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cordeliawhohung · 15 hours

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Strangers

john price x fem!reader | masterlist | ao3

John Price remembers every life he's ever lived. When death takes him in one universe, he's born into the next with all his memories and past experiences still intact. Throughout the lives he's lived, you're the only thing that ever seems to quell the ache in his chest, and he spends every life searching for your comfort. Except, in this life, he's too late

cw: soulmate!au, murder, suicide, feticide, kidnapping, drugging, possessive john price, non-con elements, one shot, dead dove: do not eat!!!

In every life you’ve ever lived, John Price finds you.

He’s drawn to you like an animal is drawn to its cage. The glint of the metal bars look like stars if he squints hard enough, and the smell of blood and iron is the fairest perfume in the world. There is no life that he wishes to live without you in it. Tucked close to his chest in bed at night. Curled up underneath his thumb. Where you go, he follows you, hidden in the shadows until he’s ready to reveal himself as the soulmate who’s been tracking you across eons worth of lives.

It’s a simple curse. One that’s haunted him since he first poofed into existence so long ago he can’t recall how much time has passed. Forever bound to remember every life he’s ever lived while everyone else debates the possibility of a god or heaven, forgetting their reincarnated selves in other universes. It’s a particularly lonely ailment. He had been locked in chains in one life for attempting to convince the world that there was life after death, not through a god, but through sheer human will. Had to sever the artery in his tongue with his teeth and drink down his blood to escape a life of imprisonment, and just like he knew he would, he woke up in his next life a free man.

These days, he spends his lives on something more worthwhile: you. Just as he does, you look the same in every universe with a smile he knows by touch alone and a laugh that is the only melody that can soothe the immortal ache in his chest. He’s fried his brain with drugs and killed his liver with drink, forever carrying the burden of memory, and yet throughout his travels, you remain the only thing capable of soothing that terrible ache that haunts him. If death has already taken you in one life, he kills himself and moves onto the next, a wild man forever on the hunt for you.

The only other thing that stays consistent throughout his many lives besides the desire to be yours, is the taste of fresh tea. He prefers Yorkshire tea, but the Earl Grey they substitute at the shop is fine enough. Quiet muttering fills the air around him as he sits in the corner of the shop, alone with his thoughts. He takes a sip of the tea, allowing the hint of lavender to wash over his tongue as if cleansing him. It’s the only thing that tastes and smells like home. Besides you, of course; but he hasn’t found you yet, and it’s getting late.

Usually, he’s lucky enough to find you by the time both of you are in your twenties. It’s easy to win you over at that age. He holds a maturity well beyond his years, and you hold a wide-eyed innocence that has you in his grasp before you even realize it. But he’s in his thirties, and that has him anxious. Too much time has passed — a decade more than usual — which leaves him with a variety of possibilities. Ones he doesn’t like entertaining.

No matter. He’s learned to be somewhat patient over the countless lifetimes spent searching for you, because it always pays off in the end. All the marriages, the children you have, the love you make. John Price is the luckiest man in the world, being able to replay his favorite memories with you for all eternity. He could never tire of you, would never dream of such a terror.

So when the bell attached to the shop door rings with the entrance of another customer, it quickly turns to music to his ears when he sees you. Afternoon sunlight illuminates the world behind you, blinding him with the beauty you carry across universes and worlds. Your familiar eyes scan the area briefly, hardly paying him any mind before you approach the counter with a grace and poise that has his heart thudding in his throat. He can never get used to the first time. The first time his eyes land on you, he hears your voice, or skin touches yours; it’s the only thing that can tear him apart as well as you do.

He tries not to stare at your ass when you order your drink. It’s always been his favorite physical feature of yours. There’s something different about this version of you, yet still familiar. Nothing is ever entirely unknown to him, not when it concerns you, but you’re glowing more than usual. It’s captivating in a way that makes him feel like a dog, looking at a woman in such a perverse way, but he knows you like it when he stares. You always have in every other life.

When the barista hands you a to-go cup, John knows he doesn’t have long before you slip away. Such a sharp girl, quick on her feet. Always buzzing around, never staying in one place for too long, as if the imprint of your soul enjoyed the chase of him following after you. It’s a game he enjoys very much; one he doesn’t mind entertaining at all.

John rises from his seat, cup still half full, where he slips to the door just as you turn around to leave. His pace is leisurely, certainly in no rush as his hands reach out for the exit, only for him to pause. How silly of him to have left his drink behind, the only reason he even came to that shop in the first place. When he turns around, it’s quick and violent, and catches you so off guard you run right into him.

Piping hot tea splashes around in your to-go cup, and if it wasn’t for John’s quick reflexes and a firm grip on your wrist, you would’ve gotten yourself hurt. Your gasp is sweet and melodic on his ears, and he nearly melts under your gaze as your wide eyes stare at him. Your surprise is cute. As if you couldn’t remember meeting him in countless different universes like this.

“Terribly sorry, darling,” he says as if surprised. His grip loosens on your wrist just as his other hand comes up to rest on your waist. It’s quick, he knows; but in some way, you’re already used to it. “You alright?”

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, and once you do, John feels you slip out of his grasp as you take a step back. Both of your hands come up to hold the cup, afraid of dropping it, and you give him a polite smile and nod.

“Yes, thank you, I… good save,” is all you can manage as you chuckle and gesture to your drink.

John’s hands mourn the absence of your warmth, yet he allows them to politely fall back against his side. His lips yearn to be on yours. For him, this isn’t a first time greeting, but a long awaited reunion. Still, he calms his nerves and hardens them to steel as he chuckles with you.

“Would’ve hated for you to have gotten hurt,” he comments as his eyes glance down at your legs. The brief thought of that searing hot liquid broiling the supple skin of your thighs invades his mind before he can push it away. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

Whatever your response is, he can’t hear it. The dazzling bling of your betrayal drowns out the sound of your voice and everything around him. It’s beautiful; your ring. Its gemstone glints in the sunlight streaming through the windows as if attempting to blind him. No, not blind him. Something worse. It screams at him the very thing he had feared for the last few years; he was too late. Bound to another man in matrimony, a silly mistake you had made before ever seeing the light.

The aftertaste of tea suddenly tastes putrid on his tongue. His sweet mate, too impatient to wait for him in that lifetime. You’d fucked other men in other lives, and though it had always made his stomach turn, John could understand. But marriage?

His teeth threaten to shatter under the pressure of his clenching jaw.

When the sound comes back to him, his eyes comprehend the expression on your face. Discomfort — near disdain. In this universe, John Price is not your lover. He is a man, and only that. One who just so happens to be barring you from the exit.

He remembers himself, and smiles at you kindly as he quickly steps to the side, muttering an apology with a jaw that’s much too stiff. And still, he reaches behind him to hold the door open for you, and despite your apprehension you thank him quietly and say goodbye before you vanish into the streets. Your smell lingers in the air next to him for only a moment before it dissipates and drowns in the aroma of herbs and teas. His face goes cold as he glares at the corner where his now cold tea sits.

This was the first life he ever lived where you married a man that wasn’t him. Something broke. Shattered in his chest where the shards cut him apart from the inside out. When he breathes in, he can smell the blood pooling inside of him and it wakes him up to the terrible realization that — for once in his many, many lifetimes — he’s late. He’s late, and he doesn’t know what to do.

As the sweet smell of tea fades and is replaced by the putrid aroma of London, John tells himself to let it go. So what he wasted thirty plus years just for your heart to already be stolen away from him? There’s a millennia behind him, and a millennia ahead of him. When one life doesn’t go right for him, there’s always the next. Yet as pavement turns to brick and The Thames sprawls out in front of him beyond metal bars, he finds himself hesitating. The idea of letting go can’t quite sink its tendrils into his mind, and his knuckles grow white as he grips the barrier in front of him.

Bitter wind bites at his face as he looks at the water below him. Hesitation. He doesn’t know why it paralyzes him. There’s never been any need or use for second guesses, because he’s always known what’s waiting for him on the other side. All he needs to do is lift his leg, hoist himself up, and then let gravity do the rest. He’s done it before, in some other life. He’s felt his body hit the frigid water with needle-like pain blossoming across his skin just before it swallows him whole. It’s not an easy way to die, but it’s the only thing violent enough that has the capability of smothering the bitterness growing in his heart.

The answer to his confusion comes as a whisper on the back of his neck, where it tingles until it reaches the base of his spine and flutters throughout every cell of his body. Principle. It’s the principle of it all. In every single life, you’ve been his lover, his wife, the mother of his children, and if you are not, then you are dead. Rotten. Decaying in some grave by the time he finally finds you. You’re not just his desire, the love of his life, his reason for being; you are his right.

How long can someone love a soul before it becomes theirs? Before it’s ripped out of their lover and tucked safely away into a cage?

John chuckles as his hand slips from the railing, and he slides them into his pockets as if he had been enjoying the view of grey water and even more grey skies this entire time. Kill himself? No; you’ve been his this entire time. You just don’t know it yet.

He’s only ever done this a few times before; kidnap someone. In a few of his past lives, he’s been a soldier. A stone-hardened man who’s stolen families as bartering tools to make terrorists talk when their mouths were otherwise sealed shut. Killing is a good way for him to let out the anger that builds in a man’s soul after so long, and though he prefers to keep it to people who deserve it, his fingers can’t help but twitch as he watches your husband drop you off at the yoga studio.

Doesn’t he — your husband — deserve it? Death? Shouldn’t he pay the ultimate price for stealing you away from your true lover? The man who’s looked after you for eons? John wants to do it. Kill him. Smell the sanguine aroma that mixes with the harsh gunpowder that expels after a bullet is shot. He wants to, and he could do it, but murder muddles things up more than he would like, and though he’s good at covering his trail, he’d rather steal you away without incident. He’s been carefully plotting this ever since he saw you in that tea shop all those days ago; he can’t ruin it.

A smile pulls at his lips as he thinks about the look on your husband's face, when his pretty little pretend wife doesn’t return home. When he realizes how he’s failed you.

John’s hands tap at the steering wheel as he waits, patient as ever, for your session to end. Silly of you to go to a night class, really. Even sillier of your husband to allow such a terrible thing. If anything, it's greater proof that this new man in this new life isn’t good for you. It could have been anyone sitting in that car park, waiting for you to leave. Waiting to take you home.

Good thing it’s only him.

John exits the car just before eight. Cool air does its best to calm the electricity sizzling in his veins, but ultimately it’s his own mind that stills his nerves. Everything is planned out in his mind with moves expertly rehearsed in a past now forgotten, yet still ingrained in his memory; he knows he’ll get exactly what he wants. You. It’s all he craves. All he ever does.

You exit the studio with a laugh and a wave goodbye to the other women in your yoga class. That pathetic husband of yours is late, which only proves to be good fortune for John as he slips by your side. His feet are dangerously silent on the pavement and his arm is just as warm as ever as he wraps it around your waist, blade in hand. Even through the fabric of your shirt its point is noticeably sharp, and your feet stumble as he presses it against you in warning.

“Not a word, darling,” he whispers, too saccharine to be a stranger.

You listen, just like he knew you would, and he steers you away from the pavement and into the car park. It’s difficult for him not to chuckle as he recalls you in another life. How you once batted your pretty lashes at him, all but begging him to use a knife in bed with you. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel the cold sting of it against your skin. He wonders if some part of you feels that way in this life.

Once you reach the car, he slips the zip ties over your wrists in a single fluid motion before opening the door for you. Any onlookers would just think he’s being a gentleman helping you into the car like that, but there’s a method to his madness. As soon as you’re seated into the passengers side, your eyes meet his and they widen with terrified recognition. Not quite the look he hoped for from you, but your expression quickly melts away the moment a needle pierces through your pants and into your thigh. All that’s left to do is buckle you in and drive off.

He likes to pretend he’s carrying you to your honeymoon room as he curls you up into his arms. A sweet bride, passed out against his chest as he carries you to bed, safe in the confines of the cage he’s spent that entire lifetime preparing for you. You don’t stir when he places you in bed, but he lays down next to you as if both of you are resting. He lays in front of you so he can see your face while it’s peaceful; not while it’s twisted with confusion and disgust like it was in the tea shop a few days ago. No, he likes you much better like this. Quiet and pliant.

The tips of his fingers trace the features of your face, and it’s a dance he’s grown to have well memorized. They brush your lips and the tip of your nose before dipping underneath your jaw where they continue to wander. It doesn’t feel wrong, even though he knows you’d beg to differ. He’s done this before, in a life you don’t remember. Touch you like this. Feeling the dip between your breasts and the skin of your stomach. He pats your hands, still bound together with a zip tie — he tells himself he’ll remove them once you start behaving — before caressing your thighs. He wants to slip upwards, to brush his thumb against your clit just like how he knows you like it, but he refrains. He’ll wait until you wake up to do that. Your gasps are always sweeter when you’re aware.

The sweet bliss of numb eternity melts away as the drugs begin to wear off, and when your eyes flutter open you’re met with the face of a stranger. Truly, he’s not a stranger at all. Or, at least that’s what John would have you believe with the knowing smile he gives you. Your bound hands move up and press against his chest, desperately attempting to earn some space between the two of you. This only makes him laugh, and his hand rests on top of yours.

“Easy, darling,” he soothes.

An incoherent response stumbles out from your lips just as fearful tears swell in your eyes. His hand pants yours against his chest before he frowns. The gemstone on your wedding ring stands out like a sore thumb against his palm, and it serves as a stark reminder as to why he had to do all this in the first place. You don’t — or can’t — fight against him as he slips the ring off your finger and places it on the nightstand next to him. He’ll dispose of it properly another time, but for now he just can’t stand to see that proof of ownership on you.

“Please.” It’s the first word you’re able to slur out, and John hangs onto the syllable like it’s dessert. “W-Whatever you want… please… my husband, h-he’ll give it to you just… let me go, please.”

Husband. He hates that word on your lips when it’s not in reference to him.

“I’ve already gotten what I want, love,” he whispers.

Your eyes wrench shut and tears fall free at the realization that there’s nothing you can do to get away from this crazed man. He shushes you as he holds your face in his hands and presses his lips against your forehead. It’s not enjoyable, the way you recoil from him, but giving you the same love he’s given you in every other life feels right. It feels more wrong to withhold it from you.

Because this is his right, isn’t it? Of course it is, and in some sort of way, you seem to know this too. Your hands no longer press against his chest in disdain, and it’s all too easy to prop himself up on his elbow and press his lips against yours. The pressure is firm, as if he’s holding himself back from taking more from you. He groans at the taste of salt on your lips, and nearly chuckles at the way you tremble. It’s a one-sided embrace that you refuse to return, but he tells himself you’ll learn otherwise soon enough.

When John pulls away, your eyes refuse to focus on him as the shame eats you from the inside out. Your entire body is limp, bound hands resting against your stomach as he sits up. Deciding you’ve been behaving well enough, he reaches for the knife on the nightstand and he turns back to you, ready to cut the ties from your wrists.

The very moment the glint of the knife catches your eye is the moment you begin to squirm. Legs thrash and mess up the sheets as you scramble away from him until your head and back is pressed against the headboard. Your chest heaves violently as your terror overtakes you, and John pauses as you retreat. He’s never seen you look at him like that; not in any life he’s ever lived.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises.

“Please don’t,” you beg, his assurance falling on deaf ears. Your pleas turn into mindless stuttering for a moment before something visibly breaks in you, forcing you to share a secret that feels like sealing your death: “Please, you can’t just- I- I’m pregnant! Please!”

Everything stops. The world. His heart. It all falls quiet except for the sound of your hyperventilating which is almost as deafening as the ringing in his ears. Pregnant. Anything kind in John’s eyes dies quietly as he clenches the knife in his hand.

Pregnant. Not with his child. It must be a lie — it has to be a lie. You don’t look pregnant. There is no swelling of your stomach. Yet your hands lie on your lower abdomen as if you’re cradling something. Cradling someone. You have never been good at lying in any of your lives, and the candor sheen in your eyes tells him you’re not good at lying in this one, either.

John tells himself he only wants to embrace you. To mourn the life the two of you could have had if you only behaved. He doesn’t register why you’re screaming until the blood covers his hands, and then you fall quiet. His knife sinks into your stomach like it’s butter, and it pulls free from you even easier. You stare up at him, confused. As if you can’t comprehend why he would do this to you.

Ichor flows free from you like a river, and all you can do is gasp and paw at your wound. Your legs flail as John pulls you against his chest, chin resting on top of your head as if this is something he can soothe away with a hug. It’s not. He can’t soothe away your betrayal. Can’t come to terms with the fact you carry another man’s child when you should be carrying his.

“I know,” he shushes with a strained voice. “I know. It’ll be over soon.”

Your death is not kind, and he mourns every minute you bleed in his arms until you eventually still. It’s only when your blood goes cold that he allows himself to cry. Angry, hot tears that sear his skin as they soak into your hair. Damn this ruined life. Damn the years he wasted trying to find you only for you to be soiled by the time you were in his grasp. He hates the gore that stains your being, but he assures himself it was necessary.

In every life, you belong to him. In the lives that you don’t, you’re already dead.

John carefully places your body back on the mattress where he takes in the sight of you. There’s no more glow to your skin, not like there was while you were alive. But you’re dead, and he knows the life inside of you is dead, too. He tries to take comfort in that fact before angling the knife towards himself.

Killing himself is easier than killing you, as driving the knife into his throat is a well practiced motion. It’s something he’s done before, and he’s so used to it he doesn’t even groan at the sting as the blade slices his artery. Darkness is quick to cloud his vision as the blood loss overwhelms him, and he sputters and stares down at your cold body below. There is little comfort he feels when his blood meets yours on the stained sheets of the bed he wished to love you on. The mixing of blood is the only bond the two of you will ever have in that life.

He coughs as he falls forward. Soon, he has no use for any sort of comfort at all.

There is no blood in your next life. No iron taste in your mouth, or rotten flesh haunting your nose. No, there is only ink, paper, and well loved books.

You love your job. Books are your livelihood; the tool you use to escape reality on rainy days, so it only makes sense that in this life you work as a librarian. The building is dated with poorly insulated windows, and a bell that chimes as another patron enters, but that’s what makes it charming. Millions of words have been consumed in that library, and they linger in a way that never leaves you feeling alone.

Several books sit tucked safely in your arms as you wander aisles, on the hunt to return them home. Every shelf is well memorized. You could find any book in that building blind folded, and you hum to yourself as you go to return Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself to its rightful home on the top shelf of the WXYZ aisle.

Your feet are nimble as you climb the step stool to reach the shelf. It nearly reaches the ceiling, which is no small feat for a building of that size. Your arm stretches over your head and you breathe in the scent of stale paper and well loved books. Just as your fingers slide the item into place, the stool below you jerks, and your stomach drops as you fall to the side.

The books in your arms tumble onto the ground, but you’re saved from that same fate as a pair of arms swoop around you. You squeak as your hands grip the shirt of your savior, and you look up with wild eyes at the man. John Price is younger in this life when he finds you. In his twenties this go around. His face is clean shaven, but his eyes still hold the wisdom of forgotten ages and dead worlds.

“Terribly sorry, darling,” he apologizes. His grip on you loosens, but he doesn’t quite cut you free just yet. “You alright?”

“Yes, thank you, I… good save,” is all you can manage through a breathless chuckle.

There’s an innocence in your eyes that has John smiling at you. His hands are kinder in this life. The angry claws that ended your previous life don’t exist anymore. They do not wield a knife in anger; they only hold you with unbridled adoration. It’s the way things are supposed to be, with you in his arms and looking up at him with that innocent gaze, just the way he likes you. For a moment, John worries that you somehow recognize him when you tilt your head, yet as you bashfully return his smile, he takes comfort in knowing that you don’t remember anything.

You don’t remember anything at all.

#core writes #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #fucked up soulmate au #f!reader

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dostoyevsky-official · 3 days

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What do you see as the practical point of the student protests? What Israel is doing in Gaza is a moral horror, but the actual demands being made at e.g. Columbia seem so unlikely to affect it in any way (school sells small amount of stock in companies with some connection to Israel -> ??? -> ??? -> fewer children die) that it's hard to wholeheartedly support the protests escalating.

Unless the theory is "make demands that the college won't meet" -> "cause attention-catching disruption" -> "Biden admin finds it embarrassing" -> "Biden maybe pressures Netanyahu", in which case the specific demands are completely arbitrary?

one of the primary demands is disclose: the financial investments are not transparent information, thus the demand for the administration to reveal what they are. second, as i've mentioned before, university divestment is an established practice dating back to apartheid. there's nothing crazy, controversial, or quixotic about the demand. students are not making the demand with the idea that it will be the final straw that will finally crush the war effort, but with the understanding that it's their money, their community, and that a boycott of israel is the morally correct choice in line with the BDS movement. would you be comfortable attending a school that was investing in russian assets? i wouldn't. even if it's not a ton of money (we don't know how much) it's still likely to be significant given columbia's $14 billion endowment (and i find your phrasing unnecessarily condescending here.) harvard, where an encampment has been set up, is worth $50 billion. some of the ivies, like cornell, invest in raytheon—setting aside israel, why should any university have investments in the military industrial complex to begin with?

here is the preamble to the most recent currently available columbia divestment resolution:

not exactly pie-in-the-sky stuff here. the apartheid protests resulted in successful divestment, and even the 1968 protests resulted in all demands met by the admin. it's a very practical goal. it's also one that happens to be morally righteous and just.

furthermore, i don't know where you have been for the past week, but who have you seen escalate the protests? the reason why there is now a worldwide protest movement is because, for the thousandth time, minouche shafik called the cops to arrest 108 students. the NYPD itself said the students were peaceful and offered no resistance whatsoever, even as police also arrested legal observers. it was not the intention of the protesters to get national or international attention. "hard wholeheartedly support the protests" is an exceedingly strange comment to make that i, frankly, have a hard time understanding. i find it extraordinarily easy to wholeheartedly support fellow graduate students and professors i personally know at multiple universities who are meeting the ire of a lying media, lying administration, and lying government in the form of a police baton for the crime of sitting on some university's lawn.

at this point, given the sheer level of violence the police has unleashed on students and faculty across the country for showing up to said lawns, a portion of the protest support for them stems from the defense of free speech.

additional demands in light of the arrests and suspensions include the reinstatement of SJP and SJVP and amnesty for all arrested. again, not absurd, not without precedent.

lastly, i invite you to go to a protest and see what's happening for yourself. at this point, there's bound to be one near you.

#it's exhausting seeing everyone learn about them exclusively through twitter videos GO TO ONE!#free palestine and free the university

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maryrouille · 3 days

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Toxic romanticization of studying

In a word of introduction, my profile partly shows that studying and exploring is wonderful. But as a person involved in science*, I would like to show healthy and true patterns of this beautiful adventure in acquiring knowledge.

The inspiration for writing this post this time was not the phenomenon from Tumblr (although you can also observe it here), but from Pinterest. There you can come across cycles composed of quotes and photos whose aim is to motivate young girls to learn, succeed and get good grades. These images often also show examples of characters from movies, TV series or real life that you can aspire to be like. Overall, I have to agree that it really works! But I would like to draw attention to certain elements that need to be verified.

1. You shouldn't get up at 5am

First of all, the correct amount of sleep is one of the most important factors affecting the proper and effective functioning of our brain. During sleep, nerve cells regenerate, organize information acquired during the day and consolidate memory traces, which is directly related to learning. Lack of sleep increases impulsivity, deepens negative thinking and slows down the body's reaction time!

2. You can be a genius without good grades

Of course, good grades are a pleasant confirmation of our knowledge and praise for hard work. However, sometimes it is worth considering whether the structure of exams themselves, especially those with closed questions, affects the results. We often study for one specific exam, the knowledge of which may be very… limited and sometimes not useful, so it is worth prioritizing the topics that we study hard.

3. It's not cool to think you're better than others

We are different and have different priorities in life. It is also worth considering how many people escape from the rat race and start a slow, stress-free life. So we have to agree that judging people based on grades or responses under stress (sic!) is not cool.

The good thing about romanticizing studying

As I have already said, these types of collages are really motivating. So let's talk about what's great about them and what's worth highlighting and saving for later.

1. Knowledge is beautiful, but your outfit and surroundings can also be

We know that we should never judge a book by its cover, but… the issue of social perception painfully confirms that we do and will continue to do so because this is how our brains work. And isn't it nice when someone looks at us and thinks this girl is so classy?

Moreover, a nice outfit that makes us feel good gives us a lot of self-confidence. There are also many studies confirming the positive impact on motivation and concentration of a neat and aesthetic workplace.

2. Not just cramming, but also discovering

Broadening your horizons is easier with passion and real commitment. And to achieve this, the topics must really interest us. Not everyone has yet found something that they are extremely passionate about in science, so that is why you have to dig deeper and discover different areas.

3. Don't be afraid to use your knowledge in practice

Schools and universities, unfortunately, have their own rules and they do not always allow you to show your 100% potential. Thus, share your knowledge with others externally, write essays, blog and social media. This form of activity also makes you learn things faster and easier. In addition, contacts with others will expand your knowledge.

Therefore, I must say that it is worth choosing your inspirations carefully. Nothing helps you enjoy studying better than a clear head and lack of prejudices.

*This post was inspired by my own experience with studying. If anyone is interested, I think I can share my mistakes that did not help me in an academic adventure :)

#study aesthetic #healthy studying #study motivation #studyblr #dark academia #light academia #studyspo #study inspiration #study inspo #study blog #studying #productivitytips #studyblr community

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jewish-sideblog · 17 hours

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Other notes of insanity from the "JVP Haggadah":

Adonai elohenu melekh ha-olam is translated differently literally every time it appears. First it's "spirit of freedom" then it becomes "the source" and "the eternal determiner of the universe" and "the one who sustains all life". Y'all. It's the same phrase in every blessing. Jews would know this. Pick one translation and stick with it!

Wine is typically a symbol of joy in the Seder-- it's often a joy for our liberation from Egypt. However, I've also seen it represented as joy despite the hardships and captivity many of us still face. JVP does away with all of that and dedicates each glass of wine to a different theme: Education, solidarity, boycotting Israel, and community. Wine is a symbol of joy in Judaism because drinking four glasses of Maneshewitz in a night gets you drunk. The symbolism is inherent to the wine itself. I don't see how getting shitfaced helps you boycott Israel.

Yachatz is fully gutted. The Hagaddah is supposed to detail how and why you break the matzah-- you can't just break it! There's symbolism and meaning to breaking specific pieces and creating an Afikomen. JVP says fuck an Afikomen, everybody just breaks a cracker and thinks about systematic oppression. They try to (incorrectly) address the Afikomen issue later, but it's nonsensical at that point because we never made one to begin with.

There is no Maggid. There's a section called Maggid, which includes a single verse from what I'm almost certain is the Christian Old Testament, not the Torah. There's no story. It literally just goes Bible Verse > Shitting on Israel > Four Questions > Plagues. They literally took out the longest and most important part of the Seder. I'm not shocked that they couldn't figure out a way to make the story of Exodus seem anti-Zionist, but still...

There's no Chad Gadya. Instead, you're supposed to go around the table, wish each other good night, and ask what they learned. This might actually be an interesting way to further involve attendees in the Seder if there were... you know... a Maggid. There's nothing to take away from this because there's zero substance. The story wasn't told. It's just there to force attendees to verbally shit on Israel before they're allowed to leave.

I'm sure there are other major issues with it; feel free to add them if you find any. I'm just personally still too baffled by the stupidity of it all to go through it a second time.

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roguegambitweek · 2 days

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Legacy

A few of our prompts this year make specific reference to the comics. We know that not everyone has read the comics (there are a lot of X-Men comics out there) and we don’t want anyone to feel left out.

So, without further ado… Legacy.

First, as the prompt is written, you can create your fanworks around the concept of legacy—of what a person leaves behind, their long lasting impact on the world. This could be children, inspiration, etc. Or, it could even be a meta exploration about Rogue and Gambit’s impact on comics, the X-Men, or any other medium they’re in. Feel free to play with this concept of legacy.

Now, if you’re interested in the character of Legacy, read on.

In 2011, there was a X-Men Legacy/New Mutants crossover event called ‘Age of X.’ In this bubble, alt-universe, dystopian world, Rogue goes by Legacy.

As Legacy, she’s present whenever another Mutant dies. She absorbs them, preserving their memories and, in a way, memorializing their lives. Because she mostly appears when Mutants die (and there are quite a few deaths since they are being hunted to extinction), other Mutants begin associating her with death. They call her Reaper, a name which she despises and continually asks them to not to call her that. Due to various reasons, Legacy spends most of her time alone, or sequestered in the Fortress.

This is a lonely existence for Legacy. And here enters our hero.

Gambit does go by Gambit, although he uses a long rifle instead of cards. One of the first times Legacy and Gambit meet, he calls her Legacy (her preferred name). When she asks him why he is helping her, he proclaims, “I don’t even know, chère. I saw you fighting, is all. And I knew what side of the fight I wanted to be on.”

Anyways, they go on a quest together to discover the truth behind the contradictions of their dying world, share a few romantic moments, and are willing to lay down their lives for each other. Even though they just met, they work together like they’ve been partners their entire lives. Truly, Romy are the OTP across the Multiverse.

In the end, they save the day and everyone is returns to the regular 616 universe. Most participants in this bubble world choose to forget about it, but Rogue retains Legacy’s memories.

The entirety of Legacy’s appearances occur in the AoX arc and for once, it is relatively achievable to read the entire crossover. Below is the reading with the essential Romy moments bolded.

Reading list in Order:

Age of X Alpha

Chapter 1 - X-Men: Legacy (2011) - issue 245

Chapter 2 - New Mutant, issue 22

Chapter 3 - X-Men: Legacy issue 246

Chapter 4 - New Mutants (2011), issue 23

Age of X Universe #1

Chapter 5 - X-Men: Legacy, issue 247

Chapter 6 - New Mutants, issue 24

Age of X Universe #2

X-Men Legacy, 248, Age of X Aftermath (Just stop reading after the ‘home and harbor’ speech)

#rogue/gambitweek2024 #rogue/remyweek2024 #legacy #age of x #rogue #gambit #Romy #otp: home and harbor #otp: mon coeur #otp across the multiverse #anna marie lebeau #remy lebeau

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reejindeed · 1 day

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It seems like a lot of us One Piece fans started to leave the fandom for other things. You have your folk lore, I really got into pokemon. I wish you luck on your new art adventure.

I was pretty much only reading One Piece whenever the Kid Pirates were involved tbh

After a lot of the Yamato drama and general transphobic/homophobic/racist bullshit that kept getting regurgitated with the same three points of discourse I just got… tired. I’ve been tired for a long time. I wanted it to be better and I can absolutely see and acknowledge One Piece and Oda for where it is and for where he is, but like… man. It just wasn’t making me happy. Keeping up started feeling like a chore and an expectation. I was actually almost happy when the Kid Pirates were written out because I had this moment of like… finally I can be free of this shit.

Unfortunately the majority of my audience is One Piece-based so I don’t think I’ll ever fully be able to leave leave, (especially because something like Irish paganism and mythology isn’t exactly enough to go off of to keep a steady flow of money and I would have COMPLICATED FEELINGS about that anyway since I’m still very much a novice here), even if I am able to allow myself space to breathe and pursue other interests outside of this big huge modern epoch. This is still my livelihood, which is another part of the reason I didn’t want my entire career to be centered around making fanart of an anime I didn’t feel great about. I wanted to be thinking more about what I want to be doing, and the type of work I want to have representing myself as well as what is marketable and will make money. Fanart for large fandoms builds more interest for commissions because it has a wider reach than original work. It does serve a function. It’s just not where my heart’s at, and given the state of everything I’d rather be putting my energy towards something that makes me want to draw again.

I still have a lot of love for the little corner I built for myself within the One Piece universe. I still really respect One Piece for what it is: an INCREDIBLY vast sandbox that allows for the immense creativity of the fandom to build upon this empire that Oda has created. That’s no small feat, and I have an IMMENSE amount of respect for Oda as a writer, world-builder, and artist. I’ll still probably be drawing the Kid Pirates for a long time.

Just not as much as I used to.

I really hope I can also continue to build an audience of people who have similar interests as me in all regards, not just one specific fandom for one specific anime.

#ramblings #ask #text post

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keishawantskisses · 23 hours

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I just wanted to say that @/ari-doodles-stuff clearly doesn't understand how manifestation works, and your response was 100% right! There are no shared realities, so if those countries aren't free in @/ari-doodles-stuff's reality, it's simply because they haven't manifested it themselves. Asking the loass community to manifest collective world freedom (or anything else for that matter), respectfully, makes no sense and is ignorant of the law of assumption. If someone wants to manifest something, it will materialize in their reality ONLY🤷🏼 We don't know what's going on in other people's realities ((and personally I don't think we ever can tell because, for example, MY 3D is a projection of MY OWN CONSCIOUSNESS which is separate from the consciousnesses governing other realities where I am not the operant power. So if a war is going on in my reality aka my 3D projection, that doesn't necessarily mean that the victims of said war are experiencing war in their own realities where THEIR CONSCIOUSNESS is the operant power and not mine🤷🏼)) There is no way to achieve world freedom in everyone's reality because not everyone knows how to manifest, and according to the fact that God/The Universe is referred to as "I AM" aka "All That There Is", it's literally impossible for something (in this case, the concept of war) to be nonexistent in all realities (because like Bashar said, by definition, "nonexistence" doesn't exist!!). So yeah, war will always exist and play out in a bunch of realities, but it's up to us as conscious manifestors to do with our power what we will and curate our realities to our liking.

Ot's just like you said!! I could sit here and manifest world peace, but if I tell you about it and you don't adopt my assumption, it won't play out for you🧍🏼😪 !!

/nm

THANK GOODNESS YOU GUYS GET WHAT I MEAN!! YOU COULDNT BE MORE SPOT ON THIS EXPLAINATION IS LITERALLY PERFECT!!

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erikahenningsen · 2 days

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Regina takes up 2/3 of the bed but it works for them because Cady sleeps curled up in a little ball. Regina hates having to sleep without Cady because sometimes she has nightmares and she always feels guilty about calling Cady in the middle of the night.

Now, please do this 😔🙏, or if you could, elaborate more. I'm currently in the midst of brainrot.

#grad school universe / Angie's fic

Regina wakes up just as the bus is about to hit her, breathing hard.

For a moment, she's completely disoriented, before she realizes she's in her bed, her apartment dark and silent.

Regina presses a hand to her forehead and finds it tacky with sweat, and her throat is a bit tender. She wonders if she had been screaming in her sleep. That's happened before—and completely scared the shit out of Cady the first time.

Cady.

Instinctively, Regina reaches to Cady's side of the bed, and finds it cold and empty. Right. Cady is at her apartment in New Haven. Regina is still getting used to spending more nights apart than together. She'd never tell Cady, but she thinks the nightmares have become more frequent as a result.

Regina wants to call Cady. She needs to hear her voice. It's the only thing that slows her heart, which is still pounding inside her chest with panic. But it's the middle of the night, and Cady has class in the morning.

Regina rolls over and tries to ignore it, to will herself back to sleep—or at least into a calmer state. But every time she closes her eyes, all she sees is Cady staring at her with horror as the bus plows into her body. Sometimes, in the dreams, the bus hits Cady instead. Those are the worst ones.

After a couple of minutes of trying to relax by sheer force of will, Regina tries deep breathing. She tries listening to some calming music. She even tries a free meditation video on YouTube, even though she thinks it's stupid. But she doesn't feel even a little bit better.

Before she can overthink it, she taps on Cady's contact and holds her breath as the phone rings.

Just as Regina thinks the call is going to time out, Cady picks up. The screen is dark, but Regina can make out part of Cady's face on the screen.

"Regina?" Cady mumbles sleepily. She squints against the light of her phone. "You okay?"

"Hi, baby," Regina whispers. She feels guilt flare in her stomach at Cady's sleepy face, but she already feels less like she's having a heart attack.

Cady runs a hand down her face. "Did you have a bad dream?" she asks.

Regina cringes a little at the wording—it makes it sound like she's four years old—but now is not the time.

"Yeah," Regina says. "I just needed to see you."

Cady makes a vague gesture that might be a wave. "Here I am."

"And so beautiful, as always," Regina says. She's always found it quite unfair how Cady looks gorgeous all the time, even in the middle of the night.

"I love you," Cady says, with so much affection that Regina physically aches to be with her. "I'm glad you're alive."

"Me, too," Regina says. "Most of the time."

Cady makes a displeased noise, and Regina knows if it weren't the middle of the night and they weren't in separate states Cady would insist on having A Conversation about the most of the time part.

For a few moments, Regina just looks at Cady's face. Well, more like half of her face. At a weird angle. But her breathing has returned almost to normal, and she isn't trembling anymore.

"I'm gonna fall asleep," Cady admits, eyelids drooping, "but I'll leave my phone on."

"Good night," Regina says. "I love you."

Cady kisses the tips of her fingers and taps them against the screen as her eyes close.

It'll have to do, for now.

#cadina #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #regina george #cady heron #grad school universe #ask #anonymous #prompts

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ducktoonsfanart · 2 days

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Mickey Mouse and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit as Romulus and Remus, as the founders of Rome - Toon History - History in Duckverse and Mouseverse - Happy Birthday to the Best City!

Yes, it's time to change my plans now with my new project called Toon Historia, also History in Duckverse and Mouseverse in which our famous cartoon and comic characters play famous historical figures and will play in important historical events . And first I drew Oswald the Lucky Rabbit and Mickey Mouse as the founders of Rome, as Romulus and Remus. Romulus and Remus, according to Roman mythology and Roman tradition, were the sons of Rhea Sylvia and the god Mars and grandsons of King Numitor. Numitor's brother Amulius overthrew his brother and ordered the execution of his children, including the sons of Sylvia who were thrown into the Tiber River. However, according to legend, a she-wolf found them and raised them until the shepherd Faustulus came along and adopted them. Afterwards they grew up and when they heard the truth, they went to overthrow Amulius and succeeded and restored their grandfather Numitor to be king of the city of Alba. Afterwards, Romulus and Remus went to seven hills in the valley of the Tiber River and there on April 21, 753 BC they founded the eternal city, which will be called Rome. Yes, there was a conflict between the two in which Romulus killed his brother (a tragic event) and thus took the title of the first king of Rome.

Oswald and Mickey who were created by Ub Iwerks and Walt Disney in 1927 and 1928 also became the first Disney icons, however the conflict between Iwerks and Disney resulted in Oswald being part of Universal, until in 2006 Disney bought the rights to Oswald. Yes, that's why I drew Mickey and Oswald as Romulus and Remus, because of that parallel, but don't worry, Mickey won't kill his brother, even though mice and rabbits are not the same species, they are still considered brothers because of Epic Mickey. As Romulus and Remus were the founders of Rome, so Oswald and Mickey were the founders of the new world.

I drew this last year, but I waited for this moment to publish now and I drew it as a redraw from an illustration by Tancredi Scarpelli (1866–1937) for Storia d'Italia by Paolo Giudici (Nerbini, 1929). I drew Mickey in my own style, while I left the old look for Oswald, because I still like him better with dot eyes. And yes, I drew this on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the creation of Disney as well as the 75th anniversary of Topolino magazine, which is published in Italy, and the capital of Italy is definitely Rome. Yes, Rome, the eternal city and capital of one of the greatest empires and greatest civilizations of all time. As well as related to the birthday of the City of Rome, which is celebrated on April 21 every year. Happy Rome Day! Roma Aeterna!

I hope you like this drawing and this idea and if you want to support feel free to like and reblog this! I just ask that you don't copy my same ideas without mentioning me and without my permission. Thank you! Happy Rome Day, my favorite city in the world!

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deconstructthesoup · 2 days

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Some beginning ideas for the chapter 3 Slay the Professor vessels:

Unique to the chapter 2 Professor:

The Modern Prometheus: You get the Modern Prometheus if you remain in the library with the Scientist, and he will respond by tormenting you with visions of death and dying until it's too much for you to bear. When you reawaken in the city, all of your voices have joined you, but your will is entirely broken, and you have no choice but to let the Professor out... and there's nothing you can do to prevent that from happening.

The Surgeon: You get the Surgeon if you run from the Doctor or do a poor job of fighting back, both of which end in you dying anyway. He still has his organ-resetting and organ-breaking powers from when he was the Doctor, but he's much more precise---though, this also comes with him taking his sweet time, giving him a disadvantage if you try to fight him like this.

The Awakened: You get the Awakened if you kill yourself when the Academic takes over you and eliminates the Guide. He is an angel now, towering above you and glowing with heavenly light, as he has now been blessed with all the knowledge in the universe... and, yeah, there's no way to defeat him. He'll appreciate it if you try, though.

The Hoard: You get the Hoard if you're merely killed by the Dragon instead of being devoured by him. While he is still very much capable of speech, he is even bigger and more monstrous, and he's changed his mind---he doesn't want to eat you, but he does want to keep you around as an addition to all the treasures he's amassed. Yeah, he's pretty fucking terrifying.

The Clipped: You get the Clipped if you hand the knife over to the Warlock as a sign of trust, and though he immediately betrays that trust and feels pretty smug about it, you do see a little bit of panic setting in as you fade out. When you find him again, he regrets killing you, and while he claims it's because he knows that he can't escape without you, you can see that he's rethinking his perspective of you. (This is not a romance route---the love story is between you and the Guide---but it is very much a "I think I understand you" route.)

Nothing Up My Sleeve & The Clockwork Man: One of two possible routes that can spring from the Inventor, this is what you get if you go down with the knife. You can keep on fighting against his onslaught of firearms and spinning blades, but it'll always end in the same way---with him eventually shedding his skin and revealing that he's an automaton, with the only thing that's flesh-and-blood being the brain set inside of his metal skull.

Conned And Trapped & The Last Spark: The same as the other Inventor route, except you didn't take the knife, you don't fight back, and it ends with his mechanical body falling apart.

Shared Chapter 3s:

The Judge: You get the Judge if you kill the Wizard or the Archivist, and while they are the same route, they are radically different depending on which Professor you start out with. If it's the Wizard, he will take on the visage of a heartbroken man who degrees that, because you betrayed him, you will be burned at the stake. If it's the Archivist, he will take on the visage of a cold and merciless man who degrees that the only justice you will receive is to be drowned in a well.

The Lich: You get the Lich if you either repeatedly attempt to kill the Creation or successfully kill the Scientist. The Lich has lost all sense of mercy and sympathy and is done with attempting to reason with you, and will puppet your body so you can lead him outside, where he will attempt to end you once and for all. He's pretty much one of the scariest Professors you can get.

The Plague: You get the Plague if you try to fight the Doctor without the knife or keep on fighting until he puts you out of your misery, or if you break free of the Academic's control and kill him. The Plague is hateful and only wants to make you suffer, and will do so by infecting you with a sickness that kills you over and over again, in increasingly agonizing ways.

The Underworld: You get the Underworld if the Dragon devours you and you kill him from the inside out, or if you either kill the Warlock or get trapped in the basement by him. You awaken, not bound to the Professor as one, but in a place where you see nothing but the repeated cycle of death and torment, over and over again. You hear the Professor's voice in your head along with the Guide and your aspects, hissing that this is all because of you, that it is your fault, that everything would be so much better if you were gone. And you can ignore him, and listen to the Guide when he says that this isn't the full story---and if you do that, you get the briefest and barest glimpse of the world beyond the city. But if you listen to him and follow the voice, you will find the Professor chained to a rock, tired and dejected and bitter. It's up to you whether you release him or leave him there.

Also, quick note---when a perspective of the Professor is collected, he cracks and turns into shards, which are then retrieved by a pair of talons. The perspectives are referred to as "shards," and the Professor doesn't consider them parts of his heart, but rather, parts of his mind.

#slay the princess #slay the professor au #stp the narrator #i'm having a lot more fun with this than i anticipated #i'll probably go back later and talk about how the library and city changes through the chapters

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aspoonofsugar · 3 days

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That's Entertainment

The Hazbin Hotel's Pilot is called "That's Entertainment". The title is a tongue in cheeck joke, as the series is good entertainment, but it also references "That's Entertainment!", a song from The Band Wagon musical. This song is quite famous and it became an anthem of sorts for Hollywood as a whole. Here it is its final stanza:

The world is a stage The stage is a world Of entertainment!

Does it sound familiar? It should:

Alastor: After all, the world is a stage and the stage is a world of entertainment.

Why is there such a reference in the Pilot?

There are two reasons:

Hazbin Hotel is a series with allusions to musicals, movies, memes, fairy tales and different mythologies. All these references tie into the story and characters by commenting plotlines and arcs. So, The Band Wagon's easter egg is the same.

Both The Band Wagon and Hazbin Hotel are meta-stories. They are pieces of entertainment about making entertainment. "That's Entertainment!" (song) has something to say about musicals. "That's Entertainment" (pilot) has something to say about stories.

So, Hazbin Hotel is full of references that can be read:

On a story or character level - in the sense that they enrich the series and its protagonists

On a meta-narrative level - in the sense that they metaphorically comment on the entertainment industry

Let's analyze these two layers of reading, when it comes to some motifs and characters. Of course, let's start from one of the oldest creative minds of the universe. The very first dreamer:

Charlie: Lucifer was one of these angels. He was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation.

LUCIFER: THE GREATEST SHOWMAN

Lucifer is a dreamer both when it comes to morals (story and character level) and to creativity (meta-narrative level).

Morals - Lucifer's first big project is to share free will with humanity:

Charlie Morningstar: Together, they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the Fruit of Knowledge to Adam's new bride, Eve, who gladly accepted.

Lucifer and Lilith's plan was to give humanity knowledge, so that they could challenge the system and decide for themselves how to live. It is an ideal rooted in the faith people can be amazing, when in charge of their destiny.

Creativity - Lucifer is so passionate about "creation" that he turns Hell itself into a big colorful show. A seven-ring circus full of acts and performances happening at the same time. This is the metaphorical meaning of Hell's circus motif. This realm is the greatest shit-show of all times and Lucifer is its creator. He is the Greatest Showman. After all, Lucifer's known activities are:

Its previous shows with the Seven Deadly Sins' Troupe

A theme park called LuLu World

An App similar to Ticketmaster, which is called Lucimaster

These are all linked to the entertainment industry. Isn't it strange that the King of Hell has such a specialization? Shouldn't he have control over a more strategic part of the economy, like industry, banks or health? And yet, entertainment is Lucifer's domain because deep down Hell is nothing, but a showbusiness factory.

So, Lucifer is at his root a wide-eyed idealist, both when it comes to his political stance and to his creative process. And yet, Lucifer gives up on dreaming:

Charlie: Ashamed, Lucifer lost his will to dream.

He stops seeing the good in others and loses hope for the system and people alike to change. He can't imagine a different future than the sad and lonely present he lives in.

He is stuck creating "ugly ducklings" he himself dislikes:

Lucifer: That's it… Almost there… Now presenting… the magic-tastical back flipping rubber duck! Haha! That spits fire! Hoo hoo hoo! Hold the applause please, okay. Oh, thank you, thank you. Oh god, who am I kidding? This sucks!

Lucifer's creative block is conveyed also by some details set up in the Hellaverse. For example, Helluva Boss shows another sin, who is very active in the entertainment industry.

WHEN MAMMON STOLE THE SHOWBIZ

Mammon, King of Greed apparently breaks an established pattern in Helluva Boss. In this show, every sin is introduced by a song focused on their vice.

Asmodeus, King of Lust, has House of Asmodeus:

Asmodeus: You singing love songs in my lustful lounge? Fizzarolli: Ozzie's ain't the place for sentimental sounds! Asmodeus: What'd you expect from a proprietor like us? Fizzarolli: Your demon host, Asmodeus, the embodiment of lust! Asmodeus: Give me a thrust! Fizzarolli: Bwabwabwabwa bwaaaah- Asmodeus: Show me some lust From the groin to the bust In desire, we trust In the house of Asmodeus

Beelzebub, Queen of Gluttony, has Cotton Candy:

Hey! I'm whatchu need, I'm watchu want I got it all, a carnival I'll bring you up, I'll take you down I'm sticky sweet, stuck in your teeth Like cotton candy Cotton candy (Ah-ah, ah-ah) Cotton candy (Ah-ah, ah-oh) Cotton candy (Ah-ah, ah-ah) I'm whatchu want Not watchu need (Ah-ah, ah-oh)

What about Mammon? The King of Greed has actually a lot of songs that explore his sin. Let's think about what his debut episode is called: "Mammon's magnificent musical mid-season special (ft Fizzarolli)".

Mammon doesn't sing nor performs, but the musical is still his. Fizz, who is the main character of the episode, gets only a mention.

In other words, all the songs featured in the mid-season special are Mammon's songs. They do not directly say anything about greed, but they comment on this sin in a meta-narrative way:

Octavia: Is it true this park is just a really shameless spin-off of Lucifer's far more popular Lu Lu World?

The Sin of Greed steals others' talents, so his songs are stolen songs. Loo Loo Land is the perfect example of this:

Everybody's friendly And nobody is mean No copyright infringements ever seen I have a dream (He has a dream) I'm here to tell (He's here to tell) About a magical fantastic place Called Loo Loo Land

This song has Mammon:

Profit of Lucifer and his Lu Lu World theme park

Rip off Charlie's Inside of Every Demon is a Rainbow song

Possess Fizzarolli's body

The King of Greed is a talentless performer:

Asmodeus: Also, you are a waaaay better performer than Mammon ever was, and thaaat's just facts.

Still, he is good at marketing and is slowly stealing the showbusiness for himself. He organizes pageants, finds new talents to exploit and has convinced Hell's middle class that being a clown like him is the coolest thing ever:

Fizzarolli: It's not about that! It's getting to work with my idol. I just love that he's giving someone new the chance to be in the spotlight! He's an inspiration. Blitzo: Well he's- definitely something alright. I mean, I dunno, was it worth all our savings just to have him put on an over-hyped commercial, and then bitch about taxes, and then assault us with clowns, vomit, and pass out on stage? Fizzarolli: So worth it!

What does it all mean for Lucifer?

On a character level, it ties with Lucifer's depression and general sense of failure. He is a Seraphim, the King of Hell and a brilliant artist and performer. And yet, he can't stop one of his subjects from ripping off his ideas. Once again Lucifer's dreams are ruined. They become soulless and rotten. Moreover, the one doing this is a member of Lucifer's own Circus Troupe, which adds to the impression of isolation and loneliness Lucifer gives off.

On a meta-narrative level, greed is corrupting the entertainment industry, as the dreamer in charge of it feels unmotivated and uninspired. This is a pretty poignant and tongue-in-cheeck dig to the current state of things, where corporations are mass-producing empty stories. After all, Lucifer fits the Mr Alt Disney TV Trope:

A No Celebrities Were Harmed version of Walt Disney; expect him to be the animator of a world-famous cartoon character (frequently a Mocky Mouse) and/or the founder of Souvenir Land. Also expect an exaggerated interest in planned communities and/or creating a utopia, possibly with sinister undertones. He'll present said utopia in the form of a World's Fair-like exhibition, usually in his parks. Many of these characters go beyond parodying just Disney and fuse him with Howard Hughes, another mustachio'd early/Golden Age of Hollywood impresario and futurist. Hughes gradually became debilitated by severe mental illness (OCD and agoraphobia) and eventually was reduced to living in seclusion, obsessively carrying out odd habits.

Lucifer is an oddball with a Showbiz Empire in Hell. He is loosely an expy of Walt Disney and the old Hollywood, but he is now tired and unable to produce anything new. Luckily, there is a beautiful disney-like princess ready to help him.

HAZBIN HOTEL, THE GREATEST SHOW

Charlie is a disney princess with the twist she reigns in hell, rather than on a classical fairy tale kingdom. In particular, she resembles Rapunzel in both design and personality:

Both princesses wear their hair tied, but they let it loose when they use their powers. They are enthusiastic, able to inspire others, but also sheltered. So, they are a bit childish. Charlie is basically Rapunzel if Raps were met with a cynical world the moment she escaped the tower:

He's got a dream He's got a dream See, I ain't as cruel and vicious as I seem Though I do like breaking femurs You can count me with the dreamers Like everybody else I've got a dream

Inside of every demon is a rainbow! Inside every sinner is a shiny smile! Inside of every creepy hatchet-wielding maniac, Is a jolly, happy, cupcake-loving child!

Rapunzel enters a sinister inn, shares her dream and is validated and understood by a bunch of bandits. Charlie explains her goal to all of Hell and is humiliated and laughed at by everyone.

Despite this setback, Charlie is still a disney-like princess and throughout the first season she brings dreams to others. This is true especially for Lucifer:

The King of Hell's dreams are awaken by Charlie's Hazbin Hotel project in two ways.

On a character level, Charlie's Hazbin Hotel is the evolution of Lucifer's dream, as it is rooted in the belief human souls can choose goodness. Even after death:

Charlie: Don't you care, Sera? That just because someone is dead, it doesn't Mean they can't resolve to change their ways Turn the page, escape infernal blaze

On a meta-narrative level, Hazbin Hotel is the greatest show. It is a new series, which takes obvious inspiration from classics, both disney movies and musicals. However, it is still fresh and innovative. Similarly, its protagonist is a disney-like princess (Charlie), who inspires a Walt Disney expy (Lucifer). She is a creation (daughter) giving hope to her creator (father). This is why by the end of season 1, Lucifer finds some of his old creative drive, as he helps Charlie rebuild the Hotel:

Lucifer: Remedial creation for me... it's as easy as can be!

Charlie brings back both hope (story level) and entertainement (meta-narrative level) in hell:

Alastor: Hahaha, why does anyone do anything? Sheer, absolute boredom! I've lacked inspiration for decades. My work became mundane, lacking focus, aimless! I've come to crave a new form of entertainment! Hahaha!

She has the talent to renew a showbiz (hell), which is mundane and aimless. She has a freshness, which catches the eye of navigated entertainers:

Alastor: She's filled with potential that I could guide Rosie: I concur Rosie and Alastor: Stick with her, you'll be on the winning side

Still, why is that so? Why is Charlie such a good entertainer?

CHARLIE: THE PERFORMATIVE DREAMER (CHARACTER LEVEL)

Charlie is entertaining because:

She tries hard to keep up her smile, even if she is suffering inside. In this sense, she is a real performer

She is so dedicated to her objective, that she is ready to do anything to reach it. In this sense, she is a true dreamer

Charlie, the performer

Alastor:Just because you see a smile don't think you know what's going on underneath. A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing, and ensures that no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control.

Charlie is a character, who masks her negative emotions behind smiles, enthusiasm and an apparent neverending optimism. In reality, she struggles a lot with who she is:

Alastor: Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, a misguided path to redemption! Founded five days ago by Lucifer's delusional daughter, Charlotte Morningstar! Come place your fate in her inexperienced hands, as she tries to work through her daddy issues by fixing you!

Has Charlie founded the Hazbin Hotel to help sinners or to find herself a purpose? The answer is both. Charlie's project is born from genuine altruism, but also from a selfish desire to matter.

Charlie, the dreamer

Alastor: You have a dream! You wish to tell! And it's just laughable. But, hey, kid, what the hell?

Charlie's dream seems impossible, almost a delusion. And yet, Charlie keeps pursuing it, no matter what. She sings her heart out to advertise the hotel... only to be seen by everyone as a joke. Still, she keeps going. She doesn't give up on her project.

Alastor: Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself! I want to watch the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment only to repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure!

Seeing Charlie struggle is fun because even if she fails, she tries again. She experiments new things, she learns and she teaches. She apologizes and she forgives. She never quits. So, she is an entertainer.

Charlie: I have a dream, I'm here to tell! About a wonderful fantastic new hotel!

CHARLIE, THE PERFORMER FULL OF DREAMS (META-NARRATIVE LEVEL)

Charlie puts up a performance and follows her dream no matter what. She hides within herself a selfish motivation (fiction), but earnestly pursues her selfless dream (reality). Similarly, Hazbin Hotel is a story (fiction) with a strong heart (reality).

That is because entertainment is rooted into reality:

Anything that happens in life Can happen in a show You can make 'em laugh You can make 'em cry Anything, anything can go (That's Entertainment! - The Band Wagon)

Charlie: Does getting into a fistfight with a reporter count as entertainment…? Alastor: Hahaha! It's the purest kind, my dear: Reality! True passion!

The song states anything can be entertainment

Alastor claims that good entertainment is born from genuine passion

It is the same idea declined in different ways. Entertainment is a representation of the world, of its flaws and beauties. It is fiction, but in a sense it must stay true to itself. Just like Charlie herself is both a performative dreamer (fiction) and a performer full of dreams (reality):

She is a performative dreamer because deep down she feels she must be perfect and repress her negative feelings. Only in this way she has value. She masks herself with a pollyanna persona.

She is a performer full of dreams because she has the talent to maker her dreams come true and to become a real artist in the process. To succeed, though, she should not ignore her hidden parts. She must face reality.

THE WORLD IS A STAGE AND THE STAGE IS A WORLD OF ENTERTAINMENT

When fiction and reality meet, entertainment is born. This is what Hazbin Hotel's meta-message seems to be. A story is invented, but the feelings behind it must be genuine.

At the same time, entertainment helps people better understand themselves. This may be why Hazbin Hotel is full of entertainment motifs. Here are some:

Charlie is a singer

Vaggie is a dancer

Angel is an actor

Alastor is linked to radios

Vox is a TV demon

Valentino is a director and producer

Adam is a musician, whose arc is described by the musical "School of Rock"

Charlie and Alastor's bond is commented by the musical "Annie"

For each one of these references, one could write a meta (I hope I will for some tbh). That is how much the idea of entertainment is intertwined in the story. In conclusion, it is definately true that:

The world is a stage = Fiction must take inspiration from reality or it will feel hollow

The stage is a world = Stories can help to better understand reality and make sense of it

Hazbin Hotel is a piece of entertainment about entertainment, which is best understood through the lens of entertainment. In short, it is entertainment!

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