#instead he gets constant reminders that he's not what's most important; his existence is tied to brutal tragedy

[llondonfog]

gnashes teeth quietly

[xerith-42]

Hello, you were open to asks right ? Do you have any head cannons about Shad and the shadow knights or how the Nether can affect the beings living in it ?

Obligatory reminder that I'm going to make it a habit to rename Shad to Araphel in all my posts until I don't have to put this reminder here.

I already touched on a few of my Araphel specific headcanons before (though there will be more), and I've made quite a few posts about Shadow Knights. The Nether on the other hand--

So obviously MCD was made long before the ever important Nether Update, but I think we should incorporate that into our ideas of this series. I'm just saying that a Bastion would be even more absolutely terrifying if the mfs hunting you in there were vicious Shadow Knights with a taste for blood that hasn't been satiated in Irene knows how long.

Warped forests are the most relaxing biome of the Nether, the colors of it often being a relaxing presence for Shadow Knights. Basalts are the worst to navigate, and even if they're immortal, dragging yourself out of a pool of lava you got concussed falling into because you made a single misstep just sucks no matter what.

Also, Shadow Knights aren't the only creatures of the Nether. Obviously I want all the Nether creatures that are there to be there, though I'd take Enderman out of Warped Forests and make Piglins a sort of shadow variant that makes it clear they were a race that existed in the Nether before, but Araphel's influence spreads like a plague. I think Wither Skeletons totally fit the vibe, I could see them just being the reanimated and smashed together bones of those who have fallen in the Nether but weren't worthy of becoming a Shadow Knight.

I think that Shadow Knights are adapted to live in the Nether. They're designed to sustain constant heat that's mostly dry (so living in Southern Arizona), and not much else. This means that the cold has a much more severe impact on them, and they really don't do well when it gets humid, girls are not built to sweat it feels so weird on their fucked up skin.

And there's those Shadow Souls! Those are a thing Jess wrote into the series! I think they're like the lost souls of those who died in the Nether who want to find bodies so they can become Shadow Knights...? Hold on Imma check the wiki.

Okay I was close, they're Shadow Knights who lost their physical forms and seek out a new host which... How does a Shadow Knight lose their physical form? Great question! I'd like to know the answer too! The solution to this problem is that they're both of the definitions I put above. I think they're great and totally seem like something Araphel would enjoy watching the pitiful existence of.

Because that's all the Nether really is to him. Another part of his game with Irene. Another playing field, an empty worthless world full of life that is only good to kill, maim, or take as his own for those same purposes. The life of the Nether never had a chance to fight against Araphel. Once he was able to return to partial power there was nothing that could stop him from spreading his miserable influence to the rest of this wretched realm. It's not like it was doing anything good to begin with.

I think the being known as Araphel that currently lives in the Nether is removed from the physical body he once inhabited, instead just being the worst parts of his soul banished. When Irene banished him she, and I quote "Shattered his relic". The relic is tied to the divine warrior in a very direct way, so I'd like to think that when his relic shattered, so did Araphel's soul. The better parts of his soul managed to find one another, refine, and reincarnate. Eventually.

The soul that lives in the Nether is the embodiment of his hatred, his jealousy, his rage, his resentment, all of the worst parts of his being condensed into a single irradiated spectre that refuses to rest. It seeks out the other parts of its soul, he seeks to be whole again. If Araphel can reform his soul and get his hands on that relic, then it's all over for anyone who dared to stand in his way.

When he wasn't in this miserable state, Araphel was once a man worth loving. He was known as the destroyer, but those he destroyed were those who threatened his loved ones. He destroyed tyrants, those who would abuse their rule, those who would harm his friends, and he would show no mercy to any being foolish enough to even think of laying a hand on Irene.

He had a rather dry sense of humor, one that bounced off of Kul'zak's endless ramblings and Menphina's sarcasm very well. He often sat with them in their little meadow, lamenting his woes of missing Irene while she was off saving more lives that he couldn't care less about. Araphel was the first to become disillusioned with humanity entirely, the near immortality of the relic weighing him down constantly. It was only a few years after he got it that he came to the conclusion only other relic holders could understand him.

The only reason that changed was when he got a whiff of betrayal. When he realized that something was wrong with how long Kul'zak and Enki had been gone, how Menphina was suddenly nowhere to be found despite eagerly answering his requests to see one another before. It was then that he retreated to the forest by O'Khasis with a mortal woman who held similarities to him. He wanted their descendants to look as much like him as possible.

He got his wish.

[raccoonhearteyes]

March 14th 1998

Sometimes the old gods listen. Trade something worthwhile, pray to the right one, and things can be arranged. But be wary of those that respond after dark. 

Lexa has never believed in god or gods. If they existed, they had never listened to her before and probably wouldn’t start listening now. 

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and while Lexa may not believe in gods, she has no other options.

She can hear the heavy footsteps of her foster father echoing down the hall, getting closer and closer to her room. His words are slurring as he yells for Lexa to come back downstairs. Lexa’s heart races in her chest. Her palms are sweaty enough to leave prints on her jeans. She’d be crying if she weren’t so utterly terrified. 

Lexa has barricaded herself in her own closet. The closet is musty and full of clothes that don’t fit her. She’s heard people talk nostalgically about the smell of their grandmother’s attic, a sweet dusty smell that reminds them of cookies and warm hugs. Lexa has never had such positive memories so all she can smell is the scent of crumbling shoes and unloved children.  The air smells stale, like if she has to spend any longer in here, she may end up suffocating on her own carbon dioxide. 

She’s been in this home for three months, after being kicked out of the last one for running away. Before that she had bounced between homes, never lasting at one for more than a year. While other placements were mean and rude, or spent the government stipend on themselves instead of the kids in their care, this one is by far the worst she’s ever been in. 

Titus is all of those things. And a drunk. And when he gets drunk, he uses his fists to voice any disappointment. Last week he shattered a beer bottle against her arm because she didn’t empty the dishwasher. 

Sometimes Titus comes in and speaks to her like she’s a person; other days, something small will set him off, and the next thing she knows she’s being screamed at and a toaster is flying at her head. It’s the dichotomy that scares her the most. If he was always an exposed wire, she could avoid him all the time, but not knowing the when or what will set him off next means she lives her life in constant fear. She’s barely slept in the last few weeks, startling awake at every small movement, afraid he’s come to chastise her for something else. 

She’s not even sure what she did to set him off this time, she just knows that she bolted the second she realized how angry he was. 

She closes her eyes and begins to beg whoever might be listening to please please please answer for once. 

Beside her, the shadows seem to crawl towards each other, coalescing into a solid form beside her. When it speaks, Lexa jumps. She can tell it’s not quite human. The overall shape is similar, but the edges are blurry, and the eyes too midnight black.

“What are you,” Lexa says in disbelief. 

“The question of what is irrelevant, the question of what you need is more important.” The voice is low and silky smooth.  

“I want out.” 

“Out of what, my dear? I can grant no request so vague.” 

“Out of foster care. Away from here. I want to be free.”

“Freedom comes at a cost.”

“I don’t have any money,” Lexa stutters. 

“Money is not the type of bartering tool I use,” the darkness replies, eyes brushing over Lexa’s body. 

“I won’t sleep with you either.”

“Your body is not the part I would be interested in,” he replies, already dispersing into a dark mist again. 

“Wait!” Lexa begs, and the shadowy figure seems to reconfigure into a more solid shape. “What exactly are you hoping to exchange?” 

“Your soul, of course. A body comes and goes, but a soul lasts forever.”

“Take it. It’s yours,” Lexa agrees too quickly. 

“You barely know what you’re bargaining for. You’re offering a soul in exchange for what, exactly?” 

“I have been abandoned and shunted from home to home since I was three years old. I don’t want to be tied down in the system. I don’t want them to be able to find me. I want my freedom. A lifetime of freedom in exchange for my soul when I’m done with it.”

“Deal,” he says, shaking her hand, then dissolving into nothingness. 

-------

Outside the closet, her foster father seems to forget what he was yelling about, and heads back downstairs. After an hour of calm, Lexa leaves the closet to sleep in her own bed. The following morning, she takes the risk to go downstairs for a glass of water. Titus sits on the couch watching TV and when he sees her, the yelling begins again.

“What are you doing in my house?” 

Fed up with him, Lexa responds, “The government pays you to let me be here.” 

It’s as if he didn’t hear her, “Who are you? How did you get into my house?”

Lexa’s confused, “You were literally just yelling at me for not doing my chores.”

“I don’t have a daughter!”

“No shit, I’m your foster kid.”

“I’d never foster,” he says, and this time he is up on his feet, grabbing Lexa by the arm and leading her to the front door. He yanks open the door and shoves her onto the stoop mumbling, “Try to fucking rob me, I should call the cops...” 

He slams the door in Lexa's face, leaving her standing there dazed and confused. Deciding he was obviously messing with her, she knocks on the front door again. 

He answers, “Who are you? I’m not buying any girl scout cookies.”

“It’s me, L---,” but Lexa’s name won’t come out. It gets stuck in her throat like and lodges in the back like a stone. That’s odd. 

There’s no flash of recognition in Titus’ eyes. No indication that he knows her or what her name is, and it begins to click for her. Titus doesn’t remember her. She’s free.

“Sorry for interrupting your day, sir,” Lexa replies, and practically skips down the steps. 

She runs to her friend Anya’s house, and finds her working on her motorcycle in the driveway. 

“You’ll never believe what happened last night,” Lexa starts. 

“Can I help you with something?” 

“No, Anya, what are you talking about?” 

“How do you know my name?”

“What do you mean, how do I know your name? You're my best friend.”

“Look, lady, I don’t know who you are, but you’re starting to really creep me out so please get off my property.”

Lexa backs away slowly, confused and half-pleading for Anya to stop joking around. This isn’t what she asked for-- she wanted to be free of foster care, safe from being found, not forgotten entirely. 

She needs to clear her head, and walks to a nearby coffee shop. The barista greets her, “Hi, what can I get for you today?”

“Just a latte, thank you.” Lexa orders and pays with cash. It’s a slow morning so she stands at the cash register while they make her order. 

When her latte is finished, the barista turns around and sees her waiting, and says, “Hi, what can I get for you today?”

“You just took my order?” she says, pointing at the latte in her hand. 

The barista looks confused, unable to remember the face of whoever ordered the latte in her hand, but tries to brush it off. “You sure? I’d remember a face like yours.”

“Well, I’m the only one in here and I did order a latte, so yeah, pretty sure.” 

Both of them confused, the barista warily hands the latte over to Lexa and starts to clean. 

Lexa has a seat at a table and tries to doodle on her napkin, but every mark she makes immediately begins to fade and disappear. She’s about a minute away from a breakdown when the barista comes back from the bathroom and greets her all over again. 

When the barista turns her back again, the darkness begins to take shape at the seat across from Lexa. 

Lexa immediately accosts him, “This isn’t what I asked for!” 

“You asked for freedom. Are you not free?”

“I mean, yes, but not really. No one remembers me! No one can even form a new memory of me!” 

“You did not want to be found. What better way to avoid being found, than to not be able to impact the world around you? No one can find a ghost. A ghost is free to roam.” 

“I can’t even say my name,” she whispers softly, voice cracking and tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

But the darkness offers no answer. Instead, he dissolves into mist, and she is left staring at the empty space, angrily knocking over her coffee, only to watch it absorb right into the table as if she never spilled anything. 

Over the next twenty years, Lexa learns the confines of her curse. She doesn’t age. She promised her soul when she was done with it, so the darkness cannot take her youth until she deems herself ready. Lexa can make no mark on the world. Her real name lodges in her throat whenever she tries to say it. A line written fades. A stain disappears. A doodle vanishes. It’s as if she’d never been there.

She can’t put her name on anything. No credit card. No phone. No lease. Not even into the air, only softly whispered to herself to remind her that she is real. 

Once a person has left the room, they have no memory of her. Her life bleeds into déjà vu of repeated introductions and conversations. It’s a lonely existence, being forgotten so often. Relationships are brief. An hour. A night. But always the same confusion when they wake up next to her with no recollection of the evening. A trip to the bathroom and the evening starts over again upon their return.

Lexa, unfortunately, remembers everything. 

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Sacrifce

Warnings: Dub-con, breeding kink, Human sacrifice

AO3

The winter had been harsh and long. The snow was thick over the fields, making sure that no crops would grow. The village was down to its last few animals; even the ones that had perished due to the harsh conditions had to be used up and eaten. The winter rations used up long ago, when the people thought it would be a normal cold season. No one had suspected that the ice would remain for this long. Spring should have started by now, the fields should have been lush and green, lambs and calves should have been dotted around the meadows and pastures. But here you were, cocooned in all the furs the family owned, ignoring pangs of hunger, and wishing to feel the warmth of the sun once more. Clearly this was the anger of the gods, and something had to be done in order to appease them or else your entire village would perish. A decision was made. A sacrifice was needed. It couldn’t be livestock; you were already struggling. The village elders had decided that there were already too many mouths to feed, so a human life it would be. It couldn’t be one of the boys, because obviously strong young men were needed to do what little labour was needed in the village. Elders were needed to pass on knowledge. Mothers were needed to raise the children. And this particular entity did not accept the lives of children. That left the girls of marriageable age. ‘Typical’ you thought to yourself. Something in the back of your mind told you that it would be you. Your family wasn’t particularly important, you had no elders to vouch for you in the council, and as much as they cared about the ‘good of the people’, they were not prepared to let go of their own granddaughters. When the decision was announced, you were not surprised. You hoped it was quick, whatever it was. //// For some morbid reason, you were dressed like a bride. The ceremonial garb was far too thin for the temperature. Maybe you were to freeze to death. Whoever this god was, his temple was located in the mountains near your village. It was, however, a surprisingly short trek. You assumed you would perish along the way seen as you were barefoot, without furs and not well fed. The people of the village could not even extend those courtesies to you. You looked around at the entrance of the temple, it just seemed like a dark and icy cave. It had gone unused for so long. The Jotun god, Loki had fallen out of the people's favour long ago. Mischief and chaos were not welcome by the people. Instead, his brother, Thor remained as the favoured god of the region. Maybe the harsh winter was revenge and punishment for forsaking him. A harsh reminder to the people that he still existed, and that his anger was not to be taken lightly. An elder spoke to you as your hands were tied, you weren’t really listening. A bitter drink was given to you, it burned on the way down, but it was the most warmth you had felt in a while. A thick veil was placed over your head, apparently you weren’t allowed to see what was about to happen, a small mercy. You were led into the temple, the lack of harsh wind making things a little more bearable, but the pure ice on the floor made your bare feet hurt. You were pushed onto your knees, the cold seeping into your bones. The elder walked away. You listened as the voices of the men drifted away from the entrance, leaving your fate in the hands of something unknown. Your only company was the constant dripping, echoing from somewhere in the cave, and the sound of your own thoughts. You hoped it was worth it. A numbing sensation began to take over, probably caused by the drink from earlier. //// You jolted awake at the sound of total silence. The wind could no longer be heard, and the dripping had stopped. You still couldn’t see anything. Yet somehow the room seemed a lot bigger, you felt more exposed, missing the strange comfort of the enclosed space you were supposedly left in. Had you been moved? As your eyes began to grow heavy again, you heard a shuffling from in front of you. The noise causing you to sit up straight. Whatever it was, its presence was suffocating. “Now what do we have here?” The voice was like velvet. Otherworldly even. It seemed to descend, getting closer to you. “A shivering little lamb, all for me.” This must have been Loki. You fought the urge to run out of wherever you were. “Well, it seems like the people haven’t been able to forget me, no matter how hard they try.” He grabbed your tied wrists, the rope falling away like water. His hands felt so big compared to yours. His cold touch made you tingle. “Oh you poor thing. Freezing, aren’t you?” You could only nod. He responded with a light chuckle. “Are you going to eat me?” you blurted out, not thinking about what you were saying. He moved away from you. You could feel him staring at you. You knew he was grinning. “Of course, I am,” he got closer again, “it is up to you how,” he whispered. You gulped. There seemed to be innuendo in his statement. He moved again, this time directly in front of you. You gasped as you saw his fingers hook under your veil. Big and blue was the only way you could describe them, with raised ridges. You wanted to trace them with your fingers. Your thoughts were cut short by the tugging on your veil. Your hands shot up to cover your scrunched up eyes. You felt the veil come off, the cool air hitting your head. “Look at me, Y/N”, his voice boomed around the space. You never told him your name, you were sure of it. His tone left no space to argue. How could you defy a powerful god anyway? You knew what his wrath could bring first-hand. You lowered your shaky hands first, placing them on your thighs, gripping your knees. You slowly opened your eyes, letting them adjust to the new light. Your eyes fell to the bottom of the dais you were kneeling at. Ever so slowly your gaze travelled up, taking in each individual, intricately carved step. Finally, your eyes landed on the being sprawled out over his crystal throne. His head rested on his hand, a bored expression on his face. The only way you could describe him was ‘magnificent’. A beauty like no other. You could see why mortals would fear him, but he was not the grotesque creature you expected him to be. He seemed amused at your expression, raising a brow at you, causing you to blush, you wanted to be back behind the veil to hide your own embarrassment. “I expected a little more screaming, mortals usually can’t handle what they cannot understand,” he finally spoke again. You could do nothing but owlishly blink. “Stand,” he commanded. You scrambled up, your legs resisting after kneeling for so long. “Come here,” he made a ‘come hither’ gesture with his finger. You slowly made your way up the icy steps, becoming painfully aware of your bare feet. You tried to look away when you stood directly in front of him, even sitting the god dwarfed you in size. His icy hand reached forward, gently holding your chin and making you face him. Those red eyes seemed to study your face intensely. You stared right back, taking in all his features. High cheekbones and a sharp nose, all accented by the same ridges he had on his hands. You followed the patterns to the column of his throat, stopping yourself from letting your eyes wander further down; you knew he was covered in the lines. You wondered if they were natural in Jotuns, or if they were burned into the skin, like a rite of passage of sorts. You had heard other tribes in your area had similar traditions. Your thoughts drifted to mapping them out with your own hands. “Such a curious little thing you are,” he said. He must have caught you staring, your eyes darted away from him as he chuckled. You caught a glimpse at his teeth, pearly white and sharp. He pinched your cheeks as you tried to turn away, thoroughly enjoying the heat that rushed into them. “I forget how soft and delicate Midgardians are,” he mumbled. He pulled away from you, looking you up and down as he thought what to do with you. “Your people want salvation, yes? They want the winter to end?” he asked. You quickly nodded; it was the reason you were here. He hummed, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. A grin spread across his face. The room around you began to spin before you fell back onto soft furs. A fire crackled nearby, you sighed at finally feeling warmth after so long. Loki stood above you, staring you down, the light from the fire making his features sharper than before. You felt like a mouse at his feet. You almost screamed as he got down, hovering above you on all fours, engulfing you with his body. Your noses touching. “I will offer your people reprieve from my winter,” he started. “Th- Thank you,” you stuttered. “However,” his grin became more malicious, “If you do not provide me an heir by next spring, the winter will plague your lands until you do,” he whispered in your ear, placing a cold hand across your belly. His tone left no room for question, the future of your people depended on this. You were pulled out of your thoughts when Loki carried you to the furs next to the fire, warming you up even further, you hadn’t noticed you were shivering until you stopped. “I am a cruel god, but I will show mercy to those that deserve it,” he mumbled. His cool hands trailed their way down the column of your throat, you gasped as his lips flowed close behind. Stopping along the way to mark and nip you with his sharp teeth, the marks would scar. This was the closest anyone had ever been to you. His hands made quick work of the cord holding your dress together. He peeled the thin fabric away from you. You tried to cover your bare skin, but your hands wouldn’t move, held down by some sort of magic. His hands found your soft skin again, making you groan as he paid attention to your breasts. “What sweet sounds you make, little maiden.” He made eye contact with you as he took one of your nipples into his mouth. Your hands broke free and buried themselves into his hair, your head falling back in unfamiliar pleasure. He smiles with his wet lips, before moving onto the other. You felt like you were burning up inside. He let go of your nipple with a ‘pop’, the cool air brushing over them. “I hope these will be full soon.” His lips travelled down your abdomen to the tops of your thighs. His hands ran up your legs until they met his lips. In one swift movement he held them open, your legs over his shoulders as your wetness was exposed to him. You covered your face in embarrassment. His fingers ghosted over your sensitive flash, causing your hips to jerk at the sensation, wanting more. “Is your cunt dripping for your god?” His mouth was so close to your heat. He used his magic to remove your hands from your face, making you look at him again. His red eyes burned into yours as his tongue liked a stripe through your folds. You sighed at the feeling, tightening your thighs around him and wanting more. He continued to noisily suck, distracting you from his finger that began to enter you. The intrusion was so foreign to you, but you couldn’t help but give in. Wanting more. You felt so greedy, you had never felt this sort of wanting before. You didn’t think your mother would be happy with you if she found out. Loki began sucking at your sensitive bud, bringing you to the edge of whatever this was. “Please...” you breathed out. You looked down at him with teary eyes, you didn’t know what you were begging for. With one final suck, Loki had you seeing stars, finally falling off the edge you were headed towards. Your legs jerked around him, keeping him where he was as he looked up at you with amusement in his eyes. You looked down at him after coming down from your high, his face wet with your release. You let your legs relax, allowing him to move up to you, this time capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. He broke away, leaving you breathless. Using his magic, he quickly got rid of what little clothing he was in. You were right about the ridges being everywhere, your hands were loose again, and you reached for his chest, finally getting a feel of the cool skin. He growled as your fingers traced the ridges down to his stomach. His hands stopped yours as you reached his hips. You let your eyes wander down, they widened at the size of his cock. He chuckled at your reaction. “Mortals are quite adaptable are they not? I’m sure your cunt will be able to accommodate me.” He brought your hands to feel his ridged and velvety skin. He sighed at the feeling of your warm hands. He shuffled you around again, spreading you open for what was to come next. He rubbed his cock along your folds, the temperature difference already making you hiss. You didn't think he would fit. With one hand on your hip, he guided the tip to your entrance. Slowly, he pushed in, stopping to let you stretch around him until he bottomed out. The only way you could describe the feeling was ‘full’. You knew no mortal man could ever fill you like this, they wouldn’t even get the opportunity to. His hand pressed down on your stomach, “Can you feel me here?” he groaned. All you could do is nod, no coherent words forming any time soon. Both hands found your hips this time, he began to thrust in a steady rhythm, slowly picking up the pace. You knew you’d never get used to his size, however long you were here. The room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, you moaned anytime he hit that spot inside you. Loki moved you so effortlessly, as if you were simply a toy, made for his pleasure. The coil in your belly began to tighten again, you didn’t know how much longer you would last. “Please, My King… I…” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to fight the feeling.

“You want to cum again? So soon? Aren’t you being a little greedy mortal?” he taunted. His words made you clench around him a little tighter. You looked up at him with teary eyes, hoping he would show you this one mercy. “Pathetic little thing,” he grumbled, his fingers reaching for your clit, letting you tumble off the edge again. He kept on thrusting through your aftershocks, heightening the sensations. He fully sheathed himself inside you before his head fell back in ecstasy, pumping you full of his seed. You went limp on the furs, trying to catch your breath. The heat of the fire felt too much for you at that moment. Loki pulled himself out with an obscene noise, inspecting the aftermath of his work.

“Your people are lucky to have sent you, little mortal.” He effortlessly carried you back to the bed, letting you sink into the covers. “You were strong enough to last through receiving my seed, and you’ll be strong enough to carry my heir,” his hand rubbed your tummy, seemingly deep in thought, “Not many would have survived.” He climbed in behind you. You groaned as his fingers found your sensitive cunt. He speared you back onto his already hard cock, you whimpered at the stretch. “I’ll let you rest for a little while, but you will keep me warm until we can start again. You have a purpose to fulfil, remember?” “Yes My King,” you whispered back, trying to adjust to the foreign sensation.

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros Headcanon: The Big 6"

Zeus:

-Pretty much everything about him is pretty standard, including him being your regular man. Flaws and all. Oddly enough he isn't that truly complicated as an individual, after all, all mankind IS mostly modeled after him and few other gods.

-As he and the others were assigned their devine positions, he started taking up attributes of the sky and his own consignated animal the eagle, like feathers instead of hair, incredible eyesight and a tendency to create electricity with excessive movement or emotional outbursts. He's towering and under his more comfortable toga he's fucking BUILT.

-He's a rather decent father by ancient Greek standards, yes almost everything he has done according to mortal men have happened. Of course his own children weren't going to argue against him. However, he always has his offspring and so on in mind. He tries to interact with his children in meaningful ways as much as he can or want, regardless he isn't a forgetful man....just a 'busy' one.

-In spite of his powerful and stern demeanor, he is always constantly at odds with his own inner demons. He's ALWAYS questioning his past actions, he laments his terrible and questionable decision he had ever impulsively but he does take up the traditional mantle of "masculine density" and rarely shows his emotions. When he does show his emotions, it's either heartbreaking or a loud storm targeting said source of destress.

-He deeply loves Hera in every sense of the word, but he has "such a big heart he can't just keep it to himself", quote Zeus. Regardless, he still acts on his impulses and is the root of all his problems. Legend has it, his very essence accidentally created King Henry the 8th and many other historical heartbreakers.

-In spite of making up many of the rules of humanity (with extra help of the rest of his siblings), human mortals have always had a terrible habit of breaking these rules. Zeus has made so.many of these rules that he's just stop keeping up with keeping mortals in place. He just kind of let's things happen. At this point of his existence, his only concern now is to make sure other gods are following their rules.

-He HATES child sacrifices. Mostly because when a living thing gets sacrificed it comes in flesh and blood directly to the land of the gods. So naturally, there is a complete population of "ascended" mortals and animals in Olypmus....and he already has his hands full. Plus he just doesn't like the principal of it all. He genuinely hates children getting hurt in the first place.

-HIS list of enemies is a kilometer long. It includes everything that's a titan, some of his own children (and grandchildren), Hera to a very small extent and Hades.....even though there has been literally NOTHING that has proven Hades is a threat to him.

-The main reason why Zeus adamantly believes that Hades is out to get him is because of HOW he assigned Hades to be god of the underworld..... basically, he asked Hades to check a dark cave.....and closed the cave entrence while he and Poseidon ran off. Hades ironically doesn't care about this and has no real intensions of taking revenge on Zeus for anything, the fact Zeus haphazardly gave him a wife and lives in constant paranoia gives him solence.

-He is extremely defensive of Hermes and Dionysus. Inspite of his claim of loving all his offspring equally, he feels a deeper connection to Hermes considering that he was to be considered the "prodigal usurper" before Dionysus, meanwhile Dionysus is his youngest son with the most responsibility for a god so naturally he's going to keep a closer eye on both just a little bit more. In terms of familiar respect, Athena and Apollo are tied as his most "important" children.

-After Athena's birth, Zeus's mental fortitude, better judgement and intellectual integrity has completely been capped. He constantly has headaches, tends to make terrible decisions, tends to be forgetful, and goes through terrible flashbacks to anything that can come to mind. He still loves and respects his daughter but he has to admit her very presence gives his a headache. It's rumored that his brain is 2/5ths of what it use to be.

-He has no control over Hera and never will. After several take overs, a very nasty scroll call from Nyx for threatening to harm Hypnos, and having several lovers killed by her, he's completely decided that fighting her or arguing with her. He would still end all.of existence for her.

-The only entities he truly fears is Nyx, Gaia and Aphrodite. Nyx being a more intimidating foe of his, Gaia being his own grandmother and Aphrodite being a she-titan who for reason decided it was cash-money as fuck to just take residence in Olypmus.....that....and a good small chunk of his afairs were caused by her and her son Eros.

-He STILL has no idea how Heracles inherited his THICCNESS. He may consider himself thicc but Heracles couldn't have gotten from him.

-He adores all his followers and considers them worthy of answering their prayers.... Except for one. Lycaon.

-He loves giving Hera pet names but due to her burning anger towards him, she won't let him....even though she loves the pet names he gives her.

-He has many professional relationships and alliances with other gods. However he has had a long on-going distrust of the Sumerian gods. He just finds them to be a little too private in comparison to the rest of his fellow gods. That and he's actually jealous of their near perfect beards. His beard tends to sprout stray down feathers.

Hera:

-She was assigned to be the goddess of marriage and the household, however, she has assigned herself as the goddess of the mind, heart and soul. Because as it turns out, she causes more boughts of madness more than Eris and Dionysus combined. She also controls female intuition and matters of personal strength. She's the force that helps feel when something isn't right or when you feel like you need to do something important wether being benign or malignant. She basically IS your emotional support mom/aunt, but she controls you and your emotions. However she actually uses this ability in moderation.

-She is considered as "Step-Mom" by most of Zeus's out of wedlock offspring. She's always extremely shrewed, vindictive and most of the time outright nasty....but that's about it. She will attempt to get you once or twice but if she senses that it could be a massive waste of her time than she'll just make your life a smig shittier. However, she not an "evil" step mom, more of a step mom who has to get use to her step-children, it will take some work for both parties but deep down she's just angry at Zeus.

-She hates Zeus's children, but she isn't heartless, quite the opposite, children are children in her mind regardless if it's hers or not. She'll make it hard for you but if you ask her for help or ask her in the right manner, she will be delighted to help.

-She is your quintessential woman, she loves jewels, the finer things in life, small animals (especially birds) and she can be either the sweetest or the meanest. After all, like Zeus who created MAN, she created WOMAN. Legend has it she actually let the rest of the gods collaborate as a way to make them feel better. Or at least that's how she puts it, turns out Hermes and Aphrodite made a deal to make more like "them" than Hera intended. While MAN was built pretty close to Zeus's intended design, WOMAN was designed with Aphrodite's beauty and tender nature, while Hermes gave "a dirty mind" much like how MAN were given. Basically WOMAN and MAN are completely equal in everyway regardless of "differences".

-Shes also adopted some inhuman attributes, she grows feathers on some portions of her hair, she feels insecure about them but Zeus adores this because it reminds him that's birds mate for life. Her feathers look more like feathers of a peahen and seamlessly blends with her hair.

-Her ONLY desire is for Zeus to stop cheating on her. She literally wants nothing more. That, and for Dionysus and Apollo to stop steal her dresses for their own endeavors.

-She loves her biological children and their offspring but somehow they keep disappointing her. Ares loves a woman who cheats on Hephaestus and Hebe is in love with the son of the woman who Zeus cheated with. She believes it's karma but at the same time she couldn't be less surprised.

-She loves Hephaestus, but due to his limped leg and his more rugged appearance, she barely tolerates looking at him. Which is strange because Hephaestus heavily resembles Zeus.

-She knows the truth about Erichthonius. He's also her favorite grandson. She has her eye on almost everything, she actually saw the whole drama between Athena and Hephaestus. At first she wanted to intervene but after she noticed this consummated a child and saw how Athena took initiative to take care of the child regardless of her chastity, it gained a little more respect for Athena. Being raised to be a wise young man by Athena and being Hephaestus's biological son, Erichthonius has been secretly considered the most successful grandchild to her.

-Her favorite animals are birds, Zeus as a webbing present gave her the chance to create birds. Thanks to her, the skies are filled with songs.

-She doesn't have a lot of enemies, however, Aphrodite is a big contender against her. While Hera controls the integrity of women, Aphrodite controls their emotional and sexual impulses. So Hera is at constent odd against her...that...and the main reason why Hera married her off to Hephaestus because she wanted to make amends to him....not make his life anymore worse than it already is.

-Hera is aware how most of Zeus's children feel about her, but she appreciates it dearly when one of them does something nice for her....even though she probably demanded it or care for it.

Poseidon and Amphitrite:

-Hes absolutly BOMBASTIC. He's the most carefree of his brothers, most physically fit and considered the most handsome.

-His marriage is ironically WORSE than Zeus's, but he and Amphitrite consensually agreed to pretend nothing is wrong.... apparently it works like a charm and they barely fight. However this is considered a massively concerning situation to Zeus and Hera because the both of them know that a relationship that doesn't regularly express their grievances...often end sour.

-Like his siblings, he's adopted physical attributes that correspond to their environment. Apparently, he has grown gills, his 'beard' is actually octopus tentacles and he has scales in certain places. He can shapeshift into many aquatic creatures.

-Unlike his brothers, his offspring are genetic tossups. One can look relatively ok, another can be a cyclops for no reason. His most famous child is Triton, but the poor lad is a rather simple and humble young mad who has very little aspersions in life. Poseidon tries to encourage him to do something productive but Triton just sort of falls below average in popularity.

- He's the best horseman in all of Greece, in fact his love for horses only rivals his love for literally trying to destroy humanity and his wife.

-He has a love/hate relationship with his nephews. However if you would ask him which nephew he dislikes the most, it would be Dionysus. Oddly enough, Dionysus actually likes to antagonize Poseidon, mostly because he's actually more strict than his dad. It wasn't until the invention of the dolphin that made Dionysus's and Poseidon's relationship between each other a little better. Poseidon has a less innocent hatred for Athena, after losing patronship over Athens, he's sworn vengeance over her. However it's more akin to sending really annoying Facebook messages rather than epic natural disasters. Once a year, he enjoys terrorizing Athens through changing the spring water to saltwater for a few days, make all the horses aggressive and give "oddly constent" tremors.

-If it wasn't for Zeus proposing to Hera first, he would have married her instead. Even though the two had married different people, it always seemed the two had a very interesting chemistry.

- Even though there may be a serious discourse on who it's Theseus's father. The reality is Poseidon doesn't actually want to claim Theseus as his own for mysterious reasons.

-He never sent a different bull to Minos, Poseidon took the form of a bull and cursed Pasiphaë. This was the first account of a god that WASN'T Aphrodite and Eros to have caused someone to be sexually attracted by magic. This has been a family secret between the big 6 for years because if any other gods found out they could just will people's passion, the world be in a state of pure chaos. Poseidon however has an even dirtier secret, he didn't use his godly powers on Pasiphaë, instead he just found a way to get her specifically attracted to him in bull form by using an old recipe for an aphrodisiac from the sunken city of Atlantis. He doesn't tell the truth about this because he's an asshole that way. He finds it more useful to have the other gods believing he had something in reality he didn't have.

- He has a fun hobby of naming his horses the most adorable and somewhat random names, like "Peach Basket", "TootsieFoot" and ect. It ended up being a traditional way of naming race horses in racing derbies.

- He has absolutly no love for humans. He enjoys that mortals worship him and such but the fact he has an entire ocean at his and his wife's disposal, he honestly feels that he has very little need for mortal worshippers....at least this is what he originally thought until his power was contested by an ocean god named Dagon. Long story short, Poseidon no longer takes mortals for granted anymore....and likely never will.

- Poseidon is Olypmus's most prolific warden, like Hades, Poseidon has his own prisoners of war. Most of them being titans, monsters, giants and occasionally malignant gods. It's even argued that he's a much more strict jailer considering being sealed away by Poseidon is a death sentence.

-His greatest pleasure is people enjoying themselves in water in positive ways. Swimming, playing games, and gently interacting with marine animals. However his greatest distain comes from mortals misusing his ocean.

- He has a professional relationship with mostly other Greek water gods and anything related to water. He monitors the water nymphs, consoles all horse-like beasts and so on and so forth.

- She has equal control of the ocean just like her husband. In fact, she has equal control of half of everything Poseidon has. Apparently this is what helps their marriage and it almost makes up for Poseidon's eccentric behaviors.

- Not much is known about her, but based on her interactions, she's a lot more nicer and more gentle than Poseidon when it comes to leadership. She's generous, eccentrically fabulous and has the same energy of a 1920's rich hamptons housewife.

-Shes genuine friends with all of the goddesses and she rarely plays on a specific team. She's a bizzarly lucid gal who loves to lend a shoulder to cry on.

-She and only she has the semi-chaotic energy to tolerate Poseidon and his afairs.

- If Poseidon wants to do something, he would HAVE to ask Amphitrite for permission. After all it isn't "Your side, your rules", it's a partnership between a married couple.

Demeter:

- Controlling over the domain of the earth and harvest, you'll always see some type of vegetation growing on her. It mostly appears as if she fashionably placed strands of wheat grain, fruit flowers and leaves inductive of the season. She and Hestia are the only ones of the big six who don't have animal based attributes. Demeter is also the tallest of the sisters.

-Her input in important matters usually revolve around conservation, providing sustenance and extra maternal perspective. It's contestant as well that she can even be more motherly than Hera, even at her most grim demeanor.

-She is a loving and doting mother. She's the most gentle of the goddesses and yet she can be just as harsh when she needed to.

-She consideres the earth her personal garden, but she shares it with world. Her favorite activity is to create new and exciting plants with Persephone (Or Kore as she prefers to call Persephone) and spending time with her.

-She has other offspring but she doesn't make a fuss about their fathers and their lack of presence. As long as she can keep all of them safe, it's all she needs and cares about.

- Demeter can easily put everyone in Olypmus to their knees. The gods and by extension mortals all have to depend on her and her harvests. When Persephone was taken, she placed all the whole of Greece in a state of famine.

- She use to love and trust Hades, but after he had haphazardly taken Persephone away, all that changed. She keeps a serious eye on Hades since than and has a deep resentment for him and his actions. She barely acknowledges him when he's present but she's still cordial. After a few years however, her attitudes towards him mellowed seeing how Persephone looks forward to seeing Hades every winter.

- She would have married Zeus if his eyes weren't set on Hera. Like Poseidon and Hera, there has been speculation that he and Demeter would have been a better married couple considering both of their personalities would have complimented each other. But that belongs in the "stray line".

-Being the goddess of the harvest, she mostly tends to the matters of farmers and gardeners. By extension, she has an extremely healthy relationship with other vegetation gods, especially Dionysus. Whom oddly enough is treated more like an adopted son rather than a nephew.

- She adores all of her nieces and nephews equally, mostly because she sees that all of them have utilized her gifts to the world in the proper manner. She adores the Bois, because each other of them represents an important value in cultivation.

-She tends to be an anxious woman, and at worst a worrywart. However, she always tries to keep a level head when she desperately needs it.

-She loves animals just as much as she does plants. She in fact helped console in the creation of everything based on how things could tend to themselves without the intervention of the gods. Her ingenuity help give rise to what is considered the concept of the circle of life and the food chain.

-She has an amazing connection between her sisters, prior to being assigned their domains, the three of them would often play with each other and stay close to their mother Rhea. The brothers would always be rummaging around the place and would often tease their sisters.

Hestia:

- The eldest and most lackadaisical sister, she's the more tomboyish of the sisters and loves to rough house.

-She has dark hair with ember roots, the brightness of which increases with emotions. Her physical attributes is her hair always looking alive with flames and being able to increase the temperature in her body.

-Shes a stocky, jolly woman who loves to work in the kitchen whip up something special. She's mostly known for her amazing recipes and her staff of Vestals. She may not keep herself up to the standards of her sisters, but she sees beauty in herself just the way she is.

-The Vestals in her domain are sadly those who "failed to keep the sacred fire lit", that must be sacrificed to the flame. Hestia dispises this punishment, but sadly it seems rarely any of her so-called priests listen to her. Everytime when she receives a vestal, she welcomes them with open arms, a big warm hug and a heartfelt apology for thier suffering. She than mentors them in the ways of the hearth, the real ways straight from the source.

- Like Demeter, she has a massive soft spot for her nieces and nephews. Dionysus again seemingly being the common favorite due to his fun loving personality and his contributions. In a strange sense, as a gift for finally proving himself worthy of a seat in Olypmus, she gave him her own. Hephaestus is another favorite of hers. She often times invites Hephaestus to her domain to have a chat, she often feels for him and tries her best to give him his over due affections in the form of baked goods, interesting items she has been gifted through the hearth and such.

-She isn't a political person to begin with, what one does with their business is their own in her mind. So when she gets called up to converse in such matters, she either stays out of it or she determines herself if it's worth her time.

- She has a mild aversion to water. Poseidon often teases her by flicking a small splash of water, but it just peeves her a little. Mostly because water droplets just sizzle on her and it feels like a little lactic acid itch to her. If someone were to have dumped water on her, it would be feel like as if some dunked boiling water with itching powder on you. She always feels warm so she tends to """cool""" herself down with molten magma or bonfire. When she enters flames, it can depend on where it came from; underworld fire often feels like stepping into one of Costco's Freezers for a little bit and normal earthly flames feeling like a little cool breeze to her.

- She has the most communication between her and her worshippers out of any god. So I. Truth, it's actually easy to envoke her through flames and hearthing.

-She isn't just a goddess of the hearth, she's also the goddess of cooks, bakers, female blacksmiths or the wives of blacksmiths, and glassblowers. Thus she has an extremely healthy relationship with Hephaestus.

-The reason why she chose to be a virgin is actually a simple reason. While Artemis represents chasity for childhood innocence and Athena represents chasity for matters of country and country men, Hestia's chasity is all about personal choice and freedom. Why have children of her own when her vestals are basically her own children, she feels love and responsibility for each of them. The reality is she's not into men, in fact if she wanted to relinquish her chastity, she would want a loving wife. But she isn't interested in marriage or a relationship either. She's as she puts it "far too free for anyone". So in truth, she represents freedom of choice and the firing passion that comes with compassion.

Hades:

-He's what you'd expect from someone who lives most of his life in the underworld yet at the same time not. He's tall, pale, has jet black slicked hair, extremely eloquent and distinguishing. He always trails low hanging mist, seemingly gliding throughout, his eyes glow a warm yellow and speaks in a soft but booming voice. He's not as muscular as his brothers, but he is rather dashing.

-He's more akin to being a classical depiction of a gentleman vampire than a god. Due to his occupation, he's developed a very professional disposition. He greets, guides and consoles the dead. At first he might seems intimidating and even at times callous, but he has your best interests at heart and is a fair ruler. Oddly enough if it wasn't for his aesthetic and his reputation of being ruler of the underworld, he would probably be more comparable to an Arthurian ruler.

-Out of all his siblings, he's the least problematic. He keeps to himself so often that it could be YEARS before anyone would hear from him.

-He's a dedicated and simple man of business, and he takes his job very seriously with a healthy amount of exceptions.

-The "reality" of his chance encounter with Persephone was actually before her kidnapping. He met her while taking a chariot ride and had a passing conversation with her, completely unaware she was Demeter's daughter. After coming back to the underworld, his minions found a bizzare type of mold growing deep in Tartarus that consumed souls. In a panicked state, he than kidnapped Persephone in the hopes she would help the situation, she was glad to be of service and was escorted back to earth. After such a strange ordeal, the two of them kept meeting in secret until Persephone decided to stay with Hades for an extended amount of time. After consuming the food of the underworld by mistake, the story starts returns back to the original.

-He doesn't have much of an opinion on his nieces and nephews. He enjoys Hermes's equally hardworking personality and friendly disposition, he's had Apollo make occasional appearances to give Tartarus some form sunlight, he seems to tolerate Dionysus's slacker behavior but he seems have a very strange connection to Dionysus on a "spiritual" level. However he has extremely low patients for Ares. He isn't too fond of him due to the fact the Ares makes his job a lot for tenuous when wars breakout and his occasional sneaking around the underworld to bother the other chthonic gods.

-He may rule over the underworld, but he's not THEE ruler. He's sort of the equivalent to a king in comparison to Nyx, who is more of an empress. By extension, the ruling regions of the underworld organized rather similarly to a medieval monarchy. Thus creating what the Christians assume is how hell looks and functions like in The Discoverie of Witchcraft, The Book of Spirits, Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, The Lesser Key of Solomon, and Dictionnaire Infernal. Surprisingly, Tartarus actually has nothing to do with anything that the book has to offer.

- The Elysian Fields were created for two very interesting reasons, it was a gift to Persephone for her to feel more comfortable in the underworld and a safe place for those who didn't fit in purgatory or the deeper part of Tartarus. In fact Persephone rules over the fields while Hades rules over the rest.

-When he was first given Cerberus as a pup, Cerberus was dark grey covered in little black spots. As he grew older, Cerberus's fur became darker to a solid black. Ironically, Hades believed Cerberus was going to be spotted throughout his life.

-He unfortunately has no offspring of his own, but he and Persephone isn't above adopting either. Much like Hestia, Hades has a surprising amount of apprentices, apostles and proteges that all are adopted lost souls. Many of them ranging in different ages and such. Charon kept mentioning there had been a small gathering of child wraiths at the banks of the Styx. Apparently many of them being abandoned children who's parents never gave Obolus Obviously, Hades had to make an exception, obviously he wasn't going to let orphaned children fend for themselves in the banks of Styx, so....he now has many wonderful and rambunctious ghost children simply living out there time.

-He's literally the richest god. He didn't expect to accidentally inherit the Earth's worth in wealth. Apparently, there's an on going joke that Gaia gave this wealth to Hades as a form of revenge against Zeus and Poseidon. That....and Gaia actually likes Hades more.

-Zeus and Poseidon were, are and forever regretful that Hades rules the underworld basically hoarding wealth like some posh dragon. Ironically, Hades has 0 idea that he actually owns any of the wealth, that's right, he literally doesn't know anything about the precious metals, gems and such. He assumes his wealth comes from the sheer real estate and number of souls collects. If you ever found out about his incredible amount of monetary control, he probably wouldn't have any idea what to do with it.

-Hades has a professional relationship with Nyx, however, Nyx has decided he's an "adopted neighbor husband". She's extremely affectionate to him as if she was married to him. Hades however, is a dedicated husband and tries him best to make it clear that they're friendly neighbors and not by any means lovers. She doesn't care and still treats him as such. He doesn't know why but all he knows is that she is a powerful, primordial super goddess who lives in the underworld with him. Another ex-lover of Hades was Minthe, who in truth barley added anything for Hades in terms of a meaningful relationship, it was mostly just a lover's affair. After some time, Hades figured that his time was better spent working. After he married Persephone, Minthe attempted to take her revenge by trying seduce Hades back.....let's just say Persephone left her a little green.

[mallowstep]

Genetics ask! I know that male torties/torbies are very rare and caused by a genetic mutation, but with those who do exist, are there any prerequisites with their parents? I’m assuming they’d have to carry the red gene since tortoiseshell is one red, one not-red, but I barely know anything. And based on this, is it better to just headcanon cats like Redtail as biologically female?

alright! hello, anon.

since i had to do more research than usual for this one, reminder that:

i am not an expert. i can and will be wrong. you can find my self-corrections under #corrections, but those are only things i or others have noticed, and that i've had the time to write a correction to and explain.

disclaimers out of the way, let's talk about tortie toms. (and torbie toms, and calico toms, it's all the same deal.)

if you know how ginger works, you can skip the next few paragraphs.

orange (ginger, red, etc.) is sex-linked in cats. what this means is that the gene that causes orange cats is on the x chromosome. it is also codominant, which means that having an orange x chromosome (Xo) and a non-orange x chromosome (X) is not black or orange, but both.

basically:

X or XX: black

Xo or XoXo: orange

XXo: tortoiseshell

yeah?

now, for the rest of this post, i'm going to be writing O and o instead of Xo and X because it's one less character and i don't run the risk of putting three x chromosomes together.

okay. so because torties need two x chromosomes, they're typically female. the way tortie itself works is basically, cells activate one of the genes (O or o) at random, creating patches. so you need two copies.

wikipedia says about a third of male torties have klinefelter's, which is the XXY karyotype. while this does have physical changes associated with it, the only way to confirm (humans have) klinefelter's is to test it genetically.

luckily, cats are very helpful about demonstrating it. what with them being tortie and all.

(we're also lumping in the variations of klinefelter's here. you can get XXYY, etc., and they all fit into the same broad idea.)

anyway, the extra x chromosome can come from either the mother or the father. this makes tortie toms...not quite easier, since the prereqs are the same, but y'know. if mom is Oo, dad doesn't matter. if mom is OO, dad has to be o, and if mom is oo, dad has to be O. same rules as usual.

XXY toms are going to be...not sterile, but pretty infertile. using human stats, about 50% can produce sperm, although the likelihood of them having kits is still low. humans with klinefelter's are also taller than average, so keep that in mind.

again, and this might be a correction on my part, i can't remember, but tortie toms aren't strictly going to be visibly different than other toms.

okay, so most people stop at klinefelter's, but there are two other ways to get tortie toms: mosiacism and chimerism. these are often confused/combined, but because i strive for generally being accurate, i'll go over them both.

mosaic cats carry multiple genetic lines, because of a mutation. this can either be somatic (happens in the body, is not hereditary), or germline (happens in reproductive cells of parents, is hereditary).

this is not always a gain of a line, you can lose a chromosome as well. the difference between somatic and germline and how it affects torties goes over my head, so i'm not going to speak to it, other than i'm pretty sure we're talking about somatic mosaicism. i think. again, not a biologist or geneticist, just a hobbyist with an internet connection.

right, so what happens is basically, some cells lose their extra x chromosome, giving you a cat with karyotype XXY/XY. these cats are more likely to be fertile and generally have less effects of klinefelter's. i'm not entirely sure how this affects tortie presentation, if at all, but it does happen.

i suppose you could also have some kind of mutation that gives you an extra x spontaneously, but that would be unlikely to cause torties, because it would also have to mutate into the other O allele.

again, i really want to stress that while i'm not bullshitting, i'm also not speaking definitively here.

last up is chimerism, where two embryos fuse in the womb, creating mixed genes.

i'm using a picture of a dog, here, because this is what goes through my head when i think of chimeras. you'll have to take my word for it, but while this would be a normal tortie cat, it can't really happen in dogs without some kind of mutation. and chimerism, given the extent of the patching, is pretty likely.

right! chimera torties are going to be, afaik, normal levels of fertile, although it's likely that they can pass on either black or red, not both.

(while i'm here, before we move on, there are a lot of types of chimeras. this type is called tetragametic chimerism, and it's rare in humans but more common in other animals. it's hard to know how common it is, because the differences are often very subtle, and hard to test. it's also not mutually exclusive with mosaics or klinefelter's, just to really muddy the waters.)

i don't have statistics for how common mosaics and chimeras are, and there's always, "a different type of mutation that doesn't fall into this category"

for mosaics and chimeras, the rules for inheritance seem to be the same as for klinefelter's. there's the added note that, because there can be multiple sires within one litter, a ginger queen could have kits with a ginger tom, and get a tortie son, as long as she also...ahem...with a black(/brown, etc.) tom. (or vice versa, with all brown and a ginger.)

okay! so that's basically how it happens.

as for the second part of this question, well. "is it better?" is a matter of opinion. i don't think anyone is wrong for having tortie toms. i don't care. (a) it is possible, and (b) we're all just having fun.

i, personally, do not think redtail is karyotype XX, because i like him being sandstorm's father with brindleface. idk. i like brindleface. yes, i know this raises huge genetic problems, and it's not very canon. i don't really care. i read that redtail fic where he thinks about sand&brindle as he's dying and it hasn't left me.

that said, i'm still a sucker for trans redtail. love it. idk, this is kind of hard to explain. like? it's not my headcanon, but i still appreciate it.

anyway! to the point: if you care about statistics and likelihoods and how many tortie toms you've had in the clan, yes, you're probably better off saving your chromosome anomalies for when they need to have kits, and using XX karyotype for the rest.

(under the cut: matthew rambles about trans cats and gender identity for a while)

i'm pretty sure cats don't have the western concept of gender. i don't think they have a human concept of gender, either, but at some point i need to be able to pin down something, and i think a third/fourth gender is closer to what they have.

i've been thinking about this a lot lately, because i decided i wasn't satisfied with my old approach to trans cats. i can do better than that. i decided cats don't have gendered pronouns, so why should the solution be, "trans cats don't really get to do anything about it"

no. i am dissatisfied with that.

at the same time, for specific reasons: i also don't think cats are trans in the western sense of the word.

because if for nothing else, remember that cat sexual dimorphism has a bigger effect on their life than in humans.

like, queens are going to be uncomfortable around male cats they don't hella trust and their kits. that doesn't go away if said male cat isn't a tom. y'know?

i'm in a constant state of tweaks with this, because i basically: form opinion, test opinion, refine opinion. my initial opinion was too harsh. and!

part of what's changed is i decided i wanted fernsong to be able to raise his kits in the nursery instead of ivypool. so i had to adjust how i think the nursery and queens work, slightly, to permit for that. now, i can turn back to gender and think about it some more.

i'm not going to coin any new terms, because i'm not in that kind of mood, but i think there is some idea of a female cat who is not a she-cat. i don't think the cats would call them a tom, but i'm not sure what they would say or how they would describe it.

i think they would just, on some level, get it.

actually okay you know what! i do need some lingo here. queens = cats who are raising kits in the nursery. she-cats = XX karyotype, considers self female (cis, if you will). toms = XY karyotype, considers self male (cis, again). and uh...we'll go with...

god i hate. i don't want anything i say in this ramble to be considered "words i am going to now use consistently" because i literally just need some way to describe this for my own sanity. with that in mind, let us use molly for XY karyotype, but not a tom, and...how about gib for XX karyotype, not a she-cat.

again, i don't want that to be considered permanent, i'm just fishing at words people use to describe cats so i can have something to work with.

right so, i don't think cats think gib and tom are equivalent, but i also don't think they (as a society) care about that.

like, okay, let's say redtail is XX, but not a she-cat. there's nothing to really be done (heck, if he wants to be a queen, that's still fine), cats don't have gendered pronouns or names, but at the same time, there's an intuitive understanding of what that means.

this kind of ties into the matriarchy, kind of? like, hm, queens are an important part of the matriarchy, but at the same time, she-cats inherit family lines. not that cats inherit much, but still.

i'm getting very abstract here. take, uh, like let's say a hypothetical trans mothwing. i think a lot of people have that headcanon?

and i think, like, mothwing would not be considered a tom. if cats had a concept of sexuality, leafpool would not be straight, because she likes mothwing, and mothwing is not a tom.

but! i would still think willowshine probably is the first line for nursery visits, at least when the kits are very young.

and i don't think anyone there would be unhappy with that deal.

right. i just kept rambling for a while, because i've been thinking about this and obviously it's semi-tied to the question.

tl/dr: cats don't care about gender, because they are cats meowing at each other in the woods. if a cat says they're not agab, everyone is just cool with that.

[unaccomplishedwriter]

- s a v i o r -

. Nicholas Scratch x Reader .

Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

{PART FOUR}

Your first impression of the little Morningstar was not a good one.

The second she laid eyes on Nick, she flew to him in a flurry of questions and scoldings. It wasn’t until after she’d calmed down that she noticed the odd atmosphere, and turned, along with the rest of her coven, to finally rest her gaze on you.

You still had a gentle silver ambience, as if starlight was caressing your body. The humming sound coming from the pulsation of your inner powers faded as you attempted to conceal your aura a bit more effectively. Soon, your presence dimmed and finally revealed your countenance more clearly. Your brows were furrowed and a frown graced your face, but otherwise not a hair of yours was out of place.

“Who are you?” Zelda stepped up and demanded, putting herself between you and the rest of the coven. You couldn’t help the quirk of your lip as you opened your mouth to retort, but then your gaze landed on Nick, who’s arm was still tightly gripped by Sabrina. She almost gave off the impression of a mother keeping her unruly child in check, and you quickly found your face morphing back into a frown.

“I’m no one you know of. If you need identification, just consider me a friend of Nick’s,” you replied curtly, turning your stare back to Zelda. The woman was very domineering, a trait you didn’t necessarily dislike. Her soul gave off powerful pulsations of anxiety, no doubt amplified by the inexplicable disappearance of their Hare Moon. She stared you down for another moment before turning and barking orders for the coven to return home, electing to ignore you for the meantime. This rendered you a bit speechless as you now hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do next.

An attractive boy with curly hair and dark skin looked you over curiously, before being tugged away by an equally attractive girl sporting silver hair. They dragged along what looked to be a statue and another girl in a state of confusion who was giggling wildly. The trio and statue aroused your curiosity as well, and if you were more bold you might’ve followed them. Instead, you found yourself looking for Nick’s familiar presence in the bustle, his body having moved away from yours at some point.

A few feet away, Sabrina was attempting to herd Nick along with the others, but before she could get him to move, he made eye contact with you, pulling himself away from her. He spoke a few words in her direction before turning away, leaving her to make her way back alone.

Nick mentioned previously how they had broken up, but now you weren’t so sure. It definitely didn’t seem that way to Sabrina, but before you could dwell more on the thought he’d already made his way in front of you.

“You should come with us. It’s better for you to get a grasp on our situation so you can figure out what it is you need to do,” he exclaimed softly. His hands made their way into yours with an ease that no doubt would have made the Spellman girl’s eyes red, and only then did your face crack into a smile.

“I don’t think I’m welcome. Besides, it’s not just your coven I have to worry about,” you reminded. He paused for a second, before glancing down at you with that familiar, sheepish grin of his.

“I’m pretty sure most of Greendale’s issues stem from the Spellman House.”

He didn’t say it explicitly, yet he did. Instead of referring to his entire coven, currently housed at the academy, his wording made it obvious. All roads pointed to Sabrina Spellman being the cause and key to fixing Greendale’s problems, which meant the Spellman House was the best place for you to begin your mission.

As you walked towards the academy, the place where you’ll possibly be staying for the foreseeable future, Nick explained in more detail everything that’s happened so far, starting from Sabrina enrolling in the Academy of Unseen Arts.

If you were being honest, you weren’t exactly fond of Nick’s coven due their very large part in the degradation of the stability of this domain. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that the problem stemmed from one person; the little Morningstar and her selfish complexities.

Starting with her refusal to cut ties with her mortal friends, it seemed that Sabrina Spellman brought disaster upon anyone who associated with her ever since. When Nick explained that although the coven’s problems originally began with Sabrina refusing her birthright and its responsibilities, the girl assumed the mantle only after everything went to shit, complicating her coven’s situation and Nick’s sacrifice.

You couldn’t help but to see red.

He may not have mentioned it, but from the dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes, you could tell Nick’s suffering didn’t end when he was freed from Hell.

It seems that you needed to take a long look at what you were willing to do to save your domain, and getting rid of the problem at the white-haired root seemed mighty enticing currently.

Electing not to share such thoughts with Nick, you continued to listen quietly the rest of the way there.

The pagans seemed like the biggest threat to your mission, from what you could infer from Nick. They were definitely cooking up something big, and you felt unease settling in the pit of your stomach. The vacuum of power in Hell caused for much bigger consequences here on Earth, and now forces that are much darker and older than you’d ever thought you’d have to deal with were about.

The witches may not have a clear picture just yet, but you knew very well what the startling, confident arrival of pagans in someone’s domain meant.

Pagans didn’t necessarily reject the existence of Fate. On the contrary, their willingness to patiently pursue what they see as the inevitable arrival of their deities actually aligns with all the laws of Fate and destiny.

That is what makes their existence in Greendale so troublesome.

Whatever the pagans are cooking up has a very high likelihood of succeeding.

Lost in thought, before you knew it you two had already arrived at the academy. Unsurprisingly, Sabrina was waiting for you there. 

“So, Nick,” she started, crossing her arms. She gave you the once over, lips pursing into a thin line. It took all you had not to roll your eyes, instead bracing yourself for the round of questioning you just knew you were going to receive.

“Explain who your friend is again? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her.” 

You knew that last line was a jab at you, but you ignored the childishness of the situation and waited in silence for the boy next to you to respond.

You supposed such a comment was meant to elicit insecurity, but honestly, you’ve never spoken about Nick to others either. It almost felt wrong; like the intimacy you two shared wasn’t meant for prying eyes and chattering mouths to behold. He was the first human you helped; the first person you came into contact with outside of your own kind. 

Well, if you don’t count that insufferable Dark Lord of theirs. 

Somehow, between all those secret visits and ardent conversations, you began to not only treasure your time spent with the boy, but Nick himself. You felt a bond between the two of you borne from the intensity of the feelings you’d shared. With Nick, you didn’t feel as if the weight of a literal world had been thrust upon your shoulders. It was as if you were actually making someone’s life better, and there was no better feeling than that. 

“She’s someone who’s important to me,” Nick, after a long stretch of silence and stares, finally responded. “Very important.”

As you watched the girl in front of you flare her nostrils, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that bloomed in your chest. At the very least, you knew your position in Nick’s heart wasn’t a low one. For some reason, the thought made you inexplicably happy. 

“And why is she here?” Sabrina forced out. You raised an eyebrow, but supposed the question was warranted enough given the situation. 

Supposed. The irritation wanting to present itself through snark bubbling at your throat indicated otherwise, but you held your tongue.

“(Y/n) is here to help. She has unique abilities that might be able to influence the situation given enough time.” 

During your visits to Hell, you’d explained the way your powers worked to Nick. As an agent of Fate, a stela could not interfere directly with the people and events of a domain. They could only act independently, or at the most suggestively. Your powers were more of an indirect nature, influencing things behind the scenes. 

A domain’s, and ultimately a person’s, Fate, was still up to them.

The girl hummed in acknowledgment, and before she could fire another question your way, a sharp summons by Zelda caught her attention. 

“We’ll finish this later,” she tossed out over her shoulder, before hurrying toward the direction of her aunt’s voice. You couldn’t help but shiver at the pure commanding aura just the voice of the Zelda woman gave off, her persona reminding you of your own Head Stela. Scrunching your nose, you turned to Nick to see him inclining his head toward a corridor to the left. 

“What’s wrong?” You queried, a bit worried. The look on his face seemed unpleasant, and you instinctively reached for his hand. The frown between his brows eased, and he glanced down at you with a soft expression.

“Nothing,” he said gently. “Let me show you around.”

You and Nick spent the next hour touring the academy grounds, you receiving a detailed backstory of the events that had happened recently and the academy’s history in general. 

At some point, you two had run into Ambrose and Prudence, the duo attempting to find a way to cure the girl’s sisters of their afflictions. 

“What happened to them?” 

You asked softly, making your way in front of Dorcas. The poor witch seemed to have been turned to stone, a horrified look permanently etched onto her face. Behind you, Agatha span around the room in circles, constant giggling and trills escaping her mouth. 

Prudence couldn’t help the sneer that instantly came to her face, but calmed down at the thought of getting any help she could get for her sisters. Studying you, she stared holes into your body as if she could burn right through it. Shrugging it off, you turned towards Ambrose instead, who gave you a quick rundown of the situation. Apparently, the girls had been the first victims of the now war with the pagan witches, and had been reduced to the state they were in now.

Turning back to Dorcas, you placed a glowing hand onto the girl’s body, sending a thrum of energy into the statue. After a beat, you were delighted to feel a dull thrumming bouncing back at you. A wide smile spreading across your face, you addressed the three other sane occupants of the room.

“She’s still alive,” you exclaimed. “And definitely kicking.”

Prudence gasped, and immediately made her way to your side. 

“She’s strong,” you told her, “Some people would have immediately lost consciousness in such a state. As long as she holds on, there’s hope.”

Ambrose was also by your side after that, shooting question after question about Dorcas’ condition and how to save her. After a while of back and forth, you shook your head in regret.

There was nothing you could personally to save her.

“I can keep her soul active. At the very least, it’ll keep her life force strong enough that her consciousness doesn’t fade.” 

Prudence teared up, before shaking her head vigorously. “That’ll be enough. We will figure out how to save my sister together.” 

She now seemed much more friendly to you, choosing to hold you by the arm and lead you to the dancing form of other sister, Agatha.

“She’s gone insane,” Ambrose started. “Prudence tried to organize her thoughts earlier, but they’re too scrambled, too chaotic. It is most worrying.” 

At some point, Nick excused himself, making an excuse that you barely had time to catch before he’d disappeared. Somewhat put off, you elected to ignore it for now in favor of helping those in front of you. 

You still had a job to do, after all. 

“Agatha?” 

You called, slowly approaching. The girl paused, before inclining her head towards you. Her shoulders shook as she lost herself in her own mind, a broken soul that you yearned to fix. It was a chaotic cloud, formless and desolate. You knew this girl wasn’t without her own pain, no doubt the premiere subject of the madness her mind was now drowning in. Reaching for the girl’s face, your palm once again released an aura most curious to Ambrose. He’d made it a point to ask you of it later, eager to learn how your powers worked. 

He and the rest of the coven still knew nothing about you, but you’d proven yourself friendly so far and that was all he could be bothered to concern himself with.

Touching your forehead to Agatha’s, you found yourself being pulled into the depths of her memories. Images darted before you, certainly out of order and hard to condense into some form of cohesion you could go off of. Instead, you chose to cling to the next memory to flit by, determined to find an anchor for both yourself and the girl to cling to.

It happened to be the moment she’d first laid eyes upon the god Pan, also the one Prudence had witnessed secondhand earlier when she’d attempted to pull Agatha back to sanity. 

This moment must be the most significant contributor to her current state.

Now, you’d done your fair share of learning about the pagan gods, but few stood out as Pan did. The god was madness personified, dooming anyone who viewed his countenance to torture within the recesses of their own mind. It was not quite as deliberate as what you’d witnessed with Nick and Lucifer, but it wasn’t too far off. The poor witch was reliving the worst moments of her life, trapped within a disarrayed cycle she couldn’t escape from.

Nearly being overwhelmed yourself, it took all your willpower to interrupt the nightmare. Placing yourself between Agatha and Pan as the memory repeated itself, you once again grabbed her face and held on tightly.

“There’s nothing to see. You are in your own mind and he isn’t real. You are the god here,” you told her firmly. Agatha’s eyes locked onto yours, fear obvious in her features. You cycled your energy through her body and yours, gradually easing the girl into a more calm state of mind. 

“He..he did something to me!” she stuttered out, franticly grasping at your wrists. Her soul pulsated wildly, threatening to break the lull  and resume its previous chaotic form. 

You slowly nodded, keeping your aura calm and steady.

“He did,” you affirmed. “But it was only in your head. You are in control here, not him. He can’t do anything that you don’t allow him to; he exploits weakness. And you’re not weak, are you Agatha?”

She slowly shook her head, her gaze never leaving yours. You continued to feed your energy into her, coaxing her soul into a gentle slumber. 

“I’m going to help you now. You will sleep, and be at peace.” 

Putting Agatha’s soul to rest was the only thing you could do for the time being. The extent of the breakdown of her mind was too deep, and it required repeated therapy of her mind and soul. You could hep recondition her soul, but the issue with her mind would probably require the help of her sister Prudence, who’s strong will and overall intimacy with the girl was higher and would be of more help.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you lowered the now unconscious girl’s body to the ground along with your own, placing her on the floor. 

 “I put her soul to sleep,” you informed Prudence and Ambrose, swiping a stray hair from Agatha’s face as you gazed down at her. You felt your core throbbing weakly and knew you needed to rest, but you didn't regret it. As you spent more time in your domain you would no doubt get stronger, and you’d be able to help even more people.

You were genuinely looking forward to making your mark with the people of Greendale.

Prudence lowered herself to settle on the other side of Agatha, caressing her sister’s face in worry. 

You reassured her that continued therapy by the two of you should eventually return her sister sane, and a watery smile made its way onto her face. 

“Thank you,” she sighed, her exhaustion evident. You gave a small smile, nodding return. Ambrose placed a hand on your shoulder, beckoning you toward the corner. 

There, he spoke of the things Nick neglected to, or rather chose not to. Specifically of his and Prudence’s quest, and the events that followed their return.

From Ambrose, you learned of Faustus Blackwood, and the alarmed humming of your inner core alerted you of the significance of said man. Apparently he’d become the Dark Lord’s newest vessel, and you reminded yourself to pay the man a visit later. 

Of course, thanks to one Nicholas Scratch, you never got the chance.

A/N: I finally updated 🙃 I’ve made it a point to finally get a tag-list going for you guys’ sake due to my unreliable release schedule lol, so if you guys would like to be added please leave a message or comment requesting me to do so! The next chapter should come a lot sooner as my hours as work have finally been cut down a teensy bit more due to everything going on.

[theshopkeepofremnant]

For JanuRWBY day 19, I present (sort of) a missing scene. I wrote this a while ago; it’s my take/expansion on what Yang went through after the Fall of Beacon. I would say enjoy, but it’s admittedly kind of heavy...

I’m not dead. Part of Yang knew this was an odd assertion to need to make regularly, yet it was one she found that came to her mind unbidden most days. It wasn’t something she used to do before. Before everything had changed such a thought would have made her laugh at its melodrama, would leave her shaking her head and wondering where such nonsense had come from. But that was before her world came crashing down. Yang rarely laughed now, and certainly not at that thought. Where once the spark of her life was undeniable, a thing of such heat and intensity that people often commented that the room felt a few degrees warmer when she entered, now she struggled to find evidence that her body had ever held such a spark at all. In that absence, a reminder was needed to ensure that Yang kept going through the motions of life. In part this was for her dad; he would see her moving around and putting on the facade of a living person so he would feel reassured that she was healing. This was pure farce, but the part of Yang still capable of caring didn't want to cause him any more harm than necessary. Beyond that was habit; years of tending to the endless needs of a mortal body had carved grooves into Yang’s mind deep enough that even her current malaise couldn’t erase. In death, Yang would be free of the Sisyphean task of bodily maintenance, but for better or worse she was stuck with it for now. Thus the reminder. Not exactly a mantra, certainly not a defiant declaration, simply a statement of truth. At first, she had felt like she was answering a question, a plea, but that puzzle belonged to memories too delicate to explore, so it was quickly dropped. Regardless, the statement had taken on a meaning of its own through repetition. Some days she tried to use it as motivation to pick up the shattered pieces of her life and body, to attempt to put them back together into some semblance of a living person, to move on. Those were the good days. Most days, like today, it was merely a fact, empty of joy or sorrow. Today was not a day where she made her declaration aloud. Today it was merely the whisper of a thought. Intentionally formed but lacking the momentum to make it to her lips as she let out a long exhalation. She noticed herself doing that a lot. It wasn’t a sigh. There was nothing wistful in it, no emotional release. It was just a realization that she was holding her breath. Waiting. Not ready for the next to come and signal that the world was still spinning and nothing she did could stop it. She let go of that train of thought. Today was a normal day, normal by her new standards anyhow, and she didn’t want to ruin that. While days like today weren’t worth celebrating they were important not to waste. For there were days when she worried about herself. Days when she felt bitterness and inertia build inside her and in an attempt to fight it off she would take a breath and say it: “I’m not dead.” And all she heard was disappointment. No. Today was not one of those days. She’d had so many of those right when she got to Patch and so many more right after Ruby had left. But Ruby was long gone, and Yang...well Yang was still here. Best not to dwell on the dangers real and imagined Ruby may be facing while Yang struggled to simply exist. There was nothing she could do about them anyway, not anymore. She had always done her best to protect Ruby, to protect her team. Look how that had turned out. No, no dwelling. Not today. Too easy for a day like today to head in the wrong direction. Too easy for memories to drag her down like anchors to the depths of her mind. A place once filled with light and easily navigated, perhaps with a shadow or two on the fringes but nothing fearsome or dangerous, it was now a place she hardly recognized. It stretched infinitely in every direction, an ocean with a capricious sky and no sign of safe haven on any horizon. Even in times of stillness, there was a constant tension, an anticipation of the gentle breeze growing to become a gale as the gray clouds quickly swirled to black and for the momentary respite to be lost in the crash of thunder and waves. Yet the ever-changing surface was not the worst of it.  The true danger lay below those swirling waters as barely seen shadows; leviathans prowling the deep, waiting for her to descend to their realm, knowing that she would find her way there eventually. If not during her waking hours then inevitably during her fitful sleep. Their siren song was at once terrifying and terribly seductive, and Yang did her best to ignore the promise of pain so intense it could bring oblivion. No. Consciously unclenching her hand, realizing that the life raft it sought was not in her bed, Yang forced herself to get up and get dressed. Yang had always enjoyed mornings, before. The air felt fresh and the light seemed purer, there was so much potential. Nightfall was all about endings, conclusions, but mornings were about beginnings. Or at least, they used to be. Now there was just nothing, day bleeding into tortuous night fading back into another identically empty day. All of her beginnings apparently behind her. Yang let out yet another held breath, tied back her hair, and padded out of her room. As she passed Ruby’s door she couldn’t help but feel an ember of shame smoldering in her chest. She still didn’t know if she had done the right thing. She had known Ruby was going, she even took it upon herself to hide it from Tai while Ruby was very unsubtly planning it. At first, she didn’t know quite why she was helping. She certainly didn’t think it was a good idea, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to let it fall apart. Eventually, she realized it was guilt. Not guilt over not going with her. As far as Yang could see those days were over. No, it was guilt at her own seething anger. Deep down, in that place that she didn’t want to recognize as her own, was pure, raw fury at those around her who could just keep living as though nothing had happened. How dare Ruby and the others go off on this quest, full of hope and light, like the world wouldn’t do everything it could to smother that... But Yang couldn’t let herself act on that dark emotion. She couldn’t be spiteful, even then. So maybe she overcompensated. Maybe the right thing to do would have been to let Ruby’s machinations fail, let Tai find out and put a stop to it before it got out of hand, got her hurt. But she couldn’t give into that petty part of her that wanted Ruby to fail, so she hid the coming and going of letters, concealed the very obvious supplies Ruby was collecting, and quietly made sure her little sister would keep that innocent hope for a little longer. Yang may not have felt that hope herself, but she would be damned if she let that darkness inside snuff it out in Ruby. Unfortunately, keeping the monsters at bay had used up so much of her meager store of energy, once so vast she could hardly contain it, that Yang failed in the most basic ways. She was distant, cold, hardly acknowledging either Ruby or Tai during that time. Part of her knew that, but she thought that her efforts should speak for themselves. That she was up and moving at all seemed such a miracle to her that it never occurred to her that those around her would be hurt by her seeming indifference. Yang still regretted that time. Still regretted not telling Ruby that she still loved her, still cared. But she had been so tired at the time, so weighed down by all that had happened, all that now would never happen, that she just couldn’t muster the will to say the words. She hoped her deeds, meager as they were, would speak for themselves. Empathy is so hard when one’s heart is consumed by pain, and Yang had been blinded by pain in all of its forms to the point where she didn’t know how to navigate even this relationship, the most stable she had known in her entire life. So instead of satisfaction that she helped her sister toward her goals, she was left with this shame. Shame at letting her go alone, shame at wanting her to succeed. Shame at wanting her to fail, to come back, defeated. To keep her company in her misery. Yang shook her head, trying to pull herself to the present, tenuous as her grasp on it was. Ruby was gone now, no amount of shame would change that, and it certainly wouldn’t bring her back. That left Tai. Yang felt a fresh wave of guilt every time she thought of her father, once among her closes confidants he now seemed utterly lost faced with the walls Yang had erected around herself. He had never had to deal with defenses before and found himself without any tools to overcome them now. Yang had always intentionally promoted a “what you see is what you get” narrative with most people; obviously there was more below the surface but she found others were more comfortable around her if they thought she was simple, one dimensional and symmetrical. Her dad actually saw her, the real her, so with him, it was the truth that she was what he saw, and Yang always appreciated how easy it was to be herself around him. Ever since she was a teenager and she and Tai had grown close enough that she never bothered with walls or masks, she just told him what was going on inside. Part of her felt bad when she saw his look of pained confusion now when she shut him out; he wanted so badly to help fix his broken daughter, but couldn’t even get close enough to try. The connection that he was so used to simply wasn’t there, and there was about as much hope of fixing that as the CCT network. Part of Yang wanted to console him, to apologize for putting him through this torture rather than letting him patch up her wounds like he would a skinned knee when she was a kid. But another part, that dark pit of rage and hurt, was all too happy to cause misery. She tried to crush those emotions deep within her; tried to compensate as she had with Ruby, but it wasn’t enough. Tai didn’t want anything from her, nothing concrete. He just wanted to help her, but she couldn’t bring down the walls, so he was stuck at arm’s reach. So close but so impossibly far away, and Yang was alone. Alone with her grief, with her darkness, but most of all, alone with her pain. —— Pain. That was the first thing she was aware of when she regained consciousness that night. Pain so extreme she couldn’t locate its source. All-consuming, nerve-rending pain. It was only when she tried to curl up in a ball and felt a weird sense of asymmetry did she look down and to her right. What she saw wouldn’t register as real for several days and at the time she had larger concerns. She looked around frantically and saw chaos. People ran in all directions, loading survivors onto airships that were being brought in from all directions. She looked for her team, her teachers, anyone who could tell her what had happened; if everyone had made it. She didn’t understand how she had come to be here alone, and through the fog of pain could swear that her left hand felt warm, that the air around moved as though filling a void that was occupied but moments ago, echoes of tearful apologies ringing in her ear, of a single pleading command issued from a delicate mouth beneath golden eyes: “You...you can’t die. You can’t.” But those impressions were dim, and the fierce pain from her arm wouldn’t allow her to escape the immediacy of the moment, try as she might.  So instead she searched the chaos around her for a lifeline, anything familiar. It wasn’t long before she saw a shock of blonde hair and realized Sun was striding past where she lay in a makeshift cot, looking about frantically. She reached out with her left, and now only, arm and grabbed his hand, apparently more forcefully than she intended as it nearly took him off his feet. “Where’s Blake?” Yang said through gritted teeth, every motion a fresh agony. Time slowed as Yang watched emotions flash across Sun’s face: surprise, grief, fear, and resignation. Had she known what was coming next she would have savored this moment, pain and all. For though every movement was excruciating, though she had lost so much, hope still burned bright in her chest. “How are you even conscious Yang? You should rest, they’re going to get you on a ship and take you home to...” “WHERE. IS. BLAKE?!” The last was said through gritted teeth as Yang pulled Sun down until his face was inches from her own. She knew that Sun could answer the question, that he was trying to dodge. While part of her was terrified of the answer that guttering spark of hope flickered on. The last thing she had seen before passing out was red. The red flames dancing through the building where she had heard Blake cry out, the red hair of that demon from Blake’s past, his red blade extending from Blake’s torso. She had never felt a rage like that, and through that crimson haze barely even saw him move, didn’t register the severing of her own limb or spilling of her own blood. All she knew was that she was failing, falling. As her whole world came crashing down she found herself in a pool of blood, both hers and Blake’s, with the terrible knowledge that they were going to die and it was her fault. But she was here, alive, so there was more to the story. As she stared at Sun she was certain that Blake’s death would elicit a different response. He would have just told her, right? He’d be heartbroken, a mess, barely able to hold it together. Sun’s feelings for Blake were no secret and he had never concealed a thought in his entire life, so why this hesitation? “She left.” Sun looked stricken, and not solely on his own behalf, Yang could almost see herself reflected back in Sun’s face, could feel her light going out. “...What?” “Once she saw that you were ok, she got patched up and then took off before I could stop her. I don’t know where yet, I’m sorry.” Yang tried to press him further but the blood loss was finally catching up with her. She tried to formulate a thought, anything, but it was all so much, too much. As she lost her grip on consciousness she felt her soul shatter, making a mockery of her body’s condition; her last little spark of hope remaining flickered and went dark along with everything else. ——

The time following was all fractured images and too-loud noises. People coming and going seemingly at random. What seemed like moments after Sun had left but could have easily been years Qrow found Yang, and gently laid a frail girl in a red hood on the cot next to hers. It took Yang a moment to recognize her own sister. It had been so long since she had thought of her like this; for the past few years Yang had seen her grow into an impressive warrior, and seeing her laying so still and quiet reminded Yang that she was still a child, that they all were. Or had been, at least. Yang looked imploringly at Qrow. “Is she...?” She left the question hanging in the air, unable to finish it. Qrow reached out and rested his hand on Yang’s left shoulder, trying not to let her see him inspecting her right side. “She’s ok, you know how tough she is. How are you holding up, firecracker?” The look in his eyes was too much for Yang, she couldn’t answer truthfully and couldn’t bring herself to lie. The pity she saw there ate at her, and she looked away. “What’s going to happen?” was all she could manage. Qrow sighed,  saddened but also slightly relieved to not talk about the goliath in the room. “I’m taking you and Ruby home to recover, there should be an airship available to take us out soon.” “What about Weiss?” Yang asked, noting the odd look in Qrow’s eye. “Her father’s airship is on approach, he’s taking her back to Atlas while things get sorted out in Vale. On our way over here I could have sworn I saw your other teammate in the crowd...” “I only asked about Weiss” Yang cut in. Somehow, despite the copious blood loss her temper still managed to flair enough for her eyes to flash briefly red. “Ok kiddo. I’m going to step out for a bit to check on some things, I’ll be back when it’s time to get you two on board” Some time later Weiss came in and roused Yang. She kept looking over her shoulder as though she wasn’t supposed to be there and despite her best efforts couldn’t stop a renegade tear from sneaking past her guarded eyes. Not much of substance was said, but even on a good day it was tricky to get past her icy defenses, and today was not a good day for either of them. Weiss kept glancing quickly at the tiny, inert form of her partner, concern escaping despite her attempts to remain composed. It was clear to both of them that they were talking to the wrong person, but neither could reach the one they sought.  In the end that knowledge bridged the gap between them more than anything they could have said, and Yang actually took some small measure of comfort when Weiss uncharacteristically, almost tenderly, laid her hand on her forehead and looked her straight in the eyes as she promised that they would all be together again. For a moment Yang almost believed her, and then she, too, was gone. Leaving Yang alone with her grief; alone with her pain. —— Yang’s memories faded out suddenly and she found herself in front of her bathroom sink, the water running for some unknown period while she drifted, her teeth long since brushed. Grimacing at herself in the mirror Yang turned off the tap, replaced her thoroughly rinsed toothbrush, and headed downstairs. Tai was no doubt out and about, running errands or gardening, being painfully normal. Most days Yang didn’t mind the quiet. It gave her space to move around in her solitude, to try to find peace in it if not joy. On days like this she focused on her chores, trying not let her mind wander (with mixed success) so as to avoid brooding. This focus brought about an emptiness of self that Yang savored. She wasn’t Yang Xiao Long, monster hunter defeated at Beacon. She was Yang, the girl figuring out how to use a blasted broom with one hand and doing a wonderful job, thank you very much. If she focused enough she was less even than that, she was an anonymous hand pulling up weeds, or cleaning dishes. Until she wasn’t. Until something interrupted her focus and brought it all back. It could be anything, the flashing red wing of a bird flying by the window, a dark cloud obscuring the sun, or a dropped glass. Whatever the cause, she would suddenly snap back to that night when everything changed. When first her body, and then her spirit were shattered. Scattered. Scarred. Those memories always left her with the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears, the same blood that not so long ago was pooling beneath her, mixing with that of another. And that was when the real pain came. This was the part she couldn’t explain properly to anyone, not really. Her bodily pain had largely passed, doctors and pain killers had seen to that, and even the fear brought on by her new sense of vulnerability was nothing next to reliving that soul crushing truth over and over: Blake was gone. Yang would have gladly given both arms, both legs, her life, anything to keep Blake safe and by her side. According to Sun she was indeed safe, but she was gone, and that fact ate at Yang in a way she couldn’t verbalize. She knew she should have been able to, it was yet another vacancy in her life left by a loved one, but this felt different. Maybe it was because she had honestly thought Blake was different, or maybe it was because she hadn’t realized the depth of her own feelings until that night. The crush had started innocently enough, just a gentle flutter in Yang’s chest as she dragged her sister over to make friends with the quiet girl sitting alone in the corner. No love at first sight, no sign from the gods, just a feeling like a warm breeze on a cold night as a pair of dazzling golden eyes looked up from a book. Then seeing those same eyes hovering above a smirk in the forest, so clearly directed at Yang, choosing. Again that faint heat, like the sun poking out from behind a cloud, just for a moment. It was nice, but it wasn’t something Yang was going to lose her head over. They were partners, that was what mattered, and soon that bond became such an integral part of Yang’s life that she didn’t even notice it most of the time. They could read each other’s bodies in and out of battle so well that they could predict an attack or need for an assist as well as a changing mood or thought. It never occurred to Yang to put a label on it because it didn’t need one. What they had was so natural, so real, even if it was unspoken. Then came that night. Suddenly in a flash all of the words she hadn’t sought came rushing to her mind. Words like forever, like promise, like need and want and cherish. Words like love. And in the moment she saw all that could be and all that could be lost and she acted without hesitation. Better to die trying to defend such things than live without them. But here she was, living without them despite her efforts and well aware that her assessment had been correct. Better to have died. But she hadn’t even managed that, had she? Slamming her fist on the counter Yang brought herself back from memories still fresh, still razor sharp on the edges, still tinted red by blood. Looking down she saw the shattered glass that had triggered this flashback and scowled, more at herself than at it, and went to get the broom. —— Dinner with Tai was quiet, as usual. He did his best to make little jokes and get Yang to banter like they used to. She appreciated that he tried, and told him so, but it rarely yielded any levity. After mostly pushing her food around the plate for a half hour Yang excused herself and went to watch TV. Much of her downtime was spent watching television, especially in the evenings. Not that she really cared what was on, but she could only do so many chores and when she wasn’t moving or doing something it helped if there was some background light and noise to distract her from thinking. Thinking for too long rarely did her any favors. Her nightly ritual was to stay up watching until her dad mentioned once or twice somewhat pointedly that it was late and he was headed to bed. Eventually Yang would go to her own room to appease him but with no intention of sleeping. This was another of those things she couldn’t fully explain to anyone: her hatred of sleep. Even if she had wanted to she could hardly fall asleep before one or two in the morning now, her mind simply too full of unsettling images to allow for rest. And beyond those thoughts lay the dreams. Every night she relived the attack in one form another. Relived her fear, her pain, her helplessness. And at the end of every dream the same thing, a pair of golden eyes, cold where they once were warm, turning from her and disappearing. The dreams were nothing compared to what came next. What Yang dreaded more than almost anything was waking. Every morning, without fail, she would open her eyes to the golden light streaming through her window. She would blink, and yawn, whatever dream had startled her awake fading in the morning light. And then, after two or three heartbeats of life being completely normal, she would remember. Her sleep addled mind would clear and all of weight of the past several months would crash down on her. She would look down at her arm, remember her injury, her defeat. Her loss. Blake. Every day she fought the tears. Some days she actually won. This was the thing no one mentioned to her when they tried to talk about her loss, maybe they didn’t even know. Why couldn’t her traitorous mind just wake her with the knowledge intact? Why that moment of peace, of normalcy, just to have the wounds ripped asunder again and again. Even on her good days these first moments of the day were always the worst. These were the moments that inspired her darkest thoughts. Though she knew she would never do herself any harm, these moments made her wish she could go to sleep and never wake. The words came unbidden, almost mocking, straight to Yang’s lips and out into the air above her head. “I’m not dead” She listened as they quietly echoed through her empty room, felt them resonate harshly in her ears. This was not going to be a good day. —— Most of her days were a blur, with little to differentiate one from another. Yang found that she didn’t necessarily mind feeling disconnected from time, but she noticed that it made her interactions with people somewhat awkward, as if they no longer inhabited the same world, and perhaps they didn’t. Yang found herself referring to the “other day” and talking about something that happened months or years ago, while dredging up memories from minutes or hours ago left her head spinning from the enormity of time in that span. Had she lost her arm mere moments ago, or was she always just a lost, broken, scared girl wandering aimlessly around her childhood home? Was she a ghost, a wraith long dead, going through the motions of a human life and not accepting her own non existence? This was a common musing for Yang, but one particular instance was thrown into sharp relief when it was interrupted by one of the few harsh points of clarity in a time otherwise bereft of temporal landmarks. The first was Ruby leaving, an event that signaled a definite turning point for Yang, a final separation from her old life. The second was this: a package brought to her by a beaming Tai. The arm. Maybe it was his excitement at something that was so emotionally loaded for Yang, or maybe it was just a bad day, but the arm was the last thing she wanted to see. It was a mimicry of what she now lacked, a symbol of all she had lost, and did not have the intended effect. She did her best not to show her anguish, knowing that her father truly meant well and thought this would be exactly the thing she needed to get her back to normal. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that normal was so far outside of her current reality that she couldn’t even conceive of it. Besides, the only way even try to get to normal was back through those dreaded memories, and those were already being forced on her every morning and every night. Why spend any more time with them than absolutely necessary? Even if the arm was perfect, better than the original, did that undo the damage that had been done? She was broken, her body was a puzzle that would always be missing a few crucial pieces. This arm wouldn’t bring her back to a time when she was invincible, when she gladly took damage not only to fuel her semblance, but to prevent those she loved from needing to take it in her place. Now she knew all too well how breakable she was. Worse, she knew how inadequate she was. She had given her body and soul and been found wanting. Now she was alone. Alone, and broken. She looked up at her father’s expectant face. So many emotions warring within her that it was all she could do leave the room without running, fleeing as much from memories of the past as this thing that was supposed to be her future. At the last minute she remembered her father was still standing there and made the appropriate noises of thanks before retreating to her room. Yang could feel a storm blowing in, and as tears formed in response to the thunderheads in her heart she buried her face in her pillow, surrendering herself to the tsunami of emotion that was washing over her. Several hours later exhaustion granted her a temporary respite, but it wouldn’t last. The arm waited patiently for her in its box, unmoved by her reaction. It was a beautiful device made with the utmost attention and care to its form and function, yet somehow not a single thought had been given to what it would represent to the girl who actually had to wear it. —— Eventually, to appease Tai, Yang forced herself to retrieve the arm from the living room. She didn’t know how long that horrid reminder of her failure sat on her bedside table, staring at her, taunting her. Maybe it was a day, maybe it was a month, maybe a lifetime or more. She only knew that abhorrent mockery of everything she lost was dragging her from her self imposed purgatory down to hotter depths. Right as she was reaching a breaking point, ready to stamp a return address on the box the abomination had come in with a note scrawled in her still unsteady left handed writing telling General Ironwood where to shove this miraculous piece of technology, another arrival changed her plans. Changed everything, in fact.   Ever since that package had shown up sleep had been nearly impossible. It was as if the arm sucked up all the air in the room, leaving Yang to suffocate as she tossed and turned, measuring her time spent asleep in minutes rather than hours. One day her exhaustion was too much to stand. Without a word of explanation to Tai she got up from the dinner table and staggered up to her room where she dropped into a deep, if not dreamless, sleep. Some hours later she woke in a cold sweat not to the bright light of morning and chirping birds, as she was accustomed, but to the softer glow of the moon accompanied by uproarious laughter from downstairs. Knowing that sleep wasn’t going to find its way back to her any time soon she decided to head down and seek comfort in the sound of other’s voices. Hoping they would be loud enough to drive out the sound of her memories, that the gravity of their beings would cancel out the pull of that cursed device she pointedly ignored on her way out of her room. Unfortunately for her the sources of that laughter had other plans. She was surprised to find her father in the kitchen with Professors Port and Oobleck, both of them occupying roles in a life she only half remembered these days. They welcomed her warmly, however, and it was nice to see familiar faces that didn’t seem burdened by her condition. Unfortunately, her comfort was to be short lived. It didn’t feel like they had coordinated it, but the discussion became very pointed very quickly, and Yang could tell they weren’t going to let her be. Talk of normalcy, of fear, it was all well and good, and sharing a genuine laugh did lighten her heart somewhat, but none of it penetrated those walls; so sturdy in their first construction and seemingly getting stronger every day. It wasn’t until the men were leaving that everything came crashing down. Ruby. Words said directly to her hadn’t really landed, but the name of her wayward sister spoken when they thought her out of earshot found its way through her defenses, losing no momentum as it struck the very center of her being. She had let her sister run off to Mistral on her own, believing her own fight to be done. At the time it seemed that there was nothing to do. Ruby was their leader, a capable warrior, she was going on a mission and Yang couldn’t stop her. So she let her go, helped her even. At the time it had seemed a noble act but now she saw how wrong she was. Worse, she had hamstrung her father’s ability to help Ruby. Tai couldn’t go off and protect her stuck as he was babysitting his other, broken daughter. She rolled all of her excuses around in her mind, tasted the lies for what they were: Fear. She had been afraid, so she let her sister run off without her. She had been abandoned by Blake so she abandoned her duty to watch Ruby’s back. Her dad had been right about one thing this evening: she was Yang Xiao Long. Two arms, one arm, no arms, it didn’t matter. Her whole life she had been good at two things: taking care of her sister and kicking ass. Ok fine, it mattered a little. Having two arms was probably preferable. She looked at the arm, reflecting the light of a shattered moon into the eyes of a shattered girl from its perfect surface. It was so smooth, unbroken. Unnatural. Horrible. Wonderful. She put it on. The sensation of the connection driving home was uncomfortable, to say the least. She had been warned it would be, and that while she would have sensation in it she shouldn’t expect it to feel like the original. In that moment she didn’t care. This arm wasn’t a replacement, she didn’t need it for anything delicate, tender. It was a weapon. An extension of herself like her gauntlets were, but a weapon nonetheless. And though she was so far from ready, part of her reveled in it. Her weight instinctively shifted back to center as she realized she’d been crooked all these months compensating for her imbalance. Her knees bent slightly, and she could feel a touch of that fire, the power she had thought forever lost. She threw an experimental jab with the arm, noting similarities and differences to how it used to feel. Without thinking she reached back to brush a stray hair behind her ear and felt the cool metal run across her temple in place of warm skin. It was too much, too soon. She felt something within her crack. The next thing she knew she was on the floor, sobbing and wrenching the arm off. It took her a few tries to figure out how the stupid release worked, but once she did she threw it as far across the room as she could given how hard she was shaking. The tears streaming down her face burned trails of fury down her cheeks, her ribs heaving so hard she worried she would throw up. When she stilled herself enough to think at all images started flooding her head. Blood, fire, blades and terrified eyes. With a colossal effort she pushed those aside for the one that mattered: Ruby. Ruby, on her way to Mistral and gods knew what danger with the remnants of team JNPR. Yang wasn’t ready. She wasn’t, but she had wasted so much time already, too much. She knew this was like any other injury, aggravating it before it was healed might mean it wouldn’t heal right, or wouldn’t heal it all. But that didn’t matter, she didn’t matter. Finding Ruby, protecting her, that was what mattered. For Ruby, she would pick herself up, right now, and do what needed to be done. Golden eyes burned in her mind, welcoming, afraid, then cold, then gone. Yang shook her head. Not for her, never for her. Not again. For Ruby. She walked across the room and picked up the arm. Releasing the breath she was holding, the breath it felt like she had been holding for months, she spoke with as much determination as she could manage with her still shaking diaphragm, staring herself down in her mirror. “I’m. Not. Dead.” Suddenly that statement carried with it something she had set aside shortly after returning to Patch: obligation. She could put down her burden when she no longer drew breath, but that day wasn’t today. She braced herself to try again, knowing she was in for a long night. —— When she walked outside the next morning she had half a mind to depart immediately, but her father was right, she needed to train. Without time to adjust to the arm and regain her fighting stamina she’d be less than useless to Ruby and the others, she’d be a liability. So train they did. The first thing she noticed was how stiff she was. Her joints creaked like they had rusted over sometime last century and were being forced to move despite being quite happy in their immobile state. The second was how much more like herself she felt in combat. The flow was even better than her focused chores. When she was in the middle of it she had no fear because she had no memories, no self. She was the fight and nothing else, until her father landed a solid blow or something distracted her, then she found herself shaking, fighting back tears. In those instances Tai would quickly stop the fight so Yang didn’t hurt herself and could simply collapse until her traitorous mind and limbs could be trusted again. Eventually she learned to mostly control those episodes, to let herself use the rush of combat to tamp down her more extreme emotions. If she was lacking her former joy in battle, she more than compensated with focus. Finally, she noticed the arm. In some ways she grudgingly had to admit it was an improvement. It’s strength and durability were undoubtedly better than flesh and blood, and she learned to make use of those. She did find that she had to adjust to its movements, which weren’t quite as fluid as her natural arm. Over the weeks she was proud to discover that this, too was becoming a strength. What little unnecessary flourish she had ever had in her fighting style was gone, her movements had become precise without becoming predictable, and it was showing. Add to that guidance from her father, welcome or not, and it was all coming together to make her even more formidable than she had been back at Beacon. Tai may have lost a step (or three, or four) when he lost Summer, but he was still one of the best hand to hand combat specialists Yang had ever met, and she was winning. At first she suspected he was going easy on her, but she started to see him push himself harder and harder and still she won more and more frequently. Never with ease, mind you, but she was undoubtedly getting stronger. One of the things Yang was most grateful for during her training was the sheer physical exhaustion of it. Sleep was coming easily by pure biological necessity, and she could hardly process dreams in the depths of her slumber. Mornings still held their terrible moment of peace, but she found that having something to do helped her power through her daily remembrance. She even found herself joking more than mechanically over meals and during breaks with Tai. In some ways the temporary nature of this time was a blessing. There was a goal, something to strive for, and that gave her a clarity and focus she hadn’t felt in months. Knowing it would soon be over also made that time feel somehow lighter, as though weightier matters were being saved for another day. There were no decisions to make, just training. But the temporary nature of this phase meant that all too soon it came to an end. After beating him three times soundly in a single session she knew it was time. Any longer and she would be stalling, buying herself time for a someday that would never come. She knew she was still broken, that doing what she was about to do would guarantee her mental scars would be with her forever, but this wasn’t about healing, it wasn’t about Yang at all. Ruby needed her, nothing else mattered. Well, almost nothing. In a moment of self indulgence that Yang didn’t even know she had left in her she decided that the Atlesian scientists, while gifted at mechanical engineering, didn’t know anything about color schemes. At this point Yang had already taken apart the arm and inspected it , learning it like she would any weapon. She had even modified it to match her remaining gauntlet with a cleverly hidden muzzle and dust rounds, but all of these things were practical. She was pleased with herself as a bit of the old Yang peaked through and she found herself stripping the arm down once more, this time to give it a paint job that would leave a bit more of an impression. After all, she thought, I’m not dead. For the first time this brought a smile to her face. A half smile, a crooked smile. Maybe more of a grimace. But still, it was a start. She shook the spray paint can and got to work. —— Decision made, the time to leave came with startling speed. Before she knew it Yang was hugging her father goodbye. They had talked about it at length, and despite his reservations Tai was allowing her to make this trip alone. He grudgingly accepted that Yang needed to strike out on her own or risk hiding behind him, negating all the time she had spent training to regain her confidence. Yang also suspected he wasn’t too keen to take part in her plan. She was going to Raven. After years of searching she was finally seeking out her mother when she finally couldn’t care less about finding her. According to Qrow Raven’s camp was dug in and large enough to be readily found. Easier than a handful of kids in an entire continent anyway. From there it would be a quick hop to Qrow via Raven’s semblance, and hopefully he would be with Ruby. Easy. Ok, not easy, really hard actually, but simple. That’s what Yang needed, straightforward and efficient. The look on Tai’s face when she told him her plan made it clear that had she not argued so vehemently for her need to go alone already he would have started looking for excuses. After months of feeling that he couldn’t possibly understand her pain Yang saw it’s twin in his face and felt like a fool. Of course he would understand, if anyone could it would be the man who was abandoned by one love and lost another shortly after. But it was too late now for more than an unspoken moment of understanding to pass between them. Maybe someday Yang would find a way to open up to him and give him space to open up in return. But the days from that realization to her departure passed in a blur with no time for a heart to heart, and then it was time to go. Air travel was still in shambles, even after all those months, so the only real option Yang had was to go by sea. Fortunately the trip from Patch to Anima wasn’t far, but she was going to have make good time across the continent, it was a long way to Raven’s camp. She had plenty of time to plan though, the voyage was quiet and people seemed willing to keep their distance. At first Yang didn’t notice, but eventually she saw a few people, usually men, approach her only for their opening line to die on their lips. She wondered at this until she caught a look at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t how she was dressed (though she had intentionally gone for a less flirty and far more practical look in her new threads) it was in her eyes, the set of her jaw. It was in every line of body. Before, Yang had been incredibly approachable, when she wasn’t angry of course, and she liked to be that way. Inside and out she was all gentle lines and inviting curves. Attractive to some but more importantly to those who knew her best she was soft and safe, like a warm blanket you wrap around yourself to keep out the chill as well as the monsters under your bed. Physically she hadn’t changed. Well, most of her hadn’t. The arm was new, but that wasn’t the real difference. Not the one that mattered. One look at Yang revealed little that could be described as soft. The process of reforging her broken self far too quickly had left her jagged and raw, all sharp edges and hard points. She may still be useful at keeping the monsters at bay, but get too close and you would find her to be anything but soft. Yang saw that and part of her, a distant memory of girl she once was, wept. But she was the past, and the present Yang saw those hard lines and was proud. They were a sign that while she wasn’t invincible she was resilient. She could be broken and put herself back together because she had to. The world could do its worst, she wasn’t worried. She nodded her head appreciatively, if somewhat grimly, pleased with what she saw when she looked in the mirror. This was not the face she had grown accustomed to seeing, the broken girl who needed to convince herself she wasn’t dead. She was no ghost, she was a phoenix rising from her own ashes. The resurrection was far from perfect, she was jagged and crooked where once she had been smooth and symmetrical, but those details paled in the face of the power bursting forth like flames from every pore. So what if anyone standing too close got burned? That wasn’t her problem. Needless to say, she had plenty of privacy for the remainder of the trip. The only company she couldn’t escape were her dreams.  On the ship there limited opportunities for Yang to exhaust herself. There was a meager gym below deck but she had to be careful not to destroy the ancient heavy bag that swung with the motion of the waves, and there was little else of interest. Yang never could stand exercise bikes or treadmills. She wasn’t a hamster, and even those poor creatures deserved more interesting forms of exercise than they got. So her dreams came back, but in a different form. The waves had an oddly soothing effect on the contents of the dreams. At first Yang was grateful to not have to relive her dismemberment every night, but she quickly began to fear her new batch of dreams nearly as much. Every night was Blake. Mostly memories, strikingly detailed for things Yang had tried to bury. The way she would quirk an eyebrow when Yang had made a especially atrocious pun or inappropriate joke, pretending not to laugh but so obviously wanting to. The subtle motion of her mouth nearly reading aloud when she was particularly absorbed in a book. If Yang watched carefully enough she could almost follow the story in the movements of her lips. The play of muscle in her lithe figure as they fought side by side. Yang becoming intoxicated with the sight of her to the point of giddiness. Seeing a matching smile on Blake’s face, wondering if she felt the same elation. Wanting so badly to pause the fight so she could lay her head on that lovely chest, listen for the heartbeat that she knew would be in perfect time with her own. Those eyes. Too often the dream turned to darkness. Blake would be wrapped in shadows until all that was visible were her burning eyes. Turning from beacons of a home that Yang didn’t even know she was seeking to stony indifference, and then turning away to vanish forevermore. Yang wished these dreams would leave her in the morning, wake to find herself muddled and oblivious like she used to, even if that meant wading through the crash of emotion that followed. But these dreams were too gentle, lasted too long, faded too slowly. She inevitably woke to see those eyes turn away, leaving an aching hole in her very core that she was beginning to accept was simply part of who she was now. Eventually that emptiness was just another reminder that she wasn’t the girl she used to be. Sure, her step no longer bounced with underlying optimism, but she also wasn’t that fragile shadow rattling around her father’s home. So when her dreams were particularly haunting she would take a breath to steady herself, and go searching for that girl with a look that could cut, who stood strong on her own, was built to protect others and needed nothing in return. She tried to pretend she didn’t see the rest, the parts of her still broken, still crying out to the void for the one who shattered her to return. No, that was the past. Despite her constant protests to the contrary, that girl was dead. Her world had ended and she with it, so every morning Yang would stare in the mirror until she couldn’t see her shadow anymore, and if she found herself wiping away tears she didn’t think anything of it. They didn’t belong to the person she had become. —— It was a relief when she finally got off the boat. No more moving at a pace set by others; it was time for her stand on her own two feet. Tearing off from the port on Bumblebee Yang felt free in a way she hadn’t in months. She had the wind in her hair, a full tank of dust, and miles to go before she reached her goal, but she was finally doing something that mattered. The right thing. It felt good. Pulling out onto the main road she was reminded of team RWBY’s first real mission, out to Mountain Glenn. Professor Oobleck had slyly asked all of them but Ruby pointed questions, digging into what drove them. At the time she had found it annoying, invasive, and unfair when she found out Ruby hadn’t been grilled, but now she saw the genius of it. He had seen right through Yang, through all of them, and what he saw was a group of girls who thought they knew what they wanted and had no idea. Yang hadn’t been lying when she replied, she had sought adventure, novelty. But why become a huntress instead of literally anything else? When she searched her mind for the answer now she found only one that felt honest: she was good at it. It was a simple, boring, blunt answer, but it was true, and she saw that now more than ever. She wasn’t surprised that Ruby had found another mission so soon. Ruby wanted to be a huntress, that was her driving passion, just as it always had been. Yang had always envied her that. They had spent their lives being told to follow their dreams, discover their purpose in life, and Yang never could find that thing. Sure, she felt strongly about a lot of stuff, but there was never any one thing that was obviously her calling. So she went with the flow; she was good at fighting, it was in her blood, and it was a respectable career that let her help other people. Plus, it was fun, what’s not to love? Of course, that was before. How nice would it be to be sure? To know that all she wanted to be was a huntress, to never question it? Yang assumed it must be comforting for Ruby, to know without a doubt that she was doing the right thing with her life. Still, Yang realized as she was riding down the beginning of a long and lonely road, maybe her way was what was keeping her going now. She was broken, and honestly unsure if she would ever feel desire or passion for anything as she had before. But she didn’t need passion to direct her path, she chose for herself. And right now she chose to get up every day, no matter how much the simple act of rising out of bed hurt, and put one foot in front of the other. She would find Ruby, she would undo her mistake of all those months ago and say words that should never be left unsaid. Most importantly, she would protect her. If she got wrapped up in some grand mission as a result, so be it, but that wasn’t what mattered. Yang was not seeking the heroes path, she didn’t want fame or fortune or even adventure anymore. She sought only to protect those she loved. That thought, so simple and pure, brought a smile to her face. Not a grimace, not a sneer, a smile, small and true. Maybe she had more edges than she used to, maybe she wasn’t soft or innocent or whole. Maybe the shadowy corners of her mind were haunted by golden eyes, but maybe that was ok. Yang inhaled the country air as she leaned through a series of turns and shouted into the wind: “I’m not...” But her breath caught, the feeling was suddenly different, the words all wrong. At first she was worried that the tears in her eyes were a new form of sorrow, for in the strange sweetness she felt a trap. But sorrow was not the feeling she was struck with, it was more like the pain of taking your first breath after nearly drowning. Looking around, Yang saw a world full of color and life unlike the one she had inhabited for so many months. Danger still lurked just out of sight both within and without, but life went on and that realization was almost painful in the startling clarity it brought. Yang found her voice again and and with a smile on her lips she whispered, somewhat in awe of the truth of it: “I’m alive.”

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.4.1 “One Mother Meets Another”

This Book title really gets me. “To Trust Is Sometimes To Surrender.” Which, I don’t know, feels really helpless. And helpless in a way that could be prevented, too, if there had just been more questions asked or something, maybe. Probably not. But poor Fantine, and poor Cosette, being forced into trusting people who take advantage of everyone they see.

The first thing that we see of the Thenardiers is nothing at all to do with Fantine’s storyline, but everything to do with Marius’. The Sergeant Of Waterloo sign, with its bad painting (I love Hugo’s sassy “on which something was painted”).

But it’s not the sign that makes Fantine stop, but a huge cart with an enormous chain. The Robb biography says that the cart visual was something Hugo saw as a child while he was crossing the border at Saint-Jean-de-Luz while returning to France from Spain. The cart and its chain are symbolism of both an obstacle and a veiled threat. It “might have been mistaken for a giant gun-carriage” and is “crushing” and “hideous.” The way Hugo describes the mud coating the lower half of this cart makes it sound like it’s slowly being covered by a yellow disease. Also, this is the second instance of chain imagery in as many chapters. We also get more imagery of obstruction a few paragraphs later.

Hugo makes it really obvious that this cart is here as an obstruction, literally and figuratively. The figurative is twofold. It is metaphor for the obstruction that the Thenardiers become for Fantine, taking all of her money and lying about Cosette in order to do it, making it impossible for her to stay afloat at Montreuil-sur-Mer. He also uses it to critique the “old social order.”

“Why was this vehicle in this place on the street? First to obstruct the lane, and then to complete its work of rusting. In the old social order we find a host of institutions like this across our path in the full light of day, with no reasons for being there.” Hugo’s critique of the “old social order,” which I’m assuming is the empire.

There’s so much symbolism in the young Eponine and Azelma swinging on the chain. They are swung back and forth by their mother, a symbolism of their own future, akin to the image of Fantine as the horse. They’ll be tied to Mme Thenardier and used by her in the future. Not only that, but the chain is huge enough to be reminiscent of the chains of the bagne; prison is a constant threat to them once they reach Paris. “Above and around the delicate heads, steeped in joy and bathed in light, the gigantic hulk, black with rust and almost frightful with its tangled curves and sharp angles, curved like the mouth of a cave.” What intense symbolism for the darkness and struggle that awaits them in Paris in the future.

“A mother, seeing this frightful chain, had said, ‘Now there’s a toy for my children!’“ First of all this feels like a sassy critique of Mme Thenardier’s parenting decisions. But it’s also a hint at their poverty and debt despite the nice clothing. Instead of tying a rope to a branch or something, the decision to turn a huge hulking terrifying chain into a swing for two tiny children...it’s just a lot.

God, the drastic difference between Cosette’s description and Fantine’s description. Cosette is all beauty and light. She’s “charmingly rosy” She’s dressed in linen and lace. Fantine’s description begins with a question mark. “She was young--pretty?” In 1.3.3, Hugo specifically points out Fantine’s “fine teeth” and her long, blonde hair as points of her beauty. Here, she has her hair wrapped up in a tight cap fastened under her chin, and she never smiles. She looks upset and ill and hard-worked. Lines are forming on her face and her skin is calloused. From here on out her beauty is either a small physical remnant or is purely an inner beauty.

What’s the kerchief fold for invalids that Hugo talks about? Does anyone have an image of that? Also why would invalids fold a kerchief over their chest? Is it the blue kerchief specifically that’s used by invalids, not the fold style?

So if it was August last chapter, it’s June now. If it was December-ish (from the sunset at 4:30 thing) then it’s October. If they’re outside playing on a swing, it’s probably more likely that it’s June. Hugo really just does not care about telling us the time of year unless it is Symbolically Important.

The friendship between Fantine and the rest of the grisettes was tenuous at best, manipulative and cruel at worst. But Hugo implies that none of the other grisettes stayed together either. They “no longer had any reason to be friends” despite suffering the same let down--only the others expected it and Fantine didn’t. And the men probably not only remained friends long after, they probably also made connections and used each other to gain social points and climb the ladder.

“Led by her liaison with Tholomyes to disdain the simple work she knew how to do, she had neglected her opportunities; now they were all gone.” This makes me think that for the two years she was with Tholomyes, she wasn’t working and he was supporting her and the child? Is this how it would have been? Or perhaps she was working, but other, better, more steady opportunities came up and she didn’t take them because of Tholomyes. Either way, her relationship with Tholomyes has fucked her over so many different ways. She doesn’t have a job should could have had, she has a child she can’t take care of, and she has a broken heart.

It’s also a huge clue to how little Fantine seems to know about how any of these affairs work and what’s going to happen to her that “she had a vague feeling of being on the brink of danger, of slipping into the streets.” The other grisettes kept their affairs very shallow, probably because of how acutely aware they were of how much power these men had over their lives and what a mistake could cost them. It’s why the lack of a parting gift in the last chapter was a huge let down for them--they probably should have gotten something expensive to make up for all the lost hours of work--but not as huge as it was for Fantine, who had already made that mistake.

“One day, Fantine heard some old women saying as they saw her child ‘Do people ever take such children seriously? They only shrug their shoulders at them!’ Then she thought of Tholomyes, who shrugged his shoulders at his child, and who did not take this innocent creature seriously, and her heart turned dark at the place that had been his.” Such a short series of lines on such a heavy realization. This is one of the reasons the English lyrics to I Dreamed A Dream irritate me so much. Before she even leaves Paris, Fantine’s heart has hardened to Tholomyes. She doesn’t yearn for him at all; from that point on her focus and love is purely about her child. She’s also angry here. She gets the message at this point and she’s upset about it. There’s also the double meaning of “who did not take this innocent creature seriously.” This line could be about Cosette, but it could also easily be about Tholomyes’ treatment of Fantine for the past two years.

“She had made a mistake, but, deep down, we know she was modest and virtuous.” Okay, Hugo, but what about other women who make mistakes? Are they not modest and virtuous? If they’re not, do they get different treatment? Again, back to his weird arguments from 1.3.2, about how “poverty and coquetry are fatal counselors” and how fallen woman are different from modest women, but also it’s society’s fault that they’re bad. I don’t know, Hugo seems to be confused in his moral opinions when it comes to this stuff.

(The more I learn about his youth while reading this biography, the more this kind of stuff makes sense. The “fallen women are bad” seems to be the kind of opinion he had in his youth, and the “it’s a societal problem” is an elder Hugo opinion. The two thoughts are kind of duking it out in these descriptions of working women.)

“We will see that Fantine possessed a fierce courage.” We get Fantine’s strengths in pieces: she is wise in that she notices things other people don’t notice, she possesses a fierce courage, and she has her capacity to love Cosette completely and sacrifice everything for her. This is also the second time we get a description of her as “fierce,” the first being in 1.3.4. Fantine’s courage and specifically her fierceness come out even more later on. We get the impression that had she lived in better circumstances, she would have been a force to be reckoned with. Again, I’m still reading this Graham Robb biography of Hugo, but the descriptions of Fantine’s characteristics remind me of a sort of ragged description of what Hugo’s mother seemed to be like.

“The woman had nothing in the world but this child, and this child had nothing in the world but this woman.” This just made me really sad because when Fantine goes to Montreuil-sur-Mer, she will have nothing in the world but Cosette. But Cosette won’t even know she exists.

We then learn about the fate of Tholomyes, similar to that of Bamatabois. Hugo has such an interesting perspective on law and lawyers. His characters that go to law school and complete it are all rich assholes who use their power and connections for pleasure and to ruin the lives of those in classes beneath them. Those who don’t complete due to other personal circumstances (Bahorel, Bossuet) or due to death (most of Les Amis) are the opposite. I’m wondering if this is commentary on law in general. Knowing it academically but not falling into the comfort of taking advantage of it, by leaving it instead? We don’t know what happens to Marius after Valjean’s death but I wonder if he would keep his more generous nature or fall prey to the bourgeois/Ultra personalities that hover around Gillenormand.

“The presence of angels is a herald of paradise.” An interesting sentence and description considering the ominous descriptions of what they’re swinging on. There are just so many ominous signs here amidst all the beauty of children and sunlight. You just want to yank Fantine back and go “Wait! Stop! Pay attention! Look at all the badness!”

Mme Thenardier gets so many animalistic descriptions. M Thenardier is later, in Paris, described as a wolf. Mme Thenardier gets she-wolf then, as well as sow and tigress. Here she gets  “that animal yet celestial expression peculiar to motherhood.” (An interesting description considering Fantine is also a mother, but her expressions are tender and passionate.) There’s also, “The most ferocious animals are disarmed by caresses to their young,” which is such an ominous sentence. Mme Thenardier’s cruelty is different from her husbands. His is greedy, hers is jealous. There’s also the moment where Hugo says “she sang between her teeth,” a visual that reminds me of a growl. So many threats in her description, and Fantine doesn’t notice any of them, because Mme Thenardier is sitting down, and that makes her less threatening. Plus her reading of trash romance novels makes her docile, relaxed and coy, which apparently hides this animal underneath.

“A person seated instead of standing: Fate hangs on just such a thread.” This is such a huge aspect in this book, summarized in such a short line. Time and place is so important in this novel, for everyone. So much of this novel is hinged on someone happening to be in the right place at the right time (or the wrong place at the wrong time) or happening to recognize someone, or happening to do or fail to do something that totally changes the course of everything around them.

What’s up with Cosette and flies? Here she’s digging a grave for a dead fly, and later she has a tiny lead sword that she uses to cut the heads off flies. Is this just a little kid characteristic that Hugo noticed in his own grandchildren and decided to include, or is this symbolism of some sort that I’m missing?

I’ve heard that Fantine (read: Hugo) gets from Euphrasie to Cosette from “Chosette” which means “little thing.” Is that true or is that just someone making stuff up? If it is true, I can’t help the amusing thought that Cosette’s name is then basically “Sproglet” but in French. Also the “Josefa into Pepita” is maybe a reference to Pepita, the Marquesa de Montehermoso, who Hugo met when he was about 10 and she about 16. I couldn’t find anything about Francoise into Sillette, except that Hugo’s own son was called Victor-Francois? And nothing at all on Theodore into Gnon.

The moment Cosette leaves Fantine’s arms to go play with the other girls, Fantine ceases to be Fantine and instead becomes “the mother.” She is “the mother” for the rest of the chapter. She loses her selfhood the moment she loses Cosette. From that moment on, to the Thenardier’s at least, she’s just the mother of this child they have to deal with, the mother that they can suck money from whenever they want.

“It would be odd if I left my child naked.” This is such a weird line. I feel like this goes in line with interpreting Fantine as autistic. The Thenardiers are asking pretty obvious leading questions about money and costs and then about clothes. But Fantine doesn’t pick up at all on the weirdness or the sinister nature of their questions; she just thinks it’s weird that they might assume she’d leave her child without clothes.

“You’ve build a good mousetrap with your little ones” “Without even knowing it.” The adult Thenardiers fall into this over and over again. Often opportunities fall into their lap when they’re least expecting it; they plan using the new knowledge (as with getting money for young Cosette or attempting to kidnap Valjean) or they just run with it (as with meeting Valjean in the sewers). Sometimes they plan things, like with M Thenardier’s letters attempting to garner fake charity or patronage. But most of the time it seems like they just wait for a random chance and then jump on it. Which seems far more successful than any of Thenardier’s business endeavors, which is maybe why he ended up in such debt in the first place.

This entire scene feels very fae, very evil trickster-like. A lure or trap (the children), a false reassurance (Mme Thenardier) and the real evil not revealing itself until much later (M Thenardier). You just want to call out to Fantine and warn her of the danger that she doesn’t see. But it’s all hidden in a fae glamour, making everything look sweet and safe and beautiful, and she doesn’t notice all the sinister, ominous things in the corner of the eye because everything else is so bright and angelic.

[cowboyshit]

hangman’s monologue

I don’t know how to preface this but, for those of you who watched today’s bte (5/18/2020) and saw hangman’s monologue, I had to go in depth and break it down for everything I interpreted it alluding to. Overall it’s an insanely intelligent and amazing promo where on the surface level it can read as a reflection of what’s going on in the world, but when you pick it apart for the metaphors interwoven within you can see how much of a testament to his character and current story line it is and what he understands moving forward and what he’s come to the conclusion of doing. Basically this is just me going feral for thousands upon thousands of words because I clearly love a cowboy WAY too much.

You can read it under the cut, if you’d like!

Okay so I’m a little brain tired after a full day’s work but I’m still pretty feral about Hangman’s monologue and the metaphors it was filled to the brim with so *rubs hands together* I’m going to see what I can pick apart!

For the most part we understand the bald eagle he talks about seeing is something that makes him want to go home. Home is not his physical house, but All Elite Wrestling. That’s the home he’s been avoiding. I was almost thinking the bald eagle represented Matt Hardy in some way, which makes the line: “…when I hear what sounded like a miniature tornado spin right past my ear” seem to me like it relates to Vanguard 1 being a drone that’d sound like that – because, as far as I’m concerned, every time I’ve been at a demonstration with a bald eagle flying they’ve not sounded like a miniature tornado, but maybe he was being a little hyperbolic or maybe it was coming in fast haha. Plus, if we tie the bald eagle to Matt Hardy that could be the change Hangman has seen that’s making him think maybe it’s time to come home. He’s watching Kenny with Matt and maybe feeling guilty for not being there with his tag partner. Hearing the constant commentary of “one half of the tag team champions” is perhaps getting to his guilt? Because even if Hangman doesn’t want to be tag team champions with Kenny and even if he doesn’t actually care about having that tag team gold (which – small interjection, for all he says he doesn’t care about it, he did make a point to pack it with his ‘essentials’ when he left to go live in the woods) he does shoulder guilt of not being good enough, in not doing what he’s supposed to do. His partner is there, so Hangman feels guilty that he’s not. A tag team is supposed to stick together. So maybe, just maybe, the bald eagle has something to do with Matt Hardy, as that’s been the only change to AEW recently (with him tagging with Kenny) that’d be enough to put some sort of guilt on Hangman’s shoulders that I can think of.

Oh also – real quick – I do think it’s interesting he’s talking about this happening as he comes up on his last bottle of whiskey, but he talks more about that later so I’ll get into that a little more later on. I think this has to do with his acceptance that he’s using the alcohol as a crutch, but I digress. Moving on!

“Maybe I should go home? I don’t know. The thought itself bloomed inside my brain like a malignant tumor; uninvited, unwelcome, but growing just the same. I mean, it would be ridiculous to go home right now. Because out here I can’t get infected. I can’t infect anyone else.”

These lines are more evidence that Hangman is fighting within himself, with his own mind about returning “home” to AEW. It’s an unwanted thought, but it’s an important and heavy and prevalent one. In the woods and away from AEW he can’t feel day-to-day like a dog chasing it’s tail, reminded that he’s not quite achieved what he wanted (remember that he promised at the press conference that he would be AEW world champion before 2019 was over, which he failed to do and he has never had another chance at that title yet). Or, even worse, when he’s there he’s constantly shown his loneliness to his face where it’s inescapable, even if some of it is his own doing (not seeking new friendships after breaking off with the Elite and even going so far as to horribly damage his new friendship with Private Party over a measly $12. It’s not about the money at this point, I think Hangman is afraid to let anyone get close to him again because he thinks if he has no one close to him he won’t have to fight those thoughts of being shoved back into the shadows).

Which brings me to this little part: “Because out here I can’t get infected. I can’t infect anyone else.” When he’s away from AEW he can’t be infected by his worries of splitting with the Elite and he can’t allow those feelings and what he does because of them – drinking, acting out – to hurt anyone else. Because Hangman loves the Elite as much as he probably wishes he didn’t. He has too good of a heart not to love them, even if he is angry at them and even if he doesn’t want to be a part of them anymore. We saw this when he went from angrily yelling at Matt and Cody to asking with concern after Nick’s well-being once he found out he’d been “hurt” by Hangman during their last match.

The next few lines that follow I do believe may be more about his commentary regarding the coronavirus and what it means to be traveling to the show, etc. but once we get through those lines we hit this part: “I mean even now I would never know if I overreacted coming out here to live, but I would forever live with the pain of knowing I didn’t do enough. And to be honest, I’ve been kind of enjoying living out here. I’ve got good company, and I know you can’t see them right now, but they’re everywhere. It’s not just people either. Two days ago I swear a raven winked at me.”

There’s a lot in those lines that follow the same theme of what’s been discussed. If he never returns home to AEW, he won’t know if he’s been overreacting about everything. Things are getting muddled in his head where it’s reality vs anxiety. Maybe running away and hiding from everyone was an overreaction. Maybe avoidance, instead of ripping off the band-aid and letting the wound air and heal wasn’t the right move. If he never goes back, he’ll never know. He’s beginning to understand that the only way forward is to return, but there’s that fear and anxiety inside him that keeps screaming to slam the breaks and reverse, to go deeper into the woods as it were instead of coming out from the shadows.

And of course he’s enjoyed living away from “home” despite this moment of reflection he’s having. Out here in the woods he doesn’t have to fear disappointing anyone. He doesn’t have to run across the Elite’s path and worry there’ll be another fight because they just won’t listen to him. He doesn’t want to fight with his friends. He just wants to shake hands and go his own way, but they’ve got their claws in him and it’s made him desperate and feral to get away from them and as such he acts out and in turn hurts (infects) other people AND himself.

But, like I said, Hangman says: “But I would forever live with the pain of knowing I didn’t do enough.”

Even if it isn’t his fault that Matt, Nick, and Kenny (I’m leaving Cody out only because he really hasn’t had a solid presence in the Elite story lines since this has begun) won’t let go, he’s recognizing that if this is something HE wants – if he really wants to be separated and that’s what’s going to make him happy - it’s going to have to be something he does. And if he doesn’t go back to AEW, if he just continues to hide and get drunk in the woods, that failure will sit on HIS shoulders and no one else’s. There will be no one to blame but himself.

Also! I do believe the line about the raven is a reference to Marty which is why I included it, but that’s really all I gotta say about it haha I was just excited to think he was referencing his old villain buddy.

Okay so the next bit is a little long, but I need to include his whole dialogue to break it down: “Why did I think that in the first place? Honestly? I mean, it feels selfish, but there is a large part of me that wants to march right back up the front steps and slip off my boots and let them dry, stumble right through the front door with a sheepish grin, hoping nobody noticed I had left in the first place. And as nice as it is out here, truthfully the past few months has left me feeling pretty damn worthless. Like, I used to know more, but living in a house is kind of all I understand now. And maybe most selfishly, I feel like I want to go back home because I was on the run of my life in that house. I was learning to eat as much toast as I wanted fresh from our Russel Hobbs toaster. I nearly won the prestigious “Man of the House” award in May. I teamed up with our broom to clean the house better than ever swept it before. And I feel like I might have been starting to patch up the holes of the house.; the walls that made the house what it was in the first place. Everyone was loving it - what I was doing in the house - and it made me feel more validated than I ever felt in my life. And I felt like maybe I was on my way back to winning the “Man of the House” award. The thing I had promised to win on day one. But I - I’ll never get that momentum back… I mean, does momentum even exist in a house that’s empty?”

This part is FULL of so much and I’m going to try my best to talk as cohesively about it as possible without just. Screaming.

So again, he’s talking about how he thought about returning to the “house” and what all of that entails. Of course Hangman wants to return without notice – he doesn’t want to have to answer on where he’s been or what he’s been doing. He doesn’t want prying eyes to poke and prod inside when even he’s still tangled about what his journey is and what would actually make him happy. It’s only going to set off his anxiety if everyone starts pointing out how long he was gone because a part of it, despite himself, is tied to that guilt for how long he’s been gone in the first place. He does feel guilty for being away. The last thing you want when you’re guilty for something is for it to seem like everyone’s going to put it under a microscope. And maybe he knows he isn’t strong enough yet to not fall back on harmful behaviors in order to cope with that sort of scrutiny.

Also, him feeling worthless being away from AEW. Hangman, at his core, is a representation of struggling with self-identity. Who is he? At the end of the day who is Hangman Adam Page? I don’t think that’s a question he has enough self-confidence to look in a mirror and answer. He’s caught searching right now, lashing out, numbing himself, stumbling, trying, doing, failing, succeeding… and he’s still just a little bit lost. He hasn’t quite caught his stride. His eyes are so focused on the AEW World Championship (which I believe is the Man of the House award he’s talking about) because he thinks that’s what’s finally going to prove to everyone – but more importantly himself – that he’s good enough.

The funny thing though, I think this reflects the children’s story he wrote about his character too – is that I feel like there’s a chance even holding that title isn’t going to prove anything to himself. Like when it talks about the “golden horseshoe” in his children’s book and the fact that “Adam” didn’t need it to do an amazing job. But… I digress.

And I think that’s where the last line ties in, where he talks about not being able to find that momentum. He doesn’t think he can get back what he had when he was going after the championship in the beginning. Everyone’s moved on, he thinks. The eyes of the belt now fall to others - Mox, Brodie Lee - where’s room for him in that? With how tangled up he is right now it’s no wonder he can’t see himself pushing for the momentum again of having everyone rally behind the idea that he’d hold the championship or be capable of taking it away from the names who have it now. He feels like that part of the house has emptied out and with all his other battles he can’t see how he’d get through those to get any piece of importance back on that spot. 

I want to reiterate and focus on another section in that long quote because I think it’s incredibly important: “And maybe most selfishly, I feel like I want to go back home because I was on the run of my life in that house. I was learning to eat as much toast as I wanted fresh from our Russel Hobbs toaster. […] I teamed up with our broom to clean the house better than it’d ever been swept before. And I feel like I might have been starting to… patch up the holes of the house… the walls that made the house what it was in the first place. Everyone was loving it, what I was doing in the house and it made me feel more validated than I ever felt in my life.”

If you’ve been watching AEW from the start and hadn’t seen much of Hangman before, you’ll have caught on to the trajectory of his popularity and how he is at the highest point in his career that he’s ever been in. The cheers these days are for HIM. I remember my excited surprise when, during a promo with the Bucks and Kenny, Hangman interrupted them and the entire arena cheered for HIM. For his interruption. Think about that in terms of how his career used to be – how no one really cared that much if Hangman was coming out to the BC theme because they’d rather see the more popular Bullet Club members, The Young Bucks or Kenny Omega. But now he has a catchphrase people are chanting. People pop FOR him. He’s learning how to eat that “toast” the crowd is giving him. He’s learning how to accept this outpouring of love and support us fans are showing up in troves with for him. 

The line about the broom is clearly a nod at Kenny. They cleaned the house better than before – that match at Revolution was… astonishing. I feel like he and Kenny were finally hitting their stride and coming to a better understanding in working in tandem in the ring and that’s what this is a nod to.

And now those last two lines. Patching up the holes of the house – that’s his relationship with the Elite. Before all this went down, we saw a BTE episode where Matt and Hangman sat down at a bar and started to get serious before the camera cut and didn’t let us see what the conversation was, but we understand it was about the contention between the two of them (as Matt’s the one lashing out the loudest and angriest out of the bunch and making Hangman explode the worst). So, right before all this happened Hangman was maybe finally feeling like he was getting somewhere with the holes torn in his relationship with his friends. His brothers. His family. (Which – real quick – we know found family is a huge thing for Hangman, given the earlier episode of BTE where Jimmy Valiant talked to him and Hangman lamented over the loss of how Jimmy helped him and all the trainees feel like they were a family).

And that last line about feeling validated. He finally is getting the recognition he’s (quite frankly) deserved all along. He’s come into himself and now the crowd is rallying behind him. At each show he was just getting more and more over. Everyone has been loving what he’s been doing at AEW. They care more about him than KENNY OMEGA (which we also see Kenny rant about in this same episode earlier on when he’s on the zoom call with Colt). Imagine how insane that must feel to him after he’s always put these guys on such a high pedestal for their achievements!!!! Look at his career record when paired to Kenny’s or the Bucks. But finally, FINALLY after all this time he was emerging as the favorite and of course that’s where he’s finding validation. That’s helping take down those worries and those anxieties when it comes to feeling like he’s not enough or that no one cares about him. How can he feel that way when he goes to the ring and thousands of people are screaming HIS catchphrase or popping for HIM? And maybe there’s a part of him that’s stayed away because not having that audience cheering for him robs him of the validation he was just beginning to accept and brings his fears back that are always waiting in the wings.

Okay, moving on.

“I mean it seems unfair that I get to live out this Snow White woodland fantasy while Cynthia from Food Lion has to go back to her apartment every morning. I mean am I the bad guy here? I mean, either way I look at it, I’m the bad guy in my own drunken monologue here in the woods. I mean, maybe that just the way the world has conditioned me to think when the choice was never mine to begin with.” 

I think the “Cynthia from Food Lion” bit is talking about us. The audience. Hangman feels guilty for running away and leaving us behind while we still have to face our day-to-days and we don’t get the luxury of running off and getting drunk in the woods when things go bad. We have to keep facing our day no matter what we’re going through. We have to keep “going home” in a way, regardless of what our struggles are. It’s valid to feel guilt for it, but he’s also right about the way the world has conditioned him to think when the choice was never his to begin with. It’s, to me, that reflection of what us millennials face. We are constantly told we are in the wrong, that we’re killing business after business despite the issues being out of our control to fix or have a hand in. We’ve been conditioned to constantly feel this guilt that we’re not doing enough – for the most part our parents and grandparents had degrees or jobs or houses by the time they were in their twenties whereas most of us can’t afford that. We’re constantly told that we’re not doing enough. That it’s our fault even when we don’t have a choice. 

“I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t shake the feeling that the world is about to fuck me dry one more time. And for the first time ever, I have the chance to put on lipstick first. I mean… I need… I know I need to go back home. Home is still there.” 

This is a little vulgar of an expression, but I think that’s the point. It’s shock value to really pull your attention toward it. It needs that hard light shone directly on it. In the beginning I talked about how sometimes we know we have to walk into something that’s going to be awful just to get through to the other side and I think that’s what this refers to. Hangman knows he can’t keep running from his problems and, given his history, he can’t help but feel like it’s going to explode in his face even if he comes with good intentions. If we look at the trajectory of every time he tried to tell the Elite he wanted to separate from them we see how it got uglier and uglier each and every time. So even though he doesn’t think it’s going to go perfectly fine or the way he wants it to go (where he’s allowed to walk away, figure out who he is on his own, and then maybe go for the AEW World Championship if that’s even still something he can achieve) he knows he has to go back. He’s had a chance to “put lipstick on first” which means he’s had the chance to get ready for it. To steel himself. For the first time in his career he’s had a chance to step away from the storm, stare it right in the eyes and see exactly what he has to do in order to get through it, even if he comes out battered on the other side. He has to go home. He has to go back to AEW. He has to face everything he’s been running from lately.

So now the final bit which is my favorite metaphor simply because it has to do with horses so, you know the horse girl in me SCREECHED.

“But honestly, what I want to do is climb back on my horse and ride off into the sunset and just say the hell with it. Maybe this little rant is all I have left. I’m just throwing my leg over a saddle with a broken tree. Kicking a horse i know has long been dead, and the horse just collapses, and I’m sitting back here in the same spot wondering “Why did I want to go home in the first place?” Maybe it was the eagle coming back home to her nest that made me think it or maybe it’s because I’m out of whiskey.”

For those of you that don’t know, the tree in a saddle is the saddle’s frame on a western saddle. It’s basically the structure the saddle is based on and how you tell how to properly fit your saddle to the horse so you don’t cause further problems for your horse while riding. When the saddle tree breaks, the saddle can shift where it’s positioned on the horse’s spine and cause a LOT of problems for your horse. It’ll add pressure where pressure shouldn’t be added and distribute the weight off, effectively fucking up the horse’s spine. It’s easy to ride a saddle with a broken tree because for the most part unless you are paying close attention you won’t feel that the tree is broken, but your horse absolutely will. So what he’s saying is that while he wants to get in the saddle and ride off into the sunset to effectively never be bothered again, he won’t be able to do that.

The next few lines are simply more reflections of Hangman trying to work through his personal anxieties. Maybe he’s telling himself this last little bit as a way to try and “get out” of going. Maybe he’s trying to tell himself he’s crazy for thinking it’s time to go back. It’s also a reflection of what he’s worried about – that all of this is going to be for naught. That it’s hopeless. That he’s had time away to reflect and think, but maybe that’s just it. Maybe when he goes back he’ll just be “beating a dead horse” and be caught up in the same shitstorm he was before. That he’ll go through all this trouble to go back only to find himself planted right back on his ass in the spot he’s at now. Aimless and tangled up inside his head.

Those last couple lines, again – he’s wondering what’s made him think this way. Is it because he’s out of alcohol and he finally has to face sobriety and think? Or is it because the “bald eagle” came back to her nest and made him feel like he needed to go back too?

Like I said before, overall this is an amazingly thoughtful piece. The way it was delivered like a rambled monologue but actually had so many in-depth layers was phenomenal. It comes across like someone working through their anxiety, talking out their problems, being pulled back into those thoughts of doubt and trying to convince himself out of them. Just... fucking phenomenal, really.

[dogbearinggifts]

Interesting (imo ofc) parallel between Diego and Vanya: both are angry/bitter/resentful bc of their upbringing and while I’d say Diego is more obviously verbally aggressive, they both lash out at their siblings, but Diego attacks others (most notably Luther) to shine light on their abuse, when Vanya attacks others she usually glosses over their own abuse and trauma to highlight her own (a la “you couldn’t handle that Dad might find me special!”)

That is an interesting parallel that I hadn’t noticed before, honestly.

I think their difference in behavior comes in large part from how they see their pasts. Diego was raised in the Academy while Vanya was mostly at the periphery of it; and while it seems clear that Vanya knew at least the basics of what her siblings endured, we know she thought her own exclusion was worse. There are a number of reasons for this, and I’ve touched on some of them before—she thought they were more favored, she may have accepted a somewhat sanitized view of their pain, she may have decided whatever pain they endured was worth the glory of being in the Academy—but the important thing is that Vanya saw herself as the least favorite and the most abused. Maybe there wasn’t a chance for her to unlearn this as a child, since we see her siblings do exclude her on the security tapes; but she squandered her chance to unlearn it as an adult when she chose to mostly cut ties with them. Her book alone—and her lack of remorse for writing it—is evidence enough that she hasn’t let go of the notion that she had it the worst as a kid and that her siblings’ suffering can’t even compare.

Diego, on the other hand, was in the Academy from the beginning. He endured verbal abuse and constant negative comparisons to his brother, but he also saw that what he went through wasn’t unique. It was different from what Luther endured, and not the same at all as what Klaus was put through, but unlike Vanya, I don’t think Diego ever believed he was the only one who suffered. I do think he remained bitter toward his siblings for a good long while, and he probably spent some years believing he had it worse than anyone simply because his suffering was different. But unlike Vanya, he didn’t cut ties with his siblings. Not completely, and not forever. He definitely went low-contact, and I think he maintained that for at least the first year; but I also think he eventually re-established contact with Klaus. We see him listening to a police scanner to find crimes to stop before police can arrive, and Klaus speaks of his work as a vigilante as if he’s witnessed the bloody aftermath firsthand. I wouldn’t be surprised if Diego kept one ear on that scanner listening for any mention of a junkie matching Klaus’ description so he could make sure to beat the police there and keep his brother out of trouble. And if that were indeed what he did, I think those glimpses into Klaus’ life would have changed his thinking toward him, taking his thoughts from Oh my god, my brother spends his entire day getting high, why is he such a loser  to My brother is in deep shit.

In the years following Ben’s death and preceding Reginald’s, it seems Vanya avoided her siblings as much as possible. They all moved in different circles, which probably helped keep them separate. And I think this separation made it easier for Vanya to go over what she’d endured, compare it to what her siblings endured, and decide, again and again, that she had it worse than anyone. Memory isn’t a recording of an event; it’s an individual’s impression of it as seen through the lens of emotion. I don’t think her memories of her time at the Academy ever became wildly inaccurate, but I do think they twisted a bit. We see it when she’s walking through the Academy, hallucinating her siblings telling her she’s not welcome. She sees each instance as one where she’s cruelly rejected from the family dynamic; but the only moment that fits this description is when Reginald refuses to let her be in the family photo. All the others are rude, to be sure, but nothing out of the ordinary for siblings who have been interrupted. Ben’s “To go on a mission, you have to have a power” is definitely blunt, but it’s also a statement of fact. Yet because Vanya remembers her siblings as willful tormentors who hated her for something beyond her control, she sees each of these encounters as far, far more sinister than her siblings likely intended them to be. In isolation from her siblings, Vanya seems to have built up an entire story where she is constantly victimized by a father and siblings who want to hurt her with every word and deed—a story she eventually shared with the world.

Diego, on the other hand, might have had contact at least with Klaus, as I mentioned. But even if he didn’t, I think he took stock of his childhood, much like Vanya did. I think he relived some memories, and I think he went over conversations in his mind. None of that made him any less angry—if anything, it seems to have left him even more bitter than he was as a kid—but where Vanya used her memories to reinforce the story she’d always told herself, Diego used his to challenge that narrative. Maybe he went over one of a dozen conversations where Luther defended Reginald, and instead of focusing only on how he’d felt in that moment, he started to wonder—okay, Luther had just gone through something that left him broken and quiet; he wouldn’t say what it was, but why the fuck would he defend the guy who put him through that? Is this like those times when Dad yelled at me until I cried and then yelled at me for crying, and I walked away feeling like I’d done something wrong? His resentment toward Luther seems to have remained steady through the years, but there’s sympathy present too—sympathy that I don’t think existed in their childhood and teen years.

He and Vanya are still both very resentful toward their siblings; and in Diego’s case, I’d wager his resentment is strongest toward those he believes had it better than he did—Allison, Luther, and Vanya. Ben is dead; it seems his dislike of Five is based more on personality clashes; and he’s protective and even somewhat kind toward Klaus. But with Luther, that resentment takes on a different tone. They’re still bitter rivals, and they lash out at each other on more than one occasion. But when Diego dishes out verbal abuse on Allison and Vanya, there is no purpose beyond reminding them of something they did wrong or making them feel less than. It’s meant to point to their own wrongdoings and rub their faces in it. But when he verbally abuses Luther, all or most of that abuse (which I might track one day in a different meta) points back to Reginald. Some of it points more directly (“He turned you into a monster”) while some is more circumspect (“At least I make my own decisions”) but when he reminds Luther of his own inadequacies, he often seems to hint that Reginald is at the root of them. He holds Allison and Vanya responsible for their own failings, but he tries to get Luther to see that Reginald is the cause of all his problems. I don’t think he likes Luther at this point, and I think he has a lot of unresolved anger toward him; but I think he’s at least beginning to see him as a product of his environment, rather than as someone who was just awful right from the cradle.

Vanya also takes multiple opportunities to point to the failings of her siblings, most often Allison. But this verbal abuse is more akin to what Diego dishes out on her and Allison. It’s personal. It’s sometimes condescending and sometimes acerbic, but I don’t think she ever uses it to point back to Reginald as the ultimate villain. The only instance I can remember where she brings Reginald into it at all is when she gaslights Allison after her confession: “You couldn’t handle the fact that Dad might find ME special!” In that case, it’s crystal clear that Reginald was the villain; but in Vanya’s account, he is transformed into a henchman, acting in service to Allison’s pettiness and jealousy. Diego might remind his siblings of things they’ve done wrong, flinging it in their faces when he wants to take the upper hand; but he calls attention to their actions without ascribing motive.

I’m not saying Diego’s verbal abuse is right, and I’m not saying it’s justified or remotely okay simply because he uses it to point to Reginald as the one to hate or because he doesn’t exaggerate or gaslight the way Vanya does. I’m not defending his abuse at all. It would have been far more productive and kind for him to try and sit down with Luther, clear the air with whatever apologies or explanations might be necessary, and then steer the conversation toward Reginald and how he’d come to realize their childhood was abusive, fucked up, and something that’s going to take years to recover from. What he does instead is childish, abusive, and absolutely wrong on nearly every level. He’s trying to make things better, but what he chooses to do makes things even worse. But at the same time, he’s recognized that he wasn’t the only one who had it rough, and he knows that Luther is going to need help to see what he sees. When he lashes out at Luther, this belief that they both suffered and that Luther just needs to see it—that is what guides his actions. Vanya is still stuck in the belief that her suffering was far greater than anyone else in that house could even imagine, and her treatment of her siblings is guided by this belief. She doesn’t need to help them see that they were abused. To her mind, they were hardly abused at all in comparison to what she went through. Therefore, while Diego tries to get Luther to see something about himself, Vanya’s only goal is to get her siblings to see something about her. 

[helihi]

The Good, The Bad, and the Dirty: RWBY Vol 6 Ep 13

#GayForSummerRose

#BeesConfirmed #RenoraStyle #RTWhatAreYouDoingWithMyEmotions #ThisShitIsIllegal.

Overall rating: 8/10.

A.N.: RT provided us with an official “Look how far we’ve come.”

The Good:

Okay, I can definitely say I love this season finale more than the vol 5 finale. yes, even if Vol 6′s greatest tragedy is having no Raven in it, I have to say, the rollercoaster of emotions the last 16 gave me were a thrill.

Where to start?

Let’s kick it chronologically. Watched it 2 more times for this.

"Yes, and we just ruined the only thing capable of stopping it.”

I want to applaud Kara for her delivery of this line. It was cold, in a very Grimm tone. Loved it!

I think the structure of the episode was well thought as most of the contents of this episode belong in this section:

Set up:

This whole episode is mainly centered around Ruby. She is the one the camera will follow and point and for reactions, this is crucial for the emotional beat of this episode.

Cordovin’s redemption is set up at the beginning of the episode and follows a good narrative in the next 16 minutes. 

Blake’s state and struggle is acknowledged by those around her, specially Yang and Ruby. This scene is great, not only because it cements that what Blake went through is not something to be shrugged off, but because also provides with one of the most wholesome moments of the whole episode: Ruby looks at Yang and she knows.

Maria comes in and paints an objective: 

The utilitarian route - They take the chaos as an opportunity to run.

The idealist route - They stay and fight, even if they are at a disadvantage.

Camera focuses on Ruby for choice —> Team for back up —> Back to Ruby for confirmation. She is the one who makes the call.

Strategy one: Doomed to fail.

Ruby states that she HAS to do this.

Build up:

Cordovin reaches her breaking point as she listens to Ruby’s resolution.

Cool flight sequence.

Plan fails.

New strategy which focuses a lot more on team effort. I love the scene were Blake goes over to Weiss. We are Weiss stans first, RWBY fans second. The fact that everything feels connected, shows you this was more thought out than the Vol 5 ending battle sequence (With the exception of Cinder vs. Raven vs. Yang). Ren and Jaune are out of the game, no aura. Yang and Nora are to distract the Leviathan. Blake is there for emotional support, she has no aura and Gambol Shroud is broken. Weiss is giving Ruby method of transportation.

Ruby faces the Leaviathan: This is the official RT RWBY “Look how far we’ve come” montage, I say this not only because this is meant to show Ruby’s memories, but because most of the time, the clear point of view of these is not Ruby, but the audience.

Toddler Yang + Young Taiyang: Emotional connection to childhood from Ruby/ Reminder of the fan favorite Burning the Candle episode.

Zwei joins the team: highlight of the time at beacon/everyone’s fav corgi.

Food fight: call back to the ‘good ol’ days’/ Everyone’s favorite fight sequence.

Blake loves tuna: nice team building/One of the funniest scenes for the FNDM.

Penny: scene were she tells Ruby she wants to leave Atlas.

Vomit boy: First time Ruby saw Jaune/Some old FNDM nicknames.

Team JNPR at the noodle station.

Pyrrha —> ANGST TRIGGER.

Jaune training at night: Ruby was woken up every night by this/Sad Arkos moment that hit everyone.

Yang losing an arm: scarring memory for Ruby to see her sister like that/one of the most telling shots of Vol 3 ending.

Yang closing up: see above.

Pyrrha dying.

Penny dead.

Ruby’s powers don’t work, focus on the Leviathan noticing her. Zoom to the lamp.

Pay off:

JINN INTERVENTION! Set up for future volumes, probably one of the smartest moves Ruby pulled up ever. And it’s perfect tied in to the way Ruby react after being reminded of the relic’s existence and how it affect Grimm, established in earlier episodes.

Continuation of montage:

Team RWBY ready for mission: fond memory/of of the iconic moments of the first volumes.

Weiss apologizing: Official beginning of their friendship/Iconic moment of vol 1.

Blake cheering: old classes/meme’d image.

Yang telling Ruby she will always be there for her: emotional contrast to the last Yang flashback/connection of Yang’s short to her self-sacrificial nature/mother hen attitude.

Vol 2 Ending: crisis avoided when the bad guys were easy to deal with.

Dance: Another excellent scene from vol 2.

Team JNPR together.

Qrow’s first appearance: emotional core of Ruby/Qrow relationship.

Oscar hopeful.

María giving Ruby lessons.

Penny when she confirms they are friends.

SUMMER ROSE OMFG

Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting to see her this soon, but I am so fucking glad to see her! I can finally draw all the Team STRQ I’ve wanted to draw! She's so fucking pretty aaaaaaaaaa

Does this confirm STRQ backstory soon?

Ruby is able to stop the Leviathan momentarily.

Cordovin redeems herself.

Now, we get to skip all the fight, which I find to be a great choice. After the last 3 episodes of constant action, we need a breather. We need interactions, a slow down of the pace and some discussion.

We get the small closing scene for the Qrow and Ruby arc. She restates her love for him and Qrow realizes he has someone new to inspire him. It’s very important that he hesitates before taking a drink, and actually pouts his flask down down.

María is also inspired by Ruby. After patting Qrow in the back (metaphorically), we get a reinforcement of team RWBY + JN_R + Oscar as the new generation who take on the mission of saving the world and protecting others as huntsmen.

We got some wholesome and organic exchanges between the kiddos. It’s so refreshing and welcome to see them interact, even if it seems like something so ordinary and miniscule.

Bees get confirmation Renora style. Volume 7 will be filled with filled with Bumblebee y’all! Happy to see they will explore their feelings for each other after they settle the Adam fiasco. They can move on and build a healthy relationship together.

When the Renora kiss tho.

Oscar reveals that Ozpin helped him land the ship. This is super important! Ozpin shows that he has faith in them, and instead of taking over, he shows his support and guides Oscar. This is a very good sign, even if it leaves a sour taste in everyone’s mouth.

Good for the Ozpin arc.

I love the way Atlas looks! It’s an interesting way to protect the city from oncoming Grimm attacks after what happened to Matle. I wonder however, how they keep the city up and what plan of evacuation/defense they have for the impending invasion.

It’s clear the set up for the next season is more political and I’m all here for it!

The Bad

The way Yang and Blake to join the others at the beginning of the episode has me face palming. How the fuck could they have gotten there in time when they were both tired, with no aura left and shocked after what they went through?

That was cheap as fuck, I’d rather they fly to pick them up, that woudl have added what? 1 minute to the 16 minute chapter?

The Dirty

The first scene of the whole episode is completely disconnected for everything else, and though it’s a clear set up for volume 7, I feel it would have been a better post credits scene than the one we got with Salem that was a huge meh.

I will make a Vol 6 review in the future (cause I can’t decide if I like it better or worse than Volume 5), but for sure, the Cinder scenes are completely out of place and only serve for set up for volume 7. They are so clumsily implemented, I can’t believe they couldn’t set up a theme to have them make sense.

Anyways, this is here for the following reasons:

Good callback to Pyrrha’s death. That exchange clearly triggered the audience because boi we’re not over that.

Cool new outfits, kind old how the CRWBY keeps pulling these outfits change to indicate a new arc and make it so obvious.

WHERE ARE MY RWBY ALTAS OUTFITS. I NEED THEM NOW.

Nice to see Neo’s Semblance being explored. She has limits, and we know more of how it works.

Still disappointed Neo doesn’t use sign language. I’m pretty sure Cinder would be able to get some context or read her lips, but whatever. I guess it’s too complicated to animate.

Overall rating: 8/10.

A.N.: Okay I am very gay for Summer someone body please help me the thirst—

[real-fakedoors]

You must have gotten this question a lot but... how did you get the idea for star-crossed? And how’d you develop the world? I was really inspired by how you detailed your story to create such an amazing image for us readers of the world; especially when it got down to politics, the watches, characterizations and the planets-turned-countries. I’m currently writing (or trying to write) a book of my own, and I’ve been struggling with how to incorporate those kind of details. Do you have any advice?

hello & thank you for the ask! what a wonderful question, and an even more glowing compliment!! my heart is so full :,)

it’s a mixture of a few things, and I’m happy to break it down further if you’d like, but allow me to lay out my basic approach to writing in general & this fic specifically. I’ll try to address each question the best I can!

1. Ideas born from ideas

Music - I’m one of those people who draw on other sources of inspiration – especially music. All three of my most popular stories were at least first thought of by songs. (star-crossed was inspired by Constellations by The Oh Hellos).

Reference material/research - I’ve tried to be as explicit as possible in star-crossed when I describe/utilize the design of another creator for the basis of my work (like all of Lance’s pretty outfits), but in general, having reference material is the MOST IMPORTANT thing. I’ve done a ton of research on medieval culture, cuisine, buildings, and courts. A good example of this is from Chapter 16: The Prisoner’s Dilemma, I had no freakin’ idea how to describe a battlement, or what that even was – hence me googling “what is the top of a castle wall called” > they’re called battlements, got it! > google image, battelments 

There, I found this:

and from that, I wrote this:

Quietly, they climbed until the highest reaches opened around them, a large plane of dark stone, stained by ombre rust to near-black on opposing ends of the terrace. A very small amount of snow had gathered, but most of it had blown away in the wind –  some small catches had gathered in pockets of shade, where the perimeter wall was buttressed by columns of scaffolding that each came to a point. They were massive structures, like stone arrows pointing towards the heavens; vaguely, Lance remembered one of his mother’s stories about a fletcher’s workshop for the gods; the sweep magnificence of the architecture, certainly lent itself to a sense of the divine and otherworldly greatness.

Linear plot - In terms of figuring out what I want to accomplish in the story, and in the chapters, I quite literally depend on my notes. I tend to get over-eager and want to do a lot in one chapter, so I force myself to map things out in accordance to time rather than events, and that helps me maintain something of a regular pace.

There are a few things I knew I had to have happen in the story, and some of it filled in naturally as I began writing. Here’s a picture of my office from the week I began writing star-crossed.

(the text on the sticky notes doesn’t really matter; but pink are plot points and yellow are narrative themes)

If you squint – an example – Tuesday was supposed to be the day of the bombing, originally. All of the tension and build up and worries about the murder plot were never actually going to happen, as it was going to be wrong-place/wrong-time as a bomb went off in the city. Lance was always intended to get caught up in it instead of Keith as the target, but that obviously didn’t end up happening.

Why? As I wrote the beginning chapters, I had to remind myself that Keith is the Prince of Marmora, of which their expertise is spy networks and information. It didn’t seem feasible to me that such a large scale attack could occur in Marmora without the Blade knowing about it, which is why the attention ended up shifting towards the ball specifically.

Prompts - I am also of the belief that there is no reason to reinvent the wheel. There are wonderful, wonderful authors and writers out there who generate material specifically designed to help writers kickstart ideas; I collected a huge Google Doc of these when I first started star-crossed just to keep my head in accordance with the right themes. Rarely do I use a prompt word-for-word because they never really fit exactly what I’m writing, but the tone of the language often helps me in moments when I’m stuck. Here’s a sampling (and I am sorry, I didn’t think to mark the original blogs I took these from:

“The world was in flames. People were in need of laughter.”

“The world was in flames” helped me to derive some of the terrible disaster that came on the third night of the ball. I just really like that visual, so much orange and red light, and the unbearable heat.

“You can feel the world blooming and withering around you while you’re in prison.”

This sort of… live-and-die, questioning mortality thing, while in “prison” helped me to build Lance’s internal monologue while he was in the cellar.

“If I ignored destiny, so can you.”

Because Klance.

“I was waiting for a chance to ask you to dance with me, but you were gone.”

A knife-twist of how, though this was loosely inspired by the premise of Cinderella, Keith only got to ask Lance to dance twice over the course of three days – in part because Lance was always gone or with someone else, but also because Keith was equally tied up in the expectation that he was to dance with anyone who asked him.

The watches - That was my hope of tying in the paladin’s bayard. It was theoretically impossible to have a magical weapon appear in the hands of four teenagers and an adult without it raising many conspicuous questions, so I needed something a little more subtle. There’s still some… [redacted] about time that has to [redacted] before [redacted] can [redacted], so I can’t say much more than that. :,)

Pomp, Circumstance & Politics (oh my!) - okay, sorry, I couldn’t resist. heh. but, yeah, I don’t know if I can point to one specific thing in particular that gave rise to the political quagmire of this story. It’s definitely been inspired by an array of existing media – Downton Abbey certainly helped shape the “upper class” vs. “lower class” treatment. I also really enjoy historical readings. fiction or nonfiction, pertaining to wars: Ken Burn’s Vietnam War, for instance, helped remind me of the massive impact the decisions of few can have on the many. Whether or not you support a war, or a policy in Marmora’s case, can have devastating after-effects for the people beneath you. Keith and Krolia happen to be very conscious of this. But even so, there will always be a level of detachment from their view of the “many” (in which Lance, Hunk and Pidge fall), and this is never so apparent as when things are told from Lance’s POV. He’s just another person. He’s just one person. One of the hundred of thousands that would be effected by the daily decisions of Keith or Krolia, and it is that constant tension between “big picture” and “small picture” that I try to draw out in the on-going struggles had by the characters.

2. For me, the character’s are the world. 

That’s not me being poetic or anything – let me explain.

Imagine this: Suppose there is a person who has been devoid of all of their senses, all of their life – no touch, no smell, no hearing – nothing. Then suppose, one day, they are shaken from this catatonic state for the first time. Their senses now free, how would they experience this scene I am writing? What is so prevailing to the senses that it demands to be included in the narrative?

That is how I write my my worlds, at least descriptively. I try to pick out a few key things someone wouldn’t be able to help but notice.

This is great for characterization, too, because I can tweak the premise of the “feelingless individual” to suit how I imagine my characters. 

Keith, for example, from star-crossed – a few things I keep in mind when writing him: he is constantly frustrated by his inability to act on his impulses, so when he does it is extra satisfying. He’s keenly aware of the mannerism of others because of his upbringing in the court – if they have a weapon on their hip, for instance, is something he would notice in a heartbeat.

There were certain ticks to look for in a person trying to get too close: the ways their eyes moved, where their hands sat, what sort of clothing they wore. Was it something trim and fitted to make for an easy escape, or something bulky with a dozen pockets to hide any manner of weapon? Were those chemical burns on their hands from working with unstable materials? Did they look restless, liked they’d been up all night debating with themselves to go through with such a monumental act?

Maybe it was just learned paranoia, but these were the small enough traits that most people wouldn’t notice.

Keith, however, was trained to notice.

Lance, on the other hand, is a little more indulgent but easily overwhelmed; he has been restricted his whole life, so he indulges often and easily, but that puts him in a vulnerable position that can (and has) left him open to being hurt by the world around him. He’s one who is going to notice the weather, the quality of the air, because those were things that held meaning to him when he lived in the mountains – he’s one to fixate on his own mistakes, because he’s used to them being pointed out to him.

Lotor wanted to take off his mask so it was one less thing getting in the way, an obstruction to peeling back Lance’s sense of self, his ideas and interests and beliefs balled up in and thrown in a bin, along with his name and his past, so that he could be some fucked up little prize for the guy’s own enjoyment.

The fucking betrayal of his own body, too. The flushed cheeks, the friction of his hips over Lotor’s… ugh. It wasn’t —  he didn’t want it, it didn’t feel good, but the physical sensation was demanding and his body literally could not do anything but respond, and the memory of that alone was enough to have him clutching his head between his knees, legs drawn up to his chest.

Why was this so confusing? It shouldn’t be, and that only made Lance more frustrated. Lotor was a selfish asshole who tried to use his title to his advantage and force Lance to do things he didn’t want to do. Lance had even succeeded in pushing him away and standing up for himself, but the triumph was bittersweet.

This mindset was especially critical when writing Chapter 14: Twenty-Six Hours, because it was the first time we delved into the consciousnesses of the other characters! (I’m just really happy with the way that one turned out *sob*)

Also, a note on villany: I really dislike one dimensional villains. I prefer when my evil comes with a healthy dose of “fuck I sort of agree with that… to an extent?”

Which is why writing Lotor’s big monologue in Chapter 16: The Prisoner’s Dileema was such a challenge. I had to make his treatment of Lance seem, in some fucked up version of reality, justifiable. Because really, Lotor is a product of circumstance; he was raised with his beliefs of the poor and especially of someone of Lance’s “status,” and was acting in such a way that reflected that up-bringing. Now, Keith was raised in similar circumstances and isn’t a huge piece of shit, so there’s no excuse for Lotor’s behavior – but it’s at least logical. You can imagine buying an ox that’s for sale at the market, and then using said ox to plow your fields; we don’t see that as cruel or as mistreatment. Lotor sees Lance as little more than that, and so, in giving him lots of attention and “validation” (something that we know canon-Lotor was unfortunately lacking), it stands to reason that he was in fact trying to be kind to Lance, to treat him with a warped sense of respect.

…okay, that’s all for now! I really hope this helps and wasn’t too long-winded, like everything I do. you’ve effectively made my morning, anon, and I hope you have a wonderful day. my best wishes and luck to you while writing you story! 

[kashimalin-fanfiction]

Oliver Knight: What It’s Like To Date Him

Hello Anon! I will probably post an Oliver Knight fluff at some point - I’ve got a couple ideas I’m working on over here. If you would like anything specific, feel free to send it on in!

In regards to Adult Oliver’s height, I’d put him at about six feet, if not just under - roughly the same height as Lancelot and Sirius. And, I stand by the notion that at the end of his route, we’re going to see Alice break his curse, so that’s the assumption I worked with through these headcanons!

•  Submit a Request to my Askbox! •

• Oliver has a very difficult time calling himself your boyfriend, even after you have been together for a few months. For some reason, the term doesn’t sit well, compared to his usual word choice and vocabulary. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, or your relationship - he just gets tongue-tied each time he realizes you really are together, and in love. “Boyfriend” is almost a constant reminder of that - and he doesn’t even want to consider how hard it will be to call himself your “husband.”

• Despite that, the words “I love you” are not as difficult for him to say - he just doesn’t say them as often. Oliver prefers to express his love through his actions and expressions. Why say what you already know? He should prove it, instead.

• Little changes between the two of you after you start dating. He still calls you by names and wears a frown more often than a smile, but when you’re having a conversation, his tone is hemmed with sweet affection and adoration for you. He still takes you out to dinner once a week, but you walk a little closer together, and head back to the same house.

• Even before you started living under the same roof, the two of you would often meet up to make brunch, lunch, or dinner together. Oliver knew enough, but he had a lot to learn from you about the art of making sweets and other baked goods. His chocolate chip muffins have improved tenfold, and he might even be caught taking a slice of carrot cake now - without criticizing it too much. You have taught him so much more about the finer art of baking. Now that you live together, you also have a shared journal of your favorite teas and what goes best with each one, marked in your handwriting and his.

• Despite the two of you getting together after the end of the war between the Red and Black armies, Oliver still get commissions to make magical technologies. Fenrir still stops by for maintenance on his guns, and Oliver has begun to branch out and invent household items that are powered by magic. Some of them are clearly similar to items that exist in the Land of Reason - but with magic, their make and operational capabilities are distinctly different. Despite his work, he will always consider you his priority. He is sure to take breaks from his work and enjoy your company as often as he can. Nothing is more important than you are to him.

• He quietly celebrates important dates that have significance to both of you, from your anniversary, to the day you fell into Cradle, to the day you first had a tea party. While you can track some of them, others come as a complete surprise to you. However, you can always tell when it’s an important day, because Oliver has made dinner reservations, or left you a gift next to your breakfast when you come downstairs, urging you to open it. 

• Oliver considers himself to be a gentleman in most regards, so he insists on paying for all meals and treating you to something when you go shopping. He will offer you his jacket if you look chilled, carry your bags when they look heavy, or ask if you want to head home early when you’re tired. 

• And as a true to form gentleman, he is not one to kiss you on the lips or hold your hand in public. He offers you his elbow and lets you stick close to him when you walk around, and is sure to keep his kisses to the back of your hand only. 

• He saves the more romantic kisses for when he’s finally home with you, removing his hat and bringing you into his embrace as you approach him. Even if you usually initiate the first kiss, he is happy when the two of you just have some time to yourselves and can enjoy the love you share. 

[pass-the-bechdel]

Continuum season one full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

80% (eight of ten)

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

30.6%  

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

One, episode 1.05, “A Test of Time” (41.18%)

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-two. Seven who appear in more than one episode, five who appear in at least half the episodes, and one who appears in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Forty-four. Fifteen who appear in more than one episode, eleven who appear in at least half the episodes, and three who appear in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Perfectly average, with nothing terrible, but nothing of note, either.  (average rating of 3.0)

General Season Quality:

Solid. It attempts to merge police procedural element with a more serialized narrative, and generally succeeds at both.  It is also clearly a series that realizes the potential of its premise and is interested in exploring it in depth.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Let’s talk about heroes.

Heroism, in stories set in versions of Earth that are meant to resemble ours—see: the MCU, Supergirl, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, earthbound Doctor Who stories not set in the future—tends to be associated with maintaining the status quo. As disruptive as heroes often are by nature and necessity, they generally don’t work to change things for the better in a general way, but rather, to ensure things don’t get worse. Society, by implication, becomes “good enough”—something worth keeping around as is. This tendency is occasionally questioned—not surprising, given all the ways the status quo isn’t actually good for many people—but the story’s internal rules mean that the conclusion is often a half-hearted “eh, what other option is there?” with the occasional “but that way lies tyranny!” While this stance isn’t entirely without reason, it’s also often frustrating. Inaction and tyranny aren’t the only choices, so why pretend that they are?  

This right here is one of the main reasons why I really appreciate Continuum, and why I would probably do so even if the show weren’t as consistently solid as it is.  It is a show entirely built around the idea that the status quo is untenable, and that trying to keep things as they are can only bring about the destruction of the human race at the hands of the 1%.  While it’s far from the only series with a social conscience, it is one of the very few to declare that what is needed is massive, widespread and disruptive social change. That it does so while also being a police procedural, a genre that tends to be almost inextricably tied to conservative politics and an affinity for the status quo, is all the more impressive.  

I’m fascinated by stories about people vs. the future—it’s the absolute impossibility of the struggle that gets me. I mean, how do you fight change? Sarah Connors’ battle wasn’t just about deadly people-killing robots; it was a fight against progress, a refusal to acknowledge that humans will continue to advance technologically no matter what you do, and  “winning,” in those terms, meant undoing the previous fifty years of existence. Team Machine’s battle against Samaritan hit the same points: in the end, if didn’t matter whether one particular artificial super-intelligence was atomized, because another would take its place—maybe not soon but eventually.  

While Liber8’s struggle has some similarities to these fights, it is, in the end, fundamentally different. The Corporate Congress and the mass demotion of actual people to second-class citizens isn’t inevitable the way the advent of artificial super-intelligences is. There’s no reason why humanity can’t continue progressing technologically AND choose not to bring back indentured servitude. If the terrible future happens, it’s not because the arc of humanity inevitably bends towards corporate dystopia, but because the people in positions to change things…didn’t. Also, while artificial super-intelligences are still years away, Continuum’s apocalyptic future isn’t really the future at all.  Corporations aren’t going to wait fifty years before they choose to actively reduce people’s freedoms in order to obtain ever greater profits; it’s what they’re doing at this very moment.  Liber8’s battle is much more urgent and immediate, and that ups the difficulty level of the storytelling immeasurably—it would have been very easy for the series to fuck it all up.  

Fortunately, Continuum, for the most part, hasn’t.  It’s not perfect—its theory of oppression largely ignores the role of marginalized identities, and how these shape the way oppression is performed and perceived (and no, making most of Liber8’s members people of color isn’t enough to address this)—but the series’ heart and storytelling instincts appear to be where they need to be. They actually care about the issues at play, and that’s mostly evidenced in the fact that it treats Liber8’s fight as legitimate.  It could have been the easiest thing in the world for Continuum to be the story of cop vs. terrorists FROM THE FUTURE!, and for Liber8’s motives to be nothing more than the motivation to get the story going, or a cover for more traditional nefariousness. Instead, it is the whole point. Continuum is a series about getting from point A to point B, and about just how complicated things can get.

Speaking of complicated: Kiera Cameron.

While Kiera is very much a genre show protagonist—Continuum is very much a genre show—she actually reminds me more of a character from an entirely different sort of story—The Good Wife’s Alicia Florrick.   This is a good thing, since Alicia is one of the best protagonists on television and I love her for many of the reasons I love Kiera. I love that she’s an introvert who doesn’t make friends easily. I like that she likes systems, and feels most comfortable inside them. I like that she is fundamentally selfish. I like that neither she nor the series is exactly concerned about her being approachable or cool. Perhaps most importantly, I like that while the series is never short of sympathy for her, it is also very clear that her goal is completely incompatible with the good future.  

Unfortunately, none of the show’s other female characters manage to equal Kiera, or even come close. While there’s no glaring missteps I can identify in the show’s female representation—aside from the usual ones—there’s no real revelations, either: Sonya, Garza, and Betty, are, for the moment, just alright. Somewhat ironically, the one-shot female characters do better than the more promising ones, in part because they’re more numerous and varied, and in part because the series can’t afford to punt their development to a future date. While this feels like the result of circumstance rather than intention—with so much to cover and so little time to do so, something had to give—that’s really just an excuse. There’s no reason why the characters who got prioritized this season had to mostly be men.  

If there is something noteworthy in the way Continuum approaches gender, it is in Kiera’s relationship with Carlos, which is my favorite dynamic in the show. While I tend to look askance at calls for more purely platonic relationships between sexually compatible characters—I’m not often confident they’re made in good faith—I do like the idea in theory, and this relationship is an excellent proof of concept. Kiera and Carlos could get together. There’s tons of evidence that they’re compatible, and he’s a better person than Kellogg or—ugh!—Alec.  Heck, there’s absolutely no evidence here that they aren’t going to get together in the future. But it’s not happening now, and neither the characters or the show think there’s anything wrong with that or that it makes their relationship somehow lesser.  It isn’t that romance isn’t important or it’s incompatible with depth or great storytelling and character development; the elements of the relationship that I like— push and pull, between people who disagree on a lot but respect each other and are more than willing to meet each other halfway—could easily still be there if they were together. It’s just that sometimes, it doesn’t need to be there.

(I’m team Kiera / no one, myself.)

Kiera’s relationship with Alec, meanwhile, is not nearly as compelling, in large part because Alec is the element of the show that least works.  I understand his place in the narrative, and I can totally see how a character like him would end up eventually helping create the corporate dystopia, but this doesn’t make the present-day version of the character and his immaturity any easier to take (his future self is fine). He’s not intolerable, and I like the family drama that surrounds him—the best episode of the season is all about the Saddlers and Randols—but he’s also not great, and given just how many characters and concepts are fighting for attention, that’s something the series can’t afford.  

To mix metaphors, Continuum is a high-wire act, juggling so many balls that it is in constant danger of collapse. There’s a let’s-prevent-the-terrible-future time travel narrative, with all the usual complications of time travel stories. There’s a good half-dozen fish-out-of-water narratives.  There’s a traditional police procedural, except that it also involves future technology. There’s an exploration of class warfare and capitalism, and the evolving roles of activism and terrorism within it. There’s family drama. Taken together, it’s arguably more than can be properly explored in ten episodes, and that the series did as well as it did is genuinely surprising. While I’m not sure it can keep up the balancing act indefinitely as it continues, I’m interested in seeing how long it lasts.  

[sol1056]

repetition creates weight

The EPs seem pretty adamant they had no idea of the Keith-Lotor parallels until after the seasons aired and someone else pointed it out. That’s huge sign of their inexperience as storytellers -- that, and the places where they do use repetition intentionally.

Repetition is a writer’s neon sign. What gets screen (or page) time is relevant; ergo, something that gets repeated screen or page time must be not only relevant but important. The more a story reminds the audience of some detail, the more the audience is going to think, “aha! that’s the eighth time the story’s mentioned the character’s blue eyes. It must be a clue. It must mean something.”

There are different ways to repeat. You can use the same phrase, stage a visual with the same composition, or highlight an object or theme or motif via constant reference (ie S1/S2 hand-on-something motif). You can create parallels so strong they become almost mirrors. There’s also using repetition in planting clues, adding the Important Message in the middle of seemingly irrelevant details, each list different but for that one element. 

And then, of course, there’s the kind of repetition noted in this ask: 

So I heard a theory that suggested season 8 may mirror seasons 3-6 since season 7 mirrored seasons 1-2. What are your thoughts on that?

Behind the cut. 

At the end of S2,  each character answers the question of ‘what do we do after this,’ which becomes four repetitions of the same theme. Obviously they’re not going home yet ‘cause we’ve got four more seasons to go.  

On some intuitive level, a lot of viewers perked up: aha, there must a reason for Keith to respond in that particular way. After all, Keith could’ve said, “I could train with the Blades,” see more of the universe, etc. (And remember, what comes last is what gets the emphasis; if Pidge had answered last, we probably would’ve assumed she’d find Matt or Sam in early S3.)

When S3 begins and we meet Lotor, Keith is immediately on that. His focus on Lotor, to the exclusion of all else was probably meant to be single-mindedness. Overdone, it became another neon sign. There must be something here, some other reason Keith is so obsessed.

There’s a repetition, too, in the wording: “I could look for my family” to “I have to find/catch this guy.” Unintentionally or not, that look-for/find/catch established another link. Even once Shiro/Kuron arrives, Keith doesn’t lose that focus, and it becomes the source of a few arguments between Keith and Shiro.

We’re now at the level of about sixteen neons signs, each one the size of a billboard. That much pushes everything to the level of implying something intensely personal. It practically screams, pay attention.  

Add in a few repetitions of the quintessence motif -- Lotor’s search for it, Keith’s sensitivity to it (and apparent shapeshifting abilities related to it) -- and the parallels were all right there. Had we started S5 with Keith discovering he’s Lotor’s long-lost brother, we might’ve considered that twist obvious in hindsight. (The only detail required for a snap reveal would be explaining the presence of the knife and/or a Blade being on Earth.)

What the EPs seem to like to do (and this makes sense, as storyboarders) is visually echoing previous compositions. Most often, echoing a previous composition is done not as strict repetition but as a motif. It’s only repetition in the loosest sense, because each use must modify or expand the tone of the original resonance.

Frex, the Black Paladins music. Say the first time had been a minor key with eerie strings, evoking the tragedy of the fight. The second use -- where now, instead of wanting Shiro to lose, we want him to win -- it’s same melody but with trumpets instead, faster-paced, a major key. Still recognizable, but its entire mood has changed. that’s a motif’s layering: the melody has become tied to high-stakes, high-emotion one-on-one fights. But it contains elements of tragic and heroic, layering them so that one reflects the other.

Without that variation, it’s not a motif, it’s a signature. And signatures, like a pose or a phrase or a fighting move, gain their strength from repetition.

At the end of S2, Allura stands against Haggar’s blast.

At the end of S7, Atlas stands in exactly the same way.

It’s not just the exact same defensive position. It’s also a similar situation; defending Voltron from a powerful opponent mostly on instinct, untrained and mostly untried. That visual repetition is why some people see Atlas as meant for Allura, not Shiro. The only variation is in scale.

I’ve lost track of all the places in S7 where the storyboarders re-used imagery or composition from an earlier scene. It can be a powerful maneuver, but like a motif, it must change, in one degree. And more importantly: the new scene must have an emotional resonance in its own right. 

What you cannot do is duplicate a previous scene with the purpose of tapping its weight, as if this will get around the lack of emotional resonance in a later use. All that does is frustrate viewers (or readers). It’s too obviously an attempt to shortcut providing genuine meaning, by manipulating a pre-existing connotation. It’s a cheap repetition. 

That brings me around to the repetition in the overall story, where the EPs are hitting the notes in S1/S2 throughout S7. Which... I guess for some people, that’s a cool trick they don’t see very often. Thing is, there’s a reason you don’t see it very often: because it generally doesn’t work unless you have a really deft touch, enough that most people will miss it. 

The more the season hit the same notes as S1/S2, the more bored I got. It’s a failure of imagination; we’ve gone beyond repetition a literary or filmic device and into something like mimicry. When the pinnacle of your story amounts to a redux of your own story, it’s verging on self-parody. I’ve seen S1/S2, after all. I came to watch S7 for a new stage in the story, not a bunch of visuals practically traced right over those earlier two seasons. 

It may be cynical, but by that point, I couldn’t help feeling disgusted, too. Could the EPs/writers not think up anything new? Was the only thing they could think to do, was to cut and paste the emotional beats from the first season? Especially when they couldn’t even manage that much -- from Shiro’s showdown in S1 to the letdown in S7. Or Allura’s startling but asskicking fight against Haggar, including the surprise power-up... to the Atlas over-powering and doing not much of anything against Haggar’s proxy. 

In the end, I was stuck with two possible reasons for the repetition. One, the EPs/writers couldn’t figure out how to structure a successful seasonal arc, so they looked back and just copied a previous season, beat for beat. Or, worse, they took exec permission and re-litigated S1/S2, which frankly is much worse. Yes, their interviews make clear they chafed at exec oversight. But is that any reason to destroy your own story by driving the same ruts for the nth time?

All I can say is: at the very least, S1/S2 had a solid structure, so while copying it felt lazy and amateurish, it didn’t make things worse. If S8 is another redux of S3-S6? Not good, because those 26 episodes, in terms of story structure, are a meandering hot mess.