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weakeninghope · 1 year ago

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Clean freak (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Joseph Joestar/Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli

Rating: Explicit

AO3 link here

Summary: So. Uh. Maybe Caesar Zeppeli wasn't that bothered by Joseph being a sweaty bastard. By smelling like a sweaty bastard. Not that Caesar had a habit of smelling people, but spending countless days sparring with someone else (a muscular guy) does certain things to you. And you do notice, for instance, that your sparring partner definitely doesn't dress in nice-smelling clothes, doesn't use cologne and/or rose-smelling lotion. But saying "ew Jojo, you smell gross don't get close to me" was both a nice pretense for upholding Caesar's clean freak reputation and way easier than admitting that he may have absolutely nothing against the mix of Joseph's corporal scent, his sweat and his cheap 3 in 1 shampoo + conditioner (what does he even need conditioner for?) + body wash.

Notes:

I'm!!!!! back!!!!!! I'm so sorry it's taken me literal years to upload the second chapter but life has been terrible these past years. Anyway, if anyone remembers this story, feel free to read the closing chapter, that I have not, by any means, written during my working hours because I was alone on the reception desk.

Come scream at me about Caejose or anything!! I'd love to talk to you gus. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter and the overall story, this was really self indulgent not gonna lie, the ending is a little bit off because I didn't know how to wrap everything up. But I'm so happy this is finally complete!!

Comments and kudos are much appreciated! Thank you for sticking (hehe) with me ♡♡♡♡

Twitter: @/Kashiikas

fic under the cut!

Caesar was a guy who really cared about cleanliness. He liked seeing his surroundings clean and gleaming. Of course, his personal hygiene was no exception. He’d had enough of living in dirty, abandoned and rusty places back in his hoodlum era. Whether wandering around the streets because he had nowhere to belong anymore or living somewhere where he couldn’t even take a decent shower was the worst that had happened to him, Caesar doesn’t know. What he does know is that since Master Lisa Lisa took him in and, despite the arduous training he had to endure, he had access to showering in human conditions, and that he felt as though the happiest man on Earth.

It seems though that apparently, he was the only one in that island excluding Master Lisa Lisa and Suzie Q who cared a little bit about hygiene and manners. Well, there were like, four people in the island, so ruling out these exceptions, there was only one person left who didn’t abide by Caesar’s morale.

Joseph Joestar.

Joseph freaking Joestar.

Caesar didn’t even know how to feel about that guy. Sure, their first encounter wasn’t how you start a friendship (or whatever it is that they… have going on) but at least the blonde considers that he’s gotten to know Joseph pretty well.

The first thing Caesar noticed about the other was his lack of any politeness, manners or, in overall, sense of dignity. That guy allowed himself to be outright goofy and undistinguished in front of other people, and didn’t seem to feel any remorse at that. In all honesty, a part deep inside of Caesar’s psyche was jealous of his ―apparently, yet again, that was his first impression― carefree personality. But maybe it was also because he was carefree that Caesar’s animosity towards that guy was so powerful at the beginning at least: as far as he was concerned, he was totally clueless in regards to his family background. Caesar’s fixation towards clean things wasn’t his most defining trait. It was definitely the pride he harbored towards his duty as a Zeppeli. Family was the most important thing to him; his father died sacrificing himself for him even though he didn’t recognize him as his son. And then his grandfather died protecting Jonathan Joestar.

The second thing Caesar noticed was that Joseph wasn’t dumb at all. He pretended to be dumb so the enemy would take him lightly. But deep inside he was a cunning bastard. His hamon may be weak, but he knew how to come up with a plan in the direst of circumstances. Technique against lack of restraint. Both were a great asset in battle and different perspectives aimed at the same goal. Caesar’s way of handling things has been proven effective (or at least since he began training under Master Lisa Lisa’s wing) but undoubtedly, merging his combat style with Joseph’s surpassed his expectations. At first he didn’t think he’d take it seriously, Joseph could just have defeated Santana by chance. But Caesar was proven wrong. During his first encounter with Wham, Joseph protected everyone. Not only that, but also showed a fighting spirit that made Caesar feel enamored by it. It was captivating. He could sense his will to fight. That was probably the turning point.

But the turning point for what exactly?

It was against all odds that Caesar could feel attracted to someone like this. But apparently, life was full of surprises.

The third thing he noticed about Joseph was…

Damn, even having to admit it to himself felt like too much of an ordeal.

Joseph Joestar was hot. Like, an annoying type of hot. Starting-to-affect-him-way-too-much to-keep-his-cool-and-composure-hot. There was no helping it anyway, Caesar could appreciate beautiful people. He had an eye for beauty. And apparently for hot studs. Equally Dumb and Hot studs. And Joseph fit right in. Not that Caesar’s physique paled in comparison to Joseph’s, but still. He had… a thing for muscular guys. Joseph did not disappoint. He always seemed to be proud of his “handsome face” (he was right) but his body? a whole other level. Admiring it from a far distance was already too much, but they were training together, after all. It didn’t help either that his comrade dressed in a likely way Caesar did. Those tight tops that he wore all the time did justice to his pecs. His abs. And well, he hadn’t seen the other in shorts but he feels like those legs could crush his head and he’d gla-

okay. Enough is enough.

Caesar’s horniness and attraction towards his companion wouldn’t have been an issue if he could… unload his sexual frustrations normally, but there were a few counterpoints. They had separate rooms, but Joseph liked loitering in his far more time than needed (thank god he had the mask on, had he been mask-less Caesar’s eyes would have lingered too much on his mouth) and, even at night, he could try jerking off, except for the fact that he couldn’t. One would expect that Lisa Lisa’s Mansion had top tier construction with amazing, sound-proof like walls.

That was not the case though.

The walls separating their rooms were paper thin. He could hear all the sounds coming from Joseph’s room. The music. His laugh when reading those absurd comics he liked. Every time he stumbled off bed and hit himself with random furniture because he was clumsy in the mornings. Overall, this was a nice routine and change of pace for Caesar. He was used to danger, to ugly noises, to the sound of people screaming, the sound of his fists hitting other hoodlums like himself. But hearing Joseph like that was almost homely in a newfound way. However, this had a downside. If he jerked off in his room and a moan escaped from his mouth even if he tried to stifle it with a pillow, Joseph would know.

Caesar was loud when it came to this kind of stuff. And Joseph seemed to be loud as well. He could almost hear those noises if he closed his eyes.

So the only choice left was the bathroom. They had to share that one, but, well, Joseph wasn’t one for long showers. He wasn’t one for showers, in general. Caesar had enough self-control, so he was able to avoid getting hard from having Joseph under him in training. He felt so pliant underneath him, the close contact, the sweat lingering in the air… everything made Caesar so dizzy he had to relax somehow. And since he had the classic clean freak reputation he took long showers everyday both to get rid of the sweat clinging to his body and the lust clouding his brain. Showers were a ritual for him anyway. He liked taking his time to get undressed, sensually undressed, as if someone, a specific someone, were looking at him through a hole on the wall he didn’t know was there. He took his sweet time during the actual showering process too. His golden locks didn’t look as soft and glittering just because; Caesar actively took care of them, massaging his scalp in slow, pleasant motions to make sure his shampoo was well spread. Same thing with his body. He wanted to look clean and smell nicely since he had a routine after all.

He had managed to keep his urges in control for a while, until he was basically on edge. Joseph had called him his Personal Hygiene Reminder because day after day he would tell the brunet to take a shower already because he smelled gross.

Well, that was the surface excuse. The actual plan went deeper than that. And there was probably an ulterior motive, one that Genius Strategist Joseph Joestar hadn't managed to unravel yet. Unless he has, but Caesar is better off trying to convince himself otherwise. That would make Caesar an open book. Which he never was and will never be, period.

So. Uh. Maybe Caesar Zeppeli wasn't that bothered by Joseph being a sweaty bastard. By smelling like a sweaty bastard. Not that Caesar had a habit of smelling people, but spending countless days sparring with someone else (a muscular guy) does certain things to you. And you do notice, for instance, that your sparring partner definitely doesn't dress in nice-smelling clothes, doesn't use cologne and/or rose-smelling lotion. But saying "ew Jojo, you smell gross don't get close to me" was both a nice pretense for upholding Caesar's clean freak reputation and way easier than admitting that he may have absolutely nothing against the mix of Joseph's corporal scent, his sweat and his cheap 3 in 1 shampoo + conditioner (what does he even need conditioner for?) + body wash.

That's why, for self-preservation purposes, Caesar has decided to pester the bastard until he gets a fucking decent shower. Not a 2 hour long ritual (though he should) nor a quick scrub and that's that. Somewhere in between. Perfectly balanced, as everything should be. That way, he won't have to think about how turned on he actually is and he can have some, as he's sure Joseph would name it, "stress relief".

But who would be the one relieving stress?

Joseph?

Caesar?

Maybe both?

Probably both. He's not as dumb as to believe that Joseph hasn't had the surprisingly bright idea to jerk himself off in the shower. That would explain why the past few days the brunet has been extremely annoying about the amount of time Caesar spends in the shower walls. That, and when Joseph said "I bet you put a nice show there'', the easy response was "I'm not allowing your dirty disheveled self anywhere near my shower ritual, Jojo", but if the bastard wanted a show, fine, he would have a show. A private one, at that. But it would abide by Caesar's rules. He was the levelheaded part of the duo after all. His extreme horniness since their training started had nothing to do with this.

Every great plan needs some preparations that need to be taken care of beforehand. He’d learned that from Joseph. Of course this doesn’t mean that Caesar didn’t plan his strategies in advance, in fact, he did spend much more time on them than Joseph did. The brunet had the skill to come up with a brilliant plan on the spot and pass it as a sudden and silly idea that popped into his head by chance. But it wasn’t by chance at all. Anyway, now it was Caesar’s time to shine.

The first step was the usual “go tell Joseph you’re going to use the shower”, but with the addendum of some horny intent, and Caesar wearing only a towel covering from below his waist was the icing on the cake. What could go wrong?

For starters, Joseph’s door was shut, which was unnatural coming from the brunet because he gave a damn about privacy (not only his, but everyone’s) and had claimed multiple times that “he had nothing to hide”. So, if the door was shut this time, did that mean that there was something he didn’t want others to see? Time to test the waters.

He knocks once. No response. Now that’s odd, he’s usually eager to answer when someone knocks, the few times his door is shut.

He knocks again. Still, no response. The room sounds surprisingly quiet and that’s where Caesar started to feel annoyed. Was Joseph avoiding him on purpose? Did something happen to him? It was unusual for his room to be this quiet, so why?

This time, Caesar decides to speak.

“Jojo!” Caesar's voice comes through the door. He’s demanding, too riled up for pleasantries, and it’s Joseph anyway it’s not like he needs to act polite around him. “Since you’re not answering, I’m going to come in to make sure you’re here and that you didn’t remove your mask or do anything funny.”

God bless the mask excuse. While it wasn’t technically a lie, if Joseph had his mask off right now because he had succeeded in taking it off, that wasn’t Caesar’s problem. But it did give him the perfect alibi. There weren’t hidden intentions anywhere, he just wanted to check up on his training partner. Nothing more, nothing less.

Caesar hears some fumbling in the room, the rustle of bed sheets― just what the hell is happening in there? Fuck it, no more waiting.

When Caesar steps into the room, Joseph is, indeed, wearing his facemask, but something feels off. He’s laying face down on the bed (a little bit of an uncomfortable position if you ask Caesar). This means his ass is full on display. Oh, god. Don’t stare, don’t stare. Just look for a topic to start a conversation; this was to provoke Joseph, not to greet him with a boner.

“Oh, so you’re reading one of those lame comics of yours” Caesar chastises, trying to make Joseph to turn around to look at him, plus stepping closer to him so now he’s standing close to his face, but for some reason, Joseph seemed adamant on not looking Caesar’s way. Realizing that his training partner is flatly ignoring him, the blonde decides to play his cards. If Joseph wants this to be a game then it will be one.

“Jojo, are you going to ignore me for much longer? Are you angry because you lost again today? Oh, come on, I didn’t take you for such a baby” Caesar taunts. The usual “picking up a fight stance” usually works on simple-minded individuals. So it’s not much of a surprise when Joseph tilts his face slightly and takes the bait.

Not enough for eye contact, though.

Not that it was the blonde’s intention to boast, but he did have a great body, and Joseph was in front of it, taking in every single patch of skin on display (basically everything except his nether region, but one has to leave something to the other’s imagination to make matters more exciting, isn’t that right?). He is aware that he’s sweaty. He doesn’t like how he smells, and horny intentions aside, Caesar is indeed in desperate need of a shower. God, he’s dying to see Joseph’s face. Is he flustered? He definitely should.

“So, you can’t bother to even look at me?” Caesar inquiries, he may need to play the annoying bastard part today, but it was for a greater good. After all, one wrong (or right) move, and the towel bids farewell to this world.

“I have already had my fill of your ugly face, thank you.” Joseph breaks the silence that feels eternal and heavy, but he still has his eyes fixated on that dumb comic book. Just a little bit more.

Then Caesar crouches besides the bed, and that’s when Joseph turns upon hearing his knees crack.

Their eyes crash. Joseph’s eyes look more enticing than ever today; he almost has a shroud of insecurity and vulnerability around them. Before Caesar can even think what to say next, Joseph’s eyes dart away from his.

“Your next words will be ' ‘I’m going to use the shower, make sure to wash your dirty body when I come out’' Joseph retorts. And theeeere he goes. He’s taken the bait, and he’s being his usual self again. Caesar decides to keep the game going.

“I’m going to use the shower, make sure to wash your dirty body when I come out” Caesar lets go in the sultriest way he can manage. After that, he exits the room, celebrating the fact that he has pulled through this exchange without getting a boner.

That was about to change in a matter of minutes, though.

He knew that Joseph didn’t peek when he was in the shower. Probably because he’s too lazy to move his ass off the bed, but he will peek this time. Caesar will give him a show he will never, ever forget. He obviously doesn’t lock the door today, and he knows this works enough as an invitation to take a look (or two). The lock is rusty-ish so when someone locks the bathroom door pretty much everyone nearby knows.

The plan is crafted on the basis that Joseph is as much a wishful thinker as Caesar. A pretty risky bet, nothing can be done about it. He can almost hear what his training partner is thinking: “Just a peek won’t hurt”. He knows. He hopes.

The door is not blatantly open (it’s not funny if you make it that obvious) but just the small amount that lets you get a glimpse of what’s going on inside if you squint hard enough. No sounds of anyone approaching the door are heard, but Caesar begins the show anyway. Pants go off first. Slowly, carefully, his plump ass facing the door. He even touches one of his cheeks not-that-accidentally to make his one person audience ache for more. Meanwhile, he’s humming one of his favorite songs, something he usually does when he’s in a good mood. After a little bit of effort, all the clothes are off, and when he first steps into the showers he hears someone dashing through the corridor and the tell-tale sound of said person bumping into the wall.

Heh, there it goes.

Wait… if this person was definitely Joseph, and he was in such a hurry that he’d been even more careless than usual… Does this mean that during their little exchange in Joseph’s room, he was avoiding his gaze and lying face down on the bed… because he was trying to conceal a boner?

Screw logic. To hell with morale. Fuck the plan, he’d had enough. He feels himself starting to harden from his thoughts alone, so when his hand touches his neglected cock from the first time he’s pretty sure that the moan escaping his mouth is by far one of the most lascivious ones that has come from his vocal chords in the past.

But that’s not enough. He wants, no, he needs more than just this. His eager hand grips his cock with maybe more force than usual, but he doesn’t care. His actions reflect how desperate he is and how raw his desire for Joseph Joestar is. The plan was to make Joseph horny but, here he was. How could he ignore that the brunet was obviously hard a few minutes ago? He can’t. It’s time to go all out.

“Jojo”... Caesar moans softly. There is no scheming this time. He is indeed imagining that it’s the other’s hand pumping his cock in earnest, with those calloused hands that would probably feel too rough and inexperienced but perfect anyway.

“Jojo!” He moans again after thumbing his slit, precum already gathered there.

God, he wants to cum. But he wants to cum in front of Joseph. Watch the other cum in front of him. No walls tearing them apart, no stupid games, no pretenses to just fuck the shit out of each other until they run dry.

Perhaps it is uncharacteristic of Caesar Zeppeli to leave the bathroom in his slightly wet state, naked, and an erection he definitely couldn’t disguise even with that tiny towel on. It’s not necessary now.

Joseph’s door is open. Perhaps on purpose, perhaps a slip-up, it doesn’t matter now.

The object of his desires is on the bed, completely naked, legs spread facing the door and fist wrapped tightly around his dick. He is still wearing the mask and it’s making Caesar turn red with anger, and that’s not what he wants at the moment.

He doesn’t let Joseph speak before taking a few hurried steps toward him and unclasping his mask using his full hamon strength.

“At least have the decency to take this thing off if you’re going to do something like that” Caesar growls. He wants to convey the urgency in his voice. He wants the other to be acutely aware of how he craves this, for how long he has been craving this. He pulls away from Joseph’s face and stands up again from his crouching position. He’s expecting Joseph’s next actions. Will he engage in their usual banter? Or will he take another approach?

“Weren’t you the one who said I should wear it at all times, no matter what?” Ah, so the banter it is. Sure, he could do that just fine. Just focus on the banter and try not to keep his eyes glued to Joseph’s inviting cock.

“You do realize that it’s dangerous if your breathing is this ragged, though? Do you want to choke to death?” It’s likely that his training partner was as fixated on pleasuring himself that he totally forgot what happens if his breathing isn’t stable enough.

“Maybe you want to choke me, Caesarino?” Joseph’s comeback sounds hot. Too hot. Caesar’s thought of a few different things he’d like to do to Joseph and vice versa, but that was not on the list. Now it is, for sure. What kind of expression would the other make? Would he have a pleading look on his glassy eyes on the verge of tearing up, flushed cheeks?

“You forgot the ‘to death’ bit’” Caesar snaps. The banter is a top priority (for now).

“Nahhh you want me alive, or at least that’s what it sounded like when you were in the shower” Joseph sounds confident. He must think he can control the other’s reactions just because he’s heard him moaning his name (it’s partially true though).

“So you did take a peek” Caesar confirms.

“Yup! And don’t fuck with me, you wanted me to” Joseph states with his usual beaming smile that make Caesar feel week in the knees-

“Your next words will be ‘Oh, I will fuck with you, Jojo’.” Huh. So he will keep doing that even in this kind of situation.

“Oh, I will fuck-” He doesn’t get to end the sentence. Not when a clearly needy and desperate, maskless Joseph Joestar pulls him down with his trademark brute force and smashes his mouth against Caesar. The angle is terrible. It’s awkward and let’s not forget that Caesar is still wet, naked, and hard, so they should probably get comfortable for their own benefit. But Joseph Joestar is impatient, inexperienced, and has probably had enough of dancing around Caesar. So the blond gives in to this awkward excuse of a kiss that, albeit being just a desperate bump of lips, feels heavenly. It’s not the kiss per se, but Joseph’s mannerisms. How he makes these tiny sounds when his lips are close to his partner’s, how he suddenly brings his hand to the golden locks and p-

“Ah, fuck!” Oops. Sensitive hair.

“Wow Caesarino, that was even louder than what I heard before” Joseph said, his usual wide smile now turned into the smirk he has on his face when he feels he’s in control.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, but can you please make room for me on the bed? This position is uncomfortable” Caesar bites back, there’s not really an ill intent behind this remark, but he’s about to get off for the first time in what feels like ages, and it sure as hell it’s not going to be something half-assed.

“But you’re wet!” Joseph exclaims, and along with his pouty face Caesar finds it almost adorable.

“Well, I’m certainly not the only one,” Caesar replies. Get the hint already, Jojo.

“Ugh, fine” Joseph complains, though it doesn’t sound menacing at all. He probably is just as tired as Caesar of pretending that nothing is happening between them. That they’ve been wanting this since they met. That they do not just want to jack off on their own and forget about it, they want this.

Joseph does, indeed, make room for Caesar in the bed, but not as he had expected the other to. In fact, he doesn’t move from his position on the bed, he’s still laying on his back, but his eyes stare deeply into Caesar’s and he raises his hand as a sign to motion Caesar to come closer.

“Is this ‘making room’ to you, Jojo?” The question is genuine, he wasn’t imagining this after all.

“Well, there is plenty of it. On top of me.” Joseph states with a glint of mischievousness lacing his voice, and who is Caesar to say no to that, really.

“Heh, desperate, aren’t we?” He asks anyway.

“Says the one who’s left the door on purpose for me to see you naked. You’re such an exhibitionist.” That’s not technically a lie, but…

“But you love that, don’t you?”

Joseph tries to snort or maybe come up with a witty remark, but Caesar beats him to it. They kiss properly this time. Caesar is taking the lead, and Joseph isn’t shy at all to follow all the silent instructions his training partner is giving him. When Caesar darts his tongue on his bottom lip, the younger one complies. As soon as their kiss turns open mouthed and messy, the brunet starts getting louder, not holding back anymore. He might be in fact so enticed that he has probably forgotten how thin the walls are and why they wanted to jerk off in the shower in the first place. But Caesar loves these little moans and is determined to coax more of them from Joseph. Then, without breaking the kiss, he brings one hand to one of Joseph’s nipples. They are already stiff, so twisting the bud in his fingers feels amazing, for both of them, if Joseph breaking the kiss so he can moan in full force is anything to go by.

They don’t speak about what to do next. They know.

Caesar takes both of their cocks in his hand and starts pumping in slow motion.

“Fuck, feels so good…” The brunet moans, he seems way too into this already, but it can get better than this. Way better than this.

“Do you want me to go faster?” The blond asks, still stroking both of them at a tortuously slow pace so he can taunt the other a little bit.

“You don’t even have to ask” Huh, once a cocky bastard always a cocky bastard.

“But you do.” Caesar replies, trying to get a reaction out of the younger boy.

“Go faster.” Joseph commands, except he shouldn’t be the one doing that.

“I said ask.” He then breaks their contact. Instead, he brings his hand to Joseph’s mouth and slips his fingers inside. God, his mouth feels so good… Joseph’s tongue is so eager swirling around them and coating them in a generous amount of spit, it’s driving Caesar crazy. It doesn’t last long though, the other tries to speak and Caesar decides that he may have something interesting to say.

“Please… go faster… I need more…” Joseph pleads. Damn, is Joseph hot when he begs.

“Good boy” These words seem to have an amazing effect on Joseph, because his cheeks flush even redder and the lust clouding his eyes is even more apparent now.

“Say my name.” Caesar orders. His hand is back on both of their dicks, but remains static.

“Caesar. God, Caesar, I want this so much, I want you so m- Ahh!” The brunet’s words turn into a long, hot moan when Caesar speeds up his pace. The contact feels so, so good. Not even the greatest quick handjob he could have given himself in the shower feels as this does. They are both moaning now, there’s no point in concealing that both of them are actually desperate sluts for each other, wanting to be seen, wanting to be touched.

“A-ah Caesar, you’re making me sweat!” Odd, to be complaining about that. Maybe Caesar is not the only one turned on by strong scents, because precum is already leaking from the tip of Joseph’s cock.

“Yeah, that’s the idea” Caesar inhales the smell in the room. Both of their sweets combined with the rest of Caesar’s shampoo aroma in the air. It’s both an addictive and dangerous mixtures in all fucking ways.

“You smell amazing, Jojo” Caesar coos. He’s close, and by how tightly Joseph has just the eyes, the other must be too.

“C-caesar, I’m close!” And he comes without another prior warning (Caesar I'll make sure to punish him for not asking for permission later), and it takes a few more strokes of their dicks covered in Joseph’s cum to climax as well. They’ve made such a mess on the bed, and mostly, on their bodies, but god was that good.

“We’re dirty.” Caesar states, matter of factly. He’s still panting and gasping for air, that was more intense than anything he could think of.

“Well, that was to be expected.” Joseph chuckles. He looks spent, but he has a shy smile on his face.

“Shall we clean ourselves up?” Caesar offers, bringing himself closer to the other and kissing his lips gently.

“Wait, ‘ourselves’?” The other asks.

“Yeah, moron, I’m telling you I want to shower together. You really need to clean your dirty body.” The blond states, they are in no condition to slack off.

“You seemed to love my dirty body before.” Joseph flirtfully replies, of course he was going to bring that up.

“Oh, shut up” Comes Caesar’s response, but it’s playful. They kiss again for a few seconds. “We’re going to get ourselves clean, we're even going to glow brighter than the sun” Well, that was sappy, but after all, there’s no point in denying he has romantic feelings for his…training partner? at this point.

“You know what else shines brighter than the sun?” He doesn’t give time for a response “My love for you, Caesarino”.

And in other circumstances, the blond would have rolled his eyes and ignored the remark, but now he’s just so blissfully happy that he can’t think straight, so he just asks Joseph for tissues and they head to the shower hand in hand.

#mywriting #JJBA #jojo's bizarre adventure #Caejose #Josecae #Caesar x Joseph #Joseph Joestar #Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli #Fic

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vampireistic · 5 months ago

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i can’t lie, i used to be a lucifer hater purely because i despise the whole trope in anime / otome games where the usually black haired character is extremely aloof and cold and then becomes soft for the MC (e.g jumin han, artem wing etc) but now i’ve fully come to love and adore his entire character (still hate the favouritism he gets but that’s besides the point).

lucifer sure, is prideful and arrogant as shown when we have a pact with him both times and he quite literally says that he owns you, not the other way around, but more importantly he’s selflessly sacrificial and never expects anything back but the safety of his family (including MC). i mean even in one of his interaction lines where he gives you a gift he tells you “your smile is thanks enough”.

i mean come on!!! this man gets drunk on demonus once and texts you that when you came up in the conversation he got all smiley and ends the night by telling you he loves you. you’re the one that gets lucifer to pay for solomon’s food in nightbringer, something that most likely wouldn’t have happened if he was there alone. he repeatedly tells his brothers to stop worrying over you going on an excursion to a dangerous mountain while proceeding to ALSO coddle you (he vehemently denies doing so but no one failed to notice how panicky he was).

in a card the MC admits they’d marry him and this absolute mess of a man is noted by both satan and belphie as acting “weird”; constantly smiling to himself weirdly, slamming into things etc…all because you said you’d put another ring on your finger that belonged to him.

lucifer doesn’t even care what way you love him, so long as you love and care his brothers he’ll treat you like you’re part of the family; and even though he’s always the last to reciprocate, after he slowly trusts you, he falls for you wholeheartedly and refuses to let you go. to him, you’re more important than the devildom.

but even his relationship with MC aside, i adore his relationship with his family. he started a war against the celestial realm because he believed love was something beautiful and couldn’t understand father’s punishment, the very father he was completely and blindly devoted to without fail. he then sacrificed his pride and dignity during the fall so his beloved sister could have a second chance at life even if it meant giving himself up as a pawn to the future devildom king.

he feared belphie would receive a punishment on par of that with his sister and therefore sheltered him away from any prying eyes and to soothe the worries of his other brothers, pretended he was up in the human world as an exchange student. he threatens the MC initially out of fear, that once they do meet him something tragic will happen — both because he was scared of disappointing diavolo (the one semi “normal” human can’t die it’d make him look bad!) but also, because he knew belphie could’ve at best been imprisoned and at worse, killed. something he cannot and will not have happen again.

speaking of murder — he is so overly cautious of the MC in nightbringer, which i utterly loved. don’t get me wrong, didn’t feel great to see my favourite peacock act like an asshole once more, but it was just so refreshing. he was so vulnerable after the great war, he wouldn’t allow an anomaly, an anomaly that could control all of his barely healed brothers no less, to pose a threat for his family that was already hanging on by a thread.

he’s willing to kill anyone for the sake of his family, proven by the fact that even when you manage to develop a decent relationship with each brother, lucifer finding out you can use all their powers as your own and are in possession of HIS ring of light as a human being, he becomes paranoid. the only reason he didn’t outright attack and maim the MC was because of his brothers, because they held a level of trust for them. once you pass him his grimoire and make a promise in the one place you’re quite literally forbidden to, his fear alleviates. he acknowledges that you simply want to get close because you care.

ALSO LET ME JUST MENTION HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH SOLOMON. he hates him. at first i thought it was just a funny little thing, like a sort of one sided hatred because lucifer finds solomon’s pestering for a pact really annoying, but after the backstory we got, it’s clear it went beyond that. he genuinely dislikes him. in his eyes, he took advantage of asmodeus while he was at his lowest purely to add to his pact roster in order to get “stronger” and as i’ve already perpetuated, his family is his top priority. he tells MC repeatedly that, “that sorcerer cannot be trusted”, not because he’s petty (although he is sometimes lol) but because he’s worried solomon will use his manipulation to deceive you, a person who he would kill for.

It's Lucifer loving hours, folks. Do you love him? Might I ask what exactly you love about him?

Go ahead and say "Everything! ♡" if that is what's in your heart. But also specifically described something if you would.

I love that Lucifer jokes around by being just a little bit obnoxious. AND that he laughs when people do epicfails and wipeouts.

— Anon

#thank u op for this yapping opportunity #i have so much more i could add…#obey me

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bloodymarsupials1 · 2 years ago

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a fucking AIRDRYER scared the fUcK out of me.

#Worse than any movie jumpscare I swear #my dreams will be filled with horror of the airdryer and the embarrassment #atleast I got clean dry hands #even if that means sacrificing my dignity and pride

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oinkz · 4 years ago

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dilemma

— one late night, iwaizumi finds you at his door, drunk on fatigue and desperate to be held. he’s all but willing to give into your desires, however, he’s in the middle of a slumber party with his best friend. (gn!reader)

— tooth-rotting fluff, slight iwaoi, 2.3k words

“How did you even drive here? You can barely even walk,” your boyfriend wonders out loud, wrapping his arms around you to carry you bridal style and push his front door closed.

“I can manage,” you reply simply. It was a bit dangerous - getting up and having to unlock your car during this hour, but with the way Iwaizumi holds you, you forget all about that immediately.

All you know is that he’s warm, and he makes the perfect remedy to your insomnia. Already, you can feel the ache in your bones melting away with his touch.

You hum into his neck, your mouth naturally forming a dopey grin. “Mmmm, I like this.”

For a moment, he allows himself coo at your adorable state. How could he not? With every second, you’re losing sense of your surroundings. The more dazed you become, the firmer your embrace around his neck is. It’s a testament as to how much you trust him, and how much his presence comforts you.

But the fond gleam in his eyes is quick to fade when he reminds himself that just a few rooms away is Oikawa setting up for his 20 step nighttime routine - even on a sleepover.

Usually Iwaizumi grumbles about how it’s only one night - he can go one day without partaking in his entire skincare routine and come out okay - but today, it’s a blessing. Because Oikawa has no clue that you two are dating.

He’s suspected it, sure, but he’s never pushed it.

So, this is a bit of a dilemma. You’re exhausted and so deserving of an entire night’s worth of rest, but this was nowhere close to how your boyfriend wanted to come forward with his relationship with you - to be found cuddling in the living room. Already, Iwaizumi can hear the teasing comments of his best friend, and dare he says it, he’s a bit scared.

Iwaizumi is known to be a tough love sort of guy, so what is Oikawa supposed to think when he finds the ever so rough-around-the-edges spiker so weak in the knees? He’s spent far too long trying to break down tough exterior for you - to love you wholeheartedly... However, pride is a dangerous thing.

He doesn’t feel the need to have dignity around you. You have seen him in four out of five of his Godzilla onesies, and he has guarded the outside of a public restroom when your stomach had a very apparent reaction to the ice cream he had bought earlier that day. There is no need to be prideful in a comfortable, loving relationship.

But with Oikawa? Iwaizumi is a complete narcissist. Ever since his early childhood days, there was always something so fulfilling about beating him. Just recently, Iwaizumi was laughing over how the lunch lady gave him an extra loaf of bread, whereas Oikawa only received one.

Iwaizumi knows his best friend well enough to predict that Oikawa is going to be the bane of his (and your) existence. He’s going to tease and laugh, and as tough of a cookie your boyfriend is, there is only so much he can take before he starts to become self conscious about his affection.

Very subtly, Iwaizumi loosens his grip on you. Perhaps, out of nervousness.

“Could you let go for a bit? I’m gonna set you down on the couch,” he says, and you audibly whine.

“Noooo,” you slur out, lips pushed into a pout. “Then you’re gonna leave.”

“.... I’m not going to leave.”

It’s true - he wasn’t. But he at least wanted to distance himself enough so you two were in a less... intimate position.

“I’m so tired... please, Haji.” Your voice is barely a breathe, and instantly, his eyes soften.

He sighs reluctantly, pulling you in closer once again.

“Okay, baby. I won’t leave,” He whispers into your ear, so gently that it almost makes you sob. Maybe it’s the effects of sleep deprivation making you more emotional, but you swear on your life that you love this man.

You let out a sigh of satisfaction before planting a kiss on his neck.

“Why do you seem so tense?” you ask, taking note of the visible muscle tension on his shoulders.

“It’s just...” he starts, hesitantly. “Oikawa’s over for a sleepover tonight.”

“... He is?”

“Yeah. He’s in the bathroom right now, actually.”

You contemplate for a bit, dark thoughts creeping into your head. “Are you... ashamed of me?”

“No, y/n, of course not. You’re perfect,” he assures you without wasting a second. “You know how Shittykawa can be, though.”

“So, annoying?” You suggest.

“And troublesome,” he adds with a small smile.

“And obnoxious.”

“And punchable.”

“And loud.”

“And a pain in the ass.”

You burst into laughter. “You love him.”

Iwaizumi can’t help but break into a wide grin at the sound. “Don’t say that in front of him, though, or he’ll never shut up about it.”

Soon enough, you two are on the couch, limbs tangled together. Very slowly, your consciousness is slipping through your fingers as he draws ‘I Love You’s into your skin and talks about anything and everything. It’s sweet, natural, and nothing short of intimate.

“He’s going to be super annoying about this,” He grumbles. Though you were only half-paying attention to what he was going on about, it didn’t take much for you to understand he was talking about his beloved, Oikawa.

You sigh, and the ever so self-sacrificing part of you feels guilty.

“... I’ll leave if you’re not ready to reveal us to him.” Your voice is suddenly serious.

However, Iwaizumi only flicks the back of your head in amusement. “And why would I let you do that? You practically sobbed when I asked if I could let go of you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” You hiss between the teeth of your growing smile.

At this point, you two are giggling on the couch like a loved up married couple... which is essentially what you two are. Except, not married.

But Iwaizumi can see it - him and you under the altar. He can see the subtle changes in you, in your demeanor, and how comfortable you’ve grown to become with him. It’s an indicator that this was real, healthy, yet exhilarating all the same. And that was all he needed to know that he was going to be stuck in this thing with you for... a long time.

“Fuck, I love you,” Hajime tells you for no reason other than to say them. His laughter has died now, and he’s pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You have to clench your teeth to stop your heart from bursting right then and there.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, weakly. You don’t even realize that that was all you needed to sleep, because momentarily, you’re letting the tide of his breathing guide you to a slumber.

He leans downwards to kiss your nose, but with the way your nose scrunches in response, he can’t help but peck you again. One kiss becomes two, two becomes three, and shortly, he’s smothering your face in kisses.

“You’re so cute,” he murmurs without thinking. “Wish you would take care of yourself more, though.”

As if you can hear him in your sleep, you shuffle slightly, nuzzling into his neck.

Opting not to speak any further, he closes his eyes, trying so hard to stop smiling. But you’re here, arms wrapped around him like your life depends on it.

What time was it, again? Why were you two on the couch instead of his bed? Your relaxation is so contagious, Iwaizumi’s surroundings are becoming some sort of blur.

He even forgets what letter he left off on as he was writing ‘I Love You’s on your back, so he ends up writing ‘I Lvve Yoou’ instead this time. He takes it as a sign that he should probably sleep as well.

Right before he falls asleep, he lets himself have one last thought. Maybe if he pulls you in closer, he’ll find you in his dreams, too—

“Well, well, well,” a voice from afar cuts into his train of thought, and instantly, Iwaizumi’s weariness disappears. His eyes snap open, and there Oikawa was, standing by the entrance of his living room.

The grin splayed across his lips is wicked. Too wicked.

“Never thought I’d see you so soft, Iwa-chan,” The brunette mused.

Iwaizumi pushes his lips out to form a menacing glare, but if anything, it comes across as intimidating as an angry chihuahua. “Go away, Shittykawa.”

As if he doesn’t hear his best friend, Oikawa continues. “I’ve always had my suspicions... but this is something else.”

“Yeah, you caught us,” Iwaizumi sighs out, defeated. “This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you, but they couldn’t sleep at home so... here we are.”

Oikawa squints his eyes behind his spectacles, forming a thoughtful expression.

“... I’m happy for you,” he finally settles with, after a long moment.

Unknowingly, Iwaizumi tenses in your arms. He prays to god that you don’t sense it.

“What?” he practically whispers, dumbfounded.

The brunette has to suppress a laugh.

“I’m happy for you,” Oikawa reiterates, stronger this time. And he really is.

Tooru has watched the spiker since he was just barely five feet tall, followed him around when he would catch bugs and set them free, took him in many times when he caught a fever, paid for practically half of his Godzilla merchandise, and now... he’s watching Hajime lose himself to love. He’s touched, really.

(Although, he wont lie - Oikawa finds it hard to believe Iwaizumi managed to find someone before him.)

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi mumbles, uncharacteristically awkward.

Oikawa smiles. “Y/n’s out of your league, by the way.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, because he definitely knows. And once again, their dynamic is restored to its friendly nature.

“Go to sleep, Trashykawa. You can take my bed.” With that, Iwaizumi boyfriend pulls in closer to his chest.

The brunette nods, “Alright, alright. Let me get a glass of water, first.” He takes a few steps forward and the hardwood creaks from under him, causing him to blush in embarrassment.

“Wake them up, and I’ll kill you,” Hajime shoots the setter a look.

Oikawa huffs, offended. “So mean, Iwa-chan! Not my fault your floors creak!”

“I said go to sleep!” Now, Iwaizumi is glaring daggers into his best friend.

“Okay, okay,” his best friend raises his arms in surrender. “Geez, you’re too—”

“Do you guys ever shut up?” You ask suddenly, voice lower than usual. Iwaizumi instantly reddens in shame.

“Sorry Assikawa’s so loud,” your boyfriend whispers.

“I heard that!” Oikawa whines, pouting at both of you.

You frown. “You’re just as loud, Haji. I’m right in front of you.”

“... I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Tooru mimicks, voice two octaves higher.

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” you and Hajime retort in unison.

“I take it all back, Iwa-chan. You both are big meanies,” the brunette cries, and suddenly, your boyfriend is sitting up and leaning forward to reach a sofa cushion that’s rested on top of his feet.

Oh, Lord.

More playful jabs are thrown at each other, and next thing you know, Iwaizumi and Oikawa are thrusting sofa cushions at each other. You sit up as well, arms crossed in annoyance.

Under normal circumstances, you would join in on the fun and gang up on Oikawa with your beloved boyfriend. But these are not normal circumstances. You are currently running on three hours of sleep, and to put it simply... you’re cranky. So cranky, you could punch someone without feeling even a bit of remorse.

All you wanted was to get a full eight hours sleep in your boyfriend’s arms for the night, was that so impossible? Well, apparently it was, because the chaos runs for another half an hour without rest.

And all you do is sit in the middle of it, hoping to pass out already.

Unfortunately, you do not pass out, and you have to weakly force yourself to get up from the sofa and into your boyfriend’s room to finally gain a bit of attention.

“Sorry,” Hajime mumbles as he enters the room, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Whatever,” you murmur into his pillow, burying your nose into his very own scent.

The bed dips from beside you, and an arm slithers around your waist. To his surprise, your grip around his pillow only tightens.

“Aw, baby...” He whisper into your ear sadly, and you hate how you can feel your body subconsciously wanting to move in closer.

But you don’t, all due to pride.

“We’ll sleep in the entire night, okay? Tomorrow, too,” He tells you, rubbing gentle circles into your stomach.

“‘Jus wanted to sleep...” You breathe out, your cheeks warming at how emotional you sound right now. Damn you, sleep deprivation, you curse inwardly.

“And you can,” he says softly. He kisses your shoulder and makes his way up to the back of your neck, slowly and so, so affectionate. “Just c’mere already. You’re too tense.”

You groan because he’s right, and he always is. You want to punch the stupidly big grin on his face as you begin to turn and face him, pressing your chest flush against his.

He’s a human heater so perfectly made for you. Immediately, his warmth seeps past your skin and goes right through your heart. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, immersing yourself in him completely.

You can’t really breathe all that well in this position, but whatever. You could suffocate in his arms, for all you cared. This feels too good, and you’ve lived a good life, anyway - a good enough life to have this teddy bear of a man be your lover.

“Good night, Hajime,” You say, muffled against his skin. You can’t see it, but his eyes light up with adoration.

“Sweet dreams, my sleepy baby,” he coos, peppering the top of your head with kisses.

Needless to say, you ended up getting ten hours of sleep that night, and in that time, Oikawa rewatched ET and made a full batch of pancakes all by himself. So much for bonding and spending extra time with his best friend.

#haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hq x reader #fics by oinkz

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wisdomrays · 3 years ago

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QUESTIONS & ANSWERS: What are the Greatest Dangers and Pitfalls That a Believer Faces, and What Precautions Can Be Taken?

Humanity is being tested in this world. Life itself, from the beginning until the end, is full of tests that are different in shape and level of difficulty. It is mentioned the most dangerous six categories of these pitfalls and shown the safe paths that "brings to naught the six intrigues of human and Satanic devils and blocks up their routes of assaults."

Let us take a look at these six pitfalls:

1-Desire for Rank and Position; Ambition for fame and acclaim and self-advertisement

Nursi summarizes this feeling that is present in human beings in the following way: "Present in most people is the hypocritical desire to be seen by people and hold a position in the public view; this is the ambition for fame and acclaim and self-advertisement; this desire for rank and position is present to a lesser or greater extent in all those who seek this world. To accomplish this ambition, the desire for fame will drive a person to sacrifice even their life." If this desire is not satisfied through legitimate ways, it is almost certain that it will cause harm to those who have been captured by it and to the society they live in. Unfortunately, such harm, once it exists, cannot easily be removed.

2-A Sense of Fear

A person can tie down and enslave their freewill through the sense of fear. In today's world, those people who mislead us scheme to oppress people through this sense of fear. Nursi has defined this pitfall, in particular for the servants of truth, as: "One of the most important and fundamental emotions in human beings is the sense of fear. Scheming oppressors profit greatly from the vein of fear. They restrain those who are weak or undecided through fear. The agents of the worldly and those who spread the propaganda of misguidance take advantage of this vein in the common people and of religious scholars in particular. They frighten them and excite their groundless fears." A person who believes in God and the Truth can avoid this pitfall only by increasing awareness and faith and by thinking "If I have great honor, dignity, and pride, let them be sacrificed for my cause. Death is only in the hands of God." The way to fear nothing is to fear only that being that is worthy of fear, God Himself.

3-Greed

Greed means: "an excessive desire to acquire or possess more than what one needs or deserves." Prophet Muhammad has depicted how a greedy person is, saying: "If the son of Adam had two valleys full of gold, he would ask for the third. Only dirt will satisfy the greedy eyes. God will accept the repentance of those who are sincerely penitent." To avoid this pitfall is only possible if one is guided by the following verse:

O children of Adam! Whenever you rise to perform the Prayer, (be not naked, or wearing your night or working clothes; instead,) dress clean and beautifully; and, (without making unlawful the things God has made lawful to you,) eat and drink, but do not waste (by over-eating or consuming in unnecessary ways); assuredly, He does not love the wasteful," (7/31)

It is always possible that some ill-intentioned people may try to use believers for their evil purposes by luring them into the pitfall of greed. Nursi points out this danger:" Yes, 'the worldly,' in particular, the people of misguidance do not give away their money easily; they sell it at a high price. Sometimes something that may help a little towards a year of this worldly life can be the means of destroying infinite eternal life. And through that vile greed, a person draws Divine wrath on themselves and tries to attract the pleasure of those who mislead"

4-Nationalism

Nationalism started with Durkheim in Europe and has spread throughout the world from there. Islam opposes any nationalistic view that puts the nationality above religion, that is, a view that makes the nationality of a person more important than their faith. In Islam, it is the unity around faith that abolishes the clan and nationality-oriented concepts. It is clear that most of the companions were from different races, such as, Abu Bakr was an Arab, Bilal was African, Suhayb was from Byzantium, Salman was Persian. Despite the fact that they all were raised in different parts of the world among different nations, they all gathered around the unifying power of Islam and became brothers. The only means of superiority is defined in the verse:

O humankind! Surely We have created you from a single (pair of) male and female, and made you into tribes and families so that you may know one another (with the character and abilities of each to be able to build social relationships among you and help one another, not so that you may feel pride in your color and race and harbor enmity against one another). Surely the noblest and most honorable of you in God's sight is the one who is the most advanced of you in piety, righteousness, and reverence for God. Surely God is All-Knowing, All-Aware.(49/13)

Islam only supports the positive aspect of nationalism; lineage, clan, nationality are real phenomena and should be recognized. As stated in the above verse, people are put into nations and tribes so that they may become acquainted with one another. Said Nursi has stressed this positive understanding of nationalism in the third matter of the 26th Letter as: "This idea of positive nationalism must serve Islam, it must be its citadel and armor; it must not take the place of it. For there is a hundredfold brotherhood within the brotherhood of Islam which persists in the Intermediate Realm and World of Eternity. So however strong national brotherhood is, it may be like a veil to it. But to establish it in place of Islamic brotherhood is a foolish crime that is like throwing away the treasure of diamonds kept within the citadel and replacing them with the stones of the citadel."

5-Egotism

This is the weakest side of one's self and must be removed from the character at once; it is not possible for those unfortunate ones who are caught up in the egotistical tornado to see the truth and to head toward the target without falling off the path in if they have been blindfolded by the ego. Nursi has warned us about this danger in the 29th Letter: "My brothers! Beware, do not let them strike you with egotism; do not let them hunt you with it! You should know that this century the people of misguidance have mounted the ego and are galloping through the valleys of misguidance. The people of truth have to give up the ego if they are to serve the truth. Even if a person is justified in making use of the ego, since they will resemble the others and they too will suppose that they are self-seeking, it is an injustice to the service of the truth."

6-Laziness and the desire for physical comfort

The sincere, dedicated people who call others to truth and raise them to the true level of humanity, should never be entrapped by laziness, and should be ready to sacrifice their physical and spiritual comfort for divine purposes. The prophet Abraham had many flocks of sheep and he was one of the richest people of his time. Under the guidance of Gabriel, the angels disguised themselves as men and praised God with elegantly chosen words at a volume that Abraham could hear. Abraham was mesmerized by their beautiful praises. He did not hesitate to sacrifice his wealth, to make them repeat those lovely words. Gabriel then introduced himself to Abraham and noted that he did not need any of the wealth that Abraham had offered, and added that the Lord had wanted to show his loyalty to the angels and thus had sent them to test him. The voyagers of this pure path, without perishing in this pitfall, should walk only with the aim in their hearts that is "to please God."

In summary, in response to the infinite Mercy of God, one should never cease to hope and respect God, and our sight should always be turned toward Him; one should move on with the utmost care and respect. In this way, the spirit of action can be preserved; one will be able to avoid the six pitfalls, making it possible to be protected from the shame and discouraging effects of sins and to drink from the waters of the rivers of forgiveness, thus enabling one to reach the soothing and inspiring bounties of eternity.

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mywitchcultblr · 1 year ago

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My biggest reason behind my decision to ascend him is I wanted Astarion to have everything and reclaimed what he once lost.

Cazador took his dignity, his pride, his noble status, his wealth, his freedom, his hunger and appetite, even his own reflection and his place amongst Corellon's followers (regardless whatever Astarion worshiped the God or not, an undead such a vampire will not be accepted amongst Corellon worshiper, hell I doubt the creator of all elves will claim him in the afterlife)

But ascending him means giving a massive middle finger to Cazador, Astarion took over the ritual, carved the same runes that his old master once carved on his back, reduced Cazador into a whimpering sobbing rat, bleeding in his own dungeon before Cazador finally exploded into a pile of blood and gore when Astarion sacrificed him

Now Astarion reclaimed everything that he once lost and more, even better when he has a consort who will stay by his side, the world be damned, to hell with 'being good' or anyone else in baldur's gate, i'm willing to sacrifice 7000 more souls to hear his voice crack from happiness when he sees his own reflection again...

Besides being a dark story enjoyer, I think I have my own biases as well because I'm currently living in an abusive household and I have no power to leave or fight back, nothing seems to be working and i'm not sure if I can even escape, seeing Astarion emerged from all of these nonsense as a powerful lord makes me feel good? It gives me catharsis and I suppose a taste of freedom...

i think for me the thing that keeps me coming back to ascending Astarion whether in a romance or not, even after playing through ascension and spawn outcomes with different characters, is the very first line he says after ascending:

Astarion: I... I can't feel it. That ache in my stomach, that hunger - it's gone.

and now he also gets to see his reflection again, without the tadpoles or magic -- he gets to look in a mirror and see himself.

i love the idea of him getting to enjoy the things that living people do again -- the sun, food, seeing himself in a reflection, etc.

i want him to get all that back.

#bg3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion

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calacuspr · 3 years ago

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This England team has shown us all what the power of sport really means

There have been a few times in recent years where the entire nation has appeared united and optimistic – and almost all of them have been connected to sport.

The World Cup in Italy in 1990, the EURO 96 in England and the London 2012 Olympic Games all come to mind as moments that will endure as epochs that transcend everything else going on in the world.

England has been particularly divided in recent years as the Leave and Remain factions argue; the challenges facing the nation during the COVID-19 pandemic; and the economic struggles that so many have encountered pretty much since the financial collapse a decade ago.

At Calacus, we work with organisations who see the value of sport to positively transform society and the England team has shown that throughout the build-up to EURO 2020 and beyond, they have brought the nation together in a way little else can.

Granted, it helped that England did so well, reaching the final of the tournament. It is hardly a new phenomenon that the squad is so multi-cultural, with players with family heritage from around the world.

While the aftermath of the defeat to Italy has shown the unpalatable side of society, the way in which the England manager and players have conducted themselves has been a masterclass in authentic communications.

STAY TRUE TO YOUR VALUES

Taking the knee has been part of football tradition in England for more than a year now, highlighting inequality and promoting diversity.

The England team have been criticised by many, with the Conservative MP for Ashfield, Lee Anderson, announcing that he would not watch “his beloved England team” while the players took the knee; Home Secretary Priti Patel suggesting that it was nothing more than “gesture politics.” and Prime Minister Boris Johnson refusing to criticise those who booed the team.

Given the racism that the likes of Marcus Rashford, Bukayo Saka, Raheem Sterling and others have suffered, particularly from online trolls, it’s remarkable that politicians sought to condemn them and accuse the team of Marxist tendencies and BLM affiliation rather than a compassionate plea for solidarity and equality over division.

England defender Tyrone Mings said: “Everyone’s entitled to their opinions. The home secretary is one of many, many people who oppose us taking the knee or refuse to defend it . . . we [have tried] to educate and inform the minority who refuse to acknowledge why we take the knee and want to boo it.”

Notably, the boos faded as the EURO 2020 tournament progressed and the team got to the later stages and it speaks volumes that many of those politicians who criticised the team then tried to associate themselves with them through staged photography that fooled no one.

CELEBRATE INCLUSION

This England team are no strangers to speaking up for those who don’t have a voice.

Marcus Rashford has campaigned for an end to child hunger and has twice forced the government to make u-turns over free school meals.

Raheem Sterling, one of the stars of the tournament for England and who has been vilified himself by media and fans alike, has fought hard to call out bigotry in the fight against racism.

EURO 2020 started during Pride month and saw players wear rainbow laces and captains use rainbow armbands, despite some mixed messaging from UEFA.

When England played Germany in the round of 16, captain Harry Kane joined his counterpart Manuel Neuer in wearing a rainbow armband with England's official Twitter account saying: “@HKane will join @DFB_Team 's Manuel Neuer in wearing a rainbow captain’s armband for tomorrow’s game at @wembleystadium to mark the end of Pride month, as the #ThreeLions stand in allyship with LGBTQ+ communities around the world.”

Kane himself explained: “From our point of view, it is a show of solidarity with the German national team from all of us at the England national team to be united in trying to kick out all inequalities there are. We’re on a huge platform on a big stage so it is obviously a great opportunity to do so.”

Jordan Henderson has shown himself to be a captain on and off the field, supporting local charities during lockdown as well as leading his Liverpool team to success over recent years.

He is thought to be one of the main drivers behind the team planning to donate its EURO 2020 prize money to good causes.

Their donation – which could be in the millions – will be made to NHS charities now that the football tournament has concluded.

The team made a statement last May which said: “Following positive discussions with the FA, the England senior men's squad are pleased to confirm that a significant donation from their international match fees will be made to NHS Charities Together via the #PlayersTogether initiative.

“This contribution will be taken from a fund already set aside to support a variety of worthy causes using all match fees collated since September 2018.”

While England supporters still let themselves down by booing national anthems at times during the tournament, it shows the progress that this England team has prompted that Joe White, an England fan who co-chairs Gay Gooners, Arsenal’s LGBT+ supporters group, attended the England v Germany match at Wembley Stadium “in full makeup.”

They wore red lipstick, shimmery eyeshadow and mascara along with a rainbow flag and England flag painted on their face to complete the look.

They tweeted: “This is a really small and personal point but today was my first game at Wembley in full makeup and overtly queer (as opposed to just camp). Absolutely no issues from fans and some lovely chats.

“Despite being absolutely petrified pre game, really proud of our fans”

Henderson responded: “Hi Joe great to hear you enjoyed the game as you should. No one should be afraid to go and support their club or country because football is for everyone no matter what. Thanks for your support, enjoy the rest of the Euros.”

How refreshing that the LGBTQ+ community can now support the national team with no fear of abuse or intimidation and that the Three Lions Pride can display positive banners – understandably celebrating Henderson’s goal against Ukraine.

ENCOURAGE TEAMWORK

England manager Gareth Southgate arguably had one of the most talented England squads in recent memory.

The team’s headquarters at St George’s Park became a centre of fun with photocalls featuring the likes of Bukayo Saka jumping into a pool on a flying unicorn inflatable and Ed Sheeran playing a special concert for the team not to mention a preview showing of Top Gun Maverick and call with its star Tom Cruise.

While early on, there was uproar among fans over players who had been left out of the starting XI or even the squad, with flair giving way to pragmatism, Southgate showed how much the team ethic mattered to him.

After the 4-0 victory over Ukraine, Southgate paid tribute to the members of his squad who had not featured much during the tournament.

He said: “I am thinking about the players who I had to leave out of the 23 because they have been such a massive part of what we’re doing. It is so difficult to keep a group of this size feeling valued and yet those guys have been phenomenal about how they have sacrificed themselves for the group.

"I feel the responsibility keenly. But it is these challenges that make us."

Not once during the tournament did any stories leak of disgruntled players, while the players reflected the afore-mentioned values by resisting well-trodden paths of nationalism that previous encounters with the likes of Germany may have engendered.

In fact, this England team have shown dignity in the face of criticism and the very definition of what it means to be a team – there are no egos, no vested interests.

Where once supporting England meant violence and xenophobia, this England team has inspired a new identity with a commitment to diversity, inclusion and a more tolerant society, which is a credit to them all.

SHOW REAL LEADERSHIP

It was quite telling when, during the celebrations following England’s win over Denmark, former international Gary Neville said: “The standard of the leaders in the past couple of years in this country has been poor but look at that man there... he’s everything a leader should be: respectful, humble, tells the truth, genuine. He’s fantastic, Gareth Southgate.”

Southgate has been humble, engaging, honest and resolute that he knew what he wanted to do and would not waver, even when senior politicians criticised some of the decisions made by him and his management team.

Ahead of the tournament, in an essay on patriotism, titled Dear England, Southgate linked football and national identity and underlined why the game means so much more than just sporting excellence.

“I have a responsibility to the wider community to use my voice, and so do the players. It’s their duty to continue to interact with the public on matters such as equality, inclusivity and racial injustice, while using the power of their voices to help put debates on the table, raise awareness and educate.

“On this island, we have a desire to protect our values and traditions – as we should – but that shouldn’t come at the expense of introspection and progress.”

Southgate has been calm and assured throughout his tenure, ensuring that he and the team are consistent in their focus, messaging and conduct. There have been no scandals, no drama and every press conference or media opportunity has been assured and engaging.

FACE ADVERSITY HEAD-ON

Losing on penalties is part of football, but it’s also something that England have encountered at a number of major tournaments.

The backlash after England’s defeat was brutal, with the three players who missed penalties, Jadon Sancho, Marcus Rashford and Bukayo Saka all targets of racist abuse.

Some MPs also used the defeat as an opportunity to tell players to keep out of politics, such as Andrew Rosindell, who tweeted: “We are all proud of our England team, who have had the support of the whole country over recent weeks, but please focus of football, not politics. If you win for England, you win for everyone!”

Home Secretary Priti Patel expressed her outrage at the racism, prompting Mings to again address her double standards.

He said: “You don’t get to stoke the fire at the beginning of the tournament by labelling our anti-racism message as ‘Gesture Politics’ & then pretend to be disgusted when the very thing we’re campaigning against, happens.”

Soon after the game, the mural in tribute to Rashford was vandalised, prompting hundreds of positive messages and fans voicing their support for the Manchester United forward.

Rashford tweeted: ““I’ve grown into a sport where I expected to read things written about myself. Whether it be the colour of my skin, where I grew up, or, most recently, how I decide to spend my time off the pitch.

“I dreamt of days like this. The messages I’ve received today have been positively overwhelming and seeing the response in Withington had me on the verge of tears. The communities that always wrapped their arms around me continue to hold me up.

“I’m Marcus Rashford, 23-year-old black man from Withington and Wythenshawe, South Manchester. If I have nothing else I have that. For all the kind messages thank you. I’ll be back stronger. We’ll be back stronger.”

CONCLUSION

The England team have shown without doubt the power of sport to unify – and while EURO 2020 is now over, we have the Olympic Games coming up where athletes will come together in the spirit of competition and camaraderie.

As Southgate put it: “The reality is that the result is just a small part of it. When England play, there’s much more at stake than that.

“It’s about how we conduct ourselves on and off the pitch, how we bring people together, how we inspire and unite, how we create memories that last beyond the 90 minutes. That last beyond the summer. That last forever.”

While the positivity has proved to be a brief moment in time, the England squad showed society how to empathise, respect and engage in a way that has been in short supply for so long.

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horde-princess · 5 years ago

Text

Death With Dignity

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Catra reflects on her redemption and the sacrifices of angella and shadow weaver (and kisses her girlfriend 😌😌). Inspired in a major way by @catradora‘s beautiful illustration of catra gazing up at a mural of angella 💘

1. monarch

Bells echoed quietly through the halls of the Bright Moon palace. It was four in the morning and Adora’s arm was draped protectively over Catra, her chest rising and falling against her back, heartbeat slow. If they were back in the Horde, the rhythm of it would’ve been fluttery and anxious. But in recent weeks an era of peace had settled over Etheria, and maybe especially over its destined hero. Her calling fulfilled, her new life beginning… Sometimes Catra let herself dream of it, too. Finding peace.

read on ao3

She quietly slipped out of Adora’s arms, careful not to wake her. She’d had a lot of practice the past couple of weeks, which should probably worry her, but if there was something bothering Catra she couldn’t bring herself to admit it... too afraid of watching Adora’s love shatter in her hands like a fragile glass illusion that was never really hers.

Adora stirred in her sleep and her fist hit Catra’s pillow before she relaxed again. Catra flinched. It was hard to look away from her, a living mosaic of everything she found terrifying and breathtaking. The way the moonlight kissed her skin, the curve of her shoulder. When tears blurred her vision enough that she could barely make out the form of her anymore, Catra turned to leave.

Walking the halls at night, she found an intimacy with Bright Moon that evaded her during the day. The bright colors were dimmed in shadow, there were no curious faces--or suspicious ones. Just the same few guards who had gotten used to her nighttime wanderings. While the palace was full of beautiful paintings and murals like nothing Catra had ever seen, there was one in particular that she kept coming back to every night. She stood before it and gazed up in child-like wonder.

Queen Angella… The former ruler of Bright Moon--or, as Catra knew her, the Horde’s number one enemy--loomed above, a masterful work of art set with colorful stones, gems, painted glass. Occasionally, light from the torches would refract through it a certain way and almost make her seem to come alive. Wings glittered as though moving in a breeze, giving her a divine essence. The larger than life depiction did little to discourage the way Catra had mythologized her in her mind.

A mother, a warrior, an immortal queen… and the reason Catra found herself gazing into soft blue eyes every morning.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

A voice from down the hall tore Catra from her thoughts and set her heart racing. She automatically assumed a soldier’s stance, the way she was taught to show respect in the Horde.

“King Micah?--” Her breath caught in her throat.

It had been two weeks since Micah had learned the truth about Angella’s sacrifice. She hadn’t dared ask for forgiveness. Not even as the days passed and Catra wasn’t able to eat, or sleep, or be of much use to anyone, really. Glimmer kept saying he just needed time.

Micah approached slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the mural. He was dressed all in white, the traditional Etherian color for mourning, which drew attention to his sunken cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes. He came to stand beside Catra, who watched him warily before also returning her gaze to Angella. She could hear her own pulse in her ears.

“Just Micah, now,” he corrected after a moment. “My days of ruling have long ended.”

His voice was gravelly, tired. Catra guessed he wasn’t sleeping much either.

“Y-yes, sir.”

They settled into an uncomfortable silence as the queen looked down upon them, in all her dignity.

“I’ll admit…” Micah cleared his throat. “When Glimmer told me what happened, I… Well, I’m sorry. For the way that I reacted.”

A wave of nausea swept over Catra. She clenched her fists, feeling mortified.

“No. I deserved it.”

She could feel Micah’s eyes on her but kept looking straight ahead.

“Did you ever meet her?” he asked.

Catra tried to think, sorting through a dusty bookshelf of painful memories.

“I… I saw her once,” she whispered. “During the Battle of Bright Moon, she was… defending the Moonstone. But not really, no.”

Micah nodded thoughtfully, then smiled.

“And she always said I was the brave one.”

Mesmerized by the artwork, memories continued to pull at Catra… Glimmer breaking down in tears, Adora and Bow’s restrained anger when they asked Catra to leave. The three of them sharing stories about what a loving mother Angella was, what a strong leader. Adora hugging herself as she relayed the details of what exactly happened in the portal that day. How Angella sacrificed herself to save everyone.

How she sacrificed herself to save Adora.

To save her from... Catra.

From her own monstrous, vile, misplaced wrath.

Catra realized tears were streaming down her face.

Too overwhelmed with shame to stand any longer under the queen’s scrutiny, she fell to her knees, as if in supplication. She barely registered Micah’s concerned hand on her shoulder.

“I--I owe her everything,” Catra wept. “I can’t make up for it, I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”

Before she knew what was happening Micah had knelt down and wrapped his arms around her and she was falling apart, shaking like a child. She didn’t know how long she cried but at the end of it his white gown was washed completely by her tears.

“You’re forgiven, Catra,” he murmured into her hair, and she could only shake her head, trying to hold back another sob.

“Why do you even care about me?”

Micah sighed. “The same reason my daughter does: you’re trying to make things right.”

He leaned back to gently rest his hand on Catra’s cheek, encouraging her to meet his eyes. The kindness in them was terrible, burning.

“And wherever she is, I know that Angella forgives you, too.”

Somehow, Catra actually believed him. Not because she could ever be worthy of it, but... because it's who Angella was.

Micah offered her his hand. She hesitated, then accepted it. He pulled her to her feet and they continued to study the artwork together, side by side. Catra felt like she could stare at it for hours. Truthfully, she had.

“I wish I could’ve known her,” she confessed. “Everyone tells me how kind she was. And giving. Nothing like--”

Catra wasn’t sure where she was going with that train of thought.

“Like Shadow Weaver?” Micah guessed.

The name was like rusty nails scraping out Catra’s insides. She didn’t say anything more. But Micah placed a hand on Catra’s shoulder and she felt some kind of unspoken understanding pass between them.

“Let’s take the day off tomorrow,” he said suddenly, a mischievous lilt to his voice.

Catra squinted at him, though it was a relief to see his cheerful demeanor returning.

“What? We have the reparations meeting--”

“I need a break from this political stuff,” Micah complained. "Whaddya say, be my partner in crime? Besides, you’re the only one who can translate for Melog--I’ve been dying to ask how they manipulate light waves with magic to--”

“Okay, okay! Fine,” Catra chuckled. “I guess… It could be nice to take a break from everyone.”

“That’s the spirit!” He mussed up her hair a little. “I’ll make a rebel out of you yet.”

Oh, man. Between Micah, George, Lance… Dads really were all the same.

“Now why don’t you get some rest, kiddo.”

He said it so gently, and Catra couldn't believe it. How far down into her darkness the light of one person’s forgiveness could reach.

“King--I mean, Micah… Thank you. For everything.”

Micah smiled fondly.

“You’re welcome.”

She glanced up at Angella one last time and could’ve sworn she saw a smile reflected in the stones.

Catra started to head back to her room, but something stopped her just after she turned the corner. She peeked around it and watched Micah step up to the mural of his wife.

He touched his forehead to the wall and let out a long, heavy sigh.

“I miss you, my love.”

When Catra returned to Adora’s arms, exhaustion nearly overtook her for the first time in weeks, but she fought it and stayed awake all night just to listen to the sound of her breathing.

2. mother

It was strange, being back in Mystacor. The place held nothing but terrifying memories.

Catra, she… distracts you. Confuses you. Haven’t you hurt each other enough?

Shadow Weaver is sacrificing you! Why can’t you see that?!

It doesn’t always have to be you!

Catra stood from the table abruptly. The other dinner guests stared at her with alarm and Adora met her eyes from across the hall.

“Are you okay?” she mouthed.

Catra plastered on a smile to address the room.

“Sorry!--I just... remembered something, you’ll have to excuse me.”

She rushed out of the banquet hall and leaned against the wall outside, heart pounding. She forced herself to take a deep breath in. Then out. In, out. Huh. Maybe Perfuma wasn’t as crazy as she thought. They’d been away from home for a couple weeks, traveling and attending parties and helping rebuild kingdoms. It wasn’t that Catra wasn’t enjoying herself, it’s just that she hadn’t had much time to process… well, everything.

She peered down the long corridor, thinking a walk might help clear her head--and that’s when she saw it.

The statue.

The likeness was so uncanny it sent her into fight or flight mode. But Catra had decided a while ago that she was done running.

Her footsteps echoed in the cavernous silence until she stood directly in front of it. The marble glistened in the warm moonlight streaming in through the windows, and it stood tall among its peers in the Hall of Sorcerers--prideful, stoic, severe, and far too much like the woman Catra had once known. A shiver ran down her spine and she struggled for breath as though the air near the statue was thin, all the oxygen around it sucked out. Lifeless eyes stared forward, her gaze passing indifferently over Catra’s head.

I’m so proud of you, Catra.

Her hands were shaking and she clenched them into fists. Blood trickled from her palms to the floor. She shut her eyes but couldn’t suppress it, the rage, the disgust, it burst out of her from some dark and emaciated fragment of her heart--

“I hate you! I will never forgive you!”

The threat fell on ears of stone. Her body slackened. Lips quivering, tasting metal, her voice shook with anger.

“I don’t care if you helped save her... I will never forgive you.”

It was the one thing Catra held over her, the one birthright she’d ever possessed--to deny her absolution. Even in death.

Especially in death.

At least you admit she’s evil.

You’re one to talk, aren’t you?

Catra gripped her head in her hands, trying to force the memory out, trying not to scream. But wasn’t there truth in it? Wasn’t she a hypocrite? How could she accept others’ forgiveness yet withhold her own?

You expect me to believe you had a change of heart in the end?! Catra wanted to scream at her. That you actually cared if we survived? If I survived?

She glared up at the statue’s face, the veil concealing her mouth.

ANSWER ME!

“Catra?”

All the fire drained out of her when she heard Adora call her name.

Hurried footsteps, then hands grabbing at her shoulders, her wrists.

“Catra!--What--You’re bleeding--”

Catra collapsed against her, sinking into the warmth of Adora’s embrace. Her chest burned but she had no tears left. Not for her. She could only gasp breathlessly against Adora’s shoulder.

“Shh, I’m here, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“It’s not fair,” was all she could get out. “It’s not fair!”

“You know, it used to be all dirty. Scratched up.”

Catra hummed, more focused on Adora playing with her fingers than on her words. They sat against the wall opposite the statue. Her skin was stained red from the blood on Catra’s hands.

“I guess Castaspella had it refurbished, after... well.”

“She should’ve thrown it out the window,” Catra said through gritted teeth. “Less effort.”

She could hear the disagreement in Adora’s responding sigh but she didn’t say anything.

“What? You think she deserves to be honored?” she snapped.

“No! Of course not. But... if it wasn’t for her…”

Catra pulled her hand away and rose to her feet. Adora followed after her.

“One good thing doesn’t make up for her ruining our lives!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Adora exclaimed. “I watched her hurt you over and over and couldn’t do anything about it!”

Catra started, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. She felt like she was a kid again, back in the Fright Zone, terrified and insecure and every stupid thing that ever happened to her was Adora’s fault, except it wasn’t. Not at all.

She knew Shadow Weaver had hurt Adora, too. They’d talked about it a lot. Why she was always chasing some destiny and throwing herself into danger with no hesitation. But Catra hadn’t told her everything from her perspective, not yet.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Catra mumbled, feeling contrite for some reason.

Adora’s eyes filled with torment and a darkness Catra hadn’t known she was capable of.

She reached out for her hesitantly and when Adora didn’t back away Catra drew her close and cradled her face with both hands.

“Hey. I love you,” she said softly.

Adora hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut but the tears leaked out anyway.

Running her thumbs along her cheeks to dry them, Catra brushed her mouth tenderly over Adora’s forehead. Steady arms slipped around her waist and held onto her tightly and Adora tilted her face back up, hopeless, longing. Catra felt something almost holy running in her veins as their lips met and Adora’s kiss was warm, slow--too slow, making Catra’s temperature rise, and she didn’t know how long she could hide the truth of how desperate she was for her. But then a gentle glow behind her eyelids turned blinding and suddenly an explosive crack echoed down the hall.

Catra jumped and opened her eyes to see both of them enveloped in magic.

“...Whoa,” she breathed, slightly lightheaded.

Adora was staring up at the statue in shock and she followed her gaze. As the dust settled, Catra saw the veil hiding its face had been violently ripped off, leaving nothing behind except vacant eyes and splintering cracks in the stone that ran from her hairline to her jaw.

They stood together in silence, Catra hanging with a hand on Adora’s shoulder.

Light Spinner, whoever she was, had been mangled, torn away… This was the woman who had raised them. The weaver of their shadows.

Catra coughed a little from the dust and laced her fingers with Adora’s again.

“Not sure Castaspella will like your remodel,” she tried to joke.

“Who cares,” Adora muttered. “Shadow Weaver chose her path. She wanted to be a hero... but she won’t be remembered as one.”

The set of her jaw was rigid, resolute.

“You can’t forgive her either, can you?”

“No. I--I don’t know. One day, maybe.”

One day seemed like a lofty goal to Catra. The unspeakable suffering she’d inflicted on her, on both of them... yet she always had some twisted justification. As if she believed her intentions were good.

I just wanted to prepare you for the world. I wanted you to be strong.

Tears filled Catra’s eyes as she observed the damaged sculpture, but they didn’t fall.

“Before she died… She said she was proud of me.”

She sensed Adora looking at her, analyzing. Like she was trying to decide how to respond. Catra could guess what was going through her head. I'm proud of you. You should be proud of yourself.

“For what?” she settled on instead.

“Who knows.” Catra thought for a moment. “For not ending up like her, probably.”

Adora brushed her hair back from her forehead. Her hand trailed down her neck and came to rest over her heart.

“You were never like her.”

“Come on, Adora,” Catra nearly begged. “The things I’ve done, I was so angry...”

“Because you were hurting--because you cared, so much, and people just threw it away, I--” she stopped, misery etched on her face. Catra looked down, wincing. “But Shadow Weaver? She was just selfish. How could there have been room in her heart for anyone when she took up so much space herself.”

Catra let out a shaky breath. This day, this whole trip had been so draining. She leaned into Adora for support who wrapped an arm around her.

“If she hadn’t teleported me to the Heart...” her voice fell to a whisper. “I would’ve lost you forever.”

“I know... When I heard you scream, fighting that monster…”

Catra shivered from the memory.

The sculpture towered over them, unhearing, uncaring.

“Adora?”

“Hm?”

“Do you... Do you think the only reason she went back to save me was to make sure you set the magic free?”

Adora frowned like she had already thought about it.

“I think… I want to believe… there was some part of her that wanted us both to be happy.”

The image flickered in her mind of Shadow Weaver removing her mask, allowing them a glimpse of her face for the first time since they were kids. Her scars, her sins laid bare for them to see.

It’s too late for me. But you… this is only the beginning for you.

Catra gazed upon the marred face of her abuser, her mentor--her mother, for all intents and purposes, though she couldn’t bring herself to actually associate her with the word--and something restful settled in her heart. Not peace, not exactly. Just a sense of calm.

Because her and Adora, they were finally free.

She held Adora closer and nuzzled her ear.

“Well, whatever she wanted from us… it doesn’t matter. We get to write our own happy ending now.”

A smile blossomed across Adora’s face.

“You think you’re my happy ending, huh?”

“Whatever,” Catra scoffed. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t come back from the dead just to kiss me.”

She grinned and started to lean in, but Adora pushed her off with a groan.

“Are you ever gonna let it go? That was one time!”

“And for some reason, it’s always funny--”

Adora cut her off with a kiss and yeah, Catra had the feeling that everything was going to be okay. She laughed breathlessly and leaned her forehead against Adora’s.

“Can we go home now?” she pleaded.

“Ugh, I thought you’d never ask.”

#bc i had too many feelings after season 5 😭😭#she ra #catradora #angella #yes i did listen to sufjan stevens while writing this.. the song from the title and wallowa lake monster were on repeat #the lyrics ''she gave us one last feature; the fullness of her face'' rly get to me...#also praying by kesha #ALWAYS praying by kesha #my-fics

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

Text

Ten Sides (Part 22)

Aang is afraid that she is going to swing in the exact opposite direction, taking shame to a crushing extreme. She stands before the servants’ quarters with her arms folded over her chest and an expression of irritation and embarrassment. He has come to notice that the two often work hand in hand with her.

It becomes apparent that she has no intention of doing so, so Aang gives the door a knock for her. She seems to grimace at the sound of it. At the realization that there isn’t room for turning back now.

“Avatar. Princess Azula.” The head serving girl greets.

Azula clears her throat. “Good evening, Ruhi.”

“What can we do for you, princess?”

“I’d like you to gather all of the serving girls.” Aang declares.

“All of them?” Azula mutters through gritted teeth.

“Every single one.” As soon as he says it, he considers that he might be getting Azula in over her head in making her humble herself and apologize before the whole group at once. He thinks that he should have probably eased her into it. He looks at her face but he can gauge no emotion--a dreadful sign.

He has no chance to retract his request because each of the women are standing before them now.

“What can we do for you, princess?” Ruhi asks again.

It is a subversion to his expectation to find that Azula’s face is only gently flushed when she runs through a very stiff and curt apology. It would seem that balancing her chakras had helped her--at least to an extent--face and conceptualize shame in a new way.

“She’s trying.” Aang mumbles to the serving girls as Azula makes her hasty retreat. He hopes that word will make it to Zuko. He thinks that if the Fire Lord would just take one for the team and offer the first apology, things might run a little more smoothly.

.oOo.

She doesn’t converse much with her serving girls in the days to follow. She doesn’t make idle talk with anyone at all. To equal degrees she’d rather be alone but longs for company. Company that neither makes her feel small and uncertain nor overly prideful and arrogant. She longs for company that makes her feel balanced.

Her sights settle, somewhat resentfully, upon the Avatar. She wonders if helping keep her balanced is good practice for dealing with the spirits…

Ruhi pins her hair into place and adds a few final adornments. “How is this?”

Azula looks in the mirror; one of the hair sticks is somewhat lopsided and she thinks that they should have used one with red accents rather than plain gold. “It’s...fine.” She settles.

Ruhi seems pleased and Azula supposes that it is alright to let her keep that satisfaction this time. Realistically, she has a feeling that she is going to let more things of this nature slide whether she wants to or not.

She smooths her silks and wanders over to Aang. “This is much better isn’t it!?” He grins with a gesture to a very satisfied Ruhi.

She shakes her head, “it is painful.”

Aang rolls his eyes. “Being nice isn’t painful.”

“Sacrificing attention to detail is.”

“Nobody is going to notice whatever imperfection that you’re seeing.” He pauses. “I don’t really see any at all.”

Somehow the comment induces subtle fluttering in her tummy. She finds that he tends to elicit such a sensation more often than not. She clears her throat, “good.”

And whether she likes it or not she is certain that she knows why.

“Are you still angry?” He asks.

“At you?” She quirks a brow. “Very much. I disclosed to Zuzu exactly what I wanted him to know.”

Aang sighs. “I was just trying to help. You guys were fighting and I just wanted him to understand why you were upset.”

“And I just wanted to salvage some of my dignity.”

“He’s not going to think any less of you because of...of everything.”

She is plenty skeptical.

“Your serving girls don’t think less of you because you apologized.” Aang points out. “Sometimes showing weakness is showing strength.”

The man and his teachings, the things he gets her to think about, are full of semi-chaotic paradoxes and oxymorons. She supposes that she can make sense of it in that she is trading some strength for a new sort. Or perhaps it is more like allowing for a moment of weakness to come back with strength twice is mighty--though it leaves a yawningly open invitation for more weakness to filter in instead…

“Where has it gotten me, Avatar?”

“Home.” Aang says. “Home and with stronger firebending than ever.”

She resents how good he is at gauging her. At finding the right things to say. She resents it and fears it. “When will you stop using what you’ve learned from trespassing in my mind against me.”

Aang sighs, “you do realize that people can just get to know one another, right? Toph and Sokka have begun finishing each other’s sentences. No spirit energy involved.”

“But that is for people who are close to one another.”

.oOo.

Sometimes he feels like he is talking to an ancient soul, one that is too wise for only nineteen years. Other times he feels like he is speaking with a child, parroting the same facts over and over again. Facts that he had thought to be common sense. Things and concepts that they seem to go over time and time again to the point of redundancy.

“We’re friends, right?” Aang asks.

Azula seems to consider.

“Do you like talking to me.”

“I suppose. Most of the time.” She replies. “But you are also bothersome and I don’t like you.”

Aang laughs. “But even though I’m bothersome you still like talking to me.”

She nods.

“And would you be upset if I decided to stop talking to you?”

“It would be...stressful.”

“Do you feel like you can talk to me?”

“That is a stupid question. Ask a new one.”

“Would you be okay with me talking to you about my problems?”

“You can talk all you want, Avatar. That doesn’t mean I will be able to help you with any of them.” She seems to fidget with her silks if only to give her something to do.

“You don’t have to say anything, you’d just have to listen.”

“What is your problem, Avatar?”

“My problem is that…” he trails off. “My problem is that I care about you, I want to be your friend and sometimes I’m worried that we won’t be able to have a real friendship. And that you won’t be able to trust me.” He pauses. “Do you really think that everything we’ve been through is because of Sangyul?”

Azula is quiet for a very long time. “Yes.”

Aang doesn’t remember the last time his stomach and hopes have plummeted so far, so fast.

.oOo.

The look in his eyes prompts her to elaborate. “We would not have been through anything at all if Sangyul hadn’t acted as a driving force.” She isn’t certain of exactly what words it would be best to proceed with. “It feels real.” She tries.

He furrows his brows. “What feels real?”

“Feelings?” She answers uncertainly. “I don’t think that you are forcing me to think fondly of you.” She can’t imagine that the effects of the spirit vines and their effects could last any longer than a day or two at most. Certainly not a month or so.

“You think fondly of me?”

“No!” She snaps promptly as color rushes to her cheeks.

Aang’s smile softens considerably. “I was the earthly attachment, wasn’t I? From the final chakra.”

She doesn’t think that she needs to answer. The inquiry was plenty rhetorical. She thinks that he would just like to hear confirmation spoken in her own tongue.

“Take your time.” She wants to call the comment patronizing. But it isn’t, it is a reassurance. A declaration that he doesn’t mind waiting for her to make use of and repair the remains of the clutter and wreckage in her mind. “If you want, we can work on patching things up with Zuko first.”

The suggestion is very nearly enough to compel her to snatch the Avatar up and test the feeling of a kiss. “I will not be speaking to him until he apologizes for leaving me with Sangyul.”

Aang sighs. “And he doesn’t want to talk to you until you apologize for...well he actually has this list…” He shrugs. “So I guess that you’re just going to have to decide which mess you want to deal with first.”

Azula frowns as she thinks her options over. The third option--another hasty retreat--is rather enticing. But it is cowardly and it accomplishes nothing at all. She makes her decision and commits to it.

She leaves herself no room for second guessing.

She yanks the Avatar forward and presses her lips to his.

She is certain that she is doing it wrong.

And when she pulls back she is panting lightly and her face is more flushed than it ever has been.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Aang #Azulaang #Fanfiction

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letusmeetagain · 4 years ago

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Hi, I hope you're having a good day ^^. I would like to know your opinion about cap 137, because I saw that many hated it, although for me it is one of my favorites even though at first I was afraid of the idea of the dead helping the alliance. I suspect that ymir noticed armin and for that reason, she allowed him and zeke to have that help.

Hi anon!!

I’m doing well! I hope you too! <3

Sorry for the delay! As I said in the previous ask, I took a day to digest the new information we got last chapter.

Well... I loved the chapter... I cried and this doesn’t happen since long ago. It felt again like the old SnK I used to read. I was somehow a little salty about Zeke’s death but I came to understand why it happened like that. I even appreciate that Zeke didn’t really change his mind about the euthanasia as a strategy because it makes it both realistic (because there’s no time) and a highlight on his true nature and will so it reaffirms his character.

Levi had a not so big role but I WANT to know about his thoughts after finally killing Zeke. I guess everything gained another meaning for him now since Zeke accepted his crimes and the disregard for people fighting to survive.

That was a wink to the chapter where he killed the SC at Shiganshina while arrogantly mocked their intents to survive. It was the moment where all the unsolved traumas he had started to let him alone facing the fact that he wasted his life ignoring the beauty he lived despite the pain he endured.

What I feel salty about this too: on a personal level... I wanted Levi to give up on the bow because revenge as driving force isn’t right for him (I know his face mean something else than that but well... it was rushed). I wanted Zeke to have time to redeem himself while working with the alliance actively. I wanted Zeke to talk to Mikasa about Eren’s lies. I wanted him to do more for Eren as his big bro. I wanted that his death wasn’t instrumentalized for the plot like it was. This is exactly what Eren’s stans criticize about “Eren’s death as the way to stop the rumbling”. It happened to Zeke... probably to Eren too, I fear.

Hopefully, if paths aren’t yet destroyed... I hope he is there doing something more for the story.

Armin’s talk no jutsu couldn’t be deeper. It reminded me of those two stories I mentioned in one of my metas, The poisonwood Bible and The story of your life. It reached the core of human pain. The fear of death, the regrets, the importance of trivial moments, the meaning of existence. I’m a person that enjoys to read about death and the meaning of life. My approach of death is very different from the common feelings everyone has so reading thoughts like Armin’s that aim to dignify life and relieve existential pain are special to me.

It was precious and one of my favourite moments of the whole manga by KO.

I expected this.

That much have I expected it that before the release I wrote about this topic in that meta about the existential pain. I’m proud of Isayama going this path. I’m glad he had such beautiful inspirations like The arrival (Story of your life) and Soul and that he decided to discuss the idea of loving our story and every decision we took despite of the pain that might come with it. It’s a very dignifying idea to look back to your life and finding something that’s even capable to make you say “even if it’s to meet you, I’ll accept all the pain and mistakes I have lived”. It encourages and spreads the will to live. It also relieves you from the illusion that a life means something only because of a great deed (like Carla’s words).

Now I expect this topic to be displayed with Eren too. How he deals with his actions, what kind of concerns he has when he looks back to his life... Such questions that involve Eren as individual regarding his own life and the rumbling.

About the deads helping. Well... It’s complicated. A friend of mine didn’t like the idea because of personal taste but admitted that it wasn’t an asspull. Isayama left enough hints of someone helping the alliance and actually... it wasn’t some ramdom deads... It was very intended if you look back the stories of those shifters... everyone reached a sort of enlightenment. Marcel saved his brother and Reiner because of love and compassion. Porco understood his brother’s decision and sacrificed for Reiner. Ymir taught Historia to live with pride and helped Bert and Reiner because she couldn’t ignore Bert’s pleading for someone to help them. Xaver understood the true meaning of love towards a son and wanted to end the cycle of suffering. Krüger had a deep understanding about the truth of the world and the importance of the mission to stop this all. Grisha finally got the importance of love and forgiveness... that he didn’t want to kill. Pick all those messages and you have the big truth of this story:

Dignity, love and respect.

Those who are complaining... about what are they exactly complaining? That they didn’t get and edgy ending or that the rumbling was stopped too easily?

We knew violence is not the answer. SnK is just exposing our sick culture in which we expect friends to kill each other while clinging to hatred.

I agree with those who said it was too rushed. That’s the feeling I have... but the direction Isayama is heading to is the right one to me.

Now about Ymir’s role... I think she could be trying to help Eren to be stopped. The whole situation is a test for humanity. But I think it could be possible that, as well as Eren helped her to wake up, she recognized Eren’s suffering and that he would be trapped by his own wish in paths, so she is doing something for him too. Maybe. I’m not sure.

Thanks for the question!

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anghraine · 4 years ago

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For my headcanon anon: Darcy and the Darcy/non-Fitzwilliam connections that he’s closest to in my headcanon.

Short version: apart from Georgiana, these are Lady Auckland, Thomas Stanley, Lord Carrington, and Cassandra Darcy.

Longggg version:

In general: Darcy isn’t at all detached from the Darcy-Howards, even though he isn’t as close to them as he is to the Fitzwilliams. The latter is partly due to how ages played out in the previous generation, partly due to more complicated relationships, and partly just temperament. But by and large, Darcy likes his father’s extended family, cares about them, and feels an even greater sense of responsibility for them than he does for his mother’s.

In particular: of the elder generation, he’s closest to his father’s younger half-sister—Philadelphia, Lady Auckland. The Auckland family, the Stanleys, are not as wealthy as the Fitzwilliams, as ancient as the Darcys, or as high-ranking as the Howards, but they had enough of all three for a match to be arranged while she was young, and she has always been contented enough in the alliance. It helps, however, that the Stanleys’ seat is only about twenty miles from Pemberley and she was able to maintain close ties to her brother and his children.

Lady Auckland is in many ways the opposite of Lady Catherine: friendly, thoughtful, and down-to-earth, and while proud, she tries to keep it regulated (more successfully than her nephew!). As a child, he couldn’t help but welcome her warmth and ease—qualities he’s drawn to in general, which both his mother and grandmother lacked—and her (quite genuine) manner of taking him seriously.

She was a very kind, steadying presence after his father died, while Darcy has tried to look out for her and her family since her husband died. For her part, she was always deeply sympathetic to him; she thought that little!Darcy was a very sweet boy who couldn’t help being reserved and awkward, and in the present that he’s grown into a fine, respectable, reliable man.

Lady Auckland has three children, but Darcy is closest to her younger son, Thomas Stanley. I imagine Stanley is a similar type to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Bingley, but a bit more serious and less forward. He’s still a basically cheerful character, comfortable in his own skin, and certainly the most like Lady Auckland. Even though he’s older, he’s willing to listen to Darcy’s opinions and has a strong respect for them—he has a general impression that Darcy is cleverer than he is—but is rarely swayed from his decisions once he’s made them.

Like his mother (and also like Darcy himself), he has a strong streak of dutifulness that Darcy approves of, and a sort of quiet but solid religious sentiment that makes him a good clergyman. He’s deeply grateful that Darcy gave him the Kympton living, but not at all obsequious about it, and they meet on friendly terms quite often when Darcy is at Pemberley.

In recent years, Darcy has also become friendly with a more distant cousin, his grandmother’s great-nephew, Lord Carrington.

Lady Georgiana, the grandmother in question, has always been very close to her birth family, the Howards. The somewhat early death of her favourite brother, the previous duke, only deepened her affection for his children and grandchildren, which most of them reciprocate (esp as the Howards are ever-more-deeply in debt with each generation and she has always been generous with them). But she has a particular fondness for Carrington, probably the only other Howard to share her pragmatic streak, and the only one who has made any serious attempt to live within their means.

This was largely peripheral to Darcy’s life until Carrington found even his limited allowance and careful living driving the family’s fortunes into worse straits. He swallowed his pride and turned to Lady Georgiana for advice and assistance. She knew things were in bad shape, but not that bad, and after some consideration, turned to her wealthy grandson to see what he could do. Darcy’s income and inclinations didn’t extend to salvaging the Howards’ fortunes in general, but he was perfectly happy to do what he could for Carrington, whom he had always found friendly, respectable, and competent.

One of his possessions is a small estate only slightly removed from Pemberley, mostly consisting of a manor and a little bit of land with a few tenants (rather like Hartfield in Emma). He’d had some difficulty with a succession of stewards and asked Carrington to effectively oversee the property in exchange for the payment of reasonable expenses; Carrington, though not fooled (Darcy is not subtle at the best of times), sacrificed the rest of his pride and accepted. Their proximity brought the cousins into frequent company with each other, and despite (or because of) their differences in character, they hit it off and became good friends over the next few years, aided by Carrington’s gratitude and Darcy’s approval of his capable management of the property.

Meanwhile, of the actual Darcys, Darcy is closest to his father’s cousin Cassandra Darcy. She’s the eldest child of the great-uncle the judge mentioned in P&P, who (in the headcanon) was much (around 20 years) younger than Darcy’s grandfather and then married late, with the result that his children are all younger than Darcy himself. Darcy’s father always felt a sense of responsibility for them, especially after his uncle’s death, so Darcy has known them well for a good amount of time and dutifully took on responsibility for them after his father’s death.

Cassandra is probably the most like him of the people he’s close to, though she doesn’t have his awkwardness and is more easy-going. But she, too, has tried to take responsibility for her younger siblings, which he respects, and he’s likewise respected her intelligence, good sense, and decorum for a long time.

He also had a very slight crush on her when they were younger, which seemed strange, embarrassing, and vaguely inappropriate to him—my Darcy is grey-ace—and which he very successfully concealed from everyone. It has long since passed, but he retains a very good opinion of her and sympathy for her situation and personality, and is careful to adapt his actions re: her family around her sense of dignity and her judgment of her siblings. Like Lady Mary, she’s one of the accomplished women he was thinking of at Netherfield.

#anon replies #respuestas #anghraine's headcanons #anghraine babbles #...at some length #austen blogging #fitzwilliam darcy #lady auckland #thomas stanley #lord carrington #cassandra darcy #these are probably the people who are most accepting of elizabeth btw #even though they're a bit disappointed like the rest they're kind of ... well what's done is done and she's One Of Us now #so we'll see what she's like and go from there #and then they're deeply relieved at the reality

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arlingtonpark · 4 years ago

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Harrow the Ninth Act I Thoughts

This is all your fault, @ghostmartyr. If you hadn’t reblogged what seemed like heavy metal boy band fanart, I wouldn’t be in this hole. And for that, I hate you.

So.

When I first encountered the Locked Tomb online, I couldn’t tell if it was a story about edgy, neogothic, teenaged angst, or something better than that.

Turns out, it’s both.

But in a good way.

I love it. It’s great.

It’s unabashed, it’s thoughtful, it’s entertaining, it’s suspenseful.

Gideon the Ninth is finished, and after starting Harrow the Ninth, I decided to blog about it as I go.

I’ll be doing one post for every act of the book. I hope.

Let’s start with our new main character, Harrow. Newly reborn as a god and one of the only survivors of the last book.

So….

Right now, Harrow’s…

Um.

She’s uh…

-gestures at everything-

She’s fucked.

Fucked, broken, in the shit, started godhood on the wrong side of the bed.

200 babies were killed in the name of birthing her. Her parents died in front of her because of what she did. Death has always seemed to follow her, and she carries the burden of all that death.

Harrow despises her existence and wishes she were dead because of the circumstances of her birth, and yet for that very reason she is committed to living, because if she dies, all those sacrifices would be null.

She takes up the duties of governing the Ninth, she applies herself rigorously to mastering necromancy, and when the opportunity arises to become a lyctor, she jumps at it.

Harrow does this because it’s why all those people had to die. She was birthed to carry the Ninth’s legacy; its traditions and obligations and to some extent its very existence.

The twisted nature of the Ninth and her parents is inseparable from that legacy, so in a sense it was that legacy that led to her infanticidal birth, but regardless, this legacy is all she has. It’s all she was ever meant to have. And so she devoted herself to it.

Now that she’s a lyctor and her house’s future will be guaranteed, but to do it, she had to sacrifice Gideon, whom she loved.

It’s more of the same shit from her perspective: more people dying for her sake. 200 babies die to grant her obscene necromantic talent, her girlfriend dies so she can gain even more power. Harrow doesn’t mean to step on innocent people to get what she wants…but that’s always how it’s turned out for her.

But to add insult to injury, even after all she’s sacrificed, she still didn’t get exactly what she wanted.

Her house will have a future, but she can never return to it. She’s essentially divorced from the only thing that gave her life meaning.

She can never return to her old life; to the extent she saw that as desirable, she can’t have that. Her old life is gone forever.

Something also went wrong with her ascension to godhood. She’s violently sick, mentally unstable, and the powers she should have are…half baked, for lack of a better word.

Nobody said you could get hungover from ascending to godhood. Harrow should sue.

It’s like going in to surgery to remove a tumor and coming out lobotomized.

Is she even immortal?

It all stings of pointlessness. All that effort for nothing.

Worse than that; She lost everything. Her home, her love, her pride and dignity.

Her only purpose in life now is to fight these hell beasts that she’s never heard of before. Happy days ahead, surely.

Oh, and one of the people she’ll have to work with is named Gideon.

Does God hate her?

And then there’s God.

This guy is sus as hell.

He’s gracious and humble. Perpetually calm and soft spoken. Empathetic and understanding. That’s what He’s like in person.

But He’s…maybe the villain? I guess.

God works in mysterious ways, and I have no damn clue what His are, but it’s probably ugly.

Yes, He’s a cordial Dude…but he’s still the God-emperor of a galactic undead empire.

Dude wears a crown made from the bones of dead babies FFS.

Not to be accusatory, but this guy definitely has skeletons in his closet.

-bu-dum-tish-

One of the things that really got my attention while reading this series is how the magic system in this world is depicted. Usually, in fantasy stories, the magic system is depicted as being morally neutral. Good guys use it, bad guys it, but the magic itself just is.

The Locked Tomb Trilogy isn’t like that.

Necromancy is bad. Perverse, even.

All the necromancers are frail and sickly. Practicing it is deleterious on the body. Doing too much too fast with it causes even more pronounced harm. As in, bleeding from your sweat glands.

Necromancy works by manipulating the life force of living beings and, primarily, the death force those being give off when they die.

The forces of nature that necromancy utilizes are (apparently) fundamental to the universe, akin to the laws of nature, but the use of those forces in this way are clearly a perversion.

It’s sort of like a bad tv show, like Sword Art Online. Sure, the things that went into making the show are natural parts of the world, but you just can’t put those things together like that.

John and his empire epitomize that.

All known beings in the universe are fundamentally thalergetic in nature. They are beings who radiate life energy. Except for the planets of the empire. Those planets and the star they orbit are thanergetic in nature.

They literally radiate death. And they are apparently one of a kind in that regard.

John is the first necromancer. John used his newly harnessed powers to “resurrect” multiple planets that had died.

Except he didn’t really resurrect anything, he turned them into an entirely new form of being using his entirely new form of science that uses some kind of mechanism that doesn’t occur naturally.

What I’m getting at here is that everything about John, his power, and his empire is artificial. Man-made. Perhaps even John-made.

We don’t actually know what happened during the Resurrection. What killed off the planets, how John attained his God-like powers, and what life John lived before it.

Oh, yeah, and every planet the empire conquers is systematically killed over generations to fuel their necromancer’s powers.

Every planet God touches literally dies.

One thing I appreciate about this series is how layered the story is.

The Locked Tomb series is a fun, irreverent romp. It’s about allowing the past to rest in peace. It’s also surprisingly political.

The metaphor is pretty blunt: it’s about capitalism. What’s more, the metaphor seems to be from a progressive or maybe even socialist perspective.

Ok, so hear me out on this. This is less fan theory than speculation about the author’s intentions.

The empire is a society built on a system that requires them to move from planet to planet, gradually killing those planets until they have to evacuate and move to a new one.

This process of gradual death takes generations to play out, so apparently they don’t even consider it to be an event that happens.

The heart of this system is necromancy, a perverse science that is ultimately derived from natural phenomena.

This system places the most powerful necromancer atop a literal throne and worships them as God.

God’s disciples are the lyctors, second only to Him in power. They attained that power by a very special process.

The lyctoral process is exploitative. It requires the necromancer to use their cavalier as a sacrifice and to turn their soul into a power source.

The lyctoral process is built around domination. The necromancer, in sacrificing their cavalier, subsumes the cavalier’s soul into their being to gain power.

The lyctoral process is dehumanizing. The cavalier is degraded from a person to a mere battery, but the necromancer is degraded in a way as well. The necromancer can never return to their house, or any of the other houses for that matter. Instead they must fight and die for God in his battle against the Revenant Beasts.

If you’re progressive, this may sound familiar to you.

Relationships of exploitation, domination, and dehumanization. A society built around perversions. That rewards people with talent in those perversions with idolatry. That cold-heartedly and shortsightedly extracts every drop of usable resources from a planet until it is dead, then moves on to the next one.

To a socialist, this may sound a lot like capitalism.

Saying that is already bold enough for me, so I won’t try to argue that it’s a one to one allegory. Necromancy equals the profit motive, lyctors represent the relationship between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat (So I guess that means the non-lyctor necromancers are the petit bourgeoisie) and the empire is humanity.

You could make a case for it, but the hot takes in this post are already pretty spicy, so…

OMG Mercymorn. XD

Mercymorn is my favorite out of the new characters. She’s a bitch.

Snide, rude, assertive, bitchy, and standoffish. No, it’s not that I want her to step on me, I just can’t get enough of her interactions.

I guess in real life she wouldn’t be fun to be around, but as a character in a book, she steals every scene. Her arrogant and bitchy remarks always make me laugh.

My one wish heading in to Act II: that Mercymorn is in charge of Ianthe’s training.

Just so she can kick her ass for not measuring up to her standards.

#locked tomb #locked tomb spoilers #htn #htn spoilers #bury the dead but not your gays

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rachelreviewspopculture · 5 years ago

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Little Women (2019)

A first for the blog: a guest post! The following is a review of Greta Gerwig’s Little Women (2019) by Carly Henderson.

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When creating a film version of a classic novel, one often wants to justify its existence by approaching the story with a new lens that appeals to its contemporary audience and differentiates it from previous film adaptations. The temptation with this approach, however, is to take a sub-theme and make it the overarching theme, or to misinterpret a theme altogether. The resulting film, then, is either off the mark or entirely antithetical to the source material. This is often what happens in modern adaptations of classic stories (Ang Lee’s Sense and Sensibility, Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice and Anna Karenina, Julian Jarrold’s Brideshead Revisited, and Netflix’s Anne with an E, to name a few), and is also the case for Greta Gerwig’s Little Women.

My opinion will be unpopular, as Gerwig’s adaption of Little Women has been widely received with praise for its creativity, innovation, liveliness, direction, and attention to the novel and its fresh resonance with a modern audience. And it’s true: it’s lovely to watch, overall well-acted, has an excellent score, and, I would argue, is the most bold and creative take on the classic story by Louisa May Alcott yet. Many commenters at the film’s release said that every generation deserves its own Little Women, and this version of Little Women is one that only a modern feminism could create and deserve (the film opens and closes with a salary negotiation between Jo and her publisher, the first scene ending with her acceptance of an unjust wage from her publisher, and the last ending with her fair negotiation, making her an equal player with the man). Even so, what makes it distinctive also makes it a denial of itself. Its modern lens overlooks and destroys the heart of the story, and its bold, artistic rendering ends up being a beautiful but empty shell, lovely to behold, but easily cracked and hollowed of its substance. And this is what we get with Gerwig’s Little Women: it’s a coming of age story that focuses on women’s empowerment, equal wages, opportunity, and creative genius at the expense of the growth and maturity of its characters. Alcott’s Little Women is certainly empowerment and creativity, but it is much more than this—it is at its core a story about growth, virtue, and a certain open receptivity before life that allows one to truly be creative and fruitful.

Though I may have criticism of the film overall, the acting in it is a masterclass: Saiorse Ronan is a force to be reckoned with; Florence Pugh makes the ever controversial Amy loveable (perhaps even more lovable than Jo, which is quite the feat), and Timothee Chalamet is a good Laurie, perhaps truer to the novel’s Laurie than Christian Bale’s portrayal in the 1994 adaptation (though his Laurie for me remains superior to all other Lauries). The film is not linear. It starts in “present” adult life, as Jo is in New York and Amy in France, and shifts back to childhood in flashbacks. This has a dizzying effect and can be difficult to follow, even for those familiar with the story. The advantage of this is twofold: on the one hand, the film seeks to take the adult versions of these characters seriously, where other film adaptations tend to give more time to their childhood; on the other hand, it bends the audience to favor a Laurie/Amy pairing from the beginning. This is a victory for sure, overcoming the long-held resentment about Amy, as many continue to think that Laurie should have ended up with Jo. And there is no doubt that Gerwig is technically excellent: the cinematography is beautiful, the music is beautiful, the costuming is beautiful.

But the film gets a great deal wrong about the novel, which should matter if one thinks that a film adaptation should try and capture the animating force of its original material, even if it is impossible to illustrate every aspect. I will limit myself to three points.

First, the film gets Beth all wrong. In the novel, Beth is the heart of the story. She is warm, sweet, and gentle, the one who has a special bond with Jo and the only one who can temper and correct her. Gerwig’s Beth is an odd recluse—apparently also a concert pianist—who is abnormally childlike and random, and without the warmth that is one of the defining traits of Beth’s character. She is often called “sweet one” by her sisters, but little is done in the film to communicate her sweetness. She whines and complains when no one will join her to visit the Hummels; she speaks like a 4 year old before the horses. And, above all, the warmth between her and Jo is not felt. Jo needs Beth to be herself to temper her fire and refine it to something more true, strong, and gentle. It feels as if Gerwig must reconstruct Beth because Beth’s quiet, gentle, and demure personality is not consistent with the idea of femininity as creative self-determination that Gerwig favors. Beth can’t be herself in this film because for Gerwig Jo needs no character arc: she has nothing to learn other than to be more forceful and direct. In fact, Jo seems to be the best of womanhood, forging her creative path and destiny with no need of anyone—not her father, not Prof. Bhaer, and not even Beth, which is in striking contrast to the book.

Aunt March’s character is similarly sacrificed to Gerwig’s particular ideal of femininity. Interestingly enough, Aunt March in this film becomes the aspirational model. In contrast to the book, in Gerwig’s film, Aunt March is the sister of Mr. March. This means she is not only unmarried and rich; she also has never been married, which for Gerwig means she has freedom and means. Let’s side step the question of how an unmarried sister inherits and keeps the family wealth, and note that the real problem here is that Gerwig’s Aunt March represents the only path to freedom for the March girls: money. Are we really prepared to declare that freedom simply is access to capital? That none of the girls’ artistic endeavors mean anything unless they indeed capitalize on them? Here it seems to me particularly clear that Gerwig unknowingly submits Alcott’s work to the architecture of late-stage capitalism.

Additionally, Streep’s Aunt March is a one-dimensional character, surprisingly enough for Streep. In the novel (and in the 2017 BBC adaptation by Helen Thomas), Aunt March is a tragic figure: a widow whose only child died in her youth, and one who says stupid things, but then later realizes it and has the humility to apologize. She therefore is a character of depth—that is, in the novel, she too grows and matures, whereas Streep’s Aunt March has no arc. Streep’s Aunt March is the woman to be: nothing to learn and dependent on no one.

These first two misinterpretations are ultimately the consequence of Gerwig’s misunderstanding of the novel, or perhaps better, her imposing her own (capitalist?) framework on Alcott’s work. In Gerwig’s Little Women, feminine agency is pure self-determination, self-construction, choice, and ambition (which is agency simply in a liberal, capitalist society). This is why Jo and Amy stand out in this film, and Meg and Beth only awkwardly fit in until they ultimately fade away (figuratively and literally, respectively). Indeed, the film’s overarching framework of women as creative, ambitious, self-directing and -constructing, cannot explain the beauty, dignity, meaning, and fruitfulness of both Meg and Beth’s lives apart from choice, precisely because their lives are very hidden, normal, and for all intents and purposes, without fiery ambition. Indeed, choice is the only way to understand Meg’s character in this framework (and which Emma Watson attested to in various interviews): Meg has chosen to be a wife, and this choice gives her life’s path purpose, meaning, and reconciles it with Gerwig’s feminism. Being a wife and mother in and of itself is not what gives her life dignity and purpose—rather it is her choice to do so that does. This problem also stands out in dramatic effect in Amy’s monologue (penned for this film) of marriage as an economic institution that depersonalizes women, as well as Jo’s similar understanding of marriage. Granted, marriage is an economic institution and this aspect of it was particularly felt in this time—but it is not solely an economic institution. It is a good in and of itself, formative for the person, and, above all, the form of love itself. In promoting the almighty reign of choice, the reality of love is undermined, and, ultimately, the true dynamism and variety of femininity is undermined.

But if domestic life is worthy of art and importance, as the characters reflect on at the end of the film, it isn’t because it is something merely chosen by women. We can make poor choices after all. It is rather because there is something inherently important and meaningful about domestic life itself. But if Gerwig were to admit this, it would undermine her framework of feminine agency, freedom, and choice, equality, and thereby, the whole theme of her film. We see this in the meta ending, which, despite the popular interpretation of the novel, is not ambiguous: in Gerwig’s retelling, Jo does not marry Bhaer. Why? Because she is told that she loves him; Gerwig’s Jo would never let anyone tell her how she feels and then stake her life on that (it is interesting to note that, in the book, Jo comes to realize, on her own, that she loves Bhaer, and her family gives her the space to discover this).

And while we are on the subject, I will add one final thing that the film gets wrong: Professor Bhaer. Sure, Louisa May Alcott may have written this character with tongue in cheek to stick it to her publisher for marrying Jo off at the end of the story—i.e., instead of a young, handsome man, Jo falls for an older immigrant, who is bear-like, awkward, yet sweetly endearing—but he is still a good and important character for Jo’s arc as both a woman and a writer. In casting (the strikingly beautiful, might I say) Louis Garrell as Professor Bhaer, Gerwig plays into the cliché ending that Alcott intentionally avoided. Gerwig’s point is clear, but made without the nuance and depth that Alcott gave both the character and the ending.

Whatever the case of Alcott’s original intention, the fact is, Jo becomes a true artist when she allows herself to be affected by others: i.e., when she allows Beth’s nature to temper hers, allows herself to be guided by the wisdom of her father, and allows herself to be moved by the wisdom and love of Professor Bhaer. This isn’t to say that she isn’t creative or independent; it is to say that creativity is always the fruit of relationship. Creativity does not come out of nothing; much like virtue and fruit, it is pruned out of us, sometimes painfully, by another and by life itself. This is what Gerwig’s tale misses, and this is ultimately why it is a deeply dissatisfying adaption.

#little woman 2019 #little women #greta gerwig #little women movie #saorsie ronan #timothée chamalet #florence pugh #emma watson

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izvorposts · 5 years ago

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Random Thoughts SnK 126

Humongous spoilers ahead if you haven’t read chapter 126 yet.

Hello, everyone and welcome to my stream of confusing and often unrelated thoughts.

I loved this chapter, it was a great ride and it was quite emotional for me, to the point I not only teared up, but legit cried a few times. Keep in mind that I also cried to a toilet paper commercial featuring golden retriever puppies playing with the said toilet paper.

For me this chapter was all about sacrificing the personal for the greater good, but let’s start from the beginning.

The panel where Hange says they’d rather just live in the woods with Levi expresses a mere wish; Hange is aware that neither they nor Levi would or could do something like that because they couldn’t live with themselves. The interpretation that Hange started building the cart because they knew Levi wouldn’t accept staying in the woods, is in my opinion, wrong. We’ve seen Hange, we know Hange and they would never abandon their people, no matter how far they’re ready to go for Levi.

When Levi says “What’s left if we run and hide like this?” does not mean rejection. Levi doesn’t speak much, but when he does, he is very direct and clear, he doesn’t speak in ambiguous ways, and had he wanted to reject Hange’s suggestion, he’d have said it very clearly. He knows they can’t stay in the woods and Hange does, too.

The title of the chapter is “Pride” and I think it’s interesting Isayama-san chose that word. Levi admits he fucked up with Zeke; he doesn’t try to pretend he’s feeling better than he is; he’s physically and emotionally hurt, but he doesn’t feel the need to pretend in front of Hange; he lets them see him just as he is - weak. That’s where we see how deeply honest their relationship is - I’m weak AF and I let you see me like that. Even when Hange advises him not to get up, he listens.

Hange, on the other hand, talks to him and confesses something to him while he’s unconscious (well, at least they think he is), yet when they realize he wasn’t, they don’t try to joke about it or pretend they didn’t say it, they blush and leave it at that.

Both let go of their pride and any pretense in front of one another, and their panels in the woods are etched with so much honesty, warmth and love it’s almost unreal. They know each other too well, which we can see in the few thoughts they exchange, yet they say more than they could ever say with words.

The chapter then moves to the two of them meeting Pieck (whose last name I can’t get over) and Magath (whose last name I’m not sure how to pronounce) and I completely agree with momtaku that Levi states that his objective is killing Zeke partially because of the audience. What will happen once they realize that Zeke isn’t the issue anymore, we’ll see.

Fast forward to Connie, who is already breaking in the woods just thinking about his intentions. His determination is faltering and he knows it’s a wrong thing to do. He realizes that Falco is an honest and pure kid, and as one of the last resorts where he seeks support is when he calls Sasha’s name wondering whether she’d understand him.

They do get to Ragako, Connie unveils his ever-smiling mother, his determination seemingly back, but as soon as he sees Armin and Gabi, he tells them to not say anything. Why? Because he knows what he’s doing is wrong and that his decision will easily be overturned by just a few words by Armin.

I love Armin with all my heart, I think he’s precious, but he is also manipulative as fuck and I think he counted on Connie saving him. He risked it, yes, because Connie caught him mid-jump, but part of him counted on it. This isn’t the first time Armin plays to people’s good sides to get something. Another part of him probably wanted to die because of the guilt he feels for having lived instead of Erwin and if I’m right, he sacrifices his escape plan and stays alive for the greater good.

We see Connie do the same thing – he gives up a personal goal, replacing it with saving the world – he leaves his mom, teeth unbrushed and Falco-deprived and goes to eat pie and unite with the rest. Good job, Connie, I’m proud of you, and I’m sure your mom is, too.

By letting Armin, Gabi and Falco see him as a complete lunatic, Connie is also stripped of pride: “Someone righteous like you can’t understand an idiot” Connie says, painting the image of himself devoid of anything fake. He’s not trying to prove he’s doing the right thing, he’s fucking up and he knows it and shows it.

I have no idea what Mikasa intends to do with the scarf she procured from Louise (is she going to burn it, put it on Eren’s voodoo doll and strangle it, who knows?!), but we don’t see her put it back on. Also, she gives up her lifelong obsession of protecting Eren and joins the crew. Go, Mikasa! She’s such a badass. Some more development would be nice, though.

Now we get to Floch and I’m saddened by the fact that I’ll write more about him than I did about the rest, but Floch is important.

Floch is not entertainment. Floch is an instigator and a coward, he is manipulative in a very unrefined way and capable of making masses follow him, not because he is Eren’s self-proclaimed representative, but because he knows what he needs to feed the people with in order for them to follow and support the Yeagerists – blood and fear.

He’s the dude with the gun and shows everyone in chapter 125 what will happen to them not only if they disobey, but also if they say what they think. I believe the modern-day term for this is dictatorship. In this chapter he screams about Yelena and Onyankopon, why they are traitors and why they should be killed (executed publicly at that) and that is the decision he made. He takes the role of God by deciding who lives and who doesn’t and the worst part is, the masses surrounding him show full support.

Floch is the type of person who will establish themselves after everything is over and after they are certain they’re in no immediate or any other danger; then they will find followers, which isn’t too difficult in the state Paradis currently is in. I have actively hated him since he was introduced and I doubt that will change. Not to mention that his and Trump’s hair bear striking resemblance, and that doesn’t really help. Of course, that’s not the only similarity between him and Donald, in my opinion at least.

Floch saying “Dedicate your hearts” made me so sad, the wings of freedom on his uniform – it’s just wrong.

Also, I couldn’t help but notice how the faces of people surrounding him are distorted to the point they almost look inhumane. Or should I say mindless?

I don’t really care about Yelena, but both she and Onyankopon are introduced by Floch as “volunteers who bear a grudge against the Eldian empire” and whose soon-to-happen execution is met with a unanimous support from the spectators. Floch keeps saying how they are finally free, the masses cheer, as if not realizing that this form of governing a country is the exact opposite – yes, free, maybe, from the hatred by the rest of the world, but this is so far from freedom it’s not even funny. Floch is not entertaining, he’s an epitome of danger.

I’m not crazy about the notion of pride, I prefer dignity, as pride in itself holds something that makes a person or a group of people better than the rest, or it plays too much to our ego, and when we see the masses exclaiming how they’re the subjects of Ymir and how they’re the only ones who’ll be left, that to me was pride in its worst notion possible.

Jean killed me when he shot and said “I missed…”. I’m not too happy the bullets didn’t find their way to Floch’s head or vital organs, but Jean not only gives up (for the second time) the possibility of living a cozy life, ergo, sacrifices a personal goal, but chooses the just option. When he mentioned the bones turned to ashes it gave me goosebumps.

I’m not sure where Annie was headed with Hitch in 125, but if she was headed to meet her dad and then gave up on it when she met Armin (Go, Aruani!) and the rest, she, too, gave up a personal goal. Also, the message she leaves to Hitch (“Sorry for being a nuisance”; “Thank you for talking to me for four years”, “From your malicious roommate”) contains something personal and warm. I do hope we get to see more of Hitch.

I’m happy they united and showed that their differences are not surmountable, but non-existent – there are no Paradis Devils and Marleyans, there are those who want to save the world and those who want it to be destroyed (I’m not talking about Eren here per se; yes, he seems uber genocidal, but maybe we’ll get his POV one of these days and see what’s on the bottom).

We saw that all of them were presented with two choices. On one side there was:

- Living in the woods and staying safe

- Saving one’s parent

- Committing suicide as a form of escape from being unable to replace Erwin

- Going after Eren and protecting him

- Living a comfortable life

- Going to see the closest thing to a parent one has

And on the other side was saving the world. And they decided to do that.

I’m a little bit in love with all of them.

#104th squad #snk #snk spoilers 126 #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #hange zoë #connie springer #armin arlert #floch forster #annie leonhardt #jean kirschtien #falco grice #mikasa ackerman

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