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sinceileftyoublog · 16 days ago

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Cursive Interview: Be More Eclectic

Cursive at Riot Fest 2024

BY JORDAN MAINZER

"I saw our future and I want to go back," sings Tim Kasher on "Consumers", a standout track from Devourer, Cursive's first album in 5 years and their Run For Cover debut. The line, and song in general, feels especially prescient today, given the results of this week's U.S. Presidential Election; "A billboard sells the rich to the poor," he sings earlier. It's also exemplary of the Omaha sextet's continued ability to deliver big ideas. If early albums like Domestica and The Ugly Organ took the structure of a concept album to communicate their grandiose themes, Devourer expands its reach to other genres and mediums, namely horror, to understand the world we live in. The band has said the album's title refers to consumption, in multiple denotations and connotations of the word, from our taking in of art and online spheres to literal eating. In other words, while watching films, listening to music, and reading books is nurturing, engaging in self-righteous echo chambers can be harmful. And eating and drinking is gross: "Your gut's an old garbage can / Liver's a purple bruised punching bag," Kasher sings on the forward-lurching math rock of opener "Botch Job".

When Devourer presents surreal or heinous imagery, you're more horrified by the context behind it. On "The Avalanche of Our Demise", the narrator can't fit the titular disaster, or recognizing the climate crisis in general, into his busy schedule. "Never mind the ticking clock / Besides, you’re totally swamped today," Kasher sings. “Life’s an abscess or apple pie / So shut those demons up / And devour your slice,” he sneers on "Bloodbather", his vices overtaking his desire to self-improve, Pat Oakes' drums propelling the song along as if to encourage Kasher like the devil on his shoulder. On "What Do We Do Now", a beached whale ends up on a neighbor's curb, and the narrator is mostly concerned with reporting it to his homeowner's association. Throughout Devourer, the characters attempt to reconcile their own importance with that of the world at large, man and nature. We can see they'll eventually come up empty.

Of course, the band itself, especially on stage, continues to blare inspirationally. At this year's Riot Fest, they performed the Devourer songs expressively, Patrick Newbery banging on the keys during "Botch Job". They had played Reggie's the night before, their first time playing "Bloodbather", "Imposturing", and "Up and Away", and the first two of those got a blistering Riot Fest treatment the next day. Still, at the festival, with Devourer out for a mere week at the time, Cursive prioritized older material, which sounded just as urgent. After a plea with the crowd to vote, Kasher yelped throughout "Dorothy at Forty", Newbery's horns and Megan Siebe's cello the chaos elements. When Kasher announced how excited he was to see Mastodon and Slayer, for a moment, you could view them as three loud, rhythmically complex bedfellows.

I caught up with Kasher after Cursive's set for an interview, during which we discussed Devourer, playing live, horror films, and social media. (Halfway through the interview, fittingly, Lamb of God's set started, a sonic explosion in the background.) Tomorrow night, Cursive plays Empty Bottle; I can't think of a better place to channel post-election rage than screaming along to songs from an album whose twisted world may soon resemble our reality.

Read our conversation below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: Was last night the first time you played the new songs live?

Tim Kasher: Three of them, yeah. There are two songs off the record we toured around last year, but that's it.

SILY: Was the approach to adapting them to a live stage any different than for the songs from your previous records?

TK: It was an interesting week of rehearsals. It occurred to us, looking at one another, that we prepped them for the studio but didn't know how to play them live. Despite us having a lot of instrumentation and getting a little ornate, we also have six band members, so we have a cello, trumpet, and keys with us. We're actually able to pull off quite a bit of what we do on the album live. It's not verbatim, but that's also not necessary. We're not really interested in that. So over the week of rehearsals, we were making those executive decisions, of why things would work better certain ways, little things here and there. I think they translate pretty well.

SILY: Marc Jacob Hudson, who co-produced it, also does your live sound. Did that help?

TK: Yeah, I think it helped a ton. We kind of had organic pre-production. We wouldn't even call it pre-production; it was literally just us sitting on the bus talking about music, talking about the record, getting ready together to ask ourselves, "What do we want to do? What do we want to get out of this? What do we want it to sound like?" Marc was awesome. He really came across as an additional member, which is the best way to feel about a producer.

SILY: You didn't do a typical record release show, but you presented the album and its music videos in 5.1 Dolby Surround Sound. It's a cool way to present something as artistically intended in a format that not everybody has access to.

TK: I'm proud of how it all turned out, just because it was kind of ambitious. Doing the 5 genre videos was ambitious. It was a lot of extra work we didn't need to do. As recently as the last couple albums, we had kind of a negative attitude about the videos, because you put all this money and labor into it, and it just sits on YouTube, and what's the big deal? This time around, we had this initial cocktail napkin idea of doing a lot of horror genre videos. I've gotten to know a decent amount of horror directors, so I thought I would reach out to see if they were interested. The responses were awesome, so we decided to do it. We did a real 180 and embraced videos this time. Because we did 5, and made them not just promo material but their own thing, with VHS tapes, it's its own project, connected to the album, but different to the album. We did lyric videos for the rest of the songs. I'm really excited about it. Ultimately, we're going to have them all up on YouTube, and I'd encourage people to consume it in that way. If you want to put it on your TV and watch, it's not the worst idea.

SILY: The album is very cinematic, and my favorite type of horror films are, at their heart, social tales that use horror to say something else. Similarly, on this record, you use horrific imagery to talk about climate anxiety and late capitalism. Was that your intention going into it?

TK: I'm still figuring that out. [laughs] When a record comes out, it's an opportunity for me to start understanding a little bit better what the record is about. Everybody is taking it in and giving me their reactions, which informs me. I wanted this album to be more eclectic. I put some extra effort into listening to the whole catalog, and it reminded me that 20-25 years ago, our MOs was to be eclectic. We didn't want to put out a heavy album, pop album, or mellow album. The last few Cursive records--and it's not a bad thing--lean pretty heavy, which is my growth as a writer getting more excited about louder, heavier music. I want to be a part of it. When I was listening to this album, thinking what it was about, what the title should be, I kept thinking to myself, "Damn, this is still pretty aggressive, loud, and angry, so thankfully we have these eclectic, poppy, quiet songs. But this is more pissed off than I realized it was." An early album title I had for it was Bruiser because the album seems like a bully to me. It's got a bad attitude. Devourer ended up being a variation on that. It's the type of title that does fit in with the horror genre. The best analogy is humanity devouring this planet, but with the artwork, I think of it in more sci-fi and horror elements, or a suggestion of the planet turning on us.

SILY: As much as the album sounds hard and heavy, you have the horns and cello to balance it out. You might be the only band with a cello to ever play Riot Fest.

TK: I don't know. I bet not.

SILY: It took me until yesterday to see an acoustic guitar. Horns, though, there's enough ska here to go around.

TK: [laughs]

SILY: I really like the line at the end of "The Avalanche of Our Demise" where you're talking about the apocalypse having to wait because you're too swamped. I feel like the album has a lot of themes of you balancing personal crises with the world's crises. Is that something you think about pretty often?

TK: A song like that gets pretty snarky. I'm not being hard on any specific person, but on a lot of social media, there's a lot of virtue signaling. You see a lot of, "I'm really down for the cause, and I've got some time between 11 and 2 on Saturday." There's hypocrisy in all of us, me included. It's important people understand I'm wagging the finger at myself. I don't want to be like that, but sometimes, you're slammed, and you mean well, but you're coming across like a fucking asshole.

SILY: You touch on that on "Imposturing" as well.

TK: I probably shouldn't be too hard on myself...I just don't want to be virtue signaling, myself.

SILY: I love the image of a beached whale on a sidewalk curb on "What Do We Do Now", how you're worried about what the HOA will think. You do have to laugh at it all. You can have these genuine feelings of concern and empathy for causes while also recognizing that people often post on social media out of the desire to gain social capital.

TK: I wanted to go surreal with that song. I was imaging, "What if some of the world's big crises landed at your doorstep?" How would people react?

SILY: Do you foresee these songs evolving as you play them live?

TK: Absolutely. There's already songs that I think were a little bit too slow on the album.

youtube

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reductionisms · 10 months ago

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by what point in gintama had sorachi decided gin killed shouyou?

it's helpful to look at history here. shouyou's real life counterpart yoshida shouin was, in actuality, arrested in an anti loyalist purge and beheaded. he also really did run shouka sonjuku, of which rl takasugi and katsura were both loyal students.

unlike shouyou, though, shouin was extremely patriotic/ethnonationalistic. while the eng article doesnt talk much about it, shouin formulated the idea of, and advocated for, japan conquering and colonizing china, taiwan, the philippines, the ryukyu islands (now okinawa) and hokkaido, among other things. this proposal, while ostensibly to counter western imperialism, was founded in a fundamental and violent racism. its results were devastating. i will expand on gintama and actual japanese history further sometime soon.

in any case, the existence of katsura and takasugi in gintama already presupposes that they were devoted students of shou(you)in, and, furthermore, that shouyou was beheaded by the bakufu in the ansei purge (this is basic history you learn in school). since sorachi had gin as jouishishi in bakumatsu era from the very outset, it's safe to assume he also planned on introducing takasugi/katsura from the beginning, and therefore the concept of shouyou is loosely associated to gintama from its conception.

but when gin's past is introduced via katsura (ch. 5), the essential "trauma" is the death of gin and zura's shared comrades in the joui war. this is repeated in harasume arc (gin's nightmare), and even takasugi's introduction (can't you hear the voices of our dead comrades?). if sorachi had 'known' that gin killed shouyou from the beginning-- or, to be even simpler, if he had simply associated gin with shouyou from the beginning in any way-- i feel like gin's war flashbacks/thoughts would be a little more directed.

further, unlike zura and takasugi, gin isn't a historical figure, he's a mythical figure, from almost 700 years earlier. so he has no reason to be connected to shouyou in the first place, aside from the tangential relation of knowing his students.

that said, i think sorachi definitely knew gin killed shouyou by the benizakura arc (ch. 86-97). obviously here it's established that gin was shouyou's student, but, more importantly, in response to takasugi talking about how he can't help but fight with/hate the world that took shouyou from them, we get zura's "takasugi, i don't know how many times i've thought to raze this world into nothing, but he.. he's withstanding it. gintoki, the one who should hate this world more than anyone else, is withstanding it..." So takasugi and zura reflect on how shouyou (again, the well-known historic "martyr" for the meiji revolution) was taken from them, and the one who should hate the world the most because of that is gintoki. gintoki and shouyou are finally associated; gintoki's "hatred" is given primacy against even that of shouyou's real-life student's. yeah, sorachi knew by here.

but did sorachi know earlier? i mean, why not? just because gintoki's "tragic backstory" before benizakura is centered exclusively around dead comrades, doesn't mean sorachi hadn't decided he'd killed shouyou. i guess i just dont think sorachi was is good at planning, or writing in general, but that's my own issue.

an interesting argument could be made for the rengokukan arc (ch. 42-44). here the gintama-canon shouka sonjuku parallels are ridiculous. a mass-murderer-- literally referred to as a "demon"-- wants to atone, so takes up residence in an abandoned buddhist temple and adopts poor orphans who call him sensei. he and gin sit and talk on the temple porch almost like they're in a rakuyou flashback. gin calls him a human. when he attempts to escape with his kids in the night, he's killed by a shady government organization, and when gin learns of his death, we only see gin's back, a bit of his shaded face (a technique sorachi uses later on whenever gin gets upset about shouyou).

maybe at this point the gin-shouyou backstory was cooking in sorachi's brain. maybe some ideas of utsuro as well-- though probably not utsuro in the form we actually see him, perhaps something a bit simpler. notably, though, the demon/human, doushin, is killed by the bakufu: there's no moral dilemma, no teacher-slaying. it's not as direct as the shinigami arc will later be.

anyways, there was no real point to this, other than that it bothers me. i have no desire to dig through internet archives for sorachi interviews, either, so this is pure conjecture. if anyone has any other ideas i'd be interested to hear.

#gintama #to be clear i think sorachi is evil. also yoshida shouin is pretty... complicated. lets just say that if #someone as terrible as sorachi had to almost completely change his person and actions to make him into good anime mentor figure..#theres something up. but then that gets into modern japanese history. which (chinese diaspora moment) is a whole other can of worms.#index

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writingwithcolor · 4 years ago

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Blending Mythos Respectfully

@sapphicq submitted:

Hi all! I’m trying to write an urban fantasy that explores oppression in a world that is basically the same as ours, except with magic, while incorporating magical systems and mythologies of multiple cultures. I’ve done an okay amount of research on each one that I’d like to include (still need to do more for sure, especially considering how colonization has effected mythologies). However, I’m struggling a bit on how they should coexist, since in the world I’m writing about they’re present and tangible. One example of this is fox spirits in East Asian mythology. Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, and Chinese mythologies each have a nine-tailed fox, and though my research says that the myth originates from Chinese mythology, it also says that each of the fox spirits carry different connotations of malevolence, benevolence, and how widespread they are, depending on which culture’s mythology is being referred to.

The same sort of thing has been popping up quite a lot in a lot of my research. I started to wonder if I could explain these similarities within world as “different cultures have come up with different names and customs surrounding the ‘same’ thing,” considering mythology in the real world from an anthropological perspective. However I don’t want to overgeneralize, especially considering that these different mythological figures are meant to be present and tangible. If I went that route, I wouldn’t want to say something like ‘actually, benevolent fox spirits do exist, and Korean mythology about fox spirits is wrong since Kumiho are pretty strictly malevolent,’ which would obviously be an implication. All this to say: do you have any tips for multiple mythos coexisting in a way that respects the various cultures they come from?

Avoid Round Pegs in Square Holes

A mistake you sometimes see Western authors make when dealing with mythology in urban fantasy settings is to confine the universe’s worldbuilding to a particular mythology or force the rules of a single culture’s folklore onto other cultures. For instance, here at WWC, we get a lot of questions asking how to represent supernatural creatures from multiple cultures respectfully alongside fae from Western Europe, and it's fairly obvious that the author plans to treat all supernatural creatures as fae. Urban fantasy based on Greek mythology or Christian mythology often falls into the same trap.

I think a writer can demonstrate greater creativity by embracing these differences. I think a potential way to deal with contradicting mythos between cultures is to come up with compelling reasons why differences exist. What world-building systems, philosophies and real-life phenomena allow for a framework that explains the simultaneous existence of commonalities and differences? As you know, in anthropology, there are theories that emphasize cultural diffusion as a way to explain similar customs within the same region, but there are also theories that hold that multiple cultures can develop the same traditions and principles independent of each other (See: existence of 0, lost-wax bronze casting, astronomical calendars and the use of wheels). The answers I’ve given are mostly technological. However myths and belief systems serve very real social functions as ways to keep people together and cultivate norms and mores. Lesya expands on the utility of intentional cultural diffusion below.

Similarly, within evolution, there are instances of species having common features because of a shared ancestor, but also instances where species without shared ancestors evolve to have similar features because they exist in the same environment. I believe flippers are examples of both types of evolution in marine animals. Thus, I think you need to question your assumption that “different cultures have come up with different names and customs surrounding the ‘same’ thing.” As the world is daily proof, they sometimes do, but they also sometimes don’t.

-Marika

First, props to you for sending us this ask. You have been thinking about this a lot and have done research into building an urban fantasy that doesn’t do the thing of putting all Asians under one umbrella.

Second, I’m going to agree with Marika here. Rather than go for the generalization route, revel in everyone's differences. It's a way for you to acknowledge the variations in the mythology, that not all have the same origins though there may be some similarities. Instead, they may have reached the same conclusions. My advice for blending mythologies is to lean into it, and not create a homogeneous umbrella. You can make something amazing with that.

-Jaya

Hybridity Through Diffusion

So a myth originated in China. This does not mean Chinese tellings have the monopoly on what a telling is. Marika and Jaya have gone into a possible solution, here, but what I’m going to examine here is a mental framework that a lot of people get stuck in that is actually ahistorical.

Cultural appropriation as we know it is shockingly recent when it comes to history. In the modern day, ownership boundaries of myths have become very strict because of primarily European colonialism picking and choosing everything it likes about a mythos, and, this is important: not letting up on the oppression of those peoples. There’s also a strong preference to kill those colonialism deems “wrong”, instead of creating a hybrid culture.

Historically, this got a lot more fluid.

What happened historically was primarily cultural diffusion, wherein open trade, intermarriage, and shared borders made it that myths, customs, and cultural practices were (mostly) freely exchanged without massive power imbalances happening, and then modified to fit local beliefs.

Key word: mostly. Because yes sometimes it happened that one place took over another place and imported all of its customs (see: China, Rome, the Mughals), but… often* the ruling power either backed off, was fought of, or otherwise left the region, leaving the common people to do whatever they wanted with the carcass of what had been imposed on them. Or sometimes, even, the imperial forces would actively create a hybridized culture in order to better rule others.

* in places where the ruling power has NOT backed off on oppression and assimilation, even if the colonialism is very old, then this is invalid and the power dynamics of appropriation are still at play.

Because, historically, there was a lot less incentive to simply genocide the peoples you took over (which is what made armies that did destroy all they took over so noteworthy). People were needed to keep providing food and materials, even if the new person got the resulting taxes.

This meant there were a lot more common people to play with the stuff imported by the imperial culture. And there was a lot more incentive to hybridize your customs to the common people’s customs, leading to the sometimes-hilarious situations like “Rome assigns an equivalence in their pantheon for literally every mythology they encountered, which was a lot.”

This also explains early Christianization, because it was a lot safer to simply adapt what you already had to make it better for your own ends than curbstomp everything that was “wrong” to your worldview. Ireland’s mythology survives in huge swaths, because it was either Christianized wholesale, or it was about “historical humans” and not fae. Norse mythology was similarly adapted for Christian worldviews, which means we unfortunately have no idea what the pre-Christian myths were.

So instead of thinking in terms of ownership, think instead in terms of diffusion.

Myths get imported along with food, cloth, or anything else necessary for life. Myths were, historically, a way for people to explain the world around them, both in place of and alongside science. “Ghost marches” are really common, globally, because if you have wind howling in the forest, it’s going to sound like predators, and predators mean go inside and lock the door. Weaving goddesses are also common, because weaving was so necessary to survive the elements.

Sometimes trade relationships soured, and you get bad associations with the imported stuff. Sometimes the relationship stayed great for long enough it got completely adapted. This doesn’t mean any one myth is “right”, nor does it mean you have to erase historical trade links. It just means you look at the historical context, understand that cultural exchange often used to be a lot more two-way than it is in modern appropriation times, and figure out what that means for your worldbuilding.

~ Mod Lesya

#worldbuilding #mythology #fantasy #Intercultural #cultural exchange #cultural diffusion #anthropology #history #folklore #asks

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thechekhov · 4 years ago

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So glad you decided to play Undertale! I think it would really suit you so I’m so happy you got into it! Could I have your thoughts about the game? I would LOVE to hear them. I’m ALL for long essays and rants, that’s my jam, but even just a small review from you would make me ecstatic!

Alright alright alright alright.

I am ecstatic that someone asked because I have a lot to say AS ALWAYS.

I’m gonna try to keep this readable, I swear. Will add pictures in between to keep things interesting.

However, due to the length this will SURELY achieve, AND due to spoilers (and yes, laugh at me all you want, the game has been out for 5 years) I’ll put this under a cut. Read at your own (f)risk.

Metagaming - the game plays YOU

When I first started Undertale, I ‘knew’ these things:

there’s a stabby one with a knife, their name is chara

there’s a flower everyone hates

something something sans something something

and the last, and perhaps most important thing

you can spare your enemies to avoid killing them

The thing is. The THING IS.

I did not realize how pervasive this strategy was. My thought at first was ‘okay, so I don’t have to kill EVERYONE.’

I had no idea that the reality was that I didn’t have to kill anyone.

I’m sure many others have already said this, but Undertale kind of changes the way you think about other games. It forces to you examine simply fighting your way through the RPG by introducing completely non-murder-y ways to resolve issues. This conversation-based combat style is not the first of its kind, I’m sure, but it’s also incredibly well done. It ties into the story, it ties into your decisions.

It ties into your decisions SO MUCH that it changes everything else in the outcome.

Undertale is a game well known for breaking the 4th wall. However, it does so in a strangely eerie, heart-wrenchingly real way. It teaches us that there are other solutions to conflicts - and it really... it really TEACHES us, you know?

Which is funny because to be honest, it took me a while to get the lesson.

(You may already be fully aware of this but yes, my first True Neutral Route was extremely organic. I legitimately had no idea that there was even more than one ending. I was just stumbling about er... killing. Out of habit.)

The beauty of this is that the game drives home that point even more effectively because I was fully unaware of my own bias. I had assumed that some enemies would require killing - DESPITE TORIEL SPECIFICALLY TELLING ME TO TALK TO THEM, and the entire Ruins tutorial being about Mercy. I killed the Dummy on accident (granted, it was due to me pressing the key too fast a few times) and didn’t think much of Toriel’s disapproval. I killed a few monsters because I saw my level was low and decided to automatically grind a little bit.

By the time I got to Toriel, I was still not comfortable with the mechanic. I knew I could Spare her somehow - after all, she was a kind monster, and clearly an important character - but the Spare option didn’t yield promising results the first few times I chose it. I ran out of patience and decided that maybe... maybe it was like pokemon!

Maybe I had to get her health down to a certain level before she would allow me to pass through.

Funny thing though.... you know what happens if you attack Toriel one too many times? Even if she has most of her health left?

Yeah uh... it activates that one-hit-KO thing from No Mercy Route.

So of course, what happened? I hit her one too many times... and killed her! And of course, immediately panicked and reset.

I got back to my previous save, Spared Toriel PROPERLY this time, and walked out of the ruins only to be confronted with my own reliance on the magical ‘redo’ button which was... apparently... not that magical.

Because it WASN’T a clean redo. Flowey apparently remembered.

The idea that the game would KNOW about my previous attempts beyond the save file snapped me out of my casual Undertale playthrough. I realized that something was up - this game was not going to be like the others.

I think it was from this point on that I tried to be more careful, but again - I still hadn’t quite gotten the memo about not killing. I took down a few monsters around Snowdin. And when I got to Papyrus, I grew frustrated about not being able to beat him (I ended up losing several times and coming back to try again) and went off to grind SOME MORE because I figured that could raise my HP and increase my chances of holding off long enough to Spare him.

(The incredible thing about this game is that actually, raising your level gives you only a slight advantage. You can be level 1 and carrying no items, and as long as you’re relatively proficient at dodging the bullet hell style projectiles you will have no issues.)

Anyway, the point is that I realized I could spare the big monsters and did so readily - but I didn’t bother to spare many of the smaller ones.

I figured it didn’t matter.

And then I successfully evaded Undyne, gave her a cup of water, etc... and then went to her house to meet Papyrus, fully expecting her to befriend me anyway.

And you know what happened?

“She said she won’t hang out with a murderer.“

I think that probably hit me the hardest at that point in the game.

I had a bit ‘....oh’ moment at that point because I realized that the game would punish me for killing even the ‘not-important’ civilians of the Underground. It wasn’t about just sparing the ‘boss monsters’. My actions had consequences beyond just the ‘elite’ characters that we all tend to focus on.

Because yes, it made sense. It wasn’t about just Undyne - why WOULD she randomly be my friend after I killed tons of living beings?

From there on, I spared everyone, but didn’t reset. I decided to see how it would unravel.

The thing I want to talk about, which is a little difficult, is that...

It took me that long to learn that kindness was the answer. And that, in itself, ends up being a metaphor.

It’s difficult to be kind if you have not been show how to be.

It’s difficult to change the way you behave (in a game or out of it) if all you know is using other methods.

It was hard enough to spare Toriel before I realized I had to just be very patient and trust that her attacks wouldn’t hit - though at first I thought she would just kill me!

It was hard to avoid Papyrus’ attacks and I had to die several times before I successfully got through it.

It was near impossible to fight Undyne because I legitimately had no idea Fleeing was an option. I struggled for ages at her stage, and I had to ask for help to understand what I could do.

And that’s actually honestly very true to life as well.

Being kind takes risk. Being kind takes effort. And sometimes, being kind means asking others HOW to be kind.

When you choose to be kind, you risk being hurt, and you risk being trapped (Toriel). When you choose to be kind, you need to expand a lot more energy to succeed (Papyrus). When you choose to be kind, you need to sometimes reach out to others to show you how to properly do it (Undyne).

The rest of the playthrough probably went about as you expect. I completed the game, didn’t kill any Boss Monsters, fought to the end and... got that really unsatisfying Neutral Ending which felt strangely bittersweet.

And of course, after I was done, I was prompted to go back and do a proper Pacifist Run. Which I did. I learned about the background of Determination, about Chara and Asriel... and about how everything came to be the way it was.

The thing that gets me the most about this game is how it serves as a direct parallel to how we use videogames. In fact, Undertale is a videogame... about videogames.

Chara appears to be a direct metaphor for the people that use videogames to escape - to cope with whatever happened to them in The Overworld. Bad family life, or bad relationships or whatever we suffer - escapism through games is not, in itself, a new theme.

Chara arrived in Undertale by dropping themself down a hole in the mountain, perhaps even seeking to end their life. They dropped into a world which offered them comfort and companionship, a new family and a new life - but in the end, their nature was destructive because their means to finding a solution inadvertently used other people as fodder. Asgore, Asriel - they used everyone else to complete their plans. It wasn’t about forming connections - it was about Completing the Quest.

I wonder - did Chara even HAVE access to a MERCY option?

Was their world one without the option of sparing someone? Did they only have the choice of acting - and was Mercy in the hands of whoever attacked them? I wonder how difficult it might have been for them. I wonder how that, in itself, shaped their perception of the world.

I wonder if that’s why, during the No Mercy run, people recognize you as Chara? If they come back and attach themselves to your resonating DETERMINATION?

If this is true, was MERCY perhaps created later, brought into existence once Asriel himself made the choice to NOT fight, to turn back and flee, even after being attacked by humans in the Overworld?

(It would be a nice parallel to Asgore DESTROYING the Mercy option when you enter the fight with him...)

...

In the end, I think Undertale is about many things, including video games.

But it’s also hurting - and being hurt.

It’s about how trauma can shape us, how we deal with feeling grief, and loss, and depression - and not being able to feel anything.

It’s about how we focus on goals and use DETERMINATION to keep going - even when whatever it is that’s driving us no longer has any SOUL.

It’s about how our action have consequences, but they also carry the weight of a choice, and how powerful those choices are, and how powerless we feel when we aren’t given a choice - not to fight back, nor show mercy.

I think that’s probably the reason this game resonated with so many people. It really brings something we love about videogames to the forefront - that ability to fight back, to have full and total control of our own lives...

And it also shows us how having that endless loop of repetitive grinding and fighting with zero consequences can lead to an incredible hollowness and make us numb to how we interact with real-life people.

Anyway.

Good game.

#Anonymous #undertale #flowey #toriel #frisk #chekhov draws undertale #chekhov writes a text post

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justcourttee · 4 years ago

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Hey. Can you write one where the batfam visits Marinette at school and the class is just plain surprised and chaos ensues. You can include any salt (if yes, preferably Alya and a jealous Adien). Ship is daminette with sibling Jasonette or something like that. Thanks

Sorry It’s a little late! I hope this is something like what you had in mind :)) @long-lost-peace

Career Day

“-And it was just terrible Damian! Lila literally stood in front of the class and told them how she tried to get you all to come for career week, but that you all were just so busy in Thailand on a business trip that you just didn’t see how you could make it.”

Damian chuckled at his exasperated girlfriend. He knew how agitated this sausage haired woman made her, but his laughter couldn’t be helped. After all, every time she enters a rant, her little nose scrunches up in the cutest way that he couldn’t help but compare to the hamster she’s always wanted.

“Damiannnn, this isn’t funny! I was literally going to ask Dick if he could come for Friday’s session, Madame Bustier knew that too! So for her to step up and claim that it was all her idea? Gods, now he can’t even come because everyone will praise her for ‘convincing’ him to show up.”

“I know my love, what if father and I show up instead? Dick is on a business trip in Thailand right now, attempting to expand the company into further international business, but I’m sure even he would drop the meeting if you asked.”

Marinette let out a sigh as she slunk down into her seat, only the top of her head visible in the laptop camera.

“I know he would, but I’m retracting my ask. I really don’t want to deal with the backlash. Besides, it’s getting late. Chat will be expecting me for patrol in an hour and I haven’t even started my homework yet.”

Damian nodded as they said their goodbyes before signing off his computer. His hand absentmindedly reached for the small token the Marinette had given him just last summer. It was a river stone that she had engraved with the name he had first called her; Hobi.

He spun the stone several times before gently setting it back in its rightful spot. If he wanted to help his love, then he was going to need more chaotic energy than his own. Picking up his phone, Damian dialed a number he had learned by heart over the years. The phone had barely rung twice before the man answered.

“What up demon spawn? Ready to cause some trouble for dear old dad?”

Damian rolled his eyes trying not to imagine what Jason could’ve possibly meant. Instead, he turned his focus to the task at hand.

“This is more important Todd. Marinette needs our help.”

There was a momentary pause on the other side of the phone and for a brief second, Damian was tempted to check to see if Jason had accidentally hung up on him. (it wouldn’t have been the first time.) He was both relieved and perplexed when a sound rang through the background that was suspiciously similar to a gun being loaded.

“Well, why didn’t you start with that Damian? Who exactly do I have to kill?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Career week couldn’t come to an end fast enough for Marinette. Hearing Lila’s false tears over her Damiboo and favorite brother-in-law not being able to make it despite her constant begging was both infuriating and a bit nauseating. She was almost certain that if Damian heard the word Damiboo uttered in a half-mile radius of himself, he would bring down his sword on that person’s neck.

“Alright class, settle down.” Madame Bustier walked into the room, an ear-splitting grin accompanying her. “We have a few very special guests to finish off this Career Week. In fact, one of your own classmates made this meeting happen!”

The class muttered excitedly as all eyes landed on Lila in the front row. Marinette placed her head on her desk, ignoring Adrien’s hand attempting to rub calming circles in her back. She was 100% done with this week.

“Please welcome Bruce Wayne and his associates here to talk about the world of Entrepreneurship.”

Several jaws hit the desks as Bruce walked in, Jason and Damian in tow, all wearing bright smiles. Marinette sat up so fast that her back crushed Adrien’s hand into the bench behind them.

“Ouch, excited much my lady?”

Marinette ignored his teasing as her eyes narrowed in on her boyfriend standing in the front of the room, an absolute shit-eating grin gracing his face.

“Oh no.” Adrien followed her stare down to the boy in the front of the room, instantly feeling a dislike for him. If his lady was uncomfortable, then so was he.

“Thank you for having me Madame Bustier and on such short notice. I realize that Marinette said it would only be my son Dick Grayson, but seeing as he was away for a business trip, I just knew I couldn’t leave our favorite Parisian high and dry.”

There was an instant silence across the room as all eyes turned from where Lila sat in the front row to where Marinette sat in the back. She wanted to shrink in her seat and disappear from the number of people looking at her, but it felt impossible.

“Anyways, I would like to start my presentation by stating-”

“Excuse me, sir!” Alya’s hand shot into the air, her stare intense as some of Gotham’s finest.

“Uhm I haven’t covered any information yet Miss, did you have a question about my flight?”

A few chuckles sounded throughout the classroom, but that didn’t seem to stop Alya as she stood, her arms crossed in front of her body.

“I believe you owe my best friend an apology. Marinette didn’t get you here, Lila did.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back to where Jason and Damian stood.

“I didn’t get your girlfriend’s name wrong, did I, Damian?”

Damian shook his head, his grin pulling into a smirk as his eyes met Marinette’s.

“I would hope you didn’t father. After all, you have known her for years now.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully as if considering Damian’s information as a possibility.

“So as I was saying, thanks to Marinette-”

“You mean Lila? Damian, how could you mix up your own fiancee with a shell of a human being like Marinette.”

Damian took a step forward, one hand on his shoulder holding him back as Jason sent a wink in his direction.

“Madame Bustier, if I understood right, Brucie here offered a free trip for your class to the Thailand location this winter if they could sit through just one measly presentation. Are you really going to let this rude child ruin that for the rest of the class?”

Bustier’s smile wavered as she turned her attention to where Alya sat, motioning for her to sit and zip her lips. With a great huff of annoyance, Alya compiled.

“Excellent, now that we can begin-”

“I’m just saying, Mr. Wayne. Lila did all this hard work, attended all your charity functions, helped your city’s heroes, and is betrothed to your son. How could you not recognize her?”

Madame Bustier tried to wave Alya down once more but it was useless.

“Alya, is it?” the girl nodded confidently as she slung her arm around Lila’s shoulders. “I suggest that whoever this Lila person is, you should reconsider your friendship with her. If you or she were caught spreading rumors about another billionaire besides myself, you might not make it off so easily. We take defamation very seriously as it could hurt our empires. Take that as lesson one for Entrepreneurship; always know who you’re working with.”

Alya’s mouth gaped like a fish out of water as she slipped back down into her seat, her eyes burning holes into the side of Lila’s head. With the new peace, Bruce continued his presentation with the full attention of the rest of the class. When the time came for questions, every hand but two were raised high.

“How about you sir? The blonde in the back beside Marinette.”

Adrien stood, his eyes narrowed in on Damian.

“You said the first lesson was to always know who you’re working with, well, did you know that your son is a liar?”

Another round of hushed whispers echoed through the room as Adrien took the first step down toward the front of the classroom. Bruce cocked his head to the side as he instinctively put out a hand to catch Damian before he could move forward.

“How would you justify that kid?”

Adrien stepped closer, his posture rigid as his stare never left Damian’s face.

“Well, he’s been telling you that he’s been dating Marinette, but that is a lie. Marinette is my girlfriend.”

Damian’s fist curled as Jason took a step to intercept the two boys.

“I think you forgot to put a space between the girl and friend sir. You see, demon spawn here and pixie pop up there are together, no space. You and pixie pop are just friends.”

Everyone’s eyes shifted uneasily between the men, unsure of who was going to strike first. No one was given the chance as Marinette raced down the stairs, pulling Bustier to the side. Her whispers were harsh and rushed and when she pulled back, all the color from the teacher’s face had drained.

“That’s enough Adrien, I wouldn’t want to bother your father over an inconvenience like this.”

The boy's mouth closed tightly as he turned his attention to where Marinette stood, a sudden feeling of nausea coursing through him. Did she really just pull that card here? In front of everyone?

He couldn’t say a word as he marched back to his seat, ignoring the many questions that were thrown his way.

“Well, I’m sorry to everyone that had real questions, but this stunt seemed to have taken up all of my time. Madam Bustier, do you mind if I check Marinette out of school early?”

The teacher could only nod as the men swept Marinette out of the room before she could protest. She waited until they had reached the car before turning on the men, hitting each of them as hard as she could. Three simultaneous ow’s sounded through the courtyard.

“Pixie pop, what was that for?” Jason’s whining was shut down instantly with one cold look.

“I told you all not to come! You totally just made everything worse.”

Bruce risked a step forward as he pulled her into a hug.

“Marinette, you mean the world to this family. Defamation to the Wayne family needs to be shut down instantly. That Alya girl is bad for your emotional state, the Lila one as well.”

Marinette tried to deny his accusations, but Bruce refused to hear any of it. He pulled back, opening the door to push Jason inside, slamming it shut before he could fight back. With the other two gone, Marinette was forced to face her boyfriend.

“Hobi-”

“Don’t start with your cute nicknames. What was that scene with Adrien?”

“He was the jealous one! I can’t help if he tried to attack me.” Damian crossed his arms in defiance, ignoring the daggers Marinette’s eyes were shooting.

“You know he’s just a friend mon amour, you are the only one I want.”

Damian grumbled under his breath as he allowed himself to be pulled into Marinette’s embrace. After a few minutes, he pulled back, a curiosity overtaking his face.

“What did you say to the teacher to cause her to stifle Agreste?”

Marinette’s smile was devilish. It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so terrifying.

“I just reminded her that defamation was taken very seriously and that if she didn’t stop Adrien, he could have started a full-blown legal battle between two very powerful men, leaving the school and her job in the crossfires.”

Damian placed a kiss on her forehead before moving towards the car.

“Hobi, you amaze me at every turn.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she allowed him to help her into the car. She would deny till her last breath that she was grateful for that particular Career Day, but the one thing she couldn’t deny was how much she loved the Wayne boys.

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @long-lost-peace @heaven428 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava

#daminette #maribat #alya salt

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hermitdyke · 3 years ago

Note

Please do go off about metanarratives and colaborative storytelling in LL if you want king, my analisys loving heart is curious and interested

Anon thank you so much I was really unsure to share this. Warning for 3L and LL spoilers.

3rd Life and by extension, Last Life is a great example of a Metanarrative and an Emergent Narrative. The definition used of metanarrative for this is “An overarching account or interpretation of events and circumstances that provides a pattern or structure for people’s beliefs and gives meaning to their experiences”. An Emergent Narrative is “any video game storyline that is not written into the game by its developers, but emerges from the player’s interactions with various gameplay subsystems”.

Taking these definitions and placing it in the context of a collaborative Lets-Play series with multiple creators recording and taking part, allows us to analyze a complete storyline and find relevancy and meaning to the things the characters do/say/own, even if seemingly inconsequential from the start.

Multiple Perspectives and Metanarrative

The collaboration of 14 and 17 creators for each series is crucial in understanding how the story functions as it does. The individual’s viewing of a single point of view or POV of any single player reveals an amount of new information, interactions, and conflicts. The viewer’s knowledge of the single character’s experiences is about the same. When viewing multiple perspectives, the story expands significantly, showing different relationships between everyone and provides context to events that one may not have seen in the single POV.

For example, in viewing Impulse’s finale episode for 3rd Life, viewers may be confused or lost on why Bdubs attacked and took Impulse’s final life over a clock that Scar had given him. If the viewer had not seen Bdub’s first episode, they would not have realized the relevance between Bdubs and Scar with a clock, being that one was given to him at the very beginning from Scar during an early mining session. Viewers would also not know unless they had viewed Scar’s finale that the clock that was given to Bdubs was taken off of Impulse after losing his yellow life.

Immediately, the lack of viewership on multiple perspectives limits the scope on why the event is relevant, and the viewer may find the story ending dissatisfying, when in fact it is incredibly false. The cross-analysis of perspectives and events gives meaning to this otherwise simple event and forms a narrative from a simple item in the game- an Emergent Narrative.

Emergent Narratives, Lives, and Boogeymen

The term “subsystems” in the definition of Emergent Narratives is another way of describing a game’s mechanics. 3rd Life and Last Life differs from vanilla Minecraft in that they’re playing in a limited life, hardcore system, with the random threat of the Boogeyman and a proximity voice-mod. Without these, the narrative would be dramatically different, although it is possible to form an Emergent Narrative using vanilla Minecraft (DSMP!Eret’s Betrayal is a popular example). Because of these features and players interacting using these features, a narrative emerges from what in any casual Lets Play, could be considered a “bit”. This is what makes 3rd Life and Last Life stand out.

In 3rd Life, an emergent narrative is formed when Ren asks Martyn to kill him, despite Martyn being green and him being yellow. Ren’s use of the red life mechanic provided him a way to protect Renchanting under the threat and pressure of Scar. Ren (the player) judged being able to attack anyone at will overruled the safety of having multiple lives, and that he now poses as a new threat to the server. They also use a vanilla mechanic in renaming the Red Winter axe so all members could recognize their newfound power and creating a desirable item in their alliance. In “proving his loyalty”, Martyn and Ren’s storyline really kicks off and starts to conflict with the other members as a new power on the server.

A recent example in Last Life is from Scar’s perspective and goes to show just how possible it is that Last Life can/will follow a similar route as its counterpart. Bdubs in his first episode asks Etho, “if you were the Boogeyman and I died to a mob in here, would you be like, ‘man”, is that a consideration you’d make?”, “..like I missed my chance, should’ve taken them when I could. (Timestamp: Bdubs Last Life Episode 1, 17:20-17:38)

This is ironic, considering that Bdubs at the time was the Boogeyman. An episode later, one of the two boogeymen of the session, Joel leads Lizzie into a trap, getting in a few hits, only to fail and lose a life himself. The damage that he dealt to Lizzie weakened her was only after killed by a mob, and brings the scenario Bdubs suggested into reality.

Without the use of the limited lives, Boogeyman system, and the limited Enchanting table resource, this narrative thread would not have worked. And in the Metanarrative of the story, unless the viewers both viewed Bdub’s and Joel/Lizzie’s perspectives, they would not have found relevancy in this scenario.

Lack of Script

The most important part of the Metanarrative and Emergent Narrative is that no one knows that these events are important or are going to amount to something in the end. It is the viewer’s knowledge and creators’ forethought of the series to see the narrative emerge from just a couple of friends playing a video game and starting a war, to developed characters with an overarching storyline in a limited episode run. At the start, none of the stories was intentional. The individual’s interpretation of the events and forming these connections between one or more perspectives is the real storyline, and if the creator wants to support this discovered story, they can (Martyn and Scott’s 3L endings).

A great example of this inability to script events is in Bdubs’ 3rd Lift perspective. In his first episode, he passes by a cliff face with a pond below. As he approaches and looks down the cliff, he says, “Nobodies against each other, y’know, it’s just kinda hanging out.” As he passes by and down the hill, “Eventually, once we get down lower, like once you’re on your third life, I think then its vengeance time.” (Timestamp: Bdubs 3L Episode 1, 12:41- 12:51)

Because of his experiences and the events unfolding in 3rd Life, the irony is not lost when he is killed just at the bottom of the exact same cliff by Grian and Scar as revenge. These seemingly irrelevant events in the moment form patterns across the entire series, with some underdeveloped locations, suddenly becoming relevant. A seemingly irrelevant moment is now much darker and holds so much more meaning to the character.

What does this mean for Last Life’s story? Is there an Emerging Metanarrative?

Narratives can be found anywhere, and in collaboratively playing an open-world sandbox game, there’s almost no avoiding it. With the start of Last Life, any of these seemingly casual conversations or collected items could have any sort of meaning in the future. This happened in Scar’s episode this week where he worries that he’ll drop from 5 to 1 life and get boogeyman “Oh no- we’re gonna lose all of our lives, aren’t we? We have five lives and by the end of this I’m gonna be a red life.”(Timestamp: Scars LL Episode 2, 4:54-4:59)

Only in the end, for both him and Joel to be Boogeymen, and for Joel to drop to red and lose his alliance with Scar. The catastrophe of the episode essentially avoided Scar, even though he was constantly at the forefront of the conflict. These small off comments, seemingly inconsequential are now made relevant and active conflicts between the characters.

And there’s plenty more of these events across 3rd Life, and predicting what is to come is nearly impossible (though I do have my own ideas).

-Comments made towards Etho’s tree and wool base, only for both to be burned multiple times, and all of Etho’s deaths being related to fire.

-Martyn to BigB in early episodes, wanting to track down Ren and their relationship and building of Renchanting/Dogwarts

(Personal theory- there are currently 3 wither skulls on the last life server, belonging to Grian, Etho, and Pearl/Scott. Currently, they are irrelevant, but there are THREE WITHER SKULLS, with the entire server having easy access to soulsand.)

#3rd life smp #last life smp #last life smp spoilers #3rd life smp spoilers #emerging metanarratives is such an interesting concept to me

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peterxwade24 · 3 years ago

Text

Friends can be Family

For Maribat March 2021, day 19 Prompt Guardian.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng has barely been the Guardian of the Miraculous for a year when she senses a disturbance at Master Fu's old parlor. She didn't realize that going to check on the parlor would lead to her becoming a mother, that going to the parlor would lead to her finding her closest friends.

Let me know if you want to see more of this fic/AU. I had fun writing this and I kind of want to expand on the idea (like so many other things I've written for Maribat March).

Anyways, enjoy~

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had always known that she was destined for greatness. That she was destined for more than just being a baker like her parents, and her destiny started one day shortly before she graduated from Lycée.

---

Marinette was minding her own business just trying to finish her homework when she felt a jolt go through her. She glanced behind her, her eyes looking for the source of the jolt, and when she found nothing she just went back to her homework. She had several things to finish before she could leave the school but she felt compelled to simply finish the sheet she was working on and pack up to leave. So, that’s what she did. She hurried through what was left on her math worksheet before packing up to leave. She slung her bag over her shoulder after she was sure she had everything secured, picked up her purse where Tikki was still sleeping, and walked out of the library.

Marinette was on her way home when she felt drawn towards Master Fu’s massage parlor so she corrected her course to take her to her former master’s parlor. She would usually avoid going to the parlor since the building itself was filled with nothing but painful memories of happier times, but she knew that something in the parlor was calling to her so she picked up her pace and was practically running.

The moment Marinette stepped into the parlor, there was the tip of a sai at her throat. Her eyes went wide as she took in the situation.

The woman holding the sai was beautiful but looked world-weary as though she had always been looking over her shoulder. She had long black hair and beautiful green eyes but her face was twisted in pain as she let out a groan. The hand not holding the sai to her throat was cradling her abdomen.

“Are you okay?” Marinette asked, her eyes scanning the woman for what could be causing her pain.

“Who are you? How did you find this place?” The woman demanded through gritted teeth.

“I’m Marinette, this was my Master’s parlor. I can help you, with the delivery I mean.” Marinette placed a hand on the woman’s arm and hurried to wrap her arm under the woman’s arms to catch her when a wave of pain knocked her legs out from under her.

---

The woman, who gave only the name “Jade” in response when Marinette asked what to call her, lay atop a futon with several blankets around her. Her brow was covered in sweat but laying against her chest was a healthy baby girl.

“What’ll you name her?” Marinette asked as she collected her tools. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“Lian Harper. Lian Marie Harper.” Jade looked at her baby before looking up at Marinette.

Marinette nodded and began to write down the information she’d need to register the birth certificate. “I’m going to need your name, and her father’s, so I can register her as a legal person.”

Jade’s eyes darkened momentarily before pressing a kiss to the top of Lian’s head. “Jade Chaumont. Her father’s name is Roy, Roy Harper.”

Marinette nodded. “I’ll fill out all of the paperwork with the government and then we’ll figure out logistics.”

---

Marinette stared at Jade in shock. “So, you’re telling me that you have innate magic that resonates at a similar frequency to the Miraculous. And when you discovered you were pregnant you spent months searching for the Guardian of the Miraculous. But when you were unable to find them you decided your best case of action was to find the place with the most concentrated energy from the Box of Miracles and you found the massage parlor. Did I miss anything?”

“Just that I was searching for the Guardian so that my child and I would be safe from our enemies.” Jade turned back to Lian and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll take care of her for me, won’t you?”

“Of course. I would rather throw myself on top of a blade than let Lian be hurt. You will always be welcomed back into her life.” Marinette smiled sadly at Jade, Jade had become one of her closest friends in the time Jade had been in Paris. However, the two friends knew that Jade would have to go back to the League of Shadows at some point, or they would track her down and kill whomever she was with.

“Thank you for this.” Jade quickly wrapped Marinette and Lian up in a hug before pulling back and collecting her bag. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me.”

---

Marinette moved Lian into her apartment after Jade left Paris, but she always made sure that Lian knew about Jade. They would scarcely see Jade, for their own safety of course, but it was starting to weigh on the pair of friends. However, it would be just after Lian turned three that Jade would pop back into their lives for more than just a handful of stolen moments.

Jade would crash in the massage parlor the first night and when Marinette went to check the next day she would take Jade back to her apartment. Marinette would protect her friend from the League of Shadows, and help her deliver a healthy, beautiful, baby boy.

“Do they have the same father?” Marinette would ask while writing down the information she needed to register the boy.

“No. His father is Thomas Blake, and he’ll be Thomas Blake Jr.” Jade kissed her baby’s forehead. “You’ll take care of him for me when I have to leave, right?”

“Of course.” Marinette pressed a kiss to Jade’s forehead and knew she would help her friend however she needed to.

---

Jade’s visits became more sporadic after the birth of Tommy, but Jade left the phone number of Lian’s father with Marinette for just in case of emergencies.

Marinette woke up one day and just felt off. She whispered with Fluff about precautions she should take. So, just before the force of the aura of the Lazarus Pits crashed over her, she asked Fluff to open the Burrow and stashed her children within its safety because she knew Fluff would be able to keep them safe.

“Tikki, spots on.” Marinette uttered barely above a whisper. She blinked and suddenly she was Ladybug, heroine of Paris.

Her suit had changed since her debut, and it had changed drastically. The base of it was a dark red kimono with a long red haori over it covered in black polka dots with visible black armor covering her chest, waist and shoulders. The lower half of her face was covered by a face veil while her eyes were simply obscured by black face paint.

Ladybug scoured the area, looking for the threat, before letting out a puff of air. She had barely gotten the first syllable of “Tikki” out when she was suddenly blinded.

Lady Shiva stood over her as she laid on the ground in pain. Lady Shiva scoffed before kicking Ladybug in the gut. “Pathetic.”

Lady Shiva turned and left the apartment, but Ladybug didn’t drop her transformation until she stopped feeling her aura.

“Tikki, spots off,” Marinette cried and felt her friend sink down into her outstretched hands. “Tikki, I’m so sorry.”

---

Marinette packed up their stuff, knowing that her apartment was no longer safe for her and her kids. She was waiting for Roy to pick up as she balanced her phone between her ear and her shoulder.

“Who is this and how did you get this number?” A man who Marinette assumed was Roy growled as soon as the call connected.

“I’m sorry, I’m looking for Roy Harper?”

“Why’re you looking for my boyfriend?” The same man continued to growl before Marinette heard a second man’s voice come from the background.

“Jason? Who’re you talking to?” The other man’s voice was thick with sleep and Marinette could only hope the other man was Roy.

“I’m sorry, I just really need to talk to Roy Harper. I was given this number by Jade Chaumont to only use in case of emergencies. I was just attacked by Lady Shiva and I need to disappear. I was hoping he would be able to help me and my children.” Marinette hoped the men were who she thought they were.

“How do you know Cheshire?” The second man asked, his voice turning hard with anger.

“I helped her deliver her children. Lian Marie Harper and Tommy Andre Blake. Please, I need to know I have a place to go after I leave my apartment.” Marinette moved to Lian’s room to begin packing her clothes into a bag.

“Lian, Harper?” The second man, the man Marinette was hoping was Roy, whispered to himself. “Is she, is she mine?”

“Legally, according to the country of Paris her birth parents are Jade Chaumont and Roy Harper but I adopted Lian soon after Jade left her in my custody. I did the same for her little half-brother.” Marinette took the bag with her to Tommy’s room and packed him some clothes. “I just, is this or is this not Roy Harper?”

“Yes. Yes I’m Roy, Roy Harper.” Roy’s voice rose an octave, his joy clear in his tone. “Cheshire told me that we had a daughter but I never believed her.”

---

Roy, Jason, and Kor’i met Marinette, Lian, and Tommy at the airport. Roy and Jason were holding their bags while Marinette passed Tommy to Kor’i so she could more easily guide Lian through the crowd and securely hold her carry-on which held the Box of Miracles.

“Where are we staying while here?” Marinette clutched Lian’s hand as she spoke to the men who were escorting them out of the airport.

“Technically, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Lian Dupain-Cheng, and Thomas Dupain-Cheng are staying with an estranged relative of the elder Ms. Dupain-Cheng.” Jason muttered while keeping his eyes peeled for danger. “We’ll stash you somewhere safe where the League won’t dare try to retrieve you from.”

Jason ushered Marinette and her kids into the car they’d brought with them to pick them up. Jason waited for Kor’i to get into the backseat before he closed the door and got into the driver’s seat. Roy got into the passenger’s seat and made eye contact with Lian in the rearview mirror.

“So, Lian, how old are you?” Roy asked his daughter.

Lian held up six fingers with a grin, displaying a missing tooth. “I’m this many! And Tommy’s this many!” Lian put down three of her fingers and giggled.

---

Jason, Roy, and Kor’i helped Marinette get the kids out of the car and helped them into the manor.

“My grandfather will help you set up new identities.” Jason said after he closed the doors behind him. “We’ll set you up in one of the ground floor rooms so you don’t have to remember the floor plan of more than one floor while you’re getting settled.”

“Thank you. So much for all you’ve done.”

---

Marinette, Lian, and Tommy Dupain-Cheng became Martha, Auriane, and Remi Hensley after a day of filling out paperwork. Martha traded her earrings for a thin, open ended, rose gold ouroboros bracelet, and agreed to let her kids eventually wield a Miraculous.

Martha debuted as Vipère shortly after learning that the Waynes, the family she had somehow found herself adopted into, were the Bat Family. Vipère was mostly seen accompanying Red Hood and Arsenal but was also seen following Nightwing and Starfire on occasion.

If Vipère occasionally had shadows of her own, then no one aside from the family needed to know that they were her kids.

#maribat #ml crossover #mlb crossover #ml x dc #mlb x dc #kwami swap #marinette dupain-cheng #guardian marinette dupain cheng

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kaen-ace-of-diamonds · 3 years ago

Text

Cinderquil

Word Count: 4900+ (oneshot)

[AO3]

Genre: Fluff/Friendship

Characters: Cinder Fall, Cinder’s Pokemon

Summary: Pokemon AU. Ever since they were young, Cinder's only Pokemon has been her starter, Ella the Houndoom. She is proud of her position as her Trainer's sole companion and sees no reason for anything to change, thank you very much. So when Cinder brings home a new addition to their team, Ella's world is turned abruptly upside down.

Warnings for implied/reference child abuse and animal abuse

Inspired by this art by @astoria00!

~0~

Ella, like her Trainer, had no concept of downplaying her own importance.

She considered herself the paragon of partner Pokemon. Ever since she was a little Houndour, tripping over her own paws and barely able to cough out a flame, she had always done her best to look after Cinder. The girl she had grown up with was whip-smart and strong, as hotblooded as any Fire-type, and Ella would follow her commands without hesitation.

That being said, she didn’t always understand what was going on in Cinder’s head. For instance, coming to this unfriendly and unfamiliar region on the orders of that shadowy organization. Sure, the safe house they’d been provided was comfortable, a small and cozy cabin in the woods, but, Ella wondered, at what cost? She had been alone for hours.

Ella watched the thick forest around her with all the alertness of a hunter, gnawing at the large Grumpig ear she had been given. It was not hard work, guarding the cabin while Cinder was out on her mission, and it was clear that Ella was better suited for the job than Talonflame. The Flying-type had been lent to Cinder by her new leader for easy transportation, and while the supercilious look in his eyes got Ella’s hackles up, she didn’t feel threatened by the new addition. Talonflame was, if not temporary, nothing more than a utility.

Ella was Cinder’s only Pokemon. As for Ella herself, she disdained the company of both humans and other Pokemon alike. None of them had ever done anything for her: all she needed was her Trainer.

It was growing dark, and she could smell impending rain in the air — not unusual, in this awful cold and wet region — and was glad when she caught Cinder’s scent alongside it, growing steadily closer. She did not move from her spot on the front porch, but her ears perked up and her gaze homed in on the speck of red in the distance. Small as it was, it stood out against the dark greens and cloudy greys that surrounded them.

Ella didn’t scramble up and run to her as she would have in the past — she had learned professionalism alongside Cinder as well — but her shoulders relaxed and her barbed tail flopped back and forth against the wood. Finally, her Trainer was home and things were the way they were supposed to—

Wait a blasted minute.

What was that?

“Hello, Ella,” Cinder greeted her as she stepped out of the trees, as if everything were normal. “Did you miss me?”

Ella jumped to her feet with a furious bark, the Grumpig ear clattering down the stairs. Her tail stood straight out and her head reflexively jerked up and down, showing off her horns to the tiny, dirty, squirming thing that Cinder was carrying into their house.

To the Cyndaquil’s credit, she got the picture immediately. She didn’t even try to flare up her back before emitting a loud squeak and attempting to leap out of Cinder’s arms, presumably to scurry back to whatever hole in the ground she had come from.

Unfortunately, instead of coming to her senses and letting it go, Cinder held Cyndaquil tighter, close and protective. After a few seconds, she curled up timidly against her chest.

“Shh, relax, it’s okay. Ella’s not going to hurt you.” She narrowed her eyes warningly at Ella as she walked up the stairs and into the cabin. “Ella is going to be a nice girl and hear me out.”

No, Ella damn well would not. Not without standing her ground and making her case. She followed Cinder inside growling and bristling.

Once the door was shut behind them, the one Pokeball at Cinder’s belt burst open, and Talonflame flapped across the living area to his perch next to the fireplace. His beady black eyes watched them with unusual interest, and Ella resented the sense that she was putting on a show for him.

What’s gotten into you?! she barked at her Trainer, who had begun trying to coax Cyndaquil out of her defensive ball. You said all you needed was me! Why would you do this without even asking me?

True, all Cinder could hear was “Houndoom Houndoom Houndoom Houndoom,” but after all this time, Ella knew she was getting the gist of it.

“I realize that this is sudden,” Cinder began, her tone deliberately calm and even. “But I couldn’t exactly leave her there and run back to check with you. And we can’t just toss her out now that I’ve brought her here.”

Ella snorted. Very convenient for both of them. And how soon can I expect to be replaced? Was I that shameful of a starter?

With her free hand, Cinder reached over to grab a towel from the kitchenette and started rubbing the dirt from Cyndaquil’s damp fur. She let out a muffled squeak at the sudden touch, but didn’t uncurl.

“I expected to run into some people while I was out, that wasn’t the problem. There’s plenty of towns and cave systems around these mountains to look through. I didn’t plan on actually battling anyone, but apparently somebody on the trails had something to prove. One of those rich boys — you know the type, of course.”

Yes, they had met more than enough of those in their time. One of Cinder’s new teammates even seemed like one all grown up, complete with an equally smug Toxitricity by his side. Ella didn’t relax at all — in fact, her shoulders tensed up more — nor did she soften her accusing glare, but she did cease growling.

“So he won’t take no for an answer, won’t even break eye contact, and I decide that if he insists, I might as well teach him a lesson. He had three other Pokemon, and they were high-level but sloppy. I’d bet money that he didn’t catch them himself, that they were gifts or trades that he had no idea how to actually deal with. Talonflame made short work of them, but then — hm?”

Cyndaquil had been starting to lift her nose tentatively out of her defensive ball, and only now that she wasn’t too frightened to think did she notice the running slow cooker and containers of Pokemon food on the counter. The realization made her pick her head up and squeak loudly, and the smile that broke out on Cinder’s face was of the sort that Ella hadn’t seen in years.

“Are you hungry? I know, you’ve had a long day...” She dug around in the box of PokePuffs — not strictly belonging to Ella, but who else’s would they be? — and pulled out a Basic Spice to offer it. “Here, you can have this, can’t you?”

Cyndaquil sniffed the treat, and gnawed at it a little, but didn’t move to take or actually eat it. Cinder sighed.

“Well, I had hoped so, but I guess not.”

She gently pushed the treat into Cyndaquil’s stubby arms until they gripped it, and then knelt to set the tiny Pokemon on the floor. Ella tilted her head as she scowled down at her: what was the matter with her, stumbling around like that? Had she hit her head somehow?

Cinder shot Ella a warning glance that, in Ella’s mind, was completely uncalled for. “Be nice.”

Ella huffed, and stalked deliberately closer. Cyndaquil paused in trying to figure out what the PokePuff she held was, and looked worriedly between the human and Houndoom glaring at each other. Once Cinder was satisfied that Ella would not, in fact, rip the smaller Pokemon’s head off like some kind of feral beast, she turned around and started going through the cabinets and minifridge.

“I did beat his whole team, as far as I’m concerned,” she went on with her story as she retrieved the big saucepan and a carton of milk. “All the ones who were fit for battle. But when I held out my hand for the money he owed me, he went purple in the face and insisted that we weren’t done. He pulled another Pokeball out of his pocket, and sent her out. And of course she had no idea what was going on, did you, dear?”

Cyndaquil blinked, puzzled, and nearly tripped over her own chubby legs. Ella’s anger was very quickly giving way to confusion of her own; she knew that the average starter Pokemon wasn’t wildly powerful, to match its equally inexperienced Trainer, but surely they started at at least level one?

“No, she didn’t. I don’t know what garbage breeder they got her from, but she was definitely not ready to be separated from her mother. Even Talonflame backed off.”

Something finally clicked in Ella’s head, and her eyes went wide. She lunged forward, claws clacking on the hardwood floor, to sniff vigorously at Cyndaquil, who nearly fell over backwards in surprise. Under the rainwater and dirt, the scent of juvenile pheromones was unmistakable.

From up on his perch, Talonflame chirruped, amused. It really took you this long to notice? Do you usually growl at baby humans, too?

Ella was too stunned to even bark back. True, she didn’t spend any time around other Pokemon, but she should still have known...

“Obviously this spoiled brat had no business keeping her in his care,” Cinder said, stirring vanilla and cinnamon into the simmering pan. “But fortunately, it was very simple to set up an exchange.”

Talonflame chirruped, amused. Your Trainer throws a mean Mach Punch, Ella.

Cinder smirked at the fresh memory. With her free hand, she reached into her hip pouch, pulled out the shards of a shattered Pokeball, and tossed them into the trash can. Ella heard muffled clinks, and caught a glimpse of a coin purse that definitely was not theirs. Or, well, it hadn’t been before.

“I think it’s about time we start expanding our team, anyway. We’re in service to a very powerful leader now. We should be meeting a higher standard.” She glanced at Ella while digging back in the cabinet for the Vespiquen honey, and amended, “An even higher standard. I know this was a shock to you, Ella, and I don’t expect you to babysit her. But I couldn’t imagine a better example for her than you.”

Well. Ella couldn’t argue with that. She considered Cyndaquil for a moment more, watched her twitch her nose curiously up at her, and then ducked her head down to take the smaller Pokemon’s scruff in her mouth. As expected, she was still young enough that she went limp in her teeth.

Cinder blinked, but didn’t move to stop her. “Ella? What are you doing?”

Ella didn’t respond; she was already carrying Cyndaquil over to the living area. She laid down on the rug, deposited Cyndaquil between her front legs, and set about licking her short, downy fur. She wasn’t sure how Typhlosion mothers usually groomed their young — she barely remembered how her own mother had done it — but this felt right.

Cinder smiled and returned her attention to the pan on the stove. Cyndaquil, for her part, didn’t seem upset, but she was certainly confused.

Who... She was cut off by Ella’s wide tongue sweeping over the top of her head, but tried again. Who are you?

My name is Ella, she informed her, making sure to get the back of her neck. Cinder’s hasty rub with the towel hadn’t done anywhere near enough to rid her of the residue on her fur, and it certainly hadn’t done anything for the scrapes on the skin underneath. I am your teammate now.

Oh. Cyndaquil squirmed around some more until she could look up at Cinder’s back. That lady’s nice. And warm.

Her name is Cinder. She is your Trainer, and you should do as she tells you.

My Trainer’s sleeping on the ground back there, Cyndaquil said with innocent bluntness. I don’t think he got up yet.

Talonflame let out a deliberate, throaty laugh, and Ella shot a warning glare over her shoulder before returning to her ministrations.

You can forget about him, she insisted to Cyndaquil. All you need now is us.

Perhaps it was only because Cyndaquil was too young to fully grasp the reality of her new situation, but she didn’t question it any further. Instead, she settled down between Ella’s front legs and continued to watch Cinder make her dinner, submitting to a thorough grooming as she did so.

Talonflame tilted his head back and forth as he stared down at them. You’ve changed your tune quickly, haven’t you, Ella?

Shut up, said Ella curtly, in between licks. You’re not staying.

We’ll see about that, Talonflame replied, too lazily to be threatening, as he tucked his head beneath his wing for a brief nap. Wake me when dinner’s ready, will you?

Ella made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. She couldn’t find the room to care about that right now. Not when the cabin was steadily filling with sweet and savory scents, when the room was growing warm in the way it only did when the evening chill was falling outside, when there was a sense of comfort settling into her bones that she hadn’t felt in quite a long time.

Not since...ah.

Ella looked up at Cinder, who gave her a knowing smile back. Of course she remembered too.

~0~

It’s only the adrenaline surging through her veins that’s keeping her moving. She just wants to run, run, run, as far and as fast as she can, because if she stops for an instant they’ll catch her and drag her back, but she can’t feel her paws anymore and it’s very quickly not her decision.

The driving rain is already making it hard to see what’s in front of her, but then her vision blurs out completely, and she’s dropped right into a puddle before she even realizes her legs have buckled from underneath her. She doesn’t have the strength even to struggle back to her feet. All she can do is shuffle on her stomach through the mud, inch by miserable inch, until the sore tips of her toes brush rock, leaving behind smears of blood that are quickly washed away.

Her eyes flick upward: less of a cave than a hole in the ground, but she’ll take it. It’s a painful squeeze through an opening that’s just barely bigger than her own body. When she finally manages it, she collapses, lying like a wet pile of fur on the rough stone. Even here’s not really dry — cold runoff drips steadily right into her ear — but she couldn’t move to a better spot even if she tried.

She closes her eyes, the sound of her own labored breathing filling her head. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get up again, and right now, she doesn’t much care. All that matters is that she’s not moving, that no one can touch her here.

So it takes her a good minute to register the strange scent wafting into her nostrils, underneath the heavy smells of rain and earth: acrid enough to make her nose twitch and fur raise. With a colossal effort, she lifts her head an inch, and finally notices that she is not alone here.

Barely a few feet away, desperately trying to cram herself into the far corner of the cave, is a human not much bigger than her. A little girl, just as skinny and soaked as she is, her amber eyes huge with terror. She wonders what she’s so afraid of — wonders if there’s anything behind her, if she should be afraid too — before realizing.

Oh. This was your hiding place first.

The girl doesn’t seem to have been here long: she’s out of breath, eyes puffy and red, and none of the mud spattering her once-white shirt and pants has dried. She gapes at her for a long moment, before hesitantly scooting forward and reaching out towards her ears.

What ear she has left pricks straight up. She might have intruded on this human, sure, but that doesn’t mean she gets to touch her.

Her hackles raise, her lips pull back, and she snaps at the offending fingers the second she realizes where they’re going. She misses — the girl gasps and scrambles back again, holding her hand protectively to her chest — and her smooth, flat-topped teeth clack painfully together.

“I-I’m sorry!” the girl yelps. “It’s just...you’re hurt.”

She’s fine. So what if her ears and tail had been cut into this awful shape? So what if she’s been robbed of her fangs, and now her claws? She’s still a Pokemon and not some spoiled brat’s toy. Still strong, strong enough to defend herself against one pathetic human.

She growls, but it’s weak even to her own ears. She is strong, it’s either tell herself that or lose hope completely, but she’s running on fumes. If she can’t fight back...if she can’t make them stop touching her...

The girl is doing something puzzling now, and it almost makes her let down her guard. She’s pawing at her shirt as if looking for something, but it doesn’t seem to have any pockets or other affectations. Then after a moment, to her shock, she grabs the one part of it that isn’t filthy, tears a long strip away, then tears that in half with a soft snap.

“Here...” She edges closer, slowing but not quite stopping at her growls. “I — I get it if you don’t want me touching your face. But your paws are bleeding, and...”

She narrows her eyes and keeps her teeth bared in warning: with the combustion pouch in her throat snipped or punctured or even pulled out entirely, whatever they had done to it, a cigarette lighter could produce a bigger flame than she can right now. But she doesn’t have to act like it.

The girl bites back a whimper, the smell of fear still coming off her in waves. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I promise. I just want to help. Please?”

Growls keep bubbling up from her throat, but they’re half-hearted. Against every instinct, she slides her front paws forward. The wounds on her half-amputated toes sting when the scratchy fabric wraps around them, but it’s a small relief to have the bleeding finally staunched.

The girl smiles. “There. Better?”

This close, she can see in the girl’s sunken cheeks and ashen skin how starved she is, spot the jagged outline of a fresh scar around her neck. The faint smell of human blood, not quite covered up by the muck, reaches her nose. Oh. So they really are in the same boat.

She goes quiet, and tries to relax, and is rewarded with the fear-scent steadily receding.

“My name’s Cinder. Do you have a name?”

She heaves a deep sigh in response; she’s never been called anything but mongrel, dumb mutt, dirty animal, and she’s pretty sure those don’t count as names.

“No? I’ll think of one for you, then. Just give me a little bit, I’ve never named anyone befo—aah!”

Thunder shakes what felt like the whole world around them, and they both jump so badly they hit their heads on the painfully low walls. She lets out a whine despite herself, curling tightly in on herself to keep from shaking. Cinder doesn’t look much happier, but instead of recoiling...

“Here...” Cinder mimics her, getting down and snuggling up next to her back on the floor. “I know I’m not very warm, but I should be better than nothing.”

She makes a soft noise of assent. When Cinder slings an arm over her shoulders, hugging her body close and gently petting her flank, it doesn’t exactly make her feel fuzzy on the inside. But it stirs something deep in her chest that she doesn’t have a name for yet, and it’s a welcome distraction from the cold and wet.

“We can stay here until the storm stops. We could figure out where to go together,” Cinder suggests, in a hesitant murmur. “We could be friends.”

Friends. She’s never heard the word before, and isn’t sure what it means, but she wouldn’t mind finding out. She twists her head around and licks Cinder’s cheek, and the girl giggles like she’s never tried to before.

The rain drives down hard and punishing outside, washing away all traces of them. Freezing droplets fall on them from the roof. They’re hungry, dirty, and shivering, with no idea of what they’re supposed to do next. But tonight they’re huddled together, the world outside this cramped little cave does not exist, and for the first time in their lives, they aren’t alone.

~0~

“Dinnertime,” Cinder said, balancing four dishes as she came into the living area. Talonflame stirred and flapped down from his perch to join them as she served the meal: beef stew from the slow cooker for the three of them and warm spiced milk for Cyndaquil.

The baby Pokemon let out her loudest squeak yet and bounced out of Ella’s legs when the dish was set beside her, but stopped short of actually going for it, looking up at them hesitantly.

“Go on. It’s all for you, dear.”

Cinder, sitting cross-legged on the floor with them, smiled as she watched the tiny Pokemon scramble eagerly towards the milk.

“You like it? There’s plenty more where that came from. We’re going to raise you to be big and strong, and one day nobody will dare mistreat you. Right, Ella?”

Ella loyally thumped her tail on the hardwood floor: she knew better than anyone. She knew that she wasn’t the starter Pokemon that every child dreamed about, nor, she conceded, had Cinder begun as the cool and confident Trainer that any Pokemon would want. But still they had fought every day to survive together, to become strong enough that nobody could ever lay a hand on them again.

She had evolved under Cinder’s command, and with evolution the body parts that had been carved away from her when she was young were restored to her. Most importantly, it had given her her fire back, and she knew in her heart that she would never have been able to reach that point on her own.

It was just like Cinder used to say, in the dead of one of their countless nights huddled up together: It’s all right if nobody else loves us. All we need is each other.

That had held steadfastly true for them, from childhood to adulthood. Ella saw no reason why the same could not apply to Cyndaquil, if she herself were magnanimous enough to allow it.

As she gulped down tender chunks of beef, she watched the tiny Pokemon lapping up the milk so earnestly she seemed in danger of falling headfirst into the dish. It had taken Ella a long time to train herself out of scarfing her food down like that, so fast she didn’t even taste it, to be sure that nobody would snatch it away from her now.

Though Toxitricity and Drapion still acted as if they would sometimes, just to get a rise out of her. While she was still small, Cyndaquil would be free to take refuge behind her legs or in Cinder’s arms, but soon Ella would have to teach her how to stand up for herself, and to not roll over for them or anyone else. There were a lot of things the two of them — three, if Talonflame decided to make himself useful — would be responsible for teaching their newest member. She ought to start making a list.

Not that there was much room in her head for that right now. Cyndaquil polished off the milk before the rest of them were halfway finished with their meal, and after licking the dish clean, she looked up and glanced uncertainly around at the three of them.

Now that there was nothing to distract her, it was starting to sink in that she was all by herself, in a strange place surrounded by strange people, with no idea what was going to happen to her next. Ella knew that feeling: the sudden drop in her stomach, the cold spreading like frost over her skin. She remembered. She expected that Cinder did, too.

Her Trainer was watching Cyndaquil intently, and at the first tiny whimper that might have been the prelude to crying, she set her bowl aside and held out her arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Want to come here?”

With only slight reluctance, Cyndaquil allowed Cinder to scoop her into her lap. Smiling, she rubbed the tiny Pokemon’s belly with one hand and scratched the back of her neck, just above the incendiary spots, with the other. Cyndaquil let out a series of high-pitched cheeps and squirmed happily in her lap, clearly unused to such affection.

“There, you see?” Cinder cooed, as Cyndaquil twisted around so she could scratch under her chin. “Nothing to be afraid of. This is your home now, with me and your big sister Ella.”

Ella! Ella! Cyndaquil squeaked, delighted. She says we’re sisters!

Ella swallowed a chunk of potato and tilted her head at them. Sister. Another word she would soon be learning to embody.

~0~

The next morning, Ella found her need to pace militarily when impatient at war with her utter disgust of wetness and mud. They had planned a schedule for Cyndaquil’s first full day with them yesterday evening, and it would not do at all to start slacking so soon.

Last night, Cyndaquil had tried to sleep in the corner of the bedroom at first, clearly too used to being shunted out of the way. She had needed plenty of coaxing from Cinder and a commanding bark from Ella to feel safe climbing up onto the bed and letting herself be tucked in between them.

She had slept restlessly, kicking and yelping in her dreams, needing constant soothing to calm down. In the morning Ella had had to drag her exhausted body out from under her blanket, shaking the sleep out of her head. Even Cinder, who had always been a light sleeper anyway, had been rubbing her eyes as Cyndaquil followed her out of the bedroom, bouncing at her heels. Arceus only knew where the little Pokemon had gotten so much energy from.

Ella lifted a paw and shook excess mud from it, her lip curling. Cinder had said that they would only be a minute, it had now been several, and if they didn’t get out here in the next ten seconds she was going to march in there and drag her Trainer out with her teeth—

“Being patient, Ella?”

Ella turned and fixed Cinder with A Look as she watched her coming down the front steps of the cabin, determined not to return her easy smile just yet. She was supposed to have been introducing Cyndaquil to a new Pokeball, but as it happened...

“Yes, I know,” Cinder said, reaching up to steady Cyndaquil as she sprawled happily on her belly, atop her new Trainer’s head. “She does have a new Pokeball now, but I think she likes it better here with us. Right, dear?”

Cyndaquil chirped assent, grinning and swinging her stubby legs.

“You’ll need a proper name soon, too. But training comes first, so watch your sister carefully, now. Ella, if you would?”

Ella gave a firm nod and stepped back, facing the open space in front of the two of them, so Cyndaquil could get a good view of what she was about to demonstrate. The smaller Pokemon, while still idly playing with Cinder’s bangs, was staring transfixed at her. Ella doubted whether she could even muster up an Ember yet, let alone try Flamethrower. Well, then all the better a show for her.

She would never again take for granted how good it felt to flex the muscles in her throat and get her combustion pouch working. It was like taking a gulp of sweet smoke, sparklers lighting just under her skin, as the heat surged up from within her.

Maybe the need to show off to someone younger, which she had never had the chance to do before, gave her some extra fuel: the flames that burst from her mouth burned hotter and stronger than ever, brightening the overcast morning and sending steam hissing up from the puddles before her.

Cinder gave her an approving smirk and some soft applause, but Cyndaquil couldn’t contain herself.

Wow! She took a flying leap off of Cinder’s head and scurried to Ella’s side, mimicking her battle pose. My turn, my turn!

She opened her mouth, throat straining and tail sticking straight out, only to cough up the measliest crumb of flame that Ella had ever seen. It extinguished itself almost as soon as it had been ignited.

Oh, Cyndaquil said plaintively, tail drooping. I...

Ella gave her a nudge with her snout that she hoped was uplifting. Will try again, that’s what you’ll do. As long as it takes. Don’t look so downcast.

“Whatever Ella’s saying to you, she’s right, dear,” Cinder chimed in. “We’re going to become the strongest, but not overnight.”

You do have an advantage. I had to figure this all out on my own. Ella re-assumed her attack position. She would go slower this time, explain the physical aspects of combustion that were innate to all Fire-types, so the little one could better lean in to what felt most natural. You have me to look after you. And when you’re finally ready to be in a real battle, you’ll be far more prepared than the others. Understand?

Cyndaquil nodded very seriously, then mirrored her once more, sparks flying already from her arched back.

Good. Now, watch closely...

#self indulgent pokemon AU is self indulgent #cinder fall #RWBY #pokemon #houndoom #cyndaquil #kaen's fics

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years ago

Text

Fear - Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Requested by: Anonymous (Thank you! ❤️)

Summary: Tommy and his second wife, Reader, an independent, successful business woman are living a fairly happy marriage until the reader finds out she's pregnant. Things take a wrong turn when their work life clashes with this news and in the end, the Reader takes a devastating decision. Without consulting her husband.

Warnings: Light angst , mentions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy

A/N: Not my best work, I'm so sorry if it wasn't that good.

Gif credit: @nofckingfighting , @thepeakyfookinblinderss ❤️

By the time you and Mr. Thomas Shelby were celebrating your first wedding anniversary, you were swimming in riches, riches not given to you by your husband in love, but gifted to yourself by you, as a part of self pampering. You had been your parent's only child, a girl, and this is how you had been brought up, extremely loved and pampered, but still carved out in a way to face the hardships like a man. While men and young boys left England to fight the war, which included your father, who never returned, you took it upon yourself to take over his business of running the pub he owned, which automatically fell to you after his death.

Soon, your twenty third birthday was upon you, and you found yourself going to Birmingham city for the first time, with the motive in mind to expand your business and open a pub in Birmingham city as well. But for doing that, you realized you needed a plot, and of course, you needed the Peaky Blinders backing you– because Birmingham City was a city of gangsters, latched to each other's throats, fighting their own internal wars and an independent business run by a woman would hardly grow in a city like this.

So, you'd done what any other person would have done in this city. You had met the leader of the Peaky Blinders, who you had no idea would be your husband just two months after that encounter, with the mind to strike a business deal with him.

Of course, you didn't get the plot you had your eyes on– he was not ready to sell it to you for any price that you named, but you did end up piking the gangster's sudden interest. It was only two days after the meeting you started unknowingly bumping into him at all the odd places– the supermarket, the theater and even outside the railway station when you were travelling to and from London.

Finally, giving in to your own secret temptations– it would have been a lie to say that his icy blue eyes did not haunt you at nights, when you were alone in your cold bed ; or that you didn't think twice about his cheekbones, or imagined his taut chiseled body underneath his ivory shirt– you finally agreed to go out with him. And it was amazing. Tommy Shelby courted you for two months until he finally propped the question of marriage.

You could feel Aunt Polly's piercing gaze on you, but you didn't look up from the file you were going through, doing your math in your head, your glasses pushed over the bridge of your nose.

"Jesus, (Y/N), when was the bloody last time you had anything to eat?"

Polly tapped her manicured fingers against your desk, loud enough to make you snap your head towards her. You almost shrug your shoulders incoherently.

"In the morning? I don't remember."

Polly's lips broke into a weak exhale, her hand reaching out and grabbing your file, pulling it away from you.

"What the fuck?" You protested, trying to take your file back but Polly had it securely held, tucked under her arm.

"Enough, love. I'm not going to bloody sit and watch you starve yourself."

"Pol, I'm really not hungry." You whined but let the older woman drag you along towards the dining room anyway because you really needed to stretch your legs.

You and Polly stepped into the dining room of the Arrowe House, sliding yourselves down on chairs next to each other. While you slowly nibbled on a loaf of bread, Polly sat comfortably, her back resting against the backrest of the chair, a lit cigarette in her hand, her eyes on you. You grabbed the cloth, wiping the remainder of your food from the corner of your lips when a loud gasp escaped your lips. You looked down to see Polly's hand groping at your breast, causing you to wince and slap her hand away.

"For fucks sake, Polly? That hurts!." You snapped at her, only to watch a smirk break out over the corner of her lips.

"Sore you say?"

"Its-Its nothing." You whispered, your face suddenly feeling flushed. It was not a surprise to you, for you had known it since a week. The midwife that lived in back in London, the one your mother often went to, before her death, had confirmed it for you. It had been a week of planning and plotting, worrying endlessly, and you had still not made up your mind whether you wanted to have a baby yet or not.

"Does my nephew know?"

You couldn't help but swallow the bile forming in your throat. You had no answer because you couldn't build up the courage to speak to Thomas about it. You wondered how he would react. Of course, he was just as busy with work as you were. You two had two very similar lives. You were two devoted people, devoted and swimming in work and business. You doubted if there was a place of a baby in either of your lives.

"I peg your silence for a no. Let me ask you this, love. When do you plan on telling him? This is indeed a good news."

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Polly spoke again. You drew a faint forced smile over your lips, a pathetic attempt to mask what you were feeling inside – emotional turmoil. As if on cue, Polly's warm palm took your hand in hers, her fingers clasping shut around yours.

"What's on your mind?"

You parted your lips, unsure of how and what you were going to say to her. How were you supposed to tell her that you didn't think that neither Tommy nor you, were perhaps, ready to be parents yet? Your mind was distracted and your hand unknowingly flew to your almost non existent bump, unconsciously stroking over it. Finally, with a finality in your eyes, you pushed your head up and gave Polly a stare down. You knew what you were thinking was the biggest sin in the eye of God, but somehow, it scared you, thinking how this baby's life would be if you actually decided to have it. You feared how this little life that you had created with Tommy would be subjected to a life neglected by the both of yous. Worst of all, you had this deep, lingering fear coiling deep within the pit of your heart, that maybe Tommy wouldn't want it. So before you could let your own heart shatter, hearing him say how he didn't care for the baby that was growing inside of you, how he would ask you to visit this woman who was an expert to deal with these kind of situations, you will confront him yourself and tell him that before he can say it to you.

"I just – I don't feel so well, Pol." You pursed your lips and lied blatantly to her.

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

Your eyes were fixed on the massive pendulum of the grandfather clock in the dining room, swinging sidewards, your palms nervously tapping against the surface of the dining table. You were waiting for your husband to return home because you couldn't delay speaking about this anymore to him. A part of you felt guilty for having kept this a secret from him from such a long time, after all, the baby was his as much as it was yours.

He had every right to know, even if you didn't want to keep it.

Your thoughts were disrupted by the sound of the front door opening. You waited a few minutes until a familiar silhouette approached the dining room, the footsteps getting louder and louder, probably owing to the fact that the lights were switched on. Tommy poked his head through the door and when his eyes fell on you, his eyes softened and he walked inside, towards you.

"Why aren't you in bed, love?"

You could see how tired your husband was, his eyes were droopy, dark bags crimson underneath his swollen eyelids, his face a paler shade. He never listened to you – he just worked and worked and worked, pushing beyond his capacities often, pulling in all nighters, mostly when you didn't even have a clue where he was or what he was doing. The truth was, it were all these reasons that made you feel not ready to be a mother, yet. What were you supposed to do alone? You didn't want to raise this child alone. Just having Tommy's name as his father but hardly ever getting to spend time with him, that scared you.

"I wanted to speak to you." There was a deep silence lingering in the room, only to be broken by the sound of your weak voice.

His lips parted in confusion, his usually calm ocean like eyes slightly widened. He gave you a shake of his head.

"Tommy, I –" You swallowed the lump forming inside your throat. Your heart was wildly hammering inside you chest and it felt like it was going to pop out any second. You took a step closer to him, nervously fiddling with your fingers.

"You want a divorce? Is that what this is?" Tommy's words caused you to take a sharp intake of breath.

"No! I – A divorce? No. I just – Tommy, I'm pregnant." You blurted out.

Tommy froze for a split second, only to finally relax in his posture and reach for his box of cigarettes while his eyes were fixed on you.

"Is it true? Are you really?"

His voice was neutral, you couldn't figure out if he was angry or ecstatic.

"I know Tommy, I know we are fucking busy people, and there's no room in our marriage for a baby. Which is why I'm going to go see that woman the next town, to you know–" Your eyes had watered up and your throat suddenly felt parched. You slowly turned to your side, your face now shielded from Tommy's views. You quickly brought up your sleeve to your eyes and wiped your tears.

"You want to go to that woman next town? To get rid of–" It was as though Thomas was repeating your words to himself, his index finger swaying in the air. Suddenly, he took a step closer to you and snatched the lit cigarette from your hand, bringing it up to his lips, casually. He looked so casual, how could you even know that a storm of rage was brewing up inside him.

"Should I not, Thomas? Are you ready for a baby? Are you then?"

A part of you wanted to hear him say yes, a small maternal side of you, that had already started to love that little foetus inside you deeply. That part of you wanted Thomas Fucking Shelby to stop you and tell you that you two could work through it, that he would make this work. A baby. He would love to have one with you.

"I think it would be for good. You should take Polly with you."

It would have been a lie to say that your heart didn't break at his words. Of course, he wasn't ready. You gave him a weak nod of your head and turned around, walking into your bedroom.

Three days passed and the tension between you and Tommy didn't wash away. He barely spoke to you twice in these three days– not that you had wanted him to– you were as mad as he was. With each passing day, your anxiety and your reluctance had grown. But finally, the day was here. Today, Polly was taking you to this woman the next town.

You and Polly sat at the back of the car, a young Blinder boy driving you to the the location. You couldn't bring yourself to meet her eyes at any cost, so you kept your eyes placed on the passing silhouettes of the old, greying buildings.

"Look at me, will you?" Polly's voice beckoned to you, forcing you to sharply turn your head towards you.

Her eyes were soft, you could see pale wrinkles under her eyes. Her warm palm took yours in hers and squeezed it.

"Us fucking women have been always forced to make difficult choices, love. You know I–" Her lips trembled, her eyes started growing moist. "– If I could bloody go back in time, I would stop myself from giving up on my children. I curse myself (Y/N), every night, even though Michael's here with me now, but I missed his childhood. I missed watching him grow. You know you don't have to do this."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and parted your lips, struggling to push words out of your mouth, to vent out how you really felt, so you lied.

"Polly, we are not ready to be parents. The life we live, as long as it's just me and Tommy, it doesn't worry me. But bringing a child into this world of crime, of death, it would be wrong of me to be so fucking selfish."

"And isn't it selfish of you to deny your baby the chance to choose his own life?"

It felt as though someone had wrapped his palms around your neck and blocked out your oxygen supply. Lucky enough, the car came to a halt and the Blinder boy turned towards you, his eyes drawn to Polly as he informed that you were here. Polly nodded and stepped out, you following.

The street was quiet and lonely, with not many souls in view, unlike the bustling streets of Small Heath. The woman's house was the corner most so you and Polly, wrapping your coats tighter against your bodies to shield yourselves of the chilly wind, walked along until you both were standing against an old looking door with a massive lock on it.

"What the fuck?" You cursed, frowning. "Are we at the right address?"

Polly nodded and shrugged, pulling out her box of cigarettes.

"Of course we are, this is where she lived. Wait, I'll ask the neighbours."

You kept standing there, underneath the porch as Polly walked up to the house next door, her heels clicking against the gravelled floor. You saw her talk to a woman with greying hair, their eyes momentarily turning and fixing on you, making you feel uneasy. Soon, the woman had shut the door and Polly was making her way back to you. You could see that there was a faint smirk ploying across her face.

"Well, seems like your husband was here."

"What? Tommy?" Your eyebrows perked up.

She hummed and nodded, her hand mechanically moving up and her cigarette pressed to her lips.

"The woman said that the Peaky Fucking Blinders paid the woman a visit, and ever since, the woman's gone."

It all made sense now. Of course, Thomas Fucking Shelby. You wondered if he had killed the woman, or just threatened her enough to run away.

"Do you know anyone else?"

"Unfortunately not, but I will see what we can do. For now let's just go back love."

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

You were fuming.

To say the least, your cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Three days.

Tommy hadn't looked you in the eye.

But today you wanted to confront him.

Ask him the reason why he was interfering in women's business.

So you were waiting. Sitting on the loveseat in your shared bedroom with Thomas Shelby, tapping your fingers against your thighs. It was almost midnight when the door to your bedroom finally opened and Thomas walked in, as usual his cigarette held in his fingers. He had probably hoped to find you in bed , sleeping but when he saw the empty bed, his head sharply turned towards you at first before he forced himself to ignore you and move towards the closet to grab his t-shirt and his boxer shorts.

"Where is that woman Tommy?"

You saw him stiffen for a second before turning around and raising his eyes, until his blue eyes were fixed on yours.

"London, Bristol, I don't care where the fuck she went."

You stood up, walking up to him until you were standing in front of him.

"Why Tommy? What the fuck?"

"Why. Why? WHY? If you can decide and fucking come to a conclusion without even letting me know, why can't I eh?" He screamed, causing you to flinch and step back, still furious.

"This isn't fair Thomas, this fucking isn't fair. These are our matters."

Tommy suddenly grabbed you by your arms, his nails almost digging into your flesh as he almost shook you.

"What did you expect me to do? To just let you go and end what we had created?"

Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes filling up with water.

"You said you didn't care." Your words came out a mere whisper and your body felt like jelly, almost ready to melt into his arms.

"Of course, I fucking care. Is that what you fucking think about me? For fucks sake, I - I know I might not be a good father, I might even fucking be like my own father but that doesn't mean I want you to fucking go and end what we created." Tears were brimming in your eyes and when you blinked, they spilled out, warm salty water rolling down your cheek, a faint smile breaking out on your lips. Tommy's expressions softened and he found his palm reaching for your face, his thumb stroking over your cheek, over your tears. "Why did it even cross your mind? The fucking thought of doing what you were going to do."

You closed your eyes for a brief second and fluttered them open again, leaning into his touch.

"How can we be good parents Tommy if we have a life of our own? Where you can't stop risking your life everyday and I'm not even sure if I would fucking see you again?"

Tommy looked like he could kill you. He had a burning red rage lingering in his eyes but yet, he had a soft look on his face, a look that was only reserved for you. He slowly let go off your arms, looking down at your stomach for a quick second and then back up.

"That child deserves to be allowed to live as much as you or I did, (Y/N). I don't care if I have to change my lifestyle. I don't care if I have to give up on some things that I did before this. I want this child, love. I want this. With you."

A small smile broke out against your lips, but as soon as it had broken out, it washed off again, when the realization hit you.

"Tommy, it's not easy. It's a lifetime commitment. From you. From me. It means keeping our baby safe from whatever it is that could potentially harm it."

His warm palms grabbed your cheeks, pulling your face upwards to meet his gaze.

"I promise you love, no one would lay a fucking finger on you or our baby and live."

You knew what he meant was true – every single word of it – and you didn't doubt on what Thomas Fucking Shelby could do for his family. This scared you a little but you closed your eyes, telling yourself to trust on the man that loved you, and who loved the baby growing inside of you, he would never let any harm come to you or your baby.

[ Tagging list : @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theamuz ]

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders

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the-ferocious-kittyrose · 4 years ago

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What I would’ve done w/ Lotor’s character

It’s not exactly a secret to anyone who’s been following me for a while that I’m not the biggest fan of canon Lotor. I had high hopes for the character from his 80s counterpart and intro in season 3 but I was really let down by the direction the writers went with him in canon.

When he was introduced, I was so hoping for him to be this cocky manipulative asshole that’s only out for himself. I love that character archetype so goddamn much.

But in canon he was just kinda boring to me. His personality was bland and his motivations never really made sense. He’s introduced using empty promises of peace and comradery to manipulate people, then its revealed that he actually does want peace and comradery and wants to lead a peaceful empire, then that turns into draining Alteans and wanting to kill all Galra...

I also didn’t like how the writers decide to tack on this whole child abuse plot to explain why he was the way he was. As if that’s the only way to make a villain sympathetic. Yeah other versions of Voltron have touched on Lotor’s childhood before and it was never pleasant, but VLD really leaned into that shit, to the point where it felt like the writers were just shoving angst down our throats thinking that equals good writing.

It takes more than a tragic backstory to make a character compelling. It takes an interesting personally and motivations that make sense. And you can make a character tragic/sympathetic in more subtle ways.

For me personally, I wanted Lotor to be a sorta fusion of Loki and Littlefinger in space.

Loki is a sly trickster who grew up feeling like an outcast, unaware of his true heritage. He grew up believing he could be king but when his shity father handed it to his perfect brother he felt he had been robbed and decided to take the throne by force.

Littlefinger is a small man from a small house with no power, and after getting the shit beat out of him trying to win the hand of the girl he loved, he decided he would use his intelligence and skills in manipulation to screw over all these noble lords and weasel his way into the throne. And when he did he would finally get vengeance on all those who had looked down on him.

I feel like this fits Lotor well. Lotor is a prince, so he isn’t small in that regard, but he is not respected in the way a prince should be.

He is a lot smaller than the average Galra. And even though Lotor is still quite strong, developing a fighting style that suits his small form and uses his opponents size against them, in a society so heavily based on physical strength that’s still a big blow to your rep.

He employs half breeds, which we know are looked down on in the empire. And there are definitely rumors about Lotor himself being a half breed. I think after 10,000 years Zarkon would’ve done a pretty good job at hiding Lotor’s heritage from the public but just looking at him compared to the average Galra there’s going to be some suspicion there. On that note Lotor is probably considered butt ugly by the Galra.

And Lotor works in the shadows and achieves his goals through lies and trickery, which Lotor himself says are things the empire looks down on.

So yeah, the people in the empire hate Lotor. Even Sendak who’s all ‘Gung ho empire’ has no respect for Lotor. And because of this it would probably be up in the air whether or not Lotor would even be allowed to take the throne if his father were to pass, even though it’s his birthright.

And in the face of all this rampant disrespect, Lotor decides that he is going to overthrow his father and take the throne. And when he does he will take vengeance on everyone who had ever undermined him and expand the empire beyond anything his father could’ve dreamed of.

And don’t try telling me, “oh that’s so out of character! Lotor would never take pleasure in the pain of others!” Because he does.

Remember Throk? Remember how Lotor sent him away to the worst station in the empire and joked about letting him, “rot with the ice worms?” Remember how Lotor later invaded his station then watched with a grin as he was tortured by Haggar?

Lotor 100% takes pleasure in hurting those who would hurt him, because it makes him feel powerful.

Now let’s talk about Lotor’s planet. The one given to him and destroyed by Zarkon. I always felt weird about this plot. Obviously it’s a very sad thing to have happen, but I always liked the idea of Lotor’s promises of peace to be empty, a means of manipulating people. So this whole situation being genuine feels weird to me.

In my version, Lotor didn’t get banished for being too kind. He got banished because Zarkon caught him in a plot to betray him.

When Lotor was put in charge of the planet, he seduced and married the princess Ventar. He filled her head with promises that her people would be free and they would rule the universe together and convinced her to secretly round up her armies and send word to her ally planets to do the same, so they could start planning a way to overthrow Zarkon.

It’s left ambiguous whether or not he was being genuine and whether he really loved Ventar and intended to keep his promises to her or if she was just a tool to get the throne. But either way, it ends the same. Zarkon finds out, destroys the planet, kills Ventar, and exiles Lotor.

Still sad/humiliating thing for Lotor, and definitely a story that could gain sympathy from Allura.

Speaking of Allura and Ventar, let’s talk about Lotor’s relationship with the women in his life.

(Trigger Warning: Brief mention of of a rape scene in GoLion)

In the 80s Lotor was incredibly misogynistic. He walked around with a harem of half naked women, tried repeatedly to kidnap and marry Allura against her will, and in GoLion it’s heavily implied that he raped Romelle because she looked like Allura.

It’s a common joke in the fandom that he went from this to drinking respect women juice in VLD but I don’t know if I’d go that far.

He’s definitely better in VLD than he was in the 80s, but even in VLD he manipulates, uses, and hurts most of the women in his life.

Allura is the obvious example, but you also have his generals. Acxa talks to the paladins, Allura in particular, about how persuasive Lotor could be. Implying that she and the other general were manipulated the same way Allura was.

Well not EXACTLY the same way Allura was, romantically I mean. Though there are people who believe that Acxa was also in love with Lotor and he used that to his advantage, which I can see.

But I feel like it was more about giving them a place in an empire that didn’t care about or accept them.

I hate The Last Jedi but I really feel like the line, “you’re nothing, but not to me,” fits really well. They were outsiders with no place to go until Lotor swooped in and gave them a purpose.

Do I think that there was a part of Lotor that genuinely wanted to help them because he saw a kindred spirit in them? Yeah. But I also think that at the end of the day, they were more tools than real friends. And he had no qualms about killing them if they betrayed him.

The situation with Narti proves that. As well as the fact that Ezor and Zethrid seemed very scared of the prospect of Lotor being alive and coming for them.

And then you have Allura. Lotor’s lust for Allura has always been a very important part of his character. In the 80s the reason behind his obsession with her was that he had a lot of baggage about his mother and had a thing for women that looked like her. Also the fact that he just didn’t like not getting something he wanted.

There was never any love. He didn’t want to be with her, he wanted to own her.

In VLD, his want for Allura seems to stem more from the fact that she’s Altean than an Oedipus complex. As well as the fact that she’s powerful and skilled in Altean alchemy, which makes her rather useful.

I don’t personally believe that Lotor ever really Loved Allura. I think he liked the idea of her and what she could do for him, but the end of the day she was more a means to an end than anything else.

Allura’s been trough a lot. Zarkon betrayed her family and destroyed her entire planet only about a year ago from her point of view, and she appears to have a pretty bad case of survivors guilt and PTSD. And to make matters worse, while Lotor was on the ship she was fighting with Shiro, someone she clearly cared about. The idea of loosing him after already losing so much must’ve been really painful.

She was hurting, conflicted, and lonely. Which made her all the more vulnerable to Lotor’s manipulation.

He took advantage of her loneliness and insecurities, making her believe she had found someone who understood her and could help her avenge her family and planet. She trusted him, let herself be vulnerable around him, which made it hurt even more when it was revealed to all be a ruse.

And then you have his relationship with his mother Honerva/Haggar.

I talked a lot about this in my whole rewrite/rant about Honerva, but I’m not a fan of how they made their relationship 100% negative. I feel like it robs the show of a lot of interesting character interaction.

It’s sad. The whole relationship is really tragic. Shit like this is literally my worst nightmare. The thought of looking my mom in the face and have her not recognize me as her daughter keeps me up at night.

But the thing is, in canon the relationship kinda falls flat because Lotor and Haggar/Honerva have no connection. Haggar was awful to Lotor and Lotor hates Haggar. What reason do I have to be invested in their relationship?

So If you haven’t read my Honerva rant, here’s how I would’ve done the Honerva Lotor relationship.

10,000 years ago, when Alfor came to Dibazzal to convince Zarkon to close the rift, Honerva went into labor. Alfor and many Galran doctors tried there best to save her and the baby, but the quintessence had damaged her body so much that she couldn’t be saved and died in childbirth.

Zarkon went ballistic and Alfor had the doctors take baby Lotor somewhere safe, fearing Zarkon would take his grief and anger out on the child.

After Honerva was resurrected as Haggar and throughout Lotor’s childhood, they had a strange sort of relationship. Lotor was an inquisitive child and was always curious about Haggar and her work, making a habit of following her around like a little shadow and watching as she worked. And there was also the fact that, while his father was never friendly, he was calmer when she was around.

Haggar had no idea what to make of this weird child following her around all the time. All these big strong Galra were terrified of her but this tiny child showed no fear as he tugged on her robes and excitedly asked questions about her work. And she never minded. She didn’t know why or how to explain it, but she cared for the child. As much as a soulless undead witch could care for something anyway.

But as time went on there relationship became more and more strained. Lotor was a smart kid he was gonna find out about his mother and deduce what happened to her.

He resented Haggar. Resented her for not remembering him. Resented her for the fact that he had to go through life without a mother while she was right there. And he resented her for being loyal to Zarkon, who had been making his life hell for thousands of years.

Every time she showed him something resembling kindness he’s conflicted. He knows he should feel happy that she cares, but at the same time, why does she care? It’s not like she sees him as her son.

He turned to denial, insisting that Haggar couldn’t possibly be his mother, even though he new the truth deep down, and a part of him always secretly longed for her to remember who she was, who he was, and embrace him as her son. He hates that part of himself.

And when he does meet Honerva for the first time, it’s... tense... to say the least. Having his mother reach out to him and acknowledge him as her son is something he thought would bring him joy, but in that moment all the pain he went through rises back to the surface and he lashes out. He draws his sword and is about to cut her down but he hesitates. He’s trembling with tears in his eyes. He can’t forgive her, but he also can’t bring himself to kill her.

Then you have his relationship with his father.

It’s no secret that Zarkon is an awful man and a shity father, always has been.

The explanation as to why is kinda shaky. All we get is Zarkon saying Lotor is his greatest shame because he’s Altean but I don’t know about that. Zarkon may hate Alteans but he loved Honerva and I don’t think he would be ashamed of his relationship with her.

He definitely did his best Lotor’s heritage from the public. But I don’t think that’s the reason he hates him.

In my version of the story, Zarkon hates Lotor because Honerva died giving birth to him and Zarkon blames him for her death. He lost his beloved wife and was forced to watch the son that killed her waltz around wearing her face.

It didn’t help that Lotor was a snarky rebellious kid that liked to show off. He did things his own way, didn’t care much for rules, and had a real knack for finding loopholes. All things that made his strict father very angry. He was an embarrassment. Small and rebellious. That’s why Zarkon began training Sendak.

I personally believe the reason Zarkon was so trusting of Sendak and had so much faith in him was because Zarkon had been grooming him to be his “true heir.” Sendak is the epitome of what a Galra should be. Strong, loyal, and brave. He would be the son Zarkon wished he had. The favorite child.

Lotor obviously hates Zarkon, and rightfully so. Zarkon hates him for something he had no control over and constantly disrespects him.

Lotor may not follow the rules, but he passes every trial. He excels at everything he does but Zarkon refuses to see that all because he blames him for Honerva’s death.

Lotor sees Zarkon as an old fool. He knows that he could do a far better job at running the empire.

Lotor dedicated thousands of years of his life to overthrowing Zarkon. His hatred for his father was his motivation, what got him out of bed every morning, so when the deed is done and Zarkon was finally defeated, in the moments after he felt empty.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on that feeling for long. He still had to deal with his father’s men and take the throne that was rightfully his.

Then you have his plan.

Lotor’s plan in VLD is really weird and over complicated. There was no real reason for the whole draining Alteans thing. Just a lazy way of making him 100% evil.

The plot could’ve been a lot simpler. He gains the paladins trust, gets them to help him build his ships and overthrow Zarkon, and then once he has the throne he pulls an Uno reverse card and is like, “yeah, nothing personal but this was all a trick and imma lock you and your lions up now.”

Obviously more complicated than that but that’s the basic idea.

One of my main problems with VLD is that they had a bad habit of over complicating the plot. People don’t care about VLD because of the plot, they care about the characters and their relationships, the actual plot doesn’t have to be anything spectacular.

It’s strange to say but I feel like the writes tried too hard with Lotor. He had the potential to be an amazing villain but the writers were too focused on tricking the audience and making him angsty that they forgot to make him compelling.

#Voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #prince lotor #Lotor #emperor zarkon #zarkon #haggar #honerva #princess allura #Allura #acxa #ezor #Zethrid #narti #galra #vld critical #discourse #sincline

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n1kolaiz · 4 years ago

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ENTJ + INFJ DYNAMIC

BSD MANGA CHAPTER 54-57 SPOILERS

Chapter 54 introduced Mushitaro Oguri, and his background involving Yokomizo was ever so intriguing to me. So unfortunately, here I am.

Mushitaro and Yokomizo's dynamic:

The 'Commander' meets the 'Idealist.'

Alright, I won't go into the details about the case of Yokomizo's death, because there's no way in hell I can explain it fluently at all. So if you need further reference to what these few chapters are about, popopretty's post would elaborate on the details and whatnot.

Before I start, here's a bit of little introduction to both individual characters:

MUSHITARO OGURI

Mushitaro appears to take a lot of pride in his ability, which contributes to his arrogant complex altogether. He had his own desires and goals, and lived out his days just to fulfil them.

His ability is called the 'Perfect Crime,' which allows him to erase any trail of evidence pertaining to whatever crime he had committed. Hence, he is also known as the 'infallible Detective-killer.'

Until Ranpo proved him wrongヾ(❀╹◡╹)ﾉﾞ

His personality type is most likely 'ENTJ,' the 'Commander.'

- ENTJs are known to have exceptional leadership skills. They are confident in themselves and what they do; basically, they don't have the tendency to second-guess what they are capable of. This explains Mushitaro's ambition to achieve his ends, and his ability goes the extra mile of complimenting his success rate greatly. Whether his motives or the end results were morally good or evil, it didn't matter to Mushitaro— as long as his wishes were fulfilled.

"With tyrants and demons, I'll make deal with a demon. That's in my nature."

- They're also quite outspoken with their opinions. It's a fairly minor detail, but this shows why he wasn't afraid to express the distaste he had for mystery novels to Yokomizo— including the extravagant ideas and serpentine stories his close friend based his life upon and discussed with him.

- The subtle insensitivity mixed in with an ENTJ's preference of logic over emotion highlights one of their core weaknesses: which brings us back to Mushitaro's ability to kill his friend. Say you were to put a person with a deeply compassionate heart, who's also very well in-tact when it comes to identifying emotions and being empathetical to other's feelings: would that person be able to kill a friend they'd known for so long? For the sole reason of making his last mystery novel a deathless enigma? This is very subjective perspective, but I believe that if Mushitaro was more of an emotionalist rather than a strategist, things would have turned out different for Yokomizo's eventual fate.

Side note: His insensitivity did, however, find its limit when he realised how devastating it was to have killed his own friend with his hands. Even though there's a wide scale that measures how insensitive a person can be, they are, in fact, still human beings capable of feeling. Killing someone dear to you is no easy task; there is a breaking point for the hardest of hearts.

SEISHI YOKOMIZO

Yokimozo, also known as Kindaichi, was a mystery writer who was very particular about detail and being exclusive, especially when it came to his works. His last wish he pursued to achieve before a terminal illness took his life was done by formulating a 'mystery that transcended reality.'

"I hate regret. So I've done whatever I've wanted to do. Up until now, it's been a satisfying life. But now… I've been given a time limit…Before then, I have to complete the ultimate mystery."

His personality type is identified as 'INFJ,' also known as the 'Idealist.'

- INFJ's are deeply creative and artistic, but they express it in various different ways. For Yokomizo, he portrayed his brilliant artistic skill through his writings revolving around mysteries and their compelling depths. The fictional character's namesake was also a mystery novel writer. Yokomizo was pretty well-versed with how mysteries worked and how their details ravelled themselves into elegantly, well-established riddles, which only added to his natural flair of writing.

- Generally, INFJs are reserved, but incredibly idealistic. Yokomizo was seen to be very abstract in his idea of thinking, and this is due to the fact that INFJs have a thing for pondering about life and the meaning behind everything.

"Mushi-kun, I bet you're laughing at me for destroying myself for the sake of mystery. But if that's the case, maybe there's no such thing as unshakable values. Maybe it's up to us to decide what to put value in and what to live for. After all, we have the right to turn our own decisions into our entire world. It is, foolishly enough, the greatest luxury afforded to mankind."

- As for their weaknesses, some INFJs are very hard to get to know. They are mysterious at times, which prevents them from being flamboyant with their thoughts and opinions. Yokomizo had a very lighthearted, mystifying nature, which made him a very interesting character altogether. Despite having a high regard for their intimate relationships— INFJs can be quite private. Mushitaro vaguely points out his self-contained, introverted mannerisms in this panel:

Now, I'll get to my point.

ENTJs and INFJs don't ideally match up, but when it comes to general friendships, there are a few details that suggest an accomodating dynamic between the two personality types. These qualities emanate from Mushitaro and Yokomizo's friendship with each other.

Opposites attract in most cases, correct?

Well, in this case, ENTJs and INFJs have a lot of similarities:

intelligent

intuitive in thinking

determined

goal-oriented

But the more numerable contrasting qualities is what really brings out the agreeable traits between Mushitaro and Yokozimo. Think of it as a system where two opposites mutually keep each other in check:

1. Mushitaro bases his life on the gaining his own needs and wants, and is very firm in his sense of realism, while Yokomizo is more focused on the deep, complexities of life itself. This may come off as impractical to ENTJs, but also compliments their coordination with INFJs. Realism limits idealism, but idealists can also expand the boundaries realists place themselves in.

2. INFJs accept people and ideas as they are, not willing to put others down just to prove themselves right. Yokozimo's tolerant behaviour stands in contrast with how authoritative Mushitaro is, especially when it boils down to his arrogance— he isn't afraid to spit his pride right into his opponent's face.

Kneel, detectives! I am the king of crime! No one can force me to sin and repent!

Just for laughs reference^

So it's safe to say that because Yokomizo had an acquired sense of serenity and open-mindedness, he was able to tolerate Mushitaro's extravagant, subtle histrionic characteristics, which were laced with his superior complex.

3. In the manga, Yokomizo speaks and converses with Mushitaro in a way that suggests that he is careful with his words. INFJs are gentle and generally sensitive to the needs of others, so they tend to be careful with what comes out of their mouths. Mushitaro, like most ENTJs, are quite blunt. This points back to how insensitive they come off, even if they don't actually mean it. So when it comes to Yokozimo explaining tales of mystery to Mushitaro, Mushitaro doesn't hesitate to mock Yokozimo; but because of how understanding Yokozimo is, he doesn't take Mushitaro's opinions too seriously to the point of discounting the value of their friendship, because he knew Mushitaro didn't use his words with the intention to harm.

If you were to place a more dominant persona in Yokomizo's position, I doubt that that person would be able to tolerate such behaviours. Then again, this is crucially subjective.

I suppose the main thing I wanted to point out was how ENTJs and INFJs balanced each other out by cancelling out each other's extreme traits, and keeping each other in the middle of the equilibrium altogether. But another thing I'd like to point out to sum up Mushitaro and Yokozimo's relationship was this: the fact that Mushitaro had to kill his own friend to grant his dying wish. Dying for someone or by someone's hands is easier than killing someone, especially if that someone is dear to you, no? I guess that's the part I can't fathom— it was the type of relationship that stood out way more than I had expected. Say, the roles were switched, would Yokomizo actually kill Mushitaro? Or would Mushitaro think of such an incomprehensible way to die in the first place? Or what if these two friends had different, more superior traits that coexisted in conflict all the time, would Yokomizo even depend on Mushitaro with such a task?

The speculations are endless, or maybe it's pretty straightforward. Though, I hope this made sense.

Okay, I'm done rambling for now. Thank you for reading!

#bsd #bsd analysis #bsd characters #bungou stray dogs #bsd spoilers #bsd manga #bsd mushitaro #bsd decay of angels #decay of angels #rats in the house of the dead #.daydreams

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jlalafics · 4 years ago

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Snippet for "I loved you first"-Part Ten

This is not really edited but I just wanted to let y'all know what I'm doing between editing "Again, Vol 1". Enjoy.

_____

“I think I’m in love,” Aaron muttered under his breath as he gazed at Madge.

As if they needed anymore problems.

Peeta shook his head before looking to the candidates once more.

“Now that I’ve introduced everyone, it should be obvious that Mellark Bakery is, at its core, a family business,” he told the three candidates. “Although I took over as CEO, my family along with Katniss’ are both heavily involved, despite having their own jobs and companies. Family is important to our brand name and mission statement. Having said that, I would like to begin to talk about the next part of your interview process.”

Delly stood, going to each candidate to give them each a portfolio.

“During your respective interviews, you each talked about your ideas to uphold our brand and mission statement. We would like you to expand and present your concepts to our employees. In your portfolio, you have your team—made up of our board members—as well as your budget. You will have until the end of the month to complete and then present your presentation. Our employees will vote as well as our board members on who they believe will be best for the position. The final say will be between myself and Delly.”

Thresh raised his hand.

“Not to sound like I’m being suspicious, but what would stop the board members from voting for their own team?”

“I’ll answer that,” Delly said. “I, along with IT, will be creating the voting site on our intranet. It will be programmed so that for each board member, they would only have the opposing teams as their voting choices. I’d like to continue to say employee votes will count for about 75% of the vote so it’s important that you impress them—not the board.”

“Each of you have being given two board members for your team,” Peeta continued. “Because we wanted it equal, Alice Everdeen will not be participating.” He turned to his mother-in-law. “What are you going to be doing instead, Mom?”

“Spoiling my grandchildren and probably irritating Katniss,” Alice quipped with a grin.

Everyone chuckled at her response, immediately lightening the room.

“Along with Delly, I will be here if there are any questions.” Peeta looked to the three and then to each side of the table. “How about everyone get into their teams and have a pep talk before you three take off for the day? I’m sure you’re all completely overwhelmed.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not all mean,” Aaron told them, smirking at his brother. “We leave that to Peeta.”

“I’m only mean because you and Otis tortured me when we were kids,” he retorted with a grin. Peeta turned back to the three. “Don’t listen to any of them. Now, get to work.”

#I loved you first #Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction #Snippet #Part Ten #I know this is so late

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offda-rails-art · 3 years ago

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Been a while since I’ve enjoyed art. I finally finished my story-no color becuase paint is expensive and I can expand more by doing what I love most-sketching. Slight gore warning, like typical horror movie gore⚠️

Thank you for anyone following me recently, even though I haven’t been very active. I hope this makes up for it. Peace and love. Lochlan’s story part one👇

The countryside of Hennessy had a horrible storm roll in. It poured endlessly all night and into morning. The seemingly endless pounding rain made everything a muddy slippery mess, and with that the tracks were overflowed with water. Travel for any engine was dangerous so it was decided that everyone would take the day off and wait out the storm inside. Old Red, Donner, and Cracker Jack had already been in the roundhouse that night and early in the morning they were told “no work for today. Too dangerous.”

Lochlan had still been on his job pulling a long train all night. Something that had been expected to be finished by early morning was delayed by the rain. Lochlan went along the tracks carefully and managed to deliver his train by late afternoon meanwhile the rest of the engines back at the roundhouse were confined to their berths all day. And with that the group of 3 were very bored.

Lochlan backed his way into his respective berth, he was soaked from being in the down pour all day. He was also visibly tired from his tedious journey of start stop all through the wet slippery tracks. Before the poor big engine could get a word out Cracker Jack piped up. “About time! Reds been going on and on about silly stories. We’ve traded back and forth on interesting ones of our own. Well, Donner and I at least. Reds giving the whole “Wild West romance, forbidden engine/human love” spiel again.” Cracker Jack groaned.

“My recounts of pistol packing cowgirls are not romance stories! I’m simply making it clear that women are just as dangerous as men! That’s all!” Red growled quick to defend himself. His face turning slightly pink.

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that you old fart.” Cracker Jack smirked. Even Donner gave a slight chuckle in agreement.

Lochlan smiled and shook what water dripped down his face off. Cracker Jack grinned up at Lochlan expectantly. “Suppose you have anything of your own to share?” Cracker Jack asked, his grin widened hoping that Lochlan would have a story to tell. At least one that wouldn’t put him to sleep. Or any about his love interests.

“Me? What kind of story? I don’t do much that interesting.” Lochlan sighed and tried to think of anything worth telling.

“Lochlan. You’re huge. You see the world from a different point of view everyday. You do the more than any other engine on the railway. You’ve been everywhere, you must have something?” Cracker Jack retorted. Lochlan frowned and clicked his tongue in thought. A loud crack of thunder boomed in the background and shook the roundhouse. The 4 engines jumped at the sudden loud noise. The natural fearful reaction to the loud noise gave Lochlan an idea.

“What about a scary story?” He smiled and knew exactly what to share. The other three raised their brows in interest. Cracker Jack noticeably grew attentive.

“Yes! I think we can all agree that horror over a whole romance novel is sure to help pass the time!” Cracker Jack grinned. It took Red a second to process the slight dig made at him. He only grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“Good! I have just the one! It happened the very first week I arrived here.” Lochlan grinned and cleared his throat to begin.

When Lochlan first arrived at Hennessy he was immediately tasked with pulling long trains of heavy and important cargo for distances many other engines couldn’t travel. He traveled from late at night till very early morning so naturally his rest time in the afternoon was spent in any noisy bustling yard he could manage to get a break in. Most of the time Lochlan couldn’t sleep with all the noise. He didn’t mind not napping but peace and quiet was something he could definitely enjoy. It seemed that wouldn’t be an option for a while with his break schedule. So, Lochlan decided to eavesdrop on his human counterparts. They did after all have interesting things to share. While in a yard one afternoon the prefect opportunity to eavesdrop came in, a group of engineers decided to take their break not far away from him. They sat down on some old flatbeds and joked around for a while. The oldest man in the group began talking about his past colleague who was a Native American. He recounted all kinds of interesting things his colleague shared. From ancestral meanings to cultural symbols, but then he brought up something strange. Lochlan grew curious and listened in best he could. The engineer asked the others if they ever heard what a “wendigo” was. The two men shook their heads. Lochlan listened in as the man explained to them what it was, and the reason for bringing it up.

The engineer grew serious before beginning, “ a couple years back a rancher went missing out by his home just a good ten miles from the south side of Hennessy. No one knew how he could possibly go missing, he was in touch with the locals and was a very smart man. He knew the wildlife and his homeland well enough to where an animal attack was ruled out. He carried a gun on him all the time to stay safe and no one would want to harm a lonely rancher with not much of anything to give anyway. Robbery and murder was ruled out too, especially after his home was found kept well with nothing out of the ordinary or missing. He just seemed to have vanished along with his horse and dog. The sheriff decided he could’ve left unannounced for private reasons and perhaps he would turn up soon. It wasn’t until a week later a hunter stumbled across what was left of the poor rancher. He was so severely mangled that the only thing that showed proof it was him was his hat, horse and dog. Whatever creature that did that couldn’t possibly be a bear, or even a pack of wolves. Only the rancher looked like something had eaten parts of him. His horse and dog were for the most part untouched, the possibility a rabid bear attacked him was brought up due to the massive claw marks and slashes embedded in his horse and dog. And how badly the man was shredded. But what bear could be that big? A search for whatever rabid bear or sick pack of wolves was put out but nothing was recovered.

No one wanted to admit but they were scared. The scene was so brutal it seemed almost impossible another living thing could do that. It was swept under the rug and everyone tried to forget about it in hopes it would just go away. It seems there’s no answer for what happened right? Well your wrong, that’s were this “wendigo” comes in. Wendigos have an insatiable hunger for human flesh, they crave taunting people and torturing them until giving them a brutal horrible death only to feast on their scared poor souls. They tower above the tallest pine trees, make blood curdling screams, and can strip the flesh from your bones instantly. He wasn’t attacked by a rabid animal, he was murdered and eaten alive by one of those foul beasts. Only something that big and mercilessly brutal could’ve done such a thing. And why eat just the person? An animal would’ve taken all it could get. Dog and horse would’ve been part of the main course as well.”

The two other men who listened in shuddered upon the end of the tale. Lochlan was intrigued but was interrupted by his crew coming to fetch him from his break. He needed to get back to work and couldn’t listen in anymore. He sighed and set off to collect his train, he had plenty of time to ponder what he just heard on his long quiet journey.

Lochlan enjoyed the unexplainable, everything had an explanation. An answer. While the story of the wendigo was interesting to him he couldn’t help but believe it was simply a tall tale. Even with how big and goofy the engine could be, he wasn’t gullible. The only way he’d believe something is if he witnessed it first hand. And as far as he knew he never saw any forest animal that towered over pine trees or had a specific desire for human flesh. But for some reason something inside him wouldn’t let go of it. The story was kept in the back of his mind and not forgotten.

Lochlans first week on Hennessy’s railway was almost over. He already gotten familiar with the area and his routes in the short time he was there. His job went swillingly and it was something he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his days doing. Oh, and no strange gigantic monsters hungry for human flesh appeared. There was one route Lochlan hadn’t traveled yet, and the unkept longer line of tracks was only taken if necessary but no reason was ever really given as to why it wasn’t used. But with only almost a week of experience on the railway he had a lot more to learn and explore.

While Lochlan pulled a long train of cargo with the morning newspaper edition, important mail, and dairy that needed to get to its destination quickly in order to not spoil he came to a stop when he realized his normal route back into Hennessy was blocked. Someone had derailed and a big mess of tar trucks were scattered everywhere. Lochlans engineers grew frustrated and argued with the crewmen in charge of cleaning up the wreck. “Listen pal, it’s going to take all night to clean this mess up. You’ll just have to wait until morning to pass through or go through the south side.” The agitated worker groaned and pointed up ahead to a route Lochlan wasn’t familiar with.

“Well. We most certainly ain’t got time to wait. I’ve got the morning paper to deliver and dairy that will spoil! Come on big feller we’ll just have to go through the south side which will still delay our schedule because some incompetent idiot can’t operate an engine worth Jack shit.” Lochlans engineer growled and made his way back to his cab. Lochlan looked on curiously up ahead at this new route. The grass ahead was severely overgrown, and by the looks of the track no one seemed to have been down it for a decade. His cow plow would come in handy to shove away any overgrowth that littered the track up ahead. Lochlan puffed down the track without incident. He sliced through any overgrowth that littered his path, and was thankful for his bright headlamp because it seemed any lights that lit up the track before had been left not repaired. Lochlan had come upon something odd as he plunged further down the unused route. A herd of deer were stopped close by the tracks, what was odd to him was that the animals didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. It was normal for the forest animals to hurriedly clear the way when any loud engine chuffed close, to the animals an engine was another predator to run away from. But the large herd of deer stood stalk still, their backs turned towards him and their heads cocked up looking into the distance at something. They didn’t dare move and their fear was focused on something Lochlan couldn’t see. Lochlan raised a brow and chuffed by but the deer didn’t move. Even as steam whooshed out and his own massive frame rumbled on the rails shaking the ground. The deer seemed to care less about him. It was one of the most peculiar things he had seen, but he had no idea it was about to get worse.

Tumblr limits posts and I have to many illustrations to do one part. So I’ll have to skeet part two in another separate post. Stick around for the second part if you enjoy so far. Thanks so much for people who’ve stuck around my blog and actually wanted to read my stories. I really really appreciate it.

#ttte #the rural railway #ttte oc #trr lochlan #trr #trr lochlan’s spook #trr donner #trr old red #trr cracker jack #also-#if anyone’s messaged me #I haven’t checked my inbox or messages in forever #don’t worry I’m not ignoring you #just depressed ;)#and not sociable

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