#born to be the obvious main character forced to be the straight man

[stimmingandstruggling]

i love the astral express family because they’re all SO weird. every time you think you’ve found the normal one you find out they’re just another flavor of freak. like himeko is maybe the most responsible one, but she just casually enjoys coffee that most consider poisonous. welt? straight up from another universe and carries around a black hole. march? don’t fuckign kid yourself her name is MARCH 7TH. then you think maybe, maybe dan heng is the token normal person of this group! he’s logical, down to earth, relatively calm! and it turns out he’s a dragon whose ex is hunting him across the universe, and he just decided not to mention that. and somehow, in comparison to everyone else, he’s still just some guy

[ufonaut]

Might be a weird ask, but after that convo about the JSAer's ages, what about their partners and kids (especially the kids)? Because of the sliding time scale, characters like Jennifer-Lynn, Todd, Rick, Jesse and Jack Knight are presumed to have been born sometime in the late 80s or 90s (as of 2023)? So that leaves a situation in which most JSAers kind of avoided having kids until they were in their 60-70s? That or maybe DC will one day say that these kids also are time-displaced.

see my best friend katie (@slaapkat) and i have spent ages trying to figure this one out, and i know the folks over on the cbr forums (which is basically the last bastion of old time fandom, not that that's necessarily a good thing) have been recently discussing this exact thing post-lost children finale... and, well, there's no easy answer!

there's cases like rex tyler, where even by wendi's first appearance in showcase 1956 #56 it's pretty obvious she's significantly younger than rex (she's introduced as a 'girl' and rex already has grey temples by that cover date of '65) and that's made even more clear in hourman 1999 #24 when their age difference actually leads to some arguments about rex not getting the hip music wendi listens to but. that's just one case of many and it's one that'd have to be updated with the timeline, too.

i think the solution is either time displacement or what i'm personally leaning towards is having the jsa's time in ragnarok come sooner and last longer, have them come back at a decent age (having effectively been frozen during their time there) and then settle down and have families. with that particular avenue, i think we'd reach around the same ages roy thomas had in mind during infinity inc. i've gotta say this is one of the main reasons i love judy garrick's introduction so much, having her born in 1949 is absolutely a stroke of genius and jay & joan having the first of the jsa kids is perfect considering they're the only ones of the 'default' couples to have ever discussed marriage & kids in their actual golden age comics (as per flash comics 1940 #35 and #45)!

that being said, even keeping canon as it is, i don't think it's actually as big of a concern as it seems at first glance! out of the original team mcnider, kent, al, wes, corrigan, johnny t and terry never had kids -- with the caveat that grant emerson isn't really al's son and the closest thing wes has to a kid, sandy, is kept ageless in sand monster form for as long as necessary. similarly, johnny t's peachy pet can keep her original timeline as she doesn't inherit any legacy, and the hawks can have hector at any point because it's his return from the dead as fate that needs to be in line with the current timeline instead of his actual birth. as stated above, rick also requires no real update because rex could've simply met wendi much later and dating a twenty-something year old actress as a status symbol doesn't make him more of a creep than he already was if it happened in the 60s or in the 90s.

and here's where it gets problematic. david & jack knight... well, let's say ted's in the same boat as rex, he's not a family man type to begin with. jennie & todd? i can see alan holding onto his confirmed bachelor status for as long as he's able until societal pressure wears him down, and mr gbc ceo getting with young secretary alyx rose thorn makes him a believable straight cliche that would raise no suspicions (and it would also account for the blind anger of the 90s sentinel era, he hates what he's had to do... plus, you know, other real world events of the 90s that might influence for the worse the way alan feels about being gay)*. the one that's really giving me trouble is jesse quick but i suppose we can either move up johnny and libby's wedding and allow johnny the normal course of his original canon (he was still a bachelor living with tubby watts by adventure comics #174 in '52) or jesse's older than she looks and the speed force lets her age real slow.

as for their partners, in the case of those who aren't simply with significantly younger women, it's canon that they were all bathed in that weird ian karkull shadowland radiation that makes the jsaers themselves eternally sorta young as per all-star squadron annual #3.

WHEW THIS GOT LONG, I'M SORRY!! what do you think?

*as a side-note to the alan situation -- considering his marriage with alyx rose thorn lasted precisely a day and a night, molly's timeline doesn't need to be moved up for longer than a couple years when alan eventually gives in to that too and we can have their divorce somewhere around 2011 as a fun reference to the life-changing events of new 52.

[cynettic]

Hey so I just read the Laser Tag AU and maaaan, now I really want to play Splatoon smh aksksjjdjs

Anywayyy my point is: may I request more hcs but with the other boyos (Childe, Albedo, Bennett, Razor, Chongyun, Xingqiu and maybe Aether if you do him too xD)

Laser Tag ( genshin x reader )

Summary - Genshin characters playing laser tag with you their s/o.

Pairings - Reader x Childe/Bennett/Razor/Chongyun/Albedo/Scaramouche

Warnings - Mention of guns and shooting.

A/N - Added in Scaramouche- But I couldn’t think of anything for Xingqiu. I can surprisingly see the majority of the Genshin boys being good at wielding guns, even though they’d probably suck lol

Laser Tag

Childe

Childe is a beast.

Whether it’s in the terrain of his battlefield, or the streets of Liyue playing laser tag, Childe plays to win. He’s always been the competitive type, enjoying the thrill of battle, or in this case, laser tag.

He loves the game.

And of course, you just have to end up on the opposite team as him.

This game is the perfect setup for an enemies to lovers kind of vibe btw. With him shooting at your comrades and eliminating them from left to right, and you doing the same for his team. Very few people stand against him in this game, and his accuracy and sense of battle.

The two of you will spend the entirety of the game playing cat and mouse. Childe chasing after you while you simply escape his sights every time, taking down his teammates while you’re at it.

Childe isn’t as interested in winning, and once you prove to be worthy of a decent laser tag battle, he tries his best to force you to confront him.

Of course you on the other hand take his reckless behaviour to your advantage to turn the game in your favour and strike down his team. You know it’ll piss him off later when you win.

However, it Childe does manage to catch you…

The two of you will fight, that much is obvious. Dodging and attacking him, he will get very into it. Maybe a little too much, but you don’t give in, not until the very end.

Not until he’s on top of you, the two of you toppled over a bunch of hay that cushions your fall when he crashes into you. Not until he’s holding the plastic revolver against your temple, staring straight into your eyes with his signature smirk.

He might sneak a little kiss in there just to throw you off.

But in the end he will make sure he wins, or rather, he eliminates you. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t win the entirety of the game, taking you down was satisfactory enough, and he feels well accomplished and content after.

Would definitely rub it in your face.

If you brush it off as something you didn’t really try in, be prepared to be pinned against the wall and kissed until you admit that you were in fact, doing your best. And yes, he won fair and square.

Bennett

Omg this precious boy-

Bennett will try his hardest, stick by your side and shoot at any approaching target. Considering that the two of you are on the same team, he will promise to protect you.

With one problem.

No matter how well he aims, whether it is going to hit his target or not, the lazer disagrees. Rather, his terrible luck absolutely ruins it and somehow his lazer point ends up somewhere completely else.

“It changed its direction completely!”

Well… you never know, maybe it’s the gun that sends the lazers ray so far off, but considering it’s Bennett, you know it’s no coincidence.

So you end up protecting him.

Dragging him from place to place and shooting down your opponents, the two of you spend your time tripping over random large ass rocks ( with only Bennett’s terrible luck to blame ) and attacking opponents.

You make sure that Bennett is not shot, no matter what. And you give everyone else a terrible glare that basically screams that if they shoot him, they’ll face your wrath.

Nobody shoots Bennett.

By the end of the game, he’ll be grinning ear to ear. And even if he didn’t manage to eliminate anyone, he’ll boast about how his amazing dodging skills pulled him through the game. You’ll agree, lacing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him to the good Hunter to get a good meal.

Just to buy one though, the poor boy can’t cook for his life.

Razor

“Razor… very confused.”

The wolf boy has difficulty with the rules of the game, but the concept of pointing the gun at an opponent and shooting them with a lazer isn’t too hard to grasp.

You find out very quickly that Razor is actually pretty good with aim.

His hands don’t shake for one, and he is so adept to his surroundings that people struggle finding the source of their depleting health. Despite being overall confused at how to play, Razor easily becomes one of the main players taking opponents down.

As someone on his team, he makes sure to keep you by his side the entire time. He understands the elimination part, and he doesn’t want his lupical to get taken out, even if it’s a game.

He can be oddly affectionate at certain times, pushing your face against his chest as he takes out the remaining players in the field you both are in. He will carry you, and take no hesitation when pulling you out of the way, even if it’s a little too rough.

When the game ends, it might take a while to explain to the poor boy that your team won. And that it was a good thing.

Razor will begin to smile when he notices how content you are with it.

Chongyun

This man has the audacity to wield a gun while licking his ‘popsicle.’

Like goddamnit Chongyun, being good at shooting is already a flex, you don’t have to nibble at your popsicle while you’re at it.

You can’t really blame him though, it’s hot outside, and with the sun beaming down on the poor boy's head you know he can’t stand it. Especially with all the adrenaline and yells from opposing teams.

As someone on the same team as him, you take on the job of Chongyun’s personal popsicle restocker, and shooting anyone down once he gets tired. As good as the boy is at shooting, he sucks at keeping himself unknown to the other players.

So you take on the job to make sure they don’t shoot him down.

The two of you are a good team, and if it gets too hot, Chongyun might even let you have one of his popsicles. Of course you don’t have his talent of being able to shoot while having a popsicle in your mouth-

Your team will end up losing though, and even though Chongyun isn’t bothered, he will be slightly worried if you care. The two of you were obviously trying your best, and as long as you both had fun that’s all that matters to him.

But if it really bothers you that much…

He knows you feel comforted by physical contact, so he’ll hold your hand and offer a comforting smile. Tell you that you played well, and that he had fun.

That cheers you up right away.

Kiss him on the cheek please, even though he will flinch at the contact, his cheeks are flushed red and he won’t admit it. But he likes it.

Albedo

Why is it so easy to picture Albedo as a hot sexy stoic mafioso wielding a gun?

Anyways, Albedo is terribly good at wielding a gun. So good at that he only holds the plastic revolver with one hand, never missing a shot as he walks down the streets of Monstadt.

He knows the area well, so good luck trying to sneak up on him. The way his eyes so carelessly sweep the buildings, it hardly looks like he’s trying. Eliminating players with his lasers as he mindlessly strides past the fountain.

Of course, you’re against him.

Albedo isn’t really motivated to play, he’d rather be in his lab experimenting or recording down his discoveries. But he was dragged into this mess, he might as well play his part and support his team.

Albedo won’t hesitate to shoot at you and take you down.

As much as you may be important to you, he plays this game fair and square. He will take you down, or rather, he will try, because you get creative :)

He knows Monstadt well, but he can’t possibly keep his eye on all angles around him. So you’ll aim for his blind spots, throw yourself at him and tackle him to the ground. Simply eliminating him isnt satisfying enough, you need more.

So you turn this into a little game to fluster him.

Tackle him and pin him down, watch him scramble for the gun and then give him a peck on the lips. Watch as his grip loosens, and one of his hands instinctively come to nestle against your hair to pull you closer, and then you pull away.

Watching his idle confusement turn into a light blush on his cheeks is just too good, and how he grows even redder when you start laughing is even better.

Of course his team wins, not that he cares.

The minute the game ends he’s back in his office, conducting experiments. You can go interrupt him though, sneak into his office and press a kiss against his neck. He doesn’t often react or do much to it, but after your linger kiss at the game, he will pull you close and sit you on his lap. Have a proper make out session after you left him hanging with that peck earlier ;)

Scaramouche

This little man is ‘terrifying’.

It’s scary enough that whether you’re against him or on the same team as him, you keep your distance.

“Are you avoiding me Y/n?”

You play on the same team, and even if he’s your boyfriend, you know better than to stay too close when it comes to battle. He shows his cruelty, and you really weren’t looking forward to be put in the middle of that.

‘Unfortunately you didn’t have a choice-‘

Scaramouche will literally drag you, a hand looped around your waist to tug you to his side and take you along with him as he takes down opponents after opponents. He doesn’t ask for your praise, but you still give him it knowing he appreciates it. Mentally.

When he’s tired or bored, he will lean his head on your shoulder, wait there for a bit before jumping back up and shooting a random straggler on the sides. Heavens knows how the boy knows he was there, it’s like he has some sixth sense.

We don’t even want to get into his accuracy and precision, Scaramouche is born a mafioso.

At the end when your team wins, no surprise, give him a hug. Tell him he did well and even if he tries to push away, hold him tight. Even though he could easily pull your arms away if he wanted to, he’ll just pretend to give a little struggle and then give in to your warmth.

[ultimatedemonsimp]

It's come to my attention that there is not a lot of t-word content on Obey Me! And as a member of both communities, I am expected to provide what is lacking. This has MC as a switch.

Obey Me! Shall We Date? Tickle headcanons!

Lucifer

Whether you want to believe it or not, he didn't get into tickle fights much.

That being said, when he did, he was a ruthless ler through and through.

He didn't get involved because none of the brothers, not even Mammon, are dumb enough to provoke him.

Then MC comes along.

With their lack of self preservation instincts and common sense, provoking Lucifer into tickle fights, no matter how one sided they are, becomes almost a daily occurrence.

Finds himself now beginning to identify more as a ler-leaning-switch.

Main spots are his shoulder blades, sides, ribs, and hips. Rough tickles get the loudest responses, though reactions to light scratching, fluttering, and/or pinching his ribs are absolutely adorable.

Though he is a ler-leaning-switch, that doesn't mean he has at all left his ruthlessness at the door, he could still probably kill someone if he wanted to.

Uses all kinds of tickles depending on who and where it is. (Will die before telling anyone, but he really like to give and receive sillier stuff like nibbles and raspberries)

He was/is a bit gentler with MC because he, originally, though that the human was too fragile for what he normally does. If MC straight up tells him that they don't want him to be easy on them, then, believe you me, he won't. Do be prepared, MCs that believe they can take it, to be almost killed every single time.

8/10 for ticklishness.

Mammon

If he says his middle name is gambling, he's lying, it's actually switch.

As a playful tickle monster of a ler and a blushy, flustered mess of a lee, this man can not take what he dishes out.

This mf growls in the most teasing way possible, the three times in at least a dozen millenia that Lucifer found himself in the position of lee even he found himself blushing at the second born's antics.

MC comes along and this man almost dies on several occasions.

He doesn't need to breathe, but gdi, he wish he did so he could use that to make them stop.

Don't worry about what gets the best reactions, all of them do.

Even though... go for the middle section (right where his wings pop out) of his back if you want him to beg, ribs+sides if you want frantic laughter, and thighs+ass if you want high notes.

Did I mention that he's a brat? 'Cause he's a brat.

He will do anything but what you tell him to, if he knows you'll tickle him. He's the kind of brat that thinks they can take it, but start begging before you even touch them.

Over all, 13/10 on the ticklish scale.

Leviathan

This mans...

Right off the bat, baby's a lee-leaning switch.

He lers to get revenge on some people and lees most of the time.

He ended up on the losing side of tickle fights nine times outta ten.

When he does ler though...

The tail in his demon form isn't just for direction and decoration, oh, no, no, he'll pin you with it so he can use both hands. If a majority of it is free, he'll use it to help tickle you, too.

His preferred method of tickling people in poking bc it doesn't require to much physical contact, but if he's really trying he'll go all out. Squeezes, raspberries, nibbles, pinches, and that's not even the end of the list.

Teases his lee by pointing out obvious shit, like how red their face is, how they've been bested by a "dirty otaku", how much their laughing, etc, etc.

Then Mc comes along and he just can't-

Malfunctions 75% of the time he's suddenly touched, and when Mc appears outta nowhere to start shit that gets bumped up to 80%.

Tease him, trust me.

He'll whine about it, but he wants it.

Lower back damn near kills him, underarms are torture, and stummy turns him into the giggly-ist, blushy-ist, adorable ball of mush you've ever seen.

12/10 for ticklish asf.

Satan

You can't even attempt to tickle this man.

Right below Lucifer when it comes to who wins the family tickle fights.

He's in a full on war with Lucifer for the No. 1 spot.

He has yet to win against his brother/father, and probably never will-

Ler all the way, and he's RUTHLESS.

Like, more ruthless than Lucifer, because Lucifer will let up so you breathe after a while so you don't suffocate.

Satan has spells that will force oxygen into and out of your lungs and, if he uses them, that's it. You're fucked. You pissed him off, now he's gonna get you back until he feels satisfied.

When Mc comes along, he's actually kinda happy when they challenge him.

Finally! I worthy opponent! Our battle shall be legendary!

Teasing will result in immediate termination by tickles.

He cackles like an evil mastermind if you squeeze his hips, will attempt to fist-fight you if you start poking around him back, and,- just,-... gives tf up if you go for the outer side of his thighs.

7/10 but just can't take it.

Asmodeus

Careful, now! Asmo is just about anything and everything.

This baby is 100% a switch and changes for whatever his partner wants.

Lees, you want a ruthless ler? Merciful? Something else/in between? Asmo's got you.

Lers, you want a brat? Obedient? Something else/in between? Asmo's got you!

Fellow switches? Anytime, anywhere, Asmo. Has. Got you.

Asmo often tries to use tickle fights to feel people up, but it's kinda hard to do that when your arms are pinned above your head, so he'll just sit there and take it.

However, he has accidentally started them from attempting to feel someone up.

He's ticklish just about everywhere, but his thighs, knees and underarms deserve some special attention.

Absolutely the demon to tease his 'lees with compliments (unless it's Mammon, to which then it's straight up lecturing or insults)

NAILS.

Watch out for this man's nails because they're deadly.

That being said, he know just how tickly his nails are and uses them every chance he gets, so you really can't watch out for them.

I've said before that he'll be whatever the other wants, but when he wants to tickle, he's mean. The kind of mean that makes lees keyboard smash.

6/10, but it can and will change depending on the person.

Beelzebub

Tickle monster 2.0

Tickle bear hugs!

He is a ler, but he's a very sweet ler.

Light tickles, nibbles, chomp-ies, kisses, the occasional raspberry here and there.

He teases by asking questions that would be normal to ask in any other situation, but it's flustering in this one.

Gets into tickle fights all the time!

He's the one holding the person who started it down, while the others go ham on them.

Hungy Sweetheart just wants to be helpful!

He's almost never lee'd!

Then MC comes along and figures out that's because he's only ticklish in very certain spots that's no one'd really checked.

The only other person to know where those are, is Belphie bc it's Belphie-

Baby is very scared of hurting you, so he doesn't try to fight you off, or buck, or anything.

Doesn't really laugh, but he does giggle. When you find those spots near his neck and stomach, he's giggling like a mad man.

4/10 but is very sweet.

Belphegore

Our poor, tired, murderous calf...

Yeah, in an alternate universe, he killed us with tickles.

We've got another ruthless ler on our hands.

You'd think he doesn't care about tickling people bc tired, but that's how he gets ya

If you're getting chased, you're more likely to run to the one place you know there's a person who wouldn't wanna tickle you, but, secretly, that person does want to tickle you and once you've locked the door and hunkered down with them, you've dug your own grave.

The ler that's gonna tell you to be quiet while they attack your worst spots.

He's a ler, but that doesn't mean he's not ticklish.

Over all, he's not insanely ticklish like Levi or Mammon, but he's pretty bad.

His neck, thighs and belly make him laugh desperately, but anywhere else is light giggles and squeaks to yelps and squeals.

Squeezing is his favorite, giving and receiving.

6/10 for the 7th born

That's it for now, I've had this sitting in my queue for months now and I had to get this out of it. Consider this a part 1 and part 2 will be the "Neo Dateables" or side characters.

[qlala]

Hi here's my money for that Barry and Len "guilt versus shame" essay. Thanks! 💰💰💰💰💰 (I drew the dollar signs on the bags myself. I'm crafty)

Anon when I said essay, I meant essay. But alright. Here you go. for you and your hand-drawn dollar signs. Come, take this journey with me. (A journey of character analysis for fun—please, no one take this as reliable psychology.)

As I said, I consider the main conflict between Barry and Leonard not one of good versus evil, but of guilt versus shame. Specifically, the difference between them is that Barry is a character motivated by guilt, while Len is motivated by shame.

(And to get this out of the way - I’m not talking about sexuality, but how Barry and Len relate to the world and other people. I don’t think Len is the least bit ashamed of his sexuality; Wentworth Miller has always said that Len is someone who knows exactly who he is, and I think that’s true).

A more accurate way of talking might be to say that guilt-driven characters are motivated by love, while shame-driven characters are motivated by respect.

I’m going to start with Barry, because guilt-motivated characters tend to be much more straight-forward than shame-driven characters. Barry grew up (with some bumps along the way) in supportive, loving homes. His parents, and later Joe, always treated him with love, which allows Barry to love himself and other people.

Treating children with love is the most basic respect their guardians can afford them, and they’ll always have that basic core of respect to fall back on in the face of outside adversity. (Barry is remarkably hard to ruffle with insults—antagonists always have to target the people he loves, because he just… does not rise to the bait when it’s just his own pride on the line.)

This kind of early exposure to love and respect are fundamental to being able to feel guilt about harming others later in life. Barry was raised to respect and love other people (in the general, “love your fellow man” sense), so he would feel guilty if he hurt someone innocent. The core sense of self-respect and self-love that Barry developed in childhood means Barry’s sense of self can always take the hit when he feels guilty about hurting other people.

Guilt makes us feel, temporarily, unloveable. But because Barry was raised to feel fundamentally deserving of love, he can afford to feel briefly unloveable when he hurts other people—it just means he needs to make amends, and then he’ll be worthy of that love again.

That’s why Barry’s a guilt-driven (or love-driven) character: when he interacts with the world, the thing he’s most afraid of losing is love. He’s never been put in a position where he feels like what he’s missing is respect.

And that’s where he and Len differ. Len’s not guilt- or love-driven; he’s shame-driven.

Len appears to feel zero guilt for hurting innocent people, at least when we first meet him in season 1. And the reason for that is Lewis. As I mentioned, love is a prerequisite for guilt. And unlike Barry, Len wasn’t brought up in a loving home. I highly doubt that Lewis’s love for Len was ever freely given, even before he became physically abusive. And if it was, that sense of self was absolutely ripped away from Len when that abuse started.

As I mentioned, treating children with love is the most basic respect their guardians can give them. By withholding that love, Lewis taught Len that he was inherently worthy of neither love nor respect. Raised in that environment, where violence was the way Len saw power exerted over others, the natural response was for Len to seek out respect, not love. He had nothing to gain from loving others—and therefore, from feeling guilt—because he’d already been taught he could survive without love. What he couldn’t survive without was respect, because disrespect meant becoming the object of violence—first from his father, and later, from the criminal justice system.

(Prison is a conversation for another day, but suffice to say, the dehumanizing treatment incarcerated people face parallels that childhood lack of love, robs them of the self-respect and self-love they need to have healthy relationships with other people, and increases the likelihood that they’ll commit violent crimes, not reduces it).

So Len did whatever it took to survive, and survival meant accumulating respect. There’s an obvious cure to this obsession with respect, of course: 1) love, and 2) safety.

Now, as eager as I am to jump into how Barry helped Len break the cycle of violence, Barry’s not the source of love I want to talk about here. Barry comes in later; when I talk about the love that saved Leonard, I’m talking about Lisa.

Because, listen—I’m as exhausted as you are by the trope of “female loved one is male character’s humanity,” especially where, like in some of the Flash comics, it means killing off Lisa to make Leonard a more ruthless (and, I guess the the theory goes, interesting?) villain. But Lisa isn’t just some crack in Len’s armor; she fundamentally changed Len’s life when she was born.

Len was already somewhere between thirteen and sixteen by the time Lisa was born; for the sake of convenience, let’s put him around 15. (For some more detailed meta about the Sniblings' ages, check out this excellent post by @coldtomyflash). If Len was five when Lewis went to prison, and ten when Lewis came out a much more violent man (see: everything I said about prison earlier), that means Len experienced several years of incredibly traumatic treatment before Lisa was born.

He and Mick were in juvie together at least once when Len was still young enough to be “the smallest kid in there,” and Len was nearly killed. Mick saved him, yes, but the experience had to further numb Len to guilt and reinforce that violence and respect were the only real paths to survival.

And then, Lisa. Len clearly, canonically loves Lisa from the moment she’s born. We know nothing about either of their mothers (and it is pretty likely, given the 15-year age gap between them, that they have different mothers), but they’re clearly both out of the picture—Lisa says Len raised her. Len raised her! Fifteen years old, three years away from being free and clear of Lewis’s house forever, and Len stays to raise her.

Lisa is absolutely the one person keeping Len from sliding fully head-first into the path carved for him by Lewis and reinforced by the prison system. He is still primarily shame- and respect-driven—we see him kill people without any guilt, hell, he tries to derail a train with children on board in season one just to see what Barry will do.

But Lisa taught Len that he’s deserving of love and capable of loving others, and because of that, Len cannot, will not respect Lewis for his violence he rains on them both.It leaves open a door in his mind: Lisa doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, which could mean, if he could ever afford to consider it, that he didn’t deserve to be treated that way, either.

It’s why Barry is so unbelievably smug at the end of “Family of Rogues.” He’s figured it out; he wouldn’t put it in terms like guilt and shame, but he’s cracked it all the same. He always knew Len was like him, was someone who had been forced into violence by his circumstances, and now he has proof. Barry is remarkably unconcerned that Len shot Lewis; he’s briefly surprised, sure, but by the end of the episode he’s visiting Len in Iron Heights and goading him about the good in him.

And that’s where Barry comes in. He’s the crucial second ingredient to that cure for shame—he’s the safety.

He blazes into Len’s life and praises him for things no one else ever praised him for: for his morals, for his mercy, for the way he loves Lisa. He gives him an acceptable out to stop killing (he appeals to his vanity, says he’s good enough at what he does that he doesn’t need to hurt innocents, and they both know it’s an excuse), and he makes it clear that he respects not Len’s capacity for violence, but his desire to escape the need for it.

He also offers Len protection to start making that transition. Len knows, even if neither of them say it, that Barry would drop everything to help him if he called. When Len’s reluctant do-gooding puts him in harm’s way, like with King Shark in ARGUS, Barry does drop everything. He gives up a tool that could save Iris’s life to save Len’s instead. This is not me hating on westallen at all—Barry’s sense of obligation to Len is just that strong. He knows he’s put Len on slippery ground by helping extract him from the safety net he’d built himself out of violence.

And that’s Barry’s guilt drive in action—because yeah, he loves Len. He cares about him, and he respects him, and that’s love to Barry. He just wants to give Len the chance to love people that way, too. And in the end, Len, despite all his misgivings, ends up letting him.

[themollyjay]

The Myths of Forced Diversity and Virtue Signaling.

In my novel Mail Order Bride, the three main characters are a lesbian and two agendered aliens.  In my novel Scatter, the main character is a lesbian, the love interest is a pansexual alien, and the major side characters include a half Cuban, half black Dominican lesbian, a Chinese Dragon, a New York born Jewish Dragon, and a Transgender Welsh Dragon.  In my novel The Master of Puppets, the Main Characters are a lesbian shapeshifting reptilian alien cyborg and a half black, half Japanese lesbian.  The major side characters include three gender fluid shapeshifting reptilian alien cyborgs, and a pansexual human.  In my novel Transistor, the main character is a Trans Lesbian, the love interest is a Half human/Half Angel non-observant Ethiopian Jew, and the major side characters include a Transgender Welsh Dragon (the same one from Scatter), a Transgender woman, a Latino Lesbian, an autistic man, three Middle Eastern Arch Angels, and a hive mind AI with literally hundreds of genders.  In my novel The Inevitable singularity, one of the main characters is a lesbian, another has a less clearly defined sexuality but she is definitely in love with the lesbian, and the third is functionally asexual due to a vow of chastity she takes very seriously.  The major side characters include a straight guy from a social class similar to the Dalit (commonly known as untouchables) in India, a bisexual woman, a man who is from a race of genetically modified human/frog hybrids, and a woman from a race of genetically modified humans who are bred and sold as indentured sex workers.

Why am I bringing all of this up?  Well, first, because it’s kind of cool to look at the list of different characters I’ve created, but mostly because it connects to what I want to talk about today, which should be obvious from the title of the essay.  The concepts of ‘forced diversity’ and ‘virtue signaling’.

For those who aren’t familiar with these terms, they’re very closely related concepts.  ‘Forced Diversity’ is the idea that characters who aren’t neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males are only ever included in a story because of outside pressure from some group (usually called Social Justice Warriors, or The Woke Brigade or something similar) to meet some nebulous political agenda.  The caveat to this is, of course, that you can have a women/women present as long as they are hot, don’t make any major contributions to the resolution of the plot, and the hero/heroes get to fuck them before the end of the story. ‘Virtue Signaling’, according to Wikipedia, is a pejorative neologism for the expression of a disingenuous moral viewpoint with the intent of communicating good character.

The basic argument is that Forced Diversity is a form of virtue signaling.  That no one would ever write characters who aren’t neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males because they want to.  They only do it to please the evil SJW’s who are somehow both so powerful that they force everybody to conform to their desires, yet so irrelevant that catering to them dooms any creative project to financial failure via the infamous ‘go woke, go broke’ rule.

What the people who push this idea of Forced Diversity tend to forget is that we exist at a point in time when creators actually have more creative freedom than are any other people in history.  Comic writers can throw up a website and publish their work as a webcomic without having to go through Marvel, DC or one of the other big names, or get a place in the dying realm of the news paper comics page.  Novelists can self-publish with fairly little upfront costs, musicians can use places like YouTube and Soundcloud to get their work out without having to worry about music publishers.  Artists can hock their work on twitter and tumblr and a dozen other places. Podcasts are relatively cheap to make, which has opened up a resurgence in audio dramas.  Even the barrier to entry for live action drama is ridiculously low.

So, in a world where creators have more freedom than ever before, why would they choose to people their stories with characters they don’t want there?  The answer, of course, is that they wouldn’t.  Authors, comic creators, indie film creators and so on aren’t putting diverse characters into their stories because they are being forced to. They’re putting diverse characters into their stories because they want to.  Creators want to tell stories about someone other than the generically handsome hypermasculine cisgendered heterosexual white males that have been the protagonists of so many stories over the years that we’ve choking on it. A lot of times, creators want to tell stories about people like themselves.  Black creators want to tell stories about the black experience. Queer creators want to tell stories about the queer experience.

I’m an autistic, mentally ill trans feminine abuse survivor.  Every day, I get up and I struggle with PTSD, with an eating disorder, with severe body dysmorphia, with anxiety and depression and just the reality of being autistic and transgender.  I deal with the fact that the religious community I grew up in views me as an abomination, and genuinely believes I’m going to spend eternity burning in hell.  I deal with the fact that people I’ve known for decades, even members of my own family, regularly vote for politician who publicly state that they want to strip me of my civil rights because I’m queer.  I’m part of a community that experiences a disproportionately high murder and suicide rate.  I’ve spent multiple years of my life deep in suicidal depression, and to this day, I still don’t trust myself around guns.

As a creator, I want to talk about those issues.  I want to deal with my life experiences.  I want to create characters that embody and express aspects of my lived experience and my day-to-day reality.  No one is forcing me to put diversity into my books.  I try to include Jewish characters as often as I can because there have been a number of important Jewish people in my life.  I include queer people because I’m queer and the vast majority of friends I interact with on a regular basis are queer.  I include people with mental illnesses and trauma because I am mentally ill and have trauma, and I know a lot of people with mental illnesses and trauma.  My work may be full of fantastical elements, aliens and dragons and angels and superheroes and magic and ultra-high technology and AI’s and talking cats and robot dogs and shape shifters and telepaths and all sorts of other things, but at the core of the stories is my own lived experience, and neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males are vanishingly rare in that experience.

Now, I can hear the comments already.  The ‘okay, maybe that’s true for individual creators, but what about corporate artwork?’.   Maybe not in those exact words, but you get the idea.

The thought here is that corporations are bowing to social pressure to include characters who aren’t neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males, and that is somehow bad. But here’s the thing. Corporations are going to chase the dollars.  They aren’t bowing to social pressure.  There’s no one holding a gun to some executive’s head saying, “You must have this many diversity tokens in every script.”  What is happening is that corporations are starting to clue into the fact that people who aren’t neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males have money.  They are putting black characters in their shows and movies because black people watch shows and spend money on movies.  They are putting queer people in shows and movies because queer people watch shows and spend money on movies.  They are putting women in shows and movies because women watch shows and spend money on movies.

No one is forcing these companies to do this.  They are choosing to do it, the same way individual creators are choosing to do it.  In the companies’ cases the choices are made for different reasons.  It’s not because they are necessarily passionate about telling stories about a particular experience, but because they want to create art to be consumed by the largest audience possible, which means that they have to expand their audience beyond the neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white male by including characters from outside of that demographic.

And the reality is, the cries of ‘forced diversity’ and ‘virtue signaling’ almost always come from within that demographic.  Note the almost.  There are a scattering of individuals from outside that demographic which do subscribe to the ‘forced diversity’ and ‘virtue signaling’ myths, but that is a whole other essay.  However, within that demographic, lot of the people who cry about ‘forced diversity’ see media and content as a Zero-Sum game.  The more that’s created for other people, the less that is created for them.

In a way, they’re right. There are only so many slots for TV shows each week, there are only so many theaters, only so much space on comic bookshelves and so on.  But at the end of the day, its literally impossible for them to consume all the content that’s being produced anyway.  So, while there is, theoretically less content for them to consume, as a practical matter it’s a bit like someone who is a meat eater going to a buffet with two hundred items, and then throwing a tantrum because five of the items happen to be vegan.

The worst part is, if they could let go of how wound up they are about the ‘forced diversity’ and ‘virtue signaling’ they could probably enjoy the content that’s produced for people other than them.  I mean, I’m a pasty ass white girl, and I loved Black Panther.

So, to wrap out, creators, make what you want to make, and ignore anyone who cries about forced diversity or virtue signaling.  And to people who are complaining about forced diversity and virtue signaling, I want to go back to the buffet metaphor.  You need to relax.  Even if there are a few vegan options on the buffet, you can still get your medium rare steak, or your chicken teriyaki or whatever it is you want.  Or, maybe, just maybe, you could give the falafel a try. That shit is delicious.

[sleephyjhs]

Sleeping Lions (Taehyung One-Shot)

pairing: dad!taehyung x pregnant!reader

genre: fluff ofc!! + family au (?)

summary: a quiet morning in the kim household was very much unheard of. a puppy, three small children and another on the way was constant cause for mayhem. when better to cause a raucous than an early sunday morning?

wc: 1.53K

song rec: stay here - gaho

note: i think this is my favourite thing i’ve ever written here, please enjoy!! <3

m.list | requested

The eventual gush of tepid sunlight through a thin gap between the curtains was the worst part of every sunday morning. Striking across your aching eyelids, the light disrupted your peaceful slumber and forced you to acknowledge the impending sunrise. You took a brief moment to wriggle around in the imprint you’d moulded into the mattress; the arrangement of pregnancy support pillows sometimes gave you more aches than they eradicated.

On lazy sundays such as these, sitting up straight away was more effort than what it was worth. Taking the few minutes that were left before your shared bed would be surely invaded to embrace the chilliness of the sheets were essential. Beside you laid your husband Taehyung who, visibly, seemed much less accustomed to the early morning than you. Bound on your back by the angled pillows and the growing bump you carried, you instead rolled your head over to face him. Cheeks puffy from a good night’s rest, Taehyung scrubbed the sleepy residue from his squinting eyes.

“Morning sleepyhead...” you groaned, harnessing his attention. His hearty pout widened into a toothy smile at the sight of you. Since you were unable to, Tae curled onto his side and reached a hand out to your bump. Smoothing down the crinkled fabric of your cami, he took a few moments to greet his unborn baby before registering you were there also. With his thumb, he stroked the curve where the most kicking activity seemed to be. Sure enough, the direct caressing alerted your baby it was morning time.

Following her first few kicks of the day, Taehyung returned his extended smile back to your face, “She’s getting stronger every week, you know.”

“Oh I know.” Out of all your children, this one definitely packed the strongest punch. Despite your bump being designed to protect her, her main goal was seemingly to escape, “One day she might just kick a whole right through.”

Taehyung chuckled at your prediction, adoring your sly smile that accompanied it. He took a small breath, evaluating which gentle statements were acceptable for so early in the morning, “At least we’d get to meet her a lot sooner.”

For an unborn child, she sure was already loved; beyond adored. Not a single baby of his wasn’t. All of the children you shared seemed to latch onto him differently to you. Being outnumbered by 3 kids to one adult, one might have thought Taehyung would struggle to divide his attention equally between them. Yet somehow, he always managed to make each one release their giggles. With a fourth on the way, it was beginning to look like you’d have to join in on some of their playtimes. Of course, there’d be no need to ask you twice.

“It’s not even two months to wait now! She’ll be here before we know it, Tae.” He chuckled at your sudden burst of enthusiasm. Usually such expression was reserved for later in the day yet for some reason, you couldn’t quite hold back.

Before any more reminders could be dished to one another, the still silence of your bedroom was ripples by a tuning bark. Taehyung turned back to look over the edge of the bed in disapproval of the columbus introduction, “Are you wanting to come up, Tannie? You feeling left out?”

A slight tilt of the head confirmed his suspicions. Without missing a beat, Taehyung offered his hand as a step up onto the mattress and soon enough, you were greeted with a daily lick to the cheek. Ruffling his flattened fur, you soon had Yeontan looking more like the majestic puppy he really was. The couple of you watched attentively as Yeontan approached the bump protruding from the mattress. Having a pet that reacted so gently to the welcoming of your children was more than a relief to you both, but neither of you ever failed to completely melt at the change of character he expressed when interacting with the smaller humans.

Seemingly uninterested in his surroundings, Yeontan stalker back up to the head of the mattress and snuggled between a small gap in the pillows (a spot generally reserved exclusively for him), “Still tired Tannie? I feel you.” Taehyung groaned groggily, making the final adjustments to waking up.

“Lazy day?” You asked. Taehyung opened one eye and furrowed the opposite eyebrow. It couldn’t have been more obvious that that was the plan anyway, “Lazy day it is!”

A few more blinks to really adjust to the light and you were ready to sit up a bit, “Can you just help me a second?” Before you could finish, Taehyung was already propped up on the bed, ready to roll onto his knees should the extra support be needed. Basic actions such as sitting up and climbing the stairs were becoming increasingly difficult with every passing day. Assuming that all the changes would be second nature by the fourth pregnancy was a regrettable mistake.

Huffing slightly as you scooted back into the pillow chair you’d recrafted for yourself, comfort was now yours, “Everything good?” Tae assured before realigning himself to match your new height.

Snapping the attention away from each other, the plain panel door to your shared bedroom sweeped open, revealing your second born, Jaehee, sucking his thumb, “What’s wrong little man?” Taehyung asked, leaning forward in order to comfort him, “You never suck your thumb.”

You pouted as Jaehee looked to you for assurance; something wasn’t right. Taehyung was observant. Thumb-sucking was a habit none of your children had really developed. However, it had its benefits at times; it was the perfect indicator of their mood, which was clear to both of you mattered more than most things, “You’re okay in here.”

Soft easings was how to approach your son. Nervous habits had become daily procedures with him and he rarely reacted well to direct approaches before. Taehyung patted the creased duvet, formally inviting Jaehee into your bedroom. Without any hesitation, he shuffled across the ivory carpets towards the foot of the bed. For the sake of your children, you’d previously purchased a small stepping stool for them to be able to climb in with you.

“Come here bub,” Taehyung cooed, wavering his hands to direct him over. Wobbling, Jaehee clambered over your outstretched legs and rushed into his dad’s arms where he collapsed into a cuddle, “wanna tell us what’s going on?”

“I missed you.” He muffled, head buried in Tae’s chest. Your heart could’ve melted right there and them. From the day you became parents, it had been your only goal to raise them with love and affection; seeing that your children had inherited the same love you showered them with was nothing short of a relief.

“We missed you too bud!” You replied, reaching out to tickle his side. His rowdy giggles curled him further into Tae’s chest, earning a bonus hair ruffle.

Just as the ripples of laughter began to settle down, the bedroom door edged open, instigated by a tiny hand, to reveal your two girls holding hands. Minju, the firstborn, clutched onto Somin, the most recent addition to the household. As the oldest child, it wasn’t uncommon for Minju to guide her siblings to where they needed to be. Perhaps the echoing giggles of their brother had guided them towards the main bedroom.

Suddenly, Somin yanked her hand from the grip of her sister and began to waddle towards the bed, “Tannie!”

Increasing in her speed, you couldn’t help but become worried. She still wasn’t the most stable on her two legs, and the last thing you needed was to search for the first aid box you’d slipped away somewhere, “Careful darling...” You warned, already holding out the arm to support her for when she climbed onto the bed.

Following behind, Minju shuffled across the carpet, clearly still not accustomed to the morning light. As Somin fussed over Yeontan, who remained curled between the pillows, Taehyung looked over to Minju, who was unusually quiet, “Everything okay?”

Minju nodded slowly, “Just sleepy!” Thankfully, the cheer in her high-pitched voice hadn’t dimmed overnight, “Mummy...”

“Yes~?” You smiles as she too clambered up the stepping stool at the foot of the bed. She crawled up the side of your legs and crouched at your hips. Her wavy baby hairs plastered against her cheeks; the best sign of a good night’s sleep.

“Is baby sister awake yet?” Minju asked innocently, gently holding her cheek against the curve of your bump. She was, by far, the most excited of your children, particularly after learning she’d have another sister. Being the most capable of understanding what was happening meant Minju frequently offered to help where you were less able. Taehyung had taught her to help make beds and organise shoes on the rack, and strangely enough she rather enjoyed it.

Flashing a quick smile to Taehyung, who watched his eldest daughter with softened eyes, “Well, if you feel around here,” you began, leading her hand slightly upwards, “she might give you a small kick to say hello!”

Along with Taehyung, you chuckled as her eyes illuminated. In all fairness, you too became just as excited whenever your precious cargo decided to say good morning.

^ congratulations! your request is my most favourite post i’ve ever written 🥺 thank you for this!!

[slothsnuggle]

"Am I? " (Rhys x OC)

Disclaimers :

-Most of the character and the ACOTAR universe belong to SJM, I'm just having fun writing about one of my favorite book series!

-The main relationship that will be developed being between Rhys and an OC, I'd like to say I still LOVE feysand and have nothing against it, I just wanted to try something different!

-Also English is not my first language so I'm really sorry if there's some things that I write wrong! Do not hesitate to correct me 😊

CHAPTER ONE

She observed the three men now standing in front of her.

The High Lord of the Night Court and her father - the Emperor of Vask - seemed as different as they were similar. Her father was kind of the physical opposite of the Lord, who had purple eyes, so bright they disturbed anyone who dared looking at them, black, short hair and sharp facial features. Alexander of Vask was blond, his hair falling on his shoulders, a bump on his nose, and had brown eyes and a serious obsession for royal blue, the main color of his Empire.

But she was positive that they were both as cunning, egotistical and cruel. As a lot of kings were.

There was something about the Lord though, in his stillness or maybe behind his fake smirk that was truly frightening. She thought the last thing she could wish was to find herself alone in a room with that man. Not to mention that everytime she stood near him, she felt like something was staring at her, looking at each of her moves - something as dark as invisible, that gaves her uncontrollable chills. She didn't like him. Her father referred to him as "Lord Valtyan", which must be his name. His son, who was standing next to him, was called Rhysand, if she had heard the name right. She knew that he was about the same age as her, maybe 18 or 19, though he was already a bit taller due to his race.

Illyrians. Her parents always described them as violent beasts, savage warriors born to fight. Thinking about it, they were saying almost the same things about some slaves. Slaves who had been forced to fight their whole life not to let their family starve. But the boy's bat wings and his dad's were nowhere to be seen. She had imagined some sort of hideous monsters, but the two individuals in front of her looked pretty much like any of the high members of her own court. Except maybe that they wore darker clothes and that their skin was tanner. Well, even if it wasn't very difficult to look tanner than her. She let herself stare at the prince a bit more.

He was very good looking in his traditional suit, his dark hair perfectly displayed under a thin, silver crown. The Night Court heir's crown. His chin was high and his back straight, and she could have sworn that she could even see a bit of arrogance in his eyes. Typical.

But when she looked closer a bit later, she realized how obvious it was that the boy was trying his best to satisfy his father, controlling each of his moves and words. Was he scared of him? She almost smiled sarcastically, saying something like "yeah, we're all there playing roles aren't we?", but instead kept her face neutral and her mouth shut. After all, that was what was expected from a good little princess. To look good, smile a bit and let the big men talk together. A pleasure.

She wondered if the prince's true self was really different from his father or if he was just another handsome asshole. Their eyes were not exactly alike.

__________

Rhysand turned himself into his father's son. The heir of the Night Court. The glorious Prince of Darkness.

He hated that. That character he was forced to play. But he had no choice. As he had no choice to make his beloved wings disappear : the pride of any Illyrian. To be honest, he was as scared of his father as he admired him. And the Lord won't forgive any error from him.

So he pushed back those thoughts deep into his heart and entered the reception room as his father called his name.

"I present to you our guests for this week, the Emperor Alexander of Vask and his daughter Eelin."

Rhysand greeted them as conventionally as he could and stood with a remarkable obedience next to his father.

He kept the same lame face as he remained shocked by how obvious it was that the man in front of him was a stranger from a very different country. He had nothing to do with his people or himself. This huge, blue cape he was wearing mixed with this golden, overdecorated armor and the big crown on his head was one of the most extravagant yet ridiculous things he'd ever seen. No one, not even his father would wear anything like that on their land. The Emperor looked very confident though, and Rhysand had to admit he really looked like a monarch.

His daughter next to him looked far more discreet. She was wearing a light blue, fluid dress with just a thin belt and some jewels. Some parts of her dark-blond hair were tied behind her head and she had pink lips that contrasted a lot with her extremely pale skin. She almost looked sick. Rhysand knew the people of Vask were generally naturally pale, but even the Emperor's face was more colored than hers, though he wasn't supposed to be exposed to the sun that much. Maybe she wasn't allowed to go out of her family's castle at all, which was possible since most of the princesses weren't allowed to do much on their own until they were married. He noticed later the coldness of her face, the authority in her way to simply stand here, and the way she looked at him. Mother, for a second he thought she was as intimidating as a grown High Lord. If his father had heard him saying such things, he would probably have been slaughtered. But he couldn't be reading his mind right now, right?

[haunted-radishes]

I just want to talk a little about some characters who are similar in their motivations and roles, but I haven’t really seen talked about together before. Wen Zhuliu, Wen Ning, and Su She. The righthand men.

Subservience

Of course, one of the first things about them is that they aren’t the masterminds or the ones calling the shots. They all have someone else in charge telling them what to do. Wen Zhuliu is simply unquestioningly obedient, Wen Ning literally surrenders control over his own body every so often, and Su She follows the man with the plan.

Loyalty

They may have secondary motivations (WZL doesn’t really seem to have one, WN has his moral compass, SS wants to get back at the high-born cultivators who cast him aside), but at their core, all three of them are motivated primarily by loyalty to a savior of some sort. Wen Zhuliu wanted to repay Wen Ruohan for adopting him into the family, Wen Ning wanted to repay Wei Wuxian for saving his life, and Su She wanted to repay Jin Guangyao for respecting him as a cultivator and clan leader.

Although it’s interesting to note that these all have very different approaches to the balance of debt vs. compatible goals/ideals vs. personal loyalty

For Wen Zhuliu, the relationship seems to be entirely about repaying an unrepayable debt. Wen Ruohan adopted him into the Wen clan, and he spends the rest of his life doing everything he can to repay that, regardless of whether it lines up with what he wants or thinks is right.

Meanwhile for Wen Ning, from an objective life for a life standpoint, there should have been no debt between him and Wei Wuxian for much of the story, but he stood by Wei Wuxian’s side for a combination of moral reasons, practical reasons, and personal loyalty (roughly in that order). I’m going to go by the CQL storyline here bc it’s the one I’m most familiar with, Wei Wuxian saved Wen Ning’s life during the Waterborne abyss night hunt and gave him the protective talisman. Debt owed. Wen Ning takes out the dog in the Wen dungeon and gives Wei Wuxian medicine. Debt repaid. Wen Ning saves Jiang Cheng at Lotus pier and retrieves the bodies of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, because it’s the right thing to do. Debt owed, going the opposite way. Wei Wuxian resurrects Wen Ning and saves as much as his family as he can. Debt...... repaid? I’m realizing now that you could interpret this as Wen Ning thinking of Jiang Cheng as being the one who owes him after Lotus pier, and that Wei Wuxian didn’t have to save his life, but anyway, getting back on track, after that, Wen Ning stays by Wei Wuxian partly out of necessity, and partly out of personal loyalty, regardless of any debts owed between them.

For Su She, on the other hand, compatible goals and ideals played a major part in their alliance. Su She was cast aside by the noble cultivators and wanted to get back at them for it. Then along comes Jin Guangyao, who actually respects him as a clan leader. Better yet, he’s half low-born, and therefore understands the disrespect Su She endures and is exactly the kind of person those snobby nobles wouldn’t want obtaining any power, and even better, obtaining power is exactly what he plans on doing. If there must be someone in the chief cultivator seat, Su She would want it to be someone like Jin Guangyao. And if they have to kill a few nobles and do things that would make the oh-so-righteous great sects mad to achieve it, that’s just a bonus for Su She.

Standing

Kind of tying into the loyalty thing, although I wanted to address it separately, is the fact that besides their special person, people look down on the righthand men.

It’s not quite as obvious/bad with Wen Zhuliu, but Wen Chao, his master’s son berates and whines at him constantly (although to be fair, that’s just what Wen Chao is like), and Madame Yu is very quick to jump on the fact that he wasn’t born anything special, and that he wasn’t “really” a member of one of the great sects. Of course, in life, Wen Ning was looked down on by his clan as weak, and in death he was dehumanized, and I’ve brought up what’s up with Su She enough that I don’t have to remind you here.

Power

The final (I think) thing I want to bring up is that the righthand men have powers above and beyond the average person, even power that all or most named characters can’t match, but most importantly, it’s a power that their masters lack.

Wen Zhuliu obviously has his unique core melting hand, capable of reducing the greatest cultivators to the level of ordinary people, but beyond that, he’s one of the best swordsmen in the series, certainly the best in his clan. While Wen Ruohan is an effective strategist, warlord, and if you ask CQL, necromancer, none of the main Wen family are shown to be particularly good fighters. Wen Ruohan just gives dramatic speeches, Wen Chao is constantly hiding behind Wen Zhuliu, and Wen Xu just bullies already defeated forces and gets decapitated offscreen.

Wei Wuxian is still a force to be reckoned with, what with his demonic cultivation and genius talisman work, but the loss of his golden core left him far behind the rest of the cast in the physical strength and direct fighting ability department, but hoo boy does Wen Ning make up for that. And as far as others of his class (fierce corpses) go, not only is Wen Ning the first intelligent one, he’s stronger than any other.

People tend to forget it because of his (apparently) mediocre musical abilities, but Su She is an incredibly powerful cultivator. Being able to hold your own for any amount of time in a fight with Lan Wangji is impressive, let alone getting out of that fight, and he regularly uses transportation talismans, which a) are straight up said to use a massive amount of spiritual energy, with Wei Wuxian immediately deducing that he’s a strong cultivator just because he used one, and b) no one else ever uses. We can only deduce that they use too much spiritual energy to be practical at any point for most characters, but he uses them at multiple points. How much spiritual power does this guy have? Contrast Jin Guangyao, who, having no one to teach him for most of his life, has an extremely weak golden core.

I never see people talking about the similarities between these three men, and I think that should change. Many characters are more similar than they would seem....

[monday-headache]

Hey Simon! Thank you for the amazing ask <3 Right back at you:

I love that you're writing/arting about characters that have never met in canon (Gaige and Sasha, Fiona and Scarlett). What drew you to writing these characters together? And are there any more that you'd love to explore one day? :D

Hey Sarah, glad it made you smile. I want to have more interaction with the fandom so I’ll try to make this a regular, so please be free to send me questions whenever. I’d love to read your thoughts ;)

And Omg, that’s a fantastic question as well but, be aware, this is gonna be an essay as well.

Mhh where to start, where to start.

So first things first, My headcanon of why I think Gaige and Sasha would be best friends started a pretty long while ago, way before I even got gently pushed towards the Idea of really starting to write about it in the first place. Because you must know, even though Strays is my first longshot, it is also my very first fanfc I’ve ever written in like ever. So no matter how shitty, great or whatever it will turn out to be or how well others will be, Strays has and will always have a special place in my heart. And I’m not gonna rush things either, even when the fandom will die out, my Ideas for it will flow ;)

But yeah how it started. To put it simply Gaige was my first character In Borderlands ever that I played myself. I knew about the Lore of 1 and I’ve played 1 with a friend by the time it came out, but I played 1 myself AFTER I finished 2 So that may be a big reason, why I have such an open spot for Gaige. But also because she is fun, quirky extreme, punky, loves robots and tech... to put it simple a lot of traits I really love about a character. Her backstory with the science fair was so fresh and funny, and it may be one of my favorite spoken dialogue interactions heard over echo cassette’s

Then after Bl2 my love for Borderlands continued, played 1, played TPS and then... There was Tales, and by god do I loved Tales, and I hella still do. You probably know the feeling yourself. And with the love for the game, came a huge love for it’s cast. Like seriously I think besides Tector there isn’t really a character where I was going like, “ugh this one is trash” on the contrary. And besides my obvious love for the main 2 characters, there was a big love for the Deutagonist’s of this masterpiece. Namely Sasha and Loaderbot.

Loaderbot may have officially taken the spot for me as most favorite Robot in video game history ever (and Gortys for the most precious character ever). Like his whole segment of kidnapping them, forcing them to tell the truth, only to show how much he had grieved, how betrayed he felt and that he did all of tha  for his loved ones. Man say what you will about him, but damn he was written perfectly. I was blown away.

Secondly is of course, as you might have guessed it Sasha. I could go lengths for her too, how much I love and admire her character, how real she felt as a sister, a pandoran and last but not least as a human. Sasha felt to me like the most well rounded out character of the 6 (pls don’t hate me for it guys) From the punk rebellious attitude, to learning that she had an anti Hyperion pirate radio, that she used to broadcast bad things that happens in her neighbourhood, to her adapting her morals and learn that even in the most corrupt organisations there are still normal people struggling with their own life, and then progressing from it. And lastly after everything was at loss, the money the plan, she was willing to sacrifice her whole life for a dear friend/s, even on her dying breath putting both Rhys and her Sister at ease and in her last moments. Amazing.

Oooh boy and that was just the prelude to it all XD

After that I noticed a lot of similarities, between characters. Sasha and Loaderbot for instance are both pragmatic, put the lives of their loved ones over their own, love tech, are socially open people while holding back on information and emotion. Not to mention the scenes in 2 and 3 and also 4 and 5 where it is slightly hinted how well Sasha and Loaderbot work together, without sharing much words. So naturally the Idea was born that Sash and LB became quite close.

And the same goes for Sasha and Gaige. I was actually surprised that nobody (not entirely true, I saw one fanart of it) seemed to made that connection before as it was so obvious to me. So basically Sasha is a softer version of Gaige, in many terms. They both have a big heart for tech and especially guns. They both hosted a small radio broadcast that blew up in their region over night. Both are anarchist’s who spread the word for awareness, how fucked up the company war actually is. Both are not really good at their aim. Both call robots as their closes’t friends. Both share a deep hatred for Handsome Jack and his doings. Both fought a giant ass Vault Monster and nearly died in the process of doing so. Both got screwed up big time and now have a huge bounty on their head... So you see the list goes on, and honestly the more I write them, the more similarities I notice, both hc wise and canon wise. So there more I thought about it, and noticed similarites the more I fell in love with the Idea of them becoming close. And from there the Idea was born, that they probably met on a job ( the most likely scenario in the Borderlands universe). It had to be before BL3 of course, and to be after Tales naturally so that only put one timeline in the focus, Commander Lillith.

To be honest, I didn’t expect everything turning out so big. Like seriously I orifinally planed like 8k words or so. Now I’m dangling on the Idea of having 13 chapters and a big ass finally, a neat wrap up of everything and even a possible epilogue XD Yeah, that wasn’t what I expected either but damn do I love doing it.

Like seriously my headcanons only just gotten bigger and bigger. From a whole nebula system in the galaxy, to regions I created in my own mind for it, to even complex backstorys. Like why Sasha wears a headband, why she loves guns so much, what happened to her and Fi’s parents, why she was raised by her aunt, what does Felix have to do with it, Why Gaige has this kicks of both sudden depression and manical behavior. Why she’s so close to her dad, but her mom wasn’t even mentioned once (but teased), why she wanted to become a wedding planer, and why she is so obsessed with robots and margarita mix. I think one day, this thing will turn into a tabletop game or something XD

So estimated 20k words on my answer later and now we are going for my own created ship Scarleona. Don’t worry, as much as I like to gosh about that too, it wont take as long I prommy.

Scarleona was created in a sudden urge while thinking about what happpend to Fiona while Strays happened. And similar to Gaige and Sasha, Scarleona was born from a dynamic. Especially of those from two Ladybosses with Silvertongue and speech 100XD Fiona and Scarlett may have become my favorite Fiona ship (no offense everybody) because of how well they play off each other. Fiona is a con artist, her whole life she was used to swindle, to play it cool and by ear, go with the flow, and expect the unexpected. So here core idea is that she is manupulating people by LYING to them.

Scarlett on the other hand is similar while also the complete opposite to it. She is backstabby, plays with her charm and most importantly she is dead honest while tricking people. In fact even so honest that people don’t even realised that they got tricked even though she told it several times before. And this dynamic is so fascinating to me. You see, Fiona has almost an answer an action for everything prepared, but the idea that her winning honesty, is mind puzzling to Fiona is so perfect. @michellespenscratchz wrote me a drabble several months ago and I think that line describes it just perfect

“So, let me see if I got this straight,” Fiona tilted her head inquisitively at Captain Scarlett. “You needed these Vault Hunters’ help to find this treasure for you. So you…just asked them?”

“That’s right.” Scarlett nodded, inspecting her hook nonchalantly.

“Even though they knew you wanted it for yourself?” Fiona asked.

“Indeed,” Scarlett replied.

“And they…” Fiona blinked, “…knew you planned on fighting them for it once they had it.”

“Of course they did,” Scarlett shrugged. “I told them as much.”

“You told them?”

“Yes.”

“And they helped you anyway?”

“Precisely.” Scarlett turned her hat against the blistering wind. “I fear I don’t quite grasp what about this is so difficult to grasp, Fiona dear.”

“Huh.” Fiona cast her gaze out across the expanse of Pandoran horizon. “I guess I just gotta–I dunno–rethink my whole life right now.”

So yeah, that was basically it. I kinda diagressed and didn’t want to hurt your eyes more looking at the long ass text, but please if you have some more questions to it, pls hit me. I love to gosh about it <3

And thank you so much <3 This was hella fun

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 14)

νοσταλγία  Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual, tho I should add mentions of polygyny

A/N: Hi!! Hope you like this chapter, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this!! Thank you so much for reading <3

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr

You catch up to Ivar near the main hall, waiting for him outside the room Prince Hvitserk told you he’d be in with your hands crossed behind your back.

He eyes you with suspicion when he sees you, but still approaches and starts walking at your side.

“You are not here to apologize.”

Why would I? You want to retort, but instead you just shake your head.

“No, but…” You shrug, “I have trusted my mother more than anyone on this world, I will trust she knew what she was doing. I’ll choose to believe maybe the Goddess she worships has a reason for this to happen.”

“So you have accepted it, you will not fight anymore.” He states, and you raise your eyebrows in response.

“If you expect to see me defeated, King Ivar, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“I would never want that.” He replies easily, squaring his shoulders as he returns his gaze ahead, and something tells you he is telling the truth. You do not know what to do with that knowledge.

“What do you want, then?” You ask boldly, surprising even yourself, “You get nothing out of marrying me. You are a smart man; you know you might lose power by making me your wife.”

“Why?”

He knows the answer, he knows. You have an inkling he is testing to see if you do, with how much certainty you can speak of power and its intricacies.

“You could marry a woman with…land here, a princess or an heir.” You explain, but Ivar just shrugs.

“I could still do that, I could find a second wife.”

You stop dead in your tracks at the realization that he could, and sensing you stop walking Ivar turns to you, eyebrows raised and the beginning of a mocking smile on his lips.

But to a child born in the cult of Persephone, promises of unloyalty are not something to be simply accepted. You were told that the Goddess you dedicated your life to was loyal and true to her husband even if she was a victim of him; you saw many new couples at your temple there to bless them with faithfulness and prosperity. You refuse the humiliation of sharing the one you are bound with before the Gods themselves.

So you walk the few steps that separate you, back straight and posture that of a woman with a confidence you do not truly have. What you do have, though, is arrogance, is pride, is relentlessness.

No man has made your nature change before, and certainly no King can, no matter how cruel.

You tilt your head and look into his eyes, unwavering.

“A Hiereia of Despoina does not take lightly to marriage. Your people may do things differently, but my people don’t, my Gods don’t,” Your heart remembers your homeland, your mother’s smiles as your father passed by and left a gentle caress on her face, her empty eyes as she waited for weeks for the ships that never returned, the love that years after their deaths all the way in Laconia -even with the bitterness of having lost their heir to Sparta to an Athenian- your family spoke of how blessed were they to have each other as husband and wife. The bitterness and grief make your resolve falter for a moment, but you still continue, “Before your Gods and my own I will promise loyalty to you, I will promise faithfulness. I ask-…no, I demand the same in return.”

“You demand.” He repeats, clearly a mock, a bait that you choose not to bite this time.

You nod.

“Which brings me back to my question, Viking,” You lift your eyebrows, “What is it you want?”

“I want many things,” He replies vaguely, shrugging before turning eyes like Greek fire to your own. “But I demand nothing more than that.”

With a small sound of exertion, he turns his back to you and continues walking towards the main room of the longhouse, leaving you dumbfounded and partly impressed, leaving you with the realization you played exactly how he wanted you to.

It feels like those times you would run to cross the dangerous and wild stream near the temple, your hair wild and feet bare. It feels like the deafening noise of the current in your ears, the fear and excitement running through your veins, the possibility of failure or success.

You smile.

____

“Why am I not surprised?” Ivar starts from behind you, and you turn to him without removing your hands from your task.

“Because I am predictable.”

“Stubborn,” He corrects as he steps into your room, eyes on the small sapling you planted on a ceramic vase. “You know it will not grow here, it needs warmer and softer ground than ours.”

You nod before leaving the plant by the window, hoping it will absorb as much sunlight as it needs, as it can.

“I have to try.”

He remains silent for a few moments, before the rustling of him moving where he stands brings your gaze to him. The King extends a hand and motions with his head,

“Come with me.”

You frown, but still stand up and walk slowly to his side. Your eyes travel to his still extended hand, but you cannot bring yourself to take it, choosing instead to ask,

“What is it?”

He doesn’t reply, and his jaw clenches before his hand drops back to his side. Still, he insists with a gesture of his head that you follow him.

The paths through his home are familiar to you by now, and you follow blindly as you try scrubbing off the dirt from your hands. Selene’s chariot is high up in the skies, the people have already retired to their homes, the thralls are making quick work of the mess left behind after tonight’s dinner.

After crossing a doorway, you find yourself in a spacious room with only a hearth in the middle of it, and some chairs and lunges. Chairs where, expectantly, the sons of Ragnar sit.

Prince Hvitserk greets you with your name, and you smile faintly, and he smiles back as he states, “I’m surprised to see you.”

“Prince Hvi-…”

“What is she doing here, Ivar?” The older Prince interrupts, eyes burning on you with a distrust and a vitriol quite alike his brother’s but more contained.

And you know it is not a mere question. Years alongside mercenaries, alongside warriors and leaders, they let you know this is a public defiance, a test of both mettles.

The way Prince Ubbe speaks, with the same tone in his voice, the same carry of his loud words, that has made you fear before; it makes you stay frozen in the doorway for a moment too long.

The King only shrugs, walking ahead and taking a seat, absently using his crutch to move a chair at his side back so you can sit.

Before replying to his brother, he turns to you and motions for you to sit.

“She is my…advisor.”

His gesture may speak of nonchalance, but his words have that slight carry you have noticed before, the pride of authority and the will and strength to carry said authority.

But his brother still takes his words with a dismissive smile, shaking his head, “You take a Greek witch as an advisor?”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from saying that better men have tried better insults, and that nor your blood or your gifts, and the titles they warrant, call for you to feel offended at their mention, even if he wills it so.

Instead, you grit your teeth and swallow your pride to keep silent as you take your gaze to the King, studying his façade as he lifts purposely falsely innocent eyebrows at his brother, his mouth curved in a small mocking smile.

“I never did things the normal way, did I?” Some silent conversation seems to flow between the two sons of Ragnar, and you catch Hvitserk’s eyes for a moment.

He smiles, an apology, a gesture that says you ought to get used to this; and you offer a small smile in return, one of the first honest ones you’ve given the Prince.

“Why?” Ubbe insists.

Stithulf’s disgust as you are caught in the tent where they discuss war, his demand for answers when he turns to the man that would be your husband, “What is the witch doing here?”

“She is to be my wife, I trust her advice.” Narses replies simply. It irks of too little when the Gods know you are the reason he won against the Saracens, but you are still grateful, because you have to be.

“She is a smart woman,” Ivar replies, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, “I trust her judgement when it comes to Stithulf more than yours, brother.”

Before he can taunt his brother into throwing an axe to your face, you decide to intervene, voice low as you lean closer.

“Ivar…”

“Dublin is being hounded by Stithulf’s forces,” He explains without a second thought. He leans on the table before him, not turning to you as he speaks so you are left studying the way the light draws his profile, “We are leaving in two days.”

“We?”

“Hvitty will stay here with you.” He reassures, or attempts to at least, yet all he manages is to make you frown.

“Why are you going?” You hiss, and as he turns to you the King furrows his nose in annoyance, the beginning of a snarl starting to curl at his lip.

“Afraid the cripple can’t defend himself?”

“Stithulf couldn’t care less about Dublin. He wants your head, Viking.” You insist instead of replying to the obvious taunt. He opens his mouth to retort, clearly surprised by your revelation, but is interrupted before he can speak.

“Ivar, witch,” Ubbe calls out, startling you out of your conversation. He raises his eyebrows, “Share with the rest of us, will you?”

After a breath, you explain, “Stithulf is after the men that killed his King. He doesn’t care about cities, or land, or…fame. He wants the sons of Ragnar.”

“So you think he is trying to draw us out.”

I know so. You want to say, but you bite your tongue, you swallow your pride, your arrogance, even if you know that if you were a man they’d call it confidence.

“He reached my homeland searching for an edge over your armies, and found it in Arab and Greek forces. I doubt he will waste them destroying buildings, my Prince.” You answer with a nod, not missing the way Ivar’s eyes remain glued to you as you speak. It thrills you when it should make you want to crawl out of your own skin.

They continue talking to each other, discussing what they ought to do, how they are to approach the city. You doubt the reinforcements from Ivar’s army will hold the same element of surprise as they did the last time Stithulf readied his army near Dublin; and it seems they have the same idea for they don’t plan on being subtle about Kattegat’s navy supporting Dublin.

And as the moon travels through the skies, when you should be exhausted and ready to sleep; you are thrilled and beyond interested. The song of war, Athena’s boardgame, it all wraps around you like a familiar cloak.

So you soak in their talks about formations, about ways they can approach, you rejoice in listening to the way Dublin can be defended. With your elbows on the table and your head in your hands, you listen and observe, for once without fear of being told you are out of place.

____

And before you know it two days have passed. On the last night, when the ships are readied for the journey, the warriors celebrating their last night in Kattegat; you sit with Freydis and other women from the apothecary, exchanging laughs and stories as the feast goes on around you.

More than once during the night, your foolish heart makes your eyes roam the hall in search of the King, and you find yourself smiling like a fool at the sight of him drinking and laughing with his brothers, with his men.

The times where you look for him only to find him already with his eyes on you, those times make your foolish heart beat faster, but you will deny it if anyone asks.

You swirl the mead in your cup as you lay back on your chair, taking in the ongoing celebration and trying to remember the last time you felt this comfortable and safe and…

“You feel at home, witch.” Freydis states quietly, almost by your ear, interrupting your thoughts.

Wide eyes find hers, but she only smiles calmly, with that hint that she knows a secret you don’t.

Before you can ask her to kindly be a bit less cryptic for once, she looks at someone behind you, and a hand gently calling for your attention when it rests on your shoulder stops you.

You turn to meet the warm eyes of Prince Hvitserk, who offers you a silent greeting and a small smile.

“My brother calls for you.” He whispers, eyes on yours and the promise of what is to come written on them. You wonder how much of how you have come to become his brother’s wife is known to him.

Ivar stands before his throne and your heart lurches when you see another seat arranged besides it. You find his eyes, and he extends a hand.

“I will not sit there.” You hiss at him. He grits his teeth, the annoyance at how you are unwilling to follow even the simplest of commands clear in his expression.

“You will be at my side, get up here.”

Your eyes travel to his still extended hand, palm facing upwards, fingers open and vulnerable expecting the touch of your own. Rationally, you know there’s a feast going around you, you know there’s yells and songs and laughs, but you cannot hear anything but the ringing in your own ears.

You cannot see anything but his hand expecting the touch of your own, and his eyes searching yours.

And though you know it is the tug of the invisible binds set upon you what makes you take the steps necessary and hold his hand, the chains don’t feel as heavy as you thought they would.

Calloused but warm fingers close around your hand, and Ivar stands taller.

He calls for the attention of his people, and when the hall quietens and you feel all their eyes on the pair of you, it is you that grips tighter onto his hand on yours.

“My people,” He starts, proud and confident and infuriatingly performative, “Most of you already know of this fine woman I have at my side since our return from Dublin, Greek by birth but a daughter of one Sieghild Vorsdottir,” You hear the mumbled replies, the hushed whispers at the mention of your mother, and you narrow your eyes. Ivar continues, “You will all soon know her as your Queen, for when we return from Dublin again, she will be my wife, and Queen of Kattegat.”

You hold your head high as the Varangians lift their cups and horns and hands and voices in celebration and congratulations. Ivar thanks them with a smile and a gesture of his hand, and aside from a few men that approach to give their congratulations face to face, soon enough the aura of calm -or what calm has come to mean in these strange lands- returns to the room.

You eye the chair they set for you at the side of Ivar’s throne cautiously, but you will not lie to yourself and say it feels constricting to sit up there.

You make a point of letting go of the King’s hand as soon as you sit, though, and based on the way his jaw clenches and his head moves to the side in clear anger, you can tell he’s obviously noticed.

The feast lives on, and a few times -repeatedly, actually, which you will blame on the mead and ale- toasts arise to wish for the Gods’ favor on the incoming battles across the sea, to congratulate the King and his foreign bride, to celebrate the death that is to come and the death that might escape them.

It is all incredibly strange to you, painfully foreign. You have no choice but to remain at your seat, facing the loud and boastful warriors, listening to foreign tongues, trying to understand strange customs.

It makes you think of what Sieghild would make out of this. She always accused you of being too arrogant, too proud, too ambitious for a Greek woman. Boasted about it being her influence what taught you to stand straight and never bite your tongue.

What would she make out of her daughter being fated to become wife of one Ivar the Boneless?

“My mother,” You start, and almost startled the King turns to you. “You brought up her name twice now, as if she is…”

“Famous?” He supplies, beginning of a smirk in place, “She is.”

“Sieghild?”

“Women with hair and eyes like hers are not easily ignored. Doesn’t help she is taller and stronger than many men,” He shrugs, looking ahead, “King Rorik had to fight a bear to get her hand, or so the Danes say.

You have heard that name before, only once in your mother’s lips. It doesn’t cease to make disgust and hate churn at your stomach.

At your silence, Ivar insists,

“You know of him, don’t you? The only madman before my brother Bjorn to take sail to your Mediterranean.”

“He didn’t reach the Mediterranean,” You offer quietly, “His ships docked in a land colder than this one, many died because of cold or hunger. And though he and the warriors that were left founded Aldeigja, it is still a long way from the Mediterranean.”

“Did you ever meet him?” He asks, and your eyebrows raise in surprise. The King only shrugs, “You mentioned travelling a lot.”

You shake your head, “Sieghild…she was betrayed by him. She would never let him close to me.”

“But she told you of him.”

“To warn me of what men in power are capable of.”

“A woman made Anassa,” He retorts, the word still foreign on his lips but you find it oddly endearing that he tries speaking your tongue, using your titles, “wouldn’t have much to fear from men in power, now would she?”

You only raise your eyebrows in response, “You think I had any real power back in Greece?” Before he can answer, you shake your head with a chuckle, “Ivar, my own people didn’t take me as a leader until I died for them. Even that wasn’t enough, Anassa is only a title, it wouldn’t change their hearts. I am a woman that refuses to fight like a man to achieve my goals, I had no place being queen in their eyes.

He stays silent, one of his hands by his mouth and his eyes intent on yours, and you let your lip curl in anger as you lay your back once again on the backrest of your seat, looking ahead.

“Because of me and what I learned they managed to fend off the Saracen raiders, because of me and my blood Laconia came to their support with the finest warriors in the Mediterranean, because of me they had time to escape Eleusis when the Christians came,” You grit your teeth, and if it is bitterness and anger and hunger all that’s left within you once the veil of nostalgia is gone, then so be it. “And yet I had to prove myself more than any man, more than-…

More than Narses.

You stop yourself, stealing a glance at the Viking that still keeps unwavering interest in the words that leave your lips. You shake your head, and reach for the cup a thrall refilled a few moments ago.

“It doesn’t matter. Most of the free Attics are dead somewhere near Aneridge, the rest will perish when winter comes. It doesn’t matter.”

The King touches his own cup with yours, and you eye him carefully, wary of what the outburst might mean for you, but Ivar only smirks.

“If you say so.” He mocks, drinking from his own cup but with his expression still dripping mirth and skepticism.

You roll your eyes, and settling better in the undeserved seat, you let conversation between the two of you go somewhere else.

And so it does, because frustratingly enough the Viking will never cease to be fascinating to you, and no matter what the two of you talk about it always manages to fill you with curiosity and warmth.

The ruckus of the feast eventually dies down, although not that far from the time the sun will rise over the sea, and you shake off your drowsiness as you watch people take their leave from the main hall.

Ivar stands up from his throne and gestures the mock of a bow your way, mumbling his goodnight. You watch him leave, reminded of the ships that are to depart over the horizon soon.

So, stealing a glance at the few remaining people and guards around you, you stand up and follow.

____

A bit of a cliffhanger, ik, I’m sorry. If I continued the last scene till the end this chapter would be a 10k word beast, so cliffhanger it is.

Also yes Rorik (Rurik) as in Igor’s father, as in the King that sailed East and started the Rus dynasty is in my canon a Danish King and Sieghild’s former husband, whom she followed in that adventure to wherever-the-fuck. Then they parted ways, and she found herself in the Mediterranean. I will probably go in more detail about this in Sieghild’s PoV, which should be the spinoff chapter uploaded next Tuesday.

Anyway, hope you liked this chapter, I hope you don’t completely hate where the story goes after the Sieghild revelation and all that. But yeah, would love to hear back from you, thank you for reading, and have a nice day/night!!

[drangues]

Point of No Return (Raised Together AU)

Dazai Osamu is twelve years old when he commits his first real crime.

In the future, he will rarely remember crimes of this magnitude, regardless of how bloody or brutal they will end up being- In the end, they all blur together, and when asked, he’d say he couldn’t care more about one or the other. Which man died screaming over what isn’t something that affects him.

(In the far future, he will rarely remember crimes of this magnitude, though not for lack of trying, and not for lack of regret.)

But this crime- His first crime- Will always, always stick with him.

(This crime, even in the far future, is one he feels no true regret over.)

He remembers that it began with blood.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Nakajima Atsushi has been gone for twenty-two hours, thirty-four minutes, and seventeen seconds by the time Dazai decides that he needs to figure out where the Headmaster has taken his closest- And only, if he’s being honest- Friend.

(Yes, he had been keeping track of the time.

Yes, he has not learned That Man’s name. He refuses to.)

It was, admittedly, a very risky decision on his part- After all, if he was caught after hours, looking for the Headmaster’s favorite unfavorite child, it wouldn’t be him that would get punished. He learned, after the first few times he tried to intervene, about how That Man seemed to enjoy punishing Atsushi for “corrupting” the other children.

(He remembers when he realized. The stench of burnt flesh still feels like it clings to him, and the echos of Atsushi’s screams ring in his ears when he’s alone.

Dazai has found that all he can do for him is be well once they see each other again. Someone needs to clean his wounds.)

Nonetheless, finding Atsushi was a risk he had to take- Punishments normally took half of this time at most, provided it wasn’t a full moon (Look into that, he reminds himself, why then- But no, no, not important-). That it was taking this long over something so stupid was… Concerning.

He slips out of his room.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It doesn’t take Dazai much longer to figure out where That Man has placed Atsushi, though getting there is another matter entirely- The orphanage is a big place, after all, and if he gives away what he’s trying to do, it could make things worse.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to find any keys once he gets there- Dazai has long become used to picking locks, and the ones at the orphanage are hardly new.

The basement door creaks as it swings open, and he holds his breath for what must be a minute while he waits and sees if anyone heard.

Nothing.

He sneaks down the stairs.

(It was what he found at the bottom that broke him.)

xxx——xxx——xxx

The first thing he notices is that Atsushi is curled up in the center of the room, shaking like a leaf and either entirely unaware of his presence or too terrified to care.

The second is the small, dark puddle under Atsushi’s tiny body.

It smells like rusted iron.

He wastes no time at all in going to his side, and the dull noises of his feet hitting the floor don’t bother him. He doesn’t have to worry about their caretakers hearing him down here.

(God knows they’d complain about having to hear the screams.)

“Atsushi,” he does his best to keep too much emotion out of his voice, because that isn’t what he needs, right now. “Atsushi, are you- Can you-“

He chokes back the obvious questions of ‘Are you okay’ or ‘Can you stand’ because the obvious answer is no, but he needs to say something-

“Atsushi, can you see me right now?”

It takes a frightening few moments for the silver haired boy to even register his words, and another few moments for him to respond, but when the glaze recedes from his eyes, just a bit, and he nods, Dazai sighs in relief.

“Good. That’s- That’s good,” he swallowed. “Can you- Talk?”

Another pause, and Atsushi coughs, voice weak, but-

“Ye-es. Yes, I can- I can talk, Osamu-san.”

He sounds like he’s been screaming.

“Sorry for taking so… So long-“

“It’s fine, it isn’t your fault, don’t apologize- Here, I’ll help you up-“

Atsushi freezes, grip going tight, and his mouth opens to respond, but Dazai is already lifting him up, and-

There’s a pained, hazy whine, and Dazai freezes. Looks down.

Ah.

Why didn’t I look more closely?

Dazai has found the source of the blood, it seems- It seeps from a clearly painful wound on Atsushi’s foot, reopened from its attempts to close thanks to Dazai’s efforts.

Not that it could close.

It’s been nailed to the ground, after all. And the nail hasn’t been removed.

He stares, eyes blank. Tremors run up and down Atsushi’s body, and he realizes, belatedly, that he’s still holding him.

Very, very gently, he sets him down, doing his best to be mindful of his foot.

He stares again.

They’d nailed his foot his-

They’d shoved and nail to it and just-

They’d-

Dazai thinks, somewhat morbidly, that the nail makes Atsushi’s foot look even smaller than it is.

It probably went through bone.

It must’ve hurt so much.

There’s so much blood-

He blinks, feeling sluggish and hazy. Atsushi. Right. He needs to- He needs to make sure he’s okay. He needs to get the nail out.

There’s a hammer, not too far away. Just out of Atsushi’s reach, actually.

Dazai picks it up, noting, distantly, that there’s blood on the head.

He thinks he knows what this was for.

Luckily, the hammer can be used to remove the nails. Dazai doesn’t know if he could do it with his fingers.

“I’m going-“ his voice sounds hoarse. He clears his throat. “I’m going to try to… Remove the nail. Okay, Atsushi?”

He gets a blank stare in response.

“Atsushi?”

The boy jumps this time, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He nods, though, hands shaking.

It’s silent, and Dazai doesn’t know why he can’t move his body.

“They. He. He tried to make me- To make me h-hammer it in myse-“ Atsushi chokes on his own words, shaky violently, now. “I c-couldn’t- The hammer- I-“

“It’s okay.”

Dazai’s own voice sounds hollow, to his ears. Atsushi looks up at him, tears trailing down his face, eyes wide.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

He kneels down, movements careful, and slots the hammer over the nail, doing his best to ignore how firmly it settles against Atsushi’s skin.

That Man really drove it in-

Hands tighten on his shoulders, and before he can think too deeply about anything, he pulls the hammer up and away from Atsushi’s foot.

Then he throws it, as hard as he can, to the other side if the basement.

Dazai doesn’t remember being this angry before.

“It’s okay,” he says again, voice dull. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay-“

Atsushi cries.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Atsushi liked to tell him about the books he read, in the quiet of the library, as he hid from the other children, or even the adults. He talked about fantasies of children escaping their tormentors, of candy houses in the woods, about true love born and raised at midnight.

(“Osamu-san,” he’d wondered aloud one night, rain pounding at their thin walls as the cold seeped into their bones, “Osamu-san, wouldn’t it be nice if that was us?”

It’s a foolish notion, Dazai knows it is, but he’s never been one to keep Atsushi from the things that keep him alive and close by, selfish as that may be.

“It would be, he’d replied, “Maybe it could be, one day.”

Atsushi had giggled, then, the sound muffled by his hands and the cold and the pain weeping through their bodies like mud.

It was a nice sound.)

He talked, sometimes, about the characters being mad. He’d mentioned that sometimes, they were so mad they saw red, so angry that they couldn’t control themselves.

So furious they couldn’t think straight.

Dazai is not seeing red. He is perfectly in control, and he is, most definitely, thinking straight.

He considers, for a moment, if this makes him a monster, for what he’s about to do next.

No, he thinks. No.

It doesn’t.

Because a monster is shaped like a grown man with an awful haircut who takes and takes and hurts and hurts, who targets the only goddamn person in the world that Dazai cares about.

A monster uses a god-shaped hole to justify his actions.

And a monster is going to be dead by day’s end, because Dazai is going to kill it.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It isn’t as easy as simply up and leaving Atsushi to do the deed, however- His friend is in no condition to stay with him while he does what he has to do.

Even now, Dazai can see the small tremors running up and down his body, and choked, raspy wheezes pull their way from his throat. The aftershocks of his crying fit, no doubt.

He purses his lips, tucking the smaller boy under his chin as he thought.

Perhaps… He could leave him down here? Not permanently, of course- They’d need to escape- But sound didn’t travel well between the basement and the main house, so he wouldn’t have to hear anything.

The key would be making sure he didn’t have to look at the source of his trauma when he was alone.

Dazai hummed under his breath, eyes mapping out what he could see in the darkness- There was a cage, at the far back, but there were manacles there, and he doesn’t fancy having Atsushi wait for him inside of iron bars, so that’s a no. The corner to the left of the cage is also out, because that’s where he’d thrown the hammer and nail. Definitely not the center of the room, because there was still a blood puddle there…

His eyes fell on the right corner, right behind the rickety stairs that led into the basement.

It was dark, so he doesn’t think Atsushi would be forced to see the rest of the area, even if he turned around. It’s positioning meant that it would hide him from any adults who came down the stairs to investigate, though Dazai hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Definitely not perfect, but it would have to do.

“Atsushi,” he murmured. His voice was still dull, and he winced. “Atsushi, I’m going to move us, alright?”

There wasn’t a verbal response, but he felt the boy nod his head as much as he could, with it still tucked under Dazai’s chin. He took that for consent and, after a moment to brace them both, he lifted him halfway off the ground, keeping a careful arm around his waist so he didn’t fall.

(As much as Dazai would love to simply carry him, the orphanage hardly feeds them enough for him to be able to. He’d just exhaust himself, and he couldn’t be tired.

Not now.)

Once they’d moved, Dazai took great care in positioning Atsushi so that his back was to the center of the room. He went to pull away, then, but the panicked whine he got in response made him hesitate.

“Don’t leave. Please, please don’t leave me alone Osamu-“

“I’m not going to,” he pressed his face against Atsushi’s hair, sighing. “Atsushi, there’s. There’s something I have to do, okay? I won’t be gone long, I promise. Just stay here and I’ll be back soon.”

Atsushi’s hands don’t loosen their grip on his arms, but Dazai can’t bring himself to care.

Eventually, still shaking, they let go.

“Promise?”

Dazai smiles, then.

“Always.”

It was not a nice smile.

xxx——xxx——xxx

After convincing Atsushi that he isn’t leaving permanently, Dazai makes his way up the stairs- He’d considered, just for a moment, taking the hammer with him, but he doesn’t want to risk drawing Atsushi’s attention to it, again.

Best to leave it where it lay- Not like he wanted to touch it, again.

Unfortunately, this did mean he had to think of a new way to get rid of the Headmaster- Finding another hammer would take too long, after all, and now that he thought about it, there was too much risk that it’d make noise.

A knife, then? He knew the way to the kitchens, and while it might be messy, he doesn’t think you can mess up slitting someone’s throat.

Even if you are eleven and horribly malnourished.

Luckily for Dazai, the kitchen happens to be close by- Really, it’s just a matter of avoiding the floorboards that creak and being very, very quiet when he opens the drawers to look for the right thing.

Definitely not a butter knife, he thinks to himself. A cleaver is too big, though- Could i use it efficiently? And a steak knife might be too small…

His eyes fall on one of the larger knives in the set. A kitchen knife, was it? Seems light enough… Seems large enough, too. He picks it up for a moment, testing the weight, swinging it once or twice- Atsushi mentioned characters in his books doing that once, he thinks, and it’s something to do, if nothing else- And he thinks on what he’s about to do.

If this works- If Dazai really walks out of this room, knife in hand- A man will be dead by daybreak.

His hands will be bloody. It isn’t a decision he can take back, once he makes it.

Is he really going to do this? Can he do it? Does he want to-

(He thinks of Atsushi, curled up and shaking in the center of a room, tiny foot nailed to the ground-

He thinks of a piercing, painful hunger, of seeing Atsushi’s arms bloodied from how hungry the boy was-

He thinks of cold, of midnights full of pain, spent curled up in the corner of his shared room with Atsushi, thin arms wrapped around each other, murmured stories spilling from the silver haired boy’s lips-

He thinks-

“Osamu-san, wouldn’t it be nice if that was us?”

“It would be. Maybe it could be, one day.”

He thinks-

“Promise?”

“Always.”

He thinks, he thinks, he thinks-)

xxx——xxx——xxx

Dazai stares up at a wooden door- The stuff of nightmares, for kids like him, for kids like Atsushi. The home of their monster under the bed.

He opens the door, careful to keep it quiet.

Nothing moves in the darkness. He steps inside, closing it with a quiet click.

He wants to do this. He has to do this. They’ll both die here if he doesn’t.

He won’t regret it.

He can’t.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It’s warm, is Dazai’s first thought.

He stares at the body on the bed, blood slowly but surely seeping into the fabric of the sheets- Probably staining it, too, now that he thinks about it.

Good, he thinks, spiteful. That Man didn’t deserve clean place to die. Really, he deserved worse than a simple stabbing, too, but Dazai was short on time, and it was dark, and if the Headmaster has woken up and alerted someone-

He shakes the thought off, the action reminding him of the blood caking on his clothes and his skin. He made a face at the feeling.

And now it’s sticky. How fun.

Unfortunately, he and Atsushi need to leave- After all, he has no doubt that the other orphanage workers would claim it was Atsushi or himself who had done it, and he sees no reason to believe that whoever came to investigate would doubt them.

(He’d considered, briefly, killing the other workers to give them more time- They were just as much monsters as That Man was, after all… But no. Leaving was more important.)

He hopes Atsushi hasn’t been too upset while he was gone.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Getting back to Atsushi turns out to be the easy part- He opens the door with ease, still making as little noise as possible, but steps down the stairs leading to the basement loudly enough to alert Atsushi that someone is coming.

It’s getting out that’s the problem.

Because as it turns out, stepping foot out of the only place you’ve ever known, no matter how awful it was to you, is terrifying for both of them.

Dazai stares up at the gates before them.

Of course this is where he freezes. In front of gates. Not even when he’s killing someone. Of fucking course-

Atsushi’s hand tightens around his own, and he realizes, belatedly, that they’ve been clinging to each other since he got Atsushi out of the basement.

He tightens his own hand in response.

“Dazai-san,” the silver haired boy stops, face hesitant and voice hoarse. “Dazai-san, we… Need to go. Right? You’ll get in trouble for- For helping me if we don’t.”

Atsushi looks up at him, eyes still somewhat distant, but.

But it was better than it was.

Remember why you’re doing this.

It isn’t as if Atsushi doesn’t understand the situation- His friend is hardly stupid, and he knows what the blood that covered him means- So instead of arguing, he begins scaling the gates.

Opening them would make too much noise, right now.

Dazai refuses to ruin this. Not when they’ve come this far.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It had taken them a day to get out of the woods that surrounded the living hell that had been their life (they could’ve been quicker, but better safe than sorry- Atsushi is certain he heard people looking for them, after all).

It had taken them a further week of living on the streets, terrified of being found and dragged back, kicking and screaming, to find any hope of salvation.

(“I don’t want to go back, Osamu-san,” Atsushi had sobbed on their second night. “I don’t want to go back, they’ll take you, they’ll hurt you-“

“It’s okay, Atsushi. It’s okay-“

“Don’t go,” Atsushi choked out, shaking. “Don’t go, don’t go, you promised-“

“I did,” he pressed a kiss against Atsushi’s hair, eyes blank. “I won’t leave. I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise-“

The words had continued well into the night,)

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be calling it salvation.

It’s warm.

Dazai stares at the man across from them, eyes dull. Atsushi is buried in his side, half trying to avoid looking at the bloody corpse on the medical table, half unable to look away.

He doesn’t think they’ve been apart for more than a minute since their escape.

Ōgai Mori turns his gaze to them, eyes wide, and there’s a touch of something unhinged there- But Dazai tightens his grip on Atsushi’s hand and remains in place.

They have nowhere else to go, after all.

“Both of you,” the black hair man starts, “are my witnesses… And the only other ones here to witness the last words of the former boss of the Port Mafia. He died of illness, and passed on leadership to his doctor with his dying breath.”

Mori’s grin stretches wider.

“Isn’t that right, Dazai Osamu-kun and Nakajima Atsushi-kun?”

And Dazai thinks of meeting the man, and his words at the time.

(“Twenty-three stab wounds,” he’d murmured, “is not an insignificant crime.”

Dazai knew a threat when he heard one, and the man smirked at his unasked question.

“Join with the Port Mafia, and I can promise protection from the consequences of your actions. You’ll be well suited, I’m certain.”

Dazai… Considers. Slides his gaze down to Atsushi, tucked into his side, eyes wide and the tell tale purple-on-gold of his ability peering at the one who’d invaded their temporary hideaway of an abandoned building.

(And hadn’t that been an event in and of itself- Discovering abilities, discovering that they had them-)

Mori’s smirk stretches wider, and Dazai thinks, absentmindedly, that only monsters how that many teeth.

“And your little friend can even join, too.”)

Dazai is sure that, if not for No Longer Human, it would be claws digging into his side instead of Atsushi’s tight grip.

Neither of them move, though, and all Dazai can do is stare at the man in front of them.

If it was just him, he wouldn’t care. If it was just him, he could deal with it. But it isn’t just him.

(Dazai thinks of bloodied nails and hammer and an aching, desperate need-)

They have nowhere else to go.

Against his side, Atsushi gives a tiny nod.

“Yes, Mori-san.”

xxx——xxx——xxx

Dazai Osamu is twelve years old when he commits his first crime in a fit of desperation.

It won’t be the last.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Point of No Return- (Expression) Phrase denoting when one must continue on with their current path, due to turning back being physically impossible or dangerous in some manner

xxx——xxx——xxx

Author’s Note: Nyanon here again- And here’s what I’ve been working on! Hopefully this lives up to my last little… Drabble? One-shot? Though it’s definitely more violent than the last one… Uh, whoops?

Also, super sorry if this wasn’t word for word on anything that popped up in universe? For example, I couldn’t completely remember Mori’s little speech to Dazai… Hope that’s alright!

[doomonfilm]

Ranking : David Lynch (1946-present)

Film is definitely an art, and yet, it seems to be distinct from other forms of visual art such as painting or sculpture.  Perhaps that is what makes David Lynch such a fascinating director, as he has the ability to tap into the surreal stimulus often found in the most famous paintings and transform it into brain-bending moments on film.  Whether it his fear-fueled fascination with fatherhood present in his debut film Eraserhead, his ruminations on Hollywood society present in Inland Empire, or any of the stopping points in-between, it’s safe to say that David Lynch sits in the rarified air of directors like Ingmar Bergman, Alejandro Jodorowsky and the other few who can turn film into something deeper, more visceral and more meaningful.

With one of the most unique collections of films credited to his name, including a couple of curveballs in the early portion of his career, ranking the films of David Lynch is as perplexing as it is entertaining... so, without further ado, we attempt to climb that hill.  I’m not even going to pretend that I can break down all of the symbolism and meanings of these films, but I can give my honest opinion about them.

10. Dune (1984) For a film that is supposed to be such a science-fiction gem, it’s a bit funny that nobody can seem to make a coherent, entertaining version of Dune.  After nearly 15 years in pre-production hell (and three iconic names attached to versions of the production), the film landed in the laps of Dino De Laurentiis and Ridley Scott, but after another extended period delaying production, Scott bowed out, leaving the door open for David Lynch to step in.  For what it’s worth, he did bring a huge list of names to the project, but the fact that the directing credit for Dune belongs to the throwaway pseudonym Alan Smithee should clue in any perceptive viewer that the project may not be one that Lynch cares to stand behind.

9. Inland Empire (2006) David Lynch isn’t the type of director that revisit ground he’s already covered, which is what makes Inland Empire (the seemingly final film from Lynch) such a confusing choice.  Had this film not been released after a five year gap between it and the stellar Mullholland Drive, another film that focuses on the dark underbelly of Hollywood, fame and the tolls of the acting craft, perhaps it would hit a little different to me.  That’s not to say that the film isn’t good, as it is definitely a slight adjustment from the style that Lynch basically trademarked, but when a director like Lynch experiments on what feels like general principle, it makes experiments that feel like a step backward lose impact.

8. Lost Highway (1997) Technically, you could count all of the Lynch “mystery” films as noir in some capacity, but Lost Highway feels like a direct skewing of what we know as the traditional noir structure.  At its core, the film is a simple murder mystery, but it doesn’t take long for the Lynch signatures to begin appearing in every form from a mysterious, unnamed character to our protagonist literally changing into another person with no base explanation provided.  Perhaps the latter choice was a look into split personalities and the disassociated nature that can come with brutal crimes... as I said before, I’m not here to try and decode the David Lynch mystery.  While Lost Highway serves as a good entry point into the David Lynch catalog, it sits on the back half of the rankings due to no fault of its own... it’s more of a situation where the other mysteries are so stellar, that even the strange seems simplistic by comparison.

7. The Straight Story (1999) If you played a game of “one of these things is not like the other” with the films of David Lynch, it would not be difficult to make a winning choice, as The Straight Story is clearly the most accessible and standard of all the Lynch fare.  What the film lacks in oddness and style, however, is more than made up for in terms of heart and performance.  The use of a lawnmower as the main source of travel allows for some beautiful landscape cinematography, and the sheer force of will exhibited by Richard Farnsworth pays off in spades when he is reunited with Harry Dean Stanton.  If you’re looking for something creepy, eclectic and mind-warping from Lynch, there are plenty of other films to choose from, but if you are looking for an excuse to shed a tear or two, this is the film for you.

6. The Elephant Man (1980) It’s funny to think that if not for The Straight Story, the Joseph Merrick biopic The Elephant Man would serve as the most normal film of the Lynch canon.  This sophomore film dialed back on the abstractions present in Eraserhead, but it brought some extraordinary makeup and costuming to the table, not to mention it gifted viewers with a powerfully moving performance from John Hurt.  Though memorable in its own right, the film really made its mark by tying Raging Bull at the 53rd Academy Awards, garnering eight nominations (and sadly losing in all categories, going home empty-handed).  The backlash for the Academy’s lack of giving The Elephant Man special praise for its makeup effects also led to the creation of a Best Makeup award for the Oscars.  It is quite possible that the combination of shock from Eraserhead in tandem with the skill and prowess shown in The Elephant Man opened all of the creative control doors for David Lynch, as not even Dune could derail his career and artistic oddness. 

5. Blue Velvet (1986) While Twin Peaks is where I first heard the name David Lynch, it was Blue Velvet where I first got a taste of why Lynch was held in such high regard.  The suburban paradise presented in the opening credits is immediately shattered by the discovery of a random ear, and the weirdness rabbit-hole gets deeper and deeper from that point on.  The classic look of the film stands in powerfully beautiful contrast to the extreme darkness of the narrative, and Dennis Hopper turned it all the way up to 11 for his performance in the film.  If Lost Highway serves as the best introductory film for those curious about Lynch, then Blue Velvet serves as a good midpoint to determine how much weirdness, abrasiveness and shock you can handle in a Lynch film.

4. Mulholland Drive (2001) I really and truly do not know where to begin with this insane rollercoaster ride of a film.  The first time I watched this film, I thought I had everything figured out, every mystery solved and every bait and switch identified, but upon repeat viewings of Mullholland Drive, I’ve determined that I either had a brief moment of harmonic brilliance or I was fooling myself.  The film makes sense at its root, if really and truly dissected, but when taken at face value and in real time, it’s almost impossible not to get completely lost in the sheer immersive nature of everything thrown at you.  Naomi Watts is brilliant as the viewer guide through the film, and it’s good that she is so powerful in her lead role and guiding task, because Mullholland Drive is not afraid to get downright bonkers on more than one occasion.  While films about the trappings of Hollywood and stardom are nothing new, I’m hard pressed to think of another film that approaches these in a manner even remotely close to that of Mullholland Drive. 

3. Wild at Heart (1990) Quite possibly the most enjoyable of all the David Lynch films, despite some downright brutal moments of celebratory violence sprinkled throughout.  The combination of Nicolas Cage and Laura Dern is nothing short of electric, and the presence of Willem Dafoe as antagonist is the perfect spark to ignite an already volatile mixture of leads.  The energy level of this film starts on ten and only continues to rise as the film progresses.  If/when I ever get the chance to program theater showings, I am putting this film on a double bill with Natural Born Killers immediately.  While I can’t say that Wild at Heart is my favorite David Lynch film, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that it’s my favorite Lynch film to gush about with other fans.

2. Eraserhead (1977) More often than not, directors the caliber of David Lynch have stunning debut films to their name, and Lynch certainly exploded onto the scene with a gamebreaker in the form of Eraserhead.  Upon first viewing, there is enough “WTF?!” going on to confuse most people, but for those brave enough to watch the film more than once, it becomes painfully obvious that all of the madness and shocking imagery on display is a clear metaphor for Lynch’s fear of fatherhood.  The simple act of taking a fear that resonates with most humans and turning it into the equivalent of a black and white bad drug trip works perfectly, and Jack Nance’s iconic look and performance are almost recognizable enough to know without knowledge of the film.  Eraserhead is one of those films that leaves you different than you were prior to watching it.

1. Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me (1992) In all honesty, was there every any doubt that Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me wouldn’t be in the top spot?  Of all the properties that the David Lynch name is connected to, none of them have even come remotely close to touching the sheer size of the lore and fandom that has emerged from this modern day masterpiece.  The story of the high school princess with deep, dark secrets to hide is not new territory, but the way that Lynch handles it all with Twin Peaks takes the familiar to all new realms of weirdness, including the creation of iconic places and characters like the Black Lodge, the Log Lady, the production mistake that created the infamous Bob, and the eternally iconic Laura Palmer, and oh yeah, the film’s not half bad either.  I doubt that David Lynch ever had any intention of reaching the heights of fame that Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me afforded him, but it would be dumb to think that he isn’t impressed with the magnitude of the world he created based on that single idea for a film.

[musicallisto]

without fail tag

THE “WITHOUT FAIL” TAG — List five things that you, WITHOUT FAIL, weave into or explore in your stories, whether it be specific themes or tropes, character archetypes, allusions to other literary works, what have you! It really can be anything that you consistently include in your narratives for whatever reason. Then invite others to share theirs by tagging them!

I was tagged by @deadlymodern - thank you so much for tagging me, this tag is amazing and I loved reading your answers! I can tell you have a very thorough approach to your writing & themes, it’s so cool!

(tagging people at the bottom of the post if you want to skip)

1. flowers, skies & words

grouping them together since they're all related to a wider, general literary device: symbols and allegories in my stories. Without fail, I’ll always use flower symbolism to evoke certain themes, places, characters... withered petals for death, blossoms for youth, you name it, it’s probably been in one of my stories. just consider my main WIP’s title, The Grave of Roses (Le Tombeau des Roses). It’s a little basic, and has been used time and time before in literature, but I still love it.

Other elements that often make it into my stories as symbols are planes (because I love aviation obviously, but also as a symbol of breaking free, independence, of man’s domination on mortality, what with having tamed the skies, but also his frail condition and how everything hangs on a thread). Also, the sky is pretty.

And lastly, words, stories, novels always have their place in my stories, and more often than not one of my characters is a writer, or someone who uses words and stories as some kind of comfort, outlet, or a driving force.

At its [the tombstone] foot, below the name, red roses piled up, enough of them to cover ten graves. A single vermilion bud, a wind-swept poppy, clashed with the rest of the bouquet, and Samuel knew that it was William's children who had placed it there. Only they knew that he didn't even like roses anymore, and that he would come to lay poppies on his father's memorial every time he returned to London...

The tomb was both smaller and prettier than Samuel imagined, less opulent than England would have wanted to give its precious child. The morning sun, like a caress, illuminated the epitaph, a Latin verse that Samuel had known in the past. “Bury me southward,” he heard William say so clearly that he almost turned around, "so that I can look at England and France in the same breath." His name, however, was drenched in full light, facing east, and inexplicably this saddened Samuel.

“And there it is... it's pretty, don't you think? I don't know if he would have liked it... You probably know it better than I do...”

“And why do you care about that, huh? You don't even believe in God.” “He's a writer. He believes in symbols.” “He believes in vanity, alright.”

“I think he would have liked it anyway,” he nodded in agreement, his eyes glued to the lonely poppy. (Translation)

2. parental roughnesses

this was bound to come, because I feel like we were all pretty fucked up at some point in our lives from our upbringing. I didn’t go for straight up “parental issues” because I don’t deal with like, abusive or absent parents or anything, just complicated relationships between parents and their children, but who still love each other. Oftentimes it has to do with one of the children idealizing the heck out of their parent and slowly realizing that they make mistakes and are not a hero at all, and/or unmeetable expectations and parental pressure. but it’s not like I’m projecting or anything lol

“You never knew Father, William,” Grace stopped him immediately [...]. “Don't you dare pretend you know what it's like.”

“Growing up without a father is not necessarily better than losing him in childhood! Everyone here has suffered from his disappearance, Grace. You have no idea how much I miss him, despite never meeting him. But that's all in the past now. And there's no reason for there to be another war.”

“Of course there is!” she retorted ferociously, despite the tears spilling from her eyes. “Of course there is, and they're going to send you there like Father, and you'll want to play hero like Father, and then you'll get shot down like a dog! Where's it going to be this time, huh? Above Luxembourg, just like him, or maybe somewhere in your beloved France?” (Translation)

3. patriotism

One way or another, all my stories always deal with patriotism, nationalism, pride in one’s country and more broadly speaking one’s relationship to it. It questions what it means to belong to a country, to share one culture, one language; does it justify acting in the benefit of one’s country, and where do you draw the line before you intentionnally harm others’; what even is a country, a nationality, and it what sense do you belong to one, and what do you owe it, if you even owe it anything? Is it wrong or right to feel love and attachment to your place of origin? And what does it mean to fight for your country, for its values, for its people? & other things of the like. It probably stems from my own experience as a binational person; growing up, I was always asked stuff like “but who do you root for in a football game” “but are you like really French or not?” “if Spain and France got into a war what would you do?”, and this all lead me to question “am I more French or am I more Spanish - which one am I, and which one would others perceive me to be - do I need to pick a side? And how can I express my affection to these places that raised me both differently, without undermining the other - or others? can I still be proud of my heritage given the horrors my countries have committed in the past?”. I still haven’t found a definitive answer, so my writing is just me throwing trails out to the world and hoping I’ll figure it out someday. that’s why my stories often have a war setting; firstly I just love historical fiction, and secondly it’s the perfect backdrop for all these questions to unfold.

William laughed at the idea - he, a true Frenchman! It was a very silly thought. He may have loved what he had seen of Charlotte's country, but England was not to be ashamed of any other land, for it was the only one he would love until his last breath. (Translation.)

4. just a hint of supernatural

I love me a good ghost story, and I’m a fan of everything spooky, but what’s subtly spooky, and not the gory, in-your-face horror. This particular theme may have increased since I saw The Haunting of Hill House which completely OBLITERATED ME with how it uses the house and its ghosts to tell a story of family and trauma and memories... but I’ve loved ghost stories forever. Another piece that truly resonated with me was One Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad) by Gabriel García Márquez. It was my first dive into the world of magical realism and I didn’t make it out of there the same person I was when I entered. This one is not necessarily included in every piece without fail, because some are just too anchored in reality, but if it’s not a straight-up spirit or an otherworldly creature, I’ll always find a way to include an aspect of superstition, a myth, a legend, a tale from faraway that is neither proved nor disproved throughout the story. It truly adds to the atmosphere of the world, even in a very realistic and gritty setting, I believe.

I hear murmurs of legends among the soldiers. [...] One of those stories caught my attention, I must admit... It is not very special, nothing more than a children's tale, but I thought it was beautiful enough to please your Romantic soul. Some pilots speak of a cemetery, somewhere in the countryside north of London, which has something mystical about it, lost in the flowers that sway as far as the eye can see, in the calm rhythm of the wind, wrapped in the heady scent of eternal spring, and where the bravest warriors would go to rest forever, tired of their exploits and the continual explosions. No one knows exactly where it is or what to do to be buried there, but this beautiful image simply floats like a dream in the minds of many and, I confess, in mine as well since I first heard about it.

It is said that there only flowers dare to disturb the heroes in their sleep... This fragment of silence is called the Grave of the Roses.

So if I were to leave you, if you were to hear that I am gone...

With a bit of luck, that is where you will find me.

5. love

this one is broader and less obvious than you might think. Of course, I’ll always, always implement an element of romance to my story (and more often than not it’s angsty with star-crossed lovers or insurmountable obstacles or forbidden romances and whatnot), but there’s more to it. I don’t think I have ever written a story that is entirely grim and bleak, simply because I do not believe the world is built like that. I’ve said time and time again that love is my favorite thing in the world, and I believe it is the force that drives us all forward and connects us all together; love is, to me, the truest power of humanity, and its inherent purpose. And love covers all subjects and all types of relationships, but my absolute favorite ways to explore and show love in my stories is through long-lasting, rock-solid friendships (because friendships are often overlooked both in fiction and real life), and just a grandiose love letter to humanity as a whole. I’m an optimist, and many people who have suffered more than I have would deem me naive for thinking this - and I cannot blame them -, but as Anne Frank put it more bravely than I ever could, “despite everything, I still think humans are good at heart”. My stories are always born out of love and made for love. For the love of humanity and kindness and literature and love of myself, too, because sometimes I just like rereading the words and thinking, “wow, I’ve made it this far. look at me go.” In a word, yes, I would say that is what it boils down to; my work, but also what I hope my entire life and being will be. An ode to love.

“He admired you and truly loved you, you know. You were a good leader, I'm sure, and a good friend, above all.”

He thought she was going to put her hand on his shoulder, and prepared to bend to avoid it, but instead she came to rest on the polished marble of the tomb, which was already beginning to erode at the corners. The soft light bathed her hand, and Samuel's on the other corner, still resting above William's surname, the only thing he had been proud of from beginning to end.

“And I loved him too. I loved them all. If you only knew...”

well, I got carried away, as I always do when talking about my writing, but it made me miss it so much. I haven’t worked on any of my projects since literally October and I’m feeling the void rn. anyway, thank you again for enabling me to ramble about what I love most, Thais! and I’m tagging @softeninglooks, @lxncelot, @myriadimagines​, @swanimagines & @randomfandomimagine + plus any writer who wants to talk about their marvelous work <3

[kunoichi-ume]

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad

Characters: Torian Cadera, Noara Starspark, Balic Cormac and Elara Dorne-Cormac (I have no idea if she will ever take his name, but they are totally married so that’s how I am writing it haha) Story: Jedi Sitters Word Count: 3458

Note: This fic was inspired by this piece of art by @jemichiart, and the name for the little Rishii baby totally taken from @outcastcommander’s suggestion. This also ended up much longer than I expected, but I enjoyed writing this so I am not sorry. EDIT: I am however sorry I forgot to add the tags and link to the picture. Oops.

The sharp tang of blood filled the air as Torian made his way through the Rishi jungle, rifle held ready in case he needed it. He had set off that morning to go hunting but, apparently, he wasn’t the only being on the prowl for a challenge. Whatever had spilled the blood tainting the air had apparently already found it’s prey. He followed the scent, giving in to his curiosity that soon turned into alarm when he identified where the smell of blood came from. Not further into the forest, where wild beasts were known to roam, but into a small clearing he was familiar with. A clearing that housed several huts belonging to a small tribe of locals.

Blood spilled there couldn’t bode well at all.

They were a peaceful sort, the Rishii, despite being natural born predators. Despite their sharp claws and beaks, and ever sharper eyes, Torian ahd always found them to be a kind and welcoming bunch every time he visited their home world. Now that he called the tropical world home as well, Torian had hopes of befriending one or two of them. While he had never heard of a Rishii Mandalorian, the idea of one excited him and he’d welcome any of their number into his hunting party.

Stopped at the edge of the clearing, Torian observed the carnage with a keen eye. Several structures were only partially standing, walls and roofs caved in. Not a single dwelling was left as adequate shelter from the elements. Bodies, all belonging to the feathered locals, laid out across the ground. Claws, far larger than any he had ever seen a Rishii possess, had carved up the bodies the same way they had destroyed the buildings, gouging the ground to leave long, deep grooves in the packed dirt.

Torian sighed heavily, he was no stranger to death but there was always something tragic about the loss of innocent lives. These people were not warriors, not soldiers. They were families, with elderly and young among them. Now he was grateful Noara had not joined him this morning, she was not a hunter but enjoyed exploring the wilds at his side. Death, especially senseless deaths like these, always weighed heavily on her. Where Torian observed the carnage with a sense of sadness at the loss of life she would feel the full weight of grief bearing down on her chest. He loved the former Jedi with all his heart, but her upbringing in the Order still influenced her to behave in ways he didn’t always understand. It kept life interesting.

The sound of something hitting the ground pulled Torian's attention away from the bodies laid out across the clearing. Keeping very still, he strained to hear any other signs of life. Perhaps something in the damaged huts had shifted he wondered. But then a second, clearer sound filled the air. Cracking.

Moving quietly, careful to step around the bodies and blood, Torian entered the clearing and looked for the source of the sound. Nothing was out of place in the first partially standing hut he investigated, nor the second.

At the threshold of the third Torian froze in place, shocked still by what he found as his heart pounded loudly in his ears.

Sprawled out on the dusty floor was a small creature and, though he had never seen one before, it was obvious to Torian it was a newborn Rishii ik'aad. A baby. Something thick and shiny soaked the ik'aad's feathers, pieces of shell caught in the viscous liquid and littering the area almost like shrapnel from an explosion. It looked as though the egg that little thing once resided in had been stashed into the cabinet above where it sat, the door hanging open on a crooked hinge.

It wasn't hard to make the assumption that someone, possibly one of the child's parents, had stashed the egg away in hopes of safety. Luckily the door had held after the damage to the walls had displaced it until the danger had passed. And, equally lucky, was that the ik'aad had been ready to hatch.

Stepping into the destroyed hut, eyes far too large for the small ik'aad's face, lit up in delight when he came into view. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Torian couldn't resist carefully scooping the ik'aad up into his arms. The little thing barely weighed anything at all and his chest tightened at the idea that it was made an orphan the same day it was born. Torian was still a baby when he lost his parents, but at least it hadn’t been the exact same day. A foundling before even getting a name. Brushing some of the shell pieces off soggy feathers, he did his best to check if the child was healthy but truthfully didn't know what he was looking for.

The question of what to do never entered Torian’s mind, there was no debate to be had. Until he could find the ik’aad’s family, if any lived, the foundling was his responsibility. First thing first, he needed to make sure the newborn was healthy. Glancing around the hut, Torian grabbed a large red cloth and shook the dust off before wrapping it around the child. It was a warm day, as was the usual on Rishi, but he didn't want to chance the child catching a chill from it's soaked feathers. Once satisfied that the makeshift birikad would hold the ik'aad securely against his chest, he was quick to leave the destroyed village behind and head back into the forest.

Head turning all around so much Torian was concerned the ik'aad would injure it, the infant cooed excitedly while taking in the world for the first time. It was all Torian could do to keep from laughing, the pure joy of seeing the world with new eyes was infectious. When he reached the rough path he had taken into the jungle, no longer having to duck under branches, Torian switched from a quick pace to a jog. He wanted to get the ik'aad home as soon as possible, not only did the newborn need to be examined by a trained medic but he also had no idea what kind of food to provide. Luckily, when he had left, Noara had said she expected her brother and his wife to come by soon.

Balic Cormac, a giant of a man, wasn't Noara’s sibling by blood, but by choice which meant more to Torian in the long run. He had grown up without his blood around and Noara's had given her away. Better to rely on the family that chose to love you when you needed someone. As luck would have it, Balic's wife Elara was one of the most widely versed medics Torian had ever met. She should be more than capable of giving the little Rishii a proper checkup.

The ik'aad made an odd huffy noise, one that sounded almost put out and made Torian grin widely. "Don't worry ad'ika, you'll get a better look later," he said, smoothing his hand over the ruffled feathers slowly drying on the child's head. He'd make sure the kid got an eyeful before they decided what to do with him.

Walking into the Clan Compound Torian was struck with the still unfamiliar feeling of being home, a warm sense of contentment and belonging that he savored. It wasn't something he had experienced often in his life, having an actual home instead of just a temporary accommodation. When Noara had started talking about wanting to settle down, leaving the saving of the galaxy to others while they moved on with their lives, he hadn't been too particular about where they ended up. As long as he could hunt, house his clan and be with his wife he was happy.

Settling on a tropical world, one with plenty of beaches and ocean to keep Noara happy and thick forests and plentiful fauna for hunting had turned out perfect. Even the base they found was exactly what they needed, large enough to house everyone and any new members the clan might welcome in the years to come and all the animals Noara had taken to rescuing, while being secure enough to defend if they ever needed to.

They even had enough space to put in their own little medical center, which was where Torian headed first. With the Cormac's visiting, it was fairly likely they would either be checking the set up of the new infirmary equipment as Elara had been their main consultant on what they needed, or up in the cliff-side apartment he shared with Noara. Elara was a very driven, serious woman and he would be surprised if she didn’t want to get straight to work. Also the infirmary was closer to where he exited the jungle.

Barely inside the door Torian knew he had made the right choice. The murmur of voices drifted down the corridor toward him and he smiled. He had no idea how Noara would react to him coming home with an ik'aad strapped to his chest and, honestly, he was looking forward to finding out. She found far too much amusement in surprising him with the newest beastie she had decided to take into their home, it was only fair to turn the tables on her.

Several people were gathered inside the infirmary. Balic was leaning against the wall, not far from where his wife worked and even slumped down slightly he was still head and shoulders over everyone else. Several of the younger clan members, all in varying colors of armor, watched the blonde woman with rapt attention as she gave them a rundown of how to use a new scanning device. Noara was lying on the hospital table, obviously playing the lab wamp rat, and doing a good impression of an injured patient until she looked toward the door.

Sneaking up on Noara was almost impossible for Torian, she claimed to be able to feel him with the Force. He believed her, but it was still a hard sell. She claimed it wasn’t the same as how she felt another Force user, but something special because of their connection. She could feel him when he was near, even sense a bit of his moods if she tried.

Of course that didn’t mean he wasn’t determined to try, and someday he was going to manage it.

Instead of pretending to be hurt, Noara smiled brightly when he stepped into view and he could see the moment she noticed the ik'aad. Her eyes widened in surprise and she jolted up off the medical bed, head almost colliding with Elara's who had leaned over during her lecture. Only Balic's large hand yanking his wife backward saved them both from having their bells rung.

"Cyare," Noara said, pushing off the bed and hurrying toward him. "Meg vaar gar ganar?"

Muffled laughter broke out among the younger vod in the room. Noara had been working on learning Mando'a for a few years now, but like now still managed to get some words mixed up much to the younger generation's amusement. Instead of asking what he had, she instead spoke a gibberish phrase about what he had undeveloped. Or half grown, vaar, could mean either.

Cheeks flushing, Noara knew what the laughter meant but instead of reacting further she peered curiously at the ik'aad. "Who is this?"

Torian leaned his head down to brush his lips against her forehead, eyes fixed on the vod still smiling about her slip up. It was of course a message, to remind them she was their alor's riduur. Noara was more Mando than he could have ever imagined a Jedi turning, but part of him still worried about her being accepted by his peers. He knew first hand that it was possible to be Mando and still be treated like an aruetii. He'd be damned if he would let anyone make Noara feel like she wasn't enough.

Turning their head, the ik'aad looked up at Noara with wide yellow eyes. Noara returned the interested stare, reaching out to run her fingers through the matted feathers. "Poor little guy needs a bath," she said, raising her eyes to frown at him. "Are you babysitting or something?"

"Or something," Torian laughed before giving a quick explanation of his day. His story had the attention of everyone in the room and Elara was at his side before he had even finished.

"You should have said it was a newborn sooner," Elara chided him, holding her hands out. "Let me take a look."

Nodding, Torian braced one hand on the ik'aad's bottom before untying the birikad. Once it was loose Elara had the little one in her arms and was making her way back to the exam table.

There was perhaps a split second between her stepping away from him and the loudest shrieking he had ever heard come from a sentient being's lungs. Noara gasped as Torian darted around her, beelining for the table.

"What did you do?" he demanded, leaning over the table to see the small Rishii ik'aad lying on the bed and looking completely fine. Even the squalling had stopped, the moment he leaned over the table. Confused, he looked at the former Havoc Squad medic.

Humming thoughtfully, Elara shifted to block Torian from view. Again the ik'aad started crying loudly. Moving back, the cries stopped the moment golden eyes met Torian's. "Stay right there, where the child can see you."

Noara stepped up beside Torian, pulling a stool over for him to sit on and stayed by his side as Elara examined her new patient. This time the instruction she gave the watching vod was more hands on than the lecture she had given over Noara's 'pretend' ailment. Torian didn't pay much attention to the words she was saying, explaining everything she did, instead he was drawn to the small Rishii's eyes that seemed glued to his face.

Finally Elara set her instruments away, lifting the ik'aad and passing him over for Torian to hold. She delivered her prognosis with a bright smile. "That is one perfectly healthy Rishii baby boy you have there Torian."

"He is such a cutie," Noara said, perched on the edge of the table behind him and leaning over his shoulder to run her fingers through the boy's feathers again. "If his parents are dead, what do we do with him?"

Torian frowned, he hadn't thought that far and now that he was holding the small boy in his arms it just felt... right. Like he was meant to take in this foundling as his own, as his son. They had talked a little about children, though nothing in certain terms and had never discussed adoption. It was as much a part of Mandalorian culture as armor and fighting, they even had a set phrase for it.

How was he going to tell his wife he wanted to make them parents without even discussing it? Watching her smile as the boy gurgled happily at her touch, he had a feeling it wouldn't be too hard to convince her.

Before he could work up an idea of how to start that conversation, Elara cleared her throat to get their attention. "Actually, you should know that Rishii infants are known to imprint on the first person they see."

"Imprint?" Noara asked, frowning in confusion and the words sunk in for Torian. He knew what it meant, but never imagined a sentient species did it. By being the one to find the boy he had all but sealed the question of their future.

"It's a long lasting attachment to the first individual or object a creature sees after hatching. It's common in avian species," Elara explained in her serious manner before smiling. "Based on the child's reaction to being separated I can only assume he has imprinted on Torian."

"So that means..." Noara's voice trailed off as she looked between the boy and her husband. "Are you a dad now?"

Torian pulled his son closer at the hitch in her voice, "I guess, I mean I want to know how you feel about it before deciding anything."

Noara watched him carefully for a long moment before looking up at the crowded room. "Could we have some privacy please?"

"Of course Noara-doll," Balic said before pushing off the wall where he was leaning. He started herding the training medics out of the room before dropping a kiss on the top of Noara's head and leaving with his wife tucked tight against his side. On the way out the door Elara called back that she would arrange for some proper food to be up in their apartment for the boy.

Once they were finally alone Noara shifted closer on the bed to wrap her arms around Torian's shoulders, her chest pressed up against his back. She laid her hands on top of his, helping cradle the child against his chest. When she spoke her voice was steady, though little more than a whisper in his ear. "Are you ready to be a father Torian? I know we've talked a bit about it, but this would be starting now. No time to come to terms with it or get cold feet you know?"

"As sudden as it may feel, I think I am." Torian turned on his stool, dislodging her arms so he could watch her face carefully, "what about you? Are you ready to be a mother?"

"To be honest, no. I don't feel ready at all," Noara said, sighing sadly. "I still don't really know what a mother is? How to do it, you know?"

Holding the child with one hand, Torian cupped her cheek with his other one. "I don't know what being a father is like either but together I have no doubts we will figure it out."

"He'd need a name," she said after a tense moment, leaning her face into his cheek with a smile, "if we can't even manage that what kind of parents would we be?"

Torian laughed, the anxious worry he hadn’t really noticed in his chest relaxing at her smile. "Fair enough. Any ideas?"

“Not sure, never named anyone before.” Noara looked down at the boy tucked against his chest. "His eyes look like little suns don’t they? So bright and full of life."

"What about Tranyc?"

She frowned, "that's Mando'a right? Star... something?"

Torian nodded, impressed that she caught the unfamiliar word. "Star-burned, but that's the literal translation. 'Sunny' is a more true meaning."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, I love you Torian," Noara said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders again and kissing him. "And loving this little guy will be no burden I’m sure."

“No I don’t imagine it will be,” Torian said, standing and taking one of Noara’s hands to draw her off the table to stand in front of him. Adjusting his hold on Tranyc, he situated them so Noara was helping hold his son between them. “We should make it official, well as official as Mandalorians ever are.”

“I take it there is a set way to do this?” Noara’s eyes had a teasing gleam in them as she smiled up at him, “so tell me, how do we make Tranyc our son?”

Torian’s heart felt like it could burst, gratitude and admiration for Noara’s easy acceptance of their son almost overwhelming him. He had to clear his throat before being able to speak the adoption vow. “Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad.”

“What does that mean?” she didn’t look up as she asked, her eyes fixed on Tranyc’s bright smile.

“I know your name as my child.”

“Very Mandalorian, direct and to the point. I like it.” Noara placed her hand on Tranyc;s head and repeated the vow. Like when they had spoken their marriage vows months before, it took her a few times so get the pronunciation exactly right. When she finished, she gathered their son in her arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek before laughing. “We really need to bathe our son,” she said, “and Elara should have an idea of what to feed him by now.”

Torian wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding Noara out of the infirmary. “Let’s take our son home,” he said, the words making him feel like he could fly. His entire life Torian had wanted a family, one that he could do right by. The way his father hadn’t. The way Noara’s parents hadn’t. They had both grown up without a family but together they had made one all their own. And, other than perhaps the day Noara agreed to marry him, Torian had never been happier than this moment.

Translations

Ik'aad - baby; child under 3 Birikad - baby carrying harness Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad - adoption vow - lit. I know your name as my child.

[reblogthiscrapkay]

Persephone in Disney’s “Hercules”

After doing my write-up on “Jasper in Deadland”, which doesn’t actually have the myth of Persephone in it but does have her and Hades as characters, I found myself thinking, ‘why don’t I do more write-ups about media that has Persephone in it even if her myth isn’t directly addressed?’ And once I had that thought, I decided I should talk about Disney’s “Hercules,” which is probably just as famous for its portrayal of Hades as it is for literally anything else about it.

I think anyone’s automatic thought when I say Persephone in Disney’s “Hercules” is that she’s not actually in the movie at all and that’s not actually correct.

I’m not crazy about her design but it’s not the worst thing. Why is she so blonde when most of the other gods seem to be more monochromatic (and as I’ve said before I’m not into blonde Persephone)? In fact, her lack of monochrome makes me wonder if they might have intended other things for her since the gods who aren’t mostly one color in general have more importance in the narrative. Also her earrings are probably supposed to be leaves but they look more like feathers to me. 

Persephone is only in the background of the pantheon scenes with her standing next to her mother in the opening scene and being one of the gods to crowd around Hercules at the end. So what is there to talk about? That. The fact that she is there and the fact that she is only in the background. This is important. In some stories this would be a minor detail that just shows that someone did their homework, but in this story where Hades is the main villain and easily the most memorable character, there’s a discussion to be had.

Before I get into depth about the villain aspect, I want to point out the fact that villains of the Disney Renaissance era are some of the most often cited when someone wants to have a discussion about queer coding in media and Hades’ name comes up basically every time. To me, he reads more like a sleazy used car salesman than a queer-coded villain (I think Radcliffe from “Pocahontas” or Ursula from “Little Mermaid” are more straight forward examples to point out for a straight audience) but there are definitely moments in the film where you can see this; his gay best friend-esque dialogues with Meg are pretty notable. That being said, this Hades being into ladies would not feel incorrect to me, a queer. Isn’t every Hades at least a touch bisexual (and everyone in Greek mythology for that matter)? Happy Pride!

So moving past the queer-coding discussion, we get to the villain issue. Giving a villain someone to love is going to change the dynamic of the villain and the story and is a really complicated choice for most writers. There’s a reason why every live action movie with the Joker in it has either had no Harley Quinn or Harley was the main character and the Joker was secondary. And they happen to be a couple with a bad relationship where you could easily have one of them throw the other under a bus if needed! Including Persephone in this story as Hades’ wife would mean that it would be really hard to make Hades the villain. In almost every medium where Hades has a Persephone, he isn’t presented as a villain but instead strictly lawful neutral, and you could still have a funny Hades who’s lawful neutral (look at “Hercules: The Legendary Journeys” or “Jasper In Deadland” for example).

Sure, there’s the option of making Persephone a villain too, but while there’s no real precedence to make Hades a villain outside of a lot of conflating him with the devil through incorrect translations and confusion, there is absolutely no precedence to make Persephone a villain. Hades’ villainy already only works in this story because they have set it up that Zeus single-handedly won the Titanomachy and assigned the Underworld to Hades, leaving him bitter about it. In some versions of the myth of Persephone, Hades’ bitterness at his lot in the Underworld is actually the driving force behind him wanting a wife in the first place. Persephone would likely be a placating force for Hades, causing the more straightforward hero-villain narrative to not work and Disney’s shtick at this time was very much about straightforward hero-villain narratives.

There’s also the general problem that Persephone’s presence would make Hades WAY too powerful as this amazing Tumblr post discusses.

So Persephone as a villain is bizarre and she would likely be a positive thing for Hades. What if they had a relationship that was bad i.e. Joker/Harley? It would be a complete Greek God couple inversion since this movie shows Zeus and Hera as a happy couple (again, the goal was to simplify; this is also why Hercules is their child isn’t of Zeus and Alcmene). Well, then you basically have the horrible “Lightning Thief” movie (which I should maybe write about some time) and honestly, I think it would read really badly. If you don’t get why, go watch that film (but don’t, it’s terrible). Hades is unique is the Disney villain pantheon because he’s so likable and while he does bad things, his motives make a bit more sense than a lot of Disney villains. I think giving him a wife who he’s mean to would not only decrease his likability substantially but I think it would also be kind of controversial. Hades certainly wouldn’t be the iconic character that he is. It would also likely distract from the amount of time he spends interacting with Meg, who is not just a love interest to Hercules but a hugely important factor in the plot. Even if Persephone is equally mean to him, I think you’d still end up in this problem of having to address how two people who hate each other ended up married and then you’re into having to pose Hades as a kidnapper who regrets his choices. Also, I think in 1997 the married-couple-who-hate-each-other trope was mercifully on its way out.

So what if Hades and Persephone are married and it’s a decent marriage but Persephone just doesn’t know about any of his evil plans? That’s workable. Hades’ original plan to kill Hercules is pretty quietly done, and his all out war plan could have involved her being cooped up in Elysium and oblivious. Heck, you could even have the movie play out entirely as is until the scene where he’s enslaving the gods and then suddenly they see each other and he’s like, “Good news, honey! Soon everywhere will be my domain and you won’t have to be cooped up underground half the year!” and she’s like, “Is this what you were planning in your office every night?! You complete idiot!” That would kind of even give Hades more motive without having to mess with Persephone’s character.

I haven’t really touched on what might actually be the most obvious answer of why Persephone is in this movie but not as Hades’ wife: that just hasn’t happened yet. I’m sure this is the argument anyone who worked on the film would make. Okay, sure, there are no winter scenes in the film, but that whole thing is implied to happen long before any of the famous demigods are born. Perhaps this is just the answer. Although I think he’d have a much harder time winning her over now after he, you know, tried to take over the world.

The life of Disney’s “Hercules” Hades didn’t actually end with the film by the way. In the television show, which would have been the perfect place to tell the myth of Persephone, Hades actually has a crush on Aphrodite instead. While it’s kind of cute to give him a crush in general, why did they give up on this prime myth real estate to make this up out of nowhere? And it did in fact make him more sympathetic, but he’s also just far less villainous in the show. Disney just can’t stop with this Hades redemption and romance arc thing either. In the third “Descendants” movie, Hades is there as Mal’s father meaning that he canonically had sex with Maleficent from “Sleeping Beauty.” I had to lie down after that one. But it’s worth noting that while he’s a totally absent father until the point that this film happens, he has his reasons, his characterization in that movie is 100% sympathetic, and he’s not a villain at all.

Gosh, Disney. Just give the man his wife already!

(And in case you were wondering, there is some really cute fan art out there of these two if you have a burning need.)