yet consistent and restrained. 

Pogo does deliberately withhold information from Luther and, to a lesser extent, Allison. He places Allison in a room where she’s sure to find the relevant tape, effectively sending her and Luther off on a wild goose chase. When Luther discovers his Moon mission was a sham, Pogo’s attempt at comfort can sound an awful lot like damage control. However, these deceptions are undercut with a subtle layer of kindness. He lures Allison to the relevant tape with footage of herself and her siblings as children—footage that includes her deceased brother, which is comforting and cheering to her. He is quick to refute Luther’s assumption that he was sent to the Moon for his own personal failures; while his reasoning that “After your accident, he wanted to give you purpose” has the ring of an excuse (and a flimsy one at that) it’s offered when Luther is clearly spiraling and in desperate need of something to hold onto. It’s clear in this scene that Pogo isn’t simply trying to cover his own ass; he cares for Luther and wants to ease his pain. 

Pogo Probably Doesn’t Realize He Could Have Done More 

When I was a kid, I watched a show called Recess. (Late 90s and early 2000s kids probably all just cracked a grin.) If you haven’t seen it, it followed a group of fourth grade students and their adventures at school, outside of school and—mostly—at recess. There were a lot of colorful characters on that playground, and one of them was Ms. Finster, an assistant teacher who monitored the kids at recess and served as a recurring villain, relishing each and every chance she got to foil lovable troublemaker TJ’s plans. 

In one episode, Ms. Finster hits on a plan that she calls The Box. She draws a box and, when TJ misbehaves, makes him stand inside. It’s just four chalk lines on asphalt, but it triggers something in TJ’s brain. When he stands in The Box, he sees the asphalt rising up to hem him in, pulling him further and further underground as his panic rises. He isn’t imprisoned. He can leave at any time, and to an outsider this much is painfully—even comically—obvious. But to TJ, he’s trapped. 

Pogo could have stood up to Reginald. He could have done it when Vanya’s powers were taken away, or he could have done it on a random Thursday. He could have taken Luther aside and told him the truth of Reginald’s death or he could have sat everyone down and explained Vanya’s powers before shit hit the fan. I’ve said elsewhere that the characters in this show are responsible for their actions, but Pogo is responsible for his inaction.

Yet this inaction is not the result of a moral failing on Pogo’s part. He didn’t sit back and choose not to tell Luther or Vanya the truth or remain complicit in their abuse because he wanted to see them suffer. “I had no choice” is what he tells Luther. To us, it’s obvious that Luther’s response—“There’s always choice”—is correct. 

But it isn’t obvious to Pogo, because Pogo is trapped in a Box of his own. It’s a Box made of abuse both physical and mental, of a twisted gratitude toward the man who tormented him, of a lack of faith in his own conscience. Pogo is complicit in the siblings’ abuse, make no mistake. Of all the people living in the Academy, Pogo probably stood the greatest chance of overthrowing Reginald and getting those kids into a more positive environment. He wielded the most power in that situation, and Reginald knew this. And so, as with Vanya, Reginald made Pogo forget his power. It took longer. It involved more pain, more mental manipulation than direct mind control. But in the end, what Reginald did to Pogo was far more effective—and arguably more sinister—than what he did to Vanya. 

Her powers, after all, could be reinstated simply by removing her medication. Removing barriers around your own mind meant to keep you dependent and doubtful, with no physical evidence to prove those barriers are gone? That can take a lifetime. 

*********

*It’s been a while since I’ve read the comics, but I do remember that chimps with human intelligence are just kind of a Thing in that world. I don’t remember if Pogo’s sapience is made out to be a product of experimentation or if the experiments he endured are separate from that. However, since Pogo is apparently the only superintelligent primate butler in the show’s ‘verse, it seems the implication is that he gained his intelligence from Reginald’s experiments. 

[spectralscathath]

Remember That I Am Thy Creature

“It was on a dreary night in Atlas that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the teal green eye of the Creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.”

Clover Ebi, Captain of the Ace Ops, is dead. But Tyrian is not one to let an opportunity like this slip by, and Arthur is always one to indulge him.

AO3 link

Tyrian practically skipped along, tail swishing in the air behind him as he reached the end of the hall. He turned to survey his trail of destruction, robots and prison guards turned into an art form of anguish and shreds. He clapped to himself, a giggle bubbling up in his throat as he went back to grab himself a souvenir, blood clinging to the bottom of his boots as he stepped in a sluggishly growing pool of it.

Now, with a new Atlesian military hat perched atop his head, he felt quite fetching. After all, one must look their best when breaking the good doctor out of his prison cell. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to tell him all about how awe-inspiring their goddess’s entrance was, how he had nearly sobbed with glee from the sheer beauty, the power, the magnificence!

Truly, Salem was the only truth in this world, and she would bring Atlas to ruin. He was so blessed to be a servant to a deity such as her, and he had gotten to indulge so much of his bloodlust on this fine night, he hoped that his work setting the stage truly pleased her.

He had never felt such a purity of joy like this as he had on the night his queen came to collect him, when she had chosen him as her reaper, her hand of death in this world of the unworthy. When he had been reborn as her humble servant. He felt he could plunder all mankind, conquer all the odds, just as he had conquered and broken his dear sweet little bird’s heart.

What a marvel it was to be so alive, on such a night like this! He felt he’d live on forever with Salem’s blessings at his back and his blades at his side. It was a truth that no one could deny, that his goddess was here to take Atlas by right of conquest, to show the world that now and forever there was no mere mortal who could dare to oppose her. What a feeling of being alive, while an army of nightmares came to reap what Tyrian had sown.

Well. Him and his dear darling doctor.

Speaking of, he checked the door into the maximum security wing, where all the arrested criminals with activated auras were kept. Aura turned a mere man into a monster, after all! There was no battle a man with aura couldn’t survive. At least… until that pretty little protection was ripped away.

His fingers curled at the thought, licking his lips and teeth as he remembered how lovely it felt to tear away the little lamb’s soul shield. Dear Robyn, leading a lamb to slaughter? Tsk tsk. She was a fascinating target, one he would love to spend a few days with. Such fire and pride in pretty lavender eyes, wouldn’t he love to watch them drown with fear?

He would have to beg his goddess for such a chance later, delighted at the hopes that he could grovel at her feet like the devout beggar he was. Perhaps she could leave those ace operatives alive as well, wouldn’t they make fine prey to hunt. Oh yes, the little dog had shown himself to be the omega of his pack, full of nerves and desperation.

He would be the one Tyrian would leave alive the longest. He’d kill him soon enough, of course, but his time in Mistral had been a period of experimentation, of artistry, and he had found that the knowledge of an impending doom created a tension so thick that he could sink his teeth into it, if he didn’t sink them into his victims.

As for the others… he had very few opinions on Zeki and Bree, though he would definitely make sure their ends were as painful as he could, it wouldn’t be fun otherwise, but the strong Elm Ederne? A Vytal champion, a woman who seemed to pride herself on being as unbowed and unbroken as her namesake?

Oh, how exciting it would be to bring a sweet miss like her to her knees! She and Miss Hill would definitely be worth taking his time with, if he was granted the permission to slaughter them.

He grinned ghoulishly and checked the security door. Ah, fingerprinted, a clever move, but one Tyrian could easily bypass. All he needed was to find the highest-ranked corpse and- yes, there we go. He cut the hand off the man and practically danced towards the door, testing each finger before one beeped and the door unlocked.

He giggled and tossed the hand over his shoulder, doffing his new cap as he slithered in the door, into the hall of all those poor souls in their lonely cells.

He looked in the window set into the first door, seeing naught but a man tossing a ball at the wall, how incredibly boring. However, the next door told him that these cells, despite their windows to the outside, had one-way glass on the doors. What a useful little trick, Atlas, allowing the guards to see in while the prisoners could only see the freedom they had so unwillingly lost.

He stalked along, glancing in each door to look for his dear doctor, before he saw a sight that had him howling, tears of laughter threatening to spill down his cheeks.

Robyn Hill herself, the little bird turned to a prowling beast as she paced the line of her cell, her strides long and proud despite her incarceration. She reminded him of a trapped vixen as she slank back and forth, her lips pulled back from a steel-sharp snarl. He noticed that her tattered scarf trailed behind her, slung low like a fox’s brush, her wrist bare of her wings and arrows.

What a delight it had been, to find out what a pleasant burn they had for himself, the explosion’s taste dancing across his tongue in a memory of copper-ash sparks, tingling behind his teeth like eels writhing in a stream, sending warm shivers down his spine to pool in his gut like venom pooled in his stinger.

He watched her for a moment, the room so soundproofed he could not hear a word of her raving, screaming rant, wondering what tune his sweet songbird was whistling to have her worked up in such a fury, her ponytail having fallen free in her rage to turn into a wild mane that gave her the appearance of a lion, perhaps, untamed and primal and burning with the desire to break her cage.

It was glorious, before the thought struck him, and he felt giddy with the possibility of who might be in the next cell, who could be jailed with his lioness, his songbird, his dashing, vulpine outlaw, who thought she was saving lives when she had instead helped Tyrian end them. Her rally had been child’s play, Clover’s death a wonderful result of her temper, her recklessness, her ego and her chaos. How could he not have capitalised on such a wondrous opportunity to deal a blow to his darling crow’s heart?

He was far from a fool, he had seen the looks the bad omen had shot the leader of the ace operative, how they had worked together to combat Tyrian. From the moment Tyrian had realised how much dear Branwen had cared for the fisherman, the lucky Clover had become his target.

He was so, so glad to have succeeded. The desolation in those pretty red eyes had been beautiful. Anguish became Qrow, it seemed. Tyrian had been more than happy to provide.

His glance into the next cell had his chest swell with pride, at the sight of poor unlucky Qrow. Defeat was clear in the slump of his shoulders, his back to the door as he curled on his bunk, on his side, the tattered cape hanging off the edge and his shoulders like a pair of broken wings. Oh, Tyrian was thrilled to be able to call this man his enemy. Perhaps, even, his nemesis?

Qrow had survived Tyrian’s sting, but his scar still remained, Tyrian knew without needing to see under the man’s new Atlesian plumage. But Tyrian’s venom had coursed through his veins, perhaps linking them in a way deeper than the bond of shared blood.

Qrow was his ultimate prey now. They had a score to settle indeed. Qrow’s scar, his shattered heart, and the mechanical whirring of Tyrian’s tail were only part of the strings that bound their fates together, entwined in battle and blood. They still had a rematch waiting in the wings, after all. Tyrian knew that their next one would end in death.

Patience, Tyrian.

It would be best to let the bird’s wings heal. After all, if he wanted a battle with a true huntsman, he would need to wait for Branwen to be at his full strength, just as before.

The anticipation would make it all the sweeter.

So, with a flick of his tail and a skip in his step, he carried on, hunting for his dear Watts. It was time to get back to work, and Tyrian had an absolutely delightful idea. One he was sure the good doctor would positively adore. After all, they were both predators of a kind, and they worked so well together. Why wouldn’t Arthur dearest indulge him?

Perhaps his goddess would too.

-----

Watts surveyed Salem’s storm from his cell, a dull ache across the entirety of his face and imprinted on his throat a reminder of the absolute beating James had given him. Well. At least he’d left some aches of his own. How was that arm, James? Did it sting?

If only he’d had a doctor around willing to heal it. Such a pity.

Watts would hardly waste his semblance on James, especially not now.

He watched Salem’s storm approaching, amused at the sight of the army of flying Grimm that could easily overcome Atlas’s defences, and the whale she rode on. It seemed Salem had decided that if she was going to leave her realm, she’d bring part of her fortress with her.

He wondered if that meant Hazel and the two brats were there as well. Tyrian would be glad for that, he seemed to positively adore tormenting the youngsters, now that Cinder wasn’t around. Not that it was hard.

Emerald was easy to pick apart, driven by her past where she had nothing, to the point she’d fixated on Cinder as her giver of everything. Food, shelter, comfort. Toss in her passive nature and how much fear controlled her, and it was hardly a wonder that Salem was able to bend the girl to her will as much as she could. To the point of ratting out her saviour to Salem as well, hadn’t that been interesting. He could only assume that the guilt of Emerald’s so-called ‘betrayal’ was festering at her from the inside.

The Black boy, on the other hand, was a much more fascinating cocktail of issues. Chronic Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was a given, considering his father’s abuse of him, and all his other behavioural issues made him a right little brat. Still, one that was also easily manipulated. For as logical and cold as he claimed to be, he was intensely driven by his emotions. Just like James, in fact.

Now that he cast his mind to it, the tin man and the metal boy really did have quite a lot in common. An interesting little coincidence, nothing really worth pondering about. But still, it was in those strange little asides when he let his mind wander that he tended to find interesting if generally useless information.

Then again, the human brain was designed to see patterns, even when there were none, so perhaps it was less a trivial insight and more his sharp mind falling to base instincts.

The door to his cell opened and his eyes flitted over to it, absorbing and processing all the information in naught but a moment before he picked his words carefully, as always. “A hat, Tyrian? That’s new.”

Tyrian grinned with that sickle smile he loved to wear, yellow eyes bright with his particular brand of madness. Watts never really cast his hand at trying to diagnose Tyrian, even though he probably could. That seemed more like it would remove half the fun the scorpion’s unpredictability brought him.

“Greetings, doctor. Did you miss me, perhaps?” Tyrian placed a hand on his chest, silver tail bobbing behind his shoulders, both poised to strike and simply because Tyrian was most comfortable with his tail held high.

“Of course, Tyrian.” Arthur rose from his seat, unfolding his long legs before he straightened to his full height. He dusted his sleeves off out of sheer habit and adjusted his suit jacket. Hazel could tear his jackets all he wanted but Arthur actually gave a damn about his outfit. Propriety was important, after all. “I would have thought you’d have gone to meet her grace yourself.”

“Without you?” Tyrian feigned hurt and shock, stepping back as though Watts had physically hurt him with his words. “Why, doctor, I am wounded by such an accusation. Of course I will be heading straight to our goddess, but first I wanted to find you. I’ve caused such chaos this fine night, and I have so many ideas for what else can be done. Our work is not yet complete!”

“Very well.” Watts stretched his fingers out of habit, missing his rings. Those had taken so much time to make and now he’d lost both sets. He’d make them again, of course, to not do so would be idiotic, but it was such a hassle. “Tell me all these plans you have while we depart.”

“Oh I will,” Tyrian’s grin returned full force. “But first, I notice your hands look rather bare.”

“A worthwhile sacrifice. I can rebuild.”

“Perhaps.” Tyrian dug a hand into his pocket and opened a fist, a set of four very familiar rings held in his palm. “But imagine to my delight when I found that those weapons of all those they’d confiscated on this night were still being transported to storage.”

Arthur grinned wickedly and proffered a hand, Tyrian bowing deeply before he took it and slipped each ring on himself, humming a jaunty little fourteen-note tune that Watts recognised as one that Tyrian had whistled here and there, the notes rising and falling despite the overall melodic descent.  

Only when each ring had been affixed back in place did Tyrian rise, an eyebrow quirking playfully as he tipped his stolen hat. “I suppose we have the General to thank for the state of your poor face?”

Watts rolled his eyes as he stepped out of his cell, Tyrian gracefully stepping back to allow him passage. Watts rolled his shoulders and offered an arm, Tyrian’s hand slipping through it out as they walked out of the jail. “Indeed. Now what are these ideas you have?”

“Dear Arthur, how do you feel about putting your semblance to good use?” A debauched purr curled around the edges of his words, golden gaze turning heady with excitement. “I have a corpse that I think would make a lovely little puppet for you~”

----

Darkness. That was the first thing he could remember.

For a moment, everything was dark, and silent, and maybe a little cold, but it was painless and peaceful. Scarily peaceful, like if he was here for even one second longer he’d slip away into the void and never come back.

Then his entire world lit up with sheer, overwhelming, unrelenting agony, biting at his skin and burrowing deep until it made itself a home in his bones, pain eating him alive from the inside out.

His chest was freezing, so cold it burnt, and there was fire there too, chewing up his heart and choking his lungs. He thought he was dying, he wished he was dying, but he felt more alive then he’d ever been before.

Somewhere along the line he realised he was screaming, that there was pressure on his neck, right under his jaw, right where people checked for a pulse, and that was the eye of the storm. He could feel it. Right there, that point, everything was numb, and every ounce of the torment was radiating from that one point of contact.

Contact? Yes, it was contact, that was someone’s touch, and he wrenched open his eyes to a lightning storm of harlequin green, so bright it seared itself into his brain.

He scrunched his eyes shut again, trying to raise his hands to cover them but he was restrained. He could feel leather bands holding him down, across his forehead, his wrists, his legs, and his torso. The smell of iron and copper and rust filled his senses, the sickly sweet tang of blood and cold sterility.

He could hear the crackle of electricity, cruel laughter as a backing track to his symphony of hurt. It took a second before he figured out he was talking, saying words, screaming at whoever was doing this to him to hurry up and kill him, let him die, he couldn’t take this he couldn’t it was too much just KILL HIM-

Then something was shoved into his mouth by a gloved hand, a set of intelligent green eyes appearing in his vision, meeting his own confused teal. Those eyes were sparking with the lightning that had wrapped itself around Clover’s form, knitting the gaping wound in his torso back together.

Watts raised a brow and removed his right hand from the leather gag he had shoved between Clover’s teeth, top revent the man from breaking them if his jaw reflex snapped shut as his muscles seized. His fingers crooked and curled like he was manipulating a puppet, infusing a spark of being into the lifeless thing under his hands. Tyrian laughed in the background at the show, Clover’s body strapped to the morgue’s table as he convulsed, reanimated and alive once more.

Clover’s howls were muffled now, certainly, but he still made his best attempt at them.

Watts raised his hands eventually, releasing Clover’s pulse point as he surveyed his work with clinical detachment. Sweat streaked Clover’s brow as he panted for air, fingers flexing and curling as his chest heaved, the scar from Harbinger the shiny red of new skin. He turned his head to the side and spat out the gag, limp on the table as the absence of pain left only exhaustion. His chest felt too cold, like ice was bound around his heart, chilling his breath where it sat in his lungs.

He- no, he had been dead, right? He’d looked at the blood, he’d touched at the wound, he’d known from the second Tyrian had ripped the sword three that he would be dead in minutes. No man could survive that. Even if he hadn’t been severely bleeding out his aura had been broken. The chill of Solitas could kill a man in hours. He’d seen people who’d had frostbite set in within minutes.

So… he had died. He had to have died. This was… what was this?

The sound of footsteps made his pulse skip with fear, restrained and tired as he was, he had no way to fight back. He was helpless here and he hated it. He recognised Watts. He recognised the evil chuckles Callows’ made.

Knuckles brushed against his cheekbone in a mockingly soft gesture and he took a page out of Marrow’s book, snarling like a dog and snapping his teeth at Tyrian’s hand. Marrow had been crap at the intensive interrogation training. Unfortunately, the lady playing the role of ‘questioner’ had found out exactly what happened when an ‘enemy’s hand got too close to a trapped dog faunus’s teeth.

No blood, thanks to aura, but Marrow had been incredibly apologetic about the whole debacle.

Tyrian seemed to find it fucking hilarious though, his sneaky yellow eyes meeting the dregs of defiance in Clover’s gaze as he twiddled his fingers just out of reach. “Naughty, naughty! You shouldn’t peck at your friends, my little kingfisher.”

Clover simply set his jaw and furrowed his brows in a glare he knew was far weaker then what he was normally capable of, refusing to engage verbally with the serial killer.

Tyrian didn’t seem to care, his tail whipping happily behind him, almost like it was wagging, as he turned to face Watts. “Isn’t he fun, doctor?”

“I’m sure he is. I could do without that stubbornness, however. I’d rather he gives us the same blind obedience he gave James.”

“That’s-“ Clover’s baritone cracked and rasped as he tested it, rough and rawed from his earlier ordeal. “Not… Going to happen.”

Watts glanced at him, moustache curving with what had to be a smirk. “Mr Ebi. Do you honestly think that my semblance doesn’t come with the caveat that you owe me your life? You work for me now.” He crooked his fingers in that strange puppeteering gesture again. “Now. Lights out.”

Clover’s eyes barely had time to fill with horror before unconsciousness claimed him entirely.

----

“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”

--

So Clover getting resurrected is a popular enough idea and one that I like, but I want to put my own spin on it.

Just for clarity's sake, Watts' semblance here is Resurrection and he's able to manipulate the mind and perceptions of those he uses it on, such as planting sleeper commands in them, or switching up who they view as enemies and allies without really changing who they are.