#great character all around he suffered more than jesus and then just died with one last friendzoning truly the absolute worst lmao love u

[the-innefable-idiot]

Way is such a deliciously angsty character rip king your suffering will be missed

[hamliet]

Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls and It Dies...

Or, why I am pretty optimistic about the fates of Jean, Connie, Gabi, and all titanized people this chapter, which is also an excuse for me to talk about SnK’s allusions to Russian literature. 

There are strikingly parallel ideas The Brothers Karamazov and Attack on Titan, as well as parallel plot points and imagery to the point where if it isn’t deliberate, it’s uncanny. (NB: before people yell at me about comparing a Japanese and Russian work, Isayama has used Russian names since the start of SnK--Shiganshina is a Russian name.) In particular, there are narrative allusions to a portion of the novel known as “The Grand Inquisitor,” which is a short story within a novel. The central thesis of “The Grand Inquisitor” is as follows: 

nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom. 

This parable is told within the story by Ivan Karamazov, a character whose intellectuality is his gift and his curse. He tells his brother Alyosha that the motivation for creating this parable is precisely the evils done to children (oh look, a major SnK theme) and specifically cites an example which was unfortunately taken from real life in Russia and which Isayama has an uncanny parallel:

I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when every one suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer... If all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children to do with it, tell me, please? ... if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers' crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension. Some jester will say, perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old...

... How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? ... What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? ... I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. ... too high a price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it... It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket.”

The actual parable of “The Grand Inquisitor” is Ivan’s answer to Alyosha’s question about Ivan’s lines above. Ivan tells a story about how freedom is actually what dooms humanity: it is the curse. (Alyosha does not believe this.) Jesus comes back to earth and is promptly arrested, because his existence and return threaten the wellbeing of society. To be happy, one cannot be free, but one or two strong people in society should be free and bear the burden for everyone else (you can see the parallels to King Fritz/the Reisses). 

Nothing is more seductive for man than his freedom of conscience, but nothing is a greater cause of suffering... all his life he loved humanity, and suddenly his eyes were opened, and he saw that it is no great moral blessedness to attain perfection and freedom, if at the same time one gains the conviction that millions of God's creatures have been created as a mockery, that they will never be capable of using their freedom...

This is SnK’s thesis: to be free, there will be suffering. It is part of human nature, and yet to not have it is to be lost. But SnK, despite its explorations of human darkness and monstrosity, has a higher view of humanity than does Ivan. SnK’s view is more alongside Alyosha’s, who says what is honestly the truth about not just the Reisses, but Eren now:

"Who are these keepers of the mystery who have taken some curse upon themselves for the happiness of mankind? .... It's simple lust of power, of filthy earthly gain, of domination—something like a universal serfdom with them as masters—that's all they stand for.”

Mikasa is akin to the Christ figure in the story, akin to Alyosha: Christ is constantly asked to speak, asked to act, and he does not until the very last moment, when he kisses the Grand Inquisitor on the lips. After the story is over, Alyosha then does likewise to Ivan. 

Not to mention when Alyosha worries about Ivan’s mental state, he then answers with this:

“Listen, Alyosha,” Ivan began in a resolute voice, “if I am really able to care for the sticky little leaves I shall only love them, remembering you. It's enough for me that you are somewhere here, and I shan't lose my desire for life yet.”

A simple leaf can save a life. A leaf can save the world. A leaf, grown from a tree that started as a seed falling to the ground, dead, only to grow life from that death. Alyosha himself notes SnK’s central thesis of chapter 137 in the (very long) novel’s final pages:

...some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us.

There’s a lot more to this, but this is the epigraph to The Brothers Karamazov, the central thesis of the entire novel:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." -John 12:24

Suffering can grow great fruit in an individual life, and by giving something up, by even death, something beautiful can come. Through cruelty, you can find life. 

This is not just a long-running theme in SnK, but a pattern in its plot. Often those who surrender then receive exactly what they had surrendered (but admittedly, not always, like Erwin). 

Mikasa accepted Eren’s loss, and got him back.

Mikasa let Armin go, and got him back.

Falco gave up hope of survival, and got another chance: 

Hange was going to die alone, feeling guilty for having failed her comrades, but saw everyone again, and they told her well done: 

Historia gave up being free, but now we know she will be.

Levi gave up on his revenge, and then got it. Annie thought she would never see her dad again, but she did. For Mikasa, accepting that she has to kill the boy she loves coincides not just with her acceptance of her love, but with the acceptance and knowledge that he loves her:

It always comes with sacrifice, increasingly hard sacrifice, but usually the seeds that are dropped grow and bloom. 

This chapter, everyone surrendered their hearts. They let their dreams fall to the ground, and I honestly think the story will allow it to plant life. Yes, the world as a whole is saved and that is enough to make thematic sense, but it works even better if the very people who were titanized this chapter also bloom again. They chose to trust Mikasa, Levi, Falco, and Pieck to finish the task.

The characters giving up their lives only to get them back make sense, and give Mikasa’s sacrifice of Eren. For Mikasa, Eren was her world, and she gave it up when she had lost everyone else. She had nothing left, and she still did it. I would hope she’d be narratively rewarded beyond just the world being saved, because Mikasa has always been motivated by her personal relationships.

Moving on from Mikasa: Connie’s mom has been kept alive and the concept of turning mindless titans back to humans was already brought up specifically in relation to her:

Connie giving up on his mother a dozenish chapters ago only to get her back now--not through sacrificing a child, but through saving the entire world--would fit the themes and patterns of SnK.

Thirdly, Gabi should not die. She’s Eren with positive development, and cannot meet the same end. Even people who are skeptical of every titan being saved seem to agree that she’ll be fine. It’s possible she’s the only one saved, but imo, not likely. 

See, the only shifter characters who are going to have the option of self-sacrifice are Falco and maaaaaybe Armin. The others look like they’re about to die right here and now, never mind choosing someone to save: the mindless titans are ripping at their napes. Armin also looks to be in bad shape. 

Yet Armin cannot narratively commit suicide; two chapters ago he was still screaming at himself for being useless and thinking he would be better off dead. He’s already tried the heroic sacrifice, too, so why would it work this time around? It does not work for his arc. Falco dying for Gabi was the plan without any freedom from the titan curse; it’s more powerful if ending the curse changes things, rather than forcing him to make the same choice that Reiner has always been trying to make: a heroic suicide. It could happen; it’s just not as narratively strong.

As for whether the worldbuilding rules, we know that mindless titans are not truly dead nor entirely mindless; they just don’t have freedom. Ymir’s case of getting herself back after decades shows that they aren’t quite dead or absorbed. They still have consciousness that can be awoken; Ymir described it as being in a long “nightmare.” Dina still went looking for Grisha. Connie’s mom remembered and recognized Connie, telling him “welcome home.” There is plenty of evidence that there are parts of these people that are still in there even if they are forced to become monsters (oh hey, it’s an Eren parallel; he was conscious of it and had choices while mindless titans do not, but the parallel remains).

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Laid out cold, now we're both alone (part 3)

A/N: Hello, this fic is very important to me because I tried my best to give justice to such a cool idea and I hope I did a good job. Plus I don't do multichapter ofter, so this was a challenge.

I wanna thank the lovely @livdonna​ for proofreading my work, you're literally the best <3.

P.S. If you want to get tagged in the next chapters, let me know.

Summary: Nikki needs to ask a favor to Vince Neil, in order to keep someone safe.

Warnings: Major Character Death,Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug Use, Angst, Overdose.

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Taglist: @slashscowboyboots @witchytombstonesmile @arnold-layne @emometalhead​ @i-dont-like-rice​ @nikki-sexx​ @smokeandmirrorz​

Bittersweet. That was the best way to describe Nikki’s emotional state as he got teleported in front of Vince’s house. They weren’t the biggest fans of each other.  He was always so annoyed by his singer, whom he considered more of a diva prince than a front man.

Sometimes Vince Neil was a stupid spoiled fucker, in his opinion, yet he needed him. What made his blood boil the most was that he had to put his pride to the side, because this wasn’t about him but about Tommy, and there was no way in hell he would have disappointed him again, even if that meant having to deal with the blonde’s bullshit.

He decided to get in the blonde’s house but without showing himself at first.  He wasn’t being avoidant ( absolutely not) but just he wanted more time to think, that’s all. The first thing he noticed was how different Vince’s mansion looked from Mick’s : outside there was a big pool, in which the clear water was shining thanks to the sunny day, meanwhile the inside was mostly white and gave the whole house a very elegant and snobby atmosphere; however it was very messy too, which was a huge disappointment.

It reminded him of the singer: face of an angel but inside he had his demons. Who didn’t to be honest? Unfortunately Nikki wasn’t so lucky to get an angel face to hide his dirty soul, he felt like everyone could tell how fucked up he was.

Lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice Vince passing right through him, talking on the phone in an exasperated tone.

“I know Doc, you repeated that hundreds of times! Yeah , I’ll call Mick and Tommy and we will do this fucking conference!”

There was a small pause.  Doc was probably answering back, and Vince looked like he was about to smash the phone on the ground.

“What’s holding us? We fucking lost our bassist, our friend and brother. Jesus, I fucking get it that you want our money but show some fucking mercy, bastard! Fuck you!” He violently put the phone down, only to fall ungracefully on the couch.

The whole conversation made the bassist laugh out of anger.  He knew Doc was all about money, especially because they made his life a living hell, but Vince appearing concerned about his death was honestly so fake.

What? Were you saying that Vince Neil was mourning him? The guy who kept fucking up the band over and over again was sad for him?

“Fucking Nikki, real dick move you pulled there!”

Nikki didn’t wait one second before sitting on the couch and making himself visible to the blonde.

“Oh Vinnie, that’s so rude to say.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Vince screamed,  trying to back away but just managing to fall off the couch.

The other man couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Nikki, is that you? What kind of joke is this?!”

“Yeah. Look it might sound nuts but I’m a ghost. I’m dead and couldn’t pass through because I have unfinished business to solve.”

If looks could kill, well Nikki would have died again judging by how Vince was staring at him. He saw his face turning into an angry snarl before he started to yell.

“What the fuck, Sixx?! You die, leave us all alone and then you even have the courage to stay a fucking ghost! You fucking selfish prick!”

The bassist felt his blood boiling, well not literally but he got the same feeling as if he still had blood pumping in his body. How did Vince dare to say such things? He was the selfish prick, he was the one never caring and always causing trouble.  He was destroying the band!

“I’m a selfish prick?! I didn’t decide to fucking die! I put my heart and soul in the band and you kept destroying it. Now you want to accuse me? Fuck you!”

“You didn’t want to die? Oh well, what did you think would happen if you kept injecting that shit in your veins. We are fucking screwed now, without a bassist and ready to split up!”

Oh that was funny! Vince wanted to shame him, as Nikki was the only one drinking and fucking up with drugs. Oh sure Mick, Tommy and him could do anything but Nikki dares to shoot up, oh he’s a junkie! However he knew it was different, it wasn’t a simple way to party for him... He needed it to be alive. He had tons of pages written in his diaries that could be used as a proof.

“Oh because you’re such a saint, aren’t you Vinnie? I’m the bad one, I’m the one out of control. Well guess what?  The only person I hurt was myself, meanwhile we can’t say the same thing for you!”

It was a low blow, a terrible one and Nikki knew that. Rage blinded him, but that didn’t mean he had to dredge up the past, especially on something as horrible as Razzle’s death.

Good job Sikki, great way to get your friend to do what you want.

Vince’s face turned red, his fists clenched and got up to Nikki’s nose. He looked like he was about to punch him, but he had to realize it wasn’t going to happen since the bassist was not tangible, so he kicked a small table.

“You’re the only one who you hurt? What about the band, the fans, all those people you lied to and made suffer. Most importantly, what about Tommy, Nikki? How is he? Because it doesn’t look like he wasn’t hurt when you left him all alone, when you preferred shooting up instead of caring for him.”

Tommy. If he knew Vince’s weak point, the singer knew his too. It fucking hurt so bad, now he was the one wishing to be able to slap him.

“You don’t know a fuck about me or Tommy. Shut the fuck up!”

“Oh, I know all the times I saw him scanning the room around hoping to find you, all the times he looked heartbroken when you disappeared in the bathroom during rehearsal. I saw him after you destroyed him, how he still loved you even if you threw him away like trash. His two worst nightmares came true: you left him and you died. So tell me again Nikki, how did you just hurt yourself?

He wasn’t about to cry, even if he felt like a thousand legs were kicking his chest, he wasn’t about to give that fucker the satisfaction to see him crying ( he probably couldn’t even do that). But after the pain came the realization : he was there for Tommy. He was angry to forget that this wasn’t about him but about the drummer, and he probably ruined everything.

Now the hard part came : swallowing his pride down and convincing Vince. Oh, he would probably torment the bassist as slowly as he could, but eventually he had to accept.  Fuck, the two of them knew each other since high school!

“How’s Tommy?” His voice was so low, he doubted the singer heard him, but somehow he did.

“Oh, so now you want to know how he is?!” His voice was still loud and angry, but he must have seen the desperation on Nikki’s face, because he decided to answer anyway. “ He’s a mess. I just talked with him very briefly, he wanted to know if it was real. Then Doc fucking occupied this phone like it was his bitch, so I haven’t called him again, yet.”

This wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, it wasn’t fucking reassuring at all… Fuck, literally anything could have happened, Tommy could have hurt himself or left the country and this was all because of him. He just hoped his family was going to be close to him, he was loved, they would have never left him alone. That was supposed to be his job too, but he failed.

He failed his sweet Tommy.

“Sixx, what are you thinking about?”

It was the moment. Even if his heart wasn’t beating, he still felt the oppressive pressure of anxiety.  He wanted to run but he had to do it.

Swallow your pride. You fucking owe it to Tommy.

“Vince, promise me that you’ll protect Tommy, no matter what.”

“What?” The blonde was visibly confused and how to blame him!

“You were right, I broke Tommy and he’s going to have such a hard time. He fucking loved me, even if I didn’t deserve it, and now I’m terrified he’s going to destroy himself. You can’t let that happen!”

“Nikki…”

“I fucking love him Vince. I still love him so much.  He deserves a good life, I can’t ruin him even in death. He needs support.”

“Why me? It’s not like Tommy and I are best friends.”

“Because both you and him have known each other for a long time, and when the band will keep playing there’s going to be you, him and Mick left. He would never tell his stuff to Mick and he has something else to do, which means that you have to do it.”

A dry laugh escaped from Vince’s mouth.

“What if he doesn’t want to get helped?”

“You know how to get what you want. You’ll find a way, I’d do it but I’m a little dead… look I know you hate me but I’m only asking this. Like I said to Mick, this is my dead man’s wish.”

“Okay.” The voice was so low and Nikki barely had the time to react before Vince disappeared in the kitchen.

All his insecurities came back to eat him alive. What was even the point of being a ghost if he still had feelings? The truth was that he wasn’t sure on how much Vince could help, sure having someone close to Tommy was good, but he knew his boyfriend and fuck if he was a stubborn fucker.

His boyfriend.

It was a dagger through his chest, yet it still felt warm like the first time Tommy called him that. His face always lit up whenever he said it. The drummer always made loving him seem like the easiest thing in the world, as it was even possible to love someone like Nikki.

But Tommy did and what did he get in return? A junkie boyfriend and eternal heartache, because the love of his life was dead now.

Vince came back with a beer and softer expression on his face. Nikki didn’t move from the couch so he sat back to where he was.

“I will do it. I’ll keep an eye on Tommy.” His firm voice eased Nikki’s worries a bit.

Fuck, he never expected to see Vince Neil agreeing with him.

“Thanks dude, I know you hate me but Tommy didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice was shocked and the bassist had to suppress a laugh.

Yeah sure Vince Neil, not hating Nikki Sixx.

“Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you weren’t happy to hear I was gone.”

“Fuck no. Nikki we might have fought a lot and you were a fucking pain in the ass, but I’d never want your death. I cried, you were still my band mate and brother!”

He wasn’t sure why this whole conversation was hitting him so hard.  It was probably because he didn’t know how to react to the simple act of someone caring for him beside Tommy. Especially when this someone was his singer.

But did they really hate each other as they thought they did? If the roles were reversed, would he be happy about his death?

“I felt the same. Ya know, when we thought you were dead in the car crash.”

Vince gave him a small sad smile.

“Maybe we can bury the hatchet. You don’t follow me for eternity and I won’t talk shit about you in interviews. Deal?”

“Deal.” Nikki smirked.

It’s time to go, Nikki.

The same sense of helplessness he felt before with Mick, came back. Because he could pretend everything was somehow normal, until the voice reminded him that this wasn’t his place. Even if in this case it was for the best for him to go, considering how awkward it felt for both of them to be so friendly with one another.

“Vince, I have to go now.”

The singer made an expression between sad and relieved, but maybe for the first time ever, it was genuine.

“Don’t be a stranger. Send us some bottles of Jack or some strippers from hell, okay?”

Nikki let out a chuckle. Since when he was laughing with Vince Neil?

“I’ll try my best. Vince, keep the promise.”

“He loves you. You should visit him, he deserves to say goodbye to you one last time.”

He knew that, he fucking knew that already! It didn’t matter how hard he was trying to avoid that, he was going to go to him anyway, not only because Tommy deserved it but because he was selfish.

He wanted to see him one last time too.

“I know. I’m going to go to his house next.”

Vince seemed happy and gave him a small smile. Nikki took a deep breath and got out of Neil's mansion, feeling every type of emotion.

God, now it was show time.

[mira--mira]

When and why do you think Madara gave up the dream of the village, or did he have it in the first place? Since its implied that Hashirama tired to make peace the second he became clan head only for Madara to refuse him until Izuna's death. Why do you think it took Madara so long to agree when he dreamt of it with Hashirama when they were young. Or do you think that he was just humoring Hashirama when they were young and never had that dream?

Ooh I have a lot of thoughts on this! Okay, so first of all I whole-heartedly believe Madara and Hashirama shared the same dream when they were young. I’d even argue that Madara started to have it first. In Hashirama’s flashbacks (which my god, I wish we had Madara’s perspective on that so much) to me it seems like he’s frustrated with the fighting and the war but can’t quite vocalize the idea of peace. It’s when he meets back up with Madara and Madara tells him to trust someone you need to know their guts and presents that as the unlikely but ultimate way to make peace that Hashirama latches onto the idea and then they develop the idea for the village specifically together until it becomes their dream, and once Madara abandons it, becomes “only” Hashirama’s.

As for why Madara didn’t agree immediately when he became clan head, I have different two different theories, and a whole lot of realisitc overlooked complications. The first and most bitter theory is at this point in the overall narrative the ‘Uchiha are genetically pre-dispositioned to evil’ theme has picked up steam and the reincarnation reveal is right around the corner. To make Naruto’s ultimate triumph of ‘winning Sasuke back to the side of good’ the most meaningful, Hashirama and Madara (and Asura and Indra before them) had to fail by the narrative design. Naruto is the child of prophecy and the reincarnation of ninja jesus, he’s the Most Special right now. None of this is helped by the fact that we don’t get Madara’s side. We don’t know why Madara refused peace. If that was explained, if Madara even referenced it in his fight with Hashirama I would be less bitter and more inclined to believe there was actual narrative weight in that decision. But it’s not and while I love part 1 baby Naruto with all my heart, ever since the child of prophecy plot point was brought up and all throughout the war arc I am most happy when we are not following him because the world bends to accommodate him as the mc more than usual at the detriment to other characters.

Now for a not bitter theory, with the scraps were given and a lot of guessing lol. Madara’s decision not to accept peace immediately once he becomes clan head, should narratively tie into why he broke off his friendship with Hashirama in the first place. We know the river confrontation happened, but we don’t know how the Uchiha discovered was meeting Hashirama, or their reaction to it. Personally, I love good dad Tajima, but realistically I think his reaction would be similar to Butsuma’s. Madara would be threatened with being labeled a traitor to the clan. However, the real crux for me would be Izuna. Izuna is Madara’s main priority from what we can tell. If Tajima suggested, or threatened, that Madara’s meetings with Hashirama would directly lead to Izuna’s death...I can see that being a greater fear for him. Neither Madara or Hashirama would want to be banished from their clans but the knowledge that his friendship with Hashirama was the cause of his brother’s death would be the single worst outcome for Madara. Cue the actual river confrontation, with Tobirama and Izuna clashing and then both dads trying to kill the other’s kid that was Madara’s worst-case come true. I don’t think he went into the confrontation with the intention of breaking his friendship with Hashirama. They both tried to leave early to prevent the confrontation after all. But when it happened and Madara was faced with that...he did the only thing he could think to do to protect his brother even at the cost of his own happiness. The agony of that choice was the Sharingan moment for me. From there it gets blurry but the way I see Madara is he felt he couldn’t go back on that decision and he internalized it. He made it and getting close to Hashirama again, listening to him and accepting peace, would still ultimately lead to his brother’s death. This could explain why after Izuna died, he gave it one last go and when he was defeated ultimately accepted peace. His worst case had come true. Izuna’s dead and, in a twist of fate, he died because Madara chose to not to accept Hashirama’s friendship when he could. 

The above is kind of my “main” theory, directly from canon explanation. It gets complicated by other ideas that weren’t addressed at all, but would reasonably come up if the narrative was focused on this time rather than Hashirama’s entire backstory being just that, a backstory. We know the Uchiha and Senju had been at war for generations and the overall terrible conditions of the Warring State Period as well as how ninja clans were hired as mercenaries...beyond that...there’s not a lot. A major consideration to Madara not accepting peace should be the political climate. Were there multiple daimyos (I ask this because the Warring States period was analogous to Japan’s Sengoku period and there were multiple daimyos fighting for power. Who would have the money/need to hire multiple clans to fight against each other if there was just one?) was there just one? Madara is the leader of a clan but he can’t just decide to do things if it would possibly jeopardize the Uchiha’s ability to work, get paid, and eat. Then you have the politics of the clans themselves. There were Uchiha defectors and they were at least willing to accept peace, but we get no indication about the clan’s changing attitude towards the Senju or peace. After being grievously injured, Izuna was still against it. There could have been a group that was completely anti-peace and a group that was pro-peace and how would Madara reconcile with that especially if he wasn’t a beloved leader? I do think Madara as clan head could make the decision ‘we’re making peace with the Senju’ but then forcing two enemy clans to cohabitate that hate each other...even if they were tired of war Madara would be risking his clan’s wellbeing on Hashirama’s word. I think Madara could believe Hashirama but the rest of the Senju? That’s a different question altogether and raises it’s own concerns. 

The concept of making peace and creating the village is a complicated matter, much more so than two boys declaring they’ll be the strongest so everyone has to listen to them. I really think this point in the narrative just kind of...had to exist with the way Kishi wrote the story esp with the upcoming Indra/Ashura parallels. Realistically there would have been a lot of reasons Madara couldn’t immediately accept peace even if he wanted to. These could have been hinted at, but because I think the ultimate goals of the backstory was 1. to lay out Madara’s villain origin and 2. to hint at Hashirama failed where Naruto will succeed and all of this has to be delivered as quickly and effectively as possible, those other possible reasons weren’t explored. I would have liked a line or two of dialogue between Hashirama and Madara about this, especially whenever Madara mentions Konoha isn’t his dream and ground it in realistic obstacles rather than ‘space alien goddess’ will manipulating him for x amount of time’ but...you know.

Hashirama and Madara’s relationship was well developed and great, but Naruto suffers the mot imo when realistic longstanding problems come up, especially if they’re problems caused by historical events or the current socio-political climate. The biggest evidence of this is...what were the great shinobi wars about? Why did they start? What were they fought over? When did they end? What were their consequences? It’s...surprisingly hard to answer these vital questions and “why didn’t Madara immediately accept peace?” ultimately falls into the same category for me. 

This is all from Madara’s perspective and tbh I could write a whole thing about why Hashirama was so gung-ho about immediate peace and the pro/cons of that but this is already way too long lol.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Pilate Sentencing Jesus (John 19:1-16)

Pilate's portrait is hung up in the gallery of the world's great criminals. His is one of the names which never will be forgotten. The incident of the scourging is one of the darkest blots in the story of that terrible Friday. Pilate claimed that he could find no fault in Jesus, and that He should be released - yet, hoping that it would satisfy the Jews, he ordered Him to be scourged. The scourging must be considered as a part of Christ's sufferings as the world's Redeemer. The shame and indignity of being tied like a slave to a whipping post and then beaten until He seemed dead, we never can realize, for, thanks to the softening influence of the religion of Christ, such treatment even of the worst criminals is now unknown in civilized lands. There is, however, a word in Isaiah which gives a fresh meaning to this part of Christ's suffering. "With His stripes we are healed" (Isaiah 53:5), says the prophet. The peace we enjoy is ours, because the rod of chastisement fell upon Him - because He was smitten. Our soul's diseases are healed, their wounds made whole, because the body of Jesus was gashed and lacerated by the horrible scourge!

After the cruel scourging came the crowning with thorns and the mockery of Jesus as a King. "The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head." We ought to look with great love and reverence at the picture - Jesus the Son of God, our Savior, standing there in the midst of heathen soldiers, mocked and insulted by them. We know how truly He is a King, and what a glorious King He is.

When the crusaders had captured the Holy City, Palestine became an independent kingdom. Godfrey, of Bouillon, was made king of Jerusalem, and it was proposed that he be crowned with a golden crown. But Godfrey's noble answer was, "I will not wear a crown of gold in the city where my Savior wore a crown of thorns."

It is a sweet thought, too, that because Jesus wore a crown of thorns in the day of His shame - His redeemed ones shall wear crowns of glory in the life to come.

In one sense this mock coronation of Jesus was very significant. Was He really ever more a King than when He was enduring His cross? All through John's gospel we have seen that Jesus spoke of His going to His cross - as His being glorified. His cross really was His throne. It was on the cross that He fought the great battle and won the great victory of redemption. The cross was the ladder that led up to His throne. His crown of thorns, too, was fitter for Him than a crown of gold would have been, for He was the King of sorrow ; He reached His glory - by His sufferings; He saved His people - by dying for them. He is adored and worshiped now as the King who has lifted men up by His own sorrows and blood to eternal life and blessedness.

Pilate showed pitiful weakness at every step in his dealing with Jesus. He knew there was no sin in Him, and yet he brought Him out to the people and surrendered Him to them. "Behold the Man!" Our eyes should be fixed upon Jesus as He stands there in the presence of the multitude. On His head - is the crown of thorns, and around His torn and bleeding body - is a purple robe, mock emblems of royalty. Behold the Man! Behold the Man enduring shame and contempt, set forth as a spectacle of mockery, that He might be presented at last in glory, and honored before angels and the Father. Behold the Man, reviled - yet reviling not again; hated - but still loving on; cruelly wronged - but speaking no resentful word. Behold the Man, the God-Man, wearing humanity, the Son of God humbling Himself and becoming obedient unto shame and death - that He might save our souls! Behold the Man, holy, sinless, undefiled, separate from sinners - yet bearing upon His own head as the Lamb of God, the sin of the world.

The only righteous thing for a just judge to do when he finds his prisoner innocent - is to set him free. Pilate brought Jesus out to the people - but said plainly, "I find no fault in Him." Nobody could. Nobody ever did. The rulers tried zealously enough to find something that they use as a pretext - but they found nothing. They tried false witnesses - but even these could not agree in their witnessing. Now the keen Roman judge inquires into His character, into His life, into His motives - but finds nothing against Him. No other man has lived in whom no fault could be found. The holiest men have sinned. But Jesus was absolutely sinless. Why then did He suffer as a sinner? We know well the answer. They were our sins that they laid upon Him. "Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us" (Galatians 3:13). Christ also has suffered once for sins, "the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God." "Who His own self bore our sins in His own body on the tree."

We never should forget this. In these days perhaps there is a tendency to forget the sacrifice of Christ, in thinking of His salvation. Between us in our curse and our blessing - stands the cross of our Savior. He was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities. Let us praise the grace that took our sins, that we may stand whiter than snow before the throne of judgment!

The silences of Jesus are always as significant as His words. He was silent to Pilate. He understood Pilate's weak insincerity. Pilate had had opportunity enough to do the right thing for Jesus - but he had thrown away His opportunity. Now Jesus would answer no more of His questions. One lesson we must get from this silence - is that if we reject Christ's offer of mercy and grace over and over, the time may come, will come, when Christ will be silent to us. And of all calamities that can possibly ever come to any soul - none could be so great as that Christ should be silent to its prayers. "Then shall they call upon me - but I will not answer; they shall seek me early - but they shall not find me" (Proverbs 1:28).

Another lesson we may learn from Christ's example, is that there come times in all our lives, when silence is better than speech. Often to words of reviling or to insult - silence is the only true Christian answer. To many of the assaults of skeptics on our religion and on our Lord - it is better that we remain silent than that we speak. There is a time to speak boldly and without fear in the presence of Christ's enemies - Christ did speak several times in reply to Pilate - but there are also times when we should keep silence, attempting no answer.

Pilate tried to compel Jesus to answer him. "Don't you realize I have power either to free you or to crucify you?" The answer of Jesus is very clear. "You would have no power over me - if it were not given to you from above." No man's power belongs to himself, to do with as he pleases; it is given him from God, the Source of all power. This is true of the authority of parents and teachers, and of the power possessed by civil magistrates. Men are eager to obtain positions of power, and they do not always realize the responsibility which is attached to such positions. Power belongs to God, and must be used for God, or its misuse will bring its sore penalty. It is a talent which is given to us to be accounted for, and no treason is worse than malfeasance in the employing of power. This is true all the way from the power of the child on the playground or in the home, up to the power of the president of the nation or of the king on His throne. "You would have no power over me - if it were not given to you from above."

There is another sweet thought suggested by the words "against me" in this sentence. Christ in this world was under the protection of His Father, and no one on earth could lift a finger against Him but by the Father's divine permission. What was true of Him, the Son of God, is true of each one of the sons of God in all their earthly life. Each believer, the humblest, the weakest, is kept in this world as the apple of God's eye. No one can lift a finger to touch one of God's little ones, except by divine permission. This shows how secure we are, amid all the world's dangers and enmities, while we trust ourselves, like little children, in our Father's keeping.

When Pilate ceased His weak efforts to have Jesus released, saying to the rulers, "Behold Your King!" they cried out, "Away with him, crucify him!" Thus they finally rejected their Messiah. We read at the beginning of John's gospel that "He came unto His own - and His own received him not" (1:11 ). The whole story of His life was an illustration of this rejection of Him. Wherever He went they received Him not. Here and there a home opened its doors to Him, and now and then there was a devout heart that made hospitality for Him - but these receptions were so few that they could easily be counted. Crowds of the common people thronged after Him, and many heard Him gladly - but very few became His true disciples. Even on Palm Sunday, five days before He died, there was a vast multitude to cry, "Hosanna!" and wave palm branches; but soon the palms lay withered in the streets, and on Friday only cries of "Crucify him!" were heard in the air. "He came unto His own - and His own received Him not."

It is the saddest event in all history, this coming of the Son of God to this earth, bearing in His hands all divine and heavenly blessings - but finding only shut doors and shut hearts, being compelled to take away His gifts because men would not receive them. We read this old story and wonder how His own people could have treated Him so; yet how is it with us? Do we treat Him any better? We do not cry, "Crucify him!" but we shut the doors of our hearts in His face and keep Him out. We reject and refuse His gifts which He comes all the way from heaven to bring to us. We may not with angry voice exclaim, "Away with him!" but in our hearts many of us do keep Him away.

The struggle had ceased, and "Pilate delivered him therefore unto them to be crucified." He first tried every way to avoid the issue; then he temporized, hoping in some way to evade the responsibility. At least he yielded, and his name goes down through history pilloried forever, as the man who delivered Jesus to be crucified, knowing and confessing that He was free from any crime. He was known in the world by no other act. Surely it is an unenviable notoriety. It had been a thousand times better for him if he had never been horn, or if he had remained forever in quiet obscurity, instead of going to that high place of power in the land, in which he had to meet and deal with this most monentous question of history.

We read in one of the Gospels that Pilate took water in the presence of the people and washed his hands, thus by symbol declaring that he was not responsible for the sentencing of Jesus to die. But the water did not wash away one particle of the stain of the guilt of that terrible sin! Pilate had the misfortune to be the only man in all the province who could send Jesus to the cross. Upon him, therefore, the final responsibility rested, no matter the pressure that was brought to bear upon him by the enemies of Jesus.

Just so, the fact that others urge us to sin - does not take away our guilt for that sin. No being in the universe can compel us to do wrong; if, then, we do wrong - the sin is our own. True, Jesus said there was one other whose guilt was even greater than Pilate's - that was the high priest. His sin was not only that he himself was determined to do wrong - but that he dragged others with him. We remember that the rulers replied to Pilate's act of washing his hands, "His blood be on us and on our children!" (Matthew 27:25). No one who has read the story of the next forty years can doubt that this self-imprecation was fulfilled. Forty years later, thousands of the people were scourged and crucified. The crime of the rulers was successful - but what came of the success in the end? Let us learn that sin brings always terrible woe, and that the worst of all sin - is sin against the Lord Jesus Christ.

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 5 paragraph x

Of my classes, English was the only one I looked forward to, yet I was disturbed by how many of my classmates disliked Thoreau, railed against him even, as if he (who claimed never to have learned anything of value from an old person) was an enemy and not a friend. His scorn of commerce—invigorating to me —nettled a lot of the more vocal kids in Honors English. “Yeah, right,” shouted an obnoxious boy whose hair was gelled and combed stiff like a Dragon Ball Z character—“some kind of world it would be if everybody just dropped out and moped around in the woods—” “Me, me, me,” whined a voice in the back. “It’s antisocial,” a loudmouth girl interjected eagerly over the laughter that followed this—shifting in her seat, turning back to the teacher (a limp, long-boned woman named Mrs. Spear, who always wore brown sandals and earthtone colors, and looked as if she was suffering from major depression). “Thoreau is always just sitting around on his can telling us how good he has it —” “—Because,” said the Dragon Ball Z boy—his voice rising gleefully, “if everybody dropped out, like he’s saying to do? What kind of community would we have, if it was just people like him? We wouldn’t have hospitals and stuff. We wouldn’t have roads.” “Twat,” mumbled a welcome voice—just loud enough for everybody around to hear. I turned to see who had said this: the burnout-looking boy across the aisle, slouched and drumming his desk with his fingers. When he saw me looking at him, he raised a surprisingly lively eyebrow, as if to say: can you believe these fucking idiots? “Did someone have something to say back there?” said Mrs. Spear. “Like Thoreau gave a toss about roads,” said the burnout boy. His accent took me by surprise: foreign, I couldn’t place it. “Thoreau was the first environmentalist,” said Mrs. Spear. “He was also the first vegetarian,” said a girl in back. “Figures,” said someone else. “Mr. Crunchy-chewy.” “You’re all totally missing my point,” the Dragon Ball Z boy said excitedly. “Somebody has to build roads and not just sit in the woods looking at ants and mosquitoes all day. It’s called civilization.” My neighbor let out a sharp, contemptuous bark of a laugh. He was pale and thin, not very clean, with lank dark hair falling in his eyes and the unwholesome wanness of a runaway, callused hands and black-circled nails chewed to the nub—not like the shiny-haired, ski-tanned skate rats from my school on the Upper West Side, punks whose dads were CEOs and Park Avenue surgeons, but a kid who might conceivably be sitting on a sidewalk somewhere with a stray dog on a rope. “Well, to address some of these questions? I’d like for everybody to turn back to page fifteen,” Mrs. Spear said. “Where Thoreau is talking about his experiment in living.” “Experiment how?” said Dragon Ball Z. “Why is living in the woods like he does any different from a caveman?” The dark-haired boy scowled and sank deeper in his seat. He reminded me of the homeless-looking kids who stood around passing cigarettes back and forth on St. Mark’s Place, comparing scars, begging for change—same torn-up clothes and scrawny white arms; same black leather bracelets tangled at the wrists. Their multi-layered complexity was a sign I couldn’t read, though the general import was clear enough: different tribe, forget about it, I’m way too cool for you, don’t even try to talk to me. Such was my mistaken first impression of the only friend I made when I was in Vegas, and—as it turned out—one of the great friends of my life. His name was Boris. Somehow we found ourselves standing together in the crowd that was waiting for the bus after school that day.

“Hah. Harry Potter,” he said, as he looked me over. “Fuck you,” I said listlessly. It was not the first time, in Vegas, I’d heard the Harry Potter comment. My New York clothes—khakis, white oxford shirts, the tortoiseshell glasses which I unfortunately needed to see—made me look like a freak at a school where most people dressed in tank tops and flip flops. “Where’s your broomstick?” “Left it at Hogwarts,” I said. “What about you? Where's your board?” “Eh?” he said, leaning in to me and cupping his hand behind his ear with an old-mannish, deaf-looking gesture. He was half a head taller than me; along with jungle boots and bizarre old fatigues with the knees busted out, he was wearing a ratted-up black T-shirt with a snowboarding logo, Never Summer in white gothic letters. “Your shirt,” I said, with a curt nod. “Not much boarding in the desert.” “Nyah,” said Boris, pushing the stringy dark hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know how to snowboard. I just hate the sun.” We ended up together on the bus, in the seat closest to the door—clearly an unpopular place to sit, judging from the urgent way other kids muscled and pushed to the rear, but I hadn’t grown up riding a school bus and apparently neither had he, as he too seemed to think it only natural to fling himself down in the first empty seat up front. For a while we didn’t say much, but it was a long ride and eventually we got talking. It turned out that he lived in Canyon Shadows too—but farther out, the end that was getting reclaimed by the desert, where a lot of the houses weren’t finished and sand stood in the streets. “How long have you been here?” I asked him. It was the question all the kids asked each other at my new school, like we were doing jail time. “Dunno. Two months maybe?” Though he spoke English fluently enough, with a strong Australian accent, there was also a dark, slurry undercurrent of something else: a whiff of Count Dracula, or maybe it was KGB agent. “Where are you from?” “New York,” I said—and was gratified at his silent double-take, his lowered eyebrows that said: very cool. “What about you?” He pulled a face. “Well, let’s see,” he said, slumping back in his seat and counting off the countries on his fingers. “I’ve lived in Russia, Scotland which was maybe cool but I don’t remember it, Australia, Poland, New Zealand, Texas for two months, Alaska, New Guinea, Canada, Saudi Arabia, Sweden, Ukraine—” “Jesus Christ.” He shrugged. “Mostly Australia, Russia, and Ukraine, though. Those three places.” “Do you speak Russian?” He made a gesture that I took to mean more or less. “Ukrainian too, and Polish. Though I’ve forgotten a lot. The other day, I tried to remember what was the word for ‘dragonfly’ and couldn’t.” “Say something.” He obliged, something spitty and guttural. “What does that mean?” He chortled. “It means ‘Fuck you up the ass.’ ” “Yeah? In Russian?” He laughed, exposing grayish and very un-American teeth. “Ukrainian.” “I thought they spoke Russian in the Ukraine.” “Well, yes. Depends what part of Ukraine. They’re not so different languages, the two. Well—” click of the tongue, eye roll—“not so very much. Numbers are different, days of the week, some vocabulary. My name is spelled different in Ukrainian but in North America it’s easier to use Russian spelling and be Boris, not B-o-r-y-s. In the West everybody knows Boris Yeltsin…” he ticked his head to one side—“Boris Becker—” “Boris Badenov—” “Eh?” he said sharply, turning as if I’d insulted him. “Bullwinkle? Boris and Natasha?” “Oh, yes. Prince Boris! War and Peace. I’m named like him. Although the surname of Prince Boris is Drubetskóy, not what you said.”

“So what’s your first language? Ukrainian?” He shrugged. “Polish maybe,” he said, falling back in his seat, slinging his dark hair to one side with a flip of his head. His eyes were hard and humorous, very black. “My mother was Polish, from Rzeszów near the Ukrainian border. Russian, Ukrainian—Ukraine as you know was satellite of USSR, so I speak both. Maybe not Russian quite so much—it’s best for swearing and cursing. With Slavic languages—Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, even Czech—if you know one, you sort of get drift in all. But for me, English is easiest now. Used to be the other way around.” “What do you think about America?” “Everyone always smiles so big! Well—most people. Maybe not so much you. I think it looks stupid.” He was, like me, an only child. His father (born in Siberia, a Ukrainian national from Novoagansk) was in mining and exploration. “Big important job—he travels the world.” Boris’s mother—his father’s second wife—was dead. “Mine too,” I said. He shrugged. “She’s been dead for donkey’s years,” he said. “She was an alkie. She was drunk one night and she fell out a window and died.” “Wow,” I said, a bit stunned by how lightly he’d tossed this off. “Yah, it sucks,” he said carelessly, looking out the window. “So what nationality are you?” I said, after a brief silence. “Eh—?” “Well, if your mother’s Polish, and your dad’s Ukrainian, and you were born in Australia, that would make you—” “Indonesian,” he said, with a sinister smile. He had dark, devilish, very expressive eyebrows that moved around a lot when he spoke. “How’s that?” “Well, my passport says Ukraine. And I have part citizenship in Poland too. But Indonesia is the place I want to get back to,” said Boris, tossing the hair out of his eyes. “Well—PNG.” “What?” “Papua, New Guinea. It’s my favorite place I’ve lived.” “New Guinea? I thought they had headhunters. “Not any more. Or not so many. This bracelet is from there,” he said, pointing to one of the many black leather strands on his wrist. “My friend Bami made it for me. He was our cook.” “What’s it like?” “Not so bad,” he said, glancing at me sideways in his brooding, self-amused way. “I had a parrot. And a pet goose. And, was learning to surf. But then, six months ago, my dad hauled me with him to this shaddy town in Alaska. Seward Peninsula, just below Arctic Circle? And then, middle of May —we flew to Fairbanks on a prop plane, and then we came here.” “Wow,” I said. “Dead boring up there,” said Boris. “Heaps of dead fish, and bad Internet connection. I should have run away—I wish I had,” he said bitterly. “And done what?” “Stayed in New Guinea. Lived on the beach. Thank God anyway we weren’t there all winter. Few years ago, we were up north in Canada, in Alberta, this one-street town off the Pouce Coupe River? Dark the whole time, October to March, and fuck-all to do except read and listen to CBC radio. Had to drive fifty klicks to do our washing. Still—” he laughed —“loads better than Ukraine. Miami Beach, compared.” “What does your dad do again?” “Drink, mainly,” said Boris sourly. “He should meet my dad, then.” Again the sudden, explosive laugh—almost like he was spitting over you. “Yes. Brilliant. And whores?” “Wouldn’t be surprised,” I said, after a small, startled pause. Though not too much my dad did shocked me, I had never quite envisioned him hanging out in the Live Girls and Gentlemen’s Club joints we sometimes passed on the highway. The bus was emptying out; we were only a few streets from my house. “Hey, this is my stop up here,” I said. “Want to come home with me and watch television?” said Boris. “Well—” “Oh, come on. No one’s there. And I’ve got S.O.S. Iceberg on DVD.”

[charliejrogers]

Klaus (2019) Review & Analysis

I remember recently discussing with my fiancée how, though there have undoubtedly been a number of Christmas movies released in the last twenty years, none have really risen to the level of a “classic” – something you would want to watch every year as part of a tradition. It’s true I have not seen it, but still something tells me that 2008’s Reese Witherspoon vehicle Four Christmases is not on anyone’s annual watchlist… nor 2017’s Mel Gibson-infested Daddy’s Home 2. We concluded that the last “classic” was 2003’s Elf. And, while Christmas movies don’t have to mention Jesus or religion obviously, please don’t try to tell me that Frozen is a Christmas movie… it’s not! In some ways, given how secular things are, I began to wonder if there even was a market for holiday family fun movies, but of course, I’m an idiot because you can just make a whole movie about Santa Claus. Move over, Jesus, we gotta talk about the reason for the season!

Klaus released last holiday season on Netflix and at least in Chicago I saw billboards for it everywhere. Netflix went all in on promoting this as the next big Christmas movie and had some moderate success; they even grabbed an Oscar nom for best animated picture. Unlike most animated films these days, Klaus was made by neither DreamWorks nor Disney, and it shows. It lacks the refined polish of a Disney/Pixar feature, but also has a heart unlike a DreamWorks picture. The animation style can be best described as a hybrid of 2D and 3D (yet not quite 2.5D). At times the character models look like classic hand-drawn 2D models set within a mostly computer-generated 3D environment. But at other times, they look more 3D. It’s confusing to describe, and inconsistent to watch. It often felt like I was watching a compromise between a studio that wanted a distinct animation style but didn’t have the budget to fully realize it. Still, more often the not it’s a pretty movie.

More than the raw visuals, the movie has a fantastic sense of atmosphere… perhaps even too much at the beginning. Klaus is, in one sense, the story about how a lonely woodsman becomes the legendary Santa Claus, but for such a jolly premise, much of the film is shrouded in shadows and dominated by an oppressive, cold, snowy bleakness. In retrospect, this makes sense as the true triumph of Santa and “Christmas spirit” can only be best appreciated when it brings light to the darkest of places and times. Still, upon first viewing, I was quite surprised and shocked by the dark atmosphere and downright violent imagery on display at the beginning of the film, so much so that I was wondering if this really was a Christmas movie!

The darkness stems from the fact that our woodsman Klaus lives deep within the forest on a far north island, far far from the closest village which is a town called Smeerensberg and is famous for its never ending feuding and wickedness. It’s a genuine Nineveh of the North so it seems. The town’s feud centers around two rivalling clans (the film’s equivalent of the Hatfields & McCoys) and every villager belongs to one clan or the other. The two families’ feuds go back longer than anyone can remember (cave paintings exist that depict their feud), implying an original sin of sorts with the town being more born from hatred than spawning it. Hatred is so foundational that it infects every part of society. Unwilling to allow children to interact with the rival clans in classrooms, children just don’t go to school. Instead, they roam the streets playing pranks on old people and stabbing snowmen with carrots.

For the most part, Klaus lives his life separate from and unbothered by these unruly residents of Smeerensberg. What breaks his solitude is the arrival of a new post officer to Smeerensberg. More than a trivial side character, this post officer, Jesper Johansson, is surprisingly the main character of this movie all about the origins of Santa Claus.

Much like the residents of Smeerensberg, we the audience come to the film with a primary misunderstanding, much of what makes Santa famous today (the home invasion via chimney, the responding to letters, the reindeer-pulled sleigh) were the creative inventions of a spoiler-brat-turned-postman. So despite this movie being about the origins of Santa Claus, being a Christmas movie, you should have guessed that this will be some variant on Dickens’ classic tale. Jesper isn’t a classic Scrooge in that he doesn’t abhor Christmas, but he is self-absorbed, materialistic, and all-around not a great guy. He’s the spoiled son of a successful postal worker who controls a postal empire that looks more like an army. (The true fantasy of this movie has nothing do with sleigh bells and stocking stuffers… it’s the idea that the post office is a well-organized, well-respected, successful enterprise.) Anyways, recognizing his own son’s worthlessness, Jesper’s father decides to whip him into shape, ship him off to the God-forsaken land of Smeerensberg with an ultimatum: Jesper must process 6,000 letters from the town of Smeerensberg in a year or else be cut off from his father’s wealth. The problem? With how ugly the feud is in Smeerensberg, no one needs to write a letter to express their feelings when a cold snowball to the face (or worse) will get the point across quite clearly.

So now with the spoiled postal heir longing for silk sheets as he tries to survive out in the cold boonies, the movie gets a hint of the Emperor’s New Groove flavor… sans llama. It is only by sheer “chance” (we’ll get to that) that when Jesper visits the woodsman in a last ditch effort to find one person on the island who wants to send a letter, a piece of paper falls out of Jesper’s bag as he flees in horror of the woodsman (we’ll get to that).  This piece of paper contains a drawing that a little boy made of himself locked in a high tower looking sad. In a very humorous scene, we had seen Jesper accidentally stumble across this drawing and then unsuccessfully try to scam the boy into giving him money so that Jesper could “mail” it back to him, rather than just give it back. Regardless, recognizing the little boy’s suffering, the woodsman decides to do something about it and enlists Jesper’s help. Luckily for the children of Smeerensberg, the woodsman has a barn full of toys. Yes, “a barn full of toys” is as creepy as that sounds and the films uses that creepiness to full effect when Jesper first meets the woodsman. The large, imposing, hooded, axe-bearing woodsman is far from the jolly fellow we know he is destined to become. He’s downright scary and given how violent the town of Smeerensberg is (Jesper almost dies when he first arrives because he’s tricked into ringing the war bell which sends the whole town into violent frenzy), we and Jesper are not wrong to assume the woodsman holds only ill-intentions. Essentially, the first meeting with the woodsman is supposed to be something akin to the reveal of the Beast in 1991’s Beauty & the Beast, a film so scary it sent my then two-year-old sister running out of theater in tears. Ultimately, I can’t speak for the mind of a child, but the tension for me here is certainly lessened by the fact that… well… we know the woodsman is Santa Claus. So even though Jesper is scared shitless and flees after meeting the woodsman, we know that there will be more to their story.

Still, even if not necessarily scary, the film does successfully shroud the woodsman in mystery, and his backstory is slowly and beautifully revealed throughout the film. I won’t spoil it here, but the script does a fantastic job of contextualizing the woodman’s stoic and aloof nature and explaining why that barn is so full of toys. The explanations come naturally and speak to a real human pain that I was not expecting from this film. In terms of emotion, the woodsman’s backstory almost reaches the opening montage to Up. ALMOST, I said, so put down the pitchforks!

So Jesper and the woodsman team up to deliver a present to that first child from the drawing. Or more accurately, the woodsman throws Jesper down a chimney to deliver a present while the woodsman looks on. The ensuing scene when the boy opens his present brought tears to my eyes. The woodsman (and we with him) watching the pure joy of a child receiving a present is truly nostalgic in its most literal sense. It hurts to see such joy, remembering that at one time you too could feel such joy from a hunk of plastic, and knowing you will never feel that way again. It’s a joy that few films outside of A Christmas Story with its the red rider BB gun really nail. Anyways, the little boy sees the woodsman through the window and finds his original drawing of himself locked in the tower which the woodsman leaves behind by accident. He surmises that the postman had devliered his drawing to the woodsman, and the woodsman responded with a present.

After that… well the rumor spreads wildly of the mysterious woodsman who comes down chimneys at night to give presents to children in response to letters. Now, the once dormant post office becomes a bustling hub of activity as children from all over flock to send letters to this Mr. Klaus. Kids even beg to go to school so that they can learn to write in order to get presents (much to the dismay of the disilliusioned teacher who long ago gave up on her dreams of teaching in a town where no child goes to school and had turned to being a fishmonger in order to pay the bills and one day afford to leave the town for good).

Gradually the children, who seemingly had no toys prior to Klaus and Jesper’s escapades, now joyously play together, regardless of which clan they belong to. Initially this upsets their parents greatly, but in the end it’s hard to really hate the parents of your children’s friends. The film promotes an age-appropriate and inspiring, if fanciful and naïve, notion that all the world’s problems would be solved if we all thought like children. As by spreading joy throughout the town, Jesper and Klaus inadvertently make the town a better place to live. It’s the theme of the film (not that they’re subtle about it): one act of good-will always begets another (or something like that). Still, all this doesn’t please the village elders, who abhor the change from the town’s hateful origins. They will ultimately serve as villains trying to put an end to all this gift-giving business.

Of course, there’s another villain of sorts, as well. Despite all the good he’s doing, Jesper is ultimately still motivated mostly by the notion of getting back to his old cushioned life. He is essentially using Klaus and preying on his kindness in order to launch himself back to a life of selfishness. It’s here the story feels most Dickensian, particularly in a scene where the school teacher (now love interest) acts functionally the same to the ghost of Christmas present and takes Jesper to the city center to see for himself the love and joy that he has helped bring to the world. But, still his desires to go home are strong, and, of course, he keeps them a secret. So between Jesper’s inner conflict about where he belongs in life and the external conflict of the community trying to fight back against a change in its culture, the film naturally comes to climax when the two conflicts meet and Jesper must confront both challenges at once.

What I’ve realized in writing this review … is that I am very impressed by the plot’s complexity and depth. The film weaves together at least three solid story arcs (Jesper’s coming-of-age/Scrooge-like-change-of-heart, Smeerenberg’s bubbling kindness revolution, and the woodsman’s aged hero who finds redemption and purpose after so many years alone). That all three feel fully supported and without any bloat is a testament to its absolutely solid writing, and for a kid’s film no less! Furthermore, the “origin” story genre can sometimes fall flat as it can just feel like the writers are writing more Wikipedia entries, explaining how every little aspect came to be more than just telling a good story. I call it the Han Solo trap. As for Klaus, the little tidbits about why Klaus uses reindeer and not horses, who the “elves” who work his workshop are, always clever and grow organically from the plot.

Plus, despite my opening doubts regarding whether the dark tone really fit a “Christmas” movie, the film very capably captures the joys of the Christmas season. Like Christians think about Jesus, Klaus/Jesper bring a world of light into a world of darkness. The film teaches about the importance of creating a loving community, of being selfless, and most importantly of respecting the spiritual aspect of the season. Even if this is a decidedly capitalistic/entrepreneurial movie, the film is not without a spiritual side. The previously mentioned “chance” of the woodsman seeing that initial drawing of the boy locked in the tower is no chance at all. Instead, throughout the film we see that the woodsman is “haunted” in a sense by a ghostly wind that points him in the path of righteousness. The film has its own explanation for what the force behind the wind is, but it is not too far of a stretch to point out the similarities between the wind and the Christian idea of the guiding Holy Spirit. Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that the woodsman represents God the Father and Jesper God the Son, (or is Klaus more the Christ figure?) because I think this movie is decidedly not Christian, but more I just want to highlight that I enjoyed that the film allowed for the presence of spirituality, which moves this film from the realm of secular kindness to one that recognizes the power and presence of some spiritual goodness, aligning with how many think of the “Christmas spirit.”

Now, let’s be clear, this is a fun, family classic, but it’s not a perfect film. In fact, I downright disliked the first twenty to thirty minutes, for the aforementioned tonal reasons, but also because I really disliked Jason Schwartzmann’s voice acting in the lead role of Jesper. My dislike lessened with the introduction of the woodsman, but it never went away fully. I can’t help but think this movie would be better with a different actor voicing Jesper. Everyone else does an adequate job with the voice work. J.K. Simmons as Klaus takes on an almost Batman-like stoic gruffness, and Rashida Jones as the teacher and love interest is just fine. And, again, I never really fell in love with the art style and it sometimes distracted me, and I found the soundtrack, particularly the main song to be rather lame and too much “of its time” than the typically timeless, more Broadway productions that Disney/Pixar put out. Still, director Sergio Pablos has done something I did not think possible. He and his team created a *new* Christmas classic, one that I’m sure will be played on an annual basis in many households across the world.

***1/4 (Three and a fourth stars out of four)

[norahastuff]

god I can't believe they gave sam's kid long hair because otherwise it couldn't have been Sam's kid lol. And ppl comparing Dean's death to Jesus... what a finale

Well, this is the same finale that brought you profound imagery like Sam making one slice of toast after Dean died in order to depict how alone he was, so the bar was pretty damn low. Also, Sam’s long hair was going to be concealed beneath a truly magnificent wig so I guess they felt someone needed to carry the long hair torch, and since Sam’s son was already just a stand-in for one Winchester brother, why not make him represent both as much as they could?

As for the Jesus thing...Ummm what? I haven’t seen that so I have no idea how you could even get there. Isn’t Jesus' whole thing dying for humanity and then being resurrected? What part of that applies to Dean’s death exactly? He died for nothing and most certainly was not resurrected. 

I mean there’s only one person who died for Humanity (capital H intended) and was resurrected (supposedly) and it definitely wasn’t Sam or Dean. It wouldn’t be the first time Cas was shown as the Jesus figure on the show...although is this a good time to get into my “Cas went from a Jesus like figure to more of a Mary Magdalene role over the course of his time on the show” manifesto? I mean you didn’t ask but I’ll mention it briefly anyway. I will preface this by saying, I’m not a biblical scholar by any means and this isn’t much more than a superficial parallel I’m drawing based mostly on what most people know about the Mary and Jesus relationship. There’s probably more I’m missing.

I mean you can’t really avoid the Jesus imagery around Cas when his first episode on the show was called Lazarus Rising and Dean played the Lazarus to his Jesus. Dean also as the representative of humanity grew to have faith in Cas. He wouldn’t pray to God but he would pray to Cas. And I know resurrection is a pretty common occurrence on Supernatural but it was also the cause of a lot of sacrifice and suffering. You had to fight tooth and nail to get someone to come back. Not Cas though. As if by magic, Cas always returned to Dean. He’d sweep in all divine light and power and he would fight.

And then...something changed. In my estimation, it happened around season 9 after Cas became human, and it didn’t flip back after he got his grace back. The narrative changed, both for in story reasons as well as real-world reasons, but the result was that Cas was no longer the larger than life figure who would burst in seemingly out of nowhere and cause a commotion. No his role shifted, and he became a big part of the emotional heart of the show in general, but also for Dean in particular. He was his emotional support. Think of all the times in the midst of all the great chaos, pain, suffering how Dean and Cas would take time away from the bigger plot machinations and carve out these little islands of peace where they were just there for each other. I was going to make a list of all these moments but that would have gotten far too long so I’ll leave it for now. The point is, Cas became Dean’s confidante, his emotional support in a much more significant way, just like Mary supposedly was to Jesus. 

Their relationship was often misunderstood with people (mostly Angels and Demons) diminishing its importance by reducing it to merely a sexual connection and thus using that connotation to further denigrate Cas. The angels in particular did this a lot. Cas who had fallen in every possible way because of Dean and lost the respect of most of heaven because of it. I could go on about this one for a long time because there was a really fascinating thread that ran through the show about Dean/Cas vs Heaven/Hell but that’s a much longer conversation.

The main gist is Cas was so very important to Dean. He saw him and understood him in a way nobody else ever did, and yet he never quite got the credit for that. His importance in Dean’s life was often underestimated by characters in the show (I mean arguably nobody but Crowley truly understood what they were to each other because he’d been on both sides of it with both of them) but if you watch any scene where the two of them confide in each other it’s very plain to see how much they need and value each other.

I apologise I said I was going to talk about it briefly and well...it turns out I have no idea how to do that. I could have gone on for a lot longer so consider yourself lucky! I’m sorry you didn’t ask about any of this - where did this all come from? Oh right the Dean as Jesus thing from the finale. Well if I see Cas as the Mary Magdalene figure well then yes Dean does play the Jesus role in that particular parallel, but I have a feeling that’s not at all what people are talking about when they mention any Jesus imagery around Dean in the finale...which again is literally the opposite of what his role was in 15x20, so godspeed to anyone trying to make that work.

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 28

catch me completely ignoring dark cybertron lmao

yeahhhh so I'm just gonna skip dark cybertron bc no thanks. I did read the tf wiki articles for the issues tho, which is more than I did in the past, so at least now I kinda know what happened, though I had to suffer thru reading about dark cybertron to learn stuff about it. yikes. reading ABOUT dark cybertron further enforced my decision to not actually read thru it

anyways. the best part of dark cybertron was when chromedome threw prowl off that cliff. that was baller lmfao

a 1 page recap of dark cybertron is about all I can handle. thank you

ooh, the 6 months later smash-cut, I fucking love itttt

nautica’s here!!!!!!!!!!! I'm so happy I love her. also brainstorm, and I love their friendship sm

hvbjdkhfbshdfj god I love them. they have such a fun dynamic 

everyone eavesdropping on a therapy session vhbhdjkhafbhkjsdf. hipaa laws mean nothing as usual 

the casual reveal of captain megatron, oh god 

the title fucking slaps, as usual. this is one of my favorites - ‘world, shut your mouth.’ great stuff, and a song title/reference to boot! and this being part 1: towards peace...chefs kiss

and then we flash back to 6 months earlier...yknow now that I'm rereading this, mtmte has a LOT of framing devices used - there's story-within-a-story, flashback/flash-forwards, storytelling with narration, etc...I love it

god hbvhjakdfbshjkdf rodimus saying ‘magic’ and then the little *magic = science rodimus doesn't understand HBGKJHSDBFKHJSDF my idiot boy ily

rodimus roasting prowl is my fav hbfjdkafshsbjkf ‘maybe the knights can help us find a cure for your personality’ ily sm

and then prowl agreeing w/rodimus a few panels later about megatron’s guilt...

optimus...don't you think that making yourself chief of justice is...maybe a bad idea...like, maybe there's a conflict of interests here...just a little bit of bias...a bit too much history, perhaps...

the fact that all the big roles in the trial were given to high-ranking autobots who were heavily involved in the war...I see that cybertrons justice system is as much of a farce as their medical ethics and patient confidentiality laws 

the ‘you BROKE the MATRIX’ panel is so good bjhkdhfbajskhdf

rodimus: LISTEN dad I just wanna resume my space cruise with my frat bro ship I have no interest in politics

psychiatrists HATE him! local former warlord refuses to recognize the validity of psychological analyzation of people’s actions

ravage casually breaking hipaa laws and chilling in megatron’s therapy session like >:3

I love rung...he’s so good at like, passive-aggressively cutting right to the heart of someone’s issues, and he’s so generally mild that you can’t even really get mad at him 

the sudden inclusion of megatron as a major character in mtmte is kinda jarring at first - mostly, for me at least, due in part because I didn't read dark cybertron so this is like, megatron’s introduction as a relevant character in general - but I feel like jro does a great job laying a lot of intrigue down from the very beginning w/his character - like, I already want to know more about what his whole deal is, even though we have, ostensibly, seen pretty much all of his story play out already 

rung name-dropping froid...i remember that made me lose my shit bc cmon. FROID....jesus christ

rung and megatron: holy shit! we’re suddenly being drawn in a 90s-esque sci-fi tron-looking retro-futuristic style!

interesting that megatron sought rung out, and not the other way around

RIPTIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my favorite sharkboy is HERE

CREWDITIONS...YES....

‘we’re not allowed to take anyone who might remind rodimus of prowl’ vhbhjdkshfbhaskfd brutal

I love nautica so so much. a perfect autistic scientist after my own heart

I adore that nautica brought chromia along for moral support

hgvbjdakhfbhsj and then swerve saying that rodimus hates ‘trisyllabic names’ and nautica is like....but....‘rodimus’.....

and then nightbeat busts in to get all bbc sherlock on they asses hgbfhjadkfbjaskdf

WHY was perceptor at the crewditions if he was already part of the crew lmao

ooof, and then we have megatron flipping out when chromedome, a mnemosurgeon, shows up

also damn the autobots were rlly like okay so we wanna speed this trial up so lets just like, probe megatrons brain, that seems completely ethical, especially when you consider the history of shadowplay and stuff that our previous government had

I know important stuff is happening but megatron is holding a CUBE and I love CUBES so I'm distracted by that. C U B E

and then right after a scene where we see chromedome willing to perform mnemosurgery again - despite rewind’s like, dying wish for him not to - we hear that he’s been locked up in his room rewatching rewinds goodbye message over and over again :( I'm fucking depressed

I love nightbeat, he’s so funny and kind of an asshole

and then you see more missing letters behind them next panel...clearly nightbeat is right and there’s a mystery afoot...OR somebody is fucking with the ship’s lettering as a prank, which is a plot point I would absolutely buy

yeahhhh skids is right, chromedome is clearly Not dealing 

the dramatic graffiti on megatrons door...I wanna know who spray-painted ‘die’ everywhere like they're reaper overwatch

oh god. whirl vs megatron

really cool red lighting tho

GOD its so brutal, all the stuff megatron said about how he told the cons not to kill whirl...and doesn't that end up being false anyways? so he was just saying it to dig at whirl, which is awful

also I'm never over the fact that literally everyone - including megatron and whirl - blames whirl for ‘turning megatron violent,’ as if the entire Point isn't that whirl was a tool for a corrupt system, and if it wasn't whirl it would've just been someone else, and megatron turning away from pacifism was inevitable given the circumstances, AND also a choice on his part, so he really only has himself to blame for his OWN ACTIONS

bye bye whirls right arm, see you in lost light 

‘people never stop changing’ that IS something I say all the time...damn you warlord grandpa! how can you steal my philosophies?!

ohhh man and then rewind’s goodbye message being different....oooh

AUGH the fact that whirl was basically trying to goad megatron into killing him, just like he did in issue 1 w/cyclonus...It Hurts Man

also I do love the hint at who he’s talking to w/whirl shooting megatron with the bow and arrow earlier, and we know that atomizer is a fan of those

ok, but here’s where my philosophy diverges - megatron talks about throwing away his past and starting new, but I think that you have to learn from and build on your past...either way, megatron’s arc is one that I enjoy greatly from a character writing standpoint, and I'm excited to get it underway, especially w/how controversial it is lmao

big ole double-page spread...I like how you can pick out individual characters in the background crowd, which is crazy cause that's a LOT of people. also how come cosmos is so HUGE

phewwww 4.6 billion cybertronians died in the war, that’s INSANE. that's like, an incomprehensibly huge number. is there an estimate for their current population? I bet its not a lot. no wonder jro leaned into reproductive themes so much in mtmte/ll - of course the continuation of your species would be a concern for many if your numbers have been that greatly reduced

optimus w/his fancy tyrest-lookin crown

oughdajbfsbdf and the fact that megatron ALSO murdered 100 BILLION non-cybertronians...bruh. I feel like they maybe should've dialed those numbers back a little to allow his ‘redemption arc’ to run a little smoother lmao. but also I admire the commitment either way

and then we end w/megatron doing captain stuff, and seeing The Coffin...and we never did see rodimus in any of the flash-forward parts of this issue, did we???? I love how concerning that is. where's my BOY

also of course we gotta remember the warning from way back at the beginning of mtmte: ‘don't open the coffin’....

and so begins mtmte s2! man I love s2. I love mtmte in general lmao. s2 takes on the impossible w/the whole ‘megatron redemption arc’ thing, and I know that’s like, a divisive plot point and stuff, but from a writing standpoint I enjoyed it a lot...I think it was pretty much as well done as it could've been given the enormity of the task, and I thought it was a really interesting direction for the story to go in 

also espec if it’s true that hasbro was like ‘hey jro put megatron in your story and give him a redemption arc’ rather than jro like, planning/asking to do it 

anyways. I doubt ill talk much abt the disc horse(tm) here bc this is just for fun and also my own personal opinions and whatever, but I for one am excited to reexperience this stuff 

so yeah s2 off to a strong start with some wild shit already happening! cant wait to read more!

[britishassistant]

Too Many Bridges (I Dig Canals) 1

He was twenty-two when he died.

His mama hadn’t wanted him to move out to West Texas, crying that it wasn’t safe. His dad had soothed that he’d be fine at UTEP, the first one in the family to go to university, a business major, doing them all so proud.

His little sister had said they’d all dealt with much worse in high school, where the teachers screamed at you for speaking Spanish until you could barely remember a word.

His short older sister just snuck a dumb Homestuck backpack into his luggage, filled with the latest volumes of Boruto. He’d liked to read them while eating shitty convenience store ramen at 2AM.

Then he’d run out of cup ramen in his senior year, gone to the 7-11 at 1AM to grab some more, and made the mistake of glancing at a cracker junkie shaking from withdrawal.

Last thing he knew, he was bleeding out around a knife while the druggie tore through his groceries, crooning, “C’mon, c’mon where’s the hit, where is it, I know you’re hiding it.”

He’d only had the strength left to flip the racist fucker off before he finally drifted away.

He wakes as a baby.

The only natural response to this is to begin screaming.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?! Why the fuck is he a baby?! Is everyone a baby when they go to Heaven?! Or wait, his butt’s kinda damp, is this Heaven at all?! Is he in Hell?! Was him flipping off that cracker enough to get him sent to Hell, after all he’s done?! All the masses he’s been to?! For the love of Christ, what’s going on—

A woman with white-blond hair and a tired face leans over him, muttering something harsh-sounding in a foreign language.

A loud and angry sounding man’s voice shouts something from somewhere he can’t see, which startles him into crying harder.

Then a large and callused hand slams down over his mouth, practically smothering him.

The woman’s face looms over him, wrinkled and shadowed like the face of the devil himself, poisonous green eyes glaring at him.

“Damare, kuso gaki.” The devil-woman hisses.

He whimpers.

His hair is green now.

Like a dehydrated shrub left too long in the heat, spiky-dry and almost yellowing at the edges.

And his eyes are purple. As if the green spiky anime hair wasn’t enough to humiliate him.

He misses his mama and his dad and his sisters but thank Jesus they’ll never see him like this.

At least his skin color’s pretty much the same as his last life. If he ended up resembling that fucking junkie who murdered him in any way, shape or form...

Well. All he knows is it wouldn't be pretty.

His new name is Meiun Nobuo.

The devil-woman who would rather smother him in his crib than let him cry apparently gave birth to him.

The deadbeat who cursed him with this eye and hair color and returns most nights stinking of alcohol and rotting fish is the sperm donor.

He misses his real family.

They live in a dock town.

Their house is farthest from the shore, so the scent of rotting fish guts and seagull shit is vaguely bearable. It’s bigger than the fishermen and farmer’s huts and market stalls that make up the rest of the village, with a curved asian roof.

He thinks the sperm donor is in a relatively high position in the village, perhaps an official of some sort. Probably inherited, because he seriously doubts anyone with a brain would elect that drunk deadbeat to any position of authority, but who knows.

He used to think the same thing about the government in his past life, and look what happened there.

Ragged official looking people buzz in and out of the rooms he’s not supposed to enter all day every day. Some of them smile at him if they notice him, lips spread sickeningly wide and eyes sycophantically crinkled.

Others look at him like he’s a nuisance, worthy of only their ire.

As if he asked to be reborn to this fucking paltry excuse for family when he had a perfectly good one back home

The devil-woman isn’t from around here.

That much is obvious in the way she’s constantly ill at ease, snapping at the slightest inconvenience, acting like everyone’s out to get her.

To be fair, a lot of them probably are just for the chance to have some peace and quiet again.

He privately counts himself among that number.

She’s always grumbling about how much better it is in rain, but regardless of the weather her shitty attitude never seems to improve.

She also starts trying to poison him when he turns four.

When his rice tastes weirdly bitter he spits it back into the bowl.

The devil-woman slaps him across the face.

“Eat.” She hisses, forcing his head into the bowl. “I didn’t destroy my body for you to bring shame to the Dokuso name like this. Your great uncle was already immune to neurotoxins by the time he was your age. The least you can do is eat.”

He tries to struggle, to scream for someone to help him, but the devil-woman just forces his head down farther until he swallows every last grain of tainted rice.

His body won’t stop shaking for the rest of the day, every gasp of air feeling like it’s scraping his lungs raw.

It becomes some kind of demented pattern.

He’s poisoned, he suffers, his body adjusts, he’s poisoned again in a new way, rinse and repeat until he seriously finds himself contemplating whether his last death was better than this.

The look of dissatisfaction the devil-woman always wears, as though he’s somehow not doing this (or dying) fast enough for her liking, weighs the argument a lot.

On the days where he’s in less danger of throwing up his guts, he has lessons with a tutor, because of course he fucking does.

Death, taxes and homework: the three constants of existence.

The tutor calls him a prodigy with mathematics, even if his grasp of kanji is shaky.

The deadbeat uses this as an excuse to push some of his work onto a five year old with some garbled line about “carrying on the work of our forefathers”.

He hates this.

He hates it so fucking much.

He prays every night, asking Christ why he’s being tormented like this. He hasn’t got an answer back yet.

He’s gonna make a break for it as soon as he’s old enough to do so. He’s still too young to be allowed out of the house, even for festivals. He also doesn’t receive anything like an allowance yet either, though he suspects that’s more due to the fact that the sperm donor is a cheapskate.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. He’s already got access to some of the accounts, has proven himself to be a dedicated worker beneath suspicion.

Nobody’ll suspect the kid “carrying on the work of his forefathers” if money begins disappearing, not when there are so many greedy adults around. It’s foolproof.

He’s just gotta wait until he learns where he is and how he can get away.

He can do that. It’ll be fine.

“The daimyō has declared dōjutsu users enemies of the state.” His sperm donor complains one evening. “The Mizukage has authorized the use of deadly force to subdue them.”

The devil-woman sniffs, says something nasally and contrarian back but he can’t hear her over the blood rushing in his ears.

Dōjutsu.

Mizukage.

His mouth is dry. He can’t breathe.

There’s no way—there’s absolutely no fucking way—the tech here is way too primitive, he must be hallucinating, going through withdrawal from not reading his favorite manga for so long.

There’s no way this place could be the same world as Boruto. Besides, Chojuro would never authorize a-a genocide like that, Kagura-kun would be so disappointed in him—

But Kagura-kun’s grandfather wouldn’t have had any problems with it, would he?

It’s not until the devil-woman whacks him over the head and screams at him to get up that he realizes he’s on the floor.

He climbs shakily to his feet.

He endures the scolding quietly.

He goes to his room when dismissed.

He shuts the door behind him and slides down it, trying to muffle the sounds escaping his throat. They could be hysterical laughter or sobs. He really isn’t sure.

Because of course he’s been reborn years before any of the good characters of this series or plot developments that he can clearly remember will make their appearance.

That’s just his fucking luck.

He presses his forehead to his knees and screams.

This revelation helps along his plans, at least.

If he’s in Kiri, then he knows he’s probably on one of the many islands that make up the...peninsula? Archipelago? Fuck, geography was never his strong suit.

But yeah, he’ll need to charter a boat to get to the mainland so he can disappear.

He briefly entertains the idea of becoming a ninja for Kiri, maybe growing up to become one of Chojuro’s aides and Kagura-kun’s mentors. Getting to meet Boruto when that arc comes around.

But no. Or at least, not yet.

Going there before Terumi Mei has had the chance to overthrow Yagura isn’t a good idea, what with the whole “kill everyone else you studied with to become a genin” thing they’ve got going on. Also the people claiming to be his parents might track him down and have him sent back.

Fire Country is probably his best bet to vanish. The ninja there actually care about the populace.

He might even be able to go to Konoha. See Boruto and Sarada and Mitsuki grow up firsthand.

The thought leaves a warm feeling in his chest even as his limbs tremble from the effects of the latest venom for the rest of the week.

It doesn’t last.

Of course it doesn’t.

It’s one thing to know that certain people in the community are slated for death.

It’s a different ballgame entirely to see a mob barge into the sperm donor’s office, howling for blood.

He can only hear the words “kekkai genkai filth” chanted like a curse before the deadbeat is nodding his head and rising, grabbing a huge ass sword from where it’s been gathering dust on the wall.

He tries to shrink back, tries to let the throng pass him without drawing their attention, but a hand grabs his collar and yanks him away from his little table, away from his calculations, and drags him along with the frothing crowd of people with hate in their eyes.

He’s squashed near the back of the herd, but every time he tries to get away there are hands and arms to yank him back into line, hands of men or women or—Jesus, or other kids.

He’s eventually funneled through the doorway of a tiny farmer’s hut, pushed into one of the walls by the crush of people, and he looks up and there’s—

There’s—

Oh God.

Oh God.

Oh Jesus in Heaven have mercy.

He can’t look.

It’s awful, it’s too much, he can’t look, he can’t, he gags, averts his eyes—

He sees the girl in the corner of the room.

She’s crying, mouthing “Mama” to herself over and over.

One of those murderers has seen her too.

The man takes a step towards the girl—

“Stay the fuck away from her!” He yells.

He can’t remember moving. All he knows is he’s now in between the girl and the mob, knees trembling and adrenaline pounding in his ears.

His voice is all shaky and squeaky, not intimidating at all.

He’s scared.

Jesus Christ, he’s so scared.

These monsters just killed that innocent lady for their dumb fucking witch hunt.

What’ll they do to this girl if they get their hands on her?

One of the villagers steps forward and growls, “Outta the way, boy. You don’t wanna get hurt for that thing.”

“Fuck you, asshole!” He screams back.

“Meiun, discipline your fucking brat before we do it for you!” Someone else in the mob shouts.

The sperm donor is pushed to the front and begrudgingly holds out a hand. “Don’t be stupid Nobuo. Get your ass over here, now.”

“Listen to your father!” The demon-woman shrieks from the safety of several people away.

He laughs. He can’t help it. “My father?! You want me to acknowledge that drunken excuse of a sperm donor as a father?! Get real, you fucking hag!! You and him wouldn’t know what real fucking parenting looked like if you fucking murdered it in cold fucking blood!!”

He points at what’s left of the lady. “Because guess what? Looks like ya did!”

“How dare you—” The deadbeat’s gone dark purple.

“No, how dare you?!” His hands are shaking and Christ, there’s no way this can end well, but his mouth won’t stop running. “That lady was a perfectly fucking nice lady, a loving wife and a good mom and you assholes think you can just come out here and murder her for what?! Having something that you don’t?! Being a genuinely good person, like you aren’t?! You’re all just JEALOUS FU—”

Pain explodes in his temple.

A man’s screaming, “SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, YOU KNOW NOTHING YOU LITTLE BASTARD, SHUT UP—”

He tries to raise his arms, tries to fight back, but the man’s swinging too wildly, he can’t stop the blow to the gut that knocks the air out of him.

More arms appear from nowhere, shoving him to the ground, pinning him down, jeers and taunts about how if he loves kekkai genkai filth that much he can join them, see what happens to them.

The knife glints evilly in the light.

He doesn’t wanna die again.

Jesus Christ, he doesn’t wanna die again.

There’s cold for a moment behind his right ear.

And then there’s nothing but agony, red and sharp and pounding pounding pounding and Nobuo is screaming screaming screaming.

Until his throat feels like it’s going to give out.

Until he knows he’ll die like this.

He doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die Christ—

The sensation is sudden and painful.

Like he’s been punched in the chest again, but in reverse.

Something erupts from him, with enough force to leave him breathless.

The jeers and ugly laughter become screams as pained as his own.

“Shit, he’s one t—?!” is the last thing he hears before a sound like glass shattering over and over overwhelms all other noise, even the terrified shrieks for mercy.

Nobuo’s eyes roll back into his head.

He blacks out.

The right side of his head throbs.

He whimpers in pain, curling in on himself.

“A-are you alright? Are you hurting? I tried to patch you up as best I could...” A soft, sweet voice murmurs.

He cracks open his eyes a sliver to see a dark-haired head with a pretty face hovering over him. The pretty face looks worried, almost scared.

“What...?” He tries to ask, voice croaky as hell. “Where...?”

“Ah, I, uh, took you and ran away after you got those guys off you.” The pretty face explains, averting their eyes for some reason. Their kimono is torn in places. “You-your e-head was bleeding really bad, so I tried to fix it, but I don’t think I did a very good job...”

What?

His hand lifts to the side of his head, feeling cloth sticky with what he can only assume is blood.

And feeling nothing beneath it.

His breathing hitches. He tries to stop it, tries to gulp the panic and fear back down, he can’t cry, he’ll get hit again if he cries, he can’t—

He lets out a sound that can only be described as a wail, shoulders shaking.

There’s movement and he flinches, oh god, he doesn’t want a hit, not now, not when he’s already dealing with this—

Small, thin arms wrap around him, trembling. A head of soft hair buries itself in his other shoulder, and a low voice begins sobbing “I-I’m so-sorry, I-I didn’t, I co-couldn’t stop them, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” in his remaining ear.

A small part of his brain notes that this is the first time he’s been hugged since he woke up as a baby.

They cry for a long, long time.

Finally, when it feels like he’s gonna have a head cold for a week at least, he shrugs his shoulder minutely.

The girl looks up, face blotchy and red.

“You’re that girl, right? What’s your name?” He croaks.

The girl tenses and pulls away a little. “I’m Haku. I’m eight. A-and I-I’m a b-boy.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks flush. Where does he feel like he’s heard that name before...?

“And you are?” Haku prompts.

“M-Meiun Nobuo.” He states with a grimace. “M’ six.”

“Ah...then Official Meiun was...” Haku’s eyes begin to fill with tears again. “Y-your father, and, and your m-mother—”

“God no.” He snaps. “That man impregnated that woman to make me, but father and mother are the last things they can be called. Real parents don’t pull the shit they do on their kids.”

He folds his arms across his chest. “This may’ve sped up my plans, but you did me a favor, taking me with you. I was planning on running away anyway.”

Haku lets out a confused sniffle.“Where were you planning on running away to?”

“Fire Country.” He might puff out his chest a little. “Their ninja actually care about people, and they don’t hate kekkai genkai there.”

“Kekkai genkai...th-that’s what they kept calling me and m-mama...” Fat tears begin rolling Haku’s pretty face.

He shakily slides an arm around the older boy’s shoulders. “Y-you can come with me. If you want. I-I don’t exactly know the way, I was hoping to get some more geography and funds first, b-but I’ll figure something out, I swear.”

Haku takes a few deep, shuddery breaths. “I-I don’t either, but I know how to get to the next village, if that’s okay?”

“That’s great! That’s way better than what I can do!” He assures, giving his traveling companion’s shoulder a pat. “...d’you, like, wanna start going now, or...?”

“Can we stay here for a moment?” Haku asks. “J-just until I can check your head’s okay?”

Meiun Nobuo nods carefully, leaning more against the older boy. “Sure. No rush.”

[wesleyhill]

A New King

A homily on Mark 11:1-11; 15:1-19, preached at Trinity Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on Palm Sunday 2021

I would speak to you in the Name of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

When I say the word king, what comes to your mind? Maybe you picture one of the old English monarchs living in a castle and going to war with his enemies. It could be that you picture a modern dictator, draped in military medals, who quashes dissent and imprisons his political enemies. Or maybe you think of a head-of-state like the U.S. president, arriving by heavily armored motorcade for his inauguration the Capitol. Whatever the case, and whatever political views you have, you probably think of things like pomp and prestige and — most of all — power when you think about a king.

When people in Jesus’ day thought of kings, they might have thought of someone like Alexander the Great, the famous general who conquered the ancient world and paved the way for the Roman Empire. We have a description of Alexander from a historian who lived around the same time as Jesus (or in the same century anyway). He describes how Alexander besieged Babylon and then, when the conquered ruler had surrendered, rode into the city:

A large number of the Babylonians had taken up a position on the walls, eager to have a view of their new king, but most went out to meet him… [One Babylonian leader] had carpeted the whole road with flowers and garlands and set up at intervals on both sides silver altars heaped not just with frankincense but with all manner of perfumes.

Then, the historian tells us, Alexander “entered the city on a chariot and went into the palace. The next day he made an inspection of Darius’ furniture and all his treasure.”

Does that sound familiar? Alexander, the new king of Babylon, rides into the city on a road that’s been strewn with greenery. A huge throng of people are greeting him and acclaiming his victory. And when he arrives, he starts to look around at everything, acting as if he owns it all now because of course he does.

But other people in Jesus’ day, Jewish people, might not have thought first about Alexander the Great when they thought about kings. Instead, they might have remembered the words of an ancient oracle from the Hebrew prophet Zechariah: 

Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!     Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you;     triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey,     on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Either way, on that day when Jesus sat on a donkey and rode into Jerusalem on a path strewn with cloaks and palm branches, everyone would have recognized that Jesus was acting like a king — He was stepping into the role and performing the script perfectly. As N. T. Wright, the former Bishop of Durham, has written, “Within his own time and culture, [Jesus’] riding on a donkey over the Mount of Olives, across Kidron, and up to the Temple mount spoke more powerfully than words could have done of a royal claim.” And the crowds who are waving their palm leaves and shouting “Hosanna!” get the message. As Wright says, “they praise their god for the arrival, at last, of the true king.”

But what kind of king is Jesus? How does He assert His kingship? How does He show His royalty?

The short answer is: in the most devastating, hope-dashing, grief-inducing way possible.

For His royal welcome into the city of the great Israelite king David, He is arrested and brought to trial.

For His first kingly speech to the Roman Empire’s governor, He doesn’t say anything more than a sentence. Pilate, the governor, asks Him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” And Jesus says simply, “You say so.”

For a first glimpse at His political platform, we witness a scene where Jesus, who called Himself “son” and addressed God as Abba, is standing side by side with a violent insurrectionist who goes by the name “son of Abbas [=son of a father],” or Barabbas. Here, the implication seems to be, we have two antithetical characters and two antithetical agendas: One son of Abbas believes in grabbing swords and spears and storming the gates; the other son of Abba has already told His followers not to carry any swords and to offer the other cheek when someone slaps them in the face.

For His coronation, He stands in the middle of hundreds of Roman soldiers. They place a royal purple robe on Him. They twist together branches from a thorn bush and press them down on His head for a crown. Then they kneel down in homage and, for accolades for the new king, they hurl wads of spit in His face and beat the thorns deeper into His scalp with rods.

For the public heralding of His kingship, they hoist Him up high on two stakes. They strip off all His clothes so everyone can see His ribcage shudder as He struggles to breathe. They put nails through His wrists and feet to hold Him in place on the stakes. And then they fix a sign over His head so that all the jeering onlookers can know that this is all a parody. The sign says that this man is “The King of the Jews.”

What kind of kingship is this?

It’s a kingship of self-surrender rather than conventional force.

It’s a kingship of silence rather than propaganda.

It’s a kingship of acquiescence rather than violence and coercion.

It’s a kingship of humiliation rather than glory and honor.

And it is a kingship that culminates in death rather than longevity and prosperity.

Why, then, do we remember it at all? History records the kingship of victors and tyrants; those who lose and abdicate power are, by definition, not kings. So why does history remember this emasculated and disgraced “king”? Why are we here this morning in such a grand, ornate place to remember and adore a would-be king who was strung up to suffer six hours of excruciating torture after which He finally died in godforsaken agony?

Because this is the kingship God has chosen for Himself — the kingship by which He rescues the world. Next Sunday we will celebrate the day God set His seal of approval on this king, announcing to us and to all the world that this is His anointed One, His representative — His Son.

Which means, among other things, that from now on, if we want to know what true and triumphant and lasting and divine kingship looks like, we should look at the suffering Figure hanging there on the stakes.

Before He died, Jesus told His followers how He intended to redefine kingship: “[T]he son of mankind didn’t come to have attendants but to be an attendant, and to give his life as the price to set a lot of other people free” (trans. Sarah Ruden). Jesus has shown us what it means for God to be king through His giving up His life for us out of love.

So, on this Palm Sunday, as we prepare to keep vigil with Jesus this Holy Week, we sing in trust and hope and praise,

All glory, laud, and honor  to thee, Redeemer, King,  to whom the lips of children  made sweet hosannas ring.  Thou art the King of Israel  thou David’s royal Son,  who in the Lord’s name comest,  the King and Blessed One.

To Him be the glory for ever and ever. Amen.

[onaf]

Of Dogs and Children

Believers in Christ have their hang-ups, their own theological baggage when it comes to the faith. This doesn’t always come in the form of outright denial of the core tenets of the Christian religion. But it can mean there are teachings that are quick to be absorbed mentally, yet slow to penetrate the heart.

For me, one of the most difficult things to understand at heart about Christ is how He condescends to sinners like myself. When I read Matthew 11: 28-30, Christ’s character takes on a peculiar timbre:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

To some, this may be an inconsequential passage. But I wonder how one can think that! What is easier for me to understand is that Christ - the One through whom the universe was created - has authority to judge the living and the dead. It isn’t hard for me to accept how He performed miracles, for what is difficult for the Christ? Theophanies? Old Testament prophecies about Jesus? Awesome!

But a Christ that is lowly? A savior that is gentle when with but one word He could annihilate all that is unholy (namely myself)? A King to whom I am - by rights - condemned forever, but gave Himself as a ransom for me? More food for thought from Hebrews 4:14-16...

“Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

I think many of us can understand that God would be a righteous judge against ungodliness, that He has wrath against sin, that He wields great power, and that He is holy. But I hope I’m not alone in finding His closeness to the downtrodden, the fallen, and the broken as being really hard to wrap my mind around!

This is a deeply practical problem. You can’t divorce theological conviction from how you live your daily life. Finding Christ’s meekness a difficult concept to absorb, I sometimes lean toward an imbalanced life. Without meditating enough on Christ’s mercy and sympathy to the struggles of a wicked man like myself, I gravitate more toward what I believe I do understand: my wretchedness.

What do you get when you have a believer who understands that he is a sinner deserving of eternal judgement but struggles to accept that he is a recipient of mercy? Though his heart yearns for Christ and His righteousness, a lie makes the honest truths seem beyond reach. The lie is: your redemption is insignificant.

A heart in this condition is divided. The honest hope of this man is truly in Christ, and his salvation has been secured already by the grace of God. But a pernicious untruth has craned the neck of this believer to look inward at the remaining filthiness of sin and to believe this to be the most accurate representation of his state. The Spirit-led part of his heart hopes for the Kingdom of God, but - since his focus has been on the irredeemable sin of his flesh - he has been convinced that the honest hopes of his heart are actually born of self-deception. It is a confusion of the highest order, one that prevents a Christian from living out his true calling with his undivided attention - and a confusion with which I am well-acquainted.

In short, instead of believing that I am a child of God by grace, a fallen part of me condemns me as if I was not. So, in my weaker moments, my heart resorts to an unholy compromise: that perhaps I am welcome in the house of God, but only as a dog. I may be in the dining room, but I only lay on the floor and eat the crumbs from the table while others more worthy garner God’s more rapt attention.

Matthew 15:24-28 says...

“He answered, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.’ But she came and knelt before Him, saying, ‘Lord, help me.’ And He answered, ‘It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.’ She said ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.”

There’s a theme there that I grabbed onto a long time ago. I knew that I had been bought with a price, the Lord wouldn’t let me forget that. But my heart refused to unfocus from my sinful nature. It instead used this passage in Matthew and keep me where I didn’t belong. The mistake in my thinking was that Christ redeemed me who was dead in my trespasses and sins (Eph. 2:1) and made me a dog - a second rate, quasi-Christian. For the hopeless, going from being dead to being a dog isn’t that bad of a deal. Unless you know better, it’s a great deal. From being cast into outer darkness to at least being in your gracious masters’ dining room is a worthy trade! Everyone knows, however, a dog has no share in the inheritance of the master's children.

But this falls short of what the Bible teaches. To settle for being a dog is a tragedy when, in reality, you’ve been adopted as a son or daughter! The obsession with relegating oneself to the station of a cur is to, in reality, choose to disbelieve the promises of God. It is a tacit allegation of dishonesty on God’s part - saying that He is either not that mighty to save or that your sin makes you an exception to the redemptive rule. This is faithlessness hidden under the veil of fake piety.

Consider the following:

“For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”  Luke 19:10

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death.”  Romans 8:1-2

But most importantly, this:

“What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died - more than that, who was raised - who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, ‘For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  Romans 8:31-39

To say to your own soul that the best God did for you was to bring you from death to a grudgingly-awarded spot on the floor in His general vicinity (with the unspoken threat of expulsion for the slightest mistake) is to do violence to His mighty ability to bring about your salvation (Zeph. 3:17). Why does my heart insist on its own harm by attempting to shackle God’s redemptive work?

One of the greatest resources I’ve encountered lately in dealing with this struggle is found in The Bruised Reed, by the Puritan Richard Sibbes. A great quote here:

“If Christ should not be merciful to our weaknesses, He should not have a people to serve Him. Suppose therefore we are very weak, yet so long as we are not found amongst malicious opposers and underminers of God’s truth, let us not give way to despairing thoughts; we have a merciful Saviour.” (pg. 58)

Even to those who are in Christ but find themselves in sin - as we do all too often - there is hope. Sibbes continues:

“What course shall such take to recover their peace? They must condemn themselves sharply, and yet cast themselves upon God’s mercy in Christ, as at their first conversion. And now they must embrace Christ the more firmly, as they see more need in themselves; and let them remember the mildness of Christ here, that He will not quench the smoking flax.” (pg. 60)

Through these struggles, I have learned some things:

Christ is indeed lowly enough in heart so as to understand our weakness and not despise it.

The redemption that true believers find in Him is no lie, it is not done by half measures - since it is with the death and resurrection of Christ’s whole body that we have been purchased. Thus, the redemption is total, to be fully seen in due time.

To doubt one’s standing with God after being redeemed by Christ is to accuse Him of being less than He is. Do you believe Him to be an effective Savior? Then you must trust that He is qualified to save!

When a sinner is saved by grace, it is to no small and insignificant station. Consider the following:

“For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.”  Romans 8:15-17

Where, then, is there room for God’s children to act as though they are just dogs at the dining room table?

[pocketfulofrogers]

Solace

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You’ve recently switched to the night shift and the adjustment hasn’t been great. Your neighbor would agree.

Notes: This is a part of @buckygrantbarnes writing challenge! I chose concept #5: Character and Reader are neighbors, and Reader keeps waking Character up by setting a really loud alarm in the middle of the night. 

I know this is a smidge late, but life has been crazy! Thanks for hosting, I had a lot of fun writing this!!

Steve Rogers considers himself a reasonable man, he really does. He remains patient with the trainees while he shows them new techniques again and again until his mind melts, taking each clipped jaw in stride. He even always smiles at the children trying to climb his body in their excitement when all he wants is a coffee. 

During those precious moments he isn’t in the suit, he’s a very quiet, laid back man.

Which is why he’s gone two months without breaking down your door in the middle of the night when he hears that shrill, incessant alarm you seem to be immune to seeping through the shared wall.

He’s been tortured before. This is worse.

Each time he comes home from a mission, peels the Kevlar from his body, and sinks to his bed, your alarm steals away the hope of a quick slumber and he loathes you for it.

Sam tells him to try writing a letter, Natasha offers to break in and steal it.

He considers both options, the latter more seriously, until one afternoon he runs into you after his morning jog. The elevator doors are almost closed when he shoves his hand in the small opening. He mutters an apology, but hears no response.

You’re leaned on the wall, arms crossed before your chest, head resting against the metal and for a moment he thinks you may actually be asleep.

He doesn’t say anything, he’s been there.

“6B right?” You mumble. He’s not sure he’s heard you correctly. “I’m 6A. I think I’ve seen you around.”

When you look over at him, his stomach flops, does somersaults in his belly. You look positively wrecked. The light blue scrubs you’re wearing are splattered and stained with various colors, and the bags under your eyes are deep enough he’s almost concerned for your health.

Yet he thinks you may be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Uh- yeah, Steve.” He manages.

You nod and go back to resting your head. “Y/N.”

He imagines he may be more tolerant going forward.

**

He tries to catch you again in the following weeks, but your schedule seems to be more unpredictable than his. That stupid, stupid alarm still wakes him most nights, but he finds it easier to suffer through now.

**

One night he comes home after a long mission. Exhaustion weighs his body enough he almost considers passing out by the door, but after days of sleeping on dirt floors, his back is pleading for the comfort of his bed.

Looking at his watch he knows he has about 45 minutes before you have to be up for work. Maybe it’s the hope that for one night he could have a restful sleep, or perhaps the humidity of the jungle had just escaped had dissolved his patience, but his feet have padded their way to the hallway before he truly knows what he’s going to do.

Barefoot before your door, he knocks. Once. Twice. Then a third time.

He waits patiently until he hears you mumble something less than kind from behind the door and finds himself smiling at the irony.

**

Having someone pound on your door at midnight, ripping you from a dead sleep, is only about the third worst thing to happen to you this week.

You fling the door open. “Do you have any…“

Of all the people it could’ve been, Martha from 5A coming to complain about nonexistent noise, the new mom from 6F asking you to check out her baby for the third time this week, or the teen from 2 trying to convince you he definitely needs a medical marijuana card, a very tired Captain America leaning on your door frame is the last thing you expected.

He raises a brow at your unfinished threat. “Ah yes, 12:09. 21 minutes before your alarm.”

You furrow your brows. “How do- “

“Look,” He interrupts, pushing off from your door frame, you don’t miss his wince- the way he favors his right side. “I know you probably have a very important job, and getting up in the middle of the night for shifts like those must be brutal, but I’ve just gotten off quite a draining ‘shift’ myself and was hoping that for at least one night you could just not.”

You’re catching on. “’Just not?’ Are you talking about my alarm?” He nods. You’re stunned, having thought that with as much as you pay a month, the walls would’ve been much thicker. Or is it really that loud? Adjusting to the night shift had been rough. “Oh, wow, I am so sorry.”

He shakes his head and points to his ear. “Super good hearing, don’t worry about it. Thank you.” He turns to walk away and that’s when you notice his limp, and the blood.

“Woah, wait. Did you have anyone look at that?” You point at his leg and he shrugs, giving you a less than assuring ‘it’s fine’ and goes to open his apartment door. “Uh- no. That’s a 6-inch lac that’s still actively bleeding? Are you insane? Please, let me take a look.”

“That’s very kind, but-“

“Your ribs could also be broken and I’ll just spend all day worrying about if you died in your sleep from a punctured lung or something. I can’t have Captain America’s death on my conscious.”

He takes a moment to look you up and down and weighs his chances of being able to talk his way out of whatever this is. He’ll heal on his own, eventually, but the look in your eyes tells him he’d have more luck trying to convince Martha he doesn’t actually stomp around just to annoy her.

“Alright.”

**

Managing to get Steve to strip down to some shorts and a tank top, he’s sat at your kitchen table. It took you a solid five minutes to convince him that he needed stitches, and lucky for him, you steal suture kits.

“You know, when you told me your name it would’ve been the perfect moment to mention you’re Steve as in Steve Rogers.” You lightly chastise, holding pressure to his thigh.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Not like I was hiding it. You did look right at me.”

You laugh. “Well I had just gotten off a 36-hour shift, you cannot hold that against me.”

He watches quietly as you work, forehead creased with worry and constantly mumbling about how he’s lucky there’s no signs of infection, with an occasional ‘you really weren’t going to do anything about this’. He finds your commentary amusing.

Your fingers glide across his skin and your touch is faint enough it almost tickles. You’re worried about nerve damage, but he thinks you’re just that good.

With a pile of red stained gauze by your side and the area around his wound as clean as you could get it, you grab a lamp from your desk and pick up the needle with your hemostat. Well, not yours, really. Also stolen, but sterile!

When you hold the needle up and adjust your grip on the clamp, he gives you a wary look.

“What?”

“I don’t know how I feel about a thief stitching me back together.” He says with a raised brow. There’s a glint in his eyes, the smallest twitch at the edge of his lips.

You roll your eyes. “With as hard as they work me, this is the least they owe me.”

“What do you even use them for?”

Your quite for a moment. “Sewing.” You say quietly and he barks a laugh. “I just- hush, don’t distract me.”

He complies and sits back to watch you fondly. Your teeth sink into the pillow of your lip each time you push the needle into the flesh of his thigh. You had apologized for not having any kind of numbing agent, but he had assured you that he’d be just fine.

Still, you glace up with each pull to make sure it’s not some macho show. Then again, he was Captain American and by the look of him at this moment, the pinch of a needle is probably more an annoying after thought than anything else.

Cutting the last stitch, you place the bandaging and offer him a smile. He thanks you sincerely, but you tsk when he tries to get past you to the door.

“Shirt off.” You order. He takes a half step back, cocks his head to the side and smirks. How he could be even slightly amorous at this moment is beyond you. “I want to check your ribs, make sure nothing’s displaced.” Something in his eyes shifts, he’s hesitant- guarded- and you’re unsure why. “I haven’t seen you take a single normal breath in the time you’ve been here. A simple, quick exam can tell me if there’s anything to worry about.”

He looks away and you’re about to suggest that he just check in with the medical team at wherever it is that super people work. They have to have medical staff, right? You tuck that question away for later.

Steve looks back to you and nods before pulling the white cotton over his head.

You would be completely stunned at the site of his quite perfect physique if it weren’t for the bruises blossoming bright red and dark purple across his torso.

You catch yourself moving closer, reaching forward to graze a finger around the outline of the prominent colors. “Jesus, Steve.” You whisper.

“Heard that phrase before, never in a situation like this, though.” He mumbles,  but you ignore him and begin to prod as carefully as you can.

When you apply pressure to a certain spot that looks the most concerning, his breath exhales quickly in a hiss. “Sorry.” You mumble and find yourself asking how this happened before you can stop yourself.

He grabs your hand in his to stop your exploring fingers. The memory from these injuries hadn’t quite made their way through him yet. They sat too fresh on the forefront of his mind and being this vulnerable before someone he barely knows is quickly becoming too much.

“I’m fine, darlin’, really.” He says softly. You of course don’t buy it for a minute, but the proximity of him steals your fight, you lose your argument in the blue of his eyes.

“Ice it.” You order weakly. “Maybe just bruised, probably fractured.”

He nods, twitching the edges of his lips into a smile. Your hand is still in his and he brings it up to ghost your knuckles against his lips before thanking you again.

He leaves you there, stunned. You’re 15 minutes late for work.

**

“Wait. You had the Steve Rogers in your apartment half naked?” Your friend prods during your lunch break. You nod and lower your forehead to rest against your coffee cup. “And you didn’t even take advantage, kudos to you. Wait, is this a HIPAA violation?”

You sigh and look up to meet her narrowed eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know. Wouldn’t be surprised if SHIELD took me out, though.”

“Is that even a thing anymore? I can’t keep up with that craziness.” She shakes her head.

“Guess I could ask my neighbor, but I doubt he’d tell me the truth.”

“You have to see him again. You’re going to see him again right?” You try to ignore the excitement in her voice.

“He is my neighbor and those sutures have to come out eventually. Although he’ll probably just rip them out himself.” The thought makes you cringe.

“You know that’s not-“

Thankfully your pager goes off right then, cutting her interrogation short. “Sorry! Incoming trauma, gotta bounce.”

**

Steve comes home that evening to ice packs with the nearby hospital logo on them by his door. “Stop stealing from work.” He calls out and is rewarded with your laughter floating out from under your door.

**

He starts to make a habit of it, showing up at your doorstep sometimes bruised, usually bloody. You start to keep a bigger stock of supplies around, and worry on the nights he doesn’t show before you leave when you know he’s on mission.

He tries to message you when service and circumstance allows, just to ease you mind.

Every once in a while, you’ll find him sitting in the hallway beside your door, waiting with food and some injury that needs your attention.

Eventually you get around to asking him if there just isn’t any medical staff where he is, he tells you this is just more convenient. You don’t prod, but think it may have more to do with the way you treat him. Like a patient, a person, not an Avenger.

**

One night a knock awakes you in the middle of the night. You jump out of bed, knowing it’s most likely him. When you open the door and lay eyes on him, your heart stops.

He’s leaned against the doorway, barely able to hold himself up. There’s blood on the wall, his hands, his face, everywhere. He’s ghostly pale and you can tell he can hardly focus his eyes.

Before he can pass out, you wedge yourself under his arm and try to guide him inside.

“Probably shoulda just went to medical, shouldn’t’ve driven.” He tells you before collapsing onto your couch and you work quickly to get his suit off, apologizing each time he groans in pain.

“Oh god, Steve.” You whisper eyeing the deep gash on his side and quickly apply pressure.

He grunts. “I hope to hear you say something like that under different circumstances one day. You know, not in horror at the state of my health.”

“Well, don’t only show up when you’re hurt.” You shoot back and tape the gauze in place so you can get a line started. You had hoped he’d never show up this hurt, but a part of you can be relieved that you were prepared for it.

“Hey, I brought you food at work last week.”

You ignore that. “Steve, this is bad. Really bad. What the hell were you thinking?” 

Ignoring his half assed excuse, you get to work, quickly and tensely, mumbling your thoughts and a few vague threats about him not being allowed to die on you.

“Don’t worry, darlin, wouldn’t dream of goin’ anywhere.”

Once you get the bleeding under control unlike your emotions, you start to lay into him. Loudly. Your reaction is to be blamed on fear, the absolute nightmare that the man before you, who you’ve reluctantly become very attached to, could have actually died in your arms.

“I mean, seriously, Steve! How could you be so reckless?”

He drapes his arm over his eyes. “I like you more than the docs we have.”

You huff and begin cleaning the rest of him up. “I’m sure they’re just as good at their jobs.”

He shakes his head and willingly gives you the arm resting above him when you reach for it. “You’re better.” He states simply and you snort your disbelief. “Your hands are softer. I think your touch reminds me I’m still human.” He says quietly, eyes trained on the ceiling.

Your movements stall, his admission leaving you a little dazed. When he tilts his head to look over at you, you swear you stop breathing.

“I think I’ll always prefer you.”

The rational part of you is telling you to just chalk this up to blood loss, not to get your hopes up because this could get so complicated. But the other part, oh the hopeful part, was singing.

“I think I prefer you too.”

He laughs. “As a patient? Neighbor? Avenger?”

“Oh, come on now.” You start seriously. “The Black Widow went to Capitol Hill and basically told congress they wouldn’t arrest her because they didn’t have the balls. She will always be my favorite. You might be a close second.”

“Might be?”

“You’re first for everything else. Take the win, Steve.”

It only takes five minutes and two bribes to convince him to stay the night and that you should call out of work to keep an eye on him. He had protested, given you every excuse he could come up with, but you are well versed in the language of Steve Rogers.

You set a takeout menu from his favorite place before him during the middle of his ‘you have already done so much for me’ speech and he grumbles out an ‘alright’.

**

He awakes just after dawn to your head on his thigh, your body tucked tightly between his leg and the couch, and the intro music to some infomercial droning in the background. The last thing he wants to do is move, he could watch you like this all day. Maybe one day he’ll get to.

**

When you finally wake up, he’s gone. There’s a blanket from the laundry room draped over you and the smell of him still on your pillow.

A part of you is hurt, but you’re not quite sure why.

You don’t hear from him for two weeks.

**

Some coworkers suggest going downtown to blow of some steam and, since you knew Steve was home all week out of harm’s way, you agree. It’s not often you get to go out stress free.

However, mixing alcohol with a list of fairly serious questions that only one extremely handsome and infuriating super soldier could answer isn’t the greatest idea. Especially when said blue-eyed day dream lives right next door.

It isn’t long before you’re stumbling up to his door, despite the warnings of everyone that night that you absolutely should not. 2am wasn’t that late and when you get an idea in your head it’s hard to shake it.

He answers faster than you thought he would and his amused expression only distracts you for a few moments.

“You’re drunk.” He points out, trying to withhold a grin.

You scrunch your nose. “A smidge.”

“Lose your key?”

“No. Well… maybe. But that’s not why I’m here.” You take a step forward, place a hand on the door frame to steady yourself, and point a single finger at him. “I have questions that need answers, Cap. Let me in.” He raises his brows. “Please.” You add and he obliges.

You make your way to his kitchen and take a seat at the island, he trails in behind you. “Would you like some water? I think you should have some water.”

He sets a glass before you when you don’t reply, but with his eyes watching you, concern in the crease of his brow, you suddenly feel vulnerable- exposed. Where had that burning rage at him for leaving you without a word gone? Why had you been so angry to begin with?

It’s difficult to sift through the thoughts in your head, and the alcohol wasn’t exactly making that easier. What was the word for what you felt? Used? Forgotten? The last thing you wanted to do was sound like a needy child.

He leans forward onto the counter before you. “What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

Instead of meeting his eyes, you run the tip of your finger through the condensation on the glass, watch it pool on the marble.

“Talk to me. What is it?” He asks again

Suddenly you wish you had just gone home.

You chug the water. “It’s nothing, never mind. I’m just gonna go to bed.”

He steps in front of you before you can make it to the door, pleads with you again to just talk to him. You try to get past him, but his hand on your hip makes you freeze. He trails it up your side, grazes his knuckles up your arm. His fingers stop below your chin to gently tilt your eyes up to his.

His lips have barely parted to form his next plea when you cut him off. “What am I to you.” You barely whisper.

That catches him off guard.

“If this is just a convenience thing for you, I need to know.” He looks confused but you power through before he can respond. “Maybe your admission was just the blood loss talking and you disappeared to keep me from getting attached, although it’s a little late for that. Or, maybe there’s someone else. Which is fine-“

“Do you think I’m using you?” He appears hurt at the insinuation and suddenly it’s difficult to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Is that what you really think?”

“I don’t know what to think, Steve.”

He crashes his lips to yours. A sudden almost desperate act that leaves you useless. Your brain stalls and suddenly he is all there is. 

It’s needy and messy, but it is everything you needed. You thread your fingers through his hair and press yourself to him. The soft feel of him steals your hurt, dissipates that pit in your stomach, and you could almost hate him for it.  

He pulls away, breathless. “What part of ‘I will always prefer you’ wasn’t clear?”

[smokeybrand]

Incandescent Rage

The second season of His Dark Materials has completed and, as with the first, it was truly excellent. I reviews the first season and since this is mostly just a return of that level of excellence, my opinion of it hast really changed so, if you wan a proper reviews about this show, search for that one. I will say this; The second season is much better. The first was excellent, don’t misunderstand, but the return to this world of Dust and Daemons really felt like everyone understood who their characters were, where they needed to be. Seriously, this second season solidified the pure love, passion, and reverence, hinted at in the first season. Since i can’t really be objective about this show any longer, it’s just too good, here are the things i loved the most from this exceptional second season.

Dafne Keen comes through with another devastatingly inspired performance. Her lyra Silvertongue has been a standout for this show and it would absolutely not work if Keen wasn’t up to the task. She’s stealing all of the scenes and this is HER show!

Amir Wilson was excellent as Will Parry. The little bits we saw of him in season one seeded a level of confidence in the kid for the character but he rely gets to show his ability in this new season. People are talking awards for said performance and, while i agree he was very good, there are just too many other people, just in this how, who overshadow him. Still, he was much better than in the first.

The very best thing about this show, for me, is Ruth Wilson. She is brilliant in everything she ever does but her take on Marisa Coulter is just scathingly horrifying but, at the same time, desperately heartbreaking. She was my favorite character in the first season and that love was proven true with this second. That scene she shared with Miranda? I felt that. The rematch between Daemons she lost against Lyra? I felt that, too. That look of utter disgusted malice when she made it to Will’s Oxford and talked to Mary? That one cut stupid deep. very revelation, every realization, every devastation, conveyed beautifully, depressingly, despairingly, by Ruth. F*cking chef kiss, all season.

Marisa was my favorite character in the first season. I identified with her aloof calculation and focused resolve. Underlying that was someone with real passion, even is she dd everything in her power to keep those volatile emotions in check. I knew that archetype and i knew it well It reminded me of me. Her interaction with Lee in that cell explained to me exactly why. She’s a product of abuse, just like me. Her parents were cruel to her, for a long time, and she coped by turning into a monster. Just like me. Marisa is a sociopath. She is cruel. She is inhuman. All of that stems from the inhumanity she suffered as a youth. Marisa isn’t unhinged. She knows exactly what she’s doing to the letter. Marisa is, however, unbound and when you have no moral compass, can justify anything through your smothering intellect, and have absolute control over creatures that eat souls, a reckoning for all those who have slighted you, is on hand.

Andrew Scott makes a fleeting but memorable appearance as John Parry, Will’s long searched for father. Scott is, of course, great in the role, as he is in most things, but we don’t get to spend enough time with him to really see him build this character. It’s a small but integral part but i just wanted more. Andrew Scott is as good as Wilson in their craft an it seems like a missed opportunity that he was only around for such a fleeting amount of time.

While I'm gushing about performances, Lin-Manuel Miranda actually surprised me in this season. In the first, it felt like he was stage acting, probably because this thing is shot on a sound stage and he fell back into the training he was familiar with. That as not the case this go around. No, Miranda’s Lee Scoresby was a full realized person an he played well off Wilson, Scott, and Cristela Alonzo. I actually felt bad knowing how this season was going to end.

I understand that this is the second book, the All-Falls-Down moments. This is when everything spirals out of control an our protagonist take massive losses. This is the part where the obstacles that need to be overcome, finally crystallize and impede our heroes. That said, Lee and Hester died. I am incensed.

Imagine feeling such malice toward the divine design for man that you manifest a means to cross into heaven for the sole purpose of punching God in the face with your own two hands. This motherf*cker Asriel has that Vayne Solidor energy. He got that Sosuke Aizen focus and I am here for all of it. Lord Asriel Belacqua, the man who showed up on god's doorstep and sh*t on his porch. This guy is my f*cking hero.

I have to say, His Dark Materials makes Christianity far more palatable than Christianity on it's own. It' no secret I'm a man who lacks the capacity for faith so i approach this religion stuff like a narrative, a myth, not the Word. In that regard, the Jesus folk have one of the best mythological narratives out there. His Dark Materials does an extremely good job kind of grounding that theology in a workable, understandable, fringe science. i am very impressed with this level of writing and am having a blast with all of these second season revelations.

[stimmypaw]

stimmypaw reads Thunder & Shadow, another blog post

much like the first time, I am continuing to read A Vision of Shadows for the first time and sharing my thoughts as I go! This post of course has a bunch of spoilers for Thunder and Shadow. It’s all in the read more, have fun!

I'm so glad echosong is okay but what will she do??? Where will she go??? I'm so worried

I don't like it that Briarlight is stuck in the medicine den all day, love to see her playing with kits and showing her strength tho she's so sweet and good she deserves better

Now littlecloud is sick too???? Fuck!!!!

Also seems Needlepaw and Alderpaw haven't managed to get along better yet, maybe Alderpaw can talk to her through Leafpool since she's going to Shadowclan?

Also graystripe is awful as always and I love him 2 bits

I love Rowanstar's character too, he's so stupidly proud. Shadowclan has a fun trend of having a long line of mediocre to awful leaders and I feel bad for Tawnypelt, Shadowclans braincell who should be leader.

Jayfeather is gonna miss his friends

YES, SKYCLAN!!!! SKYCLANNNN

Twigkit lifting her front paws im 💖💖💖💖 AAAAA BABY

Graystripe :] he's silly

Omg feather time

If something bad happens to this feather ill fraud my taxes I will commit many crimes this delivery must happen safely and if anyone takes it from violetkit I will Kill

Omg sleekpaw don't be so mean poor littlecloud :c medicine cats are important!!

I see alderpaw leaving his feather behind alderpaw get it to violetkit Now

Oh God imagine being puddlekit, shadowclan needs to get its shit together real fast

Leafpool is just that picture (i do not see) while trying to process the mess they got her in

OKAY SO I'm glad he's getting along with needlepaw and that he can finally give violetkit her feather but LITTLECLOUD GUYS??? LITTLECLOUD?????????

My heart melted with violetkit, this was so sweet, why are the queens so mean to her??? She's just an autistic icon bro!! Like every cat I like in these books.

Alderpaw: hey I have an idea, why don't we commit crimes?

Needlepaw: FINALLY I THOUGHT YOUD NEVER ASK

VIOLETKIT POINT OF VIEW FINALLY???? FUCK YES YESSSS YES YES SHADOWCLAN TIME IM SO HAPPY THIS IS SO COOL

Last time this happened the character immediately died tho

Hm

I am suffering for violetkit

i wish violetkit would spend more time with leafpool im sure she’d be caring maybe?? maybe im just desperate for violetkit to be loved

no one here knows how to treat a kit

OH YES YESSS

YESSSSSSSSSSSSS SSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATHEYRE TOGETHER AGAIN

im so sad

im 

broooooo

aaaaa i hope needlepaw treats violetkit better from now on, this is hearbreaking.

Fuck I knew it, the rogues are coming for them aren’t they? And where’s Skyclan now????? fuck fuck fuck

ok I have no clue who Fernsong is but he’s funny already why is he like this what is happening why is he blocking them from looking at Honeykit while talking about how worried he is about her?? Absolutely misterious I love him

  Jayfeather 🤝 Yellowfang

 “I don’t want kits around me”

oh the girls are fighting

oh the girls ARE fighting

furzepelt had a cool name im sorry to hear he only existed to die immediately :c

onestar also is very proud, im glad he accepted help this time tho

SPARKPAW MED CAT MOMENT HAHAH

i forgot bumblestripe was a cat and i was wondering if it was just a typo for bramble

also what’s up with dove and tiger??? i forgot everything about their relationship in the previous books because i don’t care about it and the erins tend to write some pretty boring straight couples

the way they’re described makes me feel like needlepaw and sleekpaw are just differently colored versions of each other at times, are they related?? they don’t seem to be.

and here’s the bit that’s previewed, oh boy, it must have been seriously scary being violetkit, but i hope they don’t convince her the clans hate her :c thunderclan likes her shadowclan just sucks

What do these background cats want from Twigkit???? To shoot lasers out of her eyes?? I guess she isn’t magical or anything but also she’s just a kit??? Firepaw was also just a kittypet and he’s a big deal :/// y’all just don’t get it, I hope Twigkit doesn’t get Dovepaw’s protagonist anxiety

I know Twigkit is being scolded but this scene is just so cute like Jayfeather is just tucking her in a moss bed while being mad at her for leaving camp

Thats another one I need to draw i love them

SPARKPELT YESSSSS YESS SYE SYES YES 🎊🎉🎉🎉🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈💖💖💖💖💖💕💖💕💖💕💖💕💕

Mothwing ableist????? That's cringe

Omg poor kestrelflight

Jayfeather misses Leafpool so bad, Puddlepaw must feel awful though

OLD AGE? H HOW OLD IS LEAFPOOL THEN???

?????? OH GOD IM LOVING THIS???

This apprentice rebellion is Nuts its so good oh fuck!!! I'm loving whats happening here its awful and perfect

Violetkit is getting bitter :c she needs 2 be embraced and loved stat

She is also clearly getting some bad dependency and abandonment issues, desperate to do anything to please so she won't be left alone again :c

FUCK NO NO NO AAAA NEEDLEPAW WHAT WWERE YOU THUNKING??????? JESUS POOR VIOLETKIT

Kitnapping, this is bad

Oh, very interesting

These apprentices and rogues are so smart god this is a perfect plan

Twigkit absolutely is the sunshine

I love her interactions with Alderpaw, I wish she had gotten to see her sister

In comparison Violetkit looking around camp desperate for attention is awful

Oh fuck bribing

NEEDLEPAW DONT BE MEAN TO VIOLETKIT :C

Oh fuck ou fuck the 4chan kids are angry

??? BRO WHAT??? DONT KICK OUT VIOLETKIT, THATS WHY YOUR APPRENTICES TURNED INTO ANCAPS DAMN

I'm angy

Oh no

Something bad happened :c

Bramblestar: good day!

Rowanstar: Oh Is it??? You could say that while starving in winter, cringe ass

Mistystar: its not winter tho

Onestar: well you're fat

God rowanstar must be obliterated

Hey where's the rowanstars maps use idk loon on a lake or something this man has angst!!!

I appreciate Ivypool is her mentor, at least Someone is honest about whats going on and hey they can both relate on the fear of not being special! Ivypool can be very good to Twigpaw im counting on her

Oh fuck

Violetpaw sounds like she's in trouble with the rogues :c aa

AAAA TWIGPAWWWW AAAA

Violetpaw don't be mean about your sister :C she misses you so bad

Sleekwhisker is like that dad that let his kid starve until she learned to open a bean can she didn't want

Holy fuck

Aaaa violetpaw D:

Jesus christ that was awful

That was so intense I was so nervous for Violetpaw, I'm really happy for her now aaaa

Another gathering already? Wowie

I hope Shadowclan gets those herbs soon :c

I see he appeal in FernIvy and I appreciate it

Violetpaw and Twigpaw sharing a den my heart......this is IT

Jayfeather: I want to steal

I'm listening to Burn Pygmalion! and "viscious kin" is very fitting for this series ehhehe

I love violetpaw and twigpaw btw

IM CRYING

I cant believe Alderpaw is an all lives matter kinda guy

Yesss rebel get those herbs alreadyyy

Starclan has agreed to let kestrelflight kill onestar, goodbye onestar /j

Epic I love you harespring

Alderpaw being confused at Jayfeather saying he is proud is the Best

What an ending! Terrifying and hopeful at the same time, I am very excited to see the hijinks Bramblestar and Rowanstar will get into and how they will go searching for Skyclan, it was PAINFUL to have that prologue talking about them with 0 hope of them showing up again Nothing Nada Zilch, feels like that and the ending were just 2 remind us that that was still the major plot point hahaha, I appreciate it I guess. I'm glad Violetpaw and Twigpaw are on uh good terms despite it all, not very ideal and they're both upset but they still consider each other siblings and know they care about each other :'0 Alderheart getting his name is epic too!!! I was hoping he would soon. I loved everything about his interactions with Jayfeather here, loved all the characterizations really it was just top notch, Onestar being a bastard, Needletail, OH AND SHADOWCLAN JOINING THE ROGUES, top notch!!!! The ancap apprentices were a riot.

This was a good book!!! Flowed very nicely and smoothly, reading in shadowclan's point of view for more than around 3 chapters was great. I can barely wait for the rest!!! Will Violetpaw find belonging in this new era of Shadowclan??? Or will she leave again??? Will Alderheart somehow figure out where Skyclan is and get them together at the lake??? Will Twigpaw get all the spicy details of Dovewing's secret romance with Tigerheart??? Who knows!! But I am very excited to find out what happens next :D

[irrevocably-delicious]

A Brief History of LGBT+ Characters and Why the Death of Adam in Voltron is Worth Being Upset About

So uh.... Good morning.

So I think it’s pretty obvious by now that the reception to season 7 has been less than... good. The fan base has been shattered. People are upset, angry, and abandoning this series in droves (I’ve lost over 50 followers as I write this, just from people no longer wanting anything to do with this show) and have been incredibly vocal as to the reason why.

They killed Adam. 

After two weeks of receiving praise for the relationship that was revealed at San Diego Comic Con, fans discovered on Friday night that Adam’s existence would be short lived, further contributing to this popular “Bury Your Gays” trope. 

And I’ve seen people confused at this outcry. They don’t understand why people are so upset at this tiny side character’s death. What’s the big deal, right? It’s war! There’s supposed to be casualties!

And to that kind of response I have to narrow my eyes and go:

“Oh.... maybe you understand the history of this.”

Because it is a history. A rich one. “Bury your gays” isn’t a trope in the same why that “Fake dating” is a trope. It’s not popular out of coincidence and I feel like many people are ignorant of that, which is FAIR! Because most voltron fans are young, most tumblr users are young, so I don’t expect you to be watching documentaries on LGBT+ cinema in between studying for your chemistry exams. 

So that’s where I come in. Buckle in children as I take you on a journey on why the “Bury your gays” trope exists, and the harmful ramifications that it has had on the LGBT+ community since its inception.

So lets go back. Way back to the 1920′s when homosexuality, or at least homosexuality adjacent themes were seen on screen. 

A time where a bro could kiss his bro, and it was seen as heart wrenching and realistic (Wings, 1927). A time where Marlene Dietrich could wear a suit better than a man, and flirt and kiss a lady just because she fucking could (Morocco, 1930). A time where gender roles were a bit looser, and there wouldn’t be an outcry over such imagery.

But as the great depression continued, and film producers became desperate to get butts in seats at the cinema, these LGBT+ themes became outright explicit. Raunchy even. Used for titillation and shock value. 

“Have you seen that new picture, Doris? The one where the roman emperor has the hot male sex slave?? Mmmmm scandalous!”

But with this rise of LGBT+ characters and interactions used for shock value, also came the rise of public outcry. The catholic church (those debbie downers) started boycotting films. This lead to the formation of the PRODUCTION CODE, which is a fancy way to say THE CODE THAT WILL NOW CENSOR THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR FILMS in 1934.

Backed by catholic activists, the code made it impossible for LGBT+ representation to exist on film. 

But did they?? See, this is actually were we start to see the development of “Queer coding”. Where actors and directors got savvy, and let you know a character was gay, whilst never explicitly stating so. It was subtle enough that it got past censors, but clear enough that audience members, especially LGBT+ people, got clued in.

Yeah Peter Lorre, you put that phallus shaped object next to your mouth a lot. They’ll get what your implying, don’t you worry. 

Oh, I’m sorry.... did i say you couldn’t have LGBT+ characters?? My mistake, you totally fucking could. Explicitly even.... if they were the villain. Religious people were totally cool if the villain in your film was LGBT+, because to them, that’s what LGBT+ people were.... villains. 

Film’s like Rebecca, Dracula’s Daughter, and Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope all centre around truly horrifying and despicable villains... who are all gay. LGBT+ villains became such a staple in horror films during this time that it lead to a whole near character archetype! We have the damsel in distress, the heroic soldier, the wise old man, now welcome the rise of the: 

PSYCHO QUEER.

Yikes. 

But why I’m talking about this so much is because this popularity in LGBT+ villains is what creates the “Bury your Gays” trope. 

Because the villains.... always die. 

It’s their comeuppance. Their karma. Of course bad people will die and the heroes will go one to live a happy life! But what crime are we punishing these villains for? 

The message these movies gets across to their audiences is that “If you are gay, you are a bad person... and bad people deserve to die”. Because Gay and villain were so synonymous with each other, they become one in the same, and as we all know by now REPRESENTATION MATTERS.

This influences how society views LGBT+ people, so that in 1952, when the PRODUCTION CODE of YOU BETTER NOT CONDONE ANYTHING SINFUL IN HERE BECAUSE JESUS DOESN’T LIKE THAT is torn down, things still don’t get much better for LGBT+ representation. 

LGBT+ characters no longer have to be villains, but society is still not super cool with LGBT+ people, so now we get a new archetype: The self hating tragic gay character. And often? These characters kill themselves, such as in 1961′s The Children’s Hour. Because this is palatable to audiences who do not condone homosexuality in any way, but watching an LGBT+ struggle with themselves? Watching them become overwhelmed by guilt and hatred until they decide that death is the only way out? How tragic! How cursed they are! How pitiful! How... marketable. 

But to see LGBT+ characters end up happy? Audiences at this time would not have stomached it, because to them, being LGBT was immoral and these characters were not deserving of happiness. A good analogy might be how modern audiences would view a film with a drug addict character in it. The addict either succumbs to their addiction and dies tragically, or they “Go straight” and have a happy ending. For these audiences in the 50s and 60s the only happy ending was a straight ending. 

Then in 1969 we get the Stonewall Riots, and in the 1970s things actually look alright.

That is until the 1980s and society finds a new reason to hate, fear and vilify LGBT+ people. The AIDS crisis wipes out lives and almost all positive representation in the media. This fear is echoed in film as LGBT+ people become villains again. Sleepaway Camp and Cruising are such examples. 

The 90′s are better. Whilst mainstream cinema is still vilifying LGBT+ in the 80s, more positive independent films still exist, and the success of the 1991 documentary Paris is Burning prompts Hollywood to go “Hey... maybe we can get some money if we pander to these LGBT+ folks”.

There is a brief period in the 90s where gay comedies like The Birdcage, In and Out, and To Wong Foo are allowed to exist. They’re comedies. The stereotypes are played for laughs, but there is a level of joy and care with these movies where even though these characters are making us laugh... for once we’re not laughing at them. We love these characters. We want them to succeed. No. One. Dies. 

It smells like progress. Finally.

Or at least it would. Because these films also exist in the same decade that Philadelphia wins Oscars and the musical Rent is winning Tonys. Both of these deal with the tragedy of the AIDS crisis and have main characters die from the disease. Am I going to point out that Rent has four characters suffering from AIDS, but the only one to die is the Trans-coded poc gay man? Yes. Yes I am. Meanwhile the heterosexual couple suffering from AIDS gets a happy ending.

Interesting. 

I hate you Rent. I hate you so goddamned much.

Also the 90s sees a good return to queer-coding villains. It’s always been there. It’s never really gone away, but I need to talk about the queer coding of 90′s villains because I’m sure all of you will actually recognise them.

Ah. There They are. Queer coding and Disney have a very rich history, which MANY articles have been written on. One might even say that it’s a... tale as old as time.

Mmmm no thank you. 

But why it is so rampant, particularly in animated films, is because the films have a limited run time. 

“We need to convince the audience that these characters are villains IMMEDIATELY. We don’t really have the time to waste on developing them and showing all their evil actions. We need audiences to believe when we tell them that these characters are bad. how do we do that?”

“.... make them kinda gay??”

That’s not actually how the conversation went in the board room, I’m sure, but it’s a very reduced down version. Because of the history of LGBT+ villains in the early years of cinema, animation relies on the stereotypes of villainous characters... well unfortunately those villains of old were LGBT+, so now we have LGBT+ stereotypes being passed on to new villains. 

Anyway, my point is that almost all Disney villains die. Sorry that’s where I was going with this. Most of them die. The “Bury your Gays” trope is repeated here because of the villain’s queer coding. It’s not obvious, but the subtext is “Hey, if you’re a bit effeminate or do things outside of your strict gender role? Mmmmmm you deserve to die.”

“Bury your Gays” continues in modern media. Despite the importance of Brokeback Mountain, which explicitly shows a romance and intimacy between two men... Jake Gyllenhaal’s character still dies, and it’s implied that it may be due to a hate crime. 

We see it in television. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Downton Abbey, Arrow, there was a massive outcry over the trope in The 100 when a female character, after just entering an intimate relationship with another female character, is killed off seemingly senselessly. 

The LGBT+ community is tired of only seeing themselves killed for shock value, character growth, or tragedy. Even Ru Paul’s Drag Race has come under fire in recent years for seemingly exploiting its contestants traumatic histories for ratings. 

This is why this year’s Love, Simon was so important. The film portrays an adolescent gay character as he struggles with being open with his sexuality and finding a meaningful relationship. Simon is portrayed as a sympathetic character. He’s the hero.

And he gets a happy ending.

This is why Korrasami, a same-sex relationship in children’s media, is so important. It shows two girls achieving their happy ending together.

It’s why in the same year that Steven Universe portrays a same sex wedding, Adam’s death feels like such a step backwards. 

The producers have stated that Adam’s death was supposed to raise the stakes of the season, it was supposed to make viewers realise the severity of the situation and overcome them with a feeling of loss, but Adam’s death doesn’t just fail the LGBT+ fans... it fails to effect viewers emotionally.

Because audiences can’t mourn a character that they have no connection with.

Most of Adam’s character was developed in interviews and not in the show, where he only spoke for one scene. The creators talked about the deep relationship between Adam and Shiro, but none of that is actually visible in the series. Taking the season at face value, Adam is just some guy who’s connected to Shiro that is killed off unceremoniously. He wasn’t even given the dignity of  hero’s death, taking out even one enemy before he died. That’s what hurts the most.

His death is meaningless. It does nothing. It’s pointless.

But of course “There’s still Shiro, right?”, which is true. Shiro still exists and is confirmed a mlm, which is important, but it’s understandable why fans may not be satisfied with this. Let’s take a closer look at Shiro.

I often joke with my friends that Voltron should be renamed Shiro Suffers: The Series, because out of all the characters in the show, Shiro has definitely endured and been subjected to the worst (you could argue that Allura has, but Shiro has the joy of being tortured emotionally and physically, so I feel he wins). 

The writers have tried to kill him numerous times, with only toy sales saving him. He’s been beaten, tortured, terminally ill, killed, revived, possessed and used... it’s a lot. In the old days, I used to ship shallura, not really out of feeling a real romantic connection between the characters, but just because I wanted Shiro to have someone. Someone to help support him. Someone he could open up about his struggles with. The paladins mean a lot to Shiro, but because he is their surrogate guardian, he cannot open up to them like this. He cannot show the paladins weakness, and we see this in how he keeps his disease a secret from Keith, because he does not want to burden Keith with his struggle. 

The introduction of Adam wasn’t just exciting because of the potential of seeing a caring LGBT+ relationship, but because it gave fans hope that Shiro would have someone. There was the potential that Shiro might finally gain some kind of supportive relationship outside of his strict roles of “leader” and “guardian”.

Adam’s death removes that possibility. Despite how caring, generous, strong, intelligent, kind, patient and capable Shiro is written... his life is fucking awful. It’s very telling that in the final scene of the season, when every other paladin is in the hospital surrounded by their family and loved ones, Shiro is alone. He’s on a stage, giving a rousing speech to a crowd, still trapped in this role as an inspirational leader.

God, they don’t even let Shiro mourn Adam. Does he feel guilty that he was the one who supposed to die, whilst Adam lived, but now their roles are reversed?We’ll never know. Adam’s death doesn’t even give some insight into Shiro’s character. It’s truly pointless.

Season 7 of Voltron has made it clear that this is not a kids show.  This is a serious show with dark themes. The writers want it to be taken more seriously.

Then I will critique it more seriously.

While I strongly doubt it was intentional, season 7 perpetuates the age old message “If you are LGBT+, you will not achieve a happy ending.” The “Bury your Gays” trope is steeped in a history of oppression, censorship, and vilification. When Adam dies, you’re not just seeing a character die, but you’re seeing the series make a conscious decision to participate in this oppressive trope. And it stings even more because the series sets two heterosexual relationships to potentially end in happiness, whilst the LGBT+ relationships have already ended in tragedy.

Why Adam? Why not literally anyone else? We had no connection to him, so it’s not like they could have used a handful of other characters for the same effect. (Kill James. Fuck that guy. And he’s young so it really would have hurt.)

And that’s what you have to question. This is why fans are upset.

I’m not writing this to convince anyone to boycott the show, or plead with you to stop watching. That’s up to you and your own belief system. I definitely do not condone harassing the writers or voice actors.

I just want people to understand why fans are so upset over season 7, and that they have every right to be. To state that the outcry is just because “fans didn’t see their ships become canon” is dismissive and cruel. Adam and Shiro’s relationship was heavily used in marketing by Netflix, so much so that you could call it queer-baiting. It was hyped at SDCC and explained as this deep and meaningful relationship, whilst the producers knew what Adam’s fate would be the whole time. 

I know producers have to answer to higher ups. I know the crew were largely on edge about what would get approved and what would not. 

But the point remains... they still made this conscious choice. Fans don’t have to be happy about it. They shouldn’t be. 

I have no idea what season 8 will bring, and at this point I feel like it might be a mess. But I encourage fans to support each other and be vocal about why you’re upset. You can’t change this show, but there’s hope that another series could learn from this. 

History repeats. Until we don’t let it.