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bexterbex · 4 years

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A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 69

Happy May the Fourth, to all of my readers. A long chapter is ahead of you, I suggest you grab some tissues for this one. You will need it.

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. Tag lists are closed

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother, but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 69: Wedding Bells

“Long Live the Supreme Leader,” erupted the crowd in repeat. You stepped back from the podium as the First Order anthem played and salutes were given. After the anthem was finished the crowd fell into deafening chants of ‘Long Live the Supreme Leader’ and ‘Bow to the First Order.’ You quickly took your leave back to your chambers as Hux took over the assembly. He gave you a small nod as a sign of good work.

Kuruk and Trudgen flanked you, back all the way to your chambers. Your staff would be returning when the assembly was officially over, but you had the privilege of only needing to be there for your part. You informed the knights that you would like to be alone.

You sat down and tried to process what you had just seen. Kylo killing her, killing Rey. The woman who thought she could take him away from you. If you were being honest with yourself what you witnessed should have appalled you, but it didn’t. There was something in you that was thrilled at him protecting you, at protecting your relationship with him. He was an unhinged demon sent to protect you, your own personal god.

You were disturbed from your thoughts by your staff entering your chambers. There was a buzz of excited chatter among them. They apparently enjoyed watching the battle, just probably not as much as you did. You all quickly got back to work on ceremony arrangements. You were going to send a few of them down to the surface to monitor and report back on the repairs.

Before lunch, the dressmaker arrived with your dress in her hands. It was covered in a bag, but you sent your staff away as you lead her to your dressing room. Only Adlez and Olivia-Rose were allowed to see it before the ceremony. Your jaw dropped when the dressmaker pulled it out of the bag. “It’s beautiful.” You ran your hand over the lace of sleeves.

“I need you to try it on as there may need to be a few adjustments to be made,” said the old woman. But the dress fit like a glove.

You felt like a goddess and you looked like one too. You were definitely going to stand out from the venue itself. You would look like a rare white Lilium amongst the scorched earth. A piece of delicately pure femininity amongst the masculine obsidian architecture. And next to Kylo you were going to look like the fair maiden that tamed the savage, bloodthirsty monster. A piece of pure moonlight cherished by the most menacing black as dusk creature to grace the galaxy. His own personal star, in the coldness of his grim night sky.

When Adlez placed the veil on your head you instantly knew you were ready for this, ready to marry him, ready to be Empress. For the first time, you felt so sure that this would be your destiny. Your eternity with him.

“Empress Ren,” said Adlez as she looked at you in the mirror.

You met her eyes with a smile. “Yes.”

All three of them sang praises of your beauty. You didn’t even want to take off the dress, but you knew you had to as it wasn’t time yet. With a saddening heart, you watched as Adlez hung it up on the back of the armoire. You would get to wear it in two days’ time, or so you hoped. But for now, you were finishing up plans for the ceremony.

The dress was put away; you had your usual luncheon with members of the High Command, your lesson, dinner, and then getting ready for bed. Your schedule still feeling rather boring as the anticipation of the ceremony growing closer took over your every thought. You were prepared for bed by Adlez and Olivia-Rose, who both insisted that since it was so close to the ceremony that you needed to be pampered every night and every morning. Once they were done you tucked yourself into bed as Adlez handed you your sleeping pill, seeing as really you only needed someone there to make sure you took it after you were already lying down, for your safety.

You woke up the next morning and were pampered again. You were to visit the surface again, just to see the preparations for yourself. Adlez and Olivia-Rose were going to join you as they needed to see the room you were going to get ready in. You wanted only them to see you in your dress before the ceremony, so that meant you had to get ready at the castle.

The descent to the surface felt different this time. None of your party felt as anxious or worried as they did previously. When you exited the ship you were greeted by excited Alazmec. The translation droid told you that they were saying variations of ‘its nice to see you, goddess’ ‘welcome back’ ‘bless you’ and other joyous things. You told the droid to thank them, even if there was no way to directly say it.

You approached the large imposing monument. The repairs on the outside seemed to be coming along. The Alazmec seemed to set up a shrine or offering table right outside the entrance. It made you smile; they seemed to be very happy that the castle was being repaired. The inside of the castle looked even better than the outside. The black obsidian was so shiny they were mirrors. They looked like they could hold your future, but in a way they did.

You were shown to a side room that would be where you were supposed to get ready. Adlez and Olivia-Rose were moving about the room. You heard Adlez speak to an officer about getting a vanity and a full-length mirror. Which he promptly took as an order. You were very pleased at the progress of everything. You left them in that room to visit the ceremony space again. This time the room was immaculate. You imagined standing there with Kylo, being announced his wife, being crowned Empress. Wearing your dress. It was all starting to come together.

You meandered around the room for a bit waiting for the rest of your landing party to join you. Once they did you made your way back to the shuttle and back to the Supremacy. You had a luncheon, your lesson, and then you were alone for dinner. Just after dinner, you decided to curl up by the fireplace upstairs before you would get ready for bed. Tomorrow would be your wedding day, and you wanted to enjoy the peace while you still had it, but that didn’t happen.

You received a holo transmission from Kylo, but he wasn’t there exactly. You could see him, but it wasn’t your normal call, you almost wondered if this was another pre-recorded transmission like that from the day before with the scavenger, but you could see the little red light to signify that this was a live call. You called out to him but he couldn’t hear you; you kept watching what was happening.

And then you saw her, his mother. She approached him slowly. “Please take off that mask. You don’t need it.” Her voice reflected the tiredness you saw in her eyes.

He dwarfed her in size, “What do you think you’ll see if I do?” His approach towards her was less threatening than it was with Rey. He still looked like a beast before his prey, but this time he regarded her as more.

She looked sad, “The face of my son.” Her voice was earnest. She had the face of a mother that was desperate to see her child once more. The son that was right in front of her.

He took off the helmet. You could see her eyes water more as she looked upon his face.

“Your son is gone. He was weak and foolish, just like his father. So I destroyed him. I am destroying him to protect her.” You could hear waves of emotion in his voice now. They were no longer being distorted by his helmet’s modulator. “Did you come here to say you forgive me? To save my soul?”

She shook her head, “I failed you, Ben, my son.” She was still using the name of the man he despised, the man he wanted to kill.

“You did. And I’m sure you are. The Resistance will be dead. The war is over. And when I kill you, I will have killed the last piece of Ben Solo. I’ve destroyed the scavenger, and soon you, and all of it.” He wildly gestured around him. You wished you could see inside his mind, just like he was able to see inside yours. Tears were freely falling from your face, you knew what was about to happen.

“You don’t have to do this,” she was pleading to the devil now. But he couldn’t save her, he couldn’t save himself. He had made his decision long ago, and now he was fulfilling his destiny.

“I’m being torn apart. I want to be free of this pain. I want her free of this pain. I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.” You lurched forward in your seat, on edge at what you were witnessing. Your heart constricting as you knew he needed to do it, but part of you was mourning for him. You wished there was another way.

“You do know this won’t be the end of it? I know you have felt it too. Something is stirring. It needs to end.” She knew something you didn’t. You were worried. What was she saying? Was something worse on the horizon?

He simply nodded and asked, “Will you help me?” He held out his hand.

“Of course,” she seemed to know what he was asking as she took his hand. He drew her into his arms. You watched as a son held his mother in one last embrace.

“Thank you.” You saw the red flash of his saber. Unlike the scavenger, her ending was peaceful, there was no fight. You watched as he dropped to his knees, clutching her body to his. You heard a singular loud grief-filled sob before her body disappeared from his arms. With his back still to you, he picked up and put on his helmet. His shield from the outside world. He stood, and as he straightened his back the transmission ended.

You felt cold, and you quickly looked at your wrist. The name Ben Solo was gone. Kylo Ren was now in bold black letters. He killed him. Ben Solo was dead. Kylo Ren was victorious. Your head grew dizzy with the realization and before you could do anything you blacked out.

You awoke to a frantic Adlez holding you; you were on the floor. “M’lady are you all right? We’ve been trying to wake you for an hour now.” Your eyes were finally able to focus on those around you.

“I’m fine. The Supreme Leader will be back for the ceremony tomorrow. I need to get some rest,” you responded to her.

The doctor looked at you with a knowing eye. “Yes, in fact, I recommend that you do get some rest.”

Adlez and Olivia-rose got you ready for bed, they drew you a relaxing bath, once that was over they helped you change. When you exited the bathroom, the doctor was still waiting patiently for you.

“I’ll give her her medication tonight, you have an early morning tomorrow. Go get some rest,” said Dr. Dabrini to Adlez.

She gave you both a look but followed orders.

“Now m’lady may I presume that your fainting spell had something to do with the Supreme Leader?” He knew the situation all too well to hide anything from him.

“Yes, he’s finally killed Ben Solo, completely. I think that’s why I passed out,” you confided.

“You are the first known case of this circumstance, so I wouldn’t be surprised, but you and the Supreme Leader are also more compatible biologically than any other match I’ve ever seen. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions.”vHe then gave you your sleeping pill, and you fell asleep quicker this time. You were out by the time he had left the bedroom. Your body’s exhaustion catching up to you. Another black, dreamless night. A comfort to you now.

Adlez and Olivia-Rose singing “Here Comes the Bride” awoke you. This put you in a pleasant mood, to see them in such excellent moods. You were also just excited to see Kylo in person again. To see him as himself fully for the first time, to see him as just Kylo Ren.

They got you into the bathroom for another bath, this time you were heavily inspected from head to toe. You were to be perfect today. And they would make sure of it. Once you passed inspection you were dressed in a long black wrap dress for your travels of the day. As a treat, you had breakfast out on the patio complete with mimosas. You were only joined by them as the rest of your staff were to help with the preparations of the ceremony itself.

After breakfast Adlez grabbed your dress and Olivia-Rose got everything else, you would need to get ready, and then you were off to the hangar to go down to the surface. Your excitement grows with every second. Exiting the ship you were once again greeted with cheers of excitement from the Alazmec, but now there were officers and ‘troopers among them. You felt like a princess.

You entered the castle being quickly ushered into the side room where you were to get ready, “I will personally stick the Supreme Leader with a pin if he tries to see you before the ceremony. I’ve been informed that it is bad luck in your culture and I do not mess with superstitions,” said Adlez, shutting the door behind you.

“Speaking of which,” said Olivia-Rose. “We have some things for you. The first being something old,” she produced a beautiful set of earrings. They featured a small white pearl at the base, but attached to a long delicate silver chain was a larger black pearl. “These belonged to Queen Padme Amidala herself. They are one of the most sensible pieces of jewelry she owned.”

“And this is something new,” said Adlez handing you a matching pearl necklace, with two small white pearls bookending a larger black one on a delicate silver chain. “A gift from the both of us.”

You didn’t know what to say, but you started to choke up while trying to thank them.

“Now, now, now. We shall have no tears before the wedding,” said Adlez, wiping them from your face.

“Thank you both, I really appreciate it,” you were great full for both of them. You would be utterly lost in this whole experience if it wasn’t for them.

“It's the least we can do,” said Olivia-Rose. You saw a sweet smile erupt on her face. But before any conversation could continue, there was a knock on the door.

“Ah that should be the something borrowed,” said Adlez. The door opened to reveal Captain Phasma.

“You should not need this, but here is there something borrowed. It is one of the few things from my planet that I brought with me to the First Order.” She handed you a small intricate knife. The gesture almost made you tear up again, but you held it in.

“Thank you Phasma I hope I won’t have to use it either,” you gave her a knowing smirk. If anyone tried anything while Kylo was present, your knife would be the least of their worries.

“And finally something blue,” said Adlez. It was cheesy, but it was a beautiful blue lace garter. “I think this is something the Supreme Leader will enjoy,” She said with a wink.

You were thankful they paid attention to the small cheesy wedding tradition; it made you feel as if this was the plan all along.

Adlez did your hair in an intricate but elegant style, something more sleek than the late queen ever wore. Olivia-Rose kept your makeup beautiful but simple, bringing out your natural beauty. Once they were done they helped you dress in your wedding gown. Applying finishing touches here and there before putting on your cathedral length veil. You had a bouquet made of all your favorite flowers; it reminded you of when you first met Kylo, the small but kind gesture he gave you. You were ready to go down the aisle.

Olivia-Rose slipped out of the room. She was to inform you when it was time. Adlez was giving you a reassuring pep talk that you really didn’t pay attention to. You were too focused on wanting to rush out and get this all over with. Olivia-Rose stuck her head in, giving you the go-ahead. Both of them guided you through the door into the adjoining hall that led to the ceremony space. It was completely empty, just like you hoped. You wanted everyone to see you at once. You wanted to take their breath away.

You paused at the entrance to the space, Olivia-Rose and Adlez opened the doors for you revealing you to all that awaited your entrance, and most of all to Kylo. There was no traditional march music, you just strode confidently down the aisle to him, and to where Hux stood as the officiant.

Kylo himself looked the same, but different in many ways. He wasn’t wearing his mask or his usual uniform. He was wearing a black coat-like garment that featured embroidery that made him look like the galaxy himself. Once again his hair was braided out of his face, and a single gold circlet crown adorned his head. He looked stunning.

The ceremony itself was just the common practice one from your planet, with all the to have and to hold and in sickness and in health vows. Really, you couldn’t focus on anything other than Kylo. His black eyes searching your face, holding your own eyes hostage. You remember the exchange of rings. Kylo’s being a simple black band with a silver cut out that matched the shape of yours. Your ring was a simple silver band with a large black jagged stone, it reminded you of Kylo.

You also remember the kiss, after Hux said the words “You may now kiss the bride,” Kylo scooped you up into his arms so fast, his lips crashing down onto yours. You could tell he couldn’t really take it any longer, he needed to be with you. He dipped you back in the old fashion way and deepened the kiss. Most couples had a chaste first kiss as a married couple, you did not, but you were not complaining. After you heard Hux clear his throat Kylo brought you back up to vertical and ended the kiss. You had no idea how long your first kiss was, but you didn’t care.

After the kiss was your coronation, which also went by in a rather a blur. You remember having to kneel in front of Kylo as he deemed you Empress, and you remember the removal of your veil and the placing of your crown. Unlike Kylo, you had a proper crown, one that made you feel like the Empress you were. You also remember being announced Empress and hearing a roaring cheer.

You remember taking Kylo’s arm and walking down the opposite hallway to where you came from. You hadn’t explored this part of the castle. Suddenly you remember that you never planned any sort of reception after the wedding, but upon entering the room he led you to, there was no need for one.

There was a small buffet spread, much like the one when you first met him, but you were in a rather elegant bedroom this time. Your anxiety spiked.

“Would you like to eat first,” asked the man in question himself. He could probably feel how nervous you were. It was practically radiating off of you.

In the back of your mind, you had expected a reception before your wedding night. There was always a reception. You felt stupid. “Yes, please.” You were attempting to stall. You haven’t seen him in over a week, let alone really even touch him—kiss him. You felt like a typical blushing virgin at the whole ordeal, but you weren’t.

He guided you to the food, both of you choosing a rather small amount of the rich selection. You were worried that if you ate too much, it might make you sick with your current spiked anxiety. You stuck to light foods, enough to take the edge off of your worries, but not enough to make you look and feel heavy. When you both finished your food Kylo took your plate from you and set it aside. He then took your hand and guided you to the bed, he paused at the foot of the bed and in a swift but suave motion he brought your hand to his lips where he graced it with a kiss. His lips kissed along the back of your hand and eventually found their way to your wrist, to his name. With hungry eyes he stepped closer to you, enchanting you with his overwhelming presence.

As he drew you in close to his lips found that familiar place behind your ear, his place, his mark. His hand found the small of your back as he pushed you flush against him, that hand trailed its way down to your ass where he held you in place. You could feel him still for a moment before his other hand raised your chin up, so your lips barely met his. “I have waited for this moment for a thousand lifetimes, Kitten.” Something about the way he said his pet name for you at that moment had you melting like putty in his hands.

You felt his hand come back up to the bare opening of your dress; he started to unbutton it. His lips brushed over yours before he said, “Actually, I’ll let the Force handle this.” You then felt his hand leave your back, to cup the side of your face. An all too familiar presence then started unbuttoning the dress for him. You attempted to return the favor, but you struggled, earning a chuckle in response as Kylo assisted you.

His hands guided the dress down your arms, and he took a step back to assist you with stepping out of your gown. You then led him to the bed, you in just your bra, underwear and garter, and him in just the black slacks. He looked down at your little lace garter in confusion, toying with it before he attempted to hook a finger through it but you stopped him. “It’s actually a tradition that you... remove it with your teeth.” You could feel yourself blush as you suggested it.

He cocked a brow, with a smirk dancing on his lips, “With my teeth?”

You eagerly nodded, hoping he would take the hint and indulge you. When his head dipped down to your thigh, you knew you had won a small victory. You felt him kiss the tender flesh of your inner thigh before he nibbled around the edge of the garter, nothing too harsh, but more of a tickle. You then felt him take it between his teeth, and he play growled at you causing you to gasp, as he held eye contact as he slid the piece of lace down your leg and off your foot.

He crawled back up to your face with the piece of discarded lace still in his mouth. He hovered directly over your face as he spoke with it between his teeth, “Did I do it right?”

You let out a cry and agreed feverishly, you could see your blush now extending down to your chest as you got a heated feeling between your thighs, where close to where his face just was. You looked up at him from under your lashes, trying to maintain any semblance of innocence you had in front of this hungry beast. His lips attacked yours, in a familiar but new fashion. Now he had an end goal that was attainable, his desire bleeding into the kiss. His hands winding into your hair, like a prayer on the wind. You braced a hand against his strong broad chest and wound another in his hair, feeling the back of his skull under your fingertips.

Somewhere in between kissing you and making fresh new marks down your neck, he had managed to unhook your bra, chucking it somewhere behind him. His large calloused hands roamed your bare chest, squeezing and testing each breast in his hands. His fingers teasing and pinching your nipples, causing deep moans, where he used the opportunity to shove his tongue down your throat. Eventually, his lips made their way back down your neck and to your breasts, taking their time as they nipped the tender flesh beneath them. As eager as you assumed him to be, he was taking his time. As if he was committing every individual pore to memory.

You soon felt his wet tongue against your nipple, licking, teasing you, before his lip enclosed around it. And you felt a pleasurable pressure as he sucked and teased your tit. You threw your head back in a moan as your hips met his, grinding against his. You heard a growl like a groan from deep within his chest, “So you like that Kitten?” It was a question that really didn’t need to be answered as he could see, feel the reaction it had on you. His eyes ravenous as the stared at you from his position at your chest. You replied by rolling your pelvis against his.

He switched his attention to your other breast, doing the same as he did before, only this time he tentatively bit down this caused you to yelp in surprise. While you were distracted he hooked a finger into the band of your thong and pulled it down off your body, using the Force to fully remove it from your equation. His lips came crashing down onto yours and dominated you as they always did. He continued to bruise your lips as he feasted upon your tender flesh. He took his time as he made his way back to his branding mark behind your ear, making sure it was as dark as it was before he left. While one hand was toying with your hair, keeping it out of his way, the other took one of yours in his as he guided you to his pants. Assisting you as you fumbled to get them off of him. Both of you eventually gave up as he used the Force to rid his body of them.

And then you were bare under him, just as he was over you, his gaze locking you in place, “Would you like me to be sweet or would you like to meet the beast you married?” His eyes were pooling with desire and power. He was starving and only you could sate him.

Both options thrilled you as you could feel the slick starting to pool between your legs. You had been denying him for too long. “Are those my only options?” You fluttered your lashes at him, there was no need to flirt, but you couldn’t help yourself. It boosted your confidence knowing that he only had passion for you—only you.

“Yes, one or the other kitten.” A smirk gracing his plump, bruised lips. He was doing a wonder on himself as he was worshiping you. You quickly glanced down between you, his hard cock close you your tender wet cunt. You wanted him.

“How about I take sweet first and if I’m up for it afterward, I will tame the beast?” He was too close, yet too far away. You just wanted him to do something about your lust, your desire. You wanted him.

His smirk disappeared for a moment, as a deep desire swirled in the dark pools of his eyes. “As you wish,” his voice probably coming out more hoarse than he intended.

One of his hands fell you onto your belly and slowly made its way down to your crotch. His finger slowly, tantalizingly stroked you, causing a gasp to escape your lips. His face buried against your neck as he chucked, “Purr for me, Kitten.” The gasps turned into moans as his strokes became circles, teasing your clit, making you squirm with pleasure. He then dipped a finger into your sopping wet entrance. You gasped again, this time arching your back and throwing your head back with want and need.

“Please,” you begged. Your body screaming for him, wanting him inside you.

“Please what Kitten,” he teased. Knowing full well what you wanted.

“Please Kylo, I want you. I need you.” Your brain struggling to find the right words, any words as he thrust his finger in and out of you, teasing a second, long thick finger at your hole.

“You want me to what Kitten? What do you need from me, say it?” A second finger fully joining the first scissoring inside of you before he teased a third.

“I want you...” but before you could finish your sentence, he thrust a third finger inside of you, pounding into.

He chucked at your reaction to him, “You want me to what Kitten? I won’t give it to you unless you ask.”

“Please.” Thrust. “Fuck.” Thrust.” Thrust. “Me.” Thrust. “KYLO!” You practically yelled his name as his fingers pounded inside of you, your breasts bouncing at force the motion.

His lips grazed yours before he teased, “Well since you asked so nicely.” This man was going to be the death of you in more than one way. You whimpered as he removed his hand, but you weren’t able to complain for long as his dick teased your entrance. He lined himself up before slowly inserting his large cock. Your body had previously stretched to his fingers, but this was a different sensation altogether.

He filled you completely, owning up to the title of being more beast than man. Once he was fully sheathed in your hot wet cavern, a hand moved your hair from your face. “Tell me when to move, Kitten.” He was letting you get used to his sheer size. Your walls clamping down around him as you tried to adjust. Your body enjoying the pleasure of being full.

You nodded as words failed you. He took your hips in his hands as he slowly started to fuck into you. His lips finding yours, attempting to kiss you before you both abandoned the idea, to just rest foreheads against each other, panting as one connected being. You could tell that this was taking all of his self-control. He was being rather gentle with you. Asking if you could handle more before fucking into you harder. His pace speeding up and his hips pounding harder.

In the end, his hands abandoned your hips as he braced himself against the headboard. The entire bed shaking at the impact of his thrusts. His groans and moans of pleasure sounding more animalistic than anything.

You felt the pressure of euphoria building, threatening to make you cum. “Kylo, I…” you attempted to warn him. He took this as a signal to pound into you even harder, which you hadn’t thought was possible, but you should stop underestimating his sheer strength and animalistic nature. Your walls squeezed around his cock as the waves of orgasm washed over you, screaming his name. You heard him snarl in pleasure above you as his thrusts lost their steady pace, joining you in your nirvana. You heard your name ghost his hips as he fucked hard into you before his pace slowed down considerably before he came to a halt. His freshly orgasmed cock still inside you. His forehead resting against yours, as you tilted your head up to kiss him, which for the first time he lazily returned, lacking his usual eager vigor.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his lips. Reveling in your post-sex glow. Your body felt new again.

“Mmhmm,” was his initial response as he was gathering his breathing. His lips returning a kiss, as you could feel his cock stiffening within you, “Now for the beast.”

A/N: I may have committed sacrilege, but it's May the Fourth and I should go out with a bang. Let me know how you are feeling either in the comments or the inbox.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #a soul to mend his own #kylo x reader #kylo ren smut #may the fourth be with you #kylo x you #star wars #first order #star wars imagine #sw first order imagine #Star wars soulmate au #star wars first order #i am most definitely evil

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amphtaminedreams · 4 years

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The Eras of Lana Del Rey: Lookbook no.9

Hi to anyone reading,

Hope you’re okay! AND that you didn’t end up here because you searched the Lana Del Rey tag so you could see people ranting about her-you’re about to be very disappointed. Sorry. This is not about to be some Question for the Culture discourse because the world is bleak enough right now and the last thing we all need is to be reminded of that saga.

Being a Lana Del Rey fan is easy, they said. She’s not a controversial artist, they said. And yet 2020 had to do what it does best and fuck everything up.

Whether people like her or not, it’s made me so angry reading all the abuse she’s been getting about her appearance for the last couple of weeks, because I really thought that if we could agree on anything it was that attacking individuals for the way they look because you dislike something they’ve done (with the exception of shit like racist tattoos and blackfishing) is, you know, awful and judgemental as fuck? Like you do realise when you treat the word fat as a pejorative that the fat people you don’t have a problem with understood that you meant it as an insult too? I think what all those people tweeting about Lana’s weight, and that includes some of her fans, are forgetting is that she was in her early 20s when she was thrust into the limelight. As much as there’s this conspiracy that her dad bought her a career in the music industry, she’d made the decision to go it alone and had lived in a trailer park as a struggling musician for years. On top of that, we have the unreleased tracks with lyrics seemingly referencing an eating disorder in her younger years. OF COURSE her body is going to look different. Why is it that we treat weight gain as an inherently bad thing without any insight into the other factors that constitute a person’s “health”? It’s fucking insane that so many feel they have the right to comment on other’s bodies in the first place and it breaks my heart that she might be reading these comments. This wasn’t intended to necessarily be a rant about how much I love this woman but all the shit I’ve read about her on the internet these past few months have pushed me to it. You'll respect your queen of alternative music or I shall stan twice as hard on your behalf. You can thank me later when you come to your senses xoxo

I’d love to say it was intentional that I finally finished this post the week Violet Bent Backwards Over the Grass was released but that would imply I have my shit way more together than I actually do. If I’m being completely honest, I’ve only heard L.A Who am I to Love You so far 1). because I want to wait for the hard copy for the rest and that doesn’t turn up til September and 2). because I do not have my shit together, lol. That being said, there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to love it-one thing I have always loved about Lana’s lyrics is how well they paint a picture and this is something that poetry only more freely allows for the exploration of. That ability to create such a strong narrative voice and atmosphere is a talent that extends to her visuals and the production of her records too, and is something I really missed when it comes to the Norman Fucking Rockwell era. I’m just going to say it: a strong aesthetic is to NFR as memorable songs are to Lust for Life. Lacking. Am I allowed to say that as a fan? The collaborations don’t do it for me, okay, and as as NFR is concerned, aside from The Greatest/Fuck It I Love You video which went down the whole neon surfer girl route, it’s hard to identify a cohesive theme. It’s understandable that at this point, she would want to just focus purely on the music, and it goes without saying that NFR will stand the test of time in that regard but I don’t think we can deny that when people think of Lana in the future, it’s not gonna be a green windbreaker that comes into their heads.

^Illustration credit to Filip Kozak (https://filipkozaksart.tumblr.com/?fbclid=IwAR3vwLX2pNxoFNhTPD1ky14LllPqlLtL1GxGlD79xuHxdtzcHLw-6aNBZWo)

And here’s where this Filip Kozak illustration comes into it; after years of it sitting in my camera roll for years, it finally has a use. There’s really nothing better to illustrate how mundane life has become this year than the disproportionate level of excitement my photo-hoarding-self experienced realising it would fit perfectly into this post and is thus eligible for deletion. Up there with being able to fit a whole box of biscuits onto the shelf at work rather than having to individually take out as many as I can and then shove them on top of the existing box of biscuits one by one. Truly riveting content on this Tumblr page. Back to the point-by using this as my stimulus for the post rather than the Lana Del Rey albums as outfits tag that went round on Twitter, I can conveniently exclude NFR as an outfit inspiration category, and that saves me from having to buy a charity shop windbreaker with its price bumped up 150% by some upper middle class Depop e-girl or boy who uses the word peng as a descriptor like it’s a nervous tic. To make up for leaving out NFR, I’ve tried to branch out a bit and do the outfits not just based on the music videos or album covers but also from street style and stage looks and photoshoots from around the same period too. It was hard not to be influenced by the general “vibe” and sound of the albums either when I was planning outfits, whether it’s the grand, orchestral instrumentals of Born to Die or the 70s psychedelic rock inspired riffs of Ultraviolence and hopefully that’ll show as well! Enjoy:D

Born to Die (Release Date: 27th January 2012)

It’s been 8 years, and when you ask most people what they think of when they hear the name Lana Del Rey, they’ll probably dismiss her as the one who sings about being sad and doing coke and sleeping with older men. That’s the Born to Die impact. Say what you want but it’s one of only a handful of albums released by a female artist to have spent more than 300 weeks on the Billboard 200 chart and it really established the mythos of “Lana Del Rey” because before all this, before all the think pieces from other women claiming she’d set feminism back hundreds of years with her music, before she ousted grayscale Effy Stonem as the queen of angsty teen Tumblr (which as you can probably guess was a subsection of the internet I was very much engulfed by, lmao), she was just Lizzie Grant, a relatively normal aspiring singer songwriter in her early twenties. But as Lana Del Rey, she was someone else-some beautiful, mystical being that personified the sentiment of being born in the wrong era. Whilst every other singer’s record labels seemed to be trying desperately to thrust them into the future and keep them on top of all the musical and stylistic trends, it was refreshing to hear someone whose music and visuals captured all the most glamorous elements of the past. Part Priscilla Presley/Jackie O reincarnation (the National Anthem video really illustrated how Lana is just as much a storyteller as she is a musician), part high level mobster’s wayward wife à la Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface, she was the good girl by day and the bad girl by night, and I think that’s a duality we can all relate to or would like to think we’re interesting enough to relate to deep down.

Her style from around this period was EVERYTHING. She had those grungy Tumblr girl elements, the camo jacket and the oversized pieces and the leather jackets, but she also heavily drew on the styles and silhouettes of the 50s and 60s with the beehives and the new look Dior inspired cinched waist dresses. Even now in 2020, I think this period is what most people would think if they were asked to describe Lana’s style. I made sure I got the grungy pieces in there with the chunky boots and the vinyl and the oversized leather but the foundation of her looks back then were usually these daintier throwback pieces like the white silk dress and the corset and the mint fur trimmed coat (House of Sunny’s Penny Pistachio coat).

Favourite lyrics from the album? “Now my life is sweet like cinnamon, like a fucking dream I'm living in” from Radio. Nobody asked but I’m gonna give it to you anyway.

Born to Die: The Paradise Edition (Release Date: 9th November 2012)

Lana’s Paradise EP contains probably my absolute favourite song of her’s, Ride, and with that, the beautiful opening monologue that will stay in my mind forever. This era was of course ushered in by Tropico, the short film that included the premiere of the songs Bel Air, Body Electric and Gods and Monsters, which established the ethereal tone of this period-it’s in the name, after all. Both the album and the videos were other-worldly and leaned heavily on religious symbolism which I’m sure pissed off many a middle-aged bible basher at the time. Most prominent in her lyrics were reflections on the freedom of the open road which corresponded with visuals of biker gangs and desert dwellers and modern interpretations of the Wild West, as was an attempt to capture the nature of the so-called “American spirit” which as Lana portrayed it shared more qualities with a kind of celestial, transient being than any kind of solid concept or identity. She played an emotionally detached stripper and a haunted saloon-style-bar singer (almost looking like a runaway bride) and Eve the “first woman” all in the same album and honestly, if that’s not iconic, I don’t know what is. We saw SO many incredible red carpet looks in this period too which built upon this idea of her as the fallen angel tempted by original sin that Tropico established; I feel like this era was all about laying bare the soul of the character she played, this broken, delicate but ultimately liberated being that was so dangerous to the idea of the strong, stable modern feminist ideal. She went about it in COMPLETELY the wrong way in a post that betrayed the ignorance of the privilege she has as a white female performer, but I think this is what she was getting at in it and Ultraviolence only went on to bolster her critics.

In response to the criticism she still receives about the choice to wear a Native American war bonnet in her Ride music video, I’d like to say that it really seems like she’s learnt from that-actions speak louder than words and so though it’s not my place to say whether this makes up for that error, the work she’s done with Native American reparations-focussed foundations since and the money she’s donated to the cause says a lot about her intentions. Again, I want to stress that it’s not my place to say! But it’s a detail that is often overlooked so I thought I’d mention it here.

“I was a singer, not a very popular one. I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet. But upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky, that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is.”

Ultraviolence (Release Date: 13th June 2014)

AH, Ultraviolence. My favourite of Lana’s albums and imo, a masterpiece. ONE skip. ONE. Sorry Guns and Roses. I got stoned in my back garden and listened to this (for research purposes ofc, heh) and ended up deciding that this is what I want to listen to when I die (also whilst stoned). It sounds dramatic but listening to this album in that state of mind is such a heavenly experience that I’d be too zen to notice myself slipping away into nothingness on the basis that if I didn’t as long as I could stay in that bubble of awe, nothingness forever wouldn’t be so scary after all. I know, I know, that sentence has big Jaden Smith’s old tweets energy. But if an album is what helps me get over an existential crisis, I beg you allow me the nonsensical ramblings about how I felt like I was ascending into the stars.

Though in terms of the lyrical content the public perception is probably correct, I think the reputation Ultraviolence has as Lana’s darkest, most gothic album (which is something I’ve in incorporated into the outfits I put together) is mistaken; instrumentally and visually it drew more on 70s psychedelic rock and the bohemian counter culture of the period than anything, and her stage looks are a clear reflection of that, and also the outfits I was most excited to channel. It seems counter-intuitive to the moody atmosphere I associate the tracklist with but it’s my go-to summer album; it’s raw (probably her most stripped back work along with NFR, lots of the songs are barely edited) and it’s gloomy but let’s be real, hot as fuck-don’t bother making a sex playlist, just put Ultraviolence on shuffle, and you’re good to go. This was the album where Lana debuted some of her most criticised lyrics and where the notion that she glamourises abuse comes from, one of the points she also seemed to be getting at in the Instagram post, but imo it’s fair to say that she sang truthfully about the initial allure of a dangerous relationship and the nature of the mindset that facilitates staying with somebody poisonous where you do feel like you’re nothing without them. Turning horrific experiences into romantic tragedies is how Lana has always made her music and yeah, out of context there are some fucked up lyrics on the album, but policing how a woman expresses her trauma and complaining that she glorifies weakness because she wrote honestly about the reality of a complicated partnership is hardly any more “feminist” than the lyrics themselves. I can only guess that the reason Lana felt the need to bring up this criticism in 2020 is because these darker themes are going to be revisited in her upcoming album and that in spite of the issues with the way she expressed herself, this time critics will be more accepting of how she chooses to address these themes.

On a lighter note “yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool, but he's not as cool as me” will always be a great line. Simple but effective. If my boyfriend ever is cooler than me it’ll be doing Lana a disservice.

Honeymoon (Release Date: 18th September 2015)

Considering that a lot of other Lana fans are of the opinion that this is her best album, I find it weird that I really don’t remember all that much about this period, other than High by the Beach being released and then hearing Salvatore and Freak for the first time. I guess because she didn’t do a Honeymoon specific tour and didn’t make that many public appearances in this period? It was definitely harder for me to find visual reference points beyond the HbtB music video and the cover art, so I mostly drew on the general vibe of the album, a cinematic accompaniment to a summer in Italy or the South of France, filled with exotic instrumentals and the sense of impending romantic doom that Lana does so well. I suppose if I associate the visuals of this era with anything it’s idyllic florals and warm tones, bygone country club pool days, a rich American’s vacation in Southern Europe, long walks on the beach (and as our Lord and Saviour Jujubee once said, big dicks and fried chicken). Apparently inspired by Lana’s relationship with Francesco Carrozini, it’s a hazy story of some ultra-feminine, submissive archetype becoming unhealthily enchanted by a mysterious “foreign man” who’s ultimately not all that good for her, which as the story goes turned out to be quite prophetic. Going against the grain, it’s my least favourite of her albums after Lust for Life, but in spite of that, I will always remember how obsessed I was with the sax riffs (I think? I don’t know my instruments all that well so forgive me, lol) on Freak and I definitely understand why it’s a firm favourite for so many.

“You could be a bad motherfucker, but that don’t make you a man.” was truly a cultural reset of a line.

-on an unrelated note, OMG, I never realised how I have my mouth open in literally every fucking photo I take, somebody tell me how to pose, please and thank you-

Lust for Life (Release Date: 21 July 2017)

Lust for Life is a controversial one. On the one hand, I appreciate that this album was the victory cry of a happier, more independent, politically-aware Lana in spite of it apparently being a far more optimistic sounding album than the one she wanted to release, but on the other there were way too many collaborations for me and this meant that the album lacked a sense of cohesion and the characteristic narrative thread that usually runs throughout her tracklist. Aside from Love, Cherry, Get Free and Tomorrow Never Came, most of the songs on the album aren’t hugely memorable and it’s a crying shame that a collaboration with STEVIE FUCKING NICKS of all people left so much to be desired. Coming from two witchy icons, I expected something absolutely magical so maybe I was setting myself up for failure, but come on. We could’ve had a real anthem there.

Aesthetically speaking however, this is one of my favourite eras for Lana, which is unsurprising when you consider the tracklist contains references to both Woodstock and Coachella. I’m not gonna lie, I think seeing Coachella fashion in my early teens was my style awakening-I remember seeing Vanessa Hudgens’ outfits and being like, wow, I want to be her (oh, what a fall from grace)-so the late 60s/early 70s flower power groupie style Lana adopted in this period really spoke to me. It was all long hair and dreamy pastels, and this era included some of the most head-to-toe coordinated looks we’ve ever seen from her. Of course I couldn’t completely abandon the grungy touches that I love, that I tend to associate with the early Lana street style days and the Paradise and Ultraviolence music videos rather than with this album, but I’m never gonna pass up an opportunity to whack out a good floral two piece and putting together Lust for Life inspired looks is the perfect excuse to do that.

So, that marks the end of this post! If you made it to the end, thank you so much for reading! I have a Yesstyle lookbook and review to edit but now that I’ve finished that, I’m trying to go down more of a style inspiration focussed route with my lookbooks rather than just putting together outfits from clothes I’ve just bought (though I might still do one every so often to bring in a new season-let’s just ignore the fact that they’re all blending into one bc climate change for now, one catastrophe at a time please universe). I find that if you have a specific idea in mind of what you want, it’s super easy to find something similar on Depop and Ebay and that way you avoid buying new things and also take old things off a person’s hands that might otherwise end up being thrown out by a charity shop and then dumped into a landfill from there. Something I’d LOVE to do before this year is out is put together a lookbook based on the most stylish TV shows of the last decade, but that probably won’t be for a while-even so, if you have any recommendations of series to watch which could fit into this category, let me know!

To finish, I need to go a little bit off-topic so forgive me, but I truly don’t know why this even needs to be said: WEAR A FUCKING MASK. IT IS NOT A POLITICAL ISSUE. IT IS A BASIC HYGIENIC PRACTICE THAT HELPS SPREAD THE STOP OF A HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS DISEASE! RUDIMENTAL SCIENCE! NOT A CHANCE TO PROVE HOW “EDGY” YOU ARE! SERIOUSLY, STOP MAKING A FUCKING PANDEMIC ABOUT YOURSELF! NOBODY ENJOYS WEARING THEM BUT THEY HELP PROTECT OTHERS! SO UNLESS YOU HAVE A VALID MEDICAL REASON NOT TO BE WEARING ONE, DON’T BE A SELFISH PRICK!

Sorry to sign off on a rant-y note with something that has nothing to do with Lana, lol, but all the stupidity has been grinding me gears lately and I had to let it out on behalf of all retail workers: if we can wear a mask for 9 hours at a time, YOU can tolerate the mild discomfort of wearing one for 10 minutes. I know this doesn’t apply to the majority of people but there’s always a couple of arseholes, isn’t there!?

Stay safe,

Lauren x

#ldr #lana #lana del rey #fashion #fashion blogger #style blogger #outfit inspo

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og-danny-dorito · 5 years

Text

“ Anything?” PART 2 : SMUT

(A/N: Nearly 100 notes on this(https://og-danny-dorito.tumblr.com/post/188443568230/anything) fic? Y'all are crazy. Some of y'all thirsty bitches decided that's you wanted MORE out of my sort of not intended to continue fanfic and I APPRECIATE your support. This doesn't have nsfw themes in it but it's not like fully smut tho, I'm sorry :((( there's no insertion of pp just insertion of like fingers I'm sorry I'm VERY out of practice with smut. Anyway I hope you enjoy, and both @grav3yard-gh0st and @sunsetsandbooks wanted to be mentioned, so here you go! Thank you for reading!)

- - -

“Alright, then fuck me.”

It wasn't until he uttered the words that you registered a reaction, one which was mere surprise. You felt your face wash over with a hot wave, your body remaining unmoving. And in that instant you saw a look of dread on his face, one which symbolized disappointment or sorrow. Did he think you wouldn't do it? Was that it? Did he think he knew you weren't going to do it? A sudden anger was rising in your chest. How dare he assume that? At almost light speed, you moved upwards on your knees to be level with his hips. It seemed that his shirt was already partially unbuttoned, making it much easier for you to pry open the shirt to the expanse of flesh which was foreign land. He was just as pale underneath as he looked.

It only caught Tommy a little bit off off guard when your fingertips made contact with his skin, but his tensed posture that looked in the verge of pushing you away dissipated when you glanced up in an affirmative sort of way. You seemed sure of yourself, at least to him, and he could feel a shiver up his spine as you grazed the tattoo on his heart. The ink was permanently embedded into his skin, drawing a design atop his chest that you knew not the meaning of. But that was unimportant right now.

You could see his chest rising and falling with each breath, the severity of it becoming increasingly worse. He must've felt hot, just as you did from beneath your clothes at the moment. It was probably easier to just remove them now. The coat was partially off your arm now, showing some of the skin of your shoulder. As your fingers roamed his skin, he felt himself growing a familiar feeling in his pants, causing him to open his mouth to breathe. How had you gotten him so riled up in the course of a few seconds? He didn't want to rush you, but he was feeling more than desperate at the moment. He had gone so long without physical contact that it was early sickening, and being teased in such a way where your fingertips ghosted his skin and his muscles tensed to the slightest sound was torture.

But you would make your way to spare him as your hands eventually went to this buttons closing his pants, for both his sake and yours. Touch-starved. That's the word Ada would call it. Completely and utterly touch starved. But the stubborn ass you called a boss wouldn't ever admit that to anyone in a million years. The fly of his pants came unbuttoned to reveal skin with freckles on it, revealing a slight drift of hair that lead downwards into the nether region. He looked down at you expectantly, and you knew what you needed to do.

It didn't take you any time at all to grip the hem of the fabric guarding him, your touch gently guiding it down off his hips a small bit. Apparently he was almost fully hard from just a few touches. You were tempted to flatter yourself and say that it was out of sheer lust for you, but your mind wheeled back to the thing about being touch starved. He just hadn't been touched in a while. That was all. A slightly somber feeling rose up in your chest as you looked at him. Compared to you he was almost completely undone, the anticipation of it all making him restless as he moved to cup the side of your face. He looked like he was hyperventilating.

You wouldn't say that your fear was completely gone at the contact, but it definitely eased it. You had done this a few times before, and were at least moderately skilled, but you would try to do better this time. Slowly, but surely, your mouth hovered towards the head of his member. It was warm against your lips, your tongue almost jumping out of your mouth from the sharp intake of breath he gave off at your own grazing against the sensitive skin. He was just as pale down here as he was everywhere else, enough for you to see the blood rushing to the tip as it twitched from the base. He could feel himself waiting, anticipating a longer touch or a greater feeling.

It took you a moment or so, but there was a definite point when you decided to grow the balls to do it. Soon enough you found yourself with half of the shaft inside of your mouth, his hand feverishly snaking to the side of your head as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. "That's right, love, just like that.", he rasped, his eyes seeming to become hazy. It was almost fascinating how he could become so undone in a few seconds just from this alone. Perhaps you'd tease him a little, make him more desperate for it for a little longer.

Where had this attitude of punishment begun? Was it when he surrendered himself to you? You wouldn't abuse this power you had been given, you knew that he rarely showed this side of himself to anyone. It was out of your realm of privilege, yet he'd given it to you. Not as a boss, but as a companion. As a lover, almost, just barely. And you'd keep writing poetry you didn't understand and making art you couldn't explain to yourself for as long as you'd stay under this spell he'd cast on you. As long as he held you under his control, you'd stay subjected to pointless wondering about the depths of his mind, making conclusions that were fact but ones which made you open up doors to new questions very time. This wasn't love, at least you had assumed. It was adoration and nothing else.

But you didn't know the extent to which he craved you; longed for you. There were nights he couldn't sleep, plagued by the memories of a distant past and the thought of you swimming through his mind. It was a burden to feel so helpless and at the mercy of another person, by another person. Especially one who was meant to be underneath him. But he wouldn't treat you as property. You would be treated as you deserved to be treated; the one who made him feel a sliver of happiness just at the sight of you. And so when he made a move to stroke your hair affectionately as your mouth worked it's way down his shaft, he had no hesitation in encouraging you in your act.

You had told him before you didn't do this sort of thing often, both out of lack of desire to others and bad experience, but your words betrayed you. He expected you to be an amateur, lacking in experience, but you were making him unwind with just your mouth at the moment, and you didn't appear to be trying. Was his admiration so great that he could find pleasure just at seeing you? You hummed around him as his hips suddenly bucked upwards, encouraging you wordlessly to bob your head. You did as commanded of you, your eyes closing a small bit as your hands moved over the clothed expanse of his thighs. He was breathing heavily now, a slight sheet of sweat coming over his brow as you worked it out of him, your eyes kidding over as you chocked a small bit.

The sound itself made him nearly release right there, but he held himself back. You'd go slow this time, since it was more indulgent that way. Your hair feel upon your face in a way that made you look angelic, even like this, with your lips wrapped around his length and your eyes starting to tear a bit. You had always been quiet when you were focused, so it was no surprise to him that you weren't speaking. Your tongue had made its way to stroke at the underside of his skin, trailing up and down the rippled which seemed to pulse beneath your tongue. It was then that you stopped for a moment just as you were reaching the apex of the tip, resting your tongue's pressure to the most sensitive area as you sucked gently where you were.

The warmth in the room was building to a conclusion that made his hips buck upwards, his arms tense, and his hand suddenly grip at the side of your head in a manner that could be considered painful. You drew back with an loud pop, your eyes flicking upward towards him. Even in a more sober state than before, you don't feel as if you weren't doing this against your will. You felt...safe. Maybe it was how he was speaking to you, or the fact that he looked like he was in complete euphoria at just the touch of your mouth. But Tommy had always had a gift of gaining your trust very quickly. You knew he wouldn't hurt you, not too bad at least.

It was quiet as he moved forward, adjusting himself to gaze at how you were touching your lips which were stained of his cum. You looked anticipating, aroused even as you looked up to him with such an appearance. It was almost as if he had marked his territory in a way. But he would find time to do that better, right now he was all too fixed on admiring you.

"Take a seat right here, hm?", he said patting his lap. You felt complied to obey, although you weren't sure what he was planning. You wiped his seed off your face with the fabric of the sleeve, causing you to shed the jacket entirely as it fell to the floor. You rose to your feet, adjusting a piece of the dress that had gotten caught on your skin. "That's right, up you go.", he coaxed, leaning back as you slowly made your way up. "Am I too heavy?", you asked, your words a bit clearer now that you had sobered up a small bit. You looked a little worried, but to that he just...chuckled. With your legs straddling his waist, you felt your heart speed up a bit. This was so...filthy of you two. What if someone walked in?

The smile that graced his lips caused you to feel butterflies in your chest and your own muscles pulling taught to your eyes, feeling a little embarrassed at the question. "Think I'm weak, yeah? Open up your legs for me.", he said, tone almost too teasing for you. You did as you were told, seeming to speak your legs to drape over the arm of the chair on either side like an overflowing cup where the fluid would drop off in beads of liquid. You had to lean on your elbows a small bit as you did, causing you to feel a slight bit exposed at how much up skirt he could be seeing. You assumed he had seen people like this all the time, either by command or not, but you felt yourself growing a bit somber at thinking of that. It felt wrong, at least now.

Slowly but surely, he made his way to snake his hand up your thigh, pale, scarred hand seeming to come into contrast with your own s/c skin. His fingertips were rough and scarred, his muscles seeming to move under the pale skin as he trailed his right hand up your right leg. He was careful in his movement, retaining eye contact the whole way as he did. His blue eyes were intense, the emotion and focus shining through the tired lids that made him look worn out most of the time. It was the gaze of a hawk staring you down. His fingers ghosted over the expanse of your inner thigh, eyes seeming to trail with the movement. Yet he stopped near the endpoint of your leg, looking up affirmatively.

You nodded a bit too eagerly at the unspoken question.

As soon as he reached his permission, Tommy immediately flipped your dress up, seeing that in fact you were wearing a lingerie set that complemented your skin tone and figure more than anything. The color was most accented by the fabric, seeming to give off a slightly shiny glow in the candle light. He had hoped this wasn't out of expectancy of another encounter with someone else. His fingers trained to your right hip, left hand coming up to hook with the hem of your underwear almost teasingly. Your breath was speeding up at the warmth being drawn over your skin in circles by his thumb, his right hand seeming to go underneath the fabric of your underwear to rest there for a bit.

Hesitantly, but sure enough, he moved forward, his head coming to rest into the crook of your neck. You made no move to resist him, frantic hands gripping onto his clothed shoulder as he breathed in your scent. His thumb was still making circles underneath your bare minimum of clothing as his hand moved to stroke you. It made you jolt for a second, but you felt calmed as soon as he shushed you quietly in your ear. Your eyes fluttered closed as he slipped a digit to rest between your folds. You barely held in a gasp at the sensation of him messing with the wetness between you, breath hiking up as you struggled to suppress a moan. But one came loose despite your hesitation. You were fairly certain he could react badly to that sort of thing, perhaps out of bad memory, but your feeling betrayed you.

"A-Ah, Mr. Shelby-", you moaned, your breath catching in your throat. “Tommy.” You nodded quickly, letting the word drip from your mouth like honey. “Tommy, please...” At that he let out a slight huff, his movement becoming more erratic as he played with the nub of your heat. It felt as if you were going to collapse at the feeling alone. Your legs had begun to shake, eyes screwing closed as you but back moans. But he wasn't having any of it. "Don't hold them back, Y/n.” It sounded like a growl, one which you felt came from the depth she of him. He didn't care if someone heard, he wanted them to know. “Let me hear you. You can be loud.", he said, barely above a whisper. You could hear the rustle of leaves outside sound more distant than anything, everything other than what was happening in this room sounding like distant, white noise. You felt comforted yet strangely exited all at once, not helped by the soothing but hungry words coming out of his mouth.

It took him almost no time at all to slip a finger inside of you, nearly catching you off guard as you quickly removed the rest of your dress. It didn't take you long to get it off with his reluctant departure for a second, but the fact that the flat of your stomach and rivet of your ribs that hid underneath your skin were now exposed to the coldness of the room made him slightly more pleased to litter your skin with marks. Combined with the incessant thrusting of his hand, Tommy had begun to suck at your neck, using your clutching hands on his mostly undone shirt at motivation. You complied to his command almost too eagerly when he told you to moan for your mouth was ajar as you let out soft whimpers of pleading.

The heat you felt was not from the candles or heating system, but rather the intensity of his movements and warmth of your own skin against his that had made you feel so overheated. You needed to get your clothes off soon, for a sheen of sweat was forming on your skin to glisten in the dim light of the room. You needn't feel embarrassed however. You could tell that he was almost at his wit's end. In his frenzy he inserted yet another digit, stretching you out a bit as you let out a soft, short plea at the intrusion. Your hips had resulted in grinding onto him for friction, mostly as a way to draw you to your end more quickly. There was a staggering pulsing inside of you that he could feel around him, his fingers moving a bit to curl inwards on you. It caused you to let out a moan that could wake the dead from their graves almost as it woke his arousal once more more intensely and violently.

His mourn the whole time had made it self occupied by roaming your skin with kisses and slight beats of heavy breathing, but stopped when you whimpered something softly to him. "I-I can't stop it much longer...", you spoke, voice barely above a whisper. It was almost pitiful, but he had never been one to give mercy. Almost instantly, Tommy bit down, hard, on your neck, your back arching as you hissed in through your teeth. He was trying to draw it out of you more intensely than he would any other, and it was most evident how he began to whisper things to you that were more along the lines of harsh whispers and lamentations of his wants that you felt you were at his mercy. The tables had turned on a mere matte roof minutes, but no one would catch you complaining.

"F-Fuck- oh god..."

With an arch of your back and a familiar heat wash over your body, you felt the knot of electric pulsing unwind as your threw your head back. Tommy seemed to let out a satisfied sigh as he felt a wash of liquid over his fingers, letting the digits slide out of you more easily as he watched you come undone. By this point your hair was sticking to your face and your eyes had opened only slightly from their tight closure, but he didn't mind. With his clean hand he made his way to wipe your hair out of your face. You felt yourself lean into his touch.

"Breathe.” He placed a soft kiss on your cheek. “You did a good job.", he said simply, stroking your face almost affectionately. But it was when his lips met your slowly that you felt yourself relax completely from underneath him. Your eyes fluttered close as he moved forward in that familiar way, his own thin lips meeting with yours for a long, lingering moment before moving away. You knew you wouldn't have to go past your limit, he wasn't seeking that out tonight. But your head filled with slight worries of the future. You hoped this wouldn't taint your work with him.

Very slowly, you managed to smile as he moved to lean back into the chair, whipping off his fingers with a nearby rag. There was a long silence before you chuckled a little, causing him to raise a brow. "What?", he asked you, his expression barely even stoic anymore. He just looked tired, but completely vulnerable to you at the moment. Huh. "Nothing, I just never thought you'd tell me I'd done a good job after jerking me off.", you said nonchalantly, shrugging a little. He almost cracked a smile at that, but not quite. "We'll keep this quiet for now, I assume?" Tommy shook his head a little, resting his hand on your leg before smiling a bit and narrowing his eyes at you. "If you could keep your voice down for once, yeah. Let's keep it quiet." You smacked his arm playfully, causing him to roll his eyes.

He would be sure to push you to your limit next time.

E N D

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thirtheenprimes · 4 years

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The Gaang+Iroh Classpects

I'd like to start off by saying there are no gender restrictions on classes nor aspects. Hussie himself said in a post I'm not going to take the time to find that any indication otherwise by the characters was just speculation. Let's be honest, gender restrictions are dumb.

Aang - Witch of Breath. First the obvious, he manipulates air as an air bender. But more than that, he pushes boundaries, and he redefines what the aspect means. Breath is about more than air, and Aang isnt just an air bender, he's the avatar. He is a leader, and he takes things into his own hands because he wants to do the right thing. Witches are bubbly, nice, and make great friends. Breath is also about freedom, direction, finding your own path in life and going with the flow. I would also consider Maid of Breath, but I'm pretty positive on the Witch thing. Though the Heir title does strike me as it still manipulates, but it has responsibilities and inheritance tied to it, but they more let their aspect control them than they control it. Aang doesnt let his destiny control him.

Katara - I compare her to Kanaya, I think. She's a passive class, but will still cut you for hurting someone she cares about. Given "because hope is all we have" isnt based off nothing, Hope is a viable aspect. She kindles and heals the hope in Aang and plenty of others, sort of mothering everyone into a rebellion and believing in themselves. But she could also be blood. She represents keeping people grounded, bonded to their loved ones. Her village, her deep care for everyone, and a great compliment to Aangs Breath. Plus, it would be great poetic symbolance with her whole blood bending arch. I think my official judgement for her is Sylph of Blood.

Sokka - Either Mind for his deductions, planning, and critical thinking, or Space for his creative thinking and ingenuity. Sokka uses his brain a lot, but he's also the creator of the group. Initially, I am split 50/50 on which one he is. So let's move onto class before deciding. Again, I have a gut instinct for him and that is Knight, because he sees himself as a warrior and as the only nonbender of the group, he has to be a fighter at heart... right? No, he is the plan maker, the schedule keeper and the inventor. Sure he's a warrior, but he's too open about himself to be a Knight. Knights hide behind something and that just isnt Sokka. So, moving past that, I consider a rogue. Rogues are fighters too, but they are more clever about it. They take their aspect and use it to benefit the team. Most everything Sokka does, especially later is because of the team. Rogues tend to be nice and earnest, like Sokka. So, then is it Rogue of Mind wherein he takes the logic and thoughts of others to benefit the team by coming up with new plans and ideas, or a Rogue of Space, wherein he takes physics and general creativity to do essentially the same thing? Personally, I lean a bit more toward Rogue of Space.

Toph - Toph is a Knight. That or a Thief, since she's def an active role as a foil to Katara's passive. She weaponized her aspect, and knights hide behind a facade of some kind, you know Toph hides behind her 'I'm tough and independent, I rely on no one!' act. But Thieves are forceful and unbending, like Earth. Not that all earth benders need to be thieves, but Toph is kind of the greatest Earth bender in the world for a reason. I'm feeling more Knight, though. As for aspect, I had a bit more difficulty. I was stuck between Life and Heart. Life I associate with vitality, luxury, privilege, and power. She comes from a wealthy family and even when she more than happily forsakes that life, living in wilderness and being a dirty barefooted rock child is luxury to her. It is fulfillment, and she needs to be in charge of her own life, a common trait for Life players. Heart I associate with soul and willpower, the force of an individual. That fits her well too, as an earth bender who understands her need to be true to herself. So I'm still not sure if I consider her a Knight of Life or a Knight of Heart but I am leaning more to Heart to be honest.

Zuko - Heir. He inherits, struggles with inheriting, and never fully controls his aspect, whatever it is. Rather, he learns to live with it and redirect it. We all know he's the group dad, and I see heirs as having to do with father figures. John and his dad, and you know Popop was a great dad. Mituna was a failed heir, as they all were, but Zuko is so successful at being an Heir he somehow breaks the definition and evolves into King (I know he becomes Fire Lord, but lord is a class and it isnt him). Now after saying all that, I also admit he fits the role of a Page really well too. He takes so long to find himself and come into his own, but when he does he is fantastic. But thematically, I believe he is an heir. As for his aspect, I'll start off by saying that if he is a Page, I'll go full Blood. Page of Blood, in which case Katara would be Sylph of Hope because I dont believe there should be two of the same aspects in one group. Thematically speaking, they are too different, even if everyone embodies their aspect differently. As an Heir, which again I am more of a proponent for, he would be an Heir of Life, given he is royalty and used to the finer things in life, then learns what the real finer things in life are from his uncle. Relating fire bending to the sun and sustaining life supports this too. Life is luxury, duty, and vitality. Again, I dont believe in repeated classes or aspects in a group, so if he is an Heir of Life, Toph would most certainly be a Knight of Heart.

Iroh - Zuko's ancestor, certainly. In homestuck, the humans share no pattern with their ancestors but the trolls share their aspect. I do not see Iroh as a Hero of Life, but I could see him as a Hero of Blood. If his aspect were blood (understanding others, what's important to them and how their culture is significant, it just screams Iroh of the white lotus and master of tea), I believe Iroh could be a Muse of Blood or Mage of Blood. I lean more toward Mage myself, as mages suffer from their aspect. Look at who his brother is, know his suffering from his son's death, and how much do you think he hurt when he thought he lost Zuko to the abuse of the Fire Lord? A mage is a sage because of their experience and you cant tell me Iroh isnt the best old sage ever. I'm not saying Zuko is a Page of Blood because they are related and he learned how to reach his full potential because of Iroh, because they dont have to have the same aspect, I'm just saying Zuko was lucky to have such a great Mage of Blood taking care of him. Muse might work also just because the most important thing a Muse does is exist, and the most important thing Iroh does is just being a good person, though I think he's too active in taking care of everyone to be a Muse myself.

So my final decision

Aang: Witch of Breath

Katara: Sylph of Blood

Sokka: Rogue of Space

Toph: Knight of Heart

Zuko: Heir of Life

Iroh: Mage of Blood

*Iroh and Katara embody Blood differently and can have the same aspect because Iroh is an ancestor, not one of the kids. I just put him in here because he is my favorite character.

#classpect #atla #homestuck #avatar the last airbender #aang #katara #sokka #toph #zuko #uncle iroh #witch of breath #sylph of blood #rogue of space #knight of heart #heir of life #mage of blood #classpect analysis #only a little obsessed #I'm flexible on a few of these

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newproletarians · 4 years

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new proletarians

Alright, so I’m feeling a few things. I’m angry and confused at the world and my place in it, and I don’t want to lose sight of my heart. The reason that’s even on the table is that I feel—in a very real, day-to-day sense—the urge to just let it callous over with grey boogers, or whatever callouses over the hearts of Squidwards everywhere. Regular old life can do that to a devastating degree, but so can the usual suspects—things like real trauma and tragedy. I’d like to say I’ve experienced a little of both at this point in my young life, but I’m still fighting the calcification of my heart. Let’s hope that in just throwing my brain at the proverbial wall, some things stick that are worth sticking. Maybe my clarity can also be yours, reader. Maybe we can snuggle up with ourselves tonight, content that we know what the fuck is going on in the world, and smugly abstain from that which our friends could never imagine abstaining from, and which we’ve known we’ve needed to abstain from for decades. Whatever. It’s wordy. It’s a fucking blog, future me. They’re supposed to contain words. Also, maybe, if I’m writing a blog where the over 50% of the audience is myself, writing it is supposed to feel at least a little similar to masturbating.

Where to begin? Well, let’s start with this: I am a college-educated youth who attended what’s commonly referred to as the best public university in the world. I received a rolled up piece of paper symbolizing a degree on a stage with other students and professors a year and a half ago. So it’s recent. And right off the bat, in my young adulthood, I have a chip on my shoulder, having that big qualifier of “public.” I went to the world’s fanciest college... for the proletariat. What does that mean? For me, this brings to mind a lot of issues having to do with the distribution of wealth in the United States, in addition to what the hell is going on economically here and in the world—but that’s something to get into later. The more pressing issue is what the hell the role of a college-educated young person is today. DFW pretty succinctly laid out an idea of what that could be in his famous address. His point was basically that college (specifically, a liberal arts education) gives you the critical thinking skills necessary to be able to get through life under capitalism (or whatever you want to call the current regime) without going crazy. I think we can do better than that. Also, fuck it, I’m giving myself permission to be temporarily pissed off, because fuck that, dude. I know that rage isn’t always an indicator of fruitful conversation, but I gotta let some steam out somewhere. I’m sure that it’ll only lead to me being better down the line. God—I am pissed. About how we’re deciding to go about talking through issues we’re having as a society (on Twitter, but also in comments sections and in NY Times articles). I have so much anger, I’m just now realizing, and I need to process it without stupidly burning myself out on it. It’s a subject for later, and not what we’re talking about right now. Right now, we’re talking about the role of the college-educated youth today. I think we’re getting somewhere, too. I don’t think the role of the college-educated youth in today’s scenario is to correct their friends and families, nor is it to Tweet about how embarrassing, vulgar, or otherwise horrible stupid people are—however embarrassing, vulgar, or otherwise horrible they may be. The role, to me, has to do with learning this stuff. Learning about systems of power, systems of abuse (many of which hum merrily along in universities—looking at you, Searl. [My anger, you guide me, but you also lead me astray]).Staying ON POINT. The way it has to do with these things is that today’s C.E.Y. needs to notice them, understand them, then DO something about them. There are, for instance, things that we learn about privilege and prejudice in university that we may be tempted to hurl at our elders back home as insults. Our jobs, as young students, are to be sexy, fashionable, charismatic stewards of the new age. Instead of yelling at our parents about being racist, we should, say, intervene in a subtle way that guides rather than punishes. That preserves trust and connection in relationships while simultaneously doing our best to right centuries-old wrongs. But this is about so much more than that. Our role is about how we conduct ourselves as the nations intelligentsia. But that’s a question. I’m not answering it here, try as I might. I still don’t know how I feel about it. It stretches into all corners of life, this role. For instance, into several things in my life I’m mad about.

For instance, I kind of hate my closest loved ones. Oops. That’s where I’m at. Am I supposed to ignore these feelings? They’re there, they’ve been there, and if I know anything about our brains, it’s that feelings shouldn’t be ignored. That’s what dumb ass patriarchs think. The funniest/saddest part of that is that they, said dumb asses, tell themselves that suppressing their feelings is the manly thing to do. It’s honestly just the cowardly thing to do. Men are so afraid of confronting their feelings that they would rather go their entire life wearing a life three sizes too small than mention a thing about it. Anyway. They’re conditioned to feel this way by their surroundings. This—this is a great point that I would love to be a major takeaway here. The thing about being educated is that you’re aware of systems, that systems need to be changed. Fault the people who can change the systems, if anyone, but really, even they are just products of the system. The good thing is that, as a powerless mass of atomized society, we have been created by these systems knowing SOME things that are wrong with it. Now we, the crumbs of dust living in and created by the gargantuan grandfather clock of life, have the sentience necessary to band together and make switch out some gears. Picture a big hand of made of dust, fixing the clock. That’s us. That’s what the role of college educated students is today. But that’s not so much the point of this paragraph, so much is the fact that I kind of hate my closest loved ones—which feels so good to say. My best friends, for instance, are really rough individuals. One is an obvious, obnoxiously insecure, compulsive liar. He’s not super tall and weighs almost 300 pounds. It’s not nice to say this stuff, but the purpose of life isn’t to be nice about everybody all the time in your own head, or on your own anonymous blog. He alienates everyone I bring him around with his bizarre persona. His insecurity is so deep that I shit you not, almost a majority of the interactions I’ve had with him would very reasonably get a “come on,” response from anyone. He has to create little talking points to make his life feel acceptable. He’s one of those people who constantly refers conversations back to their insecurities, and how they feel so secure about them, for this reason and that reason. It’s like, Christ, man. Come on. I feel a lot more ways about this, but I’m a little scared he’ll see this some day. I’m worried he’s going to die young, because he is extremely overweight. His doctor said he’s a few months away from a heart attack/stroke unless he takes immediate action, which it seemed like he was taking initially, but it doesn’t really seem like it anymore. I don’t know. The whole situation feels extremely choked by our inability to just communicate with our fucking words. And yes, I am sounding angry, I’m not actually this angry, but consider these the bubbles from a can of soda that’s been shaken. What will be left is the only-slightly-bubbled soda. That’ll come soon. For now, there are bubbles. New paragraph.

The point that I was trying and failing to get to in the previous paragraph is that I don’t like this guy. He has a lot of great qualities, and he’s certainly not a bad person to have in one’s life—as in, he’ll never cheat on his spouse, and he’ll always go the extra mile for his friends in a certain sense. But I don’t. I wish I could just talk to him about this weird, bizarre, fucking deal breaking shit, but I just can’t. Our communication is choked. I don’t think it’s his fault, though. I think it’s to do with overlapping systems of culture that make it difficult. Maybe. Maybe that’s not the point here, and the real point is just that I feel stuck in that situation. Moving on.

(TW: sexual assault)

Another friend is a fucking bona fide sexual assaulter. He practically got #metoo’d, on a personal level. His gf broke up with him because he sexually assaulted the female half of their best-friend-couple. He fingered her while sharing a bed with her and his gf, for some confusing reason. We talked about it and he gave me this wordy, bizarre, incongruent tale of what happened. It involved a LOT of details and qualifiers. When I talked to the dude half of the couple, the guy who was (and still is) with the woman who got assaulted, he said that my friend just straight up did a ton of nonconsensual shit. He also said that when his gf told other people, more people came forward saying this guy had been creepy to other women in their friend circle. This friend absolutely has a history of gaslighting and successfully avoiding trouble by forcing his way. I need to talk to him, but again, fucking choked. I have no ability to have any kind of “real talk” with him. We do not have a venue, and the prospect of confrontation is absolutely debilitating to the average WASP-y dude. Which brings us to our next situation.

I have a great friend I met in undergrad. She is very well-liked, and while I definitely don’t agree with everything she thinks, I really value her friendship. Her boyfriend is a fucking nightmare. Not really, honestly. There are actual nightmare boyfriends. This boyfriend is more of a waking nightmare. The kind of nightmare that becomes worse because it’s so hard to call out. It just keeps going. I’ve kept CLOSE track, and every SINGLE time I’ve hung out with them as a couple, this guy crosses the line. He says condescending, mean, weird, bizarre, shit that... there’s just no better way to say it than he crosses a line that normal people don’t cross. I haven’t counted, but we’ve probably hung out close to 30 times. Every time it happens, every time I give him another chance. I got a little counseling about this situation from a friend’s mom, just in casual conversation, and her advice was to figure out what in me upset me about this guy. At that point, I realized that what Eric Andre said is true: advice is stupid. Also, that I am not going to run my life based on what this person, who I previously looked up to in a god-like way when it came to relationships, says. I am going to figure it out on my own, because it seems like everybody’s solution to relationship issues is to never talk about them, or to have some kind of inner-peace solution that makes getting abused not suck so bad (looking at you, DFW). Ugh. Okay. Moving on, again. Because yep, there’s so, so much more. Again, asking questions here, not answering them.

Also, if you’re reading this and thinking “damn, bro, your life is boring,” that’s my point. This is just normal life. These are just normal people. This is the water we’re swimming in. It’s fucking tense, man. Living in the United States is tense.

I’m running out of steam at this point, but God damn it. My brothers are dick holes. And we’re great friends. They are guys who don’t ever cause a fuss, avoid confrontation at all costs, and are nothing but rewarded for it. Sometimes I think I have something to learn from them in that regard. But is that really the life we want to live? Just don’t communicate your issues? It’s just frustrating. They act superior to others, but are categorically unable to have an honest, undiplomatic conversation. They act superior to others, and are treated as superior. It feels a little like talking to robots, talking to them, decoding what they’re saying to ascertain how they may actually be feeling in a given moment. I have no idea how they feel about me. Or anything. I don’t even think they know or care. I think they just get by, and they’re rewarded for it.

Alright, moving right along. My dad. Damn do I want to not talk to that guy. I can’t talk about anything real with him. It’s like playing ping pong where the other person can only hit the ball if it goes where his paddle already is, and his paddle’s made out of glass.

This is a sample of some real life issues I am dealing with, spoken as honestly as possible, as is evidenced by the rampant spelling and grammatical errors. College works into this as the thing that has given me recourse for dealing with this stuff. As a college educated youth, I can approach life in an informed, good way. This is life. Etc.

What am I walking away with? Well, I now know for sure that I have a lot of shit to work through. MAYBE more than one Tumblr post. Also, I guess I am proving that people still Tumbl in 2021. I am starting to really understand what the questions I have are. I think part of my issue stems from some feeling of being “out of the loop,” or having some natural, in-set outrage about not understand what’s going on, which was founded by years of being the same height as the people around me’s knees, being the youngest person in my family. Everyone around me were skyscraper people with adult conversations happening way up there. It’s a little imposter syndrome, I think, too. It comes from being the youngest, I think, too. Mixed with a natural sensitivity that I’ve noticed people like me have.

My goal is to get better at living my life. That involves understanding how I want to live, it involves understanding what my values really are, thinking through them a little, and more. I think it’s really worth it. In the meantime, I am not a work in progress. I am a fucking careful, cool, bright, talented guy who is not perfect, but is working on it. And I am going to postpone making any big decisions about my personal life until I get some clarity.

I thought I’d get more to the subject of the new proletarians, which is something I was thinking about today when listening to Harmontown and asking myself questions about what college is for if it just makes us unemployable, debt-ridden, twitter douchers. Anyway. We’ll get to it again sometime.

This was nice. Let’s do this again sometime.

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sebthesnipe · 4 years

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The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagain An Analysis? Chapter 3 Part 1

All portions:

Chapter 1: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 2: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 3: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

The Dreamer

by @whatwashernameagain

Reminder: Spoilers under cut!

Hello friends!!!

It has been some time since I wrote a literary analysis for The Dreamer, but Chapter 3 was released and I’m back in business!!!

If you have not read the analysis for Chapters 1 and 2 I suggest you do so. (Links above)

As Always if you have not done so please read @whatwashernameagain ‘s The Dreamer Chapter 3 before you continue. This analysis is pretty much a giant spoiler if you haven’t.

Lastly I am going to place all of the same warning as Whatwashernameagain did on the chapter because there is some pretty intense subjects throughout the work that we all need to be aware of. I have also broken my Chapter analysis into four parts as usual to keep it from getting too bulky.

Also, you can find additional links to The Dreamer analysis on AO3 (and other works by me) here on my masterpost.

LETS GET STARTED!!!

Warnings: homophobia, internalized homophobia, republican brainwashing, manipulation, mentioned pedophilia, violence, threatened sexual abuse, injuries, being pressured into sex, nakedness.

Eva opens with Roman making a mistake. He has failed to listen to his handler, Virgil. He had raided an abandoned warehouse, hoping to capture the leader of a human trafficking ring (Whatwashernameagain). This is a subtle reminder of the difference between Logan and Roman. Once again, we see Roman concerning himself with ‘the smaller’ issues. By this I mean, caring for the individual person rather than the world as a whole. Roman is good hearted enough to consider a small human trafficking ring as a very large issue that needs to be address. This also brings attention to just how sensitive Roman can be. Though it may not be apparent here, if we look closely, we can see the same endearing and caring individual that I have been analyzing throughout the first two chapters. Roman’s attention to the crimes that The Utilitarian sees as lessor implies that Roman is far more sensitive as a person than he lets on. An aspect that is even more apparent the further we get into the chapter.

We are informed that the target had gotten away as an explosion occurs, burying Roman in debris and crushing the only contact he has with the outside world. He loses contact with his friend, leaving him along. He passes out and wakes strapped to a chair. That’s when we see another development occur:

“He hadn’t realized how much he relied on the snarky, moody voice in his ear until helplessness flooded him in the silent dark room” (Whatwashernameagain).

First off, Virgil and Roman’s relationship has obviously evolved through the last chapter which we knew, but this also brings a whole new experience to Roman. He has grown accustomed to his friend being there, always guiding him, a voice he could rely and trust on. Now that voice is gone. It’s almost as if the crutch Roman had given himself to help support everything he was doing is now gone. In this instance we can see Virgil as an aspirin. Roman has grown so use to the pain of loneliness being gone because Virgil was always there as a buffer that when he is gone the pain feels as if it is ten times worse. Roman is alone. A feeling he has never really had to face, at least not since he became The Dreamer.

“The young man had grown used to bearing pain in silence, but as his blood dripped to the ground between his knees, coughed up from injured lungs, he barely managed to hold back the whimper of agony and fear” (Whatwashernameagain).

Okay, Eva… I smell what you’re cooking. Was this supposed to hurt? Huh?! Cuz it did!! But not as much as the rest of the chapter. -.- This line sets the new scene quite effectively. First off, Roman is referred to as ‘The young man’. I’ve had the privilege of chit chatting with Eva regularly and she has pointed out that I underestimate her often lol and she’s right. So, I’m fairly convinced that she refers to Roman in this way on purpose.

The Dreamer is a symbol of hope and justice that politicians paint for their own gain. He is strong and mature, a role model to those in need. Here we see the man behind the suit. The young man specifically. With all of his heroic feats it is difficult to remember that Roman is not very old. The reminder of his age is very strategic here when faced with the ‘agony and fear’ of this scene. Eva does a stunning job reminding us of just how fragile these monumental people can be. Behind the cape Roman is just a scared and pained young man trying to do his best, just as we all are. This simple sentence causes the reader to relate even more to the young man as we watch him try and keep himself together.

“By his estimation, he had spent two days in semi-darkness being beaten, dehydrated and humiliated. The worst thing wasn’t the broken ribs and fingers though, it was the things his torturer promised he’d do to him once he’d beaten him into submission and received the information he wanted” (Whatwashernameagain).

I have mentioned before that the best writers coax their readers into asking questions. Here we are, or at least I am, curious about a number of things. Roman has been tortured and beaten for two days. Is the fact that his team hasn’t found him due to their inadequacy without him or their indifference? My money is on the later. Roman is worth a lot of money as a hero, but if someone is sent to save him, he loses face which is bad for business. Perhaps they hope he’ll get himself out of the situation he is in.

The real interesting line from this section however is the line ‘The worst thing wasn’t the broken ribs and fingers though, it was the things his torturer promised he’d do to him once he’d beaten him into submission and received the information he wanted’ (Whatwashernameagain). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read literature with torture scenes that are nothing but physical. This is fairly sad because a person’s psychological torment can be just as painful as physical. For example, Metin Basoglu of King’s College London, UK and colleagues surveyed 279 survivors of torture from the former Yugoslavia, including both soldiers and civilians from the previously war-torn region (Khamsi, Roxanne). In this study, they discovered that Falaga, the burning of parts of the body, and forced extraction of teeth all scored a 3.6 out of 4 for a pain rating (Khamsi, Roxanne). The same rating was given for Witnessing torture of close ones and threats of rape (Khamsi, Roxanne). This would suggest that Roman’s fear of what is to come can indeed cause more pain than what he is physically experiencing. Not to mention we already know that the hero has an unusually strong tolerance for physical pain if his body alterations is anything to go by. Regardless, Eva obviously can acknowledge that the unknown can be as painful as any injury.

Next, we see Roman falling farther and farther into hopelessness. He knows no one is coming for him. His loneliness is settling in once more. The feeling is no doubt torture in and of itself judging by Roman’s need for approval and the public’s affection. Being alone is not something the man copes with well.

As a reader we can pretty much predict what is about to happen, however. This is not the first time an unexpected hero has emerged. Roman describes a tall slender shape drawing near and the relief from the man is palpable. Once again, Logan is his hope. His enemy becomes his savior. Eva has a tendency to remind her readers that though it is human nature to define things by placing them in a box of our own design, these boxes are often wrong. There is nothing separating one person from another. We are all people. The only divisions anything in this world has is the ones we give. An animal is an animal, not because they are not a person, but because we decided they are. A pen is a pen and not a pencil because we decided it is. If you remove these lines, everything is exactly what it is and there is nothing wrong with that. Without these lines I am still me and you can not define that and yet… I still am. Humanity has this drive that it needs to define every aspect of a being in order to accept it. Once someone accepts that not everything can fit in a box thing get easier… better… peaceful. The Utilitarianist is a villain in the public eye because they have decided that he is, just as they have decided what is good or bad. Roman, however, Roman just sees his savior. In this instance Logan is not good, Logan is not bad… Logan is hope.

“With another blow, he crashed to the ground with a sickening sound. With the usual disregard for the wellbeing of his victims, the Utilitarianist stepped over the unconscious man” (Whatwashernameagain).

Here Eva describes Logan’s attack with ‘a sickening sound’. Then immediately describes the victim as ‘unconscious’. To me, this is a bit contradicting. Firstly, we are still in Roman’s POV. Roman knows that Logan is more than capable of killing individuals, but Logan is the hero at the moment. It is possible that the man is in fact dead (I’m with Lo if this is truly the case. The bastard had it coming for hurting my poor RoRo), however, Roman’s denial and current mental state may have him believing otherwise. There is no real evidence, however, to support that Logan would leave the man alive. In fact, it would be more logical to kill him…. Then again, it’s not very logical for Logan to be saving Roman’s well sculpted ass in the first place.

“He was so relieved to see his nemesis he had to fight back a sob. He had the feeling if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop crying. The villain felt entirely unthreatening to him as he towered over Roman’s hunched body. He was familiar, like an old friend” (Whatwashernameagain).

Here we see more of Roman’s reaction to Logan’s appearance. But it is a bit more than that. Roman is still stricken with relief and his words are full of contradictions just as they had been before. These contradictions are similar to the ones we saw in Logan during the first chapter. Though some of you might know exactly what I’m referring to I’m going to quote it, just in case. Feel free to skip ahead.

“Logan goes on to talk about the ‘puffing up’ and how ‘unpractical’ The Dreamer’s costume is and his ‘irritating presence’, he talks about grand speeches and attempting to appeal to Logan’s ‘humanity’. The tone of the paragraphs is that of annoyed humor as if it were amusing to think Logan had any humanity at all. That being said… another literary study comes to mind when reading this portion of the work. I will do my best to keep from going too much in depth but basically back in the early EARLY 1900s Sigmund Freud invented psychoanalysis with his publication of The interpretation of Dreams (Rivkin, Julie). Why was it such a big deal? Well, before the publication psychology assumed that what goes on in the mind was limited to the conscious (Rivkin, Julie). What does that have to do with Logan? Well, the revolution was a huge part of history and the strides that were made in psychology didn’t only affect the medical world but the literary one as well. Psychoanalysis wasn’t only limited to a person but the work they created as well; it began to be used as a way of studying literature, analyzing the author through their work. But… I’m veering a bit too far to the left. The reason this is important is because some of Frued’s research was based on the ‘defenses’ that the ego mobilizes against unacceptable libidianal or unconscious material (Rivkin, Julie). I.e. The mind can invert a feeling into its opposite, so that a yearning for contact can become a desire to do violence (Rivkin, Julie). That, of course, is an extreme but we see the same psychological mechanism here for Logan. The Dreamer is a man who represents the very thing Logan is determined to pull down; it would be extremely illogical to have any sort of attraction to the man. There for, to put it simply, he’s in denial” (Sebthesnipe).

‘Denial’ isn’t quite the word I would use for Roman in this particular instance, though the Freudian information is still applicable. Roman refers to Logan as ‘his nemesis’ and yet feels relieved. He calls him villain but sees him as unthreatening. In fact, he ‘feels like an old friend’. Eva is obviously implying that this is a huge turning point for Roman in their relationship. While Roman is still actively rejecting Logan, calling him nemesis and villain, his emotions are betraying him. This is very similar to the issue with Logan that I quoted above. Roman is going through quite a bit of character development in this instance and the subtly that Eva writes it in is beautiful as always.

“As he silently helped him up and wrapped Roman’s shaking arm around his shoulders, the hero felt safe. They needed no words as their eyes met. The older villains were very dark, cat-like, behind the mask, and startlingly warm. The villain had never been this close. He smelled good. Clean, unlike the damp bunker filled with the scent of Roman’s blood. Somehow, the young hero was surprised to actually find himself a bit taller than the other. He’d always seemed sort of inhuman to him. Larger than life” (Whatwashernameagain).

This is a very very important paragraph. Mostly for what is to come but also because I’m Logince trash and I have no shame. Still Roman is beginning to humanize The Utilitarian. We are watching more of Roman’s character development. Roman is starting to see Logan as a person, an individual he can touch or talk to. Roman still calls him ‘villain’ to try and distance himself but his walls are falling. He mentions that Logan had never been so close. I doubt Eva mention to add this for just physical proximity. No, Logan had never been this close to the hero emotionally either. Roman is growing attached to the person behind the mask. We see Roman see through all of his previous perceptions.

He mentions seeing Logan as ‘Larger than Life’ and perhaps this is true. Prior to now Logan had always been the opposition. He had been the accumulation of everything that Roman fought again. He was a set of ideals, not an actual person. Now, thought, now, Logan is a tangible person that is currently helping Roman stagger to safety. He is solid in his arms. He is less of an idea and more of a person with feelings and ambitions, just as Roman is; because if Roman can do anything it is see a person for what they are. He’s proven that every time he has gone after the smaller criminals, the sex traffickers, the muggers, the rapists. Because to Roman, every individual is as important as every group of people.

As always, Eva shows her flawless ability to transition between dark undertones and light humor within the next few lines:

“I would like to say I was surprised you got yourself caught.”

And it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

“Excuse you, I didn’t get myself caught! And I didn’t know you were capable of doing something nice. Does it hurt to go against your nature?”

“You are being irrational.”

“And you are being a villainous menace!” (Whatwashernameagain)

Oh, how I love my bois’ banter. Ugh! So adorable!

Roman and Logan both are bickering, as usual, though perhaps this is just more of that denial I’ve mentioned? My guess is that it is, both men are trying to protect themselves from what they both know they can’t have: each other.

To be continued…

Khamsi, Roxanne. “Psychological Torture 'as Bad as Physical Torture'.” New Scientist, 5 Mar. 2007, www.newscientist.com/article/dn11313-psychological-torture-as-bad-as-physical-torture/.

Rivkin, Julie. Literary Theory: a Practical Introduction. Wiley-Blackwell, 2017.

Sebthesnipe. “The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagin an Analysis? Part 2.” RAMBLINGS OF A MARRIED FANGIRL, 4 Dec. 2019, sebthesnipe.tumblr.com/post/189470642532/the-dreamer-by-whatwashernameagin-an-analysis.

Whatwashernameagain. “The Dreamer - Chapter 1.” Hello Guys Gals And Non Binary Friends, 8 Sept. 2019, https://whatwashernameagain.tumblr.com/post/187581477262/the-dreamer-chapter-1.

#THE DREamer #literary analysis #spoot is a nerd #so tired...

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blookmallow · 4 years

Text

playing rusty lake Roots... theres so much going on

i wrote this post at like 2 AM last night so its kind of incoherent lmao

ok so now im following the family history of... maybe the founders of the rusty lake hotel? someone who is Involved Somehow. some weird shit is going on and im really into it but not quite following yet

oH god theres a dead guy in the clock. ok

i spent like 10 minutes solving puzzles in this room with that dude in there the whole time and i had no idea OK SURE

then i had to burrow into his chest to steal his heart, as you do. sorry sir apparently i need it for some reason but it doesnt look like you’re using it anymore anyway

very romantic

the absolutely batshit solutions to some of these are so good like. “she likes him! he likes her! help them communicate” “ok i will... give her a rose” “she likes the rose! oh she pricked herself and is bleeding everywhere now” “i... use her blood. for ink. with the feather i got from a raven earlier. so he can write her a love note. with her blood” “great job! they’re engaged now” “i see”

and you’ll NEVER GUESS where i found a ring for her

god damn it its you again

why is this disembodied hand following me everywhere i go... i didnt kill it this time it was already dead but like, Why

oh fuck its the dudes!!!! from the hotel!!!! its the guys!!!!

i can also see them in the hotel across the lake despite everyone else being humans this time and it feels like this should be Before the events of the, uh. dinner party. but it might be shadows of the future to come or something, there’s a lot of ominous Fate and something to do with memories happening here

oh. that’s why i needed the heart. i see

im collecting sacrifices for some kind of revival i think, im betting this is gonna end up being how mr. owl happened somehow

oH god that’s. ok. fuckign christ

thats not. how any of this works but sure ok that happened

really not a fan of the fact that the solution to “how do i get the key from the dog” ended up being “feed it the woman’s fucking placenta after she gives birth” lmao ok

i do like when the solutions are like. unexpectedly horrifying, though. that moment of “wait. no. no. oh god. thats it isnt it”

also the woman would only give me one bottle of milk (there’s three babies) so i had to fill another one with wine and another with water. i feel like this is a bad method of caring for your triplets but what do i kno

i know this all isnt really meant to be taken literally tho i think... everything happening here is highly symbolic but im not sure exactly how

the milk goes to samuel, who seems the most normal/put together child, maybe the one who was treated the best/the most privileged one/the one closest to the mother

the wine goes to albert who ends up being the most fucked up one so maybe thats a sign he was abused/maybe one or both parents had an alcohol problem they took out on him the most

im not sure what the water would mean though, that one goes to emma and shes a botanist so, water for the flowers, i guess, she later commits suicide but i dont know why yet (or maybe it might not be explained at all) maybe it’s a. wasting away/neglected thing?

hm.

im missing a shot i thought i had here but you’re in an alchemy lab trying to make this elixir and the alchemist won’t take it, and the only other thing in the room is.... the dog

so i was just like :( im gonna kill the dog arent i

but then

the dog drank the elixir and was fine so the alchemist tried it and immediately died, so apparently it’s a 50/50 chance of either reaction and not “it works or it doesn’t” all around and now we have an immortal dog :’ )

either that or it just doesn’t affect dogs. time will tell i suppose

anyway this is how albert turned out and i would do anything for him LOOK at this baby boy

he wanted a butterfly so i solved a bunch of very strange puzzles to obtain one for him

fuCKing hell

albert you’re not gonna believe this look what i found

FUCK yeah you look great

i brought him the butterfly and he immediately stabbed it to death but really im more concerned with the fact that it’s BLEEDING RED

look at him go

i carved a pumpkin mask for him and he loves it

i hope albert knows i would die for him

ok anyway uhh its 2 AM as of when im writing this so i should stop but im trying to work out thoughts on what the fuck is going on here so far

ok so

james married mary and they had three kids

james might have murdered his uncle or something im still not sure why there was a dead guy in the clock at the beginning

somethin sure happened there

james became fascinated with alchemy and eventually died trying to create an elixir of life. something or someone is trying to do some kind of weird revival ritual with body parts. i highly suspect that might be where mr. owl comes from

its not totally clear what’s going on with albert, he had a mark on his head when he was a baby but im not sure if his face is like that just bc birth mark or if the wasp incident made it worse or something, i feel like it wasnt as visible in the childhood scene but i dont remember now

he wanted the butterfly when he was a kid too but it wasnt clear if he liked it or wanted to kill it then too. not sure if the wasp incident Changed Him/was the start of lifelong rivalry with samuel, or if albert’s just mentally ill and that was just One More Incident with his siblings bullying him, or maybe a combination of both

emma grows up to be a botanist but commits suicide for reasons unknown

there was a really weird disjointed flashback on emma’s side of the tree where albert kind of inadvertently dumped a kid into a well (he was... spinning the crank thing mayb stimming or something, the player makes the swing go too far to make the kid land there in the first place so idk if thats just The Hand Of Fate or what, but albert didnt technically do it he just was the reason he lost grip on the. thing where the rope goes/he didnt help the kid) (but again he’s. not mentally well, i think it was ‘he didnt understand what was going on’ more than ‘he committed a possible murder’) so idk if maybe that was emma’s kid?? she also may have been impregnated by plants. dont know what the fuck that was about either

samuel marries a fortune teller named ida (and has more kids i think. i wasnt paying close enough attention to the photo on the wall) who albert also loves but she seems to think of him as the devil and has visions about him i think

it looks like albert loses it and puts some kind of curse on samuel possibly black magic/voodoo/something which MAY have turned him into mr. crow, which, fucked up if true

but im hesitant to accept “albert’s just Fucked Up And Evil” bc... the wine bottle seems to imply he was not treated well as a baby/possibly abused, samuel knocked a wasp nest onto his head which isn’t massively outside the realm of like. sibling rivalry stuff (my brother once smacked me in the head with a snowglobe so hard i had to be rushed to the doctor when he was rly little/i was younger and we’re Completely Fine now lmao) but maybe fucked him up worse than they realized

and the whole thing with ida, too. theres no detail given but it definitely seems like samuel is the favorite child and albert is the “we don’t talk about that one” child so its like. years of abuse/unequal treatment/etc and we dont necessarily know how samuel’s treated him all these years or if there could’ve been more/worse things going on

i dont know!! i like him and i want him to get help and not just be condemned as the family demon just bc he spooky

#lucy plays rusty lake #i guess thats how ill tag these since its clearly a connected. storyline even if technically 'separate games'

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girlbossfrankshepard · 6 years

Text

Groundhog Day and an examination of alienation under capitalism

(these all sure are some sentences in an order)

Day One - Ah look at all these dumb uncivilized hicks who are poor probably because they’re dumb and uncivilized, I am sophisticated and smart and I can go anywhere I want in life because I am so great and I deserve it, and also golf courses are a symbol of my elitist and destructively self-indulgent behavior

Day Two/Day Three/Stuck - Uhhhh hey what the hell guys? Everything that was familiar and stable to me is being thrown out the window and I really need help making sense of all this before I have a total nervous breakdown?

Nobody Cares - Well it looks like we’re trapped in cycles by the society we live in, whether it be poverty or magical time loops, and everything is hopeless and pointless and empty, so we might as well just say “fuck it” and go hogwild

Philandering - Woo I have ultimate freedom to do anything I want without consequence! Unfortunately I only know how to spend money and exploit people because I’ve been conditioned to be a consumer non-stop, hmmm

One Day - Alright so that’s all getting boring and unfulfilling, I want a real relationship with this nice person. I know she hates me because I’m objectively the worst, but I’m sure that if I work hard enough I can figure out all the right things to say and do so she’ll finally reward me with sex! No? Women are people with agency and I can’t just get everything I want all the time? Well shit, now what am I supposed to do? I’ve tried literally everything I can think of and I don’t know how to exist any other way. Oh shit, now I have to inevitably face that I actually hate myself and have been getting by on denial and distractions this whole time and I’ve run all out of those. Guess it’s time to pull the plug and escape this world’s absurdity for good.

Hope - ....Ok. That didn’t work. Maybe this time? No? Yeah, I still can’t process this. I mean, there’s gotta be something I can do, right? I can make this system work in my favor if I just keep trying and pushing. I don’t care how much physical and psychological abuse I’m putting myself through, I just can’t stop trying! I can’t give up! If I give up, that makes me weak and pathetic and a quitter and I will not allow myself to be that! I have to still be the capitalist ideal of masculinity, even if that makes no rational sense given these circumstances!

Everything About You - Screw it, I’ve ground myself down to almost nothing out of some stupid sense of pride and I’m still stuck with all the same problems as before. There’s nothing I can do now but accept it and be a lifeless husk forever.

If I Had My Time Again - ...Or I could use the privilege that I have to pursue activities and connections that might actually be emotionally and intellectually enriching. Huh. Why didn’t I ever think of that?

Night Will Come - I realize now that the dehumanizing way I treated poor people before was really shitty and I feel terrible about it, so now I’m pouring all my energy into trying to help this dying homeless guy. I feel like if I can’t do this then it means I’ve failed at becoming a better person. But actually, it turns out we can’t singlehandedly fix every injustice in the world and that’s just something we gotta live with. I did my part, I did the best I could, and that’s all that matters. You do what you can to help people because the systemic power structures that create their struggles in the first place are bigger and more complex than you could ever hope to tackle on your own.

Philanthropy - On that note, no one can get by living only for themselves. We need to uplift and open our minds and hearts to each other. We are all a part of building and supporting a community and not a one of us is more or less important than the other.

Seeing You - In a surprising turn of events, this white guy admits that there’s a lot of things he still doesn’t know. And that’s great because that means I always have something new to learn. There’s no way I can ever have seen it all. In fact, I think this moment may be the first time I’ve ever been able to really see people and be present with them. I never would have gotten to this point if my reality hadn’t been disrupted and forced me to change. I am a much happier and healthier person for it, and you could be too if you’d give it a chance.

#and now i must get my monkey brain to sleep!#groundhog day musical #ghd

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wiseabsol · 5 years

Text

WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 9: Her Own Blood

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/9/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula’s defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister’s plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 27 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 9!

CHAPTER 9: HER OWN BLOOD

Alright, I am tentatively going to try to resume my reviews for Dominion—once a week can’t be too hard, right? Diving right in, the author’s note that start this chapter mentions that “The Legend of Korra” debuted on the same day that this chapter was uploaded, which is a blast from the past.

In any case, Zuko is sitting on the Burning Throne at the start of the chapter. In a parallel to Azula’s breakdown in the show, now he is the one being haunted by his memories and audible hallucinations. Zuko apparently told Mai all of the gory details of the sexual encounter that occurred between him and Azula, though not the “why” of it—which might have helped her understand it a little better, though I think Zuko’s “why” would be unsatisfactory at this point, since even he doesn’t fully understand what contributed to it, either on his or Azula’s side. As it is, Zuko’s feeling a lot of guilt here, which is better than him blaming it all on Azula, but by focusing so much on his own pain, I don’t think he’s really thinking about her.

At this point, Zuko hasn’t told the public that Azula has escaped, though if memory serves correctly, there’s a mole who reveals that to the Earth Kingdom. There is mention here of some of Mai’s machinations at court, but which I mean putting some of Zuko’s detractors on his council to look as though he’s taking them seriously, but really getting them away from their supporters and to someplace where they can be watched. Honestly, this shows why Zuko isn’t the best Fire Lord—generally speaking, he has a good heart, but a good heart needs to be backed up by a cunning mind to not get stomped on in a poisonous court. Azula, in a lot of ways, was the more equipped heir, politically speaking, though her paranoia and inability to compromise would have made it difficult for her to maintain her rule for a lengthy period of time. Together, they could probably get farther, though that’s not likely to happen in Dominion itself. Who knows what will happen in the sequels?

Ah, see, Zuko considers running a nation to be a tedious business. I’m pretty sure Azula would snap at him for being ungrateful of the privilege. This also makes me think that in an alternate universe, he would have had a better time being the “face” of the Fire Nation’s reparation efforts. Beyond providing the appearance of humility on behalf of the Fire Nation—with the only son of the royal family getting personally involved in the rebuilding—that would have allowed him to keep traveling with the Gaang, which would have been better for his mental health. Of course, such an AU would require someone to be ruling the Fire Nation in his stead, possibly Iroh or Azula, provided they hadn’t stacked up too many war crimes to be viable rulers in the eyes of the other nations. But that’s just me spit-balling ideas.

Anyway, General How arrives, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to be a pain in our butts for the remainder of this story, and sexist to boot. He’s heard that Azula escaped, but more importantly, he comes to tell Zuko that Azula was tried WITHOUT REPRESENTATION and sentenced to death by the Earth Kingdom. Zuko rightly calls the general out on this bullshit, while I’m like, “This was a no-win situation from the start. While Azula was insane, she wouldn’t have understood, let alone remembered, the terms of this agreement. If she was sane, the Earth Kingdom military would have ordered for her to stand trial, and would have found some way to rig it so she would lose, or would kill her on the way to court.”

While the Earth Kingdom military wants her dead, though, I doubt the Earth King himself is invested in the matter, given how disconnected he was from the war in general, and given that the coup was bloodless.

Moving on, How asks, “Where were you on the night of her escape? Did you help her?” and of course Zuko can’t answer that question. Then How’s group points out that Zuko could file an appeal, which is more bullshit, because by the time it would go through, Azula would probably be dead. Isn’t the court system fun, Zuzu? I kind of want Zuko to go directly to the Earth King and be like, “Hey, your military broke the agreement that you made that my sister would get life in prison, can you do something about them?” Because really, what even is the point of having a king if the king can’t smack down the corruption in his court with an order or two?

There is more back and forth about this, where it becomes clear that the Earth King military is mostly pissed that a fourteen-year-old girl pawned them, and will use any justification they can, no matter how flimsy, to execute her. It’s pointed out that Azula stopped acting in an official diplomatic capacity when she went undercover at Ba Sing Se, to which Zuko thinks, “To see Azula’s manipulations turned against her was his dearest desire once. But there had never been so much at stake.” They then list off a bunch of charges against Azula, most of which Zuko also committed during the show.

We also get the reveal that Azula never tortured anyone, which is refreshing after some of the fics I’ve read that assumes that is the case. The psychological torture argument from How is pretty rich, though, given the brainwashing that the Dai Li did to Earth Kingdom citizens. Anyway, Zuko figures out who the mole was—he was a lot worse than Azula, surprise surprise—and calls How out on it. How then loses his composure and declares that the Northern Water Tribe has agreed to extradite Azula if she’s found there—I personally doubt the Southern Water Tribe would do the same, given Katara and Sokka’s pull there—and yeah, that tracks. The Northern Tribe would be dicks about this, given that it’s a chance for them to get back at the Fire Nation for the loss of their own princess. How then says, “You have to hand Azula over to us too if you find her” and I’m like, “Yeah, keep dreaming, General.”

Zuko threatens to go to war if they kill Azula, which seems justified in this case. The Earth Kingdom military decided to ignore previous treaty agreements, overseen by the Avatar and the rulers of the three nations, to pursue a vendetta against someone who was, at the time of the war, a minor. This is something you would go to war over. Though first, I’d see if Kuei could address the issue, since he could presumably strip power and lands from General How and his allies, given how they are threatening the peace.

Zuko goes back to his rooms with Mai and has a nightmare, which is mixing in some memories of Ursa’s departure. It’s revealed in this that Ozai once broke Azula’s wrist while training her—she must have been extremely young at that point, given that she’s maybe eight or nine in this dream/memory—and Azula starts repeating “Never tell,” which Zuko assumes means about where Ursa went. I suspect the mantra more has to do with something he overheard from her on the night of their fight, and backtracking from that, from Ozai’s sexual abuse of Azula. These parallels are reflected in Zuko burning her arm and Azula “bleeding from a hundred wounds he couldn’t see,” which is an apt description of the effects of abuse.

“Stop it!” is what Zuko says in response to Azula, by the way, as if she can control the bleeding, rather than something more like, “I’ll get help.”

Ooof, then Ursa appears, and it’s her shadow that symbolically bruising Azula. She echoes the sentiment that something is wrong with Azula and slowly starts to look like Azula’s adult self, repeating the idea that Azula can’t be helped. “No matter how she may seem to change, never forget what she is,” she says, in a haunting twist on Ursa’s words of encouragement to Zuko before she left. Again, we see Azula being dehumanized by her loved ones.

The dream shifts over to an Agni Kai, mixing in Zuko’s memories of the ones he faced against Ozai and Azula. It also incorporates Zuko’s current anxieties about his friends not being there to help him—that he’s alone against the world now, rather like Azula is. The dream Azula insists that his friends will hate him for what he did to her, and I suspect it is going to cause some serious damage once it gets out. Zuko tries to deflect that blame for what happened onto Azula—that it was her fault that he got so angry and lost control, which is a classic abuser’s excuse. Dream Iroh calls him out on that—that Azula was mentally unstable and thus didn’t have as much control and agency in the situation as Zuko did.

“Was what he did so awful that even Iroh couldn’t love him anymore?” Probably? Iroh is a sexist and mishandles his interactions with Azula as a result, BUT there’s no suggestion that he ever sexually assaulted anyone. That’s a line he hasn’t crossed that Zuko now has.

“Why couldn’t he have [a normal sibling relationship] with Azula?” I don’t know, Zuko. Maybe because your parents pitted you against each other from an early age and you blamed Azula for the painful experiences in your childhood, because that was easier than blaming your parents?

“Why couldn’t she just be normal?” See above, Zuko. Also you slept with your sister. You have given up any connection between yourself and the word normal.

Zuko idealizes Aang a little in this, saying that if he can’t forgive Zuko, no one could. It’s definitely not Aang’s forgiveness that Zuko should be striving for, though.

“What did she have to cry about? She hadn’t just been rejected by everyone she knew and loved—” I’m glad that Zuko cuts himself off there and realizes he’s being a pill, or I would have wanted to smack him. There’s also this repetition of the idea that suffering will be his teacher, which—ugh. Ugh to dream Azula immolating herself, too. It’s symbolic that Zuko’s attempts to reach out and hold her are what “destroys” her, though again, I doubt that these two will be able to walk away from each other forever, even though that would be healthier for them.

Soooo Zuko, shaken by the nightmare, decides to go talk to Daddy Dearest. Mai watches him go, which I never noticed before.

“Now all Zuko had to do was convince Ozai it was in his best interest to help capture his favorite child.” I think you mean tool, Zuko. Ozai’s favorite tool.

Ozai greets Zuko as “Traitor” upon his arrival, which is funny in a dark way. Ozai has guessed that Azula has escaped from the increased guard around his cell, too, saying, “The Avatar took my bending, not my wits.” I feel like this man sank a lot of his character creation points into charisma, rather than empathy.

“The Earth Kingdom have been our enemies for a hundred years. Because you give them everything they ask, does that make them your friends? Have you learned nothing from your failure with me?” This is a fair point and more self-aware than I want to give Ozai credit for, but it’s not like he has much to do other than reflect on the past, these days. Ozai also seems to have pneumonia or some other potentially fatal lung disease. Tuberculosis would serve him right.

Then Ozai points out that Azula is a bit like a cat—she has to come to Zuko, rather than Zuko chasing her down. Ozai suggests offering himself as bait to lure Azula out, since obviously she would want to free him—which she does, albeit I have some serious doubts that that will ever happen. I suspect that Ozai is going to die before Dominion ends and there can be a father-daughter reunion.

“You come here asking for advice, when what you really want is a quick fix.”—Pretty much.

“I may have been close to Azula, but we are not one mind—” You were too close by far, Ozai. Please drown to death in your own blood and phlegm.

Zuko reveals that Azula wants to go find Ursa, which shocks Ozai, who starts “staring at his son in something approaching alarm.” Possibly because Ursa could start undoing some of the lies that Ozai shaped Azula with? Maybe. Ursa does have some serious issues with her daughter, so he half-lied at most. Anyway, Ozai goes on to question when this discussion happened, since Zuko doesn’t visit Azula. His tone seems to suggest that he doesn’t want Zuko to see Azula, which is curious, but not unfounded, given what Zuko ends up revealing here. Once Ozai corners Zuko about lying to him, Zuko admits what happened during the fight, including the sexual encounter.

“Zuko watched him uneasily, his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. He didn’t have to tell him anything, but—but didn’t Uncle always say the burden of a secret grew less when you shared it? But to share this with him, it hadn’t even helped with Mai. It just made things worse. But he knew Azula better than anyone, he was the only one who knew how to help her before. Maybe—maybe he could tell Zuko why she did this? And besides, who would believe Ozai, who would ever believe him if he tried to tell—”

Zuko, some secrets blow up if shared, hence why you have an intelligence division in your court. I doubt that Iroh meant something like this. Also, giving this information to Ozai is still dangerous, because there are people in the Fire Nation that are loyal to him, and Ozai has the spite to use this against you. Also, there is a tiny reflection of Ozai in Zuko here—because Ozai must have thought the same about Azula. Who would ever believe her about what he did to her?

“An odd stillness crept over Ozai’s face, but he said nothing.” Because he’s probably remembering how some of his interactions with Azula went and can probably tell where this is going.

“‘You raped her,’ Ozai corrected flatly.” Yes, and Ozai would know, given that he is a sexual predator and is implied to have been one since his adolescence.

Then we get that nasty admission from Ozai: “You think I trained her to bed so she could whore herself to you?!” Which confirms Ozai’s sexual abuse of Azula, which he justified by claiming that it would make her a more effective female ruler, with her using her sexuality as a weapon. Given that Azula was fourteen at the time, this explains her seductress characterization. This was present because that’s a common way to write a female villain, but, in universe, is incongruous with her age.

“And Zuko remembered daggers of flame in her hands, when he overpowered her. She meant to do—she was trying to kill him.” I’m not sure that is true, given Azula’s own perspective on what happened, but I can see why Zuko would come to that conclusion.

“He sounded proud—proud—of what he did.” I think some of the blame here definitely should go to the twin courtesans, given how their own abuse of Ozai, as hinted at in “The Road,” must have affected him. At best, he realizes that other people would consider what he did to Azula wrong, but considered it necessary to make her stronger. This has a dark echo in many adult fantasy narratives, where rape is often used to break and build up female characters.

Ozai confirms that he trained Azula by committing sexual acts with her, which horrifies Zuko. During the resulting screaming match, though, Ozai makes a fair point: “And what was she to you? A prize to prove your worth? Spoils of war? When did you ever one look at her as your sister?” The answer to this is when she was a toddler and Zuko was five, before the adults in their lives poisoned their relationship. But this does underscore that Azula and Zuko’s relationship has been warped for a long time, and that this breakdown of their sibling bond is a massive contributing factor to the incest.

Zuko also shows an ugly side of himself here: “I’ve done more for her than she ever deserved!” Which frankly isn’t true and is the kind of talk that contributes to Azula’s dehumanization.

Ozai calls him out, saying that Zuko only helped Azula to make himself feel like the better person. While I think that is true, he then adds, “There is no such thing as true selflessness in this world,” which definitely isn’t. However, that does show us one of the cornerstones of Ozai’s worldview: that everyone is selfish and no one will do anything for you just to help you, so why not be selfish and take as much for yourself as you can? That, no doubt, is based deeply in the neglect he went through as a child. If I ever write the Aunt Tam AU, I wonder if that will remain true, given the friendship she and Ozai had when they were young? I suspect it will, since Tam would still go to war when Ozai is relatively young, but perhaps that is an argument they can have someday.

Anyway, Ozai wants to know how Zuko managed to “best” Azula, whether it was because she was drugged or had another mental breakdown, but Zuko is still shook from Ozai’s confession. He asks Ozai how he could do it and Ozai is super gross with his response: “Well, who else was going to teach her? Her mother?” This makes me want to reach into the cell and shake Ozai, because that isn’t how ANY of this is supposed to work. Azula should have fooled around with Chan and other interested adolescent suitors like a normal teenager, rather than getting any…practical experience…from an adult, period. That it was a parent who abused her makes it even worse, psychologically-speaking.

Zuko burns the hell out of Ozai in response, which is understandable under the circumstances, and will probably kill Ozai down the road, since his health is already fragile. As the guards drag Zuko away, Zuko realizes: “This look he’d caught on her face during [sex]—The distance in her eyes. Like she wasn’t even there. Like it wasn’t even him that she was seeing. Oh Agni. When she changed, those things she said to him… The things their father—said to her—”

Yep. She wasn’t seeing you at the time, Zuko. She was reliving one of her encounters with Ozai, thanks to you triggering her by burning her and grabbing the back of her neck.

Zuko says that he wants to return to the palace, and oddly, there is a palanquin waiting for him—no doubt sent by Mai, who guessed where he was going and knew he might need help getting back home. Again, I never caught this detail before, but it shows how much Mai knows him and how calculating she is as well, to the point of being able to predict this outcome. It’s no wonder that Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee went as far as they did together. Between the three of them, they had a ton of brains and social acumen to help them overcome any obstacles in their way. I don’t know if Ozai’s Angels will ever get back together, but this makes me wish they could someday.

In any case, that finishes chapter nine! I hope to work on ten soon. Thank you as always for the read, Aurelia.

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol

#WiseAbsol #Azula #avatar: the last airbender #Dominion by Aurelia le #Fanfiction #Review

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coldalbion · 6 years

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Part 1: I was Odin and Loki devotee for 3 years and I considered having quite a strong connection with both of them despite of being a noob so to say. At one point I tried to become part of a certain small pagan community, because I felt I needed a pack; I didn't know much about anything and wanted to learn. Couple of months went well. Then I found out admin was a manipulative closet nazi and gay/transphobe.

Part 2: The rest of the ppl there didn't mind it at all in the name of "tolerating different opinions" and just laughed it off. I was so outraged, and I left. However, they too were norse pagans or inclined in one way or another towards the practice. They were talking like the gods had their back, helped them to get forward and agreed with what they were doing. Tried to talk me to "open my mind" to it as well.Part 3: When I was younger, I used to loathe everything monoteism related because of people like that. Now the same fury I thought had already been dead and buried, emerged stronger than ever, and this time it wasn't aimed at monoteism, but norse gods. I felt betrayed and used. I thought I'll rather be alone than have anything to do with deities who hang out with nazis or other human scum, while crying my eyes out and getting rid of my altar.Part 4: A friend tried to tell me to be reasonable, reminded me they're just people and people can talk shit or be deluded, and asked do I trust more the gods or people. I answered "I don't trust anybody anymore. Everyone can just fuck off." Now it feels like I've chopped off my own arm and run into space, far away from Earth, and just drifting there with nowhere to go. Like I would've lost one of my senses. It's dead silent.Still, just a thought of putting the altar back pisses me off, as everything norse related reminds me of those people. And I hate it as well how big of an infuence they have over me. I'm not even sure why am I writing this. I was thinking have you or someone of your followers perhaps had similar experiences and how did they overcome it?

That’s a horrible thing to have happen anon, and it’s never easy to experience betrayal - particularly when it’s in an arena where you feel that you were an individual who knew less, and in a sense looked up to those others as worthy of respect. I can only imagine what it felt like to have folks you used to consider pack, people you thought worthy and trusted to watch your back and look out for your spiritual well being, embrace or give time to such vile ideas which should never be tolerated.It’s bad enough when authors or authorities you respected turn out to not be what you thought they were, or espouse sentiments that are anathema to our own sense of justice and right living, let alone when those ideas have been proven to lead to atrocity after atrocity, violations of body and soul for thousands, nay, millions of people.So I understand you anger, and your sense of loss, because while the circumstances were different, I too have felt the gutting horror, the rising bile, and the brutal bruising of the soul under such an abuse. Because make no mistake, abuse of trust is abuse. When we make ourselves vulnerable to another, when we open our hearts enough to allow others to draw us along on a journey, we take a risk, allowing them to come into contact with pieces of ourselves we do not often expose in ordinary life. When we extend them that privilege - and make no mistake, it is a privilege - in a very real sense we give them access to the private laws, those intimate paths of thought and action we lay down which govern our inner lives, and we expect people to abide by them when in those spaces. True friends acknowledge those laws, and abide by them in interactions with us - even if they don’t always agree completely, in toto, because they respect us, and wish us to prosper. The recognise that these laws are the root-channels our life-force has forged throughout our existence, and they respect that which animates us - that which brings us Life and More Life. That which allows us to become More ourselves.This doesn’t mean that they should kowtow to us, but that they should act with respect towards us, and when in our orbit behave in a manner which is regarded by all parties as respectful within the context of relationship. Thus, I can have a respectful relationship with a friend even if our interactions seem naught but insulting to each other, because, contrary to what might appear to outsiders, we both know the insights arise out of love and respect.I mention respect, because many people have an inorganic ossified notion of respect, and honour and the like. They do not understand that they are both properties of betweenness - bonds between groups and individuals, gods and human, friends, siblings, parents and children etc. When those bonds, those shared agreements, implicit, or explicit, are broken ? Life, sense, meaning? They are disrupted - the flow of the world, its rhythms, its pulses, are thrown into disarray.Anger, rage - these are primal emotions, primal forces. Raw powers unleashed in some manner to grasp, to shape the world into new meanings, either by defending our integrity, or allowing us to gain a foothold in the world by overpowering things enough for us to make sense of them. In the service of Life, in the service of hope and kindness? They are holy things, but like many things, perhaps all things, they can be debased, can be twisted or turn harmful. When combined with fear, they can lead to atrocities, as we mentioned earlier.Make no mistake then, anon, but believe me when I say: You have been wronged. You have been wronged, and have every right to be angry. You have been wronged by people, not gods. But your anger at the gods is understandable. After all, it was for, and through them, that you encountered the people who abused your trust.So when you friend asked you whether you trusted the gods, I understand what they were trying to do. But the truth is, it has very little to do with the gods at all, except in a manner which I’ll come to into a moment.It is not surprising that your rage is also spilling over towards the gods, despite that sense of loss that you mention. Not surprising at all, not only for reasons you yourself mention, but also because you do not wish to be like those people who broke your trust, and what bound you to them was, seemingly, the gods. Was altars and shrines and hailing the names of Odin and Loki. To honour those gods is do as they did.So. Do not do as they did. Forgo the altars. Forgo the blots. Forgo the poisoned practice. Forgo “Anything Norse” as you put it. Those bonds are shattered. Let the anger rage, righteously.Let the fury have its head. Let it roar, let it surge, let it pulse. Let the pain of the wound sing. And know this, as you drift above the earth, senseless..The gods are. They are not their names (How can they be, when Odin has hundreds?) They are not their shrines. They are not their so-called worshippers.The gods were.A thousand years before your birth, they interacted with humans.

The gods will be.With you, or without. Long after you die, they remain. After this generation, and the next, and the next. No one raised up their names or gave them cultus, or erected altars or shrines for centuries.Yet still, they impacted upon you.Think about that, for a moment. Across all of space and time, down the centuries, down the generations, they made contact, and you forged a bond.

Independently.Before your betrayers ever came into your life, it was You And Them.Before Nazi scumfucks were even a glimmer in Hitler’s grandparents eye, there they were.Before your betrayal, your relationship with them was good, was prosperous, yes? It served the purpose of Life, enhanced your existence, and in doing so, enhanced the existences of those around you, yes?And those arseholes took that from you. Made the forms and functions of your spiritual life into things of hate and apologism for hate.How fucking dare they?!How dare they break something holy, how dare they violate frith like that?So. Consider this: If I feel your rage, who else does? If I regard such violation as a crime, who else might?Suppose, just for a second, for a moment, that the anger, the disgust you feel at anything resembling ‘Norse’ as presented by our society right now? Suppose it’s not just yours. Suppose it’s theirs too.Suppose for a moment that those signs and symbols by which you previously navigated your relationship with The Master of Fury and the Mother of Sleipnir, are indeed poisoned for you.Suppose therefore that your anger may (or may not) be a sign from them, a desire to develop a more intimate relationship with them, beyond name and form, beyond ‘Norse’ into pure Life, existence itself. To form new bonds which cannot be contaminated by society, and in fact might lead to the destruction of poisonous ideas, via a more organic betweeness - a vitalistic, enthusing, Life-affirming relationship of frith between all things, which by definition opposes hate?My advice anon: Allow your fury to guide you to the place where you feel whole. I suspect you’ll meet some strangely familiar folks, though their faces may be different.Be well, and know that I understand.

#the old man #*loki #*odin #them #Anonymous

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premakalidasi · 6 years

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The Will, extreme nondual/immanentist practice, initiations, and responsibility. Amma, Shiva, Kali, the medicine of stillness, awareness, witnessing.

The difficult path of taking your life into your own hands, making your own judgements about what's valuable, using your own heart instead of blind dogma as your moral compass, the world as Scripture, being aware of all the tremendous power you have, and then truly manifesting the Divine as the Goddess you are--not just *saying* it but living it, whatever you want to call it, extreme “I Am That”, “Samsara is Nirvana,” “Do What Thou Wilt,” really walking the talk--

You know what that is?

It's fucking terrifying. That's what it is.

And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, especially if they try and sell it as just sitting there peacefully with a smug and radiant smile--that’s not the entire story they’re telling you (or then they’re so out of touch with this world that you’re better off walking away from them very slowly). Or they’re of the sort that’s sitting there happily imagining everything’s an illusion and they’re smiling because they’re so high on that--on the opium of it all being a big play, a big joke (which is fair enough; I like Amma and she’s like that).

But you know what? Opium is a painkiller, and they’re milking their inner poppies exactly because deep inside,

it is all

still

frightening

fuck.

Even Amma’s charity work began from anger at being so appalled at human suffering. And Shiva himself, white as poppy milk, is a painkiller, and I will get to that a bit later. But let me digress here for a bit, since we mentioned self-initiations earlier.

You will be frightened when you realise your full power. Especially--since we were talking about initiations--after having had that power of yours affirmed by an external source, you know you can't pretend you’re an inexperienced idiot any more, can't run away from it all any more. Because when you self-initiate (which *is* legitimate, as is spontaneous enlightenment), it has its own problems. One of the biggest ones being this: exactly because of the “you’re a fraud” crap from outsiders, because of everyone outside of you thinking you’re not *quite* ready anyway, it *can* give you an excuse to fall back on that when the shit hits the fan. If you fuck up, you can lean back on that and lisp “ok, yeah, I guess I wasn’t ready for so-and-so after all. I guess even that big, epic enlightenment experience I had as a kid when staring at the sky, and that spiritual explosion I had that other time when I felt my pulse beating as one with the Earth’s, weren’t somehow enough. Maybe I really do not have enough skill yet.”

Which is bullshit. Those experiences don’t magically become less valid if you fuck up. Which we all do sometimes. You do have the power. It’s not gone anywhere. You’ve always been Divine.

But our minds *love* excuses, and one of the main reasons behind all these passage rites and initiations (hell, all rituals) is exactly because they hit your brain harder when things are made Official. The human brain loves symbols and rituals; animals have rituals. So we work with symbols and rituals because Ug the Cavewoman inside of us all really gets off on a big-ass bonfire. And rites of passage serve to tell you that you’re grown up, now; that it’s time to leave the previous stage of your life behind; to lay down that shit, completely forget about *that* shit, and take this shit, and that shit, and the upcoming shit over there seriously.

Initiation is a part of what teachers are all about: it’s an external person doing the same thing you *could* do yourself, but because they are good at it due to practice and knowledge, and because your funny monkey mind thinks that they’re Special (even though they are the part of the same goddamn Force), it will hit you harder. Just like legal documents are just ink and paper, but once you sign them, everyone’s forced to take them more seriously than had you just said those words out loud. And because we’re all parts of Nature, an initiation is ultimately Nature patting herself on the head: you only *feel* that it’s someone else placing her hand on your head and your funny little monkey mind is ripped open and goes “whoa.”

Funny, ain’t it?

And there are different initiations for different times. These are all different for everyone, depending on your spiritual makeup, personality, whatnot. Some great soul can just snap into Goddess mode just like that; the power just opens up and that’s it. They’re born with the hardware for that software upgrade. But more often than not, what you hear from quite a few interesting people, is that their journey has always been a mix of spontaneous enlightenment (self-initiation), visions, and then someone else giving them teachings, the world itself acting as their teacher once you’ve reached a certain point (it’s all a matter of opening your eyes to it--if Nature is your divinity instead of someone hard to reach high up on a cloud, removed from the world, it’s easy to tune in to that station and listen). There’s also truth to the old cliche that once the student is ready, the master will appear. But in the meantime, there’s no need for despair, because--and I repeat--the knowledge and the gurus and the wisdom are already within your reach, and you just need to open your mind to the possibility that there’s a teaching in everything.

But again, I digress. The point I wish to make here, in the middle of this crazy, crazy neo-conservative culture where people are obsessed with “authenticity” and initiations and authority (and I see a lot of you young people suffering because of it) is that it’s *not* a sign of your unworthiness if you can’t find a physical teacher, let alone afford the journey to see one in a different part of the world, or attend one of those godforsaken 750e ~weekend intensives~. It’s easy to talk about initiations when you live in fucking San Francisco or Boulder or New York or London, or a culture where there are mystics around every corner! But if one knows anything about the nature of the world (I don’t want to say “privilege,” but I am saying “privilege”), one also knows that great teachers don’t grow on trees. As someone who’s lived in very remote areas herself, in incredibly spiritually sparse cultures, I know the reality of how difficult it can be to find even fellow devotees, let alone great teachers. So if you’re living in Bumfuck, Novaya Zemlya, it’s going to be more difficult for you because you’re going to have to go the way of books (please, do read books, old books, pre-2000 books; the Internet is full of really, really poor-quality and watered-down and contaminated “information,”) and learning from friends and family and the world to get your learning and evolve as a person. But that doesn’t mean attaining (or, rather, rediscovering, re-linking yourself to the Divine) is not possible, and there have *always* been individuals who were great souls in the middle of nowhere. It’s just that they lived and died without the world knowing of them, because they lived in jungles, tundras, deserts.

Thankfully, in this day and age of the jet engine, there are amazing teachers who can travel the world (especially Amritanandamayi, to whom I’ll get in a bit, who has embraced 30+ million people and is doing it somewhere right now), but even then, it’s going to be difficult to find the right one. If you’re following a rarer path, especially a world-affirming and sex-positive path, these teachers may not even exist, and there are so many abusers out there in those paths that, especially if you’re female, it’ll actually be safer for you to not go near *any* of those guys. (But just because you have to do it on your own, that’s not an excuse for you to be an egotist, either--rather, it’s a burden, because it will make things even more difficult for you because you have to watch out even harder for your ego. Being different is a quick way to feeling you’re a special snowflake, a great adept who knows The True Way, and the shelves of esoteric bookstores are lined with masturbatory works by people like that.)

On the other hand, the right teacher may well exist, but you’re not ready for them yet. I wasn’t ready for Amma when I was an angry teenager rebelling against all organised religion and a cynical twentysomething who’d seen it all by then; I am still not a fan of the elements in her teachings that are aligned with mainstream Hinduism and I still don’t believe a 4-year-old dying in agony from leukemia deserved it because she cheated on her husband in a past life. But I did not know the level of her universalism, then--I did not know then that she didn’t care if I accepted that or not, but that what I *did* accept--my own path--was the most important thing, and that she would only tell me to dive deeper into that. When I first heard of her, I shrugged it off because I knew how most Hindu gurus, just like most Hindus in general, are pretty conservative and most certainly aren’t fans of Pagans or Tantrics (if that sounds contradictory to those of you who don’t know much about religion on that side of the world, extreme Tantrism is as anti-dogma and as far removed from conservative Hinduism as feminist witchcraft or Satanism are from fundamentalist Pentecostal Christianity. And the worst and most visible types of Tantrics are massive abusive, black-magic-fetishising, conceited, violent assholes way beyond what an American highschooler wanking over childish “left-hand” books can imagine, so Hindus have reasons to dislike them/us). Most Hinduism is focused on escaping the world and the cycle of birth and rebirth, not about venerating it all as the Goddess (only a small handful of Tantric/Bhakti cults and individuals do the latter, and their role is exaggerated in the West). But when I heard from one of her disciples that she had a temple to Kali in her ashram and had done extreme nondual sadhana herself and that she equated Nature with God and sounded like Ramakrishna more than any of the stuck-up gurus, and when I saw just how 100% affirmative she was about everyone being different and that being a *strength,* and how she did *not* force anyone to accept those mainstream Hindu (or any other) ideas about religion, and was--at her core--about only absolute, immanent love, having dedicated herself to supporting every goddamn soul on this planet and not judging them or even thinking about their “sins” but just affirming the divine spark in everyone--was I ready.

Now, Amma gives mantra initiation (mantra diksha) to each and every soul who asks. That’s pretty much the most accessible initiation from a spiritual master (and full-time 24/7 channel of the Goddess) one can get in the world right now. I can’t think of anyone else of that level who does it so universally for everyone on that kind of global scale, regardless of your religion, without imposing hers upon you--*you* choose the deity or the concept you want a mantra for (atheists have asked for a mantra for love or compassion, and so on). She doesn’t want to make you into a Hindu unless that’s your path; she wants to make you go deeper into your own faith/practice. The diksha itself will be over quickly and you’ll be pushed and shoved through the crowd, and it will probably feel like a downer, but you’re nevertheless walking away with a gem. The value of a mantra given by someone who really Gets It, on that Ramakrishna-but-female level of equal vision where she can kiss a leper’s wounds and initiate someone as antinomian and as erotic in her practice as yours truly without a shred of judgement but rather the message “well, go forth and do it *properly,*” can’t be overemphasised.

But, like I said before, there's no turning back after that, so ask yourself if you really *are* ready for that initiaton, whatever form it will take. A guru, or being ravished by a trickster god on the edge of sleep, anyone else. You don’t fuck around anymore after that. Perhaps you’re self-initiated and don’t fuck around either, so that’s good. But just know that whatever it ends up being for you, it will be a big-ass turning point and that even after that, fear is normal. Real initiation, when it happens, will be Huge. Perhaps you’ll only feel it as something subtle at first, but it will be Huge later, trust me.

[Amma being what she is, she half snuck it upon me--I should've realised that this was her way (with me) at mantra diksha already, when I'd asked for what I thought was a handy kitchen work knife and she gave me a fucking chainsaw instead. But it was only two years later, when she bestowed nama diksha (name initiation) upon me (and all kinds of other, unexpected things and life-changing things besides, that same moment, similar to the damned chainsaw thing) that I really had to come to terms with the fact that this was fucking *it.* I could not sit the fuck around any more; that’s why you have this blog. Decades of mostly private devotions were ripped open and even old and fucked-up poems written in the style of self-torturing bhaktas/Sufis wanting to be crushed by the Beloved, poems which I knew people would misinterpret, were poured out as acts of bhakti (but that's another post entirely; either on some spiritual masochism as an offering of one's neuroses to the gods or on how I will never understand how the Tumblr generation/culture can be so obtuse as to forever and always think the author=her works, I haven't decided yet). Besides, I thought I was dying by that point anyway, so I didn't have much time left for faffing about in any case. I suspect the clever bitch might also have given me some extra time on this planet as well, so that I could make the most of it in Kali's service--well, I *had* asked for her to help me become Kali’s instrument, just NOT ON THAT LEVEL, HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK--but that's how these things go with her and myself, it seems. Whether it’s just the hug, or a mantra, or a name, or an answer to a question, she gives you more than you ever think you deserve, and then some. She hugs you but she also punches open your heart if that’s what has to be done, delivers a mighty defibrillator-blast of energy to wake up your own heart-power like a goddamn volcano and then gives you That Look and a conspiratorial smile that's basically all "That's it, kid; you've got it. Now, don’t fuck it up.”]

That realisation, that unveiling of your own power is going to be a bomb going off, blasting you to bits and then glueing you back together with irradiated mutant powers.

And if you *don't* feel awed, afraid about it--if you don't feel "shitshitshit" about it on a regular basis--

--Then I'm afraid you are a narcissistic, egotistical, privileged git who hasn't experienced awareness more than halfway, if that. You are the spiritual equivalent of someone running around with scissors, but unaware that you are doing so. You need to go back. You need to dig into the 101. And only when you’ve shat yourself, can you come back.

True awareness, true power, true understanding of your Divine Self comes with a crushing, devastating responsibility that you feel you can't handle at times--and feeling this is a good sign, because this kind of feeling is not likely to happen without empathy. If you do have empathy, if you truly do understand just how intricately everything in this universe is interconnected and just how human delusions, idiocies and oppressions--especially self-inflicted oppressions--work, you will feel like absolute rubbish and helpless and small.

This is why so many yogis, so many intelligent empaths, so many hypersensitive people are so fucking angry all the time. It's not that they are crap at knowing the Self, crap at knowing Reality. It's that they are all *too* aware of it all, and it stinks.

But it’s what you do with that pain that is the enlightened part, the divine action, the divine embodiment. Awareness is the ignition, suffering is the fuel, your heart is where the combustion takes place, and your body/mind is the vehicle. It's that pain that impels you on, the whip at your back, the tack on the chair that makes you jump up and do something about it all. It is what makes you strive for the ecstasy of love all the harder, for establishing more of that love and that awareness in the world around you; it makes you work until exhaustion to make at least one little corner of this world less of a dark and miserable place.

In fact, you can say pain is the very catalyst of transcendence.

And by transcendence, I always mean the transcendence of human, societal idiocy and the suffering it's caused, not this beautiful world and embodied existence that is the Goddess. People have mistaken suffering, wounds and illness for the entirety of the world and the body for too long; they’ve mistaken human/societal crap for all there is; when in reality, we/the world are much more than that. Even physical pain and death are but opportunities for us to transcend them through analysing how we approach them, and how we could do that more fruitfully; how we could get something even out of these things to make the world less miserable a place. They're nothing but buttons that switch on the turbo mode for your capacity for intense empathy and compassion--for example, a temporary illness limiting your motor abilities making it easier for you to understand people with 24/7 limited mobility.

After you’ve understood that, there’s no excuse.

You have to, as they say, feel the fear and do it anyway.

***

This terror, too, is Kali. She cuts and smashes and chews and rips and tears and stomps away at everything until it's all a bloody, painful mess; but it's all ultimately in the service of liberation, of cleaning things up. She’s the doctor who lances the boil, the surgeon that cuts out the tumours. And at the end of that bloody stampede, the only way out of the pain and confusion that’s the battlefield of existence, the only way out of her drunken, righteous battle-rage is Shiva: pure consciousness, pure witnessing, pure Love offered, waiting for her to join her power with his stillness. In an extreme state of one-pointedness, become but Awareness--symbolised by the erect, ready linga pointing towards her--he awaits until she sits down upon him, lover into womb, babe onto breast, whichever version you prefer--and the world *snaps* back together again, the pieces fit together perfectly again, and there's but the Whole. Nature reels contented, beyond dualisms and permeated with the blissful peace of Awareness; her tongue--rajas, the active principle in the world; action, drive, passion--rolls out to point to her heart, the centre of All.

And it's that dance of chaos and destruction that is the human world, the world of society, and it's *supposed* to feel bloody terrifying if you have a heart; only Love-permeated pure Consciousness can ever anchor us within it, snap us out of it, too, to return us to the Whole. Only stillness, only calmness, only Love given with strength and integrity. Not a neurotic love or a possessive love or an overly self-sacrificing love, but a love that is about wholeness, about equalising, about balance. It’s only apt that it’s symbolised by the phallus because it’s far less vulnerable than the yoni, far more difficult to abuse and to hurt. It’s love that stands on its own, as it were, the Beloved given the freedom to do whatever She wishes with it, taking what she needs, at her own pace, in the way that satisfies her, without hurting herself or him. Revolutionary. In a world where the opposite is the default--women’s and other givers’ and carers’ bodies and souls being abused and exploited in the name of love--it’s an idea worth contemplating, realising, embodying in one’s thought and action. A love that stands on its own and gives without diminishing, without being enslaved, vampirised.

But you can only be that, you can only give that if you are Consciousness and if you are Still and a Witness to the craziness outside--when you start thrusting too hard into things, thinking you’re just trying to love (but are only really satisfying your own desire/ego/dick), you’ll end up hurting the recipient and that’ll trigger a cycle of pain that will end up hurting you too. Only if you can contain yourself, *then* will the energy sit down with you peacefully. And together, now a balanced whole, can you get to work. Only that stillness, only that patience, only that witnessing is the opium that enables even the cripple to walk--Kali the doctor, Shiva the medicine both working hand in hand, linga in yoni, soul in body, consciousness in matter.

***

So, it's not about being not terrified. It's not about never feeling crazy, weak. It's about knowing all that and going ahead anyway because you've got work to do.

There are enlightened, supremely intelligent beings out there who are, in some part of their seemingly serene bodies, absolutely fucking *shitting* themselves and screaming with fear, and/or running amok, absolutely batshit crazy; but it's just that they hold on to the consciousness, the anchor, identify with the Shiva principle so tightly that they seem calm. They may even be in great pain, but the pain is but fuel for them and drives them ever onwards, even with gritted teeth and bloodied feet.

And that's the vast majority of what they call enlightened existence. Not necessarily a state of being permanently blissed out, but one permanent internal scream of

--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--

--and going forth into the world anyway.

#fear #shiva #kali #initiation #nondualism #amma #amritanandamayi #advaita #i guess i am doing sermons now #immanence #tantra #prema kalidasi #sermons

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