James Flint in every episode: XIX. There’ll be no battle today. Our disadvantage is too great. But what price surrender?
To beg forgiveness from a thing that took my woman from me? My friend?
Murdered her, displayed her body for their amusement.
I can walk away from this fight if I just sign my name beneath a solemn oath never again to do violence against it.
No. Not after all it has taken from me. Not after all it has taken from you.
I will do great violence against that thing. They say they will pardon us all, but I say to offer to pardon something one fears is the act of a coward.
To offer them in volume suggests that their fear of us is becoming unmanageable, that we have shown them what we are capable of and it terrifies them.
Do any of you want to surrender to men who fear you? Lay down arms in a battle that we are winning?
Neither do I. Fuck Benjamin Hornigold, his king, and their pardons. This warisn’t nearly over.
Lunafreya’s feelings towards Noctis have never been anything less than complicated.
As a girl, she didn’t have a particularly strong opinion on the prince as they hadn’t met before that point. Rather tomboyish growing up, when she wasn’t being prim and proper enough for tutors, her mother during her training, or the court and state functions, she had a wild imagination and a deep love of fairytales. These often made her evolve the tale of the prophecy and turned it into a thing of play, spending hours with Ravus and Stella and pretending they were the Chosen and Oracle, going on adventures to save their own microcosm of the world in Fenestala’s forests and fields. Though Gentiana always reinforced the need for the Oracle and True King to be connected and join hands in being the salvation of the Star, to Lunafreya it was always distant as an actual star.
Lucis and Tenebrae couldn’t easily convene together, after all, as a stipulation of the treaty between Niflheim lest they be invaded and charged with conspiracy.
A true opinion and relationship with the prince didn’t form until Lunafreya was twelve and Noctis, eight, with the duty of the Oracle conditioned well within her mind. Though she was still young, Luna was intelligent. She knew there was no way out of her role, but in her mind, she wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, how many people before her had the ability to make significant change in the world? Not many. She was the heroine of her own fairy tale, and she felt the grandest sense of fulfillment a girl her age could. And she wanted to pass this on to Noctis as well, as Gentiana and Sylva had utterly encouraged of her, even though the girlish, juvenile side of her fancied it as preparing the hero for his journey. That she would join him someday, and they would save the world together. In those early years, Luna saw Noctis as a little brother–a student for her to take under her wing and teach what Gentiana had said he was supposed to know. Along the way, surely they became friends, but Luna’s pride in her duty overrode everything else. So many idealizing people didn’t have the chance she had, so she’d save the world for them.
That’s how it was until disaster struck.
The invasion happened so fast. Luna had gone from cajoling Noctis on old Tenebraen stories on their way to another healing session to being in a consuming field of fire. Her brother had been shot through his arm, her mother impaled through General Glauca’s sword (a man she hadn’t thought capable of such cruelty, her father had told her after), and then King Regis sweeping her away only to stay behind for Ravus’ sake without thinking. Stella had been away with Safay that day, and she was grateful for it. But, there began a transformation in Luna since that day. The day that, admittedly, broke her. It was that time after that she made a covenant with Shiva, awakening the Glacian, and having to watch her father perish on the battlefield as he led an offense against the goddess with MT’s. Though they’d been successful, he’d died, and she knew–there was no going back.
Her relationship with Noctis began to change. Or, her perception of him.
After Safay’s death, Luna and her siblings became wards of Niflheim and it was there that the cruelty began. Niflheim cleared part of Fenestala for offices of senior military officers who claimed to be Safay’s successors, who needed to process the late queen’s affairs. Luna was abused. Sometimes she was thrown aside, deprived of meals, blackmailed and made to commit acts her trauma refuses her to remember. Despicable acts that made it impossible to sleep at night, because she was the Oracle that led a goddess to her death. Faithful were enraged at her. Disbelievers blamed her for their beloved General’s death. Regardless, she and her siblings were targets to their frustrations, their abuses that formed bruises and scars real and metaphorical.
At first, she clung to the notebook she passed between herself and Noctis. Keeping the entries short and brief for fear she’d be watched. She grew terrified of Gentiana because of what she was, despite of the messenger never blaming her. Luna feared and Gentiana became less of her friend and more of a prison warden. With Ravus and Stella away for months at a time, she had no one but Noctis to talk to, and even then she was monitored. She kept things superficial, gave him no window into her suffering and loneliness because she couldn’t, she feared retaliation and punishment so badly. For her sake and her siblings’, she corresponded with Noctis in brief passages. For both their sake.
But, those passages gave a glimpse of Noctis’ life. What had been a fairy tale means of preserving her hope, she began to resent him. Of how he had friends, was guarded and safe, and a living father who willingly neglected his rearing in favor of him living a sham of a life before his death. There were periods when she hated him. When Noctis had everything and from it, did nothing. Because he lived whole and ignorant. He was allowed to retain his innocence when she’d lost hers as a girl. Sometimes, that bitterness sagged into grief and an illusion of love. Trying to convince herself that she was the princess despite how she would be Cinderella until the end of her days while the prince would do nothing to save her. These times were the hardest. They made her doubt her feelings for the prince that felt so intangible.
Presently, she’s matured beyond that. Her understanding of Noctis’ situation has forced her to realize that Noctis isn’t ready for the truth, and may well never be. After surviving the invasion of Lucis, watching Insomnia fall in a way that was a haunting reminiscence of Fenestala, it only cemented her resolve. She couldn’t tell him, only beguile and lead him towards their sacrifice because there was no other way. They had a role beyond themselves she felt Noctis would never accept, and perhaps she was right. Because she didn’t know him. Lunafreya had no idea if he would be willing to accept it, willing to try. Even though she does love him (in what way, she never knows), the truth is not always liberating. Even if the act is as atrocious as the wool Regis pulled over Noctis’ eyes, Lunafreya only worsened it.
Regardless, even if her actions are despicable, her fastidious devotion to the Star would always come before the life of any one person. Not her childhood friend, or even her siblings.
John Silver in every episode: XIX.
This crew has spilled a great deal of blood to make your name what it is. It doesn’t belong to you.
It’s a jointly held asset belonging to every man on this crew who sacrificed some part of himself to build it.
They have a say about how it is managed, and I am the voice of it.
It is clear to me that this raid was more dangerous than the last.
They are adapting, and it is of some concern to me that you either cannot or will not acknowledge it.
I understand this is all incredibly personal to you after the loss of Mrs. Barlow.
And I understand the burden of playing the role you currently play must be taking a toll even you cannot fully comprehend.
Throughout her translation of the “Odyssey,” Wilson has made small but, it turns out, radical changes to the way many key scenes of the epic are presented — “radical” in that, in 400 years of versions of the poem, no translator has made the kinds of alterations Wilson has, changes that go to truing a text that, as she says, has through translation accumulated distortions that affect the way even scholars who read Greek discuss the original. These changes seem, at each turn, to ask us to appreciate the gravity of the events that are unfolding, the human cost of differences of mind.
The first of these changes is in the very first line. You might be inclined to suppose that, over the course of nearly half a millennium, we must have reached a consensus on the English equivalent for an old Greek word, polytropos. But to consult Wilson’s 60 some predecessors, living and dead, is to find that consensus has been hard to come by…
Of the 60 or so answers to the polytropos question to date, the 36 given above [which I cut because there were a lot] couldn’t be less uniform (the two dozen I omit repeat, with minor variations, earlier solutions); what unites them is that their translators largely ignore the ambiguity built into the word they’re translating. Most opt for straightforward assertions of Odysseus’s nature, descriptions running from the positive (crafty, sagacious, versatile) to the negative (shifty, restless, cunning). Only Norgate (“of many a turn”) and Cook (“of many turns”) preserve the Greek roots as Wilson describes them — poly(“many”), tropos (“turn”) — answers that, if you produced them as a student of classics, much of whose education is spent translating Greek and Latin and being marked correct or incorrect based on your knowledge of the dictionary definitions, would earn you an A. But to the modern English reader who does not know Greek, does “a man of many turns” suggest the doubleness of the original word — a man who is either supremely in control of his life or who has lost control of it? Of the existing translations, it seems to me that none get across to a reader without Greek the open question that, in fact, is the opening question of the “Odyssey,” one embedded in the fifth word in its first line: What sort of man is Odysseus?
“I wanted there to be a sense,” Wilson told me, that “maybe there is something wrong with this guy. You want to have a sense of anxiety about this character, and that there are going to be layers we see unfolded. We don’t quite know what the layers are yet. So I wanted the reader to be told: be on the lookout for a text that’s not going to be interpretively straightforward.”
Here is how Wilson’s “Odyssey” begins. Her fifth word is also her solution to the Greek poem’s fifth word — to polytropos:
Tell me about a complicated man. Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy, and where he went, and who he met, the pain he suffered in the storms at sea, and how he worked to save his life and bring his men back home. He failed to keep them safe; poor fools, they ate the Sun God’s cattle, and the god kept them from home. Now goddess, child of Zeus, tell the old story for our modern times. Find the beginning.
When I first read these lines early this summer in The Paris Review, which published an excerpt, I was floored. I’d never read an “Odyssey” that sounded like this. It had such directness, the lines feeling not as if they were being fed into iambic pentameter because of some strategic decision but because the meter was a natural mode for its speaker. The subtle sewing through of the fittingly wavelike W-words in the first half (“wandered … wrecked … where … worked”) and the stormy S-words that knit together the second half, marrying the waves to the storm in which this man will suffer, made the terse injunctions to the muse that frame this prologue to the poem (“Tell me about …” and “Find the beginning”) seem as if they might actually answer the puzzle posed by Homer’s polytropos and Odysseus’s complicated nature.
Complicated: the brilliance of Wilson’s choice is, in part, its seeming straightforwardness. But no less than that of polytropos, the etymology of “complicated” is revealing. From the Latin verb complicare, it means “to fold together.” No, we don’t think of that root when we call someone complicated, but it’s what we mean: that they’re compound, several things folded into one, difficult to unravel, pull apart, understand.
“It feels,” I told Wilson, “with your choice of ‘complicated,’ that you planted a flag.”
YURIO CHOREOGRAPHED HIS EX IN FUCKING ONE NIGHT IM FUCKING SCREAMING
im just imagining this little shit running around the streets of barcelona in the middle of the night trying to cobble a costume together while he lets beka handle the music
he bursts into chris’s hotel room at 3 like “give me one of your sexy tank tops”
& chris is 75% asleep and doesn’t register that none of his clothes are appropriate for a 15 year old. he gestures at his wardrobe and as yurio leaves he’s like. “im 2 sizes bigger than you my tanks will fall off”
yurio looks him dead in the eye. “good.”
yurio takes pleasure in waking JJ up at 5 am and asking for his tackiest piece of jewelry.
“here’s this cross necklace that i got at a flea market for 2 bucks”
yurio snatches it out of his hands. “im going to kick your ass today shithead”
JJ wonders if yurio understands the meaning of an exhibition skate.
the hardest part is the jacket bc yurio’s outfit just isn’t right but there’s no one here that’s actually his size and yurio hasn’t slept in 24 hours.
he’s on his 5th red bull.
when suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, he sees someone outside the rink wearing the gaudiest purple leather jacket he’s ever seen. it’s perfect.
“you! how much for your jacket!”
the man is confused bc he doesn’t speak english and also the men’s GPF gold medalist is screaming at him. he’s 80% sure these are his last moments on earth.
“jacket“ yurio says like that will make the man understand.
through a complex game of charades, yurio manages to communicate that he wants the jacket. the man happily hands it over bc holy shit it’s the ice tiger of russia.
yurio throws the guy 30,000 rubles.
yurio shows up right before his EX running on 15 red bulls with under eye circles darker than his soul.
“you look like you’ve been shoved through a meat grinder” mila says
“good” yurio replies.
no amount of foundation will help. lilia is panicking, barcelona is falling. yurio’s eyes still look like they can see through time.
georgi kicks in the door. “i got this”
it’s 5 minutes to show time and yuuri and viktor come to see him off. they’re still in their own EX costumes.
“wow! so chic!” viktor says before getting distracted by a dog in the stands. (”it’s in a purse yuuri, 10/10 would doggo again“)
“davai!” yuuri says.
yuuri has a pair of sunglasses clipped to his shirt. yurio points at them. “are those viktor’s”
they’re gucci and worth more than nikolai plisetsky’s car.
yurio snatches them and skates off before viktor comes back.
beka is at the edge of the rink dressed in all black. he flashes yurio a thumbs up.
- Do you remember the first night that we were together? How did you feel?
- I felt safe, happy, comfortable. It felt right. It felt like something locked into place, like we’d met before.
- Like it had happened before and it’ll happen again, like it’s happened a thousand times over and over again.
Please help and support this show by watching is legally on Netflix THIS FRIDAY ONWARDS! I normally hate these types of posts, but for this show, it’s needed. It’s not often we get such a female driven show like this within the anime industry, and compared to the many male driven animes, it’s not even a fraction of how popular it SHOULD be.
LITTLE WITCH ACADEMIA FOLKS! GIVE IT A GO! YOU WON’T REGRET!
5 Reason’s Why Supernatural is the Gayest Show on Television (That’s Still Stuck in the Closet)
To start with, I’m not delusional. I’m fully aware that the studio and execs have settled into a comfortable pattern with Supernatural, and especially considering it’s heavily mixed demographic (interestingly, it was ranked a favorite among republicans and democrats in 2016) they’re unlikely to rock the ship with a canonically queer relationship between two of it’s main characters.
However, it’s important to understand exactly how much queerness is bubbling beneath the thick surface layer of “no homo:” from the orgies of male-on-male eyesex to the inspiration for most of its main characters, Supernatural is queer to its very core.
Here are five (blaring but stubbornly unacknowledged) reasons why:
1. Dean’s gratuitously bisexual inspiration.
Whenever someone claims a queer interpretation of Dean is baseless, I’m always happy to direct them straight to his flamingly bisexual source: Dean Moriarty, his namesake and direct inspiration, a la the novel On the Road.
Admittedly, I read On the Road and didn’t particularly enjoy it, as I found it to be a somewhat masturbatory reassertion of masculinity for its narrator, Sal Paradise. Sal idolizes and fixates the charismatic Dean and his promiscuous lifestyle, openly having sex with and impregnating multiple women, and is all around a heterosexual power figure…right up until the point at which Dean propositions a male prostitute.
Though he’s never shown doing anything gratuitous with male characters (since the book was published in the 1960s, it wouldn’t have been legal to) it’s clear that Dean is very much bisexual, not ashamed of it, and in terms of personality, very similar to Dean. There are a few key differences (Dean Moriarty, for example, legitimately gives zero fucks about anything, whereas Dean Winchester is secretly a little ball of anxiety with the weight of the world on his shoulders) but it’s clear where Eric Kripke got his inspiration from.
Moreover, Dean Moriarty was in turn based off of the real life bisexual counterculturist Neal Cassady, who among other things had a twenty-year sexual relationship with a male poet. Here, he is pictured in a Denver mugshot:
So next time someone tells you the homoerotic subtext of Supernatural exists only in the imagination of rabid fangirls, remember that Dean is the direct descendant of two ragingly bisexual icons.
2. Castiel (or at least his wardrobe) was also based off of a bisexual character.
For a show so aggressively devoted to a “no homo” interpretation, it has a real propensity to drawing inspiration from queer characters: everyone’s favorite baby in a trench coat, for example, was modeled after the demon-busting John Constantine from the Hellblazer comics. Yup, another bisexual.
Though in true assbutt fashion, his love of men is censored in movie and TV adaptions, Constantine unabashedly swings both ways in paper form – a.k.a. where Kripke found inspiration for Castiel’s look. Here, we see him platonically receiving a man-hug from one of his bros:
So I’m not saying the fact that two out of three main characters are modeled after canonically queer figures could have anything to do with Supernatural’s gratuitous queer subtext, but y’know. It might.
3. Cas himself is sexually complex (and literally cannot be straight.)
Dean has made reference to the fact that he “doesn’t swing that way” (ironically, both of which times he was literally in the midst of blatantly flirting with men.)
Cas, however, has no such reservations: he’s never indicated, vocally or otherwise, a preference towards either gender, so much as outright declaring that he doesn’t give a damn.
He reacts to male and female flirtation much the same way: just try and tell me his suspicious glower and Mick wasn’t similar to Mandy the waitress (and try and tell me they both weren’t acting like they’d like to eat him for dinner.)
Moreover, the only time we’ve seen him ever achieve some kind of intimacy with female characters is when they’re literally throwing themselves at him. Hey, he’s an aesthetically pleasing fellow – or rather, an aesthetically pleasing something.
Which brings me to my next point that he isn’t really a fellow at all: Cas not only gives zero fucks about sexual orientation, he also gives zero fucks about gender. Sure, he’ll spend seven years in the same ill-fitting trench coat, but he’ll also rock a petticoat like nobody’s business.
I’ve discovered that the writer for “Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets,” Steve Yockey, is a gay man, which honestly makes it all the more perfect: not only does it establish the Orlando-esque flexibility (or nonexistence) of Cas’s gender, but it eliminates the possibility of his straightness.
And I want Destiel to be canon as much as anybody, but am I opposed to Cas being a genderfluid lesbian? No. No, I am not.
4. Dean can textually be interpreted as bisexual (and probably should be.)
For anyone who questions whether Dean not being straight as an arrow, I’m happy to point out some very canon things that happened on the show:
And yes, when feeling threatened, he’s professed not to swing that way. But you know how many queer people I know who have at one point felt compelled to lie about our sexual orientation? Every single one. And I live in the bluest of blue states – Dean was raised in Bible Belt America and spends most of his time in the Southwest. Not to mention the fact that he was raised during the heat of the AIDS academic.
In other words, he has every logical reason to be wary at the prospect of coming out of the closet, or even acknowledging same sex attraction at all.
Moreover it’s been canonically established that Dean has a habit of lying about himself to protect his image of masculinity: according to Dean, he doesn’t do shorts, chick flicks, cucumber water, skinny jeans and sunglasses, and Taylor Swift music. You know how many of those things he loves? All of them.
Finally, not every member of the cast or crew might agree (though I know for a fact that some of them do) but their interpretations do not effect textuality. And Dean can textually be interpreted as bisexual.
5. Dean and Cas make a better couple than any of their love interests.
I’m going to state something I feel is obvious: Cas and Dean have more buildup, tension, chemistry, emotional connection, and romantic history than literally any of their other interests.
Take Lisa, for example: she’s Dean’s longest lasting introduced as female partner, and she’s introduced as the “bendiest weekend of his life.”
Furthermore, I’d argue that sexual attraction notwithstanding, Dean was never romantically in love with Lisa. To him, she epitomizes his desire for a mother figure, a home, and his lost childhood, as is best demonstrated in his fantasy from “Dream a Little Dream of Me:” Lisa isn’t a seductive or romantic figure here – she’s a maternal one.
Though since Dean has never had a long lasting relationship (or, to my belief, been completely in love with a girl) it’s easy to see how he’d misinterpret these feelings as romantic love.
Then we have Cas, who’s introduced by pulling Dean from the depths of hell, who makes most one-on-one scenes with Dean look like a soft core porno, and who recently (canonically!) declared his love for Dean.
I don’t dislike Lisa, but it’s easy to see which of the two relationships is more three-dimensional, more original, and more worthy of screentime.