#but he does not himself imply women are weaker

[empress-hancock]

I hate this so fucking much she is a girl facing the fact that her father has banned her from pursuing swordsmanship as she gets older because she’s a girl. She wants to be a boy so she can follow her dreams. She kills herself (“falling down the stairs” is apparently a euphemism for suicide in Japan) because of the impact the misogyny from her father had on her and her dreams and her future. She doesn’t want to be a boy she wants to not be held back from the things she loves because she’s a girl. This is such a popular headcanon and it makes me livid every fucking time. The whole point the author was trying to convey was how fucking awful it is for girls to be told they can’t do something because they’re girls. He shows the emotional impact that these “rules” imposed upon women have, by having a 12 year old girl commit suicide because they make her feel so hopeless and alone. This is a tragic story of a girl being prevented from doing “boy things,” not some cute feel good trans story.

I was her age when I read this part. I saw her in me. It was so important and impactful to tell me that this sort of thing is unfair and that I’m not overreacting by being upset about it. The world doesn’t have to be this way. The character she was friends with later meets a very similar woman when he is an adult, and this woman is also an experienced swordswoman. She’s supposed to represent what Kuina could have become if she had been allowed to follow her dreams. An intelligent, capable, noble, determined, and strong swordswoman. Tashigi is supposed to be proof that Koshiro was wrong and that Kuina could have been a phenomenal swordswoman, regardless of sex, had she been allowed to.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

your toxic könig is so perfect and the more recent posts made me think about a similar kind of au but with gromsko. like god i need this man to """force""" me into being his perfect little wife i swear.

AND IM SO SORRY but being slavic also makes this even more feral for me because i imagine the second his gf shows a bit too much independence/DARES to talk over him (yeah it's an achievement to be able to talk over him, the mf is LOUD)/etc he just. goes feral like he sees it as a challenge and he needs to show her what a slavic woman is actually supposed to be like.

but slavic or not he'll keep holding the fact that he "tamed" you over your head even when he's fucking you. talks about how this is your place, this is where you belong and how he's going to make sure you remember by breeding you full.

Omg Gromsko OMG

I'm so normal about him yes yes it's just your ask that made me this way ^^ I'm blaming you my dear anon 💕

CW: Protective & possessive behavior, implied sexism

So, Gromsko. Your car broke down in the middle of the road and this absolute bear of a Pole pulls over to help you. He has a charming smile, sure, but he's also obnoxiously bold. That casual masculine bravado makes you feel weaker than it should; there's this aura of shameless pride about him, and you can't quite decide if it's annoying or sexy.

You try to tell him you can handle it, that the repair guy is already on his way. But Gromsko? Hah. He just bypasses that shit. Pops up the hood and gets to work. The car is fixed in no time, and the next thing you know is that you just said yes when "Sobieslaw Kościuszko, pleasure to meet you, miss," asked if he could take you out to dinner this evening.

And it's true that he's loud. Like, why does he have to talk by half shouting...? (Probably because he has to make it known that he's the strongest, most virile male in the area.)

Sobieslaw always sits with a wide spread, with a broad, tall chest, with a confidence that seems to come naturally to him. He never tries to make himself smaller, no matter how crammed a space is. Everyone except the elderly has to move aside when he walks because he's not going to dodge or sidestep. You're not the only one who fears he will eventually break one of those dainty little chairs in the fine dining place he brought you to; the waiter side eyes this man like he's some beast that somehow got in and should be caged, not fed.

Despite all that brass, Gromsko is a proper gentleman. Always opens the doors for you, always pays at a restaurant. And always grabs your waist and draws you closer if there are other men around. Guy looks like he's ready to get into a fist fight for you if it comes to that.

It's kind of hair-raising how he laughs at the very concept of independent woman. His woman should never have to be "independent." It would be an insult to him as a man if his wife had to go to work.

He tells you how beautiful you are with intensity and passion that seems to come from another age. That boundless adoration makes you feel drunk, and Gromsko doesn't seem to notice anyone else but you – it's like all other women have disappeared from this planet.

He lays siege to you like crusaders of old laid siege to a city. You never have to fear whether you're coming off as too interested or eager or that you'll "scare" him away: this man is always more interested and eager than you. Still, you fear that everything will come to an end once you give this man what he wants – namely, sex.

You couldn't be more wrong! He's not fucking around, and he's not dating for the sake of getting laid. He's looking for a wife and a mother for his kids.

An infuriatingly sexy, uneven smile spreads across his face everytime you meet. He's checking you out, and he's utterly shameless about it. You're being rated like cattle, and it should not send butterflies to your stomach when you notice he seems to more than just approve of your hips and breasts. Little do you know Sobieslaw Kościuszko has already decided you're to be his wife.

When you finally spread your legs for this man, you expect him to fuck you with the urgency and attentiveness of a 20-year old hockey player. But Gromsko is actually a skilled lover! You don't know why and you don't know how, but he seems to decode you and all your weaknesses in record time. Hot kisses and intense love making are his bravura. Gromsko is so attuned to you and your pussy that it should be illegal.

It's like the gods made this man to breed women and spread his seed because he has the biggest balls you've ever seen. He doesn't grow all too soft after climaxing, and continues to fuck you even after you both just came. With sloppy patience, sure, because you're practically begging for mercy under him… but the point is that he just won't stop. He continues to pump you with strong hips and infinite stamina, and groans how perfect you are as you approach your second orgasm.

He places so much trust on his cock that, perhaps surprisingly, you're the first woman he has ever put his mouth on. It's the only thing that makes that eternal shield of pride tilt aside a bit, because he hates it when he doesn't know what he's doing… but neither is he a man who backs down when faced with a challenge!

He doesn't know what he's doing, which means he takes a mental note of every single thing that makes you shiver and sigh. This Polish bear learns to please you and just you, examines how you respond to slow licks and fast laps, sucks on your nub until you cry, and when he sees how much you enjoy his treatment, this man goes crazy.

"You like that, kochanie?" He pants between your legs, drunk on your pussy, swearing in Polish and giving lewd comments about how wet you are. He only ups the pace with his tongue when you cum. You're an overstimulated mess, but he's not done. He crawls on top of you and gets down to business with his thick cock, those heavy balls start to slap against your soaked flesh until you feel like you have no brains left.

"It's easier to just stop fighting, kotku," he seems to approve of your wet, moaning state more than anything. But it's the wickedly pleased gruff of "Let's get married, Słoneczko," that sends you spiraling into another overstimulated, glorious orgasm.

You don't even know that he's already told his whole family about you. You don't yet know that his grandmother already loves you. But it starts to dawn on you that you got more than you bargained for when Gromsko informs you that he'll take you to Poland but only as his wife.

Perhaps that's where this man's charm lies! Gromsko simply knows what he wants: a good loyal wife and a nice, large family. If you can give them to him, he's not wasting any time getting you pregnant. You're knocked up before you even know it, there's a ring on your finger before you get to say Na Zdrowie. You're his little wife now, and there's nothing you can do about it ❤️

[turntechgaykid]

Reacting to NARUTO:

Love Haku an Zabuza

I love Naruto being the shortest on team 7

Ino an Sakura give ex girlfriend vibes (Sakura had a crush on Ino but when she found out Ino had a crush on Sasuke she felt rejected and embarrassed so said she had a crush on him too)

Sasuke and Naruto are in love (Naruto fell in love when Sasuke protected him from Haku & Sasuke fell in love when Naruto protected him from/fought Gaara)

Team 10 & 8 are fighting to be my favorite (Hinata is chubby + short headcanon)

I don't like Guy sensei or anyone on his team

Shikamaru's Dad is a functioning alcoholic??

I hate Pervy sage, I hope he dies

I love the Gaara - Naruto parallels

Love the parallel of Neji an Naruto being branded (I think the letter Hinata's Dad gave Neji was a fuckin lie)

I don't know how to feel about Kankuro & Temari

Naruto's frog wallet is the best thing EVER

Gaara's story makes my heart hurt

Gaara in his first fight with Sasuke says "you're weaker then I am" rather than "you're weaker then me" which is very meaningful to me as "you're weaker then I am" implies that Gaara sees himself as weak too instead of "you're weaker then me" which would've implied Gaara is strong/average an Sasuke is weak

Sasuke running to save Naruto from itachi>>>>

I hate Pervy sage more an more with each episode

Naruto wanting parental/familial connection and trying to cover it up when he's sad is tearing me apart

Tsunade is the best of all the sannin

Shizune an Tonton are such sweethearts

Sakura's speech before Sasuke left was obnoxious and her saying she'd go WITH HIM????

Does Choji have a thing for Shikamaru?? Does Shikamaru have a thing for Choji?????

Choji is a sweetheart 😭

Why is Shikamaru lowkey misogynistic

I like Temari an Gaara A LOT

I don't really like any of the sound ninja

HAKU KNOWS KIMIMARO???

HAKU RETURN

WHY ARE NARUTO AND SASUKE BREAKING UP

SASUKE KILLED NARUTO

NARUTO IS BACK

Giant hand Sasuke is grossss

Sasuke turned evil an put on lipstick

Mizuki & Iruka are ex's

Gaara definitely has a crush on Naruto

Thoughts on each team:

Team 7:

Naruto - Asian, Bi vibes

Sasuke - Japanese, Gay/MLM

Sakura - Singaporean, Lesbian, Comp Het.

Team 10: (stoner vibes)

Shikamaru - Sri Lankan, Gay/MLM (no way he likes women with the way he talks about them)

Ino - Wasian, Bi vibes (I like her better than Sakura)

Choji - Mongolian, Pansexual

Team 8: (the emo squad)

Hinata - Hyugas read as Hmong to me, Omnisexual

Kiba (+akamaru) - Cambodian, Straight ally

Shino - Chinese, Unlabeled

Team Guy/3:

Tenten - Korean, Unlabeled

Neji - Hmong, Gay/MLM

Rock lee - Chinese, Unlabeled

Sand Siblings:

Gaara - Egyptian, Unlabeled

Kankuro - Egyptian, Bi?

Temari - Egyptian, Queer?

Current Favorites: Shikamaru, Hinata, Haku, Gaara

[slime-blossom]

on brute force. (tw: rape)

this is going to sound crazy maybe, and i apologize if i'm actually wrong about all of this, but there's this nagging thought i've been having while studying rape culture, studying maybe a little too much for my mental health.

my concern is this: any formulation of why rape culture reproduces itself, why men take advantage of women, and why women have to keep their guard up around men, premised on essential biological differences in strength between genders, runs into a couple problems. the first is that, like any social theory predicated on essential gender differences, transgender and nonbinary people are bound to come along and throw a wrench in it, and that even if you don't want to deliberately exclude them, you kind of have to strategically ignore them for your theory to remain coherent. the second is that even then, arguing the issue is rooted in innate differences in strength produces a slew of troublesome edge cases.

for one thing, this doesn't account for the catcaller who harasses a group of women. if it were simply a matter of brute force, the man would think twice before bothering a crowd of 3 or more women; he'd be outnumbered, he'd be outmuscled, he's liable to get swarmed. i don't care how beefy you think you are, you can only take on a half-dozen people at once in movies. so his willingness to harass them likely does not come from any conscious certainty that he could take the whole group in a fight—because he couldn't—but from a certainty that there won't be one.

rooting your discourse in strength also doesn't account for the way men behave around women who have men by their side. which is to say it does, but only to an extent; what it doesn't account for is that such men will back off even when the other man is shorter and thinner and less muscular than him, NTR fantasies be damned. why? he could, in all likelihood, murder the weaker man with his bare hands if he felt the need, so what does he have to be afraid of? (there's an obvious answer, i know, i'm building to it.)

in fact, this doesn't account for any form of harassment that happens in a crowded, public place, not by itself, since anyone trying to commit a crime in, say, a bar is competing against the whole bar (this isn't really true, you know it's not, you know why, you know where this is going,) and no man is stronger than a whole bar. in fact, no man is stronger than the society in which he finds himself. the logic of brute force makes sense in the abstract, or when talking about wild animals, but we live in a relatively (!) organized society, and in most other cases, from robbery to murder even to public nuisances, it's understood, implicitly, by most people, that no amount of strength will keep you from being caught and punished, that in fact the only thing you can do to protect yourself is to avoid getting caught. fighting is out of the question, because you will be swarmed, and if you resist the swarm you will be swarmed harder, until you fold.

it also doesn't account for terry crews. it doesn't account for any man who is raped by a woman. if men are dangerous because they are strong, then why did you let her do that to you? why couldn't you have just fought her off? do you see how that sounds?

it doesn't tell you why i, a man, am not more afraid around men bigger and stronger than me, and i'm not, and most of them are. it also doesn't tell you why a woman bigger and stronger than me might be afraid of me, because i'm not that tall, and i'm not that heavy, and basically any woman with a regular gym membership and the discipline to use it could kill me if she felt the need, but that doesn't mean she feels safe with me in the gym.

it doesn't tell you why a civilian man would have the gall to attempt to assault a muay thai expert. he had his ass handed to him, of course (of course!); one of them was trained to fight, and the other wasn't. her outfit and build should have implied as much—why didn't he know better?

it doesn't tell you why a grown woman would feel anxious around a preteenage boy.

the only thing that leaves for scrutiny is the social contract itself. maybe men harass women because they don't expect punishment for doing so, and because they don't expect resistance from their targets. i know they do expect resistance from men, and that the possibility of resistance is usually enough. just because you could theoretically win a fight doesn't mean you want to get into one if you can avoid it, doesn't mean you couldn't sustain a disabling injury in the process, doesn't mean you aren't doing a risk-assessment: what will my boss think if i come to work with blood on my shirt? what if i get kicked out of the bar/club/store/lecture hall? what he comes back the next day with a baseball bat and takes me by surprise? what if he presses charges? what if his family does?

of course, all of these are things women could do, and we notice that men react more violently to the slightest hint of resistance from women than to resistance from men, even though full on resistance from women would not be any safer to deal with, in all those above forms, than resistance from men. a restraining order served by a woman is still a restraining order; the man who risks it is taking on risks he would not otherwise take.

the issue is that for most men, getting beat up by another man isn't the end of the world, let alone backing down from a fight with one, whereas backing down from a fight with a woman, for many men, is the end of the world, even if unconsciously; resistance from women makes them panic, it's dangerous to them, it threatens to undermine their status among other men if it isn't quashed, so those men will, all things being equal, allow themselves much more inconvenience in responding to it.

of course women are also discouraged from resisting, they have more to risk if they do, because their aggressors have to more to risk if they don't push back.

and this ties into the original problem, which is that even if they get violent, they'll more likely than not be let off the hook, by the bar, by the store, by the whole legal system. the reason we can deter most people from enraged murder, but not enraged rape, is because murder is illegal and rape is not, not really, not in practice. it's only even socially frowned on in our imaginations.

i don't know whether brute force was instrumental in getting this system set up. maybe it was. maybe it wasn't. but it sure isn't what maintains it.

[just-another-frender-blog]

New question: what are your thoughts on Bend Her, and what makes it infamous? I never thought of it like that before--I just assumed that it was generally liked. But admittedly, the sites that I used to lurk weren't known for being progressive.

This is another great question. I've wanted to do an analysis post on this episode for a while, but it's intimidating to talk about. I want to clarify that I'm not trans first and foremost. I don't speak for any trans Futurama fans, but I will be talking about that aspect in great detail. I've also only watched this episode once, so I pulled up a transcript to verify everything I'd like to say about this episode.

This episode is generally regarded as having aged poorly and being insensitive toward trans individuals. A lot of people even consider it to be the worst episode of Futurama because of this reason. The biggest reason is the concept: Bender wants to win all the medals in the female bending unit Olympics, so he transitions into a fembot to do so. I already knew this when I watched it and was prepared. My girlfriend refused to watch it for this very reason, and I watched because I wanted to watch every single episode of this show.

Right off the bat, this episode has a ton of fat jokes at Hermes' expense, which fucking sucks. They aren't funny at all, and I don't care that this episode came out in 2003, it usually isn't this mean-spirited. Before this episode, Futurama really didn't punch down all that much, especially for an early-2000s cartoon, so this stood out to me. And then we get into to some of the worst this episode has to offer: a bunch of jokes about how women are biologically weaker than men.

Biology is a thing, but of course, Bender shouldn't be able to beat all these trained athletes just because he's a man and they're women. Once again, this episode came out in 2003, but the sexist and transphobic stereotypes are awful anyway. When Bender finally transitions into Coilette, we get a lot of transphobic dialogue from the main characters. Notably Leela and Amy are basically TERFs in this episode, which was... interesting.

[When Bender's about to transition] Fry: I can't watch this 'cause it's creepy and wrong and sick. However, I will watch out of curiosity.

[After Coilette won] Leela: I don't know which I'm more: Enraged or disgusted.

Coilette: I'm just out there making us ladies look good.

Amy: Snuh-uh! You're making us look like jerks in front of the other genders. (Accidentally based)

[About Coilette] Farnsworth: Oh, dear. Her mood swings are getting wilder. She's becoming a slave to her emotions. Just like all women. Particularly you, Leela. (...good lord...)

[After Coilette decides to detransition] Leela: OK, look. If I help you with this do you promise to get out of my gender and stay out?

I think you get the point. This episode has a lot of sexist, transphobic, homophobic dialogue. And a ton of awful stereotypes about queer people in general. The stereotype of the predatory trans woman who'll invade women's spaces, particularly women's sports is an idea that gets people killed, and this episode only reinforces that notion. And yet... I have mixed feelings because I do think there's more to it than that.

Beneath all of this is a genuinely interesting character study of Bender's sexuality. Initially, he does only become a fembot just to spite everyone else and win all the medals. The more he stays a fembot, the more he seems to actually enjoy himself. He likes putting on makeup and dresses. He also enjoys his dates with Calculon, and even though he initially claims to do it to con Calculon, it's heavily implied that he's genuinely fallen in love with him. He does the most un-Bender thing and detransitions so he won't break Calculon's heart.

This episode provides a lot of explicit proof that Bender is queer, though I can't outright say it because it's not exactly confirmed. This is even implied at the end of the episode when he transitions back into a manbot. Once again, it initially seems like he's back to his old self now that he has male robot genitals or whatever. When he's alone, he stares longingly at Calculon on TV, signaling that Bender did enjoy his time as a fembot and did have feelings for Calculon.

As I said earlier, a lot of the main characters are very transphobic toward Bender/Coilette in this episode. They all crack jokes at Coilette's expense. None of them even attempt to take her transition seriously, with Amy and Leela outright refusing to see Coilette as a "real woman." It's hard to say for sure where the writers want you to stand on this, but I personally think that you aren't meant to agree that the way they're treating Bender/Coilette. It seems like you're meant to question their biases, though the episode does a poor job of conveying this.

I also want to get into the time this episode came out, 2003. Little was known about trans issues in the general public, and queer issues in general. According to some old Internet forums I read about the episode, this was the first piece of mainstream media to touch on trans issues. It came out before a lot of really awful, modern-day trans stereotypes were more prevalent. It's possible that the writers meant well when writing this episode and fumbled the bag.

That being said, I have no way to verify this and I don't think they've ever publicly come forward about this episode. It's not exactly clear what type of interpretation the viewer is supposed to take away from this episode. And even if you aren't supposed to agree with the way the PE crew is treating Coilette/Bender, it still hurts to see your favorite characters act transphobic/homophobic. I don't want to see TERF Leela, commentary or not. There's one part where Leela calls Coilette/Bender dating a manbot "a disgrace." I've been in a same-sex relationship for three years, and I remember feeling horrible when she said that.

Good intentions don't matter if the bigots in your audience use these "jokes" as fuel to hurt minorities. I think some people forget that there is a more conservative and bigoted side of the Futurama fanbase. I have to be careful when I engage with certain sides of this fanbase for a reason. I remember watching clips of this episode, going to the comments, and seeing a ton of hate toward trans women. So many people were praising this episode for it's portrayal of trans women and so many of them were using it to justify bigotry toward LGBTQ+ people.

"Bend Her" really does send a lot of mixed messages. I've seen trans people who despise this episode and trans people who really love it. Both sides of the argument are valid and should be heard. I think it's wonderful that queer people can see themselves in Bender (myself included tbh). But that doesn't mean that this episode doesn't do harm. We should criticize it for its harmful aspects, regardless of age and intentions. I love Futurama overall, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to critique it.

Hell, concrit allows these types of shows to improve if they continue, like with the upcoming reboot. Maybe we'll get better queer/trans representation. Maybe they'll do a better job of writing the female characters. And maybe they'll finally let Bender out of the closet rather than queer-coding him. I want to end this by inviting any of my trans followers to add to this message. I identify as cis, and I want to make sure trans Futurama fans can add to the conversation as well.

[horizon-verizon]

First, Westeros is a fictionalized version of England and most Northwestern European medieval societies that uses mostly English history (War of the Roses, the Anarchy, William the Conqueror, the English Anglo Saxon kingdoms before the Norman Conquest). You didn't know this? It's literally what it's being modelled after...dude?!! Yes, this is Euro-centered!!! Also, "blood purity" and "closer to god than men" has always been not really believed in the way or level you seem to imply. Jaehaerys created the Doctrine for propaganda sake and get the Faith off the Targs' back. And, as you yourself stated, as one of the feudal houses of Westeros, the Targs reflect a common aristocratic trend of using godlikeness (the Gardners are son, so are the ironborn) of legtimizing their places in society, but with Jaehaerys we see less actual belief in that origin and more pragmatic use of ideological phenomena of the land he is ruling. Thereby, we can say that through the Targs, we are studying Westerosi feudalism and seeing how truly "backwards" the Westerosi customs are when we especially realize that the more the Targs assimiliate through the years so that their women lose power and agency, the weaker the house itself gets--even after they lose their dragons. In andal/Seven patriarchy, the Targs lost their way towards power, yes. So it is through the Targs' change into the fabric they bought that we measure and see in stark relief how backwards and oppressive the fedualist system Westeros and a lot of the ASoIaF world has. And the Targs aren't imperialists of Westeros, you are suing that word hella wrong. They are ordinary conquerors. If they weren't the lords would not be able to practice their customs as freely as they do.

Secondly, out of the thousands of years of non-Targ-unified rule where every singer Westerosi kingdoms were in constant warfare, there was been actual peace in "Westeros" for 210 or so years. Again, they ruled for 283 years. And after they are gone, what happens? Another civil war, the War of the Five Kings, from an era barely held together by people other than Robert, the king, himself who wanted to just fuck and fight his way to his own death.

hey have conquered the seven kingdoms using their weapons of mass destruction,they also never done anything for the poor or the smallfolks(considering that it was the smallfolks who k*lled the dragons)

In those 1000s of pre-Targ years of war mongering, the lords of Westeros have actually been much more of a menace to the smallfolk than the Targs have...have you ever actually heard a Stark, a Barathon, a Martell, a Arryn make declarations banning certain predatory practices at least in their own lands the way Alysanne and Rhaenys did (rule of thumb, right of first night, rule of six)? And it was a Andal-descent Westerosi, Tywin, who rolled back Aegon V's sincerely pro-peasant laws once he got to become Hand. It was Jaehaerys that built roads to connect different major areas, which indutibly helped travel for everyone, not just the nobles. It was Alysanne who got him to clean up the sewer sysytem a bit more for the smallfolk of KL. All either with selfless intentions OR with another self serving intent, but still by contrast, what did the other lords and ladies do for the smallfolk? Of any sort of intent?

So, no, the Targs are not exactly the same as the Starks. They're more similar to the Martells, really, in terms of how othered they are. And no, the Dornish, sociologically and politically, the Dornish are not "Other", but they are seen as "foreign". There si no system of oppression against them, either.

You also have a very narrow view of dragons, very similar to how the Seven see dragons as just evil. GRRM symobolically sees fire & very cleansing and purifying...as does many cultures. It's not all ""destruction". You ironically prove the point when you think this way, since in Cristian, esp Protestant--based soceities, fire tends to be invoked or thought of negatively. So do dragons. Very Eurocentric.

Thirdly, I love how you try to argue Dany is a white savior. She is not, you've been watching too much Game of Thrones. Not only is Essosi and larger ASoIaF slavery based on class instead of a the sort of "race" that exists in a modern era and slaves in Essos can be of any color, Dany is not disengnuous in her desire and passion to free all the slaves of Essos and become a true compassionate leader. And if you read the books, you will need to revisit them and stop listening to stupid videos on Youtbe that refuse to use book evidence or really just plain old logic to explain away their misogyny against Dany. Dany does use the history of her ancestors as her strength as well as to teach her what not to do.

Definition of a white savior:

a White person acts upon from a position of superiority to rescue a BIPOC—Black, Indigenous, or person of color—community or person

Therefore, even if she wanted to, Dany can never be a white savior.

---Interlude---

the blonde haired blue eyes who came from a society that exploited valyria

Maybe you got confused, because how could the valyrians exploit the valyrians (unless we're talking the class divide, but then we'd be talking about class, not race, and no there was no slavery based on race in Essos. ever.)? 🤨

---End---

Fourthly, and yes, within the context of Westeros, the Targaryens are an cognitive if not a social Other. An eternal foreigner of sorts.

This is the definition of the "Other"ing:

view or treat (a person or group of people) as intrinsically different from and alien to oneself

No one is saying that they are a systematically oppressed group, but they aren't treated as entirely human all the time either by fans nor those in Westeros AND fans tend to treat the Andal-FM ideological system as the default human one. Precisely bc of their strong heritage and present connection to magic. Westeros is dominantly Seven of the Faith, or the fictional version of Catholicsm. The Faith (of the Seven) is largely anti-magic and is the only religon in the known world that claims to not use or depend on magic. Magic is considered unnatural and evil. There is also no proof or indication that any of the Seven gods are real. Let that sink in. The religions of Rholor, the old gods, etc, all have traces of magic use AND people have wielded magic of a kind proven to actually work and shape the world around them.

Though the Targs have ruled for 283 years, they have had to abandon most of their past Valyrian customs--all except sibling marriage--bc they decided to assimilate as closely as they could to Andal culture and adopt the Seven religion to appease those they ruled. Still, because they have access to mysterious beings who they cannot control, their family is the most recent to come out of Essos, they are markedly different-looking to the point that they look almost inhumane to many Westerosi (no matter how pale, purple eyed, and white-gold-haired reminiscent of blonde-blue-eyes), AND the memory of Visenya and Rhaenys being competent and powerful women in their own right, the Seven of the Faith largely has always considered the Targs as "strange", then "mad".

Yes, even before Daenerys exited the Targs, mainly the women, were seen as a different alien group. The Targs of F&B and before that AWoIaF are not "better" than Dany--that wasn't even the damn question or the point in the first place!--they are there to contextualize her personal development and narrative importance. She makes them matter, of course, but she had to come from somewhere and draw her meaning of self somewhere. She does not, in the text, too, ignore or completely divest herself of her family legacy, she has favorites and is very proud to be a Targ. Her dragons, which are necessary for the Long Night, come from her blood connection to this house...and no there has been very little proof that a non-Valyiran-descent could ride or bond with dragons, so for the Targs, yes blood actually matters a great deal.

Look, the Targs shaped Westeros and even created a few of its current institutions for better or worse. It's not "glorification" if you're just describing what is written in the actual text. The series is not built for any house, nor is as haunted by any house but the Targs. The Starks are a second.

The fact that so many people think the Starks are honorable anticolonial fighters and the pinnacle of morality is absolutely insane, they literally built a massive wall to isolated a bunch of people they considered as “savages”, they hunted and slaughtered the Free Folk, the Children of the Forest, giants, exterminated whole houses and clans and took their daughters as “prizes” while conquering the North, etc. The Blackwoods were originally from the North and ruled most of the wolfswood, before being driven out by the Starks and forced to flee south. The Starks are the OG COLONIZERS in ASOIAF.

Even this did not give Winterfell dominion over all the North. Many other petty kings remained, ruling over realms great and small, and it would require thousands of years and many more wars before the last of them was conquered. Yet one by one, the Starks subdued them all, and during these struggles, many proud houses and ancient lines were extinguished forever. — The World of Ice and Fire – The North: The Kings of Winter.

I recently finished a Tiktok series that will probably just be as lost to the internet if we lose TikTok but I had to get out in response to a particular creator who bashes Rhaenyra while also proclaiming themselves as black stans. I think they are really more black stans because they hate Alicent personally and feels the thrill of the side-taking, but that's neither here nor there. 😏

To quote one of my mutuals here [rhaenin]:

It just rings so familiar to the way so many people view the other in real life. Because the Targaryens are overtly, and intentionally written as the other. It's the reason so many people identify with them, and it's the very same reason that other people vilify them. They're not just the in-universe other to the 'default' culture established in the text, but they're also given characteristics that we, the reader and audience, can recognize as other and even sometimes anathema to Western Christian culture. To paraphrase the annoying people that love to cite Ramsay when they feel like it: If you look at a morally complex family surrounded by other morally complex families in a morally complex world in a story that's famed for seeking to challenge your underlying assumptions, and think that their association with fire and brimstone is meant to signify their singular satanic evilness, rather than say... challenge that very Eurocentric assumption, you haven't been paying attention. This vilification mindset where the Targaryens are the singular evil of Westeros is so common to people who seem to want to consume ASoIaF without engaging with the criticisms of the Eurocentric worldview of history at the heart of it. And they end up using the convenient “others” to project all the wrongs of that world onto so they don't need to examine it any deeper. ........... It comes from the same place with how someone pointed out that the baffling bastardphobia that would have medieval peasants giving the side eye is so often people jumping at the chance to “cosplay” as bigots who base their arguments in misogyny and bio-essentialism. Because it's an acceptable channel to indulge in that mindset in a way that they'd often otherwise question, or at least hold back from expressing out of caution.

[alexas-fandom-and-random-blog]

Okay about Striker's and Moxxie's fight on episode 5. I've seen some observations of it floating online again about it having sexual undertones and I'd like to add my two cents.

Full disclosure first. I ship it. Hard.

Second I'll try to talk without wearing my shipper goggles and what I consider canon.

So, does it?

Short answer: Yes

Longer answer and meta:

From how its "shot" with all the close ups and in times claustrophobic and under heavy red hues of light scenes the intention is there I believe. It's a very physical and close range fight where Moxxie gets pinned and restrained a lot and Striker is grinning like a madman during the entire thing. Of course there are implications there.

It barely does count as a fight, its a very personal assault.

Now why is that?

Striker represents a lot of traits toxic masculinity has. He's the bastard jock basically who picks on a physically weaker and smaller guy out of maliciousness and to prove his superiority. That makes Moxxie a perfect target and also cause Moxxie gets stubborn and doesn't back down, Striker tries even harder, even mocking him through passive aggressive insults and even in his song.

Important notice is the fact he denies it upfront.

"Moxxie go fuck yourself"

Followed right after with:

"Did you hear something, it was just the wind"

That's a classic way an abuser or bully with narcissism works btw. Being aggressive towards their victims but covering it up or denying it, wanting the rest of the world to worship them.

But here's the thing.

Toxic masculinity is often a front for repressed sexuality too. Specifically gay men. And even if Striker's design screams manly man a couple of details like the fact he's a cowboy (dead giveaway lol) and more obviously those fabulous high heel boots add some implications no? That and he hits on Blitzo, that one is obvious but he also side eyes Moxxie through this entire antagonistic bullying that leads to this fight.

Also when he shows off, a lot of girls in the audience fangirl over him and the focus is mostly on them again implying things about Striker's target audience. Playboys do target women true but he also kicks that one away when she gets too close on him when he performs on stage. Cause that's what this mostly is. A performance with no real interest behind it.

Not that I don't think he fucks. Striker fucks. No doubt about it 😆

It just comes off as superficial.

So after all that we come to him cornering and assaulting Moxxie. Based on all of the above Striker's approach is deliberately physical and in need to assert his dominance and total control of the other. Just cause he can. And he gets much pleasure out of it. He's very sadistic and pleased about it while Moxxie is in serious danger and basically fights for his life by his point of view.

Unlike the superficiality of his act that has the purpose to entice an audience, this feels more personal and with a lot of underlying issues including sexual ones. And it's "shot" and framed as such in a subconscious level I believe, and the reason people caught up on it.

Striker has been restraining himself up until that point. This is the moment he lets the beast loose and indulges into his urges, thankfully for Moxxie not entirely in the desired direction but an assault with sexual undertones none the less. Striker's wild expressions and body language convey that.

Which... going away from canon now. Opens the room for all the problematic shipping, kinks and bdsm fantasies all the more prevalent since Striker is a hot dude with hot voice.

Thank you for coming to my Tedd talk ☺️

[hardlyinteresting]

Matters of the mind, body, and soul

Laszlo Kreizler x reader

warnings: victorian ideals, discussions of sex (no smut), still 18+ to keep on the safe side, minors dni. the ending is open ended so feel free to imply what you like. potential spoilers for season 1 of the alienist. I also haven't edited this. if you know me, then no you don't please don't read this.

The pool house is eerily quiet as Laszlo makes his rounds reviewing the details of the crime scene. you follow silently keeping the bottom of your skirt lifted to avoid the possibility of blood stains. Lazlo follows invisible clues to one of the changing cubicles.

"what is it Laszlo?”

"l'm not sure yet" he mumbles.

you watch fascinated by the man in front of you.

"do you think something, or someone else stole his attention? He didn't complete his ritual on this poor boy" you offer.

"that's exactly what I am thinking” he says, reaching into the cubical with one hand running two fingers up the wall before bringing them to his lips. your breath catches in your throat you stomach turns in on itself and you can feel heat rush to your cheeks. Laszlo is kind enough to not mention the sound of your sharp intake of breath.

it's much later in the evening when you're back at the make shift office Sara set up.

Both Sara and John have gone home leaving Laszlo and yourself alone. you sit the counter pouring over notes you've made through out the case trying to focus your thoughts but the only thing on your mind is the image of Laszlo with his fingers to his lips. you're unsure why but it’s left you with a feeling of—is it longing? whatever it is it feels sinful. your mind wanders further imagining what the tips of his fingers might feel like against your own. at your waist? the curve of your hip?-caressing your thighs? between-- no you can't imagine that. you won't allow it.

"are you feeling alright?"

"hmm?"

"I was inquiring as to whether you might be feeling unwell. forgive me, but you haven't been yourself at all today”.

"no. I apologize l don't know what's gotten into me today doctor"

"you've seen something that’s left you un-nerved?"

"something lot that nature, yes.”

"do you wish to speak about it?”

you swallow hand brow furrows as you consider. if you can’t talk to an alienist about these thoughts who can you speak to? Laszlo puts down the piece of chalk from his hand, he sits down at the table pulling up another chair to face his. He motions to the seat. your heart races as you follow the silent instruction. your knees touch his when you sit and your quick to sit further back in the chair an action that does not go unnoticed by the doctor.

He also notes your unwillingness to look him in the eye instead choosing to focus on where your fingers trace patterns on your skirt

"your mind us wandering again?”

you only nod in response. biting your bottom lip. why do you feel like crying? you take another deep breath much shakier this time.

"it's not right--not proper"

"In my experience it's the thoughts we've been target to believe are improper that are actually the most natural.”

How is it possible that his understanding makes you want to cry more?

“I fear -- l am afraid that these thoughts are not as natural as you say they may be. I cannot imagine anyone having thoughts such as these about a person."

"so it is another person who has been occupying your mind?"

you nod.

"do you wish to cause this person harm? To injure or kill?"

"no! never." You’re quick to respond looking up at him.

He nods observing your wide eyes and damp eyelashes. He'd be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart clench seeing you so obviously distraught.

"well then" he says gently taking one of your hands in his, "l assure you, there is nothing unnatural about you or your mental preoccupations"

you shiver at the feeling of his fingertips against the pulse point of your wrist

"it may be bold of me, but I believe that what you’re feeling is simply desire"

you shake your head.

"l can't stop thinking about it"

"about what" He presses.

"this morning. you-- “ you sigh standing to turn away from the man," you licked your fingertips and my mind has not been my own since then."

"There is nothing shameful about desire. it is our most primal instinct the very reason every creature on this planet continues to exist"

He stands slowly and you can hear his footsteps approaching.

"if this is desire then my mother was not honest with me"

“It is likely she was not. But I doubt that the dishonesty was intentional”.

standing toe to toe with you he tilts your chin up for you to look at him with watery eyes.

"l still don't understand” you confess, "why would what you did cause this-- surely that's odd even if my thoughts themselves are not”,

“On the contrary. But it is not my place to speak to you about such things" his hand returns to yours.

"l must know Laszlo. I am tired of being at a disadvantage especially in matters of my own soul, mind and body."

He resists a smirk at the fire he sees grow behind your eyes. The unmoving need to stand your ground. an admirable quality.

"very well. There are many things that draw us to potential partner some attraction is conscious, but mostly attraction is a subconscious function, something we do not actively focus on in order to process. Some alienist believe that features that may seem insignificant to us are actually very important,” He lifts one of you hands to hips lips pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles before continuing, “hands for example seem to be an important subconscious factor when women look at a man. Simply put; when I brought my fingers to my mouth this mourning--" he pauses to repeat the action and you can feel your bottom jaw go slack again, your thighs clench without thought. Laszlo continues, "it brought your subconscious processes to the surface. I trust you can understand why the lips and mouth might also play a role in desire".

"kissing." your mother had told you that much.

"among other things yes” He turns away returning to his chair.

"other things? Laszlo, please don’t give me half truths." you plead moving to sit in front of him again, this time not moving when your knees touch.

"it is not easy to explain.. And when it comes to matters of desire it is better you wait and experience them instead"

"wait? for what? To wed a man I do not care for, and who will not care for my desires? If all men knew what you say you know, then I know my mother would have told me more"

He considers it. your right. it's true that women are only told what it is they need to know to be "good wives" He is not obtuse to the fact that society has not been built for the comfort, satisfaction or pleasure of the female sex.

"Both the hands and mouth can be used to stimulate the body during relations"

you nod watching Laszlo's finger mindlessly trace circles on the arm of the wooden chair and you briefly consider that he's reimagining a moment from his past as he looks deep in thought.

“And, forgive me, have you done these things?”

He looks back up at you, “I have”

“Show me”. You surprise yourself by saying.

"you deserve to venture through these experiences with someone who loves you, and that you love."

Your brows furrowed as you think, then you're the perfect man. You drop to your knees in front of him taking both his hands in yours where they rest on his knees. "and do you not hold affection for me? John has told me you've said as much in so few words. I am not naive in believing you must know how I feel about you by now"

He offers a gentle smile, one hand leaving yours, moving to cup your cheek, "It is my propensity to the very affections you speak of that prevents me from acting. I have-- I have never been bold enough to assume that the feelings may be returned."

It's your turn to reach to hold his face in your hands,

“Oh, Laszlo”.

He stands slowly and you stand too. His weaker hand finds a place to rest on your hip, and despite the layers of skirts and petticoats you swear you can feel the warmth of his palm, the tender press of his fingertips. His other hand traces the the shape of your cheekbone, and jawline memorizing each detail. It's slow and almost imperceptible but at some point your eyes have fluttered shut and your can feel yourself leaning in as his lips meet yours. Oh. He pulls you closer, the hand on your hip moving to press you close by the small of you back.

His forehead rests against yours and you take a moment to appreciate the soft scratch of his beard against your palm.

“Is this equal to the images your mind conjured”.

“Yes,” you confess, “but there was more”.

“Tell me”.

You shake your head avoiding his gaze almost as embarrassed as you were earlier.

“There is no shame between lovers, mien Schatz”.

“Lovers?” The word catches in your throat as you return your attention to him once more.

“I thought that I was clear in my intentions--forgive me. I would never have--if this is not an interaction you which to have tell me at once, I will put the notion to rest”

“I want this-- I want you Laszlo”.

“Then it would be an act of cruelty on my part to not give you what you desire”.

His lips are on yours once again, but this time we walks you backwards until your back is against the wall, the grip of both his hands on your hips much more firm this time.

“I wish to know what it feels like-- “ you grab one of his hands in both of her own “--to feel your fingertips upon my own lips”

You maintain eye contact with the doctor as you bring his hand up, dropping your head down to meet his hand that is in your control, his fingertips graze your bottom lip, his fingers twitch but he does not pull away. You hesitate but venture to brush the tip of your tongue against his forefinger as he had done himself this morning. Pulling away only when he lets out a shaky breath.

“I think I understand,” you mumble, “and these things, they affect you too, doctor?”

“Very much so”.

[mgsapphire]

Ethics and morality... and how they're not the same...

Weird title, and I don't even know if I'll properly approach this one with all the topics I wish to this discuss in today's The Devil Judge essay, because a lot of things peaked my interest, I was debating on doing a separate post for each subject, but I'll do them all in here:

Starting simple

I know we're only 4 episodes in, but I want to break down the things that I often look for in a new show:

Cinematography

Soundtrack

Character building

Plot devices

Social commentary (sometimes)

Of course, these are things most people would consider basics, but I find that a lot of TV shows don't have enough balance in them. Also, cinematography and soundtrack are pretty up there for me because when a plot gets slow, or something like that, I stay for those two (biggest example: King Eternal Monarch).

The soundtrack in The Devil Judge is amazing and the cinematography can be a character of its own. They really get me hooked and are used as tools to properly tell a story. And I'll get into that further down this post.

The onlooker will never understand the actor

Experience is your best friend not only applies to job hunting, but it's true in the real world too. You can't truly weigh in on something unless you've experienced it yourself, you can give it your judgment and everything, but when bad things happen to someone, you'll never truly understand their pain. Am I bringing up because of the difference of mind in Judge Kang and Judge Kim's opinions? On how the public treated the minister's son? No. I'm talking about a very specific scene, where the cinematography told me to think that way and not the dialogue (it's that easy for my mind to be swayed). In episode 3, when the rich are about to dine right after the foundation's commercial for a better future, we see this aerial shot:

What's interesting about this? The seclusion and the enclosed feeling it conveys as a counterpart to the poverty shots we were just shown. Yet, these are the people making ads for a better future, what do they know?

They live comfortably behind concrete walls with no windows to see what goes on apart from the bubble they live in. This idea is further enforced at the party in episode 4, where they're not even a part of the donations, and watch and mock from afar as spectators. Yet, these people call the shots. They even call it commenting, as if they were watching the pain of others on TV.

The intriguing personality and the duality it encites

Now, this was a costume and wardrobe decision, but it was also very well thought of:

Judge Kim wears white and Judge Kang wears black. One is morally perceived by viewers of the show as morally good and the other is perceived as morally dubious at best. However, besides the costume and wardrobe thought put into this, we also have to think about the delivery of this scene and how it may further affect my detailing of this section. Judge Kang brings down the coats, and hangs over the coat to Judge Kim, he's the one who is making that annotation: You're pure, I'm tainted. This can have one of two interpretations:

Either Judge Kang believes Judge Kim to be pure and innocent due to his status as a rookie in the field

Or he believes Judge Kim to be morally white and himself morally black as he's looking at his brother's face and not at Judge Kim's heart.

Because most of the back story we're unveiling is through Judge Kim's perception, there's also an inherit bias we're having as well, because in Judge Kim narrative, he believes he's doing what's right and believes Judge Kang to be evil. In being served information about Judge Kang through Judge Kim's eyes, our bias is inherently skewed.

Another thing is that, when they put on the coat, they're standing in front of the other, as if the producers of this series are telling us they're two sides of the same coin.

The duality is made in more deceitful ways, which include:

A difference of classes that implies one has suffered while the other has not.

A difference of experience that implies one is more tainted while the other is pure.

A difference of age that implies one is a sly fox while the other one is is bunny about to be eaten.

A difference of temper that makes one erratic and the other logical.

Power dynamics

This one, in this one I could make a whole thesis based on just a couple of scenes in the drama. And you know I have to mention it: director Jung being the puppeteer.

It may not be as unexpected at first, nevertheless it brings forward a lot of things I've wished to touch upon for quite some time now. A woman being a puppeteer of an old man in the portrayed dystopia that The Devil Judge is painting makes much more sense than more common demonstrations of these dynamics where it's either a:

A man of power being controlled by a bigger man of power.

A man of power being controlled by a seemingly man of a lower status.

A woman being controlled by a man of power.

Although, there's nothing wrong with those power dynamics, and if they were to be used, a message could also be conveyed, this one in particular works as a megaphone.

A subversion of power in such a way can be interpreted as a true indication of the weak overcoming the powerful. Why? It is not that woman are naturally weaker than men, but that in society, patriarchy has been a big factor in taking voice away from women in order to give it to men.

In order for Director Jung to achieve her purposes, it's smarter for her to do it under the pretense that an old rich man in power is the one calling the shots.

This is better exemplified by her stance when the old man tries to excuse his behavior, and what her moral compass is. I'm not saying I agree with her unethical conduct, but that her morality is directly impacted by the perception of the public of her as a weak woman:

Just because a dog bites a human does the person get dirty?

This is telling on how she perceives the actions of the old man in gropping the waitress. She didn't do anything wrong, even if you touched her, you are the dirty one.

While she's evil, it's a refreshing and deep evil.

The public's opinion and how there's actually logic in the show's portrayal

The public opinion can make or break a person, even if it's not on a public trial like this. While "cancel culture" barely works in today's society, a person's reputation is forever tainted. The show does tell that, but it also exhibits the scary downside of it, by showing how easily it was to make people accept flaggelation as a fitting punishment.

There are many experiments that have tried to test the effect of societal pressure on an individual's decision and the effect of the authority's enforcement of power in the outcome of these decisions. Furthermore, theories based on analysis of human behavior not necessarily relying on experiments can also help break this down. What do I mean? Here's a small attempt at explaining:

Milgram Experiment on Authority: which measured the individual willingness to carry out actions that go against their conscience due to an authority's approval.

Argument from Authority; The idea that people are more likely to use an authority's opinion on something as an argument for their reason. This is often seen in science, where trusted authorities have done the research and offer it to the public. In here, authority bias also plays a role, as we often believe, at first, that an authority must be right.

Moral disengagement: basically speaking, because this is evil or bad, I'm not part of it and I most probably am not actively participating in it. One may disengage by moral justification, which means that before engaging in something that has been previously perceived as immoral, I'm changing my stance on it based on what I tell myself to be logical arguments. This particular form of moral disengagement is very effective in changing the public opinion. I'll be touching on another form further down this post.

Other factors played a part, but these ones in particular came to mind when public flagelation as a form of corporeal punishment was wildly accepted. First, an authority is the one telling them it's correct, to go ahead. Secondly, another authority (the minister) had previously shown approval to such unusual punishment. Thirdly, they are not the ones to be engaging directly in the act, and even if they were, it would be acceptable because an authority has told them so. They may even believe the punishment to be a necessary evil for the greater good.

In fact, the minister's son was actually correct when pleading his case, they were accepting it because it wouldn't affect them directly.

Regarding the cinematographic descent of the public opinion regarding the situation can better be exemplified by the old man we've seen through the episodes.

Does suffering justify misdeeds?

Today I came along the difference between excuse and reason. You may give a reason for your behavior, but it doesn't excuse it.

Not because I've suffered through shit, means I have to make you suffer too.

I may explain myself, but it's on the other side to excuse me.

Why I hate the unreliable narrator and why I love it so much

This story has been told mostly through the eyes of Judge Kim and what he hears and sees regarding Judge Kang, if anything, the narrative is very close to that of the narrative we've seen in The Great Gatsby. An enigmatic man is being narrated to us from the eye of a man who hasn't known him for a long time.

How is that an unreliable narrator? The narrator has their own set of bias and moral standards which function as lenses through which they see the world.

Another way of putting it would be the way teenage romances are often written in a first person narrative where either of the two teenagers is the narrator, so the author can sell to us something as simple as offering a pack of gum as the most romantic act on earth. We're perceiving interactions through rose tainted glasses.

In this case, we're seeing the interactions through Judge Kim's eyes who doesn't trust Judge Kang from the get go due to his own preset bias.

The narrative becomes even more unreliable as we're not exactly sure if what Judge Kang disclosed himself is a fact.

The reason why I love this narrative is because it leaves a lot of space to make simple plot twists to a narrative and make them seem grand, and can elongate a story without making it obvious.

The reason why I hate it is because sometimes, in tv shows mostly, we as viewers can see the other side of the story and grow increasingly frustrated with the main character's prejudice and misunderstandings (I'm looking at you my beloved Beyond Evil).

Also, because I have to wait for a long time before I actually have a clear picture of it.

[fgodump]

Connections to “The Poppy War”

The setting and characters to The Poppy War has derived a lot of inspiration from historical events and myths alike. This is meant to discuss which characters have a relation to those preexisting. Of course, you do not need to know this information to enjoy the books, but I think knowing them will elevate your reading experience. None of this information is official. This is just the conclusions I came to while reading. Feel free to make comments

MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ALL BOOKS

Locations

Nikara: Qing Dynasty. 

Mugen: Japan (Meiji Period)

Hesperia: Britain

The Hinterlands: Mongolia (unsure)

Murui: Yellow River

Tianshan: Kunlun

The different provinces were based off the Chinese Zodiac

The Poppy Wars: the Opium wars, as they have the heavy involvement of foreign invaders

Fang Runin: Rin’s character does not seem to take from a specific person, however the wiki stats that she was inspired by multiple people, such as Azula from ATLA and Mao Zedong

Chen Kitay: It's pretty obvious his character is inspired by Zhuge Liang in Romance of the Three kingdoms. In actual history, he wasn't that much, but in the book, Zhuge was a monster at strategy. 

In the first book, Irjah proposes a question, which Kitay replies “to bait the enemy into giving them arrows by rolling out a boat of strawmen”. This is something that Zhuge did as well.

Sring Venka: Honestly I'm blanking on Venka. I think perhaps Venka isnt supposed to represent a character at all, but instead all the comfort women and victims of the Rape of Nanking, based on what happened to her during Golyn niis. 

Yang Souji: He and his group the “Iron Wolves” remind me so much of the Shinsengumi. He even shares a name with Okita Souji, the captain of the first unit. 

The Shinsungumi were also nicknamed “The wolves of Mibu”

I know the glaring problem with this is that the Shisungumi are Japanese, and should have been Mugini in this book, but I think these parallels are pretty cool in any case.

Chiang Moag- Ching Shih. Woah, as soon as I heard Lady Pirate, it was undeniable who Moag is. Ching Shih, the most famous pirate in China perhaps, and she was a woman.

Their backstories share similarities too. Ching shih was a prostitute, just like rumors around Moag. 

The Cike: During the Zhou Dynasty, Wu Zetian (China’s only female emperor) had a secret police force that assassinated everyone she needed. This sounds incredibly similar to the way Daji used the Cike. 

Altan Trengsin: I believe that Altan is like Rin; either an amalgamation of many characters or simply someone Kuang made for the sake of the story.

Ramsa: I believe him to be Nikara’s representation of the creation of fireworks. Not based off a person, but instead one of the Four great inventions of China. Or maybe I’m looking too far into it lol, since he doesn't strike me as being inspired from a myth, since he is not a shaman

Baji: Zhu Bajie of Journey to the West. Based on his description and his name, I had him guessed before they even said anything about pig.

His weapon is even the same as Bajie’s, a nine-toothed rake. 

He also shares his desires, both of them being lusty for beautiful women

Suni: Sun Wukong. I had him guessed by his name as well. Although I believe the connection to be true, I cannot help but feel disappointed that the avatar of Sun Wukong was killed off so easily

The traits that these two characters share are pretty different, much more different than Baji had Bajie. 

For one, Suni is generally calm when he is not being taken over by his god, and is pretty gentle and nice actually. This is very unlike Sun Wukong, and also the reason why I think Suni was a bad body for Wukong to take over, since I think their desires do not match up like Rin and Phoenix

Aratasha: The last in the trio, Sha Wujing. I was confused at first, since Aratasha is no fighter, but I realized his name sounds incredibly similar to Sha Wujing. Wujing was a sand river demon in JTTW, so I don’t think it was a stretch to believe that Aratasha was based off of him (his god is a river god, after all)

Plus, Aratasha died before Baji and Suni did. Wujing in JTTW was weaker than both of his companions. 

Chaghan and Qara Suren: This may be a stretch, but I think Chaghan was inspired from Genghis khan. Gengis Kahn united the Mongols, like Chaghan united the Ketreids and Naimads. Even though the time period would be centuries apart (Genghis 1206, Qing Dynasty 1644-1912), it is the most likely option. It is unrecorded whether Gengis had any sisters, so I believe that Qara was made for the sake of plot (anchor). 

Yin Family: The entire Yin family was taken from the story of Nezha. You can read more about the original story by searching his name in Wikipedia. R F Kuang kept a lot of things from the original tale, and these notes are what I have noticed

Yin Vaisra- Li Jing. Li Jing was also a great general, and in other stories, he was the head general in the Jade Emperor's Heavenly Army. If you know about “Journey to the West”, it was him who attempted to subdue Sun Wukong. 

Yin Saikhara- Lady Yin

*its interesting how Kuang decided to make the mother’s name the family name for the Yins. Originally, I would have thought it was Li instead.

Muzha and Jinzha’s name were lifted directly from the source material

Mingzha is a character Kuang added, for Li Jing only had three sons (or 2 sons and a daughter in this case). There is no source material for how Muzha and Jinzha’s characters are; even in adaptations we rarely get to see any exploration of them.

Yin Nezha- Nezha:

Yin Nezha, like his original counterpart, was the third child of his father. Since Muzha was changed to a female, he is actually the second son. 

He has the powers of the Dragon of the Western river (TBG 392), likely referring to the White Dragon in myths, who is the dragon ruler of the western sea. 

Like the Nezha in the myth, Yin Nezha had an occurrence with a dragon that changed his life. 

At the first battle between Nezha and Rin in TBG, it is stated he wears golden rings around his wrists and ankles. Guanyin bodhisattva did this to Nezha in Journey to the West, in order to placate him. 

The Trifecta: All of the figures in the Trifecta were based on the Fengshen Yanyi (AKA the Investire of the Gods).

Jiang Ziya: His name was directly taken from the novel. 

Su Daji: Her name was directly taken from the novel, as well as some of her penchants for murder. Daji, in both history and the novel, was infamous for her torture methods. 

Jingzha being delivered back to his father in a dumpling holder would qualify as a toruture method. I applaud Kaung for being creative.

Yin Riga: I do not know if Riga is meant to be King Zhou or Ji Fa (the man who overthrew Zhou). Perhaps he was inspired by both of them, or neither. 

Since Kuang did not go into depth into which gods were in the pantheon, I will make a list to who I think is there

Gods mentioned in the books:

Erlang Shen

Sanshengmu 

Sun Wukong *implied through Suni

Zhu Bajie *implied through Baji

Huxian *implied through Unegen, and also Daji

Phoenix

Nuwa

Fuxi

The Four Dragon Kings (Yin Riga was likely the Dragon of the East) *There is no confirmation that there are multiple dragons, but I believe it was strongly implied

Chang’e

Xi Wang Mu, Queen Mother of the West

Zhenniao *implied through Pipaji

The Four Guardians (Azure Dragon, Vermillion Bird, White Tiger, and the Black Tortoise) *implied through Dulin, who summoned the Black Tortoise

Wong Tai sen *implied through Lianhua (Actually I am not sure, but I could not think of any other healer god in Chinese myths)

Gods not mentioned but I believe are in the Pantheon: 

Yudi: Usually depicted as the husband of Xiwangmu

Hou Yi (Since Chang’e is there. However, there is a possibility that he is in Chuulu Korikh as punishment for killing the sons of Yudi)

Shennong: He exists between Nuwa and Fuxi as the “human”

The Eight Deities

Guanyin: (Since Wukong is implied to be a god) showed up in JTTW

Yanwang: (Since Wukong is implied to be a god) showed up in JTTW

Other tidbits:

Arlong’s name may have been the combination of “Azure” and the chinese word for dragon “Long”. 

Aquebus are guns, but they shoot very slow. This aint a AK 47

The Red emperor could have been based off of Qin Shi Huang, or even the Jade Emperor himself.

Chuulu Korikh’s origin, although explained, has ties in Chinese myths. It was the mountain that encased Sun Wukong before he was broken out by Xuanzang. This means that the mountain was put there by the big B, Buddha. (Actually I can't remember if Kuang said who put the mountain down, but if she didnt specify this is what I think happened) 

I am more familiar with Chinese history and myths, rather than Japanese ones, so if im missing something feel free to correct

[englass]

Hello ❤ hope you have a nice day 💖 can i request #14 from the dark prompts please?

Heya hun!!! Honestly, the day has been hot, but we push on. I hope your day has been good!! 💖 Hope you don't mind, but I went for a Fantasy AU for this one; I was super struggling with the prompt and the only thing I could think of was, "oooh, John as a mage..." so we kinda get that. The whole thing is more set up then anything else, but I didn't want to delete anything...

14. “You’re too sweet, darling. What type of monster would I be without you?”

- - -

There had been tales, whispers amongst the women and men of people going missing; of them being snatched off darkened paths and empty roads. Some reckoned it was a beast, spoke of a monster that was stealing people away to fuel their wicked appetite. Others thought it to be bandits, or other unscrupulous groups looking to profit off of the lives of inconspicuous civilians. But there were a handful, the few like yourself, that felt the shift in the air; that could feel the remnants of something foul and forbidden coiled around the scenes.

It had worried you greatly, the thought of such dark magic set loose in the town you had made a home of. Often you found yourself lost in your own mounting anxieties as the reports grew more and more frequent, and rumours gradianted into a much dreaded possibility. Even though you were no stranger to the darker arts, proficient as you are in the art of Summoning, you had never delved too far into its catalogue. In fact, Summoning was about all you ever touched and even then, amongst some other magically inclined individuals, it was considered somewhat of a lesser art; not as destructive and therefore not as notable as others.

However, just because you never strayed into more questionable arts doesn’t mean you know not of them. You’re aware that there are some dark arts that are a bit more accepted amongst the magically inclined than others, used for educational purposes and approved of as a means to protect oneself. Really dark arts are just offensive abilities, so no matter what there is always an element of wariness when it comes to the potential of such arts. As long as you utilise them in an acceptable manner there will be no questioning, no inquiries into your character.

For those not accepted though it is typically because they cross some form of moral or ethical line, taking an individual down a path that alters them irremediably. Stains the core of their aura with the makings of something dreadful, corrupts them until they lose all that makes them as they are.

Admittedly, if not studied correctly or the thirst for knowledge becomes too consuming, then any art can destroy a person; can set them down that very smart path. And sometimes a person can destroy the values of the art and stretch it into something it is not designed to be. There are many stories of Healers’ playing Maker, of a Conjurers’ calling going terribly wrong, of Astrologians’ going insane from their divinations. Once you were almost entranced by your own Summon; a rookie mistake, terribly embarrassing to recall.

Magic in general is a dangerous art and care will always need to be taken. But there are some arts where that danger is part of the art, and those are forbidden. They will always cross the line, and they will never fail to destroy a person; and that person will never fail to destroy others.

That’s what scared you so much about the recent happenings of the town. To think that such a person was lurching about the place, taking people off the street for who knows what nefarious reasons, terrified you. The idea that you could be next, that the stability of your own aura could be at risk because of this rogue caster sickened you. It tore you apart.

And John saw that.

It was a relatively small town, filled with all types of people coming in and out from across the region and the different towns within it. For a long time though the only people you knew that did magic was a spirited Pyromancer called Sharky and some eccentric Apothecary who lived on the outskirts called Larry (you were convinced the man tested his own potions on himself). The first you met when you had summoned a Kelpie to help you put out a fire he had accidentally caused a bit too close to your home, while the latter you had met by chance while looking for ingredients.

That had changed once the Seed brothers had moved in close to the town. They were surprisingly open about their magical inclinations and while the town wasn’t outrightly hostile they were openly suspicious of the three. You had even been a little suspicious of the three, not understanding their reasons for being so forward to a none magically inclined town; it could be dangerous to do so. Ultimately though they suffered little consequence of their reveal, other than strange looks and quiet gossip made of them. You had been envious of that freedom, to be forthright about what you were, but thought better of it. To reveal such a truth after so long would spell disaster for you.

Not even a full lunar cycle had passed before Joseph, the middle brother of the three, had made a point to come seek you out, introducing himself and his brothers to you. It had been a wholly uncomfortable encounter, especially the instance where he had suddenly questioned what arts you had studied. Desperately you had tried to deny it but thankfully the oldest brother, Jacob, had merely sighed and apologised on Joseph’s behalf. As an ex-Paladin turned Enchanter he had fully understood your need for secrecy and had been your saving grace during the whole thing. From then on the brothers become quick acquaintances to you, whether you wanted them to be or not.

Joseph was… okay. He made for interesting conversation no doubt and oftentimes his words gave you pause to think on things, but he could be a touch preachy at times, especially about his beliefs and divinations. Jacob on the other hand had become a confidante of sorts. You didn’t often talk, but when you did the conversation held well enough and his advice was always sound. He was also honest about his thoughts and opinions on a matter, and while you didn’t like being called out when you messed up you did respect his outlook. Your relationship with the youngest brother, John, however was a special one.

It had taken him a few days after the initial introduction to strike up a conversation with you, and for the most part he had purely asked you about yourself. But somewhere between admitting how long you’ve lived here and him nervously revealing himself to be a Conjurer, you had developed a fast trust of the man. It was unexplainable, completely foolish of you, but there was just something about him that you thought was pleasant; a believability to him. He was the first you deliberately told about your darker studies and thankfully, being of similar arts, he had taken it exceedingly well. You had even bonded over the differences and similarities between your chosen studies. He had become a dear friend, and only became dearer as the years went by.

So John noticing when your worries began to eat at you didn’t surprise you. He knew you extraordinarily well, sometimes it was even a little spooky how well he knew you, but it was also an odd comfort. He knew just what to say to put you at ease, to assure you that you would be safe and even going so far as promising that he himself would protect you from such a fate as those missing. You still had doubts, but his care was touching.

If only you had learned the truth sooner.

“My friend, please,” you cry, wrists shackled uncomfortably above you, the metal cutting into your skin, “I beg of thee, stop this! Such practises are a blight to the soul, you will doom yourself if you continue. I know not what it is you wish to accomplish, but please spare them this torture! Spare yourself! Surely there has to be another way, John; surely!”

John merely chuckles quietly, slowly shaking his head as he does so. “Oh, you’re too sweet, darling. Even now, as you are, you still think of me and my well being before yourself. Not to imply you have anything to fear, of course; you know I would never hurt you. I merely mean it as an observation. It is a charming trait, that sweetness of yours. It’s part of why I fell for you so.” He turns to you then, up to his elbows covered in blood. The person before him is still alive, but barely, their breaths shallow and their skin a deathly pallor. To think he was a Hemomancer this whole time…

“But why waste words on their behalf when they would never deign to do the same for you? You had to hide yourself, deny what you truly are just to be accepted by these lowly worms for years. Tell me, where is the fairness in that? In what world should we sequest ourselves away from those weaker than us, those deemed less worthy by the Maker themselves?”

Crossing the space in a few long strides he stops before you, bloody hands cupping your cheeks gently even as you try to turn away from him, bringing you back to stare helplessly into his sparkling eyes, “Don’t you see, sweet one? You are beautiful, in every part, as you are. We were blessed by the Maker, but they will never see that, blinded as they are. They will never appreciate our arts, our gifts, or even us as people, no matter what we may do or sacrifice for them. If I need to subject myself to risk to show them their place, to create a world that you need not hide in any longer, then I’ll do so gladly and without hesitation.”

Shaking your head softly, face still captured within his hands, a tear slips unbidden down your cheek. “But it will consume you. You’ll become a monster.”

“Maybe,” he admits, tone oddly calm as he carefully brushes beneath your eye with his thumb, smearing blood through the track of your tear, “but I wonder, what type of monster would I be without you, do you think?”

Perhaps it is vain of you, but something tells you that he would be another beast entirely without you chained to him as you now are…

[itsclydebitches]

Was planning on making this my own post, but I thought you would be more suited to discussing this sort of topic. Something I've noticed when it comes to the more prominent/important/strong female characters (Nora, Pyrrha, Penny, Robyn, Emerald, Sienna) is that RT often has the tendency of giving them masculine allusions (Thor, Achilles, Pinocchio, Robin Hood, Aladdin, Shere Khan) as if they are unable to stand on their own as characters unless they have that connection to a male character. 1/3

It is worth discussing! Yeah, I hesitate to call it a pattern just because, as you say, Team RWBY themselves are an exception to the rule  — and as the title characters of the story, they’re a pretty big exception. We also have good women allusions turned into good women characters (Glynda with The Good Witch, May with Maid Marian) and bad women allusions turned into good women characters (Winter with The Snow Queen — I don’t think she was ever meant to enter full antagonist territory, but that’s another post). So it’s not just a matter of saying, “RWBY models their strong women after male inspirations and turns all female inspirations into male characters.” It’s not that simple. But the fact that it’s not simple doesn’t mean there’s nothing there to unpack because I definitely understand the feeling you’re pointing to, anon. Team RWBY feels like it has the most thought put into it in terms of changing up these allusions, specifically when it comes to subversion: the little girl in a red hood who previously needed a hunter’s protection has become the hunter herself, Belle overcomes both her Gaston and the now evil Beast, Snow White extracts herself from her own abusive situation (with a little help from the Dwarves still), and Goldilocks is no longer lost and in need of basic necessities, but can rather punch her way out of any establishment  — like, say, a club. The execution of these themes aside (how Adam was handled, turning Jacques’ arrest into a joke, etc.), there’s a commonality here that works. Or at least, it works for me. Yet when we expand the allusions past our title team, things get... very messy. That’s when we start to hit on these concerns. 

I’d say the problem stems primarily from that lack of thought, not the act itself of turning women characters into men or vice versa. Meaning, as I’ve said in the past, RWBY’s use of allusions is terribly unreliable nowadays, and that’s not just in terms of plot expectations like, “Why did Penny have to become a flesh girl because Pinocchio, but Ironwood didn’t stay good because Tin Man?” It also includes these questions of why these changes were made and what sort of messages they send. As you lay out, why are so many of our heavy hitters  — the most talented huntress, the lightning-immune smasher, the Maiden android, etc.  — based on men? Why are many of the effeminate and “weaker” men  — Jaune the untrained, Ren the emotional councilor, Oscar the kid who wants to talk it all out  — based on women? Again, I don’t intend to sling any hard accusations, but rather to point out what’s likely a subtle, unconscious bias. To provide another example, I’ve seen talk recently about how RT (again, unconsciously) depicts the faunus, where all the good characters have culturally established “good” animal features and all the bad character have culturally established “bad” features. It’s cat ears, rabbit ears, sheep ears, monkey tails, dog tails, and beautifully changing skin color vs. scorpion tails, spiderwebs, bull horns, tiger ears, bat wings, and crocodile scales. Is it a perfect 1:1 divide? No, Ghira has panther claws and Fennec has fox ears, but there’s enough there for us to go, “RT tends to give the good guys cute features and/or features we associate with safe animals, whereas the bad guys tend to get ugly features and/or features we associate with dangerous animals.” I feel the same way here, that there’s a bit of a trend at play, with the caveat that there are more complications simply by virtue of these allusions being, well, complicated. But there’s enough there to make us stop and think, “What were RT’s intentions with this? If they just chose something based on the rule of cool, what might those inclinations tell us about gender norms in America?” Meaning, when someone goes, “Idk, we just thought it would be cool to change this up” there’s a lifetime of media consumption driving that choice. It’s not actually random, but based on whatever has been normalized  — unless you actively counteract that by thinking through what you want the change to do. 

Unconscious biases are always at work. When we analyze something like this it’s often not a matter of saying, “The author is [insert accusatory term here]” but rather just, “The author is falling into expectations, patterns, and normalized decisions based on the culture they’ve grown up in.” Which includes things like thinking, “Well, if this character is based on a male god, she must be crazy strong. If this character is based on a woman fighter, he’s probably more emotional.” Such biases may be driving a lot of decisions because, as said in the past, I really don’t think RT is putting much thought into these allusions, if any at this point. For me, Penny was proof of that  — the inability to see how following her allusion utterly destroyed her character growth  — but even if we don’t agree about Penny, what about Salem? Far from just using her name, this volume gave us a blatant reference to the events of Salem Trails in the 1690s. Namely, the burning of the witch. 

Except references like this can’t just look cool. This isn’t a video game Easter egg with no real connection to the story, it’s a cinematography/plot choice that carries meaning. So what is that meaning? Well, the thing about the women on trail at Salem is that they were innocent. This is what that reference says: “Hey, remember that real life event where women who weren’t witches were horrifically killed because others thought they were evil? None were actually burned, but culturally we tend to think they were. So that’s the image in our collective mind: innocent women on fire.” Except... Salem is actually a witch. Salem is evil. Salem is guilty. Or at least, the questions surrounding the extent of her guilt  — How much responsibility does she hold in comparison to the Gods? How much agency does she still have after the grimm pool?  — has not been acknowledged by the text. Yang just yelled at Salem for killing her mom and Oscar is about to blow her up. This is not a “Question Salem’s humanity” scene, it’s a “Kill the witch” scene... yet it uses an allusion that is contrary to what the moment is trying to achieve. So what are we supposed to take away from this? Do we adhere to the subtext and believe that Salem is innocent somehow, ignoring what the actual text says, or do we uphold the text and in doing so undermine the reliability of every other allusion in the show? If we can’t trust Salem’s, why would we trust, say, Penny’s? 

RWBY’s allusions are all over the place and yes, I think that lack of consideration extends to who they randomly decided to genderbend. There’s no acknowledgment of  — let alone engagement with  — how many of these characters and historical figures were trying to pass themselves off as another gender, nor does RWBY acknowledge how the need to do so feeds into our current and historic assumptions about gender as a whole. Why does the man dress as a woman? To keep himself safe and seen as a non-threat. Why does the woman dress as a man? To gain access to places previously barred from her and to gain the respect she otherwise wouldn’t be afforded. And, of course, in 2021 there’s the expectation that media will include trans characters, GNC characters, non-binary characters, cis characters uninterested in practicing traditional femininity/masculinity, etc. None of which RWBY tackles outside of May, a woman who references a systematic transphobia we otherwise never see in the show. May, as a minor character, is great and I am in all honesty thrilled that she exists in the RWBY canon. However, the rest of the show is built on an anime conception of gender  — combat skirts and bare midriffs in the snow  — while nevertheless engaging with the very complicated question of how you re-imagine canonically/historically gendered people. As a “girl power” show, RWBY has opened itself up to questions like, “Okay, it’s great that you made these four fairy tale girls kickass, but can we talk about making Joan of Arc into a bumbling guy whose presence as a blonde, blue-eyed, sword-wielding man taking up lots of important screen time has generated accusations about this being a male-centered show?” It’s not a “RWBY is horrible for doing this!” issue, but a “RWBY is deliberately playing with gender and marketing itself as a progressive show, so... let’s figure out what these individual choices are actually implying and whether or not we consider that progressive.” 

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2020, Day 2

Kidnapping

A03

Warnings: violence against a minor, kidnapping, panic attacks, near death experiences

-o-o-o-o-

There's the sound of people moving close by. Shuffling and mumbling amongst each other. It's grating on Damian's nerves.

Not that he'll let them see that he's unnerved or anything close to it. It's just, well, he's currently tied to a chair with miles of duct tape around his wrists and ankles—connecting him to the arms and legs of the chair—and wearing a hood over his head to obscure his vision. There's also a slap of tape across his mouth to keep him somewhat gagged.

He's been kidnapped. Off the streets like some hunted animal, into a van filled with people waving guns and shouting. The effects of the chloroform they used on him are still wearing off, making it so that even though he's been awake for quite awhile now, stuck in this room and restrained to a chair, he can still hardly find the strength to lift his head or summon the coordination in his fingers to test his bonds.

Kidnapped.

This is… his first time being kidnapped as Damian Wayne. Not as Robin. Not as an Al Ghul heir.

Just: thirteen year old Damian Wayne.

And Damian had never believed Richard about how scary it was when the older man had explained to him what to do in case of abduction via civilian identity. Damian's starting to see it now.

He's starting to understand now.

And, admittedly, it is scary. More scary than any of his other identities. At least when he was kidnapped for his connections to his grandfather, the kidnappers knew how dangerous he was. And as Robin, there's no need to hold back. But as he is now… they want him as Bruce Wayne's tiny little son.

So there's no slipping his binds, no glorious escapes with flying kicks and powerful punches. He can only sit here and be expected to whimper and cry like any other child hostage. He hasn't had any contact with the kidnappers yet, since waking up, but he can already tell it will be humiliating.

But he will do it, because Richard told him to. It's how you keep safe in situations like this. You act weak like they expect you to be, and you don't make yourself anything close to a threat to them.

The mumbling around him continues and Damian's head is still too muddled to pick the conversations apart. He's pretty sure he's heard ransom and Wayne a few times, so hopefully, this shouldn't take too long or be too traumatic. Damian knows there is no price his father wouldn't pay for him.

Or at least… he thinks he knows.

He quickly shoves that doubt to some corner of his hazy mind to focus on trying to fight past the lingering effects of chloroform. He doesn't remember much from the initial kidnapping, just chaos and yelling and not being able to breathe as he's dragged away, but they must have given him just a little too much. Feeling sick to your stomach is a common effect of the sedative, but Damian's been trained since his first memories to be able to have an immunity greater than most adults to these kinds of drugs.

They must have given him too much. Must have. Because he can't bear the thought of finally getting weaker like his mother and grandfather always says he will if he spends too much time with his father and his family.

Somehow without Damian having noticed anyone had come up to him, the fabric bag over his head is ripped off, adulting his sensitive eyes with light too bright for him to meet straight on. He lets his first instincts run, the ones that don't make him force back whimpers and flinches to put on a show that he's more mature than what his age may imply. He cringes away from the light, squeezing his eyes shut, but then the bag of his head is grabbed and calloused fingers dig into his cheek, tugging the tape off his mouth in one huge rip. Tears sting his eyes as his entire mouth goes numb. He's pretty sure the tape took skin from his lips with it, causing the metallic taste of blood to enter his mouth.

Before he can try to even recover from that, something is pressed against his ear. He thinks he hears something like his name being called out to him, but everything is so fuzzy and far away.

It's a slap to the cheek that gets the fog to clear a little. The first thing he hears is the sound of his father yelling to not hurt Damian.

Father. The thing pressed against his ear. A phone.

Ransom.

Proof of life.

"Say hi ta daddy," a man's voice says, his voice tight and angry like he's had to repeat himself multiple times. He probably has had to.

Slowly, Damian takes a deep breath, fighting the fog that is already beginning to creep back in. He tries to open his eyes, but the light is so bright. It's all he can do to open his mouth and say "f'ther…"

But apparently, that's enough for the kidnappers, because the phone is ripped from his ear and a hand slaps another piece of tape over his mouth, replacing the bag immediately after.

Damian huffs, quickly becoming annoying of being restrained, blinded, and silenced like this. Quickly beginning to very much dislike the lingering effects of drugs. Everything is so far away and muted, but so overwhelming at the same time. It makes something tighten in his chest as the kidnapper (kidnappers, right? There are multiple? There's multiple voices in the room…) speaks to Damian's father with tight, angry, and overly confident words.

"And I want the money by midnight tonight, or else you're never seein' the brat alive again," the man says. How far away is midnight? How long does Damian's father have to gather the ransom? (And… how much is it? How much is Damian worth? No, no that doesn't matter. Father will pay any price).

The call must end after that, because a short time later, Damian feels a rough hand grab the top sections of his hair through the bag. Damian's now very much aware of a presence right in front of him. The nauseating smell of cigarettes assaults his sensitive senses.

"You're goin' ta sit here and not make a sound, yeah?" The man says, the same one who was talking to his father. Damian can recognize him by his unique accent, which is lazy. If you're going to kidnap someone, at least copy the accent of the area the person lives in. That way, the victim won't be able to predict where you come from and narrow down your identity and… and how drugged is he? Criticizing the tactics the kidnapper has used to kidnap him? Get it together Damian. "Cooperate, and no unnecessary harm will come ta ya, kay?"

He doesn't wait for Damian to even attempt to try and answer, because with a rough shove, Damian's head is forced down so his chin hits his chest.

His head spins at the sudden movement, and it takes him way too long to realize the voices have shifted around him. Fading in and out until Damian manages to crawl back to awareness and realize everything is silent now.

No movement. No talking.

Nothing.

Just the sounds of his own breathing and the freaking of the chair he's tied to every time he shifts.

He focuses on that silence. On the internal noises. Meditating until the traitorous feeling in his stomach begins to settle—until the muffled feeling in his brain begins to clear.

He flexes his hand, scowling at the numb feeling that still lingers in the joints of each finger. He wonders slightly if it's because of the ever-persistent after-effects of drugs or if it's because the tape is so tight it's cutting off circulation.

He slowly works his sluggish fingers into a fist, then he tugs on the tape. He feels weaker than a newborn kitten, but judging on how there's a bump in the groove of the wood near his left wrist that hasn't shifted at all with his tugging, the tape is definitely tight.

Damian released a breath through his nose, deciding to now risk opening his eyes. He doesn't see much, just vague lights shining through the pitiful thread count of the bag, but that's not all bad. With the holes between each woven fiber of fabric shining through with light, he'd be able to see vague forms of people and things around him.

There's nothing. Just light. Nothing moves, nothing changes.

Damian must be alone in the room.

He curls his fingers, picking at whatever tape that's in his reach, trying to decide where he needs to go from here.

He could force himself to disregard the nausea swimming in his body and lean forward to grab the hood with one of his tapped hands, then rip the tape off his mouth, then chew the edges of tape around his wrists until he manages to get it loose enough to slip through. He'd then free his other arm and his two legs, stand up, and break the legs of this creaky chair to have a blunt force weapon. Then, using the walls as support until the adrenaline kicks in, he'll leave the room he's trapped in and find a way hopefully unnoticed. If he is noticed, well, that's what the chair leg and the adrenalin is for.

Damian is a skilled warrior. He was trained by the best of the best, the most deadly of the deadly. He knows how to kill a man so many ways it's impossible to really narrow down to numbers.

He'll take down his kidnappers, leave the building, then find the closest road. Hail a car. Ask for a phone. Call father and ask to be picked up and for an ambulance; not for him of course but for the men and women he left drooling on the floor behind him.

It would be spectacular. A daring escape that these buffoons wouldn't expect. A tale to be praised and retold.

Or he could sit here, pretending to be a frightened, privileged rich thirteen year old boy like they think he is. Like what Richard told him to be.

Don't make yourself a target. Be what they expect you to be, and wait for me to find you. Don't out yourself unless you absolutely need to. Life or death, Damian. Promise me.

Damian promised. Unless he was in an immediate threat to his life or physical well being, he has to keep up the act.

That was when Richard was Batman. And even though father is back, Damian can guess the same rules stay in place. Richard was raised by his father, after all, and he has the family record of most civilian abductions.

Which also means he has the record of most civilian abductions survived.

But… technically his life is being threatened. If father doesn't pay the ransom, they'll kill Damian. Or so they say. But... but father will pay. Damian shouldn't have to be worried. In fact, he isn't worried. All he needs to do is sit tight and wait for this all to be over. They said midnight tonight. Yes, that could mean a minute of waiting here or a full twenty four hours, but that's fine.

Father will come.

Batman will come if it so demands. He always does.

(Except for when he doesn't).

And maybe it's the fuzziness still in his brain. Maybe it's the weak limbs or the confusing situation or the half-formed memories that won't let him remember what he was doing walking out in the city to be kidnapped in the first place.

But that thought… the thought that maybe father won't come… it sticks in there. No matter how hard he tries to shove it away.

Because what if… father doesn't come? If he were in his right mind, this train of thought wouldn't even cross his mind.

But now it's all he can think about.

Because Damian… and his father... do not have the best relationship. Being Robin hasn't been the same since he came back. Living in the manor hasn't been the same. There's so many arguments in each other's presence, so many tense interactions that has Damian not even bothering to go downstairs from his room unless he needed to eat. Father is always angry and distrustful with Damian, like he's waiting for Damian to slip up and ruin something. Kill someone.

Damian is Bruce Wayne's biological son.

But he's also the only child he didn't choose.

What if… what if he uses this as an opportunity to finally be rid of Damian? Let the kidnappers off him and then wipe his hands clean, saying there was nothing he could have done. No one would mourn him, except maybe Richard. But everyone else, especially Timothy…

He's shoving down the urge to throw up and bending down to start trying to escape before he knows it because it feels like such a fact that everyone wants him gone… but Damian doesn't want to be. He's already died once, and he promised himself that he'll get better. He won't go back down to hell. He'll make things right. He'll be normal, and kind, and gentle. He just needs a little more time to fix himself. Time that can't be taken away from him now.

It takes a few tries, tries that have his wrists straining against his binds, to get the hood off his face. He squeezes his eyes shut at the assaulting light, but forces them open again to get a read on his situation. Blinking tears from his eyes, he studies the room he's placed in the center of. Well, it can't be called much of a room, it's more like a small, square storage closet, one that—judging by the flattened carpet near his feet—recently had things moved out of it to make room for Damian. The walls are an ugly yellow color that would have Alfred the Butler wrinkling his nose to, especially if he saw the dark wooden baseboards. There's a door immediately in front of Damian, and the knob doesn't look like it has a lock. They must have faith in the binds they've put Damian in to place him in a room that doesn't lock.

They're going to regret that.

Still squinting his eyes, Damian bends forward again and twists his wrists raw against the tape in an attempt to reach the strip on his mouth. It isn't as difficult to do this time because he can see now, even if his sight is limited thanks to the persistent blurriness and sensitivity that comes from the lingering effects of chloroform. The feeling of the tape leaving his cheeks and mouth is sharp and painful, and he tastes more blood enter his mouth at the action thanks to various sections of his chapped lips deciding they'd rather stick with the tape.

Now that that's over, Damian moves his free mouth to his wrists, trying to lash his teeth to the cut end of the tape. The tape on his left wrist ends near the joint of his thumb, which he figures will be easier to get to than the where it's located on his right wrist: under the chair arm. It takes a few tries, but he eventually manages to dig his lower teeth under the end and begin the process of unraveling. He clenches his teeth, then jerks to the side, the tape following the motion.

He forces it as far as he can bend within his trapped position—and thankfully, by the time where contorting like this begins to become painful, the bit of tape is long enough for his fingers to grab if he strains against the bindings.

It takes a short amount of time for the plastic to reach a point where he can grab at with his teeth again, and he's in the process of doing so when he suddenly hears voices on the other side of the door.

He freezes for a second, heart fluttering up to his throat, and immediately begins to try and listen to the muffled voices.

"Three million," a woman's voice says, her tone in a whispered sigh. "Can you actually believe that the kid in there is worth three million."

The number is so shocking that Damian almost misses what is said next by a man's voice this time. Though, it's different from the man who made the ransom call.

"Oh, I can. Wayne is up to his balls in money. I'm sure he's spent more on whores."

No. No that is not true. Three million?

That's... That's...

The door suddenly opens and Damian realizes he's accidentally fallen still while listening to the conversation. It's comedic, almost, how the woman stops in her tracks after opening the door, a man behind her looking shocked with his mouth open.

Then, the woman rushes forward and wraps one hand around Damian's halfway freed wrist and then bunches a chunk of hair in her other, forcing him away so his back slams into the back of the chair. He bites off a cry at the harsh movement. He's failed. He's gotten caught. Pathetic.

Weak.

"Don't just stand there, you idiot," the woman practically screeches towards the man, "go get Dee!"

The man nods, then turns tail out of the room in what could possibly be a sprint.

The woman snarls under her breath, tightening her grip so it's harsher than what the tape initially was. "You shit," she hisses. "How'd you get this far?!"

"The money," Damian says instead of answering her questions. "You're not going to get it. It's impossible."

Her grip tightens. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"My father doesn't have that much money just... Just sitting around. It takes time to get that much money. More than twenty four hours."

"Don't bullshit me, brat," the woman hisses, her voice just barely a little louder than the distant sound of approaching footsteps. Angry footsteps. "I've seen the numbers. He donated more than that to the fucking water plant just a bit ago."

"It's true. That money, he had already been saving up and setting aside months prior. And the rest of his money he has in stocks- or on the way to charities or into the funds meant to financially support Batman and the Justice League-" Damian cuts off with a wince as her fingers tighten. Her grip is grinding on his ulna and radius. "There's no way you're getting the money. You have to give him more time- or let me g-"

"Are ya insane?!" A newcomer shouts. Damian almost flinches at the noise. Here he is. The ransom call man.

He must be in charge of this dumpster fire of a kidnapping.

Damian flicks his eyes away from the woman still holding him towards the man. He looks… normal. For a white American man. Medium build, barely any neck, dirty brown hair and black framed glasses that aren't shaped like anything exciting.

It's then that Damian realizes that none of them are wearing masks.

There's only one reason why an abductor wouldn't wear a mask or cover their face in some way.

They don't intend on letting the victim leave.

Or maybe, this man is the only one that doesn't intend to see Damian go. Maybe the others are all naive enough to follow his every order and get there cut of three million. Whatever the case, the look in the man's pale eyes are furious, his lips turned down into his five o'clock shadow.

"I don't know how this happened, D-"

"Don't use names!" The man screeches, walking forward with his finger held towards her like it was a wand casting a horrible spell. "Get the tape! Tie him back up, and someone get me the chloroform."

"The chloroform, boss?" The other man, the one who had been talking with the woman earlier, asks. Damian remains stiff and antsy as the woman finally lets him go to grab a roll of tape which just happened to be on the floor and Damian hadn't noticed. "So soon? But, isn't that dangerous-?"

"What does it matter?!" Dee snarls, causing the other man to quickly walk back out of the room like a dog with its tail shamefully tucked between its legs.

There's the sound of duct-tape being unwound, the noise cutting through the air like a swinging sword.

"So your plan is to bleed my father dry of everything he has," Damian hisses towards the man as the woman begins to re-wrap his wrist to the chair, "and then kill me anyway when he can't get you everything."

And maybe Damian shouldn't be gibing at the already livid man. He realizes this when red fills his face as he stomps forward, shoving the woman out of the way to wrap Damian's wrist the rest of the way up, and then takes a separate strip and practically slaps it onto Damian's mouth.

"I told ya not ta try anythin'," the man snarls when Damian glares at him. He doesn't back down at the glare either, even though Damian made it as intense as he possibly could. A "batglare" as Richard so lovingly puts it. Except most bat leveled glares are depleted by the lack of mask and milky eyes. "I told ya you'll get hurt if you do."

Damian's heartbeat kicks in and he jerks in his restraints when the man moves his hand towards one of Damian's trapped ones, digging through Damian's clenched fist until he grabs the middle digit and starts bending it backwards.

Damian does his best to free his finger and bend it back down, but unfortunately, the finger strength of a thirteen year old is destined to always be weaker than a full grown man. He prepares himself for the pain before it hits, oftentimes, broken fingers are more shocking and painful than one expects.

When the sickening snap hits the air, Damian's left with a split second decision to bite off his grunt or verbally shout. It's painful. Definitely painful enough to warrant a shout. Richard has always told him to go with his first instincts when kidnapped in a civilian's identity.

But this man wants to kill Damian. He had been planning to kill Damian all along, judging by his lack of surprise or confusion when Damian called him out.

This man will kill Damian in less than a day's time. Perhaps exactly at midnight.

Damian doesn't shout. This man doesn't deserve to feel more powerful. He doesn't deserve to let Damian play into his hands. If he's going to kill Damian anyway, he should at least be honest about it! He hates Americans and their sleazy ways, always hiding behind secrets and double meanings. If Damian were back with Grandfather, no one there would lie about desiring Damian's death.

So he doesn't shout like he wants to. Just grunts and pants through his nose as his finger is released, a pulse in it that's in time with his heart, making the hurting practically vibrate in intensity.

He can barely contain his shouting when the man begins to add more duct-tape to his wrists, wrapping his hands down so they're flat to the arms of the chair. There will be no using his fingers to try and escape now. They're pinned, and all Damian can do is continue to glare; taking deep breaths through his nose, and ignoring how the pressure of the tape on his broken finger presses down with horribly sharp pins and needles.

The other man returns now, holding a brown tinted glass bottle that looks like it should contain iodine of something similar.

But it doesn't. That fact is clear enough when the bottle and a rag is handed to the leader.

Damian really isn't looking forward to this one.

He wonders slightly, as he watches the man pour some of the substance onto the cloth and tries to jolt his head away from grabbing hands, if he'll be awake when midnight comes. If these are his last moments alive. There's no hope to escape now.

Stupid. He should have ignored the rules earlier on and just escaped. Disregarded being a typical and normal child. It's not like being a normal child had ever done him any good. It always just gets him hurt, even if for a while he truly feels comfortable in his own skin being a child. It's safer to be jaded and angry and full of killer's instinct. Things like this don't happen to Damian Al Ghul.

Eventually, the hands in his hair win and the cloth presses over his nose. Immediately, a suffocating chemical reek hits his nostrils. He writhes in the grips, terror and panic beginning to slip into his chest cavity.

Ever so slowly, he can feel the chloroform weakening him. He tries to not breathe in, but he also knows that they're not letting go until he's unconscious. Might as well finish this already. Let it end.

Let Damian Wayne end.

His fingers and toes tingle. It's painful. And scary. And he… he wants to cry.

But he doesn't, because nothing on his body is his own anymore. His eyes slip shut and unconsciousness is winding it's cold embrace around him, consciousness becoming similar to the fine sands of his home country. Thin, fine, and slipping away.

The cloth leaves his face, as do the hands in his hair, and his chin hits his chest.

-o-o-o-o-

Voices. There are voices. In front of him, behind him. Everywhere. His stomach rolls and his sinuses feel like he's been stuffed full with cotton. He gags, trying to open his mouth but something keeps it shut. Vaguely, this feeling becomes oddly familiar. The intense urge to vomit, the tape over his mouth, the aches and pains that reside between every cell of his body.

His brain is a million miles away, floating in the strong currents of the sky, out of reach but trying to take Damian with it.

There's a shout. It echoes in his ears. It makes him flinch.

Flinch from what? He doesn't know. All he knows is that he's confused and in a numb agony that makes him want to curl up and not exist.

Light attacks his senses. Sounds echo and stab. He cringes away, squeezing his eyes shut, but a hand falls into his shoulder, spending shards of glass down his spine.

This hand… it's dangerous. Unfriendly. An enemy.

He forces his eyes open against the crusty gunk that's trying to keep his eyes shut. Everything is a swirl of blurry shapes and figures moving in front of a splash of ugly yellow. There's one blob, in particular, that's right beside him.

Damian doesn't like this man. Why does he not like this man?

Why can't he open his mouth? Why can't he move? His finger hurts. He needs to throw up.

"Where's the rest of my money, Wayne?!" The man screeches, causing Damian to wince and try to retreat from the grating voice. It doesn't work though. The hand on his shoulder is strong, along with whatever is keeping him sitting in the chair.

Duct-tape, his mind sluggishly supplies.

Duct-tape. He's been… kidnapped. Ransom. The money... too high… impossible…

"I told ya, if I don't get my money I'll kill the kid!"

Die. Damian's going to die.

He writhes weakly in his bonds, his muscles no stronger than paper. He doesn't… he can't...

"I'll get you the money!" A new voice says, one that's muffled by the speakers of a cell phone. Worried. Anxious. Deep. Father. "I just need more t-"

"I gave ya enough time already," the man sneers, fingers curling into Damian's collarbone.

"I'll get you more than three million if you just give me time! A few more days, that's all I need t-"

Something hard and cold is pressed against Damian's head. Damian closes his eyes, doing his best not to flinch as the safety is loudly clicked off.

"Ya didn't meet the requirements, Wayne. Now, yer goin' ta pay fer that."

Scared.

Damian is scared. He doesn't… he's hopeless. He wants to cry. He wants to throw up.

He wants to go home.

Damian's father yells angrily over the phone. Desperately. It almost sounds like… he actually cares. Like Damian dying will affect him just as much as any other of his chosen children dying.

Damian's died before.

But that was before he and father had spent this much time together. This much time to learn what they like and dislike about each other. When father saved him, he was saving a boy he thought had potential, similar to how Richard gave Damian Robin because he thought he had potential. Potential to be good.

Damian always messes things up. Especially when those things involve being good. Perhaps, this time, when life leaves him, father won't feel guilty about it. Richard won't be depressed about it. Timothy could have Robin back. Jason would have a bullet point on his list of reasons to not visit the manor knocked off. Duke and Cassandra won't be burdened with his prickly personality. Hell, maybe even Stephanie will be better off without Damian this time around.

Suddenly, there's a loud bang, and Damian is immediately sure he's dead. In a haze of panic and fear and terror, Damian's barely aware of the crashing that follows the bang, nor does he pay much attention to the sharp boom which was much louder than the first one.

All he can think about is that he's dead again. He's dead and he doesn't want to be. He doesn't want to go back to Hell. He promised himself he'd be better. He promised himself he'd be the boy father wanted him to be, the boy Richard believed he could be.

He doesn't want to be dead again. But he's dead again.

He's dead and there's nothing he can do about it now besides mourn his own life, because he knows no one else will. There will be a funeral, but it will be a formality. There will be revenge, but it will only be because the people who killed him are criminals and deserve to be put behind bars.

Not because they loathe them for taking Damian's life.

Tears slip through his dead eyes. His dead chest rattles with sharp, dead gasps.

He's dead. He's dead. Dead dead dead dead dead-

"got you-" a far away voice whispers. "Feel that? I'm breathing, you need to too, Dami-"

Expanding. A warm body under his cold, dead, fingers. Going in and out, and Damian subconsciously begins to try and copy that. Breathing. Something that doesn't belong to him anymore.

But he tries.

"There we go," the voice says, "you're going great!"

Is he? Is he breathing correctly? A thing only the living can do?

He gasps, his lungs shaking with each breath he tries to copy. The voice encourages him until Damian's able to keep breathing on his own. Until he opens his eyes and sees a familiar face with bright blue eyes, a body wearing a black suit with a splash of blue right where Damian's freed hand is pressed against.

Around them is a mess of unconscious bodies, all restrained with zip ties and cuffs. It's horribly difficult to focus, but things are so much sharper than what they were the last time he had his eyes open. He can see a second familiar face, picking through the mess of unconscious bodies as if looking for something. It's Timothy.

Richard smiles at him. "See? I have you. You're okay-"

And Damian launches himself forward, hardly even remembering that last he remembers he was restrained to the chair. They must have cut him loose. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because Richard immediately winds his arms around Damian, careful of his broken finger, and begins whispering comforts so soft and genuine that Damian… Damian feels heat gather in his eyes.

Besides them, Timothy finds what he was looking for, quickly putting the cellphone the leader had been using to his ear. "It's okay, Mr Wayne, Nightwing and Red Robin found him. He's safe."

Safe. Alive. Damian's alive. He curls his good fingers into Richard's suit, his chest heaving from sobs that want to tear out. He didn't die. The drugs and stress made him think he did. Richard and Timothy came and saved him. Dragged him out of a panic attack, and are going to take him home.

Home. Where father will hover like a worried mother hen until he's sure Damian is alright. Where Richard will convince Alfred to make something high in carbs and sugar to comfort Damian. Where Timothy will invite him to play video games with him to give silent support. Where Cassandra will give the best hug and whisper that she's glad he's okay. Where Duke will talk with him until his sides hurt from laughing. Where Jason will visit and ruffle his hair and grumble quietly that he's glad Damian isn't dead.

Home.

He curls tighter into Richard's embrace.

Home.

---

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated <3

[dear-yandere]

succor.

yandere! jotaro kujo 3. major spoilers for stardust crusaders (part 3). word count: 2,600+. tw: bullying, implied depression, drowning, death, gore, and grief.

art credit: ロク. 

He carries himself with poise, an assurity few could ever possess. He is the personification of perfect — alas, a man who appears perfect, like a statue which leaves many in awe, a statue whose marble insides have begun to slowly erode, a statue who’s already begun falling apart. There exists not a soul who can fix him, no sculptor skilled enough, no human kind enough to fix his flaws before anyone else can catch on; Jotaro Kujo is his own sculptor, and he’s forgotten how to mend his broken pieces.

For as long as he’s known, he’s been a soldier. A boy soldier, who bears the weight of the world atop shoulders of steel, shoulders which shake and tremble when no one is looking. He is a soldier without a commander, a soldier without a purpose, and he was content with that. But he is a soldier who’s fought a battle meant for ten thousand men, a battle which has long ended, a battle which still plagues him; he is a soldier who’s fought god and he is only seventeen.

When did it begin, he wonders? When did his marble bones and stone veins start to crack? Was it that day? Becaues he remembers being bullied. He remembers taking each insult, like poison-laced daggers, and thinking nothing of it. He remembers the wrinkles, the eye bags, the grey hairs which had started to pepper his mother’s face at around the same time. He remembers the questions, the sobbing, her desperate pleas, her hesitant knocks on his bedroom door. He remembers her somehow finding out, remembers her standing up for him, one day, in the school yards. And he remembers his bullies trying to hurt her, too.

He remembers nearly killing them.

It was like the flip of a switch, how quickly he changed. Mom became mother, bitch, nuisance. She can’t understand how he felt in those moments — she couldn’t — because until the day he dies, he won’t let her. Keep her at arm’s length, don’t let her in. No one can know, no one can get close — they’ll just get hurt, too. That’s the funny thing about love: it hurts. To feel loved is wonderful, to be loved is tragic, damning, dangerous. He is a catalyst for disaster, destruction, danger, and everything in between.

Death loves him, and love has never felt so lonely.

He lost a friend that day. Metal had bent around his body like silken sheets, water had sod his clothing without care; if his body hadn’t already run cold, the water would’ve made him sick. He would’ve smiled and laughed it off with his dear friend, would’ve said his injuries are no big deal. He can still see, can still move, can still dream. 

If he’d lived.

He lost a friend that day, the only one he’d ever had.

And then there is you.

You are no different from the rest. Just another body to protect, another set of eyes he must keep from prying. Death loves him, and he’d been foolish enough to fall in love; funny how easily it happened, really. Because when you look at him, he feels as if he’s baring his all. All his insecurities and worries, all the times he’s wanted to break down and cry. It’s a feeling he hates, detests, but it’s something new, something unexpected, something needed. You are not those women who look at him with indignant curiosity. You are not his mother who looks at him with worry. You are not his grandfather nor his dead best friend; you are you, and somehow, you are everything he’s needed.

Love is a funny thing, he recalls, and that thought is enough to clear the darkness around him. It’s calming, at first. The nightmare is over and he must be waking up. Your soothing voice will greet him, as it always does; you’ll hug him, cradle him like a child, and he won’t push you away. But you don’t. You shine, so terribly bright that he has to look away for a moment. There’s warmth, comfort, safety in your direction, but he doesn’t walk forward. He doesn’t deserve it.

Not him. Not the man who let his friends die.

Jotaro, a dark, playful voice begins, echoing from the depths of nowhere. It’s familiar; far too knowing, far too cunning, far too demonic. Jotaro feels his mind start to unravel like loose threads, and the voice feeds off this, like a parasite.  If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? 

“What do you want?” Jotaro barks at nothing and turns toward the dark, turns away from you. Secretly, Jotaro has always been scared of the dark, but right now it was oddly welcoming. The dull beat of that voice, distorted and tinny, still seemed clear, pristine, ethereal. As if the voice had hands which he could not see, they wrapped around his neck like a noose and pulled. Gravity itself seemed to pull at his neck, pushing him further and further into the unforgiving abyss of the darkness as if swallowing him whole. 

Why is he here?

Just as his back hits the waters, the sudden impact knocks the oxygen out of his lungs within a second, before he’s plunged right beneath the surface. His eyes are open, even as salt-water pierced and burned; he was certain before, but this is too real to be a dream. It it weren’t for the fact that he could’ve perished any moment now, the sight before him would’ve actually been beautiful. Nothing but a color palette of deep sea blue clouded his peripheral vision with colors that were excruciatingly breath-taking in real life. 

But he isn’t deceived.

I want to wrap my brain around that head of yours, Jotaro. So, enlighten me... The disembodied voice mocks, feeling like blood rushing against his the insides of his head. It’s closer this time, over his shoulder, next to his ear, and there’s a familiarity to its tone — a familiarity he doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet. Surely telling them you care is easier than breaking your body over and over again.

Jotaro chews on the question with a hint of unmistakable disgust before spiting it out. He hears the voice laugh that mocking song once again, and the light shining from above almost feels like they’re mocking his every movement, too. They watch his arm shoot upwards, silently and slowly for their help — and they laughed. The gears in his brain start turning, willing his limbs to work as legs weakly kicked up in desperate search for air. Realization soon beats itself into his slowly-drowning lungs, and he’s left to face questions that no one but he knows the answers to.

How did he get here? Is he awake? Is he alive?

Answer me, little mortal. We haven’t got all night. The voice goads, and it feels like sharp needles have stuffed themselves into the canals of his ears. Jotaro hisses, and the voice seems content with the response, at the least. Or, perhaps you’d prefer to drown? What a peculiar way for a marine biologist to go, but humans never cease to amaze me.

Jotaro struggles to answer the voice which claims to be inhuman, but dark waters only drain into his mouth like rapids. Time wasn’t even on his mind at this point, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long he’s been underwater. The ocean seemed to pin his legs and arms into icicles, keeping them from thrashing everywhere. Soon, his attempts on fighting for oxygen were getting much more pathetic — much weaker with each kick.

‘Is this how I die?’ He thinks, chuckling at the irony. The feeling of agreeing with the voice is bitter, but its words are not wrong. To think he’d die in the embrace of something he’s spent his life researching. And even so, he wastes no time in reaching a conclusion: ‘Still not a bad way to go.’ 

Not that he'd been holding onto hope in the first place, but witnessing the light stray further from his grasp was anything but welcoming. It’s clear that his mind and body were slowly starting to lose motivation in fighting against fate. His fate.

And right now, he’s drawing nearer to the finish line.

His limbs had eventually stopped responding and allowed gravity to drag his body into the never ending abyss he’d always marveled at when he’d been alive. And despite condemning himself to his fate, the hopelessness seethed in gradually. Human nature, he concluded; to want what you cannot have is human nature. He knows that better than most.

Once his air supply ran tight, his mouth instinctively opened up once again, allowing water to flow in through his nostrils and throat. Every 'breath’ made him choke on the saltiness of the ocean waters, lungs struggling to hang on as the water slowly crushed its cage from inside and out. Barely even able to hear his own thoughts, he assumed his eardrums burst from the insane depths he was being pulled into. His eyelids grew heavy like boulders and finally drooped; he had already succumbed to the thought of death — he couldn’t even cry in anguish or relief, but perhaps the downpour above the waters was crying for him instead. The thought was comforting, to know that someone, some thing would mourn his death.

His back hits the ocean floor like a sunken ship, and he believes he’s dead until the voice speaks again: Have you had enough time to think, little mortal? Its words are scathing, and by far the last thing he wants to hear on his death bed, but with it, came air. It seemed an impossible feat at the bottom of an ocean no human has visited before, but the air is crisp and fresh. Jotaro drinks it up, gulping it down in excess, reveling at how it fills his lungs with life. The water he’d inhaled and drunk doesn’t even seem to exist, at the moment, but he hasn’t the state of mind to dwell on that.

“Where am I?” He chokes out, still tasting the bitter tang of salt against the back of his throat. The voice seems to echo around him, and he finally realizes that he is still on the ocean floor. Sea creatures he’s never seen flit around him, and despite the stark absence of any light, he can see them clear as day.

Only you know that. The voices hums, creating a vibrato in the seawaters, a sound that seems to manifest into arms and once again coil around Jotaro’s neck, like a noose. He wants to scream and thrash and fight, but the comforting presence of Star Platinum within his core is... vacant. 

I shall repeat myself. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? The question seems out of place at the bottom of an ocean filled with light and air, but the entity leaves no room for Jotaro to dwell. The heavy stench of iron is immediately recognizable, and Jotaro realizes there’s a gash in his chest. Pale fingers, topped with blackened fingernails which have grown awfully too long, held his intestines away from his torso, the flesh coiled tightly around the hands of a man he once knew.

A man who should be dead.

And yet, here he is. And yet, there is no pain.

“Because...” The words slip past his lips before he knows how to finish. Because what? Because he’s an asshole who can’t put his feelings into words? Because he’s a fool who deserves to suffer alone? Because...

“Because I’m afraid.”

The voice cackles, creating distortions in the sand bed and deep sea water, and yet he could recognize it as clear as day. DIO.

Oh? Is that so? DIO runs a tongue over his lips, deciding to humor his little plaything. Then, hypothetically, if you do tell them you love them, what are you so afraid will happen?

Jotaro doesn’t respond.

I’m waiting.

“...I don’t know.”

Liar. DIO bites and lightly pressing a claw-like fingernail into Jotaro’s jugular. It’s not polite to lie.

“I...” The pool of blood at his feet is disorienting, vivid and real despite the darkness around him. “It’s not that I don’t want to trust them, I...” He reaches out to cup the hand still jutting from his stomach. How odd it is to see such a horrific sight and feel no pain; and it all clicks into place. Jotaro chokes up for a brief moment, hoping a reply will make this all end. “...It’s dangerous to show you care. If they knew, and if my enemies knew how important they are to me, then...”

This isn’t real. None of this is real. How many times has he had this nightmare? And how many times has he imagined just that — the corpses of his loved ones plastered along the streets? The screams that won’t stop? The look of fear and hope on their faces?

That hasn’t happened, yet, and yet he faults himself: how can he be so weak?

There we go. DIO clicks his tongue and gently strokes his great grand-nephew’s hairs — something he no doubt imagines to be an affectionate pat. Not so hard, is it? Jotaro nods, too weak to stand up for himself. This nightmare never ends. You’re afraid of being too vulnerable. DIO coos and twists his blood-covered arm, deepending Jotaro’s unreal wound. You’re afraid of being too... weak.

The ghost’s words always sting, but this nightmare has become so commonplace, so normal — as easy as breathing, despite the waters around him — that Jotaro hasn’t the strength to feel anger. It’s not like DIO is wrong. He is afraid, he is weak, and above all, he’s afaraid of being weak.

But, how curious it is, little mortal. Hasn’t anyone ever told you— the voice begins to chastise, but is cut off; its words don’t reach his ears. Rather, there’s a soothing scent, with familiar aromas he can’t quite place. But the serenity is short lived. The air Jotaro seemed to be breathing dissipates, and he’s drowning again. His throat burns as if a thousand of needles were piercing it all at the same time, chest clenching itself suffocatingly tight; it’s hell all over again. He couldn’t help but feel pathetic for not acting sooner, especially when the exit was right in front of him, even if it wasn’t anywhere near his reach. Now that chance was thrown carelessly out the window, with no means on returning back to his grasp— 

And his sinks.

As he struggled to keep himself afloat and conscious, black spots started to paint his vision one by one, and that’s when time was obviously running out. His eyelids give up —

And then he wakes up.

There’s a gentle, shaking motion, like a boat — as if he’s being cradled and soothed like he had been as a child. He can’t place it immediately, but you’re whispering soft little assurances into his ear, brushing strands of ebony hair which had plastered itself to wet skin. He realizes that the sweet scent from before is you. He can’t discern your words, not fully, not over the sound of blood rushing to his ears. If your arms weren’t wrapped around him a like a safety net, he’d still think he’s drowning, dying; but, the glimpses of words he’d catch every so often were enough to comfort him. You assure him that he’s still very much alive, that he’s awake, that nothing can hurt him, that it was all a nightmare.

It was just a nightmare.

Hasn’t anyone ever told you? The undead voice chimes, but your voice, clear as day, replaces its mocking tone, and Jotaro melts. He gazes upwards, into your eyes which hold the moon and all its stars and he suddenly remembers that wishes are made upon them.

“It’s okay to be weak, Jotaro.”

inspired by this.

[megashadowdragon]

Love is the bane of honor

I think Aegon's role narratively is "don't put all your faith in perfect kings", especially not a kid. It's all about the pressure of being a hereditary ruler, the pressure of duty, of others' expectations being placed on a child solely due to his birthright, and of a life sacrificed to duty.

"He is here. Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them."

What Varys has said is all about Aegon ruling for others. That implies serious self-sacrifice. But is Aegon truly fit for this? Note how Varys never speaks of love, it's all about Aegon being raised to fulfill his duty, and one that has been placed on him based on his supposed birthright by others, which to us readers is uncertain to begin with and could even become uncertain to Aegon himself at some point.

"Jon, did you ever wonder why the men of the Night's Watch take no wives and father no children?" Maester Aemon asked.

Jon shrugged. "No." He scattered more meat. The fingers of his left hand were slimy with blood, and his right throbbed from the weight of the bucket.

"So they will not love," the old man answered, "for love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

We have here the literal kryptonite to Varys' expectations.

Aegon is still young and we have no indication he has any experience with women other than being raised by a septa, which considering the faith's tenants has served the opposite interest.

Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature

Arianne, a very intimidating woman, is coming to push herself onto Aegon, yet Aegon's entourage believed the support of Dorne was expected due to their existing blood ties to Aegon, not thanks to a new union between Aegon and a Dornish princess, a union which would also alter Doran's current plans which did not factor in Aegon at all.

A union to Aegon, from Doran's perspective, might also cast uncertainty into the master-strategist's mind; what will Dorne do when the real dragons come? And what if Dany's entourage sends a letter to Dorne along with Quentyn's body, telling them the prince was burned by the dragons he tried to steal? Would Arianne and the Sand Snakes believe it at all, especially if Arianne is trying to put herself between Aegon and Daenerys?

Daenerys on the other hand is preferred by Connington, who says the prince must hold off on any marriage as she may yet come, and he holds no found memories of Elia Martell, which might tarnish his view of Arianne no matter how "healthy" she might appear:

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar's wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon's birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.

"Daenerys Targaryen may yet come home one day," Connington told the Halfmaester. "Aegon must be free to marry her."

"My lord knows best," said Haldon. "In that case, we might consider offering potential friends a lesser prize."

Pushing lesser prizes onto Dorne is unlikely to be well received, chiefly by Arianne herself.

Connington is trying to shield the prince from doubt:

"I like the sound of that. My army." A smile flashed across his face, then vanished. "Are they, though? They're sellswords. Yollo warned me to trust no one."

"There is wisdom in that," Griff admitted. It might have been different if Blackheart still commanded, but Myles Toyne was four years dead, and Homeless Harry Strickland was a different sort of man. He would not say that to the boy, however. That dwarf had already planted enough doubts in his young head. "Not every man is what he seems, and a prince especially has good cause to be wary … but go too far down that road, and the mistrust can poison you, make you sour and fearful."

Yet Connington is joined by Tyrion's proposal, even if unknowingly, to wait for Daenerys:

"You do not need to win," Tyrion told him. "All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours."

Tyrion sold the idea to Aegon as follows:

"I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar's murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother's son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?"

The temptation is that of a mother figure and a rescuer who would fly to him like the wind, her brother's son, a boy becoming a man. Similarly, agreeing to this would place trust in his father-figure's plan. There is reassurance in taking this road, the one of parents he never had.

One way or another, Aegon must chose, at a time when war rages. But there is much room for doubt to keep him undecided, and if word reaches them that Daenerys has hurriedly flown away on her Dragon, could it be that Tyrion and Connington were right? Is the Mother of Dragons flying to the prince as fast as wind can carry her?

Aegon might hear the echo of Tyrion's words:

"Your father knew the dangers of being overbold."

The prince stared at the playing board. "My dragon—"

"—is too far away to save you. You should have moved her to the center of the battle."

Wait, and wait, and wait, but the war does not.

The death of duty

As the pressure mounts on Aegon to either keep on waiting for Daenerys or secure an alliance with Dorne, will Aegon break? And more importantly, if he does, how?

What if this is exactly what happened with Rhaegar? What if Rhaegar buckled under all the pressure that was on him? From prophecies to the duty of kingship.

"Lingering here will never bring it any closer. The sooner we take our leave of this place—"

"I know. I do." Dany did not know how to make him see. She wanted Westeros as much as he did, but first she must heal Meereen. "Ninety days is a long time. Hizdahr may fail. And if he does, the trying buys me time. Time to make alliances, to strengthen my defenses, to—"

"And if he does not fail? What will Your Grace do then?"

"Her duty." The word felt cold upon her tongue. "You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?"

The old knight hesitated. "Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her."

That answer from Jorah is fairly clear; Rhaegar married Elia out of duty, and maybe a hint of prophecy for all we know. He did not do so out of love.

Remember, Rhaegar thought he was expected to become a warrior. So we have another self-sacrifice for duty's sake:

"As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father's knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, 'I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.'"

And there is another hint that Rhaegar may have wanted to move away from the pressure of ruling, although a subtle one that remains to be cleared up:

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."

Jaime's anger had risen up in his throat. "I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard."

"Then guard the king," Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. "When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey."

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."

But love is the bane of honor, the death of duty:

"Swords win battles," Ser Jorah said bluntly. "And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one."

"He did, ser, but . . . I have seen a hundred tournaments and more wars than I would wish, and however strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory." He glanced at Ser Jorah. "Or a lady's favor knotted round an arm."

So I posit that the fear of it all frightened Rhaegar into the arms of Lyanna, who similarly ran from a duty imposed on her in marrying Robert, and as the war began to rage on both escaped away from it all to the Tower of Joy.

Kill the boy and let the man be born

Many wonder what Arys Oakheart's narrative point was. He is a good example of a man who struggled between love and duty.

You know I have no other woman. Only... duty.

Which led him to his death:

Arys, my sweet knight, why did you do it? You should have yielded. I tried to tell you, but the words caught in my mouth. You gallant fool, I never meant for you to die, or for Myrcella...

I believe that as history seems to so often repeat itself in the world of Ice and Fire, Aegon will flee into the arms of love. But whose' love?

Come break of day, they were off again. Elia Sand led the way, her black braid flying behind her as she raced across the dry, cracked plains and up into the hills. The girl was mad for horses, which might be why she often smelled like one, to the despair of her mother. Sometimes Arianne felt sorry for Ellaria. Four girls, and every one of them her father's daughter.

Elia Sand, who bears the name of Aegon's mother, is similar in more ways than one to Lyanna Stark.

"We will see about that." Valena wheeled her big red around and put her heels into him, and the race was on, through the dusty lanes of the village at the bottom of the hill, as chickens and villagers alike scrambled out of their path. Arianne was three horse lengths behind by the time she got her mare up to a gallop, but had closed to one halfway up the slope. The two of them were side-by-side as they thundered towards the gatehouse, but five yards from the gates Elia Sand came flying from the cloud of dust behind them to rush past both of them on her black filly.

"Are you half horse, child?" Valena asked, laughing, in the yard. "Princess, did you bring a stable girl?"

"I'm Elia," the girl announced. "Lady Lance."

Lyanna was also a horse-rider:

Arya was breathing hard herself then. She knew the fight was done. "You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna."

And she was literally said to be "half a horse"

Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself.

And similarly to Elia, Lyanna could fight:

"Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it.

And we have this in Bran's vision:

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout.

Elia can joust, and we all know that the Knight of the Laughing Tree is believed by many to have been Lyanna:

"I am almost a woman grown, ser," she responded haughtily. "I'll let you spank me, though... but first you'll need to tilt with me, and knock me off my horse."

"We are on a ship, and without horses," Joss replied.

"And ladies do not joust," insisted Ser Garibald Shells, a far more serious and proper young man than his companion.

"I do. I'm Lady Lance."

Arianne had heard enough. "You may be a lance, but you are no lady. Go below and stay there till we reach land."

Note the point earlier where Elia surprises Arianne by racing ahead of her? It is a very tempting hint that Elia will steal Arianne's place and become Aegon's love interest, one no one is pushing on him. Her playful and courageous nature might attract him, comfort him at a time of incredible pressure, just as Lyanna may have with Rhaegar before.

But Rhaegar in the end found his courage, and went into battle. He killed the boy to let the man be born. And died.

"Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"

"That is the only time a man can be brave," his father told him.

But the question, what bravery will Aegon be pushed into?

"Your father knew the dangers of being overbold."

I won't theorize on what Aegon might throw his courage at here, as the above might bring enough down-votes on its own. I'll just say that Elia, the lance-wielder, has a strong connection to Aegon already:

"Vengeance for Oberyn and Elia."

"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne"

"You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."

TLDR: Aegon's and Elia Sands' story parallels Rhaegar and Lyanna's, and will end tragically. “

[bossladytae]

Gintama Ask Game

Thank you to @claymorecut for tagging me! Most kind of you.

Last time you watched/read Gintama? Red Spider arc in the spring. Courtesan of a Nation arc prior to that. The odd episode or two here and there. Since the final chapter debuted, I haven’t done much rereading or rewatching, or even keeping up with new anime/manga releases as regularly as I used to (other than Rengoku ni Warau – I recommend picking that manga series up and enjoying gorgeous artwork by Karakara Kemuri, one of my most favourite manga artists).

Favorite male character? Takasugi, Hijikata, and Katsura.

Favorite female character? Tae and Tsukuyo.

Favorite female character design? • Tsukuyo’s design is unique, especially when you factor in parallels. • Catherine’s because she’s such an unconventional, subversive, and hilarious “cat girl.”

Favorite male character design? • Takasugi is unforgettable, enough said. He makes everything look good. • Sakamoto because I like the combination of his hairstyle, sunglasses, and long red coat. • Saitou because the hair, the uniform, the twin swords? He’s a cool and awkward introvert. • Bansai because of the shamisen doubling as a weapon, and his penchant for music.

Best squad? Diamond Perfume.

Most underrated character? • Sadaharu, the unsung hero. Where would the Yorozuya – no, the world – be without him? • Zenzou. Look past the hemorrhoids. • Mutsu. Her Yato heritage should’ve been revealed sooner. A missed opportunity for more bonding with Kagura. • Saitou also should’ve been introduced sooner with more character development. • Shinpachi and Tae, but more so Tae because many of the arcs she’s shared with Shinpachi and others tended to shift focus away from her, rarely making us privy to her inner thoughts and solo spotlight.

Favorite episode or arc? Shogun Assassination and Courtesan of a Nation arcs were absolutely stellar, peak Gintama arcs. I love episodes that deal with Gintaladies, especially Host Club arc and the famous Vegeta discussion. Rakuyou’s Joui4 badass hall-of-fame battle is something to revisit. Hijikata and Itou’s final battle.

Really, I’ve enjoyed so much of the series over the years. There is an episode/arc for every mood.

OTP(s)? HijiTae (Hijikata x Tae). Check out my side blog @hijitae for reasons. Beyond that, I don’t discuss other favourite ships except in private discussion. Most of the time, I like thinking outside the box when it comes to ships. Gintama is one of those fandoms where I don’t subscribe to many popular pairings among the majority other than a couple of them (pun intended) where the chemistry Sorachi has highlighted over the years is far too convincing to believe otherwise.

BROTP(s)? I’ll mention some lesser known, less discussed duos:

Tae and Tsukuyo – not enough of it in canon. They both work primarily at night, they both head their own districts and operative teams (as of Silver Soul time skip with a little fanon embellishment), and they have shown to care for one another’s well-being in times of war. Two badass women whose bond I explore in my fic here.

Hijikata and Tetsunosuke – all because of Baragaki arc and the potential for them to form a solid team relationship. Tetsu grows as a result of Hijikata’s influence, and in turn, Hijikata learns a bit more patience when it comes to Tetsu. Plus, they share similar backgrounds when it comes to brothers. I emphasized their growing bond in another fic here.

Saitou and Okita – I like the idea of these two being close because Okita talked about how he heard Saitou’s voice at the convenience store (and it was fun to see him toss two practice swords at Saitou, calling him “Shimaru-niisan”). And since Saitou finds making friends difficult due to his lack of socializing, and since Okita implies that he has few friends (given his general personality), I can imagine these two forming a close, unconventional bond as a result. I’ve written a bit of this idea into another fic here.

Katsura and Sacchan – extremely random, yes (funnily enough, there is fan art of them in Pixiv), but since teaming them up by chance in the fic I linked above (and another one coming soon), I’ve started to enjoy the potential of their interactions. They are both eccentric people who tend to irritate those around them with their quirks and signature gags. They would make an interesting comedic duo. Sorachi not giving nearly enough time to different combinations of interactions while having such a large cast of characters to work with is so regretful.

Kamui and Abuto – they’ve stuck by each other’s side in one way or another for so many years. You already need a lot of patience to deal with somebody like Kamui. Then, factoring in Kamui’s general disdain for most people he considers weaker than himself, he’s not exactly telling Abuto to hit the road by the final chapter. By now, they have a solid, unspoken bond.

An unpopular opinion? I’ve plenty of unpopular opinions, but I won’t be sharing them today.  

Favorite running joke? “It’s the Shogun!” “It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.” Vertically challenged Takasugi.

Favorite OST? OP song: “Tougenkyou Alien” by Serial TV Drama ED song: “Shura” by DOES

This post is long enough, so I won’t list all of the standout favourites from each of the soundtracks. Suffice to say, I enjoy everything.

Feelings about the upcoming movie? I’ve said all that I’ve needed to say in my Critique and Farewell posts. My feelings remain unchanged. I’ll be watching the movie to close the book on a 14-year journey with Gintama. I just hope that there is enough budget for all the major scenes (although a movie and then special episode(s) afterward…might as well have just made one final season altogether). More of a new soundtrack or maybe new character theme remixes would be nice, too!

--

As for tagging...I guess anyone who wants to do this? It’s been a long time, and I’d feel awkward tagging people who aren’t here anymore or not into Gintama as much as they used to be. Sorry!