#which is to say faith is rather hard to debate and so i am politely excusing myself now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

secret-engima · 4 years

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Lunafreya Nox Fleuret DoTF Characterization Rant

OKAY, ME RANT RAMBLING ON LUNA’S CHARACTERIZATION IN DAWN OF THE FUTURE IS A GO.

This is … likely going to get messy, but I’ll try to keep it at least moderately coherent. Lemme start by saying that- for the most part- I did actually enjoy Luna’s chap. I’ve been enjoying the book (kinda-sorta-mostly, I really liked Aranea’s chap at least) and I don’t think it’s like- a BAD book? Necessarily? But I feel like it is extremely telling in regards to how the characterization/lore is treated that my brain is automatically filing this thing under “fanfic that’s not my HC but is okay-ish” rather than “canon I will be gleefully tweaking as I please”. My brain is literally looking at this officially licensed book and equating it to fanfic. To fanfic that NEEDS EDITING.

With that out of the way, lemme attempt to summarize my (main) issues with Luna’s Characterization and then I’ll expand on them from there. Get ready for the salt.

1. Luna’s backstory is inconsistent. She herself states multiple times that Oracle training is grueling and involves both physical and mental trials as well as things like fasting for long periods of time WHILE doing said training, yet she is mostly treated like a well-meaning but overall pampered, naive princess who is only now being forced into hard circumstances and has to adapt accordingly. She is also treated like she doesn’t know “common people” that well and doesn’t know how to interact or pick up things like lies (????). A common example is how she treats Sol as trustworthy but reserved when according to Sol’s POV she is literally debating shooting Luna as a possible threat. And Luna supposedly doesn’t pick up on this danger. But we’ll get back to that.

2. Luna is characterized as being oblivious to how people outside Rich Oracle Circles live. That despite traveling all over the world she has never really seen it’s “ugly” sides because she’s always traveled in fancy guarded processions with the sick brought to her. Pretty sure the book specifically mentions at one point that she’s never “considered” what it would be like to be anything other than an Oracle. Admittedly this issue could go under number 1 or 3a but I’m putting it here because I’m salty.

3a. This and the next problem are heavily intertwined and, not going to lie, I could make an entire rant just about these two issues all by themselves, not just in Luna’s context. The first is that Luna is portrayed as not being able to make her own decisions, not even wanting to make her own decisions, until she is forced to or has her “eyes opened” by Sol, our jaded Long Night survivor character. The author treats Luna’s sense of duty as some form of social brainwashing she needs to “get over” and spoiler alert I hate it with every fiber of my being.

3b. Playing right off the whole “Luna is incapable of making her own decisions and that’s why she does her freaking job until someone ‘opens her eyes’” is the idea that Luna’s faith is a character flaw. Lemme reiterate. The story treats Luna’s faith. As a character flaw. Rather than the entire cornerstone to her character and one of the big reasons she’s as amazing as she is. Her faith is treated as foolish and shortsighted, something that has only survived for this long because it has never been challenged and, heads up, the rant I am going to go into on this one specific thing is going to be long and extremely salty.

Alright I think I’ve covered the basics. Starting from the top, BRING ON THE SALT.

…

1. Luna is pampered, well-meaning but naive and bad at reading ulterior motives of people.

….*slow, deep breath* Luna. The Oracle. Who became the youngest Oracle in history. Because her mother was murdered in front of her while her home was burned down and conquered by the people who then proceeded to rule her country, subvert her brother to their cause, and generally control and monitor every aspect of her life that they could. Luna, who was fully prepared to take a single suitcase and escape her own home and run off alone to get to Altissia and had to be stopped by her own brother (who you’ll note brought a bunch of soldiers with him, which indicates he did not expect a submissive response if he came alone).

This girl who was canonically physically abused as a child by a Niflheim officer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZHzBtIfpdg slow this down if you need to confirm, but she is grabbed and manhandled and hit by an adult man when she only looks to be twelve, around the age Tenebrae first fell), who has spent twelve years living under the rule of a nation that is not only aggressively atheist but has willfully attempted to kill one of the very beings she serves and openly plans to do so again. The woman who successfully survived the fall of Insomnia with only one magic-less glaive as her backup for most of the event, then evaded the search efforts of an entire empire with only her own wits, a dog, a Messenger who has only ever been shown to talk rather than fight, and the extremely grudging on-off help of her brother who works for said empire. All while waking up the Astrals and forging covenants that were slowly killing her from the strain, which is the exact thing the empire was trying to prevent her from doing. Then, when it became necessary to complete the last covenant, turned herself in to the very same empire that has imprisoned her since she was a child and has been actively hunting/trying to stop or kill her since Insomnia’s fall.

That girl. Is pampered. Is naive. Is bad at reading people and telling when they have ulterior motives or are lying.

Pull the other one. I’ll kick you.

But seriously, how are we supposed to believe this? Luna’s life post Tenebrae’s fall to Niflheim is only pampered in the sense that she was given fancy clothes and fed regularly (outside the grueling fasting periods mentioned in this same book). She had no freedom, no privacy, her guards were all either men who wore the same uniform as those who killed her mother or were monsters infected with the very scourge she is sworn to purify. The Oracle is famous, is revered by the people. To keep the people on their side, the Empire would have flaunted her, would have taken her to all the shiny events. Luna would have had to dine with, converse with, even dance with the very same people who ordered and condoned the murder of her mother, her own imprisonment, and the brainwashing of her own brother to the enemy side. She would have been the epitome of a bird in a gilded cage or a dog on a silk leash and humans are not meant to live like that.

Am I really expected to think she survived a situation that oppressive, that toxic, that actively hurtful, for years by being naive and bad at reading people? Am I really expected to believe that she cannot tell when people are out to use her or hurt her or are lying to her? Am I really expected to believe that she is pampered and doesn’t have, at the very least, PTSD from seeing her mother murdered and her brother join the very people who did it, let alone everything else that would have followed over those years?

Really?

Luna didn’t have a pampered life. She suffered abuse. Longterm emotional abuse, likely sporadic physical abuse until she learned to play along well enough to escape such punishments, and almost certainly gaslighting (again: religious leader being held captive by an aggressively atheist nation that wants to kill the pantheon this religious leader communes with).

Luna would have learned to navigate the canonically cutthroat politics of Niflheim while being at best an outsider and at worst a target because of her beliefs, her nationality, and her loyalties to the Lucians (nobody was surprised when Luna went on the run. Nobody. Her continued devotion and loyalty to the Lucians -Niflheim’s enemy- was absolutely a well known factor). She would have learned to pick truth from lie and when to pretend she hadn’t noticed in order to survive. She would have lived twelve years knowing that any mistakes or misplaced moments of trust would be paid for in either her suffering of the suffering of the people close to her like her servants, or just the citizens of Tenebrae in general.

And none of this is taking into account her Oracle training, which the book does not elaborate on but repeatedly states was hard and grueling and she completed it years earlier than any Oracle in history.

There are a lot of words I would use to describe Luna, but pampered and naive are not among them.

…

2. Luna is oblivious to how people outside her rich circles live and has never considered being anything else but an Oracle until Sol specifically points it out.

The book states that she mostly travels in procession (ie, with tons of servants to serve her every need and bodyguards to keep the masses at bay) so clearly she can’t go anywhere too dangerous, otherwise her servants wouldn’t be able to come. Right? Oh boy where do I start with this.

I know! Let’s start with the fact that Luna canonically maintains the blessings on Havens! You know those things. They’re your only safe place to camp at night and they can be found in all sorts of nifty locations like the middle of the wilderness where cars can’t go, chocobos won’t go, packs of wild animals will literally leap out of the bushes to eat you (Voretooth packs can get up to twelve or more members all trying to eat you at once, fun fact), and poor choice in clothes will lead to broken ankles at best? The ones that can be found in the depths of locations so dangerous that even the Hunters are leary of going inside and are actively forbidden from approaching unless they are a very high rank?

Off the top of my head some of the Havens that come to mind is the one in the middle of Malmalam thicket, the top of an active volcano, multiple spots in the middle of the voretooth and coeurl infested desert, two up in Vesperpool aka the home of all demon crocodiles and flocks of cockatrice that are bigger than the average car and can literally turn you into stone if you aren’t careful.

Yeah those places. She maintains those. Depending on how often Havens need to be maintained and if the weather/nature shortens that time then she might also have to periodically enter the dungeons Noctis explores in game that also have Havens hidden inside where it is always dark all the time and infested with daemons.

The book also states that the sick (who are highly infectious and not supposed to be touched by people who can’t heal the scourge and in the later stages of sickness become extremely violent and prone to biting in order to infect other people) are … brought to her…

By whom? Exactly?

Moving on from that giant and obvious plot hole to the “never seen or considered other lifestyles” bit: Luna has traveled literally all over the world. In her duties of healing the otherwise incurable she has gone all over Niflheim, Tenebrae, and Lucis. She has walked through the streets of cities filled with lights and glamor and stood on the dirt roads of towns so small they have to go to the next town an hour or more away to buy groceries or check their mailbox and who’s royal hotel suite is just a caravan with a new coat of paint and “welcome Oracle!” sign. Luna’s work is to cure the Starscourge, which is a disease that I can almost promise the rich don’t get. Because the rich and fancy do not risk their lives by going into daemon territory (Prompto, a middle class Insomnian, didn’t even know what wild animals would be like, you expect the rich and famous to be any better?).

The vast majority of Luna’s patients would be people like Dave the Hunter, or Sania the scientist who wades into the wilds. The truck drivers and the farmers and the electricians risking their lives to repair power lines in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t be going to cities except to talk to the refugees who fled there from the outside and thus picked up the Scourge. Her only two social circles would be Niflheim’s cutthroat nobility and the “unwashed masses” who come to her for healing. Guess which ones she’ll be more invested in getting to know on a personal/friendly basis and interacting with.

Of course Luna has interacted with and understands “common folk”. Luna is a caregiver, not just physically, but emotionally. She is beloved by the people because she is kind. That means she talks to them. More importantly, she listens. She has held the hands of the farmer as he begs her to heal him, because the harvest season is so close, and if he can’t work, if he dies, then what will become of his wife or the people his farm feeds? She has embraced the sobbing refugee mother as the other breaks down in gratitude for a child who’s skin is a healthy shade and who’s veins no longer bulge a sickly purple. She has met people who are not rich, but who are content. Who have lives that do not hinge on the razor thin dance of staying true to self and not exposing weakness to those who want to eat her alive. Who can laugh with their neighbors and kiss that nice boy down the street just for the fun of it, who can defy curfew to dance in the rain with the person they love and risk, at most, a lecture and a weekend grounding.

And no, they aren’t rich, no, they aren’t influential or powerful, but they are peaceful. They are happy.

Am I really expected to believe that Luna has not looked on these people’s lives from afar, listened to their rambles as they try to distract themselves from the sickness she is drawing from their veins, and not yearned to be the same? That she hasn’t thought over and over again about running away and being free from her gilded cage? That she doesn’t know anything about the lives of the people she heals even as she walks down their streets and steps into their houses so she can heal those who are too sick or too violent to be safely taken out of their room? That she has never thought about what life could be like if she wasn’t an Oracle as she watches the landscape roll by and walks through the wilderness to find the lonely farmsteads that the townsfolk tell her has sick children that cannot be let out of the shed for fear they will bite?

Setting all of that to one side, what human hasn’t thought of being someone else? What person on this planet, hasn’t looked at another person’s life that is so very different from their own and gone “huh, I wonder what that would be like” even if only for a moment before moving on and forgetting about it? Humans are creatures that dream by nature, that are curious by nature. To assume that Luna is not just because she gets to have the fancy dresses and servants is stupid.

…

3a: Luna is unable to make her own decisions and is only the dutiful Oracle because she doesn’t know any better and needs a “wiser” rebellious character to “open her eyes”.

Okay buckle up. I have tried to suppress the salt until now but over these last two points I don’t care. I will be salty. I will be sarcastic. I will be mean. I will reference Real World faiths (tho I’ll try to keep that to a minimum).

Both 3a and 3b are actually systemic issues in storytelling (particularly noticeable in movies/shows but maybe that’s because I’m pretty lucky with my book choices) that I despise with a passion. Specifically 3a relates to the chronic issue writers seem to have with characters not being allowed to be happy with their role in life. There’s this persistent thought, this narrative push, that if a character is following in the footsteps of their family, is entering the “traditional” profession that their parents (or grandparents, or entire generations of predecessors) have been in before them then they must be unhappy with their lot in life. That this is clearly the character being “repressed” and that if they are content then they are either a bad guy (see: every antagonist from a proud military family or every ruler who thinks they are better than everyone because of bloodline ever) or they are just blind to their own unhappiness.

Now, the basic idea of “character discovers they are unhappy in current role and seeks a new one” can actually be done really well. But those stories that do it well have a lot of internal conflict, a lot of self-reflection and searching and choosing to take a new path after really giving it some thought. Maybe they have help along the way, or encouragement, or another character to show that it’s possible by example and that’s okay.

What is not okay is infantilizing a strong, intelligent character by saying “oh it just never occurred to them until they are told that they are unhappy by this much more worldly wise character and then they went and did it”. That is not okay. It not only trivializes the efforts of every real person who has proudly followed in a parent’s footsteps to become something (a doctor, a missionary, a soldier, an actor, even an electrician, pick a life goal and I promise someone has been inspired to do that by their parent being one before them) but it also takes an otherwise strong, dedicated character and implies that they are too stupid to think for themselves or have any free will until the plot and a Shinier Character demands it.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is an Oracle, as her mother was before her, and her mother before her, and all the way back two thousand years to the very first Oracle we see in canon. Possibly back even farther, depending on if any of Aera’s ancestors were Oracles too. That isn’t a suffocating tradition, that is a heritage, that is a culture, that is a necessary, life-saving service that canon proves literally kept the world from falling into eternal darkness (Luna was the last Oracle, the day after she dies is literally the last time we players see sunlight until the end of the game when Noctis dies to restore it). Luna is not stupid or repressed for following in those footsteps, she is breathtakingly strong for shouldering her heritage as the Last Oracle with pride even when the forces controlling every other aspect of her life want her to be ashamed of it and give it up.

The empire that took over her home when she was twelve are actively anti-magic and anti-Astral. Luna is someone who speaks to the Astrals and is born with a magic that can heal the very sickness they want to weaponize. They couldn’t outright forbid her from training to be the next Oracle because that would cause the people to riot, but they could and absolutely would try to make her give up in any way they could. They would have insulted her, demeaned her, hurt her, and imprisoned her. They wouldn’t have wanted a “real” Oracle, they would have wanted a puppet who said pretty promises and then did nothing to stop them.

It would have been so easy for Luna to go down the same path her brother did. To give in to the empire and it’s propaganda that she would have been forced to listen to every single day of her life for twelve whole years. It would have made her life so much easier to be a puppet Oracle who didn’t have to walk miles through the wilderness to maintain Havens, or defy the empire by maintaining loyalty to Lucis, or leave her manor home to heal the sick that could not come to her themselves. As a puppet Oracle she could have stayed in the Manor and only treated cases that could reach her doors and were vetted by the empire. She could have eaten the finest foods and worn the best dresses and never had to worry about a pack of hungry Voretooths or a rogue Behemoth tearing her apart. Most of all, Niflheim wouldn’t have been nearly as oppressive or violent. They would have gladly given her the illusion of freedom and control as long as she played along rather than been fully willing and prepared to run into the jungle with a suitcase just to escape as seen in the movie.

Luna was not blindly fitting into a mold and she was not and has never been incapable of making a decision. The fact that she shows up in canon as a strong, dedicated woman who is in control of her emotions and not afraid to face down a giant sea monster with the power to summon tidal waves with just her words and a glorified pointy stick proves that. The idea that she needs a “wiser” character to come alongside her and “free her” from her own duties is not only stupid, it undermines one of the key things that makes Luna such a strong character despite her relative lack of screentime.

Furthermore, canonically, one of Luna’s main reasons for sticking with her duty as Oracle isn’t because it’s tradition, it’s because of what Niflheim did. In the Kingsglaive movie, when Nyx Ulric is getting angry at Luna for doing really reckless, life-threatening things, she tells him quote:

“I do not fear death. What I fear is doing nothing and losing everything.”

That’s not a woman who is blindly following a path laid out for her. That is a woman who is desperately, furiously fighting against the people who killed her mother in front of her the best way she can: by being the Oracle they cannot stand for her to be.

But sure. Luna is only the Oracle because she doesn’t know better and it never occurred to her to be anything else until some jaded kid with a shotgun made a snide comment about it.

3b: Luna’s faith is a character flaw that has only survived this long because it wasn’t challenged by a worldly wise character who knows better.

Not going to lie but words cannot express how much I hate this trope. This is another thing that shows up a lot in television/movies but also in books too, and that is that a character is not allowed to have a faith in something/religion unless they are 1. Foolish, 2. Brainwashed/tricked into it, 3. A crazy fanatic, or 4. It’s a character flaw they have to overcome by becoming more jaded and atheist and hateful.

Because … that’s not how it works. There are- millions (billions) of people all over the real world who are intelligent, well educated, thoughtful, kind, and religious. And no I’m not just talking about Christianity (tho I am Christian so you can see why this trope grinds my gears so hard). There’s Hinduism, there’s Islam, there’s Buddhism, there’s Judaism, there’s so many faiths and belief systems okay. And no we don’t tend to play well with each other or accept the validity of the others but that doesn’t mean we’re fanatics or brainwashed or stupid. And no we really don’t appreciate it when media introduces a character who follows a religion (even fictional ones!) only to make them an antagonist or rip it away from them in the name of “improving their character”. Just like every other cultural group ever who really doesn’t like their heritage and culture being used as a butt of jokes or is turned into a caricature or used as the basis for the antagonist being Evil™.

But no. We can’t possibly have a character who’s faith makes them strong or gives them comfort in times of hardship unless they are deluded. We can’t possibly have a character who is both intelligent and faithful. We can’t possibly show a character who is breathtakingly courageous and selfless as well as religious unless we point at their faith and go oh look a horrible character flaw to overcome by having non-believer characters open their eyes via sarcastic commentary.

And look. Look. I am well aware that the plot of Dawn of the Future has Bahamut as the Bad Guy™. I am fully aware of that. But if you want to be purely honest and technical, that doesn’t invalidate Luna’s faith because (spoilers) the other Astrals fight Bahamut to save the world. They hear her cries and the come to fight on behalf of Lucis and Noctis and all of Eos and they kill Bahamut even when that ensures their own destruction.

But we’re not actually here to talk about whether the Astrals deserve Luna’s faith in them, we’re here to talk about why insisting Luna’s faith is, by nature of being a faith, treated like a flaw and why it is treated like something so weak it only survived to this point because Luna didn’t face anything “bad” enough to “snap her out of it”.

Spoiler alert, it’s not a flaw and it’s not weak.

Going back to something I have mentioned several times already: Niflheim is an empire run by people who actively want to kill the very beings most of the planetary population worships. The very same people in charge of Luna’s life for twelve years, starting from when she was twelve and very emotionally vulnerable and traumatized, hate the Astrals. I repeat: They hate the Astrals. They have devised weapons to try (and spectacularly fail) to kill them. Half their continent is a winter nightmare-land because they tried to kill Shiva the Glacian and she went “haha, nice try, lemme leave a fake corpse here that constantly pumps out freezing temperatures and blizzards”.

Am I seriously, honestly, supposed to believe that these people didn’t try to tear down her faith at every single opportunity? That Ravus wouldn’t have tried to bully and cajole and harass her into abandoning her faith because he knew that her faith was what kept her walking her chosen path as Oracle and that said path was destined to kill her? Am I seriously supposed to believe that Luna didn’t spend those twelve years having to sit there and bite her tongue to keep from raging at these cutthroat nobles as they gloated and sneered and spat on the names of the Astrals who gave Luna the very magic she uses to heal those in need?

Luna never needed Sol to come along and say “what have the Astrals ever done for you?” because I promise that she’s heard some variation of that exact phrase from everyone in her life. From her own brother to the Emperor himself she has heard some form of this question, this taunt. In the Kingsglaive movie, General Glauca even says something to the order of, “To what god do you pray? The gods do not listen.” Right before he kidnaps her.

Luna’s faith isn’t something blind, and it is not a flaw. It is a cornerstone of her character. Luna’s faith is a bloody, stubborn, tenacious thing that she has nurtured and shored up and been steadied by through twelve years of emotional abuse and physical imprisonment. Luna’s faith is an unshakeable thing that can only come from long nights spent crying into the silent dark of the room and asking “is this real? Am I right? Should I give up? This hurts so much, what do I do?” and finding the answer to be “yes this is real. Yes I am right. No, I won’t give up even though it kills me. Yes it hurts, but what I believe in is stronger than this pain.”

Faith is not optimism and it is not fanaticism. Optimism can be broken by hardship and fanaticism has no room for selfless kindness or acceptance of other people not being as devoted as they are. Faith is personal. Faith is a bedrock, and maybe it’s a bedrock that makes no sense to people on the outside, but it is a bedrock and it can make mountains move.

Just as Luna proves when she runs rings around an Empire to win the respect and cooperation of Titan and of Ramuh, to stand amid the rain and tell an enraged TideMother that “it is in mercy that men offer praise, and in shedding grace that the gods solicit worship” and not flinch because she knows she is right.

Luna’s faith is a fierce, scarred thing that has taken every kind of suppression and propaganda and poison the empire could throw at it and kept on going.

Furthermore. Luna’s faith is treated by Sol as something empty. Because when did the Astrals ever help her or comfort her or save her?

I can answer that. They helped her when they gave her Umbra and Pryna, who kept her company through her life and gave her a way to talk to Noctis. A way to reach out to a person who was not either imperial, warped by imperial propaganda, or too afraid to speak out against the empire for fear of dying. They comforted her when Gentiana became a second mother for Luna after the death of Queen Sylva. A physical shoulder to cry on, a sounding board to bounce fears off of, a well of advice when it was asked of her, a rock to retreat to when Ravus turned away from her and the empire continued to control as much of her life as they could.

Gentiana, who is really Shiva in disguise, has been with Luna since she was a small child.

One of the Astrals themselves has been with Luna for almost her entire life. Has guided her, has comforted her, has led her to safety as she fled Insomnia’s ruins.

Shiva had no reason to do that. The Oracles have done their duty since the time of Aera without her help or company. Shiva didn’t have to stay. She didn’t have to linger and offer comfort and become Luna’s friend. She didn’t have to listen to the last words of a scared young woman who wanted only to see her fiancé one last time and promise to carry them to Noctis in the event of her death. Shiva didn’t have to cry on behalf of Luna. Shiva didn’t have to help Luna remember what it was like to be an ordinary woman (“Yet others need not hide their grief. Is she [Luna] so different from them?”), and in fact, if Shiva had played up to most of the stereotypes, she would have done the opposite and done her hardest to suppress any part of Luna’s personality that wasn’t her Oracle duties.

But she did. Shiva was there, and she remembered. Shiva loved and we as a fandom may yell at the Astrals a lot for not doing more to take care of the Starscourge, but of all of them Shiva gave the most because she came down and she lived, and walked, and loved this Oracle, this scared child, this frightened, weary woman who couldn’t even turn to her own family for comfort. Shiva’s husband Ifrit was betrayed by humankind and yet Shiva still defended them, she kills Ifrit to protect the man (the king) that Luna loved.

And at the end of the game, in those final moments outside the Citadel, when it’s just Noctis and his Retinue against all of Ardyn’s armies of daemons, when Luna calls out to these Astrals whom she has remained faithful to her entire life, even unto her death…

They answer.

Every. Last. Astral. Who is not corrupted like Ifrit, comes down at her prayer and fights. Even Leviathan who’s only voiced lines are screaming wrath against the humanity that forgot her, even Bahamut who otherwise remains aloof in his plane of magic beyond the concerns of the mortal world. Luna calls, and they answer her.

“What have the Astrals ever done for her” indeed.

Luna’s faith is a driving force of her character, it is irrevocably intertwined with her duty, with her choices, with her desire to help people and save the world even if it costs her own life, and in the end her faith is rewarded. Not in the way we want for her, because we love the ultimate happy endings where everyone lives and nobody dies. But Final Fantasy XV was never a story about happy endings. It was a story about coming of age, and tragedy, and sacrifice. Of holding onto hope against all opposition, and of having faith that someday the dawn will return, even if bringing about that dawn requires personal sacrifice.

…

Okay this is over 5k words, I’m tired, and I’m extremely salty so I can’t really figure out how to wrap this up but there we go, my salty personal rant about why I think Dawn of the Future messed up some really critical parts of Luna’s characterization and why it’s Really Bad that they messed up those specific things.

Also I kinda despise them making Bahamut the bad guy in DotF because yes he’s a jerk and yes he really could have done the whole Prophecy thing a ton better, but in the original FFXV one of the things that made the game so heartbreakingly tragic to me is that most of the characters involved weren’t pure evil. They could be greedy, and flawed, and crazy, but in the end the source of the problem was too big to pin on one character.

Do you pin the entire thing on the god of war for his mistakes in trying to bring about peace, or the god of fire for trying to destroy humanity and no longer being there to do his job and purify the plague? Do you blame the Astrals for their hubris or humanity for theirs, because Ifrit loved humanity until they betrayed him so deeply he went mad? Do you hate Ardyn for causing the Long Night or pity him for being a victim of Somnus’s greed? Can you blame Somnus for everything even though the Scourge was going on long before him and kept spreading long after he sealed Ardyn away? The whole thing is a tragedy because at this point it’s a problem too big to fix without someone paying a price too heavy and we hate that because the characters who pay that price are the ones we grow to love over the game.

But that is an entirely different rant for an entirely different day when I am not so tired and my hands no longer hurt from writing this much in one sitting. Thank you and good night.

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a-simple-imagine · 3 years

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Day 6 - Down at The Lake

Synopsis: You’re staying at the burrow over Christmas break and Ginny decided to take you ice skating

Pairing: Ginny Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 2k+

A/N- Haven’t written for Ginny before but this was suggested to me so I combined it with an idea i already had.

As rigorous shaking drags you kicking and screaming from your dreams, you open your eyes to see a freckled face staring back mere inches from your face. Ginger hair circling you, you push her back abruptly. When you agreed to come home with her for Christmas, this was definitely not what you were picturing. A little personal space would be nice. "Merlin's beard, Ginny!" You exclaim, dropping your hand from her chest. "are you trying to give a girl a heart attack?"

"Get up!" There's a certain degree of her eagerness behind her words as she stands upright. The room was shrouded in dim light, casting the youngest Weasley in a warm mid-morning glow. It was way too early for her to be so perky.

"What time is it?" You mumble into the pillow, rubbing your eye with the palm of your hand. Judging by the lighting, it was still pretty early.

"Like six," Six A.M? What could possibly justify waking you up at six am during the holidays. Why was she even up so early normally you're the one trying to get her out of bed. "So get up."

"No, it's too early," Rolling onto your side, you nuzzle against the pillow and close your eyes. To your surprise, you feel a weight slam ontop of you. Was she for real?

"I won't leave you alone," Her voice is but a whisper in your ear sending a chill down your spine.

"Fine," Shoving her off, you hear her fall off the bed. An amused smile as you turn the other way. "Just give me a minute." Snuggling into the duvet, you shuffle about trying to get comfortable again but then she pulls, pulls, pulls until you're basically fighting over a duvet.

"Stop being lazy," Releasing the covers, they zoom off you as the other girl stumbles backwards. You can't help but chuckle a little as you sit up, slapping both cheeks gently to try and wake yourself up. Jumping to her feet, Ginny displays a triumphant grin. "Mum is making breakfast," she announces before turning sharply and heading for the door. "Don't go back to sleep."

You did debate just going back to sleep but you decided it wasn't worth facing the wrath of Ginny Weasley. So you force yourself out of bed and get ready for the day. Descend the long staircase of the burrow as quietly as physically possible, you join Ginny who sat at the dinning table telling Mrs Weasley all about some quidditch game. The air smells like sizzling bacon and dewy morning air. Mr. Weasley is present too, reading a paper.

"Took you long enough," Ginny announces when she notices you.

"It's way too early,"

"Good morning," Mr. Weasley states a little too brightly for this early in the morning.

"Breakfast will be done in a jiffy, would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Molly offers, you nod a little as you take a seat opposite Ginny. Watching as Molly grabs the metal kettle and pours the hot water into a cup. "Ginny, go get your brothers up."

"Why do I have to do it?" She groans loudly. Molly hands you the cup that has little pictures of dragons around the rim before shooting the ginger girl a look. You guessed the mug belonged to her brother Charlie. "Fine."

Pushing out the chair with a brash screech, Ginny charges up the stairs. The sound of her yelling her brother's names echo off the walls before she reappears again. You take a sip of your tea, burning your tongue in the process and quickly putting it back down.

"Since when were you here?" The youngest weasley son trudges over, taking up the seat next to you. He gives an almighty yawn before slumping down against the table.

"I invited her so shut up."

"It was just a question, shesh"

"I arrived yesterday," You explain politely, offering him a tiny smile to which he just shrugs. As plates are placed on the table, the rest of the family starts appearing one by one; each taking up a spot around the table. You hate to admit it because it wasn't like they were intentionally making you feel that way but it feels a little weird being sat among so many family members. You feel like an outcast, invading their breakfast.

"So what are everyone's plans today?" Mr Weasley questions and the boys all talk over each other so eager to tell their story.

"I'm going down to the lake," Ginny announces plainly, drawing the attention to her.

"The lake? Why?" Ron wonders

"Fancy a skate do you?" George inquires with a bit of a giggle.

"Skate?" Were you missing something here?

"In December the lake freezes over so you can ice skate on it,"

"Oh..." That was unexpected. You didn't have a clue how to ice skate nor did you bring any skates? This seemed like a very bad idea. "I don't know how to skate,"

"You'll be fine," Ginny asserts. "I'll teach you."

After being dragged through the frosty woods for what felt like forever, you arrive at a tremendous lake that was covered in shades of icy white and blue. You swallow hard, a pit beginning to form in your stomach as you watch ginny attach these wooden skates to her shoes.

"Don't look so scared, it's just ice," Her hand slaps against your back. "No shame in falling over."

"Are you sure this is safe?" Peering down at the edge of the ice, it's almost like you can picture the disaster waiting to happen.

"Don't be such a baby," Harmless teasing but enough for you to commit to attaching the skates to your own shows. With a deep breath to calm your nerves, you take a leap of faith and step very cautiously onto the ice with one foot. When you were assured it wasn't about to break, you bring the other foot over. Perhaps this would be fun after all. However, you still had no clue how to skate and frankly were too scared to move. Ginny on the other hand looked like she'd been doing this for years. Gliding across the ice in a way that looked both clumsy and graceful. Noticing you, she urges you over but you just shake your head rapidly. "Can't teach you if you won't even move," Making her way over to you, she takes you gloved hands in hers. The most gentle of smiles as she pulls you along just a little, helping you steady yourself. "Just put one foot in front of the other and glide."

"Easier said than done," The bit grew deeper as you shuffled along as best you could, following the other girl's lead.

"Just have a little faith in me," She gently squeezes your hand. "I won't let anything bad happen to you," Still easier said than done but you nod. "Watch my feet." Dropping your hands, Ginny propels forward starting with her right foot then her left in a steady rhythm before circling back. "See easy. You try,"

"I'm not sure about this," Almost falling on the first step, you hold your arms out wide for balance before pushing forward on your right leg followed perhaps a little too quickly with left but still, you move forward across the ice.

"You got it, just keep doing that and take longer strides so you really slide." You try to follow her advice and it's all fun and games until you slip and fall smack against the ice.

"Are you okay?" The girl rushes over to you, reaching down to help you up. Nothing was really hurt except your pride and bottom for that matter. "Steady?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Good," Her grin brightens as she takes one of your hands and pulls you along behind her. "Do you regret giving it a chance?"

"No it's fun,"

"Are you lying to me?" Ginny glancing back at you briefly. You were genuinely enjoying being out here; playing on the ice. Just the two of you. But it was also rather hard and every moment felt like you were gonna fall.

"I would never,"

"Liar," she chuckles. "Do you wanna race?"

"You'll obviously win," Wouldn't be much a race considering how much better she is.

"I'll go easy on you," You end up agreeing but only because she flashed her best puppy dog eyes. Lining up beside you, Ginny flashes a wicked grin. "Ready?"

You nod.

"Three... two... one... go,"

There was no point in trying because Ginny's idea of going easy on you was speeding off ahead. So you leisurely stroll a little faster than you previously had until you hear it and panic sets in.

Crack.

You come to an abrupt stop but the sound of crackling just triples and you suddenly plunge into the lake water's icy embrace. Struggling to the surface you call out her name but it's hard to stay afloat when your skin burns from the cold. Perching on the edge of the ice, it just crumbles away creating an even bigger hole. Every time you fall back under, you wonder if you'll be able to keep returning to the surface. Taking a deep breath each time as you yell out. You can make out Ginny's appearance behind the water's surface "Wait here," Where did she think you could go? Moments later that felt like hours, The ginger haired girl returns with a tree branch, "Grab on," she yells out as she lays down on the ice. "Push up with your elbows, okay? Ginny pulls with all her might yanks on the wood until you're finally on solid ground; the cold air setting in quickly. You spit out some water and your body begins to shake. Her voice drowned out but the heaving of your chest and the rest was a blur.

The next morning you wake up feeling rough to say the least. You swim in the icy water has definitely left you with some kind of cold or flu. Your head feels fuzzy, your eyes tired and there was a low but ever present burning in your throat. The sound of distant voices hit's your ears and it takes a minute to realise you're in the burrow.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. How you feeling?" Ginny enters the room with a blanket tucked under her arm and a bright smile on her lips.

"Shitty," Sinking further under the covers, you chase the warmth and comfort that they provide.

"Mum says you should stay in bed so I brought you an extra blanket in case you're cold."

"Thanks," Unfolding the blanket, she tosses it over the bed before taking a seat on the edge. Slapping her hand against your forehead; she immediately draws away.

"ew you're hot and sweaty," She wipes her hand on the blanket

"I don't feel it," You murmur softly and then nothing. Ginny just stares down at her hands as she fiddles with her fingers. "Something wrong?"

"I'm just sorry,"

"What for?" Your brows furrow in confusion.

"For you almost drowning,"

"That's not your fault," Well, not entirely. She was the one to encourage you to get on the ice but you don't blame her for the ice breaking.

"I should have warned you about the ice, it can be kinda thin in place."

"It's not a big deal, I only almost died," You tease, raising your shoulders in a playful shrug. .

"I don't know what I would have done if you died," Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet so you're not entirely sure, you're supposed to hear her.

"Well I'm not dead so you have nothing to worry about,"

"Do you want some soup?"

"soup?" That was abrupt.

"Mum made soup."

"Feels a little early for soup,"

"Never too early." She emphasises vividly before softening. "I really am sorry about what happened,"

Reaching up, you grab her arm and pull her towards you; wrapping her up in your arms as she giggles against your neck. "Stop apologising you dumbass, I'm fine."

"Get off me- you're all sweaty." Both palms against you she pushed back and you really don't have the strength to fight her. "I'm gonna get you some soup you need to eat."

#Ginny Weasley #ginny weasley x reader #ginny weasley imagine #Harry Potter

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

Note

What comparisons can be made between renruki and Ichiruki? I often wondered about this.

This is such a hot button issue that as soon as I received this (perfectly polite) ask, my body tensed up and my brain went Am I being trolled?

It’s honestly a shame that there is so much bad blood behind this, because it is, in fact, a very interesting thing to talk about, and I am going to attempt to do so in good faith, because I love thinking about this kind of thing. Even though I am very openly a Renruki shipper, I love all three of these characters very much, and I think that Ichigo and Rukia’s relationship is very important! I am doing my best to be neutral, although I have not read very much Ichiruki fanfic/meta, so please give me a benefit of a doubt. Obviously, I can’t stop anyone from reblogging this and putting their own comments on it, but I have no interest in getting in debates over it, so don’t be surprised if I don’t engage.

This is both long, and I am sure some people don’t care, so I’m gonna put the rest under a cut. I have tried to hard to write this in a way that will not make anyone mad, but if you think it will make you mad, please give yourself the gift of not clicking on it.

So, what is the same between Ichigo and Renji? Lots, actually. Physically, they are both tall, strong, and have ridiculously colored spiky hair. They are outwardly grumpy, but secretly have soft, gooey centers. Neither one of them is dumb, but they are both dumbasses. They are protectors: they would rather take any amount of pain or damage onto themselves than see a loved one hurt. Their friends are everything to them, and that goes triple for Rukia.

How are they different, then? There are three major bullets:

- Ichigo is alive. Renji is dead. Perhaps this is a little flip, but Renji belongs to same world that Rukia does, and Ichigo does not. This is not a value judgment, it is just a fact: If Rukia ends up with Renji, she stays where she is. If she ends up with Ichigo, either Rukia or Ichigo have to make a huge change. I will get back to this.

- Youth vs. Experience. Ichigo is a 15-year old boy, as we are told about 1000 times. There is some mystery over how old Rukia and Renji are, but they have graduated from secondary education and are currently employed. I think it’s safe to assume that they are roughly close in age to each other, but I think Rukia may perceive Renji as seeming older than herself-- he graduated from school, and she didn’t; he’s on his third squad transfer, whereas she’s hasn’t budged from her initial, entry-level job, and he’s now middle management. However, the arc of the story we don’t get to see, is that over the timeskips, Rukia not only catches up to, but surpasses him. Also, not for nothing, but I think that in the same way Rukia is immediately drawn to Ichigo because of his resemblance to Kaien, I think she is also drawn to him for his resemblance to Young Renji-- a grumpy, prickly young man, leaking self-doubt from every pore, whom she is more able to be generous towards through the lens of age and experience. (And I think this comparison could support either ship)

- Ichigo is the protagonist. Rules don’t apply to him. Fate breaks on his sword. He represents the triumph of love or hard work or dreams or what have you over the cruel millstone of the world. Renji, on the other hand, is firmly bound to the rules of the world in which he inhabits. In fact, that is arguably the entire purpose of his character. Renji’s fights are often used to set the stakes of the conflict-- ah, Renji got mangled, this guy must be tough. In the Soul Society Arc, he is an antagonist because he is doing what he is supposed to. In the TYBW, Kubo literally throws the two of them in a pit to fight some asauchi just to make the point that Renji is a shinigami and Ichigo is something else.

Let’s jump over to Rukia for a moment. Rukia is a great character, one of my favorite characters in any media. Rukia contains multitudes. She is tough and strong, but often melancholy. She can be beautiful and elegant, but she also lies and breaks rules and tried to put Kon in a dead cat once. Emotionally, she likes to present a cool front, but she has a big, loving heart, and she feels deeply. As a character, all of this makes her very easy to project onto, which is why I think so many people OTP her with someone, no matter who.Some people choose to try to make her into one of these things or another, and some people try to keep her as the full bundle of contradictions that she is.

There is no romantic content in canon Bleach. There is no romantic content in canon Bleach. There are many, many scenes that can be interpreted romantically, but no one goes on a date, no one kisses. Ichigo gazes longingly into the eyes of all his friends, it’s just a thing he does. Orihime does explicitly proclaim at one point that she loves Rukia, although I suspect that in the original Japanese, it’s the word for “friendship love” and not the very-rarely-used “romantic love.” I have seen a scene-for-scene comparison of IchiHime “romantic moments” only it’s Chad and Uryuu (which I choose to believe supports IshiChad, rather than negates IchiHime, but we may all choose for ourselves!) My point is that shipping in Bleach is a DIY craft, which, when we’re all having a good time, is what makes it so fun.

So, bringing all of this together, given that Ichigo and Renji are fairly similar characters, why are the ships so different, and what makes one appeal to some people and be abhorrent to someone else?

I think about romance stories a lot. I actually took a class on romance novels in college and I just really like to think about the mechanics of stories. In the truest sense of the word, “romance” is about extremes-- about sailing the high seas and wearing ostentatious shirts and shouting off a cliff in a rainstorm. When we talk about romance as a genre, the characters tend to behave in a way that we would not prefer our actual romantic partners do, but the over-the-top nature of it makes us swoon and our hearts drop -- except when it doesn’t. What is heart-breakingly romantic to some people can be a huge turn-off to others. The biggest fight my husband and I have ever had was over a kdrama. The male lead was hiding his identity from the female lead in order to help her, and I found it all to be deeply, deeply romantic, and my husband turned to me and said “He is being dishonest with her and I think it’s morally wrong” and I almost died.

So, let’s break down some of the themes of the two ships, which I think gets at the meat of what you were asking. Now, like I said, shipping is very participatory, and anyone may have their own ideas of how these relationships would be, and I am a big fan of “a great writer can get away with anything”, but in broad strokes, I think that these are the themes of the two ships:

IchiRuki:

Love conquers all/ Love is enough to overcome differences of class, age, lifestyle, geography, etc.

Instant connections/Love at first sight

Love is a force of the universe that cannot be denied or defeated

Young love

Grand gestures

Your partner changes you (in a positive way)/You effect change in your partner

Your partner is the center of your world

Your partner is the one person who can get through to you/You are the one person who can get through to your partner

Banter

Dumbassery

RenRuki:

Love takes work

Best friends to lovers

Second chances/Broken things can be repaired

Love is a choice

You improve with age

Shared experiences build love

Pining

Working together with your partner to create a mutually satisfying life together

Your partner enriches your world, but your independence is maintained

Banter

Dumbassery

There is also some degree of character interpretation at work, too-- there seems to be a huge degree of disagreement between fans as to whether:

a) Ichigo enjoys his normal, human life, and even though he do anything to protect what he loves, he would prefer to live a human existence with his human friends and family. He credits Rukia will helping him realize his strength and powers.

b) Ichigo is unsatisfied with his human life and that meeting Rukia opened the doorway to a life of excitement and adventure, on top of being given the strength to protect his loved ones.

As far as Ichigo pairings go, I think that most IchiHime people fall in category (a) and most IchiRuki (and GrimmIchi) shippers fall in (b). In both cases, peoples’ ships align with their view of what makes Ichigo happy. Most IchiRuki content I have seen seems to feature Ichigo moving to Soul Society, rather than Rukia moving to Karakura. Rukia pretty explicitly indicates at the end of the Soul Society Arc that she wants to stay in Soul Society, plus she’s got a pretty established life there. Contrast that to the story of Isshin and Masaki-- Isshin seems pretty flippant and disaffected about his life in Soul Society; it doesn’t seem like it was a particularly hard choice for him to give up being a shinigami. Also, it’s pretty clear that what Isshin did was illegal, and I’m not sure there would be an easy way for Rukia to just say “WELP, I’m off to live as a human, smell you jerks later.”

To try to wrap things up, I think the actual dynamics of an IchiRuki or RenRuki relationship would be very similar, actually. They would banter a lot and dive headfirst into danger and support each other no matter what. Byakuya would treat either guy with the vaguest, most grudging amount of respect. The primary perpetual, unresolved argument between Rukia and Ichigo would be “The Living World is dumb/Soul Society is dumb”, whereas with Rukia and Renji, it would be “Squad 6 is dumb/Squad 13 is dumb wait no I didn’t mean that Captain Ukitake is an angel.”

Personally, I headcanon Renji as being more able than Ichigo to step back and be the support person in the relationship (see that bullet about Ichigo being the protag), so I think that RenRuki could manage to run a functional household, whereas Ichigo and Rukia would just go on adventures until they got arrested for tax evasion.

*For the record, I am very pro-IchiRenRuki, except that they would be even worse at running a household. It’s just Renji trying to explain how a chore wheel works while Rukia and Ichigo walk out the door on him.

#shipping discourse #they're just all very shippable!#with each other!#with anyone!#may god have mercy on my soul for venturing this close to the third rail of bleach discourse

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #433

“i really wish that you could help, but my head is like a carousel: i’m going ‘round in circles”

Would you rather visit Rome or Spain? Rome. Do you really care what’s going on in celebrities' lives? Depends on the person. If I have a big interest in them, like Mark, then yes, because I care about that person and want to know they're well. Have you ever broke a plate/bowl? Accidentally. Has anyone ever drunk called/texted you? I don't think so. Can you do a backwards London bridges? Hell no, I'd bust my ass and spine. Are any of your pets “overweight”? Why the quotations? But anyway, no. Has anyone ever bought you a ring? Yeah. What has been the most traumatic experience of your life? Does it still bother you? The breakup with my first real bf. And well yeah, it resulted in PTSD. It sounds so overdramatic, I know, but I'm not even remotely exaggerating. Live a day in my head and tell me it's not actual trauma. If you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today? God no, not right now. I am not in a position to be married right now. Think back to your most important relationship, was it all your fault it’s over? My damaged side wants to say yes, but I know to be realistic, we both failed in unique areas. He didn't communicate, and I just put too much weight on him. What was your first alcoholic drink? A Mike's Hard Lemonade. What were the first lessons you ever took? Ummm I want to say choir? Did you ever go to a mental hospital? Multiple times. Do you believe that weed should be legalized? Yes. Have you ever had a significant other with a mental disorder? Yes. If you could transform into something, what would that something be? Uhhh idk. Maybe a cat? Out of 10, (10 being really shy) how shy are you? Oh, easily a 10. When was the first moment you discovered love? I actually don't really know the moment I realized I was in love w/ Jason. It was a gradual thing, so no one occasion stands out. What’s the best mistake you’ve ever made? Well, I suppose accepting Jason's Facebook friend request because I thought he was a different Jason. I can't think of many good mistakes I've made... Even the one I mentioned, it's debatable how good that one was. I really do wonder how different my life would be if I declined it. What do you think of frogs? I love frogs! They're so cute and derpy. :') Who did you last worry about and why? My cat, because he was apparently hiding somewhere and Mom couldn't find him. Who did you last feel sorry for and why? Sara, because of health stuff she's dealing with. Is there a name that you can’t stand but it’s the name of a loved one? It sucks, I feel like this burning in my stomach a lot of the time when I hear "Ashley" because that was Jason's girlfriend after me. But I have a sister with the same name. Are you currently looking for a new place to live? I'm not, and I don't think Mom actively is, though we both want to move. When did you last make up a baby’s bottle? I don't think I ever have. Well... maybe once? idr Do you believe there’s a devil? No. Have you ever felt an earthquake? No. Have you ever been on an island? Yes, actually. Did you watch the last presidential inauguration? I've never watched one. Have you ever been a fan of The Killers? I don't consider myself a true "fan," no. I only like two songs that I know. Do you have your own lighter (why or why not)? No, because I don't need one? Do you believe in miracles (why or why not)? No. I just don't. Everything has the have a cause and reason. How often do you sleep naked? Never. Are you looking forward to your prom? If you already went, how was it? I went twice, and it was fun. I especially loved having the pictures taken that I regret wiping from the face of the earth. Prom itself was pretty bland each time, like you can't hear shit and they just play awful music, but still. I was a teenager with a very fairytale outlook on love and wanted to just feel like I was in one I guess. Do you prefer Quizno's or Subway and why? I don't think I've ever tried Quizno's, actually. What’s one of your best memories from during a rain storm? I don't know. Why did you need your most recent x-ray and what were the results? It was to see if I broke my foot, I think? If that's the one, then no. I also had my legs x-rayed at some point to see if they could find any damage there because of my extreme weakness in them, but there wasn't. Do people more often mistake you as being younger or older than you are? I actually don't know. Have you ever made out with someone you weren’t dating? No. Do you know anybody who was abused? Yes. Have you ever touched an elephant? No. How many siblings do you have? I have five I "count," but I do have another half-sister on my dad's side that I don't know. I want to, but yeah... it just hasn't happened. Do you get bored of your girlfriend/boyfriend easily? I've never gotten bored of any s/o I've had. Who do you want for president? I voted for Biden. Do you think abortions are horrible? No. Forcing someone to undergo what can easily be considered a traumatic experience is horrible. Do you enjoy drama? Ugh, no. Have you ever had a guinea pig for a pet? I've had a few. Were you/are you popular in school? No. I was very much under the radar and mostly stuck to myself and a small group of friends. What brand clothing do you wear the most? No clue. Have you ever studied any new age or occult religions such as Wicca? Yes, actually, when I was leaning towards Neo-Paganism. I did research into some of its branches, such as Wicca. Are you a wrestling fan? Not at all. I honestly think it's dumb. What’s the longest movie you’ve ever watched? I want to say Troy? It never felt THAT long to me though because I love it. Have you ever been on a subway? No. Do you think spending a ridiculously large amount of money on one designer item is stupid? It sure as hell isn't for me; I lean towards people can spend their hard-earned money on whatever they want, BUT I do feel that they could still spend their money on more important things. Do you find baths relaxing? No, they gross me out. Do you have any hats? I probably still have the hat Dad got me at a Carolina Hurricanes hockey game somewhere, but idk where. Has any part of your house ever been flooded? Not on the interior, no. Have you ever been interested in learning about murderers or murder cases? Not especially. Is there anyone that you’re worried about right now? Who and why? I'm just about praying Sara's new med for her POTS helps. I think me worrying how Jason is doing after his mother's death is gonna be a permanent fixture in the back of my head... If you won a lot of money, would you donate any of it? To what organization would you donate it? Oh, absolutely. I'd have to do some research first, but the Trevor Project comes to mind immediately, as well as ones that protect wildlife, help the mentally ill, fight cancer... Are you a competitive person? What are you most competitive about? Not really, no. I have my areas where I'm more likely to feel it than others, but it's generally mild. I'm not too sure what I'm most competitive about, but maybe outdoing other hunters in WoW since that's my main class that I've played religiously for years. Have you ever adopted a stray animal? Yes. What do you appreciate most about your parent(s)? The fact they somehow still support me even though I'm like... this. I feel like I should've exhausted their faith by now. Do you believe America should legalize drugs? If you think they should legalize only some drugs, which drugs do you think they should legalize? I only support the legalization of weed. What is your biggest turn-off of a person (besides physically)? Arrogance, probably. Or being aggressive/explosive. What song cover do you like better than the original? "Sound of Silence" by Disturbed, for one. That one's easy. If you could find one long-lost friend of the past, who would it be? Megan. I want her to know I forgive her and miss her friendship. What holiday do you enjoy the most? Christmas. (: Were you born in the state you live in? Yep. Have you ever lived in a house that has been broken into? No, but almost. Who do you know that watches the most sports? Probably my dad? Idk. Do you like South Park? Not really. Are you good at bowling? No. Made out for more than 3 minutes? Three minutes is nothin' lmao. Have you ever gone snorkeling or scuba diving? If yes, what’s the coolest thing you’ve seen? No, but I'd love to. What’s your favorite filling in chocolates? Caramel. What do you remember from sex ed class when you were younger? Abstinence was the only option. Heteronormativity. What’s the first instrument you ever played? Ha, a recorder back in elementary school. Have you ever had a friend break up with a bf/gf for you? Essentially. We didn't date, but that's why he broke up with her, because he wanted me instead. Do you see a bright light at the end of your tunnel? I don't like thinking about this. I can only hope there is, but I doubt it a lot. Have you ever waited in line overnight for something? No. Is there such a thing as being too rich or too poor? "Too poor" is very obviously a thing??? "Too rich" is more complicated to me, as I can see both sides to it. Like it's your hard-earned money, but at the same time, is it really necessary at a certain point? Like start donating regularly or something. Do something good. Do you think having an expensive phone is a good investment? Depends on how expensive, I suppose, and what you use it for. What’s your largest bill? Electric, gas, phone, etc. I don't have any of my own bills. It's embarrassing by this age. Do you like your job? I'd like to even have a job... What is your favorite song and why? "False Flags" by Massive Attack, because it's so poetically haunting in its message of how fucked up politics are. Its monotonous tone also adds another layer of sadness to it, like a reminder of how "normal" and bland and unsurprising everything is, no matter how horrible... I could honestly probably write an essay on how I interpret the song, especially if you add in the incredible symbolism of such a simplistic music video. Are you introverted or extroverted? I am very introverted. If you’re married and your spouse cheated on you, would you forgive them? Nope, byeeeee~ Who knows the real you the most? Sara, really. How old is the oldest person you’ve had sexual relations with? He'd be 27 now. Have you been upset the past few days? My PTSD has been kinda vicious the past couple days, especially today. Then earlier at my nephew's b-day party I had to nearly bite my fucking tongue off with that family's political bullshit. My anger really flared up a few times hearing despicable shit, but I think I concealed it fine by just not saying a word. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever thought of doing for a job? Nothing "crazy," really... Who was your first celebrity crush? Jesse McCartney had my young heart, ha ha. When did you last see or speak to someone you dislike? Why do you dislike this person? Today, at my nephew's aforementioned b-day party. I in specific don't like my sister's husband because he's sexist, racist, homophobic, bigoted... I could go on and on. We don't just have "different opinions," we have different morals entirely. When you listen to music, do you generally sing along, or just listen? I almost always just listen. I don't sing a lot. Can you remember the last time you felt emotional? What was the reason? Today. PTSD is a bitch. What if you were told that your life has to stay exactly as it is right now, and nothing will ever change? How would you feel about that? Quite honestly, I don't think I would want to live anymore. Have you ever been to the hospital for something really serious? I'd consider an OD on cold medicine to be serious, but then again, I experienced almost no effects from it. Idk if I just got fluids fast enough or what, but whatever it was, I'm thankful for. Are you excited for winter? UGGGHHHH BRING IT ONNNNNNN. Have you ever had a moment with someone you like that seemed like a movie moment? Many. What are you listening to right now? "Down In The Park" by Marilyn Manson. What’s your favourite flavour of iced tea? Tea is gross. Have you ever been to a casino? If so, which one(s)? No. Have you ever visited a sex shop? I haven't. Have you ever ridden a bicycle through a busy city? NOOOOOOOO. I could never do that. What’s your favourite place to get pizza? Literally Domino's, lmao. I am so basic. Do you have a lock number or pattern for your phone? No. There sure isn't anything important on it. What’s the most number of people you’ve ever lived with? Five.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''happy song'' by bring me the horizon

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hamliet · 4 years

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Who Holds Destiny’s Pen?

Or, choices and destiny: the main theme of The Witcher books.

What is destiny? Is it the Ouroborus? Are you just a tool in it? Do your choices matter?

Existentialism vs. determinism, that age-old debate. The Witcher doesn’t give a clear “yes everything is determined” or “no, nothing is” but does explore the question with nuance and ultimately, for me at least, a fulfilling answer to that question.

Destiny is hope.

It’s amusing that The Witcher is in many ways seen as playing tropes straight (as opposed to, say, Martin, whose ASOIAF deconstructs elements of the fantasy genre). But I actually didn’t think this was true; or, rather, it’s a stark oversimplification. Ciri (one of the best female main characters I’ve ever read about) is very much a deconstruction of the Virgin Mary archetype within a misogynistic world. The Witcher never revels in its misogyny, using them to titillate while also critiquing them: it straight up critiques them with nuance and empathy.

The Virgin Mary, of course, is the woman who gave birth to Jesus in the Christian faith, who saved the world. (She too was probably only 14 or 15 when her story began, much like Ciri.) Ciri’s whole deal, in addition to being a powerful medium in her own right, is that she’s prophesized to give birth to the “Avenger” who will save their world from total calamity. Thus a five-book saga of everyone trying to control Ciri’s womb is spawned. It could be creepy if it wasn’t handled so well (it is framed really well as just as creepy and dehumanizing as it sounds, yet not in a titillating way).

One of the main motifs, if not the main motif, of The Witcher’s choice vs. destiny question is what say women have over their bodies. It could be read politically; this isn’t exactly a political reading thereof but an examination of The Witcher’s exploration of to what extent a person can control their destiny.

Renfri is not allowed to have any say in what happens to her from birth, because Stregobor believes she is a monster and wants to find her to dissect or vivisect her. Even when Geralt is forced to kill her, he refuses to allow Stregobor to touch Renfri’s body, because her body is hers. The books bang this drum even louder than the show does, because within the books, Renfri’s history of sexual abuse is strongly highlighted.

Renfri’s story asks the initial question: what is the lesser evil? And it’s a question The Witcher keeps asking us. If Ciri being used to have a child who will save the world from a calamity that will definitely come can definitely save this world, then why not sacrifice one girl’s wellbeing for the good of the world?

Geralt argues that evil is evil, large or small in scale. He uses this argument against the emperor determined to marry and impregnate Ciri:

“The ends justify the means,” the Emperor said flatly. “I do it for the future of the world. For its salvation.”

“If you have to save the world like this,” the witcher lifted his head, “this world would be better off disappearing. Believe me... it would be better to perish.”

The story then focuses specifically on childbearing and pregnancy for its three most important female characters: Yennefer, Milva, and Ciri.

The show doubles down on this, as it depicts Yennefer telling Geralt that the root of her desire to overcome her infertility is because the choice was taken from her, and she wants her choices back. It’s a powerful statement that has its spirit carried over into the books; however, Yennefer’s infertility in the books is definitely not her choice whereas in the show it does show her making a choice; it’s essentially a side effect of her magic. Yennefer can control how she appears, can control chaos, but she cannot control her own womb, and Sapkowski writes Yennefer’s anguish over this as raw and real.

However, Yennefer does later receive a choice: to train and thereby end up adopting Ciri, or not. And she chooses to, and it’s a lifegiving decision for all. She is able to write her destiny in Ciri.

Women’s rights to control their own bodies is most blatantly brought up with Milva. She finds herself pregnant on the road and has to decide whether to keep it or have an abortion, and the emphasis is clearly on the fact that it is her choice regardless of what she decides.

‘In Nilfgaard,’ Cahir said, blushing and lowering his head, ‘such matters are determined solely by the woman. Nobody has the right to influence her decision. Regis said that Milva is determined to take the… medicine. Therefore I think of this fact as accomplished. And the consequences of this fact. But I am a foreigner and not familiar with… I should not have spoken at all. Forgive me.’

‘For what?’ the troubadour said with surprise. ‘Do you think of us as savages, Nilfgaardian? As primitive tribes, adhering to shamanic taboo? It is obvious that only a woman could make such a decision, it is their inherent right!…’

Geralt then faces a choice to help Milva make her own decision for herself, not for what she thinks she should do or because everyone else wants one thing or the other. And he steps up as a dad figure to her, becoming vulnerable with her when he discusses things he has lost in life. It’s through his empathy that Milva feels free to come to her decision: she decides to keep the baby after all..

...only to lose the baby in a later battle. So, did her choice matter or did destiny rip her choice away? Is destiny itself the monster?

It matter because it was the fact that Milva made that decision. She mourns for the loss of her baby (which gets to The Witcher’s themes about how, if you love someone, you will inevitably end up hurt, but if you don’t, you will be less and less human). This is further compounded by how Milva’s decision mirrors Geralt’s and Yennefer’s, because after the loss of her child she acts as a mother-like figure for several in the company (for example, when she forces Geralt and Cahir to stop fighting). She is able to save and protect them, to die defending life as opposed to the life she’d lived taking it.

As for Ciri, she deconstructs the Virgin Mary archetype and the lamp character trope (a trope in which you could replace the character--usually female--by a lamp and nothing would change). Everyone’s trying to find her. Everyone wants to use her. But she’s not a lamp. Emhyr, elves, mages, Vilgefortz--they all want to arrange for Ciri’s son to be someone who will represent their interests.

Even when characters aren’t trying to get Ciri pregnant, you have Bonhart (a villain who’s basically what would happen if you combined Delores Umbridge and Ramsay Bolton in a Petri dish) who treats her like an animal and forces her to be a gladiator. Not to mention Mistle straight-up assaults Ciri (I know the author didn’t intend for it to read that way, but honestly, I’m confused as to where the ambiguity even would come from; it seemed very blatant to me). Everyone’s trying to use her, refusing to give her her own choices, and refusing to care about how she feels, which brings us back to what Geralt says to Emhyr which I cited earlier:

If this is what it takes to save the world, if the world is required to be evil and torment a girl and subject her to all kinds of abuses, is the world itself--evil in what it will do to spare itself--worth saving?

Hence, is the concept of destiny a curse? How can it be, when destiny says Ciri is bound to Geralt and this turns out to be positive? Yet also says Ciri will have a child who will avenge the world against some calamity, but the ramifications of this almost destroy Ciri’s life.

Destiny seems, therefore, to be what people make of it. It can turn you into a monster or a legend or perhaps both, but your choices are what make destiny, destiny. You hold your own pen.

Which isn’t to say that the story relies on “good victim, bad victim” in how people who make bad choices suffer, because it does not. The point is that we understand what makes someone make the choices they make, regardless of if they’re feared emperors like Emhyr or murderers like Renfri or lost children like Mistle. Empathy, really. It’s hard to outright condemn any character (less so their actions) for making the choices they make. Empathy is what enables our characters to transcend their broken world, to hope and choose better. Except Bonhart. We can all hate him.

You hold destiny’s pen, but empathy and compassion give you the ink, and when you don’t get it, the pen is good for nothing but use as a weapon.

Destiny is hope, as Philippa concludes in the end, and empathy is what brings legends about--relating to the struggles of those who came before (yes, The Witcher gets very meta in Lady of the Lake). And hence, while the ending leaves a lot of questions out in the open, I think the open-endedness really affirms the story’s core themes. The point is that Ciri has choices about whether or not she wants to conceive a son and whom with, if anyone. She’s free in a new world, able to return to her old one if she wishes, or not to. She gets to decide what’s on her next page.

To an extent, the reason I felt the more tragic endings kind of worked in The Witcher is because even when the characters’ arcs end in tragedy, they tend to get what they want. Ciri got her parents in each other’s arms, Cahir got to see Ciri again as the adult he dreamed (literally) of, Angoulême got to matter, Regis’s legacy is one of salvation rather than death, Milva found belonging, Yennefer got to become a mother, and Geralt found out how very, very human he was. Hell, Emhyr even made a choice to honor his word. The story doesn’t glorify tragedy or death (the opposite: this attitude is directly called out multiple times in Cahir and Geralt’s arcs), but neither does it imply that death is the loss of hope.

In the end, regardless of how their arcs ended, each of our beloved characters’ hopes were fulfilled.

I have several more metas I want to write, most notably on Ciri and Cahir’s foiling, as well as Ciri’s and Renfri’s, and the Rats vs. Geralt’s company.

#the witcher #the witcher meta #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt of rivia #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #renfri #milva #maria barring

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jewish-privilege · 5 years

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...In 2017, three Jewish attendees at the Chicago Dyke March were asked to leave after displaying a rainbow flag with a Star of David on it. In the surrounding arguments about what exactly happened, multiple leftist groups framed this debate not about visibly Jewish queer people existing without being quizzed about Israel and Zionism, but about “pinkwashing” at Pride events. Pinkwashing broadly describes how corporations will attempt to appeal to the LGBTQ community while simultaneously harming the community through its business practices. But in this specific context, pinkwashing refers to the belief that Israel only enacts LGBTQ-friendly policies in order to draw attention away from its treatment of Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza.

In an essay published by the Black Rock Anarchist Collective in defense of the Chicago Dyke March’s actions, one writer stated, “Just to make myself clear: if you are a Zionist, if Palestinians make you feel uncomfortable, or if you work for a horrible, violent, pinkwashing organization, go fuck yourself, and go fuck yourself somewhere other than Dyke March. Just because a space allows you to attend does not mean that the space is FOR you, and to assume that you have a right to come and make people feel unsafe in their own spaces just because you want to be visible in public is the HEIGHT of privilege, White fragility, Jewish feelings, and general fuckery.��

...Honestly, everything about the pinkwashing debate is infuriating, and everyone involved needs to stop, drink a juice box, and take a nap. We need to remember that Pride celebrations, even in their most cringe-worthy corporate form, whether they are in the U.S. or Israel, are a net positive. Claiming that there is something inherently sinister about LGBTQ people having a slightly less miserable time in Israel are dressing homophobia, transphobia, and anti-Semitism in faux social justice language.

At the same time, we need to address the fact that Israel has a myriad host of issues when it comes to treating LGBTQ people with respect and dignity. Same-sex couples still cannot get married in Israel, because marriage is controlled by the Chief Rabbinate and there is no civil marriage. In 2015, an ultra-Orthodox extremist stabbed five people at the Jerusalem Pride parade, killing one. A far-right Israeli NGO put up homophobic billboards in Jerusalem right before their Pride celebration, and a man with a concealed knife was arrested at this year’s Pride parade.

Queer Palestinians in the diaspora should be able to discuss their problems with Israeli government policies and military actions without being told to “spend some time in Gaza and see how you like it.” Likewise, queer Jewish people like myself should be able to talk about the treatment of LGBTQ people in Israel without having to engage in a three-hour discussion of Israeli politics. I’m not exaggerating: I made one offhand comment about Israel at a Thanksgiving potluck once and got tied up in an argument that lasted until midnight.

I wonder if some of this bad discourse is because of how the Israel-Palestinian conflict is treated in leftist spaces. The conflict is frequently treated as an afterthought (a la “Oh, we need to sound woke, p.s. Free Palestine I guess”). If we actually wanted to incorporate justice for Palestinians in a meaningful way into the LGBTQ movement, that would require recognizing how Jews and Palestinians are closely related groups, both with historic ties to the Levant. It would also mean holding bad actors on all sides accountable for their actions and having difficult conversations about Israel and Zionism. But that requires hard work and coalition building, and many would rather harass Jewish proprietors of community organizing spaces or kick Jewish people out of LGBTQ spaces altogether.

One reason this argument is so exhausting is that it happens every single year. Every June, the discourse about pinkwashing is trotted out, and every year, leftist queer events make it clear that they will be policing people’s Jewish identities. This has most recently been seen with the Washington D.C. Dyke March, whose organizers sent a Facebook message to a Jewish woman saying marchers could wear “Jewish stars and other identifications and celebrations of Jewishness (yarmulkes, talit, other expressions of Judaism or Jewishness)” but it would not permit “pro-Israel paraphernalia” at the march. In comments to the Washington Post, one Jewish organizer Yael Horowitz didn’t clarify if rainbow flags with the Star of David violated the event’s policies, but did state that Palestinian flags were permitted. A joint statement from Zioness Movement, A Wider Bridge, and the JCRC of Greater Washington condemned the D.C. Dyke March and demanded that they apologize and allow Jewish marchers be able to march “as their full authentic selves.”

I find this kind of mixed messaging infuriating. Queer events should not be dictating to Jewish people about which expressions of our faith and culture are acceptable. Leftists need to stop playing this game where some forms of nationalism are praised while others are condemned. American, Israeli, and Palestinian nationalism all have toxic elements because nationalism is an inherently toxic concept. Also, I don’t trust organizers to be able to tell the difference between being proud to be Jewish and Israeli nationalism. I have a denim vest that I wear to all activist events that says עם ישראל חי (Am Yisrael Chai, or “The Jewish people live on”) and a patch of the flag of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Would I be asked to leave, or quizzed about Zionism and Israel, to prove that I’m one of the “good ones” if I wore it to the Chicago or D.C. Dyke March?

I want to be able to spend this month being proudly Jewish and proudly queer, but pinkwashing debates make me have to choose between the two. We need to stop making LGBTQ Jewish people pick from a false binary, and instead welcome to join all other LGBTQ people in the collective struggle for queer and trans liberation.

#antisemitism #homophobia #lgbtq jews

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alexsmitposts · 4 years

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Blind Faith, Subterfuge and not “Real Issues” will decide US Presidential Elections Voter behaviour is not really so complicated. I once even took a course in it; about all that I can remember is that the “incumbent and name recognition is all that really matters” in getting re-elected, especially for a US President. Regardless of who is the pick for vice president, or whether or not Joe Biden is a Republican at heart with a bad case of both venality and dementia and Trump cannot make truthful statements, the November election is therefore kind of a “toss up”—at least at first impression. Trump is larger than life, whether or not that is a good thing. This worked in his favour last time round, as the outsider candidate against the tainted Hillary Clinton, pillar of the political establishment, the sort who gives representing a relatively left-leaning party a bad name. But this time the US is not electing a new president, it is holding what is effectively a referendum on the incumbent. In 2016 the primary motivation was voting either FOR Trump or FOR Hillary. This time a significant portion of the population will be voting AGAINST Trump, just because it’s him, and his main task will be get these people to stay at home, rather than vote for Biden, even if they have to hold their noses to do so. But with so many Republicans having a problem with Trump, and Democrats having a problem with Sloppy Joe Biden, there will be less interest in engaging WITH, rather than AGAINST, either candidate. If voters act on hate alone, Biden will walk it. But the long campaigning season will probably end with a weary populace ignoring the real issues and voting on the basis of blind faith – that regardless of things like issues and facts, someone, somehow, is going to make their lives better before the whole political system collapses around them. Schoolyard Bully I am dumbfounded at how Trump can blatantly and unapologetically pander to Christians and they eat it up!!! He is reported to have made a statement that if the states don’t open the churches this weekend there will be consequences!!! Trump has many supporters in the South, where they are keen on States´Rights. But Facebook and other social media sites are repeating his nonsense, and throwing their endorsement to Trump. Maybe the man is the genius he says he is after all. He is definitely playing them – what can Facebook do, censor Trump or claim that such statements go against community standards? He has been a genius at one thing for his entire life – getting his own way, and just for the hell of it, regardless of what is right or well-advised. Like the rich kid who learns how to twist his parents in knots, Trump is godlike in his ability to manipulate. He will use any trick in the book, and make up some new ones. This may end up being what the election is actually about. The more Trump lies and cheats and gets away with it, the more the disadvantaged and the crooked, who have fallen by the wayside when playing by the rules, will think he offers hope. The rest of America will then decide whether that is really the world they want to live in for the next four years, in the midst of a succession of crises they often have wilfully unreal ideas about to begin with. As one new American, before the new immigration rules set in, shared, “Trump is not that evil; I don’t think he is Godlike. He is just a compulsive dude with a character. He is simple but knows how to bargain for profits. Why everyone is after him, it’s funny; I have never seen Americans liking their president ever, as they like Trump.” Us against them Versus them against Us Of course this means Trump won’t campaign by the rules either. Other people made those rules, the same people many Americans blame for taking away their jobs and being soft on their enemies. Trump will do whatever he has to do, whatever the cost, ignoring little things like the Constitution, Rule of Law and facts.His latest stunt is to question whether Biden’s VP running mate is qualified to stand for the office, based on her parent’s origins. That is really catering to his base, as he knows only too well that she is in no way disqualified for the office, but many people wish she was. Barack Obama was subject to so much rumour about his own origins that he actually displayed his birth certificate (saying Honolulu, Hawaii, 4th August 1961, i.e. after it had become part of the US) at a press conference. These allegations were never based on fact, but allowed some voters to dress up prejudice as hoped-for fact. Trump joined these allegations, saw they worked, and has been finding new ways to make prejudice seem justified ever since. Constitutional law experts say Harris’ parents are beside the point. The 14th Amendment grants citizenship to all people born in the US, and Article II Section 1 of the Constitution says that to be eligible for the vice presidency and presidency a candidate must be natural-born US citizen, at least 35, and a resident of the United States for a minimum of 14 years. But the Constitution embodies the establishment, and Trump doesn’t consider himself part of it. Many of his supporters feel betrayed by it, their needs and values having been relegated to secondary status, or worse, because they and their friends were never asked to write the Constitution. Trump has lied to his base like he has lied to everyone else. He does it every day, shamelessly. Remember building a wall and making Mexico pay for it, incarcerating Hillary, paying off the debt and stopping wars, let alone the more recent ones about COVID-19 response. But what is escaping critical attention is that the current man in the White House represents the character and morals of the masses of people who make up the country. They won’t admit openly to being everything America pretends it isn’t, which is why Trump is being hammered in the polls, but they will be voting in mass for his re-election. Their core values are the same: family, Church, flag and job security, as if these are the answer to everything in themselves, no actual performance or policy is needed. The vast majority of these voters must feel that they are now being taken care of—for most that means less government, affordable education and healthcare. If Trump makes an about-turn, such as introducing Medicare for all at a price, he will be hoeing in high cotton as the presidential election nears. Blind faith in the system versus blind faith in anything other than the system may not be the best choice to have, as countries which have had revolutions understand. But both sides are gambling that this is how the voters will see it, and that they will choose their faith over the other, and then prosecute it for four years with the same religious fervour so that reality doesn’t come and bite too hard. Bubbling under the Radar Trump may support a small state, but he did a clever move extending Federal Unemployment benefits by executive order, albeit not to the previous level of 600 dollars per week on top of any State benefit. He realised that he had no time to waste, especially in the wake of the economic havoc of COVID-19. Congress went on recess so as not to deal with the COVID-19 crisis, as they knew there was going to be too much pork included in any legislation they would attempt to pass. This could be interpreted as meaning they were outsmarted by Donald Trump, and only one such victory will embolden his supporters to believe there will be many more, which they will interpret as victories for them. Trump’s base of support has closed ranks even more over his monument policy, which makes it a crime to tear down historic monuments. One cannot trash history just because times have changed. I may not like your monument, but let’s talk about it. When the first Democratic debates were held Joe Biden was not most people’s first choice, but I wondered if he had the best chance, since he was old and white and had been VP under Obama. This claim to fame would help him gain the black vote en masse, or so he thought. But this has become a moot issue since Biden scolded black leaders, claiming they would not be black if they voted for Trump. That did not go over well with a voter group which as a whole finds Trump a lowlife, but does not expect to be lectured by a senile “old honky”.Blacks also realised long ago that if they have an equally strong voice within both parties they are more likely to be heard, not taken for granted by the one they support and then ignored, because electorally not worth the effort, by the other. If Biden doesn’t get that, how many other voter groups will he risk alienating between now and November? Biden is the sort of Democrat blacks once deserted his party for being full of – a scion of white privilege, darling of War on Crime (meaning war on blacks, as is Harris), closet racist and blind servant of Wall Street and the Military-Industrial Complex. Maybe this is the real reason he is supposedly polling ahead of Trump in key Electoral College States, even Ohio. However, those with not-so-short memories will remember that the last round of polls before the 2016 election gave Hillary Clinton a commanding lead, and the DNC and mainstream media were so confident of her success they had already printed up the front pages of the newspapers announcing her victory. What makes the pollsters so confident that they will not be even more wrong this time? Trump bashing Biden’s policies and the Democratic National Committee’s platform may soon take all the wind out of Biden’s sails, precisely because it is so easy to bash Trump that it has less effect on the voters. Trump’s policy of America First is also proving consistent, and this is the one campaign promise few people expected him to keep. This does put Trump in the small category of politicians who actually keep their promises, however ironic that is. The return of no point As for the election, only God knows what will happen.It is perfectly possible that the Deep State controls the voting machines by now and the mail-in ballots too!Democrats in Florida are still protesting about the voting machines used there when George W. Bush beat Al Gore by a tiny margin. As James Baker pointed out at the time, they tested the machines before the election and had no complaints. So either there was nothing wrong with the machines, or the count was distorted by those machines. I know which one my money is on. What people are not willing to wake up and accept is that America needs another system, not the two party system, aswhich now supposedly exists. It is an illusion that Republican and Democrat are the only choices, when members of these two parties stay in Congress for decades and little if anything changes. In 1905 Mark Twain wrote his War Prayer, a short story or prose poem described as “a scathing indictment of war, particularly of blind patriotic and religious fervour as motivations for war.” In the days of the Vietnam War, when both war and politics had meaning, this was seen as sarcasm. Now it is a commentary on what the US political system has become, because people are incapable of engaging with real issues because they do not wish to know the truth about their country.

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moviepower · 4 years

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Why do people criticize Jojo Rabbit?

We'd say that this is uncharted territory for distributor Disney, but the company did previously give us their futures face. Hmm. I saw Jojo Rabbit in the best place I could for movies, in my opinion.

For this list, we're looking at why Tyco ITTS 2019 black comedy has proven. So polarizing for critics just to clarify the critical reception thus far has been mostly positive and even watch mojo gave the film a rave review following its TIFF premiere.

Nevertheless, we can definitely see why a movie like this. Wouldn't win audiences over everywhere. Hey Joe, Joe, my old friend. Hi adults. Number 10, the controversial premise. I don't think I can do this last. Of course you can simply by reading it synopsis, you can tell why Jojo rabbit has stirred up so much controversy.

In the midst of world war II, a young German boy named Joe Joe dreams of becoming a Nazi upon learning that his mother has been harboring a Jewish girl in the attic though, Jo Jo begins to reevaluate his outlook on life. I tell them you will be in big trouble throughout this coming of age journey. Our titular character is guided by his imaginary friend.

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Is it worth to watch Jojo Rabbit full movie

Who just so happens to be a flamboyantly incompetent, Adolf Hitler, as inventive as the premises, it was guaranteed to ignite passionate feelings. Critics are unsurprisingly split as to whether the film's premise is inspired or irresponsible. I wish more of our young boys had your blind fanaticism. Okay.

Number nine, how it stacks up to other satires and this world is ruined for everyone and the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way Jojo rabbit. Isn't the first film to satirize Hitler or Nazis 1940 twos to be, or not to be was criticized upon release for its farcical, spin of Nazi occupied Poland.

But today is viewed as a comedy classic. I know you're quite famous in London kernel. They call you concentration camp Earhart. Yes. Yes, we do the concentrating and the poles do the camping Hitler. Technically isn't the protagonist and the great dictator. It's obvious who Charlie Chaplin was parodying. We can learn more about actress playing mother Jojo on Wikipedia.

Arguably the most famous sendup of Nazi Germany is Mel Brooks. The producers. In which two con men put on an intentionally horrible musical entitled springtime for Hitler. Practically a love letter to this own run a week week. Are you kidding display? It's got the close on page four. Some critics are ready to place Jojo rabbit alongside these revolutionary respected comedy.

What do critics write in reviews about Jojo Rabbit?

Others, however, would claim that the film has more in common with the bridge sit-com Hile, honey I'm home, which was so misguided and tasteless that it only lasted one episode. Oh 10 night. You will make an schnitzel. What a joke. You must be real mad at me, honey. I'm a very, very bad Hitler. Number eight, what's going on in the real world right now?

Fuck man. The house, although world war II is in the past. The same, unfortunately can not be said about bigotry. Nowhere was this more apparent than at the 2017 unite the right rally in Charlottesville, which attracted several hate groups, including neo-Nazis. Since prejudice and discrimination remain prevalent in today's world.

It's obvious why various critics would object to a film that makes light of Nazi Germany. Nevertheless, satire can reflect modern times as well as history in ways that straightforward drama can't. Some might argue that now isn't the right time for a Nazi satire, but others would debate that society needs a movie like Jojo rabbit. A great story about the Irishman is here.

Now more than ever, you're not to nuts. Jojo, tenue kids likes dressing up in front of you. If somebody wants to be part of a club. Number seven, the humor, the best weekend ever.

Soundtrack in the highest level of production

Wow. Your enjoyment of Jojo rabbit will hinder on how hard you laugh. Or of course, if you laugh, the film didn't tickle. Roger Freedman. Funnybone who wrote in his showbiz four one, one review Jojo rabbit is actually borderline antisemitic offensive on many levels and not even funny. Sam Adams of slate couldn't have disagreed more proclaiming for Jojo rabbit comedy.

Isn't a means to minimize, but to analyze wise, to pry at the way, hateful ideologies can be embraced as a comfort and how beneath their promise to. Blame how the world really works is an understanding no more sophisticated than a child's it's time to buy some books. Since humor is subjective, we guess there isn't always going to be a clear line between what's offensively funny and what's just plain offensive.

Oh God. Number six. Jewish jokes. Did you know, Jews can Z to each other's mind. So tell us, you know, who saw one? They could look just like us of Tyco. ITT satire is clearly the Nazis. However, the director who's of Jewish and Maori heritage also pokes fun at Judaism. Hi, well, the real Jordan Rumi was horrified by the audience's reception at the screening he attended.

Writing, you have no idea how it is to be surrounded by thousands of people laughing at jokes, specifically directed at Jews. That being said, Rumi seemed to be in the minority of a group that found the film. Hilarious. As with Borat and South park, many would argue that the humor and Jojo rabbit isn't intended to mock the Jewish faith, but to criticize how ignorant and Semites are a cute number five, the life is beautiful comparison, right?

Jojo Rabbit's reaction to mom's death

Yeah. Critics have stocked a Jojo rabbit up against numerous other films. But life is beautiful. Seems to be the one that's invited the most comparisons this 1997, Italian dromedy also presented world war II through a lighthearted lens, centering on a Jewish man who uses humor and imagination to shield his son from the horrors of the Holocaust. It's interesting what they write about this movie on Amazon.

Well, the film won an Academy award for best foreign language film, and even got nominated for best picture. There were those who found the movies comedic tone, inappropriate. Over two decades later, we will continue to debate if the movie is a life affirming fable or a dated misfire. It's actually eerie how much these two films have in common, especially since both one TIFs peoples choice award.

That is the strongest thing in the world. Number four, is it shocking enough? I was your age. I had an imaginary friend come in so much stuff even before the first trailer dropped Jojo rabbit was being built up as one of 20 nineteens most controversial movies. Weirdly enough though, some critics have expressed disappointment that the film isn't more shocking.

Well, audiences have arguably gotten more sensitive with time. There are still patrons who crave comedy that pushes the envelope to its limits. It's time to burn some books. Brian Talarico of the Chicago sun times felt Jojo rabbit played it too safe. Writing the final scenes of Jojo rabbit are too easy for a film that needs to be dangerous and daring.

Are the best scenes already included in the trailer?

Even if the film doesn't go all out with its edgy concept. Seeing Tyco, ITT dresses, Adolf Hitler will be more than enough to make a few jobs drop. What am I going to do? No idea. Going down the house in Glen Winston church one, negotiate number three. It's depiction of Nazis. The playlist Charles romesco took issue with the films, humanization of antisemites writing.

YTT concedes that a good percentage of Nazis really do hold hate in their heart. But maintains that at least some of them aren't you two seem to be getting on. Well, it doesn't seem like a bad cost. How much pain and suffering the Nazis caused many audiences will understandably struggle with this message.

However, if Ron Jones proved anything with his third wave social experiment in 1967, it's that even ordinary people can get swept up in the dangerous ideals of fascism. Likewise, Jojo rabbit poses, a challenging question. If we're not willing to acknowledge the bad and the good in people, how can we ever rid ourselves of prejudice?

Nothing makes sense anymore. Yeah, I know. It's definitely not a good time to be a Nazi. Number two it's message. And mother took me. She's kind me like a person, whatever your thoughts on Jojo rabbit, Tyco ITT clearly wanted to spread an anti hate message. YTT also claims that he started writing the screenplay before Nazis regained relevance in the media.

There's little doubt that why TTS intent was noble, whether or not the final product successfully gets his message across is where critics are split. A doubt of the a V club felt that making fun of Nazi Germany had been done before. Thus taking away from the movies, broader anti hate theme. Peter Howell begged to differ in his Toronto star review writing Taika YTT knocks it out of deer park with the meaningful lunacy of his anti hate satire, which is equal parts.

Adolf Hitler's thread in the movie

Mel Brooks, West Henderson, and own whimsical brilliance growing up too fast. Ten-year-olds and the celebrating war and talking politics. Before we continue, be sure to subscribe to our channel and ring the bell to get notified a better latest videos. You'll have the option to be notified for occasional videos or all of them.

If you're on your phone, make sure you go into your settings and switch on notifications. Number one it's depiction of Hitler. Well, they call me a scared rabbits. Okay. Let's address the giant rabbit in the room. Tyco YTT spends most of his screen time prancing around in a Nazi uniform and toothbrush mustache. If you want, you can read here about preparations for making a movie and other curiosities.

Without a doubt, YTT, didn't set out to deliver a serious or dignified portrayal of Hitler. Rather YTT aspired to make the fewer look as goofy and idiotic as possible. Oh, . Just painting Hitler as a wacky, even likable buffoon desensitized us to the atrocities. He committed though. Some may say yes while others may argue that it leaves audiences more informed and open-minded.

At the end of the day, everyone is going to have a different opinion of Jojo. Let them say whatever they want. People used to say a lot of nasty things about me. Oh, this guy's a lunatic. Oh, look at that psycho. He's going to get us all killed. Do you agree with our picks, check out this other recent clip from watch mojo and be sure to subscribe and ring the bell to be notified about our latest videos.

#jojo rabbit #movie #movies #netflix #hbo

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eremiss · 5 years

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9. Hesitate

Gwen resisted the urge to tap her fingers on her journal, trying not to outwardly display that her mind was working overtime. Writing helped her vent and sort out her thoughts because it forced her to break nebulous clouds of ‘angry’ or ‘scared’ down into their baser parts, into questions she could answer and work through. Sometimes that resulted in names and labels changing altogether, hidden and mislabeled feelings unmasked and properly recognized.

It wasn’t a perfect solution and didn’t always enough to solve whatever problem was plaguing her, but at the very least it always helped settle her mind.

But that meant she had to do some mental work first, and find the bigger picture so she could properly take it apart.

That was proving difficult, a dozen things buzzing around and tying together in odd shapes that didn’t seem to fit the lump of thoughts rolling so unhelpfully around in her head.

Gwen glanced left as subtly as she could manage.

Thancred sat a little less than an arm’s length away, having not moved an ilm from where he’d earlier plopped himself down on the couch to read. He was engrossed in his book and hadn’t sent any more teasingly overt glances towards her journal for several minutes now.

They hadn’t talked a great deal about the two of them, one of the things Gwen was having trouble sussing out a label for at the moment, since they’d first kissed after her second victory over Ifrit. Nor had they talked about the handful of stolen little moments, kisses, glances, closeness, that had been happening since.

They hadn’t said a word about it, rather falling into it as if it were natural. Gwen even found herself reciprocating without a thought, in her own way. It was all so…

Different?

Yes, different fit, but that didn’t really offer much. The correct word wasn’t necessarily the right one, strange as that sounded in her mind.

Easy?

Hm. It was accurate, it was close, but it didn’t fit quite right.

Casual?

Gwen wrote the word out and stared at it, rereading it until it started to fall apart and lose its meaning.

Casual. It fit better than easy, but it still wasn’t quite right.

At a base level, nothing between them had changed. They were still friends, companions, Scions, and they were still able to easily and competently work together, directly and not. They could still have completely platonic and serious moments just as easily and comfortably as before.

The realization was a massive relief, suddenly untying the knots and tangles of worry about damaged friendship and a damaged relationship as Scions that had been constricting her thoughts in quieter moments.

After Valtemont, who’d rearranged facets and aspects of their relationship at even the slightest hint of moving forward, even when they’d been (or Gwen had been, at least) comfortable and content, it was an overwhelming relief.

Gwen scribbled that out, deciding ‘casual’ would suit until she found a better word. She knew what she meant by it, and that was all that mattered.

There were changes, of course. How could there not be? But they were smaller, personal ones.

Gwen’s thoughts had started to be a bit fuzzy around the edges when he was around, a feeling of endearment that lingered even after the occasional misstep or bout of grumpiness or brooding. His jokes, bad or otherwise, and little smiles made her laugh more easily than they used to. More easily than they probably should.

Thancred, from what she could tell, had most changed in how they spoke. He’d become more comfortable with silence, with seeking her out to simply be near, no conversation necessary, just like the silence they were sharing on the couch. He hadn’t become more open so much as he’d relaxed somewhat, candid and plain statements becoming more commonplace amongst the jibes, sarcasm and deflection he always used.

She was fairly certain he didn’t call anyone else ‘dove’. And perhaps he smiled a little wider, a little differently, at her, but that might have had more to do with that fuzziness in her head.

Touch and affection were still a stumbling block, though she was doggedly working to correct that. Closeness didn’t mean an immediate abolishment of boundaries, nor did it mean people would be comfortable with things they hadn’t been before.

Gwen thought that would be obvious enough, but Aldous and Valtemont had balked at the idea.

Thancred was much more aware of her boundaries than she was of his, though at some points she wondered if he even had any...beyond a few topics of conversation he refused to touch. Still, though, not being aware of a boundary didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Gwen still considered it a big deal to simply let her fingers touch Thancred’s when they sat near one another, though she knew for him that was barely anything. Even so he’d do something to express his appreciation for the effort, a little smile or a brief nudge.

Thancred, for his part, displayed patience and restraint that she hadn’t expected given some of his other...habits. He leaned on her boundaries rather than bulling through them, easing just into her personal space when they talked or tapping her hand to gain her attention, little nudges that were easy to retract and rectify if it they pushed too hard.

Sitting on the couch as they were, just barely an arm’s width apart, was another little test. He’d acted casual as ever, expression easy and unconcerned, but he’d caught her eye and asked a question with a glance just before he sat.

And that had been another massive relief, lifting an invisible weight from her shoulders.

Gwen shook her head, clearing away the rosiness turning her thoughts fuzzy, and scribbled some of that out.

Different. Yes.

Easy...Yes, that too.

Casual. Absolutely.

Comfortable?

Gwen nearly started tapping her fingers again, stumbling over the word. She glanced at Thancred again as he turned a page, unaware of her constantly-moving thoughts.

In a strange sort of way, maybe...Yes. Comfortable. The sort of comfortable that grew and changed over time, ill-fitting for a moment before settling in again, larger than before and yet still as it had been

Gwen wrote more, not entirely sure the words made sense. She was more concerned with getting them out and written than them being sensible, that part could come later when she reread and rewrote them.

They should talk, she knew, to know where they stood or at least make sure they were on the same page. She needed to know what page she was on first, though.

Gwen debated for a moment, easing her journal shut and worrying her lip as she considered that. What page was she on, anyway?

One that still involved her hesitating to touch his hand or bump shoulders, at least.

The realization made her frown.

Change took time. And sometimes it happened slowly. There was nothing wrong with that, yet she found herself suddenly chaffing at the thought. She wanted to be more comfortable with closeness and touch, it was something she’d been grappling with since shortly after she became a Scion, when living and working with others had really put into perspective how... isolated she was, mostly of her own design. Yet she really hadn’t put in any work to make that change, had she...

Well, she could always start?

Gwen glanced around, finding their little corner of the library empty. “Thancred.”

He looked up from his book “Hm?”

“Could I…?” Gwen gestured vaguely towards him, unsure how to ask and belatedly embarrassed that she had even decided to ask.

He blinked slowly, unable to fill in the words she hadn’t said. “‘Could you’...?”

She hesitated, twisting her pen. She felt even sillier for asking, and for entertaining the idea at all, and-- “Could I move closer?”

Something genuine flitted across his face that looked a great deal like surprise. And then his mouth curved into a smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Of course, dove.” He lifted his arm to drape it along the back of the couch and gestured her closer with a nod, “You needn’t even ask.”

“Asking is polite,” Gwen replied simply, pretending her heart wasn’t pounding and her mind wasn’t suddenly awash with uncertainty.

‘How close’ was the biggest question buzzing around in her head as she stiffly collected her journal and pen and shifted over a few ilms.

“Not worried I’ll read over your shoulder?” Thancred teased.

Gwen faltered for a moment, then mustered her obstiance and shifted closer. She was done writing, that was why she had even suggested moving closer, and it wasn’t like her handwriting was legible anyway. “That would only be a problem if I was going to keep writing.” She eyed him meaningfully, “Which I’m not.”

“I’m honored you have such faith in me,” Thancred replied sarcastically.

When Gwen finally settled again she was well within his personal space and vise versa, her leg a few ilms from his. She tried to breath more calmly and loosen the rigid set of her back, the little thread of wit fading under a new whirl of uncertainty.

Was she too close? Was this too much?

Thancred hummed thoughtfully, and maybe approvingly, beside her and looked back down at his book. Gwen had expected him to say something, to make some sort of comment, but at the same time she was grateful that he wasn’t making a big deal of it.

It would be easier for her to make herself relax if she could at least pretend as though this were normal. Normal was easy to learn, easy to emulate.

Perhaps this could be a new normal, though hopefully with a little less uncertainty and overthinking involved.

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

Hnnnnnggg I wrote it and haven’t really edited it and we’re not allowed to edit it later and it’s kind of killing me.

I realized I haven’t written a lot about Gwen’s transition from ‘please no touch, how does touch even work’ to ‘am going to hug you now’, so I thought I’d write a little about it.

Threw in the names of Gwen’s two prior boyfriends/lovers. I might write some more about them at some point.

#FFXIVwrite2019 #Thancred Waters #Gwencred #WoL x Thancred #Guinevere Ashe #baby steps #it's a process #this sort of stuff takes time #my writing

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femnet · 5 years

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I was a celebrity's booty call. And I was also another celebrity's “side-chick”. For a while. It's not a good feeling, despite what fanfiction wants you to think. I have a feeling none of them have ever actually experienced what they write about in their stories.

This was all before I started seeing my boyfriend, just to be clear. The first one is a famous TV producer from the United States, and he started following me back in 2011 after I complimented him on how gorgeous his wife was and how lucky he was to be dating someone like her. I was born in 1994, so I was 17 when he started following and talking to me. He started liking a bunch of my tweets, and we'd just have conversations that soon after turned into more than just conversations.

We were sexting. He would go on holiday with his wife and three kids and he'd send me a message first thing in the morning to tell me he had a hard-on. When I would tweet about a male celebrity I liked, he'd DM me and say he was jealous of that person for having my attention. Now, mind you, I was a virgin at the time and had absolutely no idea what to reply to any of this, but I humored his behavior and made stuff up. Apparently that worked because our conversations went on until 2015, when I deleted my Twitter.

I was stupid. I figured it was only texts; we're never gonna meet, right? And of course, that is still true, we never met. But now I know that if he did this with me, the chances that he also did this with other girls behind his wife's back, and maybe more than just sexting, are high. Which is what ultimately really hurts me to think about. He's always been very vocal on his political opinions, on his drug and alcohol abuse, he's a big member of the social justice community, fighting for people's rights, and his tweets really take off a lot of the time. He gets a lot of positive attention. In addition to that, he's also a huge part of the show he produces, so people know him. They like him. Except maybe Republicans.

The second big time (in between were a couple rather meaningless flirts: all of the guys were taken, I was single and figured I had nothing to lose) was with a famous guy from my country, who also happens to play for a national team as well.

I met him for the first time when I had just moved to the city I live in now. We had a mutual interest for sports, so I told him I was going to see one of his matches and he said he could get me a ticket, which I thought was kind. He asked me before if I had a boyfriend, and I said no. And I asked him if he had a girlfriend, and he dodged the question but because in my stupid mind I thought „he would totally tell me if he has a girlfriend“, I figured: that means no then, right?

Before I even saw him play for the first time, I went to his place. I stepped into the apartment and everything in there screamed: girlfriend. Her shoes, pictures of her and his family, pictures of their families together, her jewlery, her toothbrush in the bathroom. I had made it clear to him before that I wasn't looking for anything, but still we ended up making out and I told him there and then „I think you have other plans than I do“.

We didn't have sex that night, I ended up talking to him about his girlfriend, actually, and made him tell me about her. They lost their virginity to each other, he told me funny stories about her, and so I asked him „then why am I here?“ and he said „it's been three years“, and then said he'd slept with someone the year before. Two years, now three, and he couldn't be faithful to her.

That really made me realize how disgusting some people are, and the fact that he was one of many men I'd met between 2011 and 2015 was really starting to take a toll on me. I didn't sleep with him, like I said, but I felt some sort of responsibility towards his girlfriend. I didn't have a name and couldn't find any clues through his Facebook or their apartment, so I ended up going home and immediately asking him for another meeting, promising him sex this time. He got me tickets to his game, took me home with him afterwards – to this day I still listen to Style by Taylor Swift and think of him, because that song described that night perfectly – and we got to his place and immediately got down and dirty. I didn't sleep with him, because I had a plan in mind, but we ended up on top of each other, in our clothes, and I was about to take off his pants, but I realized that sleeping with him first and then planting my proof that I had been there wouldn't be right. So I got up and said I wanted to go home.

I cried because I felt terrible, even though he was the one that should've been feeling like shit for doing this, but he didn't. I felt bad for his girlfriend (now wife), and I felt bad for being in his apartment. I never felt bad about what I did next, though: I had taken a pair of my underwear with me and put it underneath his couch, because I figured if anyone was going to look and clean there, it would've been his girlfriend, right? He didn't seem like the kinda guy who cared about anything and just kept his girl around as a housekeeper, really, who just happened to be gone for the month on an internship while he had me over twice, trying to have sex with me both times and effectively cheat on her. I personally already consider kissing cheating, but I guess that's up for debate.

I don't think she ever found my underwear, or maybe she did but she's too in love with him to think that this meant anything. Maybe she thought it was her own, maybe he convinced her it was hers. We talked for a little bit after that, I was an idiot and actually apologized for not sleeping with him, which is something I wouldn't do now. The last two or three years have really taught me a lot of self-respect, being 25 and having been through all those weird, awkward encounters... it really made me re-think my self-worth and how I let others treat me.

It wasn't really their stardom that got me. They were being nice and „not“ famous to me, that's the point. They were just like me and you and that caught my attention. But I did admire their craft and what they stood for, I had talent crushes, if you will. Having had those experiences with famous men and realizing that they're just awful, trash people, really broke down a barrier for me.

The celebrities that are supposed to be some sort of role model and be a good influence on the world and young people – and don't even get me started that that isn't their responsibility – can be just as disgusting as your Average Joe. No, it's not that they can be that; they actually are that. I have trouble trusting famous men now. I don't want to be around them on my own, no matter how big or small their fame and success may be. I have been thinking about going to a convention in the UK for two men whose craft I admire, but I'm not sure if I really should. In the back of my mind I can't help but think „if I feel like this, how many thousands of other women have also gone through the same thing“... if not worse.

I didn't have to sleep with those men but I still felt dirty and weird and just wrong afterwards. I know even if I had ever spoken up about these people, nobody would have believed me. If I didn't have pictures and screenshots I probably wouldn't even believe myself, and this is small scale. This is nothing compared to what other women have to go through with famous people who take advantage of their attention and their crush (or their need for a job) so much more than these men did of me.

It's a strange world out there. Famous people, your celebrity crush… they're no different and no better than you and me. I've experienced this first hand, in a very unfortunate way that'll stay with me for the rest of my life.

#by Elle #September 2019 #pop culture #real life

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 5 years

Text

Legacy - Chapter 60

America said, smiling from ear to ear, “That night was one of the best I’ve ever had. You were so loving.”

Mexico wished he could smile back. He didn’t remember it nearly as happily. He ardently wished that he could have told Alfred that their first night together had been magical. But, in truth, he had been taking a moment away from the other worries. It had not lessened the threat of Spain or brought him any closer to forming a government. But, it had been a welcome distraction.

America’s wide smile made it impossible for him to deflate the other’s memory of that night. He said, “You were everything I needed.”

America looked so happy with himself that it was tempting to not tell him the full truth of that night. It seemed cruel to take that joy away from him when he did look so happy. But, the honest answer was that the feelings of that night had done little to solve his problems, other than offering respite for a time. Affection had been good for the moment, but it did not last.

He took a deep breath before saying, “As pleasant as it was, my problems still existed in the morning.” America smiled and added, “You mean several mornings later?”

Mexico couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He remembered that it had been difficult to get America to leave after the first night. He had insisted on one more meal or one more night before he left.

Eventually, Mexico had to insist that he leave because he did not have the time to lavish time and attention on America. He said, “If you prefer, it was several days, but I still had to return to the same problems.”

The few days that Mexico had chosen to spend in blissful ignorance from politics was irresponsible and he knew it. It had been childish to let the news of Guerrero’s lie drive him so thoroughly to distraction, and it was time for him to stop giving into that indulgent urge.

Gathering himself, Mexico walked briskly to the national palace, certain that he would find the Congress still deliberating.

No sooner had he passed through a door into the courtyard when a man who he recognized as one of Iturbide’s courtiers approached him. Mexico knew he should have expected as much. Iturbide was thorough and Mexico suspected the man had been waiting anxiously for the results of the information he had revealed.

He guessed that it had been Iturbide’s plan to weaken him, and it had worked for a moment. But, he did not intend to show how much grief it had caused him. By all appearances, he would be as stoic as ever. He was determined not to show a single sign of weakness.

Mexico nodded politely to the messenger and agreed to follow him. He was interested in speaking to Iturbide, because the man would certainly have some insight into the political situation. No matter what Mexico may feel, the politics came first. Once he had a stable government, then he could take the time to let himself think of Guerrero and what he felt. For now, he needed Iturbide to fulfill his promise to bring him lasting independence.

Mexico’s thoughts ran in time with the sound of his boots as he followed the courier. The mortal only left him once they stepped into a room which looked like Iturbide was using as something of a personal office.

Mexico met Iturbide’s eyes and tried to guess at what he would find there. He was expecting that fox like cleverness and maybe some sense of success.

But, Iturbide’s look had some tenderness in it. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had been too harsh in judging the man’s intentions. Perhaps he had spent the last couple days in some concern that he had gone too far.

Mexico had hoped to hold his ground and confront Iturbide, but he couldn’t bring the words to his lips. What could he blame the man for other than telling him a secret that Guerrero had been keeping?

Iturbide spoke first, “Are you feeling better?” The sincerity in his voice was impossible to gauge and Mexico didn’t feel like exerting the energy to parse it out. He didn’t know how to answer the question either. He had put the feelings aside, and left only a heavy emptiness in his chest. It was neither better nor worse, just numb enough to continue.

Instead of answering, he asked, “Have I been missed?” Iturbide hardly seemed to react as he said, “You are our country, and we would prefer to have you here. I told the others that you were ill.”

Mexico scoffed. It would serve Iturbide well to claim that the country itself was sick. That would lend further credence to his desire to expedite all debate in favor of security. He said, “But I was not, and you knew that.”

Iturbide kept him expression impassive, but Mexico imagined that he could see some glimmer of care in the small details of his face. The mortal countered, his manner as smooth as ever, “I did, but I thought you would not want anyone disturbing you.” Then, he paused and a smirk finally broke through his control, and he added, “Though you weren’t alone, were you?”

Mexico caught his tone. It was not a judgement on his actions, but Iturbide was letting him know that he was keeping a close enough eye on him to know. The smirk certainly indicated that he thought of this as some victory.

But, Mexico refused to be put on the defensive. Instead, he pulled the letter from America from inside of his jacket. Then he met Iturbide’s eyes and said, “Alfred did visit me for a diplomatic mission.”

The mortal looked like he wanted to say something, but Mexico extended the letter to him, and said, “That recognizes me as a country, so if Antonio does plan to invade, Alfred will recognize it as an act of war.”

Iturbide opened the letter and read it through quickly. Mexico had only read it shortly once, and knew that it said what Alfred had said it did. He waited patiently for Iturbide to reach the same conclusion.

When the mortal looked back up at him, Mexico said, “It was good of me to entertain our new ally for a few days, don’t you think?”

He took the terse silence as a sign that he had momentarily put Iturbide off his usual game. Then, with a firm turn towards the matter at hand, Mexico said, “So, what have you been doing for our cause?”

Iturbide recovered himself, and handed the letter back to Mexico. The look of smooth confidence came back to his face as he said, “Oh, I have been busy.”

Mexico wondered for a moment if he was going to elaborate on that statement or if he was enjoying the vagueness of it. He was restless for details, because his future did not seem like something that should be so easily toyed with.

But, before he could demand more details, Iturbide said, “I know you have faith in a republic, but time is not on our side. I have created a council to solve the necessary questions expediently.”

Mexico felt like he should have been both more surprised and more outraged by the news. He had known that Iturbide did not favor a republic, and it was no great surprise to him that the man was taking this step to avoid needing consensus. He couldn’t muster any kind of emotion towards this development. It felt like he had cried out all his emotions already.

He tried to muster some anger, not for his own sake, but for the sake of Morelos, who would have objected ardently. He said, “You cannot speak for the whole country.” It sounded empty as soon as it left his mouth. Mexico hoped that Iturbide could not hear his insincerity in his voice.

The man said, so smoothly and immediately that Mexico was certain that he had expected this objection, “I am not going that far. For now, I am only asking them to make the offer of the crown. I believe we have already agreed that we are creating a monarchy.”

Mexico found it hard to believe that a man like Iturbide wouldn’t take advantage of the moment. But, he also couldn’t help but think that this was Guerrero’s skepticism and not his own. Had Iturbide not kept the promises he had made since he had left Spain’s side?

Mexico’s gut feeling about the man had never been negative, even when both Morelos and Guerrero had warned him against it. Iturbide took his silence as a chance to add, “I am doing this for you, as I said I would.”

Mexico took a deep breath to steady himself and countered, “And you expect me to trust that? What is best for me and what serves you seem rather similar.” Iturbide responded immediately again, “No, I don’t. I want you to come with me and see what we are doing. I want you to see that I am doing as I promised.” He met Mexico’s eyes, and his sincerity was palpable. He added, “I want you to trust me.”

Mexico felt a strange uneasiness; he had become used to turning to Guerrero to give him the counterpoint. But, thinking about the man in the moment made Mexico feel empty again. Instead, he allowed himself to say, “Very well. I have been away too long.”

Mexico let himself follow Iturbide out of the room, taking glances at the man as he did and trying to take stock of what he felt. That magnetism he had felt since the very beginning still lingered, and his mind drifted back to the way he had seen Iturbide for a moment crowned in gold.

That moment of fate had been staggering, and he wondered why he had put so much distance between them. Iturbide was inexorably a part of his future, and there was no reason to fight it. He also found it too difficult in the moment to summon any real opposition to Iturbide.

He decided he would allow Iturbide some confidence for now, until there was some reason he should not.

As they reached a door, Iturbide stopped and turned to him. He said, “If I have not met your expectations, then you may distrust me, but give me this chance.” Mexico took a breath, and said, “You have my trust for now.” Iturbide took his hand softly in his own and said, his eyes firmly fit on Mexico’s, “I hope that I can earn it.”

Then, with a self satisfied smile, Iturbide opened the door.

Mexico took a seat among the small group of men he hardly recognized. He was certain that he had seen them all around Iturbide at one moment or another. But, their names escaped him at the moment.

But, as his gaze raked the table again, it lighted upon Bustamante, who was sitting loyally at Iturbide’s right hand. Mexico caught his gaze and felt like Bustamante was making a point of keeping his eyes on him. There was a smile on his lips that gave Mexico the distinct impression that he had expected him to be here.

But, that was absurd. Iturbide could never have known which day he would choose to reengage.

As Iturbide started to talk, the thought occurred to him that there had been a space left open for him at the table. The image came to mind of this same room with a space conspicuously left empty, waiting for him to return. How poetic of Iturbide to make such a gesture, he mused. It was clever, the kind of cleverness so indicative of a politician.

Bustamante’s cool encouragement left Mexico with no doubt that he was the only man who Iturbide had confided to about this plan. There was something about his resolute gaze that was making Mexico feel slightly uneasy. Whatever discomfort he had felt first meeting had not left him, though Bustamante had done little to earn it.

Mexico finally pulled his gaze away from Bustamante and tried to focus on what Iturbide was saying. He focused in time to hear Iturbide finish his opening statement with, “So, we must send our offer to the prince of Spain.”

Mexico guessed he had described the complicated politics of the situation. But, this solution seemed doomed already. If Spain had already refused the treaty, then there seemed to be little hope that any Spanish royalty would accept the offer. Spain would not allow anyone to aid Mexico’s independence in any way. The only hope was that ambition was greater than Spain’s influence.

Mexico looked at Iturbide and tried to decide whether the man already knew how unlikely it was. He would not raise the question himself, because he was only here as an observer. But, there was no need for it, because one of the men that he did not know said, “And what if that fails? Who takes the throne?”

The tone was not as pointed as it would have been if the same words had come from Guerrero or Victoria. It sounded more like a practical question. Mexico had no doubt that everyone in the room was in favor of a monarchy and had some idea already. Iturbide answered, “If we cannot find a Spanish emperor, then we will look to other courts.”

This seemed to be enough to quiet any questioning. Iturbide continued, “But that should not be of concern now. First, we must make the offer.”

Mexico leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. He was tired and he got the sense that he was watching a tableau, because Iturbide would not have legitimate resistance in the room, undoubtedly by design. If he wanted efficiency, then speaking only with people who agreed with him would produce that.

The conversation passed into the details of the offer of the crown, which Mexico found tedious. If he believed this was going to be effective, then he might have been able to care more. But, instead he turned to watch Iturbide.

The man was cooly confident, and he was still drawn to him. Mexico wasn’t certain how he should feel, but he couldn’t deny that Iturbide’s magnetism was consistent. From their first meeting, Iturbide had not lied to him. He had promised Mexico nothing less than independence, and he did seem to be sincerely working towards it.

Mexico leaned more firmly on his elbow, and looked at Iturbide. The independence that Iturbide was seeking was not the one that Guerrero had sought, but it would be independence. Mexico had to prioritize bringing himself immediate and stable government. They had finite time before Spain would return, and instability would be vulnerability.

From the conversation he was barely listening to, he gleaned that they were already coming to a consensus. He didn’t particularly care about what it was, but Iturbide look satisfied with it.

Mexico wondered how long it would take before they received a brusque dismissal of the offer to Spain, and what would happen then.

He waited until Iturbide dismissed the council to stand. Iturbide took a step towards him and Mexico stood. Iturbide glanced around to ensure they were alone and then said, “Do you believe my intentions now?”

His eyes were expectant, and Mexico knew he owed him an answer. He said, trying to put the thoughts that had been circling in his mind during the meeting into words, “I believe you will keep your word, and I believe that you want my independence.”

He paused for a moment. He wanted to make it perfectly clear that he still suspected that Iturbide harbored ambitions for himself, but in the moment it was little more than intuition. So, he opted to say, “But I also believe that you will protect yourself.”

Iturbide smiled at him, like the indictment meant very little to him. He said, “You already knew I had my own ambitions.” Mexico couldn't deny that this was true. He had known that Iturbide was an ambitious man even before he met him.

He said, “I suppose I should be thankful for that. You wouldn’t be here if not for your ambition.” He started walking and expected Iturbide to follow him. As he thought, the mortal matched his strides as he walked out into the courtyard.

Iturbide said, “You wound me. I chose you because I believe you are in the right.”

The sun hit Mexico’s eyes as he stepped out into the open air and he blinked. He had not realized how much time had passed while he had listened to the negotiations. He turned back to Iturbide and said, “I also offered you more than Tony ever could, and I do expect you will remind me of that one day.”

He glanced at the mortal’s face, hoping for a reaction. But, Iturbide’s smile never changed. Instead, he masterfully turned the conversation, “I am moving into the city permanently soon. I would like to invite you to meet my family as soon as they are here. It would be good for us to know each other now that the war is over.”

Mexico saw little reason to deny him. Their time together had always been pleasant, and he imagined there would be less at stake with Iturbide’s family present. If anything, it would be a chance to escape the endless politics that seemed to swirl around Iturbide, and he welcomed that.

He replied, “I would gladly accept.” Iturbide gave him one more smile and said, “I look forward to it.”

Mexico woke the next morning to a sound outside of his window. For a moment, he blinked at the morning sun as he attempted to figure out what the sound was and why it sounded so familiar. As his mind slowly adjusted to the waking world it came to him.

They were the sound of hooves on the courtyard. Someone had ridden up to just below his window. He stood, then stretched his arms in an attempt to rid them of the heaviness of sleep. Then, curious as to who had disturbed him, walked to the window. He pulled back the curtain to see Guerrero in the courtyard.

The sight of the man in the flesh caused the ache to return to Mexico’s chest. Not so long ago this sight would have brought him joy, but that was all gone now. Guerrero’s manners seem energetic. Did he know that he was a liar who had fallen so far from grace in his absence?

He seemed to be blissfully ignorant of that fact, and Mexico could not even muster pity for him.

The mortal, knowing where Mexico slept and was likely to be at this hour, turned his head to look at the window. He smiled when he first saw that Mexico was awake and already looking at him. Then, his face fell.

Mexico could only guess that Guerrero had noticed the coldness of his expression. It was not the welcome he was expecting.

Mexico let go of the curtain and it fell back over the window, cutting off Guerrero’s view of him just as some semblance of concern appeared on the mortal’s face.

Mexico drew a deep breath. He knew what he needed to do, but he dreaded it. Now that they were coming face to face again, he needed to confront the issue. It would be better too, he reasoned, to meet Guerrero in the courtyard so that the noise of what was about to happen would not wake his brothers.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he started walking so he could intercept his general before he could step into the house. He stepped out into the courtyard just in time to stop Guerrero, who had been walking towards the door.

Mexico’s heart was pounding in his ears and he felt sick. The emotions came back so volatile that he felt like he could hardly hold them in his chest without them creeping up into his throat and strangling him.

Guerrero said, his face deeply concerned, “What is wrong?”

Mexico wanted to believe that concern, but he could not. A man who could so easily lie to him did not love with that kind of empathy. It did not matter what he had said or how much they had shared. He answered, his voice quiet but carrying in the morning air, “Ask your wife.”

He saw the change in Guerrero’s demeanor immediately, like he had hit him. But, the man only managed to say weakly, “What?” Mexico felt himself grow bolder now that the ugly truth was set out. He repeated, “I said go ask your wife.”

Guerrero shook his head, momentarily speechless. Mexico waited impatiently for an answer. Surely, he had something to say for himself. If their bond had meant anything to him, he would try to make a case for himself.

Guerrero finally said, “Ale, it isn’t what you think. I love you-“ Mexico cut him off, “Tony always told me that men would lie to me. But I never thought that meant you.”

He heard his own voice quaver on the last sentence, and immediately hated the sound of weakness. He noticed Guerrero taking steps toward him and felt the urge to back away from him. If the man was bold enough to try to touch him, he knew all his anger would come spilling through. But, he was not going to back up because that felt like surrender.

Guerrero drew level with him and met his eyes. Mexico could see the struggle in his eyes, but he didn’t let it change his mind. This man had lied to him, and it wasn't worth his pain to let himself be hurt now. The mortal spoke again, his voice sounded so empty, “Please let me explain.”

Mexico drew in a deep breath. He knew that there was no chance that the explanation could mean anything. The damage was done and nothing could stitch together the hole in his chest.

He gritted his teeth to stop himself from going too far, and said, “I don’t want you to explain.” Guerrero took one step closer and said, “Tell me what you want. I will make it better.”

As he spoke, he reached out towards Mexico’s hand. As his fingertips brushed against the skin of Mexico’s hand, he felt the shadow of tenderness that broke through all of his reserves.

He jerked his hand away from Guerrero. The words fell out of his mouth, “I want you to leave! I don’t want to see you ever again!” He drew in a deep breath, as the yelling had emptied his lungs. Then he said, “I know what I really mean to you now.”

Guerrero turned his face away. There was a hunch in his shoulders that Mexico had never seen before, like he was drawing in on himself. Mexico felt so empty seeing him like this, but he also knew he couldn’t go back. For all his pride in himself, he could not let himself go back.

He stepped away, making sure that Guerrero could not reach him again. He felt like there was nothing left to say. He did not care what Guerrero did now; all he wanted was for him to leave so that this terrible weight would be lifted.

But, Guerrero slowly took several breaths, like he was praying for patience. Then, he turned back to Mexico, and said, “You can-“

His voice broke on the words, and he struggled to regain the words. Finally, he managed, “You can hate me for what I’ve done. I understand. But, I am begging you: Do not let go of everything we fought for.”

Mexico tried for a moment to understand what he could possibly mean. He had been staying the course and Guerrero was the one who had left while negotiations were continuing. He was not the one who had chosen to leave at a vital moment. He felt completely empty.

Mexico said, trying to hold himself together, “Leave me now.” He could feel so much more on the tip of his tongue. But he knew those words would come with shouting or tears, and he could not allow either. Guerrero shook his head, though the gesture looked weak, “I can’t.”

Mexico could feel his control slipping, as little as he had. He said, gritting his teeth, “If you care about me at all, you will leave.”

Guerrero took a labored breath and looked around like he was searching for any way out of this situation. But, failing to find any, he turned back to Mexico. He opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, and Mexico prepared himself for being ignored, which would prove that Guerrero did not care the way he claimed he did.

But, Guerrero couldn’t summon any sound. After several seconds of silence, he closed his mouth with a grimace and turned to walk away. Mexico had seen the man in the most dire situations, he had seen him up against the odds, but he had never seen him defeated until this moment.

Mexico felt tears well up in his eyes as he watched the man’s retreating form, which seemed shorter with its shoulders slumped. He couldn’t cry, not until Guerrero was gone and could not longer see it.

Once Guerrero mounted his horse again, Mexico felt a sob in his throat. He put his hand over his mouth to stifle it, afraid that the sound would come out and Guerrero would hear him. Slowly, the sound escaped like a whine, and his fingers did less to dampen the noise than he had hoped.

Guerrero turned back as he heard the sound. Mexico did not want to see his eyes, so he turned his face away.

If he looked back, he might falter if he looked. Mexico squared his shoulders and turned to the door, trying not to let another sob escape as he walked away.

He felt like someone else was moving his feet as he found himself in front of his own door. He could not turn back. He could not know if Guerrero was looking at him. He could almost hear the sound of hooves as he opened the door and stepped inside.

The feeling slowly returned as he leaned back against the closed door. The realization of what he had just said to the man who had been at his side for so many years hit him. He felt his eyes burning with the tears he had been holding back.

He looked up and tried to blink the hot tears back. It felt futile to hold them back forever.

The unexpected sound of footsteps was enough to make him look around. El Salvador and Honduras were staring at him from the upper floor.

Mexico drew in a deep breath through his nose, trying to push down everything. His brothers could not know how much he wanted to break down, not when they had just met him and were relying on him. He said, his voice sounding like it wasn’t his own, “I'm sorry for the yelling.”

El Salvador said, “What was that?” But Mexico had no answer for him. He felt like the moment was slipping away from him. The only thing that felt real was the ache in his chest.

Without offering an answer, he walked away, moving on instinct until he reached the sanctity of his own room. He wanted nothing more than to shut his door on the world until he could erase Guerrero’s desperate voice from his mind.

He closed the door behind it, and turned the key with deliberation. He did not want any of his brothers to try to talk to him. They would not understand what he felt; they had not seen the years he had spent with Guerrero. They could not understand that he had trusted the man only to be lied to.

It was a cruel twist of fate that Iturbide was the only one who had been honest with him. It hurt to lose Guerrero, more than any wound had. He felt like he was mourning the loss of the man who had given him the confidence to win the war. There was no way that Guerrero could have any space in his heart and mind, not after he had abused that openness.

Exhausted, he returned to the familiar spot in bed and pulled the blanket over himself. As he pressed his face into the pillow, he could still smell America. It made him feel no better to remember the arms he had run to the moment he was hurt.

He closed his eyes as he felt the tears finally escape and roll down his cheeks. He hoped that sleep would come again quickly.

The days blurred together as he let himself move between his own home and the actions of the fledgling government. But, little could be done without a monarch, and word was slow in coming from Spain. Mexico felt like it was a futile hope to even think that a prince of Spain was going to take the offer, especially when the king had declared his independence illegitimate. No son would face the prospect of war with his father.

Mexico found himself growing closer to Iturbide, who was never far from his side at the councils or congress. He sometimes wondered if he would see Guerrero at the Congress, but he tried to ignore the thought. He spent very little time with Congress, since little happened there.

As he had expected, for all of Iturbide’s assurances, the power seemed to be falling more and more into the hands of his Iturbide’s own council. Mexico was not blind to the fact that Iturbide was gathering influence and power around himself. But, it was hard to care about that when the threat of Spain was so present in the back of his mind. He could not deny that he felt more comfortable with Iturbide promising swift action and stability.

Guerrero was gone and Mexico did not want to even think of him. Slowly, he began to tire of the council meetings where nothing of substance was said. He found himself ignoring the letters from Iturbide that told him about another council meeting. There was nothing else to be said except to affirm that Spain was still a threat and that no word had yet come about their offer to a possible monarch.

Sometimes, when he let himself, Mexico would think of Spain and what he must be doing. He knew the rage he had seen in Spain’s eye and was sure that it would not cool with distance. When Spain came again, he would come roaring into the gulf like a storm.

Mexico had no doubt that it was coming and he had to be ready. At least Iturbide seemed to understand the severity of the situation.

He was sitting over the remnants of his breakfast when one of his servants brought him another letter. He didn’t needed to look at it to know what it came from Iturbide. The man had made a habit of sending them as often as there was a chance.

Mexico opened it with one well-practiced motion and scanned the contents of the paper, expecting nothing new. But, a sentence in the middle caught his eye. News had finally returned from Spain about their offer of the crown. Iturbide had then written, “I must speak to you, as I cannot move forward without your approval.”

He must have guessed at Mexico’s boredom with the meetings because he was suggesting a private conversation instead of forcing Mexico to listen to more false pleasantries.

Mexico was intrigued, but he could already guess at the answer to his offer of the crown. He didn’t have a single hope that there was a Spanish prince ready to take the throne. Then he knew that the decision would then fall to Iturbide’s council.

Mexico stood, taking his half-empty cup of coffee with him and walked to the window. There was quiet for now. He took a long drink of coffee as he thought. Would it stay quiet once the people knew that there would be no Spanish emperor?

He hoped for a quiet transition, but he knew better. He took a drink of the coffee and thought about what would happen next. He doubted that Iturbide would ever give up the idea of a monarchy. It was one of the three guarantees that he had agreed to, and it had been the one he was most emphatically insisted on.

Mexico had felt that Guerrero had agreed only because of his insistent that peace was necessary. The other insurgent leaders had made no secret of their hesitation for any kind of monarchy, especially any where Iturbide would have a deciding voice on who would take the throne. Now that Mexico had little sway over Guerrero, he doubted he could stop him from being in vocal disagreement.

He emptied the cup and thought bitterly that it would not matter to Guerrero that it would be better for his stability to have an emperor and consensus than the grumbling of republicans.

Mexico affirmed to himself that he would speak to Iturbide, and he would make the choice that would be the best for his stability. He was not fettered to either side of this dispute, and the nights he had spent mourning his trust in Guerrero was enough to feel like he did not have to appease the man. So, he would speak to Iturbide frankly about his own interests.

Iturbide arrived punctually at midday, as promised. Mexico had learned over these past weeks that Iturbide always arrived when he said he would. It gave him a degree of certainty when it came to Iturbide.

Mexico was waiting for him in the courtyard. Iturbide arrived on horseback, but he quickly dismounted and strode over to Mexico. To Mexico’s slight disappointment, it appeared this conversation would not be entirely private.

Bustamante followed Iturbide like a shadow. He seemed to always be half a step behind the man. For his continual presence, Bustamante added so little to conversations.

Mexico felt a certain disquiet around the man for reasons he could not articulate. His presence was little more than an annoyance, and Mexico had been hoping to speak to Iturbide alone.

As Iturbide got closer to him, Mexico cast one more glance at Bustamante. It was too optimistic for him to hope that his own withering glances might be enough to drive him away.

He turned his attention back to Iturbide as the man spoke, “There has been important news.” Mexico replied shortly, “I know. I read your letter. Our offer was rejected, wasn’t it?”

Iturbide did not look surprised at all that he had guessed. It took no great political savvy to know that the crown of a young nation facing threats from Spain was not an appealing prospect. It would have taken phenomenal ambition for a prince to take the risk.

Iturbide responded with a curt nod and said, “You are correct. Would you walk with me? I must know what you think needs to be done.” Mexico cast one more look at Bustamante and said, “I would like to discuss it alone.”

He laid heavy emphasis on the last word so that it was clear that he was objecting to the presence of another person. Iturbide glanced over his shoulder at Bustamante and then turned back to Mexico with an amused smile on his lips. He said, “Do not worry about Anastasio. He and I are in agreement.” Bustamante nodded and said, “We are.”

Mexico tried to hide his own disappointment. He had more important issues to deal with. He started walking and Iturbide kept pace with him. He tried to ignore the feeling of Bustamante’s eyes on the back of his neck.

He spoke directly to Iturbide, “What are you going to do now that there will be no Spanish emperor?” The man responded, “You should come to the meetings if you want an answer to that. I do not decide.”

Mexico could hear the pretense in his voice, and it was frustrating. Both of them knew where power really lay and there was no reason to lie about. The midday sun was hot on his skin and he was certain what game was afoot. He said, “Tableaus get boring, Agustin. You have all the power in your hands, and I do not feel like pretending otherwise. Whatever you decide, they will follow.”

He turned his head to look at Iturbide to gauge his response. The usual calm didn’t seem to slip for even moment. But, there was an amused curve to his lips.

They walked further into the gardens, farther from any prying eyes. Iturbide finally said, “I have done everything I can to ensure that there is a throne and a crown.” Mexico said, following his thought swiftly with his own, “And someone must fill it.”

The sound of Bustamante’s footsteps continued behind him, steady as a heartbeat. Iturbide surely had thought this all through before his arrival. He must have thought about it when he received the news, before he had even written to tell Mexico about it.

Mexico did not believe that a man like Iturbide, who planned his moves carefully, had not already formulated an answer. And yet, he was feigning hesitation. Iturbide sounded careful as he said, “Yes, and we must find someone to do it.”

Mexico could hear the words he dared not say. They had been so clear from the moment that Mexico had met him. It was almost comical to watch him play the impartial politician when he had never been one.

Mexico decided to tempt the answer out of him. He said, “He should be popular with the people. Someone they think is a hero who brought this bloody war to an end.” Bustamante’s footsteps faltered, and there was a barely audible gasp.

Mexico smiled to himself. So, now he had hit a nerve.

The easy comfort seemed to slip from Iturbide’s face. He didn’t look at Mexico as he said, “And what if he does not want it?”

The question did not sound sincere. Mexico could hear in the words a certain obligation to not sound too ambitious. But, the hesitation did not reach his eyes. Iturbide would not say the words, but Mexico did not doubt that he felt it. He replied, “I think he does. But, regardless, the matter should be dealt with quickly. Antonio will not be so kind as to wait for us to decide.”

Iturbide nodded. He turned his gaze to Mexico, and said, “I understand. Then I have your approval to move forward.”

Mexico could hear that he knew that he had just given him the answer he really needed. He felt a strange satisfaction at giving Iturbide the power to choose. He expected that he knew who would eventually take the crown, though Iturbide was being frustratingly coy.

Iturbide stopped walking once he got his answer and said, “I will take your preferences to the council.”

Mexico nodded and watched as the man took two steps away from him, but then turned back. He said, as though he had just remembered it, “Oh and one more thing, Alejandro. I would be honored if you would join me for dinner. My wife is excited to meet you.”

Mexico was not surprised to find that Iturbide had settled into one of the many palaces in the capital. He was only marginally surprised that it was one of the largest. He had known Iturbide long enough to know that subtly was not in his nature.

One of many grooms took Mexico’s horses reigns from him after he dismounted. He knew he should not be surprised by the number of people Iturbide had already gathered to himself. It also should have been no real surprise that a man who had spent a large part of the war accumulating a fortune would be spending it lavishly now, but Mexico still found himself slightly impressed by the show of it all.

The doors were pulled open in front of him by servants. It was a conspicuous show of power, and Mexico appreciated it, if only for the insight it granted him into the man.

He found Iturbide in the entrance hall. It struck him that this was the first time he had seen Iturbide out of uniform. Their time together had always been when Iturbide needed his authority to be clear. But now he had dressed as a civilian, though his ostentation was no less obvious.

Once they were close enough, he said, “Welcome to my home.” Mexico looked up around him theaterically and said, “I see you have decided to live modestly.” Iturbide raised a bemused eyebrow at him, “It’s still smaller than your palace.”

Mexico chuckled to himself and replied, “But I am going to be an empire. I think I deserve it.” Iturbide smiled at the joke. Mexico was not certain if he had ever seen Iturbide acting so casual. They had always been at war, and Iturbide was not the kind of man who opened himself to any vulnerability. But, now he was softening to Mexico within these walls.

He said, “Of course you do, Alejandro. I think you agree with me that peace should come with plenty.” Mexico wasn’t inclined to disagree with him either. He had fought hard to win the war, so he could indulge in success. Iturbide continued, “Come meet my family. They are anxious to see you.”

He suggested the correct direction with a sweeping gesture. Mexico thought passingly that it was impossible to completely tire of Iturbide’s sense of drama. He followed the direction with a smile and a brief, “I would be honored to.”

Iturbide led him through a hallway into a more intimate receiving room. There he found the woman he presumed to be Iturbide’s wife standing at the head of a row of children. She was a handsome woman, and Mexico realized that though the idea that Iturbide had a family had always been something of an abstract concept.

He presumed that Iturbide had married within his own class, so his wife must have come from a prosperous family. It would have been normal for a man of his standing.

He glanced down the row of children, all six of those who were standing on their own, and the baby who was still in his mother’s arms. There was also a toddler holding firmly onto her hand.

Iturbide said, “This is my wife Ana Maria.” She attempted a curtsy, but it was difficult with both of her hands occupied with children. Under normal circumstances, Mexico would have taken her hand and kissed it. But, he was certain that there was no way that could be possible while she was holding the baby. Instead, Mexico just said, “It is my pleasure.”

He accompanied the words with a short inclining of his head. This was a social dance that he knew well enough; he had played the games of court since he was a child.

Iturbide then turned to introducing his children one at a time. He started with the eldest who was named after him in the tradition of theses kinds of wealthy families. The boy flushed nearly scarlet when Mexico greeted him, but managed the formulaic, “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Mexico brushed it aside as anxiety at the situation. He knew exactly how unexpected this was. That could be overwhelming for a teenage boy.

As Iturbide listed off the names of his remaining children with the manner of a man calling role for a squad of soldiers, Mexico wondered how well they knew their father. Surely he had been gone for a very long time fighting this war, and his children had seen him only when he could return home.

Mexico wondered if he had even been present at the birth of the youngest two. He guessed that Iturbide had not; the war had come first.

How strange it must have been to see their father rarely, then to be moved with little warning into this palace in the capital and then introduced to generals and politicians. It was no mystery to him that young Agustin Jeronimo seemed so overwhelmed.

Once the introductions were finished, it followed in a series of well worn formalities. Though, Mexico noticed that they seemed to lack all the steps of court ceremony, where meals were intended to show power, not to be pleasing to anyone present.

They sat around the table and made light conversation, carefully shallow to avoid any real intimacy. The servants poured wine. With the first sip, Mexico recognized it as the same wine as their first meal together.

No one else would recognize it as such, and Mexico felt like it was something of an inside joke passed from him to Iturbide. He looked across the table at the man and caught his eye. There was a mischievous glint in his eye and a half smile on his lips. He held Iturbide’s gaze for a moment.

Then Iturbide’s eldest son knocked his hand into his utensils, and, flustered attempted to put them back in order, turning scarlet again as Mexico turned his gaze to watch him.

Mexico noticed that Iturbide’s wife was only taking small sips from her glass. It may have been a distaste for the wine. But Mexico remembered another detail that he had only noticed when she sat, after the baby had been handed off to a servant.

There was a roundness to her stomach that he could see even under the dress. It seemed that Iturbide’s eight children would soon be nine.

It was a large family to be sure, but Iturbide did not lack for sons, and that would be important if he chose to take the throne. Mexico already knew that he was the likely option, and Iturbide already had the desire.

He took a drink as Iturbide started another conversation and the first course was brought by the servants. Mexico took it as further invitation to look around the table, while intoning to the conversation when it was asked of him.

The younger boy seemed enraptured with his father and kept his gaze intently fixed on him. The eldest, however, had been staring at Mexico and only looked away abruptly when Mexico looked at him and their eyes met.

The girls seemed debonair and quiet in the way that the upper classes often strived for, but the eldest girl had a different kind of glance for her father, and these had a kind of carefully hidden disdain.

Mexico might not have been able to see it if it had not been his way of showing his disdain for Spain when he was supposed to be mannered and polite. He could guess at the reason for that as well. Her father had been gone to war for so long that it would be easy to resent his absence and find this kind of familial ritual tiresome and false.

It was hardly more than a slightly raised eyebrow, the twitch of a scowl, and the short way she responded to her father’s questions. But, Mexico could see it clearly.

Mexico idly sunk his fork into the second course and imagined what the children could possibly know about him. He doubted that Iturbide had told them the truth of his existence, since that was supposed to be secret.

But, perhaps they though he was an important commander, which would not be entirely inaccurate. Mexico returned to the conversation just in time to hear Iturbide launch into a war story at the behest of his son.

The courses passed much the same way, and then, once everything was cleared away, Iturbide invited Mexico to join him in the adjoined room for a drink and conversation meant only for men. This was also a custom that Mexico had expected.

He agreed eagerly. He wanted to have time with Iturbide by himself to ask about the progress towards choosing an emperor. He had thought his position on the matter had been clear, but he needed to hear what Iturbide had decided to be sure. He had not expected Iturbide to turn to Agustin Jeronimo and to say, “You should come as well. It is time that you start learning about these matters.”

The boy looked for a moment, pleadingly, at his mother like he expected her to object. But, she only nodded in agreement with Iturbide.

Mexico soon found himself alone with father and son, with a glass of some undoubtedly expensive liquor in his hand. He turned to the question that was most important. He said, “What did the council decide to do about the crown?”

Iturbide answered firmly, “We have decided that since no European prince will take the offer, then it must be one of us. We who fought for freedom should lead it.”

Mexico thought this had already been decided, and it hardly answered his question. He took a drink as he thought of how to ask Iturbide the important question without being transparent in what he wanted. But, there was no way he could think of, so he said, “And who will that be?”

He hated the sound of impatience in his own voice. He did not want to let Iturbide see his deep frustration, but it slipped through without him being able to stop it. The other responded, “Patience. Alejandro. Spain is not going to invade this week. We must be sure that whoever we place on the throne will have support.”

Mexico felt his own grip tighten on the glass. He might be able to break it if he were to hold on much harder. He said, firmly, “Make a decision. We need time to rest and heal before yet more war is upon us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw young Agustin staring into the bottom of his glass like he wished he could escape through it. Iturbide didn’t seem to notice.

He stepped forward to put one hand on Mexico’s shoulder and said, “You need to trust me, Alejandro. I will not let this go wrong.”

Mexico took a deep breath. He wished he could be happy to do just that, but he feared that whatever modesty had possessed Iturbide to not take the crown would slow down the process enough to create vulnerability.

He was about to respond when one of the doors opened and Bustamante walked through it. He looked around the room and seemed to be assessing the situation.

Iturbide’s hand slipped off of Mexico’s shoulder.

Bustamante said, “I am sorry for interrupting. But, I must tell you that Congress is prepared to elect an emperor as soon as you give the word.”

Mexico noticed that the Iturbide’s son looked a little pale at the mention of it. Iturbide himself nodded slowly. Then he said, “If you are already here, then you should stay.”

Then he looked at his son, who was stock still and silent. Iturbide said with a small shake of his head, “I should have known you were not old enough for this. Come, I’ll take you to bed.”

He whisked the glass out of the boy’s hand and hurried him out of the room. It took Mexico a moment to realize that he was alone with Bustamante. Perhaps, he thought, this was the moment to find the source of his discomfort with the man.

He didn’t need to say anything, because the other man spoke as soon as Iturbide was out of earshot, “He does not deserve your suspicions.” Mexico turned sharply to him and countered, “What do you mean?”

Bustamante easily supplied, “You can be assured that Agustin is sincere. He may be my commander, but he is also my friend. I have never seen him devote himself to anything the way he has devoted himself to you. Since he met you, he has been obsessed.”

The tone of his voice was endearingly sincere. He meant every word he said in defense of Iturbide. For the first time since they had been introduced, Mexico felt something like warmth for the man. Anyone that unfailing loyal truly cared for his friend.

But, as assuring as that was, he still wondered if Bustamante knew more about the man’s secret ambitions. Would it be worth it to try to pry some of those secrets from him?

He said, “So, you think he can be trusted with my future?” Bustamante smiled at what he thought was his point coming across clearly. He replied, mimicking Iturbide’s earlier gesture and placing his hand on Mexico’s shoulders, “Rest assured that he is a good man and he will look after you.”

The feeling of the contact was uncomfortable. Mexico was not familiar with the man the way that he could be with Iturbide, and this felt entirely too personal.

He asked, in what he hoped to sound like a reproaching tone, “And what about you?” The hand on his shoulder slowly moved down his arm. Bustmanate said, “We will both do what is best for you.”

His hand lingered on Mexico’s arm just above the elbow in the following seconds of silence. It was too long to maintain a touch. Mexico found his mind slipping back to older memories of court. But, the hand fell away before he could decide why it summoned those memories.

Mexico tried to seem unbothered as he said, “Agustin has proved himself to me, but I am still not sure about you.”

His words had little impact. Mexico took another drink to fill the time.

The door opened again and Iturbide returned and said lightly, “I hope you two enjoyed each other while I was gone.” Bustamante smiled at him and said, “Yes, this is very good company, but I must go.”

Mexico realized that the hour much be getting late. It had been so long since he had arrived and the sun had long since set. He said, “I have enjoyed your hospitality for long enough, too.”

Iturbide shook his head at this. He said firmly, “I would be a bad host to let you leave now. It is late and it would be better if you could stay.”

Mexico shook his head. Though he knew it was dark and that he had drank more than he should have, he could not stay here. Iturbide responded to the gesture, “I have plenty of rooms and you will be perfectly comfortable for the night.”

Mexico took a breath and his resolve to say no wavered. It was just one night as a guest here, and that would hardly matter to anyone. He squashed the thought that Guerrero would have hated it. That meant nothing now.

Before he could respond again, Bustamante added, “It would be worth your while to stay.”

His tone spoke to something he knew but would not share. Iturbide gave him a look that might have been cautionary. But, Mexico was tired of guessing. Now that his formal manners were exhausted, he felt so empty, and this conspiracy of theirs promised some new answer.

He looked from Bustmante to Iturbide and said, “I will stay then.”

He slept uneasily. In his dream, Guerrero pulled him from these plush pillows and demanded to know what he was doing there. In his dream, his former general pleaded with him, “Is this what we fought for, Ale? Is it?” His hands holding his arms too tightly hurt less than his disapproving words.

He dreamed yelling back, “Why couldn’t you just be honest? I believed in you!” The dream was so vivid that he believed for a moment that Guerrero had broken into the palace to find him.

But, when he woke with a start in the darkest part of the night, he was still alone. He let out a quiet sob into one of the pillows as he reminded himself that Guerrero was gone now and his words had made sure of that. He fell back asleep with a pillow clutched between his arms.

As he woke, still blinking away sleep, Mexico was not sure what the sound was that had woken him. There was a roar in the air that sounded like so many voices at once.

He tried to make the words make sense. At first, they were just sound until they formed into, “Viva Iturbide!”

His eyes shot open. It was a crowd cheering Iturbide’s name, and they must be close if it was this loud.

He got out of bed and pulled on as much clothing as he could find quickly. Then he stumbled to the window, where the sound seemed to be the loudest. He pulled back the curtains. He gaped and it seemed to catch in his throat.

There were people filling the streets calling for Iturbide. This window had a great view of the street below, and he could see the multitudes.

He couldn’t help but think that the view was too good. It was too convenient that he would be here in the morning to see this. The conspiratorial glances and Bustamante’s hint came into sudden, incredible clarity.

Before he could decide if he was angry or in awe of the cunning, the roar grew louder. Mexico could only guess that Iturbide had given them what they wanted and stepped out onto his balcony.

Mexico pushed his own window open so that he could hear what Iturbide would say to these people. He wished he could step out to watch, but his existence would never be the public knowledge. The crowd chanted, “Emperor Iturbide!” Iturbide’s voice carried over them all, “My dear countrymen, I cannot take this gift you wish to give me. That power is too great for me.”

Mexico scoffed. Iturbide was always the actor. But, he couldn’t deny that hearing the cheers and insistence of his people moved him. Perhaps it was not about him at all. If his people wanted this, then why should be anything but happy? He could feel the sense of duty to his people in the empty hollow of his chest.

The crowd grew more insistent. Iturbide spoke again, “I cannot make this decision in haste. I beg you to give me a day to consider this heavy question.” This seemed to pacify the crowd for the moment, long enough for Iturbide to add, “I urge you to respect the decision of the Congress, for I do not make this decision on my own.”

Mexico had heard enough, and he was not so naive as to be fooled by these sorts of denials. Iturbide was speaking the words that he should, not the ones he believed.

He didn’t bother to close the window. He turned with the sound of the crowd at his back, and stormed out of his own room and toward the room he guessed that Iturbide must be in. His thoughts were racing, but the only solution to this mess was already in front of him. It didn’t matter if this little demonstration was staged for his view or not.

He pushed both of the doors open. Iturbide had just closed the doors to the balcony behind himself, and his eyes widened when he saw Mexico standing in the doorway. Before he could speak, Mexico said, “So, it was important for me to stay the night?” Iturbide shook his head and replied, “I had nothing to do with this.”

The frustration at this denial came out in Mexico’s voice as he said, “I do not care whether you did not! You have the support of your commanders! You have the support of the people! I need an emperor! Take the throne!”

He hadn’t intended to be that blunt, but the words came out in an inelegant jumble. There had been enough of hints. A smile appeared on the man’s face and it was more honest than all his well-prepared responses.

Mexico took a deep breath and continued, “Take the throne and be honest enough with me to say that you want it.”

Iturbide grabbed him by both shoulders and said, “I do want it with all my heart. I want to be the emperor you deserve. Do I have your blessing?” Mexico could feel the certainty in his heart, spreading with every beat to every fiber of his being. He said, “You do.”

“And then he was declared emperor the next day,” Mexico concluded like he had not just been recounting a moment of great emotion.

America was caught completely off guard. He had never had royalty, but that seemed very quick to him. He said, “Just like that? There must have been a process or something.” Mexico sighed, “There were months of process to prepare for someone to be emperor. Once we decided who it would be, it was just a matter of a vote and a coronation.”

America was still confused, but he kept the thought to himself. He thought Mexico might think it was a stupid question. Instead, he said, “And Congress agreed to him?”

The other nodded, “They did. It wasn’t unanimous, but it was enough. I think Vicente abstained out of anger.”

America thought of what Mexico had said. If the vote had gone well, then there was only one step remaining. He asked, “So, did you have a coronation?” Mexico nodded and said, “Yes and what a coronation it was.”

It could scarcely have been a better day for a ceremony. The warm May sun was streaming in through the windows of the Cathedral, casting colorful lights dancing across the floor.

Mexico was standing in front of the altar as the final preparations were made. When the bells rang, he would have to be standing with the rest of the Congress, though he would be at the very front so no one could obstruct his view of his emperor being crowned.

When he had spoken of the arrangements for the day with Iturbide, the man had been adamant that he wished Mexico could have been crowned too as an empire in his own right. But, the secrecy of his position meant he could stand close, but not wear the crown himself.

For now, with some time left before the ceremony started, he could stand here and feel that he was the one who was finally becoming an empire like his mother had wanted so long ago. It would happen in a few hours and no one in the world would be able to deny it.

He smiled as he thought that it would be even better that it would not be a Spanish prince. He would not be claiming Spain’s tarnished glory for his own; he would be creating a new empire all his own.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the moment overwhelm him. It was warm and comfortable, and it felt right to him.

This decision, this moment. They were what he needed.

He drew in one deep breath, savoring the smell of incense that always seemed to linger in church air. Let Iturbide wear the crown, he thought, but he would be the empire.

Then, he slowly opened his eyes and returned to the true reality that the ceremony would begin soon, and he had to get in the correct position. He found his place next to Bustamante, who had the other place of privilege closest to the crowing.

Mexico wasn’t certain if he had seen the man stop smiling since the Congress had declared Iturbide emperor, and he looked exceptionally jubilant. Perhaps it was sheerly out of love for his friend and commander, or maybe he knew that he would always be high in the esteem of the emperor so any of his own ambitions were secure. Either way, he was content to stand next to Mexico trying to repress his smile for the sake of propriety as the rest of those attending took their places.

It had all been very carefully planned, and Mexico had been there for all of the little arguments about who should stand where and what it would mean. Soon enough, the bells began to chime, heralding the true end of any republican aspirations.

The choir began to sing in high, ringing Latin. The sound of those voices filled Mexico with deep, stirring awareness of the moment. He had heard that so many times for the crowning of Spain’s kings and queens, when he would be present at the ceremony as nothing more than a territory that the new monarch could lay claim to. Now, this was all his own.

As the choir started their crescendo, quickening Mexico’s heart with each word, the doors of the cathedral creaked open. The light of the summer sun flooded in, giving everything a jewel bright brilliance.

The family came first, their mother leading them. Then the children old enough to be trusted to follow the ceremony with decorum. Iturbide had been quick to say that only the children who would not cry at any point in the ceremony should be there. So, there were only the five eldest children.

The eldest boy walked right behind his mother and he looked carefully composed. But, Mexico could see how pale he still was, He had heard someone say that he had fainted at the news that his father would be emperor. He suspected that this much was gossip, but the boy did not look pleased to be attending the ceremony that would make his crown prince.

As the family took their places under the embroidered cloth of state, the choir fell silent for only a brief moment. It was a pregnant silence, and Mexico felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for what he knew would come.

He turned his gaze back to the door as the music rung off the walls and the high ceiling. At first, Iturbide was almost impossible to see against the golden light pouring in behind him. He was a silhouette against the endless light.

Then he stepped into the cathedral and the light seemed to cling to him, wrapping around him like cloak and crown. Mexico could remember how it had done the same so long ago when he had first taken the man’s hand. It was foolish to think that one trick of the light had foretold another, but his emotions ran ahead of his mind.

Mexico felt almost overcome by the heady music and the grandeur of the ceremony. No thought could have stilled the energy flowing through his veins.

Iturbide walked to the altar, taking every moment with slow caution. There was a weight of ceremony in every step he took. As he reached the altar, he was met by the president of the Congress.

This was an important point of the ceremony. He must be crowned by the state, not the church. The power still came from the vote. It was imperative that this not be seen as a seizure of power, but rather as the fulfilling of the promise of monarchy.

The president spoke first, as rehearsed, “Do you accept the power vested in you by this Congress? Do you swear yourself and you heirs to be true and just in their governance?” Iturbide answered back, “I do.”

The second vow was, “Do you vow to uphold the principals laid out in the Plan de Iguala?” The answer came back, his voice rising out of the simple agreement of formality, “I do.”

The last vow came, “Do you vow to put the fatherland first in all that you do? Will you protect the fatherland from his enemies and to never betray him?”

At this, Iturbide broke the constant eye contact with the president, and looked directly at Mexico. He looked as though he was making the vow directly to his country as he said, “I do.”

Mexico felt heat rise in his face. He felt intoxicated, like he could shout his triumph from the rooftops. But, the bounds of propriety held him firm. He knew that there must at least be a smile on his face by the way that Iturbide was smiling back at him.

Then the proclamation came, as they had plotted that it would. The president said, “Then, kneel.” Iturbide did as he was bid and sunk to his knees on the plush carpet.

The crown was waiting on a red velvet pillow, light glinting off of the gold. The president took it and said, “I hereby declare you Emperor of Mexico.”

The crown was placed softly on Iturbide’s waiting head. He broke protocol for only a moment to reach up and touch the tips of his fingers to the rim of the crown. It was like he had to touch it to really believe that it had been placed on his head.

Iturbide regained his composure as a thick ermine cloak was placed on his shoulders. Looking every inch the monarch, he rose to his feet. Then the scepter of his new office was placed in his hand.

He took the moment to steal one more look at Mexico. Mexico felt like his eager heart would beat out of his chest.

He had done it. He had made himself an empire.

As Iturbide, turned to face the assembled people in the cathedral, Mexico turned his face up into the multicolored light. He felt like he was not looking up at God, but rather to what eternal force was watching him. The thought came so clearly to mind:

Mama, wherever you are, I hope I have made you proud.

#aph mexico #hetalia #aph fanfiction #historical hetalia

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

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Medieval Magic Week: Witchcraft in Early Medieval Europe

Apologies for not getting to this last week, but I will try to be at least semi-reliable about posting these. If you missed it: I’m teaching a class on magic and the supernatural in the Middle Ages this semester, and since the Tumblr people also wanted to be learned, I am here attempting to learn them by giving a sort of virtual seminar.

Last week was the introduction, where we covered overall concepts like the difference between magic, religion, and science (is there one?), who did magic benefit (depends on who you ask), was magic a good or a bad thing in the medieval world (once again, It’s All Relative) and who was practicing it. We also brought in ideas like the gendering of supernatural power (is magic a feminine or a masculine practice, and does this play into larger gendered concepts in society?) and did some basic myth-busting about the medieval era. No, not everybody was super religious and mind-controlled by the church. No, they were not all poor farmers. No, not every woman was Silent, Raped, and Repressed. Magic was a common and folkloric practice on some level, but it was also the concern of educated and literate ‘worldly’ observers. We can’t write magic off as the medieval era simply ‘not knowing any better,’ or having no more sophisticated epistemology than rudimentary superstition. These people navigated thousands of miles without any kind of modern technology, built amazing cathedrals requiring hugely complex mathematical and engineering skill, wrote and translated books, treatises, and texts, and engaged with many different fields of knowledge and areas of interest. They subjected their miracle stories to critical vetting and were concerned with proving the evidentiary truth of their claims. We cannot dismiss magic as them having no alternative explanation or way of thinking about the world, or being sheltered naïve rustics.

This week, we looked at some primary sources discussing ‘witchcraft’ beliefs in early medieval Europe, which for our purposes is about 500—eh we’ll say 1000 C.E. We also thought about some questions to pose to these texts. Where did belief in witchcraft – best known for early modern witch hunts – come from? How did it survive through centuries of cultural Christianisation? Why was it viewed as useful or as threatening? Scholars have tended to argue for a generic mystical ‘shamanism’ in pre-Christian Europe, which isn’t very helpful (basically, it means ‘we don’t have enough evidence, so fuck if we know!’). They have also assumed that these were ‘superstitions’ or ‘relics’ of pagan belief in an otherwise Christian culture, which is likewise not helpful. We don’t have time to get into the whole debate, but yes, you can imagine the kind of narratives and assumptions that Western historiography has produced around this.

At this point, Europe was slowly, but by no means monolithically, becoming Christian, which meant a vast remaking of traditional culture. There was never a point where beliefs and practices stopped point-blank being pagan and became Christian instead; they were always hybrid, and they were always subject to discussion and debate. Obviously, people don’t stop doing things they have done a particular way for centuries overnight. (Once again, this is where we remind people that the medieval church was not the Borg and had absolutely no power to automatically assimilate anyone.) Our first text, the ‘Corrector sive medicus,’ which is the nineteenth chapter of Burchard of Worms’ Decretum, demonstrates this. The Decretum is a collection of ecclesiastical law, dating from early eleventh-century Germany. This is well after Germany was officially ‘Christianised,’ and after the foundation of the Holy Roman Empire as an explicitly Christian polity (usually dated from Charlemagne’s coronation on 25 December 800; this was the major organising political unit for medieval Germany and the Carolingians were intensely obsessed with divine approval). And yet! Burchard is still extremely concerned with the prevalence of ‘magical’ or ‘pagan’ beliefs in his diocese, which means people were still doing them.

The Corrector is a handbook setting out the proper length of penances to do (by fasting on bread and water) for a variety of transgressions. It can seem ridiculously nitpicky and overbearing in its determination to prescribe lengthy penances for magical offenses, which are mixed in among punishments for real crimes: robbery, theft, arson, adultery, etc. This might seem to lend legitimacy to the ‘killjoy medieval church oppressing the people’ narrative, except the punishments for sexual sins are actually much lighter than in earlier Celtic law codes. If you ‘shame a woman’ with your thoughts, it’s five days of penance if you’re married, two if you aren’t, but if you consult an oracle or take part in element worship or use charms or incantations, it could be up to two years.

Overall, the Corrector gives us the impression that eleventh-century German society was a lot more worried about whether you were secretly cursing your neighbour with pagan sorcery, rather than who you’re bonking, even though sexual morality is obviously still a concern, and this reflected the effort of trying to explicitly and completely Christianise a society that remained deeply attached to its traditional beliefs and practices. (There’s also a section about women going out at night and running naked with ‘Diana, Goddess of the Pagans’, which sounds awesome sign me up.) Thus there is here, as there will certainly be later, a gendered element to magic. Women could be witches, enchantresses, sorceresses, or other possible threats, and have to be closely watched. Nonetheless, there’s no organised societal persecution of them. Formal witch hunts and witch trials are decidedly a post-Renaissance phenomenon (cue rant about how terrible the Renaissance was for women). So as much as we stereotype the medieval world as supposedly being intolerant and repressive of women, witch hunts weren’t yet a thing, and many educated women, such as Trota of Salerno, had professional careers in medicine.

The solution to this problem of magical misuse is not to stop or destroy magic, since everyone believes in it, but to change who is legitimately allowed to access it. Valerie Flint’s article, ‘The Early Medieval Medicus, the Saint – and the Enchanter’ discusses the renegotiation of this ability. Essentially, there were three categories of ‘healer’ figure in the early Middle Ages: 1) the saint, whose miraculous power was explicitly Christian; 2) the ‘medicus’ or doctor, who used herbal or medical treatment, and 3) the ‘enchanter’, who used pagan magical power. According to the ecclesiastical authors, the saint is obviously the best option, and believing in/appealing to this figure will give you cures beyond the medicus’ ability, as a reward for your faith. The medicus tries his best and has good intentions, but is limited in his effectiveness and serves in some way as the saint’s ‘fall guy’. Or: Anything the Doctor Can (Or Can’t) Do, The Saint Can Do Better. But the doctor has enough social authority and respected knowledge to make it a significant victory when the saint’s power supersedes him.

On the other hand, the ‘enchanter’ is basically all bad. He (or often, she) makes the same claim to supernatural power as the saint, but the power is misused at best and actively malicious and uncontrollably destructive at worst. You are likely to be far worse off after having consulted the enchanter than if you did nothing at all. Both the saint and the enchanter are purveyors of ‘magical’ power, but only the saint has any legitimate claim (again, according to our church authors, whose views are different from those of the people) to using it. The saint’s power comes from God and Jesus Christ, the privileged or ‘true’ source of supernatural ability, while the enchanter is drawing on destructive and incorrect pagan beliefs and making the situation worse. The medicus is a benign and well-intentioned, if not always effective, option for healing, but the enchanter is No Good Very Bad Terrible.

The fact that ecclesiastical authors have to go so hard against magic, however, is proof of the long-running popularity of its practitioners. The general public is apparently still too prone to consult an enchanter rather than turn to the church to solve their problems. The church doesn’t want to eradicate these practices entirely, but insists that people call upon God/Christ as the authority in doing them, rather than whatever local or folkloric belief has been the case until now. It’s not destroying magic, but repurposing and redefining it. What has previously been the unholy domain of the pagan is now proof of the ultimate authority of Christianity. If you’re doing it right, it’s no longer pagan sorcery, but religious miracles or devotion.

Overall: what role does witchcraft play in early medieval Europe? The answer, of course, is ‘it’s complicated.’ We’re talking about a dynamic, large-scale transformation and hybridising of culture and society, as Christian religion and society became more prevalent over long-rooted pagan or traditional beliefs. However, these beliefs arguably never fully vanished, and were remade, renamed, and allowed to stay, without any apparent sense of contradiction on the part of the people practicing them. Ecclesiastical authorities were extremely concerned to identify and remove these ‘pagan’ elements, of course, but the general public’s relationship with them was always more nuanced. When dealing with medieval texts about magic, we have a tendency to prioritise those that deal with a definably historical person, event, or place, whereas clearly mythological stories referring to supernatural creatures or encounters are viewed as ‘less important’ or as the realm of historical fiction or legend. This is a mistake, since these texts are still encoding and transmitting important cultural referents, depictions of the role of magic in society, and the way in which medieval people saw it as a helpful or hurtful force. We have to work with the sources we have, of course, but we also have to be especially aware of our critical assumptions and prejudices in doing so.

It should be noted that medieval authors were very concerned with proving the veracity of their miracle narratives; they did not expect their audiences to believe them just because they said so. This is displayed for example in the work of two famous early medieval historians, Gregory of Tours (c.538—594) and the Venerable Bede (672/3—735). Both Gregory’s History of the Franks and Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People contain a high proportion of miracle stories, and both of them are at pains to explain to the reader why they have found these narratives reliable: they knew the individual in question personally, or they heard the story from a sober man of good character, or several trusted witnesses attested to it, or so forth. Trying to recover the actual historicity of reported ‘miracle’ healings is close to impossible, and we should resist the cynical modern impulse to say that none of them happened and Gregory and Bede are just exaggerating for religious effect. We’re talking about some kind of experienced or believed-in phenomena, of whatever type, and obviously in a pre-modern society, your options for healthcare are fairly limited. It might be worth appealing to your local saint to do you a solid. So to just dismiss this experience from our modern perspective, with who knows how much evidence lost, in an entirely different cultural context, is not helpful either. There’s a lot of sneering ‘look at these unenlightened religious zealots’ under-and-overtones in popular conceptions of the medieval era, and smugly feeling ourselves intellectually superior to them isn’t going to get us very far.

Next week: Ideas about the afterlife, heaven, hell, the development of purgatory, the kind of creatures that lived in these realms, and their representation in art, culture, and literature.