#reluctant medium

[anghraine]

I do understand the argument that Aragorn's original characterization is too idealized into perfection for film, even if I personally disagree.

(I don't think he is as perfect as all that in the book, and even if he were, I also don't think idealized characters are antithetical to film as a medium. Antithetical to the ethos of these films, sure, and to norms of modern storytelling in any medium, but not to film itself.)

I also think it's rather strange that the argument often seems to be that Aragorn's reluctant king schtick is needed to make him a worse person than the supposedly perfect Aragorn of the book, but simultaneously that his reluctance also makes him a better person than book Aragorn, who is actively seeking power.

I mean ... I'm biased, absolutely. There's a lot I don't care for in the LOTR movies in general. More significantly, I do not like the trope of a leader's reluctance making them all the more qualified for the role, which the movies themselves may or may not be saying, but which defenders of them sometimes do. I know it's a popular concept/formulation, but I disagree strongly. I have a lot more respect for reasonably principled ambition in political leaders that leads them to make preparations for the future and work towards goals than ... idk, reluctant entitlement.

So I personally prefer an Aragorn who has a goal and is actively working towards it against steep obstacles and has to prove himself to the people he wants to rule rather than futilely resisting his right to the kingship by birth. And I don't think an "Aragorn has to prove his worth" kingship arc is particularly non-cinematic in itself; if anything, I think leaning into it even more than the book would be particularly interesting on film and in some ways easier on modern sensibilities.

This is personal preference, etc etc, but yeah—it's like Aragorn had to be made worse, but also better, through the same mechanism, but it's in a way I can't buy into and don't like as a trope. And I think there's this idea (like with the issues around Faramir, actually) that because this is the way they addressed the difficulties perceived around book Aragorn, it's the only way they could be addressed. And I just don't think so. There are plenty of options that are way less birthright-obsessed.

[ae-azile]

Chapter 5 of Gossip After Death is now up!

Chapter Summary: Kinn continues on with his list despite his declining mental health. Porsche learns more about Big (and ghost come) before learning two disturbing things from Chan. Vegas reaches out to Chay in order to anonymously pass a message along from Porsche.

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Grace Rosher - Beyond The Horizon - James Clarke & Co. - 1961

[blogger360ncislarules]

Lobo goes through bad weather to bring medicine to Rizzo.

@whumptober-archive

[ghostbustermelanieking]

which fic would you rewrite and publish as a novel?

probably none, honestly! that's kind of what i was musing over in the tags of one of the last posts i reblogged. for me personally, fic has always been an exercise in transforming/reinterpreting/rearranging canon, and so the stuff i wrote is so heavily intertwined with canon that i don't think i could divorce it from that. and lately i've been getting a lot of original ideas, so reusing fic stuff hasn't been at the top of my mind. i mostly made those posts bc i'm curious what fics other people would want to see me rewrite as a novel.

however, one thing i have done is taken some more original concepts from fic and channeled them into new stories. the biggest example is an au i never wrote for the magnus archives -- the "georgie barker sees dead people" au. i had a lot of ideas about how that would change canon, but since i never wrote it, i mostly just had a lot of rants stored up about how horrible it is to see dead people everywhere. and when i started my current novel -- a ghost story surrounding a family who spent a lot of time in haunted houses, wherein the younger sister has always seen ghosts everywhere, but kept it from her family due to obsessive interest in ghosts, and feeling like she'd only be a mouthpiece to communicate with dead family members.... i unconsciously channeled a lot of my concepts for that original au. like there's some rants about the sixth sense that i think i lifted wholesale asdgghkklll. and the secrecy of the ability, etc etc....

another exception is the spooky scarecrows in snow in april-- i took those scarecrows from a real life experience, and it's still so deliciously spooky i think i'll probably reuse it someday, but i'd probably change a loooooot about the premise. i feel like since i want to write horror, and i wrote a lot of fic for horror properties (txf, tma, IT), i'm gonna end up channeling a lot of those experiences in the future. but i honestly can't think of a fic that would work in a relatively unaltered plot state as a novel. however, it's been a long time since i've really read or wrote fic, so if you have one you think would be fun as a novel, lmk! hypothetical writing projects are so fun

[dragon-ball-meta]

Finally feel like I can say something coherent, so here goes... I say this without a shred of exaggeration: Akira Toriyama was legitimately one of the most important creative figures of the last 50 years. His work, especially Dragon Ball, has influenced SO much even outside its own medium. Movies, TV, cartoons, comic books, video games, MUSIC... all of it. You can see his fingerprints in so many other works. Even now, artists and writers, voice actors and animators, musicians and game devs are all mourning him and reflecting on the impact he had on their own work. Titans of anime and manga are sharing in this pain. The craziest thing about this though? The humility he had in spite of it. He was always reluctant to be in the spotlight, preferred to keep his head down and just work, never really worried that much about public perception of himself. Part of what makes him such an icon, man. Losing him is losing a piece of our shared history. It's something that resonates deep in the hearts of everyone his work touched. This is just... such a loss. And I can't even begin to imagine what his family is going through right now. Praying for them all. Rest in Peace to a literal Legend, an absolute Icon, and a personal inspiration in more ways than I could ever express properly.

[greenglowinspooks]

To be honest. DCxDP where the reason Danny meets the bats is Ace the Bat-hound

Like, just think about it for a second. Danny is in Gotham for college, or maybe he just moved out to find a city where having mad scientist parents isn’t actually that unusual.

He can see ghosts.

The ghosts know this.

Now he’s getting harassed left and right by spirits trying to get closure. Fine, whatever, most of them are a one-and-done type deal, and the amount of ghosts trying to get his help steadily decreases.

Except for this one very stubborn dog.

It just keeps showing up and leading him to crime scenes! He doesn’t know how many “anonymous tips” he can call in to the cops before they trace his phone! And this dog, this incredibly good boy, will not stop trying to help the city. He’s never met anyone with such a strong sense of justice, let alone a dog. Can dogs even have a moral compass?

And so Danny just accepts the fact that Ace isn’t going anywhere and becomes his reluctant sidekick/dedicated medium. He leans into the whole thing, dressing up in a mix of traditional magic-user attire and accessories that pay homage to the ghost dog.

He becomes somewhat well known. The psychopomp detective following around the shadowy figure of a German Shepard? That’s unusual! That’s weird! I mean, it’s not the weirdest thing in Gotham, sure, but he’s a new vigilante and he’s got a ghost dog that people can only see when it’s around him. Someone’s gonna notice.

Damian, as Robin, is the first to reach out to him.

Ace doesn’t know Damian but he does know a Robin, and while this isn’t his Robin, he’s still friendlier than usual. Danny’s panicking because oh god the bats are here and also is this kid gonna steal my ghost dog, Damian is absolutely delighted by Ace, and Ace is just happy to see a Robin again.

Damian decides that the psychopomp isn’t a danger to anyone, and there’s no reason to put this encounter into his reports, really, and perhaps Danny can help with some of his cases in the future.

Danny is sweating bullets because Damian basically tells him that he’ll keep him secret as long as he gets to play with Ace. Ace is happy that he’s finally getting some bat affiliated crime-fighting assistance.

And so, Danny is now both Ace AND Damian’s reluctant assistant. At least whenever he’s in trouble, he can always call a middle schooler to help him.

(Is Robin even in school? He’s out patrolling damn near every night, and he stays out late as hell. Does he have a bedtime? He should.)

Eventually it gets to the point where Damian is going over to Danny’s house. When he first sees it, he has a damn bitch you live like this moment, to which Danny responds that not everyone has the money to afford a nice place. Damian counters that he could at least take the time to clean up, and Danny replies that he’s working, going to school, and being a vigilante assistant to a ghost dog, something’s got to give.

Danny nearly has a heart attack when he checks his bank account the next day and sees that someone transferred him 10,000 dollars.

And so they get into a routine. Danny and Damian fight crime with Ace at night, and occasionally Damian stops by during the day to play with Ace and have Danny help with his homework.

(Damian is smart enough to do it on his own, but some of the instructions are written incredibly confusingly, and he would never admit to needing help to his family. Danny is just glad that the kid is in school and cares about his education, blissfully unaware that he’s basically emotionally adopted him.)

Damian is used to being in Danny’s company.

Eventually, when going over a case with the family, Damian absentmindedly remarks that he’ll have to ask Danny about some of the clues that they might be missing. Nightwing asks who he means and Damian makes a face like he just swallowed a lemon.

Cue shitstorm.

Who is “Danny?” Why is Damian willing to ask for help from anyone, much less someone outside of the family? Does he know who Damian is? Has Damian been compromised? What the hell is going on?

Damian now has to explain that Danny is the psychopomp with the ghost dog who he might have met hunted down while on patrol and conveniently not mentioned, but he’s not a bad person, really, and he lets him play with Ace, and he’s been quite helpful on certain cases due to his ability to talk to ghosts.

Bruce insists that the family meet Danny. Damian, hoping that he won’t just skip town the second he hears the news, relents.

Danny is surprisingly eager to meet the bats, considering his earlier fears.

Damian, blissfully unaware of what’s coming, sets a time and place to meet.

Once everyone is there, he gives Bruce the earful of a lifetime.

Robin is in middle school! Danny knows that there’s no way to stop the boy from going on patrol, but you could at least shift his schedule so he gets enough sleep on school nights! Does the Bat even know where he is half the time?! (No) And why isn’t he comfortable asking his family for help with both cases and homework? Did they ever even notice how much time he was spending at Danny’s house? If Danny was a bad person, he could have seriously hurt the poor boy! Shame on you!

Nightwing is mortified that Damian didn’t trust him enough to tell him about any of this. Red Hood is laughing his ass off, because yeah Danny is making good points but he’s also chewing out the literal Batman. Tim is recording the whole thing. Steph is delighted by the absolute gall of this Danger Twink™️, and already planning to add him to several groupchats. Damian is more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his entire life.

You, he points to Nightwing, did your academic life feel supported when you were a Robin? Nightwing is too stunned to speak. Red Hood, eternal shit-stirrer, says that oh, we all prioritized patrol over our education, that’s just how it is. Red Robin actually dropped out of high school to avoid distractions, did you know that?

Danny honest-to-god shrieks at this.

He finishes his angry rant and leaves, everyone too stunned to stop him.

And as it turns out, Tim wasn’t the only person recording the whole thing.

The entire internet is blowing up with Psychopomp The Danger Twink™️’s rant. People are taking sides. Things are getting messy. Red Hood literally admitting on-camera to previously being a Robin is somehow not the main focus here.

Eventually someone connects some dots from the video, as well as stories circling the internet about the psychopomp. A ghost dog named Ace, who is the literal only reason that the psychopomp is fighting crime at all, which seems incredibly fond of Nightwing and Robin.

A crime-fighting dog who wants constant attention from both the current and original Robin.

Oh my god, Ace the Bat-hound died and became a crime-fighting ghost.

And, somehow, that’s still not the strangest thing going on in Gotham.

[theliteraryvixen]

Interview with an Author featuring Nyx Halliwell

The Literary Vixen presents… Joining us today is Nyx Halliwell! Her latest release, Haunted Honeymoon, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 7: A Supernatural Southern Cozy Mystery about a Reluctant Ghost Whisperer released on February 14th 2023. Have you always wanted to be a writer? It’s been a dream since childhood. I was an introverted, shy girl who loved to read and devoured books. My…

[cipheramnesia]

The Venom movies really show business bros are incapable of managing art mediums. Like, Madame Web, I tried to watch that in the background for free and it was unwatchable. Just such a deliberately market driven origin story movie, couldn't care even to half ignore it. But leave Tom Hardy alone browsing butch lesbian pictures for outfit ideas then set him lose in the desert with a camera crew and a bathrobe, it's a license to print money. They got no idea what works, they know when they got something that's working and re-released Venom in theaters to make more cash hand over fist but got trolled into trying the same with Morbius just to get punched in the dick a second time. You know they all gotta hate the Venom movies too. Watching a group of people getting paid to ignore as much of your market optimization as possible and then being one of only half a dozen things you have that's profitable has gotta sting. You know every Venom movie is released only with the greatest reluctance, you know they bet each time it's going to tank. White guys in bad suits they overpaid for by thousands of dollars tearing up their spreadsheets of target audiences and crying each time. It's not a revolutionary movie, it's just kinda trashy and fun and tantalizingly camp but that doesn't fit into a cost benefit analysis that people could want a movie that's sincerely glitter on a cardboard castle over the movie equivalent of a cybertruck.

[diejager]

BEGGING I WAS LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOT THE MONSTER AU 141 😭😭😭😭😭

pretty pretty please 🙏🙏

Only Human pt.2

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x reader

Cw: canon-typical violence, hate, xenophobia, mention of racism, blood and violence, injury, fighting, protective 141, trauma?, anxiety, tell me if I missed any. wc: 6.3k

Only Human Masterlist

Previous

You still wonder, to this day, why you were needed on the Task Force. It worked like a well-oiled machine when put to the task, nearly unstoppable in the face of enemies. Although you were prideful to call it your home, you felt lacking compared to them, all much stronger, fiercer, and nimbler than you in every aspect, separated by miles of distance. One thing, however, that you could wield with an iron fist was your human nature and people’s fear of newly implemented hybrids. The public expression from governments about welcoming them into their ranks and their society without staying hidden under the pretence of being sick or behind a veil of secrecy. 

You, after seeing how many Joint Task Forces and other Teams treated the 141, decided to deal with the introductions, the medium, the pacifier, between every team. Humans tended to react differently to another human than to a hybrid, they were nicer, less brutal and honest (a kind that held little spite). Laswell seemed more agreeable to your idea when you first came up to her with it, having seen the hate sent to hybrids she worked with. She encouraged you to be the first to interact or stand beside Price when he greeted human soldiers. Price, unlike Laswell, was reluctant at first. His instinct of protection and possession of his hoard made him less open to such ideas, especially if it brought you some, if any, backlash from other humans (humans are cruel, they shun what they don’t understand, they fear it and push to control it, if not, they destroy it. The need to control every aspect of their life made humans ruthlessly unremorseful and unsympathetic to other causes.).

As a tight-knit TF, some decisions are taken in votes, by hearing what the others thought of the idea or plan and his one was harsh. Ghost was hard-pressed on keeping you between them, the little, fleshy human of their Task Force (the youngest) and to let them deal with xenophobic glares while keeping you protected. Alejandro was similarly worried, but he knew the outcome of letting you speak first or accompany Price. He was torn. The others, Soap, Gaz and Rudy, seemed onboard, with the kind of why the fuck not? kind of look on their faces. Soap especially, he’d be able to stick close to you without having to hover over you like a protective guard dog. 

Seeing the votes in your favour, he let it pass, and no sooner had they needed to meet a second team - human soldiers - for the next deployment. You stood beside Price when he strutted down the walkway, shoulders broad and back straight, an image of a strong and fearless leader with his draconic tail flailing lowly. He, as intended, greeted them first, rank and name before he presented you, his little human helper with humans. They’d taken better to speaking to you, being spoken by one of their own rather than a hybrid. He saluted you more amicably and more sincerely:

“Pleasure meeting you, Hunter.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

Although it wasn't without its setbacks, the operation went well, you had been able to come out mostly unscathed, leaving a few enemies on the brink of death for Ghost to savour. He was most thankful, a part of his body dissolving into the finest mist as they washed over the living bodies sprawled on the ground. You watched on, mesmerised by the uncanny way Ghost’s body absorbed the bodies of others, flooding the area with his shadow while you stayed unbothered, in the same condition as he first started. His darkness reached your neck, covering you in a soft cover of warmth as he ground the bodies to ash and dust. His skin was cold, but his powers were darkly hot, burning with the embers of hell, of a dead soul coming back for revenge and evilness.

Beyond the fact that your idea worked, you liked feeling useful to them, having a semblance of usefulness in a team of extremely competent beings. You felt with first greetings from then on, smiling and saluting to the leading figures of the groups you’d work alongside. It lessened the weight on Price to appease and pacify the new additions, he’d be able to fare better with the operators now that they had a different welcome, a different kind of greeting. It played into the minds of wary men that a human was the one to greet them, that one of theirs was leading the hybrids for them. You played the perfect example of a soldier for any xenophobic bastard. 

Ghost, while still feared, received fewer glares than he usually would, occasional ones from daring or bold soldiers holding a lower rank than him, but he appreciated your attempts at making them more comfortable. He’s used to the negative reactions, had been since his childhood, but you seemed to make him feel like he deserved better, like he shouldn’t be glared, spat and scoffed at.

Soap, Rudy and Alejandro looked like human men in peak condition, if only for Soap and Alejandro’s glowing eyes and heightened strength and agility. Rudy was somewhat human, he looked and acted like one, down to the DNA, but with the title of cadejos vessel came powers. Perhaps not as strongly affecting as the rest of the hybrids, but he had subtle changes in his molecular making. 

Gaz had stares coming left and right, daggers sent his way for having wings and talons he couldn’t will them to disappear, to recess under his skin and wear the appearance of a human man. He felt the heaviest blow by both not being able to cover his gifts and the colour of his skin. Although you wanted to proclaim that your new age came with more open-minded people, you knew that it simply couldn’t fix hundreds of years of standards in a few decades. People would still judge others by the tone and colour of your skin, they’d still hate the different and the strange; just like they hated hybrids. So you kept to his side most often after your introductions, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting him embrace you with a protective wing and a grateful smile.

You mostly worked hand in hand with human-filled teams and spear-headed human-led operations. So you were shocked, frozen to your core, when you saw a tiger haetae hybrid beside a tall, veiled operator walking down the cargo ramp. The hybrid, a tiger variant from the black-striped, orange tail that flickered slowly in a warning to any approaching beings. Dark glasses and a mask covered his face, his jacket and vest riding to the edge of his jaw, covering any skin from showing, though his lower back was left uncovered for the comfort of his swaying tail. He was neither short nor tall, he was tall enough to be slightly over the average height, but his teammate dwarfed him.

Perhaps his enormous height was an aspect of his monster half, or maybe he had the perfect genes to hold such a frame. He too, like his haetae operator, hid his face under a veil with maroon tears painted under his eyes. Like Ghost, he was covered head to toe in equipment and clothes, a jacket, a vest, gloves and black paint around his eyes. Whoever this was had both height and mass, burly arms and broad shoulders eclipsed by a slim waist and equally, disastrously thick thighs. On their left arm were flags, one from South Korea and the other from Austria.

They were the only ones to walk out, the only ones to approach you. Then your TF only had two new faces to work with rather than a whole team. You were tempted to say it would be easier, you waited until they stopped for Price - Price only - to greet them since they wouldn’t need a human to negate any aggressiveness between human and hybrid - or so you thought. They moved in synchrony, Price stepping forward to cover you with his body, his back facing you as he crossed his arms. Ghost and Alejandro had moved next to the captain, covering your sides. Alejandro had crossed his arm in a similarly menacing way, and Ghost stood still, body rigid but ready to strike at a moment’s notice; both were glaring ahead. Soap and Rudy took their places behind the colonel and the lieutenant, arms glued on their sides, weapons within reach with menacing stares towards the Korean and the Austrian. Gaz’s wings grazed you, soft feathers wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his chest, acting as a protective cocoon for you. 

“What-?”

They moved so quickly and efficiently that they seemed to suddenly appear in place, back straight and protective. Protective of you. Hybrids, from what you’d heard from couples and families, were possessive of their own, caring and extremely wary of other hybrids they hadn’t formed a bond with. Your TF was your pack, they were all tethered to each other through the familial bond they formed over the years. Then you came in, small and weak with your human self into a den of lions, thrown to be subjugated to their loving mercy and sinfully strong personalities. 

The team of six hybrids encased you, barring the KorTac specialists from seeing you. Monsters and hybrids could sense one another - from what you heard - and they reacted instinctively. You saw their bodies tense as the two approached your team, muscles strained under the compacting anxiety and possessiveness. You could neither see over their shoulders nor feel what was happening, they stopped farther from you than you’d expected and you couldn’t see their feet. 

The only sign you had was your captain’s gravelly voice welcoming them, his tail swaying like a cat’s tail, a slow, cautious motion. It - knowingly or unknowingly, seeing as Price acted on a mix of instincts and worry - wrapped around your ankle, clinging tightly to your boot-clad leg while a rumble rattled his chest. Steam rolled from his lips, billowing over the top of his hat in a show of power and warning. You hoped they wouldn’t take this negatively. They worked hard to curb the harmful rumours of 141 being beasts in human skin, acting like blood-thirsty and ravaging monsters that cared for nothing but themselves. 

Although you couldn’t see them, the Austrian could, his towering height assured that he could see over almost any human, monster and hybrid alike. He was curious about the way they protected one of theirs as if you were weak. He cocked his head, green eyes gleaming red as he stared silently at the small mop of hair between them. What made you so important? What made you such a protected soldier? He couldn’t sense you like he could the others, their scent and magic masking yours in a violent torrent. 

Unlike him, his friend couldn’t be bothered with the show of protection, he’d enrolled for the money and wouldn’t be deterred by much. He was a tiger haetae, honourable to a certain extent and proud. He might be shorter than the hybrids around him, but he was as vicious and talented as the next. He, however, was slightly curious, but he wasn’t paid enough to inquire or worry about the doings of 141’s pack.

It went as well as anyone would expect for the 141 with the added help of two military, hybrid operators from an elite PMC. As the combat medic of the TF, you followed them from behind and moved to the middle when you entered the building. You’d usually be at the back, being a medic, but you were a combat medic, having seen and participated in complete ops dealing with infiltrations and hostage rescue. You were an integral part of every mission. Now that they had a medic on hand, the wounds the men suffered could be treated in place rather than wait for the long ride home with the possibility of letting infection take root in the gash and watching it fester during hours in the carrier. 

They had a habit of getting shot and slashed, a tad bit reckless in their ways but still effective. The stress of risking infection or the impossibility of reaching a medic after a mission was lessened, Price would still be able to live a few more centuries before his hair turned grey with nerves and his face wrinkled with frowns. You were a treasure beyond the fact that you were extremely helpful and insightful on your own. Your hands were steady and your demeanour calm and collected (albeit fidgety when put under too much pressure and fiery when someone looked at them differently.), you were a beauty, someone they needed to nurse and protect. 

“I warned you about standing so close to the explosion!” They watched you berate Soap, cheeks puffed and lips pulled in an adorable pout. You went on a list of things he could’ve done better and safer than the decision he made, hands pulling the bandage around his arm, your bag set beside you. 

“How was I supposed ta know?” The werewolf grumbled, giving you his best version of his “puppy dog eyes'' while he slouched back, trying to sit as comfortably as possible on the hard seats of the aircraft carrier. 

“You’re a demolition expert, you’re supposed to know, Soap.” You hissed, tightening the wrap and smoothing it over so that it would hold. Your hand dipped into your bag, pulling out a few alcohol wipes for his face. With a jerky motion of your hands, you broke the seal and started patting his bleeding cuts from shrapnel and grazes from bullets. He winces with every dab, fidgeting in his seat while you disinfected his wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood before deeming it clean enough to move to the next one. “You also have a habit of setting things on fire.”

Although you mumbled it so quietly, the others heard you clearly, laughter rumbling out of the others while they watched Soap being scolded by the youngest. You never feared reprimanding them for an idiotic act that would result in having you tending to them, it was something they appreciated, the familiarity and comfort you had with them. They weren’t monsters, hybrids or anything with you, they were your family. 

Seeing you so at ease with them had König and Horangi curious, most would cower or segregate themselves from other hybrids. You especially, seeing as you were the only human with them, they thought it’d be normal to see you shrink onto yourself and ignore the world around you while you waited to return home. Yet here you were, berating a werewolf for cuts and bruises that would heal in the following days, his metabolism prevented infection and permanent scarring unless it was too deep or deadly. They’d simply add to his rugged handsomeness.

König wondered if you’d show him the same amount of compassion and ease when you tended to his wounds - if he ended up having any at all. Would your hands be soft like his mother’s when cradling his arm? Would you whisper soft nothings to him while you cleaned his gashes with antiseptics? Would you also scold him for being reckless? He doubted that. Granted, he was extremely reckless and lost himself to the adrenaline pumping through his system when he entered the field, but he always came out unscathed. As a percht hybrid, his extreme enhancements made him practically numb to pain and sensations, with the small exceptions of a few primarily driven emotions or natural reactions to certain stimuli.

Perhaps, if your efforts were thwarted by his immense height, you’d hold and tend to him as softly as you did with the others, running your fingers through his hair and cradling him against your chest. He thirsted for something mundane, something so human-like that he would be reminded that he wasn’t completely a monster. He missed the softness in people’s gazes or the carefree way they spoke to and with him. He missed being reminded that he - too - was a living being with their rights. You could be the start of a regular life - as regular as a mercenary could have.

Even Horangi, who had vehemently stated to König that he could care less about the small, weak human in the operation, gave you the merit of being strong-willed and confident enough to stand beside them. He, the ever prideful and strong hybrid he was, deemed you competent for a human. Your usefulness started with your quick reactions and impeccable skills in your field and stopped when you couldn’t save someone, which had yet to happen. He was intrigued by the workings of your TF, how they managed to score a single human and an amicable one at that, strong and fierce, yet gentle and compassionate. If he’d grown up with someone like you, would he have turned out the way he did? 

He simply watched from his corner beside König, through tinted glasses his eyes followed your movement, memorising everything you did for your brothers. They felt like imposters in your small, seven-men group, seemingly standing awkwardly in their little corner. 141 had shown a bit of aggression towards them in warning words and deadly glares when they assumed you didn’t see them, hissing out threats to ensure your safety among them. Not only were they confused by the dynamic, but they weren’t told anything besides “Back off” and growls. 

After patting Gaz’s knee, giving him an oscar winning smile with gleaming eyes that were received with enthusiasm, you packed your things in your bag and moved to the next patient. You skipped Price, Ghost and Rudy, crouching in front of Alejandro. Rummaging through your bag and handing him a clean wipe for his dust-covered face, the soot clinging to his cheeks. He expected you to sit by your locked rifle after checking them, but you continued walking. You were heading towards them.

He knew König left the ground unscathed, clean of anything but dirt and blood, which meant he was the one you were heading towards. Hand on your pouch and a steady step backed up by a determined expression, you stopped before him. He tilted his head, a silent question. You blinked dumbly, holding out your hand to him, your small fingers backing him to give you something.

“Can I see your hand?”

His hand? He hadn’t thought much of it as he rested it on yours, palm upwards and gloveless. He saw it then, the small cut that bled red, small enough to be neglectable, but long enough to still be bleeding. He hadn’t felt anything from it before or after boarding the aircraft, he must’ve still been riding the adrenaline rush from the fight. He wondered how you knew he hurt himself.

Your fingers curled around his palm, holding it firmly as you lightly dabbed the inflamed skin with a sterilised tissue, being careful of the flared sides of his torn flesh. Under the blood and dirt, his skin was pale and swollen, the area having demanded his body to react to the potential bacteria that would worm its way into his system. You threw the bloody tissue aside and got an antiseptic wipe, being careful to not irritate his wound. Your care was gentle and patient. To a being like him, a hybrid and KorTac op, gentle and patient were foreign words to him. None were gentle to hybrids and none were patient with mercenaries. 

Even as you wrapped the gauze and bandage around his hand, you gave him all your attention, sweetly cradling his hand between yours and nursing his gash with utmost care. It felt alien, the soothingly soft care of a medic. Other medics would’ve stared at him with disgust or hate if he walked near the infirmary, or they were rough and uncaring towards his needs. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, the sudden realisation of his silence in the face of a benevolent angel and the rush of embarrassment that flushed his neck hotly. He stared dumbly at his hand when you left, placed on his thigh with the white bandage staring right at him. The warmth of your hand had sunk into his skin, the feather-light tenderness of your fingers painted in his memory and your smile and determined expression stuck to him. 

Even as he let his mind wander and body thirst for another taste of your gentleness, he could feel the burning stares of the other men. König with his curious and envious gaze, wanting to feel the snippet you offered Horangi, wanting your hands and stare at his giant figure. The 141 with their protective and warning glare, resenting him for taking a few minutes of your attention from them. You’d moved on your own, making your decision to help him with his small wounds as you did with them, he hadn’t forced you or compelled you to treat him.

Perhaps there was more than money and experience that was worth in this joint operation. 

When the success of their first mission reached the prying ears of the General, he’d given them a few more joint ops - paid by the United States pockets, of course. Horangi and König were given temporary rooms in the barracks, in the same corner as the other hybrids and you, but far enough to show that they were excluded from them. Fortunately, they wouldn’t share the room, tigers were protective of one’s territory, and a percht hybrid - as rare as it may be - was documented to be hyper-possessive of their things, especially so for someone like König. 

Horangi didn’t ignore you anymore, wanting to start a conversation when he passed you or staring at you from the other side of the room until you waved at him, letting him know he could approach you. He worked relentlessly to close the gap he had made between you, wanting to attach himself to the one good thing he had. Yet he had to be cautious, any indication of him being a threat to you would make your team act out in unison, pushing him back and covering you like they did the second he descended the ramp. 

Ghost would hover over you, his body moving the darkness around him to seem more menacing. Ghost always glared at him when you turned your back to the Brit, his brown eyes swirling with the promise of death and devastation. Ghost wasn’t a physical hybrid, as Horangi had learned, but he had no qualms about keeping a hand on your hip or over your shoulder, acting as an imposing being that showcased his claim on you so publicly. It filled the Korean with envy and anger, he wanted to touch you as easily as the wraith did, he wanted a claim on you like the Lieutenant did, and he wanted to hold you close. 

If not Ghost, it’d be Rudy or Gaz crowding you. If you were in the rec room, Gaz would usually be there with you. His arm thrown over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while his wings curled around you two, dark brown feathers ruffled to look menacing but comfortable to your touch. With the way he sat, slouching and legs spread across the sofa, he took all the available seats on the cheap, brown couch. When Gaz caught sight of him, he’d purposefully moved to take up more space, showing just how much one of the nicest of the 141 ostracised him. Although when someone from his TF, he’d move aside, giving space to the man to join them. 

If you were walking around the base, Rudy - or Rudolfo as Horangi was forced to call him - would be by your side. Rudy had an arm wrapped around yours, seemingly like a military couple out on a casual walk, or he had his hand on your back, acting as the protective lover. Rudolfo’s smile was always wide and adoring when Horangi saw him walk you, exchanging words and making you laugh. It stung Horangi in an inexplicable way as if someone was knowingly sentencing him to death without any proof of his accountability. Rudy, the second nicest guy, also made glaring passes his way, pulling you closer to his side, directing you away and staring coldly at Horangi.

It rubbed him wrong, all the silent glares and insults at him to push him farther from you, but he was Horangi the Tiger haetae. He made his calculations, he was as smart and as resourceful as he was patient. Give it a few more missions together and they would loosen enough to let him swoop you off your feet. You were his source of comfort, of love and gentleness, he had to protect it. 

Unlike Horangi, König actively sought you out on the base, following the trail of your scent and the soft noises of your voice and heartbeat. He was like a dog on your trail, nose sniffing every bit of air for you and ears strained for any noise you’d make. His senses were stretched thin to find a moment with you. He was as animalistic as a hybrid could get, leaning towards his monster to help him with his ops and trials. 

You piqued König’s curiosity, making him wander the halls like a lumbering monster in a dark veil and glaring, red eyes. He saw how you treated big and dangerous monsters like the dragon hybrid you had as a captain, a respectable man, as soft as you treated the rowdy and rough werewolf and gracefully dangerous nagual. König wanted to feel your softness on him, your small hand grasping the tight muscles of his shoulders and back, kneading the tension away with grounding massages and stretches. You were their doctor, you cared enough to join them in the field, so you’d naturally be willing to mass the pain out of his body, no? 

He wanted moments alone, where he could speak his mind without fear of being interrupted or pushed away for his imposing stature and aura. He wanted to place a hand on your waist, to feel the plush roundness of your stomach and the firm contour of muscle on your thighs. He wanted his voice to carry easily in the void of silence, where his voice could be heard by you from a small whisper. He wanted your eyes to focus on him, solely, as if he was your world. 

He found it rather irritatingly difficult to find such moments. When he followed your scent through the halls and down to the medic's office, he’d find Captain Price crowding the room with his powerful musk of Ashe and fire - of metal and iron. Although Price was much shorter and lesser ranked than König was, he held the power of age and wisdom, an unfathomable strength that lay solely in draconic beings. This eternal power that none could rival apart from Eldritch beings, most cower, whimper and hide from dragons. He wore his power and wisdom on his sleeves, a warning for everyone, him and his KorTac operators included. König might’ve been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool, fighting headfirst with dragon seamed chaos and devastation. So, as any hybrid did, he backed away, an old dragon was dangerous, but a crippled one made it even more perilous.

When König tried to find you in the rec room, you were held in the tight embrace of a possessive wolf. Soap had you straddling his lap, facing him as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. He purred and kissed your skin, making you squirm and giggle, but then Soap’s eyes gazed upwards and grew cold and unruly at König’s appearance. A proud - dare he say, cruel - smirk curled the corners of his lips. That was when he realised what the sergeant was doing. Soap, in the open, was scenting you, rubbing his musk over your neck, where - if you were another sifting hybrid like him and Alejandro - would’ve been your scent gland. It was a blatant show of possession. He nipped at your throat, drinking in your yelp and hiss, your back arching and moving to push him from biting too much. It filled him with rage.

If you weren’t with either dragon or werewolf, you were with Alejandro, the Hispanic scenting you as much as Soap did, but he did it with more finesse and subtlety. He would draw your hair back, the gland on his wrist grazing your neck and ears, imprinting you with him. Alejandro would hold your hand, fingers neatly intertwined with yours, his face laying on your shoulder as he spooned you in his lap. He purred and whispered sweet promises that had you nodding and smiling like a child on Christmas. He oosed of pheromones, filling the area with his scent and in turn, covering you completely in him. König watched with envy as Alejandro read to you, cradled between his thighs and falling asleep, his, Soap and everyone else’s musk laying a possession over you. 

König’s a determined person when he put his mind to it, willing his beaten and bloodied self back to camp, or his sleep-deprived and insomniac-ridden mind to concentrate on the enemy. He was a battering ram, he pushed forward forcefully, however hard he had to, all to reach the end goal. This time, it wouldn’t be the head of his target, or the capture of an asset, this time, it would be you.

They both wondered, with how close your TF was, what was the dynamic. Was it a pack that shared the same lover? Was it a pack that had formed such a close connection to a human that you were deemed an integral part of the pack? Or were you the child they watched over and protected?

The next few missions 141 and the two from KorTac went on were as successful as the first, the cooperation of two ruthless mercenaries and a hybrid, specialist group made these tasks easy, near child’s play for them. Along with the aspect of having a medic on hand, it let them run wild, play along the edge and act more recklessly than they normally would. Having Horangi and König for so long, made them become a standard in the base, seeing them walk among the shorter and weaker humans. That also meant they had seen their fair share of xenophobic soldiers with balls bigger than a dragon’s and an ego the size of an Eldritch creature. 

Every hybrid and monster was used to their hateful glares and sneering venom-dripping words. Ignoring them had become easier after the first year of enrolment. Horangi and König were, however, not used to someone defending them with their most honest heart of gold with earth-shattering words. 

The first time they’d seen you defend your team was right after a mission, haunches, lumbering bodies descending the carrier’s ramp with their bags slung over their shoulders and addled with fatigue after a week of deployment. Young, power-hungry sergeants who’d let their ranks get to their heads had slid before them, head held high and shoulders held wide. Every single one of them knew that the moment the sergeant’s mouth opened, nothing good would come out of it. Perhaps degrading insults or back-handed sneers.

When the first sentence slipped from the man’s tongue, you pushed your way between them, barrelling into the man who’d insulted them. A deep frown was etched into your lips, brows creased so darkly into you that it cast a dark shroud of anger over your face. If König hadn’t known that you were a human, he would’ve thought that you were a being of darkness. 

“You dim-witted bastards-!” Was the first word you let out, your usually soft-spoken self with gentle hands spewed acid at them, threatening to burn their skin. 

Dim-witted, indeed. Old, conservative assholes who thought they were better than the rest with their pro-human propaganda and xenophobic acts against hybrids. Horangi had expected you to continue your scolding, wringing the sergeant dry with your words, not your hands. You used your hands, fingers curled inward, thumb over the curves of your bones and decked the man. It shocked them both, you were smaller, shorter, human and seemed weaker than the men, yet here you were, sending him toppling on the floor, his friend gaping and pouncing on you. Only to be met with your foot to his crotch. 

“You bet your ass you won’t get any medical attention after this,” you hissed.

Although your words sounded improbable since you weren’t the only medic on base, you had built a connection through the system, every medic knew you and heeded your words. If one didn’t want a man healed, you and the rest wouldn’t help him. If you wanted a man to suffer, the rest would watch on with you. Medics were themselves, a tight-knit couple that helped one another. So your words were more than a threat, it was a promise. 

“Until I see your sorry asses on your deathbed or grovelling, none of us will lift a finger for you. Bleed and beg all you want, but you aren’t getting help.”

You acted with an iron hand, sending the rest to the ground, moaning and groaning, cradling whatever part of their body you’d hit. They wondered why Ghost hadn’t moved, and neither did Gaz or Rudy, the most protective ones. When König glanced down at Ghost, he saw pride in his eyes, dark curled on sadistic pleasure swirling in his brown eyes. When Horangi gazed at Gaz and Rudy, he saw simple amusement, their mouths threatening to curl in a smirk.

All of them had known you’d act this way, erratic and violent rather than calmly scold them and stomp over their ego. You were strong-headed and blunt to them, making them bow to you, like lesser men to a lady, a queen, a goddess. 

Horangi had experienced his own protection from you. After the men had loosened enough to trust him and König, he could walk beside you and hold a simple banter, albeit awkward at the start. You were much more violent this time, reaching for the downed man while hissing and screeching after you sent him to the floor with well-aimed kicks. You were like a gremlin, small and lively. He understood your anger, they’d called him racist things, calling out his Asian roots and hybrid characteristics. 

Horangi had to hold you from going off on him following your promise of neglecting his medical needs. It worked, though. The first group had searched to plead, to apologise and beg for medical attention. You’d sent them away with a small note lifting the ban for medical help. You were as ruthless with people as they were to enemies. 

Any other encounters with hot-headed men and women that glanced at them weirdly were met with a varying amount of anger and disgust from you. Horangi understood why 141 held you so carefully, so tightly in their hold. Why they worshipped you like a priest would do with his goddess. It was a sense of camaraderie that had evolved into love, affection dripping from their pores. 

König received a bit more attention for his size, the threatening nature of his ouster coupled with his brute figure, made him a subject of fear and rejection. That hadn’t stopped you from wanting to approach him, had it? Going as far as calling him cute when he stuttered while broaching the subject of him liking certain things. For a burly man with the height of a giant, he was nice to sit next to, his quiet but anxious stature when he wasn’t deployed made it easy to talk to. He might sometimes let his instincts drive him, but they were all well-meaning, wanting nothing but goodness for you. 

His turn came in quick succession, he was shunned and ridiculed left and right. It never helped that he would shy from others, preferring his little corner that made the room look stranger and claustrophobic (not that he let them walk all over him, he growled and glared, standing tall with the promise of lashing out or eating them. Even when humans feared König, they still attempted to rile his anger.). But with you, he wasn’t by his lonesome, he had someone to rattle on about the things he liked to do, or the things he wanted to do. His shoulders were relaxed and mind calm, free to speak his mind about the goriest and the sweetest dreams he had, his speech unperturbed by his anxiety. 

Unlike the others, König stood before you as an impenetrable wall of muscle and fat when you raised your hand at an insignificant pig. Why would he let someone so disgusting touch you (even though it was to hit and kick the man, he would do it for you instead)? He guarded you as if they were insulting you rather than him - though it was the reverse - and glared down at anyone with dreadfully scary eyes. Like the devil that had risen, he sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs. Although he was the one that had gotten rid of them, he was always so proud of you, holding you close to him and gushing about your brave and inspiring actions. 

He saw how the men in 141 looked at you, he wanted to be a part of it, to be able to freely nuzzle your face and hold you like Soap would, to cradle you in his arms and carry you around the base. König wanted a piece of your heart, to be able to show the world he held it in his hands, caring for it between his big, calloused fingers and soft affection. He might be dangerous, he might be deadly, he might be reckless, but if you let him, you would be his world like you were to the others (Horangi would agree, they spoke about it on their own.).

Next

[nerdietalk]

In the original Adventure Time, Fionna wasn't really given any kind of personality. She's a self-insert for the romantic plights of other characters. Her stories revolve around love triangles, quirky relationship drama, and romantic foibles. And even within these stories, the drama is largely conflict free. No one's really at fault and all misunderstandings are cleared up without issue.

In comparison, Finn experienced a lot of major conflicts. He torpedoed his relationship with Flame Princess in one of the most uncomfortable and ill-advised manipulations I've ever seen in any fictional medium, to the point I was reluctant to ever return to the show afterwards. But through that mistake came growth and change. Finn made a lot of mistakes, but he learned a lot of lessons.

What's really interesting about Fionna and Cake is how it characterizes Fionna through that lens.

Fionna, created as a "copy" of Finn and Jake, was always the most mature person in the room. She was cute, graceful, and solved every problem without issue. But when she's only written like that, there's nowhere for her to grow. No room to change.

Adult Fionna is inherently irresponsible. She's flighty, abandons problems on whims, and she's oblivious to people's pain unless its extremely visible. When she travels through the multiverse, she views problems through narrative tropes. She talks about apocalypse rpgs and heroic fantasies. She's shockingly self-centered and ignorant to the suffering of others. When she looks at Simon, she can only see that she's "boring" compared to Ice King's "fun." She lived in a world with clear cut moral lines. No complications.

When adventuring for the "first" time, Fionna complains about the outfit. She can't move around well in the skirt. Prismo is baffled. "You never had any trouble with skirts in my stories." She wasn't written for practical considerations in mind. She was written for easy fun for a first-time writer.

As a form of escapism, Fionna is flawless. In the real world, Fionna has never faced a real challenge that forced her to grow up.

And what really just absolutely sells this writing choice is that the narrative doesn't make this as a potshot against fandom or womanhood. It doesn't look down on Fionna, it just communicates that this is the kind of person she became as an adult. There's nothing demonized about the idea of fandom or Fionna's womanhood. It writes Fionna this way because its interested in how she can be a real person, with real flaws. The moment to moment existence of Fionna and how she can function as a real person when the cameras turn off.

Fionna has to face challenge to grow as a person. She can only be a fully developed character when she gets the opportunity to be wrong, to make mistakes, when she's forced to think through her actions. And the show's willingness to confront this idea and what it means for Fionna's existence is so genuinely smart and compelling.

Adventure Time whips is what I'm getting at.

[ae-azile]

Gossip After Death: Chapter 5 Preview

“Kinn, I really think you should take it easy today.”

Kinn shakes his head stubbornly as he puts on his other shoe, “I have a list. One of them may be involved with Porsche disappearing.”

Tankhun crosses his arms over his chest, “Or you will turn it into a kill list. Because that's what happened yesterday, Kinn. You killed someone who had no information and wasn’t involved.”

“...It doesn't matter. He was a shitty person anyway.”

As Tankhun lets out a sigh, he knows he doesn't want to guilt his brother too heavily. Not in the state he is in. But at the same time, he needs him to stop and think. Kinn needs to take the day to rest, even though Tankhun realizes how hard that must be in the situation Kinn is in. Tankhun himself thought about asking for a sedative - a milder one than the one given to Kinn so he could care for his brother but still not obsess over Porsche and whether or not he is alive.

Tankhun can only imagine the state he would be in if Arm had disappeared. He would be inconsolable and demanding to exhaust every resource. And his family wouldn't even realize the extent of his pain. They would probably think he was crazy. He and Arm have kept their relationship quiet since it developed the night after the attack. Only Pol knows, and that would put a lot on Pol’s shoulders.

But now isn't the time to tell Kinn about him and Arm, even as a distraction.

“I'm not trying to make you feel bad,” Tankhun says squatting down in front of him while Kinn remains seated on the bed, “But I am very concerned. I care about you deeply and don't want you to…Can you please just try to relax today? We’ll watch a movie. You can take a milder sedative if your mind is spinning-”

“No.”

But despite the quiet answer, tears are filling Kinn’s eyes rapidly and threatening to spill over. One does when Tankhun puts a hand on his cheek.

“Oh, honey,” Tankhun murmurs, “You are in pain. It's really okay to take a break.”

“No,” Kinn chokes out, “I'm fine-”

“You're not. No one would be. Please? Just stay here with me.”

Kinn's breathing is becoming erratic now. Tankhun hopes it leads to a good, cathartic crying session that releases some of the tension Kinn is holding, rather than leading to Kinn wrecking Tankhun’s bedroom. Although, if Kinn needs to wreck another room, Tankhun will accept it. He would prefer if Kinn would let Tankhun just take him to a rage room. He's never been to one, but he heard that one opened in Bangkok recently. That could be a good idea. Tankhun can offer to rent out the entire business for the day so Kinn can destroy whatever he wants to his heart’s content.

But before Tankhun can suggest such a thing, Kinn is shrugging Tankhun's hands off him and standing up.

“I'm moving on with my list. Stay with Chay and Kim.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“Vegas, he removed someone's cochlear bone! At 7 in the morning! Yesterday, he waited until after lunch. And the first day, he didn't remove any body parts until even later than that!”

Vegas glances at him before picking the percolator off the stove, “Can you keep your voice down? Pete is asleep.

“He can't HEAR me!”

“No, but the babies seem to be able to,” Vegas says, “If you wake them up, he might wake up as well.”

Porsche takes a calming breath and tries to settle down, “Fine. But I need you to talk to Kinn. Now.”

“No.”

“Did you hear what I just said?!” Porsche asks, raising his voice once more as he steps closer, “He is resorting to your torture methods! That isn’t him!”

Vegas walks over to the fridge and pulls out the creamer, “It's not. You're right. How good is he at pulling out cochlear bones, by the way?”

“Horrible!” Porsche exclaims That makes it even more awful to watch! It's slow and agonizing and bloodier than the time I saw you do it! Talk to him!”

Porsche drops to his knees at that point. He doesn't know what else to do. He probably looks pathetic. Going by Vegas’s putting expression, Porsche knows he does.

“Porsche, that shaman is supposed to be back in less than two weeks!”

“That's too long! He might do something completely unforgivable by then and start a war! Or he may do something to himself!” Porsche says, then desperately puts his hands together, “Vegas, please. I'm worried he may try to do something irreversible to himself if this goes on for much longer. I can't…I won't-”

“If he did, you guys would be together again,” Vegas says with a shrug, “If I couldn't see ghosts, I would probably do the same for Pete. It might be for the best-”

“It's not,” Porsche cuts in, “Kinn killing himself would never be for the best. And…And I don't think you would want him to do that to himself either.”

Vegas says nothing. Not that he gets a huge chance to, since Pete comes into the kitchen with both babies in his arms.

“They were both very fussy,” Pete says, then gives Vegas a kiss, “I thought I heard your voice. Were you on the phone?”

“Just talking to myself,” Vegas says, then gives Pete another kiss before kissing both babies on the head, “Good morning! Are you two hungry?”

“Vegas, we’re not finished!” Porsche snaps, jumping to his feet, “Talk to Kinn, or I’ll-”

“I’ll make their bottles,” Vegas says, “You can feed them in the living room and tell Macau to wake up.”

“You're lucky he comes home on the weekends,” Pete scoffs, “Almost every wake up call you attempt when he's staying in the dorms gets ignored.”

“He answers for you more than he does for me,” Vegas says, “And I know he’ll wake up for you more quickly than he will for me. Such a good pa.”

Pete’s gaze softens as he leans forward to kiss Vegas again, “And you're such a good dad.”

“Kinn and I wanted to be parents too,” Porsche tells Vegas stubbornly. But Vegas doesn't acknowledge him, even after Pete and the babies are out of the room.

“I'm crashing your breakfast,” Porsche threatens, “I am going to lie across the table and make everyone’s food cold and disgusting!”

Vegas gives him a sharp look, “Don't.”

This is the biggest threat Porsche can give him? Compromising any food Vegas cooks?

Fine. He’ll take it.

“Watch me,” Porsche says, a smirk playing his lips.

While it doesn't get Vegas to cave on talking to Kinn, he still does it. Macau complains about how cold the food is twice before getting up to put his plate in the microwave. That makes hit hot for about two bites before Porsche lies on his plate again and brings down the temperature of the food.

“Weird,” Macau mutters, then gets up once more, “P’Pete, does Hia’s food suck more than usual on your end too?”

“You can go,” Vegas says, pointing at the door. Porsche isn't sure if he is talking to him or Macau.

Maybe both.

“It tastes good to me,” Pete says, shrugging.

Porsche can take care of that.

As he shimmies across the table and lies across Pete’s plate, Vegas lets out a groan.

“What's wrong?” Pete asks, “You’ve been off the last couple of days. Are you worried about Porsche? If so, I am meeting with Arm today to go over our options and decide on coverage…and…and dragging Chao Phraya. Kinn apparently had a breakdown fit over it last night. Tankhun’s words. Not mine. But he didn't forbid the move. He's just…I would suggest reaching out . He's apparently doing worse than anyone has ever seen him. But-”

“I don't think any comfort or condolences would be welcome from me,” Vegas says.

“Me either,” Macau adds, “I’m checking on Chay, but I will never text Kinn and see if he's okay.”

Pete shakes his head, “Macau, you were seventeen when everything went down, and you are still a teenager. Kinn places no blame on you for any of the conflict and asks about you when I see him. He asks about how school is going and how you're getting along-”

“He's a dick.”

“I think your father and uncle convinced all of you to hate each other,” Pete mutters, but then offers them both a forced smile before taking another bite from his plate. He immediately looks surprised, and not in a good way.

“...I think I will go heat my food up too,” Pete says, getting up from his chair and picking up his plate.

“And I think I will do this for every meal Vegas cooks for you for as long as he lives,” Porsche says nonchalantly before glancing back at Vegas, who is currently glaring daggers at him. However, he doesn't say a word. Porsche supposes he can't unless he wants to look crazy.

He just wishes Vegas would be willing to look that way at least once. For Kinn’s sake.

Read the rest of the story here:

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

L.P. Davies - The Reluctant Medium -  Doubleday - 1967 (jacket by Emanuel Schongut)

[a-leg-without-fear]

hello my love lovely mutual!

congrats on 200 followers leg 🦵 you are an actual rockstar!!!!

can i maybe order a medium mocha with my papi Logan. that man needs some soft in his life

LOVE YOU BABES

- Sybil

I love you too, Syb!! Thank you so much, lovely :) <3 One medium mocha coming right up!!

"I made this for you..."

You looked up from where you sat at your desk, research essays on Pablo Picasso stacked on top of the paint-stained surface. The last bits of sunlight leaked through the drawn curtains in your art classroom. Streaks of oranges and pinks illuminated the drying pottery your students had worked on that morning.

Logan stood next to your desk. Flannel sleeves rolled up around his elbows, white tank top splotched in red clay, jeans dusty around the hems. An apprehensive, almost nervous, frown stretched at his face. You glanced down at what he held in his hands.

A small, rough-around-the-edges, clay whale sat in his outstretched palm. It was a little uneven in its proportions, the flippers too big for its head, but it was absolutely adorable.

"Oh my God, Logan!" you gasped. You gingerly plucked the thumb-size figurine from him and cradled it in your palms. This was the most perfect gift you had ever received from anybody.

"You don't gotta lie if you don't like it," Logan grumbled, hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.

"Shut up, grump," you breathed. You gently set the whale on your desk, on top of the papers you needed to grade, and threw your arms around Logan's shoulders. The sudden movement was met with an "oof!" and Logan tentatively placing his hands on your hips. You pulled back to look him in his hazel eyes, "I fucking love it. You're gonna need to make me more. I want a whole pod!"

Logan groaned, shrugging your arms off and stepping away from you as you giggled. You leaned back on your desk.

"I ain't making more. One and done," Logan groused. You laughed at his reluctance, taking one of his large hands in both of yours.

"At least one more? So this one isn't so lonely?" you pleaded, sticking out your bottom lip to really sell it. Logan groaned again while rolling his eyes. You kept up the puppy-dog face until he looked back to you.

He sighed, "Fine. One more. That's it."

this is very silly and cute. hope ya like <3

[jesncin]

Caped Crusader, "Safe Diversity", and Catwoman

We're at a point where it's expected that a new incarnation of any story previously with a white-dominated cast would be reimagined with a "more diverse" cast. This can mean racebending them, genderbending them or making them queer, but for the purposes of this analysis we'll be focusing on racebends. Most of the time, executives will take the "safer" routes with diversifying their cast- pick a couple of unproblematic supporting characters to be incidentally "diverse this time". Other times, there might be "braver" takes where more prominent characters (perhaps even the main character) are racebent. This doesn't necessarily mean racebending prominent characters is an inherently better thing to do.

I've been more than critical of MAWS' portrayal of BIPOC characters but especially their Asian Lois before. Sometimes BIPOC representation is just a decorative palette-swap change for these shows. Caped Crusader however, is different. It's more complicated- but it's rooted in very similar problems. Unlike MAWS (though I can only speak for S1), CC is far more willing to take on political topics: classism, sexism, police corruption and brutality, even beauty standards in the entertainment industry! Yet, in choosing to portray these topics in their stylistically anachronistic 30s-40s set piece- it makes it so the show's reluctance to discuss race intersecting with any of these topics far more apparent.

(spoilers for all of Caped Crusader)

Take for instance, episode 2: "...And Be A Villain". The story is about Basil Karlo, a less than handsome actor who wishes his appearance wasn't holding him back from both love and playing roles saved for better looking people. He makes a deal with Jack Ellman, an experimental makeup artist who turns him into Clayface. This story is set in motion when Miss Yvonne Francis, a beautiful actress, goes missing. Miss Francis is a woman of color (brown skinned, unspecified) played by Lacey Chabert: a white actress. CC goes for a generally colorblind casting what with Stephie (a white girl) being voiced by Amari McCoy (a Black actress) but it always feels icky when a white actor voices a character of color. Prominent characters of color in CC are more accurately casted. However I do think animation should be wary of using their medium to get away with their show appearing more diverse than the actual talent behind it.

The episode's theme is pretty clear on how unfair the entertainment industry is in regards to who it prioritizes in leading roles. Basil is constantly emphasized as a tragically talented actor whose appearance is holding him back. "With your talent you should be a leading man, Basil." Yvonne says to Basil in a flashback. Meanwhile as Alfred is watching through movie clips featuring Yvonne and Basil together, he comments "while lovely to look at, Miss Francis is no Gloria Swanson." So Yvonne has the looks, but not the talent and still gets prestigious roles because that's showbiz. The only time this is weirdly inconsistent is when Yvonne calls out Basil/Clayface in the finale, saying:

"I don't believe your performance. You're chewing on scenery. Relying on makeup effects to enhance weak characterization. It's insincere, Basil. It's not real."

I honestly feel like this scene was just meant to quickly "subvert" Yvonne being a damsel in distress by having her call out Basil's acting. It's a moment that isn't reinforced by anything the episode set up. After all, according to Alfred, she's not as good an actor compared to Basil. That's supposed to be how they foil each other, so this moment feels unmotivated. Again, I get what they're going for, that Basil's performance ironically relies on his newfound appearance so much that even a bad actress like Yvonne can spot his meager acting. But it doesn't work when our protagonists were actually convinced by his imitation of others. She's still a damsel in distress character regardless of her having a bit of attitude when calling her captor out.

What I don't understand is: why make Yvonne a woman of color if this was the story you wanted to tell? It's not like they're paying homage to how her voice actress looks, after all. Why, in your story set in purposely anachronistic 30s-40s era noir, did the character who was meant to represent the epitome of "not talented but gets by the industry because of her conventional beauty and pretty privilege" a woman of color? We're missing the very obvious conversation here where Tinsel Town is a white industry with white biases to what it considers attractive. It doesn't matter how many attractive actors of color exist, they're still pigeon holed into stereotyped and often racist roles (especially back then), and have to work twice as hard to get the opportunities their white colleagues get. Why is Basil, a white man, the only one afforded a marginalized narrative when Yvonne is quite literally a woman of color right next to him? The episode is especially painful to sit through when Basil is afforded so much sympathy compared to Yvonne.

"He didn't have the right look. He didn't have the right face."

"The camera is kind to some, but cruel to others."

This is transparently a colorblind narrative. Yvonne is written and even casted as a white woman. The CC crew just decided she should be a WOC likely because "wouldn't it be neat if the beautiful actress in this story is POC" without thinking about how that would drastically change a narrative already critical of the showbiz industry based on appearances. It's not intersectional and flattens the narrative to being selective of the prejudices Tinsel Town has. This episode is a great example to what CC generally does with diversity. It's not afraid to be critical of society, but it gets oddly squeamish with discussing how race intersects with these topics- opting mostly for a palette-change type of representation.

It's not entirely fair to say CC doesn't ever touch on the topic of racism. It sort of does: if you read between the lines for why the mayor gives Jim Gordon his commissioner role, and more prominently with the Gentleman Ghost (a rich aristocrat ghost that steals from the poor, believing wealth is his right) being offended that his mansion is sold to Lucius Fox (saying "and you would sell it to rabble like this?")- racism is somewhat present in the world of CC. We see the women in this show experience misogyny, but it's ambiguous if any of their struggles are intersectional with that of race. But that's... just about it. Racism isn't discussed more than it is alluded to, whenever the writers decide it's relevant. Because of this, CC has a spectrum of hits and misses when it comes to integrating characters of color in their reimagined cast.

Here's how I would visualize that spectrum using canonized instances of Asian Lois Lane. I should emphasize that representation of people of color doesn't entail the narrative owing us "a racism arc" or what have you. This spectrum is more used to measure how much racial identity was integrated in the characterization of the character: whether that be cultural identity or history. Being a person of color isn't just "person who goes through racism".

This is how I'd personally place the prominent characters of color in CC on my "spectrum of racebends" chart. Generally most of the characters of color (whether reimagined that way or were originally POC already) are fairly harmless in how they were integrated into CC's world, but none of the characters feel bespoke as a reimagining of the character and are interchangeable with their white counterparts. To quote cartoonist Juni Ba (in a discussion on CC):

"...stripping characters of color in these time period stories of any cultural, [a]esthetic or social signifiers that’d make them true to the groups being represented. Instead they dress, act and speak very western."

In my opinion, the only character that is an exception to this is Linton Midnite (or as he's popularly known as: "Papa Midnite"). Midnite is a character so interlinked with Haitian culture and mysticism that even CC couldn't erase that aspect of his identity (important note: historically, the portrayal of Midnite since his creation is riddled in racism, but that's not my place to discuss here). Midnite at most speaks with an accent, dresses more nonconformingly compared to the western standard dress of all the other characters, and practices occultish stuff (though I don't think there was anything culturally specific in that episode, please correct me otherwise if someone has more insight!). That's a lot more cultural representation than just about any other character of color in CC. Midnite can't be changed to a white character, his African identity is too interlinked with who he is.

There are a few characters I consider in poor taste to be POC- that being Arnold Flass, Yvonne Francis (who we've covered already), and Harley Quinn (who will be getting her own post, as her case is complicated). So let's talk about cops, then.

I tend to be indifferent about media choosing to diversify cop characters because it feels like choosing the most "respectable to society" role for a marginalized character to play. Cops uphold bigoted systems of power at the end of the day, so that's a very comfortable place to represent your marginalized characters. It's why we keep getting gay or lesbian cops, which Batman media absolutely perpetuates as well with Renee Montoya. It's hard to cheer for two women of color being allowed to date and kiss in public when one of them is a cop, y'know? But this doesn't mean re-imagining cop characters doesn't have narrative merit.

In regards to Jim Gordon being reimagined as a Black cop, I'm gonna refer to La'Ron Readus' video on "Fixing the Batman's Copaganda problem" where he goes into detail about the missed potential of Black!Jim Gordon from Reeves' The Batman (2022). Generally, I felt that opportunity was missed in CC as well. While I love that Barbara Gordon is in CC, nothing about her being a WOC is integrated into this version of her. It felt like if either character was white, the story wouldn't be that different. The bigger issue here is the choice to racebend Arnold Flass- a previously white, blonde, cunningly smart, and brutally corrupt cop.

CC follows some of this in their version of Arnold Flass- he's paired with Harvey Bullock (also a corrupt cop). While Bullock is the brawns of the duo, Flass is the smarts. He's cunning and even implied to be willing to frame Bullock if the worse comes to it. It isn't an inherently bad idea to racebend a corrupt white cop into a Black cop. If the writers want to tell a story about how the police force assimilates people of color into the system and forces them to be just as if not more brutal than their white counterparts, then by all means tell that story.

But that's not what CC gave us. By rarely acknowledging race, we don't get to have a conversation or themes surrounding that delicate intersection of identities. We just have "diverse Flass". Look at these panels from Year One for example, can you imagine how Flass' casual disrespect for Gordon by constantly calling him "Jimmy" could be re-contextualized with a race change? Unlike other characters who just feel like missed opportunities for not integrating race into their characterization, Flass is an elephant in the room. To not acknowledge his race in themes of police corruption and brutality is to white wash the narrative with diverse paint.

I personally think the stronger narrative decision would have been to racebend Bullock as Black instead of Flass. Flass could still be the conniving cop, but he encourages Black!Bullock to be the more "violent brute" who does the dirty work for him. It would put a newfound racial layer to how Flass considers Bullock disposable. Then we could have some kind of commentary on how the police force encourages a system of abuse that makes even fellow POC turn on each other. It'd also make it so a certain scene would be better in optics.

I have many criticisms for the scene where Batman holds a gun to Flass in the finale of CC. It's a narratively unmotivated (see my criticisms for CC's Two Face here for elaboration) and weak moment that relies on metatextual shock value to cover up how underdeveloped this take on Batman is. But it's also just very uncomfortable optics-wise. It's a common and valid criticism that Batman as a character can very easily fall into copaganda, with his status, goals, and collaboration with the police force. In many ways, Batman is often written to be committing his own kind of vigilante police brutality.

Caped Crusader wants to be a deconstruction of a Batman tied to power and hellbent on his mission to eliminate crime. But because CC occasionally omits race from its narrative, the scene where Batman holds a gun to a Black cop-a man stripped of his ability to fight back-just falls flat for me. There's no acknowledgement in this scene that Batman basically gets to be an anonymous cop, "warning shots" and all. Batman shoots at an unarmed Black man several times. It's meant to be shocking to us how Bruce is willing to stoop to such a level and indulge in gratuitous gun violence, but it honestly hits too close to real incidents where this is racially the case for me to enjoy the narrative point of this scene.

You know a character who would be perfect for calling out Batman's many privileges? Selina Kyle. Let's talk about Caped Crusader's biggest downgrade.

I've heard just about all the arguments in favor for CC's reimagining of Catwoman and none have convinced me that this was in any way a good take on the character. I see people saying that this Catwoman is a return to her golden age roots, and there's a lot of misconception surrounding that assumption. So bear with me as looking at Catwoman's history is necessary to discuss race and how a character evolves.

Catwoman debuted in the 1940s as a jewel thief who disguised herself as an old lady. She was just called "The Cat" and would not don her more feline appearance until later. True to the mystery woman femme fatale trope she was inspired by, her backstory was left unknown for a long time. 10 years later, in Batman #62 it is revealed that after a plane accident bonked her head, the now named Selina Kyle got amnesia and went on a crime spree. Giving her leeway to reform and be an ally to Batman. This would historically inform how Selina Kyle toed the line between good and evil as an anti-hero.

Her origin would be revisited in 1983, in the Brave and the Bold #197. Although not canon to the mainline universe, it is still a crucial development for her character's history. In this story, Selina reveals that she lied about having amnesia to get out of facing punishment. Her true story was that she entered a life of crime to escape an abusive relationship with a rich man. The only loss her husband understood was material loss, loss of property, so stealing was how Selina fought back.

This crucial re-examination of her character transformed her from shenanigans inducing femme fatale, to a marginalized fighter. Shortly later in 1987 in Batman Year One, Catwoman is reimagined as a street-hardened sex worker in poverty. She is inspired by the Batman to become a vigilante for her own goals and gets annoyed that she's assumed to be his sidekick.

The moment Catwoman became marginalized by power, was the point where she became worthy of solo-character status. She was not only a compelling foil to Batman-capable of going toe to toe with him and make him question his motives even though she did not share his privilege-she could lead her own adventures reflecting a side of Gotham Bruce Wayne's perspective doesn't. She actively makes the setting of Gotham stronger because of how she's evolved as a character.

Catwoman's character would continue to evolve, with some iterations reimagining her as a latina woman and others where she's canonically bisexual.

While Catwoman has been portrayed by Black actresses before, I want to focus on the most recent and prominent iteration of a race-swapped Catwoman. When Matt Reeves' The Batman (2022) featured Zoe Kravitz as Selina Kyle, an explicitly biracial character within the text of the story, we see another step this character evolves. I think La'Ron Readus' video on "Why Race-Swapped Characters Are Not The Full Story" does a fantastic job of explaining why this is a narratively great race swap. To summarize (though I do encourage watching his video as he goes into depth about 2022 Batman's Jim Gordon as well among many other examples) and add analysis of my own: Selina being the byproduct of an Italian crime lord and a Black sex worker is a brilliant marriage of her original backstory (being connected to and abused by powerful men) and her modern backstory where she's poverty stricken (and tangentially related to a sex worker if we're talking about Batman Year One).

We understand why someone of her background would have an affinity for stray cats because of how she lost her mom at a young age, she is sympathetic to fellow people from the lower class, and explicitly calls out privileged white people- including Batman who attempted to over moralize Selina's partner as a sex worker.

"All anyone cares about in this place, are these white privileged assholes."

It's especially that last line that makes it so Selina's character isn't interchangeable with her white counterpart. She's a textually rich character to contrast Bruce in Batman 2022, and we can see how years of history and evolution has brought such an empathetic character to the screen. Interestingly, Readus feels that while 2022 Selina was an example of a race-swap that works, he believes it was great by coincidence, because of the miss that was Gordon's characterization in the same movie. I think with Reeves as a collaborator on Caped Crusader, that assumption was correct.

Selina in CC is back to being a rich socialite, but (unlike her Golden Age counterpart) she's not married into wealth- she's got generational wealth (with a dad serving jail time for tax evasion). Worse yet, she's taking what little remains of her money and spending it on superficially imitating the Batman to create her Catwoman persona. She even has her own reluctant Alfred, a Catmobile, the works. Selina steals things because. She likes shiny things. And is something of a kleptomaniac. Catwoman is instantly discovered to be Selina because of course she's not as good as Batman is with keeping a secret identity (another key difference from her Golden Age counterpart, whose backstory was shrouded in mystery for a decade).

It is laughable to me that CC touts that their version of Harley Quinn has an origin of her own outside of the Joker, only to turn around and make a Catwoman that is completely tied to copying a man as her origin (did they decide Harley's goofyness as a character needed to be replicated in Selina for some reason? In their supposed dark and edgy show?). What a strange choice to fixate on the part in Year One where Selina didn't like being mistaken for Batman's assistant despite being inspired by him and turn it into a quirky bit. It feels like such a regressive take that frames Selina as a sillier, whimsical version of Bruce that just spends money on a whim because women just aren't smart enough to know how to keep track of their money. They're too busy looking for shiny things to steal. The fact that both 2022 Batman and CC have a scene where Selina is looking through her many bills she's yet to pay is wild to me. How am I supposed to care for a Selina that has the expendable wealth to create a Catwoman costume, car, and gadgets, but delay paying her maid? One of these versions of Selina is far more sympathetic than the other.

Again, I get what CC is going for. Batman is characterized to be hellbent on catching criminals, Catwoman is supposed to serve as some kind of reflection of his obsession. They're both self destructive in their goals, but one is vengeance and the other is chasing thrills. But is that really as interesting a foil as having Catwoman be marginalized, just as skilled, and making Batman second guess himself? Is it a take that strengthens Gotham as a setting by shedding light on its lower class characters? Is it a take that makes her worth revisiting as a perpetual rogue and not a one off episode where's she's basically a shenanigans-inducing nuisance to Batman? Evolved takes on Catwoman have talked about her desire to seek thrills and paired it with how she dismantles power. So it's not like CC's take is particularly unique, it just lacks all the depth that usually surrounds Selina's thrill seeking.

In a show that is frankly desperate to make it so Bruce doesn't have a personal relationship to his rogues gallery because he's too busy being "A cold, remorseless avenger of evil, seemingly more machine than man. Forged in the fire of tragedy, every fiber of his being is dedicated to the eradication of crime." (according to promo) that's how we end up with Barbara as the foil and humanity to both Harvey Dent and Harley Quinn. How the show focuses on the police force more than Bruce. It feels especially pointed that Catwoman is characterized this way. When she doesn't contrast Bruce, she becomes less personal to him as a character that is poverty stricken but still matches up to him in skill. She can't challenge him or his worldview, he can't find her fascinating as an equal, all of their chemistry and intrigue is erased.

All this to say that of the characters revealed for CC, I was honestly surprised that Selina wasn't one of the many characters racebent. CC followed up on a Black Jim and Barbara Gordon, two characters that have been race swapped before in previous media. Most prominently! Harley is Asian in this iteration, something never done before. So why is it that Selina doesn't follow up on the many times she's been portrayed by Black actresses?

It's because it's an actual good racebend if written well. It wouldn't be a "safe" racebend because writing Selina this way means you'd have to acknowledge racism, and it would be much more noticeable if you didn't. There is no canonized version of Asian Lois Lane that parallels her relationship to Superman as an immigrant. But there is a version of Selina as a Black woman who directly calls out white people and is aware of systemic power. It's in something as prominent and mainstream as Matt Reeves' 2022 Batman. So instead it just reads as cowardice to me that CC couldn't follow up on this evolution of Selina.

Not only does it weaken Catwoman and Batman's relationship to regress Selina this way, but it actively weakens Gotham as a setting and the very themes of Caped Crusader. I personally think all the energy that went into Harley Quinn should have been shared with (or straight up gone to) Selina Kyle. Because unlike CC's take on Harley, the way Selina Kyle's marginalization intersects with race and queerness would have actually critiqued Gotham's class corruption effectively. As a Black queer woman, Selina would be among the most vulnerable people in Gotham. We don't have prominent characters in CC that truly reflect the lower class, there are these unnamed characters Harvey Dent sits next to on a train. There are some orphans with Batfam names. A proper Catwoman reimagining that takes advantage of her evolution would have filled this gap in their narrative.

But that's not how "safe diversity" works. CC would rather racebend and canonize the queerness of a character like their take on Harley Quinn. A WOC who gets to kiss a cop and call out powerful men, but not in a way that makes white people uncomfortable.

If I could edit the Sandman quote that "The great stories will always return to their original forms" for Superheroes, I'd say "The great stories will always return to their most resonant forms" because without iterations we don't get characters like the Kents, Alfred or Catwoman as we know her today. Classics are good to look to, but we like these characters because they evolve. In my opinion, none of CC's takes on these characters of color feel resonant. They're not definitive to the level of Mister Freeze's tragic love story in BTAS, among many standout narrative choices in BTAS that continue across media iterations.

In my opinion, CC isn't as thoroughly clumsy as MAWS is in regards to POC representation and race-swaps (all characters of color in MAWS get put in the left side of that chart I made. In the Sunken Place. Where they all Missed The Movement). However, I can't help but see Caped Crusader's take on the world of Gotham as nothing more than an anecdote in the evolution of Batman's story for the modern era. "It's BTAS but superficially more diverse and with less compelling narrative choices."

[the-virgoperspective]

Part 1

The Moon in composite is one half of the most important luminaries and one of the most vital sources of energy in a relationship. It complements the Sun and represents the medium through which the Sun’s energy expresses itself. The composite Moon indicates how well the relationship acts as a medium of emotional expression for the two. The house position of the composite Moon shows the area in which you feel, or ought to feel, that you have the most in common.

I will be using the writings of Robert Hand from his novel “Planets in Composite: Analyzing Human Relations” to describe the meaning and significance of the Moon in each composite house. Please always keep in mind that this is only one vital step to reading an entire composite chart and should not be seriously considered without viewing everything as a whole. This is just one piece. Enjoy!

1H Composite Moon

Composite Moon in the first house makes clear that in this relationship your feelings and emotions are very prominently involved. It is not a cool or distant relationship in which the two of you treat each other as distant objects. You will be in there with all your feelings working.

Obviously, this placement is favorable to any relationship in which you want to relate on a close, intimate level. However, it can create some problems that must be dealt with if you want to derive the greatest benefits from this configuration.

As the planet of emotions, the Moon emphasizes the subjective side of any matter. A prominently placed Moon can, at its best, indicate a very sensitive relationship in which the two of you know intuitively what is going on inside each other. You have a deep emotional understanding of how you get along. But the Moon can also create such a strong emotionalism that you are unable to stand back and look at yourselves clearly in terms of your relationship. In other words, your subjectivity overwhelms your ability to see each other objectively. Be careful to avoid such extreme emotional involvement.

The Moon also rules the past and the contribution each of you makes from your individual experience, so these factors will be very important to you. A first-house Moon is usually a strong indication of an important personal relationship. It should give the two of you a strong sense of emotional compatibility. You will feel that you belong together and that you have much in common, which will indeed be true.

2H Composite Moon

Composite Moon in the second house indicates that this relationship will bring out the needs you both have for emotional and material security. In fact, you may have come together because of those needs.

You will have a strong sense of shared values, which will help to reinforce you as a couple against the undependable and changeable outside world. Because of this shared feeling, your relationship will grow strong even when there are considerable difficulties between you. You will be reluctant to give up the emotional security granted by the Moon in this position, even when things get tense. But the need for security could keep you together even when that is not the best solution for either of you.

One minor problem that this placement can bring about is that your need for emotional security can lead to a compulsive gathering of physical objects. You may try to satisfy your need for emotional security through owning things together. In this case your relationship will come to be symbolized by great quantities of material possessions. Beyond a certain point, possessions can become a millstone around your neck that limits your freedom of movement. Particularly if this is a marital relationship, you might be trapped into staying together because of what you own rather than because the relationship is working well. Like everything else, possessions must be kept in their place.

Nevertheless, the security that this relationship can offer should be one of its strongest points and should help keep you together when the going gets tough.

3H Composite Moon

Moon in the third house implies that this relationship is based largely on feelings. The third house is the house of the mind in its day-to-day functioning, and in a relationship it indicates the normal attitudes and opinions that you share. When you are together, you think about yourselves more subjectively and are more influenced by your emotions. You communicate with each other primarily through feelings rather than through intellect, so communication between you is likely to be mostly nonverbal.

Because you have a strong sense of shared opinions and viewpoints, you may not really need to communicate so much on an intellectual, verbal level. But at the same time, because communication within the relationship is so subjective and emotional, it may be difficult to discuss things rationally and objectively when you have to.

You may talk quite a bit about your collective feelings, which obviously is good in a personal relationship if you keep your sense of perspective and don’t overdo it. Do not let this tendency degenerate into making mountains out of molehills.

In a marriage or love relationship you are likely to be involved to an unusual extent with relatives, who may in some way contribute to the emotional stability of the partnership.

4H Composite Moon

The fourth house is in some ways the most natural position for composite Moon, for there is a strong analogy between this house and Cancer, the Moon’s sign.

With this placement it is extremely important that the two of you share a common background or experience, for it is likely to be a strong force binding you together. You may feel that you are alone together in a crazy world, protected only by your shared attitudes and origins. However, it is not so important that your backgrounds be truly similar as that they have given you similar basic attitudes to the world.

Even more than in a relationship with a second-house Mon, you are together to give each other emotional security. And here again the security is very likely to take the form of sharing real estate or a house. This is an excellent position for a marriage partners or roommates because of the strong sense of sharing it can induce.

However, it is necessary to warn you that your desire for emotional security and the related tendency to seek material security should not become the sole factors binding you together. Also your need for a secure relationship must not lead you to repress the legitimate gripes you may have with each other. Let your partner know how you feel; your relationship is probably strong enough to stand the strain.

A fourth-house Moon is most favorable in a relationship in which you set up housekeeping together. For this reason it is a good position in the chart of a marriage.

5H Composite Moon

Composite Moon in the fifth house suggests that your relationship exists because it makes you both feel good, especially emotionally. Traditionally, the fifth is the house of amusement, love, and children. One could also call this the position of recreational relationships, in which self-expression is a principal aim. Obviously this is a good house position for any kind of personal relationship, especially a love affair. You will enjoy each other’s company immensely, and together you will seek out parties, the theater, nightclubs, and all kinds of good times. These experiences will be important in your feeling of what you share with each other.

The major deficiency of this position is that you may find it difficult to settle down to anything serious. This can be especially difficult in a marriage or long-term love relationship, for you can’t always have fun and games; at some point you have to work at the serious business of building a relationship together.

If this is a marriage, children are likely to assume an important role in your life together. With this position of the Moon, you will probably want to have children, and you will have them.

For the pleasantness in a relationship, this is one of the better Moon placements. It ensures that you will be able to express yourselves emotionally with each other easily and fully.

6H Composite Moon

The sixth house is a rather somber and serious placement for composite Moon. It suggests that you have a sense of having come together for a specific and necessary task or purpose that may not be completely pleasant. One of you may feel subordinated to the other in some way. Therefore, this is a difficult placement for any relationship that requires you to give and take equally, as most relationships do. One person may feel like a doormat for the other; he or she is likely to get tired of that position and revolt against the other.

The only way to make this position work is for the two of you to exchange services equally, thus preventing it from becoming a one-way affair. This may be more difficult than it sounds if one of you is determined to be a martyr, especially since a martyr usually demands some kind of repayment that is very difficult for the other to make.

A related danger is that one of you is giving more to the relationship emotionally than the other, you could become quite resentful about it.

Whatever the costs. You both must strive to be more nearly equal in giving and receiving. Otherwise, this relationship will become quite unpleasant.

Find part 2 here!

ᡣ𐭩 ombré divider by @cafekitsune ᡣ𐭩