#it could have been so eerie and powerful and important to further plots

[capsiclesteebrogers]

this is coming really late and maybe people have already pointed it out but i still need to say it. i am rewatching thor (2011) and when laufey insult odin and calls him "a thief" the next shot is of loki and i can't help but think it was intentional. and we also have the scene where loki confronts odin and asks him if he took something (someone) else besides the casket further implying that odin may have not just stumbled across loki and "adopted" him. i wish the movies continued with their more serious tone and the plot of loki being a jotun was explored in detail and we'd know for sure if odin actually stole him from jotunheim.

[cybernaght]

Guardian rewatch: episode 4

While patrolling at night in civvies, Shen Wei gets caught by Zhao Yunlan and his merry band of misfits. You’d think that he would maybe quickly morph into his black-cloaked persona, because we know that the can just transform into Hei Pao Shi, magical girl style. Instead of summoning that disguise however, he dons his glasses (a very different kind of mask, but a mask nonetheless), and turns around, bracing himself for what’s to come. 

This is going to be fun. 

(Spoilers for the future episodes)

Let’s look at the situation from Zhao Yunlan’s perspective. What does he really know about Shen Wei? The man is polite, but strangely intense. He is undeniably intelligent, both learned and perceptive, but he is also way too knowledgable on the topic of alien-mutant-demihuman/supernatural for a civilian. He also, as far as Zhao Yunlan knows, walked away unscathed from at least three fights, two of which should have definitely been lethal. He could fall off the roof, and not even look disheveled afterwards. After being connected with two cases, he has now been lurking at a different crime scene entirely. And with all that, Shen Wei is also courageous, kind, compassionate, and understanding. He pushes back when Yunlan gets into his space. I don’t think there is a single moment, not even in this, very soft, episode, when Zhao Yunlan does not know that there is more to Shen Wei than meets the eye. He just doesn’t want professor Shen to be the big bad, and thinking he might be one is making chief Zhao worried and confused. 

Back at the SID interrogation room, Shen Wei is preparing to evade enough so that he does not have to lie too much. Thankfully, he is good at this sort of thing.

Part 1. Zhu Hong.

Zhu Hong is the first to interrogate Shen Wei, and her approach is by the book. She is impassive, but not unfriendly. She asks reasonable questions, such as “why were you so far away from your place of work and your abode in the middle of a night?” and “aren’t you a little bit too composed in face of death and spooky things for a professor?” Those are technically right things to ask. It’s exactly what should he asked in this scenario. Shen Wei, being much more of a sly bastard than he was letting on, turns it around completely and instead of answering anything plainly, talks about the Snake Tribe, implying that Zhu Hong must be a disappointment to her people. 

Zhu Hong storms off. Instead of being concerned, this time Zhao Yunlan is... endeared at the power move of cosmic proportions. It’s almost like he enjoys this man’s ability to use people’s weaknesses against them.

Part 2: Chu Shuzhi

Lao Chu approached the problem of Shen Wei by trying to scare him: he brings in his brother/puppet, and pretty much ignores the man. For Shen Wei this is an easy one, which is extremely unfair. He knows Chu Shuzhi and his past, which means does not need to find an opening; he just pounces right away, commenting on how Chu’s puppet seems alive, even trying to grab at it. His willingness to exploit his knowledge of his colleague’s dark past is kind of eerie.

“You confidence and composure remind me of someone I know”, comments Chu Shuzhi. And now, now Shen Wei purses his lips. He thinks, as do the viewers, that he must be speaking of Hei Pao Shi. But then Chu Shuzhi states that that other man is much more worthy than Shen Wei, we are to understand that he is talking is about Zhao Yunlan. Shen Wei stares at the chief through the mirrored glass, noting that whoever that person is, they must be truly righteous. 

Lao Chu very rarely speaks highly of his chief, so it’s nice to see some of that admiration here. If you squint, his comment could even be read as protective: he is neither deaf, nor stupid, and Zhao Yunlan must talk about Shen Wei a lot. 

Part 3: Zhao Yunlan

Zhao Yunlan does not try to intimidate, pressure, or follow any reasonable protocol. Instead, he just asks Shen Wei to be honest with him, and say whether there is a connection between him and the cases. Shen Wei startles at this, his eyes going big and vulnerable, and does, in fact, tell him the truth. Well. Sort of the truth. It’s closer to the truth than it is to a lie. It’s complicated. 

It’s hard to say for sure whether this perfect kicked puppy expression is an act. I, for one, choose to believe that he just sometimes cannot control his face when he’s in the vicinity of the man who will become his Kunlun. 

Zhao Yunlan counts his eyelashes, and lets him go. Just like that. No surveillance, no further questions. Shen Wei is just free to leave. 

The following day marks Guo Changcheng and Chu Shizhu being on the case together for the first time. 

It’s not remarkable, apart from being the first very tiny step from the least likely working duo to the most important people in each other’s lives. They would not get along for a while, however. It will take time for Guo Changcheng to find resilience through his weaknesses, and for Chu Shizhu to start admiring this young man’s ability to throw himself into danger he cannot possible handle. 

As this happens, we get to meet a righteous youth which is Lin Yusen. He lost the girl he likes to the face snatcher, and is prepared to do a lot of stupid things to avenge her. He’s noble, brave, extremely reckless, and a bit of an idiot, all of which are characteristics which should actually make him very suitable for the SID. I believe Zhao Yunlan when he agrees to take the boy on board after graduation. It’s a shame that he needed to die to create a plot device. 

Zhao Yunlan and Lin Yusen run into Shen Wei. Or rather, Shen Wei plants himself right next to SID, in order to calmly ask to tag along. He does not actually have a good reason to do so, I don’t think. It makes more sense to get involved as Hei Pao Shi than as Shen Wei, especially if he wants to keep pretending that he is a normal human. 

What Zhao Yunlan should so is keep the man he arrested the night before very far away from the case. What Zhao Yunlan does do is express vague concern for Shen Wei’s well-being, and then agree for him to join in, because, apparently, when Shen Wei is determined, there is no way to refuse him. Yunlan’s got it really really bad for this man, and it shows. He is rewarded with one of Shen Wei’s little secret smiles. 

Okay, now, can we talk about how they are literally touching as they walk by each other? 

I thought maybe this was a forced perspective thing, but no, they walk perfectly side by side, and so close their arms are rubbing together as they do so. It’s been a very long time since I have walked with anyone closely side by side (2021 feels), but I’m pretty certain you can’t achieve this accidentally. 

They find the victim who is not the victim, and Shen Wei is jumped by the perpetrator who is not the victim’s boyfriend, getting scratched hard enough to draw blood. Unfortunately, by the time Zhao Yunlan shows up, his skin has already repaired itself, leaving Shen Wei to pretend like the blood, crusting over what clearly used to be scratches, is not his. 

You’d think that while spending several decades pretending to be human you would learn to not accidentally heal yourself. 

The perfect “what the hell are you?” face. 

Instead of addressing it, Zhao Yunlan moves to shout his head off at Lin Yusen for getting involved, even though he was not the one who got attacked. I love the double standards at play. Shen Wei, in his mild, compassionate way, references the youth of his own name, reminding him to rely on other people for strength. I am sure this is a literary reference, incomprehensible to a foreign viewer; it sounds insightful and beautiful. 

As with many things, Shen Wei will learn a wrong lesson from this in the end, hyper focusing on his name, rather than remembering that going at it alone can get you killed. Shen Wei’s special power is learning, apart from when he is learning the wrong thing.*

As the two men proceed to interrogate the woman, and Zhao Yunlan figures out that the victim is not the victim via the misogyny: he does not think that a young woman could fend off an attack, or that she would be comfortable strolling around the day after. He makes his conclusions in front of slender Shen Wei, who has been attacked by things and people seemingly stronger than him and shook them off with ease. 

The thing is, Zhao Yunlan is not an idiot, he remembers that Shen Wei should have died on him at least twice, and is staring intently at where blood should definitely be soaking Shen Wei’s jumper. He is not really letting him off the hook for this. But he must see as plainly as we do that they work well together, and he makes a clear, deliberate decision to trust the man either way. He proceeds to discuss the case with Shen Wei, who also concludes that the victim is not the victim.

It’s lovely to see SID squad in action, staking out the perpetrators. Zhu Hong is set up as bait, with Da Qing and Chu Shuzhi having her back, and Lin Jing being their eye in the sky. There is a strange anti-yashou thing happening with the team however, which I find quite hard to understand. Lin Jing is giggling at her applying makeup, Da Qing saying that he is excited to see her pretending to be a lady. Come on now, guys, I know she is probably eating raw meet in her spare time, but she is also a beautiful, elegant young woman. I mean, look at her! 

While the team is staking out the Undergrounder perpetrator, their boss is having a lovely evening stroll through the park with Shen Wei, talking about merits of intimate friendship. We can assume that they spent the rest of the day together.

“Does Wei in your name have a deeper meaning?”

“It does. Someone very important gave me that name.”

I assume Zhao Yunlan hears the same thing in this as every sane person would: “my parents gave this name to me when I was born”, as opposed to “the love of my life who looks like you, sounds like you, acts like you, and has a thing for candy, gave me this name ten thousand years ago”. So, Yunlan starts talking about his family, makes a comment that his mom would have loved Shen Wei. The conversation is quiet and honest. There is some flirting, naturally, but there is no digging and no games; just the two men getting to know each other. 

Zhu Jiu ruins their stroll, and at the same time the face stealer and her boyfriend, Jia Hui, walk around the surveillance, capturing Zhu Hong. The team then does not call their Chief, presumably because they don’t want to disrupt his date. 

Shen Wei’s solution to throwing Zhao Yunlan off his scent is pretending to be hurt once more: this time drawing blood by prickling his finger on one of Lin Yusen’s trap. While it will not work in the long run, Shen Wei breathes a sigh of relief at Yunlan’s overreaction, and agrees to go to A&E with him to get a tetanus shot, as if it’s a thing people do every time they have a minor cut. 

We then meet Wang Xianyang pre-evil, and his pregnant wife pre-dead. Good times.

Guardian’s insistence on making Zhu Hong a damsel in distress is slightly grating. She should not need help to be rescued: she is not a human, and she shown to have a number of powers in this very episode. I almost wish her reliance one Zhao Yunlan could be read as an excuse to be close: I would prefer that to her being side-lined because she happens to be a woman.

If those recaps continue, I will start focusing more on fight sequences when they happen, because one of my jobs is in stage violence. This episode, we only get one fight, however, and it’s only four moves long. It’s more of a capture, really: Chu Shuzhi blocks a left hook and puts Jia Hui’s arm in a lock, then does the same thing on the other side. We are to understand that Jia Hui never stood a chance here. This lock would have looked better and more vicious if the elbow was more bent, putting the hand higher on the back. Also, continuity, what continuity? 

Shen Wei, who probably teleported out of the A&E, goes back to patrol the streets against Zhu Jiu, still in civvies, because being caught once was not enough for him. After a brief stand-off, he fails to capture the baby goth villain, who taunts Shen Wei with his only visible weakness: Zhao Yunlan.

Being distracted thus, Hei Pao Shi does not arrive in time to save Lin Yunsen, who runs in to save the SID team from the face stealer about to take them all out. On top of that, Hei Pao Shi also informs Zhao Yunlan that he’s taking the young man’s body away with the perpetrators, citing the peace treaty violation on his part. Needless to say, Yunlan is actually incredibly angry and upset at this turn of events, even though he probably could have summoned Hei Pao Shi if he wanted to; and must know that the Envoy is just doing his literal job. As he is storming off, Shen Wei stares at his back with naked longing. 

Zhao Yunlan does not know that Shen Wei took Lin Yunsen away to spare his feelings as the young man was forcefully turned into a mixed-energy bomb. This episode is when we discover that being mixing dark and light energies together leads to adverse effects for the carrier, resulting in a spectacular explosion. Shen Wei will use this knowledge in the future in ways I don’t care to remind myself of. That said, I do like is well-structured narratives, with a decent amount of foreshadowing, and elements are set-up in good time, so it’s satisfying - in an abstract, detached, sort of way -  to see that that particular plot device is already present in the story. 

At the end, we are treated to another sneak preview of the past: this time with the naming scene. Shen Wei vouches to keep his promise he once gave Kunlun to bravely march onwards, despite everything, and chooses to step aside. For now. 

(By which I mean while he will temporarily stop inviting himself along to solve cases with Zhao Yunlan, he will still get an apartment across the hall from the other man to better stalk him.)

I would also like to note with a hint of sadness that the first onslaught of dubbing glitches happens this episode. I thought those would not start until later in the show. 

Next up, Episode 5: The Butler Did Not Do It

*I don’t actually remember if his special power being learning is something explicitly stated in the show canon, or if I have just absorbed this through fandom osmosis. 

[fallenrepublick]

Homebound

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Surprise! It's part two! Now this is mostly plot, but it's important plot.

Warnings: A Child, Pain Flare Ups, Death Mentions

Word Count: 3,318

You know better than anyone that Thrass wants to respond.

How long has it been? As much time as Themis has lived, you remember. Thrawn... isn't aware that Thrass survived. All he knows, as of now, is this stranger, flying his brother's ship. In a territory that apparently, he holds jurisdiction over.

But even then, your instincts fight against the idea. The large silver ship looming overhead, blocking out the stars that should have been beyond the horizon, was reminiscent of the Republic Dreadnoughts you were used to, though looking far more damning in presence, practically a blinking sign that familial trust only goes so far. Thrass hesitates, searching your face for an answer you don't have. A slight shake of your head, and he resigns to silence.

"Respond."

One more glance back to you, and he turns to the console, taking the controls in his hands, giving no response to Themis's confusion.

"Father, what are you doing?" she asks, holding the back of the pilot's seat. "That's uncle! We have to go see him right? You promised we'd go see him…"

“I know, little one, and we will, but…” he watches out the windows, the stillness of it all eerie, calm nothingness the warning that comes before the worst of it all. “Things have changed.”

Ships like you’ve never seen deploy from below the vessel, wide hexagons framing opposite sides of windowed spheres, swarming towards you in preparation to destroy.

Something in Thrass changes. A sharp focus takes hold of his eyes, barely acknowledging when you slide into the seat beside him, his hands working at the controls, attention flipping from the buttons and the throttle to the outside.

“Hold on.” The ship curves down, evading the attackers from the front, sharp turns twisting you through the space in front of you, defensive weaves between the squadrons throwing them off just enough to prevent shots from hitting their target, though often only barely.

The distance closes between your ship and the dreadnought, which begins firing as well, precision not its forte, but power enough to cause concern.

‘What are you doing?!” you demand, your husband’s gaze straight, a clear intention on approaching the ship holding his brother in his eyes. “You’re going to get us killed-”

“I’ve crashed one ship before, I’m not about to do it again.” He says it with a hiss of seriousness, his concentration breaking just enough for him to glance over, a silent plea to trust him, if only this once. “On my mark, make the jump.”

You shake your head quickly. “You can’t just do that! If the trajectory isn’t scanned right and we run into another one of these ships-”

“We won’t,” he insists, making another quick turn, his words now coming out faster than the blaster shots fired at you. “Look at that. He’s not trying to kill us, he’s trying to corral us into the docking bay after taking out our engines. I’ve seen him do it before-” A quick jerk sends the ship rolling to the left. He opens his mouth, about to shout, “Now!” But… he stops.

A different set of ships, longer, pointed noses and two sets of wings crossing the body. Leading the squadron was a flatter, larger ship, shaped more like a kite than anything, already beginning its onslaught against your enemies.

“This is Captain Hera Syndulla of the Ghost. State your designation, over,” comes a new voice over the comms. Not pretentious, like the last woman’s, nor demanding beneath a guise of professional curiosity like Thrawn’s. Instead, it’s urgency, a need to know before she can proceed. You feel… safe. And despite Thrass’s unwillingness to answer, you do so without hesitation.

“This is the Justice,” you respond, ignoring your husband’s frown.

“How many are on board with you?”

“There are three of us.”

“We’ll clear an opening for you. Once you find it, jump to these coordinates, and we’ll meet you there.”

The numbers come through in an instant. The same numbers you were using before.

Watching the battle before you, Thrass huffs. “I don’t trust it.”

Though you place your hand on his gently, a reminder of your presence that he doesn’t need, yet wants regardless, you still say, “You don’t trust anyone.”

“Just a little longer, okay?” you continue softly, turning around to see the state Themis has found herself in. Her little hands stuffed under her legs, she’s scrunched down, seemingly in preparation for more attacks.

“Then we’re landing?” she asks hopefully. “I want to get off…”

“We will, baby, we will…” Thrass soothes, repeating the coordinates once more, preparing the jump, smoother, less tension in his shoulders.

The opening appears, and with hesitation at his fingertips, he pushes forward, blind trust in you guiding his actions forward, and in a moment, the speckled lights around the ship stretch into lines of white, replacing the shadows that had overcast the ship’s interior. And in the sudden brightness, you’re made frighteningly aware of just how pale Thrass had gotten.

“Thrass…” you say, making every possible attempt to keep your voice low and soothing. His hands retract gingerly from the console, head leaning back slowly. “Are you alright? If it’s happening again...”

“No.” It’s short, a determined answer with a brittle sound that holds the truth more than the word. A sharp inhale, his chest shakes. “I’m fine.” A jerk of his head down. “I’m fine.”

With the ship moving automatically, you turn to him fully, taking his face in your hands. His eyes don’t open, teeth clenched as if to lock away even the slightest acceptance that he isn’t fine. That he hasn’t been for a long time.

Another gasp, and his eyes screw tighter, fluttering between barely open and sealed closed, hands raising past yours, pressed over his ears. There’s little you can do but watch as a small cry escapes his lips, your hands still following as he folds almost completely.

A ringing, a high, screaming ring, in his ears, in his mind, pulsing against the beat of his heart. There’s no blocking it out.

His head pounds, he refuses to look forward. If he did, he knows it all would spin.

Can’t see, can’t hear. It’s almost like he’s-

No, no that was over.

That was done.

It was so long ago.

He knows that.

And… And he can feel.

He can feel… It’s you. Your hand… still holding his face, like you always did…

He says your name. Over, and over again. But he doesn’t know if he really did. It could’ve just been a scramble of sounds for all he knows. Your thumbs rub, ever so slightly. You’re there. You hear him. It isn’t his imagination.

He continues. “It hurts,” he thinks he says, chest heaving with each syllable. His hands slide down from his ears, finding you. His fingers curl between yours, clinging to you with every bit of life he still has. “It hurts…”

“I know,” you tell him, barely a sigh. Yet he finds it in himself to look at you. Your voice. He can hear your voice. “I know.”

Weakly, he swallows, still only barely able to keep himself upright, fearing that the slightest harsh movement would send him tumbling down further than he was. Something told him that, despite it all, you’d catch him.

“I…” he begins shaking out, the mere thought of putting together a cohesive sentence returning a dull ache to settle in his brow. Still holding to your hand, albeit softer now, he leads it to his lips, kisses he lays on the palm fearful, apologetic, and grateful all at once. Your ability to hold back your tears wavers. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s... not safe. If it gets worse… If I forget where I am…”

“It’s not like that. You’re never going to hurt us, you hear me? You’re still you.”

“What proof do you have of that? How can you know something won’t change?”

“Because every time it’s happened, you’ve only ever asked for me.” You lean closer, seeking his eyes, a request that he has no option but to oblige. Tilted, yes, and nearly overflowing with repressed tears, but there nonetheless. “I’m not afraid of you… I never have been, my guardian angel. I never will be.”

And you coax him to rest, Themis’s sleepy silence a noise you welcome, one you wish Thrass would follow. Shaking head and insistances that he must stay awake for your arrival to your destination, you have none of it.

“You need your strength,” you reason, “I’ll stay up just in case, alright?” As much as he hates it… you’re right. Lingering dizziness isn’t ideal for travel, and even less ideal if you encounter any hostiles. And yet… he can’t help his guilt.

Still, it feels like only a moment later that he feels the sudden boom that accompanies the exit from hyperspace. Shaken from oddly restful sleep, he gazes on towards the approaching planet, natural muted greens and blues such a change from Csilla. He blinks away the thoughts of Thrawn that enter his mind again.

Bursts of sound echo behind The Justice, the ship that had contacted yours now appearing to your side, silently guiding you down to the planet’s surface, and with it, their base.

“You’re absolutely sure of this…” he whispers, trying not to wake Themis. It’s more of a reassurance to himself than a question, still progressing downwards, the hush the ship gives as it lands almost a signal to his own worries that as of now, they are unfounded. Can he afford not to be worried, he wonders. There’s no answer to give.

The ramp lowers, and you’re the first to stand. It takes a deep breath… or two. What are you to expect? Who will greet you? Thrass, on the other hand, takes a moment to rise, still unsure, still fearful, for you, for Themis. How could things already be so wrong? What else… does he not know?

There’s no reaction to your exit. Confusion, perhaps, at the stranger who followed the people’s captain from the depths of space, dressed strangely and looking awfully disoriented at the sight of so many gathered in one place. People in palettes of natural colours surround the ship’s entrance, many human, others not, watching every move you make, though without hostility.

Not yet.

But there’s a change. A sudden switch that seems to flip in nearly all of them, battle stances taken, blasters drawn. Turning, the connection you make confirmed, no matter how much you wish it hadn’t been.

Thrass had followed you out, arms crossed over his chest, feigning a pride you know doesn’t exist, expression tight in the same way he held it upon entering a risky debate. Your hands raise, one passing in front of him, slight direction for him to move behind you.

“We aren’t… who you think we are,” you say slowly, their fears a clear message of how much Thrawn had done to them.

“Stand down!” calls an order from behind the crowd. Weaving between these makeshift soldiers, a green Twi’lek woman appears, her flight suit indication enough of her identity. “They’re safe.” A young man follows behind her, dark hair and a scar on the side of his face. His countenance holds suspicion, yet he remains silent.

“Welcome,” Hera says professionally, hiding well enough the courage it takes her to look Thrass in the eyes. “I’m sorry, their past experiences have raised caution, but they mean nothing by it. The three of you are safe here, as long as you need.” Her eyes cross between you and Thrass, clear confusion about the number of newcomers.

“The third is still inside,” you say with understanding. “She’s… still young, so the trip was tiring.”

“There are still a few empty barracks,” she offers, pointing with her thumb behind her. “If you want to let her sleep better, you can bring her inside. But… there are a few questions I have for you.”

Nodding, you give Thrass a touch on his forearm before retreating to fetch Themis, who rubs her eyes groggily as she’s picked up. Thrass steps behind Hera, keeping enough distance between them that whether he’s following at all is debatable, feeling the cold eyes of her allies on his back, certain that most, if not all, would be rid of him in a heartbeat if given the chance. And she leads in silence. The answers she seeks, she’s decided, would be best told in front of the others, despite the displeased presence of the quiet young man, his expression becoming more contorted the longer he watches Thrass.

“So…” she says, reaching a circular holotable below an overhang further in the base. Standing around the edge, a small group still discusses future battle plans, anticipation hanging tense in the air, while a young woman with short hair grimaces at a star map. And just like that, all attention raises to the new arrivals, voices halting instantly as if shut off with the press of a button. The young mandalorian simply stares, the boy moving around her to find his own place at the table. Most others watch in much the same manner. An older man with red hair and tired brown eyes flinches.

“You must be pretty important for Thrawn to be so interested in you,” Hera coaxes, avoiding an assumption that Thrass senses she’s already made. “Care to tell us why he was so intent on catching you?” Her arms cross, an eyebrow raising, reminiscent of a mother coaxing a confession from her child, odd for someone so young. Although, he had been quite similar once.

“I am in possession of his brother’s ship,” Thrass answers, unsure if his attempt at dodging reality was more for his sake or theirs. There’s a flash of emotion in the woman’s eyes at the word “brother,” though gone long before others take notice. “Likely, he wanted to know why.”

“Care to enlighten us?” Expectant, not a person amongst them dares to move, preparing for the words they fear, seemingly most of all.

Blankly, Thrass’s eyes take a scan of the group, making note of the multiple individuals avoiding his gaze, and the remaining few that held it far too tightly for his liking. “As far as Thrawn is aware, his brother was killed years ago. To see his ship once more, in this system no less, is either suspicious or indicative of foul-play. Possibly both.”

Hera falls silent, studying his expression, or lack thereof, falling onto the scar running from his jaw up his cheek, as if seeing how deep it had once been. She sighs, looking down in contemplation, debating whether the next sentence is wise to say, and lifts her head once more in confidence that she had been right the moment he got there.

“So he still doesn’t know you’re alive.” The moment drops, there’s rustling amongst the others, the Mandalorian bows only slightly in case he becomes a threat. And yet his dark red eyes don’t leave Hera.

“So you’re an imperial spy, that’s it?” The boy speaks up, accusatory maybe, but even with his hand resting on the hilt of the weapon at his side, his volume remains even. “Or something worse?”

“Ezra-”

“No, how can we trust him? Thrawn’s done things like this before, there’s no reason to believe that this isn’t just another trick to get information.” He leans over the table as he speaks, his urgency pulling him forward, ensuring that everyone around him hears his reasoning, knows his stance. Thrass finds himself listening with interest, curious at the way the boy commands the room. It’s familiar, in some strange way. “They’re related, that’s bad enough as it is.”

“No one can decide that kind of thing, Ezra,” Hera reminds him, the care in her voice wholly unmasked. “You know we couldn’t turn them away.”

“Thrawn’s hurt so many people…” Pain. That’s what this is.

“But they aren’t the same person.” Her mind recalls the image of you, protecting him, standing between fearful rebels and this man you call your family. Yes, she thinks, this is different. “They needed help, and we have it to offer. Isn’t that what this is about?”

“You say…” Thrass begins, frowning, “That he’s hurt many. My brother… doesn’t kill without due reason. Under what circumstances could this have happened?”

Ezra scoffs. “Due reason? He killed a factory worker out of suspicion. He’s tried to get rid of me multiple times.” A hatred arises in his voice, laced with a mourning that had yet to find its peace. “We… We lost someone important to us… because of him.”

“If that’s truly the case…” Thrass begins, resigned to a truth he had little choice but to trust. “Then I will repay your aid in full through this. I had always known he would do what is necessary... but this has gone too far. I know best of all how my brother’s mind works, and with that, I will help you be rid of him, if you’ll allow it.”

Turning to him, more assured, trust in her forwardness, Hera’s eyes soften yet further, a small smile on her lips. “Thank you.” And when she receives his nod of acknowledgment, she returns to address the group, the commander in her taking hold of her words. “Then that’ll settle it. Meet here in the morning for a briefing, we move out at midday.”

The crowd disperses, some moving faster than others, returning to tasks or the barracks. Though one catches Thrass’s eye. Jumping atop crates and climbing over rock formations, Ezra finds his way to higher ground, sitting far above the crowded base, watching over the horizon where stars have already begun to peak above hilltops. He doesn’t turn, and yet Thrass pauses his ascent at the boy’s words.

“I never caught your name.”

It wasn’t a demand to leave, Thrass realises, and continues up to where Ezra sits, seeing that he had made a space for him.

“Thrass,” he answers simply, not wanting to go through the trouble yet again of hearing it mispronounced. The silence that follows yet again sends a wave of anxiety through him, yet he can’t quite place why.

That name… It sounds so much like Thrawn, Ezra considers. Yet it isn’t. He smiles, thinking about how right Hera always is. Not that he’d ever say it.

“So… your kid. She’s force sensitive?” Ezra asks, changing the subject as fast as he can manage.

Thrass nods, solemn, an admittance of fear. “We left my planet for her sake,” he explains, omitting information. The other reasons stay with him. “My people would have found out, pressed her into military service, even as a child. We would never have been able to bear it.” The darkness closes in, yet the cloudless sky illuminates the night well enough that no light besides the moon and stars above is necessary.

“I’m not sure that’s much better than here,” Ezra says, frowning, angling his head towards Thrass. “The Imperial Inquisitors are made to hunt force sensitives, she won’t be any more safe now than she was before…”

In a way, it’s as if Thrass knew it already, as if his brother’s mere presence with the Empire told him that the unfortunate events were only just beginning. There’s an odd calm in his heart, even still. “Had the Empire ever chosen to come to my planet, they would have found her anyways. I had, and still have a chance to protect her, as long as I’m here.”

“I can… teach her, if you want,” Ezra offers, immediately wondering if he's too bold in his abilities. “I mean, just a little, so that she can control it enough."

Thrass can't help but laugh, small and glad, his assumption about the weapon at Ezra's side all but confirmed. "Then… she might learn to protect herself, if no one else can."

Below, the base has quieted, the only sounds remaining from engineers on late shifts and the watch crew, pacing the borders in search of an intruder. Thrass watches the movement, the lives of these people. Long ago, many of their families might have been aboard that ship. Had things been different, they might have been as well. Now, though, they worked here fighting, risking their lives for something that no longer exists, that lives only in their small collective memory. How poetic.

But Ezra… he turns to look at Thrass fully. And as good gaze follows the edges of his face, he's suddenly reminded of a lesson he once had, silently chastising himself for forgetting it so often, for looking, not seeing.

They were the same species, yes, but the difference ended there. The small bump on his nose before it curves up, the way his eyes downturn ever so slightly, his smooth voice small and burdened, as if speaking took effort, the way it takes from an injured arm that will never move the same again. His family, his willingness to help, to rectify a wrong he had no hand in creating. And Ezra recalls Thrawn, his nose pointed down in nearly a straight line, his narrow, even eyes, and the cool, confident voice of a man who was used to getting what he wants. His animosity, the way he held the kalikori in front of Hera’s face like he was baiting an animal to dare moving forward.

"I'm sorry…" he says finally, voice small, uncertain. Thrass's head turns. "I… I jumped to conclusions. I thought… I thought you two were similar."

"Yeah…" Thrass says, returning his eyes to the sky. He's too far. He can't see Csilla from here. "So did I."

[pastthevaulteddoors]

It’s not Wednesday... but I don’t care. Here’s a little bit of If-WWX-was-raised-by-the-Wens story.

“I still find it hard to believe that you stood up to your father like that.”

The Unclean Realm had nothing on Lotus Pier’s scenery or Cloud Recesses’ serenity, but it definitely gave Wei Wuxian a sense of security with its sturdy walls and many guards posted along the parapets. Although he felt that if he started flashing his unorthodox talismans those many blades would turn inwards on him.

Jin Zixuan shook his head, shame clear on his face. “It was the only decision I could make,” he began. “I couldn’t sit back and watch Qishan Wen tear apart our livelihood.”

Nie Mingjue sat at the head of the hall, his blade safely kept to his side. Wei Wuxian noticed how Meng Yao moved from his usual right hand post to stand at Sect Leader Nie’s left, closer to where his brother sat. Jiang Cheng’s fists were clenched tightly over his knees and Nie Huaisang looked among his friends with wide, worried eyes.

“Thus far, the Wens have been unable to establish their supervisory offices within Qinghe’s territory. We can spare a few troops to assist you in Langya,” Nie Mingjue stated.

“That would make a world of difference,” Jin Zixuan said. “Qin Changye is wavering on his jurisdiction and continues to cower under my father’s influence. Laoling Qin Sect might not stand for much longer, if they haven’t already fled to Carp Tower.”

Sect Leader Nie slammed his fist on top of his table, rage clear in his brown eyes. “Lanling Jin Sect is sitting, waiting to see who wins before they pick a side. Are they going to sit in their tower and watch the rest of us burn?!”

Jin Zixuan frowned. “Qin Changye’s daughter, Qin Su, was a helpful voice on pushing the sect to fight, but her cultivation is low and has already gone into hiding with her mother. Assuming they join in with Lanling Jin Sect, we might have a voice among the populace.”

“This is ridiculous!” Jiang Cheng scowled. “The Wens are slaughtering our people and raising them again for their corpse army. They’re not even sacrificing their people to devour our freedom, but using bodies as puppets and shields.”

Wei Wuxian looked down at his full tea cup. It was difficult to get him down, but he couldn’t escape his hand in this disaster. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he said eventually. “It was… they were supposed to overwhelm the sects into submission, not murder everyone.”

“You’re young and not a war strategist. It’s not at all surprising for you to be deceived by human nature’s darker side,” Meng Yao said diplomatically.

“What you can do now is use your skills to undo the mess your talents created,” Nie Mingjue followed up to Meng Yao’s comment, although he did not sound as soothing as his Vice Envoy.

“Don’t blame this all on him,” Jiang Cheng said. “Qishan Wen would have attacked regardless. Wen Qing warned us of a pending plot.”

Wei Wuxian had to admire Jiang Cheng’s bravery to talk back to Sect Leader Nie and not back down to the glower directed his way. He certainly didn’t get his balls for his dad!

“What’s done is done,” Jin Zixuan injected. “What we need to do now is figure out how to disable Wen Rouhan’s power.”

“The Unclean Realm is not out of hot water yet,” Wei Wuxian said. “Do you know about the Yin Irons?”

A flash of confusion crossed Nie Mingjue’s eyes. “No.”

“I’m not surprised,” Wei Wuxian went on. “Each major sect has housed a Yin Iron for several centuries and the information was forcefully buried to hide them. It provides a subtle pulse of protection and growth of cultivation, which is why the five have been able to remain firmly stable for as long as they have.”

Nei MingJue frowned at him but did not interrupt. Wei Wuxian stood then, and stretched with his new spotlight. “Do you really think your warriors are strong from blade cultivation alone? No, of course not!”

“Wei Wuxian, do not insult our practices!”

“Not insulting, but I’m coming around to a point!” Wei Wuxian began to pace. “The Yin Irons used to be one, and so Wen Rouhan has been gathering them to bend resentful energy of core-hosted corpses. They’re stronger than resentful corpses, if you haven’t noticed.”

He suddenly turned and held up a hand. “He already has two. His own from Qishan and,” he lowered his fingers as he counted them off. “The Yunmeng’s Iron is likely in his possession now. I had a moment of it’s control, but…” he lowered his counting hand and gave a short look to Jiang Cheng.

“Then where are the other?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“One is here, somewhere,” Wei Wuxian waved a hand wide. “And one is in Lanling, likely controlled by the Jin Sect. But with how close Sect Leader Wen and Sect Leader Jin are, I doubt I is a buried secret and being used as a negotiation tool.”

“I have not heard of any Yin Iron in Lanling,” Jin Zixuan stated.

“You weren’t supposed to. No one really was,” Wei Wuxian scratched his cheek with in index finger, looking to play this off as a poor joke. “I may have found it through my research, then confirmed such things at Cloud Recesses.”

Nei Mingjue didn’t look pleased. Who would with new information? “And what would you have us do about it? We’re fighting a war. We don’t have time to play detective and puzzle this out.”

“That’s… ah, kind of important to the puzzle of winning,” Wei Wuxian stopped pacing. “I don’t know the details, but I know the gathering of the Yin Iron will result in a weapon. No one will be safe.”

“What weapon? What does it do? What defenses can we put into place.”

“That’s… just it. I… don’t know,” Wie Wuxian winced at Nie Mingjue’s terrifying expression.

“Then what use are your assumptions?” Sect Leader Nie’s voice boomed through the hall and felt like a hard punch to the stomach. “We can’t rely on these magic artifacts that we don’t even know if they exist. What we need to do,” Nie Mingjue slammed his fist once more against the table and a cracking sound could be heard. Baxia shivered with murderous glee in her stand. “Is start pushing them back and raze all the Wens until they are nothing but a bad memory.”

“If I just had a little time to research—”

“We don’t have time!” Nie Mingjue hollered, and somewhere in the ringing of his voice, Nie Huasang pleaded with, “Brother.”

“Wei Wuxian, he’s right,” Jiang Cheng spoke up finally. His chest was out, feeling the comradery to agree with a sect leader in his father’s place. “We have to act now. Every day they kill and raise our cultivators while losing none of their own if only through their resurrection. We need to focus on the fight.”

“But if we could find the Iron we could disable his ability,” Wei Wuxian began.

Nie Mingjue looked ready to bellow yet again and another of Nie Huasang’s pleas were lost when the chamber door shyly pushed open.

“We’re in the middle of a meeting!” Sect Leader Nie finally did bellow, making the courier shiver in fright.

“A- apologies, Sect Leader, but there’s urgent news.” The courier didn’t dare enter further than the threshold. Luckily, Meng Yao sprang into action and swept through the hall to accept the poor bowing man’s missive. “Thank you,” he said softly and dismissed him.

When Meng Yao turned he held two scroll with a darkened expression. “It’s from First Young Master Lan,” he said the name formally before he rushed back to the dais. A collected intake of breath came from the room of young men. No one had heard from Lan Xichen in months. It was a horrible oversight to not look in on one’s allies, but they never called out for help, nor did they stand down. All anyone knew was that the Wens burned the mountain and was followed by an eerie, frightening silence.

Nie Mingjue unrolled one of the scrolls given to him by his Vice Envoy, the second, Meng Yao unrolled himself. The two read in silence for a few minutes with matching stoic and pained expressions, then slowly resolve.

Meng Yao couldn’t seem to shake himself from the words, but when Nie Mingjue set the missive down, appearing grave. “Xichen is the now Sect Leader Lan after the death of his father,” he informed the group. Wei Wuxian didn’t realize he was wavering on his feet until a hand reached out and pulled him down by the wrist. Nie Huasang shuffled so they could share a cushion.

“And the others?” Jin Zuxian barked.

“When the Wens attacked, the surviving Lan Sect was forced into hiding in the back mountains. Some magically protected barrier is there,” Meng Yao spoke when Nie Mingjue did not continue. There was a catch in his voice as he tried hard to reign in his emotions. “But they were smoked out this past month.”

“And Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but interrupt, his nerves on edge for news of the man he.. he…

“Taken by the Wens as compensation for the delay of handing over their Yin Iron,” Meng Yao said tightly. “Which is also now in their possession. Cloud Recesses, or what remains, has been forcefully turned into Gusu’s first cultivation office.”

Jiang Cheng cussed under his breath, and Jin Zuxian smacked a fist onto his low table. Wei Wuxian felt dizzy, and if Nie Huasang had not put his hands on him he surely would have fallen over.

Wei Wuxian never felt so guilty for what he had aimed the Wen Sect to do until this very moment. Once, he was giddy with the thought of inviting Lan Wangji to his Sect, to show off the patchy hills where he and Wen Ning went hunting, or showed him all his projects and experiments in his workshop. Surely he would have been able to impress the peerless Lan Wangji with his intelligence and cunning, but not like this. Not as a prisoner.

Suddenly filled with adrenaline, Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet, throwing off his friend, and bowed very low. “Sect Leader Nie,” he began in an impassioned rush. “Let me return to Qinghe. Sect Leader Wen might not know of my defection, he might not know what I did at Lotus Pier. Please, let me try to get the Irons out of his grip and rescue Lan Zhan.”

“Out of the question,” Nei Mingjue’s answer was swift as a butcher’s knife. “You can’t go gallivanting across the countryside to rescue your schoolyard crush when we need you here to paint your arrays.”

Jin Zuxian was next on his feet, bowing as well. “With all due respect, he is our friend and we should not abandon him.”

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jaing Cheng was up next, bowing for permission. “We need strong forces, and Lan Wangji is as strong as they get.”

Nie Huasang was next to his feet. “Brother, I—”

“Not another word!” Nie Mingjue slammed his fist onto the table. It finally cracked down the middle but did not break entirely. “Listen to yourself! You are heirs to your sects. We have people to protect. Your responsibilities lie with them. One man will never rise above the strength of your sects.

“In an hour we’ll begin a new campaign. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zuxian, I expect you to be there was heads of your sects while your fathers are unable to represent them. Wei Wuxian,” he pointed an angry finger at the boy. “Resume working on your arrays.”

“Brother—”

“Huasang, make sure the Jins are hosted properly,” Nie Mingjue stood suddenly, concluding the end of their discussion. “No more talk of a rescue mission.”

[awkenorslumped]

who lied to you ?

    Importance of the Spiritual Journey, universal signs and the unexpected!

As Summer Walker once said The spiritual journey isn’t about the astethic of crystals or the ideal that people have created to make it a fetish on social media. The true meaning of the spiritual journey as Summer Walker said its about the ability to take accountability for the choices one makes that affect their lives . Its about accepting who you truly are inside to show on the outside, Literally living in your true form not caring for the validation of others.

 Many think the Spirituality is about the crystals or the “witching”, the burning of sage and manifestation.  Take in mind that manifestation does play a part into it but there is much more depth. On your journey the importance is acknowledging that its about connecting deep to your inner self.   The path is for you to really get to know yourself the true depth of who you are. Connecting to yourself through meditation means having a place where you feel safe and serene to focus your mind on yourself to analyze stuff within you that you can’t make a connection to why things happen to you in life. Connecting the subconscious to the conscious to make yourself whole.

 I believe that before we’re born into the human realm we live in our spiritual homes before we’re meant to save those who we feel need help remembering who they truly are. I feel when we dream we are actually transporting back to our TRUE homes and forms.  Scientist and the government are aware but they fear that when we realize it they can’t control it. They do research to figure out how to weaponize the ability and for complete control.  Starseeds, Ascendants , Reiki Masters, The spiritually attuned etc are the people who are reincarnated to help break the cycle of control. The attuned don’t live for materialistic things they admire it but its never a true need, they don’t hold true value to the soul. 

 The journey is complex because you have to really really focus on yourself the past, the trauma , the fear and self doubt.  Once you’ve overcome or can accept those your eyes will be open to the propaganda and the actual things happening in the world. Nothing will surprise you. 

 All those horror movies , sci fy movies where do you think the ideas come from ? Its not a coincidence its stuff that has happened before. They are signs and information in plain sight its for you to see the true info over what they put into distract you. The government has the goal to control the world for greed and power, while possibly some higher beings want to test us or sort us out from the true of heart to the wicked of heart. There is no good without a little bad, no light without dark and that goes for ourselves , the government and the higher beings some of us haven’t met yet.

 We’re able to tell when we encounter others like us , we connect with them instantly they match our full energy potential without of dimming it. The goosebumps you get when you feel an eerie presence or feel your in the wrong place. That gut feeling that something is wrong is your subconscious telling you that a higher being that is most likely malicious or want to control you for a pet for their own amusement.  The higher beings that observe us as entertainment are the ones who are in contact and work with the government for their desire of entertainment. The higher beings have been around longer than we have and seen many things also are more advance, they could give us the tools for world peace but they don’t instead they feed us info for world domination and destruction for pure laughter. The reptilians enjoy destruction because they feel they are superior to the pure of heart . To be fair there is a balance so what makes people think the universe wouldn’t have a balance between alien races ? 

Lets bring you back to earth for a second, we humans HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA OF ALL THE CREATURES THAT LIVE HERE ! We’ve barely made a dent in prehistoric creatures. But lets take a dive down this bunny whole, If the earth we live on has been around for billions of years and has all these layers why the fuck would we assume we would know all the creatures and beings that have lived here before us ? Mythical creatures were & are real. Sea beings and creatures are real. Why is it hard to accept that there are legitimate things we know nothing us. But instead we humans want to prove we’re smarter beings? The joke is on everyone that believes that with their entire being. Honestly you have to be narcissitic to find that to be a true statement. How can we humans know everything about something that’s been around longer than us just because we dug through a small layer and found some bones. WE CAN’T EVEN GO TO THE TRUE DEPTH OF THE OCEAN SO HOW WOULD WE KNOW ALL THE SPECIES AND HUMANOIDS THAT CALL THE OCEAN HOME?? MAKE THAT MAKE SENSE! Scientist believe because they have a phd or doctorate that they are geniuses and make minor discoveries ? Its not a major discovery when most people are like we knew that already because we know there are other beings and species out there. You can’t fool the awaken ok, we have woken up because we were meant to. Shifts are happening and whatever deal was made could be coming to and end soon because the government is fucking up. Or hear me out the true form of the deal is coming where the humans who aren’t awake will never awake and will be under the control of the reptilians and the people in the government who work with them . But little do they know that the reptilians will in fact double cross them. Why, you ask? Simply the reptilians are smart, mischievous and  clever but not too smart that they can’t be overcame. Typing this up I feel goosebumps why cause im aware im being watched I’ve acknowledged things im not meant to be aware of . Also because im writing this with all intentions of exposing what needs to be brought to light.  Religion is a TOOL USED TO HAVE ALL OUR MINDS FOCUS ON ONE BEING THEY TOLD US WAS ALL MIGHTY BUT IN REALITY ITS THE REPTILIANS WHO CAME WITH THAT PLOT. BY BELIEVING IN ONE MIGHTY BEING YOU WILL BELIEVE EVERYTHING THAT POWER SAYS AND WILL NOT SECOND GUESS THEM. HELLO THE CONSTITUTION HAS THE SAME STRUCTURE HAS THE 10 COMMANDMENTS IN THE BIBLE. WHY??!? WHY HAVE LAWS THAT YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW UNQUESTIONED JUST LIKE THE 10 COMMANDMENTS YOUR EXPECTED TO FOLLOW IF YOU WANT TO LIVE WITH JESUS IN HEAVEN. Riddle me this why would Jesus who is suppose to be forgiving and loving turn his back on you for not following rules he made? He gave us free will so why would he forsake us if we don’t follow his rules. ALSO WHY WOULD HE ASK A FOLLOWER TO KILL HIS ONLY SON?!?! That there gave it away that religion as made as a secondary form of government to make people obedient and further help the reptilians plot for control of humans. Have the humans do your dirty work while you give them information or false information to complete your task while you sit back relax watch and wait until its almost completed and they come to take reign .ONCE you realize what done and try to rebel you get wiped out and they try again. Many planets many chances to complete a goal. ALSO all those people who’ve exposed the truth were killed because the people who don’t want the revolution are instructed to keep the secret by any means necessary. How come the Egyptians, the mayan , aztecs, Atlantans had contact with humanoids that helped them advance their ENTIRE civilizations, yet the government has know about “aliens” been in contact with them yet our civilization hasn’t advance . Shouldn’t that there tell you the humanoids they are in contact with aren’t here to actually help us. The world needs to open their eyes and see the truth. 

     If you think I’m crazy then explain why they haven’t found a single bone from the mayan civilization of the people who lived there, why can’t we explain atlantis, why is it that  all these advance civilizations just go missing , not as though their city was rampaged but left in tact in one piece but the people left. NO THEY WERE SAVED BY THEIR ANCESTORS OF THE TRUE OF HEART BEFORE THE REPTILIANS TRIED TO DESTROY THEM. 

WAKE UP, OPEN YOUR EYES, CONNECT YOUR MIND AND SOUL. SAVE YOURSELF BEFORE YOU MISS THE SAVING SHIP.

[pumpkaaboo]

Madoka Magica rewatch: episode 1

Hey guys! I’ve decided to rewatch Puella Magi Madoka Magica (considering that the last time I watched it, I was 12, up past my bedtime, and at a sleepover with my friends. we watched the whole thing in one night. needless to say, a lot of things flew over my head). I want to pay attention to two things in particular: symbolism, and parallels to Revolutionary Girl Utena (specifically, eggs. that will make sense if you’ve seen utena). Most of what I’m going to talk about is probably a reach and/or not intended by the creators, but hey, overanalyzing every minute detail of things to the death is fun. (Note: these posts will contain spoilers for the entirety of madoka magica, and probably bits of utena as well) If you don’t want to see these posts, you can blacklist the tags “#pmmm” or “#pmmm rewatch”. Without further ado, let’s get into it!

So right off the bat, we have a parallel to utena. The very first shot in both...

...is a curtain being raised. This is very interesting to me; it gives the idea that what we’re about to see is a performance of some kind. Whether it means that the whole thing is a performance, or just the dream/flashback we’re about to see, is something I’ll have to look out for. Regardless, just as in utena, I’m going to take this as an indication that what I’m about to watch should not be taken at face value.

Also worthy of note that this is the first time we get to see the beautiful paper cutout style in the witch labyrinths. It’s one of the defining artistic features of this anime, and I can’t wait to see it again.

Then there’s a shot of what appears to be a grief seed with some text in a conlang I can’t read and then... this.

...yeah, I’m at a loss. Is this Madoka’s witch? I think it might be. The background kind of looks like a record from this angle, but broken by that black... slice? bar? witch? Also, there’s the sound of what I think is a tape running through a film projector-yet another indication that what’s to come is a story a performance, not necessarily reflective of reality. However, in contrast to Utena, which uses theater/live performances and plays, Madoka seems to be using film. Film is static, unchanging-you can watch a movie as many times as you want, but aside from file corruption or physical damage to your equipment, it will play out exactly the same way. Theater, meanwhile, is much more dynamic-the actors and the audience have a tremendous amount of influence on the way things go, even if specific plot points must remain the same. I like that, as a difference between the two, because while in Utena, the duelists are always different and the circumstances of the cycle are always changing (even if the end result is always the same), while in Madoka, Homura is repeating the exact same month, and everyone else stays exactly the same except for her (the audience? much to think about).

We have several shots of Madoka running through this stark black and white landscape. She’s the only spot of color in it, and each shot is more impossible and dreamlike than the last.

Finally, she comes to this bright green exit sign-a complementary color to her hair. It’s surrounded by darkness and metal fencing (only visible in the previous shot)-perhaps meaning that, for Madoka to be able to move forward, she will have to travel into darkness, towards something the opposite of herself? I also find the framing of the shot to be very reminiscent of this:

Madoka must ascend the stairs before opening the door, however, not after. I’ll talk a bit more about this parallel later, though, because Madoka opens the door and sees...

...that. Walpurgisnacht has the same pattern behind her that the weird shot of the record did earlier, so maybe I was misreading that and it’s supposed to represent her, not Madoka’s witch whose name escapes me. Also worthy of note that Madoka is moving from an unreal space of equal parts light and dark (where the two were distinctly separated) to a more “real” world of black and gray-and where darkness and the few patches of light often blend together smoothly. I think this is supposed to represent her idealistic worldview clashing against the world where Magical Girls must constantly risk their lives, make morally gray decisions, and fight witches for survival.

I’m not really sure of what to think of the parallel between Madoka entering the battle with Walpurgisnacht and Utena entering the dueling arena, but if we take it as her going from a place inside of her own mind, where her assumptions about the world are unchallenged, into a place where a battle of ideology where no one is truly, 100% noble (even though some may hold the definite moral high ground) might work, but Utena’s dueling arena is also a place of trying to obtain that true nobility. Then again, that could be a parallel to Madoka’s wish in the end, couldn’t it? But I don‘t think it’s a 1-1 parallel, nor do I think it should be expected to be. I’m happy to think of it as a (possibly unintentional) nod to one of the show’s major influences.

Also I just noticed that Walpurgisnacht’s design sort of mirrors itself and works just as well upside down as right side up-hold on let me just-

yeah.

Here we have a shot of Madoka standing on a maze of scaffolding-the path ahead of her will be treacherous, full of dead ends and places to plummet to the ground. But we don’t have time to talk about that because HOMURA

So our first shot of this character-arguably tied for “most important in the show” with Madoka herself-is from a distance, standing on a pillar of darkness, surrounded by flashing red lights. The camera constantly focuses in and out-she’s distant, and it’s hard to figure out what she’s doing or thinking. But then we cut closer to her-

-and we see her face right before she gets hit by a skyscraper-

-and it becomes clear that whoever this is, she’s someone to pay attention to, someone whose inner mind and motivations the series will be exploring. Also I love how she’s not scared of the skyscraper at all, seeming to view it as more of a minor inconvenience more than anything. Because to her, it is!

Also, here we have the first actual bright colors in the show besides the green exit sign. I note that Homura is raising her shield here, not firing one of her (many) guns/explosives-our first impression of her is a mysterious one, but also of protection, though who or what she’s trying to protect remains to be seen.

...and here we have the first voice line of the series. Seems appropriate, given the general tone, but I also think it’s important to note that our first impression of Homura is protectiveness, and our first impression of Madoka is compassion and sympathy...

...while our first impression of Kyubey is fatalism and discouragement. Not exactly a good look for a character who’s supposed to be guiding and supporting the heroes, huh. Kyubey knows exactly what he’s after, and he knows exactly how to get it.

And here we have the entire thesis of Madoka’s character in one line.

Seriously, all of it’s right there! Compassion for those suffering, an acknowledgement that the current circumstances are unjust, are wrong. This isn’t how magical girl shows are supposed to go, this isn’t how heroes are supposed to have to fight, and Madoka is unwilling to accept a world where this level of injustice is the norm. God, what a great way to introduce the entire main conflict of both the protagonist and the show!

Here’s our first clear shot of Kyubey, and he looks even more blank and eerie than usual-I think it’s the fact that he has no visible pupils. Also a great bit of foreshadowing; you don’t typically introduce a character that’s going to be helpful like this.

Kyubey tells Madoka that she has the power to change this fate-to alter the horrible destiny in front of her. “Can I really?” asks Madoka.

That’s why Madoka wants power-she wants to be able to help. And she can, but she’ll have to be very careful about how she words her wish, because otherwise, she might just end up making things worse. It’s worth noting that she wants to change the ending-perhaps foreshadowing her eventual wish to stop magical girls from becoming witches (any girl who cannot become a princess..), changing the inevitable end of their lives.

I love how the branches of the tree(?) are breaking up the frame, making it look fractured or like slash marks, showing how the characters are broken and disoriented, and visually representing the separation between Madoka, Homura, and Walpurgisnacht. It’s a neat trick that was used to great effect in Adolescence of Utena (though usually it was associated specifically with blades or impalement in that case).

Kyubey offers his contract to Madoka, and she looks at the camera, determined, crowned and wreathed by the rubble around her...

...and then wakes up, in her bed, surrounded by warmth and pink and soft things and hearts. Also, I think the aspect ratio changed at this part? I’m not really sure why that is-maybe to convey that they’re going from the cinematic final conflict to Madoka’s everyday life?

Silhouetted by the warm window behind her almost like a halo, watched by her stuffed animals and embracing another, Madoka asks if it was all a dream. She noticeably sits up so her entire head is in the light, and then leans down so only half of it is-she hasn’t fully committed to the heroism she’ll come to embody yet.

Okay, that’s enough for now, it’s been like two hours and I’ve only gotten through one scene. I was hoping to be able to get through this quickly, but I should have known better. Part 2 of this episode coming... at some point, hopefully.

[fipindustries]

TENET, i have *many* thoughts

ok, that was a mess.

so.

This movie is nolan at his most cocky and self indulgent. it is in many ways nolan at his worst. this is the quintessential example of what a bad christopher nolan movie looks like, this is the movie that every person that disliked nolan has been talking about all along. to quote the northern caves:

is undeniably imaginative; it probably has the most dizzyingly elaborate plot ever featured in a work of children's literature. Does that make it complex? No, it makes it complicated. And between those two little words is a world of difference.

Salby's plotting builds hierarchically, inexorably, unforgivingly. Every new development serves as scaffolding for the next, and any idea or event, however minor, however many pages or books ago it was introduced, can serve as fodder for new narrative contortions. The result is a reading experience that recreates with eerie accuracy the atmosphere of the schoolroom. Salby demands academic devotion; everything will be on the test

Sean Carruth’s masterpiece Primer has a lot of its hermetical power resting on the fact that it is presented in the most opaque and confusing way possible. Entire plot points are skipped or merely alluded to in throwaway lines, which make what would already be a really complicated plot much more impenetrable than it already is. But what primer does to compensate for this and what Tenet lacks, is time to breathe, presentation, atmosphere, mood, all the necessary components of movie making.

a lot of what happens in this movie occurs almost in a slapdash fashion, as if it had been pushed and churned out the editing room as fast as possible. this movie feels like a five episode long miniseries crammed as awkwardly as possible into two hours and a half. Not because it suggest to impenetrable depths or to a larger breathing world beyond the film but because it is missing entire sections that would have helped us get acclimated to the world, the settings, the events and most important of all, the characters.

the characters are all function over form, they are a collection of basic traits and lines, all whose main function is to exposit and make the plot move according to nolans convoluted design. i could probably have a lot more to say about this but sadly i couldnt pay any attention to what the emotional core in this movie was supposed to be, busy as i was trying to stop my eyes from glazing over the plot.

in some ways this feels like michael bay, there is a clear priority on looking cool, and sexy and glamorous which borderlines on fetishistic (nolan seems to be desperate to make a james bond film but since he cant he decides to make his own bond, with time travel and hookers) the only difference is that nolan has different ideas from Bay about what counst as “cool” or “glamorous” or “sexy”. instead of going for gaudy, over the top douchy excess, he prefers sleek, sophisticated, anodine elegance.

in fact i almost dare to be so bold as to say that the entire premise of this movie, for all its pretense of carefully calculated, metodic, intricate well thought out rules, it really seems to follow exclusively the rule of cool. the very first scenes where the conceit is introduced it already feels stupid. and then the rest of the movie builds on top of that shaky foundation and i was never able to get over that initial stumble. spoilers ahead.

the general conceit here is NOT that things are moving backwards through time, but that “their entropy is inverted”. so, for example, if a bullet flies backwards from a crater into the gun, it is not because the line of causality goes backwards and it was some how “postdetermined” to get reverse fired, it is because someone aimed a gun at that crater and in that moment the bullet decided that was the gun that shot it, it could have been any other empty gun, wielded by any gunman and it could have happened whenever the gunman decided it was time for it to happen. so it is still us going forwards in time what decide when things are falling up, or getting repaired from exploding, or being shot backwards, simply by waiving our hands on top of it. it is not time travel is just a fancy form of telekinesis. which is bullshit.

and it is this central bit of gobbledygook what explains all further convolutions that spiral outwards. add on top of this ever increasing forms of quintuple crossing, sextuple agents, shell companies within fake agencies, within false fronts from a mediocre spy novel on steroids and you get a recipie for the audience being unable to give a shit about what is even going on.

i need to stress at one point the movie explains the grandfather paradox, as if people didnt already know about it and as if it had anything to do with the actual plot.

so this is a bad movie, right? it sound pretty close and shut.

well

thing is, i am a huge fucking nerd, primer is one of my favourite movies of all time, the homestuck interlude at the end of act 3 is the greatest piece of media i have ever read, i have written pages upon page analyzing almost nowhere, i can keep throwing names around: fleek, fine structure, hpmor, im not telling you these titles to brag about how smart i am for liking big brain boy stories, im telling you this to emphasize that i love weird intricate messes to pick apart and unravel and boy tenet is a fine example of that.

i cant help but respect how unconcerned with being liked this movie is. nolan is doing whatever the fuck he wants according to his ridiculous designs and is paying no heed to people enjoying the show.

but on the other hand, every time i finished one of the stories i just mentioned my first reaction was that of a kid coming out of a disney ride, i wanted to go immediatly back, this time with pen and paper, ready to draw diagrams, to chart formulas, to parse through it all at 0.5x the speed to make sure i got everything.

i certainly would have to do that for this movie, the problem is that i dont particularly care to. it doesnt feel like a fun puzzle to solve, it feels like homework, homework to figure out a movie that im not even sure i liked all that much.

which is a pity, maybe some day ill go back, ready to understand it all, but that day is not soon. tenet, it could have been great.

[yellowsugarwords]

Walking Dead Game FanFiction - “Missing More”

Title: Missing More Characters: Ericson Kids Summary: When Clementine and the Ericson crew drive to Clementine’s childhood home, they get to relive her last few moments with Lee again from a found video recording. Takes place after episode 1. Author's Note: Okay so the premise of this is going to be a little wonky to give this plot an opportunity to happen so let’s pretend that the Stranger wasn’t killed and continued to stalk Clementine after she left with Lee okay bye enjoy. Sequel to this fic Requested By: Anonymous support me with ko-fi ♡ ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

For years, every time her birthday rolled around, Clementine asked for the same thing: “Just once, I want to go back to my childhood home and get some closure.”

Little did she know that, since she first started making that wish, the crew had been working on exactly that.

In one of the back garages, Marlon had found a busted old van. It only had a sliver of gas in it, and was in rough shape, and the following years were spent scavenging for gas, and attempting to get the van working again.

As Clementine’s 19th birthday lingered on the horizon, they’d done it: Mitch had replaced the final busted part of the van, and the crew had managed to fill and find a total of 8 gasoline tanks.

“How many do you think we’d need for a road trip?” Violet had asked.

Marlon had only shrugged. “We might as well be safe and take all 8.” They had no idea how cars worked — hell, only a few of them even knew how to drive — but they were going to try their best regardless. For Clementine.

The first half of the drive was filled with excited chatter and blissful conversation. To keep watch over the school, Omar, Aasim, Brody, and Ruby decided to stay back at the school. Marlon, Louis, Violet, Clementine, AJ, Mitch, Willy, and Tenn were the group that hit up the van.

“We’ll be back in a few days.” Marlon said, already having worked out himself how long the drive would be. “Keep hold of the fort until then.”

Everyone nodded, hugging and wishing each other well, before venturing off.

Then, the fun began.

“Pass me the crackers.”

“You’ve already eaten like half the bag.”

Willy scoffed, snagging the bag out of Mitch’s hands and shoving another scoop into his mouth. “How long until we get there?”

Marlon adjusted the rear-view window, casting a harsh glare the child’s way. “Still a few more hours.”

“Ugh. We’ve been driving all day.”

“That’s why it’s called a roadtrip, Willy.” Louis said, smirking into the back. “We need to travel a distance to get there.”

“What Louis means,” Violet said through a sigh, “is shut up, Willy.” Her head leaned against the back of her seat, eyes closed, body tense.

Clementine, sitting in the passenger seat, smirked into the open, empty highway. It was familiar to her in the strangest way. She’s never driven the highway before today, but it felt warm somehow. Familiar. As though it was a shadow of the life that used to dwell there; along the sides of the road and off into the distance.

By the time they actually hit the city, the feeling of warm nostalgia took a dark, quick turn. The abandoned homes, eerie streets, and haunting a sense of life made Clementine’s skin crawl.

“Left here,” she whispered, voice haunted and scared. Still, despite the heartache she felt seeing her old hometown in ruin, she still knew her way home. Her parents had taught her to memorize the ‘important streets’ so she always knew how to get home if she ever became lost. If there was ever an emergency.

She gave direction the entire drive home, her code wavering and her hands forced into her lap, wound tightly together. She had braced herself for the worst — for her home being unrecognizable — but this somehow she hadn’t prepared for.

She hadn’t been prepared for the extent of how different everything would look.

By the time the car rolled to a stop, everyone bouncing with the weight of the breaks, Clementine was hesitant to lift her gaze from her lap.

“Clem? Is this the place?” Marlon asked. Realizing she didn’t have a choice, she gulped and looked up.

Her eyes immediately grew teary, studying the cracked windows and worn wooden panels. “Yep.” Was all she could muster, cracking her door open and stepping outside. The grass was dead, the building tattered and beaten by the elements, and the door was cracked and splintered. Apparently, someone had once jimmies a knife into the lock to get inside the house, clearly unaware that the back door had been left unlocked.

But, what brought Clementine the biggest moment of pause was the full mailbox.

She frowned, drawing closer to the door, running her fingers over the tattered and tarnished wood. Inside, she found a package, wrapped and labelled, her name scrawled on the front in messy black ink. Her heart leapt into her throat, freezing there.

“Clementine?” Louis asked. Clementine said nothing, only tore open the end of the package and slipped out a flash drive with a slip of paper taped to it. Louis, peeking in over the girl’s shoulder, held his breath. “Oh my God.”

Suddenly, all the Ericson kids turned, brows raised, drawing closer to the duo. The note was short, and simple, but haunting.

‘Something I think you’d like to see. - your friend’

Clementine closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then pushed open her front door. She slipped through her house, ignoring the overturned and tattered furniture, the haunting, dried pool of blood in the kitchen, and the dead body of her babysitter, abandoned by the back door.

She ignored it all and made her way toward the computer tucked into the back corner. All she could do was pray, that somehow, it still worked. She opened the laptop, her fingers crossed and strained, then hit the power button. Luckily for her, it came to life, thanks to being plugged in until the last moment electricity was active in the world.

By the time that nostalgic glow smacked her in the face, she realized the battery was at a dwindling 10%. Urgently, she slapped in her father’s password and jammed in the flash drive.

“What are you doing?” Marlon asked, arms crossed in horror. “You can’t just check to see what’s on it.”

“Why not?” Violet challenged. “Are you not curious about what’s on it?”

Clementine huffed, as though frustrated at how long it was taking the old laptop to register the flash drive. “I haven’t lived in this house in years, and yet, somehow, someone sent a package here addressed to me.” She turned, flashing Marlon a harsh glare. “I’m watching it.”

When she turned back to the screen, after silencing the room with her statement, she noticed there was only one file on the drive. It was fairly small, a single video file titled ‘the end’. With a deep breath, and with a shaking hand on the track pad, she moved towards it and clicked.

A security camera video popped to life, hauntingly similar. Clementine squinted, adjusting the brightness on the computer, aware it was going to drain the battery even further. Then, as two figures fumbled into the frame, Clementine’s breath caught in her throat. “No.” Was all she could muster.

It was her and Lee, entering the jewellery store, Lee’s lower arm missing, Clementine shaking and sobbing from spotting her dead parents roaming the streets.

“What’s going on?”

“Clem?”

Clementine stumbled away, ignoring Louis and Marlon’s panicked questions. She turned away, studying the corpse of her babysitter on the floor, decayed and unrecognizable.

It had been the Stranger. She knew it. She could feel her gut twisting at the mere thought.

After Lee had rushed her out of there after beating the man senseless, he’d come to and hadn’t stopped. He’d followed them to the jewellery store, watching as Clem was forced to kill Lee, and then stole a copy of the security tape, hoping and praying to prove to Clementine that... what? She had someone ‘watching out for her’?

“Clementine, what is this?” Violet asked, refusing to take her gaze off of the haunting image before her. AJ, creeping forward to get a better glimpse, felt his heart race at the sight of the child and older man.

“That’s me and Lee.” The room went dead-silent, as much also that everyone could hear a pin drop. “And I’m about to kill him.”

The group grew silent. Mitch, Louis, and AJ were the only ones who could look away, glancing nervously at the girl rather than studying the clip. Inevitably, all except Louis turned back to watch. Louis couldn’t stomach the sight.

There was muffled speaking — so quiet that the mics couldn’t quite pick it up — and shuffling around the room. The group watched as Clementine secured Lee to the radiator, as she lifted the gun to his head, as they made their teary goodbyes.

Then, the gun shot.

The room was silent and still, watching as the battery continued to drain from the small device before them. Clementine said nothing. She didn’t react, she didn’t flinch, she just stared dead-ahead at the bloody puddle in the kitchen, longing to be anywhere else but there.

Her eyes glossed over, feeling closer to Lee than she had felt in a long time in her home, before flicking away a single ear and starting for the door. “I think I’m ready to go home now.” She whispered.

“Home?” Willy hushed. Mitch set a hand on the child's shoulder, hoping to pause him from asking further questions.

“Real home.” Clementine clarified, refusing to look their way. She didn’t want to sneak an accidental glance at the computer scene. “Not here.”

Louis stepped forward, his heart heavy and weary, throwing his arm over her shoulders and guiding her toward the exit. “We can do that.” He cast a glance back at everyone else — daring and challenging — before exiting the room and starting for the van.

The group stood silent, heart weary and heavy, stomachs fragile and depressed. Without a word, all of them retreated to the van, silently getting in, remaining silent for the first chunk of the drive home.

Then, when Clementine grew teary-eyed in the passenger seat, Louis began loudly screaming ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’.

Then, Clementine knew she was home.

Then, Clementine knew what home actually felt like. It wasn’t a place. It was a group of people, a tiny, busted van, and throwback songs from a better life. ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

[missholson]

SHIP HISTORY MEME

Embrace your past and get to know your friends’ fandom origins!

Rules: Post gifs of your fandoms / ships starting with your most current hyperfixation and work backwards. (Bonus points if you share any stories about how or when you got into that ship! But not necessary!!) Then tag anyone whose fandom history you’d like to learn about!

Tagged by the sweet @unwillingadventurer​, thank you girls! <3

Hoffmann & Tennstedt (Das Boot) The baby face & the stone face. :) The biggest reason for this series is my sister, who tried to lure me into the fandom already last summer by showing the first episode. Sadly it was a far too distressing experience. The story is about a WW2 German warfare, so it isn’t very light entertainment for Saturday night. The show seemed like a worth watching production, though, but I doubted if I could ever watch it completely. After visiting Berlin now in February 2020 there was no hesitation anymore. The story focuses on the Nazi German submarine, U-612, and the occupied city of La Rochelle in France. However, not everything is as black and white as one might expect. One of the biggest messages of the show is that war is always brutal, no matter which side you fight. The innocent are always suffering. It also shows how the ideal thoughts of warfare crumble, if it comes at the cost of greed, deception, health or life. There is disagreement among the leaders on boat, too. The new commander, kaleun Klaus Hoffmann, is young and inexperienced but kind-hearted and wise. Next on the scale, IWO Karl Tennstedt, is an experienced sailor and an glory-seeking soldier, who envies Hoffamann's position. He regards Hoffmann as incompetent and a disgrace to Germany. So, there is plenty of tension between these two!

Louis & Philippe (Versailles) I started watching the show sometime in 2015, but found it quite distasteful. It was more brutal than expected, and I was overwhelmed by people's greed and dirty behavior, so I stopped watching after a few episodes. Every now and then I saw pics/gifs on Tumblr, especially of Monsieur and Chevalier, that I finally wanted to give another chance in January 2020.  This time the experience was the opposite, and I got a better grip on the story. I was surprised how little I liked the popular Monchevy pair and, instead, so much the quarreling brothers. I was very moved when they joked with each other and showed brotherly love. In the scenes of conflict, I missed their compassion. I haven't watched the rest of seasons 2-3 yet, so I don't know if they get better. I hope so because together they would be a powerful duo.

Matt & Cherry (Red River) I had recorded Red River (1948) on my set-top box, and the closing date was expiring in December 2018. It was Montgomery Clift’s breakthrough movie, so it was a must see. The movie was a refreshingly different western, where the hero is not a macho cowboy and John Wayne a bad guy for a change. But most of all, I was amazed how Cherry Valance's behavior towards Matt Garth was so heavily double entendre. At first they are presented as challengers and opponents of each other. Slowly Cherry starts to show admiration for Matt, and increasingly talks about his gun. In return, Matt needs Cherry's shooting skills to herd cattle. Eventually they become each other's trusted ones. I always find it fascinating, if tension begins to develop between the opposing characters. If the story has a couple that doesn't change, develope or lacks dynamics, it probably won't arouse interest.

Fritz & Dr. Frankenstein (Frankenstein) I had seen a Tumblr gif of Renfield crawling in Dracula (1931) in August 2018. It was Dwight Frye’s breakthrough role. The movie inspired me to watch other Universal monster movies, of which Frankenstein (1931) became my favorite. The work pair of the story, these two outcasts of society, melted my heart. For unexplained reason they have joined their forces and seem to be working well together. They have a mutual partnership, where they can act naturally without fear. Their work is unique, e.g. digging the graves or snatching hanged bodies, but they treat it like any other dayily job. Somehow, I like this way of approach. Actually I have written about Fritz already earlier, where I take a closer look at their relationship. The text can be read here.

Adrian & Antony (Sebastiane) Well, this couple is a specialty of its own. They are another ones found through Tumblr. I saw a picture of them in June 2018 which led me to watch the film. In terms of story or acting, it's not a very special movie but technically professional level. First of all, it was shot under the blazing Sicilian sun on 35 mm film. The light is a vital factor when using a film camera, so the pictures look very rich. The scenes, where these two are having fun together in slow motion, are breathtaking. I had never seen anything like it before and, in my opinion, stole all the attention of the story since they were just characters in supporting roles. It was like a gay paradise on earth.  Here I realize the importance in the way how the characters are presented. The technical presentation can play a surprisingly huge role when we try to read and understand the characters. It can influence us either to share their thoughts or to move even further away from them. Bonus points I give for Latin, which the entire cast is speaking in the film. I would also like to clarify that this is not a p**n movie or a family movie either. It’s a gay erotic story with some full frontal nudity.

Reinhold & Conrad I’m not sure if this is a ship or fandom, but I feel extreme warmth and joy for this pair (the Berlin trip may have something to do with this). They are also the only people from real life instead of characters. I’d like to share my story about them, unfortunately it's very long (I've never been a fluent writer) but explains my interest in more detail. I got to know Conrad Veidt already in high school at the turn of the millennium, the time before DVDs. Near the school there was a buy-sell-exchange movie shop, where my sister and I visited regularly. Somehow we ended up with the idea that we wanted to see The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), so we went to the store again. There was no copy, as expected, but the seller said he would keep in mind if one came up. Months passed and after a long break we visited our regular place again. This time, the man had news for us: he had received a copy and kept it in safe for us. We couldn’t believe our eyes and ears. First of all, the kindness of the man made us speechless, and secondly, we never thought we would get our own copy of such popular rarity. At that time movies were not re-released as often as they are today. It was a VHS cassette, bw, not tinted like the original version, and its quality was far from the 4K richness and sharpness. My sister still has the tape and is one of the treasures she will never give away. For years the film was the only Conrad movie we saw, along with Casablanca - until the digital age and the social media arrived. Again I have to thank Tumblr, where I found the actor Anton Walbrook. One of his most famous films, Viktor und Viktoria (1933), is directed by Reinhold Schünzel, whom I knew from Conrad's film Different from the Others (1919). I began to study Reinhold's background more closely in December 2017, and it turned out that he is a forgotten multi-talent in the film industry: He was a versatile performer in comedies and dramas, a prolific director and an idea-rich screenwriter. He had an eye for creating stories that were told in the minds of people in addition to acting and lines. He questioned gender roles and built juicy plot twists around them. He loved theater and was a popular celebrity in 1920’s Germany. He was also a colleague and friend of Conrad. They began their film careers at the same time in Richard Oswald's films, shared the ups and downs, even their wardrobe, and reached fame. Eventually they both had to emigrate from the national socialist Germany, so their paths parted. The following reunions were always a joy, “like the meeting of comrades who fought in many wars together”. Reinhold was supposed to direct Conrad’s first film at MGM in Hollywood, but the plans were changed. They never got to work together since the German years, when Conrad died suddenly. “Part of my life is gone forever”, as Reinhold wrote in his tribute to Connie's death in 1943. He returned to Germany in the end of 1940s and died in Munich in 1954. This is why they are so precious to me and why I find it important to share the memory of these two lifelong friends. The picture is from Eerie Tales (1919), one of their earliest movies together with the director: Reinhold, Richard and Conrad. Reinhold’s full tribute can be read here.

I’m tagging: @wohlbruecks, @perfides-subjekt, @kennyboybarrett, @chapinfan69​, @electricnormanbates​, @ars-historia-est​, @suchamiracle-does-exist​ and anyone who likes to do it. Would you like to share your stories behind your otps? :)

[coeurvrai]

Nadya couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

Her prayer beads were safely in her pocket, so she clutched at the necklace Kostya had given her. What would Kostya say if he saw her now? Caught up in a plan forged by a group of potentially mad teenagers, a mask on her face made of leather painted white and stamped with impressions of thorns.

What necklace? I don’t remember any mention of Kostya giving you a necklace, either during the first chapter or any exposition.

Also I’m pretty sure Kostya would be upset with his apparent best friend flirting with and not murdering their so-called enemy, especially someone apparently as dangerous and as abhorrent as Malachiasz, him being a powerful blood mage and “former” Vulture and all of that. And Kostya doesn’t even have a death goddess as a patron as further motivation. If, y’know, Kostya had any character consistency concerning their mutual hatred and fear of Tranavia. Like she should have with Anna.

He would tease her, scold her, tell her she was getting in over her head. She missed him.

Okay, whatever you say, Nadya. Also you are in over your head because you’ve basically never been outside of your monastery and decided to shack up with Malachiasz, Parijahan and Rashid and their assassination plans for the sake of plot, while literally admitting there was still a lot that you didn’t know.

Also, sure you do lol

Anyways, they are in the city now and Nadya’s like “oh shit, the signal on this Channel Gods is very weak here”, and it’d be very hard for her to do her magic shenanigans. Which annoys me a little, because that means less situations for Nadya’s magic to be established with any rules or showing her using it as a crutch that the lack of it is debilitating - which could’ve made her further realise what taking away blood magic would mean to the people of Tranavia.

The closer they got to the palace grounds, the more agitated Malachiasz became. Nadya could feel her own nervousness feeding off his. She grabbed his wrist when they were near the palace gates, pressing down hard at the base.

She lifted her eyebrows when he shot her a questioning look. The magic they had cast on each other was all that would keep them safe; they had to trust in it. Nadya had anchored her safety to him and he would have to do the same for her. It was clear he didn’t want to return to a place so near the Vultures, but he had to trust her spell would not falter. Finally he let out a long breath, the tension bleeding out of him. She let go of his wrist.

As much as I shit talk Malachiasz because I do not like him, it’s kind of rich to ask him to trust you when you don’t want to trust him yourself. Especially if I make the effort to believe you’re telling the truth and actually mean it when you said earlier that you want to murder him. Like, why should HE trust YOU when you have to pretend you don’t want to murder him?

Like come on, Nadya. Have a tiny bit of self-awareness.

The guards at the palace gates went over Nadya’s paperwork so meticulously that she convinced herself they were going to be arrested on the spot. A bead of sweat dripped down her spine. Rashid didn’t appear concerned, but Nadya had learned the boy had a knack for calm in a similar way Parijahan did. She wondered what it was that allowed the Akolans to stare headlong into potential disaster without flinching.

After ten agonizing minutes, the guards waved her through the gates. Nadya wanted to collapse against Parijahan in relief, but she merely took the papers back from the guard and stepped past them.

When did they get the time to acquire and/or forge these papers?! How did Rashid know which papers to forge and what to do for them? What these are these papers that were so necessary. I’m supposed to believe that it just happened? Even though this was one big huge thing that needed to be done and we’re just brushing over it like “yeah, they have them” like???

Everything is happening without a hitch! And there’s no tension in it, no real tangible stakes in the possibility of them getting caught and the subsequent relief in them not being caught. Like, compared to the Dregs breaking into the Ice Court in SOC, there’s none of that here.

Nadya is separated from Malachiasz and Rashid, only with Parijahan for company as she spends time with this attendant man, talking about how Łaszczów is far away but for the Rawalyk, they’ll make the trip. Nadya’s accent is apparently so good now after the days spent on the road that it’s convincing enough that no comment is made about it.

Nadya had only been wearing her mask for a day and already she was fantasizing about ripping it off. It was hot and uncomfortable and she didn’t want it on anymore.

I mean, would you rather wear the Vulture-inspired masks like you’re a member of the Spring Court in ACOTAR or would you rather further commit “heresy” by doing actual blood magic? If I had the alleged scruples you had, I know which one I’d rather pick.

We get extra details about the royal palace:

The exterior of the palace was striking, with golden columns lining the entrance. Aged oak doors opened into the massive foyer. Marble floors were checkered in pale violets and blacks. Paintings of women in flowing gowns and soldiers in crisp military uniforms stretched across the vaulted ceilings.

As they wound their way through the palace, the paintings became darker in tone. The hallways closed in as the colors grew increasingly oppressive. Vultures—the birds and their human counterparts—their claws, and blood magic symbols scrawled by an artist whose frenzy could be felt.

Altogether opulent and terrifying, it was like a nightmare had bled its way into a nobleman’s dreams.

That writing in the second paragraph is so awkwardly phrased, even though I basically get what it’s saying. Editor dropped the ball on that one. Also I still don’t get what the blood magic symbols are for. Malachiasz used them at the Alena church and they were mentioned before around the palace in Serefin’s POV. Like what is the significance of them, compared to the book pages and their inherent magic?

Speaking of Serefin, Nadya is walking with the attendant and Parijahan around the palace when you’ll NEVER guess who shows up.

“Feeling left out happens when someone goes drinking without you, Ostyia, not when someone visits a mad—oh.” The droll voice that echoed down the hallway stopped.

A spike of adrenaline raced through Nadya. This was the defining moment, where this plan could succeed or burn to the ground and leave them all at the end of a noose.

The High Prince cut a completely different figure than he had that day at the monastery. His brown hair was shorter now, swept carefully back from his forehead. In this light, his pale eyes were less eerie, though the scar that cut across his face was still intimidating. But in the gilded halls of his palace he looked more like a prince than a monster.

He was trailed by the short one-eyed girl. She had been in the middle of pulling on his sleeve and cajoling him when he’d stopped abruptly.

If you guessed our too young to be a general and resident general dumbass prince Serefin, pat yourselves on the back! He is with Ostyia and they seem to be talking about Pelageya, which is something that for some reason he never told her about before the assassination attempt. If this is before the assassination attempt, I’m not sure.

 Again, the difference in time between the two POVs isn’t made clear at all, or whether there is a difference at all, or if time travels at the same time between the two. Which is a very important thing to differentiate, like I mentioned in Serefin’s previous chapter.

Also I’m amused by the fact that Nadya says in this situation “he looks more like a prince than a monster”, because I get what she’s saying but also, duh. He’s the High Prince. Not shit he looks like a prince, because he is one lmao

[moczothe1st]

Let’s Play Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War, Part 28:  Eddafication

Part 27

Welcome back to FEIV! For those who have been following us all this way, you’re about to be rewarded. Last week we avenged Seliph’s dad, and this week we get to avenge his mother and save his sister (PLATONICALLY).  That’s right, the invasion of Grannvale is about to come to its inevitable conclusion with the Second Battle of Belhalla. Seliph vs. Julius, prince vs. prince, brother vs. brother (though Julius would insist we say ‘alleged brother’). Without further ado, let’s rock this!

His army’s victories are a beacon of hope to the Empire’s victims, and a wave of further rebellions sweeps across Jugdral.  First, Silesse was wrestled back from Imperial control by its citizens, and soon after Agustria’s people flocked to arms, burning to fight for their country.

(Convenient!)

But Grannvale itself yet stands.

(If you’re having trouble keeping track, and I don’t blame you, Dozel is the house of Lex, Johan, and good old dead Langbalt. Brian here is Johan’s oldest brother and the current holder of their house’s Holy Weapon, the Helswath axe.)

(Oh God, not these idiots again.  Yes, Scorpius is the son of good old uber-douche Andre, making him cousin to Patty, Faval, Lana, and Lester.)  

… and the capital. Belhalla itself is shrouded under and eerie silence,

(It says something that I’ve beaten Ishtar without any problems twice now, and yet my stomach still falls at the sight of her.  As for the Deadlords, they’re a recurring FE miniboss squad; twelve undead warriors animated to serve the cult of the week. I believe this is their first appearance. They’ll be dropping in this map to make Julius just that much more of a bastard.)

Over a year has passed since the fateful first battle in Isaach. The tragic struggle pitting kin against kin wears on, splitting the heirs of the Twelve Crusaders between the light and dark…

So begins the final holy war.

Julius: Feh. I almost feel sorry for him. All his life he was your tool, Manfroy, only to be thrown away so casually.

(I agree. Arvis was definitely a tool.)

Manfroy: All in your empire’s name, Your Majesty. Arvis was a lost cause. To think he, a man of Loptyr’s bloodline, dared to challenge the revival of your empire! The heart of the Crusader Vala burned too fiercely within him. It was only a matter of time until he turned on you.

Julius: I know, I know… now then, I hear those rebels have stumbled as far as Chalphy. Are our defenses really that pathetic?

Manfroy: Rest assured. I’ve already tasked Edda’s Bishop Rodan and Brian of Dozel with purging Chalphy of those vermin. You’ve no need to worry, Your Majesty.

Julius: Don’t I, now.  

(Julius stands strong in the absolute contempt he holds for his own minions, at least.)

Julius:  Now, where is Julia?

Manfroy: She awaits your whim in the dungeon… you there! Bring us Princess Julia!

Julius: Oho! So you do remember me! I can hardly believe seven long years have passed since you slipped away.

Julia: I… that night is seared in my memory now, as if it was only yesterday.

Julius: Fehehehe… good. I trust you remember your mother’s final kindness as well?

Julia: Who… no what are you? That night… the night Manfroy came bearing that eerie black tome… nothing was ever the same again. My brother, the kind and caring boy I loved so, died that night. In his place stood a demon of terrifying power… my brother in name only. You… you monster… you’ve taken my mother and my brother from me!  Who are you? WHAT are you?!  Why… why do you torment us all so?!

Julius: I am the heir to Loptyr’s blood, and the inheritor of his limitless power. This world rightfully belongs to me.

(Remember this moment, because it’s very, very important.)

Julius: Using Naga’s power to serve me? Interesting. Very interesting! Very well. I must return to Belhalla, Julia is yours, Manfroy. But be warned. Be extremely careful! Even a single mistake with her could cost me dearly.

Bishop Disposable: Cavalry unit, move in on Chalphy! Reclaim our land from the rebels!

Lewyn: That’s what this is. Julius is descended from Loptyrian royalty, and he’s been working to revive the dark empire. No matter what, we must stop him.

Seliph: It feels as if you know everything, Lewyn. I’m beginning to feel left out… please, what in the world are you talking about?

(Well, about ten chapters too late, but he at least finally asked.)

Lewyn: Yeah, sorry about that, Seliph. I know there’s a lot I haven’t been telling you.

(“And what I do tell you tends to be rambling and obnoxious.”)

Lewyn: I’ve spent over a decade on a journey to figure out the truth behind all this, and I’m finally onto a hidden bigger picture here.

Seliph: The bigger picture…?

Lewyn: The founder of the old Loptyr Empire, Bishop Galle, dedicated his youth to a world-exploring voyage across the sea. He desired nothing less than to drink the blood of a legendary beast. Even a single drop, he believed, would bestow upon any human limitless power.

(How… … … … evil?)

Seliph: Do… do you mean the dragonkin of old? It couldn’t be… is that not a myth?

(“I mean, dark gods and holy weapons of divinity, sure, but dragons? Let’s not get weird here, Lewyn.”)

Lewyn: I thought so too, but… when Galle returned home, he bore bizarre powers nobody else understood. With these powers, he set to work swaying youths across the land to aid his ambitions.

(Wait, he swayed them? He didn’t kill them for funsies? Because that doesn’t sound like Loptyr.)

Lewyn: Before anyone realized, he’d raised a fell legion unflinchingly loyal to his cause.

(Okay, that sounds like Loptyr.)

Seliph: Where, then, does Loptyr enter the tale?

(………… It’s so frustrating to always be twenty steps ahead of the main character in following the plot.)

Lewyn: I believe that Loptyr is the dragon Galle bonded with. All of his heirs since then have inherited the dragon’s blood, and the dark powers Loptyr’s kin command are nothing more than the dragonkin’s powers.

Seliph: And what of the Crusaders?

Lewyn: You know the legend. The gods descended upon twelve warriors of the old liberators at the fortress of Darna. But…

Seliph: But?

Lewyn: Sorry, Seliph, but this will have to wait. The enemy’s approaching.

(LEWYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYN!)

All right.  Since Lewyn couldn’t take ten more seconds to finish up the story, and since I’m gonna guess you can probably make some safe assumptions as to where this is going.  Let’s deal with the whole ‘war’ thing first. First, of course, it’s time to see who makes the cut. This is probably the hardest chapter in the game, so dead weight will not be tolerated. Anyone who disappoints me in the arena is fucking out, you guys. You get to stay in the castle with Hannibal, hiding while the awesome people solve the problems. Do not fail me.

Seliph: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Magic, +1 Luck, +1 Resistance

Shanan:  Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Magic, +1 Luck, +2 Defense

Oifey: Six wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +2 Luck, +1 Defense. Hmmm… not amazing, but also not bad. And when I gave you a pass last week you surprised me with quality, so hey, I’ll allow it. You can always defend a different castle if you don’t pan out.

Ulster: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Speed, +2 Defense

Larcei: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Speed, +1 Luck, +2 Defense

Lana: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +2 Skill, +2 Luck

Lester: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +2 Skill, +1 Magic

Dermott: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Luck, +1 Defense, +2 Resistance

Nanna: Seven wins, gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Luck, +1 Defense, +1 Resistance

Fee: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +2 Strength, +1 Magic, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Ced: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +2 Skill

Arthur: Seven wins, gained three levels: +4 HP, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Tinni: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Luck

Patty: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Magic, +1 Luck, +1 Defense, +1 Resistance

Faval: Seven wins, gained two levels: +4 HP, +2 Luck, +1 Resistance

Leif: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Speed, +1 Luck

Altena: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP.  Altena, if you didn’t already have generally great stats and a golden spear of the gods, I would drop you right now.  

Johan: Five wins, gained one level: +1 HP. Yeah, see, Johan? The difference between you and Altena is that she’s amazing and you’re just kind of okay. You’re benched, and Leif is going to put that Brave Axe to better use than you literally ever have.  

Finn: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Ares: Seven wins, gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Luck

Hannibal: Six wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Strength. Oh, Hannibal.  I honestly am rather shocked you did better than Johan, but I’m afraid you didn’t do better enough.  Patty and Ulster will enjoy your swords quite a bit.

Welp, those weren’t great levels in many unfortunate cases, but we’re approaching the point a lot of people can’t get good levels anymore, I guess. Let’s take a look at the map!

It’s a big one, but we’re locked out of a large chunk of it, as usual. We start off in Chalphy on the far south, and our final goal will be Belhalla to the far north; the reason the map looks different from our last assault on Belhalla is that we’re approaching it from the opposite direction.  For right now, we can only proceed east from our starting location to Edda (formerly the duchy run by our old buddy Bishop Claude). Let’s try and give it to his kids!  But before that, we start off with Loptyrian dark mages on the cliffs above us on both sides, armed with siege tomes and our old friend status effect staves. There’s two villages on the map and I think no bandits ever go for them, so no need to rush anywhere; let’s make ourselves safe above all else.  

Good start. Of the eight mages surrounding us, we killed six, severely hurting their ability to bombard us. In particular I got all the staff users, meaning it will all be nicely healable damage, and I’ve got like seven high-tier healers running at this point. End turn!

Not bad again! Fee cripples another mage on the counterattack, and Lester somehow dodges an infinite blue void. The Edda cavalry force also comes close to us, but we aren’t in anyone’s range on their end, and we are in a great position to make them regret approaching us. First step, though, is to clear out the last two mages.

… I can’t reach the last one. I’m a dumbass, I should have sent one flier to each group of mages, but I didn’t. Altena runs over in his direction to break him in half next turn, while everyone else takes their shot at the main enemy army.  

…. Shit.  Finn, what was that, exactly? *sigh* Ares, clean up his mess.

I hate you, Ares.

Okay, not great. Finn is in serious trouble here, and while I have him surrounded, I do think there’s someone who can take a shot at him.  God, if I have to reset on the second turn I will be so ticked off, Finn. I will send you to the bench and give your lance to Altena, Finn. She’s a beautiful flying death machine.

End turn.

*phew*

I always love watching someone dodge a siege tome. They’re just this huge screen-filling doom effect and the target just kind of lightly steps back, and then they miss.

Now then, time to end this before Finn can fail me again. Guys, finish off the first wave!

Larcei, if you’re going to get a completely weird unlikely stat, make it Resistance instead of Magic. You can actually use Resistance.

Still, Edda is now open to attack. Of course it has its own issues, in the form of just… just every fuckin’ mage.

God, just look at that mess. And the worst part is that every single one of those magical jerks? Has a long distance option, either a siege tome or a… ugh… sleep staff. So really, the best strategy I have is to send Ares and Seliph in to be anti-magic gods and shrug off magic whilst killing the staff guys.  Fee could go in without worrying about magic too, but those three snipers in the front row who could shoot her down like a stray duck have other ideas.  Oh, and Nanna gains a staff level to top her off at 30.

Yeah, that’s about what I expect from her. I am not sure but I suspect her strength, defense, and speed at her cap, at least. Maybe? I should look that up but I’m tired and I’d rather just end my turn and destroy the enemy.

And after that, insert about fifteen more shots of people missing Ares with siege tomes. Ares gives precisely zero shits about your Bolting, guys.  Everyone takes the shot and nobody comes close. It’s almost sad. Almost.

On my turn, I have the Horse Boys move slightly up and kill two of the snipers, with eventual intent to let Fee help their dumb horse faces out.

Seliph also got one but I wasn’t paying attention and saved over it, whoops. So one archer left to deal with next turn. I also have Cairpre start moving up, and he wakes Ulster up so he can move back. Then Lene dances her brother to send him another run forward to join in too.

End turn! Enjoy some more scenes of Ares and Seliph just rocking the shit out for awhile.

… Who even are you…?

Well, nobody threatening, anyway.  

*Insert 20 shots of horses lightly backstepping out of the way of fireballs and lightning bolts*

That was nice. Now, Seliph moves up and takes out one of the staff guys, Fee and Patty step up to clear out things for our air force, and Ares kills whats-his-name.  

…. Wait, what?

FUCK. Reset.  

Okay. This ass is way more dangerous than I remembered or gave him credit for, clearly. So let’s try the cautious approach. Lana, care to spend some of your boyfriend’s money?

See, that’s a little more what I was aiming for. Honestly, hiding a Swordmaster with Sol, Pursuit, Critical, and Adept in among everyone else? That’s just mean.  

… In other words, I feel like I’m playing Fire Emblem again!  The last few maps were just too nice, barring Julius’s crazy psycho games and Arvis being Arvis. Fun times. Cairpre runs up and grabs Patty out of horrible murder range with his Rescue staff, and: end turn!

Yeah, Ares, you better succeed here. You’re on thin ice, buddy.

At this point, the staff dudes are mostly in range, so it’s time to start moving up a little and purging them.

Be-au-ti-ful!  Though like, half of them are still alive, even if I took away some leadership stars by removing Bishop Not Paying Attention to Morals. I may regret this. *sob* End turn…

Well, that was ugly, but nobody died. Still quite a few people have taken heavy hits… shame there’s not like, a huge HP reset button that can undo it all immediately.

Hehehehehehehe.

Okee dokee!  That’s the first army down. There’s…. *sigh* there’s more armies.  This is gonna get worse before it gets better, folks, so let’s just take Edda and end-a the update. (And I’m not just cutting this short because Red Dead 2 and Hitman 2 came out back to back, why would you even say that.  … Also this wasn’t actually very short, between the six-thousand enemies and Ares getting mangled.)

*sob*

Lewyn: Oh, of course. Cairpre and Lene. They’re going to be great rulers for Edda.

(… … … Are they?)

Lewyn: And after all they’ve been through, I know that’ll bring a smile to the people’s faces.

(Well, Lene is basically a stripper, so that part is probably true.)

All right, Homeland One, liberated! Join us next week when we continue our tour of the nation with Dozel and Freege, homeland of some of Grannvale’s greatest and most beloved nobles.

Yeah, it may be best to just burn those ones down.  

See you next week!  

Total Resets: 28. And I was doing so well, damn it.

Part 29

[sparda3g]

Gintama Chapter 681 Review

When a series pulls a time-skip, the reason is usually for the sake of powering up the characters and refills the element of surprise in their arsenal. When Gintama jumped time, I was under impression that it entered the epilogue and end like many series tends to do, and that’s fine. It was this very chapter that has changed my mind. Sorachi is doing an excellent work on delivering something meaningful and reasonable than simple powered-up characters or ending with a new family. It’s a rare outlook of the war aftermath that it has more harm than good and it will only grow worse.

Sorachi has been on his A-game in writing for the past chapters and there’s no sign of slowing down. Not only his comedy delivery has been top notch, vintage level if I may add, but so as his dark portion with Shouyou’s disciples with powerful scenes that are grander than a standard Shounen level. Praise the sun for the editors giving him the opportunity to end wonderfully. By this point, I don’t care when it will end; I simply enjoying every piece.

Takasugi has been a hell of a character since Shogun Assassination Arc. Sorachi has proven that even late in the game, he made sure his character’s development will be as significant as any other. I was surprised yet glad that we received the flashback of his. I truly like how sincere he has become with others. It’s rather a touching scene with him holding on Oboro’s remains and apologizing for unable to be the one to bury him with Shouyou. It moved me the fact he kept his promises and actually care deeply. It did sadden me that he was really going to die. This series has no friend.

It’s confirmed that he went to the room with Tendoushuu to kill them all before he goes out. It’s a hell of a scene with him glaring with eyes of death at the guy, the same one who ordered to kill Shouyou, and destroy the tube. It felt so good for the long awaited revenge to be done. If it wasn’t for the last chapter, I would have thought this is the end for him, but it did make me question on his survival. Another question popped up was if Takasugi only went there to kill them, not solving the falling ship issue, how they did stop it. The answer is most likely for another time.

Sorachi is one step ahead with the use of writing technique since he doesn’t let any opportunity pass by. In this case, it transitions to a crazy and eerie mind game against Takasugi. Tendoushuu warned him that the chain of enemy will not end when they are disposed, but Takasugi didn’t care. He’s one of the Shouyou’s disciples that live to see the day to avenge him. It was supposed to be a moment of glory, moment we have wanted to see. Then, it becomes dark, eerie, and mind numbing.

I was lost at first to believe that guy legit turned into Utsuro, but it was clear by the next page that it’s all in Takasugi’s mind. I got serious chill with the scene, surrounded by Utsuro, with Takasugi trying to grip on reality. The trigger was saying Shouyou made him this way, insinuating that he is the cause of his transformation. Was Takasugi taking on someone else for his anger? Imagine, a villain telling to a more or less hero about revenge won’t bring justice. That’s new. It also pushes further with the theme of humanity to be the problem of everything in which has been developing strikingly well.

I gasped loudly at the end of the flashback. I like how Takasugi got a grip on reality, though felt a bit terrified, only to resume on his path to kill them all. If his slow countdown to death wasn’t convincing enough to believe he was going to die, the end scene will. I don’t know if Sorachi really wants every one of the disciples to suffer miserably, but he getting stabbed by soldiers was simply brutal. I cannot believe there are people from Liberation Army that still worshipped Tendoushuu, but it would make crazy sense later on. Bottom line, Takasugi was in fact going to die here, one way or another.

There’s a nice touching reunion with Shijaku and Katsura at the graveyard. I thought he was paying a visit to Enshou, but it was for Nobu Nobu. I am still not ready for the anime to cover that moment; such a sad scene. I love the fact his final action was influential for everyone to make the unification happen. If it wasn’t for him, the war would have gone on and their hate would not have them working together to repair the damage. Basically, Shijaku and Katsura pay their respect and gracious for his sendoff. It’s telling with Katsura showing up, buried their hatchet a long time ago.

It’s pleasing for Shijaku and Katsura to be in a leadership role, carrying off Nobu Nobu’s wish. I like how those two have to work together to repair Edo as well as working on their side of the issue. It’s the reason why Edo is getting repaired at a faster rate. Imagine if Edo was alone on this; it would have look like post-apocalyptic. I’m glad that Sorachi didn’t brush Shijaku away like just a one-time thing for the arc and it makes sense for him to take over Enshou’s place. I also like how wise he is, unwilling to accept any praise because it was his people that brought war upon them. It’s not cooperation; it’s atonement. He is a nice noble character that fits well with the series.

The conversation becomes dark and like many times before, it intrigues me greatly with how Sorachi manages to expand the lore at this time. I do love how ending the war doesn’t result to happiness, but instead, good and bad will occur like hand-to-hand. Earth has it bad enough with shady Government and Katsura is likely running the city to push them away from creating any damage. Shijaku sadly has it worse because there are planets that have people forming an organization that essentially become terrorists. It’s rather dark for Sorachi to write terrorism in the series, including their action that revolves with suicide.

The plot becomes grimmer yet more appealing with the introduction of a religion called Tengenism. It feels odd to read a Shounen Jump series that talk about religion that could have gone controversial. It is true that religion can be a belief in which people depend on through the midst of chaos, but it can be misled as well. I won’t go too deep since it can get personal. Tengenism consist worshippers of Altana and with multiple planets that has its own, the collision can change the ideal. This is getting close to home.

The ideal made the writing clearer on why we have a time-skip as well as Tendoushuu’s revival. The main point of bringing Tengenism into the discussion is the symbol of a phoenix, which means undying. With this religion that is interchangeable, it now translates to worshippers of Utsuro. That is horrifying how corrupted it can become. For the record, when Katsura gets serious, it’s actually haunting at times, so with him elaborating the detail of their major problem, you know this is very serious.

It is insane for people to worship a murderer, but it’s his immortality that grasped their attention, wanting one for themselves. Their mind is at a desperate state for a desire to take back their loved ones; that’s the misleading part. It’s eerie but it’s not far from reality. It’s why we have a time-skip; to build up the religion to have a large capacity. The effect won’t happen overnight, so it’s convincing how it has grown so large in the matter of 2 years. Not to mention, Tendoushuu’s revival would have taken time as well. It also appears that they have regain power with religion worshippers. This whole time-skip has been meaningful and justified with many new plot threads that could have happen realistically. It’s as if Sorachi has decided to work on part 2 without announcing it to be as such. He’s making sure all plot threads are complete.

The last scene was gut wrenching and heartfelt. Takasugi has steadily growing to be in my top 5 favorites with his development and sincere personality. I was awestruck on how he felt like everything was going to end for him on a sour note with history repeating itself. His action would have gone in vain and pained him how he couldn’t keep any wish, especially for his beloved master.

The final two pages are powerful because he was left no choice but to abandon his humanity not for his sake, but for others. I love that he is carrying on Oboro’s wish behind him and motivated him to keep standing and take whatever means necessary. It becomes literal when he used the remains and stabbed across it and himself. That’s how he obtained immortality. That was jarring. The last panel is pure tensed. Now I really don’t know if Sorachi will kill him off in the end. He never ceases to amaze me.

This chapter was very gripping and intense. The artwork is pretty stellar with the intensity of vengeance and the brutality Takasugi suffered from mental and physical torture. I believe there are very few panels that aren’t finalized but they’re not distracting. The important ones are drawn to perfection. The connection with the flashback and the uncovered story of Tengenism was thought-provoking, which is why it didn’t feel out of place. In doing so, it created a strong narrative. This arc has been outstanding so far and it’s only getting started.

[actualbiggestidiot]

The discussion about “literature” in Asia Minor has received new impulses in recent years, in that questions have been raised about the transmission history, origin and compilation, but also about the purpose and sponsorship of such texts. For some time now, literary theories have also been given greater consideration in the development of texts from Asia Minor. Such questions were therefore - in the casual connection to two conferences held in 2003 and 2005, which primarily focused on religious topics of Anatolian tradition - at the center of a symposium in February 2010 in the Department of Religious Studies of the Institute for Oriental and Asian Studies from the University of Bonn. The reference to the two earlier conferences is not only established by the same place of publication, but also, in terms of content, there are undoubtedly points of contact between the history of religion and the history of literature in Hittite Asia Minor; for a considerable part of the written tradition of the Hittites is related to rituals, mythologies and the transmission of religious ideas.

As a pragmatic basis, “literature” was understood as a culture worthy of handing down written material for the symposium's question, without making this description too narrow for the symposium. This made it possible in the context of the contributions to raise a number of questions that could focus on different aspects of the literary tradition of Hittite culture depending on the interests. Some of the questions discussed during the symposium focused on literary theories, and some of the processes of literary production and dissemination were outlined, whereby stylistic forms of expression and motifs in this function were also considered.

Despite the different approaches of the authors, it is not difficult to see thematic similarities in the present volume. Questions of literary theory and literary genres are mainly in the center of the contributions by Birgit Christiansen, Paola Dardano, Amir Gilan, Manfred Hutter, Maria Lepši and Jared L. Miller; Complementary to this literary block are the contributions by Silvia Alaura, José L. García Ramón, Alwin Kloekhorst, Elisabeth Rieken and Zsolt Simon, who examine motifs and linguistic forms of expression in Anatolian texts. How understanding of literature - be it with regard to the statements of a literary work or be it with regard to the conception of such a work - is also promoted by the comparison of texts can be seen in the present volume in the contributions by Sylvia Hutter-Braunsar, Michel Mazoyer, Ian Rutherford, Karl Strobel and Joan Goodnick Westenholz. Finally, the last - no less important - group is the contributions by Gary Beckman, Carlo Corti, Magdalena Kapełuś and Piotr Taracha, who focus on the reconstruction and compilation of individual texts - as the basis for future literary analyzes of these texts.

For the present volume, the individual contributions have been editorially standardized as far as possible, but spellings of names and sometimes also transcriptions of Anatolian words, for which the authors have good reasons, have been left in different forms within the texts. The editorial standardization therefore primarily concerned citation methods and abbreviations, the latter can be broken down using the attached list of abbreviations.

1. The Illuyanka text is undoubtedly one of the best-known Hittite stories. The text was presented by Archibald Sayce in the 1920s. Shortly thereafter, the linguist Walter Porzig drew attention to parallels to the ancient Greek traditions, especially to the Typhon myth. The first "modern" editing of the text was done by Gary Beckman. In the meantime, numerous translations and studies have appeared that illuminate the text from different perspectives. The fascination that the Illuyanka text exudes is partly due to the fact that the myth has been handed down in two different versions - on one and the same board. The text also owes its popularity to the numerous parallels to other narratives of the type "snake dragon slayer". Tales of this kind about a hero who defeats and kills a serpentine dragon have been widespread throughout history in many parts of the world and continue to be so today. They are as good as universal. History can fulfill numerous functions - etiologies of extraordinary natural phenomena, ideological claims to rule, cosmological considerations about the beginnings of the world, religious symbolism or literary entertainment - which often show fairly constant plot structures and are subject to their own narratological logic. As Calvert Watkins (1995) was able to show, many of these narratives also share poetic formulas which are documented for the first time in the Hittite Illuyanka text. It is noticeable that many kite snakes have an affinity for water in common - an ambivalent and conflicting element in itself. "The fundamental element in the dragon’s power is the control of water. Both in its beneficent and destructive aspects water was regarded as animated by the dragon ”, stated G. Elliot Smith (1919: 103). Also Illuyanka, the (eel) snake, if one follows Joshua Katz (1998) and favors the old etymology of Illuyanka as illi / u (eel, English eel) and -anka (snake, cf. Latin anguis) (see now also Melchert, in press), is closely associated with water in both stories. In addition, in many cultures dragons have a special affinity for water sources (Zhao 1992: 113-114), which also play a role in the Illuyanka text. In the ancient Orient, the role of this hero is in most cases a weather god in one of his characters. The role of the enemy is occupied in different epochs and regions of the Ancient Orient by the (primordial) sea and a number of eerie creatures that inhabit it or originate from it. In the Syrian region, the battle of the weather god against têmtum is already mentioned in ancient Babylonian times; in a letter from the ambassador Maris in Aleppo, the weather god of Aleppo traces the kingship back to the investiture of his weapons with which he fought against têmtum (Durand 1993: 41-61; Schwemer 2001, 226-232). The weapons of the weather god from this fight, as well as the mountains Namni and Ḫazzi, are mentioned in the Hittite Bišaiša text (CTH 350), a mythological story that has unfortunately only survived fragmentarily. There the mountain god Bišaisa tells the goddess Ištar - after he raped the sleeping goddess, but was caught by her and begged for his life - about the weapons of the weather god with which he defeated the sea (Schwemer 2001: 233; Haas 2006: 212f .). The famous passage in the Puḫānu text, which is often interpreted as the “crossing of the Taurus”, is in my opinion linked. to this mythologist (Gilan 2004: 277-279). The fight of the weather god against the sea is also a theme of the Hurrian-Hittite Kumarbi cycle. In order to regain control over the world of gods, Kumarbi creates several terrible adversaries who are supposed to defeat the weather god Teššop. Three of these adversaries are closely related to water. At first the sea god himself was an opponent of the weather god. The song from the sea, which is mentioned in Hurrian and Hittite fragmentary myth and ritual fragments as well as in table catalogs, was probably made during a festival for Mount Ḫazzi (Zaphon, Kasion, today Keldağ on the Bay of İskenderun, the scene of many war and dragon stories ) presented.

Ullikummi was also closely associated with water. Another adversary was Ḫedammu, a snake-like monster (André-Salvini / Salvini 1998: 9-10; Dijkstra 2005). Ḫedammu was conceived by Kumarbi with the gigantic daughter of the sea and because of his voracity caused a famine that threatened to destroy mankind. Help was provided by Ištar, who went to the beach for nude bathing, seduced Ḫedammu there, who crawled excitedly out of the water to land, where he met his end. The Ḫedammu story shows many similarities to the first Illuyanka story (most recently Hoffner 2007: 125), while the "Anatolian" myth of "Telipinu and the daughter of the sea" (Hoffner 1998: 26-28; Haas 2006: 115-117) has a lot in common with the second Illuyanka story. In both narratives, a marriage - and the obligation associated with it - served to prevent danger. 2. The great importance of the Illuyanka text for the history of religion, however, is primarily due to the fact that the mythical narratives seem to be embedded in the ritual - an assumption that has strongly influenced the interpretation of the narratives in research. It is precisely this supposed connection between myth and ritual that will occupy me in the following. Before I get into that, however, I would like to briefly outline the scientific discussion about the relationship between myth and ritual, as the discussion is of crucial importance in interpreting the Illuyanka narrative (s). The question of the relationship between myth and ritual has shaped myth and ritual theory like no other since the end of the 19th century. It is associated with scholars such as the Old Testament scholar William Robertson Smith, who was the first to point out "the dependence of myth on ritual". The theory was further developed by Sir James Frazer in his monumental masterpiece "The Golden Bough", which grew from edition to edition. Frazer examined various ancient gods, which he interpreted as vegetation gods - including Adonis, Attis, Demeter, Tammuz, Osiris and Dionysus. The myth of death and resurrection of these deities was ritually performed annually during the New Year celebrations to guarantee the revitalization of the vegetation (Versnel 1990: 29f.). “Under the names of Osiris, Tammuz, Adonis, and Attis, the people of Egypt and Western Asia represented the yearly decay and revival of life, especially of vegetable life, which they personified as a god who died annually and rose again from the dead . In name and detail the rites varied from place to place: in substance they were the same ”(Frazer 1961: 164). Segal (2004: 66) describes the meaning of the myth for Frazer as follows: “Myth gives ritual its original and soul meaning. Without the myth of the death and rebirth of that god, the death and rebirth of the god of vegetation would scarcely be ritualistically enacted. ”In the second, more influential Frazerian myth-ritual theory, the deified king is at the center. To end the winter and to guarantee the food supply, the king is killed by the community as soon as he shows weakness but still has strength. The weak phase of the king is equated with winter. His premature killing is to ensure that the soul of the deity who dwells in him can be transferred to his successor (Segal 2004: 66). The "Cambridge Ritual School" around Gilbert Murray, F.M. Cornford and Jane Ellen Harrison took Frazer's theories further. They transferred Frazer's story of the ritual royal drama - his death and resurrection - to Greek society and saw in this basic ritual structure the origins of Greek mythology and Greek drama (Versnel 1990: 30-35; Bell 1997: 5f.). The ritual was considered the source of the myth. Myths originally emerged only as a textual accompaniment to a ritual: "The primary meaning of myth ... is the spoken correlative of the acted rite, the thing done" (Jane Ellen Harri-son, quoted in Segal 1998: 7). However, myths could live on in literary forms after the rituals from which they arose have long since disappeared (Bell 1997: 6). The Old Testament scholar Samuel Henry Hooke turned to the ancient oriental religions (Versnel 1990: 35-38) and was able to reconstruct a ritual scheme (cult pattern) that is reminiscent of Frazer's ritual royal drama (Segal 1998; 2004: 70-72). Here too, the focus is on the deified king, who represents the deity in the festive ritual. According to Hooke, the following elements belong to the great New Year celebrations - the climax of the cult calendar year - as well as to other rituals (Hooke [1933] in Segal 1998: 88-89):

(1) The dramatic representation of the death and resurrection of the god.

(2) The recitation or symbolic representation of the myth of creation.

(3) The ritual combat, in which the triumph of the god over his enemies was depicted.

(4) The sacred marriage.

(5) The triumphal procession, in which the king played the part of the god followed by a train of lesser gods or visiting deities.

The Babylonian Akītu festival was of central importance for the development of the cult pattern as well as other theories of the myth and ritual school. Scenes such as the humiliation of the king in Esagila on the 5th of Nissanu, the recitation of Enūma eliš in the festival and the so-called Marduk Ordal offered the myth ritualists perfect parallels between king and deity, myth and ritual. For them, the ritual treatment of the king, his humiliation and possible re-enthronement reflected exactly the original mythological event in illo tempore - the fight of Marduk against Ti’amat and her troop of demonic monsters in enūma eliš (Versnel 1990: 36f.). Hooke's ritual narrative was further developed and modified by Theodor Gaster. For Gaster (1954: 198) too, myths are only myths if they are used or used in the ritual. Myths supplement the practical, functional level of the rituals with an eternal, ideal component. The myth "stands in fact in the same relationship to Ritual as God stands to the king, the 'heavenly‘ to the earthly city and so forth "(Gaster 1954: 197f.). With the simultaneous performance of myth and ritual, a cultic drama arises in which the myth is brought to mind (Gaster 1950: 17). The focus of his ritual theory is the seasonal pattern. "Seasonal rituals are functional in character. Their purpose is periodically to revive the topocosm, that is, the entire complex of any given locality conceived as a living organism. They fall into the two clear divisions of Kenosis, or Emptying, and Plerosis, or Filling, the former representing the evacuation of life, the latter its replenishment. Rites of Kenosis include the observance of fasts, lents, and similar austerities, all designed to indicate that the topocosm is in a state of suspended animation. Rites of Plerosis include mock combats against the forces of drought or evil, mass mating, the performance of rain charms and the like, all designed to effect the reinvigoration of the topocosm "(Gaster 1961: 17). In Thespis Gaster (1950: 315-380) offers a selection of ancient oriental mythological texts, partly also in translation, in which he discovered the traces of this seasonal cult scheme, including a number of Hittite texts, myths that are even still in their "original" ritual packaging are handed down. These include the Telipinu myth, the myth of the frost Ḫaḫḫima, the myth of the disappearance and return of the sun deity and The snaring of the Dragon, i.e. the Illuyanka text embedded in the Purulli festival. The myth ritualists gained great influence in many areas of the humanities, especially in literary studies. However, criticism has increased over time. This is why Clyde Kluckhohn (1942: 54) writes in his influential essay: “The whole question of the Primacy of ceremony and Mythology is as meaningless as all questions of the hen or the egg form”, a quote that also inspired the title of this article . Kluckhohn pointed out that myths often appear in connection with rituals, but just as often they do not. Rites and myths can stand in the most varied of relationships to one another, and can also arise in total independence from one another. A myth can contain motifs from other myths; these can be transferred between different cult contexts (Bremmer 1998: 74). Many other critics followed who pointed to errors and misunderstandings in myth and ritual literature and thus shook its foundations. E.g. Kirk (1974: 31-37) comes to the conclusion, based on the Greek material, that the vast majority of Greek myths arose without any special relation to rituals (1974: 253). The mytho-ritualistic interpretation of the Akītu festival was also decidedly rejected (von Soden 1955; Black1981). From today's point of view, the seasonal scheme of parallel mythical and ritual death and resurrection is considered outdated (Smith 1982: 91; Versnel 1990: 44). The works of the myth ritualists have themselves become myths and are particularly interesting from a research historical perspective: "The Study of Ritual arose in an age of Unbounded Confidence in its ability to explain everything fully and scientifically and the construction of Ritual as a category is part of this worldview "(Bell 1997: 21). However, Frazer's great narrative of ritual drama - battle, death, and resurrection - still enjoys popularity. One good reason to deal with Frazer's ritual drama here is above all that this concept shapes the Hittite literature on the Illuyanka text to this day.

3. Volkert Haas undertakes a decidedly Frazerian interpretation of the Illuyanka story, who sees Ḫupašiya as a “kind of priest and year king” who, after a hieros gamos with the goddess, “from a priestess of the Inar (a) to a limited, perhaps even annual, rule cycle would have been killed ”(Haas1982: 45f.). The characterization of the text in its Hittite literary history also has Frazerian roots (Haas 2006: 97): “With the Illuyanka text, there is a seasonal myth in which the order and forces of the cosmos are renewed in the cultic reconstruction of prehistoric events. The myth has been handed down in two versions. At the end of the agricultural year in the autumn after the harvest, the Hittite python Illuyanka, the personification of winter, defeats the weather god Tarhunta, who embodies the forces of spring and who has now ceased to function and is in the power of the Illuyanka during the winter months. At the beginning of spring, with the awakening of the forces of growth, a second battle follows, in which the weather god defeats the Illuyanka with the help of his son or the human Ḫupašiya. The myth that is part of the Old Hittite New Year ritual ends with the etiology of sacred royalty. He was probably also represented by miming. ”- The elements of the Frazerian story cannot be overlooked: ritual drama of primeval times, renewal of the cosmos, order and chaos, revitalization of the forces of nature, the close connection to royalty and the performance in ritual. Some elements of this interpretation have meanwhile been strongly questioned, such as the suggestion to view Ḫupašiya as the king of the year or the cohabitation with Inara as hieros gamos (Hoffner 1998: 11). The identification of the Purulli festival as the Old Ethite New Year festival could not establish itself either (CHD P, 392b; Taracha 2009: 136). Other “mythos-ritualistic” elements are still the state of research. 3.1 This includes embedding the Illuyanka myth in the Purulli festival. In a fundamental essay on Hittite mythology, Hans G. Güterbock set himself the research task of tracing the origins of the various myths and their ways of transmission (Güterbock 1961: 143). "In doing so we immediately make an observation concerning the literary form in which mythological tales have been handed down: only the myths of foreign origin were written as real literary compositions - we may call them epics - whereas those of local Anatolian origin were committed to writing only in connection with rituals. " This distinction between local mythological material embedded in a ritual context and “more literary”, imported mythological narratives of “foreign” origin has since established itself in Hittitology (most recently Lorenz / Rieken 2010). For research in this context, the Illuyanka text represents the prime example of the embedding of myth in the Anatolian cult. As Güterbock (1961: 150f.) Notes: “The text states expressly that the story was recited at the purulli festival of the Storm-god, one of the great yearly cult ceremonies ”. This assessment, too, has practically established itself in Hittitology and has a major impact on the religious-historical interpretation of the two Illuyanka stories. There is far less agreement on the question of whether the myths in the festival were also represented by facial expressions, as Gaster suspected at the time (1950). In his review, Goetze was skeptical about this. The idea came back to life with Pecchioli Daddi's proposal (1987: 361-379; 2010: 261; but see Taracha 2009: 136) to identify the festival ritual for the deity Tetešḫabi (CTH 738) as part of the Purulli festival. She observes (Pecchioli Daddi 1987: 378) that the “daughter of the poor man” functions in the cult of the Teteš “abi, a figure who also plays a role in the second Illuyanka story and leads to the assumption that the myth is in the cult facial expressions (Haas 1988: 286). In addition, the connections between myth and ritual in the Illuyanka text are varied and complex. The Illuyanka stories were recorded on a board along with "ritual descriptions" which may, but not necessarily, represent parts of the Purulli festival. In addition, the first Illuyanka story also provides the aetiology for the Purulli festival celebrated in spring (Goetze 1952: 99; Neu 1990: 103; Klinger 2007: 72).

3.2 The Illuyanka stories are often interpreted as seasonal myths which symbolically represent the regeneration of nature, if not even magically bring it about. According to this interpretation, the defeat of the weather god, who is the lord of rain, endangers nature and agriculture (Hoffner 2007: 124). The eventual victory of the weather god symbolizes the revival of the vegetation in spring (Schwemer 2008: 24). Illuyanka's role is interpreted differently as the personification of winter (Neu 1990: 103; Haas 2006: 97), the Kaškäer (Gonnet 1987: 93-95) or, in my opinion, true as the master of underground water (Hoffner 2007: 124). 3.3 A close relationship between the narratives and the Hittite kingdom is postulated. "The mythic story about the dragon Illuyanka could be interpreted as an aetiological legitimation of the invention of kingship ... very secure are the close ties between the Hittite kings and the festival respectively the place where the mythological drama is located - namely the city of Nerik "(Klinger 2009: 99). The close connection to royalty is primarily based on the identification of Ḫupašiya as an archaic, mythological king as well as on the role of the goddess Inara as the protective deity of Ḫattuša with close connections to the Hittite kingdom. But can the Illuyanka text meet all of these expectations? 4. The text (CTH 321) has survived in eight or nine Young Hittite copies - the affiliation of duplicate J (KUB 36.53) in Košak's Concordance has meanwhile been disputed - but the text contains linguistic archaisms that could refer to an older model. Hoffner (2007: 122) notes the small number of archaisms which for Klinger (2009: 100) show “the characteristic features of a moderately modernized text typical of the process of copying an older tablet”. The text itself is introduced as the speech of Kella, the GUDU priest of the weather god of Nerik. The GUDU priest was part of the basic equipment of Hittite temples and was mainly anchored in the northern and central Anatolian, Hittite-Hittite cult tradition. He served in traditional Anatolian cult centers such as Nerik, Zipplanda or Arinna and was primarily active as an incantation priest and as a reciter in festive events (most recently Taggar-Cohen 2006: 229-278; Taracha 2009: 66). As the report of a GUDU priest, however, the Illuyanka text is quite singular. In reality, the text is unique in itself, a property that unfortunately went relatively uncommented in research. In contrast to other mythological texts of Anatolian tradition, the Illuyanka text does not represent a mūgawar "invocation" and did not serve to appease and bring about disappeared deities (Lepši 2009: 23). The text is not a festive ritual text and does not contain any magical practices (but now see Lorenz / Rieken 2010: 219). I will come back to the genre definition of the text, but first we will deal with the question of how myth and ritual are embedded. The text is presented in the words of Kella (KBo 3.7 i 1-11 with duplicate KBo 12.83): [U]MMA mKell[a LÚGUDU12] ŠA d10 URUNerik nepišaš dI[ŠKUR-ḫ]u-[n]a? purulliyaš uttar nu mān kiššan taranzi utne=wa māu šešdu nu=wa utnē paḫšanuwan ēšdu nu mān māi šešzi nu EZEN4 purulliyaš iyanzi mān dIŠKUR-aš MUŠIlluyankašš=a INA URUKiškilušša arga(-)tiēr nu=za MUŠIlluyankaš dIŠKUR-an taraḫta

As follows Kell [a, the GUDU12 priest of the] weather god of Nerik: This (is) the word / matter of the purulli [...] of the weather god of heaven. When one says in this way: “Let the land prosper and multiply! - The land should be protected! ”And as soon as / so that it flourishes and multiplies, the purulli festival is celebrated. When the weather god and the snake fought in Kiškilušša, the snake defeated the weather god. The rest of the story should be known. The weather god begs all gods for help, the goddess Inara prepares a festival and brings Ḫupašiya to help. Ḫupašiya shows himself to be helpful, but demands in return to sleep with the goddess. The snake and its children are lured out of their hole in the ground; they eat and drink too much; The story, however, follows Inara, the actual heroine of the story (Pecchioli Daddi / Polvani 1990: 42), who builds a house for herself on a rock in the country of Tarukka and lets Ḫupašiya quarter there on the condition that he never looks out the window . But the relationship does not last longer than 20 days, because aupašiya does what he is not allowed to do. It is unclear whether Inara Ḫupašiya ultimately kills, but it is often suspected. For our question, the last paragraph in history is of particular interest (KBo 3.7 ii 15'-20'):

Inaraš INA URUKiškil[ušša wit] É-ŠU ḫunḫuwanašš[=a ÍD ANA] QATI LUGAL mān dāi[š] ḫa[nt]ezziyan purull[iyan] kuit iyaueni Ù QAT [LUGAL É-ir] dInaraš ḫunḫuwanašš=a ÍD […]

Inara [came] to Kiškil [ušša]. And when she put her house and [the river] of underground water [in] the hand of the king [...] - that's why / since then we celebrate the first purull [i] festival - and the hand [of the The king is said to be the house] of the Inara and the [river] of the underground water [...] So much for the first and longer mythical story. However, it cannot be overlooked that nowhere does the text suggest that the snake narrative is recited in the Purulli festival itself, as is so often assumed. At the beginning (lines 4-8), Kella explains to his addressees what Purulli actually means: A spring festival that is celebrated as soon as the land flourishes and multiplies (with Hoffner 2007: 131) or so that it flourishes and multiplies, as it did recently Melchert (in press), who revived Stefanini's suggestion (Pecchioli Daddi / Polvani 1990: 50) that it should be read here as a final conjugation, exceptionally and depending on the context. The cited speech "from the cult event" is clearly limited to the short blessing. Immediately afterwards, Kella begins to tell the first snake story. As the end of the story (lines 15-20) makes clear, with his first myth, Kella provides an etiology for what he believes was the first / original Purulli festival. The addressees of this speech are not the festival participants in Nerik / Kiškilušša, but the recipients of the text in Ḫattuša, who are informed by Kella about the meaning of the festival and its history. The widespread assumption that the myth was presented at the Purulli festival itself cannot be confirmed in the Illuyanka text itself. The brevity and the unadorned style of the narrative - epithets are missing e.g. completely - speak against the assumption that the story, at least in this form, was ever presented in a festive manner (Lepši 2009: 23). Can the presumption of recitation be explained as a projection of myth and ritual theory, originating in analogy to the Babylonian Akītu festival? Kiškilušša, however, is far from Babylon in many ways. If the Illuyanka myth was not recited during cult events, as is so often assumed, the assumption that the story symbolized the regeneration of the forces of nature, even magically and creatively caused it, becomes all the more improbable. The substance of the story itself speaks against this assumption; Hoffner (2007: 129) rightly remarks: "Unlike the so-called Disappearing Deity Myths the text does not elaborate the natural catastrophes that must have followed from the Storm-god’s disablement." Nor does he describe the healing states afterwards. The narrator's interest is obviously elsewhere. Kella only wants to explain how it came about that Inara placed her house and the river of underground water in the hands of the king (KBo 3.7 ii 15-19), an event that founded the first Purulli festival for him. As Gary Beckman (1982: 24) rightly remarked, the handover is the etiology for a royal cult in Kiškilušša, a scarcely occupied village not far from Tarukka, which, however, claims to be the site of a large one primeval struggle, the traces of which could still be seen in cultural legacies (the house on a rock in the Tarukka country) and in local, extraordinary natural phenomena (the flow of underground water) (Hoffner 2007: 126-127). Only the victory over the snake made the handover by Inara possible, who in turn founded the first / original Purulli festival for the weather god of the sky (KBo 3.7 i 2).

The Purulli festival has, as is well known, archaic, northern and central Anatolian roots and was celebrated in spring in several localities for several deities (see CHD P: 392a for the evidence). As is well known, spring festivals were an integral part of the cult in countless Anatolian towns. With his aetiology of the Purulli festival in Kiškilušša, Kella tries to “sell” the importance of the royal cult foundation in Kiškilušša, and he is certainly interested in the fact that this cult foundation will continue to exist in Kiškilušša. Thus a rather profane reading suggests itself for the last, very fragmentary sentence of the first story (KBo 3.7 ii 19'-20 '): “and the hand [of the king shall be the house] of the Inara and the [river] of the underground water [hold?] ”(additions from Beckman 1982: 19). This interpretation is supported by the second mention of the king at the end of the Illuyanka text (KBo 3.7 iv 24'-26 ’with duplicate KUB 17.6 iv 20-21). There is talk of a royal foundation, which regulates the supply of the three deities - Zaliyanu, Zašḫapuna and Tazzuwašši - or their priests in Tanipiya. As the etiology for this foundation in Tanipiya, which is described in detail, Kella tells of the throwing ceremony, which decides on the seat and hierarchy of the gods and makes it necessary to care for Zaliyanu and his companions in Tanipiya. This foundation is also a local affair, as its relatively modest size suggests. The parallel between the two cases cannot be overlooked. In both of them it is up to Kella to explain the importance of local cult institutions. This local dimension of the first Illuyanka story may in my opinion not be overlooked. The historian Paul Veyne (1987: 28) writes about the Greek mythographer Pausanias, albeit a bit pointedly: “If you read Pausanias, you understand what mythology was: the most insignificant spot that our scholar describes has its legend, fitting to a natural or cultural attraction of the place. ”With the elimination of the mytho-ritualistic interpretation scheme, the often suspected close relationship with the Hittite kingship began to falter. Compared to most of the Hittite texts that refer to the cult, the king plays an astonishingly minor role in the Illuyanka text. In the passages we have received, it is only mentioned twice in the entire text, both times in connection with cult foundations. A comparison to the numerous invocations and blessings embedded in the Anatolian cult, such as IBoT 1.30, according to which the gods gave the whole land to the king to administer, can only relativize the theological significance of Inara's gift to the king, which "only" consisted of her house and the river of underground water in Kišškiluša. But the thesis that the Ḫupašiya story is the aetiology of the Hittite kingship can, in my opinion, also be valid. not convince. The story itself offers no clue points for any connection between Ḫupašiya and the king, and as far as I know, the entire Hittite tradition provides just as few arguments that a Hittite audience viewed Ḫupašiya as the original king or associated him with the king in any other way. 5. The question now remains, however, as to what connects the mythical stories with the other text sections, the so-called ritual descriptions. Immediately after the first snake narrative there follows a text passage, unfortunately only fragmentarily preserved, which is usually considered a ritual description in secondary literature and relates to Mount Zaliyanu and the city of Nerik (KBo 3.7 ii 21'-25 '): The mountain Zaliyanu (is ) the first [ranked] among all. When it has rained in Nerik, the herald brings thick bread from Nerik. And he asked for rain from Mount Za [liyan] u. After a large gap, we are already in the middle of the second mythical story (KBo 34.33 + KUB 12.66 iii 1’-10 ’; KBo 3.7 iii 1’-33’ brings the story to an end). The second snake story is structurally very similar to the first - with the son of the weather god in the role of Ḫupašiya - and also shows the weather god in a negative light. He sacrifices his son for the "bridegroom price" and his own salvation. However, geographical information is missing here, except that this time the snake is connected to the sea. The function of this narrative is, however, not apparent, nor is Kella's motivation to report it.

Immediately afterwards follows the introduction of a new speech by Kella (KBo 3.7 iii34’f.), Which probably introduces the new topic - the procession of the gods to Nerik. After another gap, the delivery is better, but the content all the more puzzling (KBo 34.33 + KUB 12.66 iv 1'-18 ’; with KBo 3.7 iv 1’-17’ and KUB 17.6 iv 1-14): [And] before / for the GUDU priest they made the [first] gods the [last], and meanwhile they made the last gods the first. The Zaliyanu's cultivation (is) great. But Zalinui's wife, Zašḫapuna, (cultivation) is greater than the weather god of Nerik. As follows the gods to the GUDU priest Taḫpurili: “When we go to Nerik (in KBo 3.7 iv 5: to the weather god of Nerik), where do we sit down? Taḫpurili, the GUDU priest: “When you sit on the diorite / basalt throne, the GUDU priests will cast the lot. The GUDU priest holding Zaliyanu - a diorite / basalt throne stands over the spring - he will sit there. And all the gods arrive and they cast the lot and of all gods Zašḫapuna of Kaštama is the greatest. This scene is also about the mountain god Zaliyanu (Taracha 2009: 44f., 104). His wife Zašḫapuna von Kaštama, who played a very important role in the cult of Nerik and the surrounding area (Haas 1994: 598; Taracha 2009: 44, 104), and his lover Tazzuwašši are also mentioned. Here, too, as in the first section on Zaliyanu, the question of the hierarchy of the gods is concerned, which was reversed at the beginning. This text passage is also characterized in secondary literature as a description of rituals. However, as Maria Lepši (2009: 21) rightly points out, the gods are involved in a dialogue with the GUDU priest and are informed by Taḫpurili of the ceremony of throwing away (Taggar-Cohen 2002) - elements that are discussed in Genuine ritual descriptions are rarely to be expected. There is presumably another mythological tale that tells of a ceremony involving Zaliyanu, Zašḫapuna and Tazzuwašši, which restores the true hierarchy of the gods and thus illustrates their great importance in the cult of Nerik. Thus, Kella also provides the justification for the subsequent cult foundation in Tanipiya. After the detailed and exact presentation of the royal foundation in Tanipiya for the supply of the three deities or their priests, Kella asserts the truth of his report. The text comes to an end. However, we return to our opening question. How do the mythical narratives correspond to the “ritual” passages in which they are embedded? On closer inspection, the answer is sobering - they probably don't, not least because, at least in part, they are not genuine fixed descriptions. The suspicion arises that we are actually dealing with a text compilation (as already Taracha 2009: 137 note 803) that combines different excerpts from different "reports" of the Kella, or text sections with different content: The Etiology of Purulli -Festes in Kiškilušša, the second Illuyanka story, the function of which unfortunately can no longer be reconstructed, and another story about Zaliyanu and his companions as the etiology for the foundation in Tanipiya.

This interpretation is also supported by the new introduction to Kella's speech after the second Illuyanka story and the fact that the colophon only speaks of Kella's words and no longer of the Purulli festival as in Incipit. The matter of the Purulli festival was possibly only a topic in the first part of the text. However, the different sections of text have a lot in common. First and foremost, the water, an element that flows through the entire text like a red thread in many facets (rain, subterranean flood, the sea, springs). Pecchioli Daddi / Polvani (1990: 47-48) offer an ingenious explanation for the outstanding role that Zaliyanu, the rain giver, and his two companions in life, Zaš Tapuna and Tazzuwašši, who are also deified as sources (Haas1994: 446) with the Water connected, enjoy in the text. The ritual parts celebrate this troika, while the actual lord of the rain and head of the pantheon, the weather god, was temporarily incapacitated by Illuyanka. However, we are dealing here with two generations of weather gods: In both stories Illuyanka fights against the passive weather god of the sky, while Zaliyanu, Zašḫapuna and Tazzuwašši dispute the hierarchy of his dynamic son, the weather god of Nerik. The two weather gods are also differentiated, with one exception (KBo 3.7 iv 5 ’), by their sumerograms: the weather god of the sky is written as dIŠKUR, his son from Nerik with d10. Instead of myths embedded in descriptions of rituals, we are dealing with narratives on two different mythological levels, which, however, have a similar function. As we have seen, all parts of the text deal with hierarchies. At the end of the first Illuyanka story, Kella explains why the first / original Purulli festival was celebrated, then he notices the high ranking of the Zaliyanu, and later he also deals with the hierarchy of the gods, reaffirming the importance of Zaliyanu and Zašḫapuna24 through the story about throwing away and thus establishes the royal cult foundation in Tanipiya. It appears that this compilation of texts tries to make religious claims. This probably did not happen within the framework of the Great Empire's cult organization - the obvious option, which, however, is probably ruled out because of the archaisms of the text. But the long history of the city of Nerik certainly also offered other contexts for the composition / compilation of a text that I can only describe as a “mythological cult inventory” (for cult inventories see Hazenbos 2003). It is almost certain, however, that this compilation owes its popularity - evidenced by eight or nine text copies - to the interest in Nerik during the reign of Hattusili "III." (Hoffner 2007: 122). But maybe it was also the fascination, then as now, that the stories of dragons and their conquerors radiate.

[jillian255-blog1]

Blog #5: Volver Analysis

Sole, Paula, and Raimunda

The 2006 drama, Volver, takes place near Madrid, Spain and captures the lives of Raimunda, her daughter Paula, and her sister Sole, as they deal with the recent passing of their Aunt Paula. Shortly before their Aunt Paula’s death, she confesses to the women that their late mother, Irene, (who had died in a fire years before with their father) had been taking care of her. The women dismiss this as a symptom of her dementia until their Aunt’s neighbor, Agustina, also claims to have heard Irene speaking which the sisters try to disregard. Sole then begins seeing Irene herself but tries to keep it a secret from Raimunda who is busy dealing with her vile husband’s murder.

Despite never having heard of this movie previously, I really enjoyed it. It was visually stunning in many scenes, offered interesting angles and perspectives, and had a very compelling plot. Honestly, I enjoyed the close relationship that Raimunda shared with her daughter, Paula, as it reminds me a lot of the relationship I have with my mother. The closeness and familiarity of the characters, in general, felt very safe and comforting; I almost feel as though I am part of the community when watching it.

The film’s budget was estimated to be around €7,450,000 while its total worldwide gross was about $85,585,000 (Volver). The director, Pedro Almodóvar, is famed for his movies whose topics have surrounded death, the complexities of sexual desire, violence, and sexual abuse. He has also won awards for his past works including an Academy Award for “Best Foreign-Language Film”, “Best Director” from the Cannes Film Festival, and “Best Original Screenplay” at the Oscars (Britannica). It is said that the prominent female characters and quirky small town in the film are meant to mimic the women and rural area Almodóvar was raised in during the 1950s and 60s (Holland, 2014). Almodóvar grew up during the dictatorship of Francisco Franco who’s reign over Spain involved the placement of civil codes that struck patriarchal tones and gave women limited rights. It was not until 1975 (close to Francisco Franco’s death) that restrictions were lifted and women could be recognized as the “head” of a family, procure assets, and receive passports without showing proof of marriage among other things (Miguel, Martínez, González, Vadell, Pérez, Diz, 2014). As the country has since grown to reflect an attitude that leans more closely towards gender equality, there is still an imbalance between men and women which is clearly evident in the media. This imbalance pertains to much of Spanish media in which men are represented more often than women and women are typically much younger (Miguel, et al, 2014). Almodóvar’s response to this involved creating a mostly female cast with characters of different ages to produce a film that is mainly female-centered. In this way, Volver both celebrates women and effectively blasts the notion that men need to be chiefly present in all Spanish media.

Raimunda Singing “Volver”

The film was released in 2006 and is about two hours in length. It was shot using a 35 mm Panavision Panaflex Millennium camera in Madrid, Spain (Volver). Almodóvar’s expressive use of color and interesting perspectives are used to dramatize scenes, draw viewers attention to certain aspects within a frame, or create a particular mood. This can be observed in the scene where Raimunda sings a song that her supposedly deceased mother taught her as a child during a party she is catering. The scene is powerful and full of emotion as Raimunda sings the song with passion and a noticeable sadness. Viewers can observe that this is a crucial scene based on the perspective of the shot that shows Raimunda in the center of the musicians and partygoers, as well as the vibrant colors that bring attention to her. Another part that utilizes perspective and color is the scene when Raimunda discovers her murdered husband. The camera is perched above her and she is seen standing over his bloodied body. With this angle, viewers have a similar view to the one that she has in that they can survey the entire situation from her viewpoint. Furthermore, Almodóvar’s use of color is important to note as the red pool of blood around the body expresses severity and presses for the viewers attention but Raimunda still manages to stand out thanks to her glaringly red sweater.

From an ethical perspective, the film should entertain the viewer in a way that does not disrespect or harm anyone in any way. The movie does not seem to perpetuate any commonly known stereotypes of the Latino culture. Some common stereotypes and generalizations include that Latinos are associated with crime, poverty, illegal immigration, and gangs which are ideas that are typically maintained through the media (Lester, 2013). Almodóvar clearly does not try to perpetuate any of these harsh and false Latino stereotypes through Volver. Instead, the film is a celebration of the Latino culture and people as he recreated a reality that closely resembles his childhood. However, Almodóvar does employ the Utilitarianism ethical principle to show the character’s real way of life while also maintaining their dignity. For instance, the main characters are not extremely well off, in that, there are a few scenes where Raimunda has to ask her neighbors to lend her food to cook with until she can pay them back for it. There is also a scene where Raimunda frets about her husband being laid off from his job. These subtle hints allude to the fact that Raimunda’s family has to work hard to make a living and are probably not wealthy. Almodóvar implemented Utilitarianism through his creative choice to build a family that has to work hard to stay afloat but also does not see money as a giant problem. Essentially, he chose to depict Raimunda’s family in a way that showed the character’s successes while also giving viewers a serious glimpse of their hardships (Lester, 2013).

In terms of semiotics, color is again an important aspect to pay attention to in the film. Not only is it implemented to create a particulate mood and draw the viewer’s attention to things, but it is also used to send messages. For instance, in the scene where Raimunda discovers her husband’s bloody body, she makes the risky decision to clean up the crime so her daughter does not go to jail. Raimunda cleans the murder by removing the knife from her husband’s stomach and wiping up his blood with paper towels and a mop. The extensive amount of blood in this scene is important as it is used to show the horrifying extent of the crime and to further deepen the severity of Raimunda's actions. Above all, the visual cue of color is used to counteract the film’s darker themes of murder, regret, sorrow, and death. The name of the movie, Volver, also carries a significant meaning as its literal translation means “to return”. This can be applied to any one of the scenarios played out within the film including, the women’s mother coming back into their lives after she was believed to be dead, their Aunt’s neighbor, Agustina’s, sad realization that her mother would never come back home, the eerie wind that reappears and brings with it uncertainty, and of course, Raimunda’s return to her mother in the end. In this way, “Volver” can have many meanings associated with it including one that reminds viewers that things will eventually return.

Irene and Raimunda

The film combines melodrama and realism to create a movie that would appeal not just to Latinos, but people all over the world. Volver depicts strong tones of family, solidarity, and warmth that pays homage to Latinos and their culturally rich heritage and customs. Death is a particularly important notion to the film that is played out in the beginning when the camera pans across a graveyard to show women who are busy cleaning gravestones. It is understood from this scene that tombstones are meant to be looked after by members of the departed’s family. Agustina even prepares for death by looking after her own gravestone which is a conventional practice in the town. Traditions and family values are carried on throughout the film taking precedence over all other aspects. Neighbors look after each other, lovers reunite, and families stay together. These instances are examples of the close familial bonds and relationships that Latino’s cherish and that Pedro Almodóvar cherished while growing up. Therefore, Volver is a reflection of this message that brings him back to his Spanish roots and connects the world with them too.

References:

Google Images

Gutiérrez San Miguel, B., Ibáñez Martínez, M. L., Carcedo González, R., Bujosa Vadell, L. M., del Pozo Pérez, M., & Martín Diz, F. (2014). Gender roles and the Spanish media, a three-decade-long comparative study. Revista Latina de Comunicación Social, 69, 213–228.

Holland, J. (2014, October 15). Volver. Retrieved from https://variety.com/2006/film/awards/volver-2-1200517470/

Lester, P. M. (2013). Visual communication: images with messages. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.

The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. (2019, September 21). Pedro Almodóvar. Retrieved from https://www.britannica.com/biography/Pedro-Almodovar

Volver. (2006, March 17). Retrieved from https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0441909/

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Grave Digger | Part Two

My boots crunched over the dead grass, frost beginning to coat the blades and freeze them over. The yard was silent, no cars having gone by. The wind blew, rustling the leaves that were already halfway through decay.

Boston Ivy wicked its way into every groove that it could fit, the dark green slowly decaying to a sickening red as it continued to spread. The leaves barely left any cement showing against the mausoleum, the material that was crumbled under the pressure of weathering.

"You know, for a groundskeeper, you don't take very good care of this place," Grace stated simply, not facing me. She had stood, walking away from me quickly in the dark corners of the yard. I followed mindlessly, not having anything else better to do.

I was wide awake, reeling from this girl and the taser that I had just fired off. It was gone now, and I had asked too many questions, according to Grace. She waved me along, dodging every marker as if she had plotted out this place a million times. Maybe she had.

"I'm not the groundskeeper."

"My bad, undertaker."

"I just dig."

She stopped suddenly, the fabric of her dark sweat-shirt soft against my chest as I ran into her. A rough ache moved through my shoulder as I let out a breath- her eyes flicking towards me as she clenched her jaw.

"That's an odd title to keep."

"You're not so normal yourself." I pointed out, rubbing my shoulder. "You're in a graveyard in the middle of the night with a pistol."

Grace cocked an eyebrow, a sly smile on her pink lips. She looked dark in the pale light of the moon. Her features shaded and blonde hair glowing harshly. Dirt continued to smear her jaw, her stance strong and alluring.

"And all you have is a shovel."

She had a point. One that kept me quiet. I didn't even have it with me now, it was locked in that damn shed. This woman could have pulled her gun at any moment, but she didn't. Not even when I sent electricity through her veins.

Grace started walking again, leaving me to stare at her for a few seconds before I followed too. She was walking towards the far end of the yard, where the older graves were. No one went over here anymore; the groundskeeper only stopping once or twice a month to trim the grass.

This end gave me an odd vibe, not something I can say I get often. I spent most of my nights here and the prospect of ghosts never got to me until we found ourselves amongst taller and thinner markers.

Most were unmarked, deaths from a war, or people they could never identify. Some were weathered bad enough to have the carvings washed away- forgotten and stained. A lot were smaller than most, jagged and sticking out of dead grass.

"Have you ever heard of Mercy Brown?" Grace asked me, pulling a flashlight from her back pocket.

"No, I don't think so?"

"The original vampire." Grace lifted her chin slightly, looking at me to gage my expression. I didn't have much of one. She didn't shock me at this point, her other hand still holding a loaded gun. One that she had fired off into a grave just minutes prior.

"I thought that was Dracula?" My eyebrow cocked.

She chuckled, a sweet sound. "Where do you think he got the idea, Mamrie?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I had never thought about it. I didn't' need to. None of this had anything to do with my day to day life. The only thing I had ever dealt with when it came to blood sucking demons was when my niece dragged me to the premier of twilight. Somehow I didn't think this was the same thing.

"Mercy Brown was a part of a huge family that all tragically died of consumption."

"Consumption?"

"You know, scarlet fever." Grace rolled her eyes. "coughing up blood, loss of appetite, pale skin; the whole nine yards. Come on, keep up."

"Right, sorry." I raised my hands in defeat as she stared at me dumbly "Why is this important? Did her whole family end up here?"

"Most of them." Grace said, biting her lip. "Mercy's mom and sister died before her. But by the time Mercy died, it was mid-winter. So, they buried her over there."

The girl lifted her chin towards the mausoleum. It loomed, locked and taken over by nature. She was right, no one cared about it anymore. Not enough to keep up with its appearance. Grace messed with the metal on the edge of the flashlight.

"Mercy's brother started to get sick, so it lead everyone to believe that someone in the Brown family was a vampire." She let out a sigh "They dug up Mary's mom and sister, but they were fine. Skeletons at this point considering they were buried during spring."

"Mercy wouldn't be," I wondered out loud, earning a nod from Grace. "It's like a freezer in there this time of year."

"Exactly, but that didn't stop them from cutting out her heart and burning it to ash. Ash that they made her brother drink." She swallowed roughly, clicking on the flashlight. I could barely make out the words that the haze of light created. A 'B' standing out against the rest of the limestone and cement.

"This is her?" I ignored the sour taste in my mouth, the thought of drinking ash had made my stomach churn, all of this seeming more like legend instead of truth. The old story that parents told their kids to keep them away from the cemetery.

"This is her brother, he died two months later." Grace shined the yellow orb of light over to the headstone further back than the rest. This one was different, overgrown like the stone building to our side, but somehow still standing. Something that looked like a wrought metal cage was fastened over the grave where a coffin would rest. "That is her."

"What the hell is that?" I asked, voice higher than it should be.

Grace simply shrugged, "They weren't convinced enough. They still thought an innocent little girl was causing all the illness in town. They couldn't stop that, but they did everything to stop Mercy from raising from her grave again."

I was silent for what seemed like a long time. It probably was, my stance frozen and eyes locked against the headstone that belonged to a little girl wracked with consumption. A girl that was privy to legend and false truths.

"Humans are so afraid of things that they can't see." Grace let out a sigh, breath clouding in front of her. "Almost like it was too hard to believe in the misfortune of one family ravaged by an illness. It's strange, don't you think?"

"Maybe they were all sick." I whispered, staring down at the grass that collected at the edge of the headstone, the blades greener than the rest of the grounds. "Illness makes people do crazy things."

She nodded, letting out a sigh as she dropped her hand to her side. The light caught our boots, both covered in thick mud and stray grass. I chose to focus on that instead of the cold feeling that crept across my spine and down my arms. I had forgotten about the piston she held, or the fact that she had been digging up graves in the middle of the night for a few moments.

"You never answered my question," I sniffed, staring up at her. My nose was numb and raw from the cold biting constantly and unquestionably at it. "Why are you in my graveyard?"

Grace scoffed, shaking her head as her deep coffee gaze moved up to mine. "Mamrie, it's not yours. It's the towns. It always has been."

"Fair enough," I said quietly, the silence of the night beginning to get to me. Crickets didn't even chirp, the whole area quiet and eerie. I was with a complete stranger, one that had an affinity for the past. "That doesn't answer my question, though. Why were you digging up that grave?"

"Because it's impolite to make mother wait." The blonde spoke in a condescending tone. Her words a bit darker than the rest of her personality had been for the night. She showed an air of calm, a cooling one that made her seem trusting- despite all of the red flags of her presence.

"I'm sorry, what?" I raised both of my eyebrows, fear suddenly finding a way to warm my veins and color my cheeks.

Grace wasn't staring at me now, her eyes trained on something in the distance as she dropped her gaze to the floor- almost like all of this was too hard for even her to comprehend. I glanced back; mouth like sandpaper and stomach like ice.

The scent of dirt and decay was thick in my lungs, making me want to gag; to vomit. But I couldn't. Not here, not in the middle of this graveyard with a perfect stranger and something that I couldn't comprehend.

"I told you not to ask any questions, Mamrie," Grace spoke, almost with sadness in her voice. "I quite like you. Your sense of humor is a nice break from what this place usually carries."

I stared motionless at her for a few moments. She was flawless. Everything about her drawing me in and pushing me away at the same time. The type of person who could get what they want by playing an innocent game with deadly consequences.

"You're her." I choked out, ignoring the footfalls behind me. Nothing I could do would stop this- any of this. I was cornered, two to one. "You're Mercy's sister. The one that died before her... how..."

She licked her lips, wetting them in a way. They were chapped and dried out, her head cocking to the side as she let out a long sigh; Again creating a string of condensation that poked out against the night sky.

Grace stepped closer, a copper-like scent filling my lungs. Almost like musk, but more feminine. Dirt, maybe. Something that made my throat tighten and stomach clench among the rest of the pain that I was feeling.

"Mamrie, the thing about humans that I never understood was their willingness to forget." She said, breath hot against my neck as my own shook. "They remember the mystery of allurement and the offer of immortality, but never those who suffer through it."

Her fingers were cold against the edge of my face, gentle as she brushed hair away from my red rimmed eyes. I was frozen in fear, in curiosity and pure lust. I knew nothing of this girl, but somehow knew enough to tell that she was truthful.

"Fear is a powerful thing," Grace whispered, "It often blinds people into thinking that trust is the only answer."

[luki-fanfic]

KHR Fic: The Tempest Temptation

So I’ve been in a bad mental place the last few days, and most of the stuff I’m reading online isn’t helping the way it normally does (all my fandoms have suddenly started writing pairings or plots that make me feel even worse, talk about bad timing - I needed fluff and family dammit!). 

So I did what any fanfic author does and started working on something a guilty pleasure of my own.  Sort of stagnated, but feel like offering the first chunk.

Xanxus is eight years old and desperate to find something more than a future in the slums.  When he comes across a man with kind eyes and orange flames, he thinks he’s found it.

Inspired by a comment left on Generation Cross about Xanxus becoming Tsuna’s Storm Guardian.

The first time Xanxus meets him, it’s utterly forgettable except for how pathetic it is.

Xanxus is eight years old going on fifty, trawling the back alley of an Italian slum far away from the tourists.  He was born in a clinic just down the road, and never gone further than ten miles from the bare-walled apartment he and his mother call home. Here, life beats harsh reality into you young – the boy knows full well his future consists of nothing but drugs, gangs and messy death.  

But Xanxus isn’t like everyone else here.  Most children of whore have already picked chosen their path, but Xanxus refuses to bow.  He’s not ready to accept that, there’s a burning desire that life can’t quite snuff out, that he’s meant for more than this.  When he prowls the street, his head is high, no matter how much the prostitutes laugh and the runners mock him for refusing their deals.    

However, when the slight drizzle that’s been threatening the neighbourhood all afternoon turns into a full storm, it’s enough for him to slouch and slip into the shadows, taking an alley shortcut home.  Normally he wouldn’t risk running down the tight dark streets, but even trash is heading inside right now.

Except apparently, for the idiot on the ground, slumped on the ground.  He barely registers the new arrival, only raising his head when his footsteps register.

The man is Asian, with wild hair, a two-day shadow and dressed in a suit that was probably quality before it got dragged through whatever war the man had crawled away from.  His face hosts a pair of empty, dead eyes, that widen to an extreme degree when he registers Xanxus’s appearance.  He looks as if he’s seen a ghost, mouth trying to form words and failing.  Xanxus just scowls, kicking the legs away to move forward.

But the second he makes contact, something flickers up his leg.  As powerful as an electric current, and strong enough to make Xanxus freeze.  From within, something twists awake, and Xanxus shudders at the feeling.

The man utters something wordless, and jerks his legs away, curling into a ball.  His eyes however, haven’t left the boy’s face.  Xanxus debates confronting him, but an extra pulse of rain falling from the sky makes him retreat, storming past and shaking the feeling off.

However, he can’t resist tossing his head back to check if the man is following him.  He doesn’t know why, but it feels as if he should be.  

He’s not, and Xanxus sneers at the figure still leaning against the wall, head down and curling in on himself.  As broken as everyone else in this godforsaken place.  

Just trash.  Xanxus doesn’t know why he expected better.

By the time he gets home, he’s pushed the man out of his head entirely. A homeless waste of space like that will be dead or in the claws of a gang within the week.

Except that’s not what happens.  Over the next month, the man flits in and out of Xanxus’s purview, sometimes lost in his own world or running to somewhere, and looking more and more like a homeless bum every time he sees him.  Strangely, every time he sees Xanxus, he freezes, and refuses to make eye contact, but Xanxus hasn’t had the inclination to find out why.  He’s got his own problems.  The last few weeks have been full of headaches and burning feelings in his stomach.  He’s always felt this fire in his gut, but it’s been cranked up to eleven ever since he met the man in the alley, and it’s driving him nuts.

As such, it’s not until a month after their first meeting that Xanxus learns how off his original assumption was.

Their neighbourhood caters to some of the lowest mafioso families on the crime ladder, and one of the grunts is slamming on the door of one of their downstairs neighbours.  Screaming abuse and fingering a gun with his spare hand.  Every person in the building, his mother included, had seen the man and gone running for their own rooms, desperately praying that they weren’t the target.  

Xanxus had ignored his mother’s warnings, pulling away from her grip and slipping into the hallway.  He sat on the middle steps, just out of sight of the man while keeping him in view.  A minute later, the lock on the door gives, and the mafioso is pulling a woman out by her hair.  She’s probably in her twenties, but looks a decade older from drugs and life, with bleached blonde hair and makeup smeared on her face.  Her legs are buckling, tears streaming down her face as she begs for mercy, arms wrapped around her stomach, the bulge only just starting to be noticeable.

Xanxus snorts in derision.  Blood is gold in the criminal underbelly.  The whore’s probably one of the boss’s favourites, but doesn’t want an illegitimate heir mucking up his family line.  Woman should have known better.

She’s on her knees now, sobbing furiously while the mafioso pulls out the gun and cocks it.  The sound has her trying to crawl away, only to get a backhand to the face, sending her crashing to the ground again.  The mafioso aims, and Xanxus leans forward.

Another death for stupid mistakes.  

“Hey!”

All three freeze at the voice, and turn to take in the figure in the door.

It’s the man Xanxus stumbled over that rainy afternoon, and looks as bad as ever. He’s lost the suit jacket in exchange for an olive-green raincoat with a furry hood, but it doesn’t hide the fact that the orange shirt underneath is as filthy as his dress trousers.  He’s filched a wool cap from somewhere, using it and the hood to crush most of those wild locks out of sight and mind while the straggles of a clearly unplanned beard invade his chin.  If Xanxus had ever been asked to imagine the epitome of ‘bum,’ this wouldn’t’ be too far off the mark.

The only aberration is the man’s eyes.  Xanxus could have sworn they were mud brown, but now they’re gleaming with a gold hue that can’t be natural, and focused on the mafioso like a cat on a rat.

“Let her go.”

Xanxus feels his spine straighten instinctively, fighting the shudder at the sheer power the bum manages to exude in just three words.  The mafioso doesn’t fare much better, his hand releasing the woman almost unconsciously. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she’s flying back into her home practically on all fours.  A second later, the mafioso shakes it off, and makes to follow her.

“Get back here you little-“

The bum slams his hand into the door frame, blocking the door with his smaller frame.  The mafioso has at least a foot on him, but there’s not a hint of hesitation. Clearly, he’s insane.

This is the mafioso’s opinion too, and he sneers down at the interloper.

“What, you her newest John?  Bitch like her aint worth the bullet hole you’re asking for.”

The man doesn’t move.  

“I’ll tell you this just once” he warns.  “Back off.  Turn around and walk away.”

The mafioso does take a step back, but he’s just running his eyes up and down his targets frame, sneer turning into a smirk.

“Ohhh, so you’re the one causing so much trouble downtown” he says.  “Heard you took out three of Nino’s boys last week for roughing up the girls they’d bought and paid for.  Got a lot of people who want you dead in a gutter.  What, you want the district for yourself?”

“No” was the reply.  “But life has beaten into me the importance of standing up for those that can’t, whether you want to or not.”

“What the fuck are you?  A greeting card?”

He doesn’t answer, and the mafioso scowls, hand going out to shove the bum out of the way – only for the bum’s own hand to snap up, deflecting the arm and sending him spinning out the door with a squawk.  He pulls himself up and snarls, pulling out the gun and pointing it almost point blank at the man’s skull.

“Piss off you asshole!”

He fires, and Xanxus braces to see blood and brain matter spray over the wall. But it doesn’t.

Before Xanxus could register it, the bum had moved out of the way, his hand slumming into the mafioso’s nose.  The bullet flies into the wall, and the next thing Xanxus sees is the bum performing a terrifyingly quick move with his hands that sees the gun fall to the floor and the mafioso’s arm twist in unnatural angles.  He’s howling in pain, dropping to his knees, only to find a leg slam into his skull, sending him flying towards the door.  With eerie grace, the bum steps forward.

“Get out” he orders.

It’s just for a moment, but Xanxus swears he sees flames burning on the man’s fists.  The hall fills with their presence, and from somewhere deep inside, Xanxus feels something fighting to get out and match him.  From the way the mafioso is staring at his attacker, he’s not the only one.  He struggles to his feet, and throws himself out the door.

His disappearance starts the floodgates, and doors start to open, neighbours utterly confused at the turn of events.  The flames vanish, and Xanxus bites back the gasp as the aura he’d been drowning in vanishes as quick as it came, leaving him hollow and clawing his chest at the loss.  

Ignorant of what he’d done to the boy on the stair, the bum walks into the woman’s home, and closes the door.  When Xanxus heads downwards and tries to push it open, it stays firm despite the lock still being shattered.

He’s tempted to try and get in through a window outside, but his mother descends upon him, and pulls him back indoors, refusing to let him out of her sight until the morning.

When he finally manages to get away, the door is open, and both his neighbour and the bum are gone.

---

The natural assumption is that the bum took the woman for himself, but gossip flies through the building like wildfire.  Those closest to the apartment had seen the man escort the pregnant woman out of the house, a suitcase of her belongings in one hand.  He’d been an utter gentleman, and when one neighbour had been brave enough to question him, he’d merely said he was sending the woman somewhere safe.

Nobody knew why he’d shown up – was he a john?  A relative?  A rival mafioso trying to leave a message?  The only one who knew for sure was the bum, and he’d vanished into thin air.

Not that it stopped Xanxus from prowling the streets looking for him.  

It’s as frustrating as it is dangerous to be so focused on something you can’t grasp.  But Xanxus can’t get the man out of his head.  Can’t forget the electric current, or the feeling he’d ignited that night. When he concentrates, he can feel the burning feeling inside him grow, and not a week later, he’d achieved a small flick of red tainted with the familiar orange.

Flames.

Xanxus hadn’t been seeing things.  The bum had set himself alight.  With this assurance, he asks his mother if she’d ever heard of such a thing.  He’d had to wait for one of her more stable moments, but when she was mostly sober and coherent, he’d hit jackpot.

“The man had flames?  Oh, I should have brought him home.  Things would be so much easier with flames.”

“What are they?”

“Flames are flames” she’d replied, and Xanxus scowled.

“What’s the fucking point of them?”

His mother laughs.  “Flames are everything Xanxus.  Oh, I hope you get them.  Life will be easier then.  If you get flames, it’s a straight ticket to the life we deserve.”

He’s still growling, and she leans back, fingering a bottle to her side.

“Flames are the lifeblood of the Mafia royalty” she continues.  “If you have orange flames, you are a ruler.  Any other colour, and you’re a follower.  The stronger the flames, the stronger the person.”

She leans over and clasps her hands on Xanxus’s shoulders.

“You will be a powerful flame user Xanxus” she insists.  “I knew it the moment you were born.  I dallied with many a powerful man in my younger days, but nobody will believe me unless we can prove it.  When they emerge, we will ascend to our true place.  Ah, I almost can’t wait.”

She almost makes to hug him, only to pull off and grab the bottle instead. Xanxus shrugs it off – he’s long understood his importance in her priorities.

If she’s expecting him to reveal these flames at some point, it certainly explains why she’s kept him around.  Woman with kids don’t exactly make the most money around here.

Still, probably best he keeps quiet until he knows how to control them properly.  Especially since the red flames are currently overtaking the orange when he brings them out.

No fucking way is he going to be anything less than royalty.  

But he can’t get very far if he doesn’t know what he’s doing.  Instinct has limits.  The bum can tell him how to master them, all he needs to do is find him.

A week later, and he finds the source of his frustration when a giant pillar of fire soars through the air not two blocks from his home.  Most flee expecting a gas leak, but Xanxus bolts in the direction, turning a corner only to freeze in shock at what he sees.

It’s beautiful.  

The man is still dressed like a pathetic waste of space, but with the flames burning on his forehead and gloves, flying through the air and ripping through his opponents, he exudes everything Xanxus has ever wanted.

This.  This is a King.  This is everything Xanxus wants to be.  Powerful, strong, untouchable.

Yet, even as he says that, the colour of the flames shifts slightly. Tiny flecks of a darker flame dart through the hue, much like the orange does to his red.  Usually when the man is making contact with his opponents. Xanxus wonders if that’s just something all flames do, his own – dim as they are – fluctuate in their presence, and it takes everything he has not to run forward to join him.

The mafioso, survivors at the core, quickly realise just how outmatched they are when the flames enter the match, and they’re quick to flee, desperate to avoid the wrath of a flame user.  When they vanish from view, the man’s flames vanish, and he staggers on his feet, only to fall back, lying back on the pavement and refusing to get up. Xanxus scoffs, only to freeze when the man calls out.

“I can feel you.  Might as well come out.”

With that, his head turns in Xanxus’s direction.  The boy scowls, but decides to take the invitation offered.

Once again, when the man realises just whose coming towards him, his eyes widen and his body tenses.  For a split second, Xanxus thinks the man might just bolt, and he quickens his pace to make sure he can cut the man off if he dares.

“Trash” he greets.  The man blinks in confusion.

“Xanxus?  But…how?”

The boy’s eyes narrow.

“How the hell do you know my name Trash?”

The man just keeps staring, and Xanxus kicks him again.  He winces, and pushes himself into a sitting position.

“Sorry, I’m just surprised” he says.  “I’ve heard your name around.  Sofia mentioned you when I was taking her to the train station.”

“Sofia?”

The man smiles.  “The pregnant woman who lives in your building.  I guess I should have realised you were the flame user, I just got didn’t expect those flames.”

Xanxus frowns.  “The train station?  And what’s wrong with my flames.”

The man shrugs, and Xanxus gets the feeling he’s not fully there.  “That man, or whoever he was working for, would have tried again.  I had to get her out of the city, so I gave her the money for a one-way ticket and told her to pick a direction.  She and the baby should be okay so long as she doesn’t come back.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Xanxus asks, genuinely puzzled.  “You sweet on her?”

A shake of the head.  “It was the right thing to do.  And nobody else was going to do it.  I could help, and right now that’s all that’s keeping me going.”

He looks up at the boy glaring at him.  “As for your flames, I felt storm instead of sky flames.  I…thought you would have sky flames, so I didn’t realise it was you.”

“Sky, storm?” Xanxus echoes, barely realising he’s sitting down next to the man before he’s on the ground.  “What’s the difference?”

The man bites his lip, glancing over, and Xanxus scowls.

“Oi!  Tell me.”

“…What do you already know?”

“I know orange flames are the best” Xanxus snaps.  “If you have them, you’re mafia royalty.”

The man nods.  “Well, that’s sort of true.  It’s not a case of being the best though.  Orange flames mean you’re a sky.  But that doesn’t mean anything unless you harmonise.  There are other flame types as well, skies are rare, so most people have one or more of the other types.  Red for storm, blue for rain, yellow for sun, green for lightning, indigo for mist and purple for cloud.  They all have their own skills and abilities, and what most flame users want more than anything, is to harmonise with a sky and become a guardian.”

“Harmonise?  Guardian.”

He’s clearly reluctant to continue, but Xanxus grabs his jacket and glares, daring the man to move away. It works, and the man continues.

“A sky’s attribute is harmonisation, and the only way to be a true sky is to harmonise with at least one of each other element.  They…strengthen you, stabilise you, and you them.  They become your guardians, sworn to protect you as much as you would protect them.  To harmonise is to belong to that sky, for that sky to belong to you.  If you activate as a sky, you’ll start looking for guardians.”

Xanxus spits.  “Like hell I will.  I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

The man smiles as if remembering something fond.  “You won’t be able to help it.  I thought nobody would want to harmonise with someone like me before I activated but…even if you fight it, you’ll pull in guardians without even meaning to.”

“Yeah?  Then where’s yours trash?”

It was like hitting a light switch.  The fond smile vanished and the eyes dimmed back to that dead look Xanxus had first seen all those weeks ago.  He suddenly feels like crap, and he honestly doesn’t know why.

“They’re gone” the man rasps.  “I’ve gone somewhere they can’t follow.”

It’s an odd way to say dead, but Xanxus can read between the lines.

The man is clenching his hands (wrapped in mittens, strange.  Xanxus could have sworn he was wearing gloves), focused on the numbers etched on the front.  “Harmonisation is…it makes life better.  There’s no words for how a full harmonisation feels.  But on the other scale, when you lose that harmony…it can destroy flame users.  I’ve been fighting discord ever since I got here – when I felt a budding sky in the area I was drawn to them.  You’re not fully active, but you’re leaking enough that I can leech off your flames harmony element and keep mine from self destructing.”

He looks away.

“I might have leeched too much and brought your other flames to the surface by accident.  That’s why you feel like a storm instead.  If I leave tonight, they should go back to normal and you should activate normally soon enough.”

He begins to stand, only for Xanxus to pull back on the jacket, crashing him to the ground.  A moment later, the man is staring up at the eight-year-old pinning him to the ground.

“No.”

“���No?”

“No, you’re not just going to leave” Xanxus snarls, eyes bright.  “You know how to activate these flames, so you’re going to show me how to do it.”

“Xanxus, that’s not-“

“I’m not asking trash!” he snaps.  “I can almost get the red flame out, but I can’t force the orange one the same way.  If you’re the reason for that, then you’re going to fix it.”

He tries to focus on his flames, and grins when he feels the man’s own flare against the attempt.  However, his prisoner jerks back in panic, bucking the boy off.

“Stop!  Before you do something we can’t take back!”

Xanxus’s flames hesitate, and it’s enough for the mans to vanish, locked away so tight Xanxus can’t even feel them.  The man is gasping in panic, and holds up a hand while he stumbles to his feet.

“I’ll show you” he agrees.  “But you can’t do that again.  If you want to be a sky, then that can’t happen.”

Xanxus doesn’t fully understand, but he’s getting what he wants, so he’ll run with it.

“So, what do I call you trash?” he asks, and the man sighs, dropping into a bow (what the fuck?).

“Tsunayoshi” he says, which is far too much of a mouthful and Xanxus has no intention of remembering it.  Clearly, this must be obvious, because his teacher is giving him a bitter smile.

“But most people just call me Tsuna.”