#i feel like blot is one of those deceptively simple characters

[sweettjrose]

Something I find really interesting is this panel from "Mickey Mouse Outwits the Phantom Blot" where the Phantom Blot explains why he didn't straight up kill Mickey even though he clearly overpowered him multiple times and could easily do so.

I think this moment is interesting because it kind of adds a bit of depth to him beyond a generic killer/criminal. Plus it isn't that he is against death in general (as he still puts Mickey into traps with the intention of killing him) but directly being involved where he can see the person dying. What is even more interesting is how people interpret it.

Some people see it as a oddly wimpy moment for the Phantom Blot, with even some just straight up ignoring it.

Some interpret it solely from a Doylist perspective where they understand that the real reason Blot can't kill Mickey is because the story would be over and Disney probably wouldn't be okay with their main character being killed off.

Some take it at straight up face value that he doesn't like to kill, because he doesn't like to see things die and that's it. Just as he said.

And some people even add some element to expand on him as a character such as having some kind of phobia related to blood and gore or even a traumatic experience with death to further expand why he isn't comfortable directly killing someone.

Personally, I like to interpret it as a reflection of a key part of the Phantom Blot's character: His lack of accountability. If there is one thing that is common in many interpretations of the Blot is his refusal to answer for his criminal actions. His first thought when being placed in prison is usually to escape rather than reflect on what he did. And I feel like his aversion to directly killing someone is connected. When he indirectly kills someone in a different location. It is out of sight and out of mind. He can just easily move on to his next criminal action without even a care in the world. But that becomes a bit harder when he is more directly involved.

I like the idea that he constantly tries to separate himself from fault. You even kind of see this in the original comic in how he will sometimes place the blame on Mickey for getting involved instead of him trying to kill him. And while you could say he is just teasing Mickey, you could also see it as him trying to justify his actions. He tries to put up mental barriers to protect himself truly understanding the harm of his actions. And I feel like a part of him knows that if he were to ever directly end a life that it would be a lot harder for him to justify in his mind. He would no longer be able to just ignore it. Any mental barriers he made would crumble.

I also kind of wonder if death also reminds him how vulnerable he actually is. That no matter how skilled and above everyone else he thinks he is. He is not free from the eventuality that is death. That is one thing everyone has in common no matter who you are. His entire criminal career could end before he even achieves the amount of fame and success that he wants. He could be gone from this world and even worse completely forgotten in the sands of time.

#phantom blot #the phantom blot #blot thoughts #this has been on my mind for a while #now obviously i know gottfredson probably wasn't planning all this when he made the character #tbh i think the doylist perspective is probably more accurate #but i love this moment because of how much depth you can get from it #i feel like blot is one of those deceptively simple characters #where he can come across as generic if taken at face value #but when you really explore him you can find a lot of depth

[seaselkie]

I wanna know... 💜☕️💊✏️ :eyes:

💜- top 3 favorite lines

CRAP. why you gotta ask the hard ones?? (not to sound like bragging but) I can’t pick three because I was really happy with how so many came out but for very different reasons so…have a small compilation (omitting any that are spoilery):

But its deceptive fragility; lanterns are made to endure, andthough Thomas has only known this girl for less than twelve hours,its clear she wasn’t made to shatter on impact. [unpublished: tmr(newtmas)]

It didn’t realise it had raised a girl with sand in her bloodand survival in her bones. [ao3] [tmr (gallenda)]

There are fingers gripping the folds of the red jacket he’swearing like it’s that simple; like you can hold a human beingtogether with your bare hands. [ao3] [tmr]

Newt is also about to be arrested for publicly murdering his bestfriend and attempting to cover it up by burying the body in averitable mountain of penguin classics. [ao3] [tmr (newtmas)]

He said his goodbyes, and he heard the crack of the bullet tearapart the world under a baleful sun. [ao3] [tmr]

Everything is breaking apart, his world crumbling around him, hisown heart shattering in his chest as sharp, hollowing grief tears athis insides and finds a home there. [ao3] [tmr] (I actually am reallyhappy with a lot of lines from this one and my favourite can’t behere because of spoilers)

He wonders just how long, in this broken, scorched world, theghost of a dead girl can linger in the people she left behind. [ao3][tmr]

Jack sits himself up, still gripping the carpet where he fell,arms shaking with tremors. Craving and fear curl around his heart. Hecan feel the winter in his lungs with each unsteady breath.[unpublished: RotG]

He takes a last, lingering look at the hallway, the warm eveningsunlight dripping through the skylights, dappling on the terracottatiles and woven rugs where the vines don’t blot it out.[unpublished: of]

He wakes up to the Italian sun refracting off of the mosaic tilesof the ceiling, scattering rainbows across the bed in shards.[unpublished: of]

☕️- favorite passage

The last thing he remembers is the knife.

He remembers the look on Thomas’ face when he realised. Heremembers the way his body felt heavy, the way his mind feltblissfully blank for the first time in months, the way the pain hadfelt like an echo; not his own. He remembers the way the ground cameup to meet him like it was cradling a small child, not that Newt hasany reference for that. He remembers colours and noise blurring,melting, turning to shadow and silence around him, the cold, pulsingsensation of poison in his blood. He remembers the look on Thomas’face.

The first thing he remembers is sunlight. [unpublished: tmr]

…

“I guess…I just had to see. Jack…” she sighs, and seems tothink better of whatever she might have said. “What’s she like?”

Jack thinks on that for a moment. “Sad.” [unpublished: RotG]

…

“That’s whatyou’re going with?” Derek asks, dubious.

Stiles rolls hiseyes and throws up his hands, scoffing. “Seriously? For the loveof- This is Jackson we’re talking about. You know – douchebagwith the lizard tail you bit once? Not exactly winning any awards inthe brain department. If you give me ten minutes I could probablythink up something better, but given what I know about the guy –yes; this is what I’m going with. You still got a problem,Sourwolf?” [unpublished: Teen Wolf]

💊- what is something that you wish you knew before you startedwriting?

I almost think it would be easy to say something like how to usenarrative tools, how to develop characters or piece together plotsbut I’m not sure those things really count as an answer? They’reall things that you very much learn as you go, I think, and thatprocess is part of what writing is.

So probably….how to sustain a story to the end.

I’m….not great at finishing full length stories. I find iteasy to start them. Ideas aren’t too tricky for me, and I enjoycreating people, building worlds and then linking together plots andconcepts and finding a story between that. But I often find Ijust…lose the drive to finish actually typing them up, even when Ihave everything mapped out. And I’m not sure what that is or reallyhow to fix it sometimes. So I’m going to go with that.

✏️- favorite part about writing

Clearing out space in my head that ideas, words and worlds take up(even if they’re constantly replaced by more). The kind of feelingI get from finally finding just the right word or sentence or way ofsaying something. Getting to slip into and create another life for alittle while with all the intricacies that come with it.

I don’t know if the :eyes: was for the aesthetic of it or If youactually meant that one so juuuust in case:👀- favoriteresponse to one of your works

Okay so I have received so many amazing, emotional, hilarious,inspiring and generous comments on my work over the years and Ireally would never want to pick a favourite – nor do I think Icould with any honesty. They all mean so much to me for differentreasons and I’m incredibly thankful to anyone and everyone who hasever taken the time to leave one.

That said – it has always made my day to get essay commentswhere I feel like I can talk to the person who read my story and seetheir side and experience of it. Any comment that makes me laugh isalso right up there and a special mention has to go to any where I’vebeen violently sworn at.

PHEW. finally. sorry for the wall of text!

Ask me Fanfic Questions!

#finally finished answering this #after I lost half of it #ffs #anyway #me #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #tmr fanfic #most of it is tmr because that's basically all I've written in the past year #whoops #thanks Beth!! #also #ahem #asks #Beth #writing

[nehasy]

Dance in the Darkness

This is my contribution to Esca-week 2017  with the prompt Light.  The original got eaten by my computer so hopefully this works well seeing as how it was a rush job.  \^_^  After reading the posts about name and personalities, I had to make a vicious little Guimel.

Characters Shesta and Guimel.  Warning, there is a little gore and violence.

****

“I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”

T.S. Elliot

                 He could still hear the odd scream cut through the joyous cries of the gathering crows.  It still sounded so strange, so wrong to hear the sounds of such abject misery and horror alongside the laughter and cheers of victory.  They’d never mentioned that at the Academy; or the stink of the battlefield, how it wasn’t just the comforting tang of crima metal and guymelef oil.  Instead, those smells were overpowered by the reek of ruptured stomachs and the stench of blood.  It made him feel dizzy with every tainted breath he drew in, the thick smoke burning at his lungs, punishing him for daring to continue living when so many had fallen.

               The remains of a small market surrounded him.  Bright banners and curtains which once danced in the gentle morning breeze were now trampled underfoot or smoldering sullenly where they lay on the ground.  Goods from the area were strewn around haphazardly, knocked free from their displays when the people had panicked.  

               They hadn’t gotten far.  Everywhere he looked, he saw signs of their final moments.  Drying splashes of crimson sprayed across a wall, a crumpled figure behind a crushed stall, neither easily recognizable anymore.  His haunted blue eyes quickly skirted over a small form which lay by the side of a building in a spreading pool of crimson while a larger hand reached out towards it… the rest of the body was missing and he couldn’t bring himself to try to locate it.

               A glimmer of light caught his eye as he slunk through the carnage hunting for those unlucky enough to have survived.  Approaching cautiously, Shesta bent down and picked up a small piece of crystal someone had carved into the shape of a flower.  The stem had broken off when it had fallen, but the petals had remained intact.  The clear stone sparkled rather prettily as its edges caught the few shafts of sunlight which managed to fight their way through the darkened pall of their artificial night.  

               He hadn’t expected to find such beauty in amongst this horror, but it caused him to clutch it to his heart for a moment, cupping it protectively in his hands.

On the other side of the village, he could hear someone’s guymelef still crashing around and knocking over buildings.  The sound of mechanized laughter echoed over the din.  He only paused long enough to ensure it wasn’t the captains.  Dimly he figured that it was most likely André and Renard, two second string Dragonslayers who had a certain penchant for breaking anything that wasn’t theirs.  They’d complained to Gatti in their pre battle briefing about having to hold the perimeter rather than getting to take part in the initial attack… as if it was some sort of game.  Lord Dilandau must be in a good mood if he was letting them keep playing like that after the battle

Another crash shook the ground around him and a thick cloud of dust rose up, further blotting out the sun.  Only a few thin rays still cut through the smoke and grime the attack had filled the air with.  One final act of defiance in an otherwise defeated village, and even that was slowly failing.

Unable to handle any more of the horror, Shesta ducked inside the nearest building, wanting to put some sort of barrier between himself and the rest of the world.  His breath was coming in a short sharp rhythm, making his head spin and he knew that if any of his team saw him in this moment, he’d be mocked mercilessly for his weakness.  

Closing his eyes, he wiped a leather gloved hand across his brow, feeling the grit of ash and dirt mixing with sweat.  It was odd that the filth actually made him feel cleaner.  It let him pretend that he’d fought these frightened villagers with honour, giving them a chance to defeat him rather than sitting safe and secure in his guymelef, cutting them down as they ran.  

Sighing loudly, he turned around to take in his surroundings and froze in horror.  Empty brown eyes stared up at him, the spark of life faded from their depths as the light from a single narrow sunbeam danced across her face.  The playfulness of the light was juxtaposed against the grizzly scene, creating a certain surreal quality which forced Shesta to stare.  In the shadows, he could pretend that it was mud spattered across her body and sprayed across her delicate face but that single shaft of light shattered his illusion.  So brilliant and crimson, it stood out in stark contrast to her once warm golden skin.

               Long colourful skirts had tangled around youthful legs which might have previously been lithe and shapely but now were twisted and broken.  The beam which had crushed them still rested on her, smoldering sullenly in the shadows of the fallen ruins.  He imagined that her simple clothes had originally been a garish combination of yellow and blue, the sun and sky caught in the folks of her skirts.  Now they were bathed in crimson blood and darkened ash, the joy sucked out of them.

               “She wasn’t any older than us.”  Shesta murmured softly as he stared down at the broken body, his hands clenched tightly around the crystal flower which still glittered defiantly in his fists, the sharp edges pressing into the leather of his gloves.

               “And now she never will be.”  A voice echoed from behind him, sounding almost jovial.  The blonde turned around to see Guimel sitting on the remains of the window sill.  A few rebellious beams of early morning sun managed to cut through the smoke, bathing him in gold and making the boy look like something from a Cesarion manuscript.  

               The boy was the perfect picture of fallen innocence.  A slender wide eyed youth, his golden curls shining beautifully even as he sat there, surrounded by death and destruction, drinking it all in with every breath.  Blood soaked the front of his armour and stained his right hand.  Even a few locks of that golden hair bore crimson streaks, making Shesta wonder how many souls his friend had cut down before dawn had even broken over the doomed village.  A smudge of ash marred Guimel’s left cheek and brow where he’d wiped away some sweat, unnoticed amongst the gore.

               Despite the macabre markings which he bore with obvious pride, the smaller boy was utterly relaxed as he leaned against the empty wooden frame, one leg tucked up against his chest, the other dangling below, waving idly back and forth.  The lazy pose was ruined by the canny look in his eyes as he studied the scene around them.

               “You’re trying to sympathise with them again aren’t you?”  Guimel’s voice was voice soft and deceptively gentle sounding.  Tearing his gaze away from the body, Shesta swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling like he’d been caught doing something against the rules.

               In the distance, another building was toppled, causing the feeding crows to screech loudly in anger.  The low rumble followed by the sounds of shattering wood and mortar made him tense as he struggled to not imagine how many bodies were now buried beneath their ruined home.

               “Stop moping and join the rest of us for some fun.  Lord Dilandau is going to behead the mayor!  You don’t want to miss it.”  He understood that this was war, that these were the enemies… but did Guimel have to sound so pleased by that?  Honestly, sometimes he was sure that the curly haired menace enjoyed senseless violence almost as much as their captain.

               “She wasn’t a warrior.”  He found himself saying instead, turning back to watch the way the fading sun shone on the tears which stained the girl’s cheek.  “She was just a kid… like us.”

               “We’re not kids.”  Guimel growled, his eyes suddenly losing their innocent light as they narrowed dangerously.  He hopped off the ledge and walked over to the body, crouching down to study her with cold indifference.  “And you keep forgetting that there are no innocents here.”

               “Then where’s her armour?  Her sword? She was just a kid hiding in her home Guimel.  Hiding from us.”

               “Fat lot of good it did her.” The shorter Dragonslayer snorted absently, toeing at the girls arm with his foot.  “She should have tried to fight rather than dying like a coward.”

               Suddenly furious, Shesta spun around, glaring at his friend, his hand tightening around the crystal flower, the pressure threatening to crush the precious carving.

               “You don’t get it do you!?”  He snarled into the curly haired youths face.  “She’s dead for what?  Is this the bright future we’re fighting for?  How is this slaughter supposed to bring peace to Gaea?  How is it supposed to show the world how beautiful and wonderful Zaibach is?  This was just slaughter!  We’re supposed to better than that!”

               “No, you don’t get it.”  Guimel shot back.  “They were smuggling weapons to those raiders who’ve been harassing the border.  Those same raiders who put that little hamlet in the hills to the torch last month.  Remember them?  Ryuun certainly does, he had family there!”  The two boys glared at each other angrily, neither of them willing to give ground.

               “There’s only one way to achieve perfect peace and that’s by exterminating all the vermin who don’t know how to play nice with their neighbours.  Cesario has been raiding Zaibach for centuries and here you are getting all teary eyed because we’re finally hitting them back!”

               “And what does that prove about us?  They hurt us, so we hurt them back, now they’re going to want vengeance and strike back!  We’re not changing anything Guimel, we’re just making the situation worse!”

               “Not really.”  Guimel smirked, the expression clearly copied from their captain.  “They’re dead.  What are they going to do-”  His jeers were cut short by the sharp sound of an open palm hitting his face.  

For a long moment, there was only silence. Both boys stared at each other in utter shock.  Guimel cupped his cheek while Shesta stared at his offending hand, unable to believe that he’d just struck his friend.

“Guimel…”  He stammered out.  “I‘m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“YOU HIT ME!”  Guimel shrieked and launched himself at Shesta.  While he might have been the smaller of the two, his ferocity was both well-known and dreaded by his team.  In seconds, he’d knocked the taller blonde over onto his back and was pummeling him wildly with his armoured fists.  It was only the hours of intense training that kept Shesta from cracking open his skull on the stone floor, but that was little relief as he was now subject to a vicious rain of attacks.  Each one landed hard enough to leave the promise of deep bruises in their wake.  

Refusing to fight back against his friend, all Shesta could do was try to curl up protectively, holding his arms in front of his face as he tried to keep the other boy from hitting anything vital.

“DON’T. YOU. EVER. HIT. ME!”  The curly haired boy continued in his fury, each word punctuated by a heavy blow, leaving Shesta gasping for air.  “Why do you care so much about them?  Why waste a single tear on these barbarians!?  They’re animals!  Nothing but filthy disgusting animals who need to be taught how to behave like humans or die!”  

Several more bruising strikes landed on Shesta’s defensive form before Guimel heaved a heavy sigh and sat back, straddling his friends hips.  The smaller slayer was trembling slightly from the adrenaline, but the wave of violence seemed to have passed as quickly as it had struck.

“Ugh, it’s no fun if you don’t fight back you know.” He huffed softly, rocking his weight back as Shesta hesitantly opened up an eye, making sure that the attack was well and truly over.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to make my next beating more entertaining for you.”  He ground out, hating how rough his voice sounded.  Giving a little kick, he shoved the now calm Guimel off of his hips and just lay there, trying not to think about the fact that he’d bumped into the girl’s body during the attack and now blood was likely soaking into his hair.  

“I just don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”  Guimel finally said, giving his hand a negligent wave around the destroyed room, and likely meaning the village as well.  “They defied us.  Anyone who defies the Empire deserves to die.”

“Stop parroting the Captain.”  Shesta grumbled softly as he forced his now aching body to look down at his hand which had been holding the flower.  A strange deep sadness filled him as he saw that the petals had been broken off and several had been crushed to a fine glistening powder.

“Why?”  Guimel shot back.  “He’s brilliant.”

“Lord Dilandau only cares about fighting.  He doesn’t care about our perfect destiny, or bringing peace to Gaea.  He’s said that often enough.”

“So?  Everyone has their reasons for fighting.  He just happens to be the best warrior in Zaibach.  You should be flattered to be in his unit rather than crying over the enemy.” All Shesta could do was shake his head at his friends words.  “There should be more to it than that… It’s not right.”

Sighing softly, Guimel ran his fingers across his brow then combed them through his hair, not realizing that he’d just smeared a dark smudge of black ash into the golden curls.  

“Can I tell you something that Miguel told me?”

“Sure… but I’m not really in the mood to have a battle statistic quoted at me.”  Shesta managed a grudging smile, earning himself a rather rude hand gesture shot in his direction.

“He said, Tales tell of great battles won solely on the virtues of hope and love. They are the great candle in the darkness, the warmth that keeps the terror away. But tales are little more than lies dressed up as truths and they rarely survive true conflict.  Don’t cling too tightly to the light of the candle.  It’s too easily snuffed out in the storm of war, leaving you with a deep fear of the darkness.  Instead, embrace the darkness and make it a part of yourself.  In the darkness, you have nothing to lose, nothing to fear and in that emptiness you can do what needs to be done.  In the darkness, you can be strong, you can be safe. Be one with it and it will protect you. Dance in the darkness and know no fear.”

“That’s … morbid.”  Shesta wrinkled his nose slightly and shook his head as he finally forced himself to sit up.  “Was he drinking when he said that?”

“No you moron.”  Guimel lightly smacked his arm.  “It means that you shouldn’t beat yourself up about the bad things that happen in war.  Stop trying to be the hero carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. War is hard.  It’s dark, gritty and cruel.  Accept it, do what you need to do and move on.  It’s the only way to be at peace with yourself.  If you don’t, you’ll tear yourself apart.”

“He couldn’t’ just say that?”

“Hey, you know how Miguel gets.”  Sighing heavily, Guimel stood up and turned around to offer Shesta a hand up.  “Come on, if we’re late Lord Dilandau will kick both our asses.”  

Nodding his head, Shesta accepted the proffered hand and pulled himself to his feet with a slight grunt of pain.  Taking a moment to straighten out his uniform, he then turned to look back down at the girl’s body.  The sun’s light was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the surrounding smoke, choking out the few remaining beams and bathing her body in shadows.  

Reaching down, he gently placed the crushed crystal flower on the ground next to her, watching for a moment as it sparkled playfully in the fading light.  Sadness welled up inside him again but he resolutely pushed it aside and faced his friend.

Together, they walked out the ruins of the door. Up above their heads, the thick smoke choked out the last of the suns light, reducing it to little more than a sullen orange disk drowning in the darkness they had brought.

isin��S �k

#Esca-week 2017 #Vision of Escaflowne #tenkuu no escaflowne #escaflowne fanfiction #Dragonslayers #ryuugekitai #shesta #guimel #child soldiers #pre series