#he may be lapsed but the saints are always important | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dear-mrs-otome · 5 years

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Hi, congratulations on your 2k followers 🌟. This is just a small reflection of your great talent. If you feel inspired to write something for Leonardo, how about writing him a little jealous? Maybe Theo can be blamed for this.😏 Thank you and Congrats!

SO FUNNY STORY you guys both requested Leonardo and I set out intending this to be mostly Leonardo but then Theo had to come and make it a-lot-about-him…being a scene stealer like he always is.

Long story short, please forgive me for not making this 100% Leonardo - I hope you still both enjoy it anyways! If anyone wants to send me a request, my inbox is open for the month of September

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The grand ballroom glittered, lights high above in the gently-arched ceiling mimicking the stars you could just see outside the grand balcony doors, thrown open to air out the warmth of so many bodies in a small space. Dresses in every color of the rainbow swirled and fluttered about the dance floor, like a swarm of butterflies prancing amongst a garden in bloom, the strains of one of Chopin’s waltzes floating almost as airily between them.

And you were…

Leaning against the wall, tapping your toes to the compelling rhythm and drowning a sigh in a sip of your champagne. You’d wanted to come - you were glad you had. The crown jewel in this lovely evening would have been a turn about the dance floor, a chance to live out your period-piece fantasies in real life.

But your vampire lover was far from amenable to the idea.

Over your shoulder you could hear the distinctive laugh of the vampire in question, and out of the corner of your eye spy Leonardo’s tall frame standing out from the crowd that had gathered around him. It was more than half of what appealed about him to you - the way his magnetism drew people in, how he fascinated everyone. But it was partly what drove you crazy about him too, when you had to share his time with so many other strangers.

Swallowing down the petty thoughts with another sip of champagne, you let your eyes drift around the room. You could see Arthur in a shadowed alcove, his lips scandalously close to the ear of a tittering young thing. Saint-Germain was holding court over a throng of his own adorers, Vincent was plucking a few artful tidbits from the platters carried amidst the crowd by servants, and his ever-present brother drifted along silently behind him like a shadow.

Over the rim of your glass, pale eyes suddenly met yours, and you flicked your gaze away uncomfortably.

It was hard to say just what about the younger van Gogh unsettled you, but Theo did. Perhaps it was the gruff, irritating nicknames he always came up with for you. Or just the quiet intensity that always clung to him, like a cloak. The faint air of danger that lurked just below the veneer of his civility - as if a wolf had deigned to accept the leash.

Turning away from that piercing stare, you went out to the balcony for some fresh air.

You were leaning against the railing, looking out over the manicured gardens awash in moonlight, before you sensed someone and turned to find a darkened figure standing backlit in the doorway.

“So this is where you tucked tail and ran off to.”

There was only one person you knew who would make a comparison like that, and you sighed. “I’m not a dog, Theo.”

He ambled close enough for you to see him arch one brow. “Then why are you out here looking like a puppy that just got kicked?” Turning around, he rested his weight against the balustrade beside you and folded his arms across his chest as he fixed you with a look. “What’s wrong?”

And maybe it was the strangely comforting anonymity of the night outside, or the second glass of champagne you were working through that had words tumbling from your lips before you realized it. Spilling your thoughts to the last person you’d have thought interested in hearing them. “It’s…just that it is a ball, after all. It seems a shame to come to one and not dance, even just a song.”

Theo grunted pensively. “And Leonardo’s not exactly one for dancing.”

“No…” you agreed, and regretted how miserable it sounded before lapsing back into silence.

It was broken a moment later by Theo’s gusty exhale. A hand raked through his hair, and then he pushed away from the banister and held a crooked elbow out towards you. “Well?” he prompted, after you simply stared.

“Well what?” you echoed, perplexed.

“Do you want to dance or not, hondje?”

“You can dance?” You didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but it happened.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing, nothing…” You waved his suspicion off. “You just don’t exactly seem the sort.”

“Social gatherings are important to any merchant. And dancing is usually expected. So, yes or no? I’m not waiting all night for you to make up your mind.”

It was far from the most gratuitous offer you’d ever heard, but then…was it any surprise? The real surprise was that you accepted, reaching up to settle your hand over the quiet solidarity of his still-proffered forearm as he led you back inside, through the throngs of people.

“I’m not very good,” you warned him with a grimace as you both came to a stop in an open space on the parquet floor.

His mouth twitched, before he smothered the smile you suspected had almost broken free. “Any dog can learn new tricks, if they can obey commands.” He turned, grasped your hand fully and guided you into a proper frame, before angling a slightly wicked grin down at you. “Just follow my lead.”

The first tinkling measure of the waltz flitted past, cajoling you to come along, and Theo pulled you into motion - your steps uncertain at first, but quickly growing more bold. He was a good partner, leading confidently enough that you could simply surrender to the rhythm and the music, until you didn’t bother hiding the smile that grew on your face.

Who would have thought, only just earlier this evening, that you’d be enjoying anything with the acerbic Theo?

And on the next round, the world spun for a moment as he twirled you with a slight flourish, setting you stumbling slightly at the end. A strong arm wrapped around your waist, his broad hand splayed just over the flare of your hip as you steadied yourself against his chest.

“You know, knabbeltje…” His voice was so close, so low, it startled you into looking up. A mistake - for you were now floundering in a fathomless sea of blue, nearly drowning. Breathless. “If there are things you want in this life, you can’t just wait for them to fall into your lap. You have to do something about it.”

The rest of the room seemed to fall away as the hand on your hip tightened, almost imperceptibly.

“Do you mind if I cut in?”

Leonardo’s smooth basso proceeded his shadow falling over the both of you, and when you turned it was to find an expression on his face you couldn’t quite place - save for that it wore the mask of a smile almost seamlessly.

“Not at all.” A satisfied smirk ghosted around the very edges of Theo’s lips as he handed you off to the other vampire. “It took you long enough.” He nodded his head at you in a surprisingly gallant gesture, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and sauntering off.

For the first time ever, you saw something like uncertainty flash acoss Leonardo’s face, as the strains of music continued and the couples whirled, parting and merging around you unerringly as if you were two stones in a stream. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the music died away, and relief softened the crease between Leonardo’s brows.

“Do you want to get some air?” he suggested.

“Yes, please.” You took the hand he offered you gratefully, and he led you off the floor towards the broad balcony doors you’d come in from a bit before. The air outside was a blessing on your heated cheeks, swaddling you in the cool silk of darkness, and the glittering rainbow you could glimpse through the glass seemed like a far-off dreamscape.

“So…Theo?” Leonardo began.

“Believe me, I was as surprised as you are.”

“I’m not surprised, cara mia. Not really.” But before you could puzzle out just what he meant, he continued. “If you wanted to dance, why didn’t you just say something?” He lifted you into his arms, pulling a squeak of surprise from you as he chuckled.

“Leonardo, this isn’t dancing,” you pointed out, as he began to turn in slow circles, still holding you easily.

His lips quirked. “Are you really complaining?”

“No…” Resigned, you looped your arms around his neck and tipped your face up expectantly towards his. He nosed at the line of your cheekbone before his mouth found yours and caught you up in a slow, gentle kiss.

“Don’t dance with anyone else, cara mia,” he murmured into the tiny breath you stole. “I know I don’t have any right to ask you that, but let me be this selfish.”

“Then…” Theo’s good advice echoed in your head, stiffening your spine with courage, and you drew a bracing breath. “Dance with me properly. I don’t care if you’re bad or good, I just want to share this with you.” You wriggled out of his arms and did your best imitation of the gentlemen inside, bowing with a hand proferred towards Leonardo and the beginnings of a cheeky grin. “May I have this waltz, good sir?”

He laughed softly - a bit helplessly - and took your hand to draw you close, an arm around your waist. “Very well. But the bruises on your feet are on you.”

And maybe he did step on your toes, maybe he didn’t - you wouldn’t have noticed either way when you were so caught up in the smile he wore as you both turned about the balcony, your heart singing counterpoint to the faint melody that drifted out from inside. The two of you like earthbound reflections of the stars wheeling slowly overhead.

~~~

Through glass doors and revelry, two sets of identical blue eyes watched the shadowy pair outside, caught up in their own little world.

“What did you say to her?” Vincent wondered aloud.

Theo only shrugged, and half-drowned his answer in a sip of his drink. “That if she wanted something, to just go after it. It’s exhausting, watching her constantly jump through hoops to avoid rocking the boat.”

Vincent studied his younger brother knowingly for a long moment, before a rue-tinged smile crept onto his face. “Oh, Theo. When will you learn to take your own advice sometimes?”

Theo pulled his attention from the couple to let it land on Vincent for a moment, his mouth open as if to say something. But it died away before he did, and he merely shrugged again in silence, turning his back on the scene outside to stride off until his figure was lost amongst the crowds once more.

~~~~

Thank you for reading - if you enjoy my work, you can find more in the ‘Masterpost’ linked in my blog description

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp theo #my writing #mo2kfc #in which i torture theo again #because he makes it so easy and fun #lxvescramble #if leonardo is vaguely in character here #it's all otomelin's doing #<3333

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hieromonkcharbel · 4 years

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The New Evangelization Begins in the Confessional

What is the new evangelization?

The expression “new evangelization” was popularized by the important apostolic exhortation of Blessed Paul VI, Evangelii Nuntiandi, as a response to the new challenges that the contemporary world creates for the mission of the Church. As Saint John Paul II tells us in Crossing the Threshold of Hope, the new evangelization has nothing in common with restoration, proselytism, pluralism or tolerance: instead, against the spirit of the world, the Church takes up anew each day a struggle that is none other than the struggle for the world’s soul. Saint John Paul concluded that in its ever renewed encounter with man, evangelization is linked to generational change. Generations come and go which have distanced themselves from Christ and the Church, which have accepted a secular model of thinking and living. Meanwhile, the Church is always looking toward the future and She constantly goes out to meet new generations. And new generations clearly seem to be accepting with enthusiasm what their elders seem to have rejected.

Where does the new evangelization begin?

In a speech addressed to priests and deacons at an audience with the Pope in 2012, Pope Benedict XVI maintained that the new evangelization begins in the confessional. Consciousness of one’s own sinful condition helps one to realize the need for “openness of heart” to God. “The certainty that He is close and His mercy awaits the human being, even one who is involved in sin, in order to heal his weakness with the grace of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, is always a ray of hope for the world”, Pope Benedict said. The real conversion of our hearts means opening ourselves to God’s transforming and renewing action. In confession, through the freely bestowed action of divine Mercy, repentant sinners are justified, pardoned and sanctified and they abandon their former selves to be re-clothed in the new.

The necessity of confession

Confession is a part of our great Catholic heritage and has been practiced by our Christian ancestors since the earliest days of the Church. In the Teaching of the Twelve Apostles (Didache, ca. 100) it states quite unambiguously: “Assemble on the Lord’s day and break bread and offer the Eucharist, but first make confession of your faults” (14, 1). In his groundbreaking work, Jesus of Nazareth, Part Two, Pope Benedict XVI reminds us that although we are saved by our baptism, “even the baptized remain sinners, so they need confession of sins, for in the life of Christians, –for table fellowship with the Lord– it constantly requires completion: washing of the feet”. In the First Letter of John we read, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just, and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us” (1:8-10). According to Pope Benedict XVI, the use of the word “cleanse” signals an inner connection with the foot-washing passage. In confession, the Lord washes our soiled feet over and over again and prepares us for table fellowship with him. In the humble gesture of the washing of the feet is an expression of the entire ministry of Jesus’ life and death. The Lord stands before us as the servant of God –he who for our sake becomes one who serves, who carries our burden and so grants us true purity, the capacity to draw close to God.

Medicine for the Soul

The sacrament of the forgiveness of sins presupposes sins to be forgiven. What then is sin? Sin means disobedience to God’s commandments. It is a moral lapse, a free choice of the will. Sin must be admitted if it is to be forgiven, because we cannot be forgiven for sins we do not confess and repent of. “When Christ’s faithful strive to confess all the sins that they can remember, they undoubtedly place all of them before the divine mercy for pardon. But those who fail to do so and knowingly withhold some, place nothing before the divine goodness for remission… for if the sick person is too ashamed to show his wound to the doctor, the medicine cannot heal” (CCC 1456). “Sin is in the soul what disease is in the body. Forgiveness is a healing operation, a real spiritual change: it requires the light of truth to shine on it – by confession – and only then can we find peace.” (Dr. Peter Kreeft)

The joy after confession

As C. S. Lewis noted, “Humility, after the first shock is a cheerful virtue.” The greatest saints have always had the greatest joy –for joy is one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit (Gal 5:22). Yet these same saints see themselves as the greatest sinners. Pascal said there are only two kinds of people: saints, who know they are sinners, and sinners, who think they are saints. The confession of sin frees us and facilitates our reconciliation with others. Through an admission of sin, “man looks squarely at the sins he is guilty of, takes responsibility for them, and thereby opens himself again to God and to the communion of the Church.” (CCC 1455) On the level of human psychology, each of us needs to “let it all out” and “unload” so that our conscience may be clear. Thomas A Kempis exhorts us to maintain a clean conscience, stating : “Have therefore a clean conscience and thou shalt always have gladness. A good conscience may bear many wrongs, and is ever merry and glad in adversities; but an evil conscience is always fearful and unquiet.” Pardon and peace come from confession. “The forgiven penitent is reconciled with himself in his inmost being, where he regains his innermost truth… He is reconciled with all creation.” (CCC 1469) Following confession, the penitent finds peace and serenity with strong spiritual consolation. It is a peace that includes wholeness, harmony and a right relationship with God, self, and others. It is an echo from Eden and a foretaste of heaven. This is the peace Jesus Christ gives, “not as the world gives” (John 14:27).

Confession for conversion to holiness

All of us are under a continuing need for conversion. Conversion begins in Baptism, but conversion does not end in Baptism. It is an ongoing process because it is an ongoing need. Thomas A Kempis enlightens us in The Imitation of Christ with his observation, “How great is the frailty of human nature which is ever prone to evil! Today you confess your sins and tomorrow you again commit the sins which you confessed. One moment you resolve to be careful, and yet after an hour you act as though you had made no resolution.” Baptism is our first conversion, but through confession we undergo a second conversion because we are always in need of purification. St. Ambrose says of the two conversions that in the Church, “there are water and tears: the water of Baptism and the tears of repentance.” Pope Benedict states that the new evangelization draws its lifeblood from the holiness of the children of the Church, from the daily journey of personal and community conversion in order to be ever more closely conformed to Christ. There is a close connection between holiness and the Sacrament of Reconciliation, witnessed by all the saints of history. In the Introduction to the Devout Life, St. Francis de Sales encourages us towards repentant conversion in order to gain holiness, urging: “Even as a man just recovering from illness walks only so far as he is obliged to go, with a slow and weary step, so the converted sinner journeys along as far as God commands him but slowly and wearily, until he attains a spirit of true devotion, and then, like a sound man, he not only gets along, but he runs and leaps in the way of God’s Commands, and hastens gladly along the paths of heavenly counsels and inspirations.”

Through confession we emerge renewed

Pope Benedict XVI summarized the benefits of confession saying, “In the celebration of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the faithful have a real experience of that Mercy which Jesus of Nazareth, Lord and Christ has given to us, so that they themselves will become credible witnesses of that holiness which is the aim of the New Evangelization.” As Saint John Paul II indicated, the new evangelization is about the struggle for man’s soul: and the way to regain the souls of men is to give them a new beginning through the sacrament that renews our encounter with Christ. Our Holy Father Pope Benedict concluded his remarks to Priests in 2012 with this strong appeal: “This is my hope for each one of you: may the newness of Christ always be the center and reason for your priestly existence, so that those who meet you through your ministry may exclaim as did Andrew and John ‘we have found the Messiah’ (John 1:41). In this way, every Confession, from which each Christian will emerge renewed, will be a step ahead in the New Evangelization. May Mary, Mother of Mercy, Refuge for us sinners and Star of the New Evangelization, accompany us on our way.”

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utcreative-blog · 4 years

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The Unity of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, Or Is Judas the Original Social Justice Warrior?

About a month ago over at the Lepanto Institute Facebook page, a meme was posted. You can see it here. It pictures an almost offensively stereotypically Jewish Judas kissing a rather European looking Jesus Christ Artist . At the top in ominous, red letters it says, Judas Iscariot; at the bottom (oddly in white), Patron Saint of Social Justice. Scot Eric Alt and Mary Pezzulo adequately explained and criticized this: “Lepanto Institute Meme Attempts to Link Social Justice to Judas Iscariot,” “The Lepanto Institute and the Sin of Judas,” and “Lepanto Institute Under Malicious Attack by Evil “Social Justice Warriors”!”

I thought things were done, then I cam across this piece by Steven Skojec over at 1Peter5 (an odd, to me, Catholic site). Skojec describes Pope Francis as wearing some kind of mask (as if, perhaps, he’s really just a front for a demon and the Devil/Antichrist really now is the Pope in Rome as so many of my fundamentalist, dispensationalist Protestant friends used to tell me). Skojec’s article is strange enough. But then I read the comments. Two people, in conjunction with one another, regarded Pope Francis, SJW, as Judas’ pope. One commenter went so far as to suggest there were “excellent parallels” between Pope Francis and Judas, both, the commenter notes, Social Justice Warriors.

Now, I don’t want to beat a dead horse. But let’s do be reminded of the context for this claim. While the anointing of Jesus’ feet with expensive perfume is described in three gospels, it is only in John’s that we are told it was Judas complaining. And also in John are we reminded that Judas did not actually care about the poor, but used shared purse as his personal purse, purloining coins whene’er he could. So, the context makes it clear, Judas’ goals are not social justice, but personal gain. But, what if Judas did really want to help the poor? I mean, let’s remember that two other gospels merely tell us that some of the disciples complained about the woman’s actions suggesting that they could have sold the perfume and aided the poor. On the face of it, we could easily read them as passages about “social justice.”

This is where a video from back in November featuring Dr. Conor Cunningham, of my alma mater the University of Nottingham, comes into play. The video is one in the Theology and Religious Studies’ Why Study series. The question at hand is, Why Study the Transcendentals. Throughout the video Cunningham discusses the importance of the transcendentals, primarily Beauty, Truth, and Goodness. These are considered by Thomas Aquinas as being convertible with Being. What this means is this: Everything that is, by virtue of existing, must at least insofar as it exists is also good, true, and beautiful. Central in all this is the unity of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty. They are not meant, so Cunningham reminds us, to be divided.

Throughout the video, Cunningham gives examples of what too much emphasis on one of the transcendentals, to the exclusion of the others, can look like. Goodness brought to fore can lapse into moralism; Beauty into vanity or aestheticism; Truth into propositions (or theological masturbation as Cunningham calls it). Then Cunningham does something apropos of all these Judas Iscariot, SJW memes and ideas. He uses Judas (I think, in the moment he may have forgotten John’s little explanatory note about Judas the thief) as an example of someone who focuses on Goodness to the exclusion of Beauty. Cunningham notes that there are those who question why we build cathedrals when there are poor people to feed. He reminds us that we build cathedrals (which are beautiful) because of the poor. Beauty, properly received, can lead us to Truth and Goodness. So, even if Judas had truly wanted to feed the poor, his problem would not have been a dedication to the Good, but a forgetfulness of the Beautiful (and in Judas’ case the True as well).

So where does this leave us? Is Judas the “patron saint” of social justice warriors? On the one hand, of course not. That’s ridiculous on a whole host of levels. But Christ’s words (whether to Judas or to all the disciples) still stand. We cannot become so focused on social justice that we forget the Truth or the Beautiful. No more than we ought to become so focused on the Truth so as to lose focus on the Good and the Beautiful; or on the Beautiful so as to lose focus on the Good and the Truth. The three must stand united (just as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit can never be truly divided). So we must feed the poor; we must be social justice warriors. But perhaps, to further a meme suggesting other role-playing classes, we ought also to be or to raise up social justice bards (or poets/artists) and social justice philosophers and theologians. And I don’t simply mean poets and artists who write, paint, and sculpt about explicit social justice issues; or philosophers and theologians who are exclusively ethicists. Rather I mean we must foster poets and artists and philosophers and theologians (and bankers and farmers and housewives and househusbands and students) whose lives are so organized around Truth, Beauty, and Goodness that while they may not always have the ferver of some SJWs they will nevertheless be committed to bringing about social reform just as (or perhaps slightly less than) they are committed to writing beautiful (and good and true) poetry or devising true (and good and beautiful) books about God and the nature of reality. We must be whole. We must also be the body, allowing some to be legs, others eyes, still others mouths and ears. And we must tend to each part of the body to ensure that we move with one fluid motion.

#Jesus Christ Artist

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larosepompon · 5 years

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Apollyon

Part 2 of "Hellions"

Word of Taemin's antics has reached the ears of The Devil himself, now he has to take responsibility of his misdoings. Stressed, he takes the aid of his advisory and puts his son into the picture.

Warnings: Religious connotations.

He cast a lazy look at the various socialites and celebrities milling around his apartment, surveying their faces over the rim of his cut-glass tumbler. They chatted in low voices over his art collection, the smooth and dry notes of his Macallan 1983 trickling over his tongue. Members of the Blue House and the Japanese Diet conversed on his cream sofa, while a few models seemed captured by their host’s looks as they refilled their glasses. The corner of his mouth curled slightly as one of the girls sauntered over to him, resting her Pinot Grigio on his dining table. As much as her slight appearance whet his appetite, Jaejoong arranged this soiree for business - only a handful of those in the room knew him by his old name, who he really was. Raking his mahogany eyes up her frame, he noticed the goose flesh in its wake, her nipples perking up when she shivered slightly. It was nice to know that after all these years he hadn’t lost his touch. "Rumour has it that you’re still a single man, Mr Kim." She purred, lithe arms delicately folded across her ample chest, plump lips quirked into a smile. "I like to remain an enigma with these sorts of things miss Rocha. I don’t need anything to distract me from my business or to attract unwanted Media..." He paused, swigging the last of his malt liquid, smiling wryly.

Jaejoong admired his human form as he turned to look in the mirror, nude body taught and smooth; littered with tattoos and piercings. He thought the aesthetic suited his body – with his alluring facial features, many others admired and fawned over him too. Stepping out of the bathroom while towelling off his hair, he looked over to the two models in his bed; sufficiently ruined and fast asleep. No doubt that Leo would help them on their way out later. Dongyoung had made him aware of a rather interesting development regarding a rebellious incubus, Taemin. While back in Hell the behaviour wouldn’t have been a problem, here on The Surface they were bound by a set of rules that kept them in Neutral favour. The Surface provided everyone with a trade-off of sorts. Under the scrupulous eye of Heaven various Hellions were allowed on The Neutral plane (The Surface) to feed and keep the level of good and bad fairly equal. They were allowed to corrupt (and harm evil-doers) within reason, so long as they didn’t do any permanent damage. So when Dongyoung, his marvellous subordinate supplied him with horrifying images of a depredated body courtesy of Taemin, Jaejoong couldn’t just stand idle – even if he was the Devil. He cast his thoughts to his son, perhaps the young Cambion could sort out this mess for him. After all – he had far more important Surface matters to deal with, such as uprises against governments in East Asia and corrupt administrations in Europe and the US. He fed off the tension and anger, controlled the amount of chaos surrounding matters such as these. Everyone knew that with a wave of his hand or a simple command, entire countries could be subject to famine or plague. Jaejoong had the power to do all these things but God was it tiring. His son was far too taken with his little medical business and fawning over humans to care about ruling, the last 100 years of his spent running amok in his youth.

Donning a Saint Laurent shirt, he absentmindedly reached for his Chrome Hearts and Hermes jewellery, slipping the bracelet and rings on his fingers. He puffed out a sigh, running a hand through his hair – effectively changing the colour to a wine red. Satisfied, Jaejoong made his way down to the garage, picking out his Rolls Royce for the day. He had a meeting lined up with some of the Nephilim in the city, to discuss the balance and what was to be done if he could not rein in Taemin.

He pulled up outside of their chosen restaurant, looking at the minimalistic and chromatic interior. Of course they’d choose a place like this he thought. The Nephilim were a tall lot, stoic and almost regal in appearance upon meeting them. Their flaw being that their personalities are like those of mere Humans when you get talking to them. The reason they cannot be one hundred percent pure again is for their loss of virtue one way or another. Angels, even fallen ones, never lose their grace or imposing stature; lined up along the bar table at the back, It was almost like an interview rather than a peace meeting. “Ah Jaejoong, good of you to make it today. Please – have a seat.” The high bar stool moved on it’s own accord, Jaejoong taking his place opposite the four Nephilim.

“There’s a new face I see.” His head ducked toward a young boy, expression a little nervous and awkward. His eyes widened when the Devil regarded him with interest. “Oh yes, this is Jisung – he’s quite the trickster but very knowledgeable. He’s good with intel.” Hakyeon supplied, hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. He fidgeted in his seat slightly but Jaemin settled his unease with a palm on his knee. “If I may ask – is this how you came to know of Taemin?” Jaejoong squared his shoulders, taking a sip of the wine a server came to pour. He kept his eyes trained on Hakyeon, the Angel known for his bouts of anger at times. He didn’t want an argument or worse, a brawl. “He didn’t exactly conceal his lapse of character, your Highness. He needs to be under watch while he awaits further judgement.” Their ring-leader sat far too poised, too rigid in his seat. The tension almost palpable. Leo sat to the left of him, mild boredom splayed across his face. He feigned disinterest in his food while listening. Sure – he’d been at the soiree the previous night; it was however with great reluctance he attended, feeling like he had to monitor the goings on in aid of Human Society. At least Jaejoong always compensated handsomely. “May I remind you all that he is still under my rule, I will be the one deciding on how he is dealt with – Donyoung and I are seeing to it. If we cannot control his misbehaviour then he’’ll be sent back to Hell or disposed of.” Out the corner of his eye, Jaejoong caught sight of Jaemin's grimace at the conversation. “Is there a problem, Jaemin?” The young one wrung his hands under the table at the sound of his voice. “I just think that’d be a shame, he’s clearly troubled ... wouldn’t some console or therapy be better?” Hakyeon almost barked his laugh out. “Therapy?! We’re not talking about some Human teen! This is in his inherent nature, Jaemin. Just a mere 200 years ago, no one would've batted an eye at such behaviour.”

While Hakyeon's jaw was taut with quiet anger, the young Nephilim had his eyes cast downwards, solemnly. The fallen Angel had such a big heart and it showed that even he, a messenger once under God's wing, had sympathy for a wayward Demon of all beings. Jaejoong regarded him with curiosity as he mulled over the Nephilim's words. For a moment he toyed with the idea of just ridding Taemin to improve his image but Jaemin had a point- why not try a more modern approach to the situation before reverting back to the Old Ways.

The waxen light of his apartment conjured a romantic atmosphere as Donyoung flicked through some paperwork. Harp strings filled the study with soft tones. Running a hand through his hair in frustration, streaks and roots of gold shone through his ebony locks he dyed to avert Human gaze. A light chime from his doorbell roused him from concentration and the lull of the music.

“Just coming!” He called, delicate gold necklaces tinkling as he jogged to the front door. As he neared, the atmosphere shifted to something much darker. Donyoung's brow creased, his expression hardening when he saw his late-evening visitor. “My Liege – this is a surprise" he moved to let the man through into his abode. “I know this is an unexpected visit but we need to talk about Taemin.” Jaejoong sighed, face slightly stern. His whole being emitting waves of frustration. He momentarily glanced down at Donyoung's attire: “nice PJs – they suit your aesthetic” he smirked. Donyoung clicked his tongue as he looked at his golden silk loungewear. “Thank you for your input, sir" crossing his arms, the shorter man jerking his chin towards the plush sofa in the rutilant space. Donyoung didn’t entertain many, yet he knew how to host with millennia of practice under his belt. A Tiffany’s crystal decanter in hand, he let his flaxen eyes drift down to the amber liquid catching the light as it poured into each tumbler. His superior sat with his elbows propped on his knees, spacing out into the distance when Donyoung held the tumbler in front of his face. He graciously took it with quietly muttered thanks, quickly clinking the glasses together. “Slàinte” Dongyoung toasted, the liquor burning his oesophagus making him cock his head. “One of the Nephilim suggested something today” The Devil spoke in their moment of quiet; “said that we should first go with modern corrections to the problem.” The harp still played in the background, soothing the tension away as they conversed. “A modern solution? And what would that be?” He looked vacantly on at his Superior. “They suggested counselling. A fucking therapy session, Dongyoung. I’d rather just put him back in Hell, but they said to try it first.” Jaejoong pinched the bridge of his nose as he leant forward on the couch, his jacket wrinkling making him look a little dishevelled. “I’m not so good with these situations, Dongyoung. I- I wanted to seek advice; who would I send for counsel?” Wildly inappropriate as it was, he wanted to laugh at The Devil sitting beside him. Dongyoung had not been worshipped for many centuries, yet here he was being asked for help by a being that was both feared and enamoured by all too many across the globe. Heaven’s Adversary. The gold on his chest reflected that of his eye, a proud glint that made his bust swell. He let out a soft noise of thought as he wracked his brain for an answer. “I think it’d best work if we sent another Incubi, don’t you agree? They tend to reason well amongst their own kind.” He traced his tongue over his bottom lip, pensive and a little timid. Jaejoong’s eyes caught his own and the man nodded slowly in agreeance. little freedom up here? Incubi don’t often have the advantage of a solid form.”

“I know just the duo.”

#nct fanfic #kim jaejoong #jaejoong fanfic #vixx fanfic #doyoung #jaejoong #jaemin #nct #jisung #hakyeon #demon au #angel au

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friedesgreatscythe · 6 years

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lapsed catholic tho i may be, i’ve always kinda had a soft spot for st. john the baptist, because happy accidents/cosmic coincidences connect me to him.

- his feast/birthday is my birthday (24th june)

- my middle name is his mother’s name

- my first name means the anointed one--he was a baptist.

- he was killed for telling off herod for marrying his half-brother’s wife, which is basically half the set up for my fave shakespeare play, hamlet.

i go back and forth with believing in signs and omens, and telling myself not to put too much weight in them, but honestly... it doesn’t hurt anyone for me to think of these little bits as omens. if anything it only helps, and it helps me specifically.

if i had gone through to make my confirmation i’m p sure i would’ve been torn between st. joan and him as my patron saint. i just??????? love that guy. i can’t quite put my finger on why.

i mean, i guess if i had to think about it, the elements of his story--extreme isolation as a form of introspection and spiritual understanding; the process of “mortification” as a purging of the body (and all the pain that involves); speaking openly and adamantly and passionately about what he believed, having the courage to lift up his voice--that all hits pretty close to home for me because of chronic illness and trauma and being a former self-injur..er. i also consider him one of the few male saints whose experiences remind me specifically of how it feels to be a woman (namely how it feels to use your voice and be punished for speaking out, but also just the pain involved in the process of being a cis or trans woman). he’s also a man so closely associated with the magic and mystery and divine worthiness of women (his mother, elizabeth, and the virgin mary are two important feminine figures in his story. and idk it always warmed my heart to read the bit of him ‘leaping’ in the womb when mary came to tell elizabeth about her visit from gabriel; the presence of mary was enough to move him like that and also sanctify him? he was blessed by her presence, like,,,,,,,,, holy shit? lmao).

a prayer i found for him uses the line “voice crying in the wilderness, pray for us,” and it brought me to tears. to think of a voice crying out in a place that’s fearful and wild also using that voice to speak for me is uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh really. really. special. that means a lot.

idk.

#krist.txt #if st peter let's me thru the gates the first thing i'm askin is 'WHERE'S JOHN AT'#lapsed catholic tag #christopagan

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fairywine · 6 years

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Leitha

AO3 Link

“Between Neudörfl and Gattendorf, the Leitha River had formed the historic boundary between Austria and Hungary after 1048. The river become a symbol of the boundary so that the two halves of the dual monarchy were often referred to as Trans-Leithania (Hungary), and Cis-Leithania (Austria).” -Andrew Frank Burghardt, The Political Geography of Burgenland

“You won’t have to stay long. Just enough to be...seemly.”

Hungary turns her head from where she had been gazing out the gilt-framed window of the carriage. Outside the heart of Pest streams by, the buildings glowing with lights shining cheerfully in the night’s darkness. She lifts a steady brow at her prime minister, who to his credit meets it unflinchingly. But both she and Gyula Andrássy have been through enough to know there are far worse things to receive than a cool stare.

“I know what is needed of me, Count Andrássy.” Hungary rests gloved hands neatly in her lap, smooths out the finely embroidered half-apron that is part of her traditional court dress. A little over a year ago, and for centuries preceding it, the only aprons she usually wore had been plain white cotton, soft from frequent washings, a rag in one pocket and a knife in the other. A maid’s apron, suitable for a humble servant. Now look at her. “The Dual Monarchy need not fear any lapse in manners from the Kingdom of Hungary.”

Andrássy is too consummate a politician to let his feelings show, but Hungary knows what he’s thinking. That from the perspective of the western half of the empire it’s only a matter of time before the wild Magyars act out again.

“The compromise has managed to hold for a year,” Andrássy carefully says. “Tonight, we have passed out first great hurdle. What lies before us now is the importance of building upon what we’ve accomplished.”

Hungary can’t help but look outside again. It’s a balmy summer night in Pest, the streets thronged with people. Everywhere Hungary’s flag abounds, the peerlessly beautiful piros, fehér, zöld with her coat of arms center to declare its sovereignty to the world. Through the lavish shell of Andrássy’s carriage she can hear a lively csárdás being played on a violin, can see people dancing and children running around.

For all the festivities, the underlying emotion in the air is a tension pulled tight as piano wire. People are commemorating the first anniversary of Austria-Hungary more out of a sense of obligation than joy. Overall, even the brightest moods are shot through with an uneasy edge. By the standards of Magyar celebrations, June 8th, 1868 is a poor showing. As with so many things concerning her land, Hungary accepts this is the best anyone can do, given the circumstances.

“There’s no need for such reminders,” Hungary says. “Compared to what I’ve been through in the past, even this half-loaf of a union is like a happy dream. And once my authority is more fully settled, well…”

“Half-loaf?” Andrássy repeats.

“Better than none,” Hungary explains, earning a short but hearty laugh from the prime minister. “And already paying dividends. I can be polite and toast to the glory of the Osztrák-Magyar Monarchia if it means having what’s rightfully mine again.”

The carriage bumps a little on the last bit of road before they pass onto the awesome span of the Chain Bridge. The jostling is uncomfortable despite as well built a vehicle as Andrássy’s, more so when one is tightly corseted and layered up with what feels like a thousand starched petticoats. Hungary makes a mental note to remind her king that public works projects are a reliable way to build up local goodwill, specifically nice, smooth roads.

Andrássy inclines his dark head in agreement as they cross the Danube. “Especially once the matter of Croatia’s status is finalized. I have great hopes of the settlement we’ve arranged.”

“Which, God willing, shouldn’t be too much longer,” Hungary grouses, resting her head tiredly against the back of her seat. It makes the pins holding the elegant coiffure her hair has been braided stab into her scalp. But that’s mild compared to some of the headaches her southern Slavs have given her since the Compromise was made official. “Croatia demands so much from me he’s practically declared independence himself.”

“Horvát Királyság asks for all he can, knowing he will ultimately end up with much less,” Andrássy assures her. “You may stay confident knowing you ultimately hold the winning hand.”

The carriage leaves the Chain Bridge much more easily than it had entered, making the leftward turn on the road leading to the Royal Palace. Noticing Andrássy studying her, Hungary follows the path of his gaze to where it rests on her hands. Covered by her short-length evening gloves, the bulge of the ring on Hungary’s right hand is still unmistakable. A year’s time of wearing the band and she still feels the weight of it like an anchor.

“It is likewise encouraging that we’ve had no interference from,” a delicate pause, “Other quarters.”

Politicians will be politicians no matter what. Andrássy is exquisitely outfitted in his díszmagyar, mente coat draped over one shoulder, dolman shirt of fine silk and pants of rich velvet-a fairytale prince of medieval times. But his dark, intense eyes show he to be a thoroughly modern statesman beneath the pageantry. Under Andrássy’s süveg fur cap Hungary can practically see his mind roaring away, always examining every angle and choice. This happens often enough, the men who look and see a young maiden rather than the centuries old land she truly is, but it never stops being annoying. Or unwanted.

“My husband, you mean,” Hungary says directly. “No, Austria has been the very soul of reticence. I’ve barely seen him a handful of times since the wedding.”

Andrássy wants to probe more, it’s obvious. But how to do it while balancing his gentlemanly ideals-and to his adored Nation-seems to elude him. It’s just as well, as the carriage has finally completed its ascension up Castle Hill to pull into the main courtyard of the Royal Palace, its stately facade glowing brightly from within as well as the many light poles placed about the enclosure.

It takes only a moment for the guards to observe Andrássy’s coat of arms on his carriage door and ascertain they are not just in the presence of the prime minister but the Nation herself. Sweding, the vehicle’s door swings open to reveal a line of eight footmen on either side, at fullest attention for their most honored guests. Ever the Magyar gentleman, Andrássy helps Hungary out, an act she greatly appreciates considering the long train of her dress. A deep bow before holding his arm out for her to take, and Andrássy leads them both behind yet more footmen into the castle proper.

The Royal Palace has worn many faces since Hungary roamed the stone halls of the residence constructed by King Béla IV six hundred years ago as a young girl. (Who had been still firmly convinced she was a boy.)

It hadn’t lasted, but later kings had replaced the structure with newer palaces in the same location, following the artistic trends in vogue at the time of their respective reigns. King Sigismund had made it a Gothic masterpiece fit for the Holy Roman Emperor, Matthias Corvinus a Renaissance-influenced wonder for his Italian bride. All beautiful, in their own ways.

Then Mohács happened, and in the ensuing 158 year tug of war between Austria and Turkey over Hungary’s lands, the castle was destroyed down to practically nothing. Even the splendid Baroque building Maria Theresa had rise from the ruins had fallen to her ever-tragic luck. Like so much else, it had been a victim of Austria’s suppression of the 1848 rebellions. Yet restoration and reconstruction had their effect, the proud Neoclassical palace rather neatly mirroring Hungary’s own shift from servility to full autonomy and ruling half the empire.

Hungary can’t really say how she feels about it overall, not with the failures and sorrow of 1848 so fresh in her mind. At least it is preferable to ruination. Perhaps with time she can know her own heart on the subject, and maybe even grow to love it. The Royal Palace can’t help being what it is-it’s up to Hungary to make the most of things.

The hundreds of beeswax candles setting the interior aglow make the French Rococo-style glitter brilliantly. Between the crystals and lights and gold it feels like another world. A world whose reason for existing is to declare the power, wealth, and prestige of its owner. That said owner is ultimately her is a face Hungary still can’t fully wrap her head around. She has yet to abandon the natural reflex to look at such splendor and think of how much wax will be needed to make the mahogany wood gleam, how much soap and water to mop the marble, and plenty of rags for dusting every last blessed knickknack in the room.

“Are you ready?” Andrássy murmurs at a volume meant for Hungary’s ears alone. With a barely concealed jolt she realizes they’ve arrived at the main ballroom entrance, only moments to go before they’re announced. Not for the first time, the Nation is grateful for her prime minister’s natural attentiveness.

“Of course,” Hungary says, fixing a smile on her face that strikes an appropriate balance between brightness and dignity. Seeing little point in putting the moment off, Hungary gives a regal nod the pair of footmen waiting at attention. With a single smooth motion they swing open the gilt-laden double doors.

“Her Royal Apostolic Highless, the Lands of the Crown of Saint Stephen, the Kingdom of Hungary!”

There must be at least two hundred people in the ballroom, which is somehow even more intensely lit that the rest of the Royal Palace. Yet a worshipful silence falls upon them as one. Even the musicians falter for a moment in their playing of a Donizetti Quartetto before remembering themselves and returning to their instruments. Keenly aware of every eye, Hungary doesn’t let her calm smile slip.

“His Excellency the Right Honorable Count Gyula Andrássy de Csíkszentkirály et Krasznahorka!”

Hungary can easily see the entrance as the guests must. Andrássy, the very essence of the noble Magyar magnate. So darkly handsome with just a hint of danger in his smouldering gaze to contrast the opulence of his dress. Guiding in the Nation, so grand and beautiful in her court dress and veil, bearing a diamond and pearl tiara befitting her status as a royal land. The Kingdom of Hungary, having endured hundreds of years of humiliation and torment, finally being accorded the rank deserved to her by the will of God Himself. She can practically envision the tableau being painted, complete with title. Hungaria Being Guided By The Saving Hand Of Her Greatest Patriot.

Italics and all.

It’s not like Hungary doesn’t understand. To have their beloved Nation standing before them, clad in finery and commanding the respect, however willingly given, due to a Great Power...it’s a dream of centuries fulfilled. Falling short of the long prayed for independence, but at least a start in righting so many wrongs.

While the room is overflowing with the crème de la crème of Buda and Pest society-and thus anyone who’s anyone in Hungary-most have never seen their Nation with their own eyes. A concept of statehood made flesh and blood always takes adjusting to. But for those who have met Hungary, who have been by her during times far removed from the elegant gentility of the ballroom, it’s a tiring reaction. Mόr Perczel, only recently back from exile, had seen her bloodied and half-dead at the Battle of Temesvár. Given Hungary moonshine from his flask to dull the pain of the bullets being removed from her skin. Yet like all the others, revolution veterans and aristocrats alike, he looks upon her as if she’s some sort of goddess. Flawless. Divine.

It makes Hungary think of Austria, strangely. For all her husband’s myriad flaws (ones she’s accumulated quite the list of over centuries of living in his house), he’s at least never put her on a ridiculous pedestal. Certainly he’d have no sort of discomfit with this kind of pomp and importance. It does amuse Hungary to think of him up in Vienna for his own celebrations, having to take congratulations for a successful diminishing of his own power with lordly grace. How each anniversary felicitation must sting at proud, pretty Ausztria!

Hungary’s inner mirth proves fortifying to her spirits, and she is able to get through what seems like an endless stream of well-wishers without feeling miserable. And she does truly enjoy being among her people, especially those who so dearly love her. Ferenc Deák greets Hungary as gently as she was his own daughter. Mihály Zichy declares his desire to paint her, and her eyes can’t help but dance at his cheek. Even Franz Liszt makes a valiant effort at conversing in the Magyar tongue before giving up and switching to German.

Hungary does not mind this part of public engagements, but it is tiring. Helping herself to a glass of wonderful white wine from Neszemély off a passing waiter’s tray helps revive her. But there is still a rather glaring absence, one Hungary had hoped would be resolved by now.

“Her Royal Majesty has yet to make an appearance?” Hungary asks Deák quietly, taking advantage of the rare solitude they share.

“I understand she is to be expected in short order,” Deák says with a dignified shrug. “Of course, that is always what is said at events like as this.”

“Worry not, my dear friend,” Hungary says, an idea striking her. “Such instances are when those of my ilk prove most valuable.”

“Is that so?” Deák looks Hungary over skeptically, knowing well what her face looks like when she’s about to push propriety.

“I insist,” Hungary says, passing her empty glass off to yet another waiter. “It is nothing less than attending to my duties as a partner of the Dual Monarchy.”

Deák doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t stop Hungary’s discreet exit out of the ballroom either. After all, there are few who better know the relationship of country and monarch as he. In this, Hungary’s judgment should be deferred to.

To some it might be surprising to have so few people around in such a large palace. Only those privileged enough to be frequent guests of the royal private apartments know that is the resident’s particular preference. When Hungary makes her way into the suit, she only sees two ladies-in-waiting in attendance. Just past them is the queen’s personal hairdresser Franziska Feifalik, tools of her trade held in white-gloved hands. Upon Hungary’s entrance all rise before falling into graceful curtsies.

“Kingdom of Hungary,” Franziska says in German, being one of the queen’s few servants who doesn’t speak Hungarian. “How may I be of service?”

“All I think I need is to follow you,” Hungary says lightly.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t even need to do that much, your Royal Highness,” Franziska smiles. “It is no great mystery.”

Franziska indeed guides Hungary through the royal quarters into the exact room she guessed she would end up. While it is as fantastically ornate as every other room in the palace, there are enough personal touches to give it a gentler, more inviting air. It’s a dream of nursery, eminently suitable for a tiny princess.

The most beautiful woman in the world is inside it.

Upon seeing Hungary, her impossibly perfect face relaxes into a smile so lovely the Nation momentarily loses the ability to remember what words are. Or how one puts them together coherently. Thankfully her reflexes remain, and Hungary dips into a deep curtsey before the Empress of Austria and her own Queen.

“Ah, my dearest Hungary,” Elisabeth says softly in her flawless Hungarian, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “As always, it is so good to see you.”

“Indeed, Sisi,” Hungary says with equal quietness, glad to dispense with the needed demonstration of formality. The queen is one of her truest and deepest friends. The adoration of the Magyar people for the “Beautiful Providence” of the land is so strong it can overwhelm Hungary as a person. But she truly treasures the intimacy, and knows Elisabeth does too. As one they lean over the cradle where the Archduchess Marie Valerie sleeps as soundly as any other infant.

“I know I should have made my appearance already,” Elisabeth says, brushing the faintest touch across her daughter’s forehead. “One look at her sweet face and I couldn’t break away for anything.”

“I wouldn’t either from such an angel,” Hungary agrees. Elisabeth has endured so much loneliness, misery, and deep loss, the kind that transformed Franz Joseph’s naive Wittelsbach bride into the brilliant, distant diamond of a women she is today. For now at least, her face glows with a rare joy that makes her already incredible beauty almost impossible to withstand. Hungary can only pray that it lasts, for the strong woman who has proven to be the great salvation of the Hungarians.

“I can already see so much of Franzi in her face,” Elisabeth says, and even Hungary couldn’t really discern the true emotion in her tone.

“I’ll have to think on that next time I see his Imperial and Royal Majesty,” Hungary offers neutrally. “I’m due for a meeting in Vienna next week.”

“How stalwart you are, dear Hungary. To bear the burden of dealing with both your husband and mine at the same time.” With one last caress of her daughter’s downy hair, Elisabeth sits down in a nearby chair. A tall woman, this makes it much easier for Franziska to do some final touch-ups on her famously long, lustrous, chestnut-brown hair. As usual it is pulled up in elaborate, heavy braids, through with the adept hairdresser has wound several pearls. Examining the queen with an artist’s critical eyes, Franziska sets about making the tiny changes necessary to take the style from merely beautiful to sublime.

“I hope things have been...acceptable, with Austria,” Elisabeth adds, dark eyes looking compassionately at Hungary. The Nation is well aware how familiar her queen is with unhappiness in a marriage. It is just one of the many sorrows Sisi has been plagued with since joining the House of Habsburg.

“I got everything I hoped for out of my first wedding anniversary,” Hungary says honestly. “I still have my status, attended to my people, and spent time with you, my Queen.”

“I suppose that is enough,” Elisabeth replies. Of course she understands.

“Austria probably still hasn’t recovering from having to bend his will a fraction. If he has brought out poetry and flowers I might have fallen over with shock,” Hungary says, smiling a little to ease her dear friend.

There had been times in the past where Austria has been kind. Even sweet and tender. Counting off sheep to his maid and wards so they could sleep. The times when he would listen to Hungary sing as she worked, trying not to make obvious he was listening and liked it. Helping bandage up the wounds she had received kicking Prussia out during the War of Austrian Succession. Making such grand promises under Maria Theresa’s reign, ones that moved her heart as easily as a green girl’s.

If only Hungary could have married him a century ago. She had such hope then, such wonderful dreams. Had been ready to let ‘Austria, sir’ all the way into her heart. If only he had kept his promises, instead of letting the problems of his empire fester as he bound Hungary tighter.

Which leads them to here and now. A thousand years, and she and Austria can’t even talk to each other without a government mandate involved. It wasn’t what Hungary would have ever hoped for. But like so much else, it’s what she’s got.

Elisabeth rises, hair ministrations complete, and Hungary links arms with her.

“Now let me show my dedication and loyalty by escorting my exquisite queen to her most adoring citizens,” Hungary says grandly. It will be enjoyable, and a welcome respite of the impossible boil of emotions thinking of Austria always puts her into.

Hopefully.

By the time Hungary makes it back to the home she has in western Buda, her head rings a little with the weight of her hair, and much more with too much wine imbibed and unavoidable tobacco smoke breathed in. She barely remembers to wave Andrássy’s carriage off before her butler lets her in. He, her maids, and the house itself had all been wedding gifts, befitting the grandness of a full partner in a Great Power. More likely because the whole of Austria would probably die of mortification to have their Nation married to someone living in a tidy but small country house in outer Pest who dressed and cleaned for herself.

Still, Hungary’s grateful for it in this instance. Her every need is immediately seen to: butler taking her thin silk shawl, one maid escorting Hungary up to her bedroom to help her undress while another brings up a tray with an steaming cup of coffee and some crackers. Hungary downs it as her maid carefully removes her expensive jewelry to be safely locked away. The beverage does take the edge off her headache, at least.

“I hope the celebrations went well, your Highness,” the maid says cheerfully, setting the end of Hungary’s train to the part of her dress where she fastens it up and out of the way. It makes it less likely to be stepped on during her tasks, as well as easier for Hungary to sit during them. Doing so, the Nation looks into her dressing room mirror. Still beautifully clad, a perfect Magyar princess. But what is she now, anyway? Not a stranger to herself, but not holding all the answers either.

“Yes, very,” Hungary responds, realizing she let the question hang for far too long. Lost in her work, the girl just hums in response. Carefully she removes pin after pin from Hungary’s hair, leaving it to tumble down to waist in a mass of cinnamon-hued waves. The style the humble Habsburg maid had worn, but combined with the finest court dress available in all the Lands of the Crown of Saint Stephen. Suddenly, Hungary can barely breathe, the edges of her vision going black.

“I’m going outside for some air,” Hungary says abruptly, rushing to stand. Startled, her lady’s maid only has time for a squeak before the Nation flees the dressing room. Dashing down the stairs, she shoves the front door open to head into the gentle night. Chest heaving, Hungary looks around, takes in the quest of Buda in the late hour. Only faint noises from the occasional passing carriage disrupt the silence.

Instinct wins. Hungary runs. Runs in the way of Nations, beings who are people and state but also the earth. Who can shrink leagues down to nothing, who can cross their territories in minutes and continents in a hour. There is nothing in her mind but flight, heading west. Esztergom, Tatabánya, Komárno, Győr, all blur before Hungary’s eyes before disappearing just as quickly. The mindless panic starts to lessen around Sopron, and by the time she reaches the woods of Királyhida, the Nation has slowed to a normal walking pace.

Immediately, the pain of running so hard in a corset makes itself known, even if Hungary doesn’t lace herself as obsessively tight as her queen. Somewhere along the way her dainty dancing slippers fell off, leaving her stockings torn and feet bleeding from several cuts. With a groan, Hungary tears the useless hose off and tosses them aside along with her garter ribbons. Then a couple of petticoats for good measure, since if she’s going to look a fright it may as well be a comfortable one.

Hungary pats down her hair in what is probably a futile effort, and ruefully surveys her gown. Grass and mud stains dot the hem, and on her left there’s a rip about as long as her palm. Hungary isn’t really worried-her staff is clever and skilled enough to repair the damage-just annoyed she couldn’t at least have kept things together long enough to change into a less expensive and delicate dressing gown. She sighs, feeling the weight of everything on her shoulder get just a little bit heavier.

Hungary should return to Buda, but...it’s so nice out, so peaceful. Just sitting down for a moment and letting her aching body recover sounds heavenly. In the distance, she can hear the sound of running water. Hungary knows it well, has known it nearly her entire existence. It is but a short walk through the dark woods to reach the river.

The Leitha streams by as it has for millennia, shimmering like fine blue silk under the fat waxing moon. It’s been a dry year, the water much lower from the banks than it usually is, but even that doesn’t diminish the sight. There’s an outcropping of nice, flat rocks right at the edge of the waters. Hungary imagines children jumping off them on hot summer days, fishermen resting while patiently waiting for their lines to tug. It makes her smile a little, and after carefully gathering her dress up and sitting down she takes inspiration from the Királyhida locals and dips in her feet.

Nothing can describe how refreshing and cool the Leitha waters feel against Hungary’s sore feet and calves. Away from the frenzy of her daily life, with the peaceful woods around her and the simple pleasure of a river-soak, the Nation closes her eyes and lets the tension of the anniversary drain away.

A rustle snaps Hungary out of her comfortable reverie. Not loud, but standing out amidst the ambient noises of nature. The night has been such she’s tempted to dismiss what she sees, but no. There is Austria on the western bank of the Leitha, every bit the impeccable Imperial aristocrat in his gala uniform. Collar starched, whites crisp, medals polished to a gleam only his evening shoes match in sheer shininess. It makes her feel the total disarray she’s in all the more keenly.

“Austria, sir-” Hungary stops herself forcefully, pressing her lips together. She’s not a maid anymore, dammit. The last thing she should be doing is stammering at her husband like scullery wench caught above stairs, regardless of how messy she looks. She’s Austria’s equal now, and will act it.

“Good evening, Austria,” Hungary tries again, calm and polite. “I hope your anniversary festivities were enjoyable.”

This looks like about the last reaction her spouse expects, but he rallies near instantly.

“Very much indeed, thank you,” Austria answers, nothing in his voice indicating his personal feelings on the matter. He may as well have mentioned the weather for all the emotion he’s displayed. Violet eyes flick up and down, examining her with glowing alarm. “Are you in need of assistance?”

No withering comment on Hungary’s less than perfect appearance? Pre-marriage Austria (pre-this specific marriage, she mentally amends) would have never let that slide. Dishevelment had always indicated serious character flaws in his ordered world.

“I’m fine.” Hungary draws her knees up to her chest, and though Austria looks politely away he definitely takes a moment to do so.

“You were throwing your,” Austria pauses. Some aspects of Nationhood are beyond the ability of any language to capture, even for Nations themselves. “Your land-authority about with great abandon. When I felt you heading in the direction of the border I thought you were under attack.”

“Attack?” Hungary echoes, looking down at herself, then adjusting to what it must look like from her husband’s perspective. Suddenly his reaction made much more sense.

“I could not imagine you would come so near my half of the empire otherwise.”

“...it was just...something I needed to do,” Hungary says, really not wishing to explain her actions in great detail. She winces slightly as her still raw soles rub painfully on the stone. The cuts she had gotten must be deeper than she thought. For a Nation it’ll be no time at all to heal, but none of them are immune to pain. “I’ll be off in a bit. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“You are my wife. It would be remiss of me not to be concerned,” Austria says. His tone is still even, but Hungary recognizes the look on his face. Austria is worked up about the situation. And a worked up Austria can be very, very unpredictable.

Sure enough, Hungary proves to be correct. Austria pulls off his gloves, tucking them neatly into his belt. Despite his stiff uniform he manages to kneel down and start unlacing his shoes with great speed.

“What are you doing?!” Hungary yelps, jaw actually dropping when Austria pulls off his shoes and socks.

“Merely being sensible,” Austria says, holding the articles in the crook of his arm. “Even on a warm night leather would take a while drying out, to say nothing of the condition it would be left in. And walking in wet socks is simply unpleasant.”

Beyond astonished, Hungary can only watch with eyes that must be saucer huge. Austria-fastidious, immaculate Austria-strolls into the Leitha with as much nonchalance as if he were walking along the Ringstraße. They’re at one of the shallower points of the river, the dry year lowering the level even more, but Austria still ends up soaked up to his knees. Hungary can’t help it and lightly slaps her cheek. The very real twinge of pain proves this isn’t some hallucination brought on by oxygen loss via running in a tight corset. Even then she can barely believe its real.

Austria emerges from the river and sets foot on the eastern bank-Hungary’s side of the Leitha. Setting his things down on another rock, her husband motions her over silently as he kneels.

“Your foot, if you please,” Austria says in response to her blank look. “One at a time.”

“They’re wet,” Hungary says in feeble protest, but lifts her left leg up anyway. Right now it at least means Austria isn’t looking at her face, gone crimson with the force of her blushing.

Almighty God, what a fool Hungary is. Having complicated feelings about Austria, a Gordian-knot like tangle of emotions and memories both good and bad, is one thing. Her most powerful neighbor, one she shares a direct border with. Naturally their fates would always be linked, one way or another.

But for all the past they share, the injuries and indignities Hungary has endured because of Austria...she never learns. One gentlemanly act, one of those rare moments where he lets the iron-clad armor of his rank and power relax, and the anger starts slipping away. And a great kingdom, a warrior who had been so fearsome people had prayed to God to be spare from her arrows, is reduced to a maiden with chest fluttering and head filled with rosy, hopeful dreams.

How many times had Austria made his promises, only to forget them at best or break them at worst? And how many times had Hungary fallen for it? The only thing that is different now is Austria hasn’t found a way to wiggle out of his obligations. At least, not so far.

It’s cool reasoning. Hungary only wishes her racing heart wouldunderstand what her mind does. Staring at the top of Austria’s dark head, bent over while long pianist’s fingers handle her with such care, makes any sort of progress on this front impossible. His right hand grips her calf to hold it steady, wedding band cool on her hot skin, and Hungary’s embarrassment multiplies tenfold. Which is beyond ridiculous, given Austria has, to put it politely, definitely had his hands on more than a bare leg in the past. At least during the times things were good between them.

“It seems your cuts are not very deep,” Austria says, mercifully unaware of Hungary’s line of thought. “Clean as well.”

“I’d have never guessed from how you were fussing,” Hungary says as Austria checks her other foot. She’s not eager to get back home home on them, but she’s definitely been able to ignore worse under harder conditions. “Marriage hasn’t made me soft yet.”

“Oh, I do pray not,” Austria murmurs. His face is hard to see from the angle she’s at, but Hungary is positive she catches a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “It is a great shame, but unlike your other enemies I do not think you will be able to take your frying pan and pound your feet into submission.”

Hungary’s eyes narrow to green slits, but Austria pays her dangerous expression no mind. Taking out a handkerchief from his pocket, Austria unfolds it all the way before gripping it firmly at the middlemost portion of the top. It’s a beautiful piece of snowy linen, elegantly embroidered with a scarlet Ö monogram, and when her husband rips it neatly in half Hungary can’t help her cry of dismay.

“It is merely a handkerchief,” Austria says, looking surprised. Which means his eyes lift a fraction of a second before falling into their usual place of stately calm. Carefully he winds a strip of linen around Hungary’s left then right foot, after which he examines the results critically. “Fortunately you have small feet and it was just enough fabric, or this might have not worked out so well.”

Hungary stares down at her bound feet, which do feel better for the impromptu bandages. The Ö stands out like a brand, but can she even argue it doesn’t have some justification? If Hungary was able to be truly independent and stand on her own without Austria in the picture, she would have done so successfully by now. Instead here she is, lost by the river and having to be bailed out by her husband again. To Hungary’s horror, her eyes start to well up. Not here, not in front of him.

“Thank you for your h-help,” Hungary says, and oh God her voice chokes up. Austria starts, and there are very few things Hungary wouldn’t give right now to just throw herself in the Leitha and never come out again. “I-it was very...very…”

The one time Austria actually looks flustered and Hungary can’t even savor it. His mouth opens and shuts several times as she fails to get herself under control. Austria stands, and for a second Hungary thinks he’s about to leave her to her mortification. Then he sits next to her on the rock, as gingerly if she’s a stack of dynamite and he’s a lit match. Then Austria slips a hand underneath the flap of his bright white Field Marshal dress jacket and pulls out a silver flask to hold to Hungary silently.

On an evening less filled with strangeness Hungary would have been utterly dumbfounded. But their one year anniversary has decidedly not fit into that category, and so she wipes hard at her eyes before grabbing the flask. The Marillenschnaps Is very good, richly scented with the aroma of ripe apricots, sliding smoothly down the throat even as it lights a fire in the blood. So good in fact, Hungary Decides to compliment it by taking another swig, and then a third. She passes it back to Austria, who polishes off the rest of it.

“I didn't want to marry you and you didn't want to marry me,” Hungary says. There is no rancor to be heard in her words, and she feels none. It's a truth, plain and simple. If anything it's a relief to not to keep it locked away, when the two of them know better. She stares at the Leitha foggily, the schnapps being quite a bit stronger than she had credited. Hungary only wishes Austria had a second flask secreted somewhere on his Imperial person.

“An accurate summation,” Austria agrees, looking for a second something like melancholy. He gives his head a quick toss, evidently also feeling the effects of the apricot spirits. “Which brings us to the question at the heart of the matter. Where do you want to go from here?”

“I don't know,” Hungary says honestly. “And even if I did, it would only make a difference if it complimented what you want.”

One hundred years ago. If only they could have worked out the Compromise then. Hungary would have run into Austria's arms as joyfully as any bride, Maria Teresa smiling down at them both as the benevolent mother-Queen. It might not have been all she wanted, but still plenty enough.

“Just think of one thing, of the here and now. If you can,” Austria says, almost as if he needs her to do it for them both. To voice what he could never bring himself to.

“ I'd like... I'd like to be able to talk with you like this again. without needing alcohol, or me losing my slippers and looking like I crashed right into a bush,” Hungary answers slowly. She thinks of Franz Joseph and Elisabeth, how the love once there withered without understanding and balance to make it flourish. Thinks of her beautiful queen, who has suffered such misery, and the emperor in his loneliness. Too far apart now to ever reconnect on a marital level.

Hungry doesn't know if she could let herself love Austria with the whole of her wild heart. But she doesn't want to live a life of coldness, tied to a distant stranger who she used to know. Truly falling is too much to dream of now. What isn't then?

“Can we try being a better husband and wife?”

Austria looks at her, face unguarded for once.

“Neither of us is naive enough to hope for... for human things, a human marriage,” Hungary elaborates. This is what things have come to for them, the Magyar warrior who isn't brave enough to say ‘love’. “But I can try to be a good partner to you. If you're a good partner to me.”

Austria absorbs this silently, removing his glasses. His hand drifts towards his pocket before he evidently recalls his handkerchief is currently on his wife's person. He settles instead for wiping the lenses on his jacket before returning them to the bridge of his nose.

“Then we will both make the effort, and…” Austria thinks. “Here at the Leitha, a year from now. We will meet and decide what step to take next.”

It's not the world, but they're much too wizened by this point to make the lofty promises of starry-eyed romantics. This plan, however, is believable. Sensible. Not much to lose, but potentially much to gain. Hungary nods in approval, holding her arm out as boldly as any man. Austria hesitates for a moment, but reaches out to clasp her hand in his. Husband and wife shake on their plan, and to hope.

“Happy anniversary,” Hungary says, and if her smile is small it is also genuine. Her brow knits slightly as she looks up at the sky, trying to judge the time.” I think it's till the day.”

“For another four minutes and...sixteen seconds more,”Austria confirms, checking his pocket watch.

“I suppose I owe you an anniversary gift,” Hungary muses, wiggling her feet in their former-handkerchief bound glory. “Not that I have anything much on me at the moment.”

“Perhaps a kiss, then?”

Hungary turns to Austria in a flash, but a single glance reveals her husband to be in total seriousness. Well, whatever his angle, the least she can do is match it.

“One. And I pick where.”

“To be renegotiated in a year's time,” Austria counters. Hungary thinks it over before nodding her assent to his terms.

“My right hand, for however long is left in the day.”

“A minute and forty-nine seconds,” Austria murmurs, snapping the light of his pocket watch shut. “If you are ready?”

Hungary holds out her hand, still gloved in fine, thin, white kid leather. Austria takes it, long, nimble fingers dancing over her palm Like he wanted to memorize the feel of it. To her surprise, Austria doesn't merely take his kiss and be done with it. Instead, he glides slightly past her wrist, to the small line of pearls buttoning it up tightly.

“Austria,” Hungary starts, blush swiftly reviving. Her husband merely hums, undoing one button at a time with no sense of haste. “You only have-”

“ I know the time. Any good musician has an innate sense of its flow,” Austria says, with a calm that's nearly infuriating compared to the little sparks Hungary feels when his bare fingers brush against the tender skin of her inner arm. “I assure you, I will keep to our terms.”

Hungary wants to point out she should have had the sense to define said terms much more stringently. But the retort refuses to form as Austria slowly loosens the glove’s fingers one by one, sliding it off with what feels like infinite slowness.

Now that Hungary's hand is bare to the world-bare but for her wedding ring- Austria takes it in his own. It's a hand that still holds the history of Hungary's previous station: sword calluses, rein-marks, dry spots from doing the laundry in huge boiling copper pots. He grips her hand reverently, lifting it gently to his mouth.

Hungary shivers as she feels the air of the tiny sigh Austria lets out. Then he finally presses soft lips to her hand, and lightning runs straight up and down her spine. Damn him for playing so unfairly, and her for so easily giving into it!

Austria slowly separates from her hand, still letting it rest in his. Their eyes lock, and for a single, crystalline-fragile moment there is no one else in the world but the two of them.

“I think you must have gone over your time,” Hungary says, barely recognizing her voice for how breathy it's become.

“Actually, I had five more seconds,” Austria tells her after taking a look at his watch. Not his voice has gotten somewhat breathy too and dropped noticeably goes a long way to making Hungary feel better about her own reaction. “And now, midnight.”

Much like Cinderella, the magic ends at the stroke of midnight. Austria and Hungary look at each other ruefully, a tacit acknowledgement that their time in the woods is over. For now.

Hungary makes a point to slip her own glove back on, but allows Austria to rebutton it simply because it's hard to do on her own. Despite the quiet intimacy having passed, her body feels lighter than it has in a long, long time. her feet don't hurt nearly as badly as before, which helps.

“Would you care to be escorted back to Buda?” Austria asks courteously, face showing he already knows what the answer will be.

“No, I'll take myself home,” Hungary says before adding, “This time.”

However this ends up working out, Hungary doesn't think she'll ever forget the look of delighted joy that flashes over Austria's face before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“Then farewell,” Austria says, with a bow so elegant it would make any courtier burst into tears of joyful appreciation.

“Until next we meet,” Hungary responds and curtsies in return, quite nicely considering the mess of her appearance.

Good-byes exchanged, Austria turns to the west. Hungary turns to the east. the temptation to glance backwards one more time reigns, but neither knows if the other gives in to it. Another moment passes, and then the bank by the river is empty as if no one had ever been there at all. The Leitha flows on as it always has, patiently keeping its place of sanctuary safe until a year's time has passed once more.

Me: AusHun Week! So great! I can’t wait to write some stuff for one of my favorite ships ever! Me: *writes a bittersweet character study of Hungarian history in which Austria doesn’t even appear till the last third, twice* Me: I’m so good at this. :) :) :)

Anyway, as much as AusHun is a hardcore Ship of Ships for me and I love Cute Domestic Old Marrieds AusHun, to say their relationship has had its ups and downs would be a considerable understatement. And the circumstances leading to the Compromise of 1867 definitely stemmed from one of the worse lows of Austro-Hungarian relations. To say Austria came down on the Hungarian rebels during the Hungarian War of Independence in 1848 like a ton of bricks would be unkind to the bricks. Hungary was this close to breaking free, enough that if Austria hadn’t managed to get reinforcements from Russia to tag in she would have done it. And then he executed the rebel generals, put out death warrants for those who managed to escape like Andrássy and Kossuth, and stripped Hungary of her ancient rights and constitution to rule her under brutal martial law.

And thus things might have bopped merrily along for Austria except for a little one-two whammy called the Austro-Prussian War and the Second Italian War of Independence. His empire being on the verge of total collapse as well as shut out from the German Confederation Prussia had unified put Austria in a conciliatory sort of mood, for some reason, and negotiations with the Magyars were opened. Hungary, for her part saw an opportunity with a limited window of time in Austria’s weak position. Still remembering how easily her army had been routed by Russia’s, and recognizing if she didn’t make a move the one or more of the many Slav groups in the Kingdom of Hungary would move to deal with the Austrians instead, was also open to a settlement.

That anything would have even been agreed was far from a given. Though Emperor Franz Joseph recognized an agreement with Hungary was needed to keep the Austrian Empire from absolutely splintering, he was and always would be a hardcore autocrat who viewed giving up even a fraction of his authority as blasphemy against his divine office. The vast majority of (the Magyar part of) Hungary wanted nothing less than full independence, and had very fresh memories of the 1848 rebellions as well as a strong hatred for Austria. (The Slav parts of Hungary, as well as the Romanian parts, were shit out of luck and stuck in a state that argued for freedom and self-determination...if you were a Magyar, and keep dreaming for that autonomy otherwise. Except don’t, because it’s not going to happen. Now go and practice Hungarian some more!

(As for Croatia (or Horvát Királyság/Kingdom of Croatia as Andrássy calls him here) was the only minority group in the Kingdom of Hungary who did have something of a protected, autonomous status, being that Croatia actually entered a personal union with Hungary in 1102 instead of being conquered. After the Austro-Hungarian Compromise was passed, a separate Compromise was arranged between Hungary and Croatia, resulting the creation of the Kingdom of Croatia-Slavonia. Which was liked in Croatia even less than the Austro-Hungarian Compromise was in Hungary.)

But fortunately for Hungary, she had two absolutely brilliant and indispensable statesmen, Ferenc Deák and Gyula Andrássy, who were both pragmatists who felt a sustained autonomous Hungarian state would only be possible as long as defense and foreign affairs were shared with Austria. Even more fortunately, Hungary had a vital advocate in Empress Elisabeth of Austria, who had fallen in love with the land of Hungary and the Magyar culture and was relentless in seeing Hungary’s cause advanced to her husband Franz Joseph. And thus the Austro-Hungarian Compromise was reached, signed by Deák and Andrássy and ratified by the restored Hungarian Diet on May 29th, 1867, and officially capped off with the crowning of Franz Joseph and Elisabeth as King and Queen of Hungary on June 8th, 1867.

Even though the deal was done, tensions were still high and remained that way for a long time. Ask anyone familiar with Austro-Hungarian history who the Compromise was a better deal for (or if it was a good deal period, and if it just fueled the problems that utterly crumbled Austria-Hungary in WW1 or if those problems would have just happened anyway) and you’ll get a different answer every time. I wasn’t able to find what specifically was done to celebrate the first anniversary of the Compromise, but presumably the occasion was marked so yay for artistic license.

Piros, fehér, zöld is the red, white, green of the Hungarian tricolor. The stripes were made horizontal to avoid being confused with the Italian flag. The Dual-Monarchy era flag also had the Hungarian coat-of-arms right in the center.

Technically speaking, Buda Castle was just known as the Royal Place for most of its history, including during the Dual Monarchy.

Díszmagyar is the traditional Hungarian court dress, and very beautiful. The dress Hungary is wearing here is this one, originally worn by the Countess György Majláth to the original coronation of Franz Joseph in 1867. Hey, the Nation deserves the most swag dress at her anniversary party, after all.

I think most Hungary fans know about the Battle of Mohács in 1526 against the Ottoman Empire, but it absolutely can’t be stated enough how utterly devastating it was for the Kingdom of Hungary. In a single day the kingdom was torn into three, the king was dead, much of the nobility had been killed as well as the at least 14,000 soldiers who also died in combat, and the entire country was basically free for the taking-which the Ottomans and Habsburgs did. It would take nearly four hundred years for Hungary to become fully independent again. The only thing remotely comparable in Hungarian history was the Treaty of Trianon after its loss in World War I, which saw Hungary stripped of two-thirds of lands it had possessed for centuries, and is still a very sore point for Hungarians today.

I went back and forth on how the Kingdom of Hungary should be addressed in a formal situation, the people who think of these things having never thought how the Nation itself would need to be called. I settled on “Highness” as an appropriate title for an immediate member of the royal family-though really wouldn’t the royal family be members of Hungary? “Apostolic” in the title is specific to the Kingdom of Hungary alone. I did my best? I’m also not sure if Andrássy’s address is accurate either, considering he was both the prime minister and a count, but this was my best approximation.

“The Lands of the Crown of Saint Stephen” was the official title of the Hungarian half of Austria-Hungary.

Mihály Zichy was a Hungarian painter who did do more traditional portraiture, but is probably better known for his considerably more naughty drawings. (Which I actually find quite wonderful). Just be aware if you decided to google them with SafeSearch off.

Franz Liszt was born in a German speaking part of Hungary and was never able to speak the language (though he tried to learn), but very much thought of himself as a Magyar and a Hungarian patriot.

Elisabeth of Austria was the Empress of Austria and Queen of Hungary. And she really was the most beautiful woman in the world. Just look at her! Unfortunately, the minute she met her cousin (oh, royalty)/the Emperor of Austria Franz Joseph in 1853 (at a meeting that was supposed to cement an engagement between him and her sister Helene), and he decided he only wanted to marry Elisabeth, her life was set upon a course of stifling misery and eventual tragedy. Sisi as she was known (and NOT SISSI, which she never referred to herself by), had grown up in a very relaxed, informal household under her father the Duke Maximilian Joseph in Bavaria. (Seriously, take some time to read about it, it’s pretty wild). A shy, naive, fifteen year old country duchess from Bavaria was thrust into role of Empress of Austria in a little over eight months.

It went about as well as one would expect. Sisi was utterly isolated at the Austrian court, not comfortable around crowds and formal situations, and in general treated as an child unfit for her role. This was compounded by her mother-in-law/aunt, the Archduchess Sophie, who never hid her opinion of Elisabeth as anything more than a vessel to produce heirs and acted as Empress in official functions as well as politically more than the actual Empress. Even more unfortunately, for all Franz Joseph loved Elisabeth (and did for the rest his life, long after any chance of mutual romance was dead), he never understood her, her needs, or that he should make any sort of compromises on his end to make their relationship work. Franz Joseph was always quick to defer to his mother over his wife, including the part where Sophie essentially took Elisabeth’s first three children away from her and raised them herself. As you can guess, this not only made things worse, but engineered a huge disconnect between Elisabeth and most of her children that would have severe consequences later.

After the Crown Prince Rudolf was born, leaving Elisabeth free of the responsibility to produce any more heirs, the older, wiser, and more cynical Empress had by this point acquired the fortitude and political capital to do as she pleased. Restless by nature, she traveled constantly and avoided Vienna and her husband at all costs. The only thing that brought her back was the cause of Hungary. She had fallen for the wilder, romantic country, one very much in tune with the sensitive and dreamy Elisabeth compared to rigid, traditional Austria. Recognizing they’d have a powerful advocate in Elisabeth, who at this point was at the peak of her beauty and enormously popular in Hungary, Deák and Andrássy in particular (who she become close with to the point they were rumored to be lovers, though nothing has ever been proven) reached out to her. Acting as an intermediary between Austria and Hungary, Elisabeth was absolutely essential to making the Compromise happen and seem a legitimate deal for Hungary even in its unpopularity.

Part of this assistance was agreeing to have another child. Elisabeth quickly became pregnant after the Compromise was passed, and more significantly chose to give birth to her child at Buda Castle. It was the first time a royal child had been born in Hungary in centuries, and the notion was seriously raised that had it been a boy the child could have become king of an independent Hungary, separating it from Austria. As a girl was born, the Archduchess Marie Valerie, it was a non-issue. (Ironically, Marie Valerie, who was born in Hungary, baptised in Buda, and only allowed to speak Hungarian to her mother, grew to have a severe apathy for Hungary in part because of the persistent rumor that Andrássy was her real father. Even as she grew up to strongly resemble Franz Joseph and the rumor died, the apathy lasted. But they’ve still kept the bridge with her name on it between Hungary and Slovakia, which I guess is nice?)

If you somehow couldn’t tell Sisi is one of my two favorite historical figures, by the way...well yeah, she is. (The other is Valdemar Atterdag, for the curious).

Királyhida is the now-Austrian town of Bruckneudorf, but in the Dual Monarchy days was in a German-speaking region of western Hungary. Regardless of the local language preferences, the town was required to have Magyar name.

@emperorfranzjoseph: @ErzherzogtumÖsterreich bitch stole my look #ÖsterRUDE #whoworeitbetter #fieldmarshaleleganza

I figured “Austria, sir” would serve as a nice substitution for “Austria-san” as far as tone and place of social rank is concerned. And yes, over many centuries Austria and Hungary have done the do with each other. If you don’t think Austria was in boner city after seeing Hungary wail on Prussia during the War of Austria Succession, well, congrats on being totally wrong.

Thank you to all who read this fic and all the brave souls who actually got all through the notes section. You guys are the real MVPs. And I swear I’ll try to do an actual happy AusHun that features a kiss racier than the hand...someday...

#aushun #aushunweek2018 #aph austria #aph hungary #fanfic #historical fic #elisabeth of austria #axis powers hetalia #doing this on tumblr was a nightmare and i hate this site #can i leave

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classykdlady · 7 years

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Season 3 Thoughts

I’m going to put this under a cut to spare anyone who might not want to read this. Please keep in mind that these are my own opinions and they have no bearing on anything, whatsoever. I’m not here to harsh anyone’s buzz or tell anyone they’re wrong for liking what they like.

First off, I want to talk about some of the things that I liked, lest anyone think I’m just a Bitter Betty who hates everything. In no particular order:

Yi Tien Cho: I would like to thank god and also jesus that the show writers turned him from a super racist caricature (seriously, wtf Diana?) into an actual character with dignity and depth. Gary Young played him fabulously and made him a real favorite of mine. I loved his relationship with Margaret Campbell especially, but also appreciated his friendship with Claire. I’ll definitely miss him.

Murtagh: I definitely care about show Murtagh more than book Murtagh, so I’m glad they kept him alive. I’m curious to see what they do with his storyline since DG said that she doesn’t think they’re replacing Duncan Innes with him.

The Geneva situation: I’m so glad that they took out the part where Geneva told Jamie to stop and he kept right on going. I know that whole thing has been rehashed to death, so it really was the best possible call to just eliminate that disgusting moment.

Casting: Just a huge round of applause to the casting department on this show. They consistently knock it out of the park, and this season is no exception. Especially for several very important characters. Bless.

David Berry: On that note, let me publicly announce my love of David Berry as LJG. I think that even if I had hated John in the books, David’s portrayal of him on the show would’ve made me love him. He’s just so delightful.

Frank: Yeah, this is not a Frank-hating blog, so absolutely miss me with that shit. I’ve enjoyed Tobias’s performance as Frank from the very beginning because he makes Frank feel like someone whom Claire would love very much. In the books, we’re very much limited by Claire’s perspective and I think she demonizes him in order to absolve herself of some responsibility and guilt. It is an absolutely human thing to do, but I’m so happy we got to see him trying to make things work and pushing back on her behavior. I detest unbalanced relationships because I don’t think it’s healthy when one person gets to act callously towards the other–even though I understand where it’s coming from and why it’s a natural reaction–and the recipient is just supposed to be 100% supportive all the time, with no regard for their own needs. Anyway, it’s been nice to be able to see his POV over the past three seasons, and to see why Claire tried so hard to get back to him and why she stayed with him after she came back. The racism is forever gross, though.

Joe Abernathy: I like that he and Claire met in med school and went on to graduate and work together. Fight The Man, you two!

Adorable peanut Roger Wakefield showing up in Boston for Christmas

Jamie working the printing press: That was unexpectedly hot, so thank you for gifting it to us, whoever was in charge of that decision.

Elias Pound: This absolute angel on earth was a bright light in an otherwise dark episode. He was such a sweetheart, who deserved so much better.

The entire cast and crew: No matter your opinion on the season, the whole team worked very hard to bring us the best possible finished product. It’s not easy to make an adaptation from a book series, especially one with a long-time, passionate fanbase, so I genuinely appreciate the seriousness with which everyone involved is trying to take this. It’s a very fine line to walk between a faithful adaptation and making something your own, and it’s easy to sit in judgment when you’re not the one putting something out there.

Wow, I didn’t think that list would be so long.

And now, onto my more critical opinions. Now would probably be a good time to stop reading if you absolutely loved everything and are going to be upset that not everyone did. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I think that most of my issues with this season can be summed up by one word: pacing. I honestly don’t think that their plan of doing one season per book is going to work out as well as they hoped, especially if they get past Drums. I go back and forth with myself about whether this season should’ve had more episodes (I understand the logistical and practical reasons why they didn’t. This is more of a theoretical.) The end of the season absolutely felt rushed–even with some of the more convoluted plot lines axed or cleaned up–while the beginning of the season kind of dragged. Yes, I do understand that we had to show Jamie and Claire separated to really feel those 20 years and we had to see all the things Jamie went through, but it still felt like a bit much to me. I also constantly felt like I just had to get through one thing to get to the next, better thing, if that makes sense. That might be 100% on me, but the big moments didn’t hit me as hard as in previous seasons.

The in-epsiode pacing this season really made me grit my teeth. It just felt like the writers decided to spend inordinate amounts of time on some things to the exclusion of other events (*cough*character moments*cough*) that I would have preferred to see. For reals, though, why did we have that whole thing where Claire was desperately trying to save the life of the man who attacked her, only for him to die anyway? Or 15 minutes of Claire traipsing through the jungle on Saint Domingue? The audience is not stupid. We can comprehend things like montages and time lapses to illustrate the passage of time. But we got those things instead of Ian Murray, Sr. coming up to the brothel room while Claire was still abed or John and Claire meeting aboard the British ship. Yes, yes, I know they screwed that one up by having Jamie tell Claire about Willie and that John is his adopted father, but I’m still allowed to be disappointed about it. I always enjoyed that their first meeting was wholly independent of Jamie and that they genuinely liked and respected one another. I feel that the way it all played out in the show will alter their future relationship.

And now, for a truly unpopular opinion: I could’ve done with fewer or shorter sex scenes this season. I’m not 100% sure why, but they felt somewhat gratuitous to me this season. Especially in Print Shop, where it was obviously trying to feel like The Wedding. In Print Shop, the first one was necessary, but the second one could’ve easily been shortened/fade to black/whatever. Sometimes the sex scenes felt a bit fanservice-y to me. I’ve generally enjoyed the sex on this show in the past, so I’m not entirely sure what changed. Maybe it was that there was so much action this season and so few times when the characters had the time to just talk to each other, that the sex just felt like it was randomly thrown in, rather than happening organically. I don’t know, I’ll revisit this idea when I eventually rewatch the whole season.

I would’ve liked to have seen more of the relationship growth between Claire and Marsali. I enjoy Marsali in subsequent books, so it would’ve been nice to see more of that evolution from distrust and suspicion to soliciting advice from Claire.

On a similar note, I was displeased with how jokey the Fersali wedding was. Jamie officially granting Fergus his last name is a big moment for the two of them, but I feel like it got a bit lost in how ridiculous Father Fogden was being.

I hadn’t really thought about it until I was watching the season unfold, but a lot of these issues may have come from the source material. Generally, I enjoy Voyager, but I do skip things sometimes when I’m rereading it. As a whole, it does seem kind of unfocused. It kind of veers off in the middle there into some side plots to the point where you almost forget about Young Ian’s kidnapping.

These are just my first impressions and are subject to change after further reflection. As a whole, this season was kind of a miss for me. I’ll take the responsibility for at least some of that because I definitely let my expectations get out of hand. Also, I don’t have hyper-fixations like some people do. I have brief periods of deeply enjoying something, then it fades. I think I’ve almost definitely hit the fade, so that might be affecting things. I’ve never been the squeeing type, so I was never going to be at that level of enjoyment anyway.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. You don’t have to agree with me on any of it, but please don’t come on my post/blog and berate me about why I’m wrong for not liking something. I am always up for discussion or questions about my ramblings. I apologize for the disorganized nature of this post. I just wanted to write something about what I was thinking.

#i really don't want this showing up in the main tags #because i don't really want that much attention #laura talks about outlander #season 3 post mortem #don't read unless you're ready for some negative #i tried to explain everything but idk if i succeeded

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junker-town · 5 years

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Teddy Bridgewater vs. Taysom Hill is the NFL’s only good backup QB battle

Photo by Stephen Lew/Icon Sportswire via Getty Images

Could either one of them be Drew Brees’ potential successor?

The Saints are set at starting quarterback for 2019. Drew Brees was his typical all-world self for most of his previous year. While the now 40-year-old’s level of play declined late in the season, he still managed to record a league- and career-high 115.7 passer rating and led his team within one blown pass interference call of the Super Bowl.

But if Brees goes down, New Orleans has the backup ballast it needs to stay afloat.

The quadragenarian quarterback sits atop a depth chart that features a former Pro Bowler in Teddy Bridgewater. This offseason, Bridgewater re-signed with the Saints on a one-year deal, allowing him to continue to rebuild his value following 2016’s catastrophic knee injury while keeping his name in the mix as Brees’ possible successor.

Those plans may not come to fruition if Taysom Hill can look as good as he did in preseason Week 2. The former BYU star has turned heads as an electric special teamer and gadget-play specialist in his first two seasons in the league, but his performance against a smattering of Chargers backups lends credibility to his passing game.

Taysom Hill's TOP plays from yesterday's win! #Saints @T_Hill4 pic.twitter.com/aVV9Sd1lYu

— New Orleans Saints (@Saints) August 19, 2019

Hill completed 11 of his 15 passes for 136 yards and threw for each of the Saints’ two touchdowns. He added a game-high 53 rush yards. Despite not entering the game until the second quarter, the third-string passer was responsible for 58 percent of his team’s total offense.

That raises an important preseason question.

Is Taysom Hill the Saints’ best backup quarterback?

Hill, a player with zero career starts at quarterback and seven NFL pass attempts, is an intriguing unknown for New Orleans. His athleticism and ability to pick up new facets of the pro game have kept him on the Saints’ active roster in each of the past two seasons. He’s listed on the roster as a QB, but he’s made his impact felt everywhere from the backfield to special teams.

When Taysom Hill is in the game, you should know the zone read is coming and that he will likely keep it no matter what. And that he can run over defenders like Landon Collins. Like the arc block by the TE here. pic.twitter.com/f3kW4zxBHi

— Ted Nguyen (@FB_FilmAnalysis) October 12, 2018

This preseason has shown how this versatile approach informs his play behind center. Hill’s big performance against the Chargers was a combination of exploiting their many defensive deficiencies and finding a way to spin sugar into cotton candy. His first touchdown strike was a pass to an inexplicably wide open Austin Carr, but his on-target placement allowed it to be a walk-in touchdown instead of a first-and-goal situation.

Hill’s second touchdown saw him use the mobility and speed to avoid an oncoming rush and connect with tailback Devine Ozigbo.

OZIGBO!@T_Hill4 marches it down the field for the score ⚜️ pic.twitter.com/Jg5i3rb3Wm

— New Orleans Saints (@Saints) August 18, 2019

The biggest takeaway from that performance was Hill’s ability to find and hit open windows downfield. It’s only one game, however, and consistency hasn’t exactly been a calling card for the young passer.

Accuracy was a problem for the BYU product dating back to his college days, where he completed just 58 percent of his passes. He threw only 12 more touchdowns than interceptions in that span. While he made up for it with his legs — Hill scored 32 rushing touchdowns as a Cougar — those lapses appeared to create a low ceiling as an NFL passer.

Hill vacillated between good and bad performances in stretches at BYU. Hoping for him to put these issues in his rearview in 2019 may be unrealistic thanks to his advanced age. After two years on an LDS mission out of high school, five seasons at BYU, and two in the NFL, Hill will be 29 years old this season. That’s two years older than the man he’s battling for backup reps in New Orleans.

2019 Teddy Bridgewater is still capable of being 2015 Teddy Bridgewater

One good preseason game isn’t enough to call Hill a bonafide QB2. Especially when the man ahead of him on the depth chart was similarly effective just a week earlier. Bridgewater was hot garbage against the Chargers (5-of-12 passing with an interception), but he was steady in his preseason opener. He finished a two-quarter outing versus his former Vikings teammates with 134 yards and a touchdown, bolstering his case as one of the league’s most valuable backups.

That argument earned a major boost last August. Bridgewater’s knee injury led to his egress from Minnesota in 2019. He landed in the AFC East with the opportunity to take the reins as the Jets’ starting quarterback. Those plans were waylaid when the Jets took Sam Darnold with the third overall pick. Despite that, Bridgewater showed out enough in the preseason to convince the Saints to trade a third-round pick for his services.

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Though that move failed to create the launchpad Bridgewater had been hoping for in his run-up to free agency in 2019, he impressed enough that New Orleans kept him around. The young veteran earned his first start since 2015 in a meaningless Week 17 game against the Panthers. It wasn’t a revelation from Bridgewater, though. He underwhelmed in a 22-pass, 118-yard performance — one in which Hill scored a 9-yard rushing touchdown as a wildcat-esque quarterback in the fourth quarter.

Despite the disappointing outing, Bridgewater has a higher NFL baseline than Hill, though it’s unclear if he’ll ever be able to reach it again. He was a Pro Bowl selection for Minnesota in his second season in the league, but though Bridgewater only threw 14 touchdown passes in 16 outings that year. Even so, he was a stable leader who was responsible for four game-winning drives in his first two seasons as a pro. His composition in the pocket portended future success.

Pre-injury Bridgewater was accurate but could also be unexciting in stretches. He overcame a steep learning curve — he’d started 28 of the Vikings first 32 games after being drafted in 2014 — and an understocked receiving corps (his top wideouts were an aging Greg Jennings and a not-yet-prime Stefon Diggs). There’s still reason to believe Bridgewater can be a starting-caliber quarterback even with the diminished mobility that followed years of rehabilitation for a devastated knee.

While Bridgewater could use his agility to avoid pressure in the pocket and spring for big plays before his injury, he wasn’t exactly a dual-threat passer. He was sacked on nearly nine percent of his dropbacks in Minnesota. He ran for just 0.8 yards per rush (after sacks) in three seasons at Louisville. Though he scored four touchdowns on the ground in his first two seasons in the NFL, his best and most sustainable work came while stepping up as pass rushers orbited around him.

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Last year’s Week 17 loss to the Panthers gives us a little more background on what 2019 Teddy Bridgewater would look like as a starter in a meaningful game, but it’s still not an open and shut case. We know Bridgewater had the chops to be a starter on a playoff team four years ago. We also know he was the league’s hottest quarterback in the preseason of 2018 — and that led to a one-year, $7.25 million deal to remain on a Saints roster, where he had no chance to compete for a starting role.

This leaves New Orleans with a good problem to have

The Saints have two potential avenues for replacing an aging Hall of Fame quarterback without burning a Day 1 draft pick. Both roads are winding, bumpy, and may ultimately lead to dead ends. Bridgewater may never reach the slightly-above-average heights of his sophomore NFL season.

Hill’s ceiling is likely closer to that of Joe Webb — another converted quarterback who has done a little bit of everything in a nine-year NFL career — than as a worthy successor to Drew Brees. That’s not a bad thing! It’s just not as exciting as a low-yield backup developing into a starter four years after he was cleared to legally rent a car.

Head coach Sean Payton says he’s still evaluating each of his backup passers, but only Hill has been compared to a Hall of Famer this preseason.

“If you look back at Steve [Young]’s career, people don’t remember the time before he came to the NFL, you have a very athletic player that, I think, advanced when he got to San Francisco,” said Payton. “He always had great ability with his legs, so you’re trying to create visions for players, and that’s no different than how you’d evaluate how we see Teddy Bridgewater progressing and what we think he can be.”

That’s a lofty expectation for a third-string quarterback. Hill showed us all what that looks like on a good day, but that was only one game. Payton won’t have to look too far for a reminder that a stellar preseason doesn’t portend regular season success. That’s a lesson Bridgewater understands all too well.

The good news is New Orleans has all of 2019 to sort this out. If the second- and third-string quarterbacks have already hit their peaks, they still hold significant value. In the meantime, Bridgewater can settle into a traditional backup role while Hill takes the field for whatever high-impact gadgetry the Saints can think up.

They’re a first-rate insurance policy capable of staying in the race as potential Brees successors — even if a long shot.

If anything happens to Drew Brees, Payton will have some options. No matter who he chooses, it’ll be exciting.

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wisdomrays · 3 years

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TAFAKKUR: Part 423

BISHR B. HARITH

All human beings are fallible, liable to err and to sin. This is true of even the most revered saints. What is necessary is to cleanse oneself of all sins through repentance, asking forgiveness with remorse and a firm commitment not to sin again: Allah accepts the repentance of those who do evil in ignorance and repent soon afterwards; to them Allah will turn in mercy... (al-Nisa’, 4.17). There have been many people who committed great sins in their lives, but then repented so deeply and sought forgiveness with such sincerity that they could not take food and drink with ease (let alone with pleasure) on account of their grief for their past sins. Some sincere believers, like the Prophet Adam (peace be on him), were unable to raise their faces toward heaven, they felt such shame for what they had done. Since they regarded their faults as a sort of rebellion against Allah, their consciences were ravaged by the pangs they felt because of their fault and they became very alert to the possibility of a second lapse. The repentance of one who does not feel sorrow and remorse in the heart cannot be considered as true repentance. In fact, this saying of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, proves that this is really so: Repentance is remorse. Therefore, it is not the commission of sin that is odd but the failure to achieve a true repentance. Also, people should not be condemned for their past sins; rather, bearing in mind that the gates of Allah’s mercy and forgiveness are wide open to all, what should be weighed is their present life and their positive conduct.

Examples can be studied in the lives of the Successors of the Companions of the Prophet, upon him be peace, and the Successors of the Successors, of knowledge (‘ilm), virtue, good conduct and courtesy. One of these great individuals was Bishr bin Harith, born in the year 152 after the Hijra, in the village of Bekird or Mabersam in Merve. He was well- known by his patronymic Abu Nasr. Bishr was an alcoholic and incurable frequenter of taverns. One day, while walking, he noticed on the ground a piece of paper which had been trodden upon. He stopped, bent down and saw that the word Allah was written on it. He went to a shop and with his last money bought musk, amber and rosewater with which he cleansed the piece of paper. He then placed the paper away from where people’s feet might go, to express respect for the Name. That night, one of the saints of that time had a dream, in which he heard this: ‘Go and tell Bishr that he cleansed My Name with musk and amber and I cleansed his name and purified him from all. I swear by My Glory that I will make his name loved and ennobled in this world and in the world to come.’ The one who dreamt this had known Bishr very well, and was most surprised because, to the best of his knowledge. Bishr had done nothing so remarkable as to deserve such honour. He meditated a while and made wudu and then went back to sleep. The same event recurred three times, with the saint dreaming the same dream successively three times. He came to the conclusion that his dream must be a truthful one. The following day he set about looking for Bishr, and eventually located him in a tavern. He sent a man to fetch him out of the tavern. Bishr did not want to come out and asked why he should. The man said that the one calling him had a special message for him. Bishr still would not come out, now wanting to know who this special message was from. The man returned to Bishr from the saint with the explanation that the message was from Allah. This time Bishr did not want to come out because he feared that he was about to be rebuked by Allah. However, when the saint sent the assurance that Allah would not rebuke him but, on the contrary, had good news for him, Bishr decided to come out. Bcfore leaving the tavern, Bishr turned to the people in it and bid them farewell with the words: ‘The Friend and His friends have sent me an invitation. I am going and you will never again see me in such places. And yourselves also, I leave to Him.’

No one saw Bishr in such places again. His life of wretchedness was over. From that time on, even though he was thoroughly converted to a decent life and had renounced all bad habits, there was one thing he never left behind him. That was the shame and the feeling of accountability for his former life. He despised worldly pleasures, became most particular and subtle about everything, and vowed never to return to those days. Also, he was never again seen wearing any shoes. Asked why, he said: ‘When I decided to renounce my former life and vowed not to return to it I was barefoot. So, because of (the memory of) that I become ashamed lest I should break my promise and return to my former ways.’ Because he went barefoot, he earned the nickname of al-Hafi.

Later, Bishr moved to Baghdad, settled there and began studying Islamic sciences, attending the talks and lectures of many eminent scholars of the age. He then travelled to Makka, Kufa and Basra to study further and expand his knowledge.

He was extremely particular and sensitive about what is halal (lawful) and haram (forbidden). He avoided eating doubtful things to such an extent that he once drank sea water, in view of the slight chance that the money with which the sultan provided water free for the people might have been earned through injustice, oppression, or other Islamically unlawful ways. He turned a deaf ear to the call of his self (nafs) and suppressed it by contradicting it each time. Even though his nafs desired to eat meat, he did not eat any for forty years. In fact, he did not earn so much as to afford meat. He avoided eating sweets in order not to spoil his nafs. He spent his days in hunger or continual fasting. Against the advice of those who tried to persuade him to eat, he said ‘Hunger purifies the heart, quenches one’s lust and carnal desires. and inspires subtlety of thought and knowledge’. In this way he urged people to mildness of conduct, sweet temper and frugality.

Whatever he did, Bishr wanted to do it just to earn the pleasure of Allah and utterly shunned publicity. He never sought to justify himself or what he did in the eyes of others. On the contrary, in true humility, he considered himself as lower than others. He did not attach much importance to the worldly life and always criticized and disapproved of people who sought the favours of governors and sultans.

Bishr had great intelligence (‘aql) and wisdom. He never gossiped about or slandered people. One of the scholars of his time, Ibrahim Harbi, remarked that ‘Baghdad has not raised a man who was wiser and who defended his tongue from idle talk and slander better than Bishr. People observed him for fifty years and had not witnessed him slander any one. It was as if he had an intelligence for each hair on his head. I never saw a man so virtuous as Bishr’.

Bishr was profound in reflection and reasoning. He held that not to commit sins and not to be disrespectful towards Allah is only possible through reflection and judgement, and that believers should thank Allah profusely for their iman (faith), which is one of the greatest of His blessings. Bishr’s sister, Zubdah, recounted this incident: ‘My brother Bishr visited me one evening. He came up to the gate of the house. He opened it, put one foot inside, suddenly stopped and fell into reflection. He stood still there during the whole night one step in and one step out in deep contemplation. I waited for him to come inside, but he did not. When the dawn was breaking, I could not keep myself from asking what he reflected so seriously and profoundly upon. Bishr replied: “I have been thinking that there are Christians, Jews and Zoroastrians who also have the name Bishr. My name and theirs are the same, but I am a Muslim and enjoy the greatest blessing of belief in Allah while they do not. So what a great blessing it is! And what could befall them in the Hereafter who keep from such a blessing of Allah?”

Abd al-Rahman Abu Hatim narrates this from Bishr himself: ‘I saw the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, in my dream. He asked me, O Bishr! Do you know why Allah raised you to such a high rank among your equals? I said, I don’t know, O Messenger of Allah. And he said, Because you follow my Sunna, serve the cause of righteousness, give good counsel to your Muslim brethren, and love my Companions and Family.’

Bishr bin Harith passed away in Baghdad in the year 227 after the Hijra. Many eminent scholars have recorded that people set out to bury his body after the morning prayer but only reached the place of burial at the time of the night prayer (isha) because of the sheer numbers who came to pay their last respects to so sincere a brother of theirs. May the blessing of Allah be upon him and his equals!

Sufyan bin Muhammad al-Masisi narrates: ‘I saw Bishr in a dream after his death. I asked Bishr how Allah had treated him, He said, ‘Allah forgave me and made the half of Paradise halal (permissible) to me.’

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recentanimenews · 8 years

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FEATURE: Crunchyroll Favorites 2016, Part One: Anime and Manga!

Hoo boy, 2016 was a rough year (and that's putting it very, very mildly)--but there were a few bright spots, and that's what we're here to talk about today! Crunchyroll Favorites kicks off its fifth year with another three-part look at all our favorites from the past twelve months!

The rules were simple: for Part One, only anime, manga, and related media that were released in 2016 (or received a Western release in 2016), or experienced a major milestone (like starting a new season or closing up a major arc). There's a lot to look at in Part One--let's get started!

NATE MING (@NateMing)

FLIP FLAPPERS- Finally, a modern magical girl series that steps out of Madoka's shadow and delivers something that's unique, energetic, and positive as hell. Callouts to everything from Fist of the North Star to Sukeban Deka to (of course) Sailor Moon are welcome for longtime fans, while still getting appropriately dark and moody. Cocona is all about the unease of adolescence, and Papika exudes the simple charm of Son Goku in all her pure, heroic glory. Speaking of...

Dragon Ball Super- I rarely get excited to watch simulcasts as they come out--I tend to wait and binge, but I'm there every week within a day for Dragon Ball Super. In 1995, when I was 13 years old, I wanted a sequel to Dragon Ball Z with Future Trunks coming back. Now, over twenty years later, I get to see a DBZ sequel where Future Trunks comes back--and the series feels even more like the original Dragon Ball. This is the real secret to eternal youth.

Yuri!!! on ICE- Yeah yeah, "fujo bait" or some other BS, you're just mad their fandom is more organized than yours. That says a lot to me--that a TV anime, a sports anime, can pull together so many people and get them excited, week after week. Lapsed fans have viewing parties, share recommendations, and remember why they were once into anime in the first place. This is what happens when it feels like something's made for you, and that's a wonderful thing. Yuri!!! on ICE was a pretty okay show, but it's what it symbolizes that means so much more to me.

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable- I always say that JoJo's is like the original Star Trek movies--the best parts are even-numbered. Diamond is Unbreakable continues Studio David's glorious adaptation of Araki's mega-epic, bringing out all the style and soul and violence of Josuke and the gang's battle to save their town. New to JoJo? Start here--and buckle up.

Tanaka-kun is Always Listless- Anime comedies are pretty important to me--whether it's the sheer absurdity of Cromartie High School or the more low-key silliness of Tonari no Seki-kun, finding a fairly simple premise and then focusing on it is a good way to hook me. In this case, a lazy guy has to deal with his high-energy friends, and we learn that sometimes, taking it easy is the only easy way to get ahead in life.

Evangelion 3.33: You Can(Not) Redo- It felt like this movie was never going to come out here after its 2012 release, but holy crap it was worth the wait. After the familiar ground of 1.11 and the bold, assertive new direction 2.22 took, 3.33 brings us back to what Evangelion does best: raw emotional pain, horrifying visuals, and never quite trusting or rooting for anybody we see on-screen. What a ride.

Rurouni Kenshin live-action trilogy- Another awesome release that was a long time coming, this adaptation of my all-time favorite manga condenses the first 17(ish) volumes of the series into three movies, trimming some plotlines and making them all just work as dynamic, rough, yet stylish martial arts actioners. Thankfully, great fights and drama don't overshadow Rurouni Kenshin's sense of fun. Check these out when you can!

Thunderbolt Fantasy- Written and created by Gen Urobuchi? Voice acting by Junichi Suwabe, Rikiya Koyama, Nobuyuki Hiyama, and Tomokazu Seki? An opening by T.M. Revolution?! I don't care what you say, you have those credentials, it can be live-action and be made in Antarctica and still be anime as hell. As the only person I know who regularly bought ComicsONE's kung-fu manhua, Thunderbolt Fantasy brought me back to the days of hunting down volumes of Saint Legend and Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre.

My Hero Academia (manga)- There's always a certain point when a manga hooks me, and I'm in it for better or for worse. One Piece had Arlong Park (and later Enies Lobby). Naruto had the Chunin Exam. Hunter x Hunter had Yorknew City. Now, My Hero Academia's 2016 developments--and a very public, dangerous reveal and its emotional fallout--have pulled me in. I don't just say "My Hero Academia is good." Now I say "My Hero Academia is One Piece good."

Crunchyroll x Funimation- Competition's good, but everybody wins when we all work together. Funimation are the other half of what we do, and have been in this business a hell of a lot longer. Being able to watch brand-new anime subbed on CR or dubbed on Funi is the kind of thing I never thought I'd see, and I am excited as hell to be a part of this, and to see what good it can do for anime fans.

JOSEPH LUSTER (@Moldilox)

Dragon Ball Super- Dragon Ball Super went from "this thing I keep hearing is poorly animated" to "my favorite show of the year" in record time. As soon as it was available legally I jumped into a mountain-leveling, rosé-tinted marathon of madness, and as of right now it's the best damn thing since DBZ. Super has completely rekindled my not-so-dormant love for all things Toriyama, and I can't wait to see where they take the series next.

Mob Psycho 100- I loved the One-Punch Man anime, but I'm pretty sure Shigeo "Mob" Kageyama could take Saitama in an unrestrained fight. That's saying a lot, but it's just another indicator of how much I adored BONES' gorgeously-animated spin on ONE's manga (which needs to come out in English ASAP). It certainly has some of the most creative fights of 2016, and that's a year that brought us the butt-battling of Keijo!!!!!!!!

Re:ZERO -Starting Life in Another World- On paper, Re:ZERO isn't something I should have enjoyed as much as I did. I read the first volume of the light novel series and found it as clunky and poorly written as most other light novels I've attempted (noted exception: Kizumonogatari), but the anime really hooked me. It's one of the few series I felt I was watching right alongside everyone else, and it never failed to surprise me and punch me in the gut when it mattered most. This one will be remembered fondly down the line, and here's hoping we get more since Tappei Nagatsuki is still churning out volume after volume of the novels in Japan.

Also, Subaru is great, you just can't handle how devastatingly real he is.

PETER FOBIAN (@PeterFobian)

FLIP FLAPPERS- On a visual level, FLIP FLAPPERS is a fascinating tour de force of concept and animation, featuring regular bouts of intense sakuga and amazing environmental design in the diverse worlds of pure illusion all illustrated in a pseudo-classical style. For critics it is a cornucopia of satisfying references to fine art, science, psychology, philosophy, and spiritualism with visual callouts to a diverse range of media from Neon Genesis Evangelion to The Shining to Popeye. For the casual viewer it’s a powerful story of adolescent discovery told both literally and through beautifully-rendered metaphor.

Re:ZERO -Starting Life in Another World- Despite the formulaic basis of Re:ZERO’s story, appearing as one of a dime-a-dozen isekai light novel adaptations featuring a female harem, Re:ZERO proved to have some serious narrative worth. Not quite a deconstruction, Re:ZERO featured a deeply flawed protagonist in Subaru and an atypical narrative featuring a novel premise in Subaru’s ability to resurrect from death. This gave the anime a huge potential for speculation, and created an entire community of enthusiasts and analysts who followed it from week to week to see what happened next.

ERASED- Halfway through winter season I was absolutely convinced that nothing in 2016 would be able to top the combination of subtle direction, emotional narrative, and unique premise of ERASED. The series masterfully invested its audience in Kayo’s well-being, so for the viewer, the series became less about solving the mystery of the murders than the simple hope that this brave, unfairly abused girl could find some modicum of happiness in a cruel world. Satoru’s altruistic quest, forthright concern, willingness to admit his own faults, and habit of accidentally vocalizing his thoughts made him a truly endearing protagonist.

March comes in like a lion- This show tells a story that's as difficult to look at as it is to look away from. The inextricable nature of the sources of Rei’s joy and sorrow have created a narrow path he must walk upon just at the edge of despair. Studio SHAFT makes excellent use of visuals, employing darkness and deep water to give Rei’s emotions an elemental quality that allow you to experience the suffocating hold that his depression has upon him, while surrounding the Kawamoto household with a warmth and childlike simplicity that represents the refuge their unconditional love offers to him.

Mob Psycho 100- Mob Psycho 100 may justifiably have a place on top 10 lists for 2016 simply for visual power of the anime alone. Like FLIP FLAPPERS, Mob Psycho 100 is a demonstration of what is possible when you let artists loose on a project. It also showcased ONE’s versatility as a storyteller, strangely, by portraying the same type of overwhelmingly powerful protagonist through a different lens. Behind all the oddball humor and eye-popping art is the story of a boy who struggles with being normal, while everyone around him wants to stand out.

Shōwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjū- What we have here is one of a kind: a dedicated, generational period piece not only faithfully depicting post-war Japan, but doing so through the the lens of an obscure and nearly-extinct form of artist theater that is uniquely Japanese. Rakugo feels like the sort of soulful, arthouse passion project that a Hollywood director would have to put years of time in to build the clout to justify its creation. Its direction, emphasizing on gesture and expression, is absolutely cinematic, drawing out each emotional note of the melancholic narrative. The somber humanity of Rakugo almost doesn’t feel like an anime, and is a testament to the versatility of the medium.

My Hero Academia- The next up-and-coming shonen hall-of-famer, in many ways My Hero Academia has already surpassed many of its peers with its fascinating triadic rivalry between Deku, Kacchan, and Todoroki. MHA does a tremendous job of portraying its immensely charming cast of characters' pursuit of diverse personal goals that are equal parts altruism and self-interest. Most importantly, Horikoshi has tapped into the ethos of superheroes, creating inspirational figures that are intrinsically human, but saddled with the responsibility of representing something larger than life.

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable- Despite my many attempts to get into the series, Diamond is Unbreakable is perhaps the first iteration of JoJo that had something interesting to say. The slow-burn murder mystery set in an idyllic town and the many asides, notations, and references all work in concert to build the fictional city of Morioh into a nearly real place like The Simpsons' Springfield. With that hurdle passed, Araki’s stylized art and its amazing adaptation into color and movement by Studio David become an art form unto themselves.

Tanaka-kun is Always Listless- Maybe it was how atypical Tanaka was as a lead in a medium where protagonists are homogenously faceless, featureless, and altruistic that drew me to this series. The entire cast each have some sort of hang-up, but the titular Tanaka-kun just treats it differently (ironically) by treating them all the same. Tanaka-kun definitely has a lot of offer on the classroom comedy front, but it also provides a unique sort of iyashikei, or healing media, in which characters' idiosyncrasies are taken in stride and wholeheartedly accepted, even appreciated, by others. It’s this light-hearted dedication to the positive that makes this anime so dear to me.

Yuri!!! on ICE- Complaints about animation and 11th hour writing aside, I do believe Yuri!!! on ICE was one of the most important anime this year or perhaps of the past several years. Yuri!!! on ICE is a story meant to appeal to a much more vast audience than the more targeted content we’re used to, and it showed. It's created new fans for the sport of figure skating, reached out to the LGBT community, and represented countries that hardly see a mention in modern media. It was written for a global audience and it reached it. Only time will tell if it's destined to have any sort of lasting cultural impact, but in the present, at least, it has drawn some deserved attention to the art form.

KARA DENNISON (@RubyCosmos)

Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress- I had this show dropped on me by a friend with absolutely no lead-in whatsoever. I've had my fill of steampunk and zombies, so I nearly gave it the brush-off... but then I realized Mikimoto was behind the character designs! It's a gorgeous piece of work, and not at all tuned to the tropes I was expecting. The promise of more is incredibly exciting.

BAKUON!!- Motorcycle anime? Sign me up. It took literally zero arm-twisting to get me into a show about schoolgirls on bikes. Especially when one of them is pretty much literally the Stig. I haven't finished this yet, but I'm looking forward to watching the end very soon!

Love Live! School Idol Project (pre-2016)- Yeah, yeah, I'm late to the party. After lurking around on the game, I finally gave the anime a try to see what all the fuss was about. And I admit it: it's actually really good. It helped that I was in touch with the characters after playing on the app for so long, I think, but I really did jam with this. Looking forward to starting Sunshine soon.

EVAN MINTO (@VamptVo)

Space Patrol Luluco- As Crunchyroll’s resident Trigger fan, I’m obligated to put Luluco at the top of my list. It’s the famed studio of loony ex-Gainax dorks indulging in some of the most surreal, self-referential comedy this side of FLCL (the show where Luluco director Hiroyuki Imaishi got his start as an animation director). Not only does Luluco boast references to every Trigger property from Kill la Kill to Kiznaiver and cameos from Little Witch Academia, Sex & Violence, and 2016’s REAL Best Boy — Inferno Cop — but it’s also a surprisingly sincere shojo-inspired cosmic love story!

Mob Psycho 100- I loved what I saw of One-Punch Man, though I never did finish it (I know, I know). Mob Psycho 100, also from webcomic artist ONE, has some of the same appeal — superpowered battles, lush animation, and an absurd, slightly dark sense of humor — but cuts it with a heartfelt coming-of-age-story. More than anything else, though, I watched Mob just to see what wild shots the animators at BONES would try next, and I was rarely disappointed. Mob Psycho 100 is easily one of the best-looking shows of the past five years; every animator gets a chance to show off their unique style, and even the most mundane scenes are infused with energy and personality.

ERASED- It’s rare we get an anime series I can comfortably recommend to my parents, but ERASED manages to capture the nail-biting cliffhangers and complex mysteries that drive so many popular modern American TV series. On top of all of that, director Tomohiko Ito (of Sword Art Online fame, go figure) crafts powerful, cinematic visuals without resorting to expressionistic anime flourishes. When it all comes together it’s a captivating experience. The ending needs a bit more room to breathe, but even with a few stumbles at the finish line, ERASED is a series I’ll be recommending for years to come.

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable- I wasn’t super pleased with Stardust Crusaders, but Diamond is Unbreakable brings back all of the wacky charm of the first two parts of the JoJo’s saga, EXCEPT WITH STANDS. This time Araki doesn’t hold back, introducing a host of completely absurd Stand powers, including: “transform a person into a newspaper and read their life story,” “heal people via Italian food,” and “a real army but the size of toys.” It’s also much smaller-scale, with a lot of recurring characters, many of whom are some of my favorites in the whole series. Though they’ve dropped the incredible Kamikaze Douga OP sequences, David Production makes up for it with colorful, high-contrast artwork that perfectly accentuates Araki’s manic sense of style. I’m sad to see Diamond is Unbreakable go, but JoJo’s still has so much more in store.

Only Yesterday- At 25 years old this year, Only Yesterday is hardly a “new” title, but 2016 was the first time we got it in the United States! Produced at Studio Ghibli and directed by Grave of the Fireflies’ Isao Takahata, the film is a beautifully understated, lyrical look at a woman’s life, told simultaneously through a summer spent farming and a series of memories from her childhood. Most of the movie is ordinary almost to a fault, but like many of Takahata’s movies, it builds carefully and almost imperceptibly to a sublime emotional climax. Only Yesterday is easily one of my favorite anime of all time.

Belladonna of Sadness- Another retro release, Belladonna is the third and final film in the Animerama series of erotic art films produced by Osamu Tezuka’s Mushi Productions. This one, however, is entirely directed by Eiichi Yamamoto (Tezuka co-produced the other two). Suffice it to say, it’s not exactly what you might expect from the studio that produced Astro Boy. A medieval lord rapes a beautiful peasant woman, who seeks revenge by making a deal with the devil. Yamamoto presents the story’s gothic horror — complete with Satanic rituals and frightening descents into madness — with elaborate animated paintings and an incredible psychedelic rock soundtrack from Masahiko Satoh. Not for the faint of heart, Belladonna of Sadness is an arresting work of experimental animation that’s a welcome change of pace from the banality of modern anime.

One-Punch Man (manga)- I’m finally close to caught up with One-Punch Man, and I’m surprised I didn’t read it sooner! Eyeshield 21’s Yusuke Murata has a great eye for character design and pulls off some surprisingly ambitious page layouts, but it’s ONE’s absurd, childish sense of humor that makes the series stand out so much from its shonen action contemporaries. Saitama’s complete apathy undercuts every opportunity for serious danger or drama, giving the series a sardonic self-awareness that’s relatively rare in shonen action series.

And Yet the Town Moves- After a 10-year run, And Yet the Town Moves is finally over. Masakazu Ishiguro’s decade-long manga never follows a single storyline for more than two or three chapters, instead constructing a deliberately out-of-order series of episodic comedy vignettes about a small Japanese town and the grossly out-of-place maid café at its center. What always made And Yet the Town Moves a joy to go back to was Ishiguro’s ability to weave endless strings of jokes at his characters’ expense, all while painting a picture of a tight-knit community of decent, lovable folks both old and young. Appropriately for a sitcom that consistently shuns sentimentality in favor of comedy, the final chapter ends with just another dumb joke.

The Gods Lie.- Lots of anime and manga feature children as the main characters, but it’s rare that these stories really tackle what it means to be a child in modern society. The Gods Lie, on the other hand, tackles it head on with the story of three kids — the oldest of whom are in 6th grade — who live alone in an abandoned house for a summer. There’s a fair bit of high drama in this single book (an absentee father, a sick, elderly soccer coach) but The Gods Lie communicates far more about how how societies nurture and shelter their children through showcasing the fractured but functional surrogate family that the three kids form for each other.

The Osamu Tezuka Story- Though it’s sometimes a little too detailed for its own good, The Osamu Tezuka Story is an invaluable book for anyone like me who’s obsessed with the life and work of Osamu Tezuka, the “God of Manga” who created Astro Boy and revolutionized both the postwar manga and anime industries. In manga form, author Toshio Ban lays out Tezuka’s life from his schoolboy days sketching in the margins of notebooks to his death in 1989, pulling from memoirs, interviews, and personal accounts from those who knew him best. Tezuka loved to write manga epics about the lives of heroes and historical figures, so it’s fitting that he’d get immortalized in his own manga biography.

SAM WOLFE (@_Samtaro)

One Piece- 2016 was another great year for the One Piece manga, as the Straw Hats finally did something fans have been anticipating for years: take on one of the Four Emperors of the Sea! Luffy has been making waves on Whole Cake Island, home to the notorious pirate lord Big Mom (and let me tell you, she’s got that name for a reason). Next to Teach, Big Mom has become one of my favorite One Piece villains, largely due to her distorted views on family. But is Big Mom really so bad? After all, her dream is to sit at a table where everyone sits at the same height…

ERASED- ERASED was a critically received murder mystery and drama that took the anime world by storm earlier this year, and I can’t sing its praises enough. Regardless of your feelings on the ending, ERASED had us gripped, and because the anime promised an alternate ending than its source manga, we were all in the dark. But to me, the success of ERASED was its appeal to both anime fans and non-anime fans. When a newbie asks me for anime recommendations, ERASED is sure to be on that list.

Dragon Ball Super- Dragon Ball Super really wasn’t on my radar until it was licensed in the States, and boy am I happy it was. As a big fan of Battle of the Gods and Resurrection F, Super was familiar territory, but this year I realized how good of a follow-up this show is to Dragon Ball Z; the power levels are higher, as are the stakes, and Goku is finally an underdog again. It’s good to be back.

Yuri!!! on ICE- I know, I know, you’ve heard enough about this one, but it deserves the nod. Yuri!!! on ICE is a special show for a lot of reasons: it’s appealing to anime fans and non-anime fans alike, it was an original story (meaning, it’s not based on a manga or light novel), and it told the story of two male figure skaters falling in love. It’s more than just a fujoshi dream come true; Yuri!!! on ICE did something really new, and that’s worth noting, even if you’re not a fan.

ISAAC AKERS (@iblessall)

As has been my custom with this space over the past few years (okay, just last year), rather than highlighting the shows that made it into my top 10 of the year, I’ll be touching on a few of the year’s offerings that just missed the cut.

She and Her Cat -Everything Flows- One of the quietest and shortest shows of the year was also a serious contender for being one of its best. Based on an earlier work of the same main title by Makoto Shinkai, She and Her Cat -Everything Flows- is a peaceful, melancholic look at the life of a young woman struggling with the loneliness and sadness that can come with being out on your own in the world. Much like one of my favorite short pieces from 2015, the Animator Expo’s tomorrow from there. She and Her Cat captures with ease and empathy a kind of wistful yet warm existential state. If you’ve been in the main character’s shoes even a little (or, if you’re in them right now), She and Her Cat -Everything Flows- is like getting a nice hug.

Three Leaves, Three Colors- Studio Dogakobo is well-known for their bouncy comedies, with recent hits like Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun and Love Lab leading the list. However, Three Leaves, Three Colors (from the same mangaka as Engaged to the Unidentified) is a somewhat more demure affair despite sharing many of the same trappings. With standout bits of animation scattered throughout and great color work, it’s a pleasure to look at, but it also boasts a rock-solid main trio of friends who play off each other in fun ways. There are even some almost surrealistic comedic interludes interspersed here and there. If you like moe comedies and missed this one this year, here’s your cue to check it out!

The Lost Village- Arguably the most controversial show of the entire year when it was airing, whether The Lost Village was genius, mediocre, or horrid varies depending on who you ask. I’ve weighed in on the matter with my own thoughts multiple times, but even considering how much respect I ended up having for the show I still find myself a bit baffled by it. That being said, it’s definitely one of the shows I had the most fun watching, writing, and discussing during the year, and I think those who engage with it ready to be flexible with their expectations will find, at the very least, a very unique anime to add to their completed list.

As for manga… I didn’t read any manga this year and I don’t think Nate will let me put Orange on my list for the third straight year, so sorry. [EDITOR'S NOTE: I would have been cool with this.] Pokemon Special’s still fun and good, by the way.

NICK CREAMER (@B0bduh)

FLIP FLAPPERS- FLIP FLAPPERS offered basically everything I want in an anime: great character writing, stirring themes, beautiful worlds, and an overall sense of whimsy that kept the whole thing fun and propulsive even when it was touching on topics like child abandonment and an inability to love yourself. It was an astonishing visual showcase and also a remarkably well-constructed character story, using its many diverse Pure Illusion adventures to consistently illustrate new things about its central characters. It’s one of those weird passion projects that make anime special, and I’m very happy it exists.

Concrete Revolutio: The Last Song- Okay, when I said FLIP FLAPPERS was everything I want in an anime, I sort of lied - I also like shows with searing political messages, and The Last Song was that all over. Depicting the breakdown of an alternate post-war Japan where superheroes are real, The Last Song was more reflective and bittersweet than Concrete Revolutio’s first season, but just as clever, creative, and engaging. From its wild pop-art style to its smart application of superhero archetypes to the social turmoil of 60s/70s Japan, The Last Song offered me a hefty meal to dig into every single week.

Sound! Euphonium 2- And reaching the final pole of my anime preferences, Sound! Euphonium continued to be thoughtful character drama done right. The show’s second season was messier than its first, adapting some material that couldn’t match the consistency of its predecessor, but the show’s characters continued to be very strong, and Kyoto Animation’s execution was just beyond compare. While many shows use the open canvas of animation to tell soaring, fantastical narratives, Euphonium demonstrated just how much magic and beauty there is in the personal and everyday.

Kizumonogatari- Oh, I also watched the first two Kizu movies this year, and they were glorious. Monogatari has been one of my favorite anime franchises for years now, but seeing Tatsuya Oishi’s gorgeous take on the prequel novel still felt like a revelatory experience. Instead of the TV series’ usual embrace of heavy internal monologue, Oishi fully realized Araragi’s depression, panic, and sexual mania through sound and pictures alone, making for one of the most distinctive and visceral film experiences I’ve seen. The Kizu films are a remarkable achievement.

FROG-KUN (@frog_kun)

Yuri!!! on ICE - An anime that was born to make history. Besides all the pretty boys and ice skating, the one thing that will stick with me about this show is how international its scope was. Yuri!!! on ICE takes you around the world and offers a surprisingly detailed and true-to-life picture of international competitive ice skating. We got to see skaters from Thailand and Kazakhstan excel at what they love on the world stage. As compelling as Yuri's journey as an athlete was, any of the skaters could have been the main character of this story. In fact, this was something that director Sayo Yamamoto and mangaka Mitsuro Kubo specifically went out of their way to suggest. No wonder this series was so beloved around this world!

Re:ZERO -Starting Life in Another World- This series might look like a typical fantasy-adventure story about an insufferable male nerd at first glance, but I was really impressed by how much empathy the narrative had for its main character. Subaru is an extremely weak character in the scheme of things, and the world doesn't revolve around him. His struggle to connect with others and move past his self-hatred resonated with me for similar reasons that My Teen Romantic Comedy SNAFU and Neon Genesis Evangelion did. I also happened to really love all the side characters in this series, and there's enough left unexplained by the end to make me burn with curiosity to find out what happens next. Season 2 when?!

your name.- I got to see Makoto Shinkai's masterpiece when it came out in Australian cinemas in November, and I ended up loving it so much that I saw it twice in three days! In my view, it's the first Shinkai film that balances its macro plot and themes equally with the love story, and that might be one of the reasons why I found it so personally relatable. your name. was created in response to the Fukushima disaster, and I found its message of empathizing with others and treasuring every fleeting moment especially profound in that context. I also think that the film touches on something deep about the way we humans connect with each other, and how it's possible for us to emotionally identify with people we've never even physically met. For that reason, among many others, it has become one of my favorite anime of all time.

WILHELM DONKO (@Surwill)

Sound! Euphonium 2- The first Sound! Euphonium was already my favorite anime of 2015, and the sequel again managed to make my list this year, as the second season was not lacking any of the traits and attributes responsible for the remarkable first season. Sound! Euphonium 2 kept its authentic grounded tone, which was accompanied by realistic characters and character-interactions, relatable drama, and background art nothing short of stunning. After a bit of a slow start, the season really picked up after the incredibly animated musical performance during the Kansai Competition, and in the end managed to tie up most loose ends beautifully. I’d also like to quickly mention Kumiko’s voice actresses’ unusual and mellow performance, which added a lot of personality to her character in my opinion.

Haikyu!!- Volleyball? I’m surely not going to care for an anime about a sport I don’t even know all the rules to. Boy, was I wrong. I picked up Haikyu!! around the start of the year, while the second cour of the second season was still running, and was immediately hooked. The show is extremely engaging, energetic, fast-paced, and almost always kept me on the edge of my seat during the matches. Haikyu!!’s cast is equally lovable (even the opponents in the show are great), and undergo some major character development throughout the seasons. I really did not care for Tsukishima at the beginning of show, but he soon became one of my favorites, especially after the thrilling third season. I guess I could say the same about Haikyu!! in general.

Re:ZERO -Starting Life in Another World- I don’t think I need to talk a lot about Re:ZERO, as it was undoubtedly one the biggest, if not the biggest anime this year. The show was definitely one of the more interesting takes on the Isekai (different world) formula in recent memory, and always sparked a great amount of discussion after each episode. And what can I say? I really liked to see Subaru suffer.

Love Live! Sunshine!!- I’m fully aware that Love Live! Sunshine!! is the odd one out of all my picks, and I would never objectively consider it as anime of the year, but it was my personal favorite of 2016. Even though I watched both seasons of the original, I never really cared for the Love Live! series, but that drastically changed with the start of Love Live! Sunshine!! While I never warmed up to Muse, I just adore every member of Aqour’s, and generally consider Sunshine!! to be a step up in every aspect compared to the original. However, it wasn’t until my own pilgrimage to the show’s setting, Uchiura and Numazu that I really fell in love with the series. I’ve done a lot of anime pilgrimages, but this one ranks among my favorites. After that I started collecting everything Love Live! Sunshine!! related I could get my hands upon. From art books, to figures to coffee mugs, I have it all – I even play that darn mobile game every day. Yousoro ~

Honorable Mentions: Flying Witch, KONOSUBA, Ajin.

BRANDON TETERUCK (@Don_Don_Kun)

FLIP FLAPPERS– Magical girl anime have encountered a bit of a dry spell in recent years. Thankfully Kiyotaka Oshiyama brought us a unique spin on the genre with his directorial debut, FLIP FLAPPERS. While FLIP FLAPPERS was a mishmash of different styles, ranging from campy shojo horror to Mad Max action, each episode worked harmoniously to create a cohesive emotional narrative. FLIP FLAPPERS’ two heroines, Papika and Cocona, learn more about themselves and each other by exploring a slew of psychedelic and dreamlike worlds. Although the peculiar fusion of genres may not suit every audience’s taste, FLIP FLAPPERS had essentially what I wanted out of a modern magical girl anime: creative and experimental animation sequences, heavily allegorical storytelling, and fabulous henshin scenes.

KIZNAIVER– Hiroshi Kobayashi’s directorial debut, KIZNAIVER, was an ambitious project unlike anything studio Trigger had attempted before. Alongside scriptwriter Mari Okada, Kobayashi created a contemporary adolescent drama that wasn’t afraid to tackle some of the touchier issues in Japanese society. Throughout KIZNAIVER, its cast of misfits constantly grapple between wanting to feel the physical and emotional pain of others and questioning whether an artificial connection could create a sense of togetherness. This was the primary dramatic narrative of KIZNAIVER, and while intriguing in and of itself, it was truly Kobayashi’s thoughtful directing and clever use of visual symbolism that elevated the material. KIZNAIVER may have lacked narrative polish around its edges, but it was one of the most visually poignant pieces of commercial anime to come out of the industry in the past couple of years. Here’s hoping that Kobayashi will have more directing roles in the future as his cinematic vision brings a lot to the table for commercial anime as a whole.

Sound! Euphonium 2– The first season of Sound! Euphonium had always been a favorite of mine, and as such, the bar was set quite high when I heard a prequel was announced. Despite a rather lackluster first arc, the second half of 2016’s Sound! Euphonium 2 blew me away. The relationship between Kumiko and Asuka, two of the central pillars of Kitauji High’s concert band, embodied both the heart and soul of Sound! Euphonium’s web of emotional connections. It was beautiful to see their close-knit bond - built upon respect, trust, and understanding - unfold as the barriers between senpai and kohai were broken down. It set the stage perfectly for the resolution of Sound! Euphonium’s many other narratives: Kumiko and her older sister’s mending of their sibling conflict, Reina’s emotional maturing, and Taki’s finding peace within himself over his late wife. With a soulful conclusion to an already fantastic anime by Kyoto Animation, Sound! Euphonium is a series that couldn’t have ended in a more satisfying manner.

Mob Psycho 100– Mob Psycho 100 is unequivocally a testament to the creativity and passion of the anime industry’s top animators. Director Yuzuru Tachikawa and animation director Yoshimichi Kameda created an experimental take on ONE’s source manga that showcased the importance of animation for storytelling and expression. While still operating within the confines of a shounen work, Mob Psycho 100 is an anime with a visual and ideological identity that does not confirm to the sterile and idealistic standard of perfectionism that is seen in many contemporary anime. “If everyone is not special, maybe you can be who you want to be.”

Love Live! Sunshine!!– Last, but certainly not least, is a pick that you may find a bit strange if you’ve been reading the reasoning behind my other favorite anime of 2016. While I do value artistry in animation and direction, there are times when a fun anime with a cute and charming cast of characters is just as enjoyable to watch. Despite adopting a similar plot structure to the original Love Live! series, Love Live! Sunshine!! knew how to play around with its audience’s expectations, in some cases subverting characterization tropes and outright parodying the original. The girls of Aqours were a low-key bunch of loveable dorks who enthusiastically attempted to emulate the franchise’s previous group of idols (often times with hilarious or unfortunate results). Aqours’ playful banter and goofy antics quickly made me invested in their underdog soul search for stardom, while the intimate relationship between Chika and Riko brought a smile to my face. With the collective energy and excitement it brought to my life while watching, Love Live! Sunshine!! was one of my most pleasant surprises of 2016. Also, Dia is best girl.

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And that's a wrap for Part One of our three-part series! Be sure to tune in at the same time tomorrow for PART TWO: VIDEO GAMES! And if you're still in the mood for past CR Favorites, check out the previous years' features here:

Crunchyroll Favorites 2015 Part One Part Two Part Three

Crunchyroll Favorites 2014 Part One Part Two Part Three

Crunchyroll Favorites 2013 Part One Part Two Part Three

Crunchyroll Favorites 2012 Part One Part Two Part Three

Crunchyroll News' Best of 2011 Part One Part Two

What were your favorite anime and manga of 2016? Remember, this is a FAVORITES list, not a BEST OF list, so there's no wrong answers--sound off in the comments and share your favorites with us!

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Nate Ming is the Features and Reviews Editor for Crunchyroll News, creator of the long-running Fanart Friday column, and the Customer Support Lead for Crunchyroll. You can follow him on Twitter at @NateMing.

By: [email protected]

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