#jealousy and backstory and all that jazz
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#battle of the writers#battle of the writers the series#tutoryim#tutor koraphat#yim pharinyakorn#peachblossomgifs#i think this is my first time making gifs of a kiss#the lighting was just going to be weird#but that's ok#they killed it this ep#next ep seems fun#jealousy and backstory and all that jazz#and i'm excited to see more markgem
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I thought I'd talk about my tiktok channel (Amber Flannery Field, the trans "only good tour guide in New York") since a few of you all know me through tiktok and I wanna get my thoughts out.
For videos, I think to help root and organize my thoughts I kinda think myself as doing an HBO-style prestige TV show and letting my emotional and intellectual growth over a course of a year being my "story arc." And I kinda especially like the idea of collecting all my videos at the end of a year and posting on YouTube it as a compliation of a "season," and that kinda structure I think helps motivate me and think of ideas and where to take the next video.
And TV structure is this kinda thing that's shared with TikTok, where I'll always have a large audience of people watching me for the first time but then loyal viewers following me every episode. So, as a TV show, I'll have "filler episodes" where I'll either do a silly shitpost or just a general fun "fast fact" video, but then I have "continuity episodes" where I do video essays, some of which actually have an internal stand-alone story structure to it and slowly little by little reveal my weird backstory (I haven't even begun on the reveals) that also advances the "plot" or shows my growth and reveals information about myself to the point where you can see a lot of growth between my first couple of videos and my most recent ones.
I have like three more videos I want to do and then I'd hit a year on TikTok and I kinda want my final video to be a "season finale" of sorts. The video I'm probably most known for is on White People Jazz, and the season finale will be a sequel to that one (and a less popular one, on Game of Thrones/transmisogny) - specifically again revisiting the subject of appropriation through the word "Slay," and it'll have it end with what I think would be a very dramatic mic drop to leave viewers hanging on.
And then coming back, kinda thinking of prestige television, the first episodes of a new season sets up new problems and new motivations for a character based on what happened in the previous year, and I think a fun semi-fictional motivation to come back to is "my New Years resolution is to get more enemies."
I think it's especially a fun contrast to the previous "season" where a lot of it was about my survival and search for community, and then I sorta cleave into tiktok etiquette and start trying to (lightly) start shit with random tiktokers.
And after a couple of "filler" episodes (it takes the algorithm to catch back up after hiatuses) I wanna do this series of three video essays - effectively a story arc - on "transtagonism" and basically my relationship with negative feelings towards people; competitiveness, pettiness, envy, jealousy and so on.
And I don't know where to go from there. I mentioned HBO Prestige shows as being the sorta structure of my videos, but another structure I borrow from is professional wrestling. There, they do long-term storytelling but they can't really plot everything out because wrestling is so unpredictable that they basically make it up on the fly; you can't plan a long-term storyline if a wrestler gets injured.
So you kinda have to rely on strong motivations and improvise, which I think is one of the things I do with my videos. A lot of them are like 40% improvised, where I'll go in with an essay already written but then completely throw it out and arrive to a different conclusion or location on the day of shooting.
Anyways, this is all pretentious nonsense, but it's fun.
Thanks for following me and thanks to the two or three people who read this.
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Title: Guinevere Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI) Chapter: 1/X Word Count: 5.3K Tags/Warnings: Lucas Grey x female reader. Eugene Cobb x female reader. No use of Y/N. Explicit content (18+, MDNI). Smut. Romance. Angst. Infidelity. Jealousy. Pining. No happy ending. Age-Gap (ages never stated but reader is implied to be much younger than both Cobb and Grey, who are in their 50s). Spoiler Title. Some very light brat-taming in this 1st chapter (Cobb/reader). Slow Burn (Grey/Reader). A/N: I go absolutely feral for bodyguard AUs & princess/knight dynamics, so ta-da! The fic is going to be Lucas/reader centric but I actually came to really like Cobb when I was writing this and now I have a soft spot and a whole-ass backstory for this guy that shows up in one cutscene and dies pre-canon (hooray). I was trying to not split this into chapters, but I hit a ridiculous wc and it still isn't even close to done so... ~jazz hands~ Publishing a scene at a time it is!
AO3: (X)
"Guinevere grew grey in the grey shadow All things losing who at all things grasped." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fall of Arthur
#lucas grey#lucas grey x reader#lucas grey imagine#hitman#hitman fanfiction#eugene cobb#eugene cobb x reader#there's a ship tag i never thought i'd write lmao#i found that quote and that painting and keeled over#yes i know the painting has nothing to do with guinevere but close enough#fic: guinevere
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i’m a big fan of your dracula art!! all of your character designs are so perfect!
i’m curious-how do you think jonathan and mina met/developed feelings/began a relationship and all that jazz?
i always like to think that they met through mr. hawkins doing business with the westenras and jonathan tagging along too and meeting mina through lucy’s family. so mina and jonathan and lucy end up spending a good deal of time together while hawkins and the westenras sort things out. and soon lucy starts to feel a bit stabbed in the heart with jealousy as she realizes how mina and jonathan are staring at each other and laughing at each other’s jokes and hanging on to the other’s every word, but then she realizes how she’d much rather have mina, her closest friend, the only person she feels like she truly loves, be happy.
aah first of all sorry I'm so late in responding!! I meant to sooner and then I sorta forgot I had stuff in my inbox, oops
anyway tysm, I'm really glad you enjoy my art!!
on to the question—I honestly don't remember much of what was stated abt their backstories, so I don't have any major HCs about that surprisingly lol! But your take is really good and interesting, also OWW poor lucy ;; hugs her
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SIDE A 01 - THE FIRELIGHTER 02 - THE UPROOT 03 - THE STONE 04 - NOTYUREYES 05 - 5THFLOOR,ROOFTOP (f/ Sleepyeyes) 06 - MSMRSMISS (EPILOGUE) 07 - MSMRSMISS (PROLOGUE) 08 - ABALONE COVE(f/ Simon Sverdlov & Equal Status) SIDE B 09 - SHAWANGUNK STOMP (f/ Son of Ziggy) 10 - SPRING CHOPS IN THE FALL 11 - YEBICHAI SWEAT 12 - THE ANCIENTS 13 - THE MEDITATION BLOCK 14 - I WISH YU HAD WAVES 15 - THE TAME 16 - THE MOUNTAIN 17 - THE RUDE AWAKENING BACKSTORY: Created at the tail end of my chapter in Cali when I lost my girl, job & apartment, (2013) Shout to everyone who let me couch surf, Matt E J, Tre Jinkin's, Sunjet, sleepyeyes, Prajnuh, etc.. I Flew back home to Tampa after being in Los Angles for 5 years only to be met by jealousy from people that stood still in life, My man Sam Sleezy invited me to visit in NY, he spent months trying to motivate me to record new raps, but all i wanna to do was make beats hahah, I recorded a few tracks that Apathy gave me (still unreleased) as well as my track for the SleezbagMekalekTape, meanwhile hiding outside alone in his hidden forest backyard I was making beats, then my pops (who i had not spoken with in over a decade) invited to me visit him for the weekend in upstate NY, so i accepted, When I arrived I was surprised to find out my pops was the caretaker of one of the illest nature preserves in upstate NY on the top of the shawangunk ridge mountains,, My back and front yard, had ice caves, waterfalls, forests and scenery that looked like it came from tombraider meets lord of the rings, ontop of that, my pops knoweldge and collection of music is next level, so I spent a year alone, building with him, inspired by this sacred mountain, creating music all day and night long, in the attic, in the basement, near the waterfall, everywhere I occupied. During this time, I rejected and pulled myself out of any beat collective and just wanted to focus on art without any politics period, I rejected what society had programmed into me, and became one with what exists on the plane that hasn't been touched or influenced by man made hands. I released Chill Gawd, Chill (120minute cassette) that was best seller on bandcamp both times it was released. I also gave birth to my improv jazz alias Sonofziggy. on that mountain, And I also began Traversal on that mountain.... TheUpRoot was supposed drop after Chill Gawd, Chill and Before Traversal, and I actually ended up pulling songs from The Uproot to put on Chill, Gawd and Traversal because it was too long,. Then my computer crashed, and i lost all the original sessions for this unfinished album, so i was stuck with demo tracks i bounced out. so i sat, and i sat, and i've been sitting on this piece of my history because well.... AnalysisParalysis hahah. knowing what you know, Please let me know what you think. Chill Gawd Chill was effortless, fun and comfortable, The Uproot was losing everything, breaking down, and building up again leveled up, and Traversal was my summary of the Journey thus far, and my way of sharing all the deep, lessons I learned on the way
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OH MY GOD SOPHIA IM BEYOND EXCITED FOR THIS SERIES!!!!!! The concept is so beyond creative, and I loved how this chapter really set up a lot of backstory and characterization even before reader arrives.
George makes my little heart hurt 😞 he’s such a soft lad and I can see why this would affect him so much. But then going into Fred, George’s backstory kind of explains Fred’s and the connections you make are IMMACULATE. Jealousy? Frustration? All while being there with the love fred has for his family?? All there. And the SMUT MY GOD
I’m so jazzed to read the rest lovey!!!
i walk the line - f.w. - 1
1950s american carnival! au
Summary: The Weasley Bros. Circus has always been a family affair...until they pick up a highly unusual girl with wicked talents...
Warnings: 1950s America and all the shit that comes with it, NSFW/SMUT MINORS NO INTERACTING :) , alcohol usage, cussing, tw violence (fights), carny folk, contortionist, language and desc of intense circus acts, clowns, sad boy George, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF BULLYING IN THIS CHAPTER, angst
taglist or people that may like this! DM to be added or removed @cappsikle @lumosandnoxwriting @whizboingies @virgohufflepuff @officialwizardwheezes @amourtentiaa @softlyqoos @breadqueen95 @thehufflepuffwife @george-fabian-weasley @lupinsclassroom @haileymorelikestupid @sarcasticallywitty15 @band--psycho @gcdric @vogueweasley @harrysweasleys @slytherinsunrise @thisismynerdyself @loony-loopy-lupinn @writingsomewrongs @pineapplesandpinas @valwritesx @amxrtentias @theweasleyslut @oh-for-merlins-sake @alyssamalfoy
“...welcome to our home!”
George listened as the crowd erupted before his father. He had always admired Arthur “Art” Weasley, for many a reason. The way he could walk in and command a room, the way he could silence an entire audience with a simple flick of his wrist of wave of his hand, the way his voice alone could stop his cries in the night, the way he would come up behind him when taking care of the animals was too much and say, “Georgie, go to sleep, son.” but most of all? The way his father noticed him.
Baltimore, Maryland. 1933.
George Weasley was on the run. Again. Charlie Dooley, a boy from his class, and his gang of (as Fred said) “chickenshit babies” had made it a habit of following George home from school and doing one of the following: a) chasing him on bikes, b) cornering him in the bathroom, or c) sprinting after him on foot.
Today, it had been on foot.
“C’mon monkey boy!” Charlie howled, the other boys closing in on him. George sprinted a quick right realizing he dropped his lunch box and thinking a violent but rapid mom’s gonna be so mad, oh no oh no-
George barreled down the street, his house in sight, tears stealing on his cheeks from the sheer speed and necessity to get home. His feet seemed to be operating without him knowing, his body throwing itself backwards and forwards with the blinding need to be home, to hug his dad and say he wasn’t going to school anymore, to ask his mom to stop packing bananas in his lunchbox even though it was his favorite snack because mom don’t you know they call me monkey boy-
“Thought you could really get away from us this time huh, Georgie boy?” Charlie had pinned him to the concrete, George’s heart screaming in his ears. He could barely register that his lip was bleeding, and that maybe if he focused on the sky, his eleven year old shrimp of a body wouldn’t feel-
Pow.
Isn’t that what superheroes say? Pow? Let’s think about superheroes, Georgie, Charlie doesn’t last long with punches anyway just keep lookin’ at the sky, he thought wildly before-
Pow.
Pow.
He vaguely felt his eyes roll back into his head, but he made a very clear rule to himself that he wouldn’t cry, Fred wouldn’t want him to cry, not that Fred was mean, Fred just hates seeing him cry-
Pow.
P-
And suddenly there was something off his body. He could hear punching noises but they were not aimed at George, but rather someone else. When he was able to open his eyes he saw his brother, Fred, landing blow after blow to Charlie Dooley, Charlie mewling under Fred.
“Touch my brother again, and I promise I won’t just break your nose next time, yeah?”
-
Art Weasley sat with his son George in the red chair in his caravan. It was George’s favorite chair, as he learned the word “red” from that chair and then equated “red” to his own hair.
Arthur had known his son would have it harder. It wasn’t his fault the boy was different, he loved him just the same for it if not slightly more so for the way he was a bit quieter, the way he listened and thought and thought and then wanted to make choices. The way he asked his mom if he could pack Fred’s lunches for school because only George knew Fred hated crunchy peanut butter sandwiches with white bread.
But more so for the way George wasn’t afraid to show love. To cry. To feel things Art sometimes couldn’t articulate.
George was curled into his father, tears staining his button up shirt and his body shuddering with every anxiety laden breath. Art put a hand on his son’s back and put his lips to his hair.
“George, you have to breathe for me or you’re gonna get sick.” He rubbed his son’s back soothingly.
“I’m sorry, dad, I promised I did what you said and tried to protect myself and when I couldn’t do anything else I just didn’t look at h-him I p-promise, dad p-please don’t be mad at me...” he took another shudder and released a cry into his father’s shoulder. Art was not a helpless man, but there was something that destroyed and cracked his very soul at the sight of his most vulnerable child, the most angelic of his seven children. The one that everyone protected. And at times like these, sometimes all a father can do is hold his child. So that’s what he did.
“I know, son...I know...”
-
“George?”
George jumped out of his thoughts, his palms sweaty from the inevitable stage fright that always accompanied him before a show. It was no matter how many times he grazed the trapeze with his sister Gin and his brother Ron, the nerves were always the same.
At least this time, no pows would be administered from anyone besides himself.
He heard his name again, the daze breaking as he looked at his oldest brother Bill.
“George. You’ll be fine. You always are, baby brother.” He said softly, placing his hands back on, Cora (short for Corazon) the lion. George gulped and nodded, and Fred patted his back, giving a hearty wink. George smiled a small smile, clapping Fred’s forearm.
“Ready, Fred?”
Fred grinned.
“Ready, George.”
-
George belonged to the trapeze. The way his body seemed to elongate with grace and dexterity when he grabbed his sister, the way he gave flirty winks at the girls in the crowd, the way he never dropped a muscle unplaced-
The way their father always noticed.
Fred saw these things in his younger brother and couldn’t help the fit of jealousy in his stomach. Don’t get your tightrope in a twist, he was possibly the most proud of his brother, and his hand to God if he didn’t say he hooted his name the loudest watching him do his thing.
But he never felt like he could ever match that.
He knew his hands were meant for something greater, same as his mind. Juggling came almost as easy to the older twin as breathing, smoking cigarettes, witty banter, and sex (in no particular order). But George had something Fred didn’t have.
Approval.
Fred was, for all intents and purposes, a good person. A great person. But his habits could’ve said so much otherwise.
Fred had a nasty habit of letting his temper get the best of him. Ever since he could talk, he had taken on the role of protector to not only George, but to Ginny and Ron as well. Frequently, his hands always seemed to have more things to say than he could which says a massive fucking lot. At the ripe age of 20, he’d gotten into more bar fights and straight up blacked out sober more than his own father, and all of his other siblings. He’d been in and out of detention when he did go to school, and in and out of-
Well, you get it.
The one thing that always seemed to follow him? His charm.
Fred Weasley was a charismatic motherfucker.
And he knew it.
It was simple. All he had to do in between acts was make a couple jokes, a few magic tricks, and by the end of his little charade? He’d have at least 3 girls lined up for that night. And if he was in a particularly bad mood?
Well, it could get a little more than that.
On nights like this, he was fine with just two.
I mean...Fred knew what he was doing.
And on a night like this - he was damn proud of it.
Until he saw you...
Last night.
Fred’s dessert was named Candy. He honestly couldn’t remember what her actual name was, but he did remember she said:
“Call me Candy. I taste like it, too.”
And honestly? That was really all he needed.
It didn’t take him long to press her small body against his caravan. She wound her arms around his neck and fisted into his flame colored hair and yanked, his hips rolling as he moaned into her lipstick stained mouth.
Fred always did have a thing for gals in red.
Fred realized his pants had begun to be a tad too tight, as Candy’s tongue licked into his mouth. his hands found their way under her dress, fingers kneading at her thighs and she squeaked. He lifted her legs at her noise and he wrapped them around his body, his bulge pressing into where she needed him the most.
“Fred, please” she whined, his mouth attaching to the valley of her breasts, the exposed skin of her dress warm and inviting.
“Please what, doll?” He teased roughly, his free hand sliding to cup her ass and squeezing. She gasped at his rough touch and he bit her collarbone.
“Fred, please, fuck me” she said airily. He smirked before pressing a quick kiss to her mouth.
“Absolutely, baby, see how easy that was?” He licked her bottom lip and bit, before pressing his forehead to hers, the sheer strength of his body pressing her against the van enough to use his hands to pull her panties down enough for her to kick them away. She reached down to unzip his pants when he motioned for her to do so, his hard cock free of his boxers.
“You ready, pretty girl?” He growled against her earlobe. Candy whispered a breathy “please” and Fred slid into her cunt, her wetness echoing sinful noises at the contact. They groaned at connection, and Fred continued to go deeper into her until he bottomed out. He looked at her for confirmation to keep going and she nodded. He pulled out and slammed back into her, beginning to set a rough pace against the van.
“Freddie, fuckfuckfuck you feel s-so good” she sputtered, Candy’s back hitting and arching against the van, causing it to move slightly against her. Fred nipped and sucked at her neck, determined to always leave a map of where he left his treasure behind...
“Look at you, unraveling like a ball of twine. Never had cock this good, doll?” He reached a particularly good angle in her causing her to claw deeper at his back, biting in a scream.
“Thereeee it is, baby. You like that don’t you, c’mon be a good little cock slut and tell me what you want, want everyone in this whole fucking camp to know I’m fucking you so good.” His hand went to her clit, circling it harshly. He wanted her to finish, his dick was twitching all to hard in her and he needed her to release before it was his turn. Her moans and gasps and mini clawings were getting sloppier, losing their tempo.
“Fred-Fred-“
“Yeah, baby, I’ve got you” he groaned against her mouth at her clenching pussy. She gave a final sputter and screamed into his shoulder, a hot electric wave coursing over his cock, with one, two, three harder pumps, he released into her as well. He leaned his forehead against hers and kissed it lightly. But when he looked back at her face, she was already losing interest. Just like the others. But it didn’t bother him...at least not anymore, right?
Just another night.
-
Memories of Candy and Janie and Jessica and Portia and all the other girls seemed to wash away at the sight of you waiting after the show. Your eyes were full of life but somehow had something tired behind them. The way your hair wasn’t perfectly coiffed but still looked like you had tried to, the way your dress was crinkled at the bottom like you didn’t give a shit if it was crumpled in the bottom of your dresser.
And then you looked at him.
Fred Weasley could have sworn time stopped at the way you walked across the hay to him, your body positioned in a way that would’ve given him every reason to hold you. he realized his face began to flush at the sight of you getting closer.
That, he thought, was an alien feeling.
“Hi.” You said warmly to him.
“You’re Fred, right? I loved your act.”
He blinked twice and then returned your smile.
“Yeah. Thank you so much, I...I really try, I am so sorry but what is your name?” His eyes scanned your face. You stuck your tongue in your cheek and returned the search on his face.
“Y/N. Y/L/N. I’m looking for a job.”
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Okay now I have another question :)) I hope you don't mind but I am a very curious person and love to bother people with asks. Here's my curiosity now: Is there something that determined you to create Arioch as a character or what brought him up as a muse for you?
//totally fine, ask me things anytime. :D I love when people are genuinely curious about my characters.
Arioch was an idea that tumbled around in my head for a while, even before I had this blog. I had an idea for an angel, a Grigori. Very basicallly, the lore for the Grigori is that they were meant to watch over humanity, but they were jealous of all the earthly pleasures humans had. So they went to Earth, and partook in all sorts of sinful things, creating the Nephilim and corrupting humanity, which led to the flood and the ark and all that jazz.
The idea was basically, what if there was one Grigori who didn’t betray heaven? Whose loyalty was absolute? So when the others fell and succumbed to envy, jealousy, lust, and the like, this one remained in a solitary post.
That thought developed a bit into the basis of my angel. A watcher. The First Watcher, who can see all of the Earth and its people. Who can see the paths of time, and acts where he must to lead Earth on the correct path, avoiding absolute calamity, protecting humanity. The angel loves and adores humanity, and loves watching them from the post. So much so that the angel occasionally goes to earth to walk among them, but, learning from the mistakes of the other Grigori, this one doesn’t interact directly with humanity unless absolutely necessary.
that was as far as I got with the character for a while. It was all but forgotten until one dat when I listened to the song “Through the Glass” by Stone Sour. It reminded me of my angel and I had this thought of, what if this angel, in their endless isolation, watched different humans, and without ever really meaning to, fell in love with them? Watched them from afar and never interfered. but that was as far as it went for a while.
Later, I listened to “Call Me” by Shinedown, and it was like this movie played in my head, and a story with him seemed to write itself. A SuperLock fic I might write one day (i told you about that story)
I used that little mental video, and Supernatural lore to flesh out the abilities and limitations of this being more, as well as getting an understanding of his personality and what his vessel would look like. I’d bandied about the idea of him being gender-less for a long time, before deciding that the angel is a metaphysical being which doesn’t care about gender, so instead uses the pronouns of their vessel. The angel associates with whatever gender the human vessel they inhabit is, and the vessel I use for him is male, so this angel became a he (for now)
So then I had an idea of his origin, his personality, his vessel’s appearance and their story, etc. My angel just needed a name. I did some research and took a long time deciding on his name, and when I finally picked one, I added Arioch to my muse list. Simple as that.
Since then, I’ve created Carmo as well, another angel with a much darker backstory, and there’s a large plotline for both of the characters, and it’s all becoming a world all its own. I’ve got ideas for a few other characters in the sidelines as well, like Michael, so there may also be other muses from this in the future.
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Yo, I think about this a lot but where Danny's parents just upstairs when he died???? Like wouldn't yet have heard Danny's scream of pain as he was basically murdered by his best friend????
Oh gosh.
Y’know, I was about to head to bed and address the rest of these asks in the morning, but then I saw this one and I couldn’t wait. This is a really interesting ask for various reasons, but I’ll get into that in a moment.
To start off, let’s answer your question.
Memory Blank is a flawed episode that I’d make a lot of changes to, but it’s the closest thing we’ve got to an origin episode, so let’s take a look at the scene that shows how Danny got his powers.
It’s pretty vague where Danny’s parents are, but it’s made clear he had to sneak his friends into the lab. The wording makes it easy enough to infer that they were actually not home and Danny and Jazz weren’t supposed to go into the lab.
We do also know that at least Jazz is aware of the accident, because she brings it up in My Brother’s Keeper. So, the initial screaming may not have been heard by anyone other than Sam and Tucker, because they could’ve been in Danny’s house alone, but the family was aware that Danny went into the portal and was hurt.
I do think it’s a bit harsh to say “murdered,” though. “Murder” implies the intent to kill someone, and Sam absolutely didn’t intend for that. She didn’t even force him into the portal. She just suggested it. If you wanted to pin any sort of crime on Sam here, the worst you could get is manslaughter.
Though I’d say even that’s inaccurate, because Danny’s still alive. He needs to breathe, eat, and sleep when he’s in human form, and there’s still plenty of times when he almost dies, and you can’t kill someone who’s dead already.
But that wouldn’t make a lot of sense since Danny’s also a ghost, would it?
If you’re interested in the details, this is a perfect opportunity for me to talk about the inspiration behind my view of ghosts in Danny Phantom. I’ve talked a bit about it before, but let’s get meta.
I’ll put it under a cut for those who don’t care.
Insert obligatory image of ghost with a canon backstory to keep the post interesting…
That’ll work.
I take a lot of my inspiration for ghosts in DP from the unfinished business trope and yūrei, or Japanese ghosts. The unfinished business trope is a really common one in ghost stories that’s used to keep the ghost characters interesting, as well as to give the story a clear end goal.
The idea is that the spirits of the deceased have something binding them to the physical plane that needs to be taken care of before they can rest. This can be anything from revenge for their death, passing on a message, or even just needing to realize that they’re dead.
A lot of fans bring this idea into Danny Phantom in the form of obsessions, and it’s one I like and roll with. Ghosts have an obsession that keeps them in existence, and they need to satisfy that before they can pass on to whatever afterlife you do or don’t want to believe in.
I like combining this idea with the idea of yūrei, though, because that adds another layer to the existence of ghosts that fits well with the DP universe.
The way the Japanese see ghosts is this: the way yūrei come into being is that a person feels a really strong emotion when they die, and that emotion is what binds them to the physical plane. The emotion can be anything. Rage, sadness, love, jealousy, or any number of other emotions. Similar to the idea of unfinished business, these emotions need to be addressed for the ghost to pass on.
This is a very simplified explanation, but I think it gets across the basic idea.
There are two things in particular that make yūrei stand out to me in comparison to Western ghosts, though.
First, they don’t really have a personality or consciousness outside of that emotion. This fits well in Danny Phantom because it explains the Fentons’ view on ghosts. They might’ve been human at one point, but everything that made them human is gone, replaced by a singular mindset that’s incapable of complex emotion or reasoning. They’re wrong, but if the ghosts in DP work similar to yūrei, it makes sense for them to come to that conclusion.
The second thing that really stands out to me is that a person does not have to be dead for a ghost to form.
The Japanese have a kind of spirit called ikiryō (or “living spirits”) that are formed from a person who is still alive. Much like any other Japanese ghost, there only needs to be a strong emotion and (as far as I’ve seen) a near death experience for the ghost to form. The spirit could belong to someone on their death bed who wishes to visit their loved ones before passing on, or they could just want to help someone important to them. They’re not always harmless, but they’re portrayed as so more often than many other ghosts.
It’s actually really easy to apply this idea to Danny Phantom, because ghosts are very loosely defined by Maddie as consciousness and ectoplasm. That’s all that’s needed to make up a ghost, and combining unfinished business with the idea of strong emotions taking the form of a ghost gives us all the consciousness we need.
Adding in the ectoplasm gives the story a bit more of a science fiction feel combined with the usual ghosty horror elements. We can say that ectoplasm is the glue needed to bind ghosts to the physical plane. Without that, they’d fizzle out and pass on. The consciousness or strong emotions left behind by the dead (or otherwise) latches onto ectoplasm and creates a ghost.
When you think of it like that, Danny, instead of being dead, is a human who’s DNA was infused with ectoplasm, which allowed a ghost to form around him, using his existing human consciousness as a map.
I’d say Danny has a lot more in common with an ikiryō than the spirit of a deceased person, though rather than his spirit leaving his body, the ghost merely formed around it and is now part of who he is.
Hopefully that makes sense.
This is all my personal interpretation, though, based on the ghost stories I’ve found the most interesting. You’re free to say Danny technically “died” in the portal accident. He did become a ghost, so reading it that way fits fine enough. I just don’t find that nearly as interesting as the idea of someone who is actually a ghost and a human at the same time.
Anywho, thanks to anyone who read this! I’m now off to bed because it’s really late. Hopefully this clears up some stuff I’ve talked about in the past and makes my point of view a bit more clear.
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A Celebration of Women of Color in Anime
Anime has always meant a lot to me as a person of color. I didn't see much of myself in my surroundings growing up, and even though I'm mixed Filipinx and not Japanese, it felt valuable to me that anime was an Asian-created medium. There were far more limits in terms of exposure and what you could readily learn about underrepresented cultures in the years before the internet became more widely accessible. As a result, early TV and video exposure to anime helped me indirectly feel proud of my own heritage.
I generally relate to media depictions of women more than men, so it should come as no surprise that women of color in anime comprise some of my favorite fictional characters, period. Though woefully misrepresented in all kinds of media, here's a non-hierarchical list of anime WOC who are respectfully depicted, nuanced, and poignant role models for our own lives too. Read on for more!
Nadia — Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water
A series known for its tumultuous production and Hideaki Anno's distinct directorial hand, Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water is an aquatic adventure anime from the early '90s. The main character, Nadia, is a young woman of color searching for the truth about her past — and the secret of her blue-jeweled pendant.
One of Nadia's crowning traits is her connection with animals and the care she displays for them. Nadia communicates easily with King, her lion cub sidekick, and openly detests meat and hunting. The show also makes it clear that Nadia is a *gasp* vegetarian. It was pretty rare in the '90s for any show to feature a positive portrayal of vegetarians, so it's pretty cool to see her depicted as a genuinely caring animal-lover and not some meat-hating caricature.
Nadia is an "imperfect" heroine in the sense that she actually comes across like a real person with real struggles. She is (justifiably) prone to distrust others, can act hot-headed, grapples with intense depression, and doesn't always give people like Jean and Nemo the benefit of the doubt. Nadia's tendencies and behavior make perfect sense given her awful and abusive childhood, and that makes her one of the most interesting anime protagonists out there.
Yoruichi Shihōin — Bleach
In Bleach, Yoruichi's coolness factor is off the charts. She can outrun Byakuya (one of the most powerful captains), knows how to help you achieve Bankai in three days, and can also transform from a black cat into a human at will. If Soul Society had its own version of LinkedIn, Yoruichi's resume would be top tier — it's no small feat to be the former Onmitsukidō commander and former 2nd captain of the Gotei 13.
Finally, much like the rest of the cast of Bleach, Yoruichi possesses a simple yet keen sense of style. Can you think of anyone over a century old who can wear purple and beige striped arm wraps and orange apparel with such finesse? I thought not.
Carole — Carole and Tuesday
Shinichiro Watanabe's new show Carole and Tuesday is yet another music fan's dream. While Kids on the Slope focused on Jazz, Watanabe's new outing hones in on pop singer/songwriters. One central message in the show is simple, yet timeless: Pursue your creative expression by staying true to yourself, and keep your creative fire safe from societal pressures intent on manipulating and/or extinguishing your gift. And with a Black woman — Carole — as one of the lead protagonists, this important message feels even more moving and powerful.
A Black woman as a lead character is the exception rather than the rule in the world of media, which is a disturbing reflection of larger oppressive social structures. That's why it feels refreshing to see a respectful portrayal in the form of Carole. We first meet her as an impoverished teenager in a big city without parents or a support network. Despite the financial and social odds stacked against her, Carole still longs to express herself and create a loving community through the power of music. Her dedication to her own creative integrity is a joy to watch, and as a musician myself, I found legitimate personal solace in her drive to be as artistically genuine as possible.
One of my favorite things about Carole is the ego-free support, sense of awe, and goodwill she displays toward other musicians. There's barely a hint of jealousy or competition between Carole and her main musical partner, Tuesday. The two get along amazingly well despite a few roadblocks, and Carole consistently honors their shared creative spirit. She even voices repeated praise for a rival musician named Angela, despite Angela's antagonistic remarks against the series' duo. As another impressive feat, Carole also manages to revive the joy of seasoned — and occasionally downtrodden — musicians due to her infectious creative passion. How can you not love such an inspirational character?!
Anthy Himemiya — Revolutionary Girl Utena
Revolutionary Girl Utena, is, well, revolutionary for a number of reasons. The show tackles gender essentialism head-on and makes some hefty statements about the toxicity of conventional social norms. Utena is an incredible character who challenges the classic patriarchal notions associated with princedom. I'd argue though, that her partner Anthy Himemiya is the true star of the show. Without going into spoilers, Anthy is key to one of the biggest themes in the show: That for its own selfish gain, society is willing to endlessly enact cruel rigidity and heartlessness against women. It'd be both reductive and missing the larger point though, to interpret Anthy as a defenseless, subservient victim controlled by the harshness of a misogynistic culture. On the contrary, Anthy is perhaps the strongest figure in the entire series. Anthy does (at least in some ways) behave according to the interest of others, but she ultimately asserts her own worth and personal agency in a way that truly embodies the show's beautiful core. There are plenty of fascinating, insightful articles that go into depth about Revolutionary Girl Utena's symbolism and topics, so be sure to check some out. Anthy is a phenomenal character who stands out as one of the most memorable depictions of self-love, showing it's never too late to define your own life according to your needs, desires, and dreams.
Casca — Berserk
Berserk is likely my favorite manga, and undoubtedly my favorite work of dark fantasy. I always pair that praise with a very cautionary recommendation due to the intense gore and many disturbing sexual depictions throughout the series. While it's up to each individual to decide their limits in terms of extreme content, Kentaro Miura (the creator) softens Berserk's more unseemly edges by featuring sympathetic protagonists who organically evolve, and who are driven by immense love and support for one another in spite of a horrifyingly bleak world. That said, I find the central character Casca to be one of the strongest and most nuanced women in all of fiction. It's rare enough for a dark-skinned woman to be depicted at all in most media, and rare still for her to be given proper depth and well-deserved narrative development. Fortunately, Berserk gives us both.
In the Band of the Hawk arc — the first lengthy saga in Berserk, covered by the three recent films and the '90s anime — Casca is introduced as a well-regarded figure within the ranks of her mercenary brigade. Although she's portrayed as a strong fighter and a capable leader, the series deploys many different elements that prevent a one-sided characterization of Casca. For example, her tragic backstory highlights not only her strength and will to survive but also lends added weight to why she's so watchful of her comrades. After Casca is sent away by her own family as a child, she gains a new one in the form of the Band of the Hawk, and — much like a protective older sister — leads many of her men to safety on more than one occasion. The life and attachments Casca forges from the hell of her childhood imbues her character with skillfulness, tenacity, and meaningful emotional capacity.
The love between Casca and Guts is a genuinely moving, reciprocal bond. While it's true that Guts saves Casca from demons on many occasions (which carries more than a hint of the misogynistic damsel-in-distress cliche), it's also true that Guts is saved from his lonely life largely because of Casca's love and presence. Though there's plenty to critique about the notion that masculine dependency is evidence of a healthy relationship, overall I find that Guts and Casca exhibit selfless, mutual gestures of love that challenge standard relational dynamics.
It can't be stressed enough how pivotal Casca is to Berserk's central storyline. Her badass skills as a fighter, coupled with her nuanced backstory and emotional depth, makes her one of my favorite anime characters of all time.
Each anime in this list offers a uniquely touching testament to women of color. While by no means an exhaustive list, I hope you enjoyed it!
Are there other women of color from your favorite anime who aren't listed here? Let us know in the comments!
Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!
By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com
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To you I
To you I dedicate this poem this self referential misanthropy
To you I dedicate Alfian Sa’at mumbled to the open sea I give you broken sonnets miscalculated meters everything that screams amateur job
I give you wanders through green zones in a business world I give you car rides guess the composer ramen in orchard
I give you crushed cigarettes shared bus rides to lies meeting my friends know your music don't know your name
To you I dedicate braces my academic interests are mainly before bed Buddhism pleasures but temporary I give you things that make no sense
To you I give run on sentences enthusiasm for literary criticism I give you half drunk and half burgers midnight sights over the city secret garden lost souls
I give you secret codes obscure references I give you abstractions of my mind I give you planes of references for which you have no use
To you I dedicate my pensive moments train rides letters upon letters to you mistakes upon mistakes To you I dedicate how everything always comes out jumbled
To you I dedicate coconut drinks in martini glasses I dedicate thick green shirts in hot weather to you I dedicate filler words and awkward standing
I dedicate pointless crying and more walks through bishan to you I dedicate empty timelines and midnight ball dances odd pouts into the distance miscalibrated words you will never see
To you I offer aeroplanes over girl with waving head lying on park bench lying on floor feeling sick Sociopath to sociopath to autistic fuck I offer mutual friends I offer the chance to meet someone new
To you I give stream of consciousness James Joyce loving Mad Men two girls twice pretentious I give you words strung together trying too hard
To you I give damn T type heartlessness Perpetual misunderstandings and unshared silences to you I give the boys will always be competitive what’s this about
To you I offer latent dream content twice removed thrice substituted to you I offer my dirtiest kinks homoerotic shock value
To you I dedicate line breaks and grief in all its shades
For you I break rules to say I love your shoulder and lack of consistency disguised as authenticity To you I give nothing is real
For you I hold epistemic black boxes Warm bosoms warm morning showers To you I dedicate ghost girls and why does mike only talk to girls To you I dedicate more references nobody will get
To you I give trying to make sense and to you I give jet fuels my broken picture on the wall I give what do you care I give fool making I give you 24/7 misanthropy services
To you I give trying to get Quentin Tarantino I give 10pm curfews I give you Phoenix Park to you I give bagels for breakfast and I give you new haircuts
To you I give I prefer the coiff I give you lone street light empty walk down I give you mindef I give you snails named after philosophers I give you tragic backstories and references that hurt
To you I leave good old egotism To you I leave Paris, both, was that me To you I give I don’t want to keep in touch
To you I give almost nothing to resonate with I give you crushed teenage dreams To you I give everything that confuses to you I give self destructive tendencies To you I give the holy trinity
For you I have thoughts that still linger neck cranes through bench For you I leave all my poignancy for you I leave life is hard
For you I have I also wrote a short story I have undertones and undermeans and undermensch In you I have an eternal muse in you I have twenty lone street lights twenty used condoms twenty instagram followers eyes popped
In you I have a time bomb I have soon to be gone I have awkward nonbyes In you I have scattered across the seven seas to create depth In you I have words strung shoulder to shoulder
In you I have walks through Chinese Garden nasi lemak eaten weird In you I have high pitched voices with three gyms in Oriel In you I have little white lines
To you I leave montages I give you dirty scumbags and famous names old Chinese KTV songs Sergeant Chicken Rice Encik Tan the great Uber Futures Market
To you I give cancer autism PS Cafe To you I give toning it down to you I give no I don’t to you I give character development I give you honesty in all its flaws
Along with rushes down Golden Mile night drives I give Deserts and terrible parallel parking I give many bright lights I give Maxwell beers I give my first cigarette I give all my frustration
I give nothing of any worth I give everything you might not want I give Linguistic jokes mid sex for you I dedicate the longest obfuscation since Hitler I give dedicated to destroying me I give off the tip of my tongue
I damn your social climbing your moonlighting your ghostlighting Your fake friends fake orgasms fake status fake life fake cock I give you bitter tastes on the cusp of fake smiles I give you airbnbs
I give you social isolation and not liking anyone I give you holes to climb into for you I’ve saved space inside bagel factories and the way some people walk
I give you honouring your grandparents and the eternal flux I give you deadlines I give you how things change and how things are never the same I give you never ending circles
I give you Great Gatsby I give you Malaysia, twice I give you imprints blooming into youth I give you people I forget to remember I give you walks near Starbucks I give you Chilli’s I give you Myrth
I give you couple walking into distance I give you fucking chicken wings I give you sick undertones and saints and seas and I give you that one person at a party not having fun I give you unison between mind and body and everything holistic and I hope you die
I give you turning red in the face I give you secret societies I give you hugs from behind I give you my deepest jealousy I give you my deepest roots
I give you one like I give you different moods I give you walks down Bras Basah I give you walks down Dempsey I give you Yio Chu Kang I give you everything happens for a reason I give you things I can’t let go
I give you warm jazz and lights as you hug me to sleep I give you everything that means to I give you twelve stories
I give you things that aren’t so clear
I give you paranoid schizophrenia I give you adventure time references I give you freudian slips I give you the easy way out I give you being wrong about everything
You give me unjokes and inconsistency you give me panicked texts you give me dwelling on the negative You give me needing to explain myself you give me the other you give me blockades in neurosis you give me nothing is over yet
You give me This is a catharsis you give me hardened hearts you give me Realpolitik and bad philosophy and you give me smiling at you walks to Far East random lunch two hour comics rounds in supermarkets
You give me autistic Austrians you give me taxi driver dads burn bridges you give me forced laughter you give me you drooling into your food passed out drunk you give me borgie watch fairs you give me red flags and bad boys
For you I have everything that you could ever need For you I have oh yes indeed For you I have fires popped tires floppy cock in your morning brew
For you I have Israel and blasphemy and terrible tendencies To you I have my inner nature I have everything bad But you oh you
You have flopping about in yoga pants macbook get an interview you have midnight macdonalds golden KTVs you give me haunts in every spectre you give me little left to say you give me a hole into which words ever fall you give me this isn’t the end
To you I give plagiarized Brian Patten Teenage poetry no one reads to the end I give you a photo book with everything missing I give you everything I don't want and everything I have left
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