#I need to make him argue more. Its his enrichment.

[trollocs-ooc]

I'm so sad that no one ever pulled out the "thats why yo momma dead" card when arguing with second. It's literally right there

[tyrantisterror]

I think one of the things that gets lost in the big, endless internet conversation about whether or not heroes should kill their villains is the fact that killing villains off robs you of a lot of story-telling potential. The Joker died at the end of his debut story in Batman - imagine what Batman would be if he stayed dead. No Joker in Batman 66, no The Killing Joke which means no Barbara Gordon as Oracle and no The Dark Knight, no Mark Hamill Joker episodes of BTAS (so many of them were based on his comic appearances, after all - the laughing fish is a direct adaptation of a comic), which means no Harley Quinn and no Return of the Joker, on and on it goes.

Like, you can argue the morality of heroes sparing their villains till you turn blue - god knows this site does it at least a thousand times a day - but on a purely pragmatic story-telling level, the minute you kill ANY character, you kill all the story potential they had. And yeah, it's fiction, you can bring them back from the dead if you really need them, but that's a pretty hard story beat to pull off without hurting your story. You don't want to fill your tale with "Somehow, Palpatine has returned" moments.

And you can just make new villains, sure, but again you have a problem with that - a new villain has to establish themselves and has to stand out from who came before, which means you can't go directly to the storylines you could have had with a villain who stuck around AFTER their introduction. A recurring villain is capable of doing things that one-off villains can't.

I'm going to illustrate this with a character from a fandom I'm not even a part of - I never played the Ratchet and Clank series and am only vaguely aware of it, but one day I saw a supercut of scenes starring one of its recurring villains, Dr. Nefarious, on twitter, and I was like "Oh shit, that's the guy who plays Quark on Deep Space Nine, isn't? This guys a hoot, let's see if we can find more clips on youtube." Which brought me to this hefty video here from one of the more recent games in the series.

And, like, as a person who "doesn't even go here," it's obvious this goofy little fucker has a history. His opening scenes have him ranting about how much it sucks to lose repeatedly - a lampshade on the "flaw" of a recurring villain, i.e. that their threat diminishes the more they come back because, by the nature of their role in the story, it means they've suffered a lot of losses. So how cool is it that as this supercut chugs along you can clearly see this is a theme of the game - that this is a story about the virtue of losing, a story that is enriched by having an antagonist who fans of the series know has lost a LOT?

The true antagonist is an alternate version of Dr. Nefarious who's won every fight in his life so far, apparently with little effort, and I love how they differ on a design aspect. They're both technically mad scientists, but notably, Emperor Nefarious, the winner, has a more imposing and "heroic" build, but a smaller brain-dome for his robot brains. Because winning may make him look strong, but if a mad scientist's real power is their mind, well, which Nefarious is really the strong one here then?

Dr. Nefarious gets this juicy arc about realizing the virtue in his repeated failures that corresponds with the heroic characters struggling to find a way to win against a seemingly invincible opponent, as well as contrasts the true villain, Dr. Nefarious's explicit counterpart and foil Emperor Nefarious, who has never once lost and is a total piece of shit for it. Again, not my fandom, I don't go here, not an expert on Ratchet and Clank, but even as a relative stranger to it who's just watching a big supercut, I fucking love this. This is an excellent story.

And it's one you can only tell with a recurring villain. Without Dr. Nefarious, this story works significantly less. You need a villain with a history the audience has seen to really sell this.

Anyway, I made this post because, ironically enough, I saw another tweet talking about how some fans think Dr. Nefarious should have been killed off in his first appearance, and, like... that's just fucking baffling to me, as a person outside this fandom looking in. Recurring villains deserve more love, man, they give us so much.

[celestialaphroditee]

diet mountain dew ! | jake sully

pairing, jake sully x female human!reader

summary, after the omaticayan clan agree to teach jake their ways, he’ll come to realize that pandora has its secrets just like earth. And that secret was you.

warnings, NSFW! minors do not interact! Smut! Size difference! Fingering! Touchy of the breast!

authors note, so this is my first fic on tumblr and depending how this goes I might make this a miniseries cause I’m already invested in this character

                         Jake’s favorite color used to be brown, he remembered. And not just any brown, he argued, it was a dark chestnut brown — the color of his mother’s reading glasses that she usually wore when she’d patronize himself as a child for his countless of impulsive decisions ( which for longed nothing but trouble ) The same color was also worn by his father in the form of a raggedy old pocket watch he claimed would bestow him the grandest gift the dying earth could give — that was something Jake never understood as the watch itself hadn’t told time since before his time, yet not once uttered the fact to his father. And lest not forget his twin brother Tommy who’d gifted him that same colored wooded bracelet before he was stationed off to the military. That dark chestnut brown was everywhere in his eyes, so subtle, and so hard not to like.

                         The color once meant stability in his mind, it’d be the same color covering your fingertips from a rugged fall . . . so easy to brush off, but still there reminding you of what ground you walked on and what safe haven you reported to.

                        And yet, when he lost everyone and himself alike, that once firm and strapping color grew dull. Plaguing him of the memories where his life stood its ground firmly — accounting no recoil when everything surrounding it quaked . . . Until it withstood all it could and that stable image came tumbling down disclosing secrets he couldn’t possibly understand.

                        Those same secrets left him in utter awe. The deep enriching chestnut color proving to hide all the endeavors it could, but it was wholly riveting to him — discovering secrets beyond comprehension as it gave him another shot at life . . . 

                        Pandora gave him another shot at life, one full of it’s peculiarity which was so incredibly intoxicating to him, and yet he couldn’t help but notice that same color Pandora was built upon forcing the thought of what secrets the enigmatic planet held, and how those secrets would curate to the man the Omaticaya clan believe he'd never become.

                        But Jake knew he was giving them one hell of a ride for their money. His resolve was oh so stubborn, never one letting up. Neytiri claimed it was due to his strong heart, but he didn't know whether to believe her or not, because the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew he’d let you break down every ounce of his resolve if need be. 

                        You were stood at the base of a grandiose waterfall, nude back to him allowing him to see the purple veins littered throughout your body . . . but that wasn't what intrigued him. What intrigued him was your flesh . . . your human flesh, not blue like every other na’vi he’d encountered during his time on the planet.

                         His head tilted sideways in confusion. How was it that you didn’t have an oxygen mask? How was it that you seemed alone? Surely you were apart of a squad as no human in their right mind would ever venture into an ample and diverse environment by themselves. Especially one as exceedingly perilous as Pandora.

                         So he waited, in hopes of locating where you came from or whom you were working for.

                         But, one minute turned into five and five turned into ten, until he was sure he’d stood there against the rugged bark of a tree watching your elegant form swiftly sway to the song you were humming to for more than thirty minutes. And in those thirty minutes, not once did it look like you were meant to be elsewhere . . . you were far too relaxed with the way the water rippled and tickled your nude frame.

                         You looked as if you were home.

                         The thought alone scared Jake. He’d seen the terrors and minacious creatures lurking deep within the heart of Pandora, surely you knew that too.

                         Hell, even if you did you payed no mind. No mind to the hisses that slithered through the air wizzing past his own ears, no mind to the roaring in the air echoing around you as if a ferocious beast was moments away from plucking you from your safe haven, and no mind to the gallant of creatures swinging through the trees above you. All you did was bask in the moment, as if you belonged in the ecosystem along with every other creature. As if you called every living being your friend.

                         Despite his always lurking curiosity, he knew it was time to go. Neytiri would have him by the head if he stood out any longer, but he vowed to himself that he’d returned . . .

                         And he did, every day for three months.

                         Some days, you’d be like the first — nude with your clothes strewn on a rock nearby swaying to the song you were humming that coincidentally Jake had running through his own head. Your back was too him, always, which he was grateful for, but if you moved to quick he was swift enough to turn his head fearing of overstepping a boundary. Other days you’d lay on the grass watching the ikran sail above you as if wondering how’d it feel to be them. However, his favorite days had to be when you’d sing a song as sweet as your voice. You’d sing it to the world around you, like it listened to everything . . . and sometimes he thought so.

                         One day, he mustered the courage to ask Neytiri about you wondering how you were so close to their abode, yet so far all the same.

                         Her posture turned rigid, “What woman?”

                         Jake furrowed his eyebrows, “The human woman by the waterfall. She has purple ve—“

                         “No!” Neytiri interrupted. “You do not speak of this woman,” she stalked towards him. Eyes squinted in bubbling anger. “No think either.”

                         Jake’s furrowed eyebrows thickened but he nodded, knowing to never push his luck anymore. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have another option.

                         “You seriously haven’t seen her?” He asked incredulously.

                         Grace released a puff of smoke from her cigarette, shaking her head she said, “I don’t have a single clue on what you’re raving about, marine,” she took a puff. “Wouldn’t be the first time either, but you’ve been at this long enough to know no humans would survive out there.”

                         He wheeled closer, his human body desperate for answers, “But she can Grace,” he sighed. “Listen, I don’t know how or why, but she’s human.”

                         Norm glanced at Grace and frowned, the papers in his hand now not worth his attention, “biologically speaking it’s impossible, Jake.”

                         Jake dramatically groaned and ran a hand down his face, “Not you too!”

                         “Okay,” grace began putting out her cigarette. “Let’s say what you’re telling us is true,” she crossed her arms and leaned against the rusty metal wall around them. “Where do we go from there? You still haven’t received the trust of the Omaticaya clan and I think we should focus on that, seeing as we have no samples or sizable proof of a woman with purple marks walking around.”

                         Jake released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and didn’t utter a word. He knew what you were, he’d seen you with his own two eyes for months.

                         Grace took pity on his frown and patted his leg, “If what you’re saying is true Jake, everything we knew about Pandora could be flipped sideways,” his eyes flickered from the floor to her. “But come on, enough of that marine. Training is bright and early tomorrow, rest up!”

                         The thought of Pandora’s secrets being revealed was enough for him to be consumed by you, like a never ending flame settling deep within his heart . . . and oh, did this flame spark at the thought of you.

                         Without a moment of hesitation, Jake knew what he had to do.

                         You were oblivious to the world around you, more specifically to war brewing from the cosmos: seeking nothing but destruction. So, you stood as elegant as he’d seen you on the first: admiring the world around you, following the whispers that called. 

                         You looked so peaceful.

                        “Hey!”

                         You turned from your position near the water and if his sudden appearance scared you, you didn’t show it. You merely blinked at the blue na’vi bounding towards you in excitement, a little skip to his step.

                        “We had an agreement,” you rose your eyebrows. your lips pressed together in annoyance, the na’vi language rolling off your tongue as sweetly as you sang. Far better than anything he’s able to mutter. “An agreement you all began.”

                         The boyish smile on his face slightly vanished but the closer he came the more you noticed a hint of it continued to reside on his face.

                        “You’re human,” he breathed out ignoring your first statement.

                         You sighed, the height difference forcing you to crane your neck up to look at him, “I will not participate in any foolishness your clan is looking for,” your eyes narrowed into slits. “Leave. I will not ask again.”

                        “Woah! Wait! I’m human!” he raises his hands up in surrender. “I’m human!”

                         Your eyebrows raise.

                         Jake seems to understand his mistake, “I might not look like a human now, but I am!” he hurries to assure. “Through psionics!”

                         He states this matter of factly, as if you were supposed to know of what comes out of his rambling mouth, but the frown on your features was a clear indicator that you were as lost as a baby ikran.

                         “Psionics?” He pressured again, but still your face was icy. He turned to look behind you, “Where’s your squad? How do you breathe Pandora’s air?”

                         The questions came out too fast for your liking, so all you did was huff, turn around, and continue your water watching hoping that the fool would leave you alone.

                         He didn’t.

                         “I gotta tell you, it’s good to see a new human face,” he sat down next to you, while you were seated on a rook about four feet off the ground. “I’ve been down here for months and now when I wake up, I wake up expecting to be something . . . new.”

                         Silence was your response. You’d hope he’d leave you alone but a small part of you was also incredibly curious. He was human? Well, why does he look na’vi?

                         Yet, he continued, “So, what’s your mission?” he turned to view the purple veins on your arms. “Did the colonel send you too?”

                         This peaked your interest.

                         Your eyebrows furrowed and you turned towards him. Even sitting down he was still a couple of inches taller than you, but the sitting arrangement was more comfortable than standing.

                         “Colonel? What is a Colonel?”

                         Something in the supposed human seem to snap him back into reality. The once boyish smile fell into a more concentrated frown. As if the world itself was a math problem made for him to solve.

                         There was no way you were on Pandora without the help of the Colonel, he practically had a say on everything regarding the unique planet. So, why wouldn’t you know him?

                         He decided to play it safe, like he did with the Omaticayan clan, “Humans or the sky people have warriors. Colonels lead a small section of warriors to battle while also listening to the people who are higher up.”

                         “Higher up?”

                         “Someone who has more power over you.”

                         The crease with in your forehead continued to show, “What is the psilonics you mentioned?”

                         The corner of his mouth jutted up but he corrected you coolly, “Psionics is how the sky people are able to turn into a na’vi.”

You stayed silent for a while, processing the information given to you. If you had trouble digesting the details, you didn’t let it show. Your expression as icy as it was when your conversation with him began, but the curiosity still lingered in your soul, eywa could practically feel it. You were so curious, in fact, the next days the na’vi ventured into your camp you were already waiting.

Days turned into weeks, Weeks turned into months.

Looks turned into gazes, touches turned into lingers.

The man consumed your every being, drowning in your mind with no memory of him in your head to give his lungs air. He clawed, fought, and even charmed to escape . . . but you held him there so tight the air grew harder to contain.

“You must be careful, Jake,” you told him once as took a dip in your waterfall. “Your clan call me demon. They say I’m not worthy of eywa’s blessing,” you turned to him. “Do you see me as a demon?”

You had no idea how and where you grew bold. Maybe the icy cold water sent a shrill of adrenaline up your spine and tickled your heart—or maybe it already did that on its own, that would explain the fluttery feeling you grew in your time with the Na’vi male.

The male was seated on the grass beside the plunge pool, looking at you indescribably as if you were a problem he willed himself to solve no matter the circumstance.

“No,” he spoke after a moment of observing you. “I don’t see a demon.”

You took slow steps out of the water towards the rock next to him. Your nipple hardening when a breeze swept by almost taking your breath away.

You sat down beside him, the rock allowing you to be at his eye-level. You felt his gaze covering your entirety almost making you shiver with thrill.

You turned towards him a wonder in your eyes, “What do you see?” You whispered.

He leaned towards you his own eyes clouding with the emotion bubbling in between your legs, “A beauty that rivals that of eywa.”

Before you knew it, his much larger lips planted on your own. Practically devouring them. You did your best to reciprocate the action, to show him every ounce of emotion that littered your body since the day you saw him.

A groan echoed in your mouth, giving you the answer you were hoping for.

His slender blue fingers tugged at your almost nonexistent garments. Moving as quickly as he could. Without a second to think, you complied. Giving him the access he so desperately wanted.

His lips latched onto your right breast, tongue circling the bud, before receiving a harsh suck that had you crying out.

“Jake!” You moaned.

His head lifted and he gave you a cheeky grin, but his hands moved much lower, “You can take it, can’t you baby?”

His fingers trailed over your clit lightly tapping it to tease you, “Right?” He spoke that idiotic grin still on his face.

You felt hot. You’re face was likely red from the position and size difference but it made you all that much aroused. So you nodded.

“Yes!” You cried as his index finger circled your entrance, occasionally stopping to tap. “I can take it!”

“Good girl.”

He eased his finger inside watching in amazement as your cunt sucked him in so eagerly disappearing soon after. The cry you let out was deliciously sweet he wanted to hear more.

His free hand nipped and pinched your breast creating even more stimulation.

Then when he started thrusting, you could swear your soul saw eywa.

His index finger alone made you feel so deliciously full you began to cry out like no other, especially when he curled his finger and the slow pace picked up.

“Yeah that’s right,” he nodded looking over your bare body and contorted face full of pleasure. “You’re mine now.”

[licncourt]

omg after years of trying to make louis awful like him so happy for lestat to grow and support louis in being awful in different but complimentary ways ❤ so happy for him to be his husband's hypeman/henchman/hitman. His baby deserves to control everything!

And so happy for louis living his best control freak life! I always felt he's either completely retired and refusing to be helpful or would think he could run things better in PL era. Hope he's smiling at people arguing with him while texting lestat that he cannot thrive in these conditions. Lestat delighted when a political enemy rears their head because date night secured!

Of course armand supports them he loves them and hates high vampire populations. Hope he and daniel run political espionage and propaganda for them, straight up gaslighting marius into thinking its all in his head.

Lestat is an evil himbo wife guy who is more than aware that Louis' in the driver's seat here, but he couldn't be happier about it. It's both convenient AND hot and if he behaves at the gala tonight he's gonna get his dick sucked.

I feel like the two most likely options for prince consort Louis are eerily competent or, like you said, old retired man who is reading his book and does not have time to worry about the prime minister killing some guy he doesn't even know that well. He doesn't give a shit about his job but he's the prince's meow meow so no one can fire him.

Literally though, Armand needs enrichment in the form of morally dubious political espionage. He's the destabilizing force to Lestat’s nuclear deterrent and he's having so much fun. Honestly I don't think Daniel gives a shit. He's just chillin. Maybe he's Louis' lady-in-waiting.

[thisisasupergoodidea]

Whumptober Day 5

Blood loss

—

continuation of: day 3 (impaled)

—

Emil had not been adequately prepared to have his guts run through today. It’s certainly one of the more… unique experiences of life, though not something on his personal wishlist- and he can’t honestly say his own life feels particularly enriched by its unexpected occurrence here and now. Quite the opposite, in fact.

As his flesh warps around the rough wooden shaft of a hunting spear, as his organs shift and rupture and chafe distressingly in the presence of the intruding object, and as lifeblood flows in sick pulses from the wounds, Emil feels the weight of his mortality more heavily than he ever has before.

The other two, Rogelio and- what was his friend’s name?- well, the attacker, are arguing about something or another. It’s becoming difficult to concentrate on much else besides the pain. And breathing, which is now a delicate process. He hobbles over to the nearest tree to lean uncomfortably against it for support.

“So let’s hurry and interrogate him already, before he dies,” Rogelio’s friend says.

“…We’re not doing that, Lorenzo.”

“What’s your problem? We hunt dangerous animals all the time; why is this bothering you now?”

“He’s not a fucking animal!”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Lorenzo glances over at Emil with nothing but loathing. “He’s the enemy, remember? We wanted him to stop terrorizing us!”

“Not like this! Not murder!”

“Well, too late: problem solved. You’re welcome for doing what you couldn’t,” Lorenzo sneers.

Rogelio shoves him so hard that he stumbles and falls on his ass several feet away. He then walks calmly to Emil and begins examining the wound on both ends, scowling to himself as he does. It is mildly refreshing to see that ire directed at someone else for a change, Emil thinks.

“Shit, dude,” Rogelio mutters. “You’re only gonna bleed out faster if I remove this right now. How are you even still standing?”

“It- would hurt more- to fall.”

Emil’s response is stilted and breathless and requires significant effort to produce. His injury punishes him for it, the shock shooting across his entire body. He looks down at himself pathetically lamenting the gruesome state of his clothes.

“Hey now. Save your breath.”

“You- asked.”

“Yeah, alright smartass. Starting now. Can you walk?”

“What… are you doing?” they hear Lorenzo ask. He’s standing there watching Rogelio fuss over Emil, flabbergasted.

“Saving him. I’ve gotta get him to the healers.”

“Is- Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Rogelio doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Just stop. You know damn well they won’t take him in. No one will. And what about Dani?? Rogelio! Why are you-?”

“Shut up,” Rogelio growls.

He must have realized it too, though. That none of his normal protocols or resources are going to work here, regardless of his own status in town. After a few moments of reconciling with this fact, he swears loudly and racks his brain for another solution.

“Okay. New plan. Go home, Lorenzo. Don’t talk about any of this. Ever. If somebody asks, I stayed out to look for Dani. Got it?”

Lorenzo’s aloof attitude wavers more with every passing minute; his gaze slides past him to Emil again, narrowing suspiciously.

“…What did that mage do to you that’s got you acting like his dog?”

“Don’t look at him, look at me,” Rogelio butts in, even going so far as to physically step between them. “I need to hear that you understand what I’m saying. If you tell anyone what happened here, I’ll make damn sure you suffer for it.”

Emil’s lips quirk slightly, hearing that. Loath as he would be to ever admit it, he does nevertheless get profound satisfaction from Rogelio showing concern for his well-being. It’s yet another way in which he is cursed- or so he will continue to insist. Silently. Keeping his feelings locked within to the bitter end.

He is hard-pressed to truly be smug about anything in this particular moment, however. The spear through his chest makes it rather difficult. But at least the one who did this to him can’t indulge in his smugness either.

And at least… Rogelio is…

Coherence leaves him, and so does his strength. He shudders and begins to slide to the ground, his hand trailing bloody streaks down the side of the tree.

“Shit! Emil!”

Rogelio whirls around to help him, turning his back on his friend- who uses this opportunity to flee in the direction of Kaluss. Emil watches him vanish, at least until a warm hand swoops in to support and adjust his head.

“Look at me. Stay with me, okay? I’m not gonna let you die,” Rogelio says, trying desperately to sound optimistic. “Don’t die.”

Emil passes out.

—

continued in:

day 8 (everything hurts and i’m dying)

[capseycartwright]

buddie + “it’s always been you” kisses 🥺

It felt like Buck’s skin was too tight, itchy beneath his uniform as he watched, and waited. His heart had sank, when they had gotten the call about the fire in dispatch – there had been a brief moment of relief, when he realised that Maddie was still off work, but the relief hadn’t lasted, not when Buck remembered all at once that May was there, and Josh, and so many of their friends and colleagues, and his heart had found a new home in his throat when he remembered that Eddie was in the dispatch centre too, because Eddie was a dispatcher now.

Eddie, who had become a dispatcher so he could be safe, so he could guarantee his safety and go home to his son every night. Eddie, who had quit a job he’d loved and settled behind a desk, all for his kid.

Buck wasn’t angry about it anymore – he wasn’t sure he’d ever really been angry about it, really. Buck had been angry, for a second, that Eddie hadn’t talked to him about it, that Eddie hadn’t come to him with his worries and Christopher’s concerns so they could work through them and figure out a solution together, but when that anger faded, all that had been left was sadness – sadness, and loneliness, actually, because Buck’s life had always been enriched by Eddie’s presence in it, and all of a sudden, he was going to work everyday without Eddie, with someone else by his side in calls and the gap left behind by Eddie’s decision to leave felt cavernous, swallowing all of Los Angeles in its murky depths.

Eddie, who left, and became a dispatcher to keep himself safe, and his son calm, and still got caught up in a fire, all the same. It was ironic, really, that Eddie had walked away from fires and the danger that came with being a firefighter and he’d walked right into another – this time, Buck had realised in the truck on the way to the scene, without any of his gear.

Even without his gear – Eddie had gotten half of dispatch out alone.

Because of course he had.

He was Eddie Diaz, father, friend, and goddamn hero, good to his very core. Eddie would know exactly how to get out of a fire, and instead of doing that, he’d stayed, and he’d done his best to get everyone out of dispatch as the fire had begun to rage.

(“I – there’s still people in there,” Eddie shook his head, coughing, having clearly inhaled plenty of smoke, by now. “I’m not leaving.”

“Right now, Eddie, you’re a civilian,” Buck had practically growled at his best friend. “Either you walk out of here now, or I will carry you out.”

The defiant look Eddie had given him in response was enough of an answer, and Buck had bent, at the knees, tossing a protesting Eddie over his shoulder before he jogged out of the building. He could save everyone else later – once he got Eddie out.

“I can help!” Eddie shouted, trying to wriggle out of Buck’s grip.

“You need to get checked over by Hen,” Buck replied, setting Eddie down on the ground. “I can’t have your back if you’re in there without any gear, Eddie, and I’ll be damned if anything happens to you on my watch. So – go, and get checked out by Hen, Dispatcher Diaz, and let me do my job.”

Eddie had been too stunned to argue.)

Buck chewed on the corner of his mouth as he watched Eddie, and Hen. He couldn’t hear what Hen was saying, but Eddie was nodding, pliant in her grip as she turned his head left, and right, checking his throat, his ears, his pupils. Eddie looked sooty, but as Buck squinted, trying to examine him from a distance, Buck couldn’t see any visible burns.

That was good, at least.

“Buck,” Hen called, waving him over. “Make sure he keeps the oxygen mask on, I need to check a few more people over.”

Buck nodded. He could do that – he could stand guard and make sure Eddie kept the oxygen mask on. He hovered, to Eddie’s right, watching as his best friend took long, slow breaths.

Eddie tugged on the mask, flashing a grin at Eddie. “You really can just throw me over your shoulder and carry me around, can’t you?”

Buck rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he directed, reaching for the mask, holding it in place. “Hen said you need to keep this on.”

Eddie glared at him, batting Buck’s hand away. “I’m okay, Buck,” and his voice sounded croaky, but he did seem okay, soot and hoarse throat aside. Buck wouldn’t trust it until they were hours out and Eddie was still fine. “Buck, I’m okay.”

“But if we got here any later, you wouldn’t have been,” Buck managed to say, keeping his voice low – he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Eddie – I can have your back, when you’re wearing the same uniform as me, and you’re by my side, but I just – God, I know it’s irrational, but when you’re not right beside me, I worry, because I don’t know if you’re okay.”

Eddie tugged on Buck’s arm, directing him to sit on the edge of the ambulance with him. “I’m okay,” he repeated. “Buck – I’m fine. It was a freak accident, the fire breaking out in dispatch. That’s – that’s life, Buck, we can’t control everything.”

“But I can try, if you’re next to me.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, for a second. “I can see why everyone at calls falls in love with you,” he hummed. “It’s kind of hot, how you’re able to just throw me around.”

“Shut up,” there was no heat, behind Buck’s words, as he replied. “Eddie – look, I know these last few weeks have been hard, but when we got the call about the fire in dispatch, I just – for a second, I imagined how life might be without you, and I thought I was actually going to stop breathing. I – I can’t do this, I can’t do life without you, Buck.”

Eddie sucked in a breath through the mask, taking a second before he spoke again. “I’ll always be with you, Buck.”

“Yeah, I’d prefer if you didn’t do that as a ghost, Edmundo,” Buck grumbled, earning himself a sharp elbow to the side for his troubles.

“Buck,” Eddie’s expression was – it was something Buck hadn’t seen from his best friend before, his eyes soft, and expression open, love etched into every crease and line of his face. It was – it was the kind of expression Buck had dreamed of being directed at himself, and one he had only fantasised about seeing from Eddie. “I’ll always be with you. I promise.”

Maybe –

Maybe this wasn’t the right moment. Buck would think about that later, when he’d had time to process, but as he looked at Eddie, love pouring from every sooty, dusty inch of his best friend, all Buck could think to do was lean in, and kiss him, the embrace soft, and slow, the kiss trying to say everything Buck didn’t have the words for, just yet.

It’s you, it’s you, it’s always been you – how could it have ever been anyone except you?

Eddie coughed, and Buck pulled back, giving him an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he hummed, brushing Eddie’s sweaty hair off his forehead.

Eddie’s smile was soft, as he took one, two breaths through the mask. “Don’t be sorry,” he shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for a long time.”

Buck couldn’t help himself from stealing a brief kiss, before he fixed Eddie’s oxygen mask back in place, wrapping an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “Sorry for taking so long to get here,” Buck hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head.

Eddie’s words were muffled by the mask, but reassuring, all the same. “You’re here now.”

send me a kiss prompt

[volterran-wine]

Lightning in a bottle || Marcus x F!S/O

“You're like lightning in a bottle I can't let you go now that I got it And all I need is to be struck”  ― Electric Love // Børns

This imagine is based on a request I got a while back. Dear anon who’s “On a Marcus Kick”, this one is for you. Usually I would include the request in my post, but your lovely and detailed message was very long. I hope there are no hard feelings there.

Summary: Strong and silent Marcus had been alone for a long time. When another chance at love appears he grasps on to it without a second thought. His mate turns out to be quite a unique individual, gaining interest from more than just Marcus. However will the king respond? 

Wordcount: 2119 words

!Warnings! Canon typical violence: Vampires getting ripped to pieces. Explicit NSFW content in the last portion of the imagine. Just stop reading at the last line break and you're good if you want to avoid that. 

It had been decades since the palazzo had been this full of life. Some would even say it had been centuries. For a king had gained the opportunity to solidify a new mate bond that could last for an eternity. One February morning Marcus found his second chance at a mate, a visiting nomad that had made her pilgrimage to Volterra twenty-five years after her transformation. In the very beginning they had truly been an odd pair. For the kings mate was quite the character, being gifted with the power over electricity and a personality to match. They're unending energy and zest for life was helping the king come out of the carefully constructed shell he had placed around himself.

His brothers had both been shocked and elated that he had found a new mate. Aro had been quite interested in their gift as he usually was, though he was growing quite fond of her. She had truly enriched Marcus’ life, and for that he was grateful. It had become a regular occurrence that they spent a lot of time with the kings in the throne room. Much to both annoyance and joy for its regular occupants. 

If Caius was capable of it, he would have a tremendous headache. Marcus’ new mate was rambunctious at her best, and a living nightmare at her worst. But even he could not deny that they were... somewhat charming. But not right this moment. 

“Marcus, please get your mate...” Caius all but pleaded.

“Dearheart, let’s not vex Caius more than necessary?” Marcus hummed, appearing behind his mate and drawing her into his chest gently. Her eyes were still trained at his brother, who were now giving them both an exasperated look. “Fine, ... but only because you asked so nicely” she chuckled, holding up her hand and letting electricity weave between her fingers; gift sending soft sparks towards the fair-haired king who simply scoffed.

Marcus pulled her further back, turning her around in his embrace. Leaning down he peppered her face with light kisses until she began to laugh. The sound was like the sweetest sonata to his ears. But sadly he had to pull away, grabbing their hand and leaving a kiss on the back of it. “We have sensitive trials to attend to, why don’t you go to the garden and I will be with you soon.” He gave them one last kiss goodbye before turning them around, ushering them towards the doors.

“Very well, but please don’t keep my mate occupied for long... or else” It was very much an empty threat. She was quite fond of both Aro and Caius, no matter how much the latter liked to argue with her like an older brother would. With a flourish did she make her way towards the grand doors, electricity sparking around her. Giving the kings a cheeky smile before closing the doors.

It was quiet once more. 

“Θα είναι το τέλος μου” Caius bit out as he crossed his legs, resting his head on his closed fist. Aro was about to chastise him, there was no need to speak poorly of their brothers second chance at eternal happiness. 

A great laugh boomed from Marcus, almost startling his brothers as they turned to stare at him. “Ο μεγάλος Κάιους, συναντά το τέλος του εξαιτίας ενός βαμπίρ πενήντα ετών;” Leaning forward in his throne, he locked eyes with his brother and raised a brow. “Αστειεύεσαι” Aro turned towards his older brother as well, pure mirth danced in his eyes. “I must agree with Marcus, It would be quite unbecoming for you to yield for your brothers mate in such a manner.” 

Silently the middle brother closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against his throne. Quiet murmurs of amusement from his companions filled his ears, it would be a long day.

The poppies were exceptionally beautiful this time of the year, spring had come again and the vibrancy of the garden was a sight to behold. She wandered past the many flowerbeds aimlessly until she found herself in the small courtyard in the very heart of the garden. A soft rustle alerted her to someone’s presence right behind her. For a split second she hoped it was Marcus, but the scent wasn’t his.

“They way you regard the kings is a disgrace” Gustav; that was his name. A transitionary guard that had been with them for the last one hundred and fifty years. She had heard rumours from the others guards, he was not fond of her.  His own prejudices clouding all semblance of reason. There was something in his body language that was highly unnerving, her eyes darted around the garden. Where they truly alone? a bit away from them she caught sight of Heidi who seemed to have overheard the guards words. With a gentle dip of her head she rushed off into the palazzo. She would get help.  

“Who are you to speak to me in such a manner? If the kings had an issue with me they would have told me so.” She felt anger begin to stir inside of her. Who did he think he was? 

“Perhaps they do not because you warm Marcus’ bed well enough.” The look on his face made her see red. “... Perhaps his bed isn’t the only one you frequent?” the implication was abhorrent. 

On pure instinct did she reach out and let electricity flow through her and into Gustav. Eyes turned pitch black as he recovered from the small shock, she had not been able to put enough power into it due to the sheer shock at his behaviour. He grabbed on to her forearm tightly, squeezing it with such force she was surprised cracks had not begun to form along her marble skin. Those onyx depths raked up and down her body, lingering in places they certainly should not. A queasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Gustav wanted something... something he would never have. Where was Heidi?

“Are you certain Marcus is enough for you?”

“You are nothing compared to Marcus.” He looked as if he had an answer prepared and surely would have told her, if only they had not been interrupted. 

The sound of a door being ripped off its hinges distracted Gustav away from the newest Volturi member. As his grip lessened she was able to tear herself away from him and stepped back. At the entrance to the garden stood Marcus, and if looks could kill; Gustav would have already been a pile of ash. The kings eyes scanned the entirety of the garden, once his gaze landed on the two of them his eyes narrowed; pitch black. He began walking towards them at a brisk pace. 

Behind Marcus’ intimidating figure she surprisingly could see Caius, whom looked just as agitated as his brother. The aura that surrounded her mate was one she had never seen before. If Caius was the unnerving calm before the storm, Marcus was the violent thrashing that followed it. 

The fair-haired king made a move to step forward, but halted as Marcus raised an arm sharply. Turning his head to fix his brother with a look as quiet words were exchanged between them. She was unable to make out Marcus’ expression from where she stood, but it must have been quite grave. For a brief second a look of shock flashed across Caius’ face, before once again turning back to that cold mask he was infamous for. “He’s all yours brother.” was all that needed to be said as he stepped to the side and onto a balcony nearby. Leaning on the railing and leering down at what was about to transpire below. 

As Marcus neared Gustav began backing away, almost tripping over his own feet. He had not been with the guard for long, and this was a side of Marcus he had never seen. There had been whispers of what the solemn king had been like, he had thought them exaggerations. A web of lies and illusions spun by Aro so that all kings would be feared equally. 

“Master Marcus-” his voice trembled, desperate.

“You insult my queen, and then dare to touch her in such a manner... you must truly wish for death.” The few who were gathered in the courtyard was witnessing something truly extraordinary. The return of a king that had been dormant for a very long time.

Marcus’ livid expression was the last thing the transitionary guard saw before his immortal existence came to an excruciating end. 

“Caius, Ο πολεμιστής μου. Whatever has you in such a good mood?” said man turned to see his darling wife. Athenodora made her way towards her husband at a languid pace. Stepping into his side in an embrace when she was close enough, Caius leaned over to place a kiss against her temple. His attention was brought back to the marvellous show in front of him, a glint in his eyes. “Someone insulted and then proceeded to proposition Marcus’ mate.” unadulterated glee was evident in his voice as he gestured with his head at what was taking place below the balcony. 

Marcus had the guard in pieces within seconds, filtered sunlight from the trees made his torn-off limbs reflect a gentle prism around the small courtyard. His mate stood a couple of steps back, watching in wonder as her beloved turned to face her once more. Their lips were captured in an intense kiss before being hoisted into Marcus’ arms, the king rushing his mate off further into the garden. Despite the agitation a satisfied smile graced the oldest kings features.  

“... I’m glad to have my older brother back.” Caius’ tone was somber yet wistful, getting lost in memories of days of old. 

Demetri and Felix arrived on the scene soon enough, both taking in the sight before them with amusement. Their attention were brought to one of their kings and his queen on the balcony, silently asking for orders. All they needed as a response was a firm shake of Caius’ head, a lighter flickered in Demetri’s hand. Purple smoke soon enough billowed up from the garden, gently blocking out the sun. The sickly sweet scent of venom filled the air. 

Athenodora sneered in disgust, you never disrespected a king’s mate. 

Deeper into the garden breathless sighs could be heard from a vine covered alcove, shielding the two lovers for the time being. Marcus had pushed his mate up against the stone and hoisted her legs around his waist, engaged in a passionate kiss. As he pulled back he looked deeply into her eyes, reaching up to cradle her cheek with his hand. When Heidi had come barreling into the throne room he had immediately thought the worst. And when him and Caius got to the garden... if he had had blood in him it would have been boiling.

His dear mate seemed to come to their senses from the kiss, her full lips pulled into a smirk.“Think they’ll be able to reassemble that poor guard-” no more words had the chance to leave her mouth, a loud gasp rang out instead as Marcus turned his attention to their throat. “Maybe he- “ A tearing sound cut through their little hiding spot, exposing her lower body to her mate. Without further ado did the king sheathe himself inside his mate, her hands scrambling to pull him closer by the shoulders.

He looked hungry, never had he looked at her like that. She had heard stories of a Marcus that she had yet the pleasure of knowing, a king that once had been as equally feared as Caius on the battlefield. That was the man who held her in his arms right now. Whom was inside of her.

“Frankly my dear, I do not give a damn.” leaning in he gave a strong bite to their neck. Surely leaving marks that would have to heal over time.

“I-” A hard thrust rocked them both, Marcus pressed her harder into the stone as it began to crack.“I think I need to get you jealous and protective more often.” the cheekiness in her tone would cost her dearly. No more words would leave her lips that afternoon, for Marcus captured them in a searing kiss. The action successfully shutting her up. His mate was vexing, loud and a handful. True lightning in a bottle. But he would not have her any other way, for she had brought him out of his own self isolation. 

He would make sure that the whole world knew, that the oldest king in Volterra was stone no longer, for lighting had cracked his cold shell.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Θα είναι το τέλος μου: She will be the end of me, Ο μεγάλος Κάιους, συναντά το τέλος του εξαιτίας ενός βαμπίρ πενήντα ετών;: The great Caius, meets his end because of a fifty year old vampire? Αστειεύεσαι: You jest. Ο πολεμιστής μου. : My warrior

In closing: This was quite fun to write. I feel like I was able to depict some brotherly interactions between the kings, especially Caius and Marcus. It is my firm headcanon that they would have been quite close back in the day when they were tearing through battlefields together (Another reason for why Caius is quite torn up about having to help Aro cover up Didyme’s murder). This also helped me show how both Marcus and Caius are both quite terrifying but in different ways. 

[grey-spark]

The Symbolism of Spamton, and what he says about us

I don't usually analyze Undertale/Deltarune characters but I love Spamton. In this post I'm going to go over what Spamton represents, and all of his relevant symbolism. I'll try to keep this one short and straight to the point.

Before we can talk about Spamton we need to explore the context of Chapter 2. It should be clear to most people that Queen, her plan, and level are a metaphor for social media. Specifically Twitter. More specifically Twitter Drama.

Even her name is a play on the word “drama queen”

The whole level is centered around a blue bird character, Berdly. A possible reference to Twitters blue bird logo. I mean, just look at her boss battle. If taken out of context, what do you see?

You see a person sitting in a chair controlling a blue bird to attack people. 

Is that not Twitter? 

Although its important to note that Berly himself doesn't seem to connect to this social media metaphor in a narrative sense, you could still argue that Berly's front of intelligence could represent how people act online, trying to appear as someone cooler and smarter than they really are.

Point being that like the first game, Deltarune was created to be a commentary on fiction and role play. The first chapter is literally about games, and this one is about our digital presence online.  

Another more obvious reference to Twitter in the chapter is the sidequest about collecting “blue check marks:

You have to bring the Hacker “checks” which could be a reference to “Verified Checks” on Twitter, and when you give them to him he creates a fireworks show “in dedication to you.” Symbolizing how for many people on the internet, getting a verified twitter check is the symbol of becoming famous, worthy of celebration. A sign that you've become a “big shot” now.

On that note, let's finally talk about Spamton.

The most obvious connection is that Spamton seems to be like Mettaton. 

Spamton and Mettaton have similarities, beyond their names. Both are “robots” that want to steal your “heart shaped object” to become big and powerful. 

But the key difference between the two is the motive, and this is where the social media angle comes in. In the first game, we meet Mettaton who at first seems cut throat and sinister, but is revealed to have a real passion and dream. He wants to “get big” to make music that everyone enjoys, and even decides to stay behind out of an altruistic devotion to his fans.

Compere this to the cynicism of Spamton. Notice how in the first battle with Spamton you progress the battle by engaging with deals, but he doesn't seem to care about the money itself. You cant pay him off because its not about the money. He just wants to feel like a “big shot” making deals. The thrill and freedom of feeling like someone important.

In this sense we can then divide Mettaton and Spamton into two types of influencers. Whereas, Mettaton has a dream. Spamton just wants clout.

The kind of influencer who wants to use their platform to enrich themselves and fuel their ego, as oppose to someone like Mettaton with a real desire to change the world for the better. In one of the genocide routes, we can even see him take over Queens mansion, representing how these types of influencers are bound to take over the social media structure, sans the right people step in.  

Given the social media and fame metaphor. Its impossible to examine this boss and not read into the context of its creation. Although this is purely speculation, its possible that Spamton was created as open meditation on Tobyfox's baggage regarding his own fame, and also the effects of social media fame and clout chasing in general. Imagine the pressure of being that famous, of everyone expecting you to follow Undertale with something just as good or even better, and Toby probably doesn't even know what made the original game blow up like it did in the first place, and probably never expect it to. 

Consider this line in his first boss theme:

“... Now's your chance! Now's your chance! Now's your chance! Be a big- be big- beeee-”

Over and over. It can almost be read as Toby's internal monologue. An unrelenting pressure to outperform and succeed, to make sure the game is a success that fulfills everyone's expectations.  

Simply put, Toby is a big shot now.

In the matter of a single year, Toby went from being a nobody on the internet to being twitter famous celebrity. Getting “calls” from Nintendo. Again this is all unconfirmed, but its even possible that Nintendo offered Tobyfox a deal. A chance to be a big deal, with a big salary; a corporate puppet.

Toby would (hypothetically) rejected this offer. Like Mettaton, he cares about his fans, but has no interest in the acquisition of clout and power for its own sake. But hey, that's just a theory.

Which brings us to his central message about internet drama. While its not my place to psychoanalyze how someone is feeling from afar, a message is certainly here about internet fame and clout chasing. Its clear that Toby has become twitter famous, and consequently has found himself thrust into the heat of internet drama time and time again. It seems that Toby Fox is horrified by the affects social media is having on the indie gaming community or just more broadly society in general. In the past, toxic fame was a niche problem faced by a handful of Hollywood stars and musicians. But now Social Media has democratized fame, and all its problems to everyone that owns a phone. 

Chapter 2 seems to be Toby's response and warning: that being a big shot is not all its cracked up to be and certainly not worth parting your soul over.

[vaugarde]

something i really love about the dusknoir plot twist is that even though he acts nice before the twist, it’s not in that “we are a kids movie and we are trying SO hard to give you red herrings to make you think he’s not the villain and someone else is” way. it’s in a way that develops his character further, makes him more interesting, and gives way for more analysis into those actions.

like in that crystal lake post, you could possibly argue that it’s the game trying too hard to make dusknoir look better. but when you think about that event, combined with all his other pre-twist actions and his character in special episode 5, it makes perfect sense. dusknoir is a villain for sure, but his villainy doesn’t come from a place of “im a ghost and i like darkness” or something like that, it comes from not wanting to be erased and deciding the apocalypse is better than that. so he’s not really pro-dead-planet or anything, he just wants to live.

so he sucks bc he’s still going “yeah treasure town residents can suffer for that”, but it’s not like he hates the past. throughout all his interactions in the past, it’s obvious that he enjoys his time there. like, he doesn’t need to befriend the shopkeepers or give kudos to pokemon from the guild, he’s famous! his image is already good! if he wanted to, he could just loudly go “hey guys there’s this asshole lizard go get ‘im!” right at the start and most people would go “oh yes famous celebrity i love you sign my face and i’ll get going!”

and it’s not like he’s just trying to hold hero and partner’s trust before he betrays them either, because he saves their lives before he learns who hero is! and the way he goes about it is extremely genuine!

like this isn’t the dialogue of someone going “ohhh this is a good chance for me to look good!” unless he’s a good actor. his dialogue here is genuine shock, recognition, and horror at what’s about to happen, and him jumping in to stop it. like i said, he is already famous and popular with the town, and hero and partner already love and respect him! it wouldn’t affect his image if they got hurt or worse, so going to save them to get brownie points would just be unnecessary and repetitive time that could go into capturing grovyle and hero.

basically, he doesn’t have to do anything here. he’s basically already won and if he hadn’t betrayed hero and partner in plain sight of the whole town, no one would’ve believed them when they said the truth! (i mean hell they saw everything in broad daylight and its implied they STILL thought dusknoir was a good dude and needed some extra convincing) so none of this is necessary... and yet, he does. he protects the partner both before and after he learns hero’s true identity, in ways that wouldn’t do much to hinder him if he hadn’t, because he genuinely cares. through this and his casual dialogue and crystal lake, you can see he genuinely enjoys the alive time of the past, and none of it feels forced or begging you to think he’s not the villain. it just... makes him feel more like a person. a person with emotions and feelings that isn’t just some lackey following orders or faking everything, but someone who’s enjoying a time and making the fullest of it before he has to go back to the apocalypse.

and this later enriches his redemption in special episode 5, when he decides to save grovyle and protect the passage, because he decides that time really is worth saving. and i genuinely think that had he not genuinely enjoyed the past, that this scene would have much, much less meaning to it.

[sweetestlamb]

Lighting Up Your Life- A teaser

A/N: I won't say sorry because I really needed a mental break from writing and I hope you all understand that but I'm back now with a lil teaser for the IOTNBO present I'd promised. Full story coming soon, this is part of the Lightning Up Your World storyline. Thanks for your patience. Sorry for typos I wrote this at a party lmao it got boring so my mind started wandering oops.

BMTL coming soon too for those waiting that just takes longer because it's a chapter fic I need certain things to connect so I'm rereading old chapters and slowly getting it together❤️

Contrary to what he's seen in idyllic movies, marriage is not the serene happy ending that's depicted. They fight, her screaming and him walking away; his defense mechanism since young and he's changed plenty since meeting her but some habits are hard to break. He doesn't get far though because at her first cry, with shiny tears running down her pretty face he crumbles, "Don't walk away from me, you're my husband!" She's always been possessive and since they met on that faithful bloody day she has considered him hers. But hearing that title, one that he hasn't shouldered for too long wipes away almost all of his annoyance with her.

He loves being her husband, adores calling her his wife. After all these years of loneliness he finally has someone who waits for him and waves him off in the morning, his person. He'd once called her a firecracker spitefully- stupidly- but he's learned that she's actually a volcano, once it erupts it changes everything in its wake. His very fiber has been enriched by her presence.

"I love you."

It depletes the flames in her eyes, another fight about him not being home enough. Between work and school he can barely find time to breathe much less entertain a certain author and she does not hide her dissatisfaction with him. No, she's never been one to hide her anger. But this time he's said the right thing and she scoffs before slinking across the distance they placed between each other, melting into his arms her small face disappearing into his chest. He snuggles her closer, planting a soft kiss on her dark head which is longer now, flowing down her back. Her mother no longer having a hold on her. He'd been proud of every inch.

"You're just trying to stop me from arguing," she whines, but he takes it as a silent victory when she doesn't push him away.

"I don't want to fight. I'm sorry I fell asleep yesterday, I'll give you more attention." He'd taken a day off tomorrow to take her on a date, but that's a surprise. Despite their fiery rows he has never grown tired of her wanting him around all the time, he feels the same but it's harder to express that. Expressing himself in general still an uphill battle.

"Mmmm what to you mean by attention?" She replies coyly, tongue in cheek.

That innocuous sentence is all it takes to make all the blood in his head rush downwards. She's not the only one who has missed that.

He groans into her dark jasmine scented hair, louder when she chuckles deeply scratching manicured nails against the sliver of skin exposed by his hip.

"I'm hungry. Feed me first before you suck me dry."

He spaced out for a second imagining just that, him sucking her dry and her squirming under him squeals and breathy moans drowning the room. It's a beautiful image. His blood boils to a simmer.

His voice is thick when he responds, "What do you want to eat?"

Deja vu hits him recalling the last time he asked that question and her raunchy reply, you. He'd almost crashed the car on that day, clamping his legs together in order to hide her affect on him with those straightforward words.

She smirks as if remembering the same moment. Damn minx.

"I want noodles."

He takes a deep breath, calming his body before releasing her. Rearranging the hardnes digging into his denim, he purposely ignores her satisfied grin. He's not ashamed of her affect on him, he's just a man. Or so he tries to tell himself.

"Okay that sounds easy enough-"

"And curry. Oh and those eggs I like and do we have brownies I want that too! And two bowls of rice."

He stands mouth gaping taking in all the food his very petite girlfriend has requested.

But in the end, he doesn't question her appetite feeding her everything she demanded to not do so would only lead to another unnecessary argument and little Gang-tae whimpers in frustration when she promptly passes out on the couch after devouring it all, barely chewing in between. He had to force her to drink water lest she choke.

It's not completely unusual he has seen her put away more food than her body weight before, yet she remains as slim as ever. It's quite the mystery.

He's able to easily lift her slight body off the couch and barely contain his coo when she automatically snuggles into him with a sigh, she can be cute when she's not raising hell. So about forty-five percent of the time give or take.

He undresses her, forcing himself to look away from the lace and silk adorning her seductive figure noting a slight bump in a belly. Maybe the food is going somewhere, finally. He pats her little belly, it's adorable.

His beautiful wife.

He strips himself down to his boxers and slides into their bed, dragging her into his arms before letting the fatigue of the day wash over him and knock him into a peaceful slumber.

When he is later jolted from his sleep, he has no idea why at first a quick check of the clock reveals that it's far too early to be awake, 5:45 the numbers flash. Pushing his hair off his face he finally realizes that he's alone in bed left with only a small indent of where his wife should be.

Then the grogginess begins to wear off and a gut wrenching sound reaches his ears. Instinctively he leaps out of bed, following the sound and winding up in the doorway of the bathroom peering through the darkness at Mun-yeong squatting on the cold tile floor retching into the toilet.

His heart instantly drops shattering into pieces.

Please no. She can't be sick. I can't lose her.

[docholligay]

Pachinko

Please enjoy this, brought to you by @stitch-witchy

History has failed us, but no matter. In the history of great first lines of novels, the opener to this book must absolutely feature. 

In a non-spoilery and succinct fashion: Pachinko is a nearly-excellent novel that follows several generations of a Korean family in Japan, and touches on things that, especially broadly in the US, are either unknown or rarely commented upon. Japanese xenophobia, the tightrope life of appearing to be the dominant majority, the difference between what it means to be raised somewhere and what it means to be something, all of these are touched upon with a sense of grace and excellence. 

The book is almost a Korean East of Eden, the ‘good’ son and the ‘bad’ son, and what this says about resilience, and the ability to exist in the world, of hidden parentage and identity. I kept thinking of Stienbeck’s novel as I read this, though this has troubles Stienbeck’s novel doesn’t, and also does a couple things better than East of Eden. But very similar tonal feel, and if you liked East of Eden, I think this will work for you. 

Where the book falls down is its pacing, which becomes breakneck by the end of the book, failing its characters and its themes which have been so lovingly set up. It’s jarring enough that it cost the book a whole star for me. I still recommend it, but not without that particular warning. 

Love is one of the main themes of Pachinko, not only about falling in love--in fact I would argue very little of the book is about falling in love at all--but about what it means to love, and how love is in the actions we perform, not the things we say. Which is an idea I very much support and can get behind.

It argues that romantic love may not mean anything at all. Think of it, though there may be an exception I’m not calling to mind. Isak’s love for Sunja is hardly romantic nature, more of a sense of duty. Whatever might have begun between Yoseb and Kyunghee, by the end of the story all we see is, again, a sense of duty from Kyunghee, to the detriment of her own happiness. The book takes pains to say that Yoseb isn’t even LIKEABLE at the end of it all, lest we think I’m just saying Kyunghee can’t love him because he’s disabled. Solomon and Phoebe can’t make it work, though they have the good sense to figure that out. The love that is sketched as most romantic, between Sunja and Hansu, never comes to anything good. Their romance turns out to be far more destructive than it ever is enriching. 

But what are the loves we walk away thinking about? For me, it’s Isak deciding to pin his life to Sunja and her son, deciding to love her son as his own. It’s Etsuko and Solomon, and how she becomes his mother in the ways that matter. It’s  For me, the idiot fact of falling in love is more a liability than it is any sign of happiness in the book. Love is a thing that we do, not a thing we feel, and we have to care enough about someone to love them in the way they need, not the way that feels good for us. Love cannot be a selfish venture if it is to be called love. Call that passion, possession, need, whatever but love? I don’t think so. 

On that note, HERE’S UNPOPULAR OPINION TIME: Hansu should have stayed the fuck away and let Noa grow up as Isak’s son. It should have been a thing that Noa never could discover, even if I think Noa is a little fucking precious about the grand reveal. I know, I know, send hatemail to: PO box 1621 billings MT 59103 but I am not the one who come to if you want “There should be no such thing as family secrets” I come from a firm and fine “let the buried things stay buried.” To what point and purpose, revealing Hansu’s ‘contribution’? Hansu let his pride get in the way of what was best and I do in fact hold him responsible for that. If he wanted to do the right thing but wasn’t gong to marry Sunja, which, he wasn’t, he should have given her a chunk of money and gone the fuck away. It was because he couldn’t keep himself away from Noa--and not just in like, making sure he went to the farm in the war, but having to take him out to dinner, having to BASK in his son, basically--that Noa was able to figure out that he was Hansu’s son. 

Again, I’m not letting Noa off the hook here. I think Noa is a bit of a horse’s ass, I think the way he drops out of school and runs away to pretend to be “real” Japanese, but Japanese rules, is utterly eye-rolling. Get a grip, son. That doesn’t mean I dislike it as a narrative choice--there is a different between “This is narratively stupid” and “this individual character is an individual dipshit” and this defintiely falls into “individual character is a dipshit” material. He threw away all everything, all of his ability, his potential, because he had a Yakuza-adjacent type to thank for it. I do not have a lot of sympathy for this! 

So we think Isak is naive and silly? I’m not sure, but I think it must take a great amount of courage to be that style of naive, if we’re willing to call it that. I don’t know that I am, I think knowing what’s going to happen to you and deciding that this is something you can’t live with takes a great deal of not only introspection, but incredible stubbornness. It’s easy to die for what’s right quickly, but a lot harder to do it slowly. It’s something I don’t know that I would have necessarily expected from him, and I suppose that’s the difference they’re pointing out. That he’s “weak’ in many traditional ways, but strong in ways his brother cannot possibly imagine. 

Or is strength to be able to bend to the will of those who have the power to kill you? If that protects your family? I could see someone saying that, but do we really think that? I’m of course thinking of ordinary Germans who joined the party, and where is the line between betraying yourself and betraying others? I don’t have an answer to that, and I don’t know that I think the book is trying to supply an answer, nor would I encourage it to, but I do think it gives out the question. 

I really loved the way it leaned in to the horrible truth that sometimes dying is a gift. THis whole thing about Yoseb and how he survived the bombing of Nagasaki, and ever after lived a life of nothing but pain and also, burden. He was, I think it’s fair to say, a burden on his family. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t one they were unwilling to bear, but facts are facts, and the fact is that everyone would have been better off if he had died in the attack. And the novel never shies from this without beating you over the head with the idea. It allows you to come to that yourself, as it does with most of the moment where it could have chosen to sharply criticize a character. 

Something that I felt a certain kinship with, plucking the same string even if it doesn’t come to the same note, was the idea of being something that people can’t always see, but will hurt your position if they do. The choice between all of those things. It reminds me of the situations of so many Jews in America for such a long time, my great grandparents changed their names to appear “white” (which has traditionally been a moving target in America) and had plenty of experiences where they knew they could not reveal that they were Jewish. The book itself draws a parallel between the two identities when Noa is in school and they are talking about Eliot’s work, and the role of Jews within it. (Which I also Have Feelings about, but that isn’t really relevant to this review) It was uncomfortable in a good way to see that’s been the experience of other people in other places, even though I knew that intellectually. That’s the gift of fiction, isn’t it? It can take what has only been, until that point, a fact, and make it real. 

Going into that, the whole idea of being a “pet” Korean, there to work with and smooth over transitions, or to provide a bit of danger and color: This are the sort of things that have gone on, and still go on and I thought it was so good how the book showed generation after generation falling into the trap of thinking that a Japanese person would ever think of them as fully Japanese, as fully an equal. 

What I wish however is that the damn book hadn’t moved so fast in the back half. I don’t know if Lee turned this into her publisher and they told her she could not sell a 700 page book, or if she got bored with the time it was taking to tell her own story, or what, but it is so noticeable, and given the series of incredibly emotional and what could be deeply moving things that happen within the back half, it is so jarring, and is genuinely what keeps me from making this book a big rec of the year. Min, you have to let me linger! The whole POINT of doing things to your characters is for the emotional fallout and when we’re left with no room for that, they fall very flat. Fucking Noa kills himself and it’s barely anything. We’re racing to that end scene, which I think would be astoundingly powerful if the last twenty years hadn’t been run through. 

I know this is not en vogue, but you ever read something and feel like, “Man I am American as fuck”? This was me the whole time with Solomon and Phoebe because Lord, am I team Phoebe here. If I fell in love with a …Russian Jew, let’s say, and she was like, “Let’s live in Russia” I would fucking piss myself laughing while packing my bags. Thanks, I currently enjoy full citizenship. 

But you know, I say that, but I grew up here in Montana, gay, and my long-held opinion has been that I will have to be murdered in order to be carried out of here, so maybe I understand it better than I know. And it ends up holding to something I think about all the time--that where we grow up has a great deal to do with who we are. Phoebe and Solomon are both of Korean heritage, but as a practical matter, Solomon is Japanese and Phoebe is American. This isn’t to say their identity as Koreans is erased, but it’s important to take that WITHIN the idea of them being Being Japanese and American. In the same way that I am Jewish, but I am also DEEPLY American, and I won’t ever stop being Jewish, but that doesn’t make me the same as, say, an Iranian Jew, who is still Iranian and has Iranian approaches and ideas. We would be two very different people despite being “the same.” And both Phoebe and Solomon are different from Koreans raised in Korea. Identity is not neat. It’s not easy or simple. 

In conclusion, I guess, since at this point I’m rambling about every small point of the book, I thought this book had exceptional ideas and brilliant moments fo beauty and humanity, but the pacing of it tarnishes would could otherwise be one of my favorite novels. I would love to see a version of this novel that feels more written to completion.

If you have any particular questions, feel free to ask! 

[unsanctitude]

opening my hands up politely. may i have some of your octavo and/or shadow link + zelda thoughts. its ok if not !!

ya! i like to think about them : ) ill talk about Shadow link and zelda first and then how they relate to Octavo

-Since Shadow Link is described as the manifestation of Ganon's evil thoughts and resentment, i personally like to think of shadow Zelda as being that of Vaati's, since him being a dead god loaded with inner turmoil warrants him leaving traces of himself with unfinished business lurking around Hyrule for the rest of time

-I also like Shadow Zelda being the manifestation of Vaati's feelings surrounding Zelda just because of how conflicted his feelings were between games; in TMC he essentially tried to kill her to obtain the light force, while in FS he tried to marry her cause he thinks she's pretty. i like to think Shadow Zelda embodies both of these Vaatis, which makes her have very conflicting (and dangerous) feelings towards present-day Zelda, though she's strictly forbidden from acting out on her more power-hungry tendencies since Zelda is a friend to Octavo and Shadow Zelda obeys him.. to an extent

-Shadow Link's loyalty towards Octavo stems from the fealty he swore to Vaati ages ago during FS/FSA, since he still recognizes Octavo as being the "true" Vaati even though he's rejected the mantle of becoming the wind mage. Despite his devotion to Vaati, Shadow Link refuses to recognize Shadow Zelda as being related to Vaati at all, seeing her as his equal, and spurns her demands of deference to her

-Thus, Shadow Link and Shadow Zelda's clashing opinions and constant arguing gives them a very hatred-fueled, sibling-like dynamic in their never-ending cycle of "proving" who is the more powerful, respectable shadow; Shadow Link often touts that he is eons older than her and "he was there" during Vaati's glory days as his trusted servant, and Shadow Zelda argues that her being the reflection of a princess by default has her outrank him, and he should naturally obey her like the real Link "obeys" Zelda. needless to say neither of them will ever have their minds changed

-Octavo wants to see something more to them besides being mindless pawns of evil, so he does try to treat them as such and makes attempts to "humanize" them by giving them hobbies that dont involve violence. Obviously as a music teacher he tries to get them to play instruments (a very, very wide array of them to see if they click with any) met with little success

"Do either of you know how to play any instruments?"

"Do instruments of torture count"

-Along the same vein, he very patronizingly tries to get the two Shadows to get along with each other and "play nice" like an actual parent scolding his children. it doesnt work

-In general, his attempts to get them to go against their very nature of trickery and malevolence goes just about as well as you'd expect, and he finds the most he can do is order them to simply not commit heinous atrocities. The Shadows grow increasingly frustrated by not staying true to their purpose and more often than not will do things behind his back; they enrich themselves by inconveniencing Link and Zelda, but only just enough so they don't get in trouble

-At least, Shadow Link is the one who is careful about disobeying Octavo, since Shadow Zelda isnt exactly bound by fealty to him. In the back of her mind, I think she very secretly wants Octavo to become more like her, and that in fact might just be the whole point of her existence. I think of them like two halves of Vaati-- Octavo is the physical reincarnation and inherited much of Vaati's magic and skill, while Shadow Zelda embodies his hatred and the inexplicable drive to do evil. Shadow Zelda doesn't want to turn against him per se, especially since he's much stronger than her and fears he would destroy her, but she feels the need to "fix" him, and takes advantage of his kindness to try and get into his head

-And.. depending on what "ending" you go with for Octavo, she may or may not have succeeded. I think Shadow Zelda played a part in turning Octavo into the Necrodancer once she recognized a seed of corruption sown into him by the Golden Lute, nudging him towards madness by asserting herself as a voice of reason, especially since they've been ""friends"" for so long. She would have been the one to convince him to hang on to the lute instead of destroying it once he realized what it was doing to him, since he does possess enough willpower to do so otherwise.

[weepylucifer]

Having some thoughts about the Firbolg tonight

I mean I could view his arc on a Doylist level as sort of “Justin thought it would be a cool and fun thing to have the Firbolg get really into accounting for the goofs, then a bunch of people probably tweeted at him about capitalism being evil and it ruining Comrade Firbolg so he pivoted a bit”

But on the Watsonian level the Firbolg’s character development could be considered as a journey. First he got banished from his clan for collecting and storing berries, not to enrich himself but to feed those who would starve in the winter. The Firbolg code stating that any surplus food one finds must be immediately shared with the community and consumed on the spot is noble in thought but a bit faulty in practice. There is nothing un-socialist about, say, bending the rules a little to create a communal storage facility where during a lean month, those who can find no food can take some. But the Firbolg didn’t get to make that argument. His elders were committed to the letter of the law rather than the spirit, (aka enforcing a system whose rules had become so unreceptive to change as to invoke stagnacy to the point where a concept thought to serve the community harms it, a side effect of Order?) and they threw the Firbolg out on the spot.

At the school, he learned about accounting - he learned that there were other ways to do things. Some parts of the system appealed to him: allocation of resources to plan for a future is what he pushed for. So he tries to immerse himself in this new thing: to understand it and utilize the good of it. He’s also lonely, and Argo and Fitzroy provide him with a new clan. Thus he fixates, more than the other two, on the “corporate structure” of Thundermen LLC (which I’d argue to Fitzroy and Argo serves more as a metaphor for their friendship/the cool name of their little best friends club than a legitimate corporate start-up).

A part of him, that wasn’t occupied with the culture shock of the school and later all the wild adventurous shit that was going on non-stop, would have been conflicted, trying to figure out where his investment in this new system began and the Firbolg Code ended, and whether he could ignore the parts of the hero/villain system that were clearly bad. The he hears Order’s whole monologue. He stops and realizes that this is the same pattern again but on a global scale: stagnacy preventing much-needed change.

The Firbolg says in the new ep, “When Order spoke against the system, my heart was pained”. He starts to see that he’s maybe gotten in too deep to the point where he’s forgotten his roots and what he actually wanted. He doesn’t want a career in finance, he wants to give food to people who have none, and the hero/villain system, for all its fancy accounting, isn’t doing any of that. It’s so good and right that the Firbolg comes up with the new plan, that it’s he who says “destroy the economy” first. Comrade Firbolg is back, babeys

[mashounen2003]

Sonic opinions - 4

Initially, the purpose of my fanfics was almost only to think of a possible continuation of the events of Sonic SatAM, adapting things from the Archie-Sonic comics (and taking some licenses in the process), and trying to better write Antoine's transition from his self in the cartoon to his self in the comics, give more importance to Tails and better portray his parents, Amadeus and Rosemary. But then I realized how abysmal the differences between the two versions of Antoine were, while it was also harder for me to think of a way to write Rosemary coherently.

In Antoine's case, lately, I came up with an alternative to make him develop and stop being what he was in the TV series:

Immediately after the original Robotnik has been defeated, Antoine leaves his team behind. He actually doesn't know how to fight, but he still has good marksmanship, so he becomes a hitman. However, he's eventually convinced to leave behind that life without honour, begins to train in real fighting skills and becomes a genuine Freedom Fighter once and for all. In any case, he develops an opinion of "the end justifies the means" and continues thinking it for the rest of the story, being critical of his former team; this, along with his lasting grudge against Sonic and Sally, leads him to fight against the Monarchy in the events of "Civil War".

As for Rosemary... I don't like to say it this way, but she was a total b**** in the comics. I came up with a way to show her in a better light, but in no way could it have worked with the comics' Rosemary as she was. I'll talk about it when I write my list of ideas for future fanfics.

--------------------------------------------------

I also addressed Politics in that fictional universe, trying to avoid the way this was done in the comics: there, Ian Flynn created the Council of Acorn and portrayed it as a bunch of stereotyped useless politicians obsessed with controlling the heroes and barely concerned with their country's security, and I think Flynn didn't do it to actually enrich the comics' universe or to add depth to the story or to communicate certain political ideas, but only to give readers someone to blame.

In the stories I wrote so far, I didn't go deep into what happened with my fictional universe's Council of Acorn after its creation; however, I did address its origin, and in doing so, I didn't make the Bems involved. Look... In the comics, Tails's parents were inspired by the Bems to try to establish a Democracy in Acorn, and this entails some inconvenience:

The Bems are terrible people. They roboticized Sonic and Tails to make them fight Robotnik and Snively, in order to verify the robots were better than flesh-and-blood beings (if things had happened differently, perhaps Mobius's Robians wouldn't have been de-roboticized); their society is entirely made of clones and almost lacks variety, not only in terms of the physical but also in terms of people's ideas; their judicial system is quite f***ed up (at least according to our standards), and... *sigh* they're just the worst. These traits of the Bems had been developed when Karl Bollers wrote the comics, and Flynn should have considered that they’re technically canon before having Tails's parents claim to have been inspired by those aliens.

Even if we cling to Moral Relativism with all our strength, claiming the Bems are just "different" and have different behaviour, mindset, psychology and culture, this keeps making things complicated: applying something in one society, solely because it succeeded in another, ain't exactly something smart to do.

And the craziest of all is that it could have been avoided very easily: Flynn could simply have said there were previous failed attempts to establish a Democracy in other countries of Mobius and Amadeus & Rosemary had always wanted a change in the government system, had learned about those historical events and knew (or believed they knew, at least) how to do it right this time. Moreover, Flynn could have said the decade spent by Tails's parents with the Bems gave them a clue about what they should not do when finally returning to their homeworld.

I tried, in my work, to use this idea of Amadeus & Rosemary wanting to establish a Democracy in an attempt to succeed in what others in other parts of Mobius had failed throughout History. It was based upon what happened in the French Revolution (more precisely, the Jacobin period), the years immediately after the Russian Revolution, and mainly the First English Revolution: in 1648, the Monarchy was overthrown in England; the change was violent and chaotic, the government that took the place of the King ended up being also a despotic tyranny, and the final result was just the return of a King to power in 1660 (although, anyway, the Glorious Revolution established in 1688 the British parliamentary system as we know it); Thomas Hobbes, while watching those events unfold, wrote his book Leviathan, where he justified the need for an Absolute Monarchy by arguing humans were violent, selfish, chaotic and brutal by nature, so they had signed a symbolic pact where they ceded all their rights and their power to a single person in charge of ruling with an iron fist, in order to prevent humanity from destroying itself. In my fanfics' universe, it was mentioned those attempts at democratization in Mobius led to civil wars, ended with those same peoples clinging to ideas similar to those of Hobbes, quickly restoring the Monarchy and promising themselves not to try and establish a Democracy ever again.

I also mentioned the recurring conflicts between the Acorn Kings and the Southern Barons in the comics, as well as the connection between the Kings and the infamous Source of All, among other things. I also had Amadeus do what he should have done in the comics when he explained why he wanted there to be Democracy: to present historical events, such as those conflicts, the Kings' cult of the Source of All and the technological and cultural backwardness to which the people were subjected by them, as concrete examples of how the Monarchy had never worked well.

--------------------------------------------------

There are several Sonic fans, including @toaarcan and @robotnik-mun, who argue Politics shouldn't have been addressed at all in Sonic stories. Also, the vast majority of Sonic fans claim each and every one of the attempts to make this series more serious were some of the worst things that could have happened, even the addition of more characters was nothing but a cancer, and everything should have remained "simple" or the Sonic franchise shouldn't have gone beyond what it was at the time of the classic Genesis games. I praise the stories written by @toaarcan, and I agree with many of the opinions of both him and @robotnik-mun, but with all due respect, I totally disagree on this particular point.

I've always believed that, if it's done right, any topic should be able to be addressed in any kind of fiction, and Politics is no exception; more exactly, I think an author has two options when writing a work aimed at children and young people: to write something super light and soft where no serious topic is addressed, or to "go all-in" and address all serious topics, leaving nothing out; this includes not only Politics, but also tragedies, the complexities of love, toxic interpersonal relationships (whether abusive or otherwise), bullying, mental illness, trauma (for example, that caused by war), societal issues, and so on. That's one of the many whys of my love for RWBY: there's nothing that web-series doesn't talk about. As for the proper and respectful LGBTQ+ representation, rather than a serious topic reserved for serious fictional works, it's a requirement every fictional work should meet, whether serious or not, especially in the middle of the 21st century (this is something I think my work didn't meet satisfactorily).

With Sonic SatAM and the comics, it looked like the second option could have worked in the Sonic franchise too, and the TV series did it right to some extent. Unfortunately, Archie-Sonic's writers almost never did things right in regards to relationships between characters: Ken Penders's work, in particular, is an example of how relationships should never be, and Flynn's attempt to talk about Politics was a complete disaster, not much better than Penders's heinous handling of political stuff, more similar to a very low-quality North-American political satire, even when the conflict portrayed wasn't of the "Right versus Left" kind but of the "Monarchy versus Republic" kind, which should have been much easier to do without ruining everything. The only ones who didn't fall into those same mistakes were Gallagher and Angelo DeCesare, the comics' first writers, but only because they chose the first option: to write stories that weren't serious at all... with the notable exception of "Growing Pains", the B-story of issues #28 and #29, a typical Shakespearean tragedy where they presented us Auto-Fiona, a robot replica of who would later be one of the most controversial characters in the comics.

This, coupled with the resounding failure of Sonic 2006, is the only reason why now almost everyone in the Sonic fandom prefers stories without anything serious and/or a return to the Classic Sonic era, with very underdeveloped characters who are turned into mere plot devices and are only a shadow of their former self or of what they could have been.

[whitehotharlots]

The triumph of lunacy

There’s a trend in the social justice sphere that encapsulates the self-defeating idiocy of our present moment. During official meetings meant to address or raise awareness of issues of racial justice, all the white people present are expected to call themselves racist, provide examples of their racism, and explain what they’re doing to avoid being racist in the future. 

I am not exaggerating, and this is as cult-like as it sounds: to enter into the discussion, you must start by saying “My name is Mark, and I’m a racist.” 

This is not a fringe activity. It’s a completely mainstream part of racial justice programming. A student in Nevada is suing his school after administrators threatened to deny him graduation because he refused to call himself racist. A quick twitter search reveals dozens of examples (which I am omitting to avoid accusations of “generating death threats” or whatever), and this has been covered extensively in right wing media. This is mainstream, even if we want to pretend that it’s not.

Now, looking at this just in the abstract, a few seconds of scrutiny shows us how idiotic and self-defeating this practice is. I accept the notion that everyone is prejudiced to some degree and that most white Americans receive some structural advantages in some spaces. In this very obscure sense, you can argue that all white people are racist. Fine. But if a term is applied to literally everyone and everything, it loses its utility. If everyone is racist, then “racist” is a meaningless designation. 

In practice, however, this is even more insane than it sounds. Because of course the purveyors and participants in these ritualistic humiliation sessions don’t really think that everyone is racist. If they did, they wouldn’t go through the ritual. Obviously, the people calling themselves racist are being coerced into doing so. Every person who says “My name is Mary, and I’m a racist” is thinking in the back of their head that they’re not really racist, that this confession serves as an act of ablution. And, in a truly lunatic twist of irony, the people who are regarded as racist after these sessions are the ones who did not call themselves racist. 

Madness. Absolute madness. 

This is precipitated, of course, by guilt. White liberals realize, correctly, the the world is fucked. The politicians and organizations that putatively represent their views have done the opposite and accelerated widespread brutality. The man who invented mass incarceration was sold as the only way to avoid “fascism.” There’s no hope of a more decent future. They feel like shit and will do anything, even self-flagellation, to glimpse the feeling that maybe they’re kind of sort of partway making the world less horrible. They’re not--objectively, this type of gross bullshit is alienating, makes non-insane people disengage with the movement, and has been empirically proven to reduce empathy and make people more hateful. But they feel a little better for doing it. 

Beyond guilt, however, lies coercion. I’ll bet the vast, vast majority of people who have subjected themselves to these struggle sessions didn’t believe a word they were saying but were just going along to avoid getting in trouble. Personally, I’m not going to lose my job and my healthcare just to avoid a few moments of cynical embarrassment. Very few people would.

It was just today that I realized how commonplace this type of dishonesty has become. If you live or work in a liberal space, ask yourself this question: how many times in the last few years have you professed a belief in something you knew was crazy? How many times have you been made to signal approval for ideas that you knew to be harmful, impossible, or reactionary in order to avoid being branded an Enemy of Social Justice? How many times have you stayed silent and let yourself be bullied into feigning support for policies and procedures that contradict your beliefs?

More than a few, I’ll bet. Now ask yourself: what has been gained from this? Is the world more just or safe or equal than it was before this type of shit was made commonplace? Do you have more hope for the future, or less? 

The only political effect of this normalization of dishonesty has been the ascendance of the most reactionary faction of the Democrat party. A left that had not been trained to hate itself would not have voted for Joe Biden. 

This is what happens when a movement places zero value upon honesty and decency. When all conflict becomes understood as abuse, when all criticism is regarded as violence, the most sociopathic and violent members of a community are the ones who get to set the agenda. No one can push back. No one can dissent. The demand for absolute uniformity cripples the movement’s ability to accomplish anything beyond enriching a handful of the very worst people on earth. 

We did this to ourselves, and I worry we might be past the point of no return. Just a few months ago I still held some hope that we might see a turn around, that saner and more decent voices might take control and actualize our widespread disgust and discontent toward policies that would actually help people. That’s not going to happen. The sociopaths have won. Their candidate is president, their ideology is mandatory, and their ability to hurt anyone who crosses them is stronger than ever.

Joe Biden will be the most austerity-minded president since Herbert Hoover. His reign is going to be disastrous for everyone, especially those who are already vulnerable. His supporters, secure in their positions within media and NGOs and academe, will need to fabricate more scapegoats to explain away the failures and brutalities of their leader--to convince everyone that they deserve the punishment they are receiving. They’re going to demand and receive more intrusive means of ensuring ideological uniformity. And there’s nothing we can do to stop them.

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

The Search for the “Bluest Quintessence” and S6 - The Most Unnecessary Conspiracy In VLD?

Can somebody riddle me this? I’m rewatching Voltron: Legendary Defender, and I just…hm. Am confusion.

I’ve been thinking about the types of quintessence throughout the show, and how the show’s plots always revolve around energy harvesting. According to season 1, totally raw quintessence mined from worlds is yellow, and Haggar’s druids are the ones who filter it into its purple state: 

(Screenshots from Season 1, Episode 10: Collection and Extraction)

I feel safe in assuming that the filtering of raw, mined quintessence into its purple form is what turns it into a usable source of energy. But it also seems that this purple quintessence was still never “as good” as the enriched, concentrated blue quintessence that Alfor and Honerva originally discovered with the comet. Because if the purple version were so perfect, then no one would be desperately trying to get a better grade of quintessence, right?

Which sets the stage for Lotor’s whole arc:

(Screenshot from season 3, episode 7: The Legend Begins)

So here’s where I get confused: How does the need for specifically concentrated quintessence in any way result in the plot twist we got in s6 with the Altean colony? 

Please help me out here. So s6 was about Lotor having this totally secret and horrifying operation to harvest concentrated quintessence from “a few” Alteans, in order to specifically break into the rift. In season 4, Lotor himself even confirms Pidge’s s3 suspicions regarding the purpose of his agenda, that it’s all about getting to the rift using this special quintessence:

(Screenshots from season 4, episode 5: Begin the Blitz)

Lotor also admits to the goals he wants to achieve by piercing the barrier:

(Screenshots from season 5, episode 5: Bloodlines)

And throughout these endeavors, the purest, most concentrated quintessence always and specifically appears as blue:

(Screenshot from season 6, episode 2: Razor’s Edge)

In season 6, we see the show building up to this wild connection between Lotor and where he’s getting this secret, concentrated quintessence. Krolia and Keith confirm they’ve been trying to track it down in different ways:

(Screenshots from season 6, episode 2: Razor’s Edge)

And in this episode, Krolia builds this blue, enriched quintessence as being very scarce and from a totally unknown source:

But in rewatching earlier seasons, I get really confused as to why literally anyone was

so amazed

by this blue quintessence as a mystery energy source. Because...it seems to me like the show itself...didn’t even need an all-new secret source via the Alteans? It already had multiple potential sources? Like, everywhere?

So I guess, let’s talk Komar because it heavily affects the potential plot of the show.

Season 4 details Keith and Kolivan’s initial discovery of enriched quintessence. And the enriched quintessence they found wasn’t scarce or from a mysterious ship like Krolia’s experience in season 6. Instead, the Blades found massive vats of it in a major, well-known, and old but active Galra stronghold—with several Galran soldiers still guarding it and even moving the supply around:

(Screenshots from season 4, episode 1: Code of Honor)

Canon tries to excuse Komar tech from being the answer to the existence of this enriched quintessence, given that Voltron destroyed Haggar’s Komar Experiment in season 2. And it has to explain this away, because Komar tech is very, very good at harvesting vast amounts of that precious blue stuff, and we just can’t have a simple answer, can we:

(Screenshots from season 1, episode 6 – Take Flight)

But whether Komar had been destroyed or not, its very existence...never actually goes away in the larger show’s story. For example, Coran describes the Komar in a way that hauntingly reflects exactly what Lotor’s tech in the Altean colony does:

(Screenshots from season 2, episode 13: Blackout)

(Screenshot from season 6, episode 4: The Colony)

Idk if this is a “chicken or the egg” type of situation, but the technology for the Komar and the technology for harvesting Alteans seem to have the same result of procuring concentrated quintessence. Not just the yellow raw stuff or the somewhat better purple. But the enriched, blue quintessence that Lotor coveted so desperately for breaking into the rift.

So, conspiracies aside that Haggar stole Komar tech from Lotor or vice versa, I find it pretty wild that Lotor’s automatic go-to for harvesting energy was the Alteans. Because with the technology he had, he literally could have linked it up to....just about any other form of life on the universe. 

What the Komar, totally destroyed or not, ultimately suggests is that the pure, concentrated quintessence is not actually unique to special Alteans--but that the trick is simply being able to more purely harvest any given life force.

In which case, it makes turning survivors of omnicide of one’s own heritage into cattle and breeding them for more “special” victims seem so...utterly pointless on so many levels. Lotor could have just pointed said tech at plants and fish, and received a similar result. Haggar and Zarkon confirmed within season 1 that it could canonically be done. The show even depicts them taking pure, concentrated quintessence from specifically animals and a large body of water.

I suppose prior to this rewatch of earlier seasons, I did think that, in response to this, VLD was arguing for Alteans as the only beings in the universe who had the “bluest” quintessence. Which would maybe better explain Lotor’s exploitation of them despite the squicky master race/species vibes that such a concept gives off. But this concept also can’t explain the s6 plot twist to me anymore after my rewatch.

In looking back at previous seasons, Alteans originally were dependent on Balmeras for quintessence-based energy:

(Screenshots from season 1, episode 8: Rebirth)

Notice how Coran talks of the Balmera giving of the crystals as a gift, but yet Alteans repaid their “sacrifice” (same language Lotor used for the Alteans) by providing a token of their own pure life force. This episode reveals that Balmera ultimately function as concentrated quintessence generators and storages.

But even then, Alteans were also dependent on the people of the Balmera to complete this transfer of pure, concentrated quintessence, as they could manipulate the Balmera’s energy for symbiotic purposes:

In which case, if Balmeras were the original™ self-replenishing stores of pure, concentrated quintessence, and also so readily found across the universe with entire groups of people capable of transferring its energy, why even need to harvest Alteans? And since Balmeras can be convinced to willingly give of themselves for a good cause, would it not have made sense for Lotor to work alongside these gentle giants and their people, perhaps finding a way to extract its quintessence in a form other than a crystal? Perhaps even using his smaller-scale version of harvesting tech? Because clearly, he had an issue with just wiping out an entire planet or culture:

(Screenshots from season 5, episode 1: The Prisoner)

And Lotor is shown as canonically very interested in wanting to work alongside other cultures:

(Screenshots from season 5, episode 6: The While Lion)

I think it very likely that Balmera would have worked out some way for him to extract concentrated quintessence in the form he needed—and even better, this would have presented the opportunity to re-initiate the culture and repayment ceremonies of old sacred Alteans.

Because...why wouldn’t he have known about this Altean practice?

(Screenshot from season 5, episode 6: White Lion)

(Screenshot from season 6, episode 4: The Colony)

So despite Balmera being prevalent concentrated quintessence stores throughout the universe, and despite their people still knowing how to enact an Altean repayment ceremony, and despite Lotor having “deep knowledge,” he somehow missed this opportunity??

Lotor would have happily nerded out over being like his Altean ancestors and sustainably and respectfully extracting pure, concentrated energy while also achieving his end goals. And if he’d connected to a Balmera even once, just to try it, he would have discovered that he was a “sacred Altean” as well. Because canon confirms it:

(Screenshots from season 5, episode 6: White Lion)

So Lotor is, canonically, a magical “sacred Altean” with deep cultural knowledge that not even Allura or Coran were aware of. He had generally pretty immediate access to or the ability to find Balmeras across the universe, which are also canonically storages of pure, concentrated life force. And Balmera have canonically deep and respectful relationships with the Alteans who harvest their energy for their own purposes.

Through Balmera and perhaps a simple redesign of his own harvesting tech he was working on, Lotor had an easy way to secretly siphon blue concentrated quintessence in the form he needed, from a willing, self-sustainable source—and afterward, to also give back in thanks in the ways of his mother’s people, without having to actually “sacrifice” anyone.

And yet...malicious Altean harvesting was the only explainable option and the answer this show went with...??

I’m really tempted to just conclude that blue, concentrated quintessence is not as scarce in other life forms as the latter half of the show makes it out to be, that more forms of life can actually interface with it and manipulate it beyond Alteans, and that Lotor had very simple ways to hide and run a sustainable and culturally meaningful quintessence experiment. 

So to me, it seems that the search for the “bluest quintessence” represents just another example of VLD inconsistently manipulating its own inconsistent worldbuilding to arrive at outrageous, universe-contradicting and pointlessly evil plot twists like the s6 colony plot.

But I’m curious what you all think and if I’m just...missing something? 

(Also apologies if someone else has already brought this up somewhere and I’m just lagging behind, haha.)