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missizzy · 7 months

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Perc'ahlia Week Day 3 Fic

Vex would later think Trinket has sensed something off about Percy from the beginning, probably without consciously realizing it. Not that she thought animals could magically sense evil things like demons, but she'd known their abilities to sense things like earthquakes and storms, things that could threaten them and theirs.

Of course he was nervous around each of their new companions when they first joined them, though he took to Keyleth surprisingly quickly. (And when Vex would've thought the opposite; her changing species must have seemed bizarre to him at first.) It wouldn't be until Tary joined them that he showed himself more used to new friends coming in. So it made sense when he was initially wary of Percy.

When the possibility of marrying Percy started feeling like more of a probability, Vex asked Trinket, on a lazy day where she could cast Speak with Animals multiple times without worry, what he thought about that. Trinket was generally happy with the idea; he knew Percy made her happy, and had become convinced he'd make a good mate, too. "I think he was a threat once, but now he just protects us, right?"

Vex regretted then that she couldn't really ask him what he meant by that; getting that sort of nuance was beyond the abilities the spell gave them. Although Trinket, since he had reached adulthood, had witnessed enough behavior from the people around him that he could usually tell the basics of what was going on. And of course, not only had he been present for the conversations they'd had with Percy when they'd been trying to free Whitestone, but he'd first seen the smoke, and then even delivered the final blow on the entity responsible when they'd first fought him.

So he might have easily just meant all that. But it was then that she also thought how how he'd constantly been sniffing at Percy and looking nervous around him during his first days with the group, and so also wondered if he'd marked Percy as a threat for much longer, for different reasons. Or maybe his having the sticks that made big scary noises had just freaked him out, and the behavior before he first fired them had been because he'd been the only newcomer to focus on.

In any case, Vex hadn't needed magic to understand Trinket's behavior when he was one of the few present when she married Percy. The way he ruffled against him and and growled softly spoke an obvious message she translated for him: Trinket would give Percy a fair chance to be a good mate, but would keep a sharp eye on him nonetheless. Of course, Percy declared himself quite glad to know Trinket was doing his part both keeping him in check, and protecting Vex.

Her thoughts about what Trinket could sense in Percy returned one more time: during her fourth pregnancy, where a constantly elevated body temperature served as an indication their fifth child might turn out to be a Tiefling. Trinket, who had already shown an ability to detect her pregnancies himself and maybe get more solicitous of her as a result, this time, on one still early day, went sniffing at her womb, then stared as her with an expression so flummoxed she very nearly laughed.

Except it wasn't entirely funny, as she then cast the spell and asked him, "You don't think I'm being threatened, do you? You've never had a problem with Zahra, not really."

"A cub's never a threat!" Trinket exclaimed. "And you don't smell like Zahra, you smell like Percy when he was dangerous. It's weird."

Most of that was reassuring, but Vex did feel the need to ask, "You won't go ask him for inflicting this particular baby on me, will you?"

Trinket seemed to have to think about that for a moment, but then said, "Not so long as he continues to be good to you and to all your cubs."

He got over the smell, after that. It was true he'd never had a problem with Tieflings, and when Gwen was born, she really was like her siblings had been to him. Vex wasn't sure if he really even understood how she was different, even if she'd cause her mother to smell different. He did seem to eye Percy a little more in the days following the birth, but if anything he was even more of an attentive husband and father than he had already been, and Trinket probably couldn't even recognize the guilt in his eyes. Bears didn't feel guilt, beyond maybe an occasional immediate and brief reaction to having gotten someone they cared about hurt.

Ultimately, by that time in his life, Trinket definitely had his own views about mates and the raising of cubs. They were ones, Vex knew, that weren't a normal bear's views, if a normal bear's attitudes towards the subject could even be called that. This became very clear when, not long after Gwen's birth, he unexpectedly found a mate of his own.

He really hadn't had much contact with other bears in general, and none for years, when a female bear wandered into the Parchwood and made it her home. Trinket actually found her by himself weeks before anyone in the Grey Hunt did, and they found it suitable to mate with each other soon after that. But then Trinket showed her Whitestone, and managed to communicate to her that he wanted them to raise their cubs together in the castle, which had confused her greatly.

"Boy bears don't do that," she explained to Vex, when they magically conversed for the first time. "I know some boy animals do that, but bears don't. My mom mated with my dad, then they went away from each other, and she raised me without him, and I can raise my cubs the same way."

It made Vex think for the first time that maybe what she'd done with Trinket, raising him so much in the world of people, especially when she and Vax had stopped living so much in the woods, had been a little bit of an extreme thing to do with a bear. Not a wrong thing, necessarily, if only because there hadn't been many options when she'd first taken him away, but still.

Eventually, the idea of having constant warmth and food available brought Trinket's new mate to the castle shortly before she gave birth. Both she and Trinket warned Vex, though, that she had no intention of being a fully domesticated bear. She even requested they not give her a name. "Animals have names when they belong to people," she said. "I won't belong to people." Vex duly instructed everyone to not name her; she could be referred to easily enough just as "Trinket's mate."

Percy had already agreed to take her in, and he even allocated the bears their own space within the castle, one that made it easy enough for them to also act as guard bears when they were there and awake. But Vex, to her own private amusement, sometimes thought his reaction to her was not unlike Trinket's friendly but ever watchful reaction to him had been.

"Well, of course I have concerns," Percy said to her. "Remember wild bears often view people as for eating, even if Trinket has no doubt made clear to her we aren't, and you even said she won't be tamed entirely. But if she has accepted we're not to be harmed, well, then, let Trinket have his mate here, right alongside yours."

She came and went as she pleased, sometimes disappearing off into the woods for days at a time. After Charlie was born, she usually took him with her, determined he would know how to live as a wild bear as well. Sometimes Trinket went with them, too, and Vex thought he looked a bit refreshed when they came back. Which kept her from minding; indeed, she couldn't help but admire her determination.

She also responded more to the advent of winter than Trinket did. Neither of them had to fully hibernate when living in Whitestone, but even as he showed all the signs of how much older than her-and most other bears-he was, she was the only who slowed down and was much less inclined to step outside the castle once it got cold enough. Which, ironically, meant that when little Vax'ildan and Charlie decided that was when they wanted to venture out on their own for the first time, it was her, sleepy and possibly also pregnant again, who stayed behind in the castle, and Vex and Trinket who walked them to the outskirts of town.

There Vex hugged her son, whispered him her various reminders all over, and told her she loved him, while the bears said farewell with soft sounds and headbutts. They stood together, listening, until their sons could no longer be heard even by Trinket's ears.

On the way, Trinket gave Vex the specific whine that had become his way of requesting she cast Speak with Animals. When she did, he said, "I think Allura was right, that I won't die until you do. I feel old, but I think I should feel older."

"Does it bother you?" Vex asked. "I don't want you to leave me ever, but if staying that long would be too much for you..."

"I don't want to leave you alone," said Trinket. "I know it'll be bad once they starting dying."

"Not all of them will," said Vex. "Some of our friends will live even longer than me. And also, I've been talking with Keyleth about Danny, and she says he might become like her, which would make him live a very long time as well. Or he might be become like me, and Charlie might live as long as him, then."

"That would be nice," said Trinket.

The spell had worn off by the time they reached the castle, with them instead sharing a comfortable silence as they headed in. They found Trinket's mate where they'd left her, still dozing away, and, much more surprisingly, Percy dozing against her.

Vex's laughter woke both of them up. Together they raised their heads, looking rather caught out. The bear only for a moment, before she lowered her head back down and returned to her nap, but Percy remained pink-faced as he hastily scrambled to his feet.

Trinket, inclined to nap himself after the day's exertions, headed to join his mate. On his way, he moved to nudge the mortified Percy, and give him a reassuring look. "He's glad," Vex told her husband, thought she didn't really need to.

#critical role #vox machina #perc'ahlia #perc'ahlia week #vex'ahlia #percy de rolo #trinket the bear

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tyrantisterror · 3 years

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The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D: Entry Roundup

You’ve been patiently waiting for the results of the ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D, and now... you have to wait a bit longer, but at least you’ve got an entry roundup with lots of sketches and a good bit of feedback for all the entrants! My goal is to get the finalists illustrated in a week or two, and after that, the grand prize winner will be announced. But, for now, the official entry roundup! After the cut:

I should note that while I sketched these in the order they were submitted, my scanner saved the documents with random names, so they’re a bit jumbled. You know, just in case you’re like me and would get confused noticing that it’s almost in chronological order but with some entries jumbled around.

@bugcthulhu’s Obsideban was designed as a counterpart to Rohobaron - the Black King to Rohobaron’s Red King, if you will. Or, well, Black Queen in this case, as Obsideban also takes her personality from the “delinquent girl” archetype in Japanese media. Bug’s designs always ooze personality, and I had a lot of fun translating this big, gnarly retrosaur into my own style.

@toothlessloveshiccup‘s Argonox is the first - but far from the last - monster in this breakdown that brings in a bit of fantasy influence to ATOM’s roster. A golden-fleeced ram with a vicious streak, this sheep is both treasure and dragon at once. And while it wasn’t written in the monster’s profile, given the Yamaneon-rich nature of its wool, Argonox might be able to replicate the healing power of the golden fleece too! A very fun mammalian kaiju and excellent entry.

@highly-radioactive-nerd submitted Gunmetal Jeeves, a robot butler who can gigantomax temporarily create a holographic/hard light version of himself to fight kaiju. That detail was a late revision added to the entry before the contest’s deadline, made after the creator realized that ATOM allows for some truly ludicrous bullshit, which is something everyone should exploit when making entries for this in my opinion. Also, this is a robot butler who can size shift. Revel in its awesome absurdity!

Ultranerd submitted Rajasaurus, a dimetrodon-like synapsid kaiju with electric powers. His origin specifies that the electric powers are a result of the volatile nature of the Yamaneon deposits he mutated under, which is an interesting idea. That’s another theme that cropped up a lot in this contest’s entries, actually - people really wanted to play with what Yamaneon can do.

Case in point, @polygonfighter’s Yamaneolith takes the Monolith Monsters homage at the heart of Yamaneon even more apparent. I like the implication that there is a second mineral-based lifeform at the root of this Yamaneon cluster’s anomalous behavior - a parasite, perhaps? It brings up some interesting possibilities.

@ariccio50 submitted Kukulkuzana, and damn is this a cool spin on the body plan of my martians. I made a few changes here and there (splitting its tail into two is probably the biggest one), but tried to keep true to the original design, because holy hell is it gorgeous. The idea that this is a mountain-dwelling creature is really intriguing to me, as it looks like a sea creature, but at the same time, that flexible and low-slung build WOULD work pretty well in mountains, and it’s just the right mix of plausible weirdness that makes for a fun alien design.

@akitymh submitted Aramzados, a Venusian monster that’s basically an organic hot rod car. I like the idea of organic machinery being the gimmick for Venusian kaiju, and Aramzado’s does it subtly enough to not feel like that gimmick is the sole thing going for it. I especially love this monster’s stange, apparently mouth-less blade-beaked face.

@virovac submitted Rurzar and Zar Rider, a Beyonder kaiju and mecha (respecitvely) that were both modified and repurposed by humans reverse engineering Beyonder technology to make, like, a motorcycle-saurus essentially. It is a delightfully absurd concept, and a very, very detailed one (13 pages of description). There’s a dark undercurrent beneath the sillyness, though, as this pair show that humanity might still be following the same path as the Beyonders before them.

@dinosaurana brings us Krangor, a humanoid monstrosity of living kelp! The goal here was to create a Jack Kirby-esque monster dude, complete with the gibberish name and all. He’s also made out of kelp, which feels very classic 1950′s monster-y despite me not being able to think of any monsters that were explicitly made of kelp. I love him.

@kiryuthechimera submitted Genkakurah, a psychic retrosaur with some draconic features. Though his substantial powerset is probably the biggest distinguishing feature of this kaiju (given that most ATOM kaiju pretty much have the same standard powers), what really draws me to him is that reptilian pseudo-beard. It’s just a fun detail!

@glarnboudin submits Tiratola, and see, there’s that fantasy influence again! Even more explicitly dragon-y than Kraydi, Tiratola still manages to toe the line between sci-fi and fantasy enough to fit ATOM as is while still cementing its ties to my own slice of fantasy fiction. Man it’s good I’m doing a Midgaheim book next, huh?

@dragonzzilla submitted Scuttlebutt/Argonautilus, a hermit crab kaiju who lives in/with a hollowed out mecha. That’s a twist I can’t recall ever hearing before, and the idea of a kaiju and a mecha having an equal partnership that doesn’t involve one being grafted to the other is really intriguing to me. A very unique concept!

@evolutionsvoid submitted Fleagor, an enormous flea who has no idea what to do with itself now that there’s no creature large enough for it to parasitize. I love that concept - it takes the core idea of the giant bug kaiju archetype (i.e. unsettling the audience by showing how terrifying small, “insignificant” creatures would be if our sizes were reversed) and really turns it on its head. The name also plays on the Universal Monsters, who were a huge part of 1950′s pop culture thanks to their movies being re-released in that era, so all and all this one is very on brand for ATOM!

@skarmorysilver submitted Lilacorn, another entry that plays up that Midgaheim/ATOM connection. Reinterpreting the mythological unicorn as an Cenozoic wooly rhinoceros-inspired monster gives it a very unique look, both in ATOM and in the general world of unicorns, and she has a bad-girl with a heart of gold personality to boot!

dracosaurus-rex submitted Florasaura, a two-headed plant/retrosaur hybrid monster. I love me some plant monsters, I love me some retrosaurs, and I love me some rhyming the word “flora” with other words that contain similar vowell sounds, so this one has me written all over it!

@downtofragglerock submitted Sauroguana, a delightfully odd flying retrosaur. There’s a great deal of charm to the original illustration that this sketch doesn’t quite capture - it’s a deceptively simple design with a lot of personality in it, and with those unique leg-wings it really doesn’t need a whole lot of frills to stand out.

Draxi submitted Brakan, an unimpressive burrowing retrosaur kaiju whose mastery of illusions allows it to convince other kaiju it’s actually a big, super-powerful badass that’s the ultimate fighter in the universe. It’s a delightful parody of the concept of a fan self-insert god-mode character, with a really fun story built into it to boot!

@quinnred submitted O.N.I.A.C., a mysterious cocooned kaiju whose chrysalis has been turned into an organic computer of sorts by the people studying it, and seems to possess a fairly advanced intelligence for a kaiju. It’s a really bizarre and ominous idea, with built in intrigue given how vague its nature is. Is it just a kaijufied butterfly/moth who got stuck mid transformation? A relative of the Mothmanuds? Something else, perhaps equally alien? Good story potential here.

shadyserpent submitted Vespilitor, a bat/retrosaur hybrid made by the nefarious Spooks Organization. A mercurial prankster whose tendency to stir up trouble never crosses the line into maliciousness, he’s the kind of monster who would make a great foil to a lot of ATOM’s cast. I’d especially like to see him in a prank off with Ahuul - it’d be like Bugs Bunny fighting Daffy Duck, but on a kaiju scale.

@multiversefan submitted the Yamaneon King, a nomadic kaiju whose refusal to settle down causes problems as he stirs up trouble at kaiju sanctuaries all over the globe by showing up unannounced and stirring up the locals. He was basically designed to be a monster that the kaiju sanctuary initiative would struggle to deal with, which is a good idea for a post-ATOM Volume 2 story conflict.

Sir K submitted Jadeera, a kirin kaiju that can actually forcibly convert most of its body to Yamaneon to enter a dormant, statue-like state in a loose homage to King Shisa. Though the fantasy elements are far more present than I usually prefer for ATOM kaiju, I think it should be noted they’re pushed that far for a purpose - a theme in Jadeera’s entry, which continues where its creator left off with their submission to the previous ATOM create a kaiju contest (Yokaigon), is that the world of kaiju is more complicated and challenging than many are willing to accept, which is a theme in ATOM itself. Yokaigon’s more supernatural/occult powers are based on the ghost parascience of my setting, which ATOM has delved into a bit (Pathogen being the big example), so it’s not as out of left field as some might think.

@cerothenull brings us our final entry (unless some got lost thanks to tumblr’s shitty tagging system), the flying spider Naeranti. She’s a kaiju spider who uses silk to make complicate hot-air balloons, more or less, and that’s just delightful. ATOM could always use more spider-monsters, and with a really unique gimmick backing up a wonderfully distinct look, Naeranti is sure to stand out among her fellow giant arachnids.

Well, that’s the roundup! In a week (or two, depending on how much my hand cramps) we’ll have the five finalists, and sometime after that, the grand prize winner!

#The Atomic Time of Monsters #The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3D

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true-blue-megamind · 3 years

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FAN THEORY THURSDAY: Megamind’s Connections Beyond the Film

Before we get started, it’s time for the obligatory SPOILER WARNING!

In case this hasn’t been made sufficiently obvious by the fact that this is a post about Megamind written in a fan theory series about Megamind and published on a blog dedicated solely to Megamind, please let me just assure that this article is, in fact, about Megamind.

If you haven’t seen the film yet yet, I have to question why you’re reading this in the first place. As well as your taste in animated movies. I’m definitely questioning that.

Over the years I’ve heard several fan theories concerning connections between the film Megamind and various other forms of media. Today, let’s delve into just a few.

The first one is so obvious it’s almost painful, but it has to be mentioned. Megamind is a Superman spoof. Metro Man is clearly based on the Man of Steel himself, with a hefty dose of Elvis Presley and a larger range of character flaws thrown in for good measure. (He also seems to contain quite a lot of the Popular Jock archetype.) The character of Megamind is more complex still, combining elements of Alice Cooper and a nineties Goth theater kid with several comic book supervillains. The best known of the last include alien genius Brainiac and mad inventor Lexx Luthor, but they aren’t the only ones. Some of Megamind’s engineering and technological inventions call to mind Spiderman villain Doctor Octopus even more than Lexx Luthor, and he also shares some parallels with the mad inventor Dr. Sivana in the SHAZAM comics.

Megamind’s most notable of the latter is the similarity of attitudes toward society. Both Megamind and Dr. Sivana started off trying to use their inventions for good—the first in the classroom and the second for the betterment of mankind—but both became bitter when people mocked and shunned them. For Dr. Sivana, this led to a desire to conquer all of Earth while for Megamind, in a sort of microcosm, it led to a similar drive to take over Metro City. Both Lexx Luthor and Dr. Sivana have, perhaps, the strongest connections to Megamind as share, deep down, a desire to help or protect mankind, and as Lexx Luthor, like Megamind, harbors a secret love for the reporter damsel in their respective stories. (This desire to do good, especially in the face of corrupt officials, ties into another Megamind fan theory that I will likely discuss in more detail in a later post.)

The connection between Megamind and Alice Cooper, by the way, was extremely intentional. The creators stated in an interview that, like Alice Cooper, Megamind’s dark, evil self is, in fact, a stage persona. (Even their clothing, consisting largely of black leather and spikes, is similar.) That fact is illustrated in the film as we can see that Megamind’s behaviors on- and off-camera tend to be vastly different. Even as a villain, he is merely playing a role, although in the case of Megamind that role has begun to merge with his self-identity.

There are, however, hints within the world of DreamWorks that Megamind has other connections as well. The first is fairly recent and intensely interesting. In the Rise of the Guardians, Jamie Bennett, a young boy who still steadfastly believes in the seemingly impossible, mentions “aliens in Michigan,” only to be scoffed at by his friends. Because Metro City is located in Michigan, (as can be seen briefly when the Death Ray is fired from space,) many fans theorize that the “aliens in Michigan” are none other than Megamind, Minion, and, perhaps, Metro Man.

This would indicate that the two stories take place in the same world, and that Megamind’s adventures, while well-known in Metro City itself, have been covered up and kept secret from the rest of the world. (Imagine moving to a moderately-sized city only to discover that—surprise!—there’s an extraterrestrial supervillain in residence and, oh, by the way, if you live downtown homeowners’ insurance is ridiculous!)

The second inter-film connection is less clear, but has spawned some interesting fan theories as well. The idea is that, like Rise of the Guardians, Monsters VS. Aliens also takes place in the same reality as Megamind. It’s not too far fetched—after all, both films involve extraterrestrials and amazing inventions—but there is one specific theory that really ties the two together. Consider this for a moment: Megamind is a blue alien with incredible intelligence who hails from a destroyed planet. Does that sound like any other DreamWorks character you know? If you’ve seen Monster VS. Aliens, the antagonist, Gallaxhar, probably springs to mind.

According to Fandom.com, Gallaxhar’s official backstory is that he “destroyed his home planet” for the implied reason that “he experienced bad childhood and unhappy marriage.” The fan theory is that that Gallaxhar’s planet was, in fact, Megamind’s home world, and that the former created or harnessed the black hole which destroyed it. This would explain why Megamind’s people—as well as Metro Man’s—didn’t have time to escape despite being space-faring. You see, black holes take millions of years to develop, and even a rogue black hole would take about a million to shift and swallow an entire solar system, so if the event had occurred naturally, there should have been plenty of time to build an entire fleet of spacecraft and leave for Earth or another safe planet. (The fact that Megamind’s parents set his escape pod’s navigation system for Earth indicates that they knew of its existence.)

Of course, despite their large heads and blue skin tones, there are quite a few physical differences between Megamind and Gallaxhar. The first is humanoid while the second has four eyes and tentacles instead of legs. Fan theories have explanations for that, too, however.

There appear to be two schools of thought on the subject. The first is that Gallaxhar was another breed of alien living on the planet, possibly a servile race different from Minions, and the second is that part of Gallaxhar’s “bad childhood” involved being experimented upon, thus giving him his bizarre appearance and his seeming obsession with experimenting on others. (There is some disagreement in the Megamind fandom about exactly why Gallaxhar was subjected to such treatment, ranging from falling into the hands of an unscrupulous scientist to being part of an experimental medical program. The latter fan theory suggests that Gallaxhar was both blind and paraplegic, and that his additional eyes and tentacle “legs” were meant to rectify that, but that those physical differences made him an outsider, thus leading to his unhappy life and ultimate hatred for his own planet.)

If that were true, many may wonder what, exactly, Megamind might do if he ever found out about Gallaxhar. Well, good news! Just like there’s an app for everything, there’s a fan theory for that, too! I will warn you, however, that this one is, frankly, build upon pretty thin evidence. However, it’s interesting enough to be worth relating.

There is a character in Monsters VS. Aliens named General Warren R. Monger who, on the surface, is exactly what he appears to be: a high-ranking military man. However, there are a few things that fans point to as possible evidence that Monger isn’t what he seems.

The first is so simple that, alone, it would be inconsequential. Monger rose through the ranks uncommonly fast, so much so that it caused some comment among others. The second is significantly odder; Monger claims to be ninety years old despite looking like he is in his late forties. Now, of course, this may have simply been the character exaggerating or messing with the “monsters” under his care, but some fans say it’s more than that, and claim that Monger chose that age because he was unfamiliar with human lifespans. Next there is the fact that Monger is so intelligent that, despite one of the beings in his containment facility. Doctor Cockroach, being a super-genius, Monger outwits every escape attempt the monsters can make. Then, of course, there is the fact that, despite his brusque manner, Monger seems to actually sympathize with the inhuman people he is charged with containing, and even pushes for them to be given a chance to prove themselves. There is the oddity that, although he is assigned to the secret military base at “Area Fifty-Something,” Monger seems to disappear a lot, often for days at a time. Finally, there are a few key physical and technological attributes: Monger has some odd and incredibly energetic facial expression—including a nearly maniacal smile and a dark scowl—as well as a jet pack that he appears to have constructed himself and green eyes.

I’m still not certain I see the resemblance, but maybe there are some similarities? What do you think?

If you’re familiar with Metro City’s resident blue alien, you can probably see where this is going. Although it’s not a popular theory, I’ve heard it suggested in the Megamind fandom that Monger is, in fact, Megamind disguised using his holowatch. (This is why the green eyes are significant; Megamind’s eye color is the only aspect of his appearance that the holowatch doesn’t change. However, I feel compelled to note that the shade of green appears to be different.) Fans insist that it would have been easy for someone as incredibly brilliant as Megamind to hack government systems and forge documents such as birth certificates thoroughly enough to dupe even U.S. Military Intelligence. The two jet packs, some have contested, look different either because of the disguise or because the one featured in Monster VS. Aliens is an older model. I’ve even seen the fact that both Megamind and Monger begin with M being pointed to as possible evidence that the latter is no more than an invention of the former.

The argument is as follows: as Monsters VS. Aliens takes place in 2009, one year before events in Megamind, it’s possible that Megamind, still being a villain, created an alter-ego which he could use to help him search for and deal with other alien life. (He is shown to be painfully lonely, and the Megamind comics reveal his desperate desire to find other survivors from his home planet.) Upon figuring out who Gallaxhar was, and more importantly what he had done, Megamind wanted to be part of taking him down. But he couldn’t be too open about it; he was, after all, still a “Bad Guy.” This theory explains Monger’s frequent long absences—during those time Megamind was back in Metro City taking care of his regular business— as well as why Monger had a secret soft spot for the “monsters.” Megamind, having always been treated like a monster himself, would naturally want to give them a chance, but wouldn’t dare behave in too overtly friendly a manner as it would have aroused suspicion.

As I said, support for that particular theory is, perhaps, a little thin, especially given the fact the Monsters VS. Aliens preceded Megamind, so character designs from the former are unlikely to have been influenced by the latter. Nonetheless, I admit to appreciating the complexity and creativity of it. It’s an undeniably fun theory. If they haven’t already, maybe someone will write a fan fiction about it one day.

Those are only a few of the theories out there connecting Megamind with other fandoms. One could go on and on about the subject, but I won’t torture readers by doing that. Nonetheless, it illustrates once again the immense love and original thought that Megamind fans put into developing their theories! I dare say that few other animated movies have earned a following so dedicated and inventive… But, then, any of us who love the film Megamind will tell you that it has more than earned the consideration!

#Megamind #Megamind fan theory #Megamind movie #Megamind fan theories #comic books #comic book #superheroes #supervillain #DreamWorks #DWA #Monsters vs Aliens #Rise of the Guardians #Rise Guardians #Monsters #Aliens

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eunoiaflow3r · 4 years

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Sick And Tired

A/N: I know I changed the third request a little, I’m sorry. I still hope you enjoy.

Warnings: fluff, mistakes... fem!reader.

Word Count: 1.5k

Requests:

Spencer Reid request!! Can you do one where reader is at home when he arrives for his latest case and he’s sick or injured and she takes care of him? And he definitely tried to hide it and pretend like nothings wrong but she figures it out

Ooooh so I just read your “slow dance” one and it gave me an idea for a request. What if Spencer’s feeling kinda sick all day and throughout the day, the individual team members bring it up (I especially love the fatherly relationship he has with hotch so :}) anyway, by the time it gets to the end of the night, he’s barely keeping his eyes open and focused but won’t leave and reader comes up to his desk and finally convinced him to go home and takes care of him a little bit Is that too much?

ok. so. i just read THE coolest study on chicken noodle soup that talked about mitigation of neutrophil migration, and thus inflammation meaning !!! it actually DOES help a cold !!! point is, i would love if you could possibly write something abt reid caring for his S/O while they’re sick and being a little uncomfy because he finds it difficult to be intimate and caring without seeming overbearing? sorry if this is too bizarre/ oddly specific bahaha but tysm either way! ur writing is awesome :)

Summary: y/n helps spencer when he’s sick.

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The morning ran pretty well for the most part.

Everyone was just sort of hanging around until JJ shows up so that meant, Morgan was sleeping, Prentiss was talking with Garcia, Rossi was in his office, and you and Reid were where the coffee was like usual.

Spencer had asked you out about a year ago, and ever since then, you’ve been dating. You’re pretty sure that the team doesn’t know, but there’s always that chance that they do. Because of this at work, you and Spencer try to stay strictly professional, but even then it’s very hard.

“Jesus Christ!” Spencer yelled. He had gone from gently blowing and stirring his coffee to loudly sneezing and spilling a portion of his coffee onto his beige sweater.

“Oh my God, are you okay Spencer?” You asked worriedly taking the cup from his hands and trying to help him out of his hot sweater quickly. You both had secretly hoped it hadn’t got on his shirt underneath, but it had, and now he had to take that off too.

You blushed at the sight of him, but quickly wet a towel and gave it to him so that he could wipe the coffee off of his stomach.

“The one day I don’t have extra clothes with me, this happens.” He scolded himself.

Morgan came into the room shortly after the incident, (he had heard the shouting), and was greatly amused to find a shirtless Spencer and a blushing, worried you.

“What happened here? Am I interrupting something?” He asked smirking.

“Interrupting what?” Spencer questioned, trying to get the spot of coffee off of his pants as well.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, but before you could say anything, Spencer went from coughing hardly to sneezing and neither you or Morgan knew what to do except to say “bless you.”

After he was done you both asked if he was alright but he insisted that he was fine, and it was nothing to worry about. You and Morgan knew that he wasn’t fine, but you let it drop anyway.

On the plane, after the team reviewed the case, it was mostly silent except for the occasional cough from Spencer. You passed him a few cough drops and he thanked you silently, but he insisted that he did not need them and he was perfectly fine.

When you weren’t looking though, he put one into his mouth and soon fell asleep.

As he was sleeping, both you and the team noticed he was shifting uncomfortably, half because of the ACDC shirt Morgan let him borrow, and half because as you had assumed, he was sick. You weren’t sure why he wouldn’t admit it to himself but you were going to try to help him any way you could.

“What’s up with Reid?” Prentiss asked noticing how Spencer would wake up with a sneeze every so often.

“He’s sick, I’m pretty sure.” You answer. “Probably a cold. He would know better than I would but he says he’s fine.”

Once you landed, Hotch told you and Spencer to go to the station and try to set up a geographic profile from there. Along with telling you he’d call with updates, he also told you to look after Reid and make sure that he was going to be okay. The way he said it made it seem like he knew more about the both of you than the two of you let on but at this point, you were glad you were paired with Reid so that you could try to help him.

A few hours had gone by, and Hotch called a few times helping you and Spencer build and better profile, but it seemed as though Spencer was only getting worse. His eyes had reddened, and his throat was sore meaning that the talking between the two of you was kept to a minimum. One of the nearby cops noticed he was somewhat losing his voice, and they had offered him some tea, but Spencer kindly refused.

You thanked the officer and took the tea anyway. You set it next to him, and you weren’t looking, the whole cup ended up empty.

You smiled.

The team came back to give a profile to the public, and because Reid couldn’t do it because of his voice, you gave the geographic one.

Later on the plane home, the whole team had noticed Spencer’s behavior. His hair was a mess he didn’t bother fixing, he was sweating, his cheeks were flushed, and he just looked miserable. JJ gave him some Tylenol to take, and Rossi offered him some water, but he refused.

Eventually, he gave in and took the medicine, but not without making sure that no one was paying attention to him and what he was doing.

Back at the office, everyone said their goodbyes, but Spencer had insisted to stay behind and work on the papers. You didn’t want to argue with him, so instead, you walked over to your desk and finished up files of your own that you could. A few minutes later, you decided to look over at Spencer’s desk, and just like you had suspected he had fallen straight asleep.

“L/N.” A deep voice had called from above.

“Oh hey, Hotch.”

“Can I see you for a second?”

Once you were in Hotch’s office, you sat down and you noticed that he looked just as tired as Spencer was. His tie was undone, his hair a mess, and his desk was even messier.

“Y/N, I know about you and Spencer, and before you say anything I need you to know that it’s alright as long as it doesn’t interfere with the both of you doing your job.” He was serious until now. “I’m happy for you guys, you should see the way he looks at you.” You blushed at that. “Please take care of him tonight. He needs it. I’m not sure why he’s refusing to admit it, but please take care of him in any way you can. Take tomorrow off.”

You weren’t sure what to say other than the routine, “yes sir,” so along with that, you said “thank you,” and shuffled your way out of his office.

Spencer was still sleeping by the time you got back down so you took the liberty to pack up for him and you as well. When you were done, you went over to try to gently shake Spencer awake.

“Spencer, let me take you home.”

He woke up groggily and confused and said, “No. No, I’m okay I still gotta uhm, I gotta finish this.”

“You’re tired and hungry. Let’s get you to your apartment.”

Eventually, you convinced him, and you drove him to his ultimately very neat apartment other than a few stray books on the table and the couch.

You tell him to go change so that you can make some food for him.

“Oh really? What are you making?”

“Chicken noodle soup.” You smile. “Obviously. You have some kind of cold. I guess soup helps.”

“Actually, it really does!” he smiles excitedly. “Did you know that chicken noodle soup helps clear nasal congestion as well as the thin mucus and it also has an anti-inflammatory effect than can help ease symptoms like congestion, anosmia, erythema, and irritation?” He pauses to sneeze.

“Bless you.”

“Thank you. Anyway, another effect of chicken noodle soup is also mitigating inflammation, so that’s pretty cool too.”

“That is very cool Spencer.” He nods in agreement before going into his bedroom to change.

By the time he was done showering and changing, the soup was ready. You had a bowl placed for each of you on the table, and as soon as he sat down to eat, you did too.

It was silent, and he wasn’t eating yet.

He looked nervous, and you grew worried.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded not looking at you. It looked like he was trying to tell you something but he couldn’t find the right words. He was fidgeting, and his leg was moving, and one of his hands raked through his hair the way it does when he’s really thinking about something.

“Spence?”

Instead of answering he pushed a key to you still without looking at you, and shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth but then regretted that because it was still a tad too hot.

After making sure he was okay, you looked down and picked up the key.

“Is this?” You question searching for Spencer’s eyes.

He nodded, smiling at you.

“And you want me to use it?” You were in disbelief.

“I don’t want you to just use it Y/N, I want you to move in with me.”

“Move in with you?”

“Please.”

You nodded and kissed his cheek. “Of course I will.”

While you were in the bathroom to tell JJ the good news, (of course she knew about you and Spencer), Spencer called Morgan (he knew too) to tell him that you had agreed to move in with him. Spencer was beyond ecstatic he’d finally built up the courage to ask you. He was red all over and smiling to himself. Despite being sick, this was probably one of the most happiest moments of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~

feedback always appreciated!!

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jarienn972 · 3 years

Text

La Sirena - Chapter Eight

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

We’re nearing the completion of this @cssns tale, and despite the challenges this story has posed, I’m a little bit sad that it is nearly finished.

This chapter has a lot of action as we pick up right where we left off with Regina’s nefarious plan to “test” Killian’s worthiness. Our poor lieutenant has no idea what the devious siren has in mind and it isn’t going to be pleasant.

Thank you, @kmomof4 for all of your beta assistance, especially with your suggestions for this chapter! And thanks again to @courtorderedcake for her beautiful artwork!

Catch up from the beginning on AO3 or FF.net Tumblr chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

“Retribution”

No amount of naval training could have prepared him for this, Killian thought as he inexplicably found himself standing barefoot on the shore. One moment he'd been crouching inside the cavern awaiting Emma's return and the next, he was facing down the tempestuous ocean, thoroughly exposed. His knuckles had gone white clutching desperately to the cutlass, but as he stared out at the sea, he knew in his heart that the weapon was no match for this unnatural battle.

Above the whitecaps in the distance, he could just make out the crest of Emma's head and that of another person with darker hair coiffed beneath some sort of massive, glistening crown. Was this the mysterious sister that Emma had spoken of? He couldn't make out anything they were saying over the roar of waves crashing against the rock. But it was the dichotomy of their expressions that sent a shiver down his spine. He didn't even dare hypothesize the meaning behind the look of abject horror that spread across Emma's delicate features.

Shivers washed over him and his gut filled with apprehension when his gaze was drawn to movement on the horizon. Could this be signalling the arrival of the siren council that had Emma so concerned? The surface of the water seemed to rise, bubbling and foaming in the most unearthly manner. It was like nothing he had ever seen in all his years at sea and in a mere moment, he was about to wish it could be unseen.

As a mariner, he'd often heard tales of encounters with the legendary kraken and he'd shrugged them off as nothing but fantasy. Perhaps he'd been too quick to judge legend from truth, he found himself thinking as he marveled at the sheer size of the tentacle that emerged from the depths. It was simply beyond belief. From his experience with squid and octopi snared in fishing nets, Killian suspected that this creature would have to be supernaturally large, and that thought was confirmed as it reared its humongous head above the bay.

Even if he hadn't been practically paralyzed with shock and trepidation, he never would have had a chance to outrun the beast's speed or reach as another of its incredibly strong tentacles snatched him off of the beach. The slimy appendage constricted around his upper body, lifting him into the air and pinning his arms to his sides as it threatened to crush him.

First pirates, then sirens, and now he was eye to eye with a bloody kraken… All of them apparently competing to see who would kill him first…

Grimacing in pain, he struggled against its grasp and cried out to Emma for help. He may have been at the mercy of these mythical beings, but his own survival instincts remained fully intact. He wiggled his right arm free enough to draw the cutlass from its sheath. He didn't exactly have full range to properly wield his weapon, but he managed to secure an angle that allowed him to thrust the blade into one of the circular suckers on the underside of the tentacle encircling him. The monster howled and retaliated by lashing Killian into the waves, stunning the sailor as it increased the pressure on his body and dislodging the sword. The blade dropped into the ocean below while a barely conscious Killian could both feel and hear his ribs cracking under the assault.

Emma could only watch in a panic as the kraken scooped Killian off the shore with its tentacles wound tightly around him. She tried in vain to repel the monstrosity with her magic, but her barrage of light energy blasts had little to no effect on the creature.

"Your magic isn't strong enough to deter a kraken," an amused Regina insisted.

"Call it off, Regina!" Emma shouted angrily as the monster's tentacle squeezed ever tighter around Killian's very mortal body. She could hardly bear to see the agony expressed by his features. "This isn't the way! The beast is going to kill him!"

"He was on borrowed time already, sister," Regina reminded her sternly. "But if this pitiful human is as worthy as you claim he is, he certainly should be capable of defeating a kraken - shouldn't he?" She chuckled giddily as Emma's gaze focused on her weak little human, completely aghast by the impending carnage.

"I do not know what you and lord Triton conspired upon, but this is a repulsive abuse of power!" Emma admonished her sister while whipping around in the water to confront the rest of the council when they surfaced to take in the spectacle. "Why can none of you understand that he survived because he did not hear the song? Are you all complicit in this? Serving him up as hapless prey to a kraken is hardly the task our kind was given! Do you think this is what the great Poseidon intended? We were created to sing and only to sing! Any further judgement belongs to the gods, not to the sirens!"

There were a few nods and murmurs from the council but despite Emma's fervent pleas, none of the members seemed to be willing to challenge Regina.

"Cowards…," Emma hissed as she returned her attention to her sister. "I don't know what power you wield over the council, Regina, but I believe that even they know this is wrong. If you want to challenge him, do it with your voice, not with Triton's oversized toy…"

"But this way is so much more fun," Regina smirked and that was what finally pushed Emma over the edge. With a flip of her muscular tail, Emma lunged at Regina, shoving her tentacled sibling beneath the surface and yanking the coral and shell studded crown from atop Regina's head. "Why you insolent little bitch!" Regina cried out as Emma flung the headdress aside. "You've always been a poor excuse for a siren and now you're proving that by all of this fervor to save your human pet!"

Regina flicked two of her tentacles toward Emma who defensively batted them away with her arms and tail fin. The skirmish sent many members of the council scrambling to get out of the way.

"Why are you doing this?" Emma demanded with a brisk swish of her tail that lifted her out of Regina's reach for the moment. "This has never been our way… Please - call off that kraken!"

"You have been away too long. You've gone soft," Regina scolded. "You're practically fawning over a human. How deranged can you possibly be? Have you forgotten what it is to be a siren or are those powers wasted on you?"

"The only deranged one here is you! I know I did the right thing no matter what you believe. Maybe I did go soft but if his life was spared from the siren call, he deserves to live…" Emma couldn't stop her voice from cracking as she continued to plead for Killian's survival. How had this man managed to affect her so greatly in such a short amount of time? Why did she care so much? Compassion wasn't an emotion that sirens were supposed to have…

"No human is worthy to pass through this realm. That was the edict of Poseidon himself," Regina sneered, raising her right arm above the water's surface as she prepared to unleash her magic on the helpless human who'd gone limp in the kraken's grip.

"PERHAPS I SHOULD BE THE JUDGE OF THAT," a booming voice sounded above the bay, silencing all, including the roaring sea beast.

A glistening trident with tines that blazed as brilliantly as lightning bolts broke through the waves. Emma immediately bowed her head even before the god's visage appeared and her action was followed by the siren council members who'd remained. Even Regina demurely lowered her head at the sight of Poseidon's face, but no amount of posturing would spare her from his ire. With a scant raise of his trident, the seas instantly grew calm and the kraken, still clinging to its human prey, was now frozen in time.

"Enough distractions," Poseidon said as his attention fell to the combative sirens. "The creatures living in this bay alerted me to all of this… whatever this is. What in the name of Olympus is going on here?"

"Mighty Poseidon," Regina began as she slowly lifted her chin to gaze upon the god of the sea. Her eyes darted back to the sea at the sight of his deep-set scowl. "We were just trying to complete some unfinished business, but there has been some disagreement over doing what needs to be done."

Poseidon shook his head in disdain as he glowered at the brunette siren. "This is a disagreement?" he queried as he nonchalantly pushed his glimmering three pointed crown back into position atop his pure white hair, echoing Regina's earlier behavior. "I think this is a ruckus and I would like to know how a council of sirens got themselves into such a bizarre situation. I don't recall krakens being a part of the siren song."

Regina's cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger. How dare Emma and her human put her in this position? "My apologies. Had Erimetha not abandoned our code and rescued a human, we wouldn't be here. The kraken was merely a suggestion from your brother, Triton, as a means to expedite the process."

"Was it now?" Poseidon quipped sarcastically before his scrutiny passed to Emma who, to this point, had remained reverent, silently treading water as she awaited the inevitable wrath of the god. "I'll need to have a stern conversation with my brother about his suggestion, but Erimetha - pardon me, I forgot that you prefer to be called Emma - is what Regina says true? Did you rescue a human from a doomed ship?"

Emma managed a weak smile over the fact that Poseidon had remembered her preferred name and even corrected himself. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't being viewed as the villain here.

"Regina's words are partially true. The man had already survived the siren song. He never heard them sing. All I did was prevent him from rolling off of his makeshift raft," Emma replied as she dared raise her head to face Poseidon.

"What possessed you to do such a thing?" Poseidon asked with a raised brow, intently listening for her response.

Emma had to pause for a moment, trying to best form her words, but the best she could come up with was: "My instincts told me I should."

"I see…" The god of the seas scratched idly at his beard as he contemplated Emma's answer - one that Regina clearly didn't believe to be good enough.

"She admits she helped the human," Regina rehashed her opinion, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly as she awaited the god's agreement.

Giving no audience to Regina, Poseidon continued his interrogation of Emma as only the outcast siren's first-hand account was going to answer the questions he wanted answered.

"You claim the human did not perish during the siren encounter because he didn't hear their song. What led you to that conclusion, Emma?"

"As he was recovering from his injuries sustained at the hand of the pirates who had abducted him and during his escape from the sinking ship, we conversed a few times. He believed the ship's crew had abandoned their vessel after striking the rocks and left him behind. It wasn't until after Regina came to my cove the first time in search of a survivor that he learned the truth about the siren attack, but he didn't recall hearing any music before the ship began to go down. It was my belief that he might possibly have been deaf to the song so I tested the theory by singing to him and he never heard me. He never fell victim to the trance. Does that not make him worthy to live?"

Poseidon pursed his lips and rubbed his whiskered chin as he pondered his next query but grew irritated by Regina's refusal to be silent when she interrupted his thoughts.

"This doesn't prove anything," Regina interjected, only to be immediately shushed by the god.

"Regina - my questions are for Emma at this time. It would be in your best interest to remain quiet until I address you," he warned sternly. "When I have a question for you, I shall ask. Do you understand?"

An embarrassed Regina nodded and gave a sheepish "Yes, your majesty." before floating further back from him.

"Emma, what do you know of the history of the sirens?" Poseidon inquired.

She was caught off-guard by the unusual question, but she did her best to surmise the history she knew. "Centuries ago, the gods lived in peace with humans, but a time came when the humans no longer showed reverence to the gods. As the human realm grew in size and they began to traverse the globe, you and Triton established this part of the mighty oceans as your sacred realm. We sirens were created to guard entrance into the realm as our song was supposed to determine whether a human was worthy to pass.

"Over many generations, only one human proved to be worthy - although the precise means of how his worth was determined remain unclear. Anyway, this human gained your favor and in time, was granted permission to marry your daughter, Ursula. Their civilization then flourished for many years, until the same insolence led to the destruction of that advanced civilization.

"Humans were once again regarded as evil, and while there are many tales of your descendants being spared, no one but you, your majesty, knows the veracity of that. All I know for certain is that even long before I isolated myself away from the sirens, no human ever traversed this realm successfully. All of them perished - until Killian came along. I do not know what criteria you intended us to use to judge men such as him, but he isn't evil. If he was able to make it off of that ship alive, does that not mean he was worthy of passage?"

Poseidon raised a brow at the thoroughness of her reply. He'd known for quite some time that Emma was unique amongst her kind, but he'd not expected to find such an underlying passion for life within a being who'd been created to kill.

"You are very much correct, Emma," he said at last, leaving a disgruntled Regina aghast.

"But Lord Poseidon, she defied the siren code by interfering!" Regina insisted and she was met with a harsh rebuttal.

"Regina, my instruction was for you to remain silent until you were addressed, but you seem to have difficulty following such a simple directive," he admonished the unruly siren. "You and the council are dismissed!" Lifting his trident, he aimed it at the frozen kraken, divesting it of its human prey. In a flash, an unconscious Killian Jones was removed from the creature's grasp to reappear safely upon the sandy shore. He waved off the layer of imposing clouds that shrouded the skies, allowing the sunlight to bathe the cove once again. The kraken reared to life as Poseidon's spell wore off, but the god quickly neutered its wrath. "And since you summoned it, you can return that blasted beast to my brother on your way home to your end of the island! Once I have completed cleaning up the mess you have made here, you will stand before me to answer for this abuse of your powers! Even with the most convincing apology, you may find yourself relieved of those powers."

Regina's lips parted to complain but wisely, not a single whimper escaped as she turned away from the intensity of his glare. Glancing around the bay, she could see that not a single council member had stayed behind to see her humiliation, so perhaps she could count that as a single victory. It was still her belief that she'd done no wrong, but for now, it was far better to lick her wounds and depart than further provoke the wrath of a god who had just publicly castigated her in front of her rival.

Visibly shaken, Regina gave one last little flutter of her wrist to vanquish the kraken, scowling eyes locked on Emma the entire time. Despite her fallen crown being forgotten and abandoned to the sea floor, she held her chin up audaciously before slipping beneath the waves with the knowledge that this may have been her last act as a siren.

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cssns20 #cs ff #cs au ff #la sirena #siren emma #one more chapter to go #are emma and killian going to get their happy ending?

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sullustangin · 4 years

Text

Not a disaster spy.

Note: I speak in lawful/neutral/chaotic alignments as seen in D&D. I’m not getting into good, evil, or neutral, nor “Dark Side” or “Light Side” activities.

There were more than a few reasons why I commissioned a piece of art that depicted some pretty gnarly scars on Theron Shan (and on my smug, Eva, but you don’t care as much about her, let’s be real). It’s part of a story I’m telling. It’s part of my headcanon. Also, it’s my own sort of protest against the habit of writing Theron off as a hot but inept spy. He’s an impulsive fool despite being intelligent, which is why he ends up in bizarre situations. He always gets hurt because of this (but he’s always magically healed up in time for any smut).

To be clear: Theron totally has issues due to his early life and an inability to play well with others; you can label him with attachment issues, intimacy issues, whatever keeps him a bit of a lonely character (which he admits). Personal life -- disaster. That’s canon, explicit and implicit.

What I object to are his skills and abilities being discounted because of that. His professional life is far from being a disaster. Director SIS Marcus Trant brands him as one of the best field agents, and long term, he ends up being operations manager for a covert base for an upstart independent government.

Reasons:

In the book Annihilation, Theron runs around in his boots and briefs trying to destroy the Ascendant Spear. Hot, funny, and strangely effective.

But why?

Because Jace Malcom and Marcus Trant were ok with sacrificing a few planets of people “for the greater good.” They let Ruan be attacked. They planned on letting Duro be attacked, because they wanted the Pub fleet to focus on the Ascendant Spear, the Empire superweapon. They watched a planet get wrecked and planned on doing it again. It’s war. It’s a lawful action, for the greater good. It complies with society’s expectations -- the Republic leadership’s expectations -- in a time of war. Lawful neutral, probably. Maybe lawful good if you squint and do the math about the Spear’s potential fatality rate, galaxy wide.

But Theron isn’t a lawful character -- he doesn’t just do stuff because society says it’s ok. That’s why he goes off and does impulsive stuff because sometimes, society is wrong. Theron is a neutral, leaning chaotic character -- he mostly follows the law, but also relies on his own intuition and gut feeling about what is right. Neutral characters balance what society says is right and what a person internally thinks is right. Chaotic characters -- like my oc smuggler -- don’t rely on society’s views at all; it’s all about her gut and moral compass. Theron at least considers lawfulness and order in his response, which is why he is (mostly) not a chaotic character. He has his moments, though - no character is pure. In contrast, Lana is a Lawful character in the context of the Sith Empire. She does things that her society approves of. She does like to think of herself as ‘her own woman’, but her behavior patterns are heavily informed by the Sith upbringing and training - she is Lawful but leaning Neutral on occasion due to her own sense of pragmatism. She does not go by her gut alone.

(Please remember I’m not addressing good/evil, Light/Dark side in this post.)

That’s why Theron ends up dehydrated with cramped leg and half naked. He didn’t want people to die "for the greater good” when he personally could stop it. So he and Gnost Dural fool Darth Karrid into participating at Duro, which means the Republic Fleet has to defend the planet, since its target is the Ascendant Spear. The only way that happens is that Gnost-Dural is tortured, and Theron has to manually slice into the nearly uninhabitable bowels of the ship. Hence the whole strip tease by the end of the incident.

Consequences:

In the example above, it’s mostly situational embarrassment for Theron, and the Jedi gets tortured.

In an earlier part of the book, Theron is beaten up to keep his cover and acquire important information (and loses a few teeth in the process) and leaps off a building and probably fractures a few things -- he dislocated a shoulder too. Still didn’t blow cover, and he is able get off Ziost with Gnost Dural.

Every SWTOR player knows about Rishi -- it’s easy to argue that Theron doesn’t give up Lana because that could burn his Republic ally. But if you’re playing Imp side, what’s stopping him? Flirting is nothing to this point. Why not burn all the Imps down? He could save his own skin, infiltrate the Revanites that way and save the Republic Fleet -- to hell with Darth Marr.

Because it’s not just “ooo rah Republic” informing his choices -it’s not Republic society saying it’s ok and lawful that makes him sit there. It’s his own moral compass that says it’s wrong to burn Jakarro and the operative, even if Lana did give him up. So he holds out under torture, even as Revan tries to make his descendant his ally.

Theron had been in SIS for about 12-13 years by the time we get to Rishi. We know he’s fallen from high heights and survived worse falls than leaping between buildings on Nar Shaddaa -- survived, not gotten out unscathed. He was a swoop racer for awhile -- that’s a risky hobby. As an agent, It’s reasonable to assume he’s been shot at with blasters and possibly slugthrowers (if he came across a Mando), stabbed with traditional blades or vibro-blades, got burned if he was in an industrial area or a hot engine room or a chemical lab -- the list goes on. After Yavin, we know that the one agent possibly more chaotic than he is, Jonas Balkar, ends up giving him a few broken ribs in the name of busting up an implants ring.

So Theron does have very real consequences for his decisions, in all likelihood. That’s what I wanted to reflect in the recent commission; although it happens shortly before the torture session on Rishi, it shows the viewer that this is a path he’s been on before, and not by accident.

Cutting here because boy, did I have a lot to say about what happens AFTER SoR in terms of alignment/characterization.

The KotFE and Beyond: Consistency Issues

Theron registers his approval and disapproval on certain decisions in later xpacs, and he often takes the more benevolent “light side” end of things -- whether that’s based upon his societal expectations or personal moral compass is not as clear. But he still does disagree with the Commander (one of the more obvious examples being storming out of the room if there are too many Pub casualties on Corellia when the player is Imp side). While it remains a touchy topic, the Traitor Arc does reflect his neutral-chaotic tendencies. He goes with his internal moral compass.

Electrocuting the Commander on Iokath was part of Theron gaining the Order of Zildrog’s trust. Theron’s smart enough and probably familiar enough with the Commander’s bio data to know how to make it happen and look bad enough without serious ill-effects. This is part of what he does as a spy, and there’s likely a guide on double agent sabotage somewhere in SIS -- how to look like you’re doing bad stuff without actually doing as bad stuff as requested. This is also part of what he personally believes to be a better path -- certainly not by Alliance “what to do when bad things happen” book, which was to tell his Commander.

Does Theron fail at Nathema? Yes; there is a major loss of war materiel (the Gravestone and the Eternal Fleet). But what would he have considered more important? The loss of the fleet or the loss of the Commander and others if the Fleet was unleashed? The loss of life or the loss of stuff? That’s where Theron’s neutral-chaotic alignment comes in.

It also does matter how the player views the entire situation -- Theron’s boss also has a say in ‘success,’ which is why Trant matters in judging Theron’s previous actions. At the end of KotET, some people had been miserable that they HAD to either be a ruler or a peacekeeper instead of just getting on their ship and riding off into the sunset for more class-specific adventures. By the end of Nathema, some people were mad about losing the weapons and the power. Some people were relieved that they weren’t so OP anymore; the writers had written story/character development into a corner, and ending the whole Throne/Fleet thing had to happen. (It’s still not fully out of a corner, in my personal opinion.)

Theron doesn’t get out of the Traitor Arc completely clean, no matter how many stans we write about it -- the writing is what it is. He assuredly gains a new scar. But it is player choice as to the severity of the failure -- and the consequences: Theron can end up married, still in love with the Commander, dumped by the Commander but in the Alliance, exiled, or dead. Those were the consequences for what he believed was the right thing to do -- this was probably his biggest leap into the chaotic alignment in terms of decision making, and this was the most dramatic spectrum of consequences.

As a side bar, the latter xpacs suffer from writing issues; there’s a lack of nuance compared to the vanilla stories and even Hutts and SOR. Although the writers did promise that characters would leave if there were enough negative actions, only Koth actually left because of something we did; Lana never leaves, and Theron leaves regardless of prior actions -- because he’s doing the double agent thing. (I thought the opening speech on Umbara was ill-fit for most classes, frankly -- the writing got better as we got closer to Nathema, but there are plotholes that make me fume.) Lana and Theron never leave because the player makes too many LS or DS decisions. I honestly wish that was a consequence, because not having a consequence for decisions hallows out both characters and makes them lackeys rather than the stronger, distinct characters they were prior to Popsicle Time. Lana never leaves no matter what. Theron ultimately remains gone by player decision, not by his own. Koth was at least granted that autonomy, for which I respect the writing for Koth.

Theron Shan is a good spy that accepts consequences.

Theron is good at his job -- the best at his job, around the time of SoR. Because of how Theron approaches the world, he takes risks so others don’t -- so others don’t get tortured, so other planets don’t get blown up. It doesn’t mean that he’s some inept idiot that fumbles his way toward mission success. He knowingly suffers for his choices that are a combination of by-the-book training and his instincts. He doesn’t complain about it, even when the player points it out on Rishi. It is the job. Spies do really, really strange stuff to keep their covers. He also doesn’t complain as he’s limping around after Nathema, nor does he object if he’s exiled or dumped. He knows what he did. He can live with it (if the player lets him).

Spies that remain alive and get back to their home nations without giving anything important up to the enemy are successful spies. We see this in pre-SWTOR media. Rishi is a success for Theron -- although he is exposed, he remains alive and uncooperative. The temporary Alliance between Marr and Satele gain massive amounts of intel, including Revan’s base on Yavin. Later, Theron is able to keep the Odessen base functional and secret. We even get to do some infiltration work on Zakuul -- the Alliance’s spies don’t give anything up while surviving and making it home with gains. He succeeds overall at Odessen. He fails at Nathema, though that failure is mostly interpreted by the player in terms of severity.

Few spies are perfect and survive to become old men. Even if Theron is killed at the end of Nathema, he did make it further than many; if we consider that Theron was about 37 or 38 at Nathema and he started SIS at 16, that’s upwards of 20 years in the field. That’s a long lifespan for an active field agent, even in real world estimates.

For those of us who let Theron live, then he still has potential for more spy escapades, though probably with some serious oversight. We can leave that to headcanons, since Lana and Theron have taken a step back in prominence since Onslaught. Theron will never be orderly like Lana; if you favor lawful characters, you will rarely see eye to eye with Theron. He is not a by the book spy, and even Trant complains about that. At the same time, the instinct, the skills, and personal conscience is there, which is why Theron is successful all the way up to Nathema -- and depending on the player, arguably still is.

Personal life -- sure, a disaster. No doubt. But as a spy? I don’t think disaster is an accurate assessment.

#theron thursday #theron shan #swtor #alignment #good spy

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dazais-guardian-angel · 4 years

Note

☕️+ what things do you wish they did with descole (because I am weak and he’s my fave)

Apologies for the late reply to this; tbh I almost didn’t want to answer it, cause I feel like nothing I’ll say will be something others haven’t already discussed (especially since I just saw you asked someone else this same question), and also I’ve only ever played the prequels once back when they first came out and I haven’t reached them again in my replay yet, so I’m not fresh on everything done with his character and all the Azran/Targent stuff. But nonetheless:

In general, obviously, I wish Desmole’s character “arc” if you can even call it that as it is now + plot twists/identity had been much more fleshed out from the get-go and consistent with who they ultimately made him be, that is, Hershel’s brother and someone who never should have legitimately wanted to hurt him or people close to him. While I think the worst of this really only comes out in Eternal Diva, where he literally tries to swordfight Hershel to death and kill Luke on one occasion cause he goes insane once Hershel out-puzzles him, there really just should have been more nuance to him in the first two entries especially (and in Miracle Mask too of course, but he’s barely in that game so) where he shows some level of frustration and hesitance to go up against Hershel and his crew, even if he still does so because he absolutely has to carry out his revenge plan. Just SIGNS that there’s more to this guy than just a walking one-dimensional mysterious deadly flamboyant badass, beyond just Hershel going “hm he feels familiar”, like no of course that’s not near enough. Even if Desmole’s true identity still wasn’t going to be revealed until Azran Legacy, there still needed to be hints, breaks in his facade/character, hesitation, signs of remorse, even if some of these hints are not outright foreshadowing to a familial relationship/desire for revenge. He could still lose it in Eternal Diva, but just make it seem more desperate and broken, and less kill-crazy. Give him moments of humanization, show that Descole can be kind, such as around Melina or Nina; what I honestly wanted to see was him having interactions around girls other than Aurora where his fatherly nature might show (not that him and Aurora aren’t great, I just wanted more); he had to have spent a lot of time around Melina while making the Detragan, and the potential for their relationship while she was dying is so much. Hershel should have had more moments of familiarity, and thinking about him when he’s not around, trying to figure him out, demanding to know who he is because he feels like he needs to know for some reason he can’t describe, and Descole’s answers/non-answers are extremely telling/bitter/curious/thought-provoking. And Descole should imo have had a scene to himself at the end of every entry pre-Azran Legacy where it’s increasingly obvious this guy has Angst(tm) and some beef with Hershel that seems personal and not just to do with getting in the way of his plots, along with all the earlier hints obviously (iirc he had a final scene at the end of Last Spector but it was nothing more than showing “hey we’re not done with this guy!!”, so that definitely should have had more to it; at the end of Eternal Diva I REALLY wanted to see how he survived his fall, probably with Raymond saving him, cue more ~mysterious reactions to Hershel~ as he thinks on how Hershel cried out his name as he was falling despite the fact that they were enemies, etc; and then the one at the end of Miracle Mask is okay I guess, but I still wanted more to it, more, idk signs of regret or remorse or sadness from him before he goes after Bronev, and not just “grrrrrr finally my revenge is close I’mma take you down all I have is angerrRRRRR” also for him to not look so damn stupid when all Bronev has to do is knee him to take him down, like this is DESCOLE, THE KING OF BADASS, THAT ENDING IS SO PITIFUL; WE DIDN’T NEED THAT FOR A FAKEOUT UNMASKING SCENE THAT LEADS NOWHERE).

tl;dr, Desmole’s story being planned from the very beginning would have made it possible for the writers to foreshadow and develop him properly before you finally see him as Desmond, and make you attached to and interested in him much more than just as a cool badass you kinda wonder the identity of but mostly just enjoy watching be badass and evil. The PL series had never had an overarching villain in the main trilogy aside from Don Paolo, who was more of a comic relief villain who they could afford to not make up his beef with/connection to Hershel until the final game because it was a very insignificant reason in the grand scheme of things, and Don Paolo just..... wasn’t that integral to the plots of that trilogy, he was more of a bonus background villain not meant to be taken seriously or have any true emotional impact. But then you have Descole introduced as the key threat over the majority of the prequel series (you think it’s the Masked Gentleman this time, but no lol, it’s still Descole!!), and needless to say, “actually the protagonist’s long-lost brother trying to get revenge on their corrupt father, both of which are involved in an ancient civilization that ruined all their lives in multiple ways” is a biiiiiiit more important than... “jealous dead girlfriend rival” lol. And so there’s a jarring disconnect between pre-Miracle Mask Descole and post-Miracle Mask Descole, because the Azran aren’t even a thing until Miracle Mask at ALL, and so in Last Spector and Eternal Diva Descole just seems like this mad scientist with a dramatic flair and nothing more, who mayyyyyyyy be searching for eternal life? Since that seems to be the running theme with the golden garden and ambrosia? But even then literally nothing is revealed about him in that game and movie so who knows (and unrelated but it seems like those two places have literally no connection to the Azran aside from an offhanded mention of them in Miracle Mask? idk man); the point I’m taking way too long to make here is that it’s very clear the writers had no endgame plan for him until Miracle Mask at the earliest, and even then I wonder how much of it was completely hashed out (considering the... sort of mess that Azran Legacy is, I almost wonder if most of it was literally not decided on until then). My guess is that Descole was super popular after Last Spector so they decided to bring him back (his final scene in that game could have just been to show that he survived and was still “out there somewhere”, whether or not he came back next entry), but then realized they didn’t have a backstory or identity for him so they had to think up something way too late; I can’t confirm this though of course.

Then you get to Azran Legacy, and honestly, despite how bizarre and weirdly unimportant and filler-ish 90% of this game’s plot feels, I love the inherent idea of Descole finally coming to Hershel as himself. Hershel always shows up and gets in his way? Fine, he’ll come to him. He always sees through his disguises? Fine, he’ll come to him in the best disguise he has: himself. Ask him for his help in a mission his curiosity won’t let him refuse. Because then, of course, even though Desmond is doing this to further and finish his plot, and use them as tools, essentially, there’s the wonderfully painful obvious second reason for why he chooses to do things this way, and that is he wants to spend time with his brother, whether or not he consciously realizes this. This way, Desmond can be himself, he doesn’t have to hide his appearance or (most) intentions and can freely express a lot of his regular personality while still working towards his ultimate goal, but at the exact same time there’s so much he can’t show, that he can’t reveal or let himself do, and this has to be a hundred times harder than when he’s posing as Descole because now he’s friends with Hershel and the others, and a part of him must want so desperately to just stay with them forever as he spends more and more time with them and grows more attached to them, (again, no matter how much he may realize this). But this is where his “arc” continues to fall flat in that aside from one or two hints towards his daughter and having a brother, there is literally no depth in Desmond’s behavior in Azran Legacy pre-Descole/brother reveal, just like in all the entries before it. He should have shown small signs here and there of something being “off” with him, of sadness, of hesitation, of trauma and mental instability; strange things said to Hershel alone that makes him and the player start wondering things, just like with Descole. Everyone immediately goes, upon seeing Desmond for more than five minutes, “oh that’s Descole obviously” (plus Raymond is just... there lol), but it’s not for the right reasons; there’s nothing wrong with a predictable plot twist, but there needs to be some kind of hints towards it to make you emotionally invested in what you realize is coming, because you’re waiting for it and you know it will hurt but you just don’t know when and how it will happen; not that you guess it for no other reason than “well there’s this new character who isn’t an existing friend of Layton’s and everything is suspiciously calm and we’re 90% of the way through this and Descole has yet to show himself; it’s probably him”. For the record, I actually think Miracle Mask does its predictable plot twist a lot better, even if that game still has issues; I see a lot of people complain about how predictable Randall being the masked gentleman is, and it is, but honestly? The flashback plot mechanic in that game is EXTREMELY effective in 1) making it VERY clear who the masked gentleman is very early on, like they’re not trying to hide it in any way, but also 2) punching you in the gut to maximum effect when you get to the end of the flashbacks and pair it with the present-day plot. Like, they could have just told the player in dialogue/infodumps throughout the game who Randall was and what his connection to Hershel, Angela and Henry was, like Desmond does to Hershel near the end of Azran Legacy, but that would have been tedious and boring and the player wouldn’t care near as much, and the game wouldn’t have been long enough. Instead, you see it firsthand, you experience it with Hershel, and although I’m frustrated at how little is done with masked gentleman!Randall and showing connections/hints to who he used to be (look, my exact problems with Descole) and making Hershel more involved with him at the end, which would have been the icing on the angst cake, the entire flashback half of that game honestly left a huge impact on me and I think that’s why I spend so much time talking about/getting emotional about Miracle Mask despite always saying that Diabolical Box is my favorite, because getting to know Randall and see that friendship and see how it ended just makes it all hit so much harder, as flashbacks should do. The writers knew it would be obvious who the masked gentleman is and they leaned into that, it was a very deliberate choice, what the entire game revolved around, because the point wasn’t that it was unpredictable, but that you would feel for that character and it would hurt so much more. And while I don’t necessarily think Azran Legacy needed full-on flashback gameplay segments for Desmond like Miracle Mask had, I think having vague flashbacks every once in a while throughout that game, vague enough to not directly tell you it’s him or naming/showing Hershel/Theodore much but clear enough that you can reasonably guess it is Desmond, would have done a world of difference, along with all the little behavioral/dialogue hints I mentioned. Similar to the diary entries in Diabolical Box, or if anyone’s ever played Super Paper Mario, the flashbacks in that game after every chapter about an unknown person that it becomes increasingly obvious as you play through the game is the main villain. I just.... really, really wish, out of all the prequel entries, Azran Legacy gave Desmond so much more emotional depth and resonance once we finally see him as Desmond instead of Descole, so many more scenes with Hershel, and to a lesser extent the others, so much more development of his character, so much more of an emphasis put on his prior family and how much he’s hurting and caring and yet at the same time refuses to give up his revenge; all of this, no matter how obvious it made his identity as both Descole and as Hershel’s brother. The brother plot twist, too, feels slightly lame and overdone and out of nowhere, but honest to god I wouldn’t fucking care at all if they just foreshadowed it properly and made it so painfully obvious how much Descole/Desmond wants to be with Hershel and this family and how much it kills him to turn on them all again at the end of Azran Legacy even if he still goes through with it, and how much he regrets everything as he lays dying in Hershel’s arms, but we get none of that goddammitLevel5whydoyoudeprivemeofsomuch-

*ahem* apparently I still had a lot to say. i just wanted so much more for him; he’s SUCH a tragic character... the stupid wannabe phantom of the opera bread man still makes me cry, despite everything, because i am trash. Oh yeah and he should have held Aurora in his arms as she died. And Azran Legacy should have ended post-credits with Hershel opening his door with his hat off (to show that this is after Unwound Future), his eyes widening, then it shows the bottom half of the person’s face, just enough to see the bread hair tips, and the slight sad smile, and then cut to black. level-5 just hire the PL fandom to make the Desmond spinoff game pls

#replies #professor layton #professor layton spoilers #jean descole #desmond sycamore #meta #'i dont have much to say' *writes a fucking novel*#EVERY FUCKING TIME #NOTHING IS EVER SHORT WITH ME #why did this partly turn into a miracle mask defense/gush fest i am so sorry #but seriously i thought of that point only as i was typing this... that mm's flashback gameplay is why it works so well #and that something much smaller scale would have been PERFECT for Desmond in AL #not before that #but definitely in AL #....but since we can't have that just give me the Descole spinoff entirely please :''')#themadgirlinthefandombox

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inscribed-in-asteroids · 4 years

Text

AN: Here’s chapter three!

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Hordak, Entrapta, Odessa, features others including OCs

Pairing: Entrapdak

Rating: M

Read on AO3.

Tower

Odessa has her gear prepped to go. Extravehicular Mobility Units were not used too often anymore, however, Entrapta and Hordak took extra precautions with the EMUs, and have even modified Tristan’s and Hydrangea’s spacesuits as well, to account for their height, weight, and metabolic rate. Darla had been upgraded continuously throughout the years, but has since been retired for this mission. Which didn’t bother Odessa in the slightest, as her parents believed she should have a ship of her own.

Celeste sits in the hangar, a cavern that had been excavated to accommodate for the growing number of people that now resided on Beast Island. The chatter of pookas echo through the vicinity. Her uncles had learned to live on the island, and that included taming some of the beasts that resided here. Pookas were not too dissimilar from the usual pet once their behavior was understood. She notes a few resting on Celeste’s roof, chittering at her as she walks beneath them. Odessa glides her fingers along the metallic surface, “Hey, it’s been a while since I used you.”

The ship whirs on, responsive to touch, but only from the genetic makeup of those that have been programmed into her system. Her parents, her siblings, Tristan and Hydrangea, and herself, are the ones that have been given permission to access her ship. However, it’s meant to be hers and no one else’s.

“This is so exciting!” Entrapta shouts. Hordak strides over, Entrapta shuffling beside him on her hair. Her father lugs heavy equipment bags with ease. Settling them on the ground, Entrapta beams at the two of them, “I wonder what our baby will find on the flagship!”

“It may be overrun with vegetation,” Hordak says. “None of us have bothered to go to it since the war.”

“There were collections of weapons and tech on the flagship as well that might be useful,” Entrapta says. She turns to Odessa, handing her a communicator. “I hacked into the mainframe of the ship and managed to give you a map of it, using old data from my past devices to navigate it. This one should be better, and I also updated its ability to detect heat signatures.”

Odessa looks at the screen, before smiling at her mother, “Thanks, Mom. This is going to be helpful. But, did none of you ever check the ship once Adora helped to defeat Prime?”

Hordak’s ears flick down for a moment, “It was no longer a concern, at the time. We only regrouped the rest of my brothers that had been left aboard. And when your mother and I had gotten closer to finishing up the repairs for Beast Island, turning the Fright Zone into New Chelicerata, and aiding everywhere else, we had not believed it necessary to investigate it further. There simply was no purpose to a flagship that was decimated of its original functions.”

Odessa nods, “It makes sense that it wouldn't work any longer. It’s hard to do that when a large amount of trees are protruding out of it.”

“With that, the atmosphere is not safe to breathe, of course,” Entrapta adds. “I have ensured that your oxygen tanks will last for nine hours—an improvement from the usual amount!—but you should be cautious, regardless of how confident you are that the tanks will not deplete their air supply too fast.”

Hordak opens the hatch, walking into the ship. He places all the equipment down, hooking the bags onto steel clasps. He points to weapons that he lines up along the wall, pressing a button for them to stick to magnetically, “Should you need any of them, they’re here.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Odessa replies. Walking up to him, she grins, resembling her mother, “I think we’ll be fine, but it’s good to be prepared, right?”

Hordak smiles at her, patting the top of her head, smoothing back her hair. Affectionately, Odessa pushes her head up into his palm, the way she used to as a child.

“I know we said we’d only be here for six weeks, but I do appreciate being allowed to pursue this,” she tells him.

“Your mother and I wouldn’t discourage you from curiosity,” Hordak replies.

Odessa beams up at him, shaking with excitement.

Her friends arrive ten minutes later, on time. They know how punctual Odessa and her family are, and after making her wait once, they learned to not do it again.

Entrapta, excited, bounds over to them, “Look! I upgraded your suits!”

“Ooh, cool!” Tristan says, holding up his. “I love the sheen going on.”

“I thought you might!”

Hydrangea grins at her, “Ooh, you changed up the texture for my fingers!”

“I even added these new features where you can get a snack and drink if you need it,” Entrapta tells them, explaining how to access it. Tristan and Hydrangea clap at her innovative features, thankful at her thoughtfulness.

Hordak, pleased at their display of gratitude, walks over to them, “In case of emergency, we have extra suits tucked away in the hatch, in addition to oxygen tanks stacked in storage. The distance is not far, but we made sure that you will all be comfortable on your journey to the flagship.”

“Thank you—both of you,” Hydrangea says. Entrapta hugs her tight, mimicking Scorpia surprisingly well.

Hordak pats Tristan’s shoulder, “The three of you be mindful. We will be on the communicator whenever one of you is in trouble, and we will send a portal your way.”

“Yes sir,” Tristan says. “We wouldn’t put Odessa in danger.”

Hordak smiles, touched, “I know you wouldn’t.”

Odessa always feels at home in space.

The endless darkness, speckled with shining stars, leaves her breathless each time. Space is too amazing to leave unexplored. There’s so much left to find out there.

She turns to her friends, “It won’t be long now. The flagship went further away, but thankfully it remains reachable.”

Hydrangea flips back her hair, “Des, do you believe we’ll find anything? The flagship had been overrun with plants, and I’m quite sure it had grown.”

“I don’t doubt there’s an abundance of it,” Odessa replies. She grins at her, “But that’s where your powers come in.”

Tristan zips up Hydrangea’s spacesuit, lifting her hair, “We’ll need to make sure there aren’t any living organisms on it. That thing’s been floating around Etheria for two whole decades. It’s likely made itself home to another alien creature by now.”

Odessa holds out her pad, “Whatever is on there will show up on the monitor. But, frankly, we shouldn’t find much else except for whatever bodies were left behind.”

Hydrangea walks over to the window, looking out. She hasn’t been up here for a good few years. There are shimmering sights beyond where they are, and she wonders if they’ll find what Odessa is looking for. Her friend has a determination that knows no bounds, but she doesn’t want to risk that there’s a chance she might not succeed. Although, she should give Odessa more credit. If an experiment or hypothesis proves incorrect, she is the sort to accept that it isn’t possible and move on to the next project. Hydrangea glances at Odessa, red eyes fixated on the pad, brows knitted together as she maps out the best course to head in.

Smiling, Hydrangea touches her shoulder, “You’re excited.”

Odessa grins at her, “Of course! It’s been a long time coming since you, Tris and I were on an adventure together.”

Tristan leans against the wall, “Hopefully, this won’t turn into a mess like last time.”

“Last time we were younger—inexperienced and kind of dumb,” Odessa answers. “We are perfectly equipped this time around. We’re not going to be reckless when we land.”

Hydrangea giggles, “You have to admit, the mess made it a little more exciting. And even then, we didn’t get into too much trouble. We just got lost.”

Odessa looks at Tristan, “Besides, why are you worried? You winged it when we were on R-175. You were more than fine.”

“Just because I know how to improvise doesn’t mean I’d like to do it again. I’d like to take it easy,” he replies. Moving over to them, he smiles, “I’d rather not play babysitter to the two of you.”

“Ooh, what an adult!” Odessa says, squishing her cheeks together. She then folds her arms, smirking, “This is coming from the guy who sulked at not having the last bowl of ice cream.”

“Uh, I called dibs and you swiped it, right under my nose. Yeah, I was gonna be a little upset.”

“Doesn’t help your case, Tris. Honestly, you’re not much older than Des and I,” Hydrangea says.

“Yet I know that if something goes wrong, I’ll probably get more shit for it. ‘You’re almost 18! This is on you!’” Tristan mocks, wagging a finger. He crosses his arms, “Like the two of you can't make up your own minds.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Odessa replies, pointing to the communicator. “You know my parents never discouraged us from exploring, and they do know we’re all capable of making our own decisions. I’m leading this expedition, so if anything does happen, it’s on me.”

Hydrangea leans over to check the monitor. She looks at Odessa, “Do you know where we’ll be landing on the Velvet Glove?”

Tristan snickers, “That name I swear…”

Shaking her head, Hydrangea feigns a sigh, "So sad. I wonder if he compensated for something.”

“Do you think that’s what he called his dick?”

“No, that’s the name of Horde Prime brand condoms,” Odessa says. “His dick was probably something like ‘The Illustrious Rod of Justice.’”

Giggling, Hydrangea adds, “He did go around ‘impregnating’ hundreds of galaxies. That guy had a loooot of repressed sexual feelings, I think.”

“Yeah, like, he did and didn’t?” Tristan says. “He was bizarre. He got boners over rules and oppressed people with his holier-than-thou morality.”

“Seriously. Did he have shitty parents that couldn’t go ‘hey son, maybe bullying people into following your rigid, black and white laws is pretty messed up’ or what?”

“Well, whatever he was,” Odessa says, looking out the window, “Prime’s remnants are still in the Velvet Glove. His, hopefully, very much intact and preserved genetic material.”

“Des, that sounded so wrong!” Hydrangea laughs.

Tristan makes jerking off motions and makes a ‘sploosh’ sound.

Odessa grins at them, turning back to the monitor, “But to answer your question, my father informed me of an open bay area that should still be functioning. We’ll dock there.”

Tristan bends down, voice low, “By the way, we’re all aware of the two red dots above us, right?”

Odessa whispers, “Yes, it’s been there for a while. But I didn’t want to alert anything to make sure we could sneak up on it.”

Hydrangea nods, “How should we proceed?”

“Gea, leave for the main corridor. Send an electric shock through the air duct to incapacitate, not kill the intruders or damage Celeste. Tris, you stay to the side and be alert in case that doesn’t knock it out—take my spear from me. I’ll stand here to look vulnerable. Countdown now to 120 seconds.”

Tristan removes her weapon without trouble. Hydrangea walks out of the cockpit, the doors whooshing open and closed. Glancing over his shoulder, Tristan meets Odessa’s eyes.

Suddenly, sparks of electricity crackle into the vent. Cries of shock reverberate through the duct, followed by loud banging as something hurries along within. Odessa narrows her eyes as Tristan rushes toward her, both stances offensive.

From the opening, two bodies fall down in front of them. Electricity fluffs up tufts of fur, as Adam and Molly look up at them.

Hydrangea bolts back inside, “Hey, what came fr— Oh!”

The three look down at two of the quadruplets.

Adam grins, lightning coursing over his whiskers, “What’s up, everyone! Fuck Prime, am I right?”

Molly groans, thunking her forehead onto the floor.

“I am so, so, so sorry!” Hydrangea says again, handing Molly and Adam packets of food. “I do hope the shock wasn’t too much.”

Adam waves a hand, “Nah, we’re fine, aren’t we?”

Molly sighs, wishing she was anywhere else.

Tristan kneels down in front of her, “Why didn’t you tell us you were here?”

At Molly's silence, Adam grins, scratching his cheek, “Weeeeell, you see, I thought it would be fun if we came to visit. I saw Odessa’s ship, thought, ‘Hey, that seems cool!’ so I got in—”

“—I tried to stop him.” Molly adds, giving a small glare to the floor. “But he was climbing in anyway—”

“And ta-daaaa, we’re here! In space,” Adam finishes. “It was really nothing more than the lust for adventure.”

“That was very dangerous,” Hydrangea scolds, placing a hand on her forehead. “We could’ve killed you by accident.”

“Now it will be on purpose,” Odessa hisses, stalking toward them. “You two fools could’ve endangered your lives, that of my crew, and neither of you have experience in space travel. You are liabilities that may impede our progress.”

“Odessa,” Tristan begins. “Your parents provided us with extra supplies. It’ll be okay.”

“I have to agree with Odessa,” Hydrangea says, staring at Adam and Molly. “What the two of you did was irresponsible.”

Molly remains mute, looking away.

Adam stands up, “Hold on, we'll be okay keeping up with the three of you.”

“That’s not the point,” Odessa snarls, hair slightly curling. “I don’t even know how you snuck inside Celeste, much less evaded detection for almost three days.”

“See? We’re very quiet! You didn’t even notice us until now. I think we’ve proven our capability to you,” Adam insists.

Arms in a placating position, Tristan remarks, “I think we need to take time to reflect on the next course of action. Adam, why don’t you and Molly go wait in one of the rooms?”

“Aww, that’s no fun,” Adam says, irritated.

“If it’s fun you want, I’m more than willing to tear it into you,” Odessa threatens.

“Yeesh! Okay, okay, I’m going,” Adam complains. But he exits the cockpit to enter a room down the hall.

Tristan stretches out a hand to Molly. She looks at it for a moment before taking it in hers. Guiding her to the door, Tristan nods at Molly, who gives him a small smile.

Once gone, Odessa says aloud, “Celeste, lock the two of them in their quarters.”

“Affirmative,” the ship answers.

Hydrangea sighs, claws rubbing her temples, “I have to admit, this isn’t the sort of conflict I was expecting immediately.”

Tristan returns Odessa’s staff to her, “Perhaps we should consider allowing them to tag along.”

Frowning, Odessa glares out the window. Arms folded, she shakes her head, “I would prefer not.”

“It may serve better to deal with them directly,” Tristan says. “I doubt you would want to allow Adam free rein of Celeste.”

“Ooh, yeah, that would not be good,” Hydrangea agrees.

Growling deep in her chest, Odessa throws her hands up in the air, “Fine! Fine, but if they step one toe out of line, I’m leaving them on the flagship. Don’t think I won’t!”

“Got it,” they say together, very aware she’s serious.

Reaching their destination, Celeste is docked. Odessa steps out onto the flagship, staring around at the expanse of white and grey. Once sleek walls have indeed been overgrown by flora—vines weaving through its corpse, leaves scraping its sides. There’s no oxygen in space, but they were correct to assume it’s only grown. The plants were called forth by She-Ra, and seem to contain a magical property that prevents them from wilting in zero gravity.

Odessa collects a sample in a small test tube. Plugging it closed, she says, “No one touch anything. The flagship isn’t moving, but there’s no certainty that Prime had not built back-up systems into it. Should one of you find something of merit, call me over.”

Adam pumps his fists, “Whoo-hoo! Let’s go exploring!”

Rolling her eyes, she turns around to face him, “Adam. Look at me. Are you looking? Look at me. Do. Not. Touch. Anything.”

“You just told everyone that,” Adam replies.

“Yes, but I have to make direct eye contact with you to ensure that you will, indeed, in the back of your brain, not touch anything.”

“Relaaaax,” Adam says, wrapping his arm around her, ignoring her scathing leer. “You’re talking to the King of Cool. I’m not going to mess anything up.”

“You better not,” Odessa threatens before stalking away. Not peering over her shoulder, she adds, “Tris, take Molly. Gea, take Adam.”

Pulling out her own pad—quickly modified by Odessa due to unwanted company—Hydrangea smiles at him, “Let’s go see what’s around, hm? I think heading east leads upwards to the elevators.”

“Sounds fun!” Adam says, breaking into a sprint. “I’ll race you!”

“Adam, that leads to the supply closets!” Hydrangea yells, running after him.

Tristan looks down at Molly, “Why don’t we go west, then?”

“Yeah, um, that sounds okay…” she whispers, feeling cramped in the EMU.

He smiles at her, unsure of what to talk about. Settling on silence, they walk in the opposite direction.

Hydrangea catches up with Adam, “Hey! You can’t go wandering off like that.”

Adam grins, “I know where I’m going. I have an excellent sense of direction.”

Shaking her head, Hydrangea walks alongside him, “Alright, but I think following the map will yield better results. This mission is very significant to Odessa, and we should make an effort to find what she needs.”

He glances at her, “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Pardon?”

Shrugging, Adam says, “She didn’t specify what she needed, so how can we put in any effort for things we’re unsure of?”

“Honestly, none of us are too sure of what we may find here. The flagship has been abandoned for so long, whatever may have been here might not even hold up anymore.”

“If I was her, I’d go scout for any leftover weapons.”

“Why’s that?”

“They wouldn’t be of any use floating around in the nether regions of space. Wouldn’t her family want them?”

“Her family would not,” Hydrangea states. There have been no wars, no battles, no unrest on Etheria since the Horde invasion came about. She knows that Odessa’s father and uncles have done their best to make reparations for past injustices towards her people, and what she is aware of is bringing back weaponry may instill fear and distrust again.

It had not been easy the first few years—the first decade—since Hordak and his brothers made a genuine attempt to make Etheria their home. Etherians, understandably, had very little faith and charity towards the Horde clones. Glimmer, Bow, and Adora vouched that things will change between the two factions of race. Adora assured the people that Prime’s defeat would bring a new dawn for them all, and Catra, having been Hordak’s very own second-in-command, stepped forward to aid him in making peace with the Etherians. For it did not matter that she was She-Ra’s lover. She, too, had caused destruction. Had tormented and ravaged Etheria, and even admitted that she was the mastermind behind the majority of attacks, much to Hordak’s chagrin. There were many villages who remembered her for that.

The idea of bringing Horde weapons onto Etheria would have consequences. The years go by, and she knows plenty of Etherians who welcomed them eventually. As of now, it’s nearly the majority. They have integrated into Etherian society remarkably well. Known in their respective communities, Talon and Hordak are two, in particular, that chose partners who were as equally recognized for their achievements in the realms of magic and science, respectfully. She knew Entrapta had not been accepted prior to the war, and had to prove herself after. Nyxia, from what she’d been told, had raised several eyebrows for taking a Horde clone as her husband, though no one commented on it. To her face, at least.

Hydrangea comprehends the value of peace. The lack of war was not the issue, for dissent can be riled without impending doom. Civil unrest depends on power structures. Everything continues to hinge on the belief that harm is not what the Horde desires.

She holds up the pad, showing Adam a different route, “We can go to another room. You can even pick.”

“Fucking awesome,” Adam says, pointing to another hallway.

Tristan continues along through the hallway, minding his business.

Molly does the same, but with an inclination toward anxiety, her thoughts bounce back and forth between not caring that he’s here, and wondering how anyone can stand her being here. Adam had to go and sneak into the cargo hold. Adam had to drag her along by grabbing her against her will and making her jump in. Adam had to insist on climbing into the vents instead of saying they were onboard, wound up electrocuted, and got Odessa mad at them.

Odessa isn’t a person she knows too well, but Molly would prefer not being viewed as a pest by the one leading them into unknown territory. She wouldn’t blame Odessa if she did abandon them on this empty hunk of junk.

“We’re coming up to a divide, which way should we go?” Tristan asks, breaking her from the reverie.

Molly crosses her arms, “I don’t know…”

“Do you want to go left?”

Glancing that direction, she frowns. Shaking her head, she says, “I’d rather go right. If that’s okay!”

Tristan smiles, “Right it is.”

Keeping up with his long strides, Molly sighs to herself.

“Not exactly what you planned on,” he states, attempting, once more, to make conversation.

“No, I definitely did not expect to be out in space for three days,” Molly complains, crossing her arms. “I don’t really care for it.”

“Space travel isn’t for everyone,” he says. “I’ve only gotten to go a handful of times.”

Looking up at him, she lightly clears her throat, “When?”

“When I was younger, I went on a trip with Gea, Des, and her parents. It was amazing! Normally, we talked with her via telecommunicator.”

“All the time?”

“Every day if possible.”

Molly gives a small nod, “That sounds nice…”

“It was,” Tristan replies. “Granted, like I said, it was a handful of times. Our parents weren’t too keen on Gea and I being gone for extended periods of time.”

“What was the longest you were gone?”

“Five months. Half a year was too much for them, I think,” Tristan laughs. Not that he would’ve minded being gone for that time, or longer. There was so much out there to investigate, it didn’t make sense to stay in one place. That, and he didn’t venture out of his room unless it was to spend time with his friends. He’s considered a homebody by his parents, but truthfully, he doesn’t spend much time at Salineas.

“Right,” Molly remarks to herself. “There was a festival a couple years back. You and your friends weren’t there.”

“Right, the Fresian Festival,” Tristan replies. He smiles at her. “I’m amazed you remembered.”

“Oh! People commented on it. I only just connected the dots,” she says, chuckling nervously.

“Even so,” Tristan says. Stopping in front of a large entrance, he reaches his hand out. Ensuring there’s no barrier, he walks through. A table sits, unobtrusive, in the center. He inspects it all around, kneeling to peer at its underside.

Molly rubs her arm, feeling more stifled. She tilts her head, “What is a table doing here?”

“Not sure,” Tristan replies. He looks at its edge, noting the faintest outline of a pad. He shrugs, “It must’ve been used for something.”

“I guess it’d be bad if we checked…”

“It may not work anymore,” he says. “It could be a control pad for navigation, or releasing dozens of soldiers at once.”

“Maybe it’s a hologram for entertainment,” Molly lightly jokes.

He grins at her, “Maybe!”

Returning the smile, she clicks her claws against each other, “Um, well, Odessa said not to touch anything. So we should probably leave it alone.”

“We’ll bring her back to look at it,” Tristan replies.

Exiting the odd room, they begin down the other corridor.

Dangling from wires that stretch deep into black, hundreds of bodies hang suspended where Odessa walks. Being the main goal for this expedition, she steps past several columns before pausing in front of a random case. Wiping off imaginary dust, observing the weathered face inside, she wonders if it’s even viable. The system has continued to function. She spent the first few hours merely inspecting an aspect of her life that she only heard about. The weapons were kept in storage, and she found the pool of liquid where her father had been stripped of all free will. Further along, she encountered an odd room with a single table, its buttons and pad faintly outlined. Pressing it, it opened a hole where copious amounts of surgical tools were kept, laid in neat rows. She took them for herself, and some were medical instruments she never saw before.

With that accomplished, she ventured out to find this room. Approaching another container, she looks within to see a similar individual with long, white locks, eyes closed. Prime. Or one of him. All of these must be him. The actual Prime was never retrieved from the chasm of the flagship. No one wanted to bury him, and she doesn’t blame them. She wouldn’t either.

But this… this is another of his forms. An impressive specimen, she must admit. Even in this state, at his peak, he would’ve stood out among her father and uncles. Likely as a way of preserving their species’ capabilities of agility and strength, while keeping their physical bodies weaker than his own to overpower and dominate.

Touching the glass, she presses her face closer to the vitrine. Her father told her that he’s dead, but there had been a way of accessing his memories. Prime had done it before. She surmised that his previous bodies were kept on hand for knowledge. The body may be inanimate, but the brain, if preserved, could be examined. A corpse with a living mind. Its own special little coffin. Such a thing would frighten Etherians, who, despite their alliance with her people, still have a difficult time comprehending—or, rather, accepting—what science can do.

Odessa touches the black pad wrapping around the case. It turns on, and she balls her hand in a light fist, gently pricking her palm with her fingernails, uncertain of what to do. Rubbing her thumbs underneath her fingertips, she decides to press down on a few buttons. Nothing. She slides her digits over the longer, colored section, and it hums with energy. The vitrine lights up within, haloing the body. Its eyes remain closed but she sees his form better.

Odessa taps a few more combinations, and it glows even brighter—

Right before it opens and spills the contents out onto the ground.

“Shit,” she murmurs to herself, kneeling in front of the body. Glancing at its case, she knows there’s no way to put it back in. Tugging its face toward her, she inspects the body. It really is remarkable how preserved it is for all the decades it's been deceased.

Setting down her bag, she pulls out cotton swabs to collect skin samples, trims off claws, and pulls out teeth with a plier. Then she stares at the head for a good moment or two.

Pulling out the trephine, a gift from the table earlier, she drills a hole in the head to relieve pressure, as well as to remove excess liquid so that nothing sprays out at her. Once complete, having opted for a full removal, she puts away her tool for favor of a small, circular blade. Shearing off the hair, and some wires, from the scalp, Odessa marks where to cut with a pen. She digs into the skin and stops for a second when it makes contact with bone. Clicking it on, the blade begins to gingerly whir, and she follows the path.

Brain fluid and blood seep out onto the floor, mixing with the liquid from the vitrine. Carefully, she pulls away the bone flap, and inspects the brain for possible damage. Taking out a small scalpel, she slices at the thin layers of membrane that cling to the inside of the skull. The meninges cut, more cerebrospinal fluid spills out. Tugging it out inch by inch, she snips the connection at the brainstem and spinal cord; Odessa holds the brain in her free hand, its weight sinking into her palm. Holding up the organ, she inspects it: perfectly intact.

Laying it down on a towel, she wipes her hands off the edge of it. Odessa brings out a large jar from her bag, filling the container with any of the remaining liquid from the vitrine. She needs every bit of it though.

Holding down her helmet’s interphone, she says, “Tristan, do you copy?”

“I do, what’s up?”

“Can you come to my location and help me with something?”

“I’ll be right over,” he says.

It doesn’t take him long before he arrives, and the first thing she hears is Molly yell.

“What is that?! Is that a body?!” she demands, jumping back in disgust.

Odessa crosses her arms, “Yes, obviously.”

Tristan walks over, looking down at it. Then he turns to her, smirking, “I hope he was dead already.”

“He was,” Odessa smirks back. “I need you to move some liquid left in the vitrine into the jar behind me. I took some but it needs more.”

Molly wrinkles her nose, bothered by the nonchalance displayed by the two of them.

Tristan moves his hands in a flowing arc, pouring the water into the jar until it reaches the top. Odessa spins the cap back on, pleased with her work.

Groaning, Molly keeps her eyes on the door.

Tucking all her items with care into her bag, Odessa says, “What did you find?”

“We came across a room with a table in it, but we didn’t touch it,” Tristan replies.

"Was it before you came here?"

"Yes, why?"

Odessa gives her bag a slight shake, "These were from there!"

"Nice," he says. "Good thing we didn't open it, that'd be anticlimactic."

“Anything else?”

“We came across the kitchens, the holding cells, the area where it seems clones are born, all that fun stuff,” he says.

“Interesting,” Odessa answers. “It seems that the flagship was to keep the amount of soldiers he had, and different areas were few and far in between.”

“Seems to be,” Tristan says, walking with her and Molly to the exit. “I guess interior decorating wasn’t his thing.”

Odessa laughs, “No, I suppose not.”

Heading down the hall, they contact Hydrangea, who says she is nearby Celeste. Odessa is led by Tristan to the room with the single table, and she remarks, “I wish there were more instruments in here."

"Didn't you already have these things on hand with you?"

"Yes, but it doesn't hurt to have more!"

“I guess...” Molly murmurs.

Continuing down the corridor, Odessa asks, “Did you explore that area?”

Tristan shakes her head, “No, Molly and I checked everything else. Gea, maybe?”

“Hey, Gea, did you happen to investigate the northern corridor?” Odessa queries, clicking her interphone on.

“No, I didn’t,” her voice comes through the intercom.

“Tris, why don’t you two head back to Celeste? I’ll only take a minute. And for the love of all that’s good, keep Adam from the controls.”

“Will do, Captain,” he replies.

With that, she takes her leave. The hallway is covered with the faintest layer of dust, floating, never settling onto the surface. Odessa notes cracks in the walls, stepping over foliage that wraps through the metal. She finds a room filled with keepsakes, creatures and objects lining the walls. At the forefront, she notices shattered glass on the ground. Bending down, she raises it to her eye level, its surface poorly shining. The colors are strong, however, and it seems to have formed a particular shape at one point.

Compelled, Odessa gathers every broken fragment and places it inside her bag.

“What is it?” Hydrangea asks, combing through Tristan’s hair. They have bid their unwelcome guests, as Odessa puts it, goodnight, and are congregated in Hydrangea's sleeping quarters.

“I’m not sure,” Odessa says, holding up a small piece of glass. “It doesn’t seem to hold much value anymore, that’s for certain.”

Tristan tilts his head down, letting Hydrangea brush better, “A treasure from a conquered planet. Doesn’t seem to be anything else, aside from a sad reminder.”

Peering at it, Odessa checks every bit of its blue, dulled by time, but no less impressive in its sheen; its delicate thinness reveals a species that valued aesthetic beauty. Whoever this belonged to stood no chance against Prime.

Twirling the fragment in her hand, Odessa says, “But we found much more than we believed, which counts for something.”

“Which is exciting!” Hydrangea says, switching places with Tristan. “We don’t know what all this means yet, but I’m sure we will eventually.”

Odessa smiles, shaking her hands at the possibilities. Any object or clue that they find has potential. She isn’t sure where this will go, but she wants to learn as much as she can.

Like her mother always says: for science!

#entrapdak #hordak #entrapta #entrapdak fankid #odessa #shera #spop

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make-it-mavis · 3 years

Text

Homesick (Entry #36)

(cw: discussion of addiction/violence, suicide mention) ----------

01/24/88 6:30 PM

Hey.

Once I’d chosen my “higher power”, the rest of the program really began to interest me more.

That isn’t to say that I had suddenly seen the light and knew exactly how to fix everything, no. I was still on wobbly legs and I knew it. The goal was to shift my entire worldview, and that sort of thing does not happen overnight. But I had an idea to go off of, which was more than what I’d had before. And the more I sat with it, the more the idea unfurled itself.

There are no absolutes in a world of color. No rules, only choices. I thought I’d lived my life as a rainbow, but I’d been painting with one color for so long. I was indigo -- cold, proud, with the depression of blue and the aggression of violet. I was the color of bruises, the sort that are almost beautiful, but hurt something awful. All of my choices were touched by a shade of pain. I never really thought there was another way to be.

But this new theory of mine challenged that with the phrase: ‘There’s always another color.’

I didn’t know which ones exactly I wanted to move forward with, but I sort of figured that keeping an open mind and paying close attention would reveal them to me. And that, as it turned out, was sort of what step three was all about.

Step three is Surrender. We were expected to surrender to our higher power, and hold it in greater importance than our own selfish desires. My own desire was to learn to live by my new worldview anyway, so it seemed easy enough. But I was told that swallowing my pride would be a tough thing to maintain, so I had to stay on top of it. Well, duh. Of course it’s been hard. You and I were always some of the most prideful little beasts in the arcade. I still fail regularly, but I haven’t given up yet. Which is really what matters. Or so I’ve heard.

I’ll admit something sad. Sometimes, while I’m doing all this work, I wonder if you could have benefitted from anything like this. Like, maybe it would have helped you sort out all that darkness in your head. Maybe it could have saved you, and you’d be sitting right here beside me right now. I don’t know… maybe not. I’m not sure how you’d have ever been convinced to try it. I mean… it took a monumental catastrophe and threat of imprisonment for me to even consider it. If only you had been lucky enough to survive your own… catastrophe. Then, well... maybe.

It hurts so much to think about.

If nothing else, it makes me want to succeed for the both of us.

I was still on step three by my fourth session, but I was preemptively worrying about the upcoming step four. It had been causing me a fair bit of anxiety since the beginning, and I was almost afraid to complete step three and arrive at it. Step four is Courage, which involves pretty much digging deep into your code and listing all the bad things you’ve ever done. A ‘fearless moral inventory’, they called it. I just had no idea how I was going to tackle that. Others might have been able to make a list based on things they felt bad about. I was going to have to think a little harder about mine. Not that I have any shortage of misdeeds to list -- I probably have a hundred for every day of my life. I just… didn’t feel bad about most of them. Feeling any kind of remorse or regret for my actions was never something I was very good at.

I began to wonder why that was. Probably for the first time ever.

While I considered it, I just listened in to all the shares from the other members. During step three, I’d been going along with the challenge I issued myself before, the one meant to lessen Worluk’s effect on me. It was going alright. As I paid more attention to them, the other members had started to take on their own colors in my mind. I definitely got to know some of them a bit more, and even found that listening to their stories helped me gain better perspectives of my own.

I feel a bizarre need to respect the anonymity of the program even here, so I won’t name names. But I’ll name their colors.

An NPC sprite who gave me pinkish-mulberry vibes told us about his experience with step five, Integrity, which I’d been trying not to think about. He seemed near tears as he spoke, just brimming with emotion.

“I’d been so afraid that she would turn me away when she heard about the things I’d done… but she just hugged me. She said that she would have been there for me sooner if I’d just opened up to her… but I think I’d just been so ashamed, I didn’t even think I was worthy of help. I never knew how important that was. Just to feel like you deserve saving.”

That one reminded me of you a little bit, which hurt. I thought about how you had only chosen to let me in on our very last night together. How you barely gave me any time to help you. I hoped you felt like you were worthy of help, but I also kind of doubted it.

It also raised questions about my own self worth... but I tried to tuck those away for later.

A Bad Guy sprite with an orange air about him piped up in response, saying he could relate. But in his case, the sprite he had tried to make amends with turned him away. “It was awful,” he said. “It was everything I’d been afraid of, but all the same… I had to accept it. I’d done wrong by them. I have to live with the consequences of that and choose to be better. Even though my fears came true, I’m still alive. I’m still okay. And that’s kind of freeing.”

Again and again, fear played a heavy role in their struggles. And the more I sat with it, the more it sank in, and the more sense it made. As much as I hated to entertain the idea, maybe I’d been afraid, too. Of what, exactly… I couldn’t really say for sure. But I took a look at my life for a moment, and all the things I loved to do, like drinking and fighting and breaking the rules… and felt kind of sick. Like… maybe it wasn’t always just about chasing freedom. Chasing one thing… could also mean running away from another.

But I could hardly be blamed for that, could I? I’d felt alienated for so long, like different rules applied to me because my Easter Egg role sucked so much. Like my pain validated all the bad things I did. It was only fair, right?

But that was when Worluk spoke up. Her voice didn’t strike quite as much terror in me as it had before, but even as small and raspy as it was, it demanded my attention.

“I’ve tried apologizing to the boys. To everyone, really,” she said, a quiet, tired frustration in her voice. “But they won’t take it. They see right through me. I did a lot of things that hurt them while I was neck deep in buffs. And I’m sorry for hurting them, I really am. But I’ll be real with you all. I’m having trouble regretting the things I did. They were all things I wanted to do already. It just felt like buffs made me actually go out and do something about it.”

“That’s understandable,” Clyde said. “But none of us are exempt from regret. None of us here can decide that we’ve done no wrong. The sprites around us, the ones we hurt, are the ones we need to listen to in order to understand the gravity of the things we’ve done.”

Worluk shook her head a bit at that, refusing to look. “I know. I get that. I do. But if you had only seen what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t say that…”

“Pain is the one thing all of us have in common,” Clyde reminded her calmly. “No addict is free of it. But pain only explains our behavior. It does not justify it.”

I winced.

It felt like that sentence saw my thoughts and slapped me hard for them. His words hung over my head and forced my gaze to the floor. I wanted to argue. I didn’t want it to be true. I needed to keep being the exception in order to justify my actions. After everything I’d been through, I couldn’t be held to the same standard as everyone else.

But, to my dismay, that also seemed to be how Worluk felt.

I knew firsthand how unjust her actions had been. I knew that she had no excuse. Her decision to attack me was nothing but misplaced rage and overwhelming bloodlust. She was nothing more than a dangerous, sadistic lunatic in my eyes, and she deserved to be locked up. She didn’t even deserve to be in that circle with the rest of us.

It was unspeakably frightening to me, then, that we could have the same thought. That we could be the same in any way at all. Yet, I was helpless to deny it.

We were very similar.

We had both used our pain to justify some pretty horrible things. We both refused to take responsibility. And the scariest part was, even though I hadn’t attempted to murder anyone, who’s to say that I wouldn’t have gone down that route if I hadn’t gotten help when I did? I mean, I did threaten someone just to get their buffs. If the circumstances were right, could I have done the exact same thing as Worluk?

Wouldn’t I have killed to avenge you?

I felt sick. I couldn’t let it be true. I had to be better than that. Better than her.

But in a weird sort of way, I kind of... wanted her to do better, too. Not out of compassion. It was sort of selfish, actually. I felt like she and I were, unfortunately, in the same sinking ship. I could have just let her drown, but I’d just be watching her suffer a fate that would quickly come for me after. If that makes sense. I hated her. I still wanted to rip her antenna off and feed them to her. But if she was beyond help, then so was I. Somehow, I had to believe that it was possible to turn things around, even after we had sunk as deep as we had.

And counselling is hard. Really hard. And boring. But she had to do it, same as anyone else there. She had to swallow the same giant pill that I did, so maybe I could jam it down her unwilling throat.

Maybe I could take things into my own hands, just a little bit.

I didn’t want to speak to her directly, because I might have lost my nerve and started screaming at her. But I thought up a way to get my point across. Whether it was a good idea or not, I didn’t have time to assess. I only had until my turn to plan, so it was going to be mostly improv.

It was time for more rolling with the proverbial punches.

Once my turn came, I found myself trembling with the severity of what I was about to do. This bug sprite had caused me so much pain and suffering. But I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I could paint with a color outside of revenge if I so chose. So I loaded my brush with exactly what the dreaded step four called for -- courage.

“Hi, my name’s Mavis, I’m an addict,” I began as usual, leaning on my knees. “I’m on step three tonight, but... all I can think about is step four.”

I was met with some knowing nods. Someone muttered, “That’s a tough one.”

I flashed a half-smile and continued, “Honestly, a big part of why it’s so daunting is, I mean, I’ve probably done more bad things in my life than good things. I could try to list them all, but then I’d be on step four for the rest of my life.”

There were a couple chuckles.

“But listening to you guys and your stories about, y’know, opening up to sprites you care about, I, uh…” I paused. “Well, I’m really not good at… being helped. I never really have been. A big part of that’s just pride, but I think, uh… everything that goes along with lettin’ people in has never been my forte, and that’s only gotten worse ever since, uh… well, lately. I haven’t let anyone in on what I’ve been going through. But... well, I guess, keepin’ with step three like I oughtta, I feel like... it’d be surrendering to my higher power to-- Okay, I don’t know quite how to word it, but I need to paint with a different color. That much is clear. And I thought… y’know, I could start right here. So… I’ve got a story I’d like to share, if that’s alright.”

“Please,” Clyde prompted.

“It’s an ugly one,” I warned him.

“There are no judgments here,” he reminded me with a smile.

I took another deep breath and sighed. Here goes, I thought.

“Well, it’s probably no secret to y’all that I haven’t exactly been the most popular sprite in the arcade since… y’know. Everyone’s got their opinion. And some sprites, uh, share it more loudly than others. Throwin’ stuff, yellin’ at me, that all sucks, but I guess I can deal with it. The thing is, though, someone… took it to a whole other level. Back before I got hooked on GC, someone, well… tried to kill me.”

That got everyone's attention.

Clyde turned blue. There were several horrified gasps. Sprites leaned towards me, their eyes wide, so many emotions growing behind the shock on their faces. Worluk's antennae perked up as she listened. Obviously, she knew that I knew who she was. But I don't think she knew what I was doing. She looked less angry and more curious -- maybe she was curious to see if I'd be dumb enough to try to accuse her.

When Clyde came to his senses, he asked me worriedly, "Have you told the Surge Protector about this, Mavis?"

"Well… yeah, I did eventually," I told him. "But not ‘til a couple weeks ago. Right after the attack, he helped me across Game Central, but I just-- I couldn't talk about it then. It was weird."

Before I could continue, a little sprite with lavender vibes interrupted, quivering in alarm, "Wait, wait, I think I saw-- I saw you! With Surge! And your shirt was all--"

"Yep."

"You mean, that was when you’d been--"

I nodded and swallowed. "Yep. Sure was."

"Oh no," the little sprite put their hands near their mouth and looked at everyone. "I saw her, everyone, she looked awful. She could barely walk. Her-- her legs were bleeding!"

"Actually," someone else added, "I remember seeing her, too. I just-- I didn’t look too close 'cause there was so much blood on her face…"

I felt myself going red. It was embarrassing to have them remember just how awful and abused I looked. But it felt like the point of the program was to get used to embarrassing myself, so I tried to take it as a good thing.

"What did Surge say?" Clyde asked.

"Well,” I said with a defeated laugh, “he said there was nothing he could do. I have no evidence. I don't know who it was. I didn't even see them. I was blindfolded and tied up."

So many horrified eyes were fixed on me. I glanced at Worluk just for a moment, and saw just the slightest hint of nerves in her body language. She was glancing around just a bit more than usual. I figured she would never get my point if she got too defensive, so I decided to cut to the chase.

“Look, settle down, everybody, okay?” I put my hands up with a half-smile. “I’m okay. I mean, I’m here, right? And I’m not here to give anyone nightmares with the details. I just wanted to get that off my chest, because I’d been keeping it to myself for so long. It was one of the big reasons I got into GC. I wanted to drown out the memory. I’m not even totally sure why I didn’t tell anybody. I think… maybe I didn’t wanna seem weak. Or something like that.”

“How could that make you weak?” The lavender sprite asked. “You’re incredibly strong to have survived that.”

My ears felt hot. I didn’t know what to do with that. “Uh… thanks. The thing is -- and this has puzzled me ever since it happened -- whoever did it… they left me alive. I was totally at their mercy, but they left me alive. For a while, I sort of thought that they might have done it to be cruel. Leave me alive and humiliated. Let the fear consume me ‘til I’d corrupted myself on buffs. Let me tell you, what they did to me screwed me up real bad. It ended up in all my bad trips in one way or another. And I spent many a sleepless night just imagining what I’d do to this sprite if I met them. The revenge I’d take for all they put me through.”

Worluk was watching me dead on for what may have been the first time. I hated admitting that she had made such a significant impression on me, but I tried not to return her gaze too obviously or tense up under her scrutinizing glare.

“But nearly dying of corruption, and blacking out and nearly burning down Tapper’s, it, uh… it put a lot of things in perspective, y’know. ‘Cause, uh… my attacker -- well, attackers, there were actually four sprites there, but the ringleader -- I never did get to see her. But I heard her, and I could tell… she was definitely high.”

Soft gasps. Solemn nods.

“And I’ve sorta realized how lucky I am to be here now. Not just to be alive, but to be getting help. Because really, there’s no denying that I could have gone down that same road if I had more time. And with that, y’know, I wonder… would revenge even make me happy now? Now that I know it could’ve been me? Now that I know how similar she was to me?”

I chanced a glance. Worluk was frozen stiff, her expression intense but unreadable. My words were making an impression. Good or bad, they were doing something to her. An encouraging rush of adrenaline coursed through my body. Don’t stop now, it told me.

Finish it.

“I never understood why she left me alive, but I think I get it now,” I indirectly spoke to her, my heart pounding. “She’s not a nightmarish monster, she’s just a sprite. A sprite who, when it comes down to it, knows the difference between right and wrong. Who knows that killing me would not actually make her happy. She must have realized that we’re not so different. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be alive right now. Buffs make monsters of all of us. But I can’t condemn her for that, not without condemning myself, too. Wherever she is, she’s not beyond redemption. And neither am I.”

“YOU DON’T DESERVE REDEMPTION!!”

The whole room jumped out of its pixels, and everyone was upright in an instant, reacting to the screeching bug that had leapt to her feet, her yellow wings spread out and quivering with rage. She screamed in a voice that was suddenly far closer to how I remembered her:

“I LEFT YOU ALIVE BECAUSE THE BOYS BEGGED ME TO, NOT BECAUSE YOU DESERVED TO LIVE!”

Well.

All bets were off.

My first instinct was to fight. She was threatening me. Challenging me. Surely, she was about to dive right into me and we would lock into our fated fight to the death, just like I thought we would from day one. But as my hand snapped to the empty space at my hip where my brush would be, my path to her was suddenly blocked. A few other members had stepped in front of me. It took me just a second to realize that they were not barring me from her.

They were barring her from me.

I’ve felt alone to many varying, crushing degrees in this story, regardless of who was actually there for me. I’m not sure why, but that split-second moment when those sprites stepped in front of me was when I realized I wasn’t alone. I had never been alone. The thought that everyone in the arcade wanted me dead was never true. There were always allies waiting for me.

I had barely a moment to process that.

That was also the moment when the big, buff security guards leapt into action. Two of them were upon her immediately, gripping onto her arms and wings as she thrashed and buzzed. The third guard disappeared entirely, surely out to call the Surge Protector.

Voice deep with horror and disbelief, Clyde called out to her, “Worluk… You’re not really saying--?!”

“YES,” she snapped, “I’m SAYING. Don’t lie and tell me none of you ever thought to do the exact same thing! How can any of you say you trust this lying glitch?! You know she was in on the Roadblasters attack -- she even went all Turbo on Tapper’s, for Pong’s sake!”

A couple of voices came to my defense. I think they said that Tapper’s was a buff-related accident. That Worluk had no proof of my involvement in the Roadblasters incident. That I was just as much a victim as anybody.

I barely heard any of it. All I could hear, echoing again and again, drowning out all coherent thought, was your name said in her voice.

I wanted to push through everyone and rip out her tongue. I wanted to snap off her mandibles. I wanted to mangle her vocal cords just for thinking for one second that she deserved to say your name.

I didn’t do that. I stood there, breathing hard, flames roaring in my belly until I finally shouted the question I’d wanted to ask since the night of the attack.

“Why the HELL would I be in on it?!”

Everyone’s gaze turned to me. I was shaking, on the verge of tears from pure, raw emotion. Hearing that bug’s horribly familiar screams brought back harrowing flashes of the emotions and sensations I felt the day she tortured me. I felt that fear and helplessness once again, and that fact kicked up seething, scorching rage. I would not be her victim again. I locked eyes with Worluk, sharpened my voice to a deadly point, and demanded, “Why would I help my best friend kill himself?!”

She gave a single, ugly, humorless laugh. “He didn’t kill himself. You just didn’t save him. The plan went sideways, and you failed.”

I shook with so much fury, I felt like I was going to burst out of my own skin. I could barely stand to stay in one spot, twitching and tensing with animal rage. My allies started to lift their hands, trying to keep me under control and preparing to try to catch me if I leapt over them, which I was dying to do. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU SCUM-SUCKING BIT-BAG?! WHAT DO YOU CARE?! YOU DON’T CARE! YOU DON’T KNOW ME -- YOU DIDN’T KNOW EITHER OF US! YOU’RE JUST SOME SADISTIC FREAK WHO NEEDED SOME FRESH GORE TO GET OFF ON!”

“I CARE,” she roared back, fighting against the security guards’ arms, tendons in her neck straining as she threw herself into her wet, hissing screams, “BECAUSE I WATCHED YOU LEAP RIGHT OVER MY SISTER’S BURNING BODY JUST TO SAVE A MURDERER -- AND YOU COULDN’T EVEN DO THAT!”

That threw me. I blinked hard. “Your sister?! What sister?! What are you talking about?!”

“YEAH, MY SISTER! HER NAME WAS GARWOR! SHE WAS SWEET AND INNOCENT AND YOU COULD’VE SAVED HER, BUT NO, YOU WANTED TO SAVE THE MONSTER THAT STARTED THE FIRE IN THE FIRST PLACE! YOU REALLY WANNA LIVE, KNOWING THAT? IF I KILLED YOU, IT WOULD’VE BEEN A MERCY! I WOULD’VE SAVED YOU FROM YOUR OWN FILTHY, PATHETIC EXISTENCE!”

I didn’t understand. She had to be lying.

But the massive memory gap concerning the time of the Roadblasters incident scratched and dug at my brain. I still didn’t remember that day. But from the stories I’d gathered, there was a blast. There was fire. Always with the fire. It felt like her words were sharp fingers digging into my brain and trying to forcefully uproot my mind. A sharp, pounding headache hit my skull, and I couldn’t speak.

Before I could manage a response, Surge materialized in the room with a flash of static.

“Alright, alright now,” he said firmly, standing between Worluk and the group and holding a hand up to both sides. “Someone better tell me what’s going on here.”

“Gladly,” Worluk answered without hesitation. “Surge, I confess to the attempted murder of that scrawny waste of pixels over there named Make-it Mavis.”

Surge stood a bit straighter. He seemed surprised at how easy that was. “Is that right?”

“That’s right. I’d rather quit this stinkin’ program and be locked up for life than sit in here and have to pretend she and I are the same for a second longer.”

And, amazingly… that was it. I wish that I had said something more. Anything, really. Just to have the last word. But life doesn’t always work out that way. My head was so muddied up with the explosive stress of the encounter, I could barely speak.

Surge took the confession as the proof I wasn’t able to give him, and he cuffed her, and recited her sentence and rights to her as he and a guard escorted her out of the room and out of sight. To say everyone was shaken would have been an understatement. A couple sprites cried. One nearly had a panic attack and needed to be calmed down. No one came into the meeting that night expecting such a harrowing confrontation. Not even me.

I had come into the program wishing so badly that I could get rid of Worluk. Then, almost the second I convinced myself to live and let live, she got rid of herself for me. I think we really were very similar, in the end. I very easily could have left the program in a similarly explosive fashion. But the only difference between us was that I chose to do better.

I think that was really the moment that sealed my faith in the ‘colors’ idea. It really did come down to choice. She chose to give up.

And I could choose to heal.

That was my surrender. That was step three.

But at the end of that session, I was raw. I was fragile. I felt terribly sick. I made sure to thank everyone for defending me. It really did mean a lot. But I told everyone I’d take a session or two off just to rest and recover. They all understood, of course. A couple others even said the same. But we’d all be back, we promised.

I just had a lot to process.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #make it mavis #original character #turbo #homesick

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automaticenemycrusade · 3 years

Text

Joyride: Prologue

“Nord!”

The onyx vulpera awoke with a gasp, soft as it could be, as he jerked his head up from the shabby, little table. Oh, had he fallen asleep at his desk again? No doubt he’d be dying the day he actually decided to sleep in his own bed. He glanced down to regard the mess he’d made, only to notice the goopy, black ink that had splattered across both himself and the parchment he was supposedly scrawling on. Fur and ink, what an exciting mixture. Dunes know he’d be having the time of his life washing that out.

He barely had time to make himself presentable before another vulpera emerged from underneath the flap of his tent, the one who had called his name. To neither his nor anyone’s surprise, it was his relative, a cousin whose only mission in life was to bother the former with his “brilliant” ideas. Nord acknowledged his presence as best he could, before swiping a rag off the table and wiping at his sullied pelt. It wasn’t coming out.

“Nord, hey,” The swagger in his step, the giddiness in his features, the passion brimming at his cheeks, warped and stretched to either side by that smile. That damn smile. Nord knew those motions all too well. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you, ‘cause I think,” Here it comes. “And stop me if you’ve heard this one before,” Despite the urge to, Nord smiled encouragingly, as if to say ‘do go on,’ to which his counterpart was happy to oblige. “‘cause I think I got it!”

And there it was. The poor fox had to resist rolling his eyes into the back of his head and groaning, which he did with ease. He had the practice after all. “Yeah?” He replied, lifting his brow. “And what is the ingenious plan you’ve cooked up this time, Jole?” Wry smirk in hand--or on face, technically speaking--he raised a single digit as he continued, “Are we convincing the guards to personally escort us to the oasis by pretending to be, what was it?” He tapped his chin in sarcastic thought, before lighting up his face in a similarly sarcastic realization. “The Dune Duke?”

The other vulpera, Jole, was taken aback by an eyeroll of his own, as well as a derisive series of hardy har har’s. “Before you mock me,” He began. “Just hear me out,” Nord complied, allowing him to continue, “Hot take: we get a wagon, a few alpacas, and we take everyone who wants it on the adventure of their lives.” That showman’s finesse of his really shined through in moments like this. Nord supposed one had to build some sort of charismatic skill set when they came up with bizarre schemes as often as Jole did, which is to say, he was irritably used to this. Nonetheless, he went on, “Day-long trip, from here to there, let the kits see the sights and get a taste of that authentic caravaneer life. Hundred-percent educational experience, no foul play.” He bent forward in a semi-bow, spreading his arms to either side with a final, “Whaddya think?”

“Well, first off, I think you’re insane.” He responded, oddly calm in tone for how witty his remark had been. They shared a chuckle, though Nord was quick to recover. “So, what? Are we bribing some,” He vaguely waved his hand. “Famous caravaneer to be our guide? For celebrity appeal?” Jole shook his head, though he did gesture for Nord to keep guessing. He was, no doubt, delightfully entertained. Nord obeyed. “Will the alpacas be incredibly rare? One has extravagant colors, maybe? Hot pink?”

Jole produced a drawn-out, “Noooooope.” in reply. He was having fun with this, and Nord couldn’t help but roll back his eyes at that. For what felt like the first time, he was actually intrigued by the prospect, even if it was probably extraordinarily dangerous. Of course, he’d had this mentality about Jole’s ingenuity dozens of times before, but there was always one tiny complication or flaw in the grand scheme that ruined it for him. Suffice to say, he wasn’t making any special exceptions nor holding his breath for this one.

The onyx vulpera finally relented, leaning back onto his palms with a shrug--his palms still stained by the ink, obviously. “What is it then?” He said, boggled, despite having never guessed it on the first try before. “What’s the outside help?”

Jole grinned that cocky grin of his and arched forward, “There is none,” He lifted up his hands to dramatically waggle his fingers. “‘cause we do it ourselves. You and me,”

“You and I.” Nord corrected.

“You and I. Not even! Mostly me.” The ash-furred vulpera winked--sweet sand demons, he hated those--before straightening out his posture, because you just know all that bending and curving he did for his showy presentations was taking its toll on his spine. Nord didn’t think it possible for his eyes to go any further into the back of his head, yet here he was, on the verge of an eyeball backflip. Although, Jole’s performances aside, the idea itself was interest-piquing. It’s the kind of thing he would have enjoyed as a kit. It’s the kind of thing he could still enjoy now. But, as with all of Jole’s ploys, they were too selfish to be fully realized. His cousin was never one to scheme if he didn’t think it benefitted him too.

“Let me guess,” Nord’s eyes glinted with familiarity, as he went to meet his counterpart’s gaze with knitted brows. “First people you invite are the vixens you talked up at the story circle,” He lifted a finger just as Jole went to interject. “The same story circle where you regaled the tale of The Dune Duke and his Dusty Damsel.” He, too, grinned a malicious grin, snark and snide practically enchanting his demeanor in that moment. This is what made listening to Jole’s rambling so very worth it. Still, he couldn’t help but feign shame and aim a friendly punch at his shoulder, tacking on a, “I’m kidding.”

“You laugh now, but just you wait until I get things in full gear.” Jole assured, and as per any accusation that involved him and women, he felt pressed to address it. “And for one, those ladies were delighted to have me; for two, that story was great,” And in an attempt to mimic his cousin, he raised a finger to Nord’s face before he could interrupt. “And you can’t deny it, ‘cause everyone else thought it was great too!”

“I dunno.” The curve of Nord’s lip twirled into a sly smirk. “I personally thought the ending could’ve been a little better. Plus, aren’t stories at the story circle supposed to be true?”

“It was true!” He retorted, though he quickly remedied his behavior once faced with a skeptical look from Nord. He folded his arms and paused. “Some of it, anyway- Look, that’s not the point. Point is, we got things to do!”

“Not people, I hope.”

“Doh,” And at last, Nord squeezed an eyeroll out of him, so much so that he couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, inkface,” Wait, was it on his face? He went to uncomfortably feel at it as Jole continued, “--Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice that little detail when I rolled in here. Tell you what, you go wash up and I’ll do all the hard work, ‘cause I’m a generous and hard-working friend.”

Nord’s own laughter knocked the wind out of him. He replied, “You haven’t worked a day in your life.” just as Jole vanished back outside, to which he could hear a guffaw radiate from beyond his tent flap.

“It’s about persistence, not work ethic!”

The onyx vulpera scoffed, obviously, and although he wished to push the topic further, he decided against it. He turned back to that filthy desk of his, glancing at it with disdain, the disdain one got when they told themselves to do a chore. As if washing himself up wouldn’t take long enough! Note to Nord: sleep in your damn bed.

And then it donned on him, and he promptly dove his head past the tent flap in search of his cousin, which, praise be, there he stood, hands shoved in his pouch-pockets and eyes gliding from vixen to vixen. He’d slap himself in the face if he wasn’t preoccupied with another thought. “Jole!” He called out, to which the oblivious ashfur perked up an ear and spun on his heels to look back at Nord. “How do you plan on dealing with the older vulpera? That might be uncomfortable.”

“That’s the best part!” He shouted back.

“No supervision!”

♦

Nord had spent far too many minutes scrubbing away at his paw, far too many hours. Had it even been an hour? He hadn’t cared to check how high the sun rose above the horizon, and who knows when he originally woke up. At this point, he could barely remember the night before at all. Though, knowing him, it might be better to say, “the early morning before.” What was it he was biding all that time with? Funnily enough, that was exactly the problem. It was the very fact he had nothing to bide his time with. With each sunrise came the same routine, the same chores, the same hunts, the same necessities for survival. Had he grown so stale that he was finally giving into Jole’s senseless thrillseeking ways? Was there a part of him that wished that one of his cousin’s ploys would actually come to pass?

He wasn’t sure.

What he was sure of though, was that this damn ink, wasn’t coming out. Even with the addition of lukewarm water, it insisted on sticking to him. What was that ink made out of anyway? Tar? He needed a break, he needed a getaway, he needed something to sweep him off his mundane feet and wrap him in the exoticity of life. He needed an adventure. But, every time they got close, Jole lost motivation, or found something better to do, or abandoned the project all together out of spite.

Maybe this time, it’d be different. Just maybe.

Not that he was getting his hopes up, of course. Last thing he needed was to put effort into something and have it fail miserably, but hey, he was a hopeful guy. His birthright was that of faith he could misplace at his leisure, not that he was in any hurry. If anything, he was in more of a hurry to get this stain off. How much force did he have to apply? There’s only so much pressure a fifteen-year-old kid can exude!

“Nord!”

Fuck it. Just wrap it, wrap it up, no one will know. And that’s just what he did. He tore a strip of leather off of his own trousers and laced it around the still (somehow) ink-soaked hand. You burned yourself. That’s the story we’re going with. At last, he ushered himself outside, seeing none other than Jole standing… about a yard or two away from him. A cough was exchanged between the two as he moved an inch or two closer. His flair for the dramatic was a gamble as to whether or not it would be properly executed.

“So!” The ashfur began, clicking his tongue.

Nord, meanwhile, calculated all the excuses that were about to leave his cousin’s mouth. They were out of wagons. They want to keep the alpacas out of the deep desert for a few months. I had a wagon, but the wheel snapped when I tried moving it. I had an alpaca, but they fell ill just today. Everyone I asked said no. I kinda had a change of heart. I got an even better idea! I thought you hated the idea, so I got discouraged. I was sure you meant-

“We’re back in business, baby!”

#irromemoirs #wowrp #wyrmrestaccordrp #wyrmrestaccord #world of warcraft #warcraft rp #wra #warcraft oc #roleplayblog #vulpera #vulperarp #world of warcraft rp

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enthusiasticsobrietyabuse · 3 years

Text

Parent Manipulation Part 2 - Originally posted in 2005 OnTheEmmis.com, a Meehan Program Survivor Website and Discussion Forum. (ICECAP is the former incorporation of enthusiastic sobriety programs, it has since dissolved due to the effectiveness of OnTheEmmis.com)

So what’s the harm?

Well, it’s a dishonest way to make a living, for starters, and that is the very least of the harm done to people.

Let’s start by looking at the staff.

ICECAP has several lines for the skeptic who attempts to question the professionalism and integrity of their general staff.

“I may not be a doctor, but I’ve had my face in the ground long enough to know what the dirt looks like” is the sort of catch-phrase one may encounter when asking about ICECAP staff qualifications. The idea is one borrowed from Alcoholics Anonymous, that only a drunk can help another drunk. AA has been widely successful in rehabilitating alcoholics based on this principal, in which the catalyst is that one’s experiences lends him/her the ability to identify with the ‘alcoholic who still suffers’.

Further, the staff of ICECAP claims to function therapeutically from the platform of Alcoholics Anonymous principals and spiritual conditioning. The reason for all of this is so the ICECAP staff and methodology has a credible ‘foundation’ to justify its hiring and facilitation of non professional counselors. In short, AA is a household name, and is widely recognized as something that works. ICECAP uses this fact as a springboard for its operations.

The big problem with that idea is that ICECAP programs are not in any way similar to, affiliated with, kind of like, or even remotely in any way like AA. Alcoholics Anonymous is a non-profit self-help environment which has many safeguards cemented into its foundations that prevent any sort of ‘ego’ or for-profit interests from plaguing its members. Specifically, what AA refers to as ‘The Twelve Traditions’ are rigidly adhered to and aggressively enforced as guidelines to keep the AA name from anything that would divert the program from its primary purpose. The only similarity between ICECAP and AA is that they both have their members often form in a circle at the beginning and at the end of their meetings. Beyond that the two are apples and oranges.

Anyone who spends more than six months in both programs can easily see the canyon of differences that separate the two programs. The truth is, ICECAP drops the name of AA when it is convenient for them to do so, and rarely if ever gives the program any real credence.

“We are not AA, we are not trying to be AA, and we don’t play by the same rules as AA” (-direct quote- Michael C. Stonebraker, director and board member of ICECAP).

Ask ANY graduate from ICECAP, and they will tell you that a common dilemma that nearly every graduate experiences after leaving ICECAP and moving on to AA is that they are troubled with the inherent differences between the two groups philosophy’s for recovery. After years of ICECAP meetings, they are confronted with having to adjust to an entirely different program. In fact, most would say you are not off the mark if you suggested that it would have made just as much sense for them to graduate ICECAP into a monastery, or a school for lion tamers; instead of AA. They all have about the same in common: nothing.

Shouldn’t a program that claims to operate out of AA’s principals lend an easier transition to its clients from its rooms to AA itself?

I am painting this picture to illustrate that there is really nothing holding much water in ICECAP’s claim that its staff has credibility to function with kids from ideas that it ‘borrows’ from AA. To whatever extent a particular staff member of ICECAP attends or postures themselves as AA members, they do not deliver the principals of AA in a therapeutic manner to their clientele.

So what does that leave them with? Not much. The average ICECAP counselor is a high school drop out with no college or accredited training whatsoever. If asked for their credentials, they will respond with an array of phrases and ideas, all of which are meant to lead one away from any real answer. They will suggest with confidence and bravado that since they ‘come from the same place’ as their clients, they have an ‘edge’ in dealing with them the rest of the ‘professional’ community doesn’t. All of this can be very convincing to a parent, especially since their child seems to have taken so well to the given staff member. Again, this is ICECAP using the ‘unorthodox is better’ angle to begin the process of manipulation.

If long hair, dated language, concert t-shirts, a pretty face and a proletarian understanding of AA principals were all it took to rehabilitate a drug addict, then the world would be free of drug addiction tomorrow. The problem is that that is pretty much the only thing the average ICECAP counselor has going for him/her in terms of professionalism. They are funny and good looking. They know how to say ‘dude’ without looking like an old nerd. Kids love them and worship them. But they are INEPT AT ASSISTING THEM TO RECOVER FROM REAL DRUG ADDICTION!

So what then, does the average ICECAP counselor provide for a kid, if not sound professional guidance into the world of recovery?

Here are some of my observations on ICECAP provisions:

Kids in ICECAP are subjected to enormous pressure to take on the identity of a ‘dope fiend’. The ‘dope fiend’ model is constantly being illustrated to newcomers by staff and group members. It begins with traits that a lot of teens possess…rebellious action/ideation, foul language, ‘shock value’ expressionism, etc. But the irresponsible thing that ICECAP does with kids is that it sets them up to feel inadequate if they do not measure up to the complete profile of ICECAP’s ‘dope fiend’. The reason that this is such a bad idea is because the majority of ICECAP clientele are NOT ‘dope fiends’. If your kid is in ICECAP for any period of time, you will see a mental, physical and emotional change in them. Most parents (especially the ones who have invested thousands of dollars into this) view this as a good thing. If the changes in the child were not for the worst, I would agree with them. However, these changes include almost invariably the following:

Separation from school/education/career

Increased use of tobacco. Non-smokers will be encouraged to take up smoking (bizarre, but true).

The decline of a coherent or educated vocabulary. This is no joke. There is a rigid ‘dummied up’ dialect spoken by every member of ICECAP.

The encouragement of illegal behavior (curfew violations, trespassing, vandalism, underage smoking, etc.).

Limited exposure to outside influences. Music, films, books, clothes, sources of education, hairstyles, jewelry, where you get a cup of coffee, tattoos, leisure activities and more are all mandated by ICECAP doctrine.

Maladjusted/confused sexual behavior (more on this later)

One dimensional thinking/ apparent inability or unwillingness to think diversely or with any complexity.

Extremely narrow elements of thoughts applied to a very wide range of ‘life factors’, or; every problem life presents seems to have the same two or three things as an answer/rationale.

Constant fear of being ‘fucked up’, or ‘spiritually bankrupt’. ‘Negative’ actions by other people are consistently the result of these things.

Inconsistent/erratic emotional responses to seemingly normal situations.

Why would a kid willingly subject themselves to this?

The hook for teens is fairly obvious: Their parents leave them alone, they no longer have to go to school, they are allowed to smoke cigarettes, swear, and die their hair indigo blue if they want to, and there is usually a large enough pool of attractive peers to make the whole idea of ICECAP treatment not sound so bad.

Ask any current group member, and they will tell you that they do not feel controlled…that it is their choice to attend ICECAP. They will defend their positions with feverish resolve. They will claim moral high ground and a better way of life as what motivates them to ‘keep coming back’. Tell them that they are brainwashed, and they will respond by saying ‘well, maybe my brain could use a little washing…considering how sick I was’. Tell them they live their life in a ‘bubble’, and they will respond by saying ‘if this is a bubble, than I’m glad I’m in it…compared to the sick world I was a part of before!’

Two things are happening here: First, the child is offered nearly unlimited freedom, which in most cases is like a dream come true to them. What fifteen year old would turn that down? Second, instead of providing competent therapy or treatment, each kid is given this ‘dope fiend’ model, and as long as they adhere to this model, than they are ‘ok’. Everything that made Johnny ‘Johnny’ will be whittled away as he progresses through the ranks of ICECAP. He will attribute the changes to ‘getting rid of old behavior’, or ‘changing old tapes’, when in fact he is being herded and molded in a way that only a program facilitated by foolish, irresponsible amateurs can handle.

The sickest thing about this to me is the way they are manipulated by ICECAP into such devotion. The adolescent is such an impressionable creature, and everything that can possibly be used to woo them is carefully applied by ICECAP.

In Bob Meehan’s book, ‘Beyond the Yellow Brick Road’, there is a chapter called ‘The Teenage Psyche’. This is another decent chapter in this book. I’d encourage anyone to read it, because it perfectly illustrates what I am saying. If there is one thing that Meehan certainly has his finger on the pulse of, it’s what will attract a teenager. The ‘dope fiend’ model in which Meehan’s programs are forced to operate out of because of their gross lack of sound professional tools combined with the fact that ICECAP targets kids who are NOT ‘dope fiends’ creates a crippling environment for teenagers who would have otherwise just gone on with life.

Why would Meehan build his programs on such weak foundations professionally? To me that’s simple: Cheap labor. It’s not so hard morally to build a staff out of a bunch of negligent weirdoes like Mike Weiland, when your real aim has nothing to do with helping kids in the first place.

I believe that Bob Meehan has had two objectives from the very beginning. One was to satisfy his enormous ego, which he had never been able to accomplish prior to these programs. More importantly and certainly more dangerously, he wants money. It is no coincidence that every single person on the ICECAP payroll has been farmed from the group. These kids spend years trying to live up to those they believe (because they are told) are the most spiritually evolved humans on the planet (staff), and then picked to become the next generation of over-worked, under-paid servants of Bob Meehan’s empire.

Who pays the price? You, and more importantly…your kid.

And what of the rare occasion that a true addict walks through the doors of ICECAP?

It’s even worse for them. Many of them die.

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hermannsthumb · 5 years

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AT THE PARTY WEARING COSTUMES AND I KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT I'M PRETENDING I DON'T HAS SO MUCH......THINK OF THE SIMULTANEOUS SEXINESS BUT ALSO PAIN AND PINING....... THE NEXT DAY PRETENDING LIKE IT WASN'T YOU TWO TOGETHER....BONIS IF THEY BOTH KNOW WHO EACH OTHER ARE BUT DON'T REALISE THE OTHER DOES........ BONUS BONUS IF THIS IS NEWMANN AND THEY ANGST OVER IT FOR YEARS AFTER UNTIL THE DRIFT

Anonymous said: WAIT CAM WE GET IN COATUME PRETENDING I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE

from list of halloween prompts here

okay i basically only completed the first chunk of this but i feel like the last “angsting until after the drift” is a given (and small warning in case youd consider it dub con makeouts: one character doesn’t recognize the other, while the other does and thinks he’s just pretending not to). also requires no small amount of extension of disbelief LMAO but newt and hermann are dumbasses so

——————————————–

“Hey there, cutie,” Newton says.

Hermann startles for a multitude of reasons, and not in the least because of Newton’s chosen form of address–though it is quite a bizarre choice, even for him. Mainly, it’s because of Newton’s costume, which has changed his appearance to the point of being nearly unrecognizable. His hair is teased up as high as it can go. He’s done up his face with horrendous mold-colored makeup. He’s in a filthy lab coat (definitely lifted from the lab) splattered in red corn starch and fake slime. He’s probably meant to be some sort of undead, mutated mad scientist. Hermann doesn’t really care.

“Hello,” Hermann says, and rolls his eyes. “What do you want?” It’s a Halloween party for Shatterdome personnel, so it’s not as if he didn’t assume Newton would be coming, but he’s surprised Newton’s evidently elected spend the night annoying him out of all his other options. Newton rarely misses a chance to drink hard liquor and make a fool of himself when the opportunity arises.

Newton takes the acknowledgement of his presence to mean please, encroach upon my personal space at once, and he inches close enough to Hermann that Hermann can smell the chemical chalkiness of his cheap makeup. “I just wanted to compliment your costume,” he says. “It’s mysterious. I might even say sexy.”

“You might?” Hermann says, waiting for the penny to drop, the or I would, if it wasn’t you, or even just a little just kidding–Hermann’s costume is comically simple, dark cloak with a dark hood over his normal clothing, fangs he didn’t bother to wear, meant to be some sort of vampire according to the packaging–but Newton surprises him by nudging their elbows together and fluttering his eyelashes almost demurely.

“You bet I would,” Newton says. “I dig vampires.” His eyes drag over Hermann’s body. Not that Hermann suspects he can make any of it out, thanks to the cloak. He’s bewildered by the behavior all the same. Is he intoxicated? He must be intoxicated. “What are you doing later?”

“Sleeping,” Hermann says.

Newton lets out a too-loud burst of laughter. Hermann tightens his grip on his cup, and the plastic crinkles dangerously. “Before that,” Newton says.

“Nothing exceptionally exciting, I imagine,” Hermann says. The irritation he usually feels around Newton whenever Newton is being particularly dense has already begun its onset. What is he talking about? He probably wants to rub something in Hermann’s face–some storage closet hookup, or maybe a guaranteed one later. (Look how much more action I’m getting than you, Hermann.)

“How about I,” Newton says, “take you home?”

The way he says it–the pitched voice, the hazy eyelids, the little swipe of his tongue over his lower lip–leaves no doubt in Hermann’s mind as to what he’s implying, and Hermann’s whole world whirls around him. Is he meant to be Newton’s storage closet hookup of the night? Does Newton–find Hermann attractive, like that? “Oh,” Hermann says simply.

“I know it’s fast,” Newton says, “and you don’t even know who the fuck I am–”

“Oh,” Hermann repeats. Of course: it’s a game. Newton’s playing a game. They’re strangers tonight. It makes perfect sense. It doesn’t, really, but Newton’s always doing strange things like this, so perhaps it’s merely an odd attempt at finally confessing his attraction in the most roundabout way possible. Besides, his interest has excited Hermann greatly. Hermann’d be out of his mind to let an offer like this slip through his fingers. (He is, after all, regrettably attracted to Newton beyond words.) It helps that he’s just tipsy enough for this to seem like a very good idea. “Yes,” he says, and gives Newton a wobbly smile that he expects is quite invisible under his costume.

“What?” Newton says.

“Yes,” Hermann says, louder over the music and emboldened with the strangest thrumming of confidence. Newton thinks he looks sexy. “You and I. Let’s–”

Newton braces himself on Hermann’s shoulders and kisses him. He’s a messy kisser. Overeager. It’s as if he can’t quite decide what to do with his tongue. He tastes interesting, too, a strange combination of alcohol and candy that has Hermann equal parts recoiling and swiping his tongue against Newton’s eagerly. Newton doesn’t notice his hesitance. “Mm,” he moans. Hermann finds himself pressed against the wall; Newton’s lips–hot–go to his neck. “Yeah, this is–”

“I thought you said you wanted to take me home,” Hermann says, breathless.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Newton says. “C’mon, hurry up, I’m horny.”

Hermann wrinkles his nose. “How charming.”

Newton doesn’t turn the lights on in his messy bunk, which means Hermann must go slow or run the risk of tripping over a dozen piles of clothing, and he can scarcely keep up with Newton. “Do your bloody laundry,” he finally snaps, whacking at a pile of socks with his cane and sending them flying.

“You sound like my lab partner,” Newton huffs. He curls his hand around Hermann’s and pulls him forward to the bed. Hermann’s cane hits the ground with a little thump. “There.”

“I certainly hope I sound like your lab partner,” Hermann mumbles. He can scarcely make out Newton’s silhouette above him, but he feels himself laid against the bed, against a pile of soft cushions at the headboard, and then Newton straddling his hips and mouthing against his neck. Newton’s mouth is wonderful; pink, and soft. His stubble is wonderful, too, scratchy with just the right amount of burn on Hermann’s skin. “Ah.”

“Take that stupid hood off,” Newton says. He flicks his tongue over Hermann’s pulse point; his hand slips down to rub at the front of Hermann’s trousers. “I wanna see you better.”

Hermann agrees in a small moan. He doesn’t even care that Newton is smearing the cheap party makeup all over his skin. “Oh, Newton–”

Newton freezes. “How do you know my name?”

Of course. The game. “Mm. Apologies,” Hermann says. “I forgot we don’t know each other.”

Newton rolls off of him and fumbles with his lamp, and Hermann scarcely has time to blink at the sudden blinding brightness of the room before Newton is ripping back his hood. When his eyes adjust, it’s to see a gaping and mortified Newton above him. “Hermann?!” he squeaks. “What–why–”

“Is something the matter?” Hermann says, swallowing down no small amount of confusion and no smaller still amount of hurt. Perhaps he’s not as attractive in proper lighting. He tugs on the front of Newton’s labcoat and puts on a brave face anyway. “I quite liked what you were doing with your–”

“Fuck, dude,” Newton says, pulling away from him, and Hermann shuts his mouth. His face grows warm. “I didn’t know–I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you. I wouldn’t have–”

“Ah,” Hermann says.

He wishes he could feel humiliated, or even angry, but all he really feels is a lonely, crushing sadness. Newton thought he was someone else. Of course. Newton would never actually want– Hermann sits up with a small nod. “If you’ll excuse me, Newton.”

“No, wait,” Newton says, blinking, “wait, were you…enjoying yourself?”

“I don’t see why it matters,” Hermann says. “I will see you at work on Monday.”

“Hermann,” Newton says, but Hermann is already out the door.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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wolfliving · 4 years

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The Internet of Aggressive Cop Things

Unprecedented times call for thoughtful conversations By Stacey Higginbotham

In the last month and a half, reading about how cities are enforcing curfews and police are monitoring Black Lives Matter protestors I've realized that the surveillance network we are worried about building with the internet of things is already in place. And as we bring people back to work amidst the threat of COVID-19, that surveillance network is only going to expand from the state to our employers. This scares me. It's not what I hoped for, and it's not what I envisioned when I tried to connect my light bulbs to Twitter to try to track sentiment to make it easier to spot stories. Now police are using a similar idea to find protestors. And while a connected thermometer can help us see the spread of a disease a few days earlier, I worry that in the hands of an unscrupulous employer, private health data could become a liability. The future we've built and are continuing to invest in is not one many people want to live under. And we need to talk about it. — Citi Bike's were remotely rendered inoperable during the New York City's curfew last month. Let's focus on existing ways our connected devices can be used to control or track citizens that has been exposed by the Black Lives Matter protests. New York City Mayor Bill DeBlasio decided to shut down Citi Bike in New York City last month during curfews set in place for Black Lives Matter protests, leaving some people unable to get to their work or other destinations (including protests). Shutting down the bike network is similar to shutting down public transportation which is well within a mayor's right, but it does bring up two questions. The first is about betraying the promise of a future of shared resources enabled by connectivity on every device. If a shared resource can be remotely deactivated at the behest of a government official, then prudent citizens will likely decide to use their own resources rather than share. So the question is, should we rely on a network of shared connected devices or fall back to individual ownership? The second question is about how far a government can reach to control a connected device. Citi Bike is clearly using public infrastructure, made available on the streets of NYC only because its government has allowed it to offer bikes there. But what about private vehicles that are connected? Could a government ask companies to help enforce a curfew by shutting off power to an individual's connected car? What about if a police officer wanted access to a building in order to follow protesters, would the police officer be able to get a warrant to break into the house via its electronic locks? What if police wanted to search an apartment building that had connected locks installed? Would the building's management open them up? Would the lock company? What might be different if the police needed access to apartments in public (government-owned) housing? If you're an access company, are you prepared for these requests? Do you know where you'd draw the line when it comes to cooperating with the law? What about smart camera companies? Could they fight a subpoena for access to their cameras in a geographic area, or in a backyard where a crime was committed? It's not just connected lock and camera makers that should think about this. Already Google is trying to walk the line between an individual's right to privacy and unreasonable search and seizure while getting requests from police departments for data from cell phones used near crime scenes. Are the companies building connected products ready to ask themselves these questions? Are they ready if government officials in the form of police or immigration officers come to them with these requests? In the meantime, because of COVID-19, society is encouraging employers to build out intra-company surveillance networks to monitor their offices for occupancy and ensure that workers socially distance. The pandemic is also driving health professionals to deploy more technology for remote monitoring without necessarily understanding how some of these tools might be collecting and sharing anonymized patient data (or reporting that data to insurers). I'm concerned as well about how employers might use occupancy sensors to track employees in private places, such as bathrooms. If someone spends a lot of time in the restroom because they have a health condition, but their work is fine, it's possible a manager may never notice. But if in an effort to help with occupancy sensing or contact tracing companies start using that data to put together reports, such personal habits might become clear. And invite action. A more insidious threat could also emerge. Wearables to ensure social distancing are already being marketed in manufacturing and factory environments. And some employers are turning to consumer wearables that people already own to track fevers or sleep as indicators of potential infection. But if those employers start looking closely at that data, they might see other habits that should remain private. Additionally, it's worth remembering that actual people are the ones with access to that data. And in some cases, not people from the HR department or someone specially trained for the job. That symptom survey or temperature tracking wand might be wielded by a random 25-year-old receptionist or office manager who has time on his hands. It's one thing to share health data with a professional who has some sort of training and discretion, but another to have it go to a random individual who may or may not keep it to themselves. A similar worry exists around video surveillance in the office. I recently read about using AI to tell when people behave badly in elevators and wondered what it might mean to have a camera and an algorithm constantly monitor and flag bizarre elevator behavior. I also think giving an underpaid security guard access to the footage is a problem. We're deploying a lot of new technology without spending a lot of time thinking about who can use it and how they can use it. We need to start thinking about both of those issues. We also need to start thinking about legal and ethical frameworks that can protect individuals when their every action at home and at work is potentially captured by a computer and rendered both intelligible and searchable. I don't have the answers beyond a growing awareness that we need to seek consent from those affected before deploying this technology and that companies should be building with anonymity in mind as opposed to simply anonymizing data after the fact. What else should we do?

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drooliasnott · 5 years

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Return To Dust, My Love

Very recently, the last few evenings of my relaxation time have been spent languorously re-digesting my views as an adult on the Barry Sonnenfeld feature films, The Addams Family (1991) and The Addams Family Values (1993), based on the original characters by artist Charles Addams. Although there have been many adaptations over the years of the distinctly macabre and darkly wonderful family life of the Addams clan, no other cinematic versions grasp the mythology quite like these movies do. And in light of the brand spanking new trailer for the 2019 animated feature, which I admit had caught me completely off guard and a little alarmed, I thought no better time exists than now to delve back into exactly what kind of black magic it is that makes this source material just so enjoyable and unique.

Though the Sonnenfeld films are nearly undeniably the jewel of the franchise, one cannot examine the Addams Family appropriately without appreciation for its origin. The energy and attitude generated at its inception by Charles (Chas) Addams for The New Yorker in the late 30′s feels unique even for the time. At 150 single panels, the original comic was a divisive satire on the modern 20th century family that was not only cheeky and clever, but also at times very beautifully rendered. Chas himself was an enthusiastic if not sometimes obsessive artist, often described as drawing with “a happy vengeance.” The through line of the story continues to this day to be positive relationships found within a family. All this plus a heavy splash of aristocratic dignity thrown into the mix, and The Addams Family has proven from the beginning to be a very distinct and sometimes even delightfully surprising blend of flavors.

Despite the fact that Chas Addams had already well established his characters by the time he came in contact with writer Ray Bradbury, their connection is felt in every further adaptation of the title. While Addams continued to serialize his strip in The New Yorker, Bradbury separately had begun his own endeavor in creating a monster family of sorts, The Elliotts, beginning their narrative with the short story “Homecoming” in 1946. All tales concerning the Elliotts involve the clan slowly gathering together in a mysterious house at the top of a hill, while each short focuses more intimately on the powers of a different, particular family relative. All Elliot stories were later collected in a book, From The Dust Returned, published in 2001, but portions of it have existed in different publications long before then, most notably Bradbury’s famous The October Country. Finding a kinship between them, Addams and Bradbury discussed a potential long-format collaboration, though unfortunately this never came to fruition. However, Addams did supply an original illustration for Bradbury’s “Homecoming”, which is still in use as a dust cover today. The striking resemblance the Elliott House shares with the Addams house is but one of many aesthetic touch points which will last for the rest of the series.

The groundwork for the series was strong enough to launch several adaptations over the subsequent several decades, finding more palatable viewing content in the mostly forgettable and very safe 60′s television show, which was plain enough to get the Addams Family strip banned from The New Yorker for banal taste, until editor William Shawn’s retirement in 1987. Meanwhile, the 70′s offered an explosion of further efforts to market the title to children and average american joes, producing TV specials and animated crossovers to mixed results.

It wasn’t until the 90′s when Orion, who by then had inherited the production rights, decided to begin work on a feature film. With a simple return to the story’s roots, the company assigned first timer Barry Sonnenfeld to direct 1991′s The Addams Family. The process was fraught with setbacks and pitfalls, and when the budget rose too high for the struggling company to justify continuing further, the decision was made to sell the film to Paramount, who finished the production and handled distribution. Though it was also met with mixed reviews, it was commercially successful enough to merit the stranger, longer, and bizarrely even brighter sequel, The Addams Family Values.

Returning to the core of what made the original content special, both 90′s films focused heavily, if not borderline exclusively on matters of familial struggle. However, unlike many of the earlier adaptations, the 90′s films also took great care to place special emphasis on elements of the family which do function well, something which is delightfully counter-intuitive overall. A particular portion of that credit goes to the fantastic casting of the films, the warm and vivacious Raul Julia as the erratic, sensual, and often charmingly innocent Gomez, Anjelica Houston as the ageless, witchy, white-marbled Morticia, Christina Ricci as the irreverent, sharp-witted outlier Wednesday, and Christopher Loyd as the bug-eyed, emotionally un-tethered uncle Fester all make for a very difficult call on whose performance is best above all. Dana Ivey is a delight to hate as Margaret, and Judith Malina is a joy to laugh at as Grandma, but it is really the core cast that shines beyond any previous actors, and it is because of this chemistry that the family relationships can really resonate. Two dynamics in particular stand out as specifically exceptional;

GOMEZ AND MORTICIA ADDAMS

Opposite most long term monogamous relationships portrayed in media, Gomez and Morticia have a sustained romance which continues to burn more and more fiercely as time goes on. However, what makes their marriage unique as a film element is not necessarily their passion (and subsequently very active sex life,) but the equality found present within the marriage. They not only share common interests, (and possibly distant relatives?) but also take into consideration the same moral and social obligations. They value each other’s opinions, and both seek to create situations where the other can live as their best possible self. They are uninhibited in their public declarations of affection, and are adamantly devoted to their children, the family as a whole, and preserving the generations-long Addams way of doing things. They strongly adhere to old traditions, but as a couple they also are surprisingly malleable, attempting to navigate difficulties as a unit, though admittedly Gomez is occasionally a bit less good at doing this.

Gomez and Morticia consistently present a unified front to the Addams clan, and serve as the centerpiece in any scene they inhabit together, even in the very Ray Bradbury-esque gathering of Addamses for Uncle Fester’s surprise party during the finale of The Addams Family. The party is in celebration of Fester, but it is really Gomez and Morticia who serve as the jewels of the scene. It is the strength of their affection on which the emotional crux of the finale swings. What further enhances the succor of this particular relationship again falls to the actors, as time and time again Raul Julia shows a rending vulnerability in the way he portrays Gomez. It seems Gomez is still half-stuck in childhood, or maybe he lives in some tumultuous place inbetween as his innocent heart tet-a-tets with the passionate desires of a man. Morticia in turn seems ageless and timeless, a solid rock on which Gomez can throw his emotions again and again, and it is their intense and unique personality peculiarities that in the end fit them together in perfect harmony. For a family as bizarre as the Addamses, their relationship is healthier than any other relationship found in canon, or in general just in film at large.

WEDNESDAY ADDAMS

An interesting blend of sociopathy, pragmatism, nihilism, isolationism, and just plain attitude exists in tandem inside Wednesday Addams. It would be too basic to call her an outsider, because though she is aware of her differences, she makes no effort to enhance, emphasize, or change them in any way. She differs even from the Addamses in her nuclear family, citing specifically in The Addams Family Values to her dorky crush Joel that if a man were to ever love her unconditionally, to devote his life completely to her, that she would pity him. This seems a direct call-out of her father Gomez, the coldness of which is both cutting and fitting. She follows up by rebuffing Joel’s clumsy advances with saying she would murder that same, loving man. A literal death threat is as true to her character as much as it is a dime-turn from her behavior towards Joel in the film leading up to that moment. As a young woman, she has already begun to clearly define herself as free and independent, even within the context of the family.

Wednesday’s views on the relationship her parents share is one of cautious distance, while she also still has her own loving, healthy relationships with both parents individually. Though they love one another, in almost every case Wednesday tends to slant slightly darker, taking the more macabre path of her own accord in a family already well-suited to that kind of thinking. She is both sharper and wittier than her father, and crueler than her mother, and often interacts with Pugsley as if he were a sort of accessory at worst, or sidekick at best. She shows him solidarity as an Addams, but also constantly tries to expunge him so she can be the only child, which is a vendetta she furthers at the birth of Pubert in The Addams Family Values. Many comparisons have been drawn to similar characters of the time, of Lydia from Beetlejuice and Nancy from The Craft, but I would argue Wesnesday’s alignment falls closer to the Daria camp, as she is already firmly established in her thoughts about the neutral impact of family, the trouble with idiot boys, and the negative experience of outside society. Wednesday is purely independent, and resonates a sense of deep internal knowledge and self-worth that extends beyond the parameters of her identity as merely an Addams, and in that way she makes a strangely excellent role model.

Following the success of both The Addams Family and The Addams Family Values, the series moved on to a saturday morning cartoon of parallel quality with the animated Beetlejuice cartoon. A following additional live TV series, The New Addams Family, also made it to broadcast, but the opinion of most viewers is that the entirety of it should be thrown in a river and destroyed forever. A cancelled Tim Burton adaptation also briefly existed, counteracting the 90′s film aesthetic which seemed pretty much already to be a restrained version of his personal flavor of set design. This leads to today, and the beginning of this meta, when this afternoon I saw the trailer for the 2019 CG animated reboot of the franchise, inexplicably also titled The Addams Family.

Though I respect the nature of some reboots, stylistic updates for one thing seeming somewhat necessary to keep old content fresh, the new trailer immediately had me skeptical. Though the new designs very closely resemble Chas Addam’s orginal designs from The New Yorker strip, something vital seems to be missing, and there is a strange liberty taken with some of the new character models which feels disharmonious, and even borderline disrespectful. And though The Addams Family has a rich and storied history of zany one-liners and satirical cheekiness, the lines delivered in the trailer seem to fall flat. Though many series in this franchise in past have been saltine cracker level boring, one would expect a reboot this late in the game in the popular Pixar-launched CG style would be an opportunity to inject new life back into the old series. But something seems off, and this in turn brings me at last finally back around to the 90′s films.

The reason the Sonnenfeld 90′s films were good is easy; they have a subterranean classiness. Pulling Bradbury back into it, the earliest and best iteration of the series is infused with a rich, sensual, and genuine darkness. Bradbury's stink is all over the films, from the set design to the Addams Family reunion ball, to the serious performances given to obscene, ludicrous roles and a questionably weak script, by very talented actors. The suburbs seem more ridiculous when the pastel, unfeeling beastliness of uniformity is stood up next to dark, dank, meaty, loving weirdness of oddballs. To make satire work, one has to play a game of balance. Without salty, sweet will never taste quite right, but balance in storytelling has many levels. Visual balance is one thing, but one must also have careful emotional balance. The 90′s films maintain an underlying level of sincerity and integrity, which is what is required to counter the punchy, often goofy scripts and scenarios. The films were good because they had just as much heart as the Addamses themselves, and without heart, a movie will never have any true substance.

The track record this franchise has with creatively successful projects is pretty poor, but one can hope the example of cult excellence set by the 90′s movies will infuse into some part of the future film, and maybe into further projects later down the line. Voicing your opinion on pop culture subject material is something I believe in as a means to guide new content created in the future, so if you have thoughts on the new movie after it airs, let the world know! Help create the kind of content you want to see in the world by building a healthy, respectful discourse. Only time will tell if the 2019 Addams Family will be any good, but I’ll keep watching till then.

If you enjoyed reading this, drop me a line and let me know! I’m considering writing more meta for other films, and have dabbled up until this point with TV meta, so if you’d like more content in this vein I’d be glad to hear it. Suggestions welcome, though no timetable is attached. Thanks for reading!

#the addams family #the addams family values #the addams family 2019 #wednesday addams #gomez addams #morticia addams #chas addams #ray bradbury #from the dust returned #the october country #the new yorker #meta #movie meta

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