#contrary to popular belief i CAN return from the war
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The problem with Zvtara: Katara through the lens of Zuko
In this last part, we debunked the claims that a lot of the symbolism and imagery in the show represented Zvtara, when they very clearly paralleled Kataang. The next part of this meta addresses claims that Zuko and Katara knew each other and cared for each other more than their canonical partners, and I couldn’t wait to get into this. You see, on a surface level and with very cherry picked scenes, anyone can try and make that case. And I’m not going to deny the significance of their eventual beautiful friendship. However let’s analyze how much Zuko and Katara really understood each other, and if they really cared for one another or made a better fit for each other more than Mai or Aang. I’ll be referencing common Anti-Maiko/Anti-Kataang arguments here.
During the Crossroads of Destiny episode, we witness something remarkable. Two people, torn apart by a war, brought together by circumstance. And Katara does something even more amazing, for the first time she sees Zuko not as an enemy, but as a boy whose circumstances have taken a great toll on him too. He’s not just the face of the enemy. He lost his mother too. And she does something even more incredible, she offers to heal Zuko’s scar with her precious spirit water, even though he had wronged her and her friends, chased them relentlessly, almost killed them sverral times, taunted her over a precious token from her mom, you get the story. So despite having no obligations, she reaches out and takes a chance on him.
They’re eventually pulled apart. Katara later realizes that her efforts and empathy did not mean anything to Zuko, as despite it all, he still sides with his sister in an effort to gain his precious honor. Meaning, contrary to popular belief, that at this moment he did not care enough about Katara to choose her amity over his personal quest. Hell, he thought betraying his own uncle was worth it in the quest for honor. So why is this important?
Because not once when Zuko returns to the fire nation, does he express any guilt over betraying Katara personally. Not once do we see him take the second to remember the pain he inflicted upon her, which is even more poignant because she was the first person to trust him, to broach that divide across enemy lines, and to offer something so precious to her to heal him. We see Zuko agonize about betraying his uncle throughout his time, but not Katara. Sure, he was in anguish over trying to be someone he wasn’t in the fire nation, but the audience never once sees Zuko remember or mention the water tribe girl through the lens of her significant act of bravery and compassion. Even more, he only remembers their interaction in the context of how the Avatar could be alive - and how this further jeopardizes his position as Ozai’s son.
So much for thinking about the water tribe girl who put herself at risk to help you, huh Zuko. (Btw I’m not actually hating on him and nor do I think this makes him a bad character or bad fit with Mai, I’m just pointing out some glaring misconceptions about how he thinks of Katara)
And this becomes all the more evident when Katara doesn’t immediately accept him into the group. Zuko is actually bewildered by the fact that she doesn’t become friends with him as immediately as the rest of the Gaang. But the cherry on top is when Zuko has the audacity to get upset and frustrated with Katara, exclaiming
“This isn't fair. Everyone else seems to trust me now. What is it with you?”
It’s here. Plain as day and written in text. Zuko could not even remember the most pivotal aspect of the start of his relationship with Katara, the one that shippers claim has even more poignance and development than any scene from the canon ships. What Katara is so clearly hurt and impacted by, so much so that she was the only one to initially remain distrustful of Zuko when everyone else wasnt, and constantly verbalized that distrust - did not even hold the same weight to Zuko. It was a fleeting moment to him on his journey to find and redeem himself, but represented everything to Katara. And it shows on her face and in her words when she says this next:
And the cherry on top of the cherry on top of this is that when Zuko enters Sokka’s tent, he STILL can’t fathom why Katara hates him.
Zuko: Your sister, she hates me! And I don't know why! But I do care what she thinks of me.
WAIT. DIDNT Zuko JUST hear Katara when she said he betrayed the precious trust she placed in him? How his actions led to her witnessing the death (and revival) of her best friend? How he relentlessly attacked her in the cave after almost immediately forgetting her compassion? And it must be asked at this moment why Zuko cares about what Katara thinks of him. Because even At this point, he still fails to acknowledge the extent that his actions had on her.
Had Katara never taken the chance to verbalize her feelings, Zuko would have carried on with the Gaang, not being aware of or having more remorse over his personal betrayal to Katara. Would Zuko have come to this realization himself if Katara never explicitly told him? If it didn’t impede his ability to form a strong alliance with everyone in the Gaang in order to work together to take down Ozai?
And that’s when I become puzzled over statements like “Zuko cared about Katara and understood her on a way deeper level than Aang ever did.” Because what we see her is quite the opposite of that. Zuko only remembered Katara’s spirit water and how it put a wrench in his plans, but couldn’t remember Katara herself. He couldn’t couldn’t recall his betrayal of her in the cave, couldn’t understand her initial hatred even after she pointed it out, and used the opportunity to hunt her mother’s killer to redeem himself in her eyes. Something that would have never happened until the narrative called for it.
Speaking of the last part, the other common Zvtara argument I see is “Zuko understood Katara’s pain and allowed her to feel it. Aang shut it down.”
At this point it’s becoming a game of selective ignorance. Because the shippers will claim that “Aang compared something as serious as Kya’s death to the trivial temporary loss of an animal” without acknowledging the literal next thing he says, which is:
“How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?”
Which IS a fair comparison. Aang mentions the genocide of his family to empathize with Katara’s loss of her mother.
And they also pretend that Aang shut Katara down completely in order to force his values down her throat and discourage her from going on the trip, which is in blatant ignorance of when Aang says this:
“I wasn't planning to. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man. [Katara situates herself on Appa's head.] But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.”
And Yeah, Katara chose not to forgive her mothers killer. As she should. But let’s not forget what she does at the end, which is to let her anger out and then let it go. She ultimately did not choose revenge. And Aang knows this.
Because Aang witnessed Katara cry in regret when she learned about blood bending, something Zuko never witnessed. And he knows the toll that killing a person would take on Katara, someone who is inherently compassionate and wishes to see the good in everyone. Who was willing to put aside the injustices she faced at the hands of the Fire Nation to truly help the enemy she had every right to hate, like how she helped the village as the Painted Lady and reached out to Zuko in the cave. Something else Zuko never truly grasps till much later, because why else was it so hard for him to remember her poignant compassionate act?
And lastly, when Zuko blocks Azula’s lightning strike directed at Katara. While a lot of shippers claim, as they are free to do so, that Zuko did this because of his profound and undying love for Katara and that he couldn’t fathom living in a world without her, I can’t help but think back to this post where Zuko would have done the exact same thing if it was any member of the Gaang in her position. Much less that, but do you think he would hesitate to throw himself in front of Azula if it was Mai in Katara’s position?
Because it doesn’t matter who it was. As part of Zuko’s final act of redemption, he realizes that true honor comes from doing the right thing, not for personal validation. The reason for Katara’s presence isn’t romantic - but it exists narratively because this is the same girl he betrayed to join his sister in order to validate himself in his father’s eyes. Emphasis on HIMSELF. But after this entire journey, it doesn’t matter whether Zuko lives or dies. Because at this moment, Zuko realizes that saving the world and doing the right thing is worth more than a trivial Pat on the back from his father. There is a lot of poignance from the authors choosing Katara to be there, instead of Toph or even Momo. But to say that this act is because Zuko had this undying romantic love for Katara that was never fully realized is undermining his whole arc.
As I’m writing this I realize that my qualm isn’t about people shipping Zvtara in the first place. I too have such ships. But it’s the fact that people who ship them use this a tool to further the agenda that Zuko never loved and cared about Mai as much as he did Katara or Katara with Aang . I remember reading this post from a blog called the crooked pen when I initially joined the fandom, who attempted to upholster Zvtara through this argument:
Now literally replace that second sentence with Katara. Not once does Zuko mention Katara after Ba Sing Se during the time he was at the fire nation. He only remembers their interaction as an obstacle preventing him from reaching his goal. He obsesses over his betrayal of Iroh for a great deal, however. And This is after Katara willingly put herself at risk, knowing the consequences, by extending the olive branch and almost giving him her spirit water to heal. And people want to convince me that he had this unfulfilled, undying love for Katara that he never had for Mai, despite him taking the extra precautions to protect her physically through a letter, even if it meant hurting her and himself emotionally, and literally giving us the biggest smile we had ever seen from him when he mentioned her?
Which makes this second part even more frivolous because there’s a reason why he cares about the opinion of water tribe girl, and it’s not because he’s deeply and irrevocably in love with her and has much more to do with it being the last piece of the puzzle of a strong alliance, built on trust, to take down evil, once and for all.
Also please refer to @thethiefandtheairbender’s post about him “forgetting” her in prison, when in reality she was freed before everyone formally was at his coronation.
Anyways, this is one of the reasons why I personally never saw the potential in what people claim to be infinitely better than the original canon ships. The next part is Zuko through the lens of Katara. Let me know your thoughts!
#anti zutara#heavy emphasis on anti cause I’m not about to go through this again#zuko#katara#avatar the last airbender#indefenseofkataang#indefenseofmaiko#kataang#Maiko
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What do you think about Bella’s relationship with Narcissa/how it changed after her return from Azkaban?
I am so sorry, anon, I completely forgot about this post. I had started answering, then saved it in my drafts and only found it today (months later) when I opened them. Forgive me.
Great question!
I used to love Narcissa as a character but lately, I've started disliking her a little. I think most of the fandom sees her (wrongly) as a victim, even of Bellatrix, when actually the most Bella does to her is be a little rude to her husband and son. The worst Narcissa does to Bellatrix is indirectly causing her death. One of my worst pet peeves is when people write her as cruel to Narcissa in fanfictions when, in canon, it's almost always the opposite.
In the series they only have two interactions: in the first one, she goes behind Voldemort's back (!!!), accompanying her to Spinner's End to protect her (from herself, possibly Voldemort and even Snape), and Narcissa physically attacks her. In the second, she thinks that the Cup has been stolen (which will promptly cause Voldemort to kill all of them if he comes) which makes for a snappy exchange. And still, she doesn't curse Lucius' head off when he puts his hands on her.
Based on these interactions and the fact that they are respectively the eldest and the youngest sibling, I think Bella was always very protective of Narcissa. I always headcanon Bella as closest to Andromeda growing up (thirty years later, she still calls her sister) but Bellatrix's defining trait, contrary to popular belief, is - just like Cissy - her loyalty to her family. It's as much a part of her character as her love/obsession with Voldemort. It's tragic that Narcissa doesn't extend the same devotion to her. Draco and Lucius are very much her priorities while Bella loves her above everyone else but Voldemort. Andy's betrayal probably brought them close together.
I can see them being close during the First War, or at least trying to be, while everything pulls them apart - most of all, themselves and their personal aspirations: Cissy marries Lucius and gives him a son, Bella becomes a terrorist (and while my hc is that she likes Rodolphus and has a good relationship with him, nothing supports that in the text; maybe they fucking hate each other, or are indifferent to each other and Bella outright refuses to give him a child; after a certain while, the sisters had little in common). One can come up with a hundred different headcanons for this period, but I have noticed that a tendency with new mothers is to surround themselves with other new mothers. Bella probably didn't fit in with this crowd, maybe was even hurt and jealous that she was now quite far down her sister's priority list.
After Azkaban? Narcissa doesn't look very happy to have her traumatized sister, fresh from a horror-filled, decade-and-a-half-long reclusion in her home. (Bella was probably hurt by this.) Bellatrix, on the other hand, is very contemptuous of Lucius and doesn't respect his authority at all, especially after the DoM fiasco. From the way Narcissa admonishes her in Spinner's end (“Don’t you dare — don’t you dare blame my husband!” said Narcissa, in a low and deadly voice, looking up at her sister.) we can infer that this was probably a common disagreement between the two.
I don't think Narcissa liked Bellatrix at all, after Azkaban. If I want to believe the best of her, I think she felt guilty for wishing she had stayed locked up. After fifteen years, I think Narcissa had already mourned her, she was as good as dead to her. Seeing this new, unstable version of Bella probably made her feel things she didn't want to feel: guilt, shame, love, and everything in between. The peculiar mix of profound love but also dislike you can only feel for a sibling.
As I have said before, the Black Sisters likely loved each other, viscerally, but didn't really understand each other, or each other's life choices. And both Narcissa and Andromeda strike me as very selfish people.
Not to continuously quote Succession, but when Shiv tells Kendall: I love you, but I cannot fucking stomach you? Yeah. That.
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An Incomplete Glossary of @profanetools Dwemer Fanlore
This is an incomplete list of terms, key concepts, and ideas used in my dwemer fanfiction, including Twelve Tones.
I've attempted to write this so to be accessible for people who don't spend their days looking up entries on dwemer or deeplore on fanwikis. It's likely to be revised and updated, and perhaps altered down the line.
It should also be emphasised that this is fanon, not canon. This is not meant to be an authoritative guide to dwemer culture in the games, which with subsequent releases, have diverged a lot from where I started writing about dwemer.
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THE LIST:
Acolyte (of Kagrenac) - A term for a tonal architect that was apprenticed under Kagrenac before working directly for them. Can be somewhat derogatory.
Aldmer - Ancient elves, from which all elves, including dwemer, are descended (supposedly).
Apotheosis - Ascension from mortality to godhood. It is widely believed that the dwemer constructed Numidium and intended to use the Heart of Lorkhan to attain this goal. However, what godhood meant for dwemer is unclear. While recognising the existence and power of et'ada (gods) such as Lorkhan, it is likely the dwemer did not see them as worthy of worship, respect, or even the label 'god'. Some posit that the dwemer were proponents of the theory that the 'gods' were imagined constructions of one singular godly being, and that the dwemer sought to 'return' to that initial state. Others posit that they believed 'true divinity' could only be achieved through the process of shifting from "divine" (et'ada) -> profane (mortal) -> divine (true) - and thus, it is theorised they pitied the et'ada, as beings that had limited scope for that change. In any case, it seems likely that the divinity of most aedra and daedra worshipped on Tamriel was not satisfactory to them.
Apprenticeship - The process to become part of a dwemer clan and adopt a particular role in its structure. Typically this is done through completing compulsory education in the clan a dwemer is born into, but this can also involve a dwemer forgoing one clan for another, or an outsider joining the dwemer. Contrary to popular belief, dwemer do allow outsiders to join their clans, but apprenticeship requires years of education and training that many find gruelling.
Architecture - The manipulation of reality using particular sounds, incl. tones. See 'Tonal Architecture'.
Baths - Artificial public baths and steam rooms (saunas) were a popular fixture of many larger dwemer settlements, particularly in Vvardenfell where they were often powered geothermally. These spaces were open to dwemer of all backgrounds and visiting outsiders, and were a core leisure and social space where dwemer would relax, socialise, trade gossip, arrange to meet others, and even make informal business/work agreements.
Battle of Red Mountain - Final event in the War of the First Council. The dwemer lost heavily: Dumac was slain and Kagrenac felt driven to draw power from the heart of Lorkhan (presumably to activate numidium early), which lead to the cataclysmic event where all dwemer disappeared instantaneously.
Brass - A unique alloy used by the dwemer in construction and in tonal architecture. Notable for its ability to produce a range of sounds clearly and easily through physical manipulation, hence its architectural importance.
Bthemetz - A figure in dwemer origin myths; one of many dissident scholar-priests that revolted against the containment of knowledge along caste lines. Famous for being martyred. In the early 200s, was discovered, not dead but frozen outside of time, imprisoned in a hidden pocket realm. Following this discovery, a brass 'chassis' was constructed to allow her to interact with Nirn remotely. This allowed her to train as an architect and reach prominence in dwemer society. During this time, she worked closely with Kagrenac and became her romantic partner. In the 650s, voiced a dissenting opinion on the construction of Numidium.
(the) Call - The process by which Kagrenac alerted, selected, and readied the dwemer for apotheosis. Some hypothesise this was achieved through analogue radio technology; others believe the dwemer either naturally had or had attained some degree of telepathy (perhaps through connection to the heart). A third theory posits that an oral signal was audible acorss tamriel, but only trained dwemer could recognise it as tonal architecture. Regardless of means, this process allowed Kagrenac to select each and every dwemer for apotheosis.
Chief - A recognised expert in a dwemer clan. Clans each have their own process for recognition and categories of recognition. Typically recognised through the suffix -ac in names.
Choir - The 'secondary participants' of a debate, who often participate after the main speakers have held the floor. This is somewhat ironic term/mistranslation - rather than singing in harmony, the choir is notorious for sewing discord and complicating debates rather than resolving them. The dwemer don't necessarily see this as a negative thing - preferring this to unthinking obedience.
Core - Another term for the Heart of Lorkhan.
Clan - Community. The core unit of dwemer society. These can vary in size, but on average compose of 200 - 500 people. Typically a clan occupies one settlement and has a strong sense of regional/local identity, with its own dialect, cuisine, customs, religious practices, and economic strengths. However, larger dwemer cities could comprise of multiple clans, especially during historical periods of unification, e.g. First Council era, and there are long histories of diverse clans cohabitating peacefully.
Debate (n.) - The process by which many, if not most major architectural, academic, technical, and political decisions are made in dwemer clans. How these are conducted and their relative importance varies from clan to clan. Some clans are highly horizontal and involve frequent public debate, others are more technocratic, have more established hierarchies and defer to expertise and hold public debates less frequently. Regardless, public debate, dissent, and discord is valued highly by dwemer and often seen as a point of heritage and pride.
Debate Hall - The place where formal Debates take place. Every clan has these.
Disappearance of the Dwemer - After Kagrenac used the profane tools on the heart of Lorkhan, drawing its power into Numidium, the dwemer all vanished. No one knows where they disappeared to, if anywhere. Common dwemerologist theories include: 1. no longer exist ('null theory'), 2. went elsewhere ('displacement theory'), and 3. achieved their aim ('apotheosis theory'). Outlier displacement theories include that they are embedded in Numidium's brass chassis, or, more bizarrely, the Heart of Lorkhan itself. There is no conclusive evidence for any of these hypotheses.
Dumac - (lit.) 'Chief of us'. A high-profile lawyer-turned-diplomat from Red Mountain who was fundamental in forging the initial alliance between the eastern dwemer clans in the 300s, the alliance that would allow the First Council to be formed. While not a 'king' or a recognised singular leader (the dwemer do not have one), a figure of great political importance who carried a great deal of respect. Sometimes referred to as 'Dwarf-Orc' by the chimer and others due to his mixed heritage.
Dwemer - literally 'deep people'. A number of elven communities, or clans, who are traditionally based in the northern half of Tamriel. They are often characterised by 1. communal living, often in (semi)-subterranean dwellings and cities, 2. religious practices that do not revere et'ada, and 3. a cultural/religious commitment to debate, intellectual discovery, and the forces of logic and reason. In the first era, they were also renowned for their breakthroughs in automation and science.
Dwemereth - A term for all dwemer territories, real, historical, or sometimes imagined. Typically refers to pockets across the north and north-east of Tamriel where dwemer have historically settled. Has unionist/centralist undertones; may suggest an imagined, idealised political union of all dwemer clans and peoples when invoked. This is not political union of 'all dwemer under Dwemereth' is not idea that every dwemer or clan supports.
Dwemeris - The mutually intelligible languages spoken by the dwemer. Sometimes referred to as 'dialects' of Dwemeris, each clan typically has its own, in addition to a 'standardised' dialect largely used for trade. In mythology, these were believed to have been constructed in order to preserve the secrecy required for pursuit of goals considered 'ungodly' by others. Thought mostly 'lost' since the dwemer's disappearance. While syntactically and phonologically distinct from aldmeris and related languages, it has some occasional lexical overlap (e.g. 'mer'), that perhaps calls into question the belief it was entirely constructed in opposition to aldmeris.
Dwemerologist - non-dwemer who have dedicated themselves to the archeological, anthropological, and scientific study of dwemer and their creations following the battle of Red Mountain. Often wrong.
Earth Bones - Laws of nature that form 'the backbone' of existence on Nirn. Formed of minor spirits - Ehlnofey - who remained while the Aldmer, the ancestors of all elves, fled to Admeris. Mythologically speaking, it is believed ancient dwemer dedicated themselves to the study and preservation of Earth Bones (and some argue, also Lorkhan) prior to their discovery that they emanated tones that could be manipulated. In any case, in modern usage, the Earth Bones remain important as an object of study for tonal architects.
Empire (e.g. 'Second Empire') - Dwemerologist terms in aldmeris for historical periods and political domains of dwemer. Arguably inaccurate - one would not consider these periods imperial in the sense that there is a political core and periphery governed by an emperor and/or their council.
Exile (n.) - Considered the most severe penalty short of capital punishment. Clans do not have the resources nor the space for incarceration; convicted criminals are instead exiled. Depending on the crime (and the current state of inter-clan affairs), this can simply be from a single clan, or from Dwemereth more generally.
First Council - An alliance of several eastern dwemer clans and adjacent Chimer houses, established in the late 300s to drive Nordic occupiers out of eastern Dwemereth + chimeri territory. After victory in 1E416, this alliance was formalised as a political agreement, leading to the creation of Resdayn, that lasted until the War of the First Council.
Gender - The dwemer are largely ambivalent to social categorisation along gendered lines. There are no roles, appearances, or behaviours specific to 'men' or 'women', they do not gender their children at all, and do not recognise a strict binary of gender along the lines 'man' or 'woman'. If the dwemer engage with gender at all - which many do not - it is something they experiment with and play with as adults, where 'woman' or 'man' is as common as 'sometimes woman, occasionally man, often a secret third or fourth thing' or 'all genders' or 'no genders'. This is largely regarded as up to the individual and while by no means necessarily a secret, certainly isn't a matter of public record. Dwemer do not have gendered forms of address, including personal pronouns. 'woman' and 'man' are themselves loan words. In Aldmeris, dwemer are typically referred to as he/him by outsiders, regardless of their gender or lack thereof, and many outsiders find the dwemer's ambivalence towards gender confusing. As a rule, the dwemer do not bother correcting or educating them, considering the matter (and the outsiders) beneath them.
Grand Debate - On important occasions recognised chiefs from across the clans would gather to debate matters of great import, typically in Red Mountain (seen as the 'de facto' capital by Resdaynian centralists). During the First Council era this rare occurrence became more and more frequent, particularly amongst Chief Tonal Architects, who often had less of an allegiance towards a particular clan and more of an allegiance to themselves as a group, or to Dwemereth as a whole. Sometimes 'grand debate' is invoked to refer to the dwemeri tradition of debate.
Hair - Well-groomed, well-maintained, long and prominent hair and facial hair are a point of cultural and personal pride for most dwemer. Typically grown long, these are often braided, beaded, and decorated, though its exact length/style depends on life stage, clan custom, and personal preference. Most adult dwemer can (and do) grow beards, regardless of gender - though artificial, ornamental brass attachments are sometimes used instead, for those who cannot grow beards or for those have shaved them, and prefer them as a fashion choice. Choosing to shave one's hair and beard usually indicates that someone has decided to leave the clan permanently and is a fairly drastic choice to make.
Heart of Lorkhan - Torn from Lorkhan, the et'ada who plotted the creation of Nirn, and tossed into the sky until it landed somewhere on the other side of Nirn. The dwemer aren't awfully interested in that mythos - though may have been more historically invested in Lorkhan than they let on (see Lorkhan), with some historians proposing that the (re)discovery of the heart had always been a secret intention of the dwemer. For the modern dwemer, its relevance is more immediate - the heart was discovered at some point in the first era, became core to Tonal Architectural theory and practice, and was meant to be put to use, eventually, to allow the dwemer to apotheosise through Numidium. They kept its discovery and location a secret, and hid it from their political allies, the Chimer. The eventual of this secret by Voryn Dagoth triggered the war of the First Council.
Lorkhan - Et'ada who plotted the creation of Nirn. Purported by some that the breakaway faction of aldmer who later became dwemer were dedicated to the preservation of the remains of those that formed Nirn: the Earth Bones and Lorkhan himself. Regardless of whether this is true, it does appear that some of the ancient proto-dwemer did revere Lorkhan (somewhat unusually for an aldmer-descended people). Bthemetz is one such an example herself, being a low-ranking priest of Lorkhan prior to martyrdom.
Kagrenac - lit. 'Chief of Tones'. Chief Tonal Architect of the dwemer. Rather unique, in that her chief title refers to the dwemer and not a clan; this is due in part to historical circumstance, as her clan was effectively destroyed during the first Nordic invasion in 180, leaving her clanless (she has never formally joined another, though was unofficially recognised by the clan where she completed apprenticeship). Pioneer of the field of tonal architecture. Sought to achieve apotheosis for her people, the dwemer, through tonal architecture, and used the heart of Lorkhan and Numidium as conduits for this process. Created three tools to allow her to engage in this process. While the dwemer do not recognise singular leaders on principle, Kagrenac was considered by some the de facto leading political voice amongst the Resdaynian Dwemer by the 600s, and had reach and influence that extended outside the First Council allied clans. Others have contested the claim Kagrenac 'was effectively an autocrat' by the late Resdaynian period as exaggeration that puts too much stock in rumour. A deeply influential figure, both amongst the dwemer and outside of Dwemereth.
Numidium - Large construct, designed by Kagrenac and a team of architects to be a conduit for dwemeri apotheosis.
oma - Familial, gender-neutral term for grandparent. Similar to grandma/grandpa.
"Priest" - An alternate title for tonal architects, used primarily by non-dwemer. While often this title is scorned by dwemer, who find the religious traditions misapplied to their customs quaint and laughable, it recognises the key religious and philosophical role tonal architects played in dwemer society. While largely forgotten/ignored, the ancient dwemer did have once have both traditional priests and god-worship in the Early Merethic era, before deciding to abandon god-worship in their religious practices.
Resdayn - The shared territories of the eastern clans and the chimer houses that formed the First Council, following the defeat and expulsion of Nordic occupiers. Lasted from 416 - ~700.
Sabbatical - A lengthy time away from the clan, typically for research purposes, to another clan or outside of Dwemereth entirely. Often refers to the sabbatical many dwemer take as young adults as a rite of passage. It is typical for a dwemer to finish their apprenticeship with a sabbatical (though they may take sabbatical later in life), and these periods away are often seen as fundamental for not only personal growth and self-directed academic study, but also for maintaining healthy inter-clan relations and developing ties elsewhere.
Tone - A unit of sound emitted by the earth bones, in accordance to the rhythm and time set by the Heart of Lorkhan. This sound can be manipulated, re-created, and used to re-shape reality.
Tonal Architecture - The academic study of sounds that compose existence. Tonal Architects, those who pursued this field, believed existence on Nirn was orchestrated by a complex array of sonic emissions, which they termed tones, and believed these tones could be isolated, identified, and then manipulated to re-shape reality (both in and beyond Nirn) through the composition of their own "music", or as the dwemer term it, 'architecture'. This field was pioneered and invented by Chief Tonal Architect, Kagrenac.
Twelve Tones - A core theory of tonal architecture that posits, in contrast to the 'wheel of eight spokes theory' of nirn's existence, that instead the world can be understood as a series of twelve distinct tones and their subcomponents (semitones, demisemitones, etc.), orchestrated by the earth bones and the heart of lorkhan.
uma - Familial, gender-neutral term for parent. Similar to mum or dad.
White - A colour used for mourning. Implies that the dwemer is not going to work (as white stains easily) and must rest. A dwemer may wear more or less white depending on their relationship to the deceased and where they are in the mourning process.
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From New International, Vol.VIII No.9, October 1942, pp.278-281.
Transcribed by Ted Crawford.
Marked up by Einde O’Callaghan for ETOL.
The following document by no means deals with working class policy in Palestine as such. Neither is it intended to describe the economic conditions and problems of its growth. The discussion is limited to those topics relating to institutions which are supported by the overwhelming majority of the Jewish labor movement in Palestine in its aspiration to create a Jewish or partly Jewish state. Expressing my fullest agreement with the aim of those striving for the creation of a Jewish homeland, it is nevertheless my contention that a long range perspective will prove the present policies in Palestine erroneous and only capable of giving the Jews an immediate advantage at the sacrifice of their class positions. But the sacrifice of class positions is never in the interest of any minority, for only the social revolution can in the last analysis provide favorable ground for the solution of the national question. In this sense, Zionism must be subordinated to socialism.
Those who search in this thesis for a confirmation or criticism of Zionism will be disappointed. Its sole purpose is to dispel any illusions that the pioneering role, whatever its virtues might otherwise be, has anything in common with internationalism. In my bid for brevity and condensation, I have given whatever background is needed sketchily, since factual material can easily be gathered from other publications.
I – National Land Policy in Palestine
1. At the close of the First World War, 140 Arab land owners owned one-seventh of the area of Palestine. Most agricultural enterprise was conducted under a semi-feudal latifundia system. The Arab peasant, the majority of the population, was directly exploited in this state of serfdom since an external capitalist market for goods thus produced had not as yet been created.
2. Jewish mass immigration into Palestine meant the immigration of capitalism as well. Jewish capital sought returns not only in the industrial enterprise of the cities, but also in land by more rational exploitation. The Arab land holder, through the price obtained in a sale of part of his land to Jews, invested sums on the capitalization of their remaining land. In the extension of the capitalist market into all spheres of Palestinian economy, many Arab fellahin (small peasants) were turned into wage laborers, in addition to the Jewish immigrants.
3. The purpose of Jewish National Funds [1] is to facilitate the settlement of incoming Jews. In undertaking investments felt to be too risky by private capital, Jewish National Funds economically fulfill a pioneering role for private capital to follow. They operate along strictly national lines. Through prevention of speculation, joint-purchase schemes, etc., they attempt to create the conditions most favorable for the acquisition and cultivation of land by Jews, regardless whether by national or private capital.
4. Still considerable sections of the Jewish bourgeoisie in Palestine oppose the national land policy. This, on the one hand, because national capital often proves inconvenient for private enterprise, on the other because Jewish National Fund land harbors and other national funds encourage “dangerous” experiments for it in so far as they demonstrate the superfluousness of the private capitalist. (Contrary to popular belief in radical circles, Jews, not Arabs, are faced by the danger of exclusion from industry.) Nonetheless national ownership of land, although desirable, in and of itself changes nothing fundamental in the economy as long as a capitalist market remains; all that is changed is the share of surplus value accruing to the landlord.
5. Jewish National Funds are progressive to the same degree to which a capitalist economy marks a gain over the outmoded feudal relations of production. They fulfill the objective need for a capitalist economy. As part of the capitalist system, as part of the status quo, as part of the general impotency of the bourgeoisie to carry out that program that marked it as progressive in its infancy, national funds can be no solution to colonization needs, to the agrarian problem, and to the evils caused by capitalism anywhere.
6. National funds, made to function as part of capitalism and in no way designated to oppose that system, therefore naturally lend uncompromising support to British and American “democratic” capitalism which is still in a position to tolerate its already circumscribed economic activities. This even more so since they aim to set up a JEWISH economy in opposition to an ARAB economy in Palestine and are still hopeful of help in this from the Allied powers.
7. Even from the viewpoint of colonization, national funds have always lagged behind needs. Rising land prices, British imposed restrictions, the fact that the Arab land owners will not voluntarily, as a class, allow themselves to be bought out of their privileges, and the elimination of large sections of world Jewry from the contributing lists, all go to prove that Palestine cannot be bought.
8. Rejecting the very idea of the possibility of the attainment of Zionism as long as the barrier of capitalism exists, we cannot possibly support an institution functioning to build capitalism while it in no way aids the development of the subjective factors of class struggle. We cannot risk the spreading of the reformist illusion that capitalism can build Palestine for the Jewish people.
II – The Rentability of the Kibbutzim
9. The kibbutzim (collective settlements) are by no means a unique feature of Palestine; neither are they socialism. The risk of private investments, on the one hand, and the growth of cities on the background of an undeveloped agriculture, on the other, have forged the kibbutz as the instrument of capitalist development in agriculture. The abundance of steady labor (within the kibbutz), an economy of collectivized consumption and the absence of any large agricultural trusts have all combined to make them the most rentable of the various types of settlement. (For statistics on the yearly surpluses of kibbutzim see Weitzman, Rupin, etc.)
10. Yet the kibbutz is the creation of the Jewish working class. Unable to compete against cheaper Arab labor in the Jewish settlements, the first chalutzim banded together into a state of forced communism, since otherwise they would have perished. Soon these groups, with outside help, started their own enterprises on the same basis, the kibbutz now serving as a base (in the same way as the fella, working his paviel, wage-labor in the colonies merely serves as an additional source of income) from which to enter as wage labor in the colonies left to the Arabs meanwhile (see Point 23).
11. An integral part of present capitalist Palestine and not the prototype of the new society, the kibbutz movement nevertheless exerts a strong leftward influence over the whole yishuv. And this, because of the backwardness of the Palestinian labor movement. Instead of guiding the class struggle against the Palestinian and British bourgeoisie, they stand in the forefront as an instrument of national labor policy. One hundred per cent Jewish labor and a society on the eve of its transformation into socialism, do not go hand in hand. Further, with the growing industrialization of the country, the center of gravity will shift to the cities. As finance capital gains a stranglehold on agriculture, so the kibbutz declines in importance; as the relative number of workers engaged in agriculture decreases, so its weight in the ensuing revolutionary conflict is lightened. The development of a normal class struggle will, in addition to dispelling national illusions, permanently destroy the idea of “building socialism” in the same way as the utopian concepts of Owenism gave way to the more realistic program of Chartism.
12. In spite of the verbal insistence upon class struggle by a considerable section of the Palestinian kibbutz movement, they cannot transform the capitalist society into a socialist society. The industrial proletariat has failed in organizing collectives, victim to the greater strength of private capital in the city. It is in aiding the city workers in the political organization of the peasants and supplying the revolutionary city in time of crisis with necessary food that the importance of the kibbutz will probably enter, but in a subordinate role.
13. These collective settlements are, then, not the transition into socialism, but the product of every aspect of the backwardness of the country, mixed with an adulterated, imported western socialism. After the socialist revolution, though, the kibbutz might well become one of the cornerstones of the emerging socialist society. Otherwise through a continuous development of capitalism, as already in the city, kibbutziut will be crushed by the stronger capitalists, economically, and superceded by forms of more militant class warfare, politically. The kibbutz is therefore, more accurately to be labeled collectivist than socialist.
III – The Chalutz [3] Movement and Its Background
14. The dominant character of the Jewish youth movement anywhere is chalutziut. As the expression of Jewish youth from those social strata whose free social and economic development was stifled, it led youth to seek escape from a dismal future through lofty ideals, all of which were to be realized through Zionism in the creation of the social form of a kibbutz. The very essence of this movement is escape in preparation for its own ideal society. Hence little can be expected from this group in the way of socialist political action.
15. Ideologically kibbutziut is a revolt against abstractions, a revolt not against the capitalist character of the intellectual but against all form of intellectualism, a revolt not against private individualist capitalist forms of huckstering, capitalist forms of profit sharing, etc., but against all manifestations of individual life itself, and thus it is for collective consumption, collective artistic expression, etc. (all outmoded in our highly industrialized society). Therefore, while naturally, internal compromises had to be reached, externally, the chalutz movement is the object of the play of forces larger than itself. It is the living example of a philosophy that is to instigate action without a corresponding action that leads automatically to a realization of the above philosophical thought.
16. The “socialism” of this movement (and there are sectors which are definitely non-socialist because of the purely economic need for kibbutzim) lies in a process of self-realization” in which the individual realizes the “necessity of becoming a wage laborer” for himself, culminating in the transformation of “middle class Jews into workers in the only possible place, Palestine, the historic Jewish homeland.” With this goes the desire to “live socialistically,” i.e., sharing in one’s community on a collective basis. This cannot be socialism since it goes on as part of capitalism. Acceptance and rejection of a thing are both determined by the existence of the thing. The background or “thing,” capitalism, still determines the action. The group rejects outside capitalism, lives its own “socialism” within, and does not care to be disturbed by the “degenerate outside.”
17. But it is necessary to accept capitalism while it exists; this is certainly better than rejecting it consciously while unconsciously one is forced to accept it. Therefore, only conscious revolutionary action under capitalism will bring us nearer to socialism. We see the inevitable iron will of forces toward proletarianization; the subjective factor is class struggle, and thus objective conditions have to be exploited to further this class struggle.
18. The natural self-realization lies in the subjective need of class struggle which, because of its universality, becomes objective. A “Religion of Labor” (A.D. Gordon) is only for those whose life work in the form of wage labor is not a normal aspect. Otherwise it is nothing but the petty bourgeoisie counterpart of the bourgeois glorification of all labor, and thus fits beautifully into the capitalist upbuilding of Palestine. Such labor is needed.
IV – Jewish and Arab Labor
19. About 55 per cent of Palestinian Arabs are fellahin, while about 20 per cent are engaged in industry and transportation. The former include about 17 per cent who constitute an agricultural proletariat in a broader sense. The remaining layers consist of land owners, professionals and merchants. The city proletariat is in the most unskilled and lowly paid positions. Jewish immigration here has resulted in the doubling of the real wages of Arab workers and the provision of new fields of employment in the Jewish plantations and building industries primarily.
20. The Jewish working class, with few exceptions, strives toward a penetration of rural as well as urban economy. This policy is manifested in Kibbush Haavoda (conquest of labor: Arab industry by Jews) aimed at the progressive expulsion of Arabs from positions created by the influx of Jewish capital. Not only the Jewish working class believes that it can thus gain firm roots in the country. The Jewish bourgeoisie, sometimes at the sacrifice of profit, in the interest of a Jewish dominated Palestine, occasionally supports Conquest of Labor.
21. Jewish-Arab labor relations are further complicated by the existing wage differentials between the “European” Jew and the “Oriental” Arab, the seasonal character of Arab help in the pardessim (orange plantations), the high organization and class-consciousness of the Jewish proletariat, which stands in contradiction (not only to the development of the objective conditions of class struggle as shown above) to the low degree of Arab organization and class-consciousness and the firmness of national unity on both sides.
22. Somewhat favoring an early understanding are the absence of an aristocratic, purely Jewish labor crust, an already partially achieved Jewish penetration of many spheres of industry, the rise of Arab wages toward closer approximation to that of the Jews, and a resulting awakening of Arab class-consciousness with the development of the country.
23. The degree to which Jewish labor is successful in its competition against cheaper Arab labor depends in the last analysis on the general conditions of the labor market (secondary factors not being excluded). In time of economic crisis Jewish workers, who in the preceding era had flocked into the more highly paid construction and factory jobs in the city, are thrown back on agriculture as a sole means of support; the policy of Conquest of Labor is taken up with renewed vigor in order to vacate the Arabs from those positions left open to them previously. But Jews are only partially successful in “reconquering” those fields, and their wages are forced down to par or only little above that of the Arabs. Depression always has a leveling effect on wages, and the national aspirations and higher organization of the Jewish workers are effective solely within the law of wages.
24. Extensive expansion of capital has its limitations. At a stage the organic composition of capital is changed and with it the intensity of exploitation. This results in the formation of a relative surplus population which acts as a constant depressor of wages down to a minimum. This minimum is today set by the mass of unorganized Arabs. Through their pressure, Jews in the long run will be forced down to the Arab standards of living, or they will be faced with an eventual exclusion from industry except for a few privileged positions. Despite the procrastinating drive of Jewish national unity, rapid industrialization, the efforts of the histadrut, the kibbutz in economizing expenses, the somewhat greater wage equalization, etc., a general wage leveling cannot be prevented. This will either cause greater workers’ solidarity or separate the two nationalities into one which supplies the reservoir for the masses of toilers, and another which occupies the privileged positions.
25. Is the Jewish working class sincere in its desire to participate in the productive process as a healthy working class? Then it cannot circumvent the problem of organizing Arab labor. It is only by raising the Arab wage minimums that Jewish wages can be maintained. Despite wage discrepancies and other political difficulties, this organization must proceed with a view toward joint unionism, unless unions are to become another tool with which national rivalry can be conducted more effectively around the present privileged position of the Jewish working class.
26. One Jewish-Arab union exists in the field of transportation (government-controlled transportation). Both Jewish and Arab wages are on par here, and all efforts to raise them effectively were blocked by the Palestine administration. Yet this union is an historic example of things to come. [4] In agriculture also a fertile field for joint organization exists. Instead, the histadrut concentrated on improving the conditions of only Jewish workers by establishing free dwellings for them and encouraging and otherwise aiding early settlement for more effective competition.
V – Class Versus National Interests
27. The support of the above mentioned institutions, Jewish National Fund, Foundation Fund, Kibbutziut, Chalutziut, Conquest of Labor, separate unions for Jews and Arabs (we have mentioned only those generally incorporated into the program of the Jewish labor movement) are supported “in the interest of immediate colonization beneficial to all classes alike at the present stage of development in Palestine.” In the interest of immediate immigration, the mandate was supported. To absorb incoming refugees, Jewish national funds are supported, the Conquest of Labor and the Kibbutz raised to an ideal. For fear of Arab domination, even labor Zionists reject a constituent assembly based on popular suffrage in Palestine.
This is the ugly face of politics “in the interests of all classes.” It helps the bourgeoisie, certainly; for practical bourgeois politics such a program is necessary. Also we recognize the fait accompli; we recognize the limited achievements. Ours is a revolutionary socialist criticism of these limitations. Capitalism, in line with its uneven development, cannot build Palestine, much less help the working class.
29. The colonization policy is basically on the wrong track because its point of departure is the identity of interests between bourgeoisie and proletariat, however limited this may be to the upbuilding period. It is therefore necessary to formulate clearly why the interest of capital and labor are never identical [5], regardless of the truism that:
... capital presupposes wage-labor and wage-labor presupposes capital; one is a necessary condition for the existence of the other; they mutually call each other into existence ...
Capital can only increase when it is exchanged for labor-power, when it calls wage-labor into existence. Wage-labor can only be exchanged for capital by augmenting capital and strengthening the power whose slave it is. An increase of capital is therefore an increase of the proletariat, that is, of the laboring class....
So long as the wage-laborer remains a wage-laborer, his lot in life is dependent upon capital. That is the exact meaning of the famous community of interests between capital and labor ...
30. Since the growth of capital is of aid to the working class only in as far as it provides the objective conditions for its emancipation, an internationalist program must make for speediest Jewish-Arab working class unity. National funds as instruments of national policy stand in the way. Our program must provide for the solution of the whole agrarian problem and, therefore, call for a division of land to those who till it, regardless or whether Jew or Arab. We stand for the socialization of all industry through the seizure of political power by the working class, and not alone for the abolition of private ownership of land and communist forms of living within our collective as called for by the statutes of the kvutzat. It is necessary to guard ourselves against all such (and other) Utopian and pseudo-socialist ideological contortions. Our main task is to stand on the forefront of the class struggle and our fund raising, agricultural, educational and labor policy must be directed toward those ends. Yet all the existing institutions could have great values were their content to change. In a socialist society, doubtless, these institutions, result of the just and sincere aspiration of the Jewish people, could reach full blossom.
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Notes
1. The most important are the Jewish National Fund, exclusively devoted to land purchase, and the Foundation Fund, to directly aid settlement.
2. It has been stated by Granovsky, the land expert of JNF, that some of its money has actually been turned over to private institutions. Further, they cannot solve the problem of agricultural credit.
3. Pioneer. Those going to Palestine to take part in the colonization task.
4. According to some sources whose accuracy I have been unable to check, this union has been rendered completely ineffective by the combined efforts of reactionary Jews, Arabs, the administration and the Stalinists.
5. Wage Labor and Capital, by Karl Marx.
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Introduction
What is beauty? You know it when you see it, but can you describe it? Can people agree on it, or is it purely subjective? Is our concept of beauty based in nature, or society? These are the questions that people have been asking themselves for thousands of years. It’s important to remember that beauty ideals are ever-changing. By looking at the past, we can see that at some point, just about everyone was considered the ideal.
We are going to learn a changeable women ideals of beauty throughout history in the pictures, sculptures created by those self-elected gods we call artists. History provides us a record, and from it one basic, inescapable, and ultimately unconscionable truth stands out: the ideals women are asked to embody, regardless of culture or continent, have been hammered out almost exclusively by men. This fact, more than any sort of evolutionary determinism, has meant that a fairly narrow range of attributes resurfaces across eras, returning every couple of decades.
Beauty, as defined by Webster’s Dictionary, is “the qualities that give pleasure to the senses or exalt the mind.” But what exalts my senses, something that I find beautiful, may very well be considered average or even ugly to others. Hence, the constant debate throughout history about what constitutes beauty.
Egypt
Nefertiti (1370–1330 BC)
This representation of the pharaoh’s wife, Nefertiti, is thought to be the most beautiful by both modern and ancient Egyptian standards.
The kohl around Nefertiti’s eyes and her apparently rouged lips speak to a desire for enhancement and adornment that seems too much a part of being human to have a historical starting point. Trends in altering how we look through fashion and jewelry in all likelihood predates any culture-wide preference for a specific body type. The Egyptian example has proven especially influential in the West, particularly since the 1920s.
Goddess Isis (332–30 BC)
For the ancient Egyptians the image of the goddess Isis suckling her son Horus was a powerful symbol of rebirth that was carried into the Ptolemaic period and later transferred to Rome, where the cult of the goddess was established. This piece of faience sculpture joins the tradition of pharaonic Egypt with the artistic style of the Ptolemaic period. On the goddess’s head is the throne hieroglyph that represents her name. She also wears a vulture head-covering reserved for queens and goddesses. Following ancient conventions for indicating childhood.
Cleopatra VII (69 BC — 30 BC)
Cleopatra VII Philopator, contrary to popular belief, was more Macedonian Greek than Egyptian. Her family tree consisted of siblings who married each other (Yes, incest was the custom in the Ptolemaic Kingdom), descended from the Macedonian general Ptolemy I. When she was presented to Julius Caesar, she made a grand entrance by being rolled up in a carpet. It was said that her beauty impressed Julius Caesar to side with her against her husband(he was her brother, Ptolemy XIII). She allegedly gave birth to Caesar’s son, Cesarean. After Caesar was assassinated and the Roman civil war was over, she used her beauty again to charm Mark Antony to side with her, to the point of him donating Roman territories to her children and moving the Roman capital to Alexandria.
Cleopatra is a famous cultural icon of feminine beauty from far history. She was the Ptolemaic Queen of Egypt. Even today, she is portrayed in many media and literature like 1934 and 1963 films Cleopatra, William Shakespeare’s tragedy Antony and Cleopatra and George Bernard Shaw’s play Caesar and Cleopatra.
She is a famous source of perpetual fascination in the Western culture. Cleopatra was the last known pharaoh of Ptolemaic Egypt. Even in the ancient world, she was regarded as a great beauty. A good deal of literature described and praised her beauty to a great extent. In Life of Antony by Plutarch, she has been remarked as “her beauty, as we are told, was in itself neither altogether incomparable, nor such as to strike those who saw her.”
Mummy Mask (60–70 AD)
Plaster masks seem to have been particularly popular in Middle Egypt. They develop of course from Egyptian traditions, but appearances could be strongly individualized and Roman fashions of hairstyle, dress and jewelry were followed to varying degrees. The woman is represented as if lying flat upon her bier. She wears a long Egyptian-style wig made of plant fibers, a deep-red tunic with black clavi (stripes), and jewelry that includes a lunula (crescent pendant), and snake bracelets. At the lower edge of her tunic are two holes, which were used for attaching the mask to the mummy. Over the top of her head is a gilded wreath encircling a scarab beetle that represents the sun appearing at dawn, a metaphor for rebirth.
Conclusion
This relationship between beauty and youth is a very significant part of the concept of beauty in Ancient Egypt, women were encouraged in their independence and beauty. Ancient society promoted a sex-positive environment where premarital sex was entirely acceptable and women could divorce their husbands without shame.
Egyptian women were small in overall stature. In this era, the ideal woman is described as slender, narrow shoulders, high, symmetrical face. Women — used wigs, hair extensions, and hairpieces, as thick, long hair was highly valued.
Women of high rank wore makeup. The Egyptians are, of course, well-known for their opulent eye makeup, which was applied from the eyebrow to the base of the nose. What many do not know, however, the ingredients of the makeup had antibacterial qualities and helped to deter flies and protect against the hot Egyptian sun. Many tinted their nails with sheep fat and blood or henna. Tattooing, generally from henna, was considered erotic, and was heavily practiced among certain classes in Egypt.
Greece
Until in the century of Pericles, fifth century BC, when Athens won a significant development, becomes the cultural, political and economic center of Greece, there was no clear definition of beauty. Before painting and sculpture to develop great beauty was attributed to other virtues such as truth, loyalty, harmony. However, when artists began to paint or write, began to outline some features that, if a person or an object had, they deserved to be called “beautiful.”
Greek philosophers were the first people who asked what makes a person beautiful. Platon, who saw beauty as a result of symmetry and harmony, created the “golden proportion”, he found that in order to be considered “beautiful”, women’s faces should be two-thirds as wide as they are long, and both sides of the visage should be perfectly symmetrical.
But the Greeks were not just obsessed with symmetry, but also long blond hair that is associated with youth and fertility.
Helen of Troy (1300–1200 BC)
For 3,000 years, the woman known as Helen of Troy has been both the ideal symbol of beauty and a reminder of the terrible power beauty can wield. Helen of Troy and the Trojan War were central to the early history of ancient Greece. She is the object of one of the most dramatic love
stories of all time and one of the main reasons for a ten-year war between the Greeks and Trojans, known as the Trojan War. Hers was the face that launched a thousand ships because of the vast number of warships the Greeks sailed to Troy to retrieve Helen.
The poems known as the Trojan War Cycle were the culmination of many myths about the ancient Greek warriors and heroes who fought and died at Troy. With so many men were willing to put their lives on the line to go to battle for her, it’s clear even without a contemporary portrait that Helen had a very special type of beauty.
Aspasia (500 BC)
Aspasia was an influential immigrant to Classical era Athens who was the partner and lover of the statesman Pericles. The exact details regarding the marital status of the couple are still unknown. Aspasia’s house became the center of intellectual teaching in Athens, attracting and influencing prominent teachers like Socrates.
Aspasia is known to have to become a hetaera in Athens, and she has displayed great physical beauty and intelligence. Aspasia’s role in history proves to be crucial to the clues for understanding the women of ancient Greece. In Athens, she was more than just an object of physical beauty and also she was noted for her ability as a conversationalist and adviser.
Phryne of Thespiae (370–316 BC)
Phryne of Thespiae was a famous courtesan of Athens, best known for the court case she won by baring her breasts. Her actual name was Mnesarete (“commemorating virtue”), but she was called Phryne (“toad”) because of the yellow complexion of her skin.
Ancient writers such as Athenaeus praise her extraordinary beauty, and she was the model for many artists and sculptors in Athens, including chiefly posing as Aphrodite.
She was acquitted and went on living a life of luxury as one of the most beautiful and sought-after women of Athens. She became wealthy enough to live as she pleased and even offered to re-build the walls of Thebes, which Alexander the Great had destroyed, if the people would consent to her inscription reading, “Destroyed by Alexander, Restored by Phryne the Courtesan”, but the Thebans refused her offer. Phryne is a famous figure of beauty from the ancient world who is still admired through statues and paintings.
Aphrodite (200 AD)
The Aphrodite exists only in copies of which there were many, because this Aphrodite represented the embodiment of female beauty for Classical Greeks. For us, she is the original Western model, woman as goddess, to be adored and feared. Her soft, rounded flesh bespeaks the power of her sexuality and advertises her life-giving potential. Aphrodite, the goddess who won the goddesses’ beauty contest that led to the Trojan War should be counted among the all-time world-class beauties.
However, this is a list of mortals, so Aphrodite (Venus) doesn’t count. Luckily, there was a woman so beautiful she was used as the model for a statue of Aphrodite. Her beauty was so great it brought about her acquittal when she was put on trial. This woman was the courtesan Phryne whom the famed sculptor Praxiteles used as his model for the Aphrodite of Knidos statue.
Conclusion
Ancient statues show us artists’ idealized form, which for women featured largish hips, full breasts, and a not-quite-flat stomach. But the Greeks were defining more than just “beauty” — they were nailing down the math of attractiveness.
Ancient Greece worshiped the male form, going so far as to proclaim that women’s bodies were ‘disfigured’ versions of men. In this time period, men faced a much higher standard of beauty and perfection than The Greeks were defining beauty literarily, thanks to 8th-7th Century BC author Hesiod, who “described the first created woman simply as ‘the beautiful-evil thing’. She was evil because she was beautiful, and beautiful because she was evil.”
The Greek idea of beauty was pale skin, golden locks and natural makeup. This is vastly different than that of the early adapters to cosmetics the Egyptians and soon we will find that to an extent this ideal is far less dramatic to that of the Romans.
In fact, I think we can conclude that most of the Greek and Egyptian makeup trends are vastly different. In Greece only rich women were able to use cosmetics due to their price.
When it came to Greek women and their hairstyles different lengths and arrangements meant different things. If one was a female slave she would wear her hair short, if a woman wasn’t a slave she would have long hair.
While many women today would pluck a thick “unibrow,” women in Ancient Greece liked the look, and many used dark pigment to draw one in.
Italy
Both for women and men, Romans inherited the Greek standards about symmetry and harmony. Beautiful bodies were proportioned in shape, limbs and face. The ideal of beauty for women was small, thin but robust constitution, narrow shoulders, pronounced hips, wide thighs and small breasts.Smooth white skin was very important for Roman women. To keep it beautiful, they put at night a mask called tectorium (traditionally invented by Popea, Emperor Nero’s wife), which they would remove the next day with milk. They exfoliated their bodies by smearing olive oil and then applying calcium carbonate or with pumice stones. Then they rinsed the mixture with water or with scented oils (cedar, myrrh, pine, lily, saffron, quince, jara, violet or roses). Women in the aristocracy also took milk baths (although Cleopatra is famous for it, it was a usual solution).
By the 1st century AD in the city of Rome the obsession with white skin became very important. Many women used products like bean flour to appear the maximum pale but according to Galen some of them also used lead powder which is extremely toxic.
Women had to be careful with cosmetics because applying them too much was considered only proper for prostitutes. By Greek influence, the eyebrows were very thick, painted with antimony or soot to create almost a unibrow. This custom fell in disuse at the beginning of 1st century BC and they started trimming the eyebrows.
Long eyelashes were considered very beautiful, eyes were shaped as big as possible with black antimony powder. Only in very special occasions, and after Cleopatra went to Rome, some women shaded their eyes with greenish clays (rich in celadonite, malachite or glauconite) or with bluish earth containing zurita.
White regular teeth were very valued (both in men and women). For a long time they used pumice powder or vinegar to clean them. Hispani used urine and this was considered very funny for the Romans (Catulus made a poem about a friend using this method). In the 1st century AD Escribonius Largus, the physician of the Emperor Claudius, invented the first toothpaste based on a mixture of vinegar, honey, salt and heavily crushed glass. If they were lacking teeth, they could use false ones made from ivory, human or animal teeth, sewn with gold.
For centuries Roman women considered mahogany (or red) hair the most beautiful. When Julius Caesar brought so many Gaul slaves to Rome, blond hair became a new obsession (and probably blue eyes, too). Many women started dying their hair with vinegar and saffron, sprinkling it with gold dust (or using gold hairnets) to make it golden. Pigeon droppings, goat fat and caustic soap were also used at the end of the 1st century AD. If they didn’t have enough hair, they had wigs made with real hair from German slaves.
The Republican hairstyle was quite simple, parted in the middle and a bun. In imperial times the fashion were complicated creations with several layers. Even modest women used crossed braids over the forehead. Married women, like vestal women and priestesses, would wear a hairstyle known as sex crines (six braids).
About body hair, from the existence of slaves only dedicated to shaving, historians think that they shaved the whole body. The mosaics don’t show hairy women. The canon for the face was large almond-shaped eyes, sharp nose, medium-sized mouth and ears, oval cheeks and chin.
Bikini Girls (300- 400 AD)
Part of a mosaic found in the early 4th-century Villa Romana del Casale in Sicily, the “Bikini Girls,” as they are known, provide one of the few celebrations of the female figure performing athletic acts, other than dance, in the history of art. Thin without being wrought by exercise, their vivacious bodies would not be out of place in mid-20th century Italy or America. Which is to say, the present a “natural” ideal, formed by activity rather than training.
Conclusion
Roman men preferred modest women who do not use too much make up or ornaments, but still had their ‘natural beauty’. This didn’t mean that Roman men were against cosmetics, since there is a lot of evidence that showed that the cosmetic business was popular then, but Roman men felt that makeup should be done for ‘preservation of beauty’, not ‘unnatural embellishment’.
Natural beauty symbolized chastity and purity, values held up high in the Roman Empire. Women wearing too much makeup or jewelry were seen as seductive and manipulative. Roman men liked women with a light complexion, smooth skin, and minimal body hair. White teeth, long eyelashes, and no body odor was preferable as well. To maintain these standards, rich Roman women used extensive measures to keep their ‘natural beauty’.
Wealthy women like Cleopatra and Poppaea were known to have bathed in milk to keep their milky complexion. Many skincare products were sold in the Roman Empire. Examples are oil from sheep’s wool for makeup, chalk powder as a whitener, gum Arabic as wrinkle cream, and ash from snails as treatment for freckles and sores. Roman women shaved and plucked with resin paste and pumice stones. Perfume was to be strong enough to block off body odor, and not too strong to the point of reeking. As for things that couldn’t be taken care of such as oral hygene(oral hygene was backwards then), fake teeth made from bone and ivory were used. Romans may also have preferred light haired women, a tradition borrowed from the Greeks.
Greek and Roman women used oils, vinegar, and customized hats to keep their hair light. Hairstyles were important too. Young maidens had long hair, slave girls had shorter hair, and matrons had their long hair tied into a bun and adorned with accessories.
#beauty#beautiful#ideals#women#history#women's history#beauty standards#cleopatra#courtesan#phryne#aphrodite#ancient greece
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this might be too specific but i relate so i want it very badly: obi-wan experiences chronic knee/shoulder pain but hides it from everyone (especiaLLY the council) except for anakin & ahsoka & cody, that's it, and all three of them love him so much and want him to not be in pain but obi-wan hates worrying others. it just means a lot to my little pea brain
obi-wan with chronic pain (and good friends :')
Contrary to popular belief, it didn't get better.
Obi-Wan returned to duty a week after Geonosis. It would have been sooner, had Vokara Che not been so insistent, and the Council a little less willing to listen. The saber wounds from his knee and shoulder were sewn up from a healing crystal, no scar to even show for them now. Unlike Anakin, who would feel the effects of Dooku's blade for the rest of his life.
But a year into the Clone Wars—a year of watching the Republic struggle and crumble and snap, a year of watching sentient beings die at the hand of his failure, a year of knowing that any of them, any of them, could be next—and Anakin was fighting better than he ever had. He'd blossomed, really—as a Jedi, a leader, a man. Sometimes, when he was sparring with Anakin, Obi-Wan forgot Geonosis had happened at all.
But not for long. Never for long.
"Sir?"
Cody was watching him now—goodness, he'd forgotten the Commander was there. They'd been combing through paperwork, settling the affairs of the latest campaign, and neither of them had even changed from their scorched and bloodied clothes. Obi-Wan had declined medbay—he always did, these days. But knew he wasn't being quite as discreet as he'd hoped from the way Cody followed him down the hall, gently taking his arm when he stumbled.
Watching him with soft eyes now.
"Sir, you should sit down," Cody said. "Or go to bed. We can finish this tomorrow."
"We won't have time tomorrow," Obi-Wan replied, without looking up from the screen. With one hand, he massaged his shoulder, trying not to grimace. He leaned on one knee. "We'll be landing in Coruscant in six standard hours, and then it'll be all politics and Council business and—"
"And I can finish it myself then, is what I was getting at."
A light hand came around his back, then—not moving him any place in particular. Just there, a gentle reminder. Soft and warm.
"I can't," Obi-Wan said softly.
"You couldn't do that to me? Sir, I'm your Marshall Commander—"
"No," Obi-Wan said. "Well, I would hate to do that to you. But I mean...I..."
He leaned forward against the nav console. If it wasn't there, he wasn't sure if he could still hold himself up.
He closed his eyes. "I mean I couldn't sleep if I tried." Cody's hand on his back stilled. "Not the way I'm..."
Cody, behind him, finished quietly. "The way you're hurting."
Obi-Wan didn't answer.
But he did let Cody pull up a chair. Cody had to help him down, keeping him from too much weight on the bad knee. He had the grace to ignore the unbidden cry of pain as Obi-Wan sank down into the seat.
Obi-Wan nodded his thanks—wasn't entirely sure what would come out if he tried to speak. His vision was a little blurry now, and he waited for it to come back. Then, he'd go back to the paperwork and the reports and—
Cody's hand landed lightly on his shoulder. The bad one, which ached almost as badly now as it had in the week after Geonosis.
And when Cody began to rub the aching muscle and bone, Obi-Wan almost tried to stop him. Found, though, that he didn't quite have the energy.
He leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes.
—
Back at the Temple, it should have been better. The place always glowed like a beacon in the Force, full of the light and humor of children and the wisdom of generations. Anakin was back from his own campaign in the Outer Rim, Ahsoka with him, and they had plans to meet up that evening for a meal.
Although at the moment, Obi-Wan wasn't certain he could stomach one.
The Council listened to his debrief with interest—it was his first in-person meeting in quite a while, though many of the other Masters tuned in via hologram. It was always strange to see them, but not to feel them. The Council Chamber felt empty in spite of the many voices.
But an in-person meeting meant Obi-Wan had to work a little harder to hide it—the way he leaned on one leg more than the other, the way he reached for his shoulder when no one was looking his way. As a hologram, he only needed to think about how normal he looked. Here in the Chamber, he had to be careful he wasn't projecting into the Force how he felt.
"Master Kenobi, we have a difficult contractual situation in the Mid Rim. Might we send you to negotiate?"
Obi-Wan stifled the odd feeling in his chest—relief, in part, in fulfilling his real role as a Jedi. Regret, that Cody and the men would be on their own.
And then, the strangest one of all—a bit of dread.
He didn't want to be alone.
"Of course, Master Windu."
"We'll brief you tomorrow," he replied. "For now, get some rest—you'll need it. We all do."
Obi-Wan nodded. The meeting was dismissed, and the Councilors moved to adjourn.
When Obi-Wan started for the door, though, he stumbled.
Master Windu saw—or maybe sensed—his discomfort, and soon enough he was there at his side.
"And perhaps," he said, hand gently on Obi-Wan's forearm. "Make a visit to the Halls of Healing as well."
"I am fine, Master."
Master Windu's eyebrows raised, then lowered. Obi-Wan's face burned.
"There isn't much they can do for me anyhow."
Obi-Wan declined dinner at Dex's, when Anakin asked. Ahsoka had merely looked disappointed, but Anakin saw through him—the worry was all over his face.
"We'll bring some back for you," Ahsoka said. They were standing in the doorway of Obi-Wan's quarters. "You want the usual?"
"I'm afraid I'm not very hungry, Padawan."
It was Anakin who contested that. "You need to eat something. Better Dex's than more ration bars." He was eying Obi-Wan closely, which he avoided. "Be back soon, okay?"
There was a nudge in the Force—Anakin, checking in on him. Obi-Wan nudged back, but it was weak.
When they shut the door, Obi-Wan kicked off his boots and left them in the living room. He thought about making some tea, but the energy necessary to get to the kitchen, and the thought of holding something in his stomach, both deterred him. Instead, he inched toward the bedroom, finally allowing himself to limp as much as necessary. No need to put on a show now.
Until he stumbled. A step from the bedroom door, his bad knee gave, and he cried out.
He didn't catch himself.
At long last, he managed to get himself into bed. He stripped off his outer tunics as best he could, leaving the leggings and undershirt beneath, and curled himself under the covers. He could sleep, maybe. He didn't feel the pain in his sleep.
But blast, no, it hurt too much, and the ache was so constant and pressing he couldn't even find a position that was comfortable, couldn't even lie still without feeling it. He couldn't sleep like this. For so many nights now, he couldn't sleep like this.
So he didn't. Just lay there, hurting, alone.
When Anakin knocked on the door again, he couldn't even force himself up to get it.
Anakin knew the code—knocking was more of a formality anyhow, for both of them. From under the covers, he heard the door sliding open and two sets of feet enter the room, talking and laughing. And that made his heart ache, too.
"Obi-Wan?" Anakin called. "We brought you a burger. Where'd you go?"
They crossed the living room, and then there was a knock on the bedroom door. It opened, and light flooded in.
He heard Anakin exhale.
There was whispering, and then Anakin was passing the food to Ahsoka and murmuring something he couldn't hear. When she was gone, just Anakin crossed the room. Obi-Wan felt, more than saw, him sit down on the edge of the bed.
"It's bad today, then," Anakin said softly.
Obi-Wan nodded. And for some reason, it was those simple words—an admission of the truth—that brought tears to his eyes.
He rolled onto his back, rubbing a sleeve across his face with a sniff. The motion sent a sharper pain through his shoulder, and he let out a short, high-pitched sound instead of answering.
Anakin didn't say anything more. Just took over Obi-Wan's weak attempt at massaging out the pain, the way that Vokara Che had showed him a year ago. Obi-Wan let his head drop back into the pillow, and closed his eyes.
It did ease off a bit. He didn't know how much time passed before he was opening his eyes again—had he fallen asleep? And Ahsoka was in the room, sitting on his other side.
"I thought you might be getting a little hungry," she said.
Obi-Wan tried to smile. "I'm afraid I don't quite have it in me to get to the kitchen, Padawan."
She revealed the bag of takeout, and a stack of plates and cutlery.
"How about a picnic in bed?"
And that almost got a smile.
Anakin helped him sit up. They stacked some pillows against the headboard, so Obi-Wan something to lean against, and he drew his knees toward his chest beneath the blankets. They kept the lights dim, and propped his knee up on some more pillows. Ahsoka got his food out onto a plate. And for the first time in far too long, they shared a real meal.
Anakin and Ahsoka did most of the talking. Obi-Wan followed the conversation, some banter about the pros and cons of Jar'Kai against droids, which eventually led to a mock lightsaber battle using the kitchen spoons. And Obi-Wan, somehow, found a laugh within himself too.
When they'd finished, Ahsoka cleared the dishes. Anakin helped him settle back into the bed, head still propped up by pillows, and popped in a holovid. Obi-Wan didn't even bother to protest that they had more important things to do.
He didn't see the end of the film. In fact, he barely saw the beginning, before his head was listing sideways and falling gently against Anakin's shoulder.
And as his Padawans settled in beside him, the voices of the holo-film flickering in and out of his consciousness, he felt something distant and warm, something he'd missed—
Peace.
#she's back and she's got oneshots!! lol#hoping to do many many more now that my orchestra au is almost done :))))#obi wan kenobi#anakin skywalker#whump#chronic pain#commander cody#ahsoka tano#my fic#prompt
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Misconceptions About Tommyinnit’s Character That Genuinely INFURIATE Me
Since the recent events following the second L’Manburg Festival and subsequent war, I’ve seen many, many hot takes surrounding the nature of Tommyinnit’s character on the SMP. Some of which annoyed me to the point where I felt compelled to sit down and actually write this. I’m going to only be highlighting the most common complaints or questions I’ve seen, one by one, in hopes of providing a better understanding of Tommy’s character for anyone interested. (I also briefly discuss Techno and Tubbo’s characters as well.)
If you’ve said similar things to what I’m going to be discussing below, please know that it’s perfectly understandable how you’d come to these conclusions. Some of these aspects of Tommy’s character are not always obvious; especially if being watched from another streamer’s POV. This may become quite lengthy, so bear with me for now.
“Tommy’s motives are all over the place. He can’t decide whether he wants the discs back or not.”
Tommy is actually one of the most motivationally consistent characters on the entire Dream SMP. Even Techno, someone completely confident in their ideals, does more motivational flipping than Tommy. From the very start of the story, Tommy has always cared for three things; L’Manburg, Tubbo, and his music discs. However, him caring for something is not itself a motivation.
Surprisingly enough, his motivation isn’t even just, ‘Get my discs back,’ like many assume it is. Tommy’s one true motivation, since the end of the Independence War, has always been, ‘Keep things the way they are now.’
Tommy’s one fatal flaw is that he is resistant to change and refuses to let go of the past. This is seen through all of his actions and words; in all conflicts involving him. This flaw is the drive to all of Tommy’s mistakes. Burning down George’s house, an action which resulted in him getting exiled, was done out of a desire to pull pranks the way he used to before the first war. His friendship with Ranboo started because Tommy said he reminded him of Tubbo, back before he was President.
Tommy still talks highly of Wilbur because he chooses to remember him as the wise, kind mentor who cared for him. This motive is the reason he defends L’Manburg so fiercely; it’s his memory of a better past. This is why he holds grudges more often than any other character; especially refusing to forgive Techno after he killed Tubbo during the Manburg Massacre.
It’s why Tommy falls under extreme distress whenever Tubbo or Quackity tell him that something will never be the same again. This motivation is entirely formed from an underlying desire for peace and comfort, something Tommy has been denied since being forced into a life wrought with war and death. To accept change, to Tommy, is painful and terrifying. But he will only ever truly be happy when he finally learns to let go.
“Why do the discs matter so much to Tommy? They’re not actually worth anything.”
Tommy’s discs are much more than just any ordinary pair of music discs. They were never important for their material worth, but for what Tommy was willing to sacrifice in order to keep them. Tommy is entirely what gives the discs their value.
Tommy also commonly operates under the Sunk-Cost Fallacy, wherein he’s invested too much of himself into something to just abandon it, even if it’s causing him problems. This mentality is a huge piece of what keeps him tied to both L’Manburg and to his discs. He’s sacrificed too much at this point to simply let them go. If he admits the discs are worthless, then he’s admitting that he wasted all this time and effort, just to keep them.
The discs also act as a constant source of hope for Tommy because they are directly tied with his motivations as a character. They’re something he’s had since the very beginning. They’re something he used to listen to with Tubbo on their shared bench.
To Tommy, they symbolize a life before war, filled with comfort and peace. They are a love letter to his country and his late mentor Wilbur. They are a physical representation of Tubbo’s companionship. They are the only thing, besides L’Manburg and his best friend, that gives him the hope that he can one day return things to the way they used to be.
This ideal, paired with Tommy’s refusal to let go, has left him ruthlessly pursuing the things he’s lost. Not his music discs, but his peace and comfort, his friendship, his country, his mentor Wilbur, and his life before war.
In his desperation to hold onto his prized possession, it has only hurt and pushed away the people that love him. If Tommy continues to ignore this reality, while still refusing to resolve his major flaw entwined with it, he will lose all that the discs had once stood for. He will lose his country, then his friend Tubbo, and then he will lose himself.
“Tommy never grows or learns from his mistakes. This makes him a badly written character.”
Characters do not have to constantly learn from their actions to be well-written. Tommy is one of the best examples of this. The fact that his growth is infrequent is the entire point of his character; it’s completely stemmed from his fatal flaw.
By addressing himself, he would be accepting change, something that terrifies him; something he stubbornly resists until he is absolutely forced to confront it. Contrary to popular belief, Tommy knows when he makes mistakes, but he pretends to be ignorant as to avoid facing reality. He digs his head in the sand despite knowing better, puppeteering the person he used to be during happier times, now gone.
In spite of his infrequent growth, the idea that Tommy still hasn’t learned anything isn’t quite correct either. Tommy, as of the last three plot streams, has shown incredible character development. By giving up his discs again, he had finally demonstrated that Tubbo is more important to him than his possessions. Speaking as a makeshift leader, he put aside his issues with others to rally them together against a common threat, something which Tommy had never been able to do before. He owned up to all of his mistakes openly, apologizing to everyone he’s ever hurt in one place.
He apologized to Tubbo after they were reunited and came to terms with the fact that Tubbo was forced to exile him without choice, finally forgiving him. He was kind to Sapnap and learned how to be his friend after months of bitter rivalry. And these are only a few examples. This isn’t to say Tommy has overcome/fixed everything because he clearly hasn’t. There are still major things Tommy needs to work through that remain unaddressed, the biggest being his complicated relationship with Technoblade.
“Tommy only cares about himself. He does everything in his power to be the hero, always putting himself in the center of attention, especially during Doomsday.”
Tommy, since the start of the L’Manburg War for Independence, has never set out to be a hero. Not once. He may fall into the role of the protagonist, but his identity as a hero was pushed onto him by others. Giving up the discs was his only option during the Independence War.
So when Wilbur called him a hero for it, Tommy said he didn’t feel like he was. During the November 16th War, Tommy again said he didn’t feel like a hero because he had lost what he thought was everything at the time. During exile, Tommy certainly knew he was no hero. And upon reuniting with Tubbo, he admitted to feeling like the farthest thing from it. That he’d hurt everyone and all he wanted to do now was fix it.
The day before Doomsday, Tommy only took a leadership position because no one else was willing to, filling the role for Tubbo, who was crumbling under pressure. He had no choice but to try to bring everyone together, or fight alone. Most viewers never saw this during Doomsday, but before the battle, almost everyone who had vowed to fight alongside L’Manburg had abandoned them the very next day. They were convinced it was going to be destroyed either way, no matter what they did, so they chose not to see it through to the end; ultimately leaving Tommy and those who remained to fight a losing battle, alone.
After about a third of the way through the battle, it became clear to everyone that they could do nothing to win. One by one, everyone stopped fighting and stood by to watch their country go up in smoke. Tommy was the only person on the battlefield who refused to stand down and give up. And so he took over the role as leader again, trying his best to keep them alive, to keep Tubbo hopeful; to keep fighting, no matter what.
However, what most people don’t realize, is that this isn’t Tommy trying to be a hero or force himself into the spotlight. This is Tommy trying to convince himself to keep going. Because whenever things start to look hopeless, Tommy simply chooses to ignore them. He puts on a happy face and soldiers through it because that’s all he knows how to do. Tommy, at his core, is someone who wants peace through stagnation. He doesn’t want to fight, although causing the occasional friendly conflict is how he finds fun. He doesn’t set out to purposely hurt others.
Tommy may come across as self-centered, but this is because he is an extremely extroverted character. He finds energy and joy in the attention of others, both good and bad. It’s why he’s always seeking the approval of others and, oftentimes, will destructively insert himself into another person’s life in order to find it.
Out of every character in the story, Tommy is the most drawn to praise and positive reinforcement. He is constantly seeking out mentors and friends because Tommy needs someone else to help him feel confident in his own identity and abilities. It’s why Wilbur was such a positive influence on him. His boisterous confidence has always been a front because if anyone were to actually hurt him, he knows it will make his self-esteem crumble instantly.
This is part of why Dream’s manipulation was so effective against him. By isolating him, he’s left without energy and looking to another person’s guidance. Tommy outwardly may seem independent and rude, but just under the skin, he’s unconfident and lost when he’s by himself. Tommy will only grow from this flaw when he finds his own identity and inner confidence; when he finally learns to be okay with being alone.
“Tommy goes to the festival solely to get his disc back and then tells Tubbo to give it away immediately after. That doesn’t make any sense.”
Before the screaming match between the two friends during the second L’Manburg Festival, Tommy had been in exile, manipulated by Dream for long enough to lose his will to carry on. It is because of him that Tommy’s reality becomes distorted, long after fleeing from his abuser. This mangling of ideals leads Tommy to subconsciously believe that L’Manburg and Tubbo are unsalvageable.
Therefore, the only thing he has hopes of retrieving are his discs, which are easier to manage than the latter two things. And so Tommy does reprehensible things at the behest of Techno in a vain hope of getting them back, going so far as to kidnap and torture for them. This ultimately culminates in a confrontation between the ex-friends, quickly turning violent. It is in this violence that we see Tommy has sunk to his absolute lowest point in his journey.
Swinging his axe, he nearly kills his friend as he delivers a string of words that cause the room to silence instantly. He says the discs were always worth more than his friend. Within the quiet of the room, Tommy is forced to reflect on everything he’s done. How he kidnapped and tortured Connor. How he accidentally drowned Fundy. How he traumatized Ranboo.
And now he’s hurt Tubbo, the one person he has always sought to protect; someone he vowed to never hurt. This realization causes Tommy to break. He’s so ashamed of himself that he can’t look at anyone. Tommy knows now that he is worse than anyone he’s ever hated.
With pain in his voice, he tries and fails to apologize to Tubbo in the moment. The only way he knows to redeem himself now is to prove to Tubbo, after everything, that he can still put the discs aside. And so he does.
“The fact that Tommy is still trying to get his discs back after L’Manburg was destroyed is unreasonable and ridiculous.”
Tommy deals with grief in an interesting way, doing something very similar to Techno. His grief almost instantly becomes anger and a drive to prove himself. It morphs into a need for vengeance in response to injustice, always.
After the destruction of L’Manburg, Tommy saying he wants the discs back is a double-sided motivator. The obvious side being: Tommy still needs them to feel comfort. The subtle side beneath it: Tommy is using them as an excuse to find Dream and kill him. To make him pay for helping destroy their home, hurting his friends, and abusing him in exile.
Upon the loss of his home, I’d also argue the discs have only grown more important to Tommy in the aftermath. Typically, in grief, people hold onto things that survive devastation far more than if the tragic event never occurred. If your eldest child dies, one may hold their surviving children tighter. If your house burns down, one may deeply treasure a box of items that survived the flames. Tommy’s desperation after losing so much is entirely understandable.
On top of this, the discs are still the core to Tommy’s fatal flaw. They are what keeps him from achieving total happiness, so him getting over this intrinsic part of himself so easily would make for an unsatisfying character arc. He still has to work for his happiness in order to change for the better.
To add, I’ve seen a lot of people complaining that Tommy is still prioritizing the discs over Tubbo, especially in that moment. And while I mostly agree, there are some interactions that stand out to me as being different between the pair that may imply otherwise. Tommy says a few times that despite L’Manburg being destroyed, he still has something left to lose; each time, turning to look at Tubbo.
This subtly implies that losing Tubbo would be as devastating as losing his home. Tubbo also never voices disagreement over Tommy’s continued pursuit of the item. However, Tubbo frequently does what he thinks will make others happy, so this doesn’t implicitly mean support for Tommy either. Besides these two things, this is still Tommy’s fatal flaw shining through, continuing to hurt others around him.
I only hope Tubbo can learn to stand up for himself and voice his real thoughts to Tommy now, after everything. It would provide at least some desperately-needed closure for Tubbo’s character.
“How could Tommy betray Techno like that? Techno told him upfront what he was going to do.”
While it’s true that Techno was obvious about his plans, Tommy was also just as upfront with Techno about what he thought of it. In fact, maybe even more so, considering Techno attempted to hide them from Tommy for a good portion of their partnership. Whenever Techno brought up the idea of destroying L’Manburg or hurting Tubbo, Tommy would always remind Techno that he didn’t want to hurt anyone. And that if Techno ever did, Tommy would be there to stand in his way. He never once stopped saying this.
Tommy’s two major positive character traits have always been his undying loyalty and his strength to never give up, even in the face of death. Two classically heroic qualities, both of which, ironically, reinforce his fatal flaw. His refusal to change makes him stubborn; stubbornness being the only quality that makes unwavering loyalty and extreme persistence feasible.
Because of these two traits, it was impossible from the start for Dream to completely break Tommy’s spirit and for Techno to get him to agree to anything too extreme. Despite this, Techno already had no hope of keeping Tommy on his side after the events of the day before the Festival. During it, Tommy had asked multiple times for Techno to give his word not to hurt anyone. That they’d only threaten to spawn a wither, get Techno’s remaining weapons in exchange, then leave. That’s it.
Techno avoided directly promising Tommy but still agreed not to regardless. So when Techno chose to spawn the wither anyway, despite Tommy urging them to leave multiple times, whatever trust Tommy had with him went completely out the window. Thus, when the threat was finally real, that Techno would make due on his promise to burn his home country to the ground and slaughter his friends, Tommy intervened. It would be unreasonable to expect Tommy not to stand against him in that moment, especially after his mental breakdown which ensued as a result of him nearly killing his best friend.
Adding salt to the wound on Tommy’s end, Techno decided to also align himself with Dream, someone Techno knew Tommy was afraid of. This might have been a way to purposely hurt Tommy. More likely, it was because Dream and him shared a common goal in the moment and Techno desperately needed allies.
However, the implication of Techno siding with Tommy’s abuser most certainly hurt him, regardless of its original intentions. This is possibly why Tommy kept insisting through Doomsday that Techno betrayed him, avoiding actually telling anyone the reason as to why. If he couldn’t find the words to describe what Dream did to him, even to Tubbo, he certainly wouldn’t be able to tell Techno either.
“Techno gave Tommy everything, only to be repaid with betrayal.”
This statement regarding Tommy is the one I see most often. (It is also the one I get the most heated about.)
Dream’s character is well known for his manipulation tactics against other characters; pitting them against each other, crushing them under his heel, bending their will to conform to his own. It’s what makes him an interesting villain. It’s something fun to discuss.
But is it still fun to discuss manipulation tactics if they’re so subtle, almost no one notices them? This is the paradigm Technoblade’s character falls into. While people know Techno for his laid-back personality, dry humor, and complex motivations, many fail to recognize him as a manipulator. The reason why this is so hard to spot is because it is mostly unintentional on behalf of the character. Dream performs his craft with intention, Techno does it without realizing.
As well as this being unwitting, it is sandwiched between Techno’s actual attempts to connect with Tommy and care for him. Thus, making the manipulation feel less damaging. The only problem is, this still hurts Tommy just as much, regardless of the intentions behind it. Especially after just escaping Dream, Tommy’s reality and sense of identity are horribly distorted. In this vulnerable state, he desperately needs healing and someone to help ground him. This is what makes him even more susceptible to Techno’s influence.
And because it is much subtler, it is harder to notice, and much harder to break free from. Despite Tommy claiming to hate Techno for what he did on November 16th, he still chose to flee to his house because it was the only place he could think of going, as well as being the safest area possible. After the failed execution, Techno mentioned potentially hurting Tubbo through a vengeance plot. Tommy voiced extreme distress over this, to which Techno threatened to kick him out of his house.
Tommy then says he’s fine being homeless because he doesn’t want anything to do with someone who would hurt his friend. This is when Techno decides to weaponize Tommy’s own trauma against him. To be fair to Techno again, Tommy never told him the extent of the abuse he suffered in exile. But Techno isn’t stupid. He knows Tommy is extremely afraid of Dream, and for good reason.
So he tells Tommy that if he were kicked out, he’d be defenseless. That if he were out there all alone, Dream would find him very easily. That Dream would drag him right back to Logstedshire in an instant. He notices the way Tommy reacts to this, how quickly he changes his mind about being kicked out. He continues to use this trauma repeatedly in order to keep Tommy under his roof, no matter how disagreeable he gets about Techno’s plans. He knows he can’t retrieve his weapons alone because he has no leverage.
Therefore, using Tommy like a wild card was a major side strategy. Techno knows it will hurt Tubbo by doing this and may make the President more willing to compromise. In addition to this, many of the strategies Techno utilizes are Narcissistic manipulation tactics, categorized by their intent to keep the victim in a position below the abuser in terms of worth. This includes Techno using the silent treatment as a punishment, something which hurts Tommy since he craves affection from others.
He also attempts to isolate Tommy by telling him he doesn’t need anyone else; that everyone abandoned him during exile (something which Dream has also said.) He tells Tommy that he’s only alive because Techno is there to defend him and supply for him, as well as constantly reminding Tommy to not let any compliments he receives get to his head. These are both meant to make Tommy depend more on Techno and doubt his own abilities. Techno also occasionally engages in subtle gaslighting, attempting to sow doubt in Tommy’s mind about his relationships with Tubbo, Quackity, Ranboo, and Fundy.
It’s also vital to keep in mind what exactly separates Dream and Techno in this regard. The most important thing being that Techno actually does care about Tommy. He trusts him and wants to earnestly help him. He knows Tommy has been traumatized and abused in some way, but he doesn’t know how to help because he’s not that great with people. It also doesn’t help that Tommy is unable to tell anyone what happened.
In the end, Techno really does want to be a shield for Tommy. Despite debating handing Tommy over to Dream, it’s more likely Techno was using this as bait for Dream to waste his favor on something useless. After all, he could always save Tommy, should he ask for him to. Techno’s warnings about Tubbo and L’Manburg also come from a place of love, as Techno was personally hurt by them and wants to protect Tommy by telling him to leave it behind. However, just because something is done out of love, doesn’t mean it’s automatically helpful or good for someone.
There’s no better example of this than in Techno’s most damaging and frequently used tactic: ‘Buy Their Love,’ a technique commonly used on children by narcissistic parents. At first glance, nothing seems wrong. Techno gives Tommy most things he asks for; providing him with food, gifts, protection, and a place to sleep. The manipulation within this arises when the act of kindness is counted as a debt against the person who receives it. That by receiving so many good things, they would be ungrateful to go against their abuser. Doesn’t matter if they emotionally or physically hurt you, they gave you gifts, so you should shut your mouth and allow the abuse to continue.
Whenever Tommy speaks out against Techno’s violent actions or his plans to hurt his friends, Techno would frequently bring up all his ‘good deeds.’ He consistently reminds Tommy that he could’ve just thrown him back to Dream, but he was too kind. That he went out of his way to give him gear, food, and a roof over his head. That he was kind so Tommy should be quiet and let Techno plot to hurt the people he loves. Or else he’s selfish and ungrateful. Or else Techno will take all of his gifts back and leave him with nothing.
Knowing this, it is horrifying seeing people justifying this behavior by mocking Tommy’s character and calling him ungrateful using this very same fallacy. (Especially for those who grew up being controlled by this very tactic.)
It is through knowing Techno’s use of the ‘Buy Their Love,’ method that makes Tommy’s, ‘I am worthy,’ response, not one of betrayal, but one of triumph. This moment is a major positive character change for Tommy for many reasons. When Tommy decides to stand against Techno, this causes him to fall back on his most reliable tactic. He insults Tommy and then asks for the Axe of Peace back. Instead of caving, Tommy refuses.
By keeping the Axe of Peace, Techno’s final gift to him, he is not only rejecting the destruction of all he loves, but he is breaking free from Techno’s manipulation. He says, ‘I am worthy,’ because now he knows his own self-worth. He doesn’t need Techno or Dream to decide it for him. This moment is Tommy finally breaking free from not just Techno, but Dream as well. He is finally free.
“Tommy was only using Techno and never thought of him as a friend.”
Tommy and Techno’s relationship is complicated, which is why pretending only one side was in the wrong isn’t entirely accurate. Their friendship, in summary, is tragic when fully examined; being doomed from the start. Techno and Tommy are brought into conflict often because they are simultaneously so similar and so different. Techno and Tommy both deal with grief in the same way. They both long for a life of peace and comfort. They each long for companionship, hold their ideals in kind, and are both naturally resilient in the face of adversity.
Yet, their personalities and courses of action are polar opposites. What makes this friendship one of tragedy is the fact that not just Techno, not just Tommy, but both of them, actually thought the other was their friend. They had each wanted to be the other’s friend since the day they’d met. Tommy never stopped wanting to impress Techno and get on his good side, even if his methods annoyed the target of his affections. Him calling Techno ‘The Blade’ was never meant to dehumanize him; it was a title of adoration.
Along the same spectrum, Techno is a character who generally longs for friendship, but pretends not to after a lifetime of hurt. He’s been burned too many times, and so he chooses to stay alone. Techno is generally very reclusive and awkward around others, so when he likes someone or cares for them, it’s noticeable from a mile away. Their friendship has a very brotherly dynamic, and the fact that Techno allowed him to stay in his house, implies Tommy is a step above pretty much everyone else but Phil. Putting up with Tommy’s shenanigans is itself a sign of affection.
However, when their goals come into conflict and the two start to drift apart, they deal with this in massively different ways. With Tommy devastated and enraged, and with Techno withdrawn and hurt, once more burned by someone he slowly learned to trust. They were once both friends, neither one was pretending. Yet, both of them thought their companionship was unreciprocated.
On top of this, both Techno and Tommy were using each other. Techno used Tommy to get his weapons back by manipulating and lying to him. Tommy used Techno to protect him from Dream and get his discs back. They each hurt the other and refused to listen, both shouting valid complaints at the other that they refused to hear.
Their relationship is also deeply affected by the themes of vengeance in the current arc, which is something I haven’t seen many people talk about. Most of the current conflicts this past month have resulted from characters being unable to forgive, resorting to revenge as a way to cope with loss. L’Manburg was the first to initiate this, through the influence of Quackity. The Butcher Army was formed to punish Techno for a war crime he committed. And while this is perfectly reasonable, what isn’t is the way the incident was orchestrated. It was an unchecked abuse of power to execute someone without a fair trial, as well as punishing Phil, who was not involved whatsoever.
This was also particularly unfair to Techno, as many projected their anger at Wilbur onto him. Even Tommy did this, finding himself unable to blame his late mentor, so Techno was the next best option for him. However, it was Techno’s response to this that was interesting. He chose a path of vengeance, the same way L’Manburg did, after vowing to live his life as a pacifist. By doing this and following through, he hurt everyone, not just the people he claimed needed to pay for their actions.
Instead of just picking the weed in the garden, he set the entire flower bed on fire. Through L’Manburg’s destruction, he gets what he wants. He destroys their government, but he also scars the earth and shatters the sky. He leaves uninvolved people homeless, deeply hurting Ranboo, Eret, and especially Ghostbur. Philza turns to vengeance as well, taking his anger at the death of his son out on people who do not deserve it.
Tubbo, a day before the second Festival, was given another chance to seek revenge when Techno had spawned a wither on their land. Instead, all Tubbo could say was, ‘We do nothing … It’s pointless, vengeance. It’s poisonous.’ By doing this, he has managed to be a bigger person than even Techno was, with the strength and maturity to turn the other cheek. And now with Tommy’s plan to kill Dream, the conflict continues to escalate; only ending where forgiveness begins.
It’s sad to think, if Techno didn’t choose a path of vengeance and Tommy was strong enough to tell Techno how he really felt, the two might have remained friends. Who knows? Maybe they still can.
“Tommy was the one in the wrong. Techno was right to destroy L’Manburg.”
Techno is a lovely character. He’s well-written, engaging, funny. He has many values and quirks that are generally relatable and interesting. His motives are deeply understandable and sympathetic. And yet, he is perfectly capable of being evil, in just the same way that Tommy can be deeply flawed despite being the protagonist.
I’m sure most people already know that Technoblade is a villain. Or more accurately, a tragic antagonist. Techno (the streamer) knows he is and he’s having fun playing that part. Just because a character is morally in the wrong doesn’t mean their values and ideology don’t have merit. The best character I could compare Techno to is Thanos.
They have completely valid concerns and points, but it is the way in which they go about achieving their goals that makes them into evil people. And despite this, many will still agree with them, even after they do something reprehensible. Contrary to popular belief, Technoblade’s tendency towards violence isn’t a good thing, no matter how you look at it. Even Techno himself knows this, that’s why he decided to reform and become a pacifist with Phil. He was not a good influence on Tommy, on top of also manipulating him.
Techno caving to hatred and vengeance makes him no different to the resolve of the Butcher Army that pursued him. It is precisely the fact that he went on to destroy the home of not just Tommy, but also Ranboo and Ghostbur, that puts him in the wrong. He is allowed to despise all government and remove himself from it, but the moment he decided to insert himself into someone else’s country and take their home from them in order to destroy it, he abandoned an integral principle to his own values.
This principle being: ‘Choice.’ The act of letting others be free to decide what they want for themselves. It is a huge component to the concept of anarchy, the freedom to choose. And yet Techno robbed this from, not just the ruling powers that hurt him, but individuals who were not even involved in the first place. He justifies this by saying it’s for their own good, that he’s helping; while acting in a self-serving manner.
In his anger, he became the punisher, stooping lower than L’Manburg has ever gone. There is also the issue of Dream weaponizing Techno to destroy the one thing that has been a thorn in his side since the very start, manipulating Techno’s grief to achieve his goals. Tommy’s biggest sin in the Doomsday War was standing up to Techno and getting in the way of him hurting his friends and destroying his home.
This isn’t to say Tommy is perfect, because he still hurt everyone he ever loved. But the only way he knew to redeem himself was to fight for what he knew was right. And so he chose to fight alongside his best friend, Tubbo. However, just because Techno is in the wrong doesn’t mean others are wrong for wanting to side with him, or by finding joy in his ruthlessness. The biggest appeal of Techno is the fact that he opposes people like Tommy.
He knows how to put people in their place and it’s satisfying to watch. Some people love rooting for villains and it’s entertaining to see a being with so much power crush everyone else down so effortlessly. Especially because it’s so easy to sympathize with Technoblade. Sympathetic villains are the best kind; where they have understandable motivations, relatable flaws, people they love, and something they can lose. Dream is a villain you love to hate. Technoblade is a villain you hate to love. Simple as.
Despite the destruction of L’Manburg being either devastating or fantastic depending on who you are, there is one major good it has done. It has pushed Tommy more towards the completion of his character arc. By losing one of the three things he loves, it will be impossible for him to pretend any longer. He will be forced to confront reality very soon. It all depends on whether Tubbo will have to die first for him to finally see it.
#dream smp#character analysis#tommy innit#tommyinnit#mcyt#tubbo#technoblade#techno apologist#tommy apologist#long post#dream smp meta#dsmp tommy#dsmp tubbo#dsmp techno#tubbo dream smp#tommyinnit dream smp#technoblade dream smp#dream smp roleplay#tw gaslighting#tw manipulation#tw emotional manipulation#dreamwastaken#dsmp dream#philza#philza minecraft#dsmp philza#dream team
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Headcanons about Mewtwo
Okay, I kinda felt like writing out some headcanons I got of Mewtwo. My Mewtwo (that I call Miodzio), is based on the one in the first Pokemon movie and "Mewtwo Returns". Except that in my version of events, Mewtwo found and got to know Monika slightly before the events of his second movie.
Anyway, here we go!
Contrary to how many fanfictions portray him, Mewtwo has no genetic connection to Giovanni whatsoever. Instead, he truly is the brother of Aitwo, sharing enough genes with her to make them siblings. Dr. Fuji, in his quest to give his cloned daughter Aitwo enough life energy and vitality to survive the cloning process (and not die after 4 years, as the radio drama implied), wanted to use Mew's genes, as it is said to be immortal. In order to upgrade a future clone Aitwo, he used Mewtwo to test if Mew and Aitwo's genes can be combined, resulting in a new Aitwo clone that would be strong enough to emerge and live outside the tank. The reason why Aitwo was able to contact Mewtwo psychically is because of this genetic link.
Contrary to popular belief, Mewtwo doesn't have much in common with your average housecat.
Mewtwo isn't at all comfortable being completely idle, as this causes his existential dread to pop up, and he has a strong need to find meaning in his existence. So I imagine that he is a seeker of knowledge and a bit of an inventor (especially since he was able to build an entire castle and an automatic cloning machine from scratch). I imagine that when settling down to a place of his choosing, he would have a large library of knowledge and a lab in his "man cave". Like, a library/laboratory hybrid.
Mewtwo is only really attracted to human women; a Pokemon mate would not do it for him, as he is far too human himself and too removed from the everyday Pokemon. Plus, I'd argue that his experience of warmth and comfort from his human sister Aitwo has subconsciously shaped this attraction.
Monika, with her habit of giggling whenever she is nervous, embarrassed or happy feels familiar to him, as this is one trait she shares with his sister.
Mewtwo is the self-sustaining type. He would build his own hydroponics garden if it's necessary to not rely on outside help.
Shaped by the experiences at Mount Quena and the healing waters, he would pursue a career as a Healer, maybe even invent new medicine to help sick and wounded Pokemon. (or, he could even go so far as to revolutionize medicine and help humans too. I imagine that he would be this mysterious figure who published amazing medical articles under a pseudonym, but nobody in the medical field has ever personally seen this mysterious man to their face! I bet Mewtwo would get a kick out of staying mysterious like this! XD Plus, I imagine he would be someone who definitely could find a cure for cancer!!)
Mewtwo suffers from depression.
Mewtwo at first wasn't very good when it comes to opening up to others. And when it comes to love and romantic relationships, there was a real war in his mind - is staying with a lover worth the potential loss of freedom? This was the question he needed to find a solution for.
Mewtwo is totally such an Aquarius (or at least in my mind, he shares so many traits and fits so many descriptions of this zodiac sign!)
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STETER BANG 2021 ROUND UP, PART 1!
Eager to Tear Apart the Stars by @nacreousgore, with art by @smalls2233
“Last chance to run out of the woods now,” Peter says. Stiles’ eyes do the running. They flash to the outskirts of the small clearing, sweep in a rough half circle of the thick wall of dark trees surrounding them. Then they’re swimming back to lock onto the shape of Peter. Stiles takes in the sight - the curve of his shoulders, the spreading circle of black pupil in the low light. The shadows the moonlight is casting down on the angles of his face.
“I can’t outrun you, you know that right?” Stiles says. It’s an echoed version of Peter’s own words but this time it sounds almost hollow in the night, daunted but dipped with a curious revere.
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With a Heave-O Haule by @fascinatedscrawls, with art by @starkurt
When Stiles tags along on his best friend’s first voyage away from Beacon Point, he comes to appreciate the Shelby’s crew along with her captain, Peter Hale, and begins to wonder if he’s finally found a place for himself along the way.
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Like An Arrow by @wynnefic, with art by @asstrongasyouthink
After the war, Stiles means to return to the countryside and never see an alpha again if he doesn’t have to. But when his freedoms as an omega are in peril, along comes his former commanding officer with a proposal better than any Stiles has heard, except that it doesn’t include words of love.
Stiles hardly trusts himself not to reveal his feelings to a man who doesn’t feel the same way. After all, if Peter were interested, surely he would have made his move years ago…
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This is Not a Love Story by @luulapants, with art by @mock-arts
After his diagnosis with frontotemporal dementia, Stiles met a scarred man in a wheelchair who promised he had a cure for both of their conditions. Peter tells Stiles the story of their life together afterward.
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magic to make the sanest man go mad by @yogi-bogey-box, with art by @shebaren
Stiles has everything: two parents who love him, a giant Hale pack that adores him, a well of powerful magic, and a mate who would move heaven and earth for him. But when his mate is killed and their mate bond broken, it all comes crashing down. Determined to join Peter in death, Stiles tries to kill himself, calling on his magic to take him to his mate. But something goes awry and Stiles ends up in another dimension, where he finds a different kind of Peter. But first Stiles has to get him out of Eichen…
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A Match Made in Monstrosity by @theboboshow, with art by @thecrasy
An adult Stiles Stilinski has learned the trade of murder to survive and thrive. He survived the death of his mother and the resultant lack of guidance that led him to need to manage by unsavory means. Now he’s turned those skills into an art. He’s at the top of his field, taking down more unsolved marks than anyone else in a given year. With his partners Danny, Lydia, and Erica he must face a shadow organization that aims to destroy the Supernatural black market.
When the chips are down he must call on an unlikely ally. A man that has disrupted him on more than one occasion. A man who draws him nearer and makes his mind unravel the longer they know each other. Can they make their goals align for long enough to achieve their ambitions or will the organization crush them?
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Mask of Many Faces by @lucky-bishop, with art by @tarvera
Peter Hale knows what it’s like to wear a mask all of the time. Even before the fire, he had to be charming and quick on his feet and refuse to let anyone close. It didn’t mean that he didn’t feel, and that he doesn’t feel now, contrary to popular belief. What it does mean is that he sees it in Stiles Stilinski - he sees how the young man uses his voice and his energy as a mask for what lies below, and what he sees there unsettles him in a way that feels startlingly like empathy.
Stiles Stilinski feels like he’s drowning in deep waters, or perhaps burning up from the inside out, or starving to death in a dark, lonely forest. All he knows is that it feels like dying, but he’s so sure that if he just keeps trying it’ll be okay. If he just keeps giving as much of himself away as he possibly can and then some, someone will reciprocate, and provide him the stability he craves so badly. The last person he expects that to be is Peter Hale.
A story of faces both false and true - and of finding people who can tell the difference - told in three acts.
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The Magic of Fashion by @goddess47, with art by @spookubee
Admittedly, the young man was disheveled, unshaven, and sloppily dressed. The clothes were ragged and muddy. But the sprawled position let Peter see the young man’s long neck, toned arms and long legs. He would be slim-hipped under the baggy clothing.
“Oh, yum!” Peter sighed.
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The Fox and the Wolf by @tarvera, with art by @leafzelindor
His dreams were getting worse. He couldn't tell what was real or a dream sometimes. Was he going crazy or was the creature that spoke to him telling the truth?
Peter has a plan, but can Stiles trust him?
A season 3B AU starting with who finds Stiles in the cave.
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All it Takes is a Spark, by Mouflette, with art by Penumbria
Stiles decides to fix the hell his life has become by removing the root of all evil.
At least, that is the plan and what better way to do so than to go back in the past and change the course of destiny in order to make it all better?
It is a last resort decision that Stile takes. Going back before the Hale Fire, before Paige’s death, before the total corruption of the Nemeton. But going back in time comes with a price.
Let’s just hope all goes according to plan and no matter what, Stiles is a Spark.
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jealous cassian but this time instead of competing with high lords and sons of high lords what if it's a general from another court... this general could also be a lover of romance books and sweets ;)
I had a lot of fun with this one and I may have fallen a little bit in love with my own OC 🤷♀️
Nesta Archeron was not a force of nature. People loved to describe strong women as forces of nature, but that wasn’t her. That was Feyre. Feyre was brash and wild and unpredictable as a tsunami or an avalanche.
Nesta Archeron was a collection of cosmic power held tight and controlled beneath iron thick magic-infused skin.
Which made her an amazing general. All of that power and her amazing control. That was what was required to lead a legion.
Contrary to popular belief, Cassian was not a wild thing. He was not a good general because he was wild and elemental. He was a good general because he was in control. Because he woke up every morning and he didn’t flash his siphons around and try to beat anyone into submission. He trained. He fought. He lead by example. He flew at the head of his legions. He showed them the he was the best.
Mates were equals. It should have surprised no one that Nesta wanted to raise an army.
And she did. Oh she did. Nesta Archeron went to every court in Prythian and she picked up women who wanted to fight. She went down into the Court of Nightmares and took any women who wanted to fight with her. Freed them. Liberated them. Nesta planned on a small unit of females. By the time she was done she commanded thousands. It was the second largest military force in Prythian. Right after the Illyrians. Which was a nightly topic of debate. When she would surpass him. Cassian would be pissed if it happened sooner than a century.
Nesta was determined to make it happen by the end of the decade. Which was why she had set up this meeting with the new general of Spring.
“General,” the tall, pale man inclined his head, light brown hair falling over his brow as he did. “General,” he said it again, inclining his head in Cassian’s direction now. Lips tipping up in an amused smile and pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you both here?”
Nesta adjusted the knife strap around her thigh and moved into the room ahead of both males. “Cassian has decided to high-jack my meeting because he is intimidated by my success. His official reason, however, is that you are new and he comes to speak on behalf of the Night Court. To ensure that your goals are aligned.”
“Hmm, and you?” The general pulled out a chair at the head of the table and gestured for Nesta to take it. His breath tickled her neck as he leaned in to push the chair in after she sat. “What are your interests, Nesta Archeron.”
“Romance novels and chocolate cake, mostly.” Cassian laughed.
“Good taste,” the general smiled. “Hadley Minn?” a well-know romance novelist from Dawn. Sweet stories of proper young ladies falling in love and having missionary sex.
Nesta smiled just a little. “Sellyn Drake.”
He whistled low under his breath. “I like your style, Archeron.”
Cassian’s eyebrows drew together as he watched this male look over Nesta with a new type of appreciation.
“My name is Malakai.” The general reached his hand out first to Nesta, holding on a little too long and then to Cassian. Who squeezed his hand harder than necessary. The general just smiled broadly. “Call me Kai.”
“Well Kai,” Cassian leaned back in his chair, wings spreading out behind him. “What can you tell me about the Spring Court’s forces now that your court has got its army together enough to have a general?”
Kai just kept smiling. Kind and open. “And what would you tell me about your forces, if asked?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Cassian admitted.
“So no disrespect general, but…”
“I told him this was pointless,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “I, on the other hand, have something of actual use to discuss with you.”
“Happy to be of service,” the Spring general winked.
Cassian tensed up in his chair. arms crossing over each other and face going stone hard.
“Excellent. Now, I know your High Lord is a chauvinist, but I’d like to start by asking if you are too, because that will determine how I approach this conversation.”
The air tensed for a second. Cassian prepared to jump in between his mate and this male. Insulting someone’s High Lord… he’d be surprised if the male managed to just kick her out and not attack like a feral animal.
“Is she always this direct?” Kai’s smile never faltered. Not for a second.
“Talking to him instead of me answers that question,” Nesta muttered. “So, here’s what you’re going to-”
“I did not mean to offend you, General. I assure you it is my sincerest belief that females are just as militarily capable as males.”
Nesta narrowed her eyes. “So you plan to train females along with males in your new army?”
“Of course I do,” Kai shrugged. “Who would be stupid enough to give up half their military power because of their sex?”
“Spring is a small court,” Cassian said. “You only have one army. It gets more complicated when there are several. In the larger territories.”
“I see.”
“What he means to say is that significant parts of the Autumn, Night, Day, and Winter courts do not train their females to fight. Their main armies might, but different territories in the courts run that way. And actually Night and Autumn even their main armies don’t train females.” Nesta glared at her mate.
“They do now.” Cassian sighed, not needing to be reminded how long it took to reach this point.
“Ah,” Kai nodded, “you’re here to see if I planned to train the females and to take them with you in your liberation march if I said no.”
“I run an army that trains those other courts reject.”
“So I have heard, an extraordinary feat from an extraordinary woman.” His teeth glittered as he smiled, eyes entirely focused on Nesta. “I know you have your reasons for distrusting my High Lord, but he is trying. Trying to return this court to what it once was. I’m a part of that. Our army will train anyone who wants to fight. And it will protect the human/Fae border.”
Nesta blinked. That was…
“I fought in the war,” Kai nodded to Cassian. “I always admired how you fought at the front of your legions, General. You are the legend everyone claims you to be, but I have to admit…” He turned to face Nesta. “I accepted this meeting so that I could meet you.”
Cassian growled low in his throat. “How does this keep happening?” He muttered under his breath, low enough for Nesta to hear but not Kai. Cassian loved Nesta with his entire being. Heart, body, and soul. The problem was that, apparently, so did every other male in Prythian.
Nesta smirked, subtly reaching her foot out under the table to kick him in the shin for being a possessive brute.
“I met with Eris Vanserra last week. He commands Autumn’s armies.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Cassian said that one loud enough for Nesta and Kai to hear.
“I mentioned I was meeting with you. I knew about your army, of course. But I asked him what to expect meeting you. And instead of answering he told me what you said in the High Lord’s meeting. About humans. I’m pretty sure his point was that I should prepare myself if I was trying to go up against a female who paused seven High Lords in their tracks, but… it is rare to meet a Fae who cares about humans. Truly cares.”
“Well I was one.” Nesta stared forward, unsure where this conversation was going.
“I know. Cauldron born. Phenomenal cosmic powers. Ability to bring us all to our knees if you wanted to. But instead you choose to defend humans and make an army of Fae the courts have cast off.”
“Nes knows how amazing she is,” Cassian cut in. Two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you get to the point please?”
“I want to work with you.” Kai said, point blank, staring at Nesta.
“I bet you do,” Cassian muttered.
“I have my own army, general. I’m not interested in working for anyone else.”
“Not for. With. I want… my forces are beaten down. Their morale is weak. Faith is low. I… you brought the High Lords to heel and you started an army from nothing. I’d like your advice.”
Nesta swallowed. She’d accomplished amazing things. So many amazing things, but still… no one had ever asked her for advice. Help. Expertise. She was the novice. She… he wanted her help.
“My army is from all over Prythian,” Nesta said. “We train in the Night Court because the territory is massive and that’s my home, but… Spring doesn’t have the manpower to protect that border. Convince Tamlin to let me bring in some of my warriors to protect the human border and I’ll help you with whatever you want.”
“Deal,” Kai smiled, reaching out his hand.
Nesta shook it.
Later, after they took off and she was wrapped up in Cassian’s arms as they flew back to Velaris, her mate was stone faced once again.
“I swear to the mother, Nes, if he proposes to you I’m going to make what Feyre did to the Spring Court look like a Sunday walk along the fucking Sidra.”
#nessian#nesta archeron#nessian fanfiction#acosf#cassian#nesta and cassian#a court of thorns and roses#sarah j maas#a court of silver flames#a court of mist and fury#acotar
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Thank you for the attention you showered on Bunty. I've run into so many viewer complaints that "oh the movie was overstuffed with irrelevant characters, the plot would work without Bunty/Yusuf/Theseus etc" but as you said all these characters are intentionally added to act as foils and drive home themes. While you could argue that yes, the actual plots in the FB series can get kind of confusing and handwave-y, they are always very very clear in terms of underlying emotional themes.
I get the criticism about the movie being overstuffed. The characters are not irrelevant, but they needed more time to develop. From BTS of SoD we've glimpsed 3 deleted scenes and all 3 would have developed characters and created significantly smoother transitions for their decisions.
Then again many of the fans who complain about lacking development wanted more beasts than we got in CoG. I mean, I like seeing Newt around creatures as much as the next person and seeing his little dance as he tried to handle creatures that are not friendly no matter what he does was different to what we've seen before. But at the same time it was comic relief and a direct answer to those who wanted more beasts. To me that was too much screen-time that could have been used more productively. Frankly, I don't get why the production and WB don't just decide to let the movies hit 3 hours. The story needs it and it's not like the audience wouldn't be down for it.
Back to the writing, I do believe that all the characters in SoD develop in smaller or bigger ways, but as you said they act as foils and drive home themes. Contrary to popular belief, that's not a bad think. It gives us a lot of nuance. The emotional impact SoD had on me was more than I've experienced with any HP movie and in par with the feelings that some of my favorite parts of the books caused me.
It's also important to keep in mind that these aren't standalones. Newt, Jacob, Tina, Queenie and Credence had gotten much more development than Dumbledore in the previous movies. In CoG, Leta and Yusuf too were developed more than Albus. It's natural that they would take a bit of a backseat at some point so that he can slowly turn into the person he is by the time the final duel happens. HP was told in 7 books. Let's recall that all the heavy-lifting for Voldemort, Snape and Dumbledore's stories was done in the last 3 books. Until then they hadn't developed THAT much if you think about it, but they had in small ways and they were never static.
As for the plot being confusing, I think that remains to be seen. HP had the benefit of a lot of space to develop. Moreover, the majority of the books had a very clear structure: Each showed the span of a school-year and ended up with a confrontation (usually with Voldemort) while the main plot focused on a whodunit-kind of theme: Who wants the Philosopher's Stone? Who opened the Chamber of Secrets? Why is the Dark' Lord's returning sevant? Who put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire? This structure breaks with OoTP, which is when the war unoficially starts.
FB opens up the Wizarding World. The characters are not confined in limited locations and building towards the Global Wizarding War necessitates shifts between different countries and the wizards living there that are bound to be more confusing. The first movie was clear-cut. The second has some loose threads that could amount to nothing... or they could be important. Not knowing until the moment you know is part of watching an on-going series. In SoD, I think that the plot is consciously written in a way that ultimately addresses certain machiavellian aspects that Dumbledore's plans tend to have. It was a bit confusing the first time I watched because there was a lot to process, but upon the rewatch so many things fall into place and make sense. I still think this movie will age well.
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This is a continuation of my last analysis on this topic, where I explained why I hate the popular analogy of Tommy and Theseus.
That can be found here. I recommend reading it first, as I included a summary of what Theseus’ story actually is, (as opposed to Techno’s… abridged telling) so if you aren’t familiar with the myth, that post should help.
It’s also really detailed and I worked hard on it, so you should read it for that, too.
It’s not absolutely necessary, though. I’ll give slightly less context for this one, but the parts of the myth I’ll be talking about are pretty well known (thanks, Rick Riordan), so it shouldn’t be too tough to figure out what I’m talking about.
Without further ado, here’s why I think Wilbur is a better Theseus analogy than Tommy.
First of all, I’ll again be largely ignoring the early parts of the Theseus myth in order to focus more on the stuff with Crete and what came after, as the early bits of the myth don’t really apply well to any Dream SMP character, since they’re largely about using cleverness to defeat evil monsters and that’s… not really a story beat that happens on the SMP.
So we start in Athens.
Wilbur Soot joins the SMP and almost immediately starts a country. Dream declares war (contrary to common belief, he was the aggressor), and wins.
L’manburg is still granted independence, but they’re a vassal state and Dream still has a lot of power over them.
I’d compare this with Athens losing a war to Crete, resulting in them remaining an independent nation but being forced to send tributes to Crete every seven years.
It’s not a perfect analogy, but it lets me cast Dream as king Minos and honestly that’s too perfect a chance to pass up, given they both share the fatal flaw of hubris- being self centered pricks who think they’re equal to gods, though the consequences manifest differently.
Stuff happens, Schlatt gets elected, none of it is really relevant to the analogy so I’ll trust you to remember what happened. This isn’t a perfect comparison, after all. The Dream SMP has far too many inspirations for a single parallel to cover it all.
What is relevant: Schlatt is the Minotaur, here.
The seven year tribute comes due, Theseus volunteers.
Wilbur and Tommy are exiled from Manburg, with plans to return.
Theseus shows off when he gets to Crete, and his charisma gains him allies.
Wilbur and Tommy are slowly joined by almost all of Manburg.
Ariadne offers Theseus a way through the maze without getting lost.
Fundy comes to Pogtopia with the Diary of a Spy, revealing that Wilbur doesn’t need to worry about the morality of killing Schlatt anymore because Schlatt is likely to die soon whether they interfere or not.
Ariadne is abandoned alone on an island after giving up everything to help Theseus.
Fundy is still a traitor in Wilbur’s eyes.
Theseus takes his ball of string and enters the labyrinth, prepared to kill the Minotaur.
Wilbur and co attack Manburg, planning to kill Schlatt.
Theseus kills the Minotaur.
No one kills Schlatt, but in his final moments no one is closer to doing than Wilbur, angered by Schlatt questioning Fundy’s manhood.
Theseus forgets the white sails to signal his victory, sailing home with blackened ones instead. His father throws himself off a tower out of grief.
Wilbur’s won, but he’s lost sight of his vision for the country he founded. Though Schlatt is dead, he still can’t see L’manburg ever going back to what it was.
He goes to the button room, and Philza confronts him. If Phil knew the whole story, knew why Wilbur felt what he felt and why he did what he did, maybe things would have gone differently.
But the ship’s sails are black.
Phil kills Wilbur.
What kills Theseus, in his myth, is when he loses sight of himself. He starts with a very clear policy: whatever someone tries to do to him, he’ll do to them in kind. Someone tries to kill him? Well, more fool them, then.
But then he starts just hurting people for fun, hurting people because it makes him feel powerful, because he thinks he deserves to be groveled to.
He kidnaps Helen of Troy, tries to kidnap Persephone, drives away his family, kills his son-
Wilbur doesn’t follow quite the same path, but the resemblance is there.
He starts out nonviolent. He’ll solve his problems with words, not a sword. But that doesn’t work. Dream declares war. Eret betrays L’manburg, and L’manburg is violently slaughtered.
Wilbur loses trust, becomes paranoid.
He’s president of L’manburg, and he cries in his pillow because if he shows even an iota of weakness, Dream will just snatch L’manburg right back up. (Or so he fears)
He runs for president, and loses.
And he thinks- if L’manburg has become this, become Manburg, a cruel place ruled by a tyrant- that’s his fault, right? It’s his country, he should have done better, should have made it more resistant to this.
He loses sight of the hope and camaraderie the nation was founded upon. If he doesn’t trust anyone, how can he believe in a place built on trust?
If he’s not the hero, he must be the villain, he thinks.
And Theseus loses himself.
And Wilbur places eleven stacks of TNT.
And even then, the analogy doesn’t really tell you anything, because Theseus’ story ends with exile and a cliff, and Wilbur’s keeps going.
Because in the end, we can draw all the comparisons we want, but they don’t mean anything unless we let them.
We are not bound by the limitations of myth. There are no fates on the SMP, weaving lives into stories, and life goes on after the climax.
Wilbur thinks, if he is not the hero, he must be the villain.
But Wilbur is a person, not a moral. He’s more complex than that.
They all are.
SO STOP WRITING HIM AS A TWO DIMENSIONAL VILLAIN I’M GOING TO COMMIT CRIMES HE’S NOT JUST YOUR SCAPEGOAT SO YOU CAN PRETEND DREAM HAS ANY CANONICAL MORAL COMPASS WHAT THE F-
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Life is beautiful
Summary:
Why did they not find Snape's body after the war? What happened?
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Pain. it was all he felt. it seemed like someone vanished the blood in his veins and replaced it with molten lava. Every joint ached. His lungs were burning as he struggled to breathe. His mind was foggy, everything was going blank. His senses were failing him. Rivers of blood were pouring from the wound in his neck. The snake's fangs sunk into the delicate flesh of his neck precisely eight times. With each puncture, he felt like he came closer to death, but not quite dead yet. Why…
Oh, he recalls now. He drank a potion. A potion that will keep him awake for three days no matter what. Even keep the prospect of death at bay. So, he was doomed to suffer in agony for three days. Hie bad luck never seemed to work in his favor. What should he do now? Half-dead and half-alive. He did not know whether to laugh or cry at his situation.
His bleary vision was suddenly filled with strange colors. What was he seeing on his deathbed that was orange and red? Something bit his earlobe. Almost fondly... but who? Slowly, the pain subsided, and his vision became clearer. He could feel the weight of something on his chest, but no one, or rather nothing, was lying on his chest the last time he checked. What is going on...
“Ah!”The first thing he noticed was a yellow beak. The thing was startled by his shriek. It jumped back, clearly agitated. That thing was..." Fawkes," he murmured. The phoenix turned to face him and climbed on him once more and rubbed his nose with his beak. Since Dumbledore's death, this cunning bastard returned to the headmaster's office every time he was about to die. Of course, Severus made certain that no one knew he was there.
Fawkes, like Lucius, liked him from the moment he saw him. Fawkes perplexed him, in the same way, he couldn't understand why a pureblood like Lucius would take a filthy, ugly, poor, half-blood who couldn't offer him anything under his wing. On the night he discovered the marauder's secret, he met Fawkes for the first time. Sensing his worry he nipped his earlobe that day, much to everyone's surprise and displeasure. It made him feel better.
Even after twenty-two years, it had the same effect on him. Whatever happened, those two were always by his side. Though he couldn't fully trust or be completely honest with Lucius, he didn't have those constraints with Fawkes. That's why they had such a strong bond. Fawkes had just left last week ago, and he wouldn't be back for another two weeks. That's why Severus wasn't expecting him. Bu nowt, with Fawkes nearby, he felt more at ease than he had in a long time.
He could hear people celebrating in the distance. As he strained his ears to find out who had won, he felt an unsettling sense of dread settle in his chest. There were cries of "Dumbledore's Army," "Hail Potter," and "Victory to the Order." He let out a relieved sigh. I believe my time here is up." Aren't you of the opinion that this is the case? " he inquired of Fawkes, who blinked owlishly at him. "You know, contrary to popular belief, I want to live. Lily always said that the world is a beautiful place. That's something I'd like to see. I don't think I'll ever see that if I stay here. So t, I'm going to leave. Will you come with me? " he asked Fawkes who was snuggling into the crook of his neck. A nibble. “Can I interpret that as a yes? ” Another nibble. With that, he got up and left the shack. Amongst loud noises of celebrations, no one noticed him walk into the Forbidden Forest. He apparated at the forest's edge.
Notes:
I don't know if this is good or bad? If you like it, I can continue this one as a story though?
You can find this on AO3 too.
#severus snape#Pro Snape#pro severus snape#snape fanfiction#snape fic#snape lives au#fawkes#my work#my fic writing
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It’s A Long Way Down | D.D.
gif by @bestintheparsec
I was never planning on posting something on Tumblr during No Content November, but this idea has been stuck in my head since I saw Mando 2x03 and on top of that, people kept tweeting ideas on Twitter and now this thing is born... be gentle. I’ve been hesitant to write for him since I started the show last year. I played a little bit with what we know of Din’s past for the sake of this plot.
Without further ado, hurt/comfort galore! 2x03 spoilers!
Please let me know what you think!
tag: @earthtokace / @dindjarindiaries / @kyber-queen
***
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Drowning.” He replies, soft and quiet as he processes the last three days in the midst of the silence. “Almost drowning.. and thinking about how you’d cope when I was gone.”
If I was gone.
Maybe the world would be better off. That’s what Din thinks. That thought lingers for a split second in his mind until he sees the desperation in your aspect and how you need him to understand that this world is a better place with him in it.
The Watch didn’t allow him attachments. They didn’t allow him to feel. He was a warrior.
He was a warrior, and the entrance of you and The Child made his hardened heart soft.
Din has never liked the water.
When he’d been taken in by the Mandalorians and had sworn his Creed, the one thing they had drilled into his mind for his entire childhood was that he was a warrior. Warriors knew how to fight, how to survive, how to endure.
A Warrior who did not dare show his face. This was The Way, and the way kept him safe.
The one thing he could never quite master as a Foundling was enduring the water. To stop the way his lungs seized, how panic overtook him, how he just stopped.
Din didn’t like the water, and Din had never really learned how to breathe.
Then he’d met you. You - the one person he could admit to loving, to admiring from a distance because he has his Creed and you have some kind of Code you live by - and your devotion to both him and The Child has slowly eased the ache in his chest, cracked open his ribs, and taught him a different way of breathing.
Slow, steady, easy. He’s never known life to be that way.
***
There is no Light without the Dark.
Through passion, I gain focus.
You had run across Mando just after the end of the Empire. You’d seen that Death Star explode with your very own eyes and had declared that your final mission with The Rebellion, in which you bid a tearful farewell to Luke and Leia and made your way into the galaxy.
A vast galaxy.. alone.
You and Luke had very differing views on the Jedi Order as a whole and in that difference, you’d taken two different paths. You had followed the Code of the Grey Jedi, and Luke had taken to the Jedi Code.
That Code had carried you through alot of darkness.
Through knowledge, I gain power
Through serenity, I gain strength
The Clone War had introduced you to the concept of Mandalorians. You’d never really had the pleasure to meet one as you’d always been on different fronts a distance from the Dream Team, but you knew of them. You knew they carried a Creed the same way you did.
What you didn’t expect was the extent in which The Mandalorian did. The two of you had met in a cantina only days after he’d taken on The Child, and his claim for knowing where to find you on Sorgan was whispers of a rogue Jedi who’d left the Rebellion to seek peace.
Peace was what you found, contrary to popular belief. Compared to being a part of the Jedi Order, being with The Mandalorian was the most peaceful thing you’d done in over a decade.
Through victory, I gain harmony
You’d been raised around Yoda, so you were familiar with the species, but past that.. You were as clueless as Din was.
You stowed your lightsabers away and that part of your life with it. You left behind the title of Jedi and put all of your efforts into taking care of The Child. Into taking care of Din.
That was easier said then done.
There is only The Force.
***
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.
That’s all he is thinking as he stands examining the vast waters of the ocean the two of you sail on with the Quarren crew. Your fingers are curled in the direction of The Child’s pram, and he’s giggling as he tries to maintain control of his body while you spin him.
It’s the first time he’s seen you smile in weeks. It’s always small ones too. He looks forward to the first time he’s granted the opportunity to see a real smile.
It had taken you a while to open up to him about your time with the Jedi. You’d barely been a padawan when The Order’s genocide had been in effect, and the greater majority of your life had been lived in fear. Your Code and your Lightsaber were your only guide until Leia had found you and recruited you into The Rebellion.
All your life you’d been looking for a purpose, and she’d given you one.
Being here with The Child - caring for him, teaching him, had given you a new purpose - and being with The Mandalorian had taught you a newfound sense of compassion for people raised as he had been.
Your compassion and heart had won him out in the end. He’d admitted to being in love with you months ago, but he had yet to vocalize it. He would. He will.
It happens so fast. One minute the two of you are smiling - even though you cannot see his own - about The Child’s reaction to the Mamacore, and the next minute you’re roaring with rage as his pram is shoved into the center of the cage and he’s forced to retreat inside for fear of being killed.
He’s a child. A child who’s been too involved in death, in seeing death, in flirting with death.. and Din has had enough of it.
Din Djarin doesn’t like the water. He doesn’t like how it weighs him down, how it threatens to suffocate him, to fill his lungs with something cruel and cold that replaces the warm fire that floods his veins that has been placed there by you.
“You’re-You’re a Jedi?”
“Push him down! Harder!”
His world is illuminated in a flurry of blue light as the Quarren’s keep pushing him down under, down down down and his first thought is ner jeti.. i’m sorry. He’s sorry that he’s again put you in this position where you’ve had to reveal yourself, reveal who you are, and all to protect him and The Child.
Failure.
He’s a failure.
Between you and the trio of Mandalorians that arrive shortly after, the Quarren’s are dealt with in a matter of moments and then he’s being lifted - his lungs are reactivating, are expanding and contracting to remind him that he is alive - and he collapses in the midst of wheezing his concern for the child.
“The Child! Help-Help The Child!”
The Mandalorian on the left dives into the water to rescue The Child from the creature. You turn your attention away from the bodies and sheath your sabers before kneeling in front of Din to assess him.
“The Child-” He rasps, because his thoughts are never on himself, only you and The Child. His life doesn’t matter if it means the two of you are safe. “Jeti, ner ad-”
Jedi, my son.
Your gentle hand on his knee is enough to capture his thoughts. Your way of evaluating Din’s state has never been through the physical sense, but the mental. He doesn’t know how to shield because The Jedi was a foreign concept to him until he met you, and he’s always been receptive to your gentle nature. You don’t need to talk. You never have.
You look.
His mind is a flurry of panic and fear as you gently soothe it into a peace that makes his whole body go lax as Koska breaks the pram shell in half and gently scoops out the baby. “Here you go, Brother.” Koska murmurs, watching from beneath her helmet as you stand to your feet and allow Din to reunite with The Child he claims not to have an attachment to.
Yeah... okay.
Din and Bo-Katan converse - in which he is given an inexplicable truth about himself that he's not quite sure how to process - and he shuts down the idea of them even being real Mandalorians because their way is not his way. It’s a whole new reality he’s never had to face before.
“You are a Child of The Watch.”
And as you stand there, you take in the distress in which the man you love - and have yet to tell - is trying so desperately to hide.
***
His panic bursts through the surface when you unsheathe your sabers in the hall that connects and run right into the line of fire, deflecting blaster bolts left and right so Din can run right past you and blow the door to the bridge right open.
The fight about it comes later, long after the two of you have returned to The Crest for the coordinates to Coravus where Ahsoka Tano is supposedly located. She is a Jedi - or was, once - and might be the only connection you have left to the person you used to be despite how young you had been at the time.
Your first clue to his apparent agitation is the way he hasn’t unclenched his fists and has yet to look at you from where he sits in the cockpit. Your anger is growing steadily at his silence, which has never happened before.. not until you put your life into the line of fire.
“Say it.” Your voice echoes from behind the captain’s seat as you cross your arms over your chest. “Mando-please, stop giving me the kriffing silent treatment and just let me have it.”
“Ner jeti...” He stops short and stands to his feet, practically towering over you in a way that would intimidate most people. He has never once made you feel afraid... but he constantly makes you ache. With want, with pain, with desire. He makes you feel things you haven’t felt since before Order 66. “You cannot do that.”
“Do what?? Save your life? Mando, I’m-”
“Din.” Your rant is cut off halfway as he exhales lowly, a rumble through the modulator, and lifts a helmeted head to meet your gaze. “My name is Din Djarin. I thought it was time you know that.”
Your entire body freezes. You have been a partner, an ally, since the day he’d found you on recruited you to help return The Child to his kind. You have been careful in ensuring that it’s strictly a professional relationship, you never had anticipated this- The intimacy that comes with divulging such a secret as his real name.
“Din?” You rasp, eyes glassy with tears as the air is knocked from your lungs. It rolls off your tongue easily. The sound of his name, his real name, is beautiful. “Wow. It’s... beautiful.”
His response to your affirmation is like watching a galaxy of stars be born in front of your very eyes. He’s so receptive to it.. starved of it.
“I used to forget everything.” Din says. “The people who trained me.. they wanted me to be the best of our clan. There was so much we had to learn. Gun training, hand to hand, the significance of beskar and how important our Beskar’gam was to our safety. I was so good at it. I excelled.. but the one thing I could not shake? The water.
They trained me in the water, jeti. They trained me in the water, to become part of the water... all I could think about was how much it suffocated me. I’m af-” He stops himself short because admitting to a fear is not something he was taught to do, it was bottle it up and compartmentalize in order to get the mission finished. “Afraid of the water because I can’t fight it like I do with a bounty. I can just..”
“Succumb. Sink. Let go.” You murmur. “And that’s not something you know how to do.”
“Yeah.”
You’re oddly intrigued by the fact that this utterly fearless person, this man, was afraid. He’d always struck you as the opposite.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” You ask.
“Nearly drowning.” He replies. “And wondering how you and the ad would cope when I was gone. That’s why I need to tell you.” Din takes another step to close the gap that stands between you both. You’re practically trembling with anticipation. “Thinking about how...”
Din stops. You rest a hand against the exposed skin of his neck and tilt your head as his mind thrums - resonates with the truth of his affection for you - and your lips part in wonder as you realize what he’s trying to tell you.
“Me too.” You whisper. “For a while.. probably since the start. Din, you are a good man. You’ve always been a good man, and I think it’s time that someone puts your needs before themselves instead of the other way around. Please.” Din is slightly taken aback at the pleading tone of your voice as you meet his gaze. “Please let someone take care of you.”
That’s all you can muster before he’s collapsing at your feet.
‘’Take it off.” He begs.
“No, no- Your Creed-”
“Sarad, I want to learn how to breathe again.” He interjects. “This is how I do that. It’s just a faster way of being able to be married to you for the rest of my life.” The man you love is kneeling at your feet and totally willing to abandon part of his livelihood because of you. “There’s nothing I’d want more. Go ahead. Take it off. Please.”
Part of you had always been okay with the anonymity, but as this choice lays just within your fingertips, you find yourself desperate to look upon the face of the man who’d destroy entire galaxies for you and his son.
The Beskar’gam hisses as you remove his helmet and find yourself staring into vulnerable onyx eyes that are wide enough to envelop whole star systems in their splendor.
“Din Djarin.” You whisper, smiling tearfully as trembling hands lift to cup a stubbled jaw. “What a beautiful face to put with an equally beautiful name.”
He exhales his breath on a shuddered sigh and leans into your touch as you begin mapping his face with your fingertips. Din doesn’t dare move, too drunk on the feeling of touch ghosting across his skin in a intimate way that he’s not experienced since his parents left him in that cellar. His face grows warm at how needy he must seem, but you don’t seem bothered by it.
In fact, the way his skin blooms red under your kiss makes your heart swell and your smile widen at the reaction it elicits.
“You know Din, if you wanted me to kiss you.. all you had to do was ask.” You muse. You can read his mind and his body in the same way you read the feel of your lightsaber and the air of a room of hostiles. “Now I don’t know about you, but The Child is asleep and I find myself tired after having to deal with Bo-Katan all day.. can we go to bed?”
“Yes.” He nods once, then twice, allowing you to take his gloves off and lead him in the direction of the tiny cot that somehow manages to house you both. The Beskar’gam comes off one piece at a time until Din is now standing in his usual underclothes which you have not been able to grace yourself with the image of until now as he lays each piece on the floor.
You’re laying flat on your back when he’s finished, arms extended towards the ceiling as you beckon him forward. Din realizes that as he stares at your willingness to be there for him in his most vulnerable moment that he may sleep tonight with no night terrors.
No thoughts of drowning.
“Din Djarin, cyare..” You coo, beaming as he crawls into the bed and allows himself to curl into your body and rest his head on your chest. “I think you should hear it now.” Gentle fingers card through dark curls as he focuses on his breathing - in and out in and out - and listens to the sound of your voice to lull himself to sleep. “I love you.”
He hums thoughtfully and burrows himself deeper into your neck, smiling against the curve of your neck as you lightly graze his temple with your lips. Before Din can properly fall asleep, he rolls himself on top of you and settles himself comfortably against your body. It’s not too heavy, just enough to envelop you in the warmth he radiates.
He’s safe.
You wrap your arms and legs around his form and nuzzle his temple.
Darkness falls upon both of you as Din whispers, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” before promptly falling asleep in your capable hands. He’s safe.
Tonight.. he’s not drowning.
Tonight, he breathes.
#Din Djarin#The Mandalorian#Din Djarin x Reader#The Mandalorian x Reader#mandalorian fanfic#mandalorian fanfiction#star wars imagines#star wars oneshots
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Rivetra Week 2021
lol not me completely not knowing that Rivetra Week was happening THIS week and frantically trying to put something together. but on a more serious note, everyone in this fandom is so incredibly talented, I am in constant awe of all of you. always and forever, thank you for reading.
August 25th - Day 2: Jealousy
Levi had never considered himself to be a particularly possessive person. Sure, he had grown up in the pits of the Underground and he had learned how to protect what was his, how to prevent people from sticking their noses into his territory. He had established such a strong and deadly reputation for himself that once he arrived at the surface, there were few that dared to challenge him and his authority, especially when he had someone like Erwin at his side vouching for him. He didn’t want for much, he was used to surviving on next to nothing, he didn’t have many possessions to his name and besides, no one would dare to touch his things or even enter his room without permission anyways. He certainly wasn’t possessive of his friendships with others, if he could even call them that to begin with. He was protective of his squad in the sense that he didn’t want to see the shitty brats get devoured by titans, but they were free to do what they wanted otherwise. Really, he wasn’t a very possessive guy, he never had any reason to be.
So he didn’t quite understand the strange feeling that had coiled tightly in his chest and the way that his blood seemed to boil beneath his skin when he saw one of the Garrison officers chatting up Petra.
Levi had permitted his squad to have the day off, claiming that he needed to make a trip to the local market for supplies because “rations only give us the shit kind of everything anyway” when they had all agreed to join him. Begrudgingly, he had accepted. To be honest, the entire excursion into town didn’t end up being as bad as he had expected. He had found his tea, special soap, some extra cleaning supplies, and even a nice bottle of whiskey; he even considered sharing some with the rest of his squad later in the evening and they were just about ready to depart when the local flower stand had caught Petra’s eye. “They remind me of home,” she had said softly as she eyed the yellow chrysanthemums, a wistful look on her face, and she was quickly drawn to them, promising him that she would only be a moment. He had turned his back to get the horses, only a few minutes, but when he was just about to see what was taking her so long (“Oi, Ral, how long does it take to buy some fucking flowers?”), he was there.
He was tall, blonde, radiating with boyish charm and wearing a goofy grin that made the captain want to sink his fist into his face for some unknown reason. His lips were moving, he was saying something to her, and Petra’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, but he could see the way her lips curled upwards at the corners, the way her shoulders shook slightly. She was giggling. Her face was flushed. Was she blushing too? Levi watched as the boy dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a coin, pressing it into the vendor’s palm before plucking a flower at random, a daisy, from the bouquet. He reached forward, tucking it behind her ear, stepping closer to her.
Levi was pretty sure this bordered on sexual harassment.
Before he was even aware of what he was doing, he felt himself striding over to the pair with purpose, a murderous scowl etched across his features. Petra turned to greet him with a smile, but the boy didn’t even notice him at first, still staring at her with that stupid look on his face, before Levi cleared his throat, noticing with smug satisfaction how the boy sputtered violently, thumping a fist over his heart quickly.
“Captain Levi! I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t see you,” he squeaked.
“I can see that,” Levi said, a bite creeping into the edges of his voice. “Ral, it’s time to get going, c’mon.”
She laughed nervously, twisting a piece of hair between her fingers. “Sorry, Captain, I was just going to grab some flowers when I got to talking with-” She gestured to the boy beside her before she blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, you didn’t even tell me your name.”
“Henri.” He nodded his head at her before turning to Levi, extending a hand. “Henri Augustine, sir. It’s an honor to meet you,” he said, flashing him a toothy grin.
Levi only glared in response and Henri slowly dropped his hand, wiping his palm against his trousers and glancing at Petra out of the corner of his eye.
He jerked his chin towards the horses. “Petra, let’s go.”
She nodded in agreement and offered Henri a small wave and a soft smile before the boy quickly snatched her wrist, tugging her towards him. “Petra, wait!”
Contrary to popular belief, Levi also didn’t consider himself to be an unnecessarily vengeful person; he only used the right amount of vengeance when the situation called for it. But when he saw the punk’s fingers close around her wrist, he prayed to whatever deity he could think of that a titan would wreak havoc through the marketplace and the little shit would become lunch.
Henri pulled her closer to his chest, far too close for Levi’s liking and far too close to be considered appropriate in public, and bent forward to whisper something into her ear. Levi couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but he caught snippets of his words, something like “love to see you” and “keep in touch”. She was blushing furiously and it made his stomach churn. Violently.
He was just about ready to put an end to their little conversation and insist she come with him, they did need to make it back to the barracks before sundown, when the boy brought her fingers to his lips, giving the back of her hand a soft kiss.
Levi saw red.
Within an instant, he was beside her and shoving the soldier backwards. Henri stumbled for a moment, his arms flailing wildly, before recovering and staring at the captain in bewilderment.
Levi seized Petra’s upper arm and began dragging her towards the horses. He knew that his grip was far too tight, but he didn’t care, choosing to ignore her hiss of pain.
“Captain - ow! - What’re you doing?!”
“We’re leaving,” he spat through a clenched jaw. “Now.” He spun her around, grabbing her hips and forcefully hoisting her onto her horse. She squeaked in surprise, her cheeks flushing bright red as she hastily adjusted herself across her saddle.
She tossed one last look over her shoulder at Henri, who still stood there seemingly petrified, and offered him a pitying glance before the bright yellow flowers caught her eye once more.
“Wait, Captain! I didn’t get the flowers!”
“Tough shit, Ral.”
If she were standing on the ground, and feeling an extra bit childish, she would’ve stomped her foot in indignation. Instead, she gave a small huff, offering the captain a subtle lift of her middle finger behind his back and muttering curses under her breath before she joined the rest of her squad. The boys exchanged confused, and concerned, looks between them as Eld rode beside her, leaning in.
“Should I even ask what the hell happened?” he mumbled from the corner of his mouth.
“Nope,” Petra replied, popping her lips at the end of her word.
Eld nodded tersely before shaking his head at Oluo and Gunther, imitating a slashing motion across his neck.
It was going to be a long ride home.
——————————
Petra had always known that she was a beautiful girl: she knew about the effect that she had on the men around her, how they would turn their heads when she entered a room. She knew that they found her desirable, something that her father had cautiously warned her about as she reached maturity and reminded her of as she enlisted in the military (“Really, Pet, the only girl in that entire squad?”). However, even though she was beautiful, she wasn’t a particularly feminine woman. Her brazen confidence, strength, and thirst for vengeance, coupled with her Scout uniform that was usually covered in blood and guts, had most men running for the hills before she could even introduce herself. It was alright, she reasoned; they weren’t worth her time anyway. Besides, she didn’t have time for romance, not when she was risking her life everyday for the sake of humanity. Still, she sometimes found herself daydreaming what it would be like to fall in love, get married, raise a family, like normal people do everyday, like she could do when the war ended.
She flopped onto her bed, having retired for the evening and changed into her nightgown, twisting the nearly-forgotten daisy, the source of all her current woes, between her fingers and plucking the individual petals with a tad more force than necessary. She hadn’t actually been interested in Henri, he was far too tall and lanky for her taste. But for a brief moment, her heart had fluttered at the mere notion of loving someone and being loved in return, especially when the focus of her affections was being an absolute ass.
She groaned in frustration, rubbing at her temples as she pushed away from her pillow. She needed to talk to him, she needed to set a boundary and tell him that she didn’t need him rushing in to defend her honor like she was some sort of damsel, she could handle herself perfectly fine.
But when she opened her door, she nearly yelped in surprise to see the very person she needed to talk to was already standing in her doorway, his knuckles raised to rap against the door. He looked at her with a similar expression of shock before his face melted into his usual bored, impassive look and he quickly shifted something behind his back before Petra caught a glance of what it was.
“What’re you doing here?” he said in a low voice.
She gestured to the nameplate on her door. “This is my room.”
The tips of his ears burned red, the only sign of his apparent awkwardness. “…oh, yeah.”
She folded her arms across her chest, feigning nonchalance. “What do you want?” she asked. Her tone was dry.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that how you want to talk to your commanding officer?”
Petra gave him a pointed look, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, another habit of his that she had picked up. “What do you want, Captain?”
He swallowed audibly, she could practically see the knot that had wound itself in his throat. It confused her; in all the time that she had known him, she had never seen Levi quite so… nervous.
He threaded a hand through his hair. “I just, y’know, wanted to say that I’m-” He pressed a palm against his chest and grimaced, almost as if the words brought him physical pain. “I think I owe you, um… an apology… for today.” He scowled. “Even if that little shit was being a brat. And um, here, I guess.” He thrust something into her hands and Petra blinked once, then twice, then three times.
Yellow chrysanthemums.
“You said they reminded you of home, right?”
Flowers. He had given her flowers. Instantly, all of her anger and annoyance and frustration towards him seemed to melt away and an unfamiliar, yet pleasantly warm feeling swept into its place, pooling low into her gut and heating her from the inside out.
“You never picked them up when we were in town so I doubled back and got them for you.”
He had gone all the way back into town for her. To get her flowers.
“Just don’t expect something like this ever again, Ral, because that vendor charged the fuck out of me, so if you want flowers, I’ll just go pull you some weeds from the forest next time-”
“Captain?”
She stepped closer to him until they were nearly touching and lifted up onto her toes, quickly placing a chaste kiss against his cheek, desperately hoping that he wasn’t close enough to hear the pounding of her heart against her sternum. His skin was surprisingly smooth beneath her lips, she noticed faintly, and she smiled softly at him. “Thank you,” she whispered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks and fighting back a blush.
He nodded, muttering something under his breath akin to “get that shit in some water or it’ll dry out” before promptly bidding her goodnight. He turned on his heel, retreating quickly back to his office but not before he could notice, from the corner of his eye, her beaming smile, the kind of shit that lights up a room, as she stared down at his flowers. The sight brought a small smirk to his face and the tightly coiled tension in his chest that he had felt all day, ever since seeing that Garrison punk sidle up to her at the flower stand, finally unraveled, replaced by a faint stirring that made his heart beat just a little faster.
Sometimes, being possessive paid off.
He noted that for next time.
#rivetra#rivetraweek2021#ourworldrivetra#rivetra fic#levi ackerman#petra ral#levi x petra#petra x levi#attack on titan#aot#shingeki no kyojin#snk#jealousy#i really hope it's not ooc#i did my best#and now i rest#hey that rhymed
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Intervention Gone Wrong
^^despite the vaguely crack title this swings wildly between crack and angst because those are my two midnight moods^^
When Wei Wuxian hears that the sects are all gathering to form an alliance to kill him, it’s depressing how quickly he believes it. His initial reaction is disbelief, rejection, denial, but all too soon reality sets in. Even after all Wei Wuxian has lived through, apparently he’s still managed to be naive. It’s not like he’s done anything. He’s been holed up with the Wens in the Burial Mounds, trying to turn the resentment-soaked ground into something farmable. He even missed his sister’s wedding, and staged a fight between himself and Jiang Cheng just to fully sever ties with the cultivation world. All he wants is to be left alone.
“They say even Sect Leader Jiang is going,” the people of Yiling are whispering when Wei Wuxian descends from the Burial Mounds.
Wei Wuxian is glad that none of them recognize him as the Yiling Patriarch, because he strolls up to one of the vendors he heard whispering, and prods him for more information.
“All the cultivation sects are gathering in Nightless City to kill our Patriarch,” the man says. “Someone must’ve let it slip, but it was supposed to be a secret–he’s not supposed to know.”
Well. The Yiling Patriarch knows.
He abandons the quest for potatoes and returns to their settlement in the Burial Mounds. When he tells the Wen siblings, their faces turn white.
“I’m s–” Wen Ning begins.
“Don’t apologize,” Wei Wuxian cuts him off. “It’s not your fault.”
“If you hadn’t protected us–” Wen Qing begins.
“It’s not your fault,” Wei Wuxian says again. “It’s.” He presses his lips together, and when he opens them, he means to say why couldn’t they just leave us alone? But what spills out is a plaintive: “Even Jiang Cheng?”
They’re looking at him with pity now, and Wei Wuxian hates that, but he can’t take the words back. He can imagine how it happened: if the rest of the great sects all agreed–so he supposes Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen must have changed their minds about him, though he doesn’t know why–then Jiang Cheng would’ve been pressured into agreeing as well.
“We have to evacuate,” Wen Qing says.
“Maybe they’re just rumors,” Wen Ning suggests at the same time.
Wei Wuxian can’t help but spare a fond thought for his endlessly optimistic friend, but it’s optimism he no longer shares. “We still have to evacuate,” he says. “If you take everyone to the forest island between Yunmeng and Qishan, I can join you there. And then we can find a plot of land somewhere, I suppose, to hide.”
He’s already turned his back on the cultivation world, but hiding from it entirely–completely leaving it behind, without any chance of seeing his family ever again–is a worse kind of goodbye.
“And where are you going?” Wen Qing asks suspiciously.
Wei Wuxian manages a bone-weary smile for her. “Isn’t it obvious?” He says tiredly. “Nightless City.”
-
Contrary to popular belief, Nie Huaisang actually does care about people, not just his birds and his fans. And he doesn’t just care about his brother, although his brother is of course his first priority. Nie Huaisang cares about his friends, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, and he cares about the Nie disciples under his brother’s care, and he cares about his brother’s sworn brothers. Nie Huaisang empathizes with people, he just usually chooses not to act on it.
The thing is, Nie Huaisang likes Wei Wuxian. They’re not the sworn brother type of friends; Nie Huaisang’s not exactly dying for him. He likes Wei Wuxian’s easy-going friendliness, likes his willingness to help, and admires his unwillingness to bend his core principles. It reminds him a lot of Nie Mingjue. This is all to say that Nie Huaisang thinks that the world is a better place with Wei Wuxian, and unfortunately the world seems to disagree.
Nie Huaisang just wishes that the job of keeping Wei Wuxian alive fell to anyone but him. He’d kept his head down and assumed that they’d figure it out eventually, but he’s not stupid, he sees where this is going. His first thought is that Jiang Cheng will figure it out, but then he remembers his friend is pricklier than a pear, and with more parental issues than Jin Guangyao. Jiang Yanli, he thinks, could help in theory. Nie Huaisang briefly muses on encouraging Jiang Yanli to fix things, before deciding that getting her to overcome a lifetime of being told that she’s no help is much harder than just doing it himself.
And since there’s no one else who cares about Wei Wuxian, that means that if Nie Huaisang wants to visit Lotus Pier at any point in the future and trade gossip with his friends, he’s going to have to stage an intervention for Wei Wuxian.
Honestly. The things he does for his friends.
Nie Huaisang also hopes that an intervention can get Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng out of the dark mood they’ve been in ever since the end of the Sunshot Campaign. It’s understandable, truly, but Nie Huaisang isn’t touching that with a ten-foot saber.
The first sect Nie Huaisang goes to is the Lan sect. Lan Xichen is bound to hear him out, now that he’s Nie Huaisang’s brother’s sworn brother, and Nie Huaisang wants to know where they stand on the whole Yiling Patriarch business.
Lan Wangji is the most difficult person Nie Huaisang has ever tried to understand, and he didn’t try all that much. All he’s really sure of is that Hanguang-jun could not get away from Wei Wuxian fast enough back during their guest disciple year, and hates demonic cultivation. This he knows second-hand, from countless tales of arguments between the two during the war. It’s a bad combination for Wei Wuxian, but luckily for him, Lan Wangji also has an unmatched reputation for righteousness. Considering that he chose to argue with Wei Wuxian over demonic cultivation instead of just letting the man rest and win the war for them, Nie Huaisang figures this is more or less accurate. All in all, Nie Huaisang is pretty sure that Lan Wangji will support Wei Wuxian, if he realizes that the Jins are purposefully trying to get him killed.
Lan Xichen, it turns out, is fully aware that Jin Guangshan is up to something, but he’s pretending that he doesn’t.
“Sect Leader Jin’s business is Sect Leader Jin’s business,” Lan Xichen says firmly, when Nie Huaisang prods a little too much. “You know we don’t gossip.”
Ah well. It’s not like Nie Huaisang was expecting support on his one-man intervention quest. He does a little more snooping before he leaves the Cloud Recesses, which is how he discovers a stunning secret.
“Wangji,” he overhears Lan Xichen saying. “I know you…care for Young Master Wei–”
That’s as good as a declaration of love from either Lan brother. Which is to say: Lan Wangji is in love with Wei Wuxian. Now that’s a match that even Nie Huaisang, matchmaker extraordinaire, didn’t see coming.
Once Lan Xichen has accidentally confessed his brother’s love for Wei Wuxian to Nie Huaisang, suddenly Nie Huaisang has a great advantage. He hasn’t the faintest clue how their relationship will work out in the future, between Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation and Lan Wangji’s sect rules, but that is another issue that Nie Huaisang isn’t touching with a ten-foot saber. For now, it’s enough to know that there’s someone else, someone with power, that Nie Huaisang can rely on to keep Wei Wuxian alive.
So the next place Nie Huaisang goes to is the Jin sect. He drags Jin Guangyao away from his duties for a night of drinking, and then proceeds to get blackout drunk. Or at least, he pretends to get blackout drunk.
“Did you know,” Nie Huaisang says, through hiccups, “That Lan Wangji has a th…” His mouth works, trying to form the word. “A thing!” He fumbles for his glass again.
“Perhaps you should have water now, Young Master Nie,” Jin Guangyao suggests.
“Ah ah ahhhh,” Nie Huaisang corrects, slurring the sounds together. “What did I say about this young master business?”
Jin Guangyao smiles indulgently at him. “Not to?”
“Uh-huh.” Nie Huaisang thinks for a moment. “A thing!” He repeats. “For Wei Wuxian!”
“What sort of thing?” Jin Guangyao asks.
“Oh, you know,” Nie Huaisang fumbles for his fan and waves it around airily. “That sort of thing.”
He can see Jin Guangyao pale, and knows he’s working through the logical thought process. If Lan Wangji will be sad when Wei Wuxian dies, then Lan Xichen will be sad, and Jin Guangyao doesn’t want that. But even as Nie Huaisang sees this, he knows that it won’t be enough. Jin Guangyao will still do it, on the off-chance that he finally wins his father’s approval.
Nie Huaisang wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him that he deserves better, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tries to imagine that he’s Jin Guangshan (ew), and his plan to stir the sects into killing the Yiling Patriarch isn’t working, because Wei Wuxian just isn’t doing anything. If he were Jin Guangshan, he would either find a way to lure Wei Wuxian out of the Burial Mounds, or find a way to frame him for something and rally the sects to kill him before Wei Wuxian can protest his innocence.
So Nie Huaisang just has to move first.
-
“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang begins sweetly, and he is offended by the very visible flash of fear in his brother’s eyes. “I’m your favorite brother, right?”
“What’s wrong?” Nie Mingjue says, a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip. “I haven’t even made you practice saber recently.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Nie Huaisang says, throwing in a pout for good measure. “But things could be better.”
“What is it?” Nie Mingjue asks warily.
Nie Huaisang blinks innocently. “I was just thinking how much happier I would be if you did me this one small, small favor.” He stops to estimate how much Wei Wuxian is worth to him. “I’d even do two consecutive weeks of saber practice,” he wheedles.
Nie Mingjue eyes him like Nie Huaisang is the one twice his size. “Depends on the favor?” He settles on finally.
Nie Huaisang tells him.
-
“You want me to what.”
-
“No,” Jiang Cheng says.
“Hear me out,” Nie Huaisang wheedles.
Lotus Pier is the last of the great sects on Nie Huaisang’s list, just because he feels like Jiang Cheng will be a lot easier to convince once there’s nothing he can do about it anyway.
Jiang Cheng merely glares at him, looking about one second from kicking him out of the Jiang sect leader’s private meeting rooms. “I know you’re behind this, Huaisang,” he says flatly.
Now Nie Huaisang has to admit that in his haste to act before Jin Guangshan, he’s been more obvious than he would’ve liked, but he’s truly been transparent if even Jiang Cheng knew he was up to something.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Nie Huaisang wails, fanning himself aggressively.
“I know you’re the reason your brother decided to join Jin Guangshan’s crusade!” Jiang Cheng explodes. “I don’t know why, but–”
“Sect Leader Jin was going to do it sooner or later,” Nie Huaisang interrupts, eyes innocently wide. “I only thought that if we joined in we’d have more control over it.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow into slits. “Let me get this straight,” he says. “You think Jin Guangshan wants my brother dead, for the Seal.” He doesn’t even bother waiting for confirmation, which is how Nie Huaisang knows that Jiang Cheng already believes that. “So your solution is to get the sects to make a pact to kill my brother–just so that you do it before Jin Guangshan does.”
Well, when he puts it that way…
“Okay, look,” Nie Huaisang says, snapping his fan shut. “Jin Guangshan goes to Nightless City thinking he’s heading an alliance to kill Wei Wuxian. Then my brother suggests destroying the Seal, and you support him. The Lans are bound to support that, so then either Jin Guangshan is forced to reveal his hand or he’s forced to back down.”
And hopefully whatever’s going on between you and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian gets sorted out as well, Nie Huaisang thinks. He doesn’t have a plan for that, exactly, so much as the hope that if he pours the chaos of the entire cultivation world into Wei Wuxian’s lap, something’s bound to come loose.
“Alright,” Jiang Cheng relents, albeit begrudgingly. “Who’s going to tell Wei Wuxian?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Nie Huaisang says, snapping his fan open again and hiding his smile. “I have a plan for that.”
-
“I d-don’t know why da-ge changed his mind!” Nie Huaisang sobs into Lan Xichen’s arms. “B-but now everyone is going to kill Wei Wuxian, and he hasn’t even done anything!”
Lan Xichen pats Nie Huaisang on the back, his face pale. “I’m sure we can talk this out,” he says weakly. “But, Huaisang, my brother–”
“He hates Wei Wuxian, I know,” Nie Huaisang interrupts, sobbing even louder.
He pauses, breath hitching just in time to hear the sound of a spiritual sword being unsheathed–and then, presumably, mounted. Lan Xichen had probably been about to say something like “my brother is coming.” It’s really too bad Nie Huaisang interrupted him.
“It’s so sad, because Wuxian really likes him!”
Lan Xichen blinks several times, and his face does something funny. “R-really?”
Nie Huaisang sniffs loudly. “But that’s not the point,” he cries. He tugs on Lan Xichen’s robes. “You have to go stop them!”
“The Lan sect will surely have a presence,” Lan Xichen says. “But Huaisang–”
Nie Huaisang bursts into tears again, successfully distracting him from escaping Nie Huaisang’s clutches. He doesn’t stop crying, or let Lan Xichen leave, for another ten minutes, until Lan Wangji has had plenty of time to leave the Cloud Recesses.
Doubtless he’ll fly to Yiling, where he’ll tell Wei Wuxian a less than comprehensive overview of their plan. It’s not exactly the informant Jiang Cheng had been picturing, but Nie Huaisang will make do, so long as it’s Lan Wangji. Perhaps he’ll vow to protect Wei Wuxian, and then declare his undying love to Wei Wuxian–so Nie Huaisang’s a romantic, sue him–so by the time the two of them actually make it to Nightless City, another piece of the puzzle will be in place.
-
Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji lands at the base of the Burial Mounds running. He tears up the path, worn into the mountain’s face by Wei Ying and the Wens. When he reaches the top, the place where the little Wen settlement once stood is completely empty. The cave where Wei Ying once slept is empty. Little Wen Yuan is nowhere to be found, nor are the elderly Wens. There’s no sign of life, anywhere, save for the abandoned plot of land, ready for farming.
Lan Wangji falls to his knees, sullying his white robes with dirt. Wei Ying, he thinks desperately. Where are you?
-
The last time Nightless City had this many people, they were leading the final attack of Wen Ruohan.
The memory randomly occurs to Wei Wuxian as he alights on the massive outer wall of the Sun Palace, before the great pavilion where all the sect cultivators have gathered. Last time, they were charging up these steps, while Wen Ruohan stood in the entrance. Now, Wei Wuxian stands on top of it, one hand on Chenqing, and the other on the Seal.
Down below, he sees the bright yellow robes of the Jins. Jin Guangshan has placed himself at the head of the alliance, because of course he has. But Jin Guangyao is there, his father’s silent shadow, and so is Jin Zixuan, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Nie Mingjue is stone-faced at the head of the Nie contingent. Lan Xichen is blank-faced at the head of the Lans, almost like his brother.
In vain, Wei Wuxian looks for Lan Zhan. He doesn’t care what he sees reflected back at him, he only wants to see Lan Zhan. But he isn’t there. Finally, Wei Wuxian looks over the Jiangs. Jiang Cheng is scowling, to Wei Wuxian’s utter lack of surprise.
“How rude,” Wei Wuxian calls, interrupting whatever Jin Guangshan’s going on about. “A party for me and I wasn’t invited?”
Jin Guangshan startles when he hears Wei Wuxian, though he hides it well. Jiang Cheng doesn’t seem surprised, merely directs his scowl directly at Wei Wuxian. Which is rather unfair, Wei Wuxian feels. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.
“Get off the roof,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Get down here.”
Wei Wuxian stares down at him, eyes fizzling with red light. He can’t be serious. Just because Jiang Cheng didn’t tell him doesn’t mean Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what this is about.
“You can’t be serious,” he sneers.
“It might induce a better conversation,” Lan Xichen says, solemnly.
That’s certainly no lie. The Lans never lie. Though Wei Wuxian would make a case for misleading–his sentence implies that the reason they want Wei Wuxian to come down is just so that they don’t have to shout at each other from so far away, and not–
“Won’t you come down and join us?” Jin Guangshan says, sickly sweet. “We were discussing some concerns that people have raised about your behavior.”
–So that they can kill him easier.
Why is he here again? Oh, that’s right. Wei Wuxian was hoping this was an overblown rumor.
Wei Wuxian laughs harshly. The sound is swallowed by the endless night. “Sect Leader Jin must think I’m stupid,” he says, with thinly veiled anger.
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng fumes. “Stop playing around and get down here.”
“Who’s playing around?” Wei Wuxian demands, Chenqing twirling around and around in his hand. He stalks up and down the roof, just an inky smudge against the vast black sky. Torches flicker all around the pavilion, lighting the cultivators up in all their colors.
Usually Jiang Cheng is a terrible liar, but there’s not a hint of deception in his demeanor right now. If Jiang Cheng wants to settle a score with him, then Wei Wuxian is happy to do so. But as far as Wei Wuxian is concerned, he doesn’t owe the rest of the world anything.
“I heard Sect Leader Jin’s moving speech,” Wei Wuxian continues, full to the brim with anger. He stops pacing, and stands facing the cultivators. His hand trembles on Chenqing. He didn’t come here for a fight, but now his blood is singing for one.
From the back of the mass of cultivators, a moving white blur comes in at full speed. Soon, the blur reveals itself to be Lan Wangji, late for clearly the first time in his life, if his expression is any indication. Every line in his typically stoic face is drawn taut with tension. Wei Wuxian’s hunger for a fight drains away.
He’s still angry, but he has to protect the Wens. They’re waiting for him, on the forest island halfway between the Burial Mounds and Nightless City. He has to return to them, or Wen Ning is probably going to come wandering into Nightless City looking for him. He can’t afford a fight.
“Good for you,” Jiang Cheng gripes. “Now will you get off the roof?”
Wei Wuxian is still angry, but beneath that, beneath all the bravado and the sneers and the self-righteousness are the white-knuckled, shaking hands that he draws in front of him to clutch Chenqing protectively by his chest. Beneath it all is the shaking voice that Wei Wuxian forces down until his tone sounds acceptable. Beneath it all is the part of Wei Wuxian that he doesn’t want to admit: the part that’s terrified.
Lan Zhan stops next to his brother, joining the ranks of Lan cultivators, and whatever hope Wei Wuxian had sinks like a stone to the soles of his boots. Dread pools like acid in his stomach, hissing and churning his emotions into knots.
Wei Wuxian looks across 3,000 cultivators, and swallows, laughter and sneers fading away at last. His voice is small and shaking when he finally speaks. “I’m not coming down, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says.
#so this doesn't make sense#but in my defense#uh it's 1 am?#what can you expect?#mdzs#mo dao zu shi#the untamed#wei wuxian#nie huaisang#lan xichen#jiang cheng#my writing#writeblr#lan wangji#nie mingjue#antebunny's ficlets
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