#i like that hes a symbol of hope for children and adults alike to look up to. and im talking abt children and adult from our world

[masonsystem]

i really like miles morales

[robinchan-hananomi]

One Piece 1023

I have a lot of thoughts here about the new chapter. There is a lot of things to unpack here!

So first, things I loved! I absolutely loved Zoro and Sanji’s dynamic in this chapter. Yes, the two were bickering a bit but honestly it felt like their comments were more to reassure each other than anything. Zoro immediately noticed that something was wrong with Sanji and Sanji responded honestly, that his body has felt funny ever since using the raid suit a second time. Zoro probes to see just how deep the concern is, asking if Sanji is going to slow him down, and Sanji’s answer seems to reassure him enough that he almost jokes, teasing Sanji about his eyebrows. One the flip side Sanji knows better than almost anyone just what kind of shape Zoro is in right now. They both look out for each other and they tease each other during the start of this fight, but it is mostly them being more like ‘look asshole, I know you’re trying to see what the extent of the damage is but I swear I am fine enough to knock this son of a bitch out’.

And make no mistake, Zoro and Sanji are probably going to have a lot of physical issues after this chapter. Sanji mentions that his body is feeling weird. This could be anything from the raid suit being intentionally designed to hurt Sanji to his body just not being able to cope with the strain the new technology is putting on him. The mink doctor also just reminded Chopper that while Zoro is up now, he won’t be for long and that he doesn't even want to imagine what kind of shape Zoro is going to be at the end of the fight. No matter how Wano shakes out, Zoro and Sanji are going to be hurting and will require some serious rest and TLC.

After Sanji and Zoro face off against King and Queen, we also get a small moment for the opponents to communicate. On Queen and Sanji’s side, Queen talks about how Judge experimented on his children and questions the validity of Sanji’s claim of being completely human since he can light his body on fire. Sanji admits he’s probably just that dramatic. On the other side Zoro notes King’s unorthodox fighting and when King points out there is no need to follow technique and method in combat, Zoro agrees and reminds King there really isn’t anything preventing Zoro from ripping out King’s throat with his teeth.

Now Zoro and Sanji are only able to fight King and Queen in peace due to Hyogoro and Kawamatsu’s efforts. Kawamatsu prevented a Beast Pirate from taking a shot at Zoro and Hyogoro explains that anyone who tries to help either side at this point would just be in the four combatants way. While they watch the fight, they comment about Zoro.

The thing is, Zoro has been connected to the Shimotsuki Clan from the start. Zoro’s hometown is Shimotsuki Village. In the SBS corner, Oda explained that the village was founded about 55 years ago by Shimotsuki Kozaburo, the man who forged Wado Ichimonji and Enma. Kozaburo’s son Koshiro ran the Isshin Dojo, which used the Shimotsuki Clan crest as it’s symbol and Zoro had worn that crest his entire childhood. Koshiro’s daughter Kuina was Zoro’s best friend and rival. Then Zoro met and fought Shimotsuki Ryuma, whose family name was again confirmed in the SBS corner. More on Ryuma in a minute. Ever since Zoro has entered Wano, he has been even more connected to the Shimotsuki Clan. The Clan had two Daimyo’s that we know of, Ushimaru and Yasuie. Zoro has spent a lot of time in Ringo, Ushimaru’s territory, and even combated with Ushimaru’s retainer Onimaru a few times now for Ryuma’s sword Shusui. On the other side Zoro befriended Yasuie and his daughter Toko. While all the strawhats were seen to be fond of Toko and quite a few met Yasuie, Zoro spent the majority of time with him.

Now as for Ryuma. Ever since the Monsters oneshot was tied to the One Piece Manga, fans had noticed the similarities between Zoro and Ryuma. The two look very alike in appearance and they had many similar mannerisms. They also have the connection of sharing a sword, Shusui, and both decapitated a dragon in the air. And now, apparently, Ryuma had lost an eye in his adventures and was known as a one eyed swordsman...which I mean his zombie did have a scar on his face that would have gone over his right eye along with bandages covering his right eye so it’s not really a surprise.

The two citizens of Wano comment that Ushimaru is a direct descendant of Ryuma and note that Zoro has a similar appearance and style of fighting to Ushimaru and by extension Ryuma. Now if this is because Zoro is somehow part of the Shimotsuki Clan (which I actually kind of hope not), or if it is just a coincidence about appearance and the other similarities are because Zoro trained at a dojo from the Shimotsuki Clan is still up in the air. Either way, I really do like the idea of developing Zoro more and I have been waiting for someone, anyone, in the manga to finally notice just how much Zoro seems to be connected to this family.

Anyway, back to the chapter! While Zoro and Sanji keep two of the three calamities busy, we see there is a LOT of other things going on. I’m not going to go in order of the rest of the chapter because I want to organize my thoughts a little.

So first, which is actually the last thing to happen, is Momo is now 28 years old. He has Shinobu turn him into an adult because he can only do so much as an eight year old. It is a fantastic way to follow the panels of the battle that came before it, because we see the samurai are willing to die to bring about an age where Kaido’s reign has ended and Momo’s time can start. They believe that Momo will bring Oden’s will and bring Wano to a wonderful future, they believe it so much that they are willing to die for it. Momo answers that belief by giving up twenty years of his life. Understand while twenty years have passed for everyone else, it hasn’t for Momo. Momo just had Shinobu mature his body by twenty years in order to get stronger, bigger, and be able to take a stand against Kaido. There is going to be a lot of issues in the future with having an eight year old in a twenty eight year old man’s body, but just like Zoro and quite possibly Sanji’s physical health; this is a bridge to cross when we get to it. After all everyone has to survive the battle and win before they can worry about what is next. So now as a much bigger and stronger dragon, Momo and Luffy can go face Kaido together.

On a side note with everyone talking about being ghosts and all, it’s kinda fitting that it is implied that Momo looks like Oden. Now we really will have people think they’re seeing ghosts.

We also have Inu and Neko fighting Jack and Big Mom’s son. These fights are not just about defeating Kaido either. There is an element of revenge to them both. As Inu sends Jack through a wall, he expresses recalls all the pain Jack brought to the people of Zou. Just like Neko talks about Pedro while fighting. And yet the two talk about how everything they lost, all that they suffered through, was all part of the road to get there, now, to bring Kaido and his Beast Pirates to an end. And the two are using their badass Sulong Form.

The last big note for this chapter is Marco’s memory of his discussion with Whitebeard. It is implied that King’s race are the Lunarian, and that King is the last one. They lived up on the Red Line in a long ago past. Marco recalls Whitebeard talking about how it was ‘God’s Land’ which is honestly giving me super Skypeia vibes. What exactly is this God’s Land?

Because we hadn’t talked too much of the Red Line, I for whatever reason, always imagined other people living up there. We knew the Celestial Dragons lived on the Red Line, but because it is like a long continent of linked together islands I just naturally assumed other races and beings lived up there. That doesn't appear to be the case. Which to be fair I am a fool for even thinking that because now that it’s put that way I realize a group so pompous and self important as the Celestial Dragons would never allow anyone so lowly as normal people to live so high in the world as they do. So they enjoy their life in the clouds while driving any peoples and race either off the Red Line or to extinction.

Marco brings up the old conversation to Izo, after the latter saves him for drifting off in a battle, and Izo says Marco sounds like Whitebeard when he was drunk. Whitebeard was part of the Rocks Pirates, the Pirate crew that shook the world to it’s core almost a whole generation before Roger even appeared. Whitebeard has seen some real shit. I wonder just what all Whitebeard knew about the world, and I wonder just how much he tried to impart on his children only for them to think he was drunkenly rambling?

Anyway, it was a fantastic chapter and I am so freaking excited to see where we go next!!!

[anjuschiffer]

It’s finally the New Year! What other way to celebrate than to write for Day 1 of @timari-month-event New Years Day? :D

Day 1 : New Years Day

—

Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan @vixen-uchiha @nathleigh

—

AO3

Cass poked her head through the common room’s doorway, surprised to see that Dick had managed to have everyone over at his apartment.

To be honest, Cass thought he wouldn’t be able to get everyone under one roof. Then again, this was Dick, everyone’s favorite person...well, almost everyone’s.

“Cass, so that's where you’ve been.” Kate said from behind her, Cass turning to see her ‘aunt.’ “This is your first time, isn’t it? Celebrating New Years, that is.” Cass nodded at that.

She honestly didn’t know what to think about this “New Years” celebration Dick wanted everyone to be a part of, how excited he was to be able to greet the new year as a family.

It was just another event that only marked the end of a year and the beginning of another. Why celebrate it?

Cass snapped from her thoughts when Kate chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright Cass. Don’t think too hard about it. Just enjoy yourself. Perhaps you’ll understand then.”

Cass nodded, watching as Kate walked away to join the others.

She watched as she sat diagonally from Bruce, Selina and Alfred, the quartet of adults observing the other “supposed” adults and children.

“Grapes? Why would you wish using grapes? They don’t hold any magical power.” Damian asked as Dick handed him a bowl with 12 grapes in jt.

“Good question. Why grapes?” Duke asked no one, proceeding to just eat them. “Why not star fruit?”

“I-I actually don’t know.” Dick shyly confesses, deciding to just leave the grapes at the center of the coffee table for people to just grab.

“It actually started as an advertising tactic for farmers to sell their grape harvests in the 19 century in Spain.” Jason said, eyeing his own bowl of 12 grapes. “Later on in the early 20th century, the grapes symbolize good luck, so the people started to eat them after the start of a New Year in hopes of having good luck.”

“In other words, wishful thinking and superstition?” Stephanie asked.

“Yup.” Jason munched on a few grapes. “ there are a few people who additionally do it to ward off evil.”

“So just superstition.” Duke clarifies. “What a waste of good grapes.”

“-can believe it! There’s only five minutes left until the new year!” The woman on the television screen squealed, capturing everyone's attention. The screen then switched cameras to show the packed street of Times Square, hundreds -if not thousands- of people waving at the camera as it panned around them.

“Does everyone have their glass of champagne?” Dick asked, watching as everyone lifted their glass. “Babs, I thought you didn’t drink?”

“And neither does Tim, Damian, Duke and Steph and yet you still gave them one.” Dick started to panic at that.

After all, they’re still minors, even if by a few months away from being either 21 or 18.

“Damian, Duke, Steph, Tim! I need those- wait. Where is Tim?” Dick asked.

“Wait, he was invited?” Jason asked.

“Of course I did! He’s part of the-“

“Three minutes left!”

“Well, too late to ask him to join us. Well just have to greet the new year without him.” Steph said.

“His lost.” Damian added, keeping a grin to himself.

“One minute!”

“FaceTime?” Dick asked, the family ignoring him as they intently watched the woman on the screen beginning to count down.

Cass watched Dick panic around while the rest of the family continued to watch the television.

She noticed Bruce and Selina signal her to come closer, which she did, the two of them pulling her to sit in between them.

Cass fidgeted a bit, adjusting to the affection.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”

“Are we really-“

“Five! Four! Three!

Two!

One!

Happy New Year!” The lady announced, hugging her news partner.

“Happy New Year.” The family said in unison, lifting their glasses in sync before everyone took a sip. Of course, a few idiots chugged it down.

Or at least attempted to.

As soon as Jason had chugged half of his champagne, he sputtered about, Babs chuckling in the back while Duke and Steph tried to help him.

“Todd. How dare you waste-“

“Replacement.” He wheezed out, pointing to the screen. “He’s-“ he then began to cough.

Everyone turned to look at the screen wondering what he meant because there on the screen were just couples kissing. Tim wasn’t-

“Well you look at that.” Selina said with a grin.

“Is he serious?” Duke asked, burying his face into his hands.

“Apparently so.” Steph grinned.

There, the farthest corner of the screen was Tim, or rather, Red Robin kissing a girl who wore a hoodie that resembled Red Robin’s. Midnight hair peeled from out of the hood and she wore a red domino mask.

“Did anyone know he was going to do this?” Kate asked. Everyone turned to Alfred.

“Master Tim only told me he was visiting his girlfriend. He never told me he was going to pull this stunt.” Alfred took a sip of his tea. “But we should congratulate the chap. He may not be celebrating with us, but at least he’s celebrating the New Year with someone he loves.”

-How it happened-

Tim was double checking his list, making sure he had everything before heading downstairs.

Despite Dick wanting everyone over at his apartment to spend New Years Eve together, Tim already had plans, plans he had arranged weeks prior.

“Master Tim. Are you heading out?” Alfred asked him, Tim taken aback by Alfred’s...lack of a suit. “Master Tim?”

“Sorry Alfred. It’s just...I’ve never seen you out of a suit so...it suits you.” Was all Tim was able to say. Instead of his tidy and fitted butler suit, Alfred was wearing a very...grandfatherly outfit.

White shirt, gray cardigan, brown jacket and a dark gray pair of slacks. A pair of loafers and a flat cap sealed the deal.

“Well, Miss Marinette gifted me this jacket this Christmas. I thought I would wear it for this occasion. The inner pocket is my favorite detail.”

Alfred showed Tim the inner pocket, the pocket having different swirl embroidery. But upon a closer inspection, each different colored thread was a different family member’s name. Tim’s name was embroidered in a steel blue.

“What a very Marinette thing for her to do.” Tim said with a smile, beaming at her talent. That’s when he remembered about where he was heading. He took out his phone and fought a scowl when he realized he was running behind schedule.

“Judging by your scowl, I’m guessing you’re late to where you’re heading to.”

“I am a bit behind schedule. But I’ll manage.” Tim said, shifting the bag on his shoulder. He didn’t know why, but something told him to say it. “I’m going to New York to meet up with Marinette. We've been planning this for a few months and thought we should meet up for New Year’s Eve. We’ve got a few places in mind and we’re hoping everything-“

“It’s going to be fine.” Alfred assures Tim, not once mentioning his rambling. “Now go. You wouldn’t want to make Miss Marinette wait any longer, now would you?”

Tim nodded, saying goodbye to Alfred and running to catch the nearest cab to get to the nearest bus to take him to New York.

After a two hour trip, Tim stood by an odd mechanism trapped inside an acrylic case.

He wanted to make sure where he was headed before leaving the 42 St Port Authority. After all, he had only been to Times Square a few times in his life.

“Tim!” Marinette called out, Tim looking up from his phone to see Marinette running up to him.

A grin grew on his face as he caught Marinette, twirling her.

“Hey. Aren’t you half an hour early?”

“Maybe you're just late.” Marinette grinned.

Tim sighed at the Into the Spiderverse reference until he noticed her outfit.

She was wearing a red dress, the most obvious piece, but it was her wrap cape that caught his attention. The front piece was red in color while the rest of the cape was black. But it was the hidden accents of gold and the single golden robin crest at the center that intrigued him the most.

“Is that-“

“A Red Robin inspired outfit?” Marinette grinned. “Yes, yes it is. After all,” Marinette leaned over Tim’s ear. “He’s my favorite.” She purred, fighting off a giggle when she saw Tim’s face red from ear to ear.

“We should be on our way.” Tim managed to say, leading Marinette out the building and onto Edge Tower.

—

The duo went on their mini date at Edge Tower, Marinette not surprised when she found out that Tim rented out the entire place for the hour.

Marinette ran up to the edge of the balcony, not believing how high up they were. While Ladybug was able to get up on high places like this with ease, it was a whole different experience as Marinette.

She leaned into the cold air, a smile across her face as the wind blew.

“You’d think you’d get used to things like this.” Tim said, as if reading her mind, leaning against the rail right next to her.

“But no matter how many times you see the same view, it’s always breathtaking.” Marinette replied, turning to face him.

“Just like you are.” Tim enjoyed the way Marinette flushed red, causing him to chuckle. He tucked a loose hair strand behind her ear. “How about we take a picture to remember this?”

And so they did.

—

The thing with it being New Years Eve, all the places were packed, even otherwise empty food courts and the edge of the Hudson River.

After a while, the two ended up heading back to Times Square, a decision they soon regretted.

They ended up being caught in the swarm of people who had been camping in the area for a day...or two...or three…

One of them thought they had already been there and allowed them to slip through and by the time the duo realized that they were being pushed further deeper into the area, it was too late for them to get out. More people started to gather around them, the area packed to the brim with New Yorkers and tourists alike.

Seeing as they were stuck there, Marinette and Tim decided to make the best of it and went along with the crowd, waiting for hours until a few minutes were left before the start of the new year.

“Hey Tim.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m...I’m kinda glad we decided to meet here today.”

“So do I. Although, I do feel guilty for not telling Dick that I wasn’t going to be able accept his invitation to spend the eve with him and the rest of the family.” Tim confessed, Marinette giving his hand a squeeze.

They remained like that for a while before Tim turned to her.

“Marinette, there’s something I have to say.”

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to say, thank you. Thank you for being by my side this year.” He heard someone say that there were three minutes left. He cupped her face between his hands. “Thank you for being part of my life.”

As Tim leaned forward, Marinette stopped him, Tim wondering if he did something wrong. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Tim. I think you’re forgetting something.” Marinette said, placing a domino mask over his eyes and one on herself. “There. Now the press won’t be bothering you tomorrow.”

“The press? Why-“

“Tim. How did you forget that you're the CEO of Wayne Enterprise? Seriously, how can you forget that?” Marinette huffed.

It was then that the two realized that the crowd had begun to count down.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

“Should we pick up where we left off?” Marinette asked, letting out a yelp when Tim brought her closer to him.

“Six! Five ! Four!”

“Let’s.” Tim’s said, leaning forward towards Marinette.

“Two!

One!”

Their lips met.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

[recycledcactus]

so i’m really thinking about the Dream SMP as like, a world with civilians and stuff. because you know how when there was an election, our votes were canon, right? so what if there were regular ol’ villagers and civilians who lived in this world...

(also this is kinda based off of something @khizuo said a while back. also @phantom-clock, @strawberiitea, and @emo-and-confused, y’all might like this, idk)

reblogs appreciated :]

Warning: Long post ahead!!! (Basically me just skimming over all the events since Tommy had the first duel with Dream and then to the point where he and Tubbo faced off with Dream in sort of a civilian’s perspective)

I’m thinking about how people inhabited the lands of the whole DreamSMP, lived in those places and had homes and jobs in those places. There were people who followed their leaders. People who grew to question their leader’s morals. People who still remained after all the destruction. And people who left because nothing could ever be the same

I’m thinking about how some men, women, and even possibly some children went to war for their countries. They looked up to their leaders––their symbols of hope and freedom. They fought and died and some probably never made it home.

I’m thinking about how they went to bed one night, presuming they had lost the first war, only to wake up to cheering in the streets. They woke up to see their leader, Wilbur, and his closest friends laughing and hollering and yelling ‘We won!!’. Do you think they ever learned that Tommy sacrificed a life? Do you think they were told that? Or do you think they lived in blissful ignorance that a child died and gave up his discs for their country. Did they celebrate that day, thinking all was well?

Did they pass the walls of Eret’s castle with hatred in their gut?

What about Schlatt’s election? I wonder if people knew who this guy was. Wasn’t he just a stranger brought to their lands? Schlatt was originally there to help Pog2020 win, right? How did the citizens feel when the ram announced he’d be running too? Or worse, when he won? They must’ve been scared, right? Confused. Scared. Unsure. Curious, probably. And when Tommy and Wilbur were exiled. They had to watch their leaders be shot at, driven away by arrows and mad laughter. They watched Tubbo be called to the podium. Watched Schlatt grin at the teenager and announce him as his right hand man. They were helpless to Tubbo nervously leading Tommy and Wilbur far away. Did they riot? Cry out? Try to fight? Were they held back by the others? Perhaps some left the nation, too scared to stay.

Citizens probably slipped away in the night, past guards, and followed where they saw Tommy and Wilbur go. They probably found the two building their home and joined them, eventually setting up a system for other people on their side to come quickly. Did they work as double-agents in the shadows? I imagine they mined out Pogtopia and created little pockets of space to live in. Children’s laughter would ring out on all levels of the ravine. Patters of footsteps rung throughout the underground society. People would slip in and out with resources, information, and recruits. It was a small, bustling base. But it was home to the revolution.

They watched the great Blood God walk their halls, scared to be in his presence but ultimately in awe. They farmed silently by his side for hours, just to go to bed and wake up the next morning, finding he didn’t stop. That probably changed their vision of him, if only for a short while.

I wonder how they felt when Wilbur went insane.

Were the plans of bombing their old nation just rumours that echoed the caves? Or did they know the grim possibility of what could come?

When Technoblade murdered Tubbo, did cries ring out in the streets? I’d imagined they did. I’d imagine more riots. By both citizens and revolutionists. Fireworks danced in the skies but they were never a joyous sight after that day. Did people yell and scream at Techno as he massacred the leaders and founders of this server? Or did they dare to make a noise, too scared to meet an end like that?

Some of the adults gathered around the pit Wilbur made, watching the sickening show happen. They cringed at each of Wilbur’s little taunts. This was not their leader. This was not who they swore to follow.

I think some people left the lands after that.

They went into another war and thought they came out with a win. Schlatt was dead in the old drug van and it seemed things were at peace now. Many people disagreed with Tommy being at the podium––being in power––but not much was said. It couldn’t really get worse from Schlatt and Wilbur, right? Tubbo is elected and he accepts. There are cheers and cries of relief. Everyone’s tired but in a good mood. They don’t notice their old leader slip away. It only descends into more chaos from there. There are more fireworks, fighting, clanging of metal on metal. People no longer know which side is which––or even who attacked in the first place. Tommy is yelling something, and Techno is yelling something back. Did they notice Wilbur was gone? Did they start to realize the gravity of the situation? Did anyone suddenly just feel hopeless and accept that this was the end? The ground shakes, and people can’t tell if it was due to battle, or due to a winged man entering their world. Civilians and soldiers alike witness their home explode and burn to the ground. Did they have time to see Phil and Wilbur argue? Did they watch their former president get stabbed by his father? Or were they too distracted with Techno’s speech and the Withers and Tommy’s reaction to see anything? (A reminder was set into place: Do no mess with the Blood God). How many people do you think died that day? Soldiers and civilians alike? Children, even?

What did they do when their nation was nothing but a burning hole in the ground?

What did they do when they suddenly lost everything? When their homes were nothing but rubble and ash? When the bodies of their friends and family alike littered the gaping crater that was their nation?

Did they hold onto hope at the words of their new leader––the dream of a new L’Manburg? More people left, probably. Did the revolutionists take their stuff from Pogtopia and never enter that toxic crevice of a base again? Perhaps they put up tents and huts around the destroyed L’Manburg just like how it used to be in the early days. They set to work slowly rebuilding their country and tried their best to keep their spirits high. It wasn’t the end.

Philza was nice to them, albeit melancholy at times. They liked him. (Did they know what he did)?

How many people do you think yelled and took out their anger on Ghostbur? How many people do you think actually liked him?

Did they turn the site of the still-intact L’Mantree into a graveyard for their fallen friends and family?

I wonder how many people hated Tubbo being in power. Hated that a kid was leading their country. Or were they more pitying and angry at life for doing these things to children?

Did they know Tommy and the new kid, Ranboo, burning George’s house before Dream caught on? How many were terrified when the obsidian walls were put up? How many people were angry when Tommy went to court. Angry at Tommy for doing this? People probably either yelled that Tommy was just a kid, a victim of war and manipulation. Others probably yelled that ‘yes, this was all his fault, he should be punished for this’.

But were they prepared to see their conflicted leader exile his best friend?

Did they riot, scream, curse, and fight? Did they shout at Tubbo for being a terrible leader? Did they drive him into his home with their protests? Or were they stunned into silence at the gravity at the situation. He was a kid. He was a kid. He was a kid. They were kids. Did anyone try to find Tommy when he was in exile but ultimately get killed/escorted back to L’Manburg for their efforts? What did they think when Tubbo stumbled into their nation one day with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, mumbling something about ‘Tommy’s dead’?

I wonder how many people lost respect for their president that day.

I wonder if they showered the famous bench in flowers, place notes of respect in Tommy’s house, and give him a grave under the L’Mantree next to Wilbur’s.

Was it a surprise when Philza fled the country? He was kind, yes, but he never seemed to enjoy himself. He always looked tied down. Were they happy he was going to find a better place to be, or were they angry if they knew just where exactly he was going? Were they horrified and disappointed in their government for forming a ‘butcher army’? How sick do you think they felt when they heard the ambitious whispers of Quackity and saw how his behaviours became small reflections of Schlatt? Were they terrified at the possibility that another dictator like Schlatt could arise into power? Did they watch Techno’s failed execution with satisfaction or with unease? I think some were more amazed seeing the powers of a Totem of Undying for the first time. (A second reminder was set into motion: Do not mess with the Blood God).

Was anyone brave enough to ask Quackity how he got that scar running down his face?

How do they feel when Sam starts building a large whatever-the-hell-it-is out of blackstone and obsidian? They might catch wind of a prison being built to contain somebody certain. Nobody knows who, but many theories (Tommy, Techno, Tommy, Techno, Tommy–) are discussed. Is the inescapability of the prison boasted about or kept entirely secret? Does anyone look at the massive creation and feel like throwing up on sight? Not only because of the magical effects, but also because how the hell could somebody put a living, breathing human in there and not feel an ounce of regret or remorse? It sticks out like a sore thumb in the badlands and soon people just learn to travel places in a way that they can avoid it at all costs. I wonder if anyone senses Sam’s slight discomfort when he’s talking about who will go inside. Do they pity him? Or do they spit on him and glare at him for agreeing to do this?

The egg is is still only known by Bad, but do you think they sense the changes in his behaviours? Or are they simply too busy with their own lives?

When Tommy shows up, do people think they’re hallucinating? Do they stop in their tracks when they see that not only is he still alive, but he also looks nothing like who he was. He looks tired. So, so tired. His eyes are mostly dull, only the twinkle of the Christmas lights making them seem remotely bright. Though his smile is wide, do they notice how nervous it is? How happy yet unbelievably worried he is? How he slouches more, curls in on himself more, to appear smaller and less threatening. He still speaks loudly, yes, but he shuts up much faster. Do they notice how he always looks over his shoulder? How he always seems hesitant to open his mouth. Do they even recognize who he is anymore?

How do they feel when Tommy lights up when he sees Tubbo, yet seems almost scared to go and talk to him?

When the festival for Dream is announced, do they dread it? Do they get nightmares about the old festival when Tubbo was executed? Do they talk amongst themselves about how bad of an idea it is? Does anyone protest? Or are they just relieved to get some time off? I can’t imagine they’d know about the plans to assassinate Dream.

Are there any passerby’s when Dream stops Techno and Tommy at the Nether portal? Do they exhale in relief when Techno says Tommy is with him? Do they hold their breaths when Techno talks about cashing in a favour? Or do they simply retreat, too scared to be caught in a potential scuffle?

Do they cower or prepare to fight when Tommy and Techno show up, demanding for Techno’s things back? Does anyone really feel any kind of sadness when a Wither is spawned and destroys bits of their homes? Or do they just sigh and pick up the pieces of their hopeless nation?

How many people hear Techno mention blowing up L’Manburg again when he talks with Tommy at the community house? Does anyone catch that information amidst the pouring rain and newly-broken homes? I imagine it’d go unheard. The civilians are too busy fixing yet another damage to follow the mysterious brothers in the pouring rain. (They’d prefer to sleep in dry beds that night, thank you).

The festival takes place and it’s surprisingly... normal. There are tensions between the members of the cabinet and the other important figureheads of their respective lands, but it’s relatively quiet. It’s obviously not a well-planned festival, but it’s a festival nonetheless. Citizens get to enjoy the crappy games and snack booths that were haphazardly put together. It’s unusually peaceful considering this is the DreamSMP. Do they fall to their knees in despair when they find the watery ruins of the Community House? Are they furious that the most significant building in their world has been destroyed, just like everything else important, it seems. How many tears fall that day? How many accusations are spewed that day?

As they watch Tubbo and Tommy yell at each other, are they reminded of the day Tommy was exiled? Do they think of the face-off between best friends that happened on looming obsidian walls and dull skies?

Can they even register the words Tommy screams in blind frustration?

Are they in disbelief when discs are tossed to the enemy?

Or are they even surprised that another fight is breaking out? Do you really think that after all the shit these people witnessed, they’d still get surprised at conflicts.

But what about when Techno and Dream casually discuss plans to blow up their nation beyond repair? Do they finally register what’s happening? Are they frantic, already running to save their stuff? I think some would be in such a state of shock that they can’t even think about leaving.

I think that’d be the moment when people realize just how utterly powerless they are when it comes to their fates.

Is it really worth being sad over anymore?

When Tommy rallies figureheads and civilians alike, they try to be hopeful. To have one last spark of faith. But it’s hard. It’s so hard to be hopeful when the only constant in your life is destruction and chaos of your own home. It’s hard looking into the eyes of a boy so broken by war but still desperately trying to fix things. To know nobody had faith in him, and watch as this kid tries his goddamn best to make things better.

(Is he called selfish? Are people still mad at him? Does anyone have the energy to be mad at him for wanting peace?)

Nobody sees Nikki destroy their items for war.

Many last ‘goodnights’ are said as everyone prepares for what they dread (read: know) will be the end. They wake up to a big obsidian grid towering over their nation and a feeling of hopelessness settles into their guts. It wasn’t supposed to happen this early. It was supposed to be later. They were supposed to have some time in the morning to prepare for the inevitable. To say their final ‘goodbyes’ and hug their families for what could be the last time. They were not supposed to wake up to a grid obscuring the sun, still in progress of being built.

This battle is far more chaotic than the first destruction of L’manburg. There are far more Withers, far more swords and shields clanging, far more shouts between once-brothers and leaders. Phil no longer has the caring yet melancholy smile on his face. His eyes are cold and uncaring, his mouth unmoving as he schools his expression. People drown in blood, but they keep fighting because why not? They don’t have a reason to live anymore. Why not go out fighting for their doomed nation? They look the screeching Withers in the eyes and accept their fate.

Most are too distracted by Withers to listen, but do some hear the desperate cries between a certain Piglin and a certain blond boy? Do their hearts shatter all over again, or can they no longer feel anything? Perhaps their pity is buried underneath all the trauma and exhaustion they’ve endured. It can be hard to pity another when you yourself are barely getting by. They watch Nikki throw a torch into the L’Mantree, uttering the line ‘It was never meant to be’. They watch as it goes up in flames. They do not have the strength to put it out. But some salute with her and give her silent nods of understanding. They can’t bring themselves to be angry when Fundy stands off to the sides and watches their country burn. Do they hear Ghostbur’s outburst agains Phil? Do they watch in sadness as blue tears flow out of his eyes and he cries out about how much he actually feels things and isn’t just some happy-go-lucky comic relief.

Does anyone have enough care left in them to cry?

The numbered survivors join in on singing the national anthem. That seems to be the breaking point for a lot of them.

It’s okay, some try to convince themselves. It was never meant to be.

Not many people stay after that. There are only around 6% of the original population left. A good portion of these people are ones without families or friends. People who can afford to stay in such a destructive environment. It’s a desolate wasteland and people scatter around to find some kind of shelter. They don’t really know why they stay. Why they bother caring. It’s over. Maybe it’s because there’s really nothing left in life for them so what’s the point in leaving if their past will haunt them forever? Or because the chaos of their lives has now become a definite constant and they can’t imagine living without it. They’ve lived with destruction for so long that peace almost seems boring and unfulfilling. Did they really form an addiction to this lifestyle? How pathetic, honestly. Most people join Tubbo in Snowchester while others simply live wherever isn’t completely destroyed.

There are plans of Tubbo and Tommy finally killing dream.

Citizens are tired. It will not end.

The day comes, slow and steady like molasses on a hot day. Silence blankets the already pretty-quiet lands. Unspoken words are muttered between citizens and leaders alike. They line up on the Prime Path and say goodbye to the boys who fought so hard for a better world.

They try not to think about how much the two have lost, and yet they do not give up. Like the soldiers they were forced to be, they march on and face the jaws of death without any second thoughts. There are no fathers or brothers to be proud of them anymore. Nobody to stand behind them and offer unwavering support. They only have each other, and who knows if that’s a good or bad thing.

The silence that hangs over the land doesn’t lift. Not for many, many hours. Not until they watch as Tommy and Tubbo stumble back into the DreamSMP with wounds on their bodies and drained yet ecstatic smiles on their faces.

Nobody talks when they see Sam lead a chained up and tired-looking Dream to the large, inescapable hellhole that is Pandora’s Vault.

Not a word is uttered until the two teenagers announce their victory.

Dream is on his last life.

Dream is in prison.

Dream will no longer hurt them.

There’s an exhale of relief.

Many would argue that this wasn’t worth it. That living in this land was not worth the trouble it brought upon people. And many people would be right. But the sight of Tommy and Tubbo finally relaxing for the first time since before L’Manburg even started made them feel like maybe, just maybe, this moment was worth sticking around for.

[athanasia-ia]

Friend of the Devil - self para 1/?

tw: mentions of vomit, and parental neglect and abuse (+ small mention of drug use)

Yoojin’s skin tasted like vanilla pudding and metal. Each time she brought her fingers to her mouth, her tongue circled around the nails, and then teeth gently bit into the cuticles, nibbling on the broken skin. Each time a piece of skin was cut off, she’d roll it around her mouth, chew on it between her front teeth and then, with all the grace of an abandoned, unloved, unrefined soul, she spat it out. There were some alleviating factors. For one, she was sitting in almost complete darkness, surrounded by strangers whose attention was undivided. Their eyes were glued to the stage, and they were mesmerized by the loud, vibrant performance of the Circus. And, two, Yoojin did not know anyone there - for the first time in a long while, she was at a place where no one knew her and she knew no one. There was no need to pretend, no need to hide, no need to care, and the fact was liberating.

Or, at least, it should have been liberating. Despite her best effort, however, she could not help but feel the hairs at the back of her neck rise each time someone moved too suddenly or coughed or yelled in excitement. She could not help her skin breaking into pins and needles each time a shadow reminded her of someone - anyone - she knew. She could not get rid of the nausea either, which had nested in the pit of her stomach from the moment she got on the bus. Yoojin had vomited on the bus, and then once more when she had alighted. Then, when she was finally seated among the audience, as the show began, she kept suppressing the need to throw up again. She kept telling herself that it was all fine, and yet, nothing was fine.

How could it be? She laid her hands on her lap and laced her fingers together, staring off at the stage. One act had just finished, and the audience burst into an ovation, cheering and clapping while the performers bowed, nearly all the way to the ground, expressing their supposedly undying gratitude. Yoojin thought the man in the center had a strange expression, something between appreciation and arrogance. The young girl whose hand he was holding looked as if she had been rolling a piece of lemon around her mouth - her eyes smiled, but her mouth was cramping and twitching in what Yoojin could only describe as a sign of hysterics.

Yoojin’s hands began to shake. Why was she there? Her attempt at giving herself a sense of normalcy - a charade, really, a weak attempt at living a life her parents should have given her - was tumbling down like a house of cards. Her parents...What would happen when she went back home? Just how mad would her father be? She had gone away all by herself, without telling a soul. But, she had been begging to see the circus. For months, since she’d seen they would be coming to Seoul, she had begged and begged, promised to be good (whatever that meant in her parents dictionary), and she had done fairly well in school as well. She had even gone as far as promising to get into a good university. What a foolish girl she was. When had they ever given her anything? They gave her a life, clothes and food, they said - and that should have sufficed.

Yoojin squeezed her hands into fists, biting down hard onto her bottom lip. Father would be mad, he really would. Mother, too. How long would she be grounded? Was he going to hit her again? Probably. Her stomach churned, sending upwards a shot of acid which she could now feel at the back of her throat and the root of her tongue. She swallowed as much saliva as she could, hoping the rising nausea would stop before she vomited all over herself and the people sitting in front of her.

For the next act, they were looking for a volunteer from the audience. Yoojin sat still, only moving her left hand to bite into the cuticles again. She tore one off and tasted blood. Countless arms went up in the air, children and adults alike asking to be picked as the light searched through the audience. Eventually it stopped and much to everyone’s dissatisfaction, it landed on Yoojin, causing the young girl to freeze.

She shook her head. Embarrassed, she looked down, letting long locks of ink black hair fall over her face, but once she was picked, they were not going to change their mind. The audience began to clap, cheering her on instead of the performers. Someone pushed some hair off her face and spoke to her in a gentle, albeit excited voice, saying she should give it a try. Allegedly, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to be part of a circus act. But, Yoojin's entire life was a circus act, she thought. So, what was so special about it? Now that she thought of it, she never should have come here in the first place. Someone else nudged her shoulder, begrudging her for causing a scene and making the performers uncomfortable.

Eventually, God knew how, Yoojin had been forced to get up. Hands and arms moved and pushed her forward, and her legs worked against her. It appeared that her feet had acquired a will of their own and they moved onward, excited to be a part of something bigger, something greater. The rest of her body was as of yet stiff, and her heart was pounding in her head. Her hands were soaked in her own sweat, and she could feel beads of it rolling down the curve of her spine. The noises and the lights around her only made her sicker, but her feet pressed on until one of the performers helped her get onto the stage. As the act was prepared, and explained to the audience, Yoojin kept staring down at the floor, at her toes, at her filthy, worn out sneakers, wishing the ground would open and swallow her alive. In fact, if the end of the world happened right this very moment, she’d have run into the fiery embrace of Hell voluntarily, if it meant this whole charade would stop.

What if it were a nightmare? Yes, perhaps she was sleeping. This thought excited her, and she peeked through her hair, scanning the stage and the audience. They could have all been made up, nothing but a fantasy conjured by her wild, seventeen year old mind. But, she knew better. And she especially knew it was all real when she saw the box in which they were to place her. The view of the casket-like contraption immediately caused her heart to swell in pain, sending her mind into an abyss of old memories: the dilapidated closet in her grandparents’ house where she had been locked by her mother time and time again whenever she did anything remotely naughty.

The thought of being put in that box sent her into her own hysterics, which ebbed liked the works of a tide.

“No,” Yoojin tried to say, pulling her arm out from a performer who was gently nudging her to get closer. The smell of the closet was right there in her nose: the dust, the old clothes sprinkled with cheap perfume. She could hear the clapping of a moth’s wings as it, too, tried to escape the primitive prison. As the audience cheered and the performer kept trying to get her to stand closer to the box, Yoojin managed to utter a “No!”, “Let me go!” and “Leave me alone”, but they just wouldn’t stop. She did see a serious look of concern shared between two performers, and she thought she heard one of them say if they should maybe pick someone else, but it was too late.

Someone nudged Yoojin again and she pushed the woman as hard she could, down on the floor, yelling “LET ME GO!” The audience suddenly fell quiet, and the young girl who had been pushed yelped out in pain, rubbing the back of her head. She looked up at Yoojin. Her face held an expression of disdain and disbelief. She mouthed “What the Hell’s wrong with you?”

And the lights. The damn lights were on the stage, centered around Yoojin. Nearly blinded by their scorching intensity, she breathed out a half-scream and knelt down for a moment, wishing the world to stop spinning. If it could be swallowed by a black hole, or if the angels could horn their trumpets, or if the planet just exploded - she wished for all of that. Someone helped the other woman up and someone else placed a hand on Yoojin's shoulder, but she screamed out a "fuck off!" and got up. Somehow, she found strength to get up and run towards an exit. Any exit would do, as long as she lights would stop following her and the people would stop staring.

She never should have come. Her parents were right to not let her. She was not made for this world and its parade of colours and people. Regretful of this entire thing, terrified of what her parents would do when she came home after an entire day of absence, she rushed right out of the building, and made it just around the corner before she threw up whatever was left in her stomach. Her mouth tasted foul, of acid and cheap breakfast and something else which she could not quite define.

How was she supposed to go home now? Perhaps...Perhaps she did not have to. But, she pushed that thought away as fast as she could. She wiped her mouth and straightened her back. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them her eyes landed on a flier on the ground. She picked it up and flipped it over but, aside from strange symbols - was it a foreign language? some sort of alphabet? - there was nothing else on it. However, for whatever reason, she shoved the flier into her pocket and walked away. Maybe no one even realized I was gone, she thought. But, the late afternoon was already setting and her school must have called by now, informing her mother that Yoojin did not come to class.

She squeezed her hands into fists again and thought if she could just get high, the world would, at least slightly, become a more tolerable place.

[theanimeview]

Beware of the Brothers! - The Twins That Aren’t Twins Analysis

I recently read some of the comic Beware of the Brothers! (그 오빠들을 조심해!) and my eyes were drawn to the clothes and what they could mean. I was really interested in the two youngest Ernst children, Hari--the adopted daughter--and Eric--the twin without a twin. 

If you’ve read the story, you know that Hari was brought in, at first, as a replacement for the daughter that the Ernst family lost. Quickly, Eugene puts an end to the “replacement” fantasy of his parents and luckily we never went through the common trope of Hari being miss-named, which would have undoubtedly been more traumatic for everyone of the characters. Instead, the story progresses quickly, allowing Hari to adjust to her restarted life as the adopted child of a noble family. It also allows me to get to the point I want to make in this review of the fashion choices by the creator(s) of the series. 

Tell me, what do you think of when you see a pair in matching outfits? If the people look alike or are children, I generally think twins or siblings. I mean, I have two nieces that are a little more than a year a part who are always dressed the same by their mother. It’s a thing. And, as a middle schooler I regularly found myself “twinning” with my besties. As an adult, especially consider the media I consume, I noticed couples wearing matching and complimentary outfits--a topic I believe I have mentioned before but will mention again here. 

Matching outfits and complementary outfits are my favorite in any visual media. I particularly love matching outfits in comics since it usually symbolizes one of two things--love interests and or a mental connection with another person. You see it often in uniforms or coupled outfits, and when the pairing or unit is in distress, the first thing that is usually replaced, thrown out, or lost is that matching element. 

Which is why I am fascinated by Hari and Eric in Beware of the Brothers!. 

The two youngest siblings are not twins even though they really do look like it in many regards. We know that Hari is almost a spitting image of the late Ernest daughter, save for her eyes, based on other images, but still they have no blood relationship with each other as far as we, the audience, know and as far as they, the siblings, know. The Ernest couple never mention a lost cousin, a bastard child, or anything else, so in all regards Hari really is randomly a spitting image of their late blood relation and yet not one. This is actually a major point of strife among the four siblings (three blood related boys and Hari) in the beginning, ESPECIALLY for Eric who lost his twin. 

Eric and Hari, therefore, do NOT get along in the beginning. Arguably, it takes these two the longest to come to terms with each other over all. In fact, Hari admits to them being down right violent with each other at first--with the two going so far as to kick, trip, and push each other. Additionally, we see that  being compared or thought of as twins is really strikingly hard on Eric when the one time it does happen in the series, he runs away:

But it’s hard not to see them as such when you look at how they are dressed and behave as the work continues. 

Early in the series, they always wore different clothes, example:

Hari has a pink and grey color scheme in the image above, while Eric is wearing blues and white. The costumes aren’t complementary colors, they don’t match and they’re obviously different designs even in chibi style. 

But in the moment they are compared as twins, they look like this: 

Their colors are in the same family and the the designs are similar--more so than when compared to any of the other siblings--and, they’re both missing front teeth in this scene. They were dressed like twins in that moment. Definitely with a variation of color, but ultimately very close. 

Then we see the pattern repeated once they grow up. 

For example, here they are as teens: 

And again:

Even in later scenes as children:

Did you notice the pattern? 

The two are wearing clothes in similar color families. Eric and Hari wear matching patterns, with Eric having a darker corresponding color to Hari’s pastels in most shots. Even in the last image where they stand as children saying goodbye to the Vestia family, Hari and Eric are the only ones in a blue color scheme from their household. If she wears light blue, he wears dark. Her dress has pink flowers on a blue-grey background, Eric wears a dark blue grey coat with a darker pink ascot. Finally, in the image directly above, Eric is wearing a lavender-blue in between the two lavender-blues of Hari’s outfit. 

They match.

We see this style of matching/complimentary color schemes with the Vestia children too:

The off-whites of the two siblings are the same, the blacks are the same shades and both on their legs, the grey toned vest (boy) and dress (girl) are similarly tinted from the same purple-pinkish family. 

It actually feels very telling in this scene that Hari is closer to the two blue-haired siblings than her three brothers as Hari’s pinks match well/complement the purple-pink tinted grays seen on the Vestia siblings (more so than with Cabel’s blues and browns or the other boys):

What could this mean?

Are Hari and Eric meant to be shipped based on their outfits? I vote NO (strongly). Instead, I believe it suggest a kinship that they share which becomes stronger than with the other brothers. 

Perhaps the two are “astral twins,” born at the same time but to different parents or perhaps they simply represent a gemini set of paradoxes or conflicting ideas--at least, that would be my theory. 

They are twins who aren’t twins and they both, whether they want to admit it or not, have a strong connection that comes across in Chapter 36 as we find the two awake in the middle of the night talking where Eric asks Hari whether she likes Johan or not. It shows their differing opinions on the subject of discussing likes/dislikes and, even though they aren’t in matching outfits, it’s pretty clear that more and more they have a strong mental connection that doesn’t feel inncestrious or sexual. 

I really hope that the creator develops more on this, preferably not leading (as the cover image at the top seems to imply) to a harem of brothers. I think a found-family story is much better served when Johan is such a capable romantic lead. 

But what are you all thinking? How do you feel about the twins that aren’t twins idea? Let me know!

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Two Gods, One Braincell Ch.6 Blessed Blade

Summary: Quest Complete!

---------------

Kagami glared at the intricate lattice of glowing green symbols that hovered over the entire city. Web-like strands reaching down, connecting to every resident. The curse circle was directly over the hall of judgement slightly off the city center. For kilometers around tilled farmland lay barren.

Adrien was trying very hard not to be smug. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we have our work cut out for us." She scanned over the phrasing of the curse, noting subtle variations as the wording repeated itself in multiple languages. "Couldn't make it easy, could you."

"Where's the fun in that?" Adrien grinned, pleased with Kagami's difficulty in breaking his curse despite that being the goal of this quest.

Glancing at Nino, Kagami saw him indecisively switching from being proud of his best friend's work one moment. To bordering on terrified of the lingering rage emanating from it the next.

Nino pointed at the third seal drawn around the curse circle, which prevented it from being broken on any day of the year save one. Today. "Was that really neccessary?"

Adrien shrugged, almost achieving the air of nonchalance he sought. "I was angry."

Kagami's absent scales prickled as Nino shuddered. She still wasn't sure what was more impressive. That Adrien could cast such a complex curse in the heat of the moment. Or that the mortals down there did something that made Adrien angry. Adrien didn't get angry.

It was quite frustrating if Kagami was being honest.

"Alright," Kagami rolled her neck and stretched her arms. "Here's the plan."

---------------

The priests' offerings smelled of hypocrisy and corruption. Nino wrinkled his nose, covering half his face with a sash to keep most of the smell out. That done, he made himself visible above the desecrated altar.

"Mortals!" Nino boomed. "Your penance has been found... wanting."

He knew Adrien would've made a more dramatic entrance but this was just as effective. Judging by the way most of the priests scrambled back, dropping their tools to the ground. All except one who lifted incense that burned with narcissism in Nino's direction.

With a flick of his wrist Nino's hexagon knocked the offensive stench out of the priest's hands.

"However... through no virtue of your own the Great Dragon Kagami has decided to show you mercy!" Lifting his arms heavenward Nino directed their attention to the sky. "Witness her clemency!"

Finishing his speech Nino vanished from their sight and rose above the smells that burned his nose.

Adrien grinned. "You make a good herald."

"No thanks." Nino sniffed his armor. "Ugh, I need a bath."

"Well you're in luck!" Adrien dumped shoulders with his best friend before the smell hit him. He sprang back, pinching his nose shut. "You weren't kidding!"

"I feel so loved right now," Nino deadpanned.

"Just..." Adrien waved him closer to the gathering stormclouds. "Stand over there. By destruction, that's worse than I remember it! Kagami's doing her thing."

---------------

Far above the curse circle Kagami adjusted her grip on her tsurugi. Focusing all her power on her mother's blade. Picturing it as the eye of the storm.

She moved into the first stance. The smell of rain filled her nostrils, unreleased lightning charged the air and ran across her skin.

Slashing the wind she moved into the second stance. Her clouds rose higher than mountains, covering the sun. Lightning arced from cloud to cloud. Her heartbeat accelerating with the coming storm.

Again Kagami changed stances. Thunder roared with the voice of a dragon. With the tip of her blade Kagami wrote her name on the sky itself. Wind and rain and lightning burst from the kanji.

Raising her sword Kagami turned to face the city below her feet. Then she raced earth-ward. Her storm following in her wake.

The curse roared like a lion. Three consecutive circles bursting to life above its main body. Raindrops hung suspended in midair and lightning froze in its tracks. The wind raged above it but did not come down.

Only Kagami's blade sank into the first seal.

"I am the Great Dragon Kagami!" She announced, voice booming.

The first circle broke and her sword found the second. Wind howling as it battered the second circle.

"Only daughter of Tomoe the Unyielding Storm!"

Cracks spread across the second seal and it too broke. Lightning joined the wind in its assault. Kagami forced her blade into the third seal.

"Greatest sword master of Heaven!"

The final seal screeched in protest as it shattered. Rain fell past her, washing away part of the curse as it went. Wind shaking apart the glowing words. Lightning burning away its lines as it flashed. Still the curse roared in defiance.

"In my Name I break Destruction's curse!"

Kagami's blade sliced its core in half.

Far below the mortals rejoiced as rain quenched their empty fields after a yearlong drought. Some danced in relief, others brought out empty jars, children and adult alike opened their mouths and drank from the sky. Afterward some would say they saw Kagami through the clouds, scarlet scales shining in the flash of lightning.

Nino opened his arms and let Kagami's storm wash the stench from his armor.

Adrien sent a marble sized orb of darkness toward the hall of judgement. The great doors burst open, letting in the wind and rain. Letting the elements cleanse what the priests had tainted.

Kagami shifted out of her dragon form, a grin spread wide across her face. Kimono soaked through with her own rain.

"Tackling it head on, huh." Adrien smirked.

"It worked didn't it."

He nodded. "Impressive as always." Wiping his wet hair out of his eyes Adrien returned the grin. "The greatest sword master in Heaven, huh?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you deny it?"

"Nope! It's been millennia since our first duel and you've only gotten better." Adrien's eyes gazed at her with admiration.

Despite the chill of wind and rain Kagami felt heat creep up her cheeks. Strangely she didn't mind it.

"Gods, look!" Nino pointed down toward the temple complex.

A squad of guards were escorting the priests out of the temple to the cheers of the other mortals. Apparently, they'd also had enough of the hall of judgement being profaned.

"Oh, now they decide to act!" Thunder rumbled with Kagami's annoyance.

Adrien just smiled. "I dunno, Ryuko. Sometimes," he took a deep breath. "You need something to look forward to."

Kagami eyed him skeptically but she inhaled through her nose. There, buried under her own magic and the lingering stench of their transgressions, was the tentative scent of hope. "Hmm, I guess so."

"Either way the prophets and oracles will notice heaven is answering their calls again," Nino pointed out. "They'll need the guidance." He slumped as realization dawned. "That means I'll have to do it."

"Think of it this way," Adrien wrapped an arm around Nino's shoulders. "We all played an important role! I cursed the city. Kagami lifted it. And you get to make sure the mortals don't backslide!"

"Well..." Nino gazed down at the city. Going through the best ways to encourage these particular mortals. "Alya will relish the challenge, at least."

"That's the spirit!"

Kagami smiled, letting her storm calm down to a drizzle. (Didn't want to wash loose soil away after all that, now did she.) Storm gods, particularly dragons, usually had very little direct interaction with mortals. She preferred it that way. Dealing with most other deities was already exhausting. Having to interact with thousands of mortals that hadn't even hit their first century yet on top of that? No, thank you. "I don't envy you."

"Ha!" Nino held out his fist.

Beaming, Adrien did the same.

Raising an eyebrow in amusement Kagami met them with her own.

Light sparked from their three magics.

Letting go of Nino, Adrien pulled Kagami into a kiss. No less passionate for its short length. "Home?"

"Of course," Kagami intertwined their fingers. "We have to tell Mother the news."

She was thrilled to see Adrien turn red at her words. He buried his face into her shoulder. Which must've been awkward considering how tall he was. Adrien mumbled something against her kimono.

"What was that?"

Lifting his still red face, Adrien gave her a shy smile. "I'd like that."

Shifting in unison Kagami and Adrien raced across the sky. Scarlet dragon with black cat. Nino waving after them.

Once they were specks in the distance Nino lowered his arm. "Good luck with the council. Celestial paperwork is a devil."

@kagamiappreciationweek2020

[selkiewife]

Anonymous Asked: 

What do you think Theon's role will be in TWOW? I have seen many say that he's going to get killed or that he's going to make the King's moot null and void but I can't help but feel he has a much bigger purpose. One thing that often gets ignored, maybe because it's pretty much in the background, is the magical/supernatural elements of his character, which i think is going to be important either in terms of defeating Euron or helping with the long night.

Anon I agree with you wholeheartedly! I don’t believe that he will be killed (by Stannis anyway.) Though I do definitely think he will have a role to play with Asha in nullifying the Kingsmoot like Torgon Greyiron, the Latecomer. There is just no way Tris would have dropped that tidbit of highly applicable historical info while trying to seduce Asha if it was going to come to nothing. Then again, stuff like that happened in the TV series all the time but I doubt that will be the case in the books. GRRM is much more likely, I think, to never publish them at all rather than leave loose ends.

I agree with theories that there will be two Kingsmoots in the books and that the show chose to combine them. I think Theon will support his sister or she will support him. I honestly think that perhaps after all they have been through, Theon and Asha can finally experience a close familial relationship (which Theon has always yearned for) but which was never possible since they were separated from each other as children- and then were both competing for their father’s approval and trust as young adults. Now that Balon is dead, I really feel like Theon has the potential to find a true family with Asha as his true self- especially given the emotional reaction Asha had to seeing him again and witnessing what Ramsay did to him.

Now one thing I have always loved about Theon is how incredibly HUMAN his story is. It is intimate and focused on identity. And in the asoiaf world where people are seeking power or raising dragons or trying to save the world, it is refreshing that Theon’s story is focused on trying to discover how to be a person. How to keep one’s humanity in spite of how horrific the world is or the horrific actions one has undertaken themselves. There are beautiful themes of identity, redemption, and survival in his arc, but most notably, it does not revolve around magic the way other character’s plots have up to this point. 

However, I also think that it is undeniable that there is a magical element in Theon’s story as well. And I think the magical element surfaces when Theon is getting closer to his true self or facing the things he has done. When he is more entrenched in denial, the magical element of his story is suppressed. Yet during ACOK when feeling guilt over ordering the death of the boys, he has a green dream. And again, in ADWD, when he is reclaiming his name and his identity, Bran is able to make contact with him through the Heart Tree. And then again, when he is Stannis’ prisoner in the sample chapter of TWOW and he continually is speaking the truth and reclaiming his name- insisting that Stannis calls him Theon- Bran or Bloodraven are speaking on his behalf through the ravens, urging him to be brought to the heart tree. 

Now some people argue that Theon did not actually have a green dream in ACOK but I definitely think it was. I have quoted the entire section from ACOK under the cut, so you can decide for yourself. In it, Theon basically has a vision of the Red Wedding a book before it actually happens- In the dream, Robb and Grey Wind walk into a banquet all, bleeding from “half a hundred savage wounds.” Some have said that Theon’s dream wasn’t prophetic but more tied to his guilt but I disagree because there are the other people in it that Theon would have no reason to know about such as Lyanna. “The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna.” Theon would obviously have known about Lyanna but there is no way that he knew about her dying in a “bed of blood.” That is something that is only revealed in Ned’s memories. And Ned told everyone else that Lyanna died of a fever. So he is dreaming accurately about things that he wouldn’t know, which is why I believe this specific dream is a green dream as opposed to only guilt.

So to answer your question. I believe that Theon has to survive at least being a prisoner to Stannis because there is so much more that has been foreshadowed for him. There is the Ironborn plot and then there is also the fact that Bran is trying to contact Theon. I think that Bran is extremely important when it comes to the fight against the Others and the Long Night, so the fact that he is reaching out to Theon made me feel that Theon is also important to that aim in some way. That being said, the show made me doubt Bran (or Bloodraven’s) intentions with Theon- like is he just going to be offered as some sort of sacrifice? I sincerely hope not. 

Luckily, what gives me hope is Asha’s plan for invalidating the Kingsmoot and the idea that he still needs to defeat Euron... Plus EURON himself, unlike in the show, is an incredible force of potential dark magic to be reckoned with. And there is also the really incredible symbolism of the sea-reek with Theon- which I talked about briefly on my other blog here and which I think shows that he still has much to do with the Ironborn narrative. Invalidating the Kingsmoot seems like it would have to occur after whatever happens once Bran or Bloodraven get Theon to the Heart Tree so hopefully, that means they do not have any nefarious plans for Theon. And perhaps it also points to the fact that he is, for some reason, important in the coming battle against the Others. Perhaps because of how very human his arc has been up to this point? Some Theon fans have said that they think the idea of him becoming a huge hero of the series would almost cheapen his very human journey. And I do get that. But I think that he has already become a hero honestly and that his very humanity that he has worked so hard to find within himself may be a key to help against the long night. Or at least, that is what I would like.

Here is Theon’s Dream from A Clash of Kings:

That night he dreamed of the feast Ned Stark had thrown when King Robert came to Winterfell. The hall rang with music and laughter, though the cold winds were rising outside. At first it was all wine and roast meat, and Theon was making japes and eyeing the serving girls and having himself a fine time... until he noticed that the room was growing darker. The music did not seem so jolly then; he heard discords and strange silences, and notes that hung in the air bleeding. Suddenly the wine turned bitter in his mouth, and when he looked up from his cup he saw that he was dining with the dead.

King Robert sat with his guts spilling out on the table from the great gash in his belly, and Lord Eddard was headless beside him. Corpses lined the benches below, grey-brown flesh sloughing off their bones as they raised their cups to toast, worms crawling in and out of the holes that were their eyes. He knew them, every one; Jory Cassel and Fat Tom, Porther and Cayn and Hullen the master of horse, and all the others who had ridden south to King’s Landing never to return. Mikken and Chayle sat together, one dripping blood and the other water. Benfred Tallhart and his Wild Hares filled most of a table. The miller’s wife was there as well, and Farlen, even the wildling Theon had killed in the wolfswood the day he had saved Bran’s life.

But there were others with faces he had never known in life, faces he had seen only in stone. The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna. Her brother Brandon stood beside her, and their father Lord Rickard just behind. Along the walls figures halfseen moved through the shadows, pale shades with long grim faces. The sight of them sent fear shivering through Theon sharp as a knife. And then the tall doors opened with a crash, and a freezing gale blew down the hall, and Robb came walking out of the night. Grey Wind stalked beside, eyes burning, and man and wolf alike bled from half a hundred savage wounds.

Theon woke with a scream, startling Wex so badly that the boy ran naked from the room.

~ A Clash of Kings, George R. R. Martin

[monroetalks]

The Woman Who Will Not Die: an essay about Marilyn Monroe by Gloria Steinem

It has been nearly a quarter of a century since the death of a minor American actress named Marilyn Monroe. There is no reason for her to be a part of my consciousness as I walk down a midtown New York street frilled with color and action and life.

In a shop window display of white summer dresses, I see several huge photographs – a life-size cutout of Marilyn standing in a white halter dress, some close-ups of her vulnerable, please-love-me smile – but they don’t look dated. Oddly, Marilyn seems to be just as much a part of this street scene as the neighboring images of models who could now be her daughters – even her granddaughters. I walk another block and pass a record store featuring the hit albums of a rock star named Madonna. She has imitated Marilyn Monroe’s hair, style, and clothes, but subtracted her vulnerability. Instead of using seduction to offer men whatever they want, Madonna uses it to get what she wants – a 1980’s difference that has made her the idol of teenage girls. Nevertheless, her international symbols of femaleness are pure Marilyn.

A few doors away, a bookstore displays two volumes on Marilyn Monroe in its well-stocked window. The first is nothing but random photographs, one of many such collections that have been published over the years. The second is one of several recent exposes on the circumstances surrounding Monroe’s 1962 death from an accidental or purposeful overdose of sleeping pills. Could organized crime, Jimmy Hoffa in particular, have planned to use her friendship with the Kennedys and her suicide – could Hoffa and his friends even have caused that suicide – in order to embarrass or blackmail Robert Kennedy, who was definitely a mafia enemy and probably her lover? Only a few months ago, Marilyn Monroe’s name made international headlines again when a British television documentary on this conspiracy theory was shown and a network documentary made in the United States was suppressed, with potential pressure from crime-controlled unions or the late Robert Kennedy’s family as rumored reasons.

I knew I belonged to the public and to the world, not because I was talented or even beautiful but because I had never belonged to anything or anyone else. — From the Unfinished Biography of Marilyn Monroe

As I turn the corner into my neighborhood, I pass a newsstand where the face of one more young Marilyn Monroe look-alike stares up at me from a glossy magazine cover. She is Kate Mailer, Norman Mailer’s daughter, who was born the year that Marilyn Monroe died. Now she is starring in “Strawhead,” a “memory play” about Monroe written by Norman Mailer, who is so obsessed with this long-dead sex goddess that he had written one long biography and another work – half fact, half fiction – about her, even before casting his daughter in this part.

The next morning, I turn on the television and see a promotion for a show on film director Billy Wilder. The only clip chosen to attract viewers and represent Wilder’s entire career is one of Marilyn Monroe singing a few breathless bars in Some Like It Hot, one of two films they made together.

These are everyday signs of a unique longevity. If you add her years of movie stardom to the years since her death, Marilyn Monroe has been a part of our lives and imaginations for nearly four decades. That’s a very long time for one celebrity to survive in a throwaway culture.

In the 1930’s, when English critic Cyril Connolly proposed a definition of posterity to measure whether a writer’s work had stood the test of time, he suggested that posterity should be limited to 10 years. The form and content of popular culture were changing too fast, he explained, to make any artist accountable for more than a decade.

Since then, the pace of change has been accelerated even more. Everything from the communications revolution to multinational entertainment has altered the form of culture. Its content has been transformed by civil rights, feminism, an end to film censorship, and much more. Nonetheless, Monroe’s personal and intimate ability to inhabit our fantasies has gone right on. As I write this, she is still better known than most living movie stars, most world leaders, and most television personalities. The surprise is that she rarely has been taken seriously enough fur us to ask why that is so.

One simple reason for her life story’s endurance is the premature end of it. Personalities and narratives projected onto the screen of our imaginations are far more haunting – and far more likely to be the stuff of conspiracies and conjuncture – if they have not been allowed to play themselves out to their logical or illogical ends. James Dean’s brief life is the subject of a cult, but the completed lives of such “outsiders” as Gary Cooper or Henry Fonda are not. Each day in the brief Camelot of John Kennedy inspires as much speculation as each year in the long New Deal of Franklin Roosevelt. The few years of Charlie “Bird” Parker’s music inspire graffiti (“Bird Lives”), but the many musical years of Duke Ellington do not.

When the past dies there is mourning, but when the future dies, our imaginations are compelled to carry it on.

Would Marilyn Monroe have become the serious actress she aspired to be? Could she have survived the transition from sex goddess to mortal woman that aging would impose? Could she had stopped her disastrous marriages to men whose images she wanted to absorb (Beloved American DiMaggio, Serious Intellectual Miller), and found a partner who loved and understood her as she really was? Could she have kicked the life-wasting habits of addiction and procrastination? Would she have had or adopted children? Found support in the growing strength of women or been threatened by it? Entered the world of learning or continued to be ridiculed for trying? Survived and even enjoyed the age of 60 she now would be?

Most important, would she finally have escaped her lifetime combination of two parts talent, one part victim, and one part joke? Would she have been “taken seriously,” as she so badly wanted to be?

We will never know. Every question is as haunting as any of its possible answers.

But the poignancy of this incompleteness is not enough to explain Marilyn Monroe’s enduring power. Even among brief public lives, few become parables. Those that endure seem to hook into our deepest emotions of hope or fear, dream or nightmare, of what our own fates might be. Successful leaders also fall into one group or the other: those who invoke a threatening future and promise disaster unless we obey, and those who conjure up a hopeful future and promise reward if we will follow. It’s this power of either fear or hope that makes a personal legend survive, from the fearsome extreme of Adolph Hitler (Did he really escape? Might he have lived on in the jungles of South America?) to the hopeful myth of Zapata waiting in the hills of Mexico to rescue his people. The same is true for the enduring fictions of popular culture, from the frightening villain to the hopeful hero, each of whom is reincarnated again and again.

In an intimate way during her brief life, Marilyn Monroe hooked into both those extremes of emotion. She personified many of the secret hopes of men and many secret fears of women.

To men, wrote Norman Mailer, her image was “gorgeous, forgiving, humorous, compliant and tender… she would ask no price.” She was the child-woman who offered pleasure without adult challenge; a lover who neither judged nor asked anything in return. Both the roles she played and her own public image embodied a masculine hope for a woman who is innocent and sensuously experienced at the same time. “In fact,” as Marilyn said toward the end of her career, “my popularity seems almost entirely a masculine phenomenon.”

Since most men have experienced female power only in their childhoods, they associate it with a time when they themselves were powerless. This will continue as long as children are raised almost totally by women, and rarely see women in authority outside the home. That’s why male adults, and some females too, experience the presence of a strong woman as a dangerous regression to a time of their own vulnerability and dependence. For men, especially, who are trained to measure manhood and maturity by their distance from the world of women, being forced back to that world for female companionship may be very threatening indeed. A compliant child-woman like Monroe solves this dilemma by offering sex WITHOUT the power of an adult woman, much less of an equal. As a child herself, she allows men to feel both conquering and protective; to be both dominating and admirable at the same time.

For women, Monroe embodies kinds of fear that were just as basic as the hope she offered men: the fear of a sexual competitor who could take away men on whom women’s identities and even livelihoods might depend; the fear of having to meet her impossible standard of always giving – and asking nothing in return; the nagging fear that we might share her feminine fate of being vulnerable, unserious, constantly in danger of becoming a victim.

Aside from her beautiful face, which women envied, she was nothing like the female stars that women moviegoers have made popular. Those stars offered at the least the illusion of being in control of their fates – and perhaps having an effect on the world. Stars of the classic “women’s movies” were actresses like Bette Davis, who made her impact by sheer force of emotion; or Katherine Hepburn, who was always intelligent and never victimized for long; or even Doris Day, who charmed the world into conforming to her own virginal standards. Their figures were admirable and neat, but without the vulnerability of the big-breasted woman in a society that regresses men and keeps them obsessed with the maternal symbols of breasts and hips. Watching Monroe was quite different: women were forced to worry for her vulnerability – and thus their own. They might feel like a black moviegoer watching a black actor play a role that was too passive, too obedient, or a Jew watching a Jewish character who was selfish and avaricious. In spite of some extra magic, some face-saving sincerity and humor, Marilyn Monroe was still close to the humiliating stereotype of a dumb blonde: depersonalized, sexual, even a joke. Yet few women yet had the self-respect to object on behalf of their sex, as one would object on behalf of a race or religion, they still might be left feeling a little humiliated – or threatened – without knowing why.

“I have always had a talent for irritating women since I was fourteen,” Marilyn wrote in her unfinished auto-biography. “Sometimes I’ve been to a party where no one spoke to me for a whole evening. The men, frightened by their wives or sweeties, would give me a wide berth. And the ladies would gang up in a corner to discuss my dangerous character.”

But all that was before her death and the revelations surrounding it. The moment she was gone, Monroe’s vulnerability was no longer just a turn-on for many men and an embarrassment for many women. It was a tragedy. Whether that final overdose was suicide or not, both men and women were forced to recognize the insecurity and private terrors that had caused her to attempt suicide several times before.

Men who had never known her wondered if their love and protection might have saved her. Women who had never known her wondered if their empathy and friendship might have done the same. For both women and men, the ghost of Marilyn came to embody a particularly powerful form of hope: the rescue fantasy. Not only did we imagine a happier ending for the parable of Marilyn Monroe’s life, but we also fantasized ourselves as saviors who could have brought it about.

Still, women didn’t seem quite as comfortable about going public with their rescue fantasies as men did. It meant admitting an identity with a woman who always had been a little embarrassing, and who had now turned out to be doomed as well. Nearly all of the journalistic eulogies that followed Monroe’s death were written by men. So are almost all of the nearly 40 books that have been published about Monroe.

Bias in the minds of editors played a role, too. Consciously or not, they seemed to assume that only male journalists should write about a sex goddess. Margaret Parton, a reporter from the Ladies’ Home Journal and one of the few women assigned to profile Marilyn during her lifetime, wrote an article that was rejected because it was too favorable. She had reported Marilyn’s ambitious hope of playing Sadie Thompson, under the guidance of Lee Strasberg, in a television version of RAIN, based on a short story by Somerset Maugham. (Sadie Thompson was “a girl who knew how to be gay, even when she was sad,” a fragile Marilyn had explained, “and that’s important – you know?”) Parton also reported her own “sense of having met a sick little canary instead of a peacock. Only when you pick it up in your hand to comfort it … beneath the sickness, the weakness and the innocence, you find a strong bone structure, and a heart beating. You RECOGNIZE sickness, and you FIND strength.”

Bruce and Beatrice Gould, editors of the Ladies’ Home Journal, told Parton she must have been “mesmerized” to write something so uncritical. “If you were a man,” Mr. Gould told her, “I’d wonder what went on that afternoon in Marilyn’s apartment.” Fred Guiles, one of Marilyn Monroe’s more fair-minded biographers, counted the suppression of this sensitive article as one proof that many editors were interested in portraying Monroe, at least in those later years, as “crazy, a home wrecker.”

Just after Monroe’s death, one of the few women to write with empathy was Diana Trilling, an author confident enough not to worry about being trivialized by association – and respected enough to get published. Trilling regretted the public’s “mockery of [Marilyn’s] wish to be educated,” and her dependence on sexual artifice that must have left “a great emptiness where a true sexuality would have supplied her with a sense of herself as a person.” She mourned Marilyn’s lack of friends, “especially women, to whose protectiveness her extreme vulnerability spoke so directly.”

“But we were the friends,” as Trilling said sadly, “of whom she knew nothing.”

In fact, the contagion of feminism that followed Monroe’s death by less than a decade may be the newest and most powerful reason for the continuing strength of her legend. As women began to be honest in public, and to discover that many of our experiences were more societal than individual, we also realized that we could benefit more by acting together than by deserting each other. We were less likely to blame or be the victim, whether Marilyn or ourselves, and more likely to rescue ourselves and each other.

In 1972, the tenth anniversary of her death and the birth year of MS., the first magazine to be published by and for women, Harriet Lyons, one of its early editors, suggested that MS. do a cover story on Marilyn called “the woman who died too soon.” As the writer of this brief essay about women’s new hope of reclaiming Marilyn, I was astounded by the response to the article. It was like tapping an underground river of interest. For instance:

Marilyn had talked about being sexually assaulted as a child, though many of her biographers had not believed her. Women wrote in to tell their similar stories. It was my first intimation of what since has become a documented statistic: one in six adult women has been sexually assaulted in childhood by a family member. The long-lasting effects – for instance, feeling one has no value except a sexual one – seemed shared by these women and Marilyn. Yet most were made to feel guilty and alone, and many were as disbelieved by the grown-ups around them as Marilyn had been.

Physicians had been more likely to prescribe sleeping pills and tranquilizers than to look for the cause of Monroe’s sleeplessness and anxiety. They had continued to do so even after she attempted suicide several times. Women responded with their own stories of being over-medicated, and of doctors who assumed women’s physical symptoms were all in their “minds.” It was my first understanding that women are more likely to be given chemical and other arm’s-length treatment, and to suffer from the assumption that they can be chemically calmed or sedated with less penalty because they are doing only “women’s work.” Then, ads in medical journals blatantly recommended tranquilizers for depressed housewives, and even now the majority of all tranquilizer prescriptions are written for women. Acting, modeling, making a living more from external appearance than from internal identity – these had been Marilyn’s lifelines out of poverty and obscurity. Other women who had suppressed their internal selves to become interchangeable “pretty girls” – and as a result were struggling with both lack of identity and terror of aging – wrote to tell their stories.

To gain the seriousness and respect that was largely denied her, and to gain the fatherly protection she had been completely denied, Marilyn married a beloved American folk hero and then a respected intellectual. Other women who had tried to marry for protection or for identity, as women are often encouraged to do, wrote to say how impossible and childlike this had been for them, and how impossible for their husbands who were expected to provide their wives’ identities. But Marilyn did not live long enough to see a time in which women sought their own identities, not just derived ones.

During her marriage to Arthur Miller, Marilyn had tried to have a child – but suffered an ectopic pregnancy, a miscarriage – and could not. Letters poured in from women who also suffered from this inability and from a definition of womanhood so tied to the accident of the physical ability to bear a child – preferably a son, as Marilyn often said, though later she also talked of a daughter – that their whole sense of self had been undermined. “Manhood means many things,” as one reader explained, “but womanhood means only one.” And where is the self-respect of a woman who wants to give birth only to a male child, someone different from herself?

Most of all, women readers mourned that Marilyn had lived in an era when there were so few ways for her to know that these experiences were shared with other women, that she was not alone.

Now women and men bring the last quarter century of change and understanding to these poignant photographs taken in the days just before her death. It makes them all the more haunting. [Editor’s Note: this chapter originally appeared with photographs, which are not present here.]

I still see the self-consciousness with which she posed for a camera. It makes me remember my own teenage discomfort at seeing her on the screen, mincing and whispering and simply hoping her way into love and approval. By holding a mirror to the exaggerated ways in which female human beings are trained to act, she could be as embarrassing – and as sad and revealing – as a female impersonator. Yet now I also see the why of it, and the woman behind the mask that her self-consciousness creates.

I still feel worried about her, just as I did then. There is something especially vulnerable about big-breasted women in this world concerned with such bodies, but unconcerned with the real person within. We may envy these women a little, yet we feel protective of them, too.

But in these photographs, the body emphasis seems more the habit of some former self. It’s her face we look at. Now that we know the end of the story, it’s the real woman we hope to find – looking out of the eyes of Marilyn.

In the last interview before her death, close to the time of these photographs, Patricia Newcomb, her friend and press secretary, remembers that Marilyn pleaded unsuccessfully with the reporter to end his article like this:

What I really want to say: That what the world really needs is a real feeling of kinship. Everybody: stars, laborers, Negroes, Jews, Arabs. We are all brothers. Please don’t make me a joke. End the interview with what I believe.

Published in 1986 and written by Gloria Steinem. 

[metasnkpotato]

Levi and Mikasa - The same

Hello ! In the (very) long block that follows, I will talk about some things I noticed about the parallel between Levi and Mikasa (and to do, use some elements of comparison between manga and anime, english and japanese version, with the two other protagonists, Eren and Armin, and their third parallel : Annie).

I planned it randomly so it could be pretty messy. If this is the case, sorry in advance. I’m hoping that even so, it will help some that this relationship is interesting, for the understanding of its stakes, or see what we could expect about it in the current arc !

The same since the first time

The erroneous look they have on their parallels is the same as on themselves

Levi breaks the cycle of hate, Mikasa’s opening remains to come

                                                              First appearances in SnK are often essentials to understand a character. These concentrate generally, the problematic of the character, his role in the story, the angle from which we'll have to look at it to analyze him and a condensed of everything he will embody. 

Recently, I was rereading the meeting scene between Levi and Mikasa in the titan forest, at the time of the Female Titan arc. I had never saw it because I began Snk with the anime, probably like many fans. And something surprised me :

This line of “I’m with you” has been removed in the anime.

It may seem unimportant because it's just Levi's attempt to calm Mikasa and  make her understand that even if he’s stopping her at that moment, he has the same intention of going to fight against the Female Titan. EDIT : I’ve been told in comments that it may also imply a way for Levi to tell Mikasa that her attacks will not have much effect in any case, that it is the same and therefore must be withdrawn for the moment.

 At the first reading level maybe, but the connotation in it makes this as a kind of hint about the mirror effect that was about to happen between them. And moreover, without this sentence, it makes their relationship more arid than it already is, since it begins with Levi's order as he tries to position himself as his superior / mentor by placing Mikasa underneath.

[Small digression : It is also interesting to note that the similarity between Levi and Mikasa was made even before they actually met, on two occasions : the first when Levi saved the main trio, by Armin confusing him with Mikasa, and the second one there ]

Anyway, “I’m with you” doesn’t sound very Levi’s character likely, it’s too direct, too polite and too explicit. I thought it were perhaps a clumsy translation so I went on the raw to see what it gave.

In fact, the line is “同じだ “, “onaji da” in romaji, which basically means “It’s the same”, implied “we”, so “we’re the same” can be understand as well, or “the same as you”.

It's pretty remarquable to see that it's those words of “the same” that opens up their relationship, because that's the whole point : they're incredibly similar, and yet very far in terms of opened relationship. 

The same blood, the same behavior, the same personality on many aspects, but not the same level of mutual acceptance. 

We might believe that two characters which are so alike would have a pretty fusional relationship, but in SnK, it’s not how it works. It is perhaps even one of the most important point of the story and all the themes touched in this manga : the difference, for the interaction between people, is essential. After all, it is often the farthest characters in behavior that are closest (Eren - Armin, Historia - Ymir, Uri - Kenny...). And despite the difference between Marleyans and Eldians, some of the most established relationships in the current arc are a mix of both (Sasha - Niccolo, Hanji - Onyankupon etc).

In the relationship Levi - Mikasa, if there is not a medium that comes to help them communicate, it is difficult for them to do so. Ironically, the medium often happens to be someone very different : the first time was Armin in trial, and the second time Hanji in serumbowl, the opposites in terms of personality of Mikasa and Levi.

But with Mikasa it is still more marked : while Eren and Armin both have characters parallels to them (Hanji and Reiner for Eren ; Erwin and Bertholdt for Armin), they accepted them and that made them grow while Mikasa's relations to her parallels are tinged with hatred and rejection. 

One of the interesting thing between these three parallels, Annie, Levi and Mikasa, is that they share in common the negative view they have of each other.

Mikasa sees Levi as a man, certainly strong, but abnormally violent, without seeing his kind side.

Levi sees Annie like a pure sadist which acts only because she’s enjoying pain and violence, without consider the necessity that guides her actions.

Annie sees Mikasa like a wild beast, with no emotion and who would act only coldly and impulsively, without her human side so.

The negative view of these three parallels between them reflets the fact that it’s themselves they see in each other. Levi can’t only think of him as a strong person who must, because of this, be necessarily violent ; and that's why he relies heavily on violence to resolve conflict. Mikasa thinks she’s indeed a wild beast who must be guided by her strength and violents instincts in order to protect her beloved ones. 

[Small disgression again : It's one of the things that Armin is reproaching her at the beginning of the Uprising Arc “Mikasa, rest yourself, you’re still injured and you’re not a beast” , and it's funny to note that Eren picked it up in his hurtful words in Chapter 112 by designate her as cattle, to kindle his rage.]

And Annie has tried to shut herself up as much as possible of all human emotion to fulfill her task, so much that she persuaded herself that she was enjoying killing people - what her strange smiles in fight let slip - when that's not the case.

But fortunately, Levi’s point of view on Mikasa breaks this cycle of hate. After all, as the parents of Sasha mentioned, it's up to adults to break the cycle of hate so they do not let children lock themselves in. It is too late for them, the adults, but not for the children, who represent the future.

That's why during their first interaction, while Mikasa acts inconsistently, insulting him, blaming him for everything, and ignoring his orders, Levi does not give the change and on the contrary, takes on him, even receiving the hit in her place. Here he was, the adult in charge of the child. While he was still shocked by the loss of his entire squad, ready to give up on Eren in considering the worst possible scenario :

He regains the will to fight when he sees a younger version of his self in Mikasa, decided to not let her go through the same pain as him by the loss of her beloved one.

That’s why Mikasa's arc will probably reach one of its outcome when she will stop impeding the fact that Levi and her can make a further connection by recognizes during the Ackertalk that indeed, she is the same as Levi, in many ways. 

And this is not only due to their shared blood but also to their own person, Isayama even stated it in a interview which can be found in Answers Guidebook :

– Regarding Mikasa and Levi’s Ackerman family mystery, we’re also receiving more clarity! Can we say that Mikasa, Levi, Kenny are all part of the same Ackerman bloodline?

Isayama: They are all part of the same Ackerman bloodline. However, their reasons for protecting their respective counterparts don’t have anything to do with the bloodline itself - it’s just their nature (laughs). Within the story, Mikasa and Levi almost have the guardian/knight-like roles, right? That’s because they encountered the existence of a “boss”-like individual, and the desire to work for that person is very in line with their personalities.

As Armin by being invested with the spirit of Erwin symbolically, and the titan of Bertholdt, as Eren by going beyond Hanji on the knowledge and recognizing to be the same as Reiner, Mikasa will be the next to face her parallel, and would have to recognize what binds her to him in order to fulfill herself.

                                                            *

[jellydishes]

dragon age characters as gods: origins edition

the first post in this series, which ironically covers dragon age two characters, can be foubd here

the warden is not actually the name of one god, but a title shared among a group, and their individual origins’ differences impact the way their stories are sung or whispered. they are just as often worshipped as psychopomps, carriers of the dead to the afterlife, as they are a source of comfort and guidance for those who had to grow up too soon; whether to war or illness or abuse or the loss of a parent or a thousand other personal stories that can fit within two syllables. warden. guard and guardian, those who sacrifice everything in order to carry the hope for others. how much more can i give? ask the weary and the grieving. “always at least once more,” say the wardens. “one more inch, one more battle. and then one day you will look up to see you have walked a thousand miles in single steps.”

in many ways, alistair fits what some call the classic ideal of a demigod; an isolated youth spent unknowing of his true parentage, one that made him humble and hungering for true respect. many turn to him for this reason alone, including orphans and the abused. many more sing his name in the dark times of their lives because of what came after that- a lifetime living with a brain that operated just a few steps to the left of the rest of humanity. a life filled with doubt and grief and loss, one filled with moments in which he could have given up. but he didn't, and he didn't, and he kept on finding beauty amid the horrors of war and the heartsick times of rebuilding that come after. “it seems so much easier to lie down and die,” he whispers to those who chose him, “but there is work to be done, and you can do it. but not alone. you are never alone where i can walk with you. when you chose me, i chose you. you earned a hand in the dark. all you need to do is reach out and hold tight.”

morrigan is a goddess in flux. in one aspect, she is a goddess of magic and of vengeance, of turning your pain outward to protect yourself when no one else can, has, or will. some say the doubters are the hopeful who've had their hopes dashed time and again, and that both is and isn't true with morrigan- she would insist to anyone who cared to ask that hers is the domain of realism, of looking at a harsh world and seeing truth. all the same, morrigan looks kindly on abused children and adults, on the lonely and broken hearted. she is a goddess who will rarely reach out first, until she knows she can trust there to be someone ready to catch her, too. in her second aspect, morrigan is the protector that she never had: a mother. she has learned that trust now, if has yet to lose all of the wariness that came before it. that wariness bleeds away when she recognizes one of her own, one she might not walk in front of, but has no issues walking beside. “the world may not be brighter for my presence,” says morrigan’s voice at her pilgrim’s ear, “but i will ensure that the night’s terrors have good reason to fear us back. it is my turn to give back the courage you kept inside, the same way i did. you have me, and i have you. that might not seem like much, but i would say it's a damn good start.”

leliana is yet another goddess who is underestimated by many. she's seen as a minor deity favored in the cities and temples belonging to the rich and comfortable, which she often is. however, thinking that is all there is to one who began her existence as a death goddess would be a mistake, one that some only made once, many years ago. as harsh and unforgiving as the smiles she was often depicted with used to be, these days leliana has grown to value finding the small joys in life when others would become bitter and withdrawn. of enjoying the creature comforts, of loving to sing and dance and marvel at the beauty of a shoe or a creature often ignored or considered a pest. these two aspects are not mutually exclusive- leliana lives in pain borne just as she is in pain transformed, as many of her faithful do. “not everything must be an uphill battle,” softly calls leliana’s warm voice. “being kind, and extending a hand with outstretched fingers can be an act of courage, when all you want to do is form a fist with it. take a breath when you're going through your darkest hour, maybe two, and come out singing with me.”

sten is a deity that many find frustratingly inscrutable, if not impossible to understand. his is a religion that seems to be very rigidly bound to duty and rules and observances and a hierarchy that dominates the conversation of almost everyone who comes across him or his worshippers. and to many, that is all there is. it takes a very determined soul to grow to understand that there is a sort of comfort in routine, in knowing what is expected of you and who you are, in knowing exactly who you can turn to if you question or need help. in sten’s service, you are considered to be undertaking a journey to understand the world in which you live, either writ large, or your own. rigidity can bring comfort, confidence, and a chance for many who had been lost to breathe. it is discovering new things, change, spread out to a pace that is less overwhelming to many for whom change in routines or simple fear would make it daunting. he approves of surpassing expectations, of growing within a box that used to bring you comfort before seeking out one that you yourself have picked out that means you. those with borderline personality disorder and autistics and the abused are common worshippers of him, and he extends a hand right back, just within reach. “i cannot pull you up,” he would say in a voice that sounds as sure and solid as the sun, “i cannot reach for you. but i am here as a wall to brace against whenever you have need. and in return, you remind me why i have respect for the lost and the heartsick. together, we will find better ways to be.”

wynne is a quiet diety, one who seemingly performs the functions expected of her and little else, but in truth wynne simply works in quiet ways, helping to inspire quiet victories over troubles large and small. it is known that in her own legends she was a prisoner for many years simply because of a trick of birth. that she lost and lost and lost again, all of her life, and had been tempted to give up just as often. and yet, wynne never gave up on those around her who couldn't speak for themselves. the children and the dead and those who had become too traumatized or afraid to lift their voices any longer. wynne is a warm presence for prisoners and the institutionalized and the disenfranchised just as often as she is for the physically and mentally disabled, and those with any sort of neurodivergences in general. she understands, whispers her worshippers, and she still, always, loves you. “i cannot save you on my own,” she whispers back to those who call her name. “it is up to you to take the first step and the last and all of the ones in between, but i will be right beside you with my hand in yours. together, we are stronger for each other, and that is how it is meant to be.”

zevran is dismissed but many who don’t care to look beyond the stereotypes assigned to both him and his worshippers as a harvest deity, one associated with sex and death and glorying in temporary joys. some do indeed turn to him for such things, but that only behind to scratch the surface of all that zevran and his worship are and have become. zevran does indeed preside over death, but just as often the deaths he presides over are more alike to changes. endings that lead to new beginnings, or how one can gradually move from being locked a suicidally depressed state into a journey towards recovery. the death of who who no longer wish to be, and the birth of who you wish so much to become. as often as he is depicted as smiling atop the coins that are both his symbol and currency, his worshippers know that smile to be a sad one, and press that currency into the hands of the abandoned souls who most need it. the orphans and the slaves and those lost to the ravages of their own neurodivergences/trauma. he looks kindly upon those who struggle with relationships ships of any kind after a life where that always meant danger. “life is full of risks,” he murmurs to an orphan warily eyeing their new foster family. “it is up to you to decide whether those risks are worth it, but you cannot say ‘no’ forever, or one day you will look up and you will be surrounded by high walls with no one left to hear you on the other side, save for me. let me help you, the way others helped me. the way you helped me, and we will emerge from this together.”

oghren is defined by contradictions. many see him as a simple god of drink and revelry and battle, of simple pleasures that exact simple joys and sorrows. however, as with many from his pantheon, that is not nearly all ghay he is. oghren is, first and foremost, a god for those who grieve and those who are afraid. those who turn to alcohol or drugs or other addictive behaviors in order to cope with a life that took and took and took from them, with a life where they are deeply unhappy. he does not judge those he presides over, no matter how often they backslide or break something that may never be fixed again. “you're mine, and i'm yours,” he says to the suffering in a gentle voice many wouldn't think he had. “and that means that i will stick by you every time you can't reach where you want to go. and you know why? every time you can't quite make it is proof that you can come this far, and can do it again. you are mine, the heart of my own heart, and i will stay with you for as long as you need and want me to. know that i am proud, and that together, we will see this through.”

shale is an impatient deity, and one with no patience for insincerity or creating and spreading cruelty. transgender and nonbinary people in particular turn to the steadying presence of shale in their lives, as do prisoners and the poor imprisoned by society into overwhelmingly literal chains. her comfort can be a stirling thing, as all of her tales whisper of how she moved from one prison to another and so learned distrust and fear externalized as anger. but so, too, did she learn compassion. shale listens just as deeply to a prayer by a child sentenced to prison for a crime that they had no chance to avoid, as she does soldiers who know that the acts they will commit will be frozen in time in their memory. “everyone is born in a box,” shale tells those who ask for her watchful gaze to settle over their shoulder. “it is inevitable that eventually you will grow and change, where the box will not. it will grow uncomfortable, then stifling, and then a wound. i cannot give you the key, because you already have it. the only thing to do is to stand beside you, ready to catch you if you fall, to steady you as you feel the turning of the world beneath your feet again. i cannot bear this for you, but i can make sure that you do not have to be strong all the time. not when i can give you the time and safety to put down your burdens for an hour, a night, a day. breathe, because you can. because you must.”

loghain is an old god, and his stories changed along with the shifting values of the societies around him. as they did, his devotion to duty above all else fell out of favor. instead, the tales took on a darker tone of disloyalty and treachery. kingslayer, they called him now. even so, voices still called out to him. soldiers and conquered people, children who have seen war and the furious, wearied people those children grew up to be. “the beat of your heart is the lifesblood of everything that defines you,” says loghain’s voice from between the clench of your fist. “stronger than blood, stronger than love, stronger than your very bones. do not give it up, or everything you have seen and done will be for nothing. do not give up. i am the hand on your shoulder, the hand clasped in yours. comrade and father and traitor, i am what my duty needs me to be and so are you.”

[itsclydebitches]

It Chapter Two: Aged-Up Protagonists and the Umbridge Effect

Writing reviews, metas, and the like is a lot about timing. If you don’t craft your writing in the immediate aftermath of your source’s release, someone else will beat you to it and, chances are, your audience will be less enthused about reading the same arguments weeks later. (Admittedly, that’s up for debate. I for one am happy to read about the same shit for years on end.) Thus, when I didn’t have the time or the mental energy to write about It: Chapter Two immediately after seeing it in theaters, I knew within a few days that I’d lost a lot of ground. Fans and critics alike have already spoken about the film’s major draws, namely the update on Richie’s sexuality and the canonizing of a beloved, thirty-year-old ship. We’ve also covered the issues that arose out of those positives. In 2019, is it necessary to show a hate crime in such violent detail? By giving us queer characters, have Muschietti and King unintentionally fallen into the trap of treating them badly? One is dead and the other mourns while the straight couple passionately kiss beneath the lake. Faithful adaptation vs. modern activism is a tricky balance to strike. I could rehash all those arguments here, but why bother? They’ve been articulated better by others already. Besides, falling behind means that I now have the space to discuss something just as important to me.

The Losers’ ages.

Now, I’m not sure if you all have noticed, but fantasy adventures aren’t really geared towards adults. That is to say, stories often contain adult content, but that’s not the same thing as putting adults at the center of the narrative. I’ve experienced a niggling sense of displeasure that’s grown stronger with each passing year and it took until my mid-twenties to figure out what it was: I am no longer the hero of many of my favorite stories. Because I’ve grown up. Harry Potter is concerned primarily with the trials and tribulations of characters between the ages of eleven and eighteen. If we return to that world---such as through a certain cursed play---the focus must shift to the new, shiny generation. Anyone who falls through a wardrobe is bound to be a child and if they dare grow up? They’re no longer allowed access to such a fantastic place. Kids are the ones who find the Hundred Acre Woods, or fall down rabbit holes, get daemons, battle Other Mothers when the world gets flipped, or head off onto all sorts of elementary and high school adventures. Sometimes, even those who are adults mistakenly get caught up in this trend. Frodo might be in his fifties, but as a small, kindly hobbit he comes across as younger than the rest of the Fellowship. Since the release of Jackson’s trilogy I’ve corrected more than one new fan who assumed (somewhat logically) that he is in his early twenties, max. It’s an easy mistake to make when we’ve grown accustomed to children and young adults taking center stage in so many fantastic, high-profile adventures.

Of course, there are plenty of counters to this feeling. Just look at Game of Thrones. Though we see much of the story through younger perspectives---such as the Stark siblings---the vast majority of the cast is made up of adults, playing just as pivotal a role as the up-and-comers. Fantasy, Science Fiction, and other speculative story-lines are by no means solely in the hands of minors, yet I think it’s also worth acknowledging that a good majority of those stories do shape our media landscape. Or, if they’re not strictly minors, they’re characters who embody a sort of static young adulthood, the Winchesters and the Shadowhunters and all the television superheroes who might gesture towards markers of adulthood---we have long term relationships, hold down jobs, can impersonate FBI agents without anyone batting an eye---yet are still able to maintain a nebulous form of youth. They all (try to) look and act as if they’re right out of college. The standards of film and television demand that actors appear twenty-years-old even when they’re pushing forty, and the standards of much literature insists that twenty is simply too old for an adventure, period. I can still clearly recall two moments of shock (later agreed upon by my friends) when I encountered unexpectedly older protagonists in genre fiction: the realization that Sophie actually spends the majority of Howl’s Moving Castle as a very old woman and that The Magicians takes place in graduate school. “Wow,” I remember thinking. “When’s the last time that happened?”

What does all this have to do with It: Chapter Two? I don’t have any big twist for you here. It was just really refreshing to see such a fantastical story where our cast is all forty or older. Seriously, can we take a moment to appreciate exactly how much King undermined expectations there? The first half of the novel is structured precisely how we assume it ‘should’ be. There’s a mysterious threat, there are children caught up in the middle of it, and ultimately only they are capable of saving the day. We know this story. We even have the characterization of the town itself to reinforce this structure, a place so warped by evil that only the very young with their open-mindedness and imagination are capable of seeing Derry for what it truly is, illustrated beautifully in the film by Mr. Marsh straight up not noticing a whole room full of blood.

Though they’re It’s prey, children are also the only ones who have any potential power over him. You have to be able to acknowledge a problem in order to fix it and King could have easily ended his story at the first chapter alone, with the group somehow managing to defeat Pennywise for good the first time they set foot in the sewers. A part of me is still shocked he didn’t, if only because the young savior as an archetype was embedded within Western culture far earlier than It’s 1986 publication. From Carrie to The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, Pet Sematary to Firestarter, King is no stranger to putting children at the center of fantastic tales. Yet he’s also given us numerous adult protagonists, managing to find an enjoyable balance between the two, both within individual novels and his entire corpus. It represents that balance, not just imagining a story where seven (yes, I’m counting Stan) middle-age adults manage to finally save their town, but actually setting up a twenty-seven year jump to allow for that. It's the best of both worlds, exploring the difficulties inherent in both childhood and adulthood, arguing that we need each---that imagination and that experience---if we hope to come out alive.

While watching It: Chapter Two I took note of how many people laughed throughout the film, and not just at the moments set up to be funny (looking at you, Richie). Rather, the film that two years ago had scared the pants off of movie-goers now entertained them in a much more relaxed manner. No one was hiding behind their popcorn; there were no shrieks of fright. I’ve seen more than one reviewer express displeasure at this change. What the hell happened? Isn’t an It film supposed to be scary? Well, yes and no. I think what a lot of people miss is how providing us with an adult cast inherently changes the way fear manifests, both literally in the case of Pennywise’s illusions and thematically in regards to the film itself. This sloppy bitch, as established, preys on children. His tricks have the illogical, fantastical veneer that reflect how children see the world: you’re scared of women with horrifically elongated faces, zombie-like lepers, and hungry mummies. They’re literal monsters emerging out from under the bed. Of course, as adults watching the story we’re easily able to see how these monsters represent much deeper, intangible fears: growing up and disappointing your father, falling ill like your mother always claims you will (to say nothing of contracting AIDS in connection with a budding queer identity), and the danger that comes with being alone and ostracized. Sometimes It: Chapter One gestures more firmly towards those underlying fears---such as the burnt hands reaching for Mike when we know his family died in a fire---but only once does it make the real horror overt, when Pennywise takes Mr. Marsh’s face and asks Bev if she's still his little girl.

Outside of pedophilia and sexual abuse, Chapter One’s real horror is mostly coded, symbolic, left up to (admittedly rather obvious at times) interpretation. It’s just under the surface and we’re meant to be distracted by the fact that, allegorical or not, there’s still a very creepy thing hunting our protagonists from the shadows. For two hours we take on a child’s perspective, biting our nails at all the things we once imagined hid inside our closets. We’re scared because they’re scared.

That mindset irrevocably changes once your group grows up. Forty-year-olds simply don’t freak out in the same way a bunch of thirteen-year-olds would, especially now that they know precisely what’s happening and have the mental fortitude to combat it. At least to an extent. Chapter Two isn’t as traditionally scary for the simple reason that the film now acknowledges what all adults eventually must: there’s nothing in the closet, there’s nothing hiding under your bed. Or if there is, it’s something tangible that can be handled with a calm(ish) demeanor and a well-placed ax. An adult might scream when something jumps out at them, but they’re not as inclined to cower. Adults might still be scared, but they’re better able to push that fear aside in order to take action. The group first reached that point in the sewers--- “Welcome to the Losers’ club, asshole!”---and now fully embodies that mindset with nearly three decades of growth and experience to draw on. This is why Ben investigating the library as a teen reads as teeth-chatteringly scary, but Ben and Bill as adults investigating the skateboard produces only a comment about how they're getting used to this nonsense. They know, and we as the audience know, what the real threat is and whether or not we need to shield our eyes when something starts clunking its way down the stairs.

All of which isn’t to say that Chapter Two isn’t scary. It’s simply scary in a much more realistic manner, killer clowns and Native American rituals aside. The fears have been aged-up along with the cast, stripping away the child-like fantasies that made us wet our pants in Chapter One. What’s the scariest moment outside of the jump scares? When two men and a kid beat a gay man and then chuck him in the river to drown. You’ll note that, unlike in the first film, Pennywise doesn’t actually have to do much work here. Seasoning people up with fear? The rest of the world is doing that for him. That first scene detailing a truly horrific hate crime (which, by the way, is based off of true events) results in a meal delivered straight to Pennywise’s arms. It’s people who targeted that couple, beat one of them within an inch of his life, and then tossed him over a bridge, bleeding and shrieking for help. All Pennywise had to do was scoop him from the water and take that first bite. He’s incidental to the film’s most cringe-worthy scene. We can argue all we want about how it’s Pennywise’s influence that “makes” the town this way, but any queer viewer knows that's simply not the case. In 2019 we're still living this horror, no Pennywise required.

Likewise, the two children we see murdered are much more overtly grappling with fears that have nothing to do with fantastical monsters. Dean, the little boy Bill tries to save in lieu of Georgie, is rightly petrified because a seemingly crazy adult is now stalking him. We as the audience know that Bill is just trying to help----that he’s not the real danger here----but that’s not the perspective this kid has, nor is it the issue the film is grappling with. We first see him approaching an idol of his, Richie, and instead of an enjoyable experience he winds up getting yelled at. The It films are only tangentially interested in the status of fans and their relationship with celebrities, but we know it’s a common theme for King’s work overall. Look at Misery and look at this cameo: a disenchanted fan of the 21st century, criticizing a writer’s novel and leveraging him for money. “You can afford it,” he tells Bill, swindling him simply because he can. The context of this little boy as a fan and Richie as the older, bigger, larger-than-life comedian adds another layer to the interaction. It’s not just an adult verbally attacking a child, it’s an adult this kid worshiped enough to recognize and quote his material from memory. Who easily walks away from that?

This little boy then finds Bill shrieking at a sewer opening, is manhandled by him, and told in the scariest way possible, born of Bill’s own fear, that he has to get out of dodge, fast. There are scary things out there, Dean freely admits that he’s heard kids’ voices coming from the tub drain, but right now the scariest thing is how badly the adults in his life are failing him: parents (from what little we can gather) are distant, his comedic idol is mean, and now this stranger is traumatizing him in the middle of the street. Once again, it’s easy to see how Pennywise isn’t needed to sow fear or even enact cruelty; he’s not a requirement for horrible things in the world, he’s merely their reflection. We see the same setup with the little girl under the bleachers. That scene demonstrates precisely how not scary Pennywise is. Here’s this child putting aside her discomfort over his looks and agreeing to be his friend. What’s worse than a clown with a creepy expression? The knowledge that all the other kids have already rejected you because of a birthmark on your face. Bullying is the far greater threat and one we’re 100% more likely to deal with in our lives than a killer clown, so the second film re-frames Pennywise to better acknowledge this. He’s scary because things like bullying and neglect exist to give him an easy in. He’s even scary because in this moment, hiding under the bleachers, manipulating this little girl, he’s fully embodying a child predator. Chapter One was a primal, “There’s a monster hiding in the shadows” kind of fear. Chapter Two is a, “We’re all going to die from climate change” kind of fear. Logical and largely inescapable. Characters like Richie don't need Pennywise to take some fantastic form to scare him. Homophobia has already done all the work.

Ultimately, I think of this as the Umbridge Effect. Who’s the most hated character in the Harry Potter franchise? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not the Dark Lord responsible for two wars, attempted genocide, and the death of our title character.

We despise Umbridge because she’s real. She’s relatable. She’s grounded in a way that Voldemort could never hope to be. We have no fear that an all-powerful sorcerer is suddenly going to come out of the woodwork and attempt to enslave and/or eradicate everyone without magic. That’s just not on our list of things to worry about. A corrupt politician, however? An instructor who uses her power to emotionally and physically torture students, getting away with it because of a cutesy, hyper-feminine persona? We’ve seen stuff like that. We’ve lived it. Umbridge represents all the real wrongs in the world when it comes to bigotry and privilege. Therefore we hate her---we fear her---in a way we could never hate or fear Voldemort. Now, in It: Chapter Two, Pennywise is the new Voldemort. Is an alien clown with an unhinged jaw and three rows of teeth technically scary? Sure, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the real problems that plague the cast: abuse, anxiety, depression, suicidal ideation, the fear that someone will hurt or outright kill you over some part of your identity. These are things we continue to fear long after the credits roll and the lights come up, and they’re now barely coded in the story:

It occurred to me halfway through my viewing that the people laughing at the characters’ new plights were the same ones who didn’t flinch when a gay man’s head cracked into the pavement. I had both hands over my mouth during that scene and I wasn’t snickering whenever Eddie had a panic attack, or Ben’s self-confidence took a hit. Because those moments, like our opening, hit pretty close to home for me; I didn’t find them embarrassingly humorous in the way much of my theater did. So many reviews in the last two months have insisted that Chapter Two isn't scary, but I think that depends entirely on whether or not you're struggling with these now explicit threats. We're not dealing with mummies and creepy portraits anymore. Instead, tell me how you feel about holding your partner's hand in public. Do certain memories make you vomit? Or freeze? Consider heading upstairs to the bath? The horror is dependent on how the audience views Bill's stutter coming back, or the bruises on Bev's arms. 

The cast grew up. It’s a fantastic twist. It also means that the horror needed to grow up with them, resulting in a film that could no longer function as a simple, scary clown movie. Our ending reminds us of that. When did people laugh the loudest? When the Losers’ club was bullying Pennywise into something vulnerable. And yeah, I get it. It’s a cheesy moment that we feel the need to laugh at because it’s just so unexpected. Awkward, even. Since when are badass horror monsters defeated with a bit of backyard peer pressure straight out of middle school? If this were any other story, Pennywise would have been defeated by Eddie’s poker. The most scared member of the group finally finds his courage! He has faith that this simple object can kill monsters! He throws it in a perfect arc, splitting the deadlights in two! That’s a heroic ending. Something epic and fantastical, relying on the idea that the Good Guys will win simply because they believe in themselves... but that’s not how the real world works. That ending is a child’s fantasy. Sometimes you do the heroic thing and end up dying anyway. Which isn’t to say that the heroic thing is useless. It saves Richie’s life. It’s just that a single act can’t cure all our ills in the way that storybooks often claim they can. 

How then does an adult deal with huge, intangible problems like bigotry and mental illness---the things Pennywise now fully represents? By saying “Fuck you” to those things again and again with all the support you can possibly wrangle up at your side. You refuse to let those issues control you; you drag those child-like representations into the light and remind yourself just how small they really are. We don’t get to beat something like depression by spearing it with a fire poker in some overblown finale. If we did, we’d all be having a much better time. All you can do is band together with friends and scream that you’re not going to let your fears define you anymore. Pennywise is a symptom of all the true horrors in the world. Sadly, you can’t beat those with a baseball bat. But you can acknowledge the heart of the issue, literally in the case of five friends squeezing until that one symptom, at least, is gone.

Image Credit

#1:https://www.screengeek.net/2018/07/10/it-chapter-2-character-mashups/

#2:https://earlybirdbooks.com/the-re-read-the-lion-the-witch-and-the-wardrobe

#3:https://www.vox.com/culture/2019/7/4/19413771/stranger-things-season-3-review-recap-hopper-elevenrussians

#4:https://comicbook.com/movies/2019/08/08/harry-potter-movies-review-10-years-late-snape-dumbledore-franchise/

#5:https://www.denofgeek.com/us/tv/netflix/277257/give-the-dragon-prince-a-chance

#6:https://www.forbes.com/sites/lindamaleh/2019/04/23/she-ra-and-the-princesses-of-power-season-2-review/#ec7022c42953

#7:https://www.commonsensemedia.org/tv-reviews/avatar-the-last-airbender

#8:https://www.newsweek.com/buffy-vampire-slayer-turns-20-charisma-carpenter-shows-enduring-legacy-and-566123

#9:http://theinspirationroom.com/daily/2009/alice-in-wonderland-the-movie/

#10:https://www.hindustantimes.com/tv/game-of-thrones-this-edited-out-scene-between-bran-and-sansa-reveals-so-much-about-finale/story-qFDHflH2dO6Kcki1wgsEyM.html

#11:https://www.cinemablend.com/new/Why-Ender-Game-Best-Possible-Adaptation-Book-40110.html

#12:https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/supernatural-end-season-15-cw-1196579

#13:https://www.slashfilm.com/it-chapter-two-scene/

#14:https://www.vox.com/culture/2017/9/12/16286316/it-cleaning-up-blood-scene-feminism

#15:http://www.allocine.fr/film/fichefilm-208633/photos/detail/?cmediafile=21647122

#16:https://stanleyyuris.tumblr.com/post/188300897715/chaotic-losers

#17:https://whatculture.com/film/it-chapter-2-every-character-ranked-worst-to-best?page=3

#18:https://www.reddit.com/r/harrypotter/comments/7uhrkz/the_most_hated_character/

#19:https://9gag.com/gag/am2X2Z4?ref=pn.mw

#20:https://screenrant.com/harry-potter-hated-characters-unpopular-worst-ranked/quickview/17

GIFs1-5:https://the-pretty-poisons.tumblr.com/post/188344826978/why-is-everyone-looking-at-me-\like-this

[lemonlinelights]

Marvel Fanfiction

Title: Control

Be found on: Here, https://my.w.tt/pPGjBE2br9

and maybe Ao3 when I can figure out how to use it

Summary: It’s an Endgame fix it fic y’all

Pepper Potts often feels that she can't handle the world.

Such as at this moment.

"What do you mean he's not in the lab?!"

Pepper paced the hallway she was in frustratingly. On the other side of the phone was Bruce Banner. One of the very few responsible people around. So of course she thought that she could trust him to get Tony Stark (her child of a fiancé) to the meeting on time. She was oh so dreadfully wrong.

On the other side of the phone Bruce tried to redeem himself " I don't know Pepper! One moment they're babbling about The Flash and the next thing I know,poof! They're gone!"

Pepper paused suddenly. Her hand felt shaky as she asked a question that was hard to get out.

"What do you mean by they." The tone of Peppers voice caused Bruce to audibly gulp over the phone. But despite his fears he answered her.

"The kid."

~——years ———later——~

"Hey Peter could you pass the wrench." Peters hand automatically grabbed the wrench and passed it to Tony without thinking.

"Kid,I need the wrench." Tony pressed. Confused Peter looked up from his project allowing his grease smeared face to be seen.

"But I just-" his explanation was cut short at the sound of repressed giggles. Peter sighed dramatically and slumped forward.

"Oh what will I ever do without the wrench my dear Father needs?" At Peters over the top posh accent the laughter became louder. Tony at this point had caught on and joined in on the charade.

"This wrench is indeed the final piece to my abomination!" Tony yelled maniacally.

"Daddy,a new arm isn't an a-Bom-in-nation!" a child teased. Soon enough a bump could be heard from underneath the work bench as the little girl emerged.

"Awe honey that's sweet of you but since this one is going to be all red N gold your Mom will certainly say it is one." Tony explained.

"Your Dad is perfectly right dear it will be an absolute atrocity." A new voice piped up from nearby.

"Hey Mom." Peter greeted as he spun around to face her. Pepper walked over to ruffle Peters hair and ended up with greasy hands. All well,she's used to it at this point.

"So what's so important that you had to send in the Dæmon Pep?" Tony questioned while he scooped Morgan right into his lap and started to tickle her.

   "Daddy stop!" She screamed. At this Tony put his hands up in mock surrender as if he was the victim.                                                                 

     Pepper rolled her eyes at his shenanigans but couldn't help it when her eyes lingered on his prosthetic hand that glinted in the workshops lights.

"Well.." Pepper started getting herself back on track "I have a surprise trip for all of you!"

"Ice cream?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Better than ice cream." Pepper told him. Peters eyes widened at this. What could be better than ice cream?!

"It's officially been a year since everyone came back so...." She trailed off making Morgan wiggle in anticipation. "Disney World is back open and you bet Tony's arm we're going!"

Morgan's screaming was enough to make Peter cover his ears. The smile never left his face though. Peter has never been able to go to fancy parks before. He's always had to stay home to help his Aunt May out. It's not like they had enough money to go anyways. "But now" Peter thinks "I have enough money to be able get a spaceship!" As Peter actually started to realize how wealthy he is Tony could be heard protesting about betting on his arm.

—————-—————-~

The next morning the little family was packing their luggage to head on over to the airport. Even in retirement Tony refused to go second class so he of course kept his private jet which is what they would be using.

A while later after taking off Pepper took note of how they had about twenty minutes before landing and decided now was the best time to do it. After gently shaking Peter awake she stood up in front of everyone as poised as she would be if she were at a meeting. A package of some sort was tucked under her armpit.

"So as you all know Air ports and Florida in general are very crowded-"

"Yeah,yeah" Tony interrupted her "stick together,do the buddy systems and all that wonderful stuff." He opened his soda and started to pour it into another cup as if saying that's that.

"Actually I had a better idea." The package crinkling as Pepper opened it was painfully loud in the quiet jet.

"What is it Mommy?" Morgan asked. She leaned over the edge of her seat hoping for a better look.

"Good thing you asked Mo because it's a gift for you!" Morgan gasped in excitement and sure enough Pepper pulled out a backpack. Morgan squealed in happiness at seeing it. The bag had the Spider Man symbol and it's classic red and blue accents all over it. Hopping out of her booster seat she slipped it on and snapped the front clips together.

"You look awesome Mo!" Peter complimented her. Peter thought what his Mom was doing to be pretty clever. The bag had a leash attached to it which was also red. Meaning the bag was really a way so that they wouldn't lose her. All the while making her think that it's a gift.

"Glad you think that Peter." Pepper said as her hand disappeared into the packaging again.

"Cause I got one for you too." His face must have been painfully obvious because he could hear Tony break down into laughter beside him.

The bag Peter got was also spider themed causing Morgan to shout in excitement "We're twinsies Peter!"

The backpacks were indeed exactly alike minus the sizes. His also including the leash and harness. He wanted to complain,really he did but Morgan's excitement was darn too pure to ruin. So instead he gave his best smile and tried to fight his embarrassed blush.

"We sure are Mo." He decided to say.

"What no Iron Man ones?" Tony joked before sipping his soda.

"Actually.." Pepper then proceeded to pull out an adult sized Iron man backpack. Including the leash and harness. Tony gagged on his drink,spitting it back into the cup. Morgan's sounds of disgust could be heard over his sputtering.

"What have I done to deserve this Pepper?!" Tony asked in shock. He held his cup to his chest defensively.

"That board meeting you missed to instead cause havoc on the lower floors with Peter." Pepper said cheerfully.

"Pep..." Tony's voice quiet in disbelief "that was over five years ago."

"I did say I would get my revenge on the two of you someday."

She clapped her hands together.

"And that day happens to be today also including the duration of our stay here!"

—————-——-~

An hour later Pepper Stark was holding onto the leash's of her astonished children. Peters eyes lit up at the sight of the Cinderella Castle. Morgan was instantly drawn to the shops filled with her Disney Princess idols merchandise. But they remained in her eye sight thanks to her ingenious plan.

"Oh come on Happy!" She could hear her husband whine."You don't need to hold onto the leash the whole time, I am not a dog!"

"That's debatable sir." Happy replied.

Pepper stood there soaking in the moment.Years of loss,sorrow and pain finally leading up to this. The this being her family.

Pepper Stark just needed to remind the world that it was in-fact the one who couldn't handle her.

  Now all she has to do was further sucker punch the universe by giving Harley his backpack too.

[hearthfeuillemort]

The Twelve Nights of Yule! - Children’s Night

Blessed Yuletide! Today I continue on with the seventh post in twelve-post series on how I plan to observe all twelve days of Yule for the first time! During my research on how to celebrate each of the twelve days I, unfortunately, didn’t find too much information. Much of the information about how the Viking Age people of Northern Europe - from which most of our winter holiday customs originated - was lost to the ages and many pagans and heathens alike are left piecing together our practices from what little remains.  It’s my hope that my posts will assist others who wish to try to observe all twelve days, but remember: not all of us can do this for whatever reason, and that’s absolutely fine! 

The seventh night of the Yule festival is sacred to the Old Norse god Thor and his wife, Sif.  Thor was, among other things, a protector of children and this night was dedicated to celebrating the youths in Old Norse culture and the bright future they represented for the people and their traditions.  Therefore, though it appears that the traditional name of the night has also been lost, I’m choosing to refer to this night as Children’s Night. The observation of this night of Yule was assimilated into early Christian culture and is probably the origin of the Catholic observance of Childermas or the Feast of the Holy Innocents.

Most of us are already familiar with the famous Norse god of thunder, Thor, who has captured the modern imagination perhaps even more than that of our ancient Heathen forebears, of whom Thor was also a particular favorite! During the cold, dark winter nights these ancient people looked to Thor for protection, believing he was the only one brave and strong enough to face down the goddess Hel, who presided over death and the dead. The Yule Goat is an ancient pagan symbol representing Thor (possibly referencing the two goats which pulled his chariot, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, who the god could famously slaughter, eat, and then revive with a blow from his magical hammer, Mjölnir) that remains today as a Christmas symbol in much of modern Scandinavia as the julbock. It was the tradition of the Viking Age people on this day to slaughter a goat for the evening meal in Thor’s honor. Today in Iceland and much of Scandinavia, it is the Yule Goat who delivers the presents for the children - not Saint Nicholas - and reveling carolers dress as goats when they go door-to-door.

Sif, Thor’s beloved wife, is unfortunately not as popular in modern society, but she was particularly venerated on this night in ancient times as well. Sif was the goddess of grains and of the fields, and her famous long, golden hair was thought to represent sheaves of golden wheat. From the grain, Viking Age people were able to make all the bread and beer that would help them survive the long nights of winter. Offerings were made to Sif for bountiful harvests, and the last sheaf of wheat harvested before Vetrnætr (Winter Nights, or what we acknowledge today as Halloween or Samhain) was offered to Sif and Thor.

Together, both Thor and Sif were generally regarded as the divine protectors of children, and therefore the future of the people. If veneration of deities is a part of your spiritual practice, make offerings to Thor and Sif - or to whichever deity or deities you have the closest relationship to who presides over the welfare of children. If this is not part of your spiritual practice, ask yourself what you can do to celebrate the children in your life. Pray for the children in your life, and swear oaths of protection for them.

Traditionally, in modern society, we’ve come to strongly associate the Christmas holiday with being especially about and for children: the myth of Santa Claus or Father Christmas was invented for adults to inspire wonder in their children and observe their reactions on Christmas day.  The myth of Krampus - which has enjoyed a resurgence in the last few years - was invented to make sure that our kids behave themselves during the season of goodwill and sharing (things kids aren’t always the best at). Children are the most likely reason we observe the tradition of wrapping gifts: to keep them secret and see the surprise on our kids’ faces. But how does someone like me - who doesn’t have kids, and doesn’t want any - observe Children’s Night?

I feel like this may be a good time to talk a little about what it’s like for me to be a pagan woman who has chosen not to have kids. This is one of the things (the other is being vegan) that I personally come into conflict with a lot in the course of researching and learning more about what pagans believe and how they traditionally have practiced their faith. Granted, my female pagan and heathen ancestors didn’t have as much choice about whether or not they would have kids as I have the privilege to enjoy; but given the choice, they very well might have still chosen to marry and have children as it was such a strong part of not only their spiritual beliefs but also their societal structure and identity as women. The ability to create life was often seen not only as a gift from deities, but it was a known expectation. Without children, there was no future: but looking at things purely practically, children were needed to help tend property, care for livestock, and work the fields as well as carry on the family name.  This ability to have children is at the center of goddess worship and Wicca beliefs, and it follows that this ability is at the center of what it meant to be a Viking Age heathen woman as well. Having children - or the ability to have them - is considered an essential part of a pagan woman’s spirituality, one that brings her closer to the natural cycles of our planet and Nature’s creative energy.

So, having chosen not to have kids of my own, how does someone like me even observe Children’s Night?  Maybe I could focus on the things that children represent for society: the future, hope, a continuation of the customs and traditions of our ancestors, the continued stewardship of the lands and waters, humanity’s continued relationship with the world.  Children also represent humanity’s wildness, our truly untamed nature before we’re domesticated into our society. They represent wonder, magic, innocence, and curiosity.  Children also represent our personal voyages through life and beyond: after all, we bring children up by sharing our knowledge, hopes, dreams, motivations, ethics, morals, and even prejudices with them. We give our children all of what we are, and in return, they carry us with them all their lives and make us a part of who they are. They are the ones who will keep our memory when our spirits have flown from this world.

Considering the current state of our world, these concepts are more important than ever. For me, tonight may be a good night for reflection, meditation, and prayer for the future of both humanity and our precious planet. It may also be a good time for me to get in touch with my own inner child - my own sense of hope and wonder - and perhaps focus on activities that I loved as a kid.

For those of us that do have kids in our lives though, this night should be pretty easy to observe. Make offerings to Thor and Sif (or whichever protective deities you have the closest relationship with) and ask for their divine protection for the children in your life; but if you don’t make veneration of deity a part of your spiritual practice, that’s perfectly okay. Focus on activities tonight that involve the kids, and maybe even get them to lead the evening’s rituals and festivities. Maybe this could be a great time to gather the family around and talk about your family’s history, and what your kids want their future to look like.

Of course, I’m always interested in how you and your family celebrate Yule, and what brilliant ideas popped into your mind when you asked yourself how you would honor Children’s Night in your practice.  Please feel free to send me an Ask (or just comment on this post) if you want to share!

Glad yuletide, and hail!

[masshirohebi-moved]

% little Oro and their dad Izuna pls TVT

lazy roleplayer symbol meme// @izunaismsThe day had started off with a buzz of excitement, the nine year olds steps quickened by impatience. It was rare to go on an assignment with their father, given the caliber Izuna was, and the rank of his allocated missions. This time however, despite the level of importance, the child could accompany him. To a land just outside the borders of Fire Country, to a clan known for its rather primitive traditions but resource rich plains. It is here that their father will have to form an alliance with the clan, between Uchiha and Taketori, to aid Konoha’s growth.But the Taketori are stubborn, and instead of finding common ground with Konoha’s leaders, they elected for a settlement to be made through trial by combat. Where champions were picked from either side, where the agreement would be made by the winner. A ceremony to take place to later announce the superior shinobi, and the new terms to the alliance. It didn’t surprise the serpentine child when their father was the man called upon - no, seeing the weight of the villages affairs rest easily on their fathers shoulders made all too much sense to them. Who better a candidate, than the man they deem superior to every other shinobi across the countries.And there is only one catch to the battle - the limitation on Kekkei Genkai. A shrewd rule that seemed to pop up the moment the name Uchiha was muttered. That the sharingan was entirely off limits within the arena seemed to shake Izuna’s confidence as little as it did the elders that sent him in.

Orochimaru burdens their father with questions the entire way inside the new village, hopeful queries of ‘can I watch?’ and ‘will you be able to see me in the crowd?’ falling from their lips as they follow his lead to their waiting area. Children after all, were to be kept safely together when combat erupted in the arena. They let go of his hand only when it is time, eyes blinking closed when a kiss on the forehead signals his goodbye. For a meeting was to be had before the assigned champions took to arms.But while Izuna seems to do a fine job of keeping emotions void of his conversations with the Taketori, the young viper seems to have more trouble. Namely, their patience withers away when the Taketori boy waiting with them boasts about his uncles certain victory.“Uchiha aren’t anything without that eye power of theirs. Kaasan says that Izuna guy isn’t ganna last the first ten minutes,” the boy says, and although his eyes clearly goad for a challenge, the serpent takes the bait the moment their fathers name is mentioned unfavorably. Their clans name attacked all the same. Golden eyes are usually a touch reserved, their voice soft spoken, yet as of now there is a certain fierceness to yellow irises, a hiss to their tone.“It’s Izuna-sama to you, and he could win blindfolded,” they mutter back, the first mistake to be made having entertained the conversation. A few minutes more of the two genins bickering, and a small spat has broken out in the waiting area. Where nearby adults move to apprehend the young shinobi, forced to move them both to a makeshift detention area. So that parents could be reached out to, the disruptive duo missing the battle that was taking place. The boy smirks lightly, haughty laughter catching in his throat.“Guess you don’t have to worry about getting in trouble huh? Your dad won’t be able to get upset if he’s in the hospital,” he jeers, and it is by the graces of the Jounin watching the two that the serpent resists the urge to fight once more. The more the boy pesters them with his taunts however, the more resolute Orochimaru becomes when thinking of their fathers strength. How they remind themself of all the times they had been saved by his quick reflexes or observant wisdom.They recall the winter evening that they had scampered out their bedroom in a summery kimono. Overjoyed to be wearing the violet garment and too stubborn to change when Izuna had advised it. They recall only a half an hour later, when father and child were outside in the elements, how Izuna had shed his own cloak and draped the overly large fabrics around their little frame. He must have been frozen after such a sacrifice, but they don’t recollect ever seeing a flash of discomfort across his well masked face. Only the lightest of smiles as he reassures his apologetic young one.They recall fussing about various novels within the house one afternoon, how their father had spotted the childs choices and requested they not read certain books until they were older. How they had read a few anyway, when curiosity won out and their young mind could not rest without indulging the literature meant for those with a less wild imagination. And with the scrape of trees against a window, and the crack of the floorboards under foot, the child had worked themself up in to being rather scared. Too young to possess an ability to sift through fact and fiction. But they recall feeling far safer when he hears their restlessness, when his presence entering the room seems to banish phantom and demon alike. Enough for him to put them to an easy sleep with enough hushed reassurances.And they certainly recall the day their father had warned them to not train indoors, about being watchful of the staircase, the kitchen counters, the glass shelves. Anything sharp and causing a hazard for the rushing childs antics. But when they failed to listen once more, and they practiced with their wooden sword inside the abode, they did find themself happening upon the top of the staircase, with eyes facing away from the drop. The floor had left their feet, that they were aware of, but a small body never did make impact with the ground. Instead, a rather comfortable hold had ensnared their figure. And despite the bokken half smacking their father in the face for his efforts of catching them mid-fall, his expression had seemed far more relieved than angered. So although the boy tries his best to work them up, to shake their confidence, to instill doubts… for every taunt he hands them, a memory of the man never failing them comes to mind instead. A resounding click of the door, and the Jounin getting to his feet, alerts the two children that someone is coming. One of their parents, a look of guilt and apprehension finally resting on the boys face. But it is not his mother or father to arrive, but the young vipers.And perhaps they should have been like the boy beside them, a little worried to be caught by their father after having caused such a stir. However nothing but pride lights up their gaze, a toss of their hair as they hop off the seat, a glimpse of the serpentine child sticking their tongue out at the boy defiantly as they race to their fathers side. For whatever disappointment they may or may not have caused with their father was overshadowed by the Uchiha’s arrival.For not only was he unscathed, with only dust upon his garments show casing that he had fought a battle, but he was back early from the anticipated fight time. And although it isn’t necessary to announce their fathers victory to the other genin, they can’t help a playfully sly gaze finding its way back to him.“It’s ‘sama’, you should get that right before the ceremony.”

[hamliet]

Three Queens: Dany, Sansa, & Cersei

The moment three of your top four characters are pitted against each other in a fandom war or a canon war. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sansa’s been my favorite since season 1, and then we have Jon, Dany, and Cersei. Dany’s arc is pretty much exactly hitting the same beats as Jon’s arc, but in a yin/yang type way so that they are likely intended to meet in the middle. But I’ve talked about Jonerys before and now I want to discuss Sansa and Dany’s foiling, as well as Cersei’s and Dany’s, and what it may mean for Dany’s endgame in particular (Sansa will be fine, Cersei will die, that seems pretty narratively certain to me).

Sansa and Dany are both raised with stories and dreams: Sansa for love and being a queen, Dany for being a queen in another sense. She and Viserys were on the run her entire childhood from assassins, facing the scorn from people who would have loved them a few years ago (which is exactly where Sansa’s arc will take her after her father is executed). The same person is involved in both of these: Jaime Lannister, as the show showed us in the confrontation in episode 2.

Sansa always wanted marriage to a handsome man; however, when she’s granted a betrothal and then a marriage, it turns into hell--but through that hell, she learns to be a good ruler. Everyone comments on how well respected Lady Sansa is--wise and brave. She’s foiled with Tyrion in this aspect, in that she’s called the “smartest person I ever met” by Arya, and she tells her former husband in name, Tyrion, in the same episode, “you used to be the cleverest person I ever met.” Tyrion used to be a good hand of the king; now, he’s making pretty poor judgment advising Dany because he’s facing the same issue as Dany: power or love, but more on that another time.

But Sansa has made her choices. She chose her dream (not power, but a romantic fantasy) in the first season and went to Cersei after Ned told her they would be leaving, thereby leading to her father getting caught. Now she’s chosen her family and has come into her own. She has grown up, in other words, and she didn’t grow up when she married Ramsay Bolton or escaped, but when she decided to write that letter to the Knights of the Vale, when she stood up for herself, when she decided to do what she could for the good of her family (Jon & co) instead of just what she wanted (to kick Littlefinger to the curb).

Sansa is an adult right now, having crossed that hurdle of coming of age in the story. Dany (and Jon and Arya) are still trying to find out what growing up means for them, despite Dany (and Jon) being technically older than Sansa.  

For Dany, as she says, Viserys always told her about a throne, and she’s been fixated on that through all she’s been through each and every season. Therefore it’s worth asking whether this was what Dany wanted, or whether it’s a coping mechanism to cope with exactly what she tells Jon she’s been through in season 7: 

I have been sold like a broodmare. I’ve been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods, not in myths and legends, in myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.

It’s easier to survive these horrors if you keep a dream waiting for you, irl and in the show. Dany hoping for a future in which she has everything that was stripped from her before her birth is completely understandable and normal. But, it’s not much different than Sansa’s romantic fantasies: it’s a child’s dream.

The story is asking Dany if she wants to grow up, if what she wants is the love that made her happy, or the power fantasies her brother imbued her with when he couldn’t even handle it himself. I’ve talked about the dead literally rising and coming for them all and it’s symbolism before, and it’s asking Dany if she wants to be controlled by the dreams and wheels of the dead, or if she wants to make her own life. Because Dany’s caught between the desire to rule--control--and the desire to set people free (freeing slaves). Does she want to continue the Targaryen dynasty, or does she want to break the wheel, because she can’t do both. Is she making her own fate, or does her blood control her fate? She doesn’t want to be a cruel man like her father, as she tells Yara in season 6, but if she rules, then she has to take responsibility for the good and the bad in the Targaryen dynasty. Which she tried to do in regards to Rhaegar last episode, but... well.

The show is setting up a choice for Dany, as Sam outlined in the first episode to Jon: the throne, or Jon (love). Her dream has just been rocked; her faith in herself, her belief that there was a greater destiny guiding her because of her bloodline. Because it wasn’t even true. She is not the rightful heir to the throne; Jon is. But Jon doesn’t even want the throne, though he would probably support her if she is pregnant and won the throne, so the issue with the reveal, for Dany, is not that Jon is now a rival: it’s that everything she fought for and believed in is not true.

Not only that, but she’s seen that the North desperately wants its freedom after being horribly treated by the Lannisters, the Starks abused and murdered cruelly. Dany, who has always supported freedom for people, is going to have to ask herself what that means for a kingdom.

And it’s telling Dany was there for Sansa and Theon’s reunion. Like with Dany and Jorah, Sansa forgave Theon a terrible crime. Dany listens to Jorah now as her unofficial advisor, but I’ll be shocked if Jorah survives the battle next episode (’I’ll see you later’ is basically fiction’s most obvious death flag) and find it likely she’s going to lose that too. After Jorah, the only one she really has is Jon (she and Tyrion don’t seem close on a personal level), and her dragons (for now...) 

Like with Sansa, Dany’s entire life has been losing people she loves. Is the throne really worth it, if it means giving up the one person who matters most to her, who chose her not because of her crown but knelt to her crown because he loves her? With her faith in herself likely rocked and with the death flags for Jorah, she can either sink into grasping the throne at the cost of Jon, or she can grasp Jon and they can try to figure out how to swim together--without a throne weighing them down.

The reason I don’t see the Mad Queen option as likely is for a few reasons, but let’s discuss one: we already have a mad queen. Two would be... a bit much.

Cersei in the books and in the show perpetually fears being usurped by a younger, more beautiful queen. She at first thinks it’s Sansa, and then Margery, and now I’d say it’s clearly Daenerys. As such, Cersei has always been positioned as a foil not just for Sansa, but for Dany. She’s what Dany could become, if she chooses the throne and power over her loved ones. Because Cersei has always done precisely that. She couldn’t conceive of a life without power, and when Ned literally gave her the chance to escape with her life and her children, she refused, because she wanted power too.

Cersei’s desire for power really comes down to a matter of control; we even see it in how she loves her children. As Tyrion said, that’s her one redeeming quality, and yet, she desperately tries to maintain her power over her children.

Its root is, like Sansa and like Dany, Cersei had no choices growing up. As she tells Sansa during the Battle of Blackwater, she was raised to be sold to the highest bidder for her father’s power, whereas Jaime was given a sword.

When we were young, Jaime and I, we looked so much alike even our father couldn’t tell us apart. l could never understand why they treated us differently. Jaime was taught to fight with sword and lance and mace, and l was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock, and l was sold to some stranger like a horse to be ridden whenever he desired

Because she has no control, now she compensates by being smothering. The conflict with Margery never had to happen but for the fact that Cersei hated that she would not be in control of her son’s choices anymore, and she’d given up on Tommen before he killed himself after she killed the woman he loved.

Cersei lost three children. Dany has three “children” in her dragons; honestly I’d be surprised if she doesn’t lose all of them by the end/if they aren’t the cost for love. Because Dany lost one of her children--Viserion--already not out of trying to keep dragons small and chained up (though she made that mistake at the same time Cersei did, but for far less petty reasons) --but by using them to do what dragons do: fly, and save the man she loves. As Tyrion warned her, going to save Jon north of the wall was a foolish decision especially if she wants the throne; Dany went anyways because when push comes to shove, she chooses love over power. There’s a pattern of just this in Dany’s arc whereas there is not in Cersei’s; I have no reason to think it would change.

For Dany and Jon... Jon clung to his principles and lost Ygritte last time, and Dany recently echoed Ygritte’s line about just staying out there forever, away from everyone. If they want to break the cycles that the wheel of power establishes in Westeros, and the cycles in their own lives, they need to choose to ditch that throne. That’s the ending I’m seeing built up for her now, especially given the foreshadowing about a human child between her and Jon last season, but we shall see.