the more i listen to 'The Car' the more i am in absolute awe of it.

like jesus what elicit substances were injected into this album?

it's all about the *hands* (hidden agenda meta)

i really love the focus hidden agenda is putting on hands, and not just in the hand-holding scenes. even when joke and zo's hands aren't the primary focus of the shot, they're almost always doing something interesting - especially in zo's case. although he's tight-lipped and hesitant about his feelings for joke, zo's hands reveal what he dares not admit.

the expressive power of hands

first, let me nerd out a little about how important hands are as conveyors of emotion. earlier this year, i had the opportunity to go to an exhibit displaying the work of french sculptor françois auguste rené rodin, who "almost obsessively explored the expressive power of hands" . he believed that hands could convey just as much, if not more, emotion than facial expressions. he created several hand studies, my favorite of which - "the cathedral" - i've featured below. the sculpture depicts two hands encircled around one another, fingers just about to touch.

you don't need to see anything but the hands in order to get a feeling of romance, anticipation, and desire. in the spirit of these rodin statues, i want to focus just on joke and zo's hands, and how the series has employed them to tell us how joke and zo feel about each other, even when they otherwise mask their feelings.

joke reaches out; zo panics

hidden agenda #1 in this series is joke's plan to get close to zo under the pretense of helping him win over nita. but it's not very well hidden, as many viewers have noted, because joke keeps reaching out and touching zo. most of the time, it's intentional: too afraid to say he likes zo aloud, he uses his hands to tell zo instead.

and you can tell zo receives the message, because every time joke touches him, he Feels Things and freaks out.

what's interesting is that zo isn't freaking out about joke wanting to touch him. he's freaking out because he wants to touch joke. and he has since the beginning.

gif from @respectthepetty, who first highlighted this moment

and when he's not thinking too much about it, he does reach out and touch joke.

gifs from @gunsatthaphan and @mooninagust, respectively

unfortunately, zo is an overthinker.

zo's hand gestures are usually precise and deliberate, but when joke flirts, they become nervous and clumsy

another way we see zo's feelings for joke through his hands is how zo's precise gestures become clumsy when he's around joke. zo is a dedicated member of the debate team, and that affects the way he talks and gestures. in promo videos and interviews for the series, dunk has frequently mentioned how he had to practice talking and gesturing in the distinct, formal way people do during debates. he thinks before he speaks, talks slowly, and exaggerates his hand gestures to emphasize what he's saying.

but when he's flustered by what joke says or does, all that debate team training goes out the window. he flails, fidgets, and clutches his hands into fists. because he's nervous - big time.

fantastic gif from @chinzhilla

(right before joke asks zo how he feels about him)

when things get intimate, zo doesn't touch joke

reflecting his nervousness and hesitancy about his feelings for joke, zo is careful not to touch him when they kiss, nor when he finds their faces centimeters apart when they're sharing a bed.

gif from @mooninagust

he doesn't touch joke in these especially heated moments because to do so would be a confession in of itself, and he's not ready for that. but he's working towards it - as he becomes more comfortable with his feelings for joke, he's started to reach out to hold his hand (twice in episode 6).

zo's hands are very dynamic in these two scenes. he's relishing the ability to express how he feels in a way that feels comfortable for him, and he's exploring the new sensation of closeness with joke, finding that he likes it.

gif from @userneos

so next time he kisses joke, he's not only going to touch joke - he's going to pull him in closer.

Details I noticed in The Last Wish pt 5

I know I said I was done but then I watched it again and now I have more

So I mentioned in a previous post how there's always a big build up before they show a character's face for the first time, but I realized the extent of it during this rewatch. In the very beginning, before Puss starts singing, they don't even show the face on the ice sculpture of him. They really want the first time the viewer sees his face to be when he starts singing

They also don't show Puss' face on the painting he vandalized of the Govenor until the spotlight goes on it. I know they did this for the funny dramatic reveal but it's really quite impressive that it wasn't in the shot sooner considering Puss was singing and dancing in front of it for quite some time now

A dog pees on the Govenor's couch

The lady in a wheelchair who's on the left side of the crowd after he defeats the giant is also at the party

Speaking of when Puss defeats the giant, he winks at the crowd as it falls behind him

The song he starts singing when he gets hit with the bell is called "The Legend Will Never Die." This is one of the songs he sings when he's in the cave of lost souls that we catch the very tail end of

When Death shows up at the bar, Puss has his tongue out from drinking his leche. He does a blep a lot longer than I would in the presence of Death but when Death holds the shot glass up, you can see him put it away in the reflection on the glass

The scythe that cuts Puss in the bar fight is the one with his lives marked off

Mama Luna's house is on a peninsula jutting into the sea

During the montage of him at Mama Luna's, when he lays down on the rug for the first time he has his back claws out. They retract slightly when all the other cats come and squish him in but they're still visible

The white and cream cat who becomes acquaintances with Puss (the white and cream cat watches him on the litterbox and they nod at each other later) is the one on the litterbox when Mama Luna tells him that that's his bathroom. So they have canonly both watched each other poop... that's fun...

The statue of the Govenor that Papa Bear knocks over as they leave Del Mar has the Govenor with a foot on a bag of money. No wonder the people didn't like him

Mama Luna has matching blue socks with her cats. They have pink paw prints on the bottom. She also has yellow paw prints on her earrings

Goldi laughs when Papa stuffs Mama Luna into the piano

On the inside of the doors in Jack's treasure room, it says J.H.

When the crime family falls through the ceiling of Jack's factory, the stained glass window of him breaks and falls outside the room. Later when Jack's packing his bag, he steps on the glass that's now inside the room. A little consistency error

Also when Jack and the Serpent Sisters walk into the treasure room, the door stays wide open. No one goes to close it and it doesn't swing shut by itself. In the next shot we get of the door, it's fully closed. It doesn't really matter but it's still interesting that they can include all these little things but didn't have the door swing shut or smth while they're talking. it would have been an easy fix. oh well

When they show Kitty's wanted poster, there's a hiss with the background music. A clever way to add a bit more of her character without doing anything too big

The music they play during the chase after Puss, Perrito, and Kitty steal the map is Puss and Kitty's Flamenco. It's the same song they play when they're fighting for the map later and dance on each other's feet

"I'll get you, my kitties, and your little dog too." A wonderful Wizard of Oz reference by Jack that no one ever talks about

When they're looking at the map in the Dark Forest, Kitty pushes Puss out of the way so she can see what her path is. Except she pushes him by his face. And she pushes him so hard, he completely flips over. That had to have hurt

Goldi has leather stitching on the back of her blue corset-esque piece where it was let out to fit her better. It's probably the same one she was wearing when she broke into the bear's house all those years ago and they've just been adjusting it to fit her as she grows

This isn't so much a detail as it is a question. They posies just hit Team Friendship but they eat Jack's people. Just pull all the flesh off their bones in one go. Why did they respond differently? Maybe it's because they didn't have the map? Maybe it's because they could sense that Team Friendship's wishes were better than Jacks? idk

Before Puss runs off from the fight by the river and has a panic attack, you can see Death reflecting in his eyes

Death smiles as he watches him run into the forest

When Mama Bear suggests that maybe they could be happy without a wish, Goldi gives her a glare. She does not like that idea lol

Goldi also pulls a face when Perrito says she won the orphan lottery and Mama says, "I like his jib as well. Lets keep him."

During the final fight at the star for the map, Puss jumps off Goldi's face to grab it

This isn't so much a detail as it is something funny I like, but I love it when Kitty has the map during the final fight and is jumping confidently through the air... and then gets body slammed by a bear lol Like she's so small and she just got completely launched by a bear coming out of nowhere

Also when Jack is ignoring Nutmegan as she gets sucked into the star and he just ducks as an entire bear goes flying over his head. idk i just think the bears fighting in very unbearlike ways is funny

So Puss must be unbelievably strong because when Baby was being sucked into the star, it took two full grown bears and Goldi to save him but Puss does it by himself. He almost gets sucked in too for much longer than Baby and no one comes to help him; he's just holding onto the Gatito Blade with one hand. And then all by himself, using only rage, he gets his feet back on the ground and rejoins the fight. Like,,,, that must have been so hard

Death growls as he talks when Puss finally stares him down after telling him to pick up the scythe

This is only something I noticed during the last fight but I'm pretty sure it's true during the rest of the movie too. Death doesn't blink. He closes his eyes when making certain facial expressions but he doesn't blink. This is such a subtle but cool way to make him feel more unsettling and supernatural without the audience picking up on it

When Perrito's trying to do the cute eyes at Jack, he puts his head down for a second and you can see his shoulder blades sticking out through his sweater

Kitty always runs like she's in an anime. Like this

When Puss suggests "chomper" as a name for Perrito, Kitty shakes her head too

Someone used the Gatito Blade to pin Team Friendship's wanted poster to the mast of the ship they steal at the end

When Puss points at it, his claws are out too. He was so offended by that being their official team name now, he was moved to minor violence lol

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four

Have you ever took notice of the odd mural in the dining saloon. When Eyk goes to announce the change of course to the 1st class passengers, the first shot is of him with his back towards the camera and the crowd looking at him, and over their heads is this grey mural depicting what seem to be two giants (they appear to be giants to me, at least), the Earth symbol, and the vortex of water that Ling Yi witnessed. Have you any thoughts about that? It's too peculiar to not mean anything!

hi anon and thanks for the ask! here's the mural in question, on the kerberos:

and on the prometheus:

broadly speaking, this is such a great example of the level of attention to detail on this show and how everything, from the writing to the costume and set design to the creepy music and sound effects, was so meticulously crafted to breathe life into this world and give us clues for how this story would unfold.

as far as the mural itself, it’s chock full of foreshadowing and references to greek mythology, but before we dive into that, it’s worth mentioning that the mural is a relief sculpture, that is, a piece of art where the figures project outward from a flat background. this sculpted marble look of the mural ties in nicely with the opening credits which shows the characters as statues:

and statues, of course, are a physical, three-dimensional representation of a moment suspended in time, which turns out to be the twist with all the countless repeating simulations. it’s such a small detail that, combined with all these other small, subtle details, really sets the mood and tone for the rest of the show. immaculate vibes, truly.

but back to the mural, here’s a clearer image that emily beecham posted on twitter (with a bit of color correction and added sharpness):

you have the two ships, prometheus and kerberos, flanking the the triangle/earth symbol (with what looks to be parents and a child in the center) in the middle of a swirling vortex, which all foreshadow the ending where the failed simulations/ships are swept up in the vortex into the graveyard.

in each of the corners, you have a significant figure from greek mythology:

starting from the top left, there is zeus with his lightning bolt, who curses prometheus to his punishment in the top right, who is ultimately saved by hercules in the bottom left, who is depicted wrestling cerberus in the last of his 12 labors. in the bottom right is nyx, the goddess of night who is mother to hypnos (sleep), oneiros (dreams), and the moirai (the three fates), to name a few, and she is feared by zeus because she is older and more powerful than him.

and finally, you have the smaller figures scattered throughout of other people being swept into the vortex, referencing both the dead passengers from the mass suicide as well as the river styx, which dead souls must cross in order to reach the underworld. the figures in the river actually reminds me specifically of the scene in disney’s hercules and the visual is incredibly effective and striking in both cases:

i’ve mentioned a lot of doom and gloom so far but rest assured there are some glimmers of hope as well.

prometheus is ultimately freed from his eternal punishment by hercules. after completing his final task of subduing cerberus, hercules is able to atone for his crime of murdering his wife and children. nyx also gave birth to aether (brightness) and hemera (day). and i have nothing nice to say about zeus.

i really love all these references to greek mythology that were woven into the show, and in fact, the story itself plays out as a greek tragedy on multiple levels as well.

if you take the ship story at face value, you have these tragic, flawed characters who are all trying to escape their own traumas who end up dying at sea while trying to help a sister ship.

if you look at it from the simulation level, the tragedy only deepens as you have these characters who are doomed to repeat the same simulation over and over again, failing every time, unable to escape their fates. it’s only at the end that it seems like maura may have broken the cycle, but there are also plenty of clues to suggest that she has only traded one simulation for another.

and of course, if you look at it from a meta level, you have this big-budget, ambitious show that was created by an acclaimed director and screenwriter duo that was well received by critics and viewers alike and was canceled with little explanation less than two months after its release.

i will never get over this so thank you anon for giving me another excuse to talk about this show.

Another Syndicate AU has struck my mind, specifically for Rothfrye, and now I’m gonna subject you guys to it. It’s lengthy and weird, but here it is anyway!

Basically, it starts with Roth as a sculptor in a Modern AU. He’s an actor at night but acting isn’t enough to pay the bills so he has to sculpt things to make a living. One day, Starrick commissions Roth to make a beautiful sculpture of some kind, just as long as it’s good, and so Roth gets this huge stone to work with. He starts carving a figure out of it and then gets another commission from Henry, who’s seen Roth’s other works and also wants a sculpture. Roth accepts but doesn’t know if he can find another block and carve it in time for Henry’s commission. It’s Lewis (Roth’s ex-boyfriend and occasional model) who suggests that Roth splits the block he’s working on. Roth’s already half-finished a woman from one side of the block, it wouldn’t hurt for him to use the rest of it to make her twin, and it also solves the problem with Henry. So that’s what Roth does.

Eventually he has two sculptures, a man and a woman each. The sculpture of the man had a couple of cracks on its face that Roth managed to smooth into scars, so they’re not too discernible. He doesn’t know what names to give them but they’re absolutely amazing, almost lifelike. He even feels a bit drawn to the male one, who he put a bit more work into that with the woman. The man doesn’t look anything like Lewis, either, to which Roth is proud of because he didn’t have to use a model to come up with the face.

These are basically their poses (Man on the left, Woman on the right):

However, the night after the sculptures are finished, something weird happens. Roth’s not sure how, but the next morning, he finds that the fabric covering on the male sculpture, itself also carved from stone, has moved. It’s still hard and hasn’t cracked, it’s just changed positions somehow, like the stone itself moved.

But because sculpting’s really not Roth’s thing, he plays it off as misremembering how he carved it. Henry then stops by, takes one look at the woman, and immediately falls in love. Since Roth wasn’t sure which sculpture would go to which man, he lets Henry keep the woman sculpture. That leaves the man, who is to be kept with Roth until Starrick can come by to examine it and retrieve it, which won’t be for at least a month because of his busy schedule. So Roth’s stuck with the male sculpture.

That night, after he returns from his night job as an actor and goes to sleep, he gets awoken by crashing noises. Grabbing his gun, he goes to investigate and immediately comes across the source of the problem: A couple of clay pots he had been working on had fallen and smashed to pieces. However, they had been knocked over by none other than the male sculpture himself, who was up and walking around like an actual person. Roth is astounded by this turn of events but he doesn’t have long to think about it, as the man looks very skittish. Roth has to calm him down with gentle words and even gentler hands, which manages to work, but the male sculpture is still nervous, and that’s when Roth realizes that he was probably looking for his sister. So Roth tries to call Henry, who sounds absolutely terrified on the other end because he just found the woman sculpture and she looks very much like she wants to punch his lights out. But then the male sculpture uses his finger to tap on a table, which echoes across the line, and the woman taps back excitedly. They can’t speak but they can still understand each other somehow. It’s the best thing that happens that night, as Roth and Henry aren’t sure what to make of the two sculptures that suddenly came to life.

The next morning, it’s learned that the two are kinda like the people in the Night at the Museum movies in that they can’t move or come alive during the day but are fully able to be themselves at night. Roth and Henry don’t know why it’s happened, since it only seems to be affecting the two sculptures, but they know they have to figure something out. Roth especially sets to work in trying to make a new sculpture before Starrick comes calling so that the male sculpture won’t fall into Starrick’s hands.

And, slowly, Roth and Henry learn more about their mute friends and slowly fall in love. They try not to, being as the sculptures are just beings of stone that have nothing to them otherwise, but it happens anyway. And the sculptures show in their own ways that they have the capacity to love and they love the men right back.

Beckett by the Madeleine by Tom F. Driver

   Nothing like Godot, he arrived before the hour. His letter had suggested we meet at my hotel at noon on Sunday, and I came into the lobby as the clock struck twelve. He was waiting.    My wish to meet Samuel Beckett had been prompted by simple curiosity and interest in his work. American newspaper reviewers like to call his plays nihilistic. They find deep pessimism in them. Even so astute a commentator as Harold Clurman of The Nation has said that “Waiting for Godot” is “the concentrate . . . of the contemporary European . . . mood of despair.” But to me Beckett’s writing had seemed permeated with love for human beings and with a kind of humor that I could reconcile neither with despair or with nihilism. Could it be that my eyes and ears had deceived me? Is his a literature of defeat, irrelevant to the social crisis we face? Or is it relevant because it teaches us something useful to know about ourselves.    I knew that a conversation with the author would not settle such questions, because a man is not the same as his writing: in the last analysis, the questions had to be settled by the work itself. Nevertheless I was curious.    My curiosity was sharpened a day or two before the interview by a conversation I had with a well-informed teacher of literature, a Jesuit father, at a conference on religious drama near Paris. When Beckett’s name came into the discussion, the priest grew loud and told me that Beckett “hates life.” That, I thought, is at least one thing I can find out when we meet.    Beckett’s appearance is rough-hewn Irish. The features of his face are distinct, but not fine. They look as if they had been sculptured with and unsharpened chisel. Unruly hair goes straight up from his forehead, standing so high that the top falls gently over, as if to show that it really is hair and not bristle.  One might say it combines the man’s own pride and humility. For he has the pride that comes of self-acceptance and the humility, perhaps of the same genesis, not to impose himself upon another. His light blue eyes, set deep within the face, are actively and continually looking. He seems, by some unconscious division of labor, to have given them that one function and no other, leaving communication to the rest of the face. The mouth frequently breaks into a disarming smile. The voice is light in timbre, with a rough edge that corresponds to his visage. The Irish accent is, as one would expect, combined with slight inflections from the French. His tweed suit was a baggy gray and green. He wore a brown knit sports shirt with no tie.    We walked down the Rue de L’Arcade, thence along beside the Madeleine and across to a sidewalk cafe opposite that church. The conversation that ensued may have been engrossing but it could hardly be called world-shattering.  For one thing, the world that Beckett sees is already shattered.  His talk turns to what he calls “the mess,” or sometimes “this buzzing confusion.” I reconstruct his sentences from notes made immediately after our conversation. What appears here is shorter than what he actually said but very close to his own words.

   “The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being acutely aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of.”    I suggested that one must let it in because it is the truth, but Beckett did not take to the word truth.    “What is more true than anything else? To swim is true, and to sink is true.  One is not more true than the other. One cannot speak anymore of being, one must speak only of the mess. When Heidegger and Sartre speak of a contrast between being and existence, they may be right, I don’t know, but their language is too philosophical for me. I am not a philosopher. One can only speak of what is in front of him, and that now is simply the mess.”    Then he began to speak about the tension in art between the mess and form. Until recently, art has withstood the pressure of chaotic things. It has held them at bay. It realized that to admit them was to jeopardize form. “How could the mess be admitted, because it appears to be the very opposite of form and therefore destructive of the very thing that art holds itself to be?” But how can we keep it out no longer, because we have come into a time when “it invades our experience at every moment. It is there and it must be allowed in.”    I granted this might be so, but found the result to be even more attention to form than was the case previously. And why not? How, I asked, could chaos be admitted to chaos? Would that not be the end of thinking and the end of art? If we look at recent art we find it preoccupied with form. Beckett’s own work is an example. Plays more highly formalized than “Waiting for Godot,” “Endgame,” and “Krapp’s Last Tape” would be hard to find.    “What I am saying does not mean that there will henceforth be no form in art.  It only means that there will be new form, and that this form will be of such a type that it admits the chaos and does not try to say that the chaos is really something else. The form and the chaos remain separate. The latter is not reduced to the former. That is why the form itself becomes a preoccupation, because it exists as a problem separate from the material it accommodates. To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artists now.    Yet, I responded, could not similar things be said about the art of the past? Is it nor characteristic of the greatest art that it confronts us with something we cannot clarify, demanding that the viewer respond to it in his own never-predictable way? What is the history of criticism but the history of men attempting to make sense of the manifold elements in art that will not allow themselves to be reduced to a single philosophy or a single aesthetic theory? Isn’t all art ambiguous?    “Not this,” he said, and gestured toward the Madeleine. The classical lines of the church, which Napoleon thought of as a Temple of Glory, dominated all the scene where we sat.  The Boulevard de la Madeleine, the Boulevard Malesherbes, and the Rue Royale ran to it with a graceful flattery, bearing tidings of the Age of Reason. “Not this. This is clear. This does not allow the mystery to invade us. With classical art, all is settled. But it is different at Chartres. There is the unexplainable, and there art raises questions that it does not attempt to answer.”    I asked about the battle between life and death in his plays. Didi and Gogo hover on the edge of suicide; Hamm’s world is death and Clov may or may not get out of it to join the living child outside. Is this life-death question a part of the chaos?    “Yes. If life and death did not both present themselves to us, there would be no inscrutability. If there were only darkness, all would be clear. It is because there is not only darkness but also light that our situation becomes inexplicable.  Take Augustine’s doctrine of grace given and grace withheld: have you pondered the dramatic qualities in this theology? Two thieves are crucified with Christ, one saved and the other damned. How can we make sense of this division? In classical drama, such problems do not arise. The destiny of Racine’s Phèdre is sealed from the beginning: she will proceed into the dark. As she goes, she herself will be illuminated. At the beginning of the play she has partial illumination and at the end she has complete illumination, but there has been no question but that she moves toward the dark. That is the play. Within this notion clarity is possible, but for us who are neither Greek nor Jansenist there is not such clarity. The question would also be removed if we believed in the contrary—total salvation. But where we have both dark and light we have also the inexplicable. The key word in my plays is ‘perhaps.’”    Given a theological lead, I asked what he thinks about those who find a religious significance to his plays.    “Well, really there is none at all. I have no religious feeling. Once I had a religious emotion. It was at my first communion. No more. My mother was deeply religious. So was my brother. He knelt down at his bed as long as long as he could kneel. My father had none. The family was Protestant, but for me it was only irksome and I let it go. My brother and mother got no value from their religion when they died. At the moment of crisis it had no more depth than an old-school tie.  Irish Catholicism is not attractive, but it is deeper. When you pass a church on an Irish bus, all the hands flurry in the sign of the cross. One day the dogs of Ireland will do that too and perhaps also the pigs.”    But do the plays deal with the same facets of experience religion must also deal with?    “Yes, for they deal with distress. Some people object to this in my writing. At a party an English intellectual—so-called—asked me why I write about distress.  As if it were perverse to do so!  He wanted to know if my father had beaten me or my mother had run away from home to give me an unhappy childhood. I told him no, that I had had a very happy childhood. Then he thought me more perverse than ever. I left the party as soon as possible and got into a taxi. On the glass partition between me and the driver were three signs: one asked for help for the blind, another, help for the orphans, and the third for relief for the war refugees. One does not have to look for distress. It is screaming at you even in the taxis of London.”    Lunch was over, and we walked back to the hotel with the light and dark of Paris screaming at us.    The personal quality of Samuel Beckett is similar to qualities I had found in the plays. He says nothing that compresses experience within a closed pattern. “Perhaps” stands in place of commitment. At the same time, he is plainly sympathetic, clearly friendly. If there were only the mess, all would be clear; but there is also compassion.    As a Christian, I know I do not stand where Beckett stands, but I do see much of what he sees. As a writer on theater, I have paid close attention to the plays. Harold Clurman is right to say that “Waiting for Godot” is a reflection (he calls it a distorted reflection) “of the impasse and disarray of Europe’s current politics, ethic, and common way of life.” Yet it is not only Europe that the play refers to. “Waiting for Godot” sells even better in America than in France. The consciousness it mirrors my have come earlier to Europe than to America, but it is the consciousness that most “mature” societies arrive at when their successes in technological and economic systemization propel them into a time of examining the not-strictly-practical ends of culture. America is now joining Europe in this “mature” phase of development. Whether any of us remain in it long will depend on what happens as a result of the technological and economic revolutions now going on in the countries of Asia and Africa, and also of course on how long the cold war remains cold. At present no political party in Western Europe or America seems possessed of a philosophy of social change adequate to the pressures of current history.    In the Beckett plays, time does not go forward. We are always at the end, where events repeat themselves (“Waiting for Godot”), or hover at the edge of nothingness (“Endgame”), or turn back to the long-ago moment of genuine life (“Krapp’s Last Tape”). This retreat from action may disappoint those of us who believe that the events of the objective world must still be dealt with. To say “perhaps,” as the plays do, is not to say “no.” The plays do not say that there is no future but that we do not see it, have no confidence about it, and approach it hopelessly. Apart from messianic Marxism, where is there today a faith asserting the contrary that succeeds in shaping a culture?    The walls that surround the characters of Beckett’s plays are not walls that nature and history have built irrespective of the decisions of men. They are the walls of one’s own attitude toward his situation. The plays are themselves evidence of a human capacity to see one’s situation and by that very fact to transcend it. That is why Beckett can say that letting in “the mess” may bring with it a “chance of renovation.” It is also why he is wrong, from philosophy’s point of view, to say that there is only “the mess.” If that were all there is, he could not recognize it as such. But the plays and the novels contain more, and that more is transcendence of the self and the situation.    In “Waiting for Godot” Beckett has a very simple and moving description of human self-transcendence. Vladimir and Estragon (Didi and Gogo) are discussing man, who bears his “little cross” until he dies and is forgotten. In a beautiful passage that is really a duet composed of short lines from first one pair of lips and then the other, the two tramps speak of their inability to keep silent. As Gogo says, “It’s so we won’t hear . . . all the dead voices.” The voices of the dead make a noise like wings, sand, or leaves, all speaking at once, each one to itself, whispering, rustling, and murmuring.

   vladimir. What do they say? estragon. They talk about their lives. vladimir. To have lived is not enough for them. estragon. They have to talk about it. vladimir. To be dead it not enough for them. estragon. It is no sufficient. (Silence) vladimir. They make a noise like feathers. estragon. Like leaves. vladimir. Like ashes. estragon. Like leaves.

   In this passage, Didi and Gogo are like the dead, and the dead are like the living, because all are incapable of keeping silent. The description of the dead voices is also a description of of living voices. In either case, neither to live nor to die is “enough.” One must talk about it. The human condition is self-reflection, self-transcendence. Beckett’s plays are the whispering, rustling, and murmuring of man refusing merely to exist.    Is it not true that self-transcendence implies freedom, and that freedom is either the most glorious or the most terrifying of facts, depending on the vigor of the spirit that contemplates it? It is important to notice that the rebukes to Beckett’s “despair” have mostly come from the dogmatists of humanist liberalism, who here reveal, as so often they do, that they desire the reassurance of certainty more than they love freedom. Having recognized that to live is not enough, they wish to fasten down in dogma the way that life ought to be lived. Beckett suggests something more free—that life is to be seen, to be talked about, and that the way it is to be lived cannot be stated unambiguously but must come as a response to that which one encounters in “the mess.” He has devised his works in such a way that those who comment upon them actually comment upon themselves. One cannot say, “Beckett has said so and so,” for Beckett has said, “Perhaps.” If the critics and the public see only images of despair, one can only deduce that they are themselves despairing.    Beckett himself, or so I take it, has repented of the desire for certainty. There are therefore released in him qualities of affirmation that his interpreters often miss. That is why the laughter in his plays is warm, his concern for his characters affectionate. His warm humor and affection are not the attributes of defeatism but the consequences of what Paul Tillich has called “the courage to be.”

   [The text is reproduced from: Stanley A. Clayes, ed., Drama and Discussion (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1967), pp. 604-7. Diver’s interview was originally published in Columbia University Forum 4 (Summer 1961): 21-25.]

Andy Goldsworthy "Spire" is a sculpture made of 37 Monterey cypress trunks from trees felled in the Presidio, working with the Presidio Trust forestry crew. He bound them together, and its peak is visible above the trees—for now. Because he also planted young cypress trees around its base, and the hope is that someday, they'll obscure the old trees, reflecting the way forests ebb and flow, giving way to new life. 

Depressingly, the sculpture was burnt in an act of arson in 2020. Goldsworthy said: "The burning of Spire goes too deep for my own words. Besides, Spire has always spoken for itself and will perhaps now speak with an even greater eloquence after what has happened. If anything, its epitaph will be better written in the memories, thoughts and words of those who have lived with it over the past twelve years.” 

Honestly, it looks now like it was burnt on purpose. The black smooth damage makes the Spire look otherworldly. It's now fenced in and repaired. It's a piece that reflects on the ways that things renew, that new growth uses the old to thrive, and that creation emerges from decay and destruction, and so the burning kind of fits in its way. It was worth the hike to go and see it.

Humans are weird: A being of one made of trillions

*wheezing*  ..... *wheezing* ..... *cough*  ...... ...... ...... *Sound of a door opening*  ...... *two pairs of footsteps entering the room*  ..... ..... *wheezing continues*  ...... ...... Apostle: He continues to resist us. Interrogator: Indeed, but he will break in due time.  *Apostle kneeling down, grabbing chained humans face by chin and observes it coldly*  Apostle: Strange that such a frail species could resist our link.  Interrogator: I assure you, the mind melding device is working perfectly.  Apostle: *scoffs*  Apostle: If it had been then I would not be here.  Interrogator: ...... *Apostle continues observing human*  Apostle: Why does it not react to my touch?  Interrogator: It slumbers.  Apostle: It slumbers?  Interrogator: Yes; it has taught itself to sleep through anything during our processing.  Apostle: *Observes human wheezing more carefully*  Apostle: You allow it to learn to best us; even when it is our prisoner? Interrogator: Their species is unlike any I have seen.  Interrogator: It sleeps as if it’s flesh was not being carved and mind probed daily. Apostle: *Let’s go of human head as it falls lazily back down, and back hands Interrogator*    *Interrogator tumbles into a nearby metal bench scattering the tools resting atop it.*  Apostle: Their people are conquered! They do not deserve such praise.  Apostle: *Motions for mind meld* Apostle: I will show you how easily they can break.  *Interrogator hands Apostle the mind meld head piece, then attaches nodes to human.*  Apostle: You failed to break their body, so I will show you how to break their mind. 

Apostle: *Breaths slowly, deeply. Rhythmic pattern building with each inhale as it matches the thrum of their heart beat.*

Apostle: *Closes eyes as mind meld device activates*  ....... ....... ....... ...... Apostle: *Opens eyes* Apostle: *Sees an endless void of shifting colors swirling around their floating body.*  Apostle: *Laughs*  Apostle: A strong body, yet such an empty mind.  Apostle: *Waves hand and colors disperse.*  *Void shifts and reorganizes itself into a room. Every wall covered with blank tv screens as the Apostle stands in the center under a single light.*  Apostle: *Waves other hand and the tv screens turn on one by one.* Apostle: Surrender your secrets. *TV screens begin playing specific memories..* *A meeting at command*  *Orders from a general* *notes scribbled in a notepad* *Charts hanging from a wall*  Apostle: *Watches each moment on different screens* Apostle: *Passes a black screen and stops*  Apostle: What have we here?  Apostle: *Observes black screen*  Apostle: *Waves hand*  *No reaction.* Apostle: *Waves hand again*  *Still no reaction*  Apostle: *Grunts in anger and moves on to next screen*  TV Screen: Who......are you?  Apostle: *Stops and turns back*  TV Screen: Who are.....you?  Apostle: I am an Apostle. TV Screen: Aposssssstle?  TV Screen: Apostttllllllle?  TV Screen: Apppppppppppppppostle?  Apostle: Apostle.  *Silence* TV Screen: Not welcome.....leave.  Apostle: No.  *White snow flickers across screen.* TV Screen: Leave, now.......not welcome.  Apostle: *Booming voice* Only after i have taken what I need, and flayed your mind raw with anguish, shall I leave.  *Silence*  *Silence*  *Silence*  TV Screen: hehe.... Apostle: *Raises eyebrow*  TV Screen: *Flickers with more static snow*  TV Screen: Is that.....best you...have?  Apostle: *Smashes fist into black screen*  *TV screen shatters on the impact, glass fragments falling to the floor but disappearing before they ever touch the floor*  Apostle: *Moves to next screen.*  Apostle: *Studying map of human systems when screen goes black*  TV Screen: Try....harder.... Apostle: *Smashes new tv screen ant the glass shatters again.*  *TV screen to the right of Apostle goes black*  TV Screen: Again.  *Apostle smashes TV*  *TV screen to the left goes black*  TV Screen: AGAin!  *Apostle jumps sideways and smashes screen with armored foot*  *TV screen behind apostle foes black*  TV Screen: AGAIN! AGAIN!  *Apostle leaps backwards and smashes tv with fist.*  *More and more screens begin turning black as the Apostle continues smashing them.*  *Shattered screens begin belching a mocking laughter which grows with ever shattered face.*  *The laughter continues to anger the Apostle as they let themselves become enraged. Their fury carrying them to each blackened screen like a hurricane as the roaring laughter grows and grows.*  *With each shattered screen the glass begins to fade less and slices into the Apostles hands, bit by bit*  *Only after realizing they could no longer move their hands does the Apostle look down to see the bloody stumps they have become*  Apostle: ENOUGH!  *The laughter instantly dies and the screens reset.*  Apostle: *Looks down and inspects newly healed hands.* *A single screen turns black in front of the Apostle*  TV Screen: Drowning...isn’t it?  TV Screen: The voices.....the chorus....the chaos.... Apostle: If your point was to annoy me then congratulations, you have succeeded in gaining my ire. TV Screen: Not annoy......teach.... TV Screen: Do you....know what the.....human soul is?  *The Apostle stopped inspecting their hands and looked puzzled at the screen*  Apostle:  A religious superstition your kind carries about your individuality. 

TV Screen: Not superstition.....reality.... *Additional screens begin turning black*  TV Screen: The....human....body.....is made....of trillions....of life forms.. *More screens go black*  TV Screen: Each one....alive....eating....breathing....dying..... TV Screen: Trillions  speaking.... all at ......same time... *Apostle observes that the black screens have stopped blackening and have formed some sort of outline on the wall*  TV Screens: The soul.....speaks....loudest..of all.. *Room light begins flickering* TV Screens: It drowns out....the rest.... *TV screens spark*  Apostle: It shall not drown out my voice.  TV Screens: It speaks..above all others!  *The black screens no longer glass, but a thick black goo that oozes out of the tv sets.*   TV Screens: It controls all life inside by rising above... the chaos!  *Apostle steps back as the goo slowly forms together to form an outline of a man pushing through the wall like a specter.*  *Specter takes one step forward as the black ooze continues to swirl around its silhouette.* *Apostle sees with each swirl the shape becomes more defined, more clear, as if a they were watching a sculpture being carved in real time* Apostle: What madness consumes this mind?!  *Silhouette stops swirling and the figures is finally revealed.*  *The prisoner who was beaten and slumbering mere moments ago now was standing before the Apostle.*  Prisoner: No madness, only reality.  *Prisoner puts hand on Apostle’s shoulder and smiles*   Prisoner: You can try to poke around my head as long as you want, but it won’t matter. Prisoner: My voice, my soul, must be heard above the trillions of others inside my body. Prisoner: One more voice inside my head is nothing to me.  *Apostles sees black ooze slowly begin pouring between the pearly white teeth of the prisoner.* *Without warning every screen in the room shatters inwards unleashing a torrent of black ooze that fills the room.* *The Apostle tries to wave their hand and clear away the mental projections but finds his hand is now being consumed by the ooze.* *As it rises over their eyes they see the haunting face of their prisoner as ozze slowly pours out the corners of his eyes.* ........ ....... ....... ........ *Seeing the readings spiking the Interrogator rips off the mind meld device and catches the Apostle as they collapse to the ground.*  *They are clawing at their throat as if drowning and the guards outside were quickly called in to carry the Apostle to the medical bay.*  *As the Apostle and their guards left the room, the interrogator turned back to the prisoner. One eye was wide open and watching them as the prisoners lips slowly parted to reveal a bloody smile.*  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hello everyone,  hope you enjoyed the story :3  For a while now I’ve had this idea that an individual's soul or consciousness at the very least is the by product of either the collective will of the trillions of organisms living inside the human body.  Sort of like the soul is the “State” of a communist country and the organisms inside all contribute to it or a chaos god from warhammer 40k who is created from the collective subconsciousness of all living creatures.  I have no facts to back up this idea, but the story above is meant to show how powerful you as an individual are even if you don’t know it. There is no one like you on the planet and even if you don’t see it your body is filled with trillions of lifeforms and yet your personality reigns supreme. :3   

atla hcs

i’ve been thinking about this for a minute, and i wanna do a set of headcanons for how i think the brothers (and eventually the undateables) would feel about certain avatar: the last airbender characters, or something along those lines. i actually just wanted to talk about lucifer and azula, so everything else here is a bonus. this doesn’t matter, but for what it’s worth: wherever the mc pops up, they will be gn, enjoy!

also: this kinda goes without saying, but there are most definitely spoilers in here. for which seasons? i don’t remember, i watched this show when i was nine, but proceed with caution if you have yet to watch it.

lucifer

if it’s one thing you are not gonna play with him about, it is princess azula. this man is an azula supremacist, and while he might not say those words exactly, anyone would be able to tell that’s the case if they talked to him about the show for longer than two minutes. he actually wasn’t even interested in the show until azula showed up, and he will readily admit this to anyone who inquires about it. what makes it funny is the fact that her first appearance is literally, like, ten seconds, so that means he saw her and immediately knew she was the best, which, like—real recognize real. is he projecting? am i projecting? yes, no. in that order. shut up.

he actually almost couldn’t hide how proud he was when azula almost killed aang, this man is deranged. the same way he takes her wins personally, he takes every loss of hers personally as well, so when she lost that agni kai? 🚶‍♂️ 

the average azula enjoyer believes azula should get a redemption arc, lucifer believes azula should simply get whatever she wants, and the difference between those two things is striking.

average azula enjoyer: i believe azula deserves to heal and redeem herself. it isn’t fair that she was left with her tyrannical, abusive father during formative years of her childhood, with no one to help her or show her what it means to be good. she cannot be blamed for the way she turned out. it especially isn’t fair that she gets no redemption for evil things she did at age fourteen, for a year, while the entire show is iroh’s redemption arc, and he was doing evil for decades—he is literally called “the dragon of the west” because of it. additionally—

lucifer morningstar, resident azula supremacist: everything azula did, she was right to do, because i would’ve done the same. there was never a point at which she was wrong, it’s just unfortunate that nobody could keep up with her, her father included. the only reason why she ended up losing, ultimately, is because this is a children’s show, and good is supposed to win out. it was plot armor. if this were realistic, she would’ve beaten everyone—at the very least, she would’ve beaten zuko in the final agni kai, it’s just that he broke the rules and brought backup. at the time of the agni kai, she was literally the strongest firebender in the show. that’s actually the only part of this lucifer is right about, but you can’t tell him that.

if you ask him what his favorite quote in the show is, he’ll immediately say, “i can see your whole history in your eyes. you were born with nothing, so you’ve had to struggle, and connive, and claw your way to power. but true power? the divine right to rule? is something you’re born with.” and he will do it so well that it’ll give you the chills. 

in actuality, his favorite quote is, “i’d really rather our family physician look after little zuzu, if you don’t mind.” it’s just that it doesn’t have the same chilling effect as the first one. 

does he like any other characters? does he even care about any other characters? he has a deep fondness for sokka because he reminds him of mammon.  yes, and they are katara and suki, with honorable mention to avatar kyoshi. 

does he hate any characters? no, but if you mention avatar kuruk or uncle iroh to him, he might get annoyed. is mildly frustrated by aang, but has the sense to cut him some slack for being twelve and the last of his kind. never speak of ozai.

mammon 

toph supremacist. frequent user of the phrase, “toph is just fucking class.” knows for a fact that toph is the best and strongest bender in the entire show, and no one has ever managed to convince him otherwise. mainly because nobody really disagrees. like, have you ever even seen toph slander?

just like lucifer with azula, he wasn’t invested in the show until toph showed up, which, once again, is funny, because technically her very first appearance is only a few seconds long, so that means he saw her for a literal second and just knew. you can’t even be mad at that, real recognize real. 

no one will ever see him more proud than when he’s talking about one toph beifong. he can’t get over her raw, unbridled talent, and he really never should. if you let him (so, if you’re levi), he will spend so much time analyzing her character and every single one of her strengths, from the fact that she’s the only one who knows when azula is lying, all the way down to the fact that even though she projects a tough persona, she can still be vulnerable, AND—

not only is she strong, but her personality is simply untouchable. this girl grows on literally everyone; like, even lucifer likes her, even though he’ll die before saying it out loud. 

he gets so smug whenever someone asks him who his favorite is and it’s because he knows his taste is top tier, and what makes it worse is that no one can even disagree because toph is just that good. 

will never admit it, but he was shaking and crying during the scene where it looked like toph and sokka were literally gonna die. was also gonna cry when toph almost drowned. basically: he is eternally grateful to suki. 

his favorite line in the entire show is, “i am the greatest earthbender in the world! don’t you two dunderheads ever forget it.” it’s just fucking class.

does he like any other characters? he sees himself in sokka, he’ll tell you that much. he also knows that satan and lucifer like sokka because of him, and he found out because he heard them talking about it. to their joint dismay, they turned to see him standing behind them, grinning like an idiot, and they couldn’t even scare him into leaving them alone when he hugged both of them at the same time because, one, they didn’t really want to, and two, they couldn’t turn off their fondness for him fast enough ^_^. did they reciprocate his hug? did they stay like that for a little bit? did lucifer kiss the tops of their heads? maybe so🤨

does he hate any characters? not really, but he doesn’t particularly like azula because she scares him and makes him sad, like lucifer and doesn’t see her appeal. once tried to make a case for why she shouldn’t have a redemption arc and felt painfully human from the way he almost died. do not mention toph’s parents to him. the name ozai should also never be on your tongue.

levi 

resident sokka enjoyer and suki appreciator. do not ever call sokka dumb in front of this man unless you want a proper lecture. unlike a few of his brothers, he doesn’t like sokka just because of his similarities to mammon. he also likes sokka because he relates to him on a personal level. 

levi absolutely knows what it’s like to feel inadequate and outshined by people younger than you. he absolutely knows what it’s like to feel like your competence is overlooked. while he might be unfamiliar with how it feels to strategize for a war and lose a battle, but it is one of his biggest fears and it absolutely crushed him to see sokka go through that. 

on a lighter note, levi has a deep appreciation for sokka’s comedic value, despite the fact that it can overshadow his intelligence. levi would actually venture to say that he likes sokka’s funnier side because it overshadows his intelligence to the point that it throws the opposition for a loop. this is the aspect of sokka that reminds him of mammon. 

it also seriously warmed his heart to see how everyone missed sokka while he was away for sword training; he especially liked that episode because it was just an affirmation of the fact that sokka is an integral part of team avatar, which he really needed to see. 

you know who else is an integral part of team avatar who needs to be recognized as such more often? suki. do you know how much pain levi is in every time he thinks about the lack of suki screentime . it’s a lot . suki is just too good for the amount of screentime she has, he’s sorry, but it’s true. this is evidenced by the scene of her literally running across prisoners’ heads to apprehend the warden of boiling rock. that scene speaks for itself—she and the other kyoshi warriors end up as zuko’s body guards for a reason. 

he will never let anyone forget that if it weren’t for suki, sokka would still be a misogynist. she was an essential element to sokka’s growth as a character and everyone had better remember it or so help him. also , he is a firm believer in the fact that suki was the best love interest for sokka, with zuko as a close second. don’t ask questions. rip yue but argue with the wall.

his favorite line in the series? 

“zuko’s gone crazy! i made a sand sculpture of suki, and he destroyed it! oh, and he’s attacking aang.” 

it’s not profound or cool or anything like that, but it makes him smile and giggle every time he thinks of it ^_^. 

does he like any other characters? he has a lot of love for toph and azula for the sole fact that the series improved exponentially after both of their introductions; he thinks both of them are in leagues of their own and seeing them in action just puts a smile on his face. he’s also inexplicably fond of king bumi. 

does he hate any characters? not particularly, actually! he pretty much respects and appreciates everyone, except the guy who mutilated his thirteen year old son for speaking out of turn.

satan 

just pick a girl. any girl. and from the way he talks about them, you’ll think they’re his favorite. he can and will go on about the girls of atla for the rest of eternity.

but since we’re being specific:

katara appreciator. azula enjoyer. basically, between him and lucifer, no tongue raised against azula shall prosper. he has a deep respect for each of their wraths. he also really must have a thing for angst because both of these characters just break his heart. 

if you let him (in other words, if you’re levi), he will go on about how it’s not fair that people call katara annoying when, in reality, she just hasn’t healed from the trauma of seeing her mother’s corpse at age eight, followed by having to take care of her village, meaning she got literally no time to grieve properly, and—

call katara annoying in front of him and you might actually have to meet god for your shallow views of such a deep, complex character. 

he will also go on and on about how katara would be the best bender in the show, if it weren’t for toph, who is untouchable. instead, he’ll talk about how katara almost killed pakku for being misogynistic and how she single handedly beat azula during sozin’s comet. you will frequently hear this man say, “katara aang’s master for a reason,” and he’s right. 

similar to if you call katara annoying, if you call azula scary in front of satan, he’s bullying you. he’s sorry, but it has to happen. no way you’re scared of a traumatized fourteen year old, what are you, eight? or do you have no understanding of azula’s depth? both are unacceptable. 

satan is the average azula enjoyer, times about seven. you simply won’t get away with speaking poorly of azula in front of this man, so if you’re like mammon and don’t like her, you better tread very carefully. 

one time mammon tried to be like, “azula is too far gone to deserve redemption anyways,” and satan literally reverted to his demon form as he said: “if i were abandoned with my terrible father as a child, with literally no one to help me, and then my friends betrayed me, and then, as i was about to be crowned ruler of my country, my dumb fucking idiot brother showed up with his dumb peasant friend for backup, which isn’t even allowed, i might be mad forever too, actually—” and then he threw the nearest chair at mammon for his criminally bad take.

another reason why satan loves azula so much is because he’s convinced she’s a lesbian and satan is the most “let’s go lesbians!!!” person you will ever meet. you actually can’t convince him that she isn’t a lesbian. forget chan. nobody gives a fuck about chan.

what’s his favorite line in the entire series? 

“trust me, zuko—it’s not going to be much of a match.” 

like, come on. katara is just too good. 

does he like any other characters (other than the girls of atla)? he’ll never admit it, but he has a lot of respect for sokka and a soft spot for him because he reminds him of mammon. he also has a lot of respect for aang because he reminds him of beel of how well he handled literally everything despite being twelve. 

does he hate any—yes. never speak of avatar roku. or iroh. or ozai. for good measure, don’t mention general zhao either. 

asmo 

what lucifer is to azula, asmo is to ty lee. like do i even have to say anything else. but for what it’s worth, he also love, love, loves azula because she reminds him of lucifer, from her strength and class, all the way down to her descent into madness. and even though she breaks his heart just as much as she does satan’s. he may or may not have cried over azula in satan’s room while they were talking about her. unlike lucifer and satan, he can respect it if you don’t like her, but it’ll make him so sad. 

but enough about azula. ty lee is where it’s at for him. her subtle strength and unwavering love is something to die for, and he will defend it against anyone, up to and including lucifer, and he’ll win too. asmo is not to be trifled with and neither is ty lee; he can make a strong argument as to why ty lee is the strongest character in the show, and you will have a very hard time trying to refute his points. (the main point being: it’ll be really hard to win a fight against someone who can paralyze you in a few seconds, bender or not.)

the fact that ty lee ran away from home because she was tired of the fact that nobody ever saw her as her own person is just something that tugs at asmo’s heartstrings. he thinks ty lee’s bravery is just something that can be so personal. 

also—he has a massive appreciation for the fact that, even though there’s a war going on and ty lee is in near-constant danger, she still has the sense to maintain her appearance and worry about the skincare of not just herself, but also people she’s close to. that is a detail he will never let anyone forget. 

never mentions it in front of lucifer but one of his favorite scenes is when she paralyzes azula to save mai. once again: ty lee’s bravery is just something that can be so personal. 

he doesn’t have a favorite line in the series, but his favorite exchange of dialogue is between ty lee and azula, wherein ty lee is trying to teach azula how to flirt. he thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

does he like any other characters? of course! he likes everyone ^_^ . you’d actually be hard pressed to find someone he hates. ozai. it’s ozai. he has a real soft spot for mai because she reminds him of belphie. something about their shared aversion to affection is just so cute to him!

beel

aang supremacist, will hold steadfast to the fact that aang is the best character in the show and you will struggle to figure out how to convince him otherwise. 

if you ask him why aang is his favorite, the first thing he will do is gesture to a picture of him and say, “look at the material,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, before diving into a ten minute in depth character analysis for this boy. 

come on. he shouldn’t even have to explain himself. not only is aang one of the strongest, most competent avatars to exist, ever, he also mastered all four elements in a year, when he was twelve—he’s literally a different breed. and he managed to beat ozai in his own way, without killing him, as a means of staying true to a culture that could have literally died with him at any point in the show. aang is just fucking class.

he also admires aang for his near unwavering kindness and lighthearted nature. and for never going berserk and killing everyone he sees, especially after finding out his people were killed while he was in ice.

you have no idea how much pain beel was in when he found out that the air nomads were just gone. seeing a child find out that not only their family is gone, but also the entirety of their people and culture, just absolutely broke his heart. and that guilt aang was feeling? hit way too close to home for him. 

he also thinks it’s really nice that aang was so quick to forgive zuko after everything, and the two of them ended up being really good friends. it just puts a smile on his face. 

after some reflection with levi, he would’ve liked to see the full scope of an airbender’s power in the series; as in, he would’ve liked to see someone suffocated, but it’s okay, because aang wasn’t like that.  and he heard it happens in the next series over.

anyway, beel’s favorite quote in the show...well, it isn’t really a quote, as much as it’s a dialogue between two characters. it’s the scene where toph asks, “do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?” and aang says, “i don’t see why not.” it could bring a tears to his eyes just thinking about it; and in the next series over when it’s proven to be true, he absolutely cried. 

does he like any other characters? he’s actually really fond of zuko and mai because they both remind him of belphie. he also likes sokka for the same reason lucifer and satan like sokka. he has a deep appreciation for katara because aang would literally be dead without if it weren’t for her.

does he hate any characters? well, he doesn’t really like azula. he feels bad for her, but he doesn’t like her. but as for who he hates? take a wild guess. 

belphie 

zuko makes him sob is his number one. yes zuko is his favorite because of his redemption arc, yes he sees himself in zuko, no he will not explain any further than that, what’s your point🤨

in actuality, he will never be able to properly articulate how important it is for him to see that redemption is, indeed, attainable, if you put the work in. in a similar vein, he will also never be able to give words to how important it is for him to see that forgiveness is also attainable.  it means the world to him. that is why it makes him cry. the feeling is overwhelming. i’m gonna cry if i think about it for too long.

he will cling to the fact that zuko is the best character in the show, and he will cling to it even when zuko embarrasses him by saying stupid shit like, “no lightning today?” and even when zuko is so awkward it causes him physical pain. that’s his number one and he’s not changing on it!

firm zukka supporter. will not argue. that’s all.

what’s his favorite line in the entire series? it’s one of the two you’re thinking of. make that decision for yourself.

does he like any other characters? he positively adores aang and will readily admit that it’s because he reminds him of beel. bonus points for aang because he also loves the dynamic between him and zuko. toph is a distant third, mainly because he just really likes her attitude. he looks at her and thinks, now this is someone who would not hesitate to kick lucifer’s ass. 

does he hate any characters? you better believe it. he hates iroh because he reminds him of dia. he can’t really bring himself to like azula because she makes him a different kind of sad. and if you know what’s good for you, you will never mention ozai. 

Oh my god, oh my GOD you gave me the most ridiculous brainrot with those hcs of the Titan trio in a gloomy city, I literally haven’t stopped thinking about it all day. If you’re still open for requests, could you maybe write something similar, but with the reader having a crush on bertholdt, or being his s/o in that au? Thank you so much if you do, I hope you have a lovely day! 🥰

— ❝︎ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍! 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐔 𝐏𝐓. 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ; 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐓. ·˚ ༘

♡︎ : PLEASE I'M SO GLAD THAT YOU LIKED ITDK I LOWKEY FELL OFF AT THE END BUT TYTY 🥺 and tbh i was THIS CLOSE 🤏 to turning it into a bert x reader post so you like read my mind PLSKD. and i hope you have a lovely day, too!! 🥺

reader x bertholdt version of this! i suggest reading those headcanons first because i absolutely refuSe to attempt to explain the atmosphere again because i'm illiterate gegsgdgh

if you'd like a music recommendation for when you're reading this, literally just play the band cigarettes after sex and you'll get the vibe i'm tryna put off 😭

also this is long and dragged out and im SORRYYFHF

because there isn't a whole lot to change (other than bertholt's feelings for annie; he's older, so in this version, he's over it entirely), everything will be the same as it was in the first part. the four of you, all living in extremely gloomy territory. you're only close with eachother, and it's the sour scent of cigarette smoke and green tea keeping the lot of you sane. that, and the rain. the sweet, senseless rain.

as before, bertholdt's in his twenties, and currently working as a philosophy professor's assistant. his workplace is at a local community college, where you and the other two occasionally visit.

the same goes for the others, as well— while annie's a policy analyst, reiner's taken up certified training. again, not much is different from the first version, if anything at all. what you do for a living is entirely up to you. as for lodging, you're still sharing an apartment with annie, and the boys still visit far too often than remotely necessary. for such a big city, the four of you don't really get out much. really, if you ever do, it's with eachother. you're a very, very tight-knit posse.

back during your college campus days, you're liking toward bertholdt was merely platonic. after all, not only were the bunch of you focused on your academia, but he was always the quieter sort. back then, you were more close to reiner, and even annie, who's worse. still, that didn't mean the two of you didn't interact quite a bit. whenever you were struggling with your studies, he was always offering to help. if we're being entirely honest, there were quite a few exams that you'd have likely failed if it weren't for his assistance.

now, the two of you have grown far more comfortable with one another. of course, college was years ago. as time went on, you'd managed to get closer to him, and vice versa. all four of you are close, despite you having turned their trio into a quartet only a mere matter of years ago. somehow, it felt as they were waiting for you to join them.

if you read the part before this one, you read the instance of which you were hassled on the subway, ultimately leading to an actual buddy system in your favor. well, your friends claim that it's in your favor, anyway. really, it feels like babysitting. they don't like whenever you board the underground train by yourself, and you've been caught trying once or twice. the first time, it was by reiner, who nearly bit your head off. the second time, it was by bert, who was mildly displeased.

instead of scolding you, though, he only boarded the same train as you, offering to see you home. unlike reiner, bertholdt isn't aggressive, especially towards you. if anything, he's protective. he doesn't like it whenever the lingering eyes of a stranger land on you, and he sure as hell isn't fond of the thought of another man taking you home. if you're the more flamboyant sort, and you're unafraid of a fling or two, he'll be quietly bitter. of course, he'll never tell you what to do with your life. he'll tell you to be careful with who you trust, and to stay safe. he's only one call away.

back to your feelings, though. currently, your quiet crush on bertholdt is rising with every given day. it's a struggle, bearing feelings for a man so closed off. nevertheless, it's uncontrollable. fortunately, your pining towards him is more subtle than it is obvious, so he's yet to actually realize. that, and he's fucking oblivious. annie and reiner, however? they're as observing as they come. they know about it, and while they don't tease you, they do root for you. reiner more than annie, because annie's horrible at that sort of thing. still, 10/10 friends.

as of right now, you have three pieces of bertholdt's clothing in your closet. a sweater, a scarf, and a t-shirt. he hasn't asked for any of them back, so they're practically yours. they were all loaned to you on seperate occasions. and although he'll never tell you, there's an actual reason for why he hasn't asked for them back— one time, while you were wearing his sweatshirt, he caught a brief glimpse of you from afar: you were bringing the collar to your nose, inhaling the bittersweet scent of his cologne, his scent. you looked so pleased, and it fucking melted him. he can't bring himself to take anything back that he gives to you.

cuddling. all of you cuddle, though it's a bit subtle. whenever the four of you gather at you and annie's apartment after a rough week, you all have this moment where for hours, you simply sit in silence, watching the rain pour atop the cityscape from the other side of the balcony. the television is lowly drumming in the background, and glasses of tea mixed with pure whiskey sit ontop of the coffee table behind you. you do this as a group, and it's weirdly cinematic. when annie's head isn't rested against your shoulder, you like to press the bottom of your chin onto the top of bertholdt's head. from behind him, your arms lazily wrap around his shoulders, and he sinks into you. this is such a weekly occurrence, neither of you even think much of it. after all, reiner and annie are falling asleep ontop of one another beside you. when they do, you and bertholdt often have a quiet conversation. it's sweet, and exactly what the two of you need.

one time, he took you to an ice sculpture festival. it was the midst of winter, and there was one showcasing in the city. of course, the other two were invited. however, they both claimed to be "busy," when really, they went out to see a movie so the two of you could actually do something together. that being said, you went as a pair.

it was actually fun, to your surprise. not because of the sculptures themselves, but because of how much bertholdt actually liked them. for being so closed off, he showed quite a bit of interest in them. y'all know he's artsy. you couldn't help yourself— as he was silently gawking over a ten foot sculpture of a roaring tiger, you called him cute.

of course, knowing him, he immediately started to flush. due to the weather, he easily pinned the redness of his cheeks to the cold. you, of course, were smarter than that.

speaking of the cold, you were freezing. while you made sure to bundle up, you didn't think to bring a scarf. the blisteringly cold wind tickled at your exposed neck, earning itself a shiver from you. you may not have thought much of it, but he certainly did.

from directly behind you, you felt a hand move to hold your hair out of the way as a large, burgundy fabric coiled itself around your neck, immediately encasing you in its warmth. glancing both behind and above you, you saw bertholdt, snugly tying his own scarf around you. from the looks of it, he thought nothing of it. you were cold, and he wanted to fix that. still, the brief collision of his palm against your bare skin was enough to make you melt.

cigarette sharing. this is just,, a thing. the entire group does it, you and bertholdt especially. there have been plenty of instances where you've snatched a dart from in between his lips, bringing it to your own. vice versa, as well— he's a bit more gentle with it, though. when he reaches for your lips, he's careful, and his knuckles ever so slightly graze against your face as he tugs the cigarette from out of your mouth. to this day, you debate surprising him with a quick kiss to his hand.

speaking of kisses, several have been placed on your forehead. despite not being an item, after a particular rough moment, bertholdt's incredibly tender whilst comforting you. by your shoulders, you'll be pulled into an embrace, where he'll bury his nose within your hair while quietly reassuring you. using your chin to raise your face, he'll place a soft, sweet kiss on the center of your forehead. it's short, but effective.

this man is your personal umbrella. if it's pouring rain—which it usually is— and you're without coverage, he is your coverage. he'll either pull off his jacket and use it to cover your head from the rain, or you'll be sheepishly pulled into his chest, where he sacrifices his back to keep you dry.

if the two of you ever exchanged your feelings toward one another, it would be through a dramatic, rainy confession.

you likely went first, blurting out what you felt through a flash of frustrated impulse; it was pouring down rain, and somehow, the two of you had gotten into a conflict in the parking lot of bertholdt's apartment complex. now, you were shouting at him, "perhaps it's because i love you, you goddamn imbecile!"

and he just,, stared. you stared in horror, he stared in utter shock. now, the two of you were drenched, and you were absolutely mortified.

after a couple of moments, you would falter. digging into the left pocket of your coat, you would pull out your pack of marlboros— despite the rain, you moved to get a smoke. "fuck this," you said, "i need a cigarette."

however, right as you flipped the top of the pack open, it would be abruptly smacked out of your grasp, rendering you speechless. and before you could even regain those words of yours back, they were quickly halted by the lips of another, shutting you up for good.

with multiple year's worth of pent up emotions, you and bertholdt kiss beneath the weeping sky.

My Attempts At Making Unique Nonhumans Part 5: Dragonborn!

This is gonna be a long one my friends, so buckle up. (This is part 5 of this series, to see the others just go through the “Nonhuman series” tag on my blog!). Also, some of these changes will kind of retroactively apply to true dragons as well b/c of how this all works.

Taglist: @talesfromaurea @hellishhin

•

General: 

Dragonborn!! I have changed a LOT of what goes on here. I actually changed the origin of dragonborn itself even. In my mind they’re just another in the same family as dragons, literally just humanoid dragons. The first dragonborn were much closer to their true-dragon cousins (wings and etc), but over time the dragonborn have become more and more different as evolution happens. There are some dragonborn who are more draconic than others, but those are usually small, ancient, and isolated pockets. This all also means that the lines can get blurred when it comes to dragonborn, and often with dragonborn they are either clearly similar to the common attitude of their true dragon counterpart or completely different. It depends on many factors, obviously, especially their upbringing and culture. Another thing I changed was their lifespan, because it’s such bs that the DRAGON species isn’t long lived. That’s like a whole thing with dragons, it should be reflected in dragonborn too. So, in my world, dragonborn tend to live a long time, anywhere between 250 and 600 years or so. They’re roughly on par with dwarves, if not slightly longer-lived. Another thing dragonborn have is the ability to unleash a roar that sounds like a full on dragon (like Shakari did during the battle at Dymea’s hideout). This is often used for battle cries and other similarly dramatic things. (Imagine an army of dragonborn unleashing a war cry. It’s a common tactic to instill fear in an enemy and it works pretty much every time.) Additionally, their scales, in classic dragon fashion, are like iron. Most dragonborn use their scales as natural armor because it’s easy and pretty effective. Another thing is that dragonborn have senses that rival even the elves, because that’s another iconic dragon thing that I felt that they deserve. I’ve also decided that because I personally adore tattoos, it’s very sad that dragonborn and other scaled species couldn’t have them, so I’ve invented a special “scale-paint” that allows permanent marking on dragonborn and other scaled folks. I mean, there’s always magic, of course, but scale-paint is generally easier. Last thing I added here is that very very powerful dragonborn sometimes gain the ability to shift their form, just like ancient true dragons, but it is extremely rare.

Metallic/Chromatic:

Okay, so, metallic and chromatic dragons. Honestly, in my world, the difference between the two is negligible at best. They’re just two different groups of dragons. I don’t like that one is evil and one good because that’s boring. Plus, I mean, why would a dragon, an ancient creature with vast knowledge and power, never be able to learn or change its behavior? Doesn’t make sense. Of course the distinction is even further reduced with dragonborn, to the point where gold and red are just scale colors and you can guess pretty much nothing based on that. Although, I did take away the Paralyzing breath in both the metallic true dragons and metallic dragonborn, instead just sticking to the one option. I also feel like chromatic true dragons should be able to shape-shift as well, so I did that too. Anyways, on to the colors! Gonna put it under a cut because again, this is a long one.

Red:

Red dragonborn! Most dragonborn, the closer they are to their true dragon relatives then the stronger and more numerous the traits they share with them will be. Some common things to see in reds are extra large horns, serrated claws for climbing mountains, and gray/black/brown undertones that would help blending in in the mountains. It’s also very common for their breath to smell like smoke, obviously, and for their bodies to be extremely warm. Red dragon scales are prized for giving off intense heat even years and years after death, and some red dragonborn scales have the same warmth. Red dragonborn also have the strongest scales of most dragonborn besides black, even to the point of reinforced scales in impact heavy areas (allowing for tumbles down mountains without severe harm). This helps more with true dragon hatchlings learning to fly in the mountains, but some red dragonborn inherit it as well.

Blue:

Blue dragonborn tend to vary a lot in how actually “blue” they are, seeing as how blue is quite possibly the worst color for surviving in the desert, the usual habitat of actual blue dragons, when you can’t fly (unlike true blue dragons, who it works for because they can hide in the sky). So they go from brownish muddied blue to straight up sapphire depending on how necessary camouflage was in their genetic history. Besides that, they have a few traits that, again, vary depending on how distanced they are from true dragons. Examples are scales/a horn that easily conduct electricity, a system for conserving water that runs just beneath the scales, special markings around their eyes that help them see in the sun (much like a cheetah), and a smell of ozone. Their breath/their inherent electrical charge can be used for a lot of purposes, from excavation to glass sculpture. (I like to imagine little baby blues making sandcastles and then their parents turning them to glass with their breath and saving them later.) I imagine glass art is probably common with most of the heat based dragon types, actually.

Green:

Green dragonborn, unlike most others, have to be far more careful with their breath weapon. They have venom sacs and a special organ to hold the toxin they can breathe, but it’s hard to tell the difference, especially for young greens. They’re a bit like vipers in that sense, that the babies can barely control their venom. Some common traits green dragons can have is obviously their camouflage in forested areas. Their scales often have a slight shimmering layer so that even in dappled/varied light they can remain stealthy. Green dragonborn also obviously have a super boosted immune system in order withstand poison (and not just their own). They usually are also the only dragons/dragonborn who lack horns besides occasional smaller and more antler-like ones. They also have can have a leaflike texture to their fins and frills that can help collect water (and also serve as a way to regulate a bunch of bodily functions. For example the fins would serve a similar function to sweat, among other things.), and even gills in some cases.

Black:

Black dragonborn have the strongest scales of any dragonborn besides red, as their scales are built to withstand their acidic saliva. Black dragonborn, like black dragons, are unique from other dragonborn/dragons because a lot of their bodies can be worn away or decaying before they die, because their organs just... don’t. Similarly to their saliva, their stomach acid is even more powerful. It is the most potent acid known to mortals, and black dragonborn often carry on this trait. It’s said a black dragon’s stomach acid can melt through almost anything, and because of this, acid reflux can be deadly to young dragonborn who haven't fully developed the acid-resistant coating on their throats and organs yet. Some other common traits are gills (for swampland living), and longer claws that can be used for slashing or stabbing (helps when spearing fish). 

White:

White dragonborn tend to be the biggest dragonborn since they need the protection from the cold. They are still cold-blooded, like other dragonborn, but the ideal temperature is much lower for them. I also gave them horns, but not normal horns, something more akin to mammoth tusks. So white dragonborn also tend to have tusks. Additionally, white dragons have these strange quills along their spines that create a chilling sort of howl when rubbed together or a when a breeze blows through it right, and white dragonborn have these too. They’re often used by hatchlings and mothers to find each other. Another common feature is having huge and occasionally webbed feet/hands for running in snow without sinking (or swimming), like built in snowshoes. They are another type of dragonborn/dragon that also commonly has gills.

Gold:

Gold dragonborn, the shiniest of shiny. Also, funnily enough, the dragonborn with the weakest scales (which is really not very weak at all, by the way. Iron can still break on them). Of course, though, this is often used for body art. Gold dragonborn often semi-melt their scales’ outer coating with their fire, and then create all sorts embossings and patterns on themselves before it cools. Best part about this is it can be redone if they get bored (which can happen when you live 500 years). Only thing is this can further weaken the scales or cause damage if done too many times. Some other common traits are their fins, which work very similar to those of the green dragonborn.

Silver:

Silver dragonborn!! I so rarely see metallic dragonborn in my personal games, actually, but I admit silver dragons/dragonborn are my favorite. Silver dragons in my world have a triceratops-like plate/crest on their foreheads that they use to bash into one another in fights (and to break rocks), so silver dragonborn tend to have something similar on top of their heads. Another interesting part of silver dragonborn is that while they speak draconic naturally, their tongues are actually so flexible and their vocal cords so versatile that they are able to mimic most speech they hear, and learn how to pronounce almost any new languages very quickly, a benefit they gain from the habits of silver dragons to visit along mortals. They also have a much higher tolerance for thin air, and their true dragon counterparts can fly the highest into the atmosphere of any known dragon. They also have the same malleable scales as the gold dragonborn, though slightly tougher, and claws that are serrated like reds’ are.

Bronze:

So first things first, I have changed some things even with the true dragons. I have switched the habitats and breath weapons of bronze and brass dragons. Bronze dragons now live in the hills/plains and breathe fire, and Brass dragons live on the coasts and breath superheated air/steam. Besides that they are generally the same, however. Regardless, bronze dragonborn. They too have malleable scales, though they will retain their shape much better and are far stronger (as well as requiring more heat). The bronze dragonborn tend to have similar adaptations to the blue, like the eye markings. Their horns/crest are slightly different though, since they don’t need to conduct electricity. Some common features among bronze are serrated claws for rockier areas, or large feet and tail for balance on sand (which blues would likely have as well).

Brass: Brass dragons/dragonborn are a little weird but I like em. They normally breath superheated air BUT they can scoop down into water and gulp some of that and if they have excess can turn their breath weapon into steam instead through use of a special organ. Also they of course have gills and webbed claws, as well as scales that have a sort of water resistant coating that helps them glide in and out of water. They also have eye markings to help them see despite glare of sun on the water, so the brass dragonborn may inherit many of these. Brass dragonborn also have the malleable metallic scales, just less so than others because the waterproof coating makes it difficult. They also tend to have extra strong gator-like tails.

Copper:

I also changed coppers up! It felt weird to have the acid one in the desert, so I changed it up and gave the coppers lightning. Like blue dragonborn, they can have many desert adaptations alongside their conductivity in their scales, interesting thing about coppers is that they have the fins like greens, but they are used slightly differently. Mainly they’re used to feel changes in the air (when a storm is coming and etc) but they can also release heat, and can press down against their bodies to prevent damage. Coppers (and blues) are also generally good at burrowing in sand, and often you’ll see coppers leaping in and out like scaly sand dolphins.

Iron:

Ah look! It’s me, I did another thing. I may have created a whole new type of metallic dragon. Behold, the Iron Dragon. These guys live primarily underground, and are generally slightly smaller than other dragons, using their wings more like bats use theirs, flitting around cave ceilings (also they are blind and have echolocation also like bats lol). So Iron dragonborn inherit many of these, and since they live underground, often interact less with other dragonborn and surface societies, and usually retain much more of their draconic traits. Their scales are malleable as well, and possibly some of the strongest. Iron dragons/dragonborn also breathe a thick, heavy smoke, that serves both a a noxious cloud and a way to blind their enemies (since they use echolocation anyway).

Gem Dragons:

honestly? Not really sold on em yet, so there’s none in my world. Could change though, I dunno.

•

Ah this was fun. Enjoy dragonborn immensely, now they have some extra fun flavor! Yay! Feel free to leave suggestions for next week, I’m thinking probably either Kobolds or Orcs? Still not sure though.

lmao lets kick this blog off with a meta as usual. 

today we will talk about kayneth, the artist, how his artistry manifested in his magecraft, and why he should’ve stayed out of the war. 

so, in the character materials, it’s said that kayneth’s talents ( outside of his mastery of five areas of magecraft ) include drawing and sculpting. i’d also like to note that kayneth and kiritsugu are the same age when they participate in the war, ( they’re 28 ) kayneth just looks older because all of the stress of his life has absolutely aged him. anyway, the one thing kayneth was doing that kept him feeling like he wasn’t already 80 years old was art. 

this man has talent like da vinci as a painter and sculpts like michelangelo. kayneth’s art and sculpture sells for absurdly large sums of money, and he’d be able to sustain his lavish lifestyle on his art alone ( which, after the war, he does! because i set canon on fire let him LIVE!!! ). being an artist is his main talent. “but knight, he mastered 5 areas of magecraft!” you may say, to which i answer: yes, but there are other aspects of magecraft, namely the workings of mage mentality that kayneth actually DIDN’T master. he didn’t grasp what counted when it came to surviving as a mage. 

kayneth comes from a noble bloodline and thus was raised to be chivalrous. and he actually is. he wants his opponents to fight him with honor, and that’s why he was guaranteed to fail in the fourth war. because that was just going to be a bunch of underhanded tricks. kayneth, unlike the other masters, set up an incredibly complex bounded field that displayed everything he was capable of. he wasn’t hiding his talent as a mage ( and yes, he’s a prodigy at performing as one ). he would’ve done well if he battled tokiomi, because tokiomi is also much like kayneth in traditional manner. mind you, kayneth also would’ve won that, because while tokiomi is from a long ass bloodline, kayneth is a literal prodigy who can and will use every skill he has. because he sees no reason NOT to. 

and speaking of that, his main mystic code, volumen hydragyrum, is really. 1 artistic 2 incredibly OP when used properly. kayneth’s affinity to air and water make him the perfect person to use the mystic code, which is made of mercury. it’s a very artistic code in itself, because kayneth is an artist. it comes out in basically anything he does. against any other mage but kiritsugu, kayenth’s artistry would’ve ... given him a win in some way or another. he’s got skill above the majority of the cast ( 3000 mp to waver’s 5 mp for example / kiritsugu says the only person more dangerous than kayneth is kirei ). he has a knowledge basis that goes beyond most of the cast when it comes to magecraft, too. and he’s creative. really, the only way to take him down would be to use underhanded tricks. 

unfortunately for kayneth, using underhanded tricks is also a surefire way to win against him. looping back to the whole chivalry and honor thing, kayneth won’t tarnish his own honor like that, no matter who he’s faced with. this is how he gets absolutely screwed over by kiritsugu ( and i have a few choice words for the whole kayneth using the gun to kill risei, because that’s just. not his style ever lmao ). there’s no amount of skill that will keep you from getting fucked over by someone who cheats; the worst part perhaps of this is kayneth KNOWS that. he KNOWS kiritsugu will cheat and YET he also still fights because he knows running away will ALSO be a slight on his honor. 

really, all of this could be avoided if he just did art and didn’t care about mage society lmao thanks for coming to my tedtalk

The Nature of God: A Speculative Theology

Ok, so I’m a huge theology/philosophy nerd, and I’m in the mood to write some, share some ideas. So if that doesn’t float your boat, get out while you still can! But I can say that my takes on religion might be out of the box enough for some people to maybe consider staying longer than they might normally. I hope you enjoy this, or at least can tolerate that I’m posting this. :P

cw: religion

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

- from Dante's Inferno. An inscription written above the gates to Hell

One of the best refutations I can think of to classical theism goes something like this:

What does God worship?

In classical theism, God (or whatever we're using to fill God's shoes here) is an omnipotent, omniscient being/thing that created the universe. As such, everything that exists is simply an extension of that God (or alternatively, their will), and all meaning is dependent upon the existence of this God-being.

To my mind, this reads as a sort of indirect nihilism. Meaning exists, but only because something put it there. But where did God get that meaning in the first place? Why did they pick that particular meaning, or create this particular universe? As far as I can tell (and I really ought to do a full study of this), most Abrahamic religions offer roughly the same answer: That God is unknowable, inscrutable, and incomprehensible, but still perfect. By grace of being God, any decision They make is the Correct Decision, and we shouldn't question why things take the forms they do. Even formulations that propose that this reality is a corruption of God's original plan fall to this trap, as the corruption arises from God's creations, and God allowed them so his plan could be fulfilled. Meaning itself, then, is apparently arbitrary and indecipherable, and ultimately meaningless. This, to me, cheapens religion, by making all meaning and truth utterly irrelevant. In trying to make God the sole arbiter of truth, truth becomes dead.

God is dead, and we have killed him.

- Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

But I would like to take this a step further. I would like to focus not just how this hypothetical world affects us, but God also. How lonely and isolating it must be, to be the sole arbiter of truth and existence! Before you, there was nothing. And then from you, all existence, truth, and meaning came to be, formed from nothing. Everything that exists is an extension of your will, of yourself. Do you too feel the pang of meaningless, God? What does your love mean if it is fundamentally built upon nothingness? You are, in effect, the only being that truly exists. Our existence is contingent upon your favor. We are built out of nothing, and we are the way we are because you willed it to be so. We have no choice in the matter, and no freedom to choose in a way that matters. Even the love we offer you exists because you willed it to be so.

To me, this God reads as supremely lonely. Nothing they create exists in a way that matters, and they are constantly trying to create creatures capable of loving them. This is futile, however. Even if we were to be raised to their level of Glory, at our core, we never had the ability to choose it ourselves. What a sad and hollow existence! God here is something to be pitied. Loved? Maybe. But first pitied. There is nothing they can love or devote themself to that could ever matter, or love them back. They are in the same boat as us in this hypothetical universe.

I cannot accept this formation of God. I think we can do better.

What if God didn't create everything that exists? What if there is no ex-nihilo creation? What if matter has always existed, and the formations it takes are constantly in flux? What if God's power is not the power of a monarch? What if their power arises from the multitude? What if God, powerful and perfect though they may be, is, in some vital way, more like us then we had previously thought?

All things Bright and Beautiful

The first consequence of freeing god from the burden of being the only being that can truly exist is that now the world can speak for itself. Free from the tyranny of being fully and completely reducible to the Sole Author of creation, things exist independently. However they came to be, they cannot be boiled down to their origin (or any other thing!) without losing something in the process that makes them vitally themselves. Not that such reductions are not at times useful or necessary, but it is to say that any reduction, or attempt to define something in relation to something else, will inevitably fall short. Things do not fit together like puzzle pieces. They are too messy and individualized for that to ever work. And because we no longer can apply a universal standard to everything, the world arrives to us perfectly as itself. Not an inferior copy of a more perfect truth. It never needed to be.

This is not to say that judgements cannot, or should not, be made. It simply means that now our judgement calls must be more local. We must evaluate things within their own context.

With all this in mind, I think that it is time to re-evaluate God. In this new formation, God could not be omnipotent or omniscient, as this would imply the same sort of deterministic hell we had just escaped from, and that everything can be reduced down fully and completely to this God. But what use is a God who is not Omnipotent or Omniscient? Even if they are merely powerful and wise, what makes them special? Why should we care?

The answer, to me, comes in the form of what sort of love God has for us. A theistic God loves us because we are reducible to their will. everything we are is directly because of them. This to me, does not read as love, as it requires nothing on God's part: It is not a challenge to love something that, at the end of the day, is an extension of God's will, as opposed to a being that exists in its own right.

But a nontheistic God is different. Whatever work they put into creation (And they couldn't have done all the work, as resistance is in the nature of things), they cannot account for the ways in which creation has created itself. We can say God plays a part in creation, but so do the pieces of creation themselves. As the marble shapes the way the artist forms a sculpture, or language shapes the stories a writer can tell, so too does the nature of things shape how God interacts with us. God interacts with everything that exists in a way that is individual to it. They must, otherwise no communication or interaction is possible. Interaction is a two-way street.

Therefore, God's love is highly individual too.

God has power, true. But they do not have control. They cannot fully predict or anticipate the ways that we will interact with them, or how their interactions with us will shape us (and them in turn!). God is aware of this. We are, no matter how much God works to help us, out of their hands.

And yet they love us, and have committed themself publicly, repeatedly, and in no uncertain terms, to devote themself to us.

What a beautiful God this is! How wonderful it is that their love for us is not contingent. That they love us so fully and deeply, despite (and perhaps because!) of our flaws and foibles. God didn't make an extension of themself to love: God committed themselves to love something that they could never fully anticipate. God chose to love us, fully and completely. God wants to work and live alongside us, and to share with us in our joy and sorrows, individually, despite the costs and hardships.

This God, in many ways, is more limited. This is a riskier God. This God cannot have control over every aspect of our lives, as no matter how powerful they are, control is impossible for them. They cannot guarantee anything to us. And so loving them comes with no guarantees of anything, either. Not wealth, not success, not even safety. All God can guarantee, at the end of the day, is their love, devotion, and their commitment to work to comfort and help us.

I would take this God any day over an omnipotent one.

SCHOOL TRIP SERIES - ITALY PT. 3

Florence

After a bus ride full of UNO games, the group finally arrives in Florence. The entrance is announced by your professor at the head of the bus and in response, the entire group goes quiet. The occasional sigh of someone ogling the sights out their window is the only noise heard besides your professor. He begins reviewing the brief history you learned about the Medici family and their impact on art in the Italian Renaissance. Your first destination would not exist if it weren’t for them: The Boboli Gardens behind Palazzo Pitti.

Once you are all let off, you are lead through the beginning with narration from you professor almost like a tour guide. He describes Florence as being one of the largest contributors to Italian art with its many guilds. After a good thirty minutes, you are set free to wander. You easily break loose from the group and start to wander over to something that caught your eye earlier. Whether or not the rest of your friends followed, you didn’t know. Something was summoning you to this tunnel-like path, completely made of trees bending and folding into one another above you. You look at the perspective in front of you and take note that if you were a painter, you’d love to try and capture the beauty you saw before you. Letting the weight of your head fall backward, you squint into the sunlight streaming in between the leaves above you. It isn’t until then that you slowly turn 180 and catch Jaehyun looking at you. You let out a small laugh as a sign of slight embarrassment, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. His small smile only grows into a grin before he walks closer.

As if in slow motion, he walks over to you and the wind picks up. It gently tosses his hair into his eyes and across his forehead as he speaks. “I saw you take off on your own and wanted to make sure you were okay. Looks like you found a pretty cool place.” Once he reaches you, his hand stretches out toward the side of your face and retreats with a leaf he pulled from your hair.

“Oh, thanks.” You say in response to the gesture and respond to his last statement with, “Yeah, I saw this before on the walk and knew I wanted to check it out before everyone else got here for pictures.”

“Fair,” he responds, continuing the walk through the tunnel toward the other opening where you are let out into yet another stylized garden with statues whose light and shadow of depth changes as the clouds pass over the sun. The two of you take time to silently observe the statues, walking calmly and enjoying each other’s presence. Although, you can’t help but notice the tension you feel in your chest as you occasionally sneak a peek at him or make fleeting eye contact. One time, you catch him looking at you first and he holds your gaze for a second, his eyes widening as if he was scared to be caught before slowly relaxing and turning away with a smile on his face. That dimple returns.

You get distracted by a buzzing in your pocket. Checking your phone, you see a text from Johnny that the rest of the group is by the lemon trees. You share this information with Jaehyun only to realize that neither of you remember how to get there. The two of you laugh together as you quicken your pace and try to navigate your way back to the group. At one abrupt turn, you are cut off by your professor strolling down a pathway. He looks at you suspiciously and you wonder why for a moment before realizing that this is the second time you were caught with Jaehyun somewhat out of breath away from others. You try to pretend that slightly dirty thought didn’t cross your mind and ask your professor if he knows which way it is to the lemon trees. He points you down the right path and you are on your way to the rest of the group.

It isn’t long after you unite with the group that you are all pulled away and driven to the Accademia Gallery. The goal is to see Michaelangelo’s David even though it is going to be very crowded. When you arrive, the crowd is so large that you all try your best to push through without knocking someone’s camera or phone out of their hands. Finding your way to an opening, you pull the first wrist closest to yours through the crowd to the backside of the sculpture. You see that you’ve gotten Johnny and his fancy camera. He’s talked about his interest in photography before and you remember how excited he was to get to photograph such a famous piece. Once he gets a good angle and a couple good shots, he comes back to you to thank you for getting an open spot. You ask to see the photos and he shows you.

“They’ll be better with editing. Honestly, that’s just as important for a photographer as the actual taking the picture itself,” he explains. “Oh my God, do you remember prof talking about this dude’s weak ankles?”

You laugh at the memory, “Yeah, I guess they look kinda weak?”

“Dude needs to hit the gym,” Johnny says, clearly with excessive sarcasm. However, some middle-aged American tourist lady nearby feels offended at the joke and shoots the two of you a death glare.

You point her out to Johnny with a small nudge of your elbow and nod in her direction. Once he’s seen her, you continue to poke fun at the proportions of the body, including parts that may not be appropriate for public conversation. This pushes Johnny to say, “ Can’t relate,” in a very deadpan voice loud enough for the woman to hear. She audibly scoffs in disgust at him, while you jab him in the side with your elbow while trying not to laugh. He pushes you gently in return, but you’re caught off guard and lose balance, almost directly falling into the woman. Now it’s your turn to glare at Johnny.

Just to change things up, you and Johnny begin a very educated discussion about how the proportions are exaggerated for perspective, how the symbol of David was actually a symbol for the city of Florence at the time, and the time when he was attacked by a man with a hammer, etc. etc. Basically, you were throwing all the facts out there that you knew until, finally, the woman walked away. Satisfied, you break through to the end of the crowd and scan the room for your friends. After strolling for a bit, you see Xiaojun just in a trance looking at the drapery on a female statue. “How’s it going?” you ask, somewhat startling him.

“Wow. Just- this is so- wow.” He manages.

You can’t help but laugh, “Very articulate. I like your review,” you tease. “Is this your favorite piece here?”

“So far, yeah.”

“Is there a gift shop here? Maybe we can get you a little replica.”

He gives you a small glare before turning back to the piece in front of him. “There has to be a gift shop somewhere nearby, we can go look if you want?” You nod in agreement. Shortly after, Renjun shows up followed by Sungchan.

Renjun asks, “What are you guys up to?”

You respond, “We were thinking of trying to find a gift shop somewhere nearby to pick up some souvenirs, wanna come?” Renjun agrees, then looks to Sungchan. “I’m down for anything as long as we can eat after,” he replies.

With that, Xiaojun takes on the responsibility of finding a place nearby. Once you arrive, the store says it’s a “gift store” but inside are not the museum keepsakes one might expect. Instead, there are a bunch of knick knacks and jewelry. But you all agree that you’ve made it this far and might as well check it out.

You wander through the scarves and stuffed toys before turning around and discovering the jewelry behind you. Renjun reaches out to a pair of earrings that had caught your eye and hold them up to the side of your face.

“How are they?” you ask.

“Really pretty! You should get these,” he says. You take them from his hand and check the price. It’s a little more than you want to spend and you think that you’d better save your money to buy gifts for your family or friends instead of yourself.

“They cost a little too much. Shame. They’re very pretty.” Renjun simply smiles in response with understanding. You don’t have much time to be upset before you’re distracted by a call from Johnny asking where you are.

“I’ve tried calling Sungchan AND Xiaojun AND Renjun. Jaehyun and I already left the museum,” he says on the other end of the line.

“We did too. We’re at a gift store right now but I think we’re going to go for food soon,” Sungchan interjects with agreement in the distance, “Want to just meet us there?”

“Sure.”

“Any ideas on where to eat?”

“Yeah, Jae and I found a spot we want to try out. I’ll send you the address.”

“Great. See you there,” you say before ending the call and rounding up the gang before making your way to the restaurant.

Masterlist

//Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. I'm in grad school now so updates will take a while. But, I haven't given up on the series yet so let's keep it going y'all!

The Wedding (Part 1) The Trap is Laid

Oh yeah... It’s all coming together... @rurifangirl

Thanks to an entire bottle of vodka you slept soundly. The sun was well up on the horizon when you crawled out of bed and took your time in the Jacuzzi. Your heart was beating fast both with excitement and nervousness.  But you had to stay in character. You loved Chime. He was wonderful, sweet, shy and beautiful, so beautiful. You dressed in a comfortable robe and reminded yourself of Z’s advice on the night of Chance’s death. Ignore everyone and speak to no one unless absolutely necessary. 

You open the shades to the windows over Tokyo and gasp.

Hydra’s minions had all left last night. The owner of the Takamagahara had a 75% stake in Hydra assets. If she sold it all, she could bankrupt the entire organization in an instant. So she had forced them to hold off on their assault for 24 hours.

But the Hydra were still the owners of Tokyo itself. Hydra still blockaded the area and controlled the subway station from the outskirts a few kilometers from here. The vast majority of merchants cooperated with them and the streets were desolate. This is called ‘clearing the area’, clearing out all the irrelevant people before the important people meet. After the clearing is done, Takamagahara will become the lone store on the street. If the negotiations failed, Hydra could go on a killing spree. The police department won't care about it, and there won't be anyone on the street to bail you out.

The streets were deserted, businesses were closed. There were signs on the doors saying "Sorry for the suspension of business". The police have set up barricades at both ends of the road so that cars without special permits cannot enter.

Taking advantage of the empty streets, the staff had lined both sides with garlands of roses, lilies, poppies and baby’s breath. Ribbons were tied to every tree. Ice sculptures of famous romantic scenes from classic literature were on the way. They were setting up stations with booths for food and souvenirs. Huge banners announcing the marriage between the “Dragon Lord Chime Gen and his Dragon Lady MC” hung over every major intersection. It looked more like a fairy tale royal wedding than a meeting between the Yakuza leaders of Japan.

Your heart beats faster and you hurry out of your executive level bedroom and head to the first floor where redecorating was in full swing! With the help of the construction team they had dressed it up as a night scene of the Shinjuku district, with neon signs of all sizes and an elevated bridge spanning from above.

“I hope everything is to your liking?” Su Enxi, the owner of the Takamagahara smiles smugly behind you.

“This is amazing! It’s like Tokyo Nightlife has come inside!” 

“We chose the theme of a Yakuza wedding! So everyone here will be dressed as gangsters.” She held out one of the fancy invitations. The art was in the style of a Yakuza Tattoo with dragons, koi fish and tigers crawling in that traditional Ukiyo-E style that the Hydra Executive Board were famous for. On the inside was a lot of Japanese text you couldn’t read, but the art depicted shadow figures standing in a desolate alley.

“I love it!” You hand it back to her.

“Good. Here’s the guest list.” She hands it to you.

You blinked a bit. You didn’t recognize any of these names. 

“We didn’t know who you would like so we invited pretty much every major powerplayer and celebrity in Japan. Only women of course.” 

“These are all celebrities?” You stare at the list trying to find at least one name you knew.

Enxi frowned slightly and you flinched. How should you know? You were born nearly 40 years ago and you didn’t know any of these people from Adam. She expected you to be impressed. “Oh, right! Yes, I … yes I”m happy they’re coming!” You say, trying to recover.

It didn’t work and she takes back the list with an annoyed huff. “Don’t worry about learning their names. They’re only here to serve as shields and bargaining chips. The Hydra won’t be able to clear the area quickly if these celebrities are having a great time. If they try, it will be too much of a propaganda scandal.”

“I see.” You nod sagely. “Thank you.”

“Now go upstairs, eat, and get to the salon at 4 pm.” She checks her watch. “Guests will start to arrive at 8 pm tonight.”

“Where’s Chime?” 

“The groom? Hiding. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.” She doesn’t even look at you as she walks away and claps her hands. “Chop! Chop! Let’s get moving!”

You return to your room with breakfast and hear a soft knock on the door. You open to Caesar who steps inside. “Ready for your big day?”

He was dressed casually again, just jeans and a muscle shirt. After all, he was going to work soon and probably wanted to relax.  He looks over at the bottles of vodka and the bit of cigar you’d left on the table and raises an eyebrow. It looked like you had guests last night. “Did you party without me?”

“You can say that. Just some old friends.” You walk over to the massive floor to ceiling liquor cabinet and open the door. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m good.” He pauses again. He didn’t follow you. He’s staring at you.

“What?” You stare right back.

“Aren’t you going to ask about Zero?” Caesar asks.

You frown and close the cabinet. “Oh, that girl? Is she recovering alright?”

“She is. Lu Mingfei is looking over her for now. I’m surprised you didn’t come down to visit?”

You bat your eyes innocently. “Did she ask for me?”

Caesar turned away and walked over to the dining table, dropping the subject. The man was sharp. No doubt he saw the photo of Renata and immediately recognized Zero. When you met Zero, he likely noticed your reaction. He didn’t understand but he would drop it for now since it was clear that despite your obvious past affection you weren’t going to talk about her. “I want to say you came through again with this sudden wedding. I did not think you would go this far. How did you convince that Gen brother?”

“I just framed it as a way to convince Chisei. Is it extreme? Yes, but he’s that desperate.” You deliberately avoided mentioning anything about King General and moved away from the liquor cabinet to make tea instead. “Have you talked with Chime?”

“He’s still asleep.” Caesar picked another cigar from the box and lit it. “I trust you’ve thought through all the implications for going through with this?”

“Yes.” You say, putting the tea kettle on and waiting for it to boil. “I’ll start with the implications if things go badly. Let’s say that Chisei is a bigger idiot than we thought and he does kill Chime. As his wife, I won’t be spared. This marriage puts me not only in the Devil Clan officially but also in the upper rankings. At best, I’ll be imprisoned forever. But more likely I’ll be killed as a Devil.”

“Should our special guest arrive and I can’t use my love effectively, hundreds of people could die, all of them top celebrities. More importantly, I’ll lose my entire world even if I do manage to survive.” Everyone you ever knew was here. Z, Renata, Caesar, Chu Zihang, Lu Mingfei and Fingel. If they all died tonight, you would be desolate with nothing left.

You return with the tea and sit down across from him. “If things go right, then a lot of things will be in your hands, not mine. You’ll be negotiating my place in Japan with Chisei. Once all the things are completed, I’ll be in a position to help run the Devil Clan just by my position alone as his wife and I'll be easily installed as Japan Branch lead should Chisei and Chime follow through on their desires to vacate those positions.”

Caesar nodded slowly but then he shuddered. “So cold.”

“What?” You look up.

“If you marry that guy I won’t see you for quite some time. You won’t be coming back with us.”

You smile over your cup. “Oh don’t give me that. An old friend is better than two new ones. As the saying goes.” You quip, slyly referencing Chime’s split persona. “I still have your wedding to attend. And I consider you my best man at this wedding.”

“Brides can have a Best Man?” Caesar asked.

“It’s my wedding. I do what I want.” You rest your chin on the heel of your hand.

Caesar took a deep breath and took the cigar with him as he stood. “Well, I gotta do what I gotta do. There’s going to be shows before your appearance and I'm in one of them.”

“Break a leg.” You say as he leaves.

You still feel uneasy. You want to talk to Z. You stand up and leave that room and go to the bathroom, a spot Fingel had described as a blind spot. The bathroom was empty when you got there but when you turned to the mirror, Z was standing behind you. 

You whirl, with a ferocious look.  “Stop doing that!”

“Why? It’s fun!” He’s dressed in a tuxedo with golden cufflinks in the shape of dragons. “Why are you the only one who gets to have a good time? Enjoying the festivities?” He asked coyly.

“Yes I am. You’ve really outdone yourself. Thank you.”

Z suddenly frowned. And then he smiled again. “Hahaha… you almost had me there.”

“Yep! I hate you. You didn’t tell me Renata was alive. Go find a city bus to lay under.” You wink, but your words are serious.

“I’ve got my finger in so many pies right now. It’s not even funny. Show some respect. I just stopped by because I’m just so excited for this!” He held up a poster.

“I can’t read that.” The poster was of an evil man with a white rose in his mouth and a blood-stained sword across his chest, his eyes fierce, yet irresistibly sultry.

“It’s a wanted notice for the dangerous Ruri the Midnight Ripper!” He breathed excitedly, reading the poster. “The dangerous killer Midnight Ruri is active in the nights of Tokyo. He has killed countless young women, and the yakuza clan has offered a reward of 10 million yen for his head. Every woman going home tonight should be careful. It is said that he only attacks the most beautiful women, so the most conservative dress is the safest.” Z licked his lips and chuckled.

“Ugh. That’s insulting to the groom! Why would you do that?”

“It is the groom! You marry one, you marry the other!” Z laughed incredulously, slapping at the poster with his hand. “Did you forget? Or do you think it doesn’t matter who he kills so long as you’re alive?” He gives you a long glaring smile.

You gaze at him silently while he rolls up the poster. “It’s a beauty contest! All the ladies will read this and get excited. They’ll say ‘I’m the most beautiful. I hope to get targeted by Ruri!’ They will dress provocatively in hopes of attracting the attention of Ruri the Ripper. The venue will be loaded to the brim with delicious tempting targets!” He lets out another bird-like ‘ke-ke-ke’.

You can only scowl because you can’t argue.

“I didn’t tell you his true nature when you fell in love with him, I just told you not to do it. So… you can be forgiven for that. But this? Oh no, sweetheart. This is on you.” He points the poster at you. “But, don’t back out now!”

“I won’t. A lot is riding on this.  I feel like there’s a dagger at my back if I don’t go through with it…” You trail off, eyes lowering to the dagger that Z always kept at his side.

“It’s a hot, sexy dagger right?” Z swayed his hips and then turned around. “You kids have fun playing dress up. I’m going to get back to work.” 

He took one step and vanished.

You would spend the rest of the day in the beauty salon. Your dress was pure white, embroidered with pearls and diamonds that gave off the impression of scales, as though you were dressing up as the White King Izanami herself. Your hands were covered with elbow length princess gloves to hide the black veins on your skin, but then they stuck jewels in a mask like pattern on your face, trading your real scales for artificial ones. Your hair was piled high on your head in a traditional Japanese bun with silver sticks resembling horns.

The night fell and the desolate streets flooded with hundreds of Tokyo society elites as well as Hydra elite warriors. It turned out that Enxi used her financial clout to grant traffic passes to all the guests. Traffic was bumper to bumper. Every guest invited showed up to this wedding that shut down a major part of the city for an entire day. No one wanted to miss such an exclusive event.

The Takamagahara was filled to the brim with sleeveless and backless dresses, fishnet stockings in high heels, dangerously short skirts and perilously low cleavage.

The waiters wear black uniforms. They roll up their sleeves to reveal dragon and tiger tattoos. To light a customer’s cigarette they will draw out a waist pistol. The muzzle of the gun produced bright flames. It was impossible to tell who was armed with the real thing or with these toys. Because everyone was dressed as a Hydra Yakuza, it was hard to tell the Hydra members from the guests! 

The men and women shouted and played craps. The wine flowed endlessly. Occasionally the Whale came on stage to say two silly and majestic words, followed by a performance. Diamond was here to do his sexy rodeo strip show. There were popular shows such as BasaraKing's "Cleopatra" and Ukyou's "Sakura Falling on Itsuru Island". Armani was here to entertain guests with card tricks. Calypso dazzled a few of the younger guests. 

The sound of a powerful engine drowned out the music. A Harley Davidson motorcycle pulled into the middle of the dance floor. Caesar was dressed in a tight leather jacket, all covered in silver chains, with a shiny Desert Eagle stuck in his belt. He took off his sunglasses and threw them at the guests, "My engine is burning hot, are you ready?"

“BasaraKing! BasaraKing!" Hundreds of roses were thrown onto the stage.

White rose petals fell from the sky, and Chu Zihang, wearing a red leather trench coat with a skull mask, crashed from the sky to the center of the stage. Caesar drove his motorcycle towards Chu Zihang, and the two faked a fight, as if they were performing some kind of gangster stage show.

You watch from a hidden spot near the stage. You still have not seen Chime and Chime hasn't seen you. But it was almost time for the main event. Your wedding. All of this celebration was a luxurious trap for the King General and you searched the crowd looking for him. But if he was here, he wouldn’t be in the crowd. He’d be somewhere where he could see you. You were his target. You were his prey.

After a few rounds of fighting, Chu Zihang had picked up Caesar's dropped Desert Eagle and shot him through the chest, but then he suddenly swooped in and hugged Caesar, who was about to fall down.

The scene is about a pair of mob brothers, Caesar as the unruly brother and Chu Zihang as the lonely and sensitive brother. They grew up alone, but determined to be the best of the best. The brothers heard that politicians and gangsters must cooperate with each other in order to go higher and higher. So the two brothers drew lots, one to grow up as a gangster to defeat various gangs as the king of the gangsters; one to go to the University of Tokyo as a famous lawyer, and then enter the political world as a great politician. The result of the lottery is that the unruly brother Caesar is going to be a politician. While the sensitive brother Chu Zihang is going to break into the difficult underworld.

But they obeyed their destiny, and the two agreed not to contact each other again. But they always helped each other in critical moments. No one knew that the brother of the mob boss was a rising star in politics, and no one understood why the brother's gang always survived in the anti-gang operations.

Twenty years later Caesar’s politician character became a member of parliament and became even more headstrong, wanting to be the overlord of all Japan. So he set off a storm of anti-gang raids, and all the gangs were badly hit. Chu Zihang’s character had to intervene to stop the brother, saying that the yakuza had a long history in Japan and many people depended on them for their livelihood. If the yakuza were destroyed, it would be impossible for the brother-led government to support so many of the underprivileged in society, which would be tantamount to destroying the underprivileged in society. But Caesar’s character said that there is no such thing as the yakuza in his future plans, and it doesn't matter if he sacrifices some people's interests. Everything has to make way for his political future.

Finally, the brothers meet under the Over-Sea bridge in Tokyo Bay and duel in the same way they did at the place where they first drew lots and parted ways. In the end, it is the Gangster who shoots through the Politician brother's heart.

Chu and Caesar are acting out the ending of this ski.  Caesar is dying when he finally tells the truth. Because he has a terminal illness and can no longer protect Chu Zihang secretly. He fears that after his death his introverted brother will not be able to control so many yakuza gangs, so he sweeps the yakuza with his own iron fist.

"Remember our original agreement to be the number one yakuza emperor of Japan!" The brother's last words, "My brother will be number one in Japan!"

The applause was deafening and the guests were in tears. The play actually was acted very silly. Chu Zihang's mouthful of second-hand Japanese looked like he learned it off Duo Lingo, but the women who came here either loved BasaraKing and Ukyo or both, and those flaws were overlooked. 

A sad song started playing as the cherry blossoms fell over the two brothers. It was a popular song, only marginally appropriate, and the gist of it was two people who declare to each other how much they truly mean to each other, only after it was too late.

You didn’t know they were going to put something on like this. It was clearly directed at Chisei. Even though you were the main act, Caesar and Chu Zihang were supporting you and Chime in their own way.

Once the stage was cleared. The lights went up. Caesar hurried backstage. “Hey!” He whispers. “Knock ‘em dead!” 

You give him a grin and a thumbs up.

The Obey Me Boys as RPG Bosses: Frostheart

CHAPTERS: Prologue + Beelzebub and Belphegor (YOU ARE HERE), Asmodeus, Satan, Leviathan, Mammon, Lucifer, ???, ???, Endings

You are one of many hunters in a land cursed with everlasting winter. You yourself have become rime-touched after an attack by your fellow corrupted hunter, an incident that left you traumatized and lame. Even your hunter’s guild has resigned you to a life of mere cleaning and upkeep duties, and you have spent the last seven years in the depths of your guild’s archives.

Then the White Witch spirits your little brother away into her castle, taking with her the only family you have ever known. Armed with your trusty hunting knife and bow -- and aided by your senior hunter, Simeon -- you set off into the rime-cursed lands to find Luke and end the White Witch’s reign once and for all.

**Very loosely based on The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen.

Word Count: 2,160 words

TW: Blood, Violence, Gore

PROLOGUE

It is said that the rime draws beasts out of the hearts of men. The hoarfrost came, cursed as the land was by the White Witch, and then came the famine. The beasts came, corrupted and twisted beyond measure by the curse, and then came the slaughter. And so came the Frost Blades: a group of hunters trained to slay the rime-touched beasts, cull the spread of the curse, and bring glory to King Diavolo’s wondrous kingdom. It is said that a hunter of the Frost Blades is destined to die a hero’s death, whether it be by jaws of a wolf-beast or some other monstrosity.

You know better, of course. The pure never stay pure for long. Those whose hearts are touched by the rime eventually lose themselves, body and soul, and the symptoms only worsen the further one traverses into the cursed hinterlands. Dizziness, fatigue, and nausea. The piercing of one’s flesh by ice crystals that seem to have grown from within, the loss of one’s extremities to the frost, and the forced expulsion of bodily fluids. Hallucinations and madness. At the heart of glacial rift -- where the White Witch and her subjects are said to reside -- it is said that there exists a barrier no human can pass. Not without losing themselves completely to the rime, that is. The few that had passed the barrier and returned had … they had …

The memory is there before you know it, raw and frostbitten. The bow you’ve been cleaning nearly clatters to the floor, but you manage to hold onto it with trembling fingers.

You can only remember skewered limbs and bestial screams. One hand pressed to your ruined eye, the other shakily holding a blade that you knew would not save you. One of your legs was beyond repair. The creature that had once been Agathe had stalked closer with its segmented, crystalline body, that hunter’s caution still present, and you were too petrified to do anything but gaze upon the bringer of your own death. Too young, too inexperienced, and too unskilled to face off against a rime-touched beast of her caliber. And in her eyes -- Gods, in her eyes, you could have sworn that you saw something not quite bestial staring back at you. Someone.

The journey to the heart of the glacial rift is said to be unbound by any law of space or time, as expected of a realm created by the White Witch. Despite its eldritch properties, you’ve decided to take at least enough supplies for a dozen or so leagues. Elk jerky, dried fruits and nuts, and sizable canteens of water. Rolls of twine, bandages, and tins of Old Gytha’s medicine. Your whitewood bow and arrows sit at the ready of your back. Your fur-lined cloak and boots weigh heavily upon you when you limp past the Frost Blades’ garrison, although perhaps that is to be expected. You were born in this town, and you had fully expected to die in it. If Luke hadn’t been spirited away by the White Witch, you’re not sure if you would even have the heart to step out of its walls. You certainly lack the strength.

A hand plates itself on your shoulder when you stand before gates of the town, firm and unyielding. Simeon.

What did you expect? you berate yourself, a sigh escaping your mouth. He’s probably known all along. You’re as transparent as glass.

Luke’s gone, you tell him. You shift against your walking cane as you do so, not quite prepared to meet his gaze. Not yet, anyway. Even now, you’re too much of a coward. Regardless, he can’t stop you. Your mind and heart is already set on the quest.

“I know.”

You don’t care if they kick you out of the Frost Blades for defying orders. Luke is -- you made a promise to him. He’s the only family you have.

“I know.”

Then why --

His glove-laden hand turns you gently to face him, cutting you short. Your eyes widen at the sight of hunting gear, his own whitewood bow strapped to his back, and he gives you a smile that is only the slightest bit wolfish. A part of you relaxes at that. Despite his straight-laced behavior in the garrison, it would appear that Simeon is still Simeon, the boy that used to defend you and Luke against the older kids in town. Simeon, the baker’s son who stole loaves of bread to feed you and Luke on unbearable nights. Simeon, the greatest and most elite hunter of his party once he enlisted into the Frost Blades.

Simeon, the one who hadn’t quite been there in time. Even Old Gytha had trouble stitching what remained of you back together.

“The Frost Blades have us make an oath to protect our subordinates,” he says in the way of an explanation, leaving the rest unsaid. He walks past you to push aside a patch of brambles, revealing a weathered wooden door. An unused exit. A corner of his mouth quirks upwards when he catches you staring, and he arches a brow at you. “You didn’t really think I’d let you go by yourself, did you?”

[BEELZEBUB AND BELPHEGOR, GUARDIANS OF THE BOREAL FOREST]

It is difficult to believe anyone has ever lived here before. The uneven terrain is stricken with permafrost, rendering the ground slippery and unforgiving, and the boughs of the trees stretch far into the sky. Like nearly everything else in the boreal forest, they are barren, crystalline, and completely incapable of being burned. Yet the ruins here are massive. You and Simeon sit in the belly of a keep -- or what remains of it, anyway -- as the bones of some unfortunate animal crackle and wither away before you in a blue blaze. They lend little warmth, but you dare not speak a word on the matter. Simeon had supported you when your limp worsened, your cane relaying itself to your side, and when your lame legs could no longer support your weight, he carried you. He had not complained or minded, and so you would not either.

Or perhaps he had and he was too kind to tell you otherwise.

Useless, you think to yourself. Useless, useless, useless. No wonder the Frost Blades had difficulty deciding to spare you. A rime-touched whelp has no place in --

“Are you cold?”

You blink to see Simeon staring intently at you, which he evidently has been for a while. Your legs hurt from walking, and you tell him as much. Working with the Frost Blades’ records is a much different experience than traveling. It’s been a long time.

Seven years, you almost say. It’s been seven years.

“I suppose it has,” he hums, and he resumes stoking the fire with a crystalline branch. It only flickers weakly in response.

Despite being certain that you and Simeon have been traveling for only several hours -- meaning that it should only be midday -- night had already long fallen by the time you reached the ruins. Another oddity of exploring the lands near the White Witch’s realm, it would seem. You and Simeon had passed what should have been leagues in a matter of minutes, whereas what had seemed like a minuscule hill had taken an hour to pass. Streams babbled in some places and nearly stood still in others. Despite the high walls of the ruins here, you can feel the wind blowing through at too fast a pace. Simeon struggles to keep the blaze alive.

And so when you stumble upon a massive, free-standing stone gate in the middle of a frozen clearing, you can’t say you’re completely surprised.

Instead, it is the pair of statues before it that draws your attention. While both of them wield a massive battle axe, the creatures depicted in the sculptures seem to be of two different species. The slightly smaller one reminds you of the oxen tended to by the township: cloven legs, curved horns, and thick fur. Its eyes are half-lidded, as if it were on the brink of falling asleep. The other one stands some two or three heads taller than the oxen-like one, bearing features that you would not expect of a creature acclimated to the ice. Its face is dotted with multitudinous eyes, its massive maw is inset with sharp, wicked teeth, and four insectoid wings sprout from its back.

Stranger yet, the statues have been carved with an impeccable eye for detail -- enough that you had nearly mistaken them for another rime-touched beast. The glacial wind whips back and forth across clearing, making them appear to move. To breathe.

Almost as if they were.

“Halt!” booms a voice across the clearing, forcing you to stumble backwards. Simeon all but drags you behind a tree.

“Who goes there?” demands another voice, lower and more gruff than the first.

One hand clamped over your mouth, the other pressed to the hilt of his blade. His eyes meet yours only after a moment, and you see within them the question that plagues your own thoughts. The bearers of these voices, whomever they may be, should not be here.

“This land belongs to Her Ladyship! Speak, or begone with ye!”

There is the sound of cracking, much like porcelain falling apart. Or perhaps it is more reminiscent of ice shattering, like a mirror bursting into shards after being struck. Simeon’s gaze only narrows as he takes another glance over the side of the tree, still holding you close to him. He begins to slowly draw his blade out from its sheath. The boreal winds begin to howl even greater than before, masking the noise.

Simeon unceremoniously flings you in the direction of the clearing. Your shoulder crashes into the permafrost just as the blade of an axe crashes into the tree, cleaving it in two. Simeon is barely able to draw his sword before the axe meets it -- and then he, too, is sent flying. He pierces the ground with his sword before he can completely clear the open space, stopping just short in front of you. Two figures -- one bearing curved horns, the other bearing insectoid wings -- clamber out of the edge of the forest, the larger of the two hefting the oversized axe over his back.

It is only then that you see the symbols carved into the statues, each circling their wrists and ankles like manacles.

Golems.

“What have we here, brother?” says the ox-like golem, gazing upon you with interest. “It would appear Her Ladyship’s doll has arrived sooner than we thought. Shall we deliver this human to her?”

“We shall.”

The ox-like golem strides forward. “How convenient that you’ve brought the human to us -- and in such good condition, might I add? Her Ladyship will be in good spirits to see her dear prince and her doll reunited.��� He offers his hand to you, much to your surprise. “Come with me, human. There’s no need to be accompanied by this charlatan any longer.”

Charlatan? You can only stare at the ox-like golem’s hand in bewilderment, shaking your head. Whatever reason the White Witch may have to declare you as her doll -- whatever that means -- you will not abandon Simeon. You have no reason to comply with their wishes.

“You heard the hunter.” Simeon brings his sword before him again, creating a barrier between you and the golems. “We’re not going anywhere. If you want to separate us, you’ll have to go through me.”

“More’s the pity. And here we thought Her Ladyship gave us an easy task for once.” The ox-like golem yawns, gesturing to the other, and it is but a moment before the two cross blades. A dueling stance. “Name’s Belphegor. Beelzebub and I will take the pleasure of beheading you today.”

“Last chance,” warns the winged golem. “Surrender now, and we shall forgive you for your transgressions.”

Tip: Staggering one of the golems will force the other to its aid. As Beelzebub is faster and stronger than his counterpart, it is advised to incapacitate Belphegor first.

[NEXT: ASMODEUS, HER LADYSHIP’S ROSE-KEEPER]