#so to completely and utterly strip it from a family that's in such an insane position of power | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astaroth1357 · 4 years ago

Text

Demigod MC Series: Dionysus

Hey y’all, sorry for going dark! I’m alright, almost completely recovered in fact! I just got so sleepy while my body was fighting stuff off and couldn’t really work up the energy to write... Still going to be spotty for a short time, but I’m glad to have gotten this done. See ya soon!

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus

Lucifer

Well, this mortal stumbled out of the portal covered in glitter, body paint, and carrying a red solo cup… which they proceeded to stare at like, "'ell sshhit… Thiz iz sum stron s'uff…"

First impressions were not on their side here.

He spent a depressingly long amount of time more or less assuming that the MC was a drunken f-up and spent the first few months trying to make them more… presentable.

But like… How do you stop someone from acting like a drunk fool when they can turn any drink they touch alcoholic???

For months they would show up to meetings buzzed or stumbling, all smiles and all giggles but HORRIBLY unprofessional, and he just couldn't stand it!

But then he found out their little secret…

Assassination threats befall the exchange students all the time. Most of them are dealt with quickly but some (through skill or dumb luck) manage to slip through...

He had been walking with the MC through their new vineyard in the House's courtyard, yet again trying to lecture them about their drunken behavior, when suddenly the two were ambushed!

Ten or so heavily armored demons dropped down from the sky to attack them! Lucifer was so preoccupied that he got cornered by three of them and it took him a hot minute to destroy them.

When he looked back at the mortal (who had been fighting a 1-on-7) he was certain they'd have been kidnapped or worse…

But he saw that they had already cut down two attackers with their weapon with ease. The other five were rolling in the dirt, babbling about inexplicable terrors and imaginary pain as their minds succumbed to madness…

Meanwhile, the MC just stood in the middle of it all with the icy glare of someone who’s just revealed how stone-cold sober they've always been under the surface...

When they turned back to him, they put their usual ditzy smile back on over the tormented wails of the demons around them...

MC: Whoopsie… Gotta little mad there. 🙂

He uh… took a big ol'step off their back after that. Surprisingly, they're more pleasant (and less dangerous) "drunk" than they are sober…

Mammon

Oh HELL yeah!! Lucifer actually gave him a mortal that knows how to party!!

Admittedly, they looked like utter trash when they first met, like, "Hey, I've been at this party since DAWN" trash, but they gave him one good look and pulled together a surprisingly hot smile.

MC: "-ey yer cute… Ya like strip poker?"

Spoken like someone else who also makes shit decisions… They were going to get along just fine!

And they did. The MC to him was that one friend that's always down for anything. Just anything. Whenever. Wherever.

He wants to try sneaking into Lucifer's room to steal stuff? Sure, what time?

He wants to take a mattress and see if he can ride it down the grand staircase of the palace? Alright, we bringin' pillows too?

He needs to set up another scheme that's gotta involve live rats and box of tiny hats and monocles?? That's oddly specific but count them in!!

Sometimes he honestly can't tell if they're laid back or just crave chaos... but it works out fine for him either way so who cares? 🤷‍♀️

And if you think normal Mammon is a pain in the ass for Lucifer? Check out drunk Mammon. All the same urges but literally none of the (marginal) competence!!

At one point, the eldest ended up stringing both Mammon and the MC from the ceiling after they both barged into his office looking for Goldie… while he was still in there… watching them wander around aimlessly calling out for a piece of plastic like it was a missing puppy…

They end up together on the ceiling a lot come to think of it, but hey, at least now he has some company. 😌

Leviathan

Thinks they're the most normal normie to have ever normed on this normie planet!!!

No, seriously. They're a billion times worse than Asmo!! All they want to do is go to parties and drink all the time! What kind of use is he to someone like that??

… That being said they ARE pretty fun to be around… And their sake is WAY better than anything he could get off Akuzon!!

They also like karaoke too! So at least he has someone else to go with (even if they get so drunk they can’t remember any lyrics and just belt barely coherent discount Mariah Carey vocals behind him...)

Of course, the real fun between these two is everybody else getting to watch a couple of the Devildom's sloppiest drunks attempt to communicate with each other…

Levi: MMM-*hic*-MCCC…!!! *throws himself at them from across the bar*

MC: What Leviachan??? 😨 Did the chair kick you off?!

Levi: Nooo! *pokes their cheek* I wanna-I wanna tell you sometin'...! *tries pulling them closer*

MC: Whaa? Secrets?? *leans in eagerly*

Levi: Mammon used all ma money on’a pyramid scheme a thou-zand years ago… AND HE STILL WON'T PAY ME BAAA-!!! 😭😭 *starts shaking them violently*

MC: *getting flung around like a limp noodle* Waaaat?! Nooo!!! I'm so sowwy!! 😢

Mammon: *watching it all go down right next to him* 😑 Ya guys need some water… I'm cuttin' ya off, got it?

MC: 😱 Shut yer whore mouth, criminal!! *starts pelting him with pretzel bites*

Levi: 😤 Yah!! *joins in*

Good thing he's a shut-in, because the hangovers he gets after those escapades are unreal…

Satan

A little concerned for their liver, honestly… How much damage have they already done to the poor thing...?

But at the same time, he'll be damned if they don't make some utterly fantastic wine!

Alcokinesis wasn't a power he would have pegged a demigod to have but apparently the great art of making drinks comes from their godly DNA.

When they first met, he was trying to get the MC to act less slovenly but made the mistake of agreeing to a wager: he'd let them dress however they pleased if they could give him the BEST drink he'd ever tasted.

Now, Satan isn't a huge drinker (thank you terrible alcohol tolerance), but he's still a man of fine tastes. Plus, he's sampled Demonus from Diavolo royal stock before. They should not have won…

But on that day, he had to let them go to RAD in a pink blanket toga... 😑 Their wine is just THAT good.

He hates to admit it, but they've gotten him drunk more times than he could probably count too… He's not a huge fan of clubbing with them and the others, but if they bring over a bottle from their vineyard he just can't resist. They're a master of their craft, truly.

And it's a good thing he likes their drinks so much, because if they called him, "Kitty-boy," when he's sober, he may have just become a sour grape himself…

They also may or may not have copious amounts of blackmail material of him either meowing between sentences, sobbing over some fictional character he likes, pole dancing on dares….

Yeah, he's been trying to destroy their phone for months now. If Lucifer were to see ANY of that, he's done for… 😣

He has also been meaning to ask them about other aspects of their abilities, their father is also the God of Madness after all, but anytime he tries to bring it up they shove another glass in his hand and tell him not to kill the mood...

Eh. What's the harm in having another drink, right? 🤷‍♀️

Asmodeus

Honey. He's MET Dionysus. He's been to a Dio-party or two and they're INSANE. He could not be more thrilled by this!!!

He practically scooped them up on the first night that they were in the House and it’s practically been a nonstop rave between these two ever since. They’re like the party twin he never knew he needed!!

He absolutely abuses their ability to turn pretty much any drink they touch into alcohol at clubs. It makes the nights so much easier on the wallet PLUS it makes an excellent little party trick to impress the succubi! Who doesn’t want a free drink? 😏

And can he just say that their drinks are better? Just flat out amazing! If it weren’t so unhealthy he’d consider drinking nothing but their booze and wine for the rest of his days, Satan’s certainly getting close to it.

But little does Satan know, he’s not even getting the GOOD stuff...

There’s the normal wine: grapes picked from the vineyard, hand squeezed, then magically helped through the fermenting process. But their real good stuff? They were given enchanted oak barrels from their father and anything that comes out of those is worth starting a WAR over. 😩

He knows, because he gifted an extra bottle to Diavolo once and Barbs came to him the very next day demanding to know what vineyard had produced it with the look of man willing to annex a small nation...

Asmo had to beg Lucifer to talk to Diavolo after the butler more or less kidnapped the MC back to the Castle… Devil knows even Barbs wouldn’t ever be able to reproduce their wine, so they could have been locked there for eternity!!

Thankfully, he got his party-buddy back and their debauchery continued! (Just now with Barbatos following them around sometimes like he’s trying to gather state secrets... It’s an impossible task but he hasn’t given up yet, bless his black heart.)

Beelzebub

He isn't much bothered by their carefree nature, at least they seem to be having fun with his family which he appreciates. 🙂

To be honest, though, he nearly ate them when they first met because they smell like freshly peeled grapes… and for good reason.

By their third day at the House they had (somehow) planted and cultivated a full on vineyard in the courtyard. Hell, the wall growing to their bedroom balcony was covered in grapevines!! Always ripe and completely healthy in defiance of the lack of sun... Whatever magic they used was strong.

And, of course, their grapes were also delicious! Easily among the best fruits he's ever tasted! Every cluster is ridiculously plump, juicy, and sweet like little droplets of pure Heaven… 🤤

When their fruit first ripened, the MC came out with a basket to collect some only to find Beel had gouged himself on over half of their crop!!!

… which may have been why he got snared up on one of the courtyard walls by pissed off grapevines... Even with all his strength, he couldn't break through them and had to wait for Lucifer to cut him down… 😔

From then on, Beel was pretty much the pesky rabbit to the MC's harvest. They had to set up traps and magical barriers to keep him from their precious grapes…!! Which inevitably meant one of his brothers had to come rescue him from their furious vines at least once a week... 🙄

SOMETIMES, the MC will bring him along to help harvest with them with the deal that he can have an extra basket for however many he helps them pick. But the second he takes a bite he shouldn't, it’s back on the wall!

Out of the vineyard, they're nice enough. But put some grapes between these two and they're mortal enemies… STOP messing with their plants, Beel!! 😤

Belphegor

So… this drunken fool is supposed to get him out of the attic? Never mind, this is never going to work…

He was SEVERELY underwhelmed when the "human" finally made it up the steps. This was who they decided to bring for their exchange program? They seemed like they could barely stand!

Naturally, he figured all the better for him. They probably wouldn't even last that long!

Some poor, incompetent human falling victim to a demon out there? Diavolo's reputation would in tatters and he wouldn't even have to lift a finger! (His favorite way of doing things really 😌).

But… they just kept coming back? Like. Nothing was killing them….! How guarded were they keeping this moron??

Or… maybe it was something else?

Sure, the MC seemed like a drunken idiot but there were times when he'd swear that they were just… too aware to be sloshed…

MC: *suddenly stops smiling at him mid-conversation and looks him in the eye* You tilt your head when you lie. You know that?

How can someone so cheerful ALSO be so unnerving…?

So really, he should have seen their sudden heel-turn after they opened the door coming. There he was, fully intending to take them by surprise and choke them after a hug…

...and they knocked him down, climbed onto his back like a spider monkey, and rode him around like a bucking bull using his horns like handlebars!!

It wouldn’t have been AS humiliating if they didn’t also keep shouting things like "Giddiyap!" And "Yee-haw!!"

It took him a whole month to be sure that any and all footage of that nightmare was erased and he STILL hates the MC quite a bit for it…. But he's too scared to attack them now, so…

The lesson here? It's not a fair fight when one side’s crazy... 😔😒

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me demigods

1K notes · View notes

akumanie · 2 years ago

Note

Hell yeah, I completely adore that. ❤️

Eddie the vampire with bloodpops, Robin with her inner shewolf ruling as the queen she is. Maybe Steve is part siren and part succubus. And because he's a Steave, he only inherited the good genes, so he's got the charms of a normal siren/succubus multiplied by ten. Eddie thinks it's crazy how hot he is. He is not wrong.

I love the very human Dustin. Imagine they're having a fight. The situation is absolutely insane, everyone's in trouble, they are about to die, and then Dustin yells, "Take cover!" and throws a homemade bomb that melts everything in sight. Fuck magic. He will science the shit out of this.

Mike and Nancy as partial fae from their mother is awesome! Like, Nancy at the beginning despises her mother for giving up her royal place with the Fae for her very human and utterly ordinary and boring spouse, thus dooming her children to be outcasts among the purebloods. But after Johnathan, she doesn't care. Love is love. And this little mouse eating the cheese in her purse is hers, and she will destroy everything and everyone that harms him.

Mike is the complete opposite, he wants so much to be human. It bothers him that he can't control his magic properly. He has a habit of setting his mattress on fire or flooding the basement in his sleep. He hates Brenner for hurting El and abusing her, but also for stripping her of her humanity against her will.

Lucas is a witch doctor. He makes gris-gris, casts spells, and sometimes talks to the dead. Erica is utterly jelous of him for being better at it than her, but she can throw fireballs from her hands. They both secretly think the other is amazing. Of course, they don't say it out loud.

Max is feral wolf puppy and she is not above pissing on your car or other belonging if you piss her off too much. (pun intended) Sometimes she sneaks out at night to see Lucas. They talk a lot. It seems easier to share in the darkness of his room.

Will is a sweetheart - he's a soft warm cinnamon roll that everyone loves and vows to protect. Johnathan is also sweet but he pretends to be a cinnamon roll (hence the mouse), but he's actually pretty damn scary. Like that one time, when he turned into a tiger and almost mauled Harington's pretty face because of the crap he said about Nance.

El is El. She can and will kill you if you say anything bad about her friends or family.

Hopper, Joice, Wayne and Murray are done with the supernatural shit. They drink beer and wine every Friday and every time Joyce says something weird happened, you can see the absolute horror on their faces.

Mr. Clark is contemplating his need of land-line.

Your turn @pukner 😁

Can I ask you a kinda weird question? What do you think steddie and the party would be as a supernatural creatures? My headcanon is Vampire Eddie and Succubus Steve, but I'm open to discussion. 😁

hello this is a FANTASTIC question

I love the idea of a succubus Steve, but also like? Siren Steve? This might explain his affinity for water, maybe he basks in his pool a lot and unfortunately that becomes extremely cursed for him Post Barb. He's the son of two beautiful, supernaturally charming people who learned how to show people exactly what they want, become exactly what they want. Steve is pretty and handsome and terrible and sweet and exactly what you expect from him, right up until he isn't.

I like the idea of a werewolf Robin, and also Max. Robin's larger and ganglier, and spends the full moon curled around Steve and growling at anyone who gets close. Max is a puppy, and a grumbly one, and Lucas ends up with a very determined guard dog. Robin also gets bizzarely territorial over Steve's house, for someone who doesn't live there. Her whole family scent Steve constantly, and he's thrilled about the extra cuddles.

I like the idea of Lucas and Erica being from magical heritage, old school witches who go very different with their practices. Lucas does very practical magic; makes little charms for his friends, for protection and strength and peace. Erica leans more towards big enchantments; she's real pissed about Steve's natural charisma.

Dustin is a very human person, who can and WILL science his way into magic.

Nancy and Mike, I waffle on. Maybe fae-blooded? Diluted enough that they can dwell here, won't get hunted down by either court. But still fae enough that Nancy has an almost pathological need to get to the truth, that she won't stand for illusions, that she chafes against Steve and his automatic charisma and the lies he lures people in with, almost thoughtlessly. She and Mike are deadly territorial over their kin, over those they've decided are theirs. Losing Barb made her absolutely inconsolable. Mike is much the same. They get it from Karen, who got it from her mother, who got it from hers. Ted Wheeler is an extremely mundane dude.

Will is a shapeshifter, all the Byers are. He likes to be small, unassuming animals, and so does Jonathan. Turns into a mouse or a grass snake and hides in his brother's pocket, up his mom's sleeve.

Eddie is a son of a vampire, came into his bloody heritage honestly. Wayne, his uncle on his mothers' side, is extremely human and had to learn real fast how to raise a bloodthirsty kid. He has raw steak in the freezer and teaches his kid how to hunt. He also has bloodpops in the freezer for summer days when Eddie gets lethargic and whiny.

He absolutely develops a weird obsession with Steve Harrington And His Summer-Sunshine-Salty Blood. Robin Buckley tries to eat him about it one time when he leans in too close for a sniff one day at Scoops.

Hopper is extremely human and extremely done with the supernatural side of things on this goddamn town.

El was human, once. They don't know what she is. She smells wrong, to most of them. Reads weird to their magic, to others. They love her anyway.

#stranger things #my ramblings

172 notes · View notes

multiverseforger · 4 years ago

Text

When the last surviving member of the planet Xandar's elite Nova Corps, Rhomann Dey, is dying, he selects New York high school student Richard Rider to replace him.[10] Rider is given the uniform and powers of a Nova Centurion but little instruction on how to use them. Calling himself Nova, Rider becomes a superhero, fighting costumed supervillains such as Condor, Powerhouse,[11] Diamondhead,[12] the Corruptor,[13] and the Sphinx,[14] and teaming with heroes such as Spider-Man[15] and Thor. He initially hides his identity, but later reveals it to his family.[16]

Rider discovers Dey's space ship orbiting Earth and uses it to journey to Xandar with Doctor Sun, Powerhouse, Comet, and Crimebuster and the Sphinx,[17] where they join Xandar's war against the Skrulls.[18] With the help of Rom the Space Knight, the Skrulls are defeated. Wanting to return to Earth, Rider is released from his duties on Xandar and relinquishes his powers.[19]

New WarriorsEdit

Upon his return to Earth, Rider struggles to readjust due to his failure to complete high school. Unknown to him, the planet Xandar is utterly destroyed in an attack by the space pirate Nebula.[20] With the help of Night Thrasher, Rider regains his powers and joins the New Warriors superhero team,[21] where he becomes close friends with Speedball. Richard briefly dates Yale student Laura Dunham and teammate Namorita.[22][23]

Cover to New Warriors (vol. 1) #75.

Pencils by Patrick Zircher.

Rider encounters Garthan Saal, a former Nova Corps Centurion who had been driven insane by absorbing too much Nova Force, the source of power for Nova Centurions. Saal seeks more power so he can restore Xandar to its former glory. He strips Rider of his powers and transports him to Xandar. Saal is defeated. Rider witnesses the reformation of the Nova Corps and receives the rank of Centurion Prime.[24]

Assigned to Earth, Rider is confronted with the challenge of balancing dual lives as a member of both the Nova Corps and the New Warriors. Rider encounters a Nova Corps member from an alternate timeline named Nova 0:0,[25] who prepares him to stop the Deathstorm, which is coming to destroy Earth. Because Rider defies Xandar's Queen Adora to stop the Deathstorm,[26] he is temporarily stripped of his powers and rank,[27] but is given back his powers when his replacement sacrifices himself.[28]

"Annihilation"Edit

Nova briefly travels the US with the reformed New Warriors as part of a reality television show.[29] Rider leaves the group when he is summoned to Xandar alongside the entire Nova Corps, which has been fully mobilized to respond to the Annihilation Wave, a force from the Negative Zone led by Annihilus. The wave decimates Xandar and the corps in a surprise attack.[30] As the only surviving centurion, Rider makes contact with the Xandarian Worldmind, a living supercomputer that regulates the Nova Force and is caretaker of the entire database of Xandarian civilization. The Worldmind uploads itself and the entire Nova Force into Rider, greatly enhancing his abilities.[31] During the Annihilation War, Rider takes command of the United Front, a loose collaboration of soldiers. In a nearly year-long campaign, Rider resists the Wave's advance across the galaxy until the United Front suffers a swift defeat. He leads a small team into the Wave's conquered territory and eventually engages Annihilus in personal combat, killing him.[32]

After the Annihilation War, Rider returns to Earth to rest. However, finding out that his pleas for help in the Annihilation War were ignored by Earth's superheroes because of a Civil War, and meeting Penance - his old friend Speedball, who was mentally scarred by the events leading up to said war - Rider returns to space, feeling out of place on Earth and disturbed by what Penance had become.[33]

Post-"Annihilation"Edit

Attempting to aid the Kree against an assault from the Phalanx, Rider is wounded and crash lands on a sparsely populated Kree outpost.[34] While Rider's unconscious body recovers, Worldmind deputizes a local Kree commander, Ko-Rel, to guard him. Rider is infected by the transmode virus and joins the Phalanx.[35] Now tasked with killing Rider before the Worldmind falls into enemy hands, Ko-Rel attacks him, only to be killed by Gamora in retaliation. Upon her death, her fraction of the Nova force returns to Rider and enables him to overcome the transmode virus. He flees Kree space pursued by Gamora and a Phalanx-controlled Drax.[36] Seeking a cure for the transmode virus, Rider eventually arrives on Kvch, home planet of the Technarchy. Rider enlists the help of the mutant Warlock and his son Tyro, who cure Rider, Drax, and Gamora of the transmode virus. The five return to Hala to engage the Phalanx.[37][38]

When ambushed by Skrulls during the Secret Invasion storyline, Rider is aided by Kl'rt. He learns about the Secret Invasion and heads for Earth.[39] Rider learns that Project Pegasus, the base where his brother now works, is under Skrull attack. Working with Darkhawk, Rider successfully stops the Skrulls' advance. The scientists of the facility extract the Worldmind from his brain and use the supercomputer to jump-start a project known as the quantum flask, which restores Quasar to life.[40] A Skrull warship is about to attack Project Pegasus but is destroyed by a band of alien Nova Centurions who then declare their allegiance to Rider.[41]

Rider learns that Worldmind has been recruiting for the Corps without telling him. When he learns that Ego the Living Planet is among the new recruits,[42] he becomes enraged and tries to battle Worldmind. As a result, he is stripped of his rank and ejected from the Nova Corps.[16] Because his body has become dependent on the Nova Force, Rider will die if he is without it for too long.[43] As a temporary measure, he borrows the quantum bands from Wendell Vaughn and becomes Quasar.[44] Using his new abilities, Rider rescues the Corps from the War of Kings. Ego is removed as a Centurion and Rider regains his Nova Prime status, but not before most of the new recruits are slaughtered by the Shi'ar Imperial Guard. Nova agrees to train the remaining new Centurions, including his younger brother Robert.[45]

Nova is recruited for the Secret Avengers by Steve Rogers and sent to Mars to investigate Roxxon's operations on that planet. While there, Rider discovers a second Serpent Crown secreted there, only to fall under its influence until rescued by Rogers and his team of Avengers.[46] Shortly after this mission, Nova is called away to deal with the events of The Thanos Imperative and Steve Rogers confirms he has left the team.[47]

"Realm of Kings" and Thanos ImperativeEdit

A lost Nova Corps ship appears from a tear in space-time known as the Fault. Onboard is Zan Philo, a long-missing Nova centurion who is assigned to train the new recruits.[48] Later, Rider and Darkhawk find themselves inside the Fault, where they are called to do battle for the Sphinx against his younger self. Because of the unstable timestream inside the Fault, Nova is able to return with Namorita, his old girlfriend who had died a few years earlier.[49] Rider returns to Project Pegasus, where he confronts an alternate Quasar who originates from the Cancerverse, a universe within the Fault.[50]

Catching up to the alternate Quasar, Rider returns to the Fault to see the Universal Church of Truth rip it wide open.[51] Assisted by others, he confronts Lord Mar-Vell, the evil alternate version of Captain Marvel, but cannot stop him. Entering the Fault to assist the Guardians of the Galaxy, Rider and the Guardians watch Thanos destroy Mar-Vell. Now facing an enraged Thanos, Rider pulls the Nova Force from the rest of the Corps for extra strength. He and Star-Lord are able to hold Thanos back for the few minutes it takes for the Fault to close, trapping all three of them in the Cancerverse.[52] The two heroes continue to fight Thanos for a Cosmic Cube which has the power to send them home. Rider charges the Cube with the Nova Force to create a doorway for Star-Lord, intending to remain behind and keep Thanos from escaping too. Star-Lord escapes, but Rider is unable to prevent Thanos from escaping as well.[53] Because no one is immediately aware Star-Lord survived, Nova and Star-Lord receive a statue in their honor on Hala.[52]

ReturnEdit

The latest Nova, Sam Alexander, locates the Xandarian Worldmind.[54] Rider's consciousness awakens within the Worldmind during the encounter. It is later revealed that Rider and the Worldmind survived the closure of the Fault and remain trapped in the Cancerverse. Using the Nova Force, Rider manages to escape the Cancerverse, returns to Earth to visit his mother,[55] and learns that his father has died.[56] He encounters Alexander and they begin working together. However, in his escape, Rider has become a portal to the Cancerverse, which repeatedly attempts to invade Earth through him. Rider returns to the Cancerverse in hopes of closing the portal and thus saving his own universe.[57] Despite his resistance, he is co-opted by the Cancerverse, but is freed by Alexander, who has followed him. He two escape the Cancerverse once more, using the Cosmic Cube carried by Thanos' Cancerverse doppelganger. Rider and Alexander resume their lives and relationships on Earth while continuing as Nova Corpsmen.[58]

In the aftermath of "Empyre," Nova represents the Nova Corps during a Galactic Council meeting held by Super-Skrull. When Emperor Stote of the Zn'rx was found dead in the restroom and Noh-Varr becomes a suspect after attacking the Skrull subaltern Val-Korr, Nova calls in the Guardians of the Galaxy to investigate Emperor Stote's murde

5 notes · View notes

mysaldate · 5 years ago

Note

!!! Similar to what you did with Kamanue (the babiest baby of all babies) could you please write a mini analysis/general hcs for Susamaru? I love her so much

@kimetsuno-yaiba-imagines This probably isn’t you but I’m writing about your girl so I thought I’d tag you. Sorry if I don’t do her justice!

So this is then the third in the General + Past headcanon series! I’ll link the other two at the end of this post just in case anyone is interested in my takes on the others.

General Susamaru headcanons

I’ll open it up with the obvious this time. You would hardly find a more playful demon than Maru-chan. It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel like playing with her, if she says you will, you don’t have the right to refuse. If you try that, she will make sure you know why it’s a bad idea. You will be lucky if you live to get another chance.

It doesn’t even matter all that much whether it would be playing with the temari or with something else, though if you choose the former, she will be much more pleased. But she will also enjoy other outdoor activities. Sports, of course, are her strongest suit.

She is quite good at most calmer activities as well. Most board games are a-ok with her. She doesn’t appreciate long strategy-based games though so don’t bother asking her for a game of chess. The most you would get out of her is playing for a few minutes before she would start flinging the pawns at you.

Karaoke. Take her to a karaoke night and you’re about to witness a real monster. You thought you took a cute girl out for a date? Hah! This cute girl will utterly destroy you no matter what song you pick. She can do anything, and I mean absolutely anything, from opera to metal, her vocal range is just as impressive as her football skills.

Despite all of this, she will still enjoy it when you call her cute – even if she won’t tell you. She might scoff and deny it, saying she’s powerful and scary and cool but there’s really a little part deep inside her that still enjoys that for reasons I will more expand on later.

She tends to get carried away really easily. It’s not unlikely for her to receive a mission that’s supposed to be stealthy but end up entirely blowing up the place. But well, if nobody is alive to tell the tale, she did technically go unnoticed, right? It’s not like anyone can pin the blame on her if she’s quick enough to disappear before anyone can come and doesn’t leave a trace.

She has a lower pain tolerance than most other demons. Why? Not sure. But when you compare her reaction to Muzan’s curse activating to other demons’ reactions to having their heads off (Rui, Enmu, Wakuraba) or getting their whole body sliced to pieces (spider sister), she still does feel like someone who feels more than she probably should. Or it might just be because Muzan’s curse is simply THAT painful, I’ll leave this one up to you (if it is the pain tolerance, it could hint at something I will mention later on so stay tuned!). Also she actually shrieked when Yushiro punched her and that didn’t even draw blood.

Another one to really idolize and adore Muzan, as seen from her confrontation of Tamayo. While it’s true we never saw any other demon being confronted with anything like that, it’s not unlikely that few of them would react anywhere near the extent of her anger. Much like Tanjiro points out, she is very childish so it’s not completely impossible she sees Muzan as a sort of father figure as well.

I imagine she also hasn’t been a demon for a long time, and neither has Yahaba. Since they don’t seem to know about the eyeball engraving for the Demon Moons and simply believe they’re part of them because Muzan told them so, they probably haven’t met anyone higher in the hierarchy other than Muzan himself.

It’s true that they have only been put together with Yahaba for that one mission but that doesn’t rule out the possibility of them seeing each other before. Naturally, they didn’t talk or anything since demons can’t really group up together for the most part. But it is possible they have at least a little idea about each other’s abilities as well. After all, Tokyo is only so big, it’s highly unlikely they would never run into each other.

She is a surprisingly humble girl for someone of her flashiness. After all, she doesn’t mind Yahaba giving her instructions and even though she clearly finds his worries about dust to be ridiculous, she never puts him down for it. They don’t really bicker either, nor do we ever see him complaining he didn’t support her enough. Oh and let’s not forget she didn’t really think there was a house being hidden and just acted on Yahaba’s orders during the first attack. And she did admit he was right. She also has no issues recognizing Nezuko’s strength. She’s really not a proud girl, just very very dedicated and certain they could win since Muzan trusts in them enough to give such an important mission to them.

Susamaru backstory headcanons

I’ll start, again, by the type of background I see her growing up in. This time, I am quite sure it was a rich family. Not insanely rich but the colour of her kimono as well as the colourful sash were usually a sign of power, influence, money. Not to mention the stripped inner yukata she wears, they’re usually made in plain colours unless you want to show you can afford better. She also has what appears to be pearl earrings, those would without a doubt be expensive. And even if they’re not pearls, the fact she’s the only demon in the series to wear earrings (and the only character aside from Tanjiro’s family) seems to hint on something because as we’ve already estabilished, the past has a lot to do with a demon’s clothes.

But don’t get the wrong idea, they weren’t rich by inheritance or family fortune, both her parents worked very hard to make that kind of money. It’s probable they owned a large company, possibly with an overseas branch (remember the story of KNY is set in early 1910′s so she would become a demon some time before that) that kept them busy most of the time.

Another option is that they might even be a samurai family, just a lesser known one than Kokushibo’s, a smaller clan if you will. And possibly did some business too because by then, it was no longer very benefitial to just be a samurai since the industrialization and all.

Either way, they had little to no time for her. And she didn’t have any siblings. She saw her mother more than her father who was practically absent from her life. This lead to her often being very lonely. And that’s not even mentioning her tomboyish tendencies that caused the girls from her neighbourhood not to want to play with her. Girls playing with boys was being frowned upon, especially since she came from an influential family.

Basically, she needed to be a “proper lady” regardless of whether she wanted to or not simply not to bring shame to her family. She hated it, naturally, but there was little she could do about it. It didn’t get better when she got older.

She might have had a cat. Since temaris are often used to play with them, maybe the cat was the only companion she had. I feel like she’s the type who’d pick up a stray kitten and then refuse to give it up even when her parents (or mother since her dad was never home) were against it. She might have even pulled the “You don’t have time for me so let me have this” card.

She wasn’t even the age to get married yet and people around were already saying she would never find anyone. A lot of them mentioned she’s just not cute, not suited to be a wife, not womanly enough, too wild, too loud, not gentle enough. Her mom often cried over that and it made Maru-chan feel kinda bad. Still, it was a part of herself and she didn’t want to give it up.

She has first met Muzan when she was still quite a little kid. She was hanging out around the house after the sun has gone down, playing with her cat when he walked by. Being the mischievous and fearless kid she was, she threw the temari at him, then straight-up went to ask him if he wanted to play with her.

He was quite tempted to just kill her then and there but she showed a good amount of courage by approaching him in the first place and she didn’t shrink back after seeing his red eyes. I have a feeling she might even call him cool which fluttered his ego just enough to let the little cupcake live. No, he didn’t play with her.

It wasn’t too long before the troubles of owning a large corporation caught up to them. Her mother ran away with a lover who paid her more attention than her husband and Maru-chan was left alone with their few house servants and her always busy father. In hopes to make it up to her, her father started giving her many presents, such as the afforementioned earrings but, naturally, none of that could really replace the human contact she needed (I imagine she could be some 10-12).

Now for the theory regarding pain tolerance. My theory is that a demon’s ability to tolerate pain grows based on how old they were when they were turned and how much blood have they received over time as well as the number of humans they have devoured. For example, Rui was turned at a very young age but he is a Lower Moon, he received a large amount of blood and he devoured a lot of people, thus, he was able to cut his own head off without much any issue. Rui’s spider mother, however, didn’t receive that much blood and most likely didn’t devour nearly as many people as he did. As a result, both Rui and the spider father could easily cause her a lot of pain. The spider sister was turned into a demon when she was older than her and she ate a fair share of humans so even when Rui cut her body to pieces, she was able to pick herself up rather quickly and run off with just a few hisses. As for where does Maru-chan come in, we know she received a fair amount of Muzan’s blood because she says so to Yahaba. In spite of this, Yushiro’s punch is enough to make her scream out and Muzan’s curse hurts her to the point of tears even before ripping through her. So my explanation for this is, she was turned into a demon at a young age and she didn’t eat that many humans.

Basically, I believe that after her mom left, she no longer had anyone to spend time with in her house, nobody who would care for her. So after her kitty inevitably left this world, she was all alone. This is around the second time she ran into Muzan. And it was she who recognized him before he could recognize her. Once more, she ran up to him, this time not asking to play but rather asking why was he there.

She was very contact starved, alright? Chatting with him was the closest she got to a proper talk since her mom left. And he didn’t really have anything more important to do back then so he suffered through her complaining about her life. She certainly had a lot of bitterness inside of her at that point and she still had that childish courage from when they first met. And she was also just desperate enough that when he asked if she wanted to go with him, she nodded to it without a second thought.

One of the main reasons she admires Muzan so much is that he was the first person to fully accept her. He took her in when her own mother ran away and her father couldn’t care less as long as she didn’t bother him.

The reason she doesn’t look that young is simply because, as mentioned, some demons can shapeshift. Her powers are far from as impressive as Muzan’s but she can at least alter her physical age slightly. Seeing as Muzan can shapeshift to the point where he changes even his own aura and even his fellow demons have troubles recognizing him makes her strive to be like him. The fact that she can do just a speck of what he can is what draws her closer to him. And also why that final betrayal when she gets killed by his curse hurts so much more than just physically.

Previous demons in this series: Kamanue | Enmu

Wow, these things are getting longer and longer the more of them I do xD

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #susamaru #kny susamaru #kny headcanons #kny imagines

56 notes · View notes

bittermarrow · 6 years ago

Text

At the End of the Day // (Bubba x Reader NSFW)

A/n: Holy fuck, this took me forever to finish! I’ve been writing this for 2 days now, but I’m happy with the end result. Here’s some Bubba, because he’s a babe, and I’m thirsting for him specifically at the moment.

Prompt thingy: “As long as you’re here at the end of the day.”

Warnings: Straight up smut. (I’m shameless)

Words: 3400+ (O.o)

. . .

You wiped down the last table as you wrapped up your shift, brushing the drops of sweat that settled at your hairline with the back of your hand. You worked at this small bar a few miles from the Sawyer farm as a waitress, it helped you keep busy in a comfortable flow. A city kid at birth, you'd grown used to working shifts like these, and you continued to work even after meeting the Sawyers. Hey, you were a creature of habit, even when it came to work. Bubba didn't like that you worked away from home three-four days a week, but after some gentle reassurance and promises to come home, he caved. Drayton didn't mind since he believed in everyone pulling their own weight in the household -and you helped pay portions of the utility bills. As you started to get ready to leave, Amanda, another waitress you got along well with brought up a familiar conversation. "Y'know ya could always take an earlier shift, Nick's been wanting to trade with somebody for a while, it could be good for ya." You sighed, trying not to appear as annoyed as you were, this was the fifth time Amanda has brought this up with you this month. You knew she just wanted her boyfriend to have the same shift so they could flirt in between waiting tables. This shift worked best for you, and you weren't going to give it up to Amanda's sugar daddy because it was a nice thing to do. Amanda was a nice girl, she really was, but she didn't know when to stop. "Look, I know you're just looking out for me, and you want Nick to have the same hours as you. But I can't do any other shift." Amanda looks disappointed but smiles anyway, if it were the first time she asked you would have felt bad. "Oh, okay I get it. Um, but... think about it maybe?" She was particularly persistent today, that boy better like her. "I'll think about it, but it's a 'no' for now." She nods with a glimmer of hope in her green eyes and you clock out, though, with no plans to 'think about it'. You use the bar's phone to call Drayton and ask him to come and pick you up, to which he grouched at but complied. He may bitch and moan a lot, but you know he wants you home safe, the Sawyer's consider you family now. Even if Drayton was a huge dick and you didn't like the way he treated Bubba, he was family-bound. It took about twenty minutes for him to pull up, and you were eager to get home. Another twenty minutes and you’re hopping out of the truck and making your way up the porch stairs. No doubt Bubba was waiting at the door for you like a puppy and was all smiles, babbling happily when you walked through the door. You barely get a few steps away from the door before Bubba is tugging you along, most likely to the kitchen to get out the leftovers for you.

There was no “Oh, I ate at work,” with this family, you didn't turn down meals under this roof. First of all, it will one-hundred percent offend Drayton, which will ultimately result in you getting shit from him. And of course, the… the cannibalism part was just something you had to get used to, there was no getting around it. But, as you’ve noticed, the more you eat of it, the less it will occur to you that it's human, that it's supposed to taste bad. The fact that it doesn't is as unsettling as it is relieving. Your body has grown accustomed to the taste of human flesh, but your mind still battles you over it. The morals you grew up with were hard to shake, the kind that continuously reminded you that you weren’t supposed to eat other people.

You sit next to Bubba at the otherwise empty table as you eat the meat stew he'd warmed up for you. Beside you, Bubba was sewing wet strips of flesh together with just a needle and thick thread, no doubt working on a new mask. He had a sewing machine in the basement but he still liked to hand-stitch them sometimes, it reminded him of when Mama first taught him how. You liked to watch him make his masks, always surprised how careful Bubba could be. But you also knew that besides butchering and slaughtering trespassers, this was the only thing Bubba thought he was good at.

It hurt your heart to think about it, that he grew up believing that he wasn't good for much else than cutting meat. You wanted to tell him all the things you thought he excelled at, but like Bubba, you weren't very good with wordage. Him for obvious reasons, and you for a reason you still have a hard time understanding. All the thoughts sound fine in your head, but then they tumble out of your mouth sounding completely different.

So you kept the depth of your admiration and thoughtfulness behind your teeth, and instead expressed it through actions.

You say you work because it keeps you busy and helps you adjust from city life, but you actually work because you want the Sawyers to always have a backup plan if things go wrong. You said you let Bubba sleep in your room because he was afraid to be alone when you actually let him stay because you wanted to keep him close to you at night. You joke that you stick around because the family would be lost without you when in truth, it is you who would be at a loss without them.

You live in a constant cycle of contradiction between what comes from your mouth and what comes from your heart. You can only hope that Bubba knows that you need him as much as he needs you.

Shaking the thought from your mind as the metallic edge of your spoon clinks against the bottom of the now empty bowl, you rise from your seat and carry it over to the porcelain plate-filled sink. Sighing you and rolling up your shirt sleeves, you start scrubbing at the dishes. You hear Bubba make a noise of disapproval at the familiar sight and you smile to yourself, knowing he was likely planning on doing those himself. Bubba knew better than to argue with you, but he still didn't have to like it, you just got off work to do more work?

Two-thirds of the way through the dishes you startle slightly at the feeling of thick arms wrapping around your waist from behind. You huff and grin, leaning back against Bubba who buried his face in the back of your neck, his hair brushing against your skin. You reach back with a slick hand to pat his head and return to your task, his call for attention hesitantly ignored. You are forced to wash the last set of tableware one-handed when Bubba seizes your other one, playing with your fingers and mumbling incoherently into your shoulder.

Finally, you wipe your hands with a hand towel and turn off the tap. The squeak of the faucet catches Bubba’s attention and he immediately clings harder into you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and making small excited noises. You laugh as you are pushed forward against the counter under his weight and brace your hands on its surface. Before you attempt to turn around you suddenly feel Bubba’s hips rest against your backside and in the process noticed the hard shape pressing against the back your thighs. The lighthearted mood mixes with something heavy when he starts brushing his lips against the sensitive flesh of your neck, his whole body shuddering as he takes in your sweet scent.

Bubba isn't necessarily experienced in the art of sensual build up, preferring to get to the point— and inside of you as quickly as possible. But the few times you've coaxed him into some sweet and slow lovemaking, he's loved it. It's definitely better than the quickies you two normally have, he can't even count how many times you've been interrupted or nearly walked in on.

You sigh as the dull ache of your sore muscles begins to dissolve at the feeling of Bubba’s warms lips against your neck. You lean forward onto your elbows over the counter and push your hips back into his, grinding back onto his erection. Bubba whimpers at the contact and bucks gently against your ass, hands gripping shakily at your waist. Feeling yourself start to dampen your panties, you start craving for more direct friction. You wriggle out of his grip and turn around in his arms before looping your arms around his thick neck and pulling him down to your lips.

Bubba’s moan vibrates against your tongue as he eagerly returns your kiss, hands moving to your face to pull you harder against his plush lips. The hot press of your soft lips absorbs him for a moment before the almost painful throbbing of his cock reminds him of himself. He needs some sort of friction or he's going to combust, go insane with want. And as if hearing his silent prayer, you pull him forward into you using his shoulder and the counter as leverage to wrap your numbing legs around his hips.

The pleasure of being pressed against him so intimately was sending shockwaves of awareness from your buzzing nerves and lower extremities, straight to your brain and back, telling you everything you were feeling. As if you need to be told. Your hand twisted in the hair of his mask, grabbing a good hank of it and yanking his head back. You stared into his clouded brown eyes, seeing the submission you were looking for before diving in for his neck.

You pushed the neck of dried flesh up to access his real skin and started pressing open-mouthed kisses there, to which Bubba shuddered at the feeling of. He lolls his head to the side obediently to bare more of his throat to you. You dragged the tips of your teeth his sensitive spots, his musky, sawdust-esque scent filling your nostrils as a constant reminder of everything that was simply and utterly him.

The abrupt sound of obnoxious laughter cut through the air and also the two of you apart, you both jerk away and turn your heads to the entryway, ready to scatter. But, thankfully, no one had been or was standing there. You come to the hazy-minded conclusion that it had been one of the boys making a racket in the living room, most likely Chop. You relax and turn back to Bubba, who is already looking at you, with that breathless but loving look you adored. You lean forward and kiss him briefly, trying not to linger in fear of getting carried away, even if it was painful to pull away from those plump lips he had. Bubba, however, was not ready for you to pull away yet and chased your lips stubbornly. You let him get away with it a few more moments before you pulled away from him. You should move this out of the kitchen, preferably to the bedroom, or basement. Wherever you got to first. You were ready for him to fuck you now, or for you to fuck him. Whoever came out on top first, both options were equally appealing.

You were a switch. While you lived to be held down and given some good, hard lovin’, you also loved to be on top, riding Bubba for all he was worth as he squirmed and squealed beneath you like a man possessed. Your tongue slipped out from behind your teeth and you dragged the tip across your lip. The sight had Bubba shaking with the anticipation of being inside of you, you could tell he was thinking about all the things he wanted to do with you too.

“Bubba… upstairs please, now.”

Bubba nodded quickly and slid his hands under your thighs to hike your body higher up his body, you clung to him as he carried you towards the stairs. You knew he was strong enough to carry someone twice your size so you never needed to worry about being too heavy. Before you knew it your warm back was pressed into cool sheets, your weight sinking into the mattress and the springs groaning under Bubba’s added weight as he draped himself over you. He buried his face in your stomach and hugged your curves trying to ignore the pressure building in his groin, the urge to grind himself against the sheets proved too tempting. You watched as Bubba rubbed himself against the covers, and it occurs to you how hard he’s trying to go slow.

You ruffle the hair of his mask and suddenly feel a strong aversion to it, so you fingered the ends of it and pulled it off. Bubba lifted his head to allow you to remove it before his warm forehead dropped back onto your belly. you raked your fingers through his real hair, tangling them into his black curls and massaging his scalp. Bubba was comfortable in his own skin around you, so he never saw a reason to hide his face from you anymore. He knows you loved him no matter what his face looked like, you drilled that into his head early on. If you thought he was handsome then who was he to insist that he wasn’t? He believed anything you told him.

“Sweetheart, I need you to get undressed for me now.”

He perks up at that and nods eagerly, reluctantly pulling himself away from you and your softness to start tugging at his clothes. You slip out of your work clothes and perch yourself on his thighs as he sits up, your sex drags across the underside of his length and Bubba groans at the heat radiating from you onto him. You slip a hand down and wrap your nimble fingers around his girth and give him a few encouraging strokes, he thrusts into your palm, desperate for more of your intoxicating touch.

You take his hand and lead it to the cradle of your hips to brush his thick fingers against your core, Bubba moans audibly at how wet you are. He doesn’t need any more instruction before he’s sliding his rough digits over your lips and dipping a finger inside to gather your arousal. You groan breathily as he pushes a finger inside of you and your hips involuntarily roll into his hand, you shudder. A few minutes later and he slides a second digit inside of your spasming cunt and you keen, resting your forehead against his collarbone as his fingers pump inside of you, your slick walls clenching around them with every push and pull of their thickness against your insides. Your hands brush together as you stroke him in time with his fingers as they press inside of you, knuckles rubbing together as you gain momentum.

The way Bubba starts panting and bucking into your hand as he shoves his eager fingers into your pussy tells you he’s not going to last much longer, and while you don’t want to have to wait even more… you can’t find it in yourself to deny him release. So you start pumping him with both hands, adding more pressure and speeding up, his pre-cum making it slippery and each stroke makes a wet sound. Bubba’s heavy breathing picks up until he’s almost wheezing and his noises rise in volume, melting into each other as the pressure continues to build up in his groin, his balls swelling and shaft throbbing with the anticipation of his orgasm.

Like always, Bubba’s free hand strays to help you finish him off, but you swat it away and instead push him down onto his back. You slide yourself on top of him so you are facing his cock and his face is dangerously close to your core, Bubba takes the hint and grips your hips and thighs, massaging the generous flesh there and licking a long stripe up your cunt. You gasp and moan, thighs quivering around his face as he starts enthusiastically eating you out, his fat tongue sliding against your labia and dipping into your entrance. His hips jerk upwards into your grip and you remind yourself of your task.

You wrap your lips around the pink head of his pulsating cock, your tongue sliding over the slit before you take him into your mouth. Swallowing him down as far as you can, it’s not so much his length that makes this difficult, it’s just that he’s so damn thick. Bubba’s hips stutter and thrust up into your heavenly mouth and tongue, a loud moan vibrating against your flesh. Your eyes cross and you start sucking him for all he’s worth, already beginning to chant his name and ‘more’ inside your head as your nerves begin to buzz out of control. He’s got you right on the edge of one of the strongest orgasms you’ve experienced yet, it’s a race to see who can make the other come first, and when you’re convinced he will, Bubba starts sucking on your clit. Not only that, but he slides two fingers inside of you to substitute the absence of his tongue. You moan around his erection sending vibrations down his dick as you throw your head back, his member slipping out of your mouth but your hand still furiously pumping him as you come harder than you’ve probably ever had.

Your walls convulse and clench wildly around his fingers and the feeling sends Bubba reeling as it triggers his own undoing, his hips bucking into your grip, pulsing and jerking as his warmth spills from his aching cock. His cum paints your knuckles white as he groans and whimpers his pleasure into your soft inner thigh, you can faintly feel his rapid breath against your skin. You both collapse in a heap, tense muscles going lax under the numbing effects of the afterglow, just laying there and learning to breathe correctly again.

As you come down you take notice of the way Bubba is stroking your thighs and waist, fingers rubbing in small, soothing circles. It’s not an initiation of another round, rather an apology as he traces the darkening bruises he left on your backside, legs, and hips. If there’s something you’ve learned about Bubba over al this time when it came to sex, it was that he was big on aftercare. Making sure you weren’t hurt, that he's satisfied you completely, and that you don’t need anything. He was often like this in between rounds, especially ones that left you exhausted like you were now, nuzzling and cuddling you while checking you over.

Sighing into his hip-bone you moved your leg so your lower half rested beside him instead of on top of him, you rested your chin on your elbows and looked over your shoulder at your big, strong teddy bear of a boyfriend. His eyes gazed lazily but affectionately back into yours, his hand running up and down your lower back, but he stopped over an indention in your muscle finding a knot there that made you wince upon being touched. Bubba started rubbing his thumbs around the area, pressing down on the afflicted muscle until the knot finally relented. You moaned at the release of tension in your back, and nuzzled his thigh, mumbling a ‘thank you’ into his skin.

You decided that was all you had the energy to handle for one night, and an equally spent Bubba agreed with you, barely able to keep his head up under the weight of exhaustion. So you clean the both of you up and snag one of your old oversized band T-shirts and plop down on top of Bubba to rest. He was big enough to be a bed to you and definitely soft and squishy enough to fall asleep on comfortably. You trailed sleepy butterfly kisses all over his cheeks and lips as you talked both of you to sleep, just random things and sweet nothings until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer. You don’t remember who fell asleep first, but you slept like a fucking queen that night.

You work pretty damn hard, but you can always thank Bubba for being there at the end of the day.

#bubba sawyer x reader #bubba x reader #bubba sawyer #slasher x reader #slashers #tcm #Texas Chainsaw Massacre #leatherface x reader #leatherface #slasher imagine #bubba sawyer imagine

998 notes · View notes

mouazkhaled · 5 years ago

Text

Some thoughts about one of the most important and complex pieces of Cinema created by one of its most brilliant minds, Charlie Kaufman. This piece is called “Synecdoche, New York”, made it to screens in 2008, and it has not been the most famous amongst his other works (eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, Anomalisa, Being John Malkovich, Adaptation), perhaps because it stood on the edge of the forgivable of the provocative. Yet it’s level of courage in the cinematic depiction of humanity’s eternal struggle for depth and meaning is an undoubtedly a rare gem.

This picture follows the life of a theater director (Caden Cotard) and its slow disintegration out from and into itself while going through an endless quest to regain control, in a world that viciously continues to strip the sense from his mind, soul, and body. It quickly starts with a brief introduction into an insane world, one full of disasters, affecting many layers, the outside world, his small family, and his own body. Calamities are everywhere, artists dying before their time, earthquakes killing tens of thousands, political destruction of a fragile society while being eaten by the unmerciful capitalism of America. This is the outside, the surrounding, the baseline of life. This eternal unfair chaos projects itself into his smaller world, his family’s. His wife is slipping away in a self-struggle to maintain the façade of love that she had for him, feeling the shattering disappointment that she describes as an inevitability after “you get to know someone really well”. She is an aspiring artist that longs for freedom from the attachments of her world, the boundaries of modern America, the walls of her house, and the ever-known human “family” structure. They have a daughter; she is erratic and spontaneous. She also has the same bug of deconstruction of the self, as her parent’s, portrayed from the very first scenes when she got obsessively worried of having a “green Poo” which was unusual and unnatural and served as a starting point of constant doubt of her own body and how it functions, thoughts that her parent’s quickly dismissed and ignored. The last layer of this mania is Cotard’s body; it starts showing several symptoms of an unknown undiagnosed illness that seems to be deadly; its symptoms are physical and apparent on his skin and in his joints and in his nerves and his blood in a medically random and incomprehensible fashion. This chaotic manifestation of these lives is aided by fast and unusual style of editing that denies the viewer the chance to breath, constantly challenging any efforts to grasp the story and its characters. This style introduces the surreal and forces you to succumb to its sheer force of the non-logical and the insane; it’s simply saying “I won’t let you understand, as these characters are lost, as these lives are denied of meaning, you will be too”.

The family is destroyed, the mother and the daughter leave, and our poor Cotard is left alone. His body continues to fail in a very gruesome manner. Then we get deeper into a dissection of society; now the medicine trying to understand this disintegration of his body but fails miserably, both because of the dysfunctional medical system (one of apathetic approach that makes an endless loop of referrals that robes time and efforts mercilessly and towards nothing!, in a surreal criticism of modern America’s healthcare system) and the enigma of his body being a projection of the enigma of his soul.

Throughout Cotard’s moral and physical battles, he fails to seize many opportunities of true passion and love. There is a secretary that finds him physically appealing; She admires his talent in theater and finds his tormented soul soothing to hers. She is wild and alive, frequently flirting with him, seducing him into surrendering his meaningless devotion to his miserably failing marriage. He is lonely, she knows that, she understands that, and she also suffers from that and wants to save herself and him, but the idiot is weak, lacks the power for adventure, and powerless to break free from his loneliness. The years pass by in a weird chronology that shines more light on the psychotic state that drowned him, and he continues to have a passive-aggressive vain dance with his admirer around their lust for passion and true happiness, but not actually reaching any. He continuously tries to connect with his abandoning family, failing every time, and each time he would lose more of himself by their constant ignorance and rejection, which later throughout the movie appeared to have changed him into a masochistic pathologic small man, one who got addicted to the worthless and the contemptible.

Despite all his defeats, he is truly a brilliant artist, and a play of his achieves major success quickly to be rewarded with the highest grant that can be given to a theater director. He now has a tool to construct something meaningful and true in his life; he has a mean to maybe gain back some control of his life. He starts building this vague play; he keeps repeating that he wants to portray something real, defining this “real” mainly by the idea of death, his firm belief of its inevitability, but at the same time, his refusal to concede to it as he wants to live and explore the spectrum of his moral paradoxes. This play doesn’t have a plot nor any well-defined characters, no unified structure, no script, and no clear dramatic objectives. He instructs his actors (or rather preaches them) about its intended qualities, but in reality -as had he intimately shared with another admiring actress- he doesn’t really know what he is doing. He starts the project in a spontaneous fashion, instructing actors to build the real, and with the lack of context, he unknowingly starts to shed parts of himself into the play. Step by step, throughout a bizarre and terrifyingly brutal and swift passage of time, he builds his own life in a colossal warehouse that replicates the same chaotic outside world (New York is used as an example, which is a perfect smaller scale of the American society in particular and the whole world in general) and the one of his own life. He chooses actors to play his friends, his co-workers, his lover, his estranged wife (the character being a piece of paper constantly instructing him to clean her house, with random phrases of “congratulations” and empty longings, that served as bread crumbs luring him into an addiction to masochism), and finally, an actor to play his own self.

These versions of the people and the environment of his life keep emerging, getting larger and larger with increasing complexity with more actors, more construction in the set, and more stories. He failed to control his own life, so he went into a quest of replicating his own world but now from the seat of the director in an attempt to assume the “god” of his life, he is searching for control, for meaning, for the lost opportunities of his youth, and the missed love from his existence. He wants to right his mistakes and re-live the failed opportunities. His theater piece -as his own devastation- became endless. He created one duplicated layer that quickly was duplicated again and again and again into further warehouses inside warehouses; actors instructing actors; himself instructing himself to choose another self, and such insanity. But now something fascinating started to appear before his own eyes, his subjects started to break free from the sorrowful storylines of his life. The opportunities of love that he had lost in his past started to be seized by the actors playing them, the stability of his replicated families had stronger chances, even an old failed suicide attempt was successful in a dramatic and hauntingly beautiful fashion (as how one's death is always wished to be). Not only that, but the actors assuming the roles of his old lost loved ones started to have real interactions with the real people of his real life; substituting him; bypassing him, they were not only defying his orders but also furthering his moral decline. The manifesto of god was being undermined, again and again, striking him many times back again to the loss of control and to the void that he so desperately was trying to escape.

This play takes decades in the making, clearly without any comprehensible finishing end in sight. Our director kept making different titles for it as he gets older -and perhaps wiser-. As these smaller versions of life continued to evolve, they started to disintegrate by falling into war and destruction, something that can be described as an embedded doom in the humanity’s genome, their tormented souls everlastingly jumping between the need for control and the need to destroy it. Kaufman is saying that after all, these enchanting dynamics are what keeps us alive, they might be lures of desire, qualities that are old and beasty, but they are the flams of our souls; ones of which are both created and destroyed by fire. This war continues to annihilate everyone and everything, leaving the director utterly alone. His last surrender was to a voice -a manifestation of his superego- explaining to him the deeper meanings of his life, informing him that all humans are alone, he is all the characters of his life, all the characters of his plays, “everyone is everyone, everything is everything”. He continues to wander in the apocalypse until he sits with one survivor actress, one whom played the mother of a dream of his, apologizing to her for the lost opportunity of an old promised picnic with her and her grandchildren he made in an old childhood dream, admitting love for her, which serves as an epiphany for what he believed to be the most complete and the purest of titles for his play, but as he started to name it, he was quickly abducted by death.

Synecdoche New York is a very complex and enchanting piece of art, one that is very hard to dissect. It must be viewed from two distinct perspectives. One that might try to look closely to understand the story, but not to be taken too seriously because it's incomprehensible and surreal, but rather to feel (and maybe understand) how the movie deals with identity, sexuality, and desires; the story of the origin of god and the instincts behind that; the glimpse at American capitalism and its resulting destruction of the passionate and the genuine. Also, the dissection of fatherhood, motherhood, and family; the criticism of toxic masculinity that Kaufman so very much adores dealing with in all his pictures. The other perspective, and the most approachable and important, is to see the bigger picture that integrates all these small aspects and its dazzling complexities; To see the laughable mockery of our grasp on life, our infinite quests for meaning in the wrong paths that imprison us into sorrow and loneliness that furthers and furthers, while we miss the most beautiful and what is truly worthy of life; sex, passion, courage, art, love, and the intimate human touch.

Kaufman’s Synecdoche New York is an unforgettable experience that almost redefines everything, one that is very personal to me, and will forever stay in my memory as well as my heart.

#kaufman #charlie kaufman #synechdoche new york #synecdoche #new york #movies #movie review #movie #review #cinema #top #top 10 #love #intimacy #philip seymour hoffman

10 notes · View notes

jasper-hale-protection-squad · 5 years ago

Text

Blame It On Me: Chapter 6

Tag list: @thought-u-said-dragon-queen@reprehensibleghost @actuallybennyweir@rosaliehaley@poptarts-and-owls@lovemesome-fandoms@caraudioclearwater@cullen-trash@whatwedoinvolterra@putadeelian@pleasantlylovingchaos@thewritingblogthatshouldnotexist@imnotqualifiedbutishowedup@jazzs-side-hoe@avengersincamphalfbloodstardis @jessicanjpa@greyhound-nine@liliavoir@isabeau373@madiicole@twilightisamood@onafirstglancefeeling@myhopesareanchoredinyou@pink-and-purple-flowers@nooneandeveryonematters@invisiblelee24@spotsmaketheworld@justdidabadthing @ghostgirlash @maw-ler@abandoned-as-mustard @twilightcouldbegood @shiny-volvo-stupid-owner @iwriteunoriginalideas

Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Scars, water/swimming, brief insecurity, really not much. Mostly fluffy

Ship(s): Rosalie x Emmett

“I’m so booooored,” Emmett groaned, flopping face first onto the couch across from Riley. The younger vampire snickered as Emmett turned onto his back and pouted, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t get why you couldn’t go into town, and why I have to babysit you. I mean, I guess it would be lonely without somebody here, but this is driving me insane!” Emmett got up off the couch again. The rest of the Cullen family had gone into town to start getting some things for Edward and Bella’s wedding. She wasn’t getting married until August, but Alice had insisted they look for a dress and shoes at least so that all the good ones wouldn’t end up being gone. Edward wanted to get some more CDs. and Jasper had heard of a new book he wanted to read. Carlisle and Esme went to supervise. Riley had wanted to go, just to get out of the house and the woods, but the entire family said no except for Emmett. So Emmett was put on, as Jasper jokingly comment, “babysitting duty”.

“Why don’t we do something, then?” Riley suggested it, leaning back against the couch and smirking a bit. Emmett raised an eyebrow at him and turned hands clasped behind his back. “After all, Esme and Carlisle said we couldn’t go into town. They didn’t say that we couldn’t leave the house,” he pointed out. Emmett’s face split into a grin.

“Oh dude, yes! Come on, I want to show you something!” Emmett grabbed Riley’s wrist to pull him off the couch, and then the two of them took off running into the woods. Of course, before the fun had even really started, the run had turned into a competition. Riley’s legs practically flew under him as he whipped through the forest, laughing freely as the wind rippled through his hair. Even though his heart was no longer beating and his skin was hard as stone, Riley felt alive.

Emmett ran at his side, keeping perfect place, and Riley grinned at him, waving. Emmett snorted but waved back, a grin equally as wide on his face. He led Riley down a beaten path leading downwards and deep into the woods. Riley could hear running water. The green seemed to grow even brighter and sharper around the two of them. A stream ran deep through the ground at Riley’s side, and he wanted to stop and take a look, but Emmett wasn’t finished. They ran and ran, ever growing tired, until Emmett finally came to a stop. They’d reached the edge of a small ridge, which dropped down into a small clearing. Riley was about to ask what they were doing there, when he actually looked down. His mouth fell open in shock and awe.

“It’s so beautiful,” Riley murmured, taking a step closer to the edge. The stream they’d been passing had turned out to be a large creek and poured water over a small waterfall into a large pool, which collected in a rough circular pool that ran out on the opposite end into several other pools and deep areas and frothy rapids. The edges of each pool were surrounded by wildflowers. In fact, the entire ground in the surrounding area was covered in a blanket out flowers. Riley, funnily enough, recalled a movie that he’d watched as a kid about a small deer. The scene reminded him of when the creature met his friend, a skunk.

“I do too. Rosalie and I found it a few days ago while we were out hunting,” Emmett said. He started taking his shirt off and Riley started, staring at him in confusion.

“What- What are you doing?” Riley spluttered, utterly confused and somewhat scared. Why was Emmett stripping in the forest…?

“Going swimming. Obviously. You should too!” Emmett said excitedly, shedding his pants and undershirt next. Thankfully, he had the decency to keep his boxers on and he let out a loud whoop, leaping over the edge of the waterfall and plunging down into the pool below. The water was so crystal clear that Riley was able to see Emmett sink to the bottom of the pool. The green, which Riley had assumed to be the color of the water, turned out to be a reflection of the trees above, and the moss growing on the rocks inside the pool. Emmett burst back up to the surface, shaking his hair like a wet dog and laughing. “Come on Riley! It’s great, I swear!” Riley hesitated a moment, plucking slightly at his shirt. He slowly took it off, revealing the numerous scars he had obtained from training newborns, and some of Victoria’s more intense punishments. He expected Emmett to freak out, or be disgusted, but the older vampire just looked up at Riley with an expectant grin on his face. Riley’s chest swelled with an unfamiliar, but very pleasant feeling, and his eagerness was so much that he tripped and fell trying to get out of his jeans. Emmett let out a bellowing laugh, so Riley aimed directly at his head as he jumped down into the pool.

Riley sank to the bottom. He looked around him, watching tiny fish flit in and out around the water, and tadpoles half formed and newly born swimming, their little tails wiggling frantically. The moss on the rocks swayed slightly as the water above and around them rushed and swirled in an ongoing, natural pattern. Riley looked above him, amazed as the sunlight filtered through the trees and down into the water, casting an almost yellow glow below the surface. His feet sank into the warm mud at the bottom of the pool. He stayed there for a moment, allowing his stone body to remain there. Riley liked it here. He would come back. Riley kicked off the bottom of the natural pool and swam back up to Emmett, shaking his hair just as the other had and laughing.

“It’s beautiful down there, did you look?” Riley said, unable to keep the excitement out of his tone. Emmett smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, I did. It’s cool down there, an entire ecosystem thriving right under our noses,” Emmett said with a thoughtful hum. He floated on his back, looking up at the canopy of trees. His skin glinted in the sunlight. Riley glanced at him and then looked over his shoulder nervously. He knew it was stupid to be afraid of someone finding them, the forests were massive, It was just in his nature, he supposed. He started floating too, moving his arms and legs ever so slightly to stay above the water.

“Why’d you bring me here?” Riley asked after a moment of silence. Emmett let out a small sigh.

“As a thank you. For helping Rosalie yesterday,” Emmett replied, turning himself upright again in the water to look at Riley properly. Riley did it as well, for manners sake. He shied away with embarrassment, and had he been human his cheeks would have been flushed a brilliant red.

“You don’t have to thank me, Emmett. She helped me anyways, I didn’t really do anything,” Riley confessed. Emmett smiled and shook his head.

“No, you definitely helped her. It’s been a long, long time since she’s told anybody what happened to her, and she always swore to me that no one outside of the family would ever know. But you...you’ve turned our world upside down, Riley,” Emmett finished with a laugh, the way his smile reached his eyes putting Riley at ease almost as well as Jasper’s emotion manipulation. “When she came downstairs after she talked to you…” Emmett’s voice trailed off for a moment. “...it was like a completely different person had come down the stairs. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. She was smiling a lot, like a lot a lot. It was great,” the older vampire said, turning and grinning at RIley again.

“I’m…I’m glad,” Riley said softly. “She’s a good person.” Emmett chuckled.

“It’s about time somebody besides me realized that. Now come on, let’s swim!” Emmett clapped Riley on the back and dove under the water, swimming through the rough current of the creek and into the second pool. Riley followed close behind, feeling much less out of place than he did before. They swam for hours. They had races, splashed each other in the face, you know, the usual antics that young men in their late teens to twenties will get into (even if the twenty year old had been twenty for almost one hundred years). Riley hadn’t wanted to leave, but the sun was going down quickly and Emmett knew that Esme would want them back home to help unload anything they bought and spend some time with Bella before she had to go home.

“There you are! You two look like you had some fun today,” Carlisle commented as the two vampires came running up to the house, hair still soaking wet and their clothes sticking to their wet skin. “Now that you’re home, though, we could use your help. Alice went a little shop-happy…there’s a lot to bring in,” he continued. Emmett groaned in complaint, but Riley obediently went out to the driveway, where Edward’s Volvo XC60 was currently being unloaded of all of its merchandise.

“Just put it in my room love, I’ll take care of it after it’s all brought upstairs,” Alice said to Jasper, who was carrying a large box filled with assorted decorations. The couple shared a quick kiss before Jasper zipped into the house, returning a moment later to take two other boxes and repeating the process. Edward was bringing some things down to the basement. “Riley! Emmett! How was swimming?” Alice asked the two of them as they appeared.

“It was a of fun, Emmett’s a cool person to hang out with,” Riley said, taking a box out of the trunk of the car. “Where would you like this one, Alice?” he asked. Alice smiled at Riley’s previous comment, then perked up when he asked her about the box.

“Just follow Jasper up to my room, he’ll show you!” Alice said. Jasper’s head popped up at the mention of his name, and when his eyes fell on Riley, the younger vampire shivered. Jasper glanced at the singular box in Riley’s hands and quickly added a second box to his own pile. He gestured with his head for RIley to follow him, running up to Alice’s bedroom. Riley did his best to keep up, but he had to poke his head in a room or two before finally finding the one Jasper was in. Jasper watched Riley as he set his box down, and the uncomfortable tension in the air was sharp enough to cut with a knife. Jasper regarded Riley for a moment, who looked at him nervously and rubbed his hands on his pants before putting them in his pockets.

“Come on, we still have more boxes,” Jasper muttered after the drawn out, awkward silence. Riley let out a sigh of relief and followed Jasper back outside. He certainly was a strange one.

21 notes · View notes

animebw · 5 years ago

Text

Short Reflection: Dororo

And so my continued love/hate relationship with Studio Mappa marches ever on, in which they consistently put out ridiculously ambitious projects with stunning first episodes that regularly push the boundaries of what modern anime is capable of, spinning dangerous, unique, memorable, thoughtful, massive, and utterly memorable narratives with insanely intricate productions, and always, without fail, stumbling over uneven schedules and overstepped ambitions that lead to the finished product having very noticeable holes and frustrations that drag it down from genuine greatness, but the level of passion and dedication on display is so riveting that I feel pressured to give all those missteps a pass. Every season, it’s the same song and dance with these lunatics, yet no matter how many times I’m burned, I always find myself coming back. Say what you want about Mappa, they don’t do safe, and if there’s one thing this industry could use more of in the modern day, it’s that kind of daredevil risk-taking. I value this studio’s talent and dedication, and while I can’t outright say I trust them, I never cease to be blown away with how far they’re willing to push themselves. We need more people like the Mappa team working in the industry, more people willing to go the extra mile and take the risks necessary to achieve something truly transcendent. So when I say that Dororo is a flawed, uneven creature, know that I criticize so heavily because I appreciate so much of what this show does, and I just wish it ended up being even stronger than just quite good.

Based on a tale from the pen of Osamu Tezuka, the godfather of anime and manga, Dororo takes the Devilman Crybaby route of updating this classic manga with modern sensibilities and a hard-bitten edge. In the times of the samurai, Lord Daigo’s land is suffering from famine, and in his desperation, he makes a deal with demonic forces to keep his people alive; prosperity in exchange for his newly born son. The baby is stripped of all of his features, his limbs, his senses, his skin, even his face. Daigo orders the poor thing to be put out of its misery, but the midwife takes pity on it and sets it down the river, Moses style, to find a second chance at life. Flash forward about twenty years or so and the baby has grown into an ass-kicking, demon-slaying warrior outfitted with a prosthetic body to replace everything that was taken from him, including arms that can open up into razor-sharp sword blades for maximum bloodletting. He’s on a quest to slay the demons that stole his body, reclaiming all the remnants of humanity he never got a chance to taste. And along the way, he finds himself an unlikely companion in Dororo, a fast-talking, quick-witted, streetwise kid who takes a liking to the mysterious renegade. From there on, the story spools into a series of episodic adventures building to a grander narrative as Dororo and the newly christened Hyakkimaru travel across the land, slaying demons and reclaiming Hyakkimaru’s lost body piece by piece, Dororo acting as the unworldly warrior’s guide through the dangerous landscape (and as a spirited one-sided conversationalist, to keep their journey from being completely silent until Hyakkimaru eventually regains his voice). But the forces of Daigo are stirring to war, and the scars left on the lost boy’s family long ago are slowly rising like a plague in the plenty of the land his sacrifice helped save.

So, you know, just another day at Studio Mappa with a production requiring a ridiculous amount of ambition and skill on a near weekly basis. An adaptation of a classic work from the godfather of manga that needs to be updated into a more modern context? With swordfights and crazy plotting and out-there conceptions of demonhood and humanity to be explored? You can almost hear the animators chomping at the bit to dig into such a tantalizing prospect. And unsurprisingly, watching it all unfold is like a cross between the Icarus myth and a rejection of the same. You can hardly believe how much effort is being poured into this endeavor, nor how much of it actually succeeds. Much like Masaaki Yuasa did with Devilman, the team behind Dororo fundamentally understood how to translate this ancient tale into something vital and fresh today. It’s a heavily tonal piece, shrouded in the pale papyrus colors and rough painted surfaces that suggest a scroll painting brought to life, timeless in its aesthetic while riveting in its ideas. If anything, I wish it had adapted harder at points; there are a scattered handful of moments where it tries to do the Samurai Champloo thing of slipping into radically different, much goofier styles for a one-off episode or two, but it comes off as awkward and disjointed because it was doing such a good job not being a rollicking showcase. There’s a part of me that wishes this entire production trusted itself a little more in that regard. Again, ambition outstrips means here, and you wish someone had stepped in and put the reins on Mappa a bit to direct them down a more beneficial road. There is so much power in the story’s heavy shadows peppered with moments of light, and I wish it wasn’t in such a hurry to be anything but that.

In fact, my overall appraisal of Dororo is that this is what I wanted Samurai Champloo to be: a strong, character-focused narrative that merged its badassery with genuine human connection. The tale of Dororo and Hyakkimaru as they quest to restore his body carries a heavy weight, their encounters ranging from light and silly to gut-wrenching and tragic. There were no shortage of moments across the first half of this show that made me suck in air through my teeth to keep from gasping out loud in pain. As Hyakkimaru slowly pieces his body back together, he starts down an increasingly bleak path, every return of what was stolen from him ironically pushing him farther and farther from the humanity he seeks through the trauma he must endure to recover them in the process. Meanwhile, the more insight we get into Daigo and the family he’s build in the time since giving his first son away, it becomes harder and harder to see the ultimate villains as truly irredeemable. It’s a bitter, hard-edged, often painful narrative, but it’s also peppered by joy and giddiness, courtesy of Dororo’s unflinchingly optimistic spirit that draws the lonely warrior out of his shell. There is so much in this show that plays to the best aspects of samurai storytelling and the kind of chaotic brilliance it can entail... which is why it’s a shame that it struggles to keep that energy going in the second half. It’s not so much that the show gets worse as that it starts running into more roadblocks, story beats that feel a little rushed, twists and pile-ups that don’t feel as hard-hitting or vital. And it also doesn’t help that by this point, the usual Mappa issue of an uneven production is in full effect and there are far too many episodes that lack the polish of the earlier endeavors. It’s plagued by a million little annoyances, kinks that really should’ve been ironed out at some point before giving the go-ahead on the final product.

And yet. For all the complains I might have about potholes along the road, Dororo still swept me away. I got lost in its aesthetic, its ideas, its characters, its ethos, and its overwhelming ambition to keep striving past its limits, no matter how constricted those limits became. And nowhere is that strength clearer than in the show’s spectacular action, which might legitimately be some of the most fluid, chaotic, blisteringly intense swordplay I’ve ever seen put to animation. When I say that Dororo took my breath away, it’s these sequences more than not that I’m referring to. The clash of steel and flesh in this world is a thing of raw, tempestuous beauty, a vortex of sound and fury that barrels through your senses with stunningly fluid animation, blows coming heavy and hard one on top of the next, a relentless barrage of hard-hitting sakuga cuts and nail-biting editing that refuses to let up until your ass is knocked flat on the ground. Seriously, if for no other reason, watch this show for the action. Watch for the whirlwind of chaos and violence that defines this show at its peak, the crystalization of everything it excels at. I wish the entire thing could be as good as any random battle across any of its episodes. But man, is the ambition on display still riveting to behold.

Dororo is far from perfect. It’s let down by an inconsistent production and a lack of faith in its sense of self. But more often than not, I found myself dragged into caring in spite of myself, swept away by the scintillating beauty of everything this show has to offer. It’s a dangerous, mystical, enchanting, frustrating, and utterly winning adventure story, and no matter how flawed, I consider it worthy of my highest respect. To that end, I award Dororo a score of:

7/10

One day, Mappa will make a perfect show. And it’s going to be stunning to see.

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #dororo #hyakkimaru #dororo to hyakkimaru #winter 2019 sr

19 notes · View notes

drivingsideways · 6 years ago

Text

Episode 69

Me: I’m not ready for this, I’m not ready for this

This is a direct call back to what his mother said to him in the end, the talisman she left for him, to tell him to find his “mission” ...although in her vision/hope for him, his “mission” did not involve sacrificing himself to the throne...

me: *whimpering * let me live

In (the redecorated) Fengyun Palace, Ning Yi rewards Gu Yan and Ning Cheng by giving them high positions in his administration and orders them to investigate the Huofeng Gang who has been “causing trouble in the capital”. We’re never told what this trouble is i.e. has something gone down AFTER the Emperor’s death/ attempted coup or is this Ning Yi acting on the information he had before about their collusion with Ning Qi? How long after the attempted coup did the coronation take place anyway? Anyways, he orders them to capture the gang members and bring Ning Qi to the palace for trial.

A note on the redecoration: the beautiful, large tapestry is gone, and replaced by a simpler one (can’t quite make out whether it’s fabric or not). The carpet has more muted colours. While Fengyun under Ning Shizheng was incredibly beautiful but also a little stifling in its grandeur, Ning Yi’s room is simpler, though still elegant and beautiful: I think it goes with what we are used to seeing him surrounded by in his older residence. Also, the Emperor continues to dress in muted brown/ blue/green hues; unlike Ning Shizheng who often wore yellow (apparently a favoured Imperial colour during the Tang dynasty? unless I’m mis- remembering that)

Headmaster Xin has been summoned to the Palace (evidently).

I can’t even begin to capture Ning Yi’s emotions here- again, absolutely fantastic job by Chen Kun- anticipation, nervousness, but also determined to “play it cool” as befits The Emperor- GOD I DIED A THOUSAND DEATHS IN TWO SECONDS- THESE TWO FUCKING FOOLS-

because, honestly, ZIYAN IS STILL THE FUCKING WORST, AS WE IMMEDIATELY SEE

HE SPENDS LIKE AN ENTIRE MINUTE INSPECTING THE RENOVATIONS IN THE ROOM INSTEAD OF LOOKING AT THE GODDAMN FUCKING EMPEROR IN HIS FACE POWER MOVE BUT ALSO YOU’RE A FUCKING DICK ZIYAN AND YOU DON’T DESERVE HIM YOU REALLY DON’T

Like, I can’t get over NY’s expression here, annoyance, amusement and the underlying fondness, and just..like of course Ziyan would do this

And I can’t capture that expression on Ziyan’s face as they finally make eye contact.

BUT ZIYAN IS DETERMINED TO BE A FUCKING ASSHOLE, HE’S STILL SO ANGRY

And that tips Ning Yi over from a fond exasperation to real anger

SO OF COURSE ZIYAN IS IMMEDIATELY FAKE RESPECTFUL

and Ning Yi seems to accept that he will have to be the one that gives in- he takes a few steps toward Ziyan

aksdjhakdhaskehakhd

JESUS ZIYAN WHAT WILL IT TAKE

Of course, that really annoys Ning Yi (who strides back to the throne and puts distance between them) Why, he asks?

Because there’s chaos in the Capital since you took over, replies Xin Ziyan, and

me: JESUS H. CHRIST ZIYAN TWIST THAT KNIFE SOME MORE WHY DON’T YOU

SO OF COURSE HE ORDERS HIM-

AND ZIYAN...

God,I hate to admit it, Ziyan is right...as Feng Zhiwei will soon find out...

ARE WE STILL ON THAT? WE’RE STILL ON THAT.

In response Ning Yi says FINE, IF YOU WANT IT THAT WAY. (Someone please correct me if I’m wrong, but in this conversation he now switches the pronouns he’s been using for himself, I think- previously he refers to himself as Ning Yi, or in the manner he would when addressing a friend? but now he seems to switch to the “I, The Emperor” mode, and also he calls him by his full name “Xin Ziyan” instead of Ziyan xiōng )

i love how the tone and words is utterly contradicted by his outstretched hand

ZIYAN YOU FUCKING DICK YOU ARE THE BLOODY WORST DON’T HURT MY BAE LIKE THIS both of you have made mistakes, and he deserves an apology from you as well.

HAVE YOU GOT YOUR POUND OF FLESH YET YOU FUCKING DRAMA QUEEN

AND HE STRIDES OFF DRAMATICALLY, LEAVING NING YI ISOLATED

JESUS THIS SHOW DOES NOT FUCK AROUND.

Ning Yi has learnt the pain of isolation when stripped of all power, and now that he has it all, he’s learning it all over again.

AND THAT IS HOW YOU WRITE A TRAGEDY FOLKS

Meanwhile, on hearing that Ning Cheng and the Royal Guards are on their way to arrest him, Zhangsun Hong tells his lieutenant that Feng Zhiwei must be here to witness the cruelty of the Tiansheng Empire- must be there to witness his death. Zhangsun Hong basically wants to ensure that Zhiwei will never forgive Ning Yi, and thus complete his revenge on the Ning family.

WHICH BEGS THE QUESTION: WHAT IS GOING ON WITH FENG ZHIWEI SINCE THE EMPEROR’S DEATH AND NING YI’S ASCENSION TO THE THRONE.

WHO KNOWS?

BECAUSE THE SHOW REFUSES TO TELL US. ARRRRGHHH.

Anyways, very Dramatically, Feng Zhiwei and Gu Nanyi reach in time to see Zhangsun Hong be killed by Ning Cheng- although Ning Cheng had only wanted to arrest them, but y’know, FATE.

ER WHAT?

LIKE THIS MAKES NO SENSE. FENG ZHIWEI IS LITERALLY ONE OF THE CLEVEREST PEOPLE IN THE EMPIRE, YOU’RE TELLING ME SHE COULDN’T PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER AND MAKE FOUR? IN ALL THIS TIME????? SHE ALREADY KNEW THAT NING QI AND HE WERE HAND IN GLOVE. AND THAT’S PUTTING ASIDE THE FACT THAT ZHANGSUN HONG LITERALLY TOLD HER ALREADY THAT SHE NEEDN’T KILL NING SHIZHENG BECAUSE HE WOULD INSTEAD. AND THE NEXT THING HE TELLS HER BEFORE HE DIES IS THAT SHE SHOULD TRUST YUELING (WHICH IS THE ONLY REMAINING PART OF THE PUZZLE SHE DIDN’T KNOW.)

LIKE COMPLETELY APPALLING WRITING. I CAN’T EVEN.

There’s a tense moment where Feng Zhiwei almost kills Ning Cheng- but Gu Nanyi stops her.

Feng Zhiwei is grief stricken, but again repeats “What were you hiding from me?”

THE WOMAN WHO COULD SOLVE THE RIDDLES IN QINGMING ACADEMY CAN’T DO SIMPLE MATH.

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK.

Anyways: Ning Qi is hiding out in the House of Lanxiang, which Yueling has bought out; alone, drunk, slightly insane, clutching the Emperor’s edict. Yueling encourages him to continue opposing Ning Yi, and not even Yijun can bring him back to his senses.

AGAIN: HE’S LITERALLY A STONE’S THROW AWAY, AND NING CHENG AND THE ROYAL GUARDS CAN’T FIND HIM???? DID THEY NOT INVESTIGATE WHERE YUELING DISAPPEARED TO?

Feng Zhiwei requests Helian Zheng to provide protection to her people, and he agrees. She plans to return with him and the remnant of Dacheng to Jinshi.

When Helian Zheng informs Ning Yi that he’s leaving, Ning Yi warns him “not to be blinded by love” ie don’t let your wife, the Princess of Dacheng, con you into launching an attack on Tiansheng. Helian Zheng’s answer reveals he has no qualms about NOT listening to the Emperor, and also pretty much warns Ning Yi to stay away from Zhiwei. Ning Yi is furious, of course, and though he does nothing at that moment, you get the sense that Jinshi is not going to be safe in the near future.

Yueling sends an anonymous message to Ning Cheng that Helian Zheng is concealing members of the Huofeng Gang in his entourage.

Our two babes meet on their bridge for the last time and have a brittle, poignant conversation where both are in so much pain, but cannot find a way back to each other.

ding ding WRONG ANSWER DUDE

But Ning Yi presses his case, that before they didn’t have the power to stop themselves being separated, but now that he’s Emperor,

(again, correct me if I’m wrong, but he refers to himself as The Emperor here)

He makes a desperate confession, to stop her from leaving- about how he had gone to Jinshi to see her, but then, when he saw her happy and laughing with Helian Zheng, he lacked the courage to approach her.

UGHHHHHHHHHH

“What do you want?” he asks, once, twice, thrice but the regret soon turns to anger, in the face of her silence...and she walks away.

but all his power can’t bring her back to him, and he’s left, again, alone.

“Fate” takes a hand again, as Ning Cheng runs off to apprehend the Huofeng gang that Helian Zheng is escorting to Jinshi. It’s kind of odd that Ning Cheng does this without informing the Emperor- like diplomatic disaster, excuse me- but I suppose if I squint really hard, I can put it down to Ning Cheng’s deep sense of failure and regret that he couldn’t protect or save Ya Le, the person most important to Ning Yi.

But of course, disaster strikes.

Helian Zheng’s death leaves a furious Feng Zhiwei

who breaks the token of their connection to each other

back in the control of The Emperor....who’s equally furious...

and so alone, he’s playing Go with himself (THIS SHOW DOES NOT FUCK AROUND, SERIOUSLY)

Me: this show is only pain, pain and more pain. WHY.

#the phoenix pit #phoenix drama #THE END IS NIGH

11 notes · View notes

amanda-teaches · 6 years ago

Text

What Hurts the Most

Summary: You try to come to grips with an unimaginable loss.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2283

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Regret, Loss.

A/N: Well, the angst happened, y’all, and I want to go ahead and apologize now for it. This one was inspired by the song What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts, and specifically the music video for that song. There is not a lot of happiness here, so seriously heed the warnings. It’s a rough one. Thanks to @because-imma-lady-assface and @rideandwritethings for encouraging me to go outside of my fluff comfort zone and actually write this. I’m sorry....

As you took that first, tentative step into Dean’s bedroom, you took a deep breath, because it was taking everything you had in you not to completely and utterly break down.

Weeks. It had taken you weeks for you to build up the courage to enter his room again, but, even now, you weren’t sure you could actually go through with it. Closing your eyes to hold in the hot, wet tears that threatened to overflow, you took another shaky step forward, willing yourself to be as strong as Dean, to find a way through this, but, when you neared the bed, his bed, and saw what was waiting there, you had to stop.

Lying there, in the middle, slightly crumpled, like he’d just stripped it off, was one of Dean’s favorite flannels. You reached down and carefully picked it up, your hands shaking as they gripped the familiar material. Letting out a strangled sob, you brought it to your nose, breathing in his scent, as your mind flashed back to the last time he wore it.

“Dean, wait!” you laughed as the man pulled you along, one of his long strides taking up three of yours. “Will you just slow down for a second?”

“No can do, Y/N,” he responded without even looking back. You could hear the smile in his voice, however, and it made you glower even more as you raced to keep up with him. “Why don’t you speed up?”

“Why don’t you bite me?” you whispered under your breath, earning a laugh from Dean as he finally slowed, allowing you to catch your breath. “Thank God,” you muttered, leaning over and placing both your hands on your knees. “What in the world is so time sensitive anyway, Dean? You usually only move this fast when we’re hunting. Why all the cloak and dagger secrecy?”

He turned to you and grinned. “You’ll see. Now, come on,” he exclaimed before grabbing your hand and pulling you along again, nearly yanking your arm out of your socket.

“Oh my God, you’re insane,” you gasped as you once again raced to keep up with him, dodging tree branches along the way. You were moving slightly uphill through the forest outside the bunker, going further than you’d ever explored before, but Dean certainly seemed to know where he was going. He was moving along with a determined focus, having been going non stop since he dragged you out of your warm bed nearly an hour ago.

The two of you moved steadily for about another half hour, and just when you were sure you couldn’t take another step, he burst past the last tree line, out into an open field, stopping so suddenly that you ran right into his hard, strong back.

“Ouch,” you grumbled, reaching up and rubbing your nose. “Give a girl a little warning next time, you big jerk. Jeez….”

Dean ignored your complaining and stepped forward, turning back towards you with a giant smile on his face. “Well?” he exclaimed, holding out his arms. “What do you think?”

You took a second to look around at your surroundings, trying to see what Dean saw. You were tired and grumpy, but, even so, you had to admit that the sight that greeted you was absolutely stunning.

You were standing in a large, empty field, it’s overgrown grass sprinkled with wildflowers as far as the eye could see. The sunlight seemed to make the entire landscape sparkle and shine as a gentle breeze swayed the grass around your feet. It was gorgeous, but, despite the beauty, you were still confused. There was nothing here, no buildings, no people. What exactly was Dean showing you?

“I don’t get it,” you answered, your eyes once again meeting Dean’s. “What exactly am I looking at?”

“This!” he shouted, spinning in a circle with his arms wide, his excitement practically overflowing. “What do you think?” he repeated again.

“It’s beautiful,” you answered honestly, a smile appearing on your face as your exhaustion began to fade with each touch of the gentle breeze on you cheek. “But, why are we here?”

Dean’s eyes softened and he took your hand in his, pulling you with him, softly this time, lazily. “Did you know that when I was little, I wanted to be a fireman?”

You balked at that answer, unsure of what it had to do with why Dean had dragged you all the way out here. “No, I didn’t, but I don’t understand what that has to do with…”

“Before my mom died,” Dean said softly, making you fall quiet, “I used to dream of it, of being a hero, of running into fires, of saving people. But, when she….when she was gone, everything changed. After that night, all fire did was give me nightmares. For months, every time I closed my eyes, I saw that fire, I saw my mom, and….all I could think about was how I couldn’t save her.”

You released your breath with a small sigh. “Dean, you were too young, you can’t think…”

He shook his head, stopping you. “I held onto that for a long time, years even, and whenever my dad was away on a hunt, no matter what, I’d always find some time to sneak out to the fire station of whatever crap town we were staying in and just watch them, the firefighters, I mean. I’d watch them and wonder what my life would have been like if she hadn’t died, if we’d had a chance to just be a normal family, you know? Would I have been a firefighter like them? A hero like them?”

You reached up and placed your fingers on his cheek, softly turning his head so he’d look at you, your heart falling at the tears you saw in his eyes. “Dean, you are a hero.”

He smiled softly. “I know that. Now. But, when I was just an angry, lost kid, it was what I held onto, that dream. I pictured our life, our family. I imagined growing up in a stable, loving home, with both my mom and my dad. They’d both be so proud when I put on that firefighter’s uniform for the first time, and, Sammy, Sammy’d be some big-shot lawyer or something, and we’d be happy, really, truly, happy. I’d find a good girl to marry, settle down in a nice big, farmhouse with a couple of kids, and the whole family would come together every Sunday for dinner, no matter what.” He paused. “When I imagined it, I thought it was the perfect life, but I knew it was one that I’d never get to have.”

He hesitated for a moment, gathering himself, and you let him, standing quietly, gently rubbing soft circles over his hand with your thumb. “After a while, I finally accepted that hunting, that was my life, my destiny, and, I was content, happy even, with Sammy and our life, or at least I thought I was.” He took a deep breath. “But, no matter how happy I got, it was never really enough to fill that place in my heart, that part of me that still yearned for that fantasy I’d dreamt up as a child.” He broke off and looked straight at you again, the emotion in his gaze taking your breath away. “Until I met you.”

You gasped softly. “Dean…I….”

You trailed off as he released your hand and stepped forward slowly, quietly staring out across the field, taking in the beauty surrounding you. “I found this place by accident one day, but the moment I saw it, I knew.” He turned back to you and stepped closer, taking both your hands in his. “Y/N, someday, I’m going to leave it all behind, the hunting, the monsters, the demons, all of it. I mean, I’m sure I won’t be able to leave the life entirely, no one can do that, but I want to step aside, let someone else take over the fight, and enjoy whatever time I have left.” He grinned, cradling your hands against his chest. “Time with you.”

You shook your head, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of everything he was saying. “Dean, I don’t understand…”

“I want to build a house right here, Y/N, right here in this field. I want to have that life that I dreamt about: that farmhouse, the kids, the whole nine. I mean, obviously, there’ll be a little extra warding then I originally pictured, but I want it all, with you.”

“Me?” you whispered, unwillingly to believe this was really happening.

“Yeah, Y/N, you.” Dean smiled again, so bright it was blinding. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so damn much, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I want to settle down with you. When I see my future, I don’t see death and pain, I see happiness. I see you.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “My only question is, what do you see?”

You hadn’t answered Dean that day, telling him that this was all too much, that you needed time, time to sort everything out. You’d headed back to the bunker, alone, as Dean and Sam left on a hunt, and you’d sat down to gather your thoughts. Not surprisingly, it had only taken a few hours for you to wise up and realize where your heart lied, and, when you finally decided that your future was with Dean, hunting or not, you’d been so excited for him to get back so you could tell him.

But, you never got the chance.

“Dean?!” you yelled, racing to the garage in just a flannel and a pair of sleep shorts, too excited by the sound of the Impala to even bother putting on real clothes. “You’re home!” But, instead of seeing Dean getting out of the car, you were shocked to find Sam closing the driver’s side door, looking like he’d just been through a war. “Sam?! What, what happened?” You looked around for a second before you realized Dean was missing. “Where’s Dean?”

Tears started to fall down Sam’s face, striking fear into your heart before he even had a chance to get the words out. “They...they were waiting for us, Y/N. We didn’t even see the coming. Dean, he….they were too fast. I couldn’t….I couldn’t save him, Y/N.”

“No…” you breathed, disbelief screaming out in your head. He couldn’t be gone, he just couldn’t. “No, Sam. He’s fine, I know he is. Where is he?”

Sam took a deep breath, the tears falling steadily now as he reached for you. “Y/N….”

“NO!” you screamed, leaping back, out of reach. “Where is he, Sam? I want to see him. I want to see Dean. Now.”

Sam closed his eyes and dropped his head, slowly pointing back towards the car. You raced past him and ripped open the back door, a soul-wrenching cry escaping your lips as you saw the man you loved lying there, unmoving. Dropping to your knees, you wrapped your arms around your waist, screaming his name with every ounce of strength you had in your body. You felt Sam come up behind you and take you into his arms, but you fought against him, refusing to accept the truth staring back at you. “No, Sam, no! He can’t be gone! He can’t!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Sam whispered soothing words in your ear and held you tightly as you continued to struggle, railing against him and God and everything in between. But, when the anger finally left you out and you stilled, he did the only thing he could do in that moment: he just held you as you cried, gently rocking you back and forth, as the tears continued to fall...

You closed your eyes and released your hold on Dean’s flannel, letting it fall gently to the floor as the memories overtook you. Turning, you raced out of the room and sped down the hallway, past Sam and Cas, who were calling your name, and right out the front door.

Turning, tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care as you ran as fast as you could into the night. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to get away, away from the memories, away from the pain, just away.

You ran until you couldn’t run anymore, and when you finally stopped and looked around to see where you’d ended up, you let out a cry and dropped to your knees.

You were here, in the same field Dean had taken you to, the same field where he’d professed his love for you, promised a future with you, a future that you’d never get to have. You broke down again, even harder this time, the tears falling so fast that you could taste the salt on your lips.

“Why????” you screamed into the night, your face turned up towards the sky. “Why did you have to leave me, Dean?! Why??????? How am I supposed to go on without you, how am I supposed to…..”

Your breath caught and you let the tears rack your body, closing your eyes as your head fell, your hand coming to rest on your stomach, holding onto the slight bump that had started to form there, the only link you had left to the man you loved. To Dean. “I never even got to tell you...” you whispered, your voice getting carried away by that same gentle breeze that had once calmed you. “When I thought of the future, Dean, I saw you. I saw you.”

Forevers- @hamartiamacguffin @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @katymacsupernatural @impandagrl @cyrilconnelly @impala-dreamer @castielhasthetardis @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @shotgunintheimpala @be-amaziing @jalove-wecallhimdean @there-must-be-a-lock @mysterious-398 @hannahindie @emoryhemsworth @ohmychuckitssamanddean @wi-deangirl77 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @ericaprice2008 @masksandtruths @jpadjackles @roxyspearing @squirrel-moose-winchester @sweetpeamoose @babypieandwhiskey @deans-dirty-writer @roxy-davenport @heyitscam99 @starry-chaos

Dean Tags- @akshi8278 @whimsicalrobots

#dean x reader #angst #dean angst #character death #tw: character death #tw: angst

113 notes · View notes

secretsofslytherin · 7 years ago

Text

Cursed Child rant

Alright, Witches, Wizards, Muggles, and magical creatures big and small, hold onto your broomsticks because I’m about to tell you why I do not like Harry Potter and the Cursed Child nor accept it as canon.

Spoilers ahead. Obviously. but c’mon who hasn’t read it or been spoiled by now Also, it got super long.

Let’s start off by saying: it’s been months since I read it. If I get some things off a little, go ahead and tell me; I’ll edit the rant and correct it. If you just don’t agree with me... that’s great for you. Okay? We good? That’s all the disclaimer you’re getting. Moving on!

Where do I begin? Um... Let’s recap shall we?

It starts with Albus Severus Potter (who’s name I still cannot get over) meeting and becoming friends with Scorpius Malfoy.

Okay. Great. We’ve all wanted that for years. No problem.

We’ve also played with the idea of Albus in Slytherin for years. I have no problem with that either.

What I do have problems with is the way Albus is treated after he is put in Slytherin. He’s the outcast of his family. He’s the “disappointing son”. After Harry’s canon “the bravest man I knew was Slytherin” speech (don’t get me started on Snape), I expected a bit better treatment of Slytherins. But Albus is Slytherin and looked at sideways by the entire cast, except Scorpius. This could easily become a rant about Slytherin’s and stereotypes and treatment, but I give enough of those already.

My issues are mostly with Albus’ personality. Now, I didn’t write the character. He’s not mine. I don’t have the authority to tell anyone how he should be. All I can do is have headcanons. But “canon” Albus doesn’t exactly display a lot of Slytherin traits. Sure he sneaks around, but so does Harry, Ron, and Hermione and they’re all Gryffindor. If my memory serves me correctly, Albus goes to Slytherin because he basically thinks, “Well, the Gryffindors I know suck, let’s try Slytherin.”it’s been a while since I read it okay

Albus is jaded by the time the plot picks up. He doesn’t like flying, isn’t that good at it or Quidditch (which honestly feels like they’re just trying to make him as unlike Harry as possible which I could handle if it wasn’t so badly written), and is basically convinced his life is horrible. (I’ll get into why a little later.) This kid shows no Slytherin traits that I remember. He hardly shows any traits really. I think it was the play format, but Albus becomes a stereotypical teenager who has daddy issues and doesn’t like his life.

Scorpius I don’t really have a big problem with, besides it going against my personal headcanons. He at least shows a bit more Slytherin traits than jaded Albus. I feel like they were trying to break Slytherin stereotypes with him- which is great and all, but it almost makes me feel like that’s all Scorpius’ personality was. As if he was made to simply disrupt our preconceived ideas of what Slytherin is. I don’t like it. Stereotypes are something I can’t stand, but come on, people, don’t strip my house of what we actually are.

Okay, moving on from Slytherin.

Let’s take a step back from the new characters and visit the one’s we already know, we already love. Oh wait, they’ve been ripped to shreds.

Hermione is Minister of Magic. Okay. First of all, we all knew she could have gotten that in canon if she’d wanted it. Except... She didn’t want it. The Hermione I remember didn’t like the Ministry. At all. Their treatment of creatures, muggleborns, and how easily they were corrupted all turned her away from it. I suppose there could have been a “I’m going to get in charge in order to fix everything” development. But really... It’s a stretch for me. But my biggest problem is the fact that she’s not the clever girl I remember. The Hermione I remember, the girl who scarred a girl’s face permanently for being a snitch, wouldn’t have been so easily robbed by two teenage boys. You’re saying she hid the most important item in the Ministry at the time in a bookshelf in her office? No. Sorry, but no. I don’t care if it was charmed. Also, with all her experience with Polyjuice Potion, you’d think she would have been able to tell that her husband and best friend weren’t acting like themselves. She’s not the girl I remember. I want my Hermione back.

I think somewhere in the writing process of the book someone got Ron and George mixed up. Seriously. I know that JK said that after a few years of being an Auror, Ron goes to help George in the shop, but c’mon. He’s not one of the twins. Ron, “let her go, take me” Ron, “are you a witch or not?!” Ron, ‘goes into a forest after a trail of spiders that he’s terrified of’ Ron, honestly a brave and amazing friend Ron, was reduced to a bland comic relief with bad pranks. Ronald Weasley was not in that book. I don’t know who was, but it wasn’t Ron. Hermione is a insane stretch, but Ron... Ron is unexplainable. There is nothing that could have happened to warp Ron’s character that severely. Nothing.

Now, onto Harry.

Oh, Salazar, Harry “I wish you weren’t my son” Potter. What the hell. What the actual hell?

This boy was abused as a child. This boy lost not only his father, but his godfather, his mentor- literally every father figure in his life. Now, some would say “oh, then he had no example, he didn’t know better” and I call bull---- on that. No. No no no. It does not take an example to know that you don’t tell your son “I wish you weren’t my son.” Harry is a washed out, lackluster echo of who he was. After years of being ignored or not listened to by adults, you’d think he’d try to listen to his own son more. After social isolation and depending on his friends for his life at times, you expect me to believe that Harry would ever forbid his son from seeing his only friend? You expect me to believe after almost dying in school every year and dealing with bullies and house prejudices, that Harry would insist that Hogwarts is heaven on earth while his son is trying to tell him otherwise? That he would become this bitter employee?

No.

Again, there is nothing you can tell me that will convince me that this complex character whom I love became this bland person. Nope.

But but but, you say, it was written as a play, not a novel. The writing is different.

Okay. But, play or novel, we know these characters. Look me in the eye and tell me you can completely understand what could have made their personalities to change so drastically. Because, for me, the answer is nothing. Nothing could have done this. It’s just bad writing.

That’s just the characters.

Can we talk about all the other utterly ridiculous dung that was in this play?

First off, the rumor about Scorpius. The “he’s Voldemort’s kid because time-turners” thing. What the hell? Where the hell does something like that come from? Even Rita Skeeter wouldn’t do that. It’s absurd and doesn’t even fit in the wizarding world we know. Why did Draco allow that even to manifest? How would that even start? I’ll tell you how- to give a terrible attempt at foreshadowing. Not only does it give the twist away if you stop and think about it, but it also goes against canon. Never are time-turners mentioned besides books three and five and they’re talked about with reverence. Rumors like that wouldn’t be allowed around the Malfoys. Draco, canon Draco, wouldn’t allow it. The whole thing annoys the crap out of me.

The Trolly Lady thing. Hogwarts has been around how long? The lady has been there how long? After seven books of Harry just seeing an innocent lady- after so hundreds of years of the Hogwarts Express- you’re telling me that this lady has been an insane magic security guard for that long? On top of that, you’re telling me that no one before Albus and Scorpius have ever gotten off the train? Albus and Scorpius aren’t even that skilled! They’re normal kids! Come on!!! I just don’t buy it. Any of it. It’s ridiculous.

Also: They made Theodore Nott a Death Eater and I have not forgiven them for doing that to my favorite Slytherin.

Okay, before I continue, I should make this clear: If you write fanfiction, there is literally no wrong way to do it. There are no rules, and no one can tell you how to do it, what to do in it, or anything like that. I write fanfiction. I write OC fanfiction. I’ve written time travel fanfiction. If you want to do it. Do it.

Now...

Let’s talk about this. Some of the most popular fanfiction plots involve OCs, secret kids/siblings, time-travel, alternate realities, ignoring deaths that occur; if you read or write fanfiction, you know what I’m talking about.

All of that is great. Honestly, some of the best stories I’ve read involve one or more of those things listed.

Cursed Child includes all of them.

There’s a reason we like fanfiction. It expands the world we love. It adds characters. It explores characterizations. It’s a place we can change things we want in canon. Where there is nothing stopping us from making Bellatrix and Voldemort have a kid.

But this was not supposed to be fanfiction. This was supposed to line up with canon. It wasn’t supposed to contradict it. It wasn’t supposed to leave us with asking what the hell was that?

Delphi. Voldemort’s daughter. I’m sorry, but first of all. Voldemort was practically soulless and bent on murder, immortality, and concurring the Wizarding World. I can’t really imagine him even wanting to get all steamy with Bellatrix. Also, it may not be worth much, but Bellatrix was married. Slytherins are traditional, remember? Also that means she would have to be pregnant durning Deathly Hallows. You know, the book where she tortures Hermione and fights in a war, not to mention dies. I don’t know about you, but I don’t see Bellatrix as the kind to really take care of a child. The timing doesn’t match. The actual act doesn’t make any sense at all. AND they gave us another prophecy? Who gave it? Why did no one know about Dephi? I mean come on! I just... I’ve read fanfictions with better explanations.

Also, Voldemort having a kid is fun in fanfics. I’ve read a few I really enjoy. But in canon? No. No. NO. It doesn’t fit. It ruins so many things. His character, the timeline, the actual ending of Deathly Hallows.

But besides all that- it wasn’t even delivered well. It was obvious Delphi was the villain. It wasn’t a shock that she was Voldemort’s kid after the whole rumor thing with Scorpius. As I said- I’ve read fanfics written better.

Now, let’s move to Cedric Diggory.

Why. Why would they strip all meaning from his death by trying to reverse it? Why did it even have to be that specific point in time? None of it made sense and all it did was make me mad because Cedric was one of those characters that you hated to see die, but you understood their death. It had meaning- however horrible.

Also, you expect me to believe that this boy- this selfless, honest, just, determined, hard working Hufflepuff would become a Death Eater? I’m sorry. But no. Nope. No.

Then we have Time Turners again. Ugh. This book goes against the rules set in Book Three. They don’t even really make sense anymore and it’s a lazy plot for canon. It’s badly written and not handled properly.

Actually, that’s a summary of the entire book.

It’s a lazy plot, badly written, and not handled properly at all. It contradicts canon; it warps the characters; it’s terrible.

I don’t like Cursed Child and do not accept it as canon as it was not written solely by J. K. Rowling.

#this got rushed at the end and i'm sorry for typos and weird stuff #but it's late and i'm tired #and i'll go back in the morning and fix it up #but yeah i hate that book #cursed child #harry potter and the cursed child #the cursed child #hp #reviews #rants #cursed child rant #she speaks

1K notes · View notes

tirsaroundtheworld · 7 years ago

Text

Indonesia

Leaving the Philippines after such a short stay had left us slightly sad, but Indonesia has completely and utterly made up for that!! In hindsight we couldn’t have made a better choice than to spend more time in this amazing country! Otherwise some of these wonderful adventures would never have happened:

# Our first stop was Labuan Bajo, the main city on Flores, a lovely and very diverse island east of Bali and Lombok. We spent 15 days exploring its various sights and kicked off with a boat trip around the truly stunning Komodo National Park. We weren’t the luckiest with the boat we ended up on as our group was a bit dull, our touroperator lied about prices and additional charges and our captains had trouble with time management and corresponsing communication as one didn’t speak any English and the other was deaf and didn’t speak at all. Luckily the scenery, the amazing nature and the food that was served made up for it. During our 2 say stay we spotted Komodo dragons, the world’s largest and most venemous lizards, at Komodo and Rinca islands, slept under the Milky Way in the quiet Kalong bay, enjoyed one of the most beautiful views ever over Palau island’s interesting shape, absolutely fell in love with the underwater world just out of Pink Beach, snorkelled with a majestic Manta ray and collected shells on the peaceful white beach of Kanawa island. Blessed bastards we are! # Back in Labuan Bajo we boarded a van that took us over the mountainous road to Ruteng, where we slept in a nonnery and visited the ‘Hobbit cave’. This cave, that in itself isn’t much of a sight, is a major archeological hotspot as ancient remains of many interesting and extinct species were found here, amongst which those of the first humanoid! Adjacent to the cave is small museum, which was opened just for us by the loveliest guard and taught us about the importance of the findings. Not what we expected, but actually very interesting and combined with the stunning road to get there it made for a great daytrip! # After the sisters at the nonnery awoke us with their morning hymns and the pope watched over our breakfast, our trip continued to Bajawa. This time we took a public car; a regular 6ppl car driving to a certain location for which you can reserve a seat. In our case the car was stuffed with 8 passengers and the girl sat between us got terribly carsick from the windy road and threw up about 7 times before we finally arrived. 👍 Once in Bajawa we scootered around the beautiful surroundings again, visiting the insanely hot local hotsprings and a traditional village called Bena where the houses are built with only natural materials like bamboo, clay and reed and buffalo and boar bones are kept as trophees. Really cool to see traditions like that! # From Bajawa we took the worst road of the island all the way to Riung at the northern coast, where we found the most amazing natural and open bungalow outside of the city and cut off of any mobile connection to the world. The perfect place to enjoy the sunset from a hammock at the beach, sip on some local arak palm wine with our cool host Philip and take off on a private boat to snorkel and visit the 4729282729373 flying foxes in the otherwise completely deserted 17 Islands Marine Park. We found paradise! 🏝 # All happy and relaxed after our amazing time with Philip we made our way back south, to Ende. We were going to spent a few days here to explore the surroundings my motorbike, but we couldn’t find our peace in the chaotic and not very charming town. We drove around on the day of our arrival, visiting Ende’s busy port and a beautiful, very black beach that we just shared with an army of crabs, vut very quickly left the next morning. # Our next stop was Moni, a tiny little village up in the mountains, which mainly functiones as the starting point for visiting the beautiful coloured krater lakes of the Kelimutu vulcano. We managed to secure ourselves a seat on top of a local bus, wildly oncomfortable but a-ma-zing in terms of views. Plus we made some local friends who could not believe they were sharing the roof of a bus with two blond girls! Upon arrival we checked into the loveliest place we could have found; at the homestay of trendy local guy Lopez who took us to local hotsprings, shared his lifestory and invited us to cook a local dinner together, sitting on the floor of his tiny kitchen. We got op at 4 in the morning to get to the top of Kelimutu and watch the sun rise over the lakes, and it was stunning indeed! Verrrry cold and cloudy too; I was very happy to still be carrying a fleece and a jacket around that hadn’t been useful at all for the past half year. 😂 # From Moni we made our way back to the coast, to the locals’ favourite beach that we had been hearing much about: Koka Beach. And we were not disappointed: what a majestic place, not more than two strips of beautiful white sand beaches, like a bay closed off by lush rock formations creating an oasis of quiet. Right at the beach we met Blasius, who ran a small restaurant and homestay with his family and with who we stayed for the night. We spent our time swimming, tanning, eating and playing games with Blasius and the other guests. Life on Flores just seems to be getting better and better! # Along the line of 'another day, another beach’ we made our way back to the northern coast, to our final stop just outside if Maumere. We found yet another perfect little bungalow on a beautiful piece of beach where we spent our last 4 days on the island snorkelling, going on boat trips, collecting more shells, making some really cool new English friends and just being. Flores truly stole our hearts! # All it took to enter a completely different world was a not even 2 hour flight from Flores to Bali. From quiet, natural, local, cultural and at times slightly underdeveloped Flores we arrived into the Westernized, chaotic and partying area of Kuta on Bali, filled with branded shops, pushy traffic and drunk Ozzies. We quickly left Kuta and my big backpack behind, got ourselves a rental motorbike and spent 12 days going after the most authentic places on the island. We started off in Uluwatu on the southern Bukit peninsula, where we found our favourite beach of the island: Nyang Nyang. It took quite a climb down a rocky cliff to reach this white sandy haven, but how it was worth it! We were almost the only visitors, the beach was filled with the most amazing shells, we sipped juice from a fresh young coconut and really enjoyed the stunning view of a grafity covered shipwreck on the beach and the sun setting behind the lush cliffs. 🙌 # Our next destination was Canggu. Being very popular and easily accesible, this hipster town on the south coast of Bali is filled with fashionistas, surfing tourists, laidback bars, trendy shops and cute restaurants. We spent a few days relaxing, windowshopping, watching the surf and catching up with some friends from home that were around as well! # From Canggu and the beach we made our way further north and into the island until we reached Ubud. The atmosphere here is just great, just like the scenery, the people and the presence of some culture. We visited Ubud’s beautiful palace where we watched various artists renovate the artwork around the walls, we walked along the Campuhan ridge enjoying the lush and hilly views, we enjoyed the quiet oasis of the Saraswati Temple and its lovely lotus pools, tried all local dishes on the menu of the amazing Mama’s Warung, haggled our asses off at Ubud’s large market and whitnessed a traditional, exciting and slightly strange Kecac fire dance where a 100 half naked men sang about a story illustrated by dressed up dancers and ending with a barefoot guy dancing in a huge fire. 😂 Ubud has some very cool surroundings too; we enjoyed a beautiful ride to visit the Tegunungan waterfalls to the south and made friends with some locals while walking through the Tegallalang rice terraces to the north. Yeah, Ubud means good times. 👍 # We continued our way north and after a stop at the disappointing and almost abandoned botanical garden at Bedegul we reached Lovina, a collection of villages at the northern coast of Bali - and the place where we met our superfun English friends from Flores again! 👯 The four of us took a boat out into the ocean to a floating blowup funpark where we spent all morning climbing up stuff, making flips, jumping, swinging, surfing, launching eachother into the air with a huge airbag, sliding and wrestling. The next few days we couldn’t move from muscle ache, but it was worth every second of it! So. Much. Fun! 😂 # Still cripple we continued our trip to Amed, all the way at the eastern end of the island. This lovely, relaxed town is home to some eye-popping snorkeling spots where we spent hours and hours spotting amazing corals, crazily colourful fish of all shapes and sizes, nudibranches, squids, rays, lobsters, slugs, snakes, chinese dressed up as mermaids, shipwrecks, underwater temples and more cool fish. 💖 My god I love snorkeling! # By the time we left Amed the sun left Bali and made place for heavy heavy rain. It rained for 3 days straight, limiting us in our motorbike adventure. Trying to avoid the showers we visited the amazing Tirta Gangga water palace, drove past Virgin Beach and passed through Sidemen’s beautiful surroundings back to Ubud, where we spent a last day dancing in the rain with the English before we had to get back to Kuta for Bamsi’s departure. 👎

And just like that another 5 weeks had flown away and it was time to say goodbye again! An adventure until the last minute. Wow, we had fun and I will miss my little one! 👭

On the bright side; the ending of this adventure means the start of another exciting new adventure. After a few last solo days on Bali of sorting my stuff, working on my motorbike skills and getting my last bit of beach for a while I am now ready for a drastic change of scenery. After over 7,5 months I will be leaving Asia and its beautiful and diverse sceneries, its interesting habits, its delicious (and less delicious) foods and, mostly, its perfectly tropical temperatures and I am not sure whether I have had enough of that. I have however had enough of missing my bae, so for now I am mostly very very exciting to be reunited with him soon! So to Asia, my bikini and my tan; bye bye for now! And to New Zealand; bring on your beautiful winter and my love! ❄️💙🇳🇿

#Kuta #Uluwatu #Canggu #Ubud #Lovina #Amed #Bali #Indonesia #traveling #aroundtheworld #blog

3 notes · View notes

mailplate3-blog · 6 years ago

Text

The Messy Fourth Estate

(This post was originally posted on Medium.)

For the second time in a week, my phone buzzed with a New York Times alert, notifying me that another celebrity had died by suicide. My heart sank. I tuned into the Crisis Text Line Slack channel to see how many people were waiting for a counselor’s help. Volunteer crisis counselors were pouring in, but the queue kept growing.

Celebrity suicides trigger people who are already on edge to wonder whether or not they too should seek death. Since the Werther effect study, in 1974, countless studies have conclusively and repeatedly shown that how the news media reports on suicide matters. The World Health Organization has adetailed set of recommendations for journalists and news media organizations on how to responsibly report on suicide so as to not trigger copycats. Yet in the past few years, few news organizations have bothered to abide by them, even as recent data shows that the reporting on Robin Williams’ death triggered an additional 10 percent increase in suicide and a 32 percent increase in people copying his method of death. The recommendations aren’t hard to follow — they focus on how to convey important information without adding to the problem.

Crisis counselors at the Crisis Text Line are on the front lines. As a board member, I’m in awe of their commitment and their willingness to help those who desperately need support and can’t find it anywhere else. But it pains me to watch as elite media amplifiers make counselors’ lives more difficult under the guise of reporting the news or entertaining the public.

Through data, we can see the pain triggered by 13 Reasons Why and the New York Times. We see how salacious reporting on method prompts people to consider that pathway of self-injury. Our volunteer counselors are desperately trying to keep people alive and get them help, while for-profit companies reap in dollars and clicks. If we’re lucky, the outlets triggering unstable people write off their guilt by providing a link to our services, with no consideration of how much pain they’ve caused or the costs we must endure.

I want to believe in journalism. But my faith is waning.

I want to believe in journalism. I want to believe in the idealized mandate of the fourth estate. I want to trust that editors and journalists are doing their best to responsibly inform the public and help create a more perfect union.But my faith is waning.

Many Americans — especially conservative Americans — do not trust contemporary news organizations. This “crisis” is well-trod territory, but the focus on fact-checking, media literacy, and business models tends to obscure three features of the contemporary information landscape that I think are poorly understood:

Differences in worldview are being weaponized to polarize society.

We cannot trust organizations, institutions, or professions when they’re abstracted away from us.

Economic structures built on value extraction cannot enable healthy information ecosystems.

Let me begin by apologizing for the heady article, but the issues that we’re grappling with are too heady for a hot take. Please read this to challenge me, debate me, offer data to show that I’m wrong. I think we’ve got an ugly fight in front of us, and I think we need to get more sophisticated about our thinking, especially in a world where foreign policy is being boiled down to 140 characters.

1. Your Worldview Is Being Weaponized

I was a teenager when I showed up at a church wearing jeans and a T-shirt to see my friend perform in her choir. The pastor told me that I was not welcomebecause this was a house of God, and we must dress in a manner that honors Him. Not good at following rules, I responded flatly, “God made me naked. Should I strip now?” Needless to say, I did not get to see my friend sing.

Faith is an anchor for many people in the United States, but the norms that surround religious institutions are man-made, designed to help people make sense of the world in which we operate. Many religions encourage interrogation and questioning, but only within a well-established framework.Children learn those boundaries, just as they learn what is acceptable insecular society. They learn that talking about race is taboo and that questioning the existence of God may leave them ostracized.

Like many teenagers before and after me, I was obsessed with taboos and forbidden knowledge. I sought out the music Tipper Gore hated, read the books my school banned, and tried to get answers to any question that made adults gasp. Anonymously, I spent late nights engaged in conversations on Usenet, determined to push boundaries and make sense of adult hypocrisy.

Following a template learned in Model UN, I took on strong positions in order to debate and learn. Having already lost faith in the religious leaders in my community, I saw no reason to respect the dogma of any institution. And because I made a hobby out of proving teachers wrong, I had little patience for the so-called experts in my hometown. I was intellectually ravenous, but utterly impatient with, if not outright cruel to the adults around me. I rebelled against hierarchy and was determined to carve my own path at any cost.

I have an amazing amount of empathy for those who do not trust the institutions that elders have told them they must respect. Rage against the machine. We don’t need no education, no thought control. I’m also fully aware that you don’t garner trust in institutions through coercion or rational discussion. Instead, trust often emerges from extreme situations.

Many people have a moment where they wake up and feel like the world doesn’t really work like they once thought or like they were once told. That moment of cognitive reckoning is overwhelming. It can be triggered by any number of things — a breakup, a death, depression, a humiliating experience.Everything comes undone, and you feel like you’re in the middle of a tornado, unable to find the ground. This is the basis of countless literary classics, the crux of humanity. But it’s also a pivotal feature in how a society comes together to function.

Everyone needs solid ground, so that when your world has just been destabilized, what comes next matters. Who is the friend that picks you up and helps you put together the pieces? What institution — or its representatives — steps in to help you organize your thinking? What information do you grab onto in order to make sense of your experiences?

Contemporary propaganda isn’t about convincing someone to believe something, but convincing them to doubt what they think they know.

Countless organizations and movements exist to pick you up during your personal tornado and provide structure and a framework. Take a look at how Alcoholics Anonymous works. Other institutions and social bodies know how to trigger that instability and then help you find ground. Check out the dynamics underpinning military basic training. Organizations, movements, and institutions that can manipulate psychological tendencies toward a sociological end have significant power. Religious organizations, social movements, and educational institutions all play this role, whether or not they want to understand themselves as doing so.

Because there is power in defining a framework for people, there is good reason to be wary of any body that pulls people in when they are most vulnerable. Of course, that power is not inherently malevolent. There is fundamental goodness in providing structures to help those who are hurting make sense of the world around them. Where there be dragons is when these processes are weaponized, when these processes are designed to produce societal hatred alongside personal stability. After all, one of the fastest ways to bond people and help them find purpose is to offer up an enemy.

And here’s where we’re in a sticky spot right now. Many large institutions — government, the church, educational institutions, news organizations — are brazenly asserting their moral authority without grappling with their own shit.They’re ignoring those among them who are using hate as a tool, and they’re ignoring their own best practices and ethics, all to help feed a bottom line. Each of these institutions justifies itself by blaming someone or something to explain why they’re not actually that powerful, why they’re actually the victim. And so they’re all poised to be weaponized in a cultural war rooted in how we stabilize American insecurity.And if we’re completely honest with ourselves, what we’re really up against is how we collectively come to terms with a dying empire. But that’s a longer tangent.

Any teacher knows that it only takes a few students to completely disrupt a classroom. Forest fires spark easily under certain conditions, and the ripple effects are huge. As a child, when I raged against everyone and everything, it was my mother who held me into the night. When I was a teenager chatting my nights away on Usenet, the two people who most memorably picked me up and helped me find stable ground were a deployed soldier and a transgender woman, both of whom held me as I asked insane questions. They absorbed the impact and showed me a different way of thinking. They taught me the power of strangers counseling someone in crisis. As a college freshman, when I was spinning out of control, a computer science professor kept me solid and taught me how profoundly important a true mentor could be. Everyone needs someone to hold them when their world spins, whether that person be a friend, family, mentor, or stranger.

Fifteen years ago, when parents and the news media were panicking about online bullying, I saw a different risk. I saw countless kids crying out online in pain only to be ignored by those who preferred to prevent teachers from engaging with students online or to create laws punishing online bullies. We saw the suicides triggered as youth tried to make “It Gets Better” videos to find community, only to be further harassed at school. We saw teens studying the acts of Columbine shooters, seeking out community among those with hateful agendas and relishing the power of lashing out at those they perceived to be benefiting at their expense. But it all just seemed like a peculiar online phenomenon, proof that the internet was cruel. Too few of us tried to hold those youth who were unquestionably in pain.

Teens who are coming of age today are already ripe for instability. Their parents are stressed; even if they have jobs, nothing feels certain or stable. There doesn’t seem to be a path toward economic stability that doesn’t involve college, but there doesn’t seem to be a path toward college that doesn’t involve mind-bending debt. Opioids seem like a reasonable way to numb the pain in far too many communities. School doesn’t seem like a safe place, so teenagers look around and whisper among friends about who they believe to be the most likely shooter in their community. As Stephanie Georgopulos notes, the idea that any institution can offer security seems like a farce.

When I look around at who’s “holding” these youth, I can’t help but notice the presence of people with a hateful agenda. And they terrify me, in no small part because I remember an earlier incarnation.

In 1995, when I was trying to make sense of my sexuality, I turned to various online forums and asked a lot of idiotic questions. I was adopted by the aforementioned transgender woman and numerous other folks who heard me out, gave me pointers, and helped me think through what I felt. In 2001, when I tried to figure out what the next generation did, I realized thatstruggling youth were more likely to encounter a Christian gay “conversion therapy” group than a supportive queer peer. Queer folks were sick of being attacked by anti-LGBT groups, and so they had created safe spaces on private mailing lists that were hard for lost queer youth to find. And so it was that in their darkest hours, these youth were getting picked up by those with a hurtful agenda.

Teens who are trying to make sense of social issues aren’t finding progressive activists. They’re finding the so-called alt-right.

Fast-forward 15 years, and teens who are trying to make sense of social issues aren’t finding progressive activists willing to pick them up. They’re finding the so-called alt-right. I can’t tell you how many youth we’ve seen asking questions like I asked being rejected by people identifying with progressive social movements, only to find camaraderie among hate groups. What’s most striking is how many people with extreme ideas are willing to spend time engaging with folks who are in the tornado.

Spend time reading the comments below the YouTube videos of youth struggling to make sense of the world around them. You’ll quickly find comments by people who spend time in the manosphere or subscribe to white supremacist thinking. They are diving in and talking to these youth, offering a framework to make sense of the world, one rooted in deeply hateful ideas.These self-fashioned self-help actors are grooming people to see that their pain and confusion isn’t their fault, but the fault of feminists, immigrants, people of color. They’re helping them believe that the institutions they already distrust — the news media, Hollywood, government, school, even the church — are actually working to oppress them.

Most people who encounter these ideas won’t embrace them, but some will. Still, even those who don’t will never let go of the doubt that has been instilled in the institutions around them. It just takes a spark.

So how do we collectively make sense of the world around us? There isn’t one universal way of thinking, but even the act of constructing knowledge is becoming polarized. Responding to the uproar in the news media over “alternative facts,” Cory Doctorow noted:

We’re not living through a crisis about what is true, we’re living through a crisis about how we know whether something is true. We’re not disagreeing about facts, we’re disagreeing about epistemology. The “establishment” version of epistemology is, “We use evidence to arrive at the truth, vetted by independent verification (but trust us when we tell you that it’s all been independently verified by people who were properly skeptical and not the bosom buddies of the people they were supposed to be fact-checking).”

The “alternative facts” epistemological method goes like this: “The ‘independent’ experts who were supposed to be verifying the ‘evidence-based’ truth were actually in bed with the people they were supposed to be fact-checking. In the end, it’s all a matter of faith, then: you either have faith that ‘their’ experts are being truthful, or you have faith that we are. Ask your gut, what version feels more truthful?”

Doctorow creates these oppositional positions to make a point and to highlight that there is a war over epistemology, or the way in which we produce knowledge.

The reality is much messier, because what’s at stake isn’t simply about resolving two competing worldviews. Rather, what’s at stake is how there is no universal way of knowing, and we have reached a stage in our political climate where there is more power in seeding doubt, destabilizing knowledge, and encouraging others to distrust other systems of knowledge production.

Contemporary propaganda isn’t about convincing someone to believe something, but convincing them to doubt what they think they know. Andonce people’s assumptions have come undone, who is going to pick them up and help them create a coherent worldview?

2. You Can’t Trust Abstractions

Deeply committed to democratic governance, George Washington believed that a representative government could only work if the public knew their representatives. As a result, our Constitution states that each member of the House should represent no more than 30,000 constituents. When we stopped adding additional representatives to the House in 1913 (frozen at 435), each member represented roughly 225,000 constituents. Today, the ratio of congresspeople to constituents is more than 700,000:1. Most people will never meet their representative, and few feel as though Washington truly represents their interests. The democracy that we have is representational only in ideal, not in practice.

As our Founding Fathers knew, it’s hard to trust an institution when it feels inaccessible and abstract. All around us, institutions are increasingly divorced from the community in which they operate, with often devastating costs.Thanks to new models of law enforcement, police officers don’t typically come from the community they serve. In many poor communities, teachers also don’t come from the community in which they teach. The volunteer U.S. military hardly draws from all communities, and those who don’t know a solider are less likely to trust or respect the military.

Journalism can only function as the fourth estate when it serves as a tool to voice the concerns of the people and to inform those people of the issues that matter. Throughout the 20th century, communities of color challenged mainstream media’s limitations and highlighted that few newsrooms represented the diverse backgrounds of their audiences. As such, we saw the rise of ethnic media and a challenge to newsrooms to be smarter about their coverage. But let’s be real — even as news organizations articulate a commitment to the concerns of everyone, newsrooms have done a dreadful job of becoming more representative. Over the past decade, we’ve seen racial justice activists challenge newsrooms for their failure to cover Ferguson, Standing Rock, and other stories that affect communities of color.

Meanwhile, local journalism has nearly died. The success of local journalismdidn’t just matter because those media outlets reported the news, but because it meant that many more people were likely to know journalists. It’s easier to trust an institution when it has a human face that you know and respect. Andas fewer and fewer people know journalists, they trust the institution less and less. Meanwhile, the rise of social media, blogging, and new forms of talk radio has meant that countless individuals have stepped in to cover issues not being covered by mainstream news, often using a style and voice that is quite unlike that deployed by mainstream news media.

We’ve also seen the rise of celebrity news hosts. These hosts help push the boundaries of parasocial interactions, allowing the audience to feel deep affinity toward these individuals, as though they are true friends. Tabloid papers have long capitalized on people’s desire to feel close to celebrities by helping people feel like they know the royal family or the Kardashians. Talking heads capitalize on this, in no small part by how they communicate with their audiences. So, when people watch Rachel Maddow or listen to Alex Jones, they feel more connected to the message than they would when reading a news article. They begin to trust these people as though they are neighbors. They feel real.

No amount of drop-in journalism will make up for the loss of journalists within the fabric of local communities.

People want to be informed, but who they trust to inform them is rooted in social networks, not institutions. The trust of institutions stems from trust in people. The loss of the local paper means a loss of trusted journalists and a connection to the practices of the newsroom. As always, people turn to their social networks to get information, but what flows through those social networks is less and less likely to be mainstream news. But here’s where you also get an epistemological divide.

As Francesca Tripodi points out, many conservative Christians have developed a media literacy practice that emphasizes the “original” text rather than an intermediary. Tripodi points out that the same type of scriptural inference that Christians apply in Bible study is often also applied to reading the Constitution, tax reform bills, and Google results. This approach is radically different than the approach others take when they rely on intermediaries to interpret news for them.

As the institutional construction of news media becomes more and more proximately divorced from the vast majority of people in the United States, we can and should expect trust in news to decline. No amount of fact-checking will make up for a widespread feeling that coverage is biased. No amount of articulated ethical commitments will make up for the feeling that you are being fed clickbait headlines.

No amount of drop-in journalism will make up for the loss of journalists within the fabric of local communities. And while the population who believes that CNN and the New York Times are “fake news” are not demographically representative, the questionable tactics that news organizations use are bound to increase distrust among those who still have faith in them.

3. The Fourth Estate and Financialization Are Incompatible

If you’re still with me at this point, you’re probably deeply invested in scholarship or journalism. And, unless you’re one of my friends, you’re probably bursting at the seams to tell me that the reason journalism is all screwed up is because the internet screwed news media’s business model. So I want to ask a favor: Quiet that voice in your head, take a deep breath, and let me offer an alternative perspective.

There are many types of capitalism. After all, the only thing that defines capitalism is the private control of industry (as opposed to government control). Most Americans have been socialized into believing that all forms of capitalism are inherently good (which, by the way, was a propaganda project). But few are encouraged to untangle the different types of capitalism and different dynamics that unfold depending on which structure is operating.

I grew up in mom-and-pop America, where many people dreamed of becoming small business owners. The model was simple: Go to the bank and get a loan to open a store or a company. Pay back that loan at a reasonable interest rate — knowing that the bank was making money — until eventually you owned the company outright. Build up assets, grow your company, and create something of value that you could pass on to your children.

In the 1980s, franchises became all the rage. Wannabe entrepreneurs saw a less risky path to owning their own business. Rather than having to figure it out alone, you could open a franchise with a known brand and a clear process for running the business. In return, you had to pay some overhead to the parent company. Sure, there were rules to follow and you could only buy supplies from known suppliers and you didn’t actually have full control, but it kinda felt like you did. Like being an Uber driver, it was the illusion of entrepreneurship that was so appealing. And most new franchise owners didn’t know any better, nor were they able to read the writing on the wall when the water all around them started boiling their froggy self. I watched my mother nearly drown, and the scars are still visible all over her body.

I will never forget the U.S. Savings & Loan crisis, not because I understood it, but because it was when I first realized that my Richard Scarry impression of how banks worked was way wrong. Only two decades later did I learn to seethe FIRE industries (Finance, Insurance, and Real Estate) as extractive ones.They aren’t there to help mom-and-pop companies build responsible businesses, but to extract value from their naiveté. Like today’s post-college youth are learning, loans aren’t there to help you be smart, but to bend your will.

It doesn’t take a quasi-documentary to realize thatMcDonald’s is not a fast-food franchise; it’s a real estate business that uses a franchise structure to extract capital from naive entrepreneurs. Go talk to a wannabe restaurant owner in New York City and ask them what it takes to start a business these days. You can’t even get a bank loan or lease in 2018 without significant investor backing, which means that the system isn’t set up for you to build a business and pay back the bank, pay a reasonable rent, and develop a valuable asset.You are simply a pawn in a financialized game between your investors, the real estate companies, the insurance companies, and the bank, all of which want to extract as much value from your effort as possible. You’re just another brick in the wall.

Now let’s look at the local news ecosystem. Starting in the 1980s, savvy investors realized that many local newspapers owned prime real estate in the center of key towns. These prized assets would make for great condos and office rentals. Throughout the country, local news shops started getting eaten up by private equity and hedge funds — or consolidated by organizations controlled by the same forces. Media conglomerates sold off their newsrooms as they felt increased pressure to increase profits quarter over quarter.

Building a sustainable news business was hard enough when the news had a wealthy patron who valued the goals of the enterprise. But the finance industry doesn’t care about sustaining the news business; it wants a return on investment. And the extractive financiers who targeted the news business weren’t looking to keep the news alive. They wanted to extract as much value from those business as possible. Taking a page out of McDonald’s, they forced the newsrooms to sell their real estate. Often, news organizations had to rent from new landlords who wanted obscene sums, often forcing them to move out of their buildings. News outlets were forced to reduce staff, reproduce more junk content, sell more ads, and find countless ways to cut costs. Of course the news suffered — the goal was to push news outlets into bankruptcy or sell, especially if the companies had pensions or other costs that couldn’t be excised.

Yes, the fragmentation of the advertising industry due to the internet hastened this process. And let’s also be clear that business models in the news business have never been clean. But no amount of innovative new business models will make up for the fact that you can’t sustain responsible journalism within a business structure that requires newsrooms to make more money quarter over quarter to appease investors. This does not mean that you can’t build a sustainable news business, but if the news is beholden to investors trying to extract value, it’s going to impossible. And if news companies have no assets to rely on (such as their now-sold real estate), they are fundamentally unstable and likely to engage in unhealthy business practices out of economic desperation.

Untangling our country from this current version of capitalism is going to be as difficult as curbing our addiction to fossil fuels. I’m not sure it can be done, but as long as we look at companies and blame their business models without looking at the infrastructure in which they are embedded, we won’t even begin taking the first steps. Fundamentally, both the New York Times and Facebook are public companies, beholden to investors and desperate to increase their market cap. Employees in both organizations believe themselves to be doing something important for society.

Of course, journalists don’t get paid well, while Facebook’s employees can easily threaten to walk out if the stock doesn’t keep rising, since they’re also investors. But we also need to recognize that the vast majority of Americans have a stake in the stock market. Pension plans, endowments, and retirement plans all depend on stocks going up — and those public companies depend on big investors investing in them. Financial managers don’t invest in news organizations that are happy to be stable break-even businesses. Heck, even Facebook is in deep trouble if it can’t continue to increase ROI, whether through attracting new customers (advertisers and users), increasing revenue per user, or diversifying its businesses. At some point, it too will get desperate, because no business can increase ROI forever.

ROI capitalism isn’t the only version of capitalism out there. We take it for granted and tacitly accept its weaknesses by creating binaries, as though the only alternative is Cold War Soviet Union–styled communism. We’re all frogs in an ocean that’s quickly getting warmer. Two degrees will affect a lot more than oceanfront properties.

Reclaiming Trust

In my mind, we have a hard road ahead of us if we actually want to rebuild trust in American society and its key institutions (which, TBH, I’m not sure is everyone’s goal). There are three key higher-order next steps, all of which are at the scale of the New Deal.

Create a sustainable business structure for information intermediaries (like news organizations) that allows them to be profitable without the pressure of ROI. In the case of local journalism, this could involve subsidized rent, restrictions on types of investors or takeovers, or a smartly structured double bottom-line model. But the focus should be on strategically building news organizations as a national project to meet the needs of the fourth estate. It means moving away from a journalism model that is built on competition for scarce resources (ads, attention) to one that’s incentivized by societal benefits.

Actively and strategically rebuild the social networks of America.Create programs beyond the military that incentivize people from different walks of life to come together and achieve something great for this country. This could be connected to job training programs or rooted in community service, but it cannot be done through the government alone or, perhaps, at all. We need the private sector, religious organizations, and educational institutions to come together and commit to designing programs that knit together America while also providing the tools of opportunity.

Find new ways of holding those who are struggling. We don’t have a social safety net in America. For many, the church provides the only accessible net when folks are lost and struggling, but we need a lot more.We need to work together to build networks that can catch people when they’re falling. We’ve relied on volunteer labor for a long time in this domain—women, churches, volunteer civic organizations—but our current social configuration makes this extraordinarily difficult. We’re in the middle of an opiate crisis for a reason. We need to think smartly about how these structures or networks can be built and sustained so that we can collectively reach out to those who are falling through the cracks.

Fundamentally, we need to stop triggering one another because we’re facing our own perceived pain. This means we need to build large-scale cultural resilience. While we may be teaching our children “social-emotional learning”in the classroom, we also need to start taking responsibility at scale.Individually, we need to step back and empathize with others’ worldviews and reach out to support those who are struggling. But our institutions also have important work to do.

At the end of the day, if journalistic ethics means anything, newsrooms cannot justify creating spectacle out of their reporting on suicide or other topics just because they feel pressure to create clicks. They have the privilege of choosing what to amplify, and they should focus on what is beneficial. If they can’t operate by those values, they don’t deserve our trust. While I strongly believe that technology companies have a lot of important work to do to be socially beneficial, I hold news organizations to a higher standard because of their own articulated commitments and expectations that they serve as the fourth estate. And if they can’t operationalize ethical practices, I fear the society that must be knitted together to self-govern is bound to fragment even further.

Trust cannot be demanded. It’s only earned by being there at critical junctures when people are in crisis and need help. You don’t earn trust when things are going well; you earn trust by being a rock during a tornado. The winds are blowing really hard right now. Look around. Who is helping us find solid ground?

Source: http://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2018/06/20/the-messy-fourth-estate.html

0 notes

crimvaiocipher8 · 7 years ago

Text

Day 3 &4: Species and Mental State

It was only a matter of time before I was fashonably late for this: Writing Day 3 on Day 4? Really, Crim?? Well, only one thing to do: Write 3 and 4 in one post and pray despite the length it’s interesting.

Day 3 on my 30 day Challenge:

Talk about your OC’s species and demonym. A demonyn is the name for an inhabitant of a specific place, in this case their planet of birth, such as Tarisian (from Taris) or Mantellian (from Ord Mantell). How do they define their demonym? Do they have one? What influence does it have on their identity?

For Species: Do they have a sense of connection with others of their species? Were they raised with their own species or in a more diverse community? Do they follow any traditions or customs that are species-specific?

For Demonym: Do they feel a sense of connection to their planet of birth? Does the planet’s history and society effect them? Do they follow any traditions or holidays from their home planet?

My species and demonymn. Alrighty then.

My Species:

There is no nice way of saying this: I, a Sith Pureblood, am a mut between species. Yes, there is an oxymoron! A pureblood is a mut. Yet this is a true oxymoron, for a Sith Pureblood isn’t really a true Sith but a mix of Sith and human.

A long time ago, the Sith were a red skinned species native to Korriban. They had their own language, which is still spoken today, their own culture, and their own way of life. Then the fallen, dark Jedi came and subjugated the species. Thanks to Sith alchemy, the two interbred and Sith purebloods came out as a result.

In the Sith Empire, purebloods or tsis in my people’s language, are ones who have the obvious red markings and face tendrils of the Sith species. In many ways, we’re remnants of an ancient past with eyes straining towards the future.

Now, do I have a sense of connection with any of them?

This has evolved over the years. When i was a lad, I wanted nothing to do with the Sith part of me. Why would I want anything to do with a people who were abusive; never mind the Force, who seemed to condone the abusive behaviour? In truth, I think that’s why I let intelligence “turn me human” for all intents and purposes.

Yet, here I am writing this as a Force user, and quite content with. Proof the Force works in mysterious ways. I decided to train in the Force after Zakull came. I had to choose between being stubborn, or ensuring Kardeva had a family to come home to after getting out of carbonite. I chose the latter, and in that I feel connection to my people.

I also feel that connection when I lived with my adopted family. They showed me there are many ways to be Sith. Many of them died when Zakuul, but my brother survived along with most of his fortress. Rebuilding it was hard, as was burying the dead, but we pulled through as a family. I think during that time I felt closest to my Sith ancestry than I ever had. Intense sorrow breeds intense unity and division at the same time. It’s a miracle.

Finally, I raised 3 children who are all tsis. Hard to not feel the connection when raising the next generation. They challenge my understanding of our people, challenge how I conduct myself, and force me to remember what it was like growing up tsis in a good way. And I think I challenge them to not solely stick with the status quo: Only Zeon, my daughter, is training to be a Sith. Ssra is following in my footsteps by spying on Sith Intelligence for the Alliance, and Nwit became a Mandalorian. Tied to a rich history, yet forging our own way ahead. I love my family.

I feel connection to my humanity when I’m with Kardeva and when I’m cooking. Kardeva is human, and I see my humanity reflecting back at me every time I look at him. It’s why I couldn’t rebuild my life, and move on, while he was locked in carbonite. To see such an important part of myself reflected back was too much to so easily walk away from, even if it meant I never get him back. So, Kardeva is my connection to my humanity.

The second one is my cooking. When I was doing infiltration, I found that people say many things while breaking bread. So, I found a way to get trained as a chef so I could eavesdrop while making and serving meals. Most of the dishes I learned to make are geared more toward a human palette, so there is the connection. Now that I’m a part of Alliance Intelligence I combine human and pureblood cooking together. Have to keep both pallets happy at my house.

My Demonym

I’m a Kaasian by birth: Born and raised in Kaas City. I lived there for the first 15 years of life, and off and on in between intelligence missions. It was where I first learned about life, who I am as a man, and where my place was in the Empire. I miss it when I’m away, and feel nostalgia when I return. It is my home.

I think everyone feels a sense of connection to their birthplace, regardless of if it’s a good or bad connection. While family wise, it was a bad connection, in terms of Kaas over all it’s a good connection: I know where all the hang out spots are, know how to get around the Sith Academy there, and I even know where the best place to get photos of the Citadel are!

Does the planet’s history and society affect people who live on Kaas? Short answer: Everything about its history affects everyone! No, that isn’t an exaggeration. Ever since Dromund Kaas was colonized, the focus has always been serving the Emperor and getting revenge on the Republic.

youtube

At the Sith Academy, where all tsis go to learn their basic education and Sith training, I learned what the Republic did to our people at the end of the Great Hyperspace War. I then learned why we needed to train and prepare to go to war as soon as we were of age. Given the war was still going on when I was young, I knew I had little choice on where my destiny lied. My mother and father couldn’t be prouder to see their son trained as a juggernaut and creating the next generation.

To that end, most of our holidays and celebrations revolved around the Emperor or defeating the Republic: Colonization Day, which used to be the Emperor’s birthday until Empress Acina took over; Kitok Kursas Diena (New Years Day); Katedij Pradzia (Korriban Rises Day), to celebrate the day the Empire took Korriban back from the Republic; birthdays of important Sith like Ajunta Pall, Naga Sadow, Marka Ragnos, and Darth Vitiate; and days where we remember our dead like Visa Virmsezi Arsiasiza (All Hallows Eve), and Diena iv Liudesys, the Day of Sorrows.

I remember Diena iv Liudesys the most, since it was one of the few days we had off from school. It was the day the Republic came to Korriban to destroy my people completely and utterly. It both remembers their fate, and strengthened our resolve to make the Jedi and Republic pay. The moment the Republic attacked, Dromund Kaas went silent for 5 min: Everyone simply froze with no sounds or movements. Even droids had to be quiet. If one was driving through the jungle, they had to stop and pray the jungle creatures didn’t notice them.

I remember thinking about the Great Hyperspace War, and about how somewhere someone in the Republic is patting themselves on the back for being the good guys. The good guys build on the deaths of my people. It made me angry, and made me want to see them destroyed eventually. Now, though, Empress Acina changed the day into Isatre Vunyi va «Eternal Resolve». Zakuul is the real enemy now, she said to the populace, and we need to focus on them over a battle that happened over 1000 years ago. Smart woman, the Empress, a worthy successor to Darth Marr.

Alright, that’s enough for Day 3. Now for Day 4:

Day 4: Mind Matters

Briefly describe your OC’s mental state. Are they neurotypical or neuroatypical? Do they have any mental illnesses or a history with mental illness? How do they handle stress? Are they Force-sensitive or Force-blind? Does this effect their mental state?

Briefly, hmm? I can understand briefly. One’s mental state can be an entire Master’s thesis if they’re not careful. I would describe my mental state as...

No.

Caedusios? Why are you here writing?

Because one’s mental state is best assessed from the outside, not within. You would just say you’re mental state is neuro-typical and perfect. I can give a more accurate assessment.

And you’re late for your date with Kardeva.

You’re right, I am! Alright, you can write this. All I ask is don’t make me look insane. Wouldn’t want to scare off my new readers...

If you, the readers, haven’t determined he’s not entirely sane then I’m not sure whose blog you were reading. Anyways, I am Darth CAedusios. I am Crimsèn’s adopted older brother. Biologically we’re first cousins: his father and my father are brothers. Because we’re both only children, we grew up together on Kaas as brothers since our families had no where else to go but to one another’s house.

I have seen Crimsèn grow from being a teenager trying to be who his parents pre-determined into a man relatively content with himself. I can’t say he has grown into a neurotypical man, anymore than I can say he was ever a purely cisgender person. No, his mental state has gone through many gymnastics.

I would say that Crimsèn has a condition called Asperger’s Syndrome, and some traits of borderline personality disorder. While he was a social butterfly, and still is in so many ways, he never intuitively understood social ques save mine and my mother and father’s. Also, Crim is quite obsessive about specific things to the point where he almost refused to do anything but his interests.

This has lead to a double edged sword with the Force. Between ages 1 and 15, Crim was obsessed with becoming the Sith Lord his father wanted his only son to be. As a result, I remember him being so obsessed with learning the sabre combat of Marka Ragnos and Naga Sadow, that he couldn’t be bothered to eat.

At age 15 (by the way, I am using Imperial Standard years), for reasons I’m assuming Crimsèn will explain tomorrow, he stripped himself of the Force. For the next 15 years, he obsessively resisted any hint of being a pureblood outside of looks. It drove him to serve the EMpire under intelligence, suppress most of his pureblood characteristics, and in some ways quietly accept being brainwashed under intelligence. They used the CAstellan Mind control in order to ensure he would never go back to our people nor ruin any missions because he acted on emotions over logic.

Now, his obsessions are mostly on taking care of his family. To that end, he was trained in using his returned Force abilities at last. He couldn’t fight Zakuul without all the tools, and abilities he had, just like I couldn’t fight Zakuul by sticking with the narrow ways of Jedi and the Sith.

Now, where does borderline personality disorder fit into this? Well, Crimsèn only has two traits of it really: Abandonment fears and emotional swings. The emotional swings are thanks to him being a Sith and his connection to the darkside as a result. Not saying it is good or evil to have such swings; it is what it is.

I believe his abandonment fears are from being abused. Abuse teaches people many things, including the belief that if they under perform by a fraction of a percent, they will be abandoned. For Crim, that abandonment meant his own father would murder his only son the moment he learned he was gay (I know was going to save that for Crim to explain tomorrow during the Gender/Sexuality topic, but I felt it was needed in context here). Then it was join intelligence, or his first love would abandon him via Intelligence executing his first love.

Now with his marriage to Kardeva... I know that the distance broke him and left Crim vulnerable to many influences. I chose, as his master, to step back and let him either stand strong in the storm or fall to it because that was his trial. As a master and mentor, it’s important to know when a person needs to face a trial on their own or face it with some guidance.

I can say that while Crim’s abandonment fears are still there, he has learned how to live with them now in a way that he controls them instead of the other way around. I’m proud of my brother for facing them.

#30dayswchallenge #SWTOR 30 Day Character Challenge #OC: crimsen #RP #character building #swtor

1 note · View note