#and would rather kill themselves than take advice from us or follow our lead

[theoldlesbianwithcats]

22.02.17 — On lesbian socialisation (by sespursongles)

We all know how female socialisation works, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone discuss the concept of lesbian socialisation, how it affects us, with what consequences — and how it is like female socialisation, squared.

To put it in a nutshell — female socialisation teaches you that you are inherently worth less than men and you must always defer to them and prioritise them and their feelings over yourself and other women. Lesbian socialisation teaches you that you are inherently worth less than male-attracted women and you must always defer to them and prioritise them and their feelings over yourself and other lesbians.

Lesbians are of course affected by both, although being gay can help us fight some aspects of female socialisation—e.g., the need to prioritise men or win male approval. Not that it doesn't affect us at all, but the message that “you are worth less than men” does impact you differently when men are worth less than women to you in your love life, and “you must behave in X and Y ways and treat other women like rivals for male interest” sounds like irritating white noise when getting male interest isn't a desired outcome.

On the other hand, we have nothing to help us resist the impact of lesbian socialisation, because we love women. We are fully behind the idea of prioritising women. Add to this a healthy dose of internalised lesbophobia, and we are now fully behind the idea that mlw are worth more than lesbians and we should prioritise these women in particular, always.

Not to mention the factor of our social isolation and quasi-total lack of outside support — how every other group and political faction hates us in a different (but, deep down, the same) way, how desperate we are for allies.

I wrote a post last week about lesbophobia and double standards in the radfem community, and one part of it was directed every bit as much at lesbians than at mlw: “Het/bi women are really seen as inherently more important and worthy of respect than lesbians, aren’t they? Can’t waste your shock and anger on people who hate lesbians because you must save it for when a lesbian calls a manloving woman a manlover.”

I wrote that post because there were lesbians who were much more shocked and outraged at other lesbians for hurting a bi woman’s feelings by calling her a lesbophobe and a “manlover”, than at said bi woman for being a lesbophobe who defended the idea that lesbians can be manlovers. (She was defending a book I mentioned previously, written by a bi woman, in which a lesbian falls in love with a guy.) There were also lesbians who hurried to write posts urging other lesbians to calm down and be nice when we started reacting to the lesbophobia, but felt no need to write posts telling mlw who were being lesbophobic to calm down and be nice. And there were lesbians who felt the need to write posts reassuring “our bi sisters” that we still love them and we know most of them aren’t like that and NotAllBis and wlw solidarity, but didn’t feel the need to respond to this surge of lesbophobia with comforting posts of solidarity to fellow lesbians. That’s what I call lesbian socialisation. Put manloving women first, always. Suck it up, be nice, placate, placate. Can’t risk alienating the very few “allies” we have.

Female socialisation teaches you “it’s in your best immediate interests to care more about men’s feelings than about women’s oppression.” Lesbian socialisation teaches you “it’s in your best immediate interests to care more about manloving women’s feelings than about lesbian oppression.”

And that’s exactly why the queer/bi/trans community has been able to dismantle the lesbian community so easily and walk all over us. Because all lesbians have been taught to never dare prioritise ourselves and our own wants and needs, to always put every other group’s feelings and wishes before ours, especially other women and other marginalised groups who need our help and compassion*. Gay men don’t have this problem and so they still have “exclusionary” spaces. *And these groups know it. They might not know it consciously, but they know it, and they exploit it.

Every time a het radfem reminds a lesbian of how dangerous and painful partnering with men is, every time a bi woman throws those bi suicide and rape statistics at us, every time a “trans lesbian” talks about how much it hurts his feelings to be rejected by mean lesbians who won’t date him, they are counting on lesbian socialisation to kick in, waiting for lesbians to feel terrible and forget about our own best interests and duly start prioritising theirs.

Het radfems do this deliberately, to get us to admit that het privilege isn’t really a thing and, back in the day, to convince lesbians to accept their political lesbianism rubbish (“Why won’t you welcome us in your community as your lesbian sisters? Do you really want us to go back to our hurtful hetero relationships?”). Bi women do this deliberately, to guilt-trip us into “including” them everywhere and shut us up when we talk about their lesbophobia. “Trans lesbians” do this deliberately, to get us to fuck them. (Men don’t have complicated motivations).

They all know the stereotypes (they create them) that are an integral part of lesbian socialisation, teaching us our worthlessness. The mean lesbian, the angry lesbian, the manhating lesbian, the ugly hairy rabid hysterical cruel insensitive heartless biphobic transphobic gatekeeping selfish exclusionary oppressive genital-fetishising lesbian.

Lesbian socialisation is the incredibly useful and necessary extension of female socialisation. It functions to keep the women most detached from patriarchal institutions, the women who least need men, who have the most reasons to rebel, quiet and well-behaved. Growing up as a lesbian, you receive female socialisation, hear that as a woman you are subhuman and born to love men, serve men, worship men, and you feel angry. But you also receive lesbian socialisation, hear that you are not merely subhuman but subwoman, lower than low, if you turn into one of those crazy rabid angry lesbians, and you back down.

And other groups know how to use all these hateful messages and stereotypes against us, either throwing them at us outright, or subtly reminding us of them, then watching us desperately scramble trying to prove that they aren’t true, or at least not true of me. They know.

So, it would be good if lesbians knew, too. Be aware that lesbian socialisation exists, that it affects you, and that other groups use it against you. Notice patterns. Notice in what contexts the calls for “empathy”, “solidarity”, “sisterhood”, politeness and niceness start flowing. Notice in what contexts other groups give you tragic statistics about their own oppression. Notice when you start feeling bad and guilty and ask yourself why. Who are you prioritising? (Usually, yourself and/or your fellow lesbians.) Whose feelings are you ignoring? Who are you concretely hurting? (Usually, no one. Prioritising lesbians does not actively hurt other groups, no matter how badly they want us to believe that—using the aforementioned tragic statistics as well as words like “denying us” to make us feel like our bodies, affection, time, solidarity and emotional labour are as necessary to them as oxygen.)

And remind yourself that it’s okay to prioritise lesbians, and that you do not have to care about people and groups who have shown time and again that they do not care about you. When a group has a long history of disregard or blatant hatred of lesbians and shows zero willingness to change, it’s okay not to care anymore. It’s okay to answer questions like “Do you support X group?” (trans people, radfems, gay men, bi women…) with “No. I support lesbians.”

Because you are not required by law to support groups who do not support you back, let alone groups who are actively promoting an ideology that hurts you and your community. It’s nice to be nice and polite and supportive, but when the niceness and politeness and support always flow in the same direction, at some point, it’s time to stop. Allow yourself to stop. (At the very least, allow other lesbians to stop and don’t lecture them for not being sufficiently nice and polite to the groups that you, personally, still have some faith in. She probably has good reasons for losing her faith in them.)

If you do stop, you’ll probably feel very guilty at first (they’ll make sure you do), but it will get easier. You might even start feeling better about yourself now that you stopped caring about some groups who never cared about you.

And finally, please keep in mind that if you don’t prioritise yourself and other lesbians, no one else will. No other group will care. Not even marginalised groups who share some aspect of their oppression with us. Not het women, not trans people, not gay men, not bi women. No other group will defend us, support us and prioritise our hurt feelings over their oppression — what they constantly demand of us. No matter how nice, accommodating, polite, helpful we are to them. It’s never going to be our turn.

#seven years later and it's truer than ever #at this point I think gold stars shouldn't bother with feminism bc most straight and bi women just want to use us as human shields or pawns #and would rather kill themselves than take advice from us or follow our lead #and the time we spend caring about them is time we don't spend on lesbians #hence why we have no true spaces or events #and not much art about us

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Majexatli as a Companion

[Part 1/?]

[Questions from here]

Where can your Tav be recruited?

Majexatli can be recruited in Act 1. They are found on the Risen Road, by the hyenas. When approaching for the first time, a cutscene will play, in which the player sees a dire coyote eating one of the hyenas and being attacked by gnolls. The dire coyote races after the gnolls beyond the trees and out of sight, allowing the player to investigate the dead and dying hyenas on the road. 

After the player begins combat with the hyenas, Majexatli will join initiative, rushing into combat to assist the players from where the dire coyote has disappeared. Once combat ends, Majexatli will introduce themselves and their tadpole will connect with the players, indicating that they too were on the Nautiloid.

Your tadpole squirms in recognition, their fragmented memories becoming your own. Flashes of verdant forests, vast grasslands, kneeling before a gathering of druidic elders, wandering overgrown paths, the title of Faithwarden. With each flash, however, an undercurrent of hunger, growing in intensity with each passing memory until it erupts into something blood-red and razor-sharp.

The Dark Urge will get a unique dialogue option here, relating to the bloodlust in Majexatli’s memories. Druids will also get a unique dialogue with an insight check where they can mentally speculate on Majexatli’s druidic background and note that Majexatli’s druidic armor is very different from most druids. Druid players will also recognize the title of Faithwarden and note the high honor of the title. Rangers can notice that their armor and clothing seem more reminiscent of a ranger than a druid. Clerics can notice their lack of a holy or druidic symbol.

Majexatli will offer their assistance to the player, saying that they are an accomplished druid and alchemist and that they can help navigate the area.

If allowed, Majexatli will either join the player's active party if there’s room, or be told to head to the player’s camp.

Does your Tav have any comments or advice when you recruit other companions?

I can't imagine Majexatli being recruited before some of the origin companions, but I've included everyone anyways for the fun of it.

About Wyll: The Blade of Frontiers... I haven't actually heard of him, I'm afraid. He seems a good man, though, and rather charming...

About Karlach: It's nice to have another tiefling in camp. I imagine she's one hell of a fighter, too, anyone who's lived in the hells has to be.

About Astarion: Hm. I'd keep an eye on the pale one.

About Shadowheart: If I've learned anything during my years, it's that you should always have a healer with you, regardless of whatever they have going on. Shadowheart will be important if we want to stay alive.

About Lae'zel: Lae'zel is quite the warrior, it's wise to have her around. I don't know much about her people, but if she says she knows the cure for our parasites, I'm willing to follow her lead.

About Gale: Stranger as it is, I've never met a wizard. Gale seems quite knowledgeable. He's kind of everything I imagined a wizard would be like, if I'm honest. Very... wizardly.

About Halsin: (sighs) I suppose it's good for Halsin to finally join us, given how long he's been in our camp.

About Minthara: I think it's good to have Minthara with us, as long as she stays on our side that is. I might not agree with everything she says, but she's quite impressive in battle.

About Jaheira: Hm. Another druid.

What sort of general actions raise or lower their approval?

Raise approval: helping people in need, killing people who are abusing power/authority, respecting nature, some violence, survival skills (foraging, gathering plants, gathering loot from killed beasts) being kind to children

Lower approval: senseless cruelty, delighting in the suffering of others, expressing disgust for monsters, abusing authority/power, taking advantage of innocent people, neutrality, maintaining balance or status quo

#eldritch it speaks #salam plays bg3 #oc: majexatli #long post

[jackoshadows]

what i don’t understand is sansa stans who insist that she learnt from the best (cersei ans littlefinger) and so she’ll be an amazing ruler and player. first of all, when did she learn about the game from cersei? she was a hostage in kings landing, she wasn’t sitting in on small council meetings or anything and cersei definitely wasn’t telling her about all the moves she was making. the only time cersei really gives her ‘advice’ is during blackwater when she says that ‘tears/sex is a woman’s weapon’. regardless, cersei isn’t someone you want to be taught from, she makes terrible decision after terrible decision in affc. (since we’re on this topic, dany is the younger and more beautiful queen who foils cersei).

as for littlefinger, he’s definitely not a leader or ruler. he subtly manipulates things here and there and gets away with a lot of it because he stays under the radar. he’s not someone who inspires devotion for sure. nothing about the vale arc in affc puts sansa in an actual leadership position.

I agree it's best that no one learns how to be a ruler from Cersei Lannister, considering how much she messes up in AFfC.

And yes, it’s my opinion that Sansa's arc is leading towards outwitting Littlefinger and understanding how to play the game rather than ruling. And with two books left to go, she still has a lot of learning to do and being able to process the information available to her, analyze it and connect the dots and use the data to her advantage.

I just finished my ADwD and TWoW sample chapter re-reads so a rather long essay under the cut.

Sansa did acknowledge early on that unlike Cersei, if she were to become queen, she would prioritize getting the people's love over their fear - like the Tyrells did. But unlike the majority opinion of fandom, I think that this points to Sansa giving more importance to PR than to actual ruling. That it was better to be a loved monarch than a feared one.

It’s funny that Sansa stans often point the finger at Dany as being narcissistic, entitled and arrogant, when the few comments that Sansa makes about being queen revolve around her.

“Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansa said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m married to Joffrey. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace. ” - Sansa, AGoT

“ If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.”  - Sansa, ACoK

Compare her quotes to those of current leaders/rulers in the books:

A good lord protects his people, he reminded himself. - Bran, ACoK

“Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?“ - Daenerys, ASoS

“And I know that a king protects his people, or he is no king at all.” Davos, ASoS

I was trying to win the throne to save the kingdom, when I should have been trying to save the kingdom to win the throne."  - Stannis, ASoS

“I am the shield that guards the realms of men. Those are the words. So tell me, my lord— what are these wildlings, if not men?”  - Jon Snow, ADwD

The other leaders in the quotes are putting the people first, prioritizing the people’s needs first no matter how much it affects the rulers themselves. Jon’s decision to let the Wildlings through the wall is necessary, but highly unpopular among his men. And ruling is more than just being beloved by the people -

"Allow me to give my lord one last piece of counsel,” the old man had said, “the same council that I one gave my brother when we parted for the last time. He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne. A man grown with sons of his own, yet in some ways still a boy. Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took the ship for the Wall. It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill boy and let the man be born.” The old man felt Jon’s face. “You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.” - Jon Snow, ADwD

This is the hard part of ruling be it in the middle ages or now. It’s not enough to be a good man to be an effective ruler. It’s complicated and it’s hard.  How do I resolve this thing? Do I do the moral thing? But what about  the political consequences of the moral thing? Do I do the pragmatic, cynical thing and kind of screw the people who are screwed by it? I mean, it is HARD. - GRRM

In this context, Sansa’s quote about being queen comes off as naive, ignorant, fairy taleish, like the queens in her stories - where everyone loves the queens and that’s all that’s necessary to be one.

It’s easy for Sansa stans to nitpick and criticize each and every one of Dany��s decisions and then praise future best queen Sansa - who has done absolutely nothing as a leader and has instead thus far served as an uncritical narrator to events around her. We don’t know what kind of leader Sansa would be because she has never been put in those situations or even shown an aptitude for strategic thinking.

Let me use an example I came across while recently re-reading ADwD and TWoW sample chapters. TWoW spoilers - if you don’t want to be spoiled on TWoW, please read no further.

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

In ADwD, Jon is confronted with food shortage if they let the Wildlings through the wall:

“If we had sufficient coin, we could buy food from the south and bring it in by ship,” the Lord Steward said. We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. - Jon Snow, ADwD

I have already written extensively on Jon’s political know-how of the North and using it in his strategizing and planning of Stannis’ campaign. But here we see that his knowledge extends to the south, where, knowing that the Vale stayed neutral during the WOT5K and it’s geography of being fertile, he sees it as a possible source to buy food for the Wall.

Now let’s go to the Vale in book 6, TWoW, Alayne’s sample chapter. After being called a bastard by Harry the Heir, a hurt Sansa goes looking for Littlefinger and chances upon a scheme of price gouging:

Near the bottom, she heard Lord  Grafton’s booming voice, and followed.

“The  merchants are clamoring to buy and the lords are clamoring to sell,”  the Gulltowner was saying when she found them. Though not a tall man, Grafton was wide, with thick arms and shoulders.  His hair was a dirty blond mop.  “How am I to stop that, my lord?”

“Post guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale”

“These prices, though,” protested fat Lord Belmore,” 

“These prices are more than fair. Wait. If need be, buy the food yourself and keep it stored. Winter is coming. Prices must go higher.”

“Perhaps,”  said Belmore, doubtfully. “Bronze Yohn will not wait, ” Grafton complained. “He need not ship through Gulltown, he has his own ports. Whilst we are hoarding our harvest, Royce and the other Lords Declarant will turn theirs into silver, you may be sure of that.”

“Let  us hope so,”  said Petyr. “When their granaries are empty, they will  need every scrap of that silver to buy sustenance from us. And now if  you will excuse me, my lord, it would seem my daughter has need of me.”

“Lady Alayne,” Lord Grafton said. “You look bright-eyed this morning.” ” You  are kind to say so, my lord. Father, I am sorry to disturb you, but I  thought you would want to know that the Waynwoods have arrived.”

We are now in book 6 territory, this would be the point where a future queen/leader Sansa reflects on what she just saw - Littlefinger is hoarding grain and letting Royce and others sell theirs so that he can later increase the prices for demand from a starving populace and have the rest of the Vale Lords be dependent on him and with winter coming, there is currently much demand for the grain.

This would be where, if GRRM is writing for the future leader of the North, Sansa would wonder what is happening in the North with respect to the food situation since she just heard that merchants are clamoring for grain and winter is coming. Or she would think on LF’s scheme - is it a good plan or a bad plan? Does she think that Yohn Royce is right to sell his grain? What is her view on hoarding all the food for price gouging while people possibly starve elsewhere? What does she think of starving the populace for profit? Does she approve? Or does she think it’s ethically wrong?

We get no answers to these questions to give us a hint of what kind of ruler future best queen Sansa will be. It’s a blank slate because while Sansa acts as a narrator here and describes one of LF’s little schemes, she herself as no opinion on it. Instead Sansa’s immediate concern when speaking to Littlefinger is that Harry the Heir called her a bastard in front of everyone. Meanwhile Dany in ADwD:

Skahaz had been named Warden of the River, with charge of all the ferries, dredges, and irrigation ditches along the Skahazadhan for fifty leagues, but the Shavepate had refused that ancient and honorable office, as Hizdahr called it, preferring to retire to the modest pyramid of Kandaq.

Mounted men were of more use in open fields and hills than in the narrow streets and alleys of the city. Beyond Meereen's walls of many-colored brick, Dany's rule was tenuous at best. Thousands of slaves still toiled on vast estates in the hills, growing wheat and olives, herding sheep and goats, and mining salt and copper. Meereen's storehouses held ample supplies of grain, oil, olives, dried fruit, and salted meat, but the stores were dwindling. So Dany had dispatched her tiny khalasar to subdue the hinterlands, under the command of her three bloodriders, whilst Brown Ben Plumm took his Second Sons south to guard against Yunkish incursions.

The most crucial task of all she had entrusted to Daario Naharis, glib-tongued Daario with his gold tooth and trident beard, smiling his wicked smile through purple whiskers. Beyond the eastern hills was a range of rounded sandstone mountains, the Khyzai Pass, and Lhazar. If Daario could convince the Lhazarene to reopen the overland trade routes, grains could be brought down the river or over the hills at need …

The sea provides all the salt that Qarth requires, but I would gladly take as many olives as you cared to sell me. Olive oil as well."

"I have none to offer. The slavers burned the trees." Olives had been grown along the shores of Slaver's Bay for centuries; but the Meereenese had put their ancient groves to the torch as Dany's host advanced on them, leaving her to cross a blackened wasteland. "We are replanting, but it takes seven years before an olive tree begins to bear, and thirty years before it can truly be called productive. What of copper?"

Sansa does not come anywhere close to Dany and Jon in terms of leadership and that she’s so often pushed as this future queen in fandom, including by bnfs and so called asoiaf experts, is baffling, frustrating and hilarious.

What, if any, attributes does Sansa have to even be a peacetime ruler? After the war means rebuilding from scratch, making deals, hard bargaining, strategizing, using political tools, rebuilding the economy for war torn lands, get in the food, grow the food - precisely the kind of thing Dany is doing in Meereen. Or Jon thinking of building green houses in the Gift to grow food.

But Sansa building a snow model of Winterfell means that she’s the best qualified peace time ruler? Reddit dudebros and so called tumblr feminists united in wanting female characters who wield soft power and uphold the patriarchy as future rulers.

Even when it comes to personal growth, while Sansa has come a long way from her AGoT days, she still has some catching up to do with her peers. After getting hold of LF, Sansa complains that Harry is a horrible person for calling her a bastard.

Come,” Petyr said, “walk with me.” He took her by the arm and led her deeper into the vaults, past an empty dungeon. “And how was your first meeting with Harry the Heir?”

“He’s horrible.”

“The world is full of horrors, sweet. By now you ought to know that. You’ve seen enough of them.”

“Yes,” she said, “but why must he be so cruel? He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone.”

Now, personally, this is the point where I would like some introspection from Sansa. Remember when Sansa called out Jon as a jealous bastard in front of her friends in AGoT and Arya defended him?

Sansa sighed as she stitched.  “Poor Jon,” she said.  “He gets jealous because he's a bastard.”

“He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.

“Our half brother,” Sansa corrected, soft and precise. - Arya, AGoT

Considering the way Sansa ignored Joffrey’s attack on Arya, it’s a good bet that if Harry the Heir had called out Jon Snow as a bastard in front of everyone in AGoT, Sansa would not have an issue with it. Now that she is being insulted as one, she gets to experience the hurt that Jon felt everyday growing up in Winterfell as a real bastard.

But even here, she refuses to scrutinize the situation more than simply getting angry at being called a bastard. Sansa is often held up as this compassionate, kindest person, ‘beacon of hope for the future’, a queen who cares for the masses etc. But where is her questioning why the classist prejudice against bastards is in itself wrong?

She is angry that she is being called a bastard, she is not angry that bastards are treated as less than. She doesn’t question the societal prejudice against bastards, only angry that she has to pretend to be one and be insulted as one. She doesn’t spare a second reflecting on her bastard brother Jon Snow or question her low opinion of bastards:

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon’s mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn’t been some mistake. - Sansa, AGoT

And that’s the difference I see between Sansa and characters like Dany, Arya, Jon, Brienne and even with Tyrion and Penny. While GRRM interrogates Westerosi society prejudices, feudalism, classism, sexism, slavery, ableism, bigotry, the effects of war on the small folk etc with these other characters, Sansa rarely reflects on these issues. That’s why it makes no sense when epithets like ‘embodiment of hope for the future’ is used to describe the character. Hope for whom? The small folk? The patriarchy? The feudal lords?

Sansa being nice to people like the stuttering Ser Wallace is held up as her being the kindest ever. But Jon is nice to Shireen, Arya is kind to Weasel, Jaime is kind to Tyrion. Why is kindness and compassion only highlighted for Sansa, like some unique feature of hers when many characters, even the villains, exhibit kindness?

This is Jon Snow in ADwD

“I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first?” He laughed. “If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood.”

“My name is Snow.”

“Bastard.”

“Guilty. Of that, at least.”  - Jon Snow, ADwD

This is Sansa Stark in TWoW:

Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. “Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger’s bastard?”  

“Yes,” she said, “but why must he be so cruel? He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone.”  - Alayne, TWoW

Sansa in TWoW is as hurt by the bastard moniker as Jon Snow was in AGoT when addressed as such by Tyrion. She’s emotionally where Jon Snow was in AGoT, while Jon has matured enough to not care for such insults anymore. And this is book 6! I guess it makes sense considering Jon is 16 -17 and Sansa would be 13 - 14 years old, making her younger than him in AGoT. But this is why the whole ‘Jon should take Sansa’s advice to rule because she’s the smartest ever!’ trash the show pushed to hype up Sansa is complete nonsense.

I don’t know how many chapters GRRM will be devoting to Sansa in the Vale in TWoW, but there’s still a lot of growth and character development pending for book Sansa. As I have always said, Sansa has a lot of information but she rarely if ever introspects on what she has heard and seen. She knows that LF last had Jeyne Poole but at one point wonders where Jeyne Poole is... Just ask LF dammit! She knows that Lysa had Jon Arryn poisoned on LF’s say so and knows that SweetRobin is being dosed with dangerous levels of Sweetsleep and that LF is banking on his death and yet thinks that SweetRobin will be okay. She needs to start putting two and two together to come up with four and I suspect that in itself will take up the whole of TWoW.

So will Sansa become any kind of queen or ruler? No. If she survives the books, I can see her being Lady of the Vale and be moving the chess pieces around. I can see her gaining agency and maybe even be the real power in the Vale aka Littefinger. Just like Jon, Arya, Bran and Dany I think Sansa will be a darker character in TWoW. The game of thrones cannot be played honorably and she will need to get her hands dirty to outwit LF and take him down at his own game.

The point where Sansa simply stops narrating what she sees and actually starts analyzing what she sees in her POV chapters is when the student will become the master and I am excited to see that happening.

#asks

[destielfanfic]

My First Destiel Fic, vol.3

Thank you guys for sharing your memories! My First Destiel Fic is a nostalgic survey open to any destiel fan and has a simple goal - to celebrate fics that were our gateway into a wonderful world of destiel shipping. Thank you, fic writers, you are our heroes!

from @nextheirofslytherin

my first destiel fic was “In This Secluded Spot I Respond As I Wouldn't Dare Elsewhere” by RhymePhile. the girl i liked who got me into supernatural in middle school recommended it to me, so it always has a special place in my heart 😅 it was the first fic i read on ao3 too! i read it while i was watching s3 (cas hadn’t even shown up yet!) but the show was in its 9-10th season

All fic titles link directly to the fic, when it’s possible, we have added another link to our review or submitted rec post.

In This Secluded Spot I Respond As I Wouldn’t Dare Elsewhere by rhymephile [M, 34,000 word count, posted 2010] (our review)

It's 1995, and Castiel's high school years are destined to be difficult: home-schooled until eighth grade, he is awkward, shy, and socially inept. The weird kid with the funny name would rather isolate himself and draw in his sketchbook than deal with the constant bullying he faces every day. Things only get worse in his junior year when he excels in home economics class, leading the captain of the baseball team, Alastair, to start taunting him for being gay. Then new student Dean Winchester arrives at Flour Bluff High School, sharing many of Castiel's classes. Castiel has seen his type before -- handsome, athletic, arrogant, and sure to be the most popular kid in school. But Castiel eventually learns that he and Dean have more in common than he thought, and they form an unlikely friendship.

from @deansbff

i joined the fandom in the beginning of 2019 and molting expectations by tricia_16 was the first fic (over 11k words) that i read. it really made me fall in love with deancas because i realised i didn't need them to be in the canon!verse to be so wonderful, their relationship was amazing in whatever universe they were in and it was always intriguing to read about!!

Molting Expectations by tricia_16 [163,100 word count, posted 2019]

After having trouble coping with a traumatic incident on the job, Dean takes his little brother's advice and leaves everything behind to go stay at the old family cabin in Colorado. Nobody's been there for years so it needs some major work, but it's secluded, and that turns out to be exactly what Dean needs in order to start to feel at peace again. Now in the mountains with nothing but nature to amuse himself with, he takes up bird watching and plans a hike into the mountain range across from his cabin in search of a golden eagle. High up in the mountains, he discovers human footprints. Thinking someone is in danger, he follows them into a cave and quickly becomes familiar with a form of wildlife he never could have imagined: winged people who call themselves angels.

from @bornonathursdayinmarch

I actually started out in the fandom against Destiel. I mean, it was pretty clear that Dean Winchester was not into men. But then I read “Redemption Road” by accident around 2015. I didn’t know it was Destiel. But I got really into it and this fic totally changed my mind on Dean/Cas. I have since read hundreds of Destiel fics and I am more into the ship than ever. My absolute favorite fanfic is “Sweaters and Cigarettes” by lemonoclefox. I love how shy, caring Dean softens cynical Castiel and how in love they are despite being so different. It makes me smile when I’m down.

Redemption Road by spnredemption (the fic is a collaborative effort of a group of destiel writers and artists) [NC-17, 650,000 word count, 24 episodes, posted 2011-12)

With Castiel having set himself up as the new God, drunk on power and volatile as a nuclear reactor, Dean, Sam, and Bobby find themselves on the run from the jealous, capricious monster wearing the face of their friend. Desperate for protection and wary of his brother’s mental state since Castiel unlocked Sam’s memories of Hell, Dean knows Castiel must be defused before he can wreak further havoc in Heaven or on Earth. Although Bobby advocates for destroying Castiel by whatever means necessary, Dean is convinced the Cas he once knew still remains, buried somewhere beneath the mass of poisonous souls and calling out for help. Determined to save the angel who once rescued him from Hell and redefined his purpose in life, Dean himself must resist the allure of the false deity vying for his obedience, and come to terms with the knowledge, long-suppressed, that his feelings for Castiel run much deeper than brotherhood. It is this bond, and the dubious distinction of the Righteous Man, that will ultimately grant Dean access to where Castiel’s grace languishes in Purgatory. However, what Dean brings back with him is broken, angry, and only half-angel, certainly not the Castiel he remembers—and nor is it the only thing that returns to Earth with them…

Sweaters & Cigarettes by lemonoclefox [NC-17, 150,000 word count, posted 2014]  NOTE - the fic was deleted from ao3 by the author, please see our review for more details

Dean Winchester is in high school, crushing hard on Castiel Novak, the unbelievably hot goth who Dean does his very best to convince himself he hates, despite the fact that he can’t really stop staring at him. Dean tries, but when the two of them finally cross paths, their first conversation takes a surprising turn. And suddenly, they both find themselves falling harder and faster than they ever could have expected.

from @iamasphodelknox

Hi! The fic that made Destiel my OTP was The Walk series by Persephoneshadow. It blew my mind and I hadn’t even started watching Supernatural yet. 🙈 I started watching the show last year, just as Season 15 was starting. I’m a newbie but this comfort ship felt like coming home. I also read a turn of the earth by microcomets just as I got to season 4 and it is one of the best things I’ve ever read, fic or no. :)

The Walk by Persephoneshadow [NC-17, 190,000 word count, posted 2017]

Castiel tells himself it was a one time thing, even if his night with a hooker named Dean changed his whole world, but he can’t keep away from the man fate keeps throwing in his path. Castiel is married and he knows his sexuality is an affront to God and everything he’s ever been told is right. Dean tells himself he doesn’t care about the weirdo with blue eyes, but every time they meet he gets a bit closer to something like hope. Dean’s nothing but a homeless waste of space with a brother in foster care a world away and a father in the wind. As the connection between these two lost men deepens, it threatens the carefully maintained lies their lives are built on in a story of faith, mistakes, and the journey of love.

a turn of the earth by mishcollin microcomets [NC-17, 95,300 word count, posted 2015] (our review)

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run. Frigging fantastic. (Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline pre series and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

If you enjoyed the fic, please drop by the archive (AO3) and let the author know with your comments and/or kudos! And if you found our recs useful, let us know by Liking and/or Reblogging our posts!

You can find all My First Destiel Fic posts under this tag!

#destiel #destielfanficnet #my first destiel fic #hey guys #these are all submissions we received #if you don't see yours here #please contact mod flyingcatstiel directly #nextheirofslytherin #deansbff #bornonathursdayinmarch #iamasphodelknox

[fanficparker]

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER FOUR

“The life that you seek you shall never find. For when the Gods made man, They kept immortality to themselves.” - The Epic of Gilgamesh

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.47k words

Warning: Swearing, knives, anger issues, guns, handcuffs, kidnapping (kind of?), Harrison Osterfield (Yeah, that's a legit warning)

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

<< THREE [ MASTERLIST ] FIVE >>

Sandhya parked the car at the rear side of an autobody workshop next to a white pickup truck that resembled closer to junk than any actual mode of transportation. It was past ten when she pulled there, and the three people Harrison spotted in the shop were on their way to shut it down for the night's call. He had managed to keep a careful eye at what turns she took as the roads forked or what landmarks she crossed on her way, only to achieve practically nothing. He was a stranger to this place and she being the wicked witch she was, had driven in circles so many times that he was sure, she had managed to complicate the path for him in manners that his head failed to unravel.

"We are here, homies." She announced, yawning at the last part, tapping her palm over the dashboard, tugging the keys from the ignition and then pulling the hand brakes.

Kevin groaned, shuffling in his seat, eyes half-lidded, voice groggy with sleep. The women sitting beside him plucked off her earphones, shutting her laptop. Harrison, on the other hand, chose to inspect the unfamiliar surrounding in the comfort of the car, eyes sceptical and narrowing. He ignored the thud of car doors opening and closing only to be disturbed by a sharp noise of metal keys hitting the window on the other side.

He squirmed at the unpleasant sound and turned to look at the intruder as she leaned across from him, on the opposite side of the car, the neon signboard of the car workshop flashing red light over her face. She looked like an angel from hell.

"Are you moving out? Or should I rather lock you up here?"

Harrison tamped down the urge to roll his eyes and stepped precariously out of the car, rolling up his sleeves and buttoning them near his elbows. He followed the three people as they walk down a slope that connected to an underground parking lot. There were a few cars and motorbikes parked there, most seemed to be in a dire need of repair. It took him roughly two minutes to figure out that it was no underground parking. It was a whole ass hideout disguised on the front with unused motors. They walked into a narrow alleyway, passing through several closed doors of what he assumed were rooms to a living area attached to a kitchen. It wasn't well furnished but furnished enough for a stay. Gray unpainted walls, sofas, tables and chairs, fridge, microwave, a small but flattering shelf full of wine bottles and a CCTV monitor to the top corner that covered the outside of their hideout, all the necessities one needs to survive.

"Hey, we will need your phone and your watch." The other woman he didn't know the name of yet, matched his pace, her laptop tucked below her arm, her green hair shorter than his with a cool undercut to the sides. She looked equally chill and nerdy in her baggy checked shirt, a mixture foreign to him.

He paused on his way, casting her a scathing glare, a bored look wiping over his face the next instant, "And why would I give you that?"

"Because Holly needs to encrypt them," Sandhya replied for her, standing beside the taller girl.

"So that it isn't traceable." Holly reluctantly but quickly added. She was younger than them, probably around Harry's age. Harrison could feel an undercurrent of fear floating through her voice.

"Thank you very much, but..." Harrison replied, not missing a beat, shooting a bitter smile at Sandhya before facing Holly, uttering: "No," his lips forming a proper 'o' as he took a step away only to be stopped by Sandhya's hand grabbing his wrist.

"It's not a choice, Harrison." She asserted.

An order.

Something sour lathered at the back of his tongue. A vein in his forehead twisted. Anger? Resentment? Malice? You just name it. He felt all of them at once.

He jerked away from her grip, releasing his arm. When he turned to face Sandhya again, his entire aspect had changed. His shoulders were square and broad, posture imposing, features stone, eyes icicles. They exchanged a long, threatening glare, eyes never wavering. He took a step ahead, expecting her to step back but she didn't recoil, holding her ground. She had the sort of personality you associate stereotypes with: high cheekbones, tall stature, sharp features but she somehow managed to defy most of them. Without her heels and now wearing some flat running shoes, she barely reached his chin, there was something warm about the softness of her features hidden beneath her belligerent attitude. The little baby fat her genetics had blessed over her face, provided her preys with false hopes of mercy. Betrayal at its finest.

He looked down at her and she looked up at him, their shoes bumping, faces inches apart. Realisation ticks through her mind when she looked a second deeper into his eyes.

He was, perhaps, stalling.

Her neck snapped to the monitor embedded at the top corner of the living space.

Shit.

A car had stopped outside their hideout and two armed men emerged from the car, strolling towards the basement.

She identified one of the men. His men.

"Look ou--" She tried to yell but Harrison didn't allow even an ounce of air to escape from her lungs. He'd grabbed her shoulders swiftly, taking advantage of her diverted attention, squeezing her shoulder blades and twisting her body. Her back flushed against his chest.

Both Kevin and Holly grabbed their pistols, the clicking sound of safety pins dropping echoed in the enclosed space. They pointed the weapon at Harrison but he already had a pocket knife pointed at Sandhya's throat while his other arm was pressed beneath her neck, holding her still.

"Keep your guns down or this floor would bathe in her blood." He warned, poking the tip of the knife into her skin, eyes focused on the pistols.

Kevin and Holly hesitated, their eyes flickering at Sandhya's face. Something passed between their eyes, some sort of permission and they threw their guns down, sliding them away from their reach.

"Hands above your head, quick." Harrison added, "And place them on the wall, face the other side."

Holly and Kevin obeyed without questioning, pressing their palms to the walls, while Harrison bent to pick up their pistols, shoving them at the back of his pants, holding Sandhya on a chokehold.

"I'd warned about your men's involvement in Clarke's murder," she whimpered when he placed the blade near her skin again, getting to his feet, "Yet you let them trace our location," she somehow managed to finish the sentence.

"You speak a lot for someone millimetres apart from dying."

"You won't kill me." She said, gritting her teeth.

"Yeah, but I can hurt you," he whispered near her ear, "And we both know how much I'd like that." His warm breath fanned over her cheek as he dug the pointy edge of the blade to the pulsing side of her neck, pressing not enough to cut her but enough to terrify her.

"Arsehole." She muttered, sucking in a breath.

"Tell me something new." His lips twisted into a devilish grin as he dragged her outside, her loose hair tickling under his chin, his arms clenched so tightly around her that she was sure she would still feel them tomorrow.

"I am telling you..." She tried to breathe and speak.

"Sssh..." Harrison interrupted with a shush, the vibrations moving through her flesh, echoing through her bones.

She tried to ignore the effect of his voice on her spine, suppressing the chilling sensation. "We are on the same team," she whispered softly and carefully as if trying to lull a toddler into handling back their parents' important work files.

"Oh well, then I should be the one giving orders."

They walked to the front of the basement. She could spot the shadowy outline of the two men waiting.

She started trying to resist, wiggling her body in his grip.

"Hey, Hey! Behave. This blade won't spare. Don't blame me."

"Let go, Harrison. Your life is on the edge!" She wiggled harder.

Edge.

He couldn't stop but laugh at the irony in the metaphor she chose.

They reached his men and she stilled in his grip. A white man, she identified as Tom (as Harrison had previously pointed out) and the other man she didn't identify was black and taller than all of them, both standing like soldiers in front of her.

"This is Tom. And this is Tuwaine," he introduced his men.

"This could be dangerous for both of us." She was almost pleading now, eyes pooling with tears of irritation and of failure.

"We don't want to kill her," Tom said, passing Harrison a pair of handcuffs.

And here she thought she had the lead.

"Why do y'll keep telling me that?" Harrison groaned at Tom's advice. He had repeated it over, even Sandhya has said the same thing, twice.

"Do I look like a psychotic killer on a killing frenzy?" He grabbed her wrists, fastening the cuffs behind her back, gripping her upper arm. "I know well who and whom I am supposed to hurt, how and where." He clarified, gently pushing her to sit on the back seat of the car. She obeyed this time, having no choice.

"It's not easy to trust you," Tuwaine added.

Harrison nodded, trying to look offended, "Thanks Tuwaine, I needed that," getting into the car, along with her, keeping a good distance between them. He snorted when she swirled her neck to the other side, refusing to look at him.

Tom settled himself on the driver's seat and Tuwaine sat beside him as the car drove off.

***

The giant gates of the mansion she'd only seen from far away opened like butterfly's wings, welcoming the car where she sat as a hostage.

"Aren't you delighted seeing this place?" Harrison asked in a tone that was closer to mockery than curiosity.

She still refused to look at him yet could hear the smirk in his voice.

"The place you won in the lottery? Or shall I say, cheated--"

"Fuck off." She interrupted but he went on like a guide, ignoring the cuss—

"The second luxurious property in England, just next to the Buckingham Palace."

She chose to ignore too. The main doors to the estate were wide open. Two women came rushing out when the car came to a halt. One of them opened Sandhya's door, pulling her out, holding her forearm, the other pulled a pistol and a knife from her dress.

"Release her," Harrison said nonchalantly, tossing the keys of the cuffs to the first woman. She unlocked the metal and Sandhya pulled her hands from the woman's grip, rubbing her fingers around her wrists.

She walked in, eyes in the front as Harrison and the crew accompanied her.

"Take her to the guest suite." He said and the same woman nodded.

Before she could grip Sandhya's arm, she moved it away, rushing to Harrison, grabbing his shirt collars with both her hands.

"I'd planned everything so intricately and you... You just ruined it all." She spoke with clenched teeth, eyes glistening with emotionless tears. "Do you--Don't understand the gravity of the situation? We are literally playing with fire." She exhaled forcefully.

He chortled.

Playing with fire?

He had committed various mistakes today, more mistakes than he could recount, more mistakes than he could afford. He had let his emotions get the best of him. He had not inspected Clarke's body, then went to beat Dino's men without even being careful of the various other dangers he could cross paths with, then chose to accompany Sandhya alone, got into a life-threatening car chase, had a sniper pointed to his head.

On top of that, he had also failed to consider the disastrous change the mafia world would go through upon the King's death. Damn, he had already played with fire and it was enough for him.

With Clarke's death: The mafia world has never been so free and so trapped. So vulnerable yet so lethal.

Harrison had discovered that for himself. He fucking knew the gravity of the situation! And that's why he chose to take matters into his own hands. He could trust nobody. Especially her.

"You really need to stop with your habit of holding collars." He held her hand in his, thumbs tracing circles over the back.

She continued to search his face, dark eyes filled with disbelief.

"We will work my way. And..." his face hardened at the conjunction, his thumbs stopped their ministrations as he squeezed her hands tighter. "And when I find your involvement in Clarke's murder, I would not hesitate to put a bullet through your skull."

She snorted this time, pulling her hands back.

"This is what you concluded? This? After everything?" She burst out into a peal of bitter laughter, the one that twisted Harrison's gut.

Her eyes hardened again as she jabbed a finger into his chest.

The next words came out as an unchecked storm out of her mouth, "The life you want, you will never get." Her words were merely whispers but worked their way through his gut, burning his chest, crawling through every fibre of his body and she never seemed to stop.

"You'll never be the next Clarke, you'll never even be half of him. Maybe," she hiccupped, "Maybe, he knew that and that's why he chose me, he chose me over you because he knew how incongruous you were."

She took a step forward, her chest pressing against his, standing on her toes, directly meeting his eyes and raising her voice beyond the point of normalcy, "How you were an insult to his legacy!" Pausing to exhale, she continued, her voice back to low, "It was a pity that he gave you half of his kingdom. You didn't even deserve that. You'll never be him. You are nothing like him."

Harrison bit back his tongue, his icy eyes burning from the lack of blinking. The mansion was dead silent, no one had dared to speak or react. He clenched his fists tight, feeling his nails digging into his palms.

"Take her to the room." He instructed, voice barely above a few decibels. He didn't wait for his words to turn to actions, rather he turned on his feet, striding towards his room, jaws tensed, nerves popping through his burning flesh.

His footsteps echoed behind him.

____________________

_____________

…TO BE CONTINUED…

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[captainjimothycarter]

So ignoring dementia cause that was needlessly cruel, I love this image of Steve defrosting and immediately moving into Peggy's spare room where she still lives in her little house, garden out back, cursing at politics and keeping tabs on all the not so bright stars in SHIELD. Because Steve adjusting to the modern world with a 90 year old woman giving him advice through an earpiece. Occasionally very bad advice. Optional her setting him up like Nat did, only with various genders.

i love this prompt to death but I swear I am not right for this. I can’t capture peggy just right and get so heartbroken over peggy being old. not like the dementia was anything nicer.

anyyyyway, sorry for the bleh.

--

“Steve?”

“Sort of busy, Peggy, just hang on-”

There was a loud clanging noise of metal-on-metal, followed by a heavy splashing noise before Steve was back on the line much to the elder’s relief. “Yes, dar-Peggy?”

“Hm.” Even without looking at her, he knew she was smiling. There was something about her tone that told him. “What about Jensen? The agent-”

“Pegs, I told you no,” Steve sighed heavily, despite it she can hear the sound of his footsteps echoing on the metal floor. “Anyway, Jensen is too...much for me.”

“Is it the colored hair?”

“What? No, no.” It felt good to hear his laugh despite how he was supposed to be all Captain on the mission. He always broke that facade for her. “He’s just too much. Too loud. The guy likes to party. I do not.”

“Of course you don’t, because you haven’t tried. You need to step out there, darling. It can’t hurt to try. Fine, what about Barton?”

“He’s with Natasha.”

“Right...I forgot about that.” 

Steve grimaced despite Peggy wasn’t there to see it, frowning. She almost seemed to do that a little bit more often these days.

“Hunter then?” She continued.

“Bobbi.”

“Wilma?”

“She’s courting-”

“Steve no one uses courting anymore!”

“And no one is supposed to be frozen for seventy years and survive to tell the tale.”

“Touche,” she huffed in only mild annoyment.

A silence lapsed between them, she could hear him cursing in French again, her lips twitching into a small smile at the French.

“Everything okay, Steven?”

“I need…” He cursed slightly as he made a sharp turn. She could hear his shield being thrown. 

“Extract?” Peggy requested in an all too-polite voice despite he could hear her rapidly typing on a keyboard. “Three doors down from your left, faux going right. Take the laundry suite down and an evac will be waiting for you.”

Steve said nothing in response, only breathing hard into the line. That was wrong. She’s seen him run miles and not even break a sweat. Even after his intense recovery and extended time off to try to adapt to the new world, Steve wasn’t this out of shape. 

“You’re hurt,” she said in a harder tone than she meant to. Who could blame her for still being invested in the love of her life? “How hurt are you?”

“Do you have a camera on this damn ship? Nevermind, don’t answer. I-” He cursed and she could hear rattling. “I hate you for that laundry chute trick.”

“It got you down fast, didn’t it? Back to that question - how hurt are you?”

“Just mildly shot at.”

“Mildly? Steven Grant Rogers.” Peggy sighed on the line and pinched the bridge of her nose. “If that bullet doesn’t kill you, I will. You’re going to give this ole woman a heart attack. Is extract there?”

“Yes, oh thank god. I’ll see you back at home, okay?”

“Don’t worry about debriefing, I’ll handle that on my end. You need a medic and a shower. Don’t make me find out that you’ve been skipping medic again, Rogers.”

“Yes, ma’am.” It was Peggy’s turn to hear the smile in his voice. “I love you.”

Somehow, each and every I love you broke her heart to pieces. “I know, Stevie. I love you too.”

How many times could they have said it had they’ve been given the life the other dreamed of?

--

“I told you, it’s not that bad,” Steve sighed in welcoming as Peggy, older than his mind like to admit took him from the doorstep and lead him straight to the couch to sit down. Her lips pursed together in thought as he lifted up the shirt and exposed the bandages beneath. “I went. They bitched me out about some protocol and Fury bitching me about something, but I went.”

“What is he bitching about this time?”

Steve’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Oh the norm, about how you’re spying on him through me. How you can’t keep calling up government officials when things don’t look right and threaten to send me after them.”

“I don’t threaten to send you. I told them that I’ll tell you about their new bills and you’ll go take care of the bastards themselves, but…” Her thin shoulders shrugged as she sat beside him, a hand curling around his own. “He’s right about spying on him. I don’t trust everything he tells us.” 

“Nor should you. I told you he’s been lying from the start.” Reaching into his pocket, Steve tossed the flash drive onto her desk. His arm laid across her shoulders and he sighed, eyes burning as they shut. “I’m exhausted.”

“Then come on, Mr. Exhaustion, let’s get you to bed.”

Despite it, Steve didn’t move. He stayed where he was, his arm around her shoulders. She was comfortable. Even if she was older, much older, she was comfort. 

“I talked to Jensen and no, the guys an idiot. He shows up to work drunk, Pegs! He got into a fist-fight about a-a crush, he-”

“Excuse me. You got into a fistfight with Hodge, Captain!”

“Because the bastard called you a slut. Speaking on...did some digging, that guy is related to Hodge.”

“Oh, that’s disgusting. You’re right to ignore my advice on asking him out.”

“You admitting you’re wrong?” Steve’s free hand fell over his chest in faux shock. His eyes only cracking open enough to look down at her. “Are you sure you’re not some carbon copy of Peggy? Sent here to kill me?”

Peggy’s eyes rolled but he saw the fond smile on her lips as they finally got up from the couch. Despite the sun was just peeking over the horizon, they were finally going to bed. She couldn’t help it, not being able to sleep when he was on missions. Steve was very much as comfort as she was to him, not that she’d like to admit it out loud.

“Besides,” Steve continues. “There’s no one I want but you, Pegs. These other people...it ain’t gonna work, rather it’s now or fifteen years down the road. I…” He sighed as he plopped into the bed and gently folded her into his arms. “I know what you’re gonna say, how you’re too old and everything but I don’t care. I love you and always will.”

“Steven…” She sat upon his chest, looking him dead in the eyes. Despite her old age and the wrinkles in the corners, he could see every bit of fierceness that was in those eyes. “I wish I could give you the life you deserve but I cannot. I am far too...old, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” 

She looked like she wanted to say something more but she didn’t. Instead, she kissed at his throat and held tightly to him. 

If Steve was going to argue, he didn’t say a word. He fell asleep shortly after, holding tightly to his beloved.

--

“Are you sure this will work?’

“When have I ever lead you wrong, Steve?”

“Really? Do I need to answer that? Last week! You said planting catnip would be a good idea. The cats destroyed the garden! Or how about last month when you said jumping into the river was a good idea. It wasn’t frozen solid!”

“I didn’t tell you to jump into the river. I was yelling at the politician on CNN to dunk his head into water, Rogers. You-”

“Are you two done?”

The pair leaning closer than before to one another turned to find Dr. Banner standing just in the doorway. He looked amused at their bickering despite the situation. That is, Peggy laid in a hospital bed, wearing nothing but a gown and one too many machines hooked up to her and Steve half out of his seat so she could see him properly to talk to her.

“Yes,” Peggy said ever-so polite side-eyeing, Steve, as he sat down hard in the chair. “On both answers, this will work Steve.”

“And if it doesn’t?” He looked up at her with worry-filled eyes. “You could-”

“Die? Darling, that’s coming sooner or later, I’m ninety-two, I-”

“And you rather force me to accept to lose you now then wh-what? Five? Ten years down the road?”

“You have a mighty high expectation of me surviving,” she mused, reaching over to take his hand. “I’ll be fine, Steven. Everyone dies.”

“Not you. You’re the only thing...the only one I got, Pegs.”

“Captain Rogers,” Banner breathed, stepping up beside the bed to get their attention. “I assure you that this has a high probability of working. If it doesn’t, then nothing happens. It’ll be no risk to her health. We’ve poured over the notes. I’ve poured over Hydra’s and ours and compared results. It’ll be okay.”

Steve didn’t seem to believe that, his eyes falling from Banner’s face and back down to Peggy’s. “Just come back to me, okay? I don’t care in what condition, long as you’re alive.”

“Says the man running off of two hours of sleep and a broken arm.” Peggy’s eyes softened as she pulled Steve close by the labels of his jacket and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. “Alright, then… Dr. Banner, let’s get this over with. I’m not thrilled about using Hydra’s ideas here but when in Rome…”

Steve had every intention of staying awake. He was told the procedure would take no more than three hours tops but Peggy was right (as always). He was knocked out at hour one, asleep in the hospital chair, neck falling onto his chest. 

He was woken up by a soft hand touching his cheek, blinking his eyes open to find a pair of honey-coated eyes staring at him. He smiled as the sleep cleared from his vision and he found Peggy looking down at him. A younger Peggy. A Peggy that must’ve stepped just from his memories.

“Am I in heaven?” He asked groggily, unable to shake the fog from his mind.

“Is that your way of calling me an angel?” Peggy chuckled as Steve sat up fully. “No, darling, I’m afraid no one has died quite yet. No, it...it worked. They’re keeping me overnight for observation but…” She pulled Steve closer by his jacket again and kissed him hard on the lips.

Something they’ve both (respectfully) been denying themselves for so long. 

Steve sighed happily as they pulled away, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t crying. “Now will you go dancing with me?”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt #Older Peggy

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Split

Prompt: hello! i adore your merlin writing and i saw you seemed to be doing prompts? if so, i'd like to submit one, no pressure though! a mysterious spell hits arthur and splits him into different facets/parts of his personality and merlin has to fix it before uther finds out. (this could be an opportunity for some fun shenanigans with the arthur's running around making a mess or an opportunity to explore something a bit angstier ;), up to you). Thank you!!

Thanks for the prompt, babe! I hope it’s what you wanted!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: Merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/referenced child abuse, nothing graphic, nothing explicit. Uther’s just a dick. 

Word Count: 4470

Listen, there is a reason you don’t run into glowing circles of magic even when the sorcerer you’re chasing is standing right inside it. You don’t do that, Arthur, you especially don’t do that when there is a helpful chorus of people behind you passionately yelling ‘no.’

You know what, if there’s ever a chorus of people passionately yelling ‘no’ behind you as you’re about to do something, don’t do it. Just good advice.

“Sire!”

Merlin turns, ducking Leon’s swing as the sword arcs above their heads to come crashing down on a tree limb. With a sharp crack, the branch falls into the circle and a flash of light makes Merlin wince.

“Arthur!”

The gold dies down. Merlin cautiously moves his hand. No sorcerer. A pile of tattered robes lies a little way away. He must’ve gotten hit with part of the magic blast.

Groaning comes from the middle of the circle. The mass of red cape stirs.

“Arthur, you bloody idiot,” Merlin hisses, rushing forward as the knights look around, “why’d you do that, you could’ve gotten yourself killed, it—“

Merlin’s hand falls away from the cape in shock. His mouth drops open. A blond head raises to look at him. Then another. Then another.

“A-Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Merlin?”

“What do you want?”

“Bloody hell…” Gwaine’s voice comes from so far away. Merlin can’t tear his eyes away from the sight.

There are three Arthur Pendragons, each with their own red cape, crouched in the middle of the circle.

Cautiously, Merlin reaches out to touch the one closest to him. The Arthur raises his eyebrows and regards the hand with disgust, almost slapping it away. Well, he’s definitely real.

“Get my horse, boy,” the Arthur says haughtily, looking around to see the knights, “and you, men, tell me what happened.”

Gwaine’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Well, that one’s a prat.”

“I’ll have your head for that,” the Arthur snarls, drawing his sword in a flash of steel despite Leon’s hurried ‘sire, no!’

And Gwaine’s ‘come on, then.’

“Not helping,” Percival mutters as Merlin manages to tear his eyes away from Prince Prat to look at the other two.

“Arthur?”

The second Arthur looks at him from where he’d been gazing at the trees. “Hello. Are you my manservant?”

“Uh, well—“ Merlin glances over his shoulder to where Leon and Lancelot have just started to calm down Prince Prat—“I think, technically, I’m…all of your manservants.”

“I’m sorry.”

Merlin’s head snaps around. “What?”

The second Arthur shrugs. “I’m sorry. That seems inconvenient for you. You were expecting to serve just one master and now it seems you have to serve three.”

“Y-yeah, um…” Merlin swallows. “It’s not ideal.”

“How did this happen,” the second Arthur says, gesturing between himself and the others, “did we accidentally provoke someone?”

“…yeah, you could say that.”

“What happened?”

“You ran into a magic circle.”

“…why?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin sighs, “I was about to ask you that.”

The second Arthur looks…contrite? Apologetic?

“I truly don’t know what would’ve pushed me to do something like that. Were you or any of the knights in direct danger?”

“No. Not really.”

He frowns. “Then I don’t know.”

Merlin glances over his shoulder to where Leon is calmly talking to Prince Prat while Gwaine raises an eyebrow at Merlin. Merlin shrugs. He doesn’t know what’s going on either, okay?

“Where’s Morgana?”

Merlin looks back at the second Arthur who’s still looking around. “What?”

“Where’s Morgana?” The second Arthur shrugs when Merlin looks at him like he’s sprouted another head. Which Merlin’s not ruling out as a possibility, by the way. “She’ll know what to do, or at least have some idea. She’s cleverer than most people give her credit for.”

“She…she’s back in the castle,” Merlin says finally, “but that sounds…reasonable.”

Reasonable Arthur gives him a nod and a smile, trying to get to his feet. Merlin jumps up to help him, eyes widening slightly when that smile only grows.

“Thank you,” Reasonable Arthur says, “I do hope this won’t be too hard for you to adjust to.”

“Um…thanks?” Merlin blinks a few times when Reasonable Arthur’s smile still doesn’t go away. “Oh, um, I should’ve asked this earlier, but…what do you remember?”

“Unhand me!”

“Sire,” comes Leon’s voice, making them turn around to look. Leon stands with his hand not quite touching Prince Prat’s chest, with Lancelot and the others behind him, “you must listen to us, we’re not in danger, the sorcerer is gone—“

“I’ll believe that when there are no longer three of us!”

“What do you remember,” Merlin says quickly as Leon shoots him an exasperated glance, “of before this happened?”

“I remember enough to know I have actual knights in my employ,” Prince Prat sniffs, “and that you are an absolutely awful servant.”

“I think we have most of our memories intact,” Reasonable Arthur says quickly, “just…not about the split.”

“And I have yet to have that explained to me!”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you explain why you ran into a circle of magic without any sort of plan?”

“I had a plan!”

“Yeah, what was it?”

“Kill the sorcerer!”

Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Whoever got the intelligence in this split, the commons sense definitely isn’t with this one.

“Alright, well, until we figure out how to fix this, we should get back to Camelot and try to keep this a secret.”

Reasonable Arthur nods. Prince Prat just stares at him. “And what makes you think you give the orders around here?”

“You have a better idea?”

“It’s a solid plan,” Reasonable Arthur says quickly, looking between Merlin, Prince Prat, and the knights, “and I think it would make the most sense.”

“Who cares about making sense, I want this fixed!”

“But considering we don’t have the ability to do that right now—“

Merlin gets distracted when the third Arthur stands up. If he’s being completely honest, he almost forgot there was a third one. This Arthur doesn’t speak, just takes off his cape and turns it inside out, putting it on and pulling up his hood. Reasonable Arthur and Prince Prat are still arguing, only stopping when the third Arthur slots himself into line behind the horses.

“…um…Arthur?”

“What?”

“Yes?”

“No, no, not you guys, um…” Merlin cautiously approaches the third Arthur. “Are you…injured?”

The third Arthur shakes his head. “It will be easier if the others do not see me,” he says so quietly Merlin has to bend closer to hear him.

“Right, er—“ Merlin looks over his shoulder. “One of you should probably, er, hide as well.”

“I’m not hiding,” Prince Prat sniffs.

“I would…rather not?” Reasonable Arthur adjusts his own cape. “I don’t think it would be—“

“Well, one of us has to, and I’m not going to.”

“Can’t we talk about this?”

“No.”

“Look—“ Merlin quickly puts his hand on Reasonable Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s just until we can get to Gaius.”

Reasonable Arthur sighs and fiddles with his cape, standing next to the third Arthur. Prince Prat swings himself up on Arthur’s horse and commands the knights to follow him home. Lancelot spares Merlin one last glance before subtly taking over the lead. Merlin shakes his head. The sooner they can figure this out, the better.

Gaius, to his credit, simply raises an eyebrow and sighs. “I take it the patrol went well?”

“You’re hilarious.” Merlin shoves Prince Prat away from the bubbling tonics. “Now what happened?”

“Based on the fact that they all seem to still have their memories intact, I’m inclined to think it’s some sort of Division magic.”

“Division magic?”

“Yes.” Gaius watches as Reasonable Arthur attempts to tug his cape back on right while Prince Prat struts about like he owns the place. The third Arthur sits on the stool and doesn’t say anything. “Splitting a person into their separate parts, different versions of themselves that normally reside inside their own heads.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“To weaken them, perhaps, in the hopes that it would be…easier to control them.”

“You mean kill them,” Prince Prat corrects, “don’t beat around the bush.”

“We don’t know that—“

“Of course we do!” Prince Prat almost cuffs Reasonable Arthur upside the head. “What else could a sorcerer possibly want?”

“How do we fix it,” Merlin says quickly before this conversation can get anymore…terrifying, “there’s got to be a way to fix it.”

“There is.”

“Then why didn’t you lead with that?” Gaius just gives him a look. “…oh.”

“We should tell Morgana,” Reasonable Arthur pipes up, “she’s good at keeping secrets and she’s very clever.”

“She’s a girl,” Prince Prat huffs.

“She’s cleverer than you and you know it.”

“I’m gonna go get Morgana,” Merlin mutters and tears out of the room.

Morgana doesn’t believe him at first. He doesn’t really blame her. Still, her face when she walks in to see three of Arthur standing there is…interesting.

“Oh, what’ve you done now?”

“Like you can talk!”

“Morgana! You’re here!”

Morgana’s eyes widen when Reasonable Arthur looks overjoyed to see her. “…yes?”

“I told them you’d help, you’re clever.”

Morgana glances at Merlin. “…is he alright?”

Merlin quickly fills her in.

“Must we fix them,” Morgana muses, “I quite like that one.”

“We don’t know how stable it is,” Merlin mutters, “plus, part of this is supposed to make Arthur inconspicuous, right? How well d’you think Uther would react to seeing his son like that?”

Morgana hums. “Well, if there’s that in him normally, I suppose we’ll just have to work on getting it out more often.”

She walks over to the others and is promptly swept up in a conversation. Prince Prat is being a prat, Reasonable Arthur is being reasonable, Morgana is being amazing, and Gaius is looking a little less like his forehead is going to iron itself into a frown.

The third Arthur doesn’t say anything.

Merlin carefully scoots around them, laying a hand on the third Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur? Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly when the third Arthur flinches, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The third Arthur glances up at him and shakes his head. Merlin breathes out slowly. He lays his hand back carefully, glancing up to signal Gaius to have the others give them some space.

Prince Prat has the strut and the puffed-out chest and the voice. Reasonable Arthur has the easy movement and the gracious words and the confident nod.

The third Arthur, as Merlin looks at him, is the only one who doesn’t really look like Arthur. Not…not really.

His cheeks, while not visibly more gaunt or drawn than the others, have this sort of ashen look to them that makes Merlin’s chest clench in a funny way. The way his sits is almost too still, eerily so, like if he moves even an inch he’ll fall over. There is a solemnity to his movement, as if every step is done with the care and caution of someone balancing on a tightrope, high up in the clouds, the wind whipping about them.

He hasn’t said more than half a dozen words, the first of which being Merlin’s name.

“Are you alright?”

The third Arthur looks up and nods. Merlin’s breath catches in his throat.

There is almost nothing behind his eyes.

“That sounds fine,” Prince Prat announces, startling Merlin. He looks around to see Reasonable Arthur shaking his head slightly and Morgana’s hands perched on her hips.

“What sounds fine?”

“Gaius says he can have the cure drawn up by the end of the week,” Morgana says, “and until then, the Arthurs will stay in their chambers and only one will be allowed out at any given time.”

“And how’re we supposed to manage that? I mean, are we just supposed to have someone in there all the time that can control them and tell them which one is supposed to—“

Merlin stops. Oh, no. No, no, no.

“Believe me,” Prince Prat grumbles, “I’m not thrilled about it either.”

A quick glance around the room shows that yep, this is in fact happening. Fortunately—or unfortunately—it seems that only Prince Prat and Merlin have some sort of reservations about this. Morgana looks positively gleeful.

“Don’t worry Merlin,” she says as she sweeps out of the room, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out!”

Well, once they get to Arthur’s chambers, it becomes clear that they have a lot to figure out. Prince Prat insists on sleeping in the bed because it’s his, Reasonable Arthur points out that technically it is all of their beds, Prince Prat threatens to take Reasonable Arthur’s head off until Merlin threatens to make them both sleep on the floor. The grudging agreement to share it doesn’t come free. Reasonable Arthur gets an apple chucked at his head. The rest of that day and the next is spent in terse, tolerable silence that makes Merlin want to bite his own head off.

Then of course it’s supposedly time for Arthur to go train and of course Prince Prat has to go. Merlin asks a guard to summon Leon and it’s a testament to how much shit Leon’s been through that he simply nods and lets Prince Prat lead the way. Merlin shakes his head and wonders how the knights will deal with this. He’s sure to get an earful from Gwaine about it later.

Then Reasonable Arthur sits down at Arthur’s desk and picks up a quill and just…works. Merlin has to stop every once in a while as he's doing his own chores to watch Arthur sit there, scratching away at the roll of parchment, glancing up every so often to smile at Merlin or ask him a question. Then he wants to go talk to Morgana and Merlin has to explain that no, everyone thinks that Arthur—the one Arthur—is outside training right now, he can’t be also seen going to Morgana’s chambers, and having Morgana come here while everyone thinks Arthur’s outside is also not good. Merlin hands the work off to another servant to bring to the King.

Then Merlin notices that all the third Arthur’s done is sit quietly on a chair in the corner, toying with something.

Glancing over his shoulder to notice that neither of the others has even noticed, Merlin sets down his basket and crosses the room to crouch down in front of him. The third Arthur barely blinks.

“…Arthur?”

His head turns but he doesn’t make eye contact.

“Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head with the smallest smile, discreetly tucking whatever he was toying with into his sleeve. Merlin glances over his shoulder again. Reasonable Arthur is paying them absolutely no mind.

“…are you alright?”

The third Arthur doesn’t quite look at him, but his hand twitches toward Merlin. Merlin holds his own trembling hand out—why is he shaking? What’s happening?—for him to take, if he wants.

He doesn’t, and Merlin doesn’t push. This Arthur is…intriguing, to say the least. As he gets back to his chores, pointedly avoiding looking in that direction to give him privacy, he thinks.

Has he ever seen this part of Arthur before? Is it just so small normally that he doesn’t? Was there some rule about the spell having to split them into three so they just…made another Arthur?

A thundering of footsteps signals the return of Prince Prat, much to Reasonable Arthur’s chagrin.

“Off with my armor,” Prince Prat orders, “now.”

“Tell you what,” Merlin sighs, “you ask me by name and I’ll do it.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because it’s the decent thing to do?”

“Who cares about decent?”

“We should,” Reasonable Arthur says, frowning, “of course, we should care. If we’re going to be king—“

“You’re not going to be king, I’m going to be king.”

“Technically we’re all going to be king.”

“You won’t do a good job of it. All you want to do is talk, and not fight for what you want, what kind of king will do that?”

“And what kind of king will just prattle on about whatever he wants and not listen,” Reasonable Arthur shoots back, “how many enemies will you make because you want to answer things with a sword?”

“You have to fight for what is right!”

“And how will you know what that is if you don’t talk?”

Merlin sighs, leaning back against the pillar of Arthur’s bed. To be honest, he’d be more invested in this conversation—which is pretty interesting, even without the fact that it’s two versions of Arthur shouting at himself—if he wasn’t already fed up with this entire situation.

Then a knock at the door.

“Sire!”

“Yes?” Prince Prat turns.

“The King has summoned you!”

The room falls deathly quiet.

Merlin quickly says that he’ll be on his way in a second, gaze darting back and forth between the two Arthurs, both of which have gone pale.

“W-well,” Reasonable Arthur says, “er…duty calls.”

“No, no,” Prince Prat says, actually moving away from the door, “you should go. He wants to talk.”

“But you’re in armor.”

“But you can actually think.”

Merlin’s stomach drops. Arthur…the Arthurs look scared.

“I’ll go.”

The third Arthur stands up, the chair scraping against the floor with a horrid noise. He rolls his shoulders back and something in Merlin’s mind clicks.

He knows that posture, recognizes it from when they went out to face the dragon. He knows that walk, knows it from seeing Arthur walk towards the block as Morgause held aloft the axe.

And as the third Arthur turns around to give them one last look, Merlin recognizes the look in his eyes as their gazes finally meet.

Resignation.

The door thuds shut behind him before Merlin can even move.

His fingers itch. He needs something to do. He turns to Prince Prat. “I’ll, um, I’ll get your armor off.”

“N-no,” Prince Prat stutters, still looking at the door. “I need it. I need it on.”

“What?”

“I need it on,” he repeats, almost clutching his sword.

Soft scratchings fill the room and Merlin looks around to see Reasonable Arthur scribbling frantically.

“I have to tell him,” he keeps muttering, “I’m right, I just—if he would let me explain, I could—“

“You can’t,” Prince Prat interrupts. “You know you can’t. He won’t listen to words.”

“If we defend ourselves it—“

“If we talk it—“

“We have to—“

“We can’t—“

The Arthurs freeze. Prince Prat’s hand is wrapped firmly around the pommel of his sword. Reasonable Arthur’s hands ball up in spare sheets of parchment. Neither of them dares look away from the door.

An icy pit opens up in Merlin’s chest and a cold fire rages.

Somewhere, in this castle, there is an Arthur standing in front of Uther Pendragon, with an indifferent cool gaze iced into place, and the only words on his tongue are: “Yes, Father.”

Merlin has no idea how long they stand there.

Footsteps.

Merlin blinks and suddenly Prince Prat is in front of him, holding out an arm to shield him. Reasonable Arthur is at his shoulder, clutching a scribbled list in one hand, the other on the back of Merlin’s tunic.

The door starts to creak open.

The Survivor Arthur appears and the room heaves a sigh of relief, quickly followed by Merlin ducking around Prince Prat to rush to Survivor Arthur’s side. His hands flit about anxiously as he asks about injuries. Survivor Arthur shakes his head, moves away from the door, and sits back down in the chair. Merlin watches, gobsmacked, as Reasonable Arthur and Prince Prat just…return to what they were doing. Without any sort of…anything.

“Merlin?”

Survivor Arthur’s voice breaks him out of his trance, looking around to see his head turned just enough to stare at Merlin’s torso.

“I’m here,” Merlin says quickly, “do you need something?”

He shakes his head. “Just…wanted to know you were here.”

Yeah, Merlin’s not leaving this room for shit.

He makes sure Survivor Arthur is in the bed that night. The other two must see something in his gaze because they don’t argue, just curl up on either side of the truly massive bed. Prince Prat nods off right away, Reasonable Arthur following not long after. Only Survivor Arthur stays awake, his eyes darting around until his gaze lands on Merlin, finishing up the last of his chores.

“Arthur?”

In the dark, Merlin can only see half of his face. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Merlin promises, “not for anything.”

“…I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t.”

“No one does what you do.”

“Well, there’s only so many manservants that will put up with their charge splitting into three.”

He doesn’t laugh. Merlin pauses, walking closer to the side of the bed.

“…no one takes care of me like you do,” comes the whisper. Merlin’s heart clenches.

“I’ve got no one else to care for like I care for you.”

Something in the darkness softens. “Don’t leave?”

“…I’m not going anywhere.”

Merlin doesn’t move from his spot next to the bed until the sunlight wakes him up. He groans, shifting around and rubbing his eyes blearily.

“Merlin?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, “I’m awake.”

“Merlin.”

“Yes, I’m awake, hang on.”

“Merlin.”

“What?”

Merlin looks around, expecting to see Prince Prat glaring up at him, only to blink and see one Arthur in the bed, not three.

“…Arthur?”

Arthur looks down at himself, then back up to Merlin. “Pretty sure.”

“Are you—you’re—you’re back.”

“I am.” Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed and stares up at Merlin with far too much awareness for this early in the morning. “Not that I ever really went anywhere.”

“Do you, er, what do you remember?”

Arthur gives him a look that should not be turning Merlin’s legs to jelly. “I remember everything, Merlin, including something about—“

“Please don’t,” Merlin says, feeling his face flare, “you don’t have to—”

“Merlin,” Arthur calls softly, “look at me.”

“Is that required?”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Says someone who couldn’t look at me most of the time,” Merlin shoots back instantly, only to wince a second later. “Sorry, that was…bad.”

He hears the faint rustling of sheets as Arthur stands, then a warm hand under his chin. He lets Arthur guide his face up.

“You’re right,” Arthur says softly, “I couldn’t look at you then. But I can do it now.”

“Are you sure,” Merlin tries weakly, “that this isn’t just Reasonable Arthur?”

“Reasonable Arthur?”

“Yeah. The one of you that admitted Morgana was smarter than you and actually did your work.”

“I don’t know if I would say smarter…”

“And wasn’t a massive pain in my are.”

“Wait, did you give names to all of them?”

“Had to tell you apart somehow, didn’t I?”

“What were the others?”

“Prince Prat.”

“Of course.”

“And, um…” Merlin chews on his lip. “…Survivor Arthur.”

“Survivor?” Merlin nods. “Not ‘coward?’”

“What? No!” Merlin’s jaw clenches and he stares at Arthur in disbelief. “No, protecting yourself isn’t cowardly. You—you—what the hell are you talking about?”

Arthur swallows heavily.

“…Arthur…Arthur, are you ashamed?”

Silence.

“You listen to me,” Merlin growls, taking a step forward right into Arthur’s space, “there is nothing to be ashamed about surviving. You have to live first and foremost and the last thing I want is for you to hurt yourself for the sake of it. You had to learn how to survive and I’m sorry and I hate it but I will never call you a coward because of it!”

He’s only aware that he’s shouting by the end of it by the strain in his throat. He blinks, going to take a step back, only for the hand still under his chin to hold him firm.

Arthur’s hand comes up to gently trace his cheek, looking at him like he’s something precious.

“I meant it,” he says softly, “no one takes care of me like you do.”

This time, Merlin can see his face clearly and the sincerity in his gaze makes him tremble.

“…I meant it too,” he manages, “I’ve got no one else to care for like I care for you.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirks up. “I didn’t look at you because I couldn’t,” he whispers, “I didn’t have the part of me that was brave enough to look.”

The hand slots back under his chin.

“But now I do,” he breathes, “and I…I actually might believe you now.”

“…now that you’ve got your intelligent side back?”

Arthur gives his chest a gentle shove, chuckling. “Enough, you idiot, I’m trying to be sincere here.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Arthur sobers, his hand coming up to ruffle through Merlin’s hair and cup the back of his neck. “…don’t leave, Merlin.”

Merlin reaches back to cover Arthur’s hand with his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” Arthur corrects, the hand under Merlin’s shifting a little, “I mean don’t…don’t leave. I know I was the one literally split into three people but you…I saw more of you too.”

Oh.

Oh.

“So please, Merlin,” Arthur whispers, his voice shaking slightly, “please, don’t leave.”

“I told you,” Merlin says, “I’m not going anywhere, you prat.”

His voice is shaking a little too much for it to be completely joking.

The sunlight on the back of Merlin’s neck is not nearly as warm as Arthur’s hand, nor is it bright enough to hurt when their foreheads touch and their eyes fall shut. Arthur’s breath is warm on Merlin’s cheek.

“…no more running into magic circles, okay?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur murmurs, tilting his head just enough to brush his nose along Merlin’s temple, “I think this turned out alright.”

Merlin draws back just enough to open his mouth in some snappy remark only to have Arthur’s pleased smile immediately ruin it for him.

“…I’m sure the knights have questions.”

“I think Gwaine’ll be happy, don’t you?”

“I think he was grateful for an excuse to kick the shit out of me.”

“Wait, are you admitting that Gwaine is a better fighter than you?”

“Merlin!”

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur fic #merthur #dragonbabbles #fic

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 12

Foolish Heroes of Barley

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, the party had returned to Barley to deal with a few loose ends. They've been staying in town for a while, waiting for their hired Deathseekers to deal with the dragon in the tower. This session, their stay comes to an end, and as you can see from the image here, they don't get into any trouble whatsoever.

A few other things happen before their fateful final night in town:

Kevin Softbreeze, the herbalist from the Deathseekers, visits town and sells Looseleaf some magic flowers that repel demons- though they're not very potent, and she'll need to stop by his garden in Cauterdale if she wants some seeds to try growing. Saelhen buys some potent knockout drops.

The villagers appear to still be arming themselves and preparing for battle with Wheat- since they didn't mention Arnie as the culprit at all, and tried to pin it on the dragon directly, Malath is still skeptical that they're totally safe from invasion, and defensive preparations continue.

Rumors spread that Chitch has gone missing, but no one can find the body. The party spreads rumors of their own- true ones- that Chitch went to go find his daughter after learning that the pain-wizard is dead.

On their fifth night in the village- somewhat earlier than expected- they notice something outside the window of their rooms in the inn. Lumiere's tower, previously unnoticeable, is suddenly aglow with some sort of yellow cylindrical magic barrier, made up of hexagonal panels.

Looseleaf rouses the rest of the party- the plan is to watch from a distance, and not interfere. A very loud roar is heard in the distance, which is suddenly cut off in the middle- it seems the Deathseekers have sprung their trap.

It's not too much longer after that when they begin to hear screams from around them in the village.

Saelhen's elf eyes spot... something rustling in the fields around the village. All of them. Quite a lot of somethings. Except despite the rustling, she can't make out anything but barley stalks. And the nothing- the hordes of nothing- is moving towards the tower.

The party leaps into action, heading downstairs with weapons drawn. On the ground floor, they see... something sort of familiar. Those Greed Echoes, the mud-and-grass monsters they fought on the road- one of them is forming itself out of broken bottles, dust, and wooden planks uprooted from the floor of the Harvester Inn. Cassie, the innkeeper, is watching in terror, knuckles white gripping a frying pan.

Congratulations! You're both right! The dragon is summoning an army of hateful Justice Echoes powered by the roused hatred of Wheat that's been stirred up in town!

Oyobi thinks fast, and oneshots the echo in the kitchen with an arrow, shattering a bottle that'd become its core. The screams outside continue, though, and the party exits the inn to find panicked villagers fleeing their homes. Justice Echoes made primarily from twisted stalks of barley have formed in their fields and homes, taking the weapons amassed for self-defense from their owners. They attack only those who resist, and make their way towards the tower.

Looseleaf: Let's just attack some hate-plague spirits and see if they decide to attack us instead. If they don't attack us at all, then we can just ignore them and run leisurely next to them and pick them off as we go. If they attack us, then it's a regular fight. "We're up to do some heroism this fine night, right, team?" Oyobi Yamatake: "Obviously!" Orluthe Chokorov: "Uh, I don't have that one prepared, do I? Uh..." Vayen: Saelhen du Fishercrown: "I am up to rub Mother K's face in the super obvious consequences of her actions while incidentally preventing pointless suffering." "Go team! Woo!"

Looseleaf starts us off by rending the spirit of the closest barley-monster, using her new Painspike ability to make the target Frightened of her.

However... these monsters have no purpose except to attack that which they fear, so rather than the normal effect of being Frightened, Looseleaf has now drawn aggro from this monster. Which is kind of what she wanted! So, that's a win! She now has a way to goad the enemy!

The party takes some swings at the monsters, knocking a couple out, but most of them seem to just be ignoring them, continuing to run through the fields towards the tower. They could become a problem for the Deathseekers if they're not dealt with- or for Wheat, for that matter.

Backup arrives in the form of Malath Kanthalga, who perceives these events as- what else?- an attack by Wheat. She's screaming, demanding to know who's responsible, and smashing echoes apart with her mace. Still, the echoes are mostly ignoring the village- they're grabbing anything they can find to use as a weapon, sort of ransacking the place, but most of them are just fleeing.

So Saelhen comes up with an extremely well-timed plan. It's a really good plan, I love it, and I'm excited to hit them with the consequences of her plan- until Looseleaf issues a timely bit of advice:

Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen dashes (Cunning Action), steps forward, inhales a great gulp of breath... "FOOLISH HEROES OF BARLEY!" she bellows. "WHILE YOU FUTILELY WASTE YOURSELVES AGAINST WHEAT'S DEFENSES, I, THE SECRET SHADOW MAYOR OF WHEAT, WILL BE HERE BURNING YOUR HOMES!" "AND ALSO MENACING YOUR CITIZENS WITH MY PERMISSIVE IDEOLOGY!" She waves her hooded lantern, unlit, above her head, to drive the point home. "WHO AMONG YOU CAN STOP ME AND DELIVER JUSTICE? NO ONE, PROBABLY, I ASSUME!"

Vayen, in a surprising show of, let's call it camaraderie, is very much in support of this plan for some reason! He takes a break from his busy schedule of doing absolutely nothing every turn in combat to cast a helpful illusion, to ensure as many monsters aggro Saelhen as possible!

A few more rounds of combat ensue, with a good chunk of the monsters- including a few very large building-sized hulks- immediately turning to kill Saelhen. The party gets some good hits in, and Saelhen gets a little roughed up. She... would like maybe fewer things to be attacking her, actually.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Their attention is on me, Mother Kanthalga, the secret mayor of Wheat this entire time, but you might be able to calm their anger! These creatures were born from this town's... collective mind, or something, they may listen to you if you order them to stand down!" Benedict I. (GM): Not with advantage, but a 22... "Wh... what? What are you saying? That's..." She hesitates, then speaks, in a booming voice she- well, you spent a few days here, you know she reserves it for sermons. "STAND DOWN! The time to strike against our foe has not yet come!" "We must be prudent! We must defend ourselves, not attack!" [DEFEND OURSELVES,] the echoes agree, continuing to bear down on Saelhen. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Worth a shot!

It doesn't seem like these things are hugely receptive to emotional appeals or logical argument- they have the one emotion, which they're made of, and they don't super do other ones.

In the following combat rounds, Saelhen... takes a few more hits, which she is not designed to do on account of being a rogue.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: WHY DID I NOT DECLARE ORLUTHE THE SECRET SHADOW MAYOR

More echoes emerge from the fields and attack, and Saelhen is starting to look really rough- and Vayen just keeps the illusion on her, not actually helping in any way. Until... one of them goes for Looseleaf, instead. When it starts looking like she might be in danger, he fires off a bolt of blue electricity, which begins to singe one of the monsters attacking her for damage every turn. He's... a higher-level spellcaster than anyone else in the party, apparently!

Looseleaf, with a little room to maneuver, unfolds her wings and takes to the air- up and out of reach of the smaller monsters, drawing their aggro and forcing them to waste turns. Meanwhile, Orluthe and Oyobi, backed up by Malath and a couple of villagers who've reclaimed their weapons, cut down a few more echoes as more surge forth from the fields to replace them.

Saelhen... keeps trying to persuade Malath to persuade the echoes to stop. She does very well at persuading Malath to try that! Malath tries that, wholeheartedly, once again to no effect! Eventually, Malath stops trying.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Would you consider coming to them as a trusted comrade, who trained them to protect them, rather than the one leading them off to war? Maybe?" Malath Kanthalga: "I am going to come to them as a very angry warrior with a mace," she growls. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Okay! Okay, fair enough. Spiritual remedies off the table, understood."

Orluthe is getting really tired, and keeps whiffing his swings- it's touch-and-go for a while. But Saelhen and Looseleaf's frantic attempts to kite enemies out of range have been paying off, and they manage to down the remaining super-hulks juuuuust before anyone dies.

Benedict I. (GM): Y'know, it's possible that making the two squishiest members of the party draw aggro was not the number one best strategic move Saelhen du Fishercrown: IT MAYBE WASN'T, NO Looseleaf: eh, it's worked out so far!

The combat wraps up, and we transition to a bunch of Athletics rolls to chase down and terminate as many of the smaller echoes as possible. They build a firepit in the center of town, to dispose of defeated echoes in- just in case that's necessary, because who knows what kind of magic is animating these guys.

So after a wild night of chasing, taunting, fleeing, and burning justice echoes- well, it's not so much a wild night as a wild twenty minutes or so- there's a point at which the fields just suddenly fall silent. A pair of echoes chasing Saelhen fall to the ground, inert.

With a good roll...

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...of course, you're free to dismiss this as the ramblings of a crazed outsider. But keep in mind, Mother Kanthalga, that the ones who fell upon your town, tore it apart in a frenzy of violence, and stabbed you repeatedly for your pains, endangering your people, your daughter and your livelihoods, were repeating the words you taught them." Benedict I. (GM): Malath winces. "That... I don't know why they..." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...think on it. You're reasonable people, around here. You can come to your own conclusions." Benedict I. (GM): "I tell you, I did not make these things! If not for..." She's kind of lost for words. "...Apologies. I have much work to do," she says, and leaves.

After some work mending the village and cleaning up the aftermath, Looseleaf heads back into the inn to check on Vayen, who hasn't been helping at all and is instead drunk at the bar. He asks "Did she make it?"- and Looseleaf gets a nat 20 on Insight.

She's pretty sure that he was talking about Saelhen- and that he sounded almost hopeful. He was unusually jazzed about a plan that involved her being attacked by a horde of angry monsters- and he chose to shoot the echo that was attacking her, not the one bearing down on Saelhen with a bunch of its friends. When she informs him Saelhen survived, she's able to tell he's disappointed.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: so he doesn't hate us, as a group he hates saelhen specifically Looseleaf: But also weirdly- okay, what if: what if he actually has an ancestral quest involving that bracer and he's mad that saelhen beat him to the punch and furthermore used it as a shitty cover story Saelhen du Fishercrown: saelhen going THE DE LA SURPLUS ANCESTRAL QUEST IS REAL???

Looseleaf switches to talking to Vayen via her spirit-magic imitation of the Message spell.

Looseleaf: (Like, Vayen, everything you're doing is about Saelhen in some way or other. And I can't figure out why. You seem pretty much ambivalent towards all of us except for her. I don't get it. If you want Saelhen dead, why haven't you just killed her? I saw that lightning bolt- if you wanted, I bet you could take all of us, in a straight fight.) (You're sending real mixed signals. If you want her dead, why isn't she dead? Why do you want her to be dead via a hand other than your own?) Vayen: He locks up. And then sighs. Looseleaf: (And now you're sitting here sounding all tired and sad and I feel bad about that.) (I dunno, do you want to, uh, talk about it, with someone.) Vayen: "I don't... want her... to be dead," he says, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I have nothing against her." Looseleaf: (Then it's the- bracer??) Vayen: I'm letting that one Insight roll do a lot of work here, but he definitely reacts to that. "I- um, no," he says, lying. Looseleaf: (There is literally nothing significant about Saelhen other than her bracer, unless you plan on telling me that your deepest desire is to defeat the dance emperor of Kanzentokai in a danceoff and reclaim your ancestral throne of dancing glory.) (Which, granted, if that's the case, that'd be amazing.) Vayen: "I don't know what you're- that's not..." "It's all coincidence. Whatever you're thinking. I don't have- I don't have anything against- Saelhen? Noeru?" Looseleaf: (Look, I- okay, here's how I see things. I don't know how the bracer works, it's weird magic stuff, but the way I see it, there's two major ways the bracer could work.) (That is, you either want the bracer for yourself, because whatever it does or whatever you need it for, you need to be the one wearing it- OR, you just need anybody willing to use the bracer to do whatever it is the bracer's supposed to do.) Vayen: "...Can you not?" "I- I have a job." "I have an important job." "It's from the School of Restricted Arts." Looseleaf: "Well, tell us about the dang important job then! Maybe we can help you with it." "I don't get why you're preassuming that we'd never do anything you might want us to do." Vayen: "It's from the School of- are you listening?" "It's secret." "Look, it's- you don't need to worry about it, okay?" Looseleaf: "Hhhhhrlgkrkshxzshktkrrrzzzzktttttkzzz," Looseleaf says, reverting to her natural dialect in a brief moment of frustration. Vayen: "Sure, it's easier if- I mean, she- that was her idea, she wanted to..." "I just- I can just..." "As long as I can keep an eye on..." He groans. "I shouldn't be talking to you." "You're not in the School." Looseleaf: "Okay, just- hhhjkkkkkrkxxxxxtk." Vayen:"Are... you okay?" He's never asked a question like that before. Looseleaf: (I'm fine, that's just how we express frustration, our throats don't naturally conform to making sounds like 'hrrrrrgh', whenever I do that it's a performative thing that I do to adhere to human expectations- look, the big reason why I'm trying to, pound my way through your portcullis of secrecy with a twenty-foot battering ram of blunt communication,) (is because right now Saelhen is like, probably 80% convinced you're trying to poison her in your sleep.) (Seriously, this amount of in-party distrust is, like, way too Ccorde-damned much.) Vayen: "I wouldn't do that," he says. "If I were going to do that, I'd have done it already. Looseleaf: (If you'd express, in a credible way, that you're actually just trying to get Saelhen to do whatever it is she'd do anyways, she'd feel a lot better about it!) (And then she might even work with you to further your goals directly!) Vayen: He doesn't say anything for a little while. "...This is stupid." "This isn't even- it's wrong, even." "Maybe that's why." Man, that bottle he's holding is emptier than you thought it'd be. He's only been here less than half an hour. "Don't try to- guh, friends. He'll never- stupid. What's the point." He sort of collapses on the bar.

Vayen, it seems, can't hold his liquor. Looseleaf... carries him back up to his room.

Next time: the party finally leaves Barley, for good this time! And also a minor medical emergency happens, and also they kidnap a twelve-year-old, but like, it's fine. It'll be fine. Don't worry about it.

#twofaced jewel #tfj log

[uno-san]

The Transformation of Pink Diamond’s Powers

Hey, everybody! Boy, that finale was something else, eh? I’m happy to have gone on such an incredible journey with everyone. But today, I won’t focus on the last episode. Instead, I want to focus on a realization of Rose Quartz/Pink Diamond’s character!  The fandom is still rather divided on Pink Diamond’s past and whether or not she was a bad person. Originally, I was going to put together a post on why I thought she was good until I made a rather interesting observation after watching “Homeworld Bound”. It was so interesting in fact, that I didn’t feel like writing about anything else! 

(OKAY so it’s late and I haven’t slept at ALL but I had to throw up my thoughts. It’s very rambly and not that well-written but HEY, it’s a dumb post about a cartoon lol so it’s all good)

--

“Your Mother’s Pearls never had the whole picture. One knew your mother was trying to change, but she couldn’t understand why. The other never expected her to change at all.”

In “Volleyball”, we saw that both Pearls had gotten into an argument when Pink Diamond’s past actions came into question. Our Pearl knew only of the healing powers that Rose Quartz possessed, while Pink Pearl revealed that she was more than familiar with the destructive power of her Diamond. 

While this reveal does indeed give us insight into the past, we also see the true start of Pink Diamond’s journey into becoming Rose Quartz. Her transformation that began after her outburst unintentionally damaged Pink Pearl. In the episode “Homeworld Bound”, we can find a similar transformation with the Diamonds. 

After thousands of years of leading her army’s to conquer other worlds, of experimenting, of punishing her troops, Yellow Diamond had realized what she’d done wrong. Without Steven’s provocation, she had begun to pull in her past experiments to put them back together and reunite them with one another. 

Her powers were once used to poof a gem near instantly. Yellow Diamond took out anyone who stepped out of line. But now, she’s painstakingly taking her time to put together the shards of fallen gems. 

After thousands of years of grief, of forcing her pain onto others, and keeping everyone’s emotions regulated, Blue Diamond saw that there was more than sadness to experience in the world. She knew that she had hurt others while they were under her rule. Without anyone pushing her to do more, Blue Diamond took it upon herself to bring joy. 

Her tears disappeared. Instead, clouds filled her room that brought peace of mind to any gem who would need it. She stays to offer advice to troubled gems, and with Spinel she’s able to bring laughter. Steven was only able to shed tears in the past while in her presence. Yet now Blue Diamond had moved on to make amends rather than focusing on her past. 

Honestly, there’s a lot to unpack with White Diamond. Since the very start of Gem-kind, she was a cruel leader who expected perfection. She held a high standard that even her fellow diamonds struggled to follow. White Diamond began the invasion of other planets to destroy for the sake of creating more gems. Her powers allowed her to invade the body of others and control how she pleased. 

In “Homeworld Bound”, we truly see how far White Diamond has come. Her powers allow other gems to take control of HER so that they may be heard. She’s given them a voice when before they had none. Despite her past actions, White Diamond chooses to entrust her body to the minds of gems she once enslaved to allow them the chance to speak. 

Steven had the Diamond Authority give up their colonies and dictatorship. He had them begin to realize that everyone should stand on equal ground. But he wasn’t the one to lead them down the full path to redemption. Steven certainly pushed them in the right direction, of course, but the Diamonds needed to self-reflect. Once they were able to tell for themselves that what they did was wrong, their powers completely changed. 

Just like Pink Diamond. 

At the time she didn’t have Steven to help her along the way. Instead, she was allowed to see the pain she caused after her outburst had hurt her close friend. She had felt so much regret over her actions that Pink Diamond never allowed her powers to hurt anyone else again. 

When Spinel interrupted her call with her fellow Diamonds and risked her chance to be responsible, Pink Diamond held back her temper. She never yelled or told Spinel off for frustrating her and acting silly. Pink Diamond kept herself under control and refused to let her powers get the better of her. Instead, she loved the goofiness that was Spinel continued to laugh at her jokes even as she grew weary of them.   Now, Pink Diamond did make a mistake when having dealt with Spinel. My point here is that she held herself back after having learned what happens when she gets upset.  

Even during a war over the fate of the Earth, Pink Diamond asked for a sword that could never shatter a gem. Even if they were her enemies, she didn’t want to hurt them. She stopped Bismuth, her closest friend, from ever using her weapons to kill. 

Her Pearl’s injuries had put Pink Diamond directly on the path to becoming the loving Rose Quartz that everyone knew. The Rose Quartz that was patient and kind, finding the beauty in everything and everyone. The same Rose Quartz who became so fascinated with change because she wanted to change herself. She wanted to change to be better, to be different than the Diamonds who hurt her for not being proper. 

It was this same need to be different, to grow, that spurred every other gem to join in the rebellion to fight for life on Earth and their freedom to be who they pleased. 

Both Pink Diamond and Rose Quartz weren’t perfect. They made so many mistakes along the way when they had no other guidance. But there’s no argument when I say that we ended up with someone kinder than they started. The world isn’t black and white, and Rose certainly isn’t, but I think she was a good person. 

#Steven Universe #Steven Universe Future #SU #SUF #SU Pink Diamond #SU Rose Quartz #SU Spinel #SU Diamond authority #SU white diamond #SU blue diamond #SU Yellow diamond #SU pearl #SU pink pearl #steven universe theory #steven universe future spoiler #SU spoilers

[jpaulfontan]

Clinging to the

Promises of God

You remain in control In the middle of the war You guard my soul I take great comfort in knowing God’s in control, Don’t you? Hello! You’ve found the Senior Adult Sunday school class for Corinth Baptist Church in Singleton, Ms. The title of our lesson for today is:

Clinging to the

Promises of God

This will be the 2nd in a

5-session series under the general heading of; Facing Adversity.

We’ll be drawing Scripture from the 27th chapter of the Book of Acts.

You know, there are more than 7,000 promises from God to us written in His Word. One of the 1st things that came to my mind when I read that was the question: ”Why? I mean, why would God make so many promises to humanity?” The overriding answer to that would be that He wants for us to simply………….. trust Him. So, how can we know that this Bronze-Age book, the Bible, is really God’s word to us? That would be because the Bible proves itself. I don’t know of another book ever written that declares future events with unerring accuracy. Over 25% of the Bible is prophetic. Peter wrote in 2nd Peter 1:19-21; 19. So we have the

prophetic word

strongly confirmed.

You will do well to

pay attention to it,

as to a lamp shining

in a dismal place,

until the day dawns

and the morning star

rises in your hearts.

20. First of all,

you should know this:

No prophecy of Scripture

comes from one’s own

interpretation,

21. because no prophecy

ever came by the will of man;

instead, men spoke

from God as they were

moved by the Holy Spirit. God spoke through men the words of prophecy. But, can we really believe the prophesies, or the promises of God to us? Well, if many of the prophecies actually did come to pass when and where they were foretold, I’d say that was confirmation that the words of the Bible are true. To this day, we remember what happened on Palm Sunday. Jesus fulfilled the prophecy that He would come into Jerusalem riding on a donkey and be hailed as the King of the Jews. But did you know that He did this on exactly the day that Daniel had prophesied he would? Daniel made the prediction more than 500 years before it happened. Think about it. 500 years before it happened, a man wrote down the prophecy that the Messiah would enter Jerusalem riding on a donkey. AND, he predicted the exact day it would happen. That’s just one prophecy that was fulfilled exactly as it had been predicted. Anyone can go onto the internet, search for fulfilled prophecies, and discover that there are many, many of them. Many more are yet to be fulfilled; but they will be because so many of them have already proven the fact that the Bible is completely accurate. If the prophecies are true, certainly the promises are as well. And if the promises are true, then why wouldn’t we trust God completely? In today’s lesson we’ll be learning of Paul’s shipwreck as he is being taken to Rome. Paul demonstrates his unshakable faith and trust in God through this harrowing situation.

Section 1: Acts 27:21-24; 21. Since many were going without food, Paul stood up among them and said, “You men should have followed my advice not to sail from Crete and sustain this damage and loss. 22. Now I urge you to take courage, because there will be no loss of any of your lives, but only of the ship. 23. For this night an angel of the God I belong to and serve stood by me, 24. and said, ‘Don’t be afraid, Paul. You must stand before Caesar. And, look! God has graciously given you all those who are sailing with you.’ Finally, after two years of

being under arrest in

Caesarea, Paul was, at last

on his way to Rome.

But these folks

weren't on a sleek

catamaran zipping over

the waves and making

short work of a voyage

from Caesarea Maritime

to Rome.

Instead, they were

transferring from one

large, slow moving,

grain vessel to

another painstakingly

making their way

to their

destination.

It's late autumn and

their progress was

being hindered by

unfavorable winds.

The captain of the

vessel they were on

had intended to sail

west from Cnidus,

but instead had been

forced to sail

southwest toward

Crete.

They had sailed around

the southern coast of

Crete and landed at the

port of Fair Heavens.

The Roman Centurion

that was in charge of

the prisoners had

decided that this

would not be a good

place to hold up for

the winter; and the

captain of the grain

ship they were traveling

on said he was

confident that he could

make the crossing to

Italy.

The problem was that it

was late fall.

At this time of the year,

that region of the

Mediterranean experienced

seasonal storms called

Euroclydon, (U Rock Lee Don).

Like the American Nor'easter,

these storms were fierce and

could last for many days.

Paul had been warned in his

spirit to try to dissuade

the centurion and the captain

from attempting the crossing,

but didn't prevail.

Now they found themselves

in the midst of one of these

terrible storms.

The ship was being battered

and the 276 passengers and

crew were wrestling with

the very real fear that

they might not survive.

It was at this time that

Paul stood up and told them

that they should have

listened to him.

He didn't say that as an

"I told you so" but rather

that they might now

believe the words coming

out of his mouth.

He told them to take courage

because he had been informed

by an angel that though

the ship they were on was

going to be lost, none of

them were going to die.

Because they were all

aware of Paul's warning

not to leave Fair Heavens,

what he was now saying to

them carried the

weight of credibility.

Now, last week I pointed

out that Nero had ordered

the Christians in Rome

to be killed.

In the telling of that

episode, I voiced my

opinion that Paul had

probably not had the

opportunity to stand

before Caesar.

But in verse 24 of our

lesson for today,

the angel talking to

Paul on that storm-tossed

ship, told him that he

must stand before Caesar.

I don't know it he ever

actually did, the Bible

doesn't tell me one way or

the other.

But I want to make something

perfectly clear here.

Like an onion,

the Scriptures and God's

Truth comes to all of

us in layers.

When God so chooses for

each of us to discover

something deeper in His

Word, He'll peel back

another layer for us.

Who knows?

Maybe, some day, God will

show me in His Word,

of by His Spirit,

that Paul did, in fact,

have the opportunity to

stand before Nero.

Now, back to the Scripture

of today's lesson.

The message that Paul relayed

to the others on the ship

was a reassurance that they

were all going to survive

this terrible storm.

And it's the idea that

leads us into the next section.

It's entitled....

Section 2: Encourage Others to Trust in God. Acts 27:30-38;

30. Some sailors tried to escape from the ship; they had let down the skiff into the sea, pretending that they were going to put out anchors from the bow. 31. Paul said to the centurion and the soldiers, “Unless these men stay in the ship, you cannot be saved.” 32. Then the soldiers cut the ropes holding the skiff and let it drop away.

33. When it was about daylight, Paul urged them all to take food, saying, “Today is the fourteenth day that you have been waiting and going without food, having eaten nothing. 34. Therefore I urge you to take some food. For this has to do with your survival, since none of you will lose a hair from your head.” 35. After he said these things and had taken some bread, he gave thanks to God in the presence of all of them, and when he broke it, he began to eat. 36. They all became encouraged and took food themselves. 37. In all there were 276 of us on the ship. 38. When they had eaten enough, they began to lighten the ship by throwing the grain overboard into the sea.

So, there again,

we see that they were

indeed on a ship

capable of carrying

over 250 passengers

and its very large

cargo of grain.

These weren't the

little boats

used by the fishermen

on the Sea of Galilee.

They were large,

sturdy wooden sailing ships

capable of

handling rough seas.

Before studying for

this lesson,

I just didn't know

what to make of

verse 30.

The author of

the lesson brought

out something interesting.

Verse 30 says that

"some sailors tried to

escape from the ship by

pretending they were

taking a skiff to put

out anchors."

These sailors were

trying to abandon ship.

From what I can see here,

Paul didn't tell the soldiers

what he knew the sailors

were really doing.

Instead, he just stopped

them from doing it by

warning the soldiers.

What the author of

today's lesson pointed out

was that these sailors

most likely were not

believers nor worshippers

of the God you and I

place our faith in.

For them,

salvation from their

gods had not come and

they had chosen to flee.

It would be tempting,

he goes on, to look down

our self-righteous noses

at them.

But the truth is that

all of us are prone to

a lack of faith during

times of trial and

difficulty.

But the thing is that

our God has proven His

faithfulness over and

over again.

When the Hebrews

cried out to God

from their bondage

in Egypt,

God sent Moses.

When Peter denied

Jesus, just as He said

he would,

Jesus was gracious and

restored him.

The Scriptures are full

of examples of this truth.

In our own lives,

over and over again,

all of us can point

to times when God

has proven Himself

trustworthy.

Even though we

know God is faithful,

Christians can struggle

to act in faith

in the moment,

especially in extremely

difficult situations.

When we're facing trying

times, right along with

unbelievers,

these are opportunities

for us to encourage them

to look outside of

themselves for hope to the only One

who can give it and

back it up.

This was what Paul

was doing onboard that

doomed ship that day.

Even though he was

a prisoner,

he rose above his

position and became

a fearless leader and

a beacon of hope for

everyone on-board.

The others on the ship

could see his confidence

in God.

When the rest of them

had lost their faith,

Paul was able to point

them to his God.

Section 3: Recognize the Fulfillment of What God Has Promised. Acts 27:39-44; 39. When daylight came, they did not recognize the land but sighted a bay with a beach. They planned to run the ship ashore if they could. 40. After casting off the anchors, they left them in the sea, at the same time loosening the ropes that held the rudders. Then they hoisted the foresail to the wind and headed for the beach. 41. But they struck a sandbar and ran the ship aground. The bow jammed fast and remained immovable, while the stern began to break up by the pounding of the waves.

42. The soldiers’ plan was to kill the prisoners so that no one could swim away and escape. 43. But the centurion kept them from carrying out their plan because he wanted to save Paul, so he ordered those who could swim to jump overboard first and get to land. 44. The rest were to follow, some on planks and some on debris from the ship. In this way, everyone safely reached the shore.

God’s angel had promised Paul that every one of the people on that ship were going to survive, even though they were going to lose the ship. Paul had told this to those on the ship. We serve a mighty God who says what He means, and means what He says. As the day broke, land was sighted, but they didn’t know where they were; they didn’t recognize it. But they did see a bay with a beach. The storm was still raging, so they decided to ram the ship onto it. But, as they tried sailing to it, they ran aground on a sandbar. They hit it hard and there was no way of getting free of it. The waves were hitting the stern, (the rear of the ship), with such force that they were actually tearing the ship apart. If they stayed on the ship, they’d all perish. The soldiers, knowing that they, themselves would be killed if the prisoners escaped, had already decided to execute them. But their commanding officer, the centurion, stopped them because he wanted to save Paul. He ordered those who could swim to jump overboard and make for the beach. The rest would have to use boards and anything else that would float to get to land. Just as God had promised, everyone made it to safety. Yes, God was in control through it all. He had worked in the heart of the Centurion to preserve the lives of all of the prisoners. The Bible tells us the centurion did this to save Paul’s life. All of the prisoners’ lives were saved because of Paul. Everyone’s lives were in peril as the ship was being torn apart by the waves. But, in breaking the ship apart, God was providing the very thing those who couldn’t swim so desperately needed at that time…… planks. God gave Paul through the angel a specific promise; he would preach the gospel in Rome, and that everyone on the ship would survive the storm. Like Paul and his companions, God doesn’t give us the details of how He’s going to accomplish His promises. One promise that God makes to all of us is; ”We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to His purpose.” God will take all the nuances of our various stories, both the good and the bad, and work them together for our good. That phrase, ”all things,” means just that, every experience in life that we have encountered. So, if you find yourself in a storm, a really difficult time in life, recognize that it won’t last forever. If you’re enduring a season of deep pain and woundedness, realize God’s promise to work all things for good remains true. God comforts us during our seasons of affliction so that He can heal us and we can, in turn, pass that comfort on to others who are suffering, knowing that God always keeps His promises.

God requires His followers to place their trust in Him, not only for the salvation of their souls but also for the care of each of their steps. We must be unwavering in our commitment to

Call upon the Lord when we’re struggling with trusting Him. He’s worthy of our trust, and we must fight to remind ourselves of this truth. Because God’s fulfilled His greatest promise in providing salvation through Jesus, we are now free to live fulfilling the great commission without wavering, even when our work seems futile and the future unsure. We can remain faithful even when we don’t have all the details God has prepared for us in the future. His Word tells us that He has prepared good works for us to do. We can be confident in God’s protection and preservation over His people to complete His mission. Let’s pray: Help us, Lord to cling to your promises

Help us Lord to Trust you and boldly proclaim your truth Help us Lord to Encourage others to trust in you. We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to His purpose.

[razaks-wheel]

@tesruinedmylife​ thank you! :D

Prompt: “temple” from “an Elder Scrolls writing prompt list”

---

Barely a year since the disaster, barely a dent put into the relief efforts, and already they would have to leave Mournhold. Vivec had argued, naturally. Though ze had gotten much better about turning hir guilt into action, this new threat of invading Argonians seemed to have triggered something and caused hir to revert to hir initial response. Ze had already let hir own city and its residents be destroyed; ze did not want to let the same thing happen for Ayem's. Ze would rather suffer and die alongside those who chose to remain.

Luckily, Ildari had managed to convince hir. They would work with the other mages to open portals so that anyone who wanted to escape could do so, and then they would leave for themselves. There was still so much to do, and they would be of no use to the relief efforts if they were dead. Besides, they had her daughter Dreveni to think about, and her grandmother Talvini. While the latter was perfectly capable of making and acting on her own decisions, Ildari did not want to put her in a position to choose between her safety and her family.

They had also picked up one of Almalexia's Hands, Llevura, an old friend of Talvini's. Judging by Llevura's distressed expression when she met up with their party, Ildari suspected that Talvini's persuasion methods might have involved the leveraging of an old life's debt and possibly some threats of force to get her to leave her post and join them rather than die senselessly when the city walls were inevitably breached, but she was glad to have her all the same.

They had heard of more relief efforts being centered all the way up north, in Blacklight. Normally, that would have been quite a trek, but with two mages and a former god who was familiar with the city, it was only a matter of minutes to open the portal when the time came. They stepped through and arrived at the steps to the Blacklight temple.

"Interesting choice of target location," Ildari said quietly. "Not planning on keeping a low profile to start with?"

"Temples are still hubs in magicka-space; they're easy to teleport to," Vivec said. "We'll need to make ourselves known sooner or later, anyway. Might as well be now."

"Fair enough."

Ildari led them inside. While she looked around for a high-ranking priest, Vivec pointed Talvini in the direction of Sotha Sil's shrine, and she led Dreveni off under the pretense of allowing the girl to commune with her father. The rest of them began walking in the opposite direction until they saw a priest with an ornate stole and an air of authority around him. He seemed to notice Llevura's armor and came over to meet them.

"What brings a Hand of Almalexia all the way to Blacklight?"

Ildari prepared to answer for her, in case Llevura wished to pass the responsibility onto her traveling companions—either out of respect or disapproval—but she responded smoothly enough.

"Reporting in from Mournhold, serjo," she said. "Have you heard of the trouble there?"

"Vaguely. Something about Argonians?"

"Indeed. They've made their way up the Deshaan region, pillaging everything in their path, and are likely sacking Mournhold as we speak."

"And you left your post?" the priest demanded. "You abandoned Almalexia's holy city to be destroyed by invaders?"

Llevura's jaw tightened, but before she could respond, Vivec spoke.

"Peace, Nilas. In Almalexia's absence, Llevura answers to me."

The priest's eyes narrowed as he turned to Vivec as if just now noticing hir.

"And who would you be, to hold such authority over a Hand of Almalexia?"

Most days, Vivec loved the theatrics of the big reveal. Ze would put on hir now-illusory two-toned skin, pull hir legs up into hir favorite levitating position, set hir head aglow, and flash a bright smile and maybe a wink.

Today, however, ze simply responded, "Vivec."

The priest's face paled as he realized his misstep. He bowed deeply and said, "My sincere apologies. You are not, ah...looking like yourself. I did not recognize you."

"No offense was taken," Vivec said. "I prefer to keep my identity relatively quiet while my companions and I work for the relief efforts, if you would afford me that respect and not inform your subordinates." Ze motioned to hir side. "My friend Ildari here tends to lead our little team."

The priest turned to her. "Ildari, as in—?"

"Ildari Llothri," she said. "Nerevarine and former Hortator of the Great Houses on Vvardenfell. We'd like to help in any way we can, as well as coordinate the sending of aid to the areas affected by the invasion. First, though, I think we need to take a few moments to regroup. We'll be in touch."

The priest bowed once more and gave them their privacy.

"I need to meditate," Llevura said as soon as the priest was gone. "I'll be at your command when you need me."

Without waiting for confirmation, she turned and walked away, leaving Ildari and Vivec alone. Ildari waited until the Hand was out of earshot, and then turned to Vivec.

"You okay?" she asked. "I know we need to start working as soon as possible, but you seemed like you needed a minute."

Rather than offer a verbal response, Vivec turned and began walking back the way they came. Ildari followed hir to the door to Almalexia's shrine.

"Do you want me to wait out here?" she asked.

Ze gestured for her to follow and went in.

"Ward the door, please," ze said once she was inside.

She cast a locking spell on the door, followed by a sound wall, and then wrapped the whole thing in a thick barrier. When she turned around, Vivec was kneeling by the shrine. Ze drew a dagger from hir waist and set it on the ledge, as if making an offering to an honored ancestor's spirit.

Ze looked like ze needed space. Ildari sat on a cushion along the side of the room and did some meditating of her own.

She always felt strange at shrines to Almalexia, much more so than the other two. Vehk's shrines carried no great weight, since ze was still alive. She could know where she stood with hir at any given moment, just by living with hir. Shrines to Seht had a comforting air. Their last meeting had been on happy terms, and he'd known how it would end. She could assume—or, at least, hope—that Seht was looking on at her as a friend.

Ayem's shrines were challenging. Ildari's last meeting with Almalexia, all the way back in the Second Era while being just four years ago from her perspective, was also a happy one. But at Almalexia's last encounter with Ildari, twelve years ago, well, Ildari had killed her. She had no idea where she would stand with her. In death, would she remember Ildari as having once been a friend? Or would she only remember her as an adversary, the destroyer of her divinity, and her killer? She might not know until her own death, and it felt wrong to address her as though everything were okay.

Instead, she turned her thoughts to the room itself. While it was still clearly upkept, she could detect some early signs of disuse. The magicka flow of the space did not reflect the high traffic that one would expect in a big city. The prayer books were kept in neat piles rather than strewn around the room, as if untouched since they were last tidied.

She wondered where this temple community was in their transition away from the Tribunal. Given the complete lack of anything relating to the Good Daedra that she had noticed, it seemed likely that they had been waiting as long as possible. Maybe they had waited too long, and many of the people, with no gods ready to turn to when Baar Dau fell, had lost their faith altogether. Vivec would be upset. While ze hated seeing hir people forced to turn to Daedra, ze hated even more to see them alone. Ze might have a nice, long lecture for the priest Nilas at the next opportunity.

She heard a broken sob and turned to see Vivec reaching an arm out for her. She approached carefully, half worried that her presence would spark Almalexia's anger and wash away all of Vivec's prayer. But ze pulled her down to hir level as soon as she was close, squeezed her tight, buried hir face in her shoulder, and broke down.

"I let her down," ze breathed between sobs. "I let her city be destroyed. I let her temple burn. I let her people die. Just like I did with my own city."

Ildari wished she could offer advice, but she knew it was a feeling only a god could understand. She settled for squeezing hir back and letting hir get it all out. She knew they would have so few moments of privacy in the days to come, and Vivec needed the time to process what had happened, and what was happening.

After a while, Vivec's breathing slowed down to normal. After another moment, ze released Ildari and helped her up. Ze turned to the shrine and whispered one more apology, and then wiped hir eyes and turned back to Ildari.

"Well. Shall we?" ze asked.

"Did you want to talk about that at all?"

"What is there to talk about? I let her down, and now I need to make it up to her by helping the survivors as much as I can," ze said. "Now, shall we go find Nilas? There's work to be done, and then he and I need to have a chat about this temple's transition process."

#ildari #llevura #talvini #razak's ocs #prompted #thank you! :D

[tjilderda]

*Rhetoric as Narratives*

In this essay, I will examine the following questions: What central narratives does the following artifact tell through its rhetorical elements? What values does it promote and ignore? In which ways is this narrative productive or limiting for a society, and is it more productive or more limiting in it’s rhetoric? 

To answer these questions, I examined the song “Karma,” by AJR. This song portrays a narrative that mental health problems are a natural issue to have and that even if it feels hopeless, that you feel you deserve karma for the good you do, you can get help by the song promoting a productive message to help connect people and push them towards a positive end. As such, the narrative pushes the idea that mental health and the combating of it is not a weird or unnatural processing, but instead is one that helps connect people suffering from similar problems or emotions to help normalize these aspects to make it feel like they can be solved.

“Karma” is a song released by AJR in their third album Neotheater, released April 26, 2019. The song follows the idea of the lead singer, Jack Met, as he’s in a therapy session with his therapist. Through the lyrics we learn that Jack is lamenting on how he’s been, “so good this year,” yet receives no karma from his actions. In parts, there are times where Jack is seen in a sort of “dialogue” with the imaginary, unsaid, words made by the therapist making him seemingly questioning if he’s getting meaningful help, “Why? Are you asking me why?” As the song progresses he starts spiraling downward emotionally, eventually getting frantic when he realizes that the therapy session is almost over. The song ends with Jack pleading for a final answer to the question he poses multiple times throughout the song, “Doctor should I be good? Should I be good this year?”

To examine the song, elements from Palczewski, Ice, and Fritch’s article were used that defined narratives, “as representations... a form of symbolic action. They are referential, meaning they depict or describe events; they are not the events themselves” (118). Narratives, defined as so, are recollections or created stories that connect two or more event. In the process of communicating such narratives, they help create values that reinforce or challenge the culture they are viewed from. This idea is then built upon even further with their idea of social truths that are “beliefs and values that do not refer to some objective reality, but to social reality – those beliefs about what is right that people have arrived at together” (Palczewski, Ice, Fritch, 133). In such a fashion, social truths can be either reinforced by narratives to uphold the values a society views or can help shift the balance towards a new normalcy.

The main narrative aspect that is present in “Karma” is the acceptance through the lyrics that emotions of despair and wanting karma because of mental health issues is nothing to be ashamed of. In its opening chorus, the listener is introduced to these ideas very quickly with lines in a very neutral, possibly upbeat, tone saying, “I’ve been so good, why am I feeling empty,” and “I’ve been so good, where the hell is the karma?” The key aspect that is convey throughout the entire song is the idea of karma, and rightfully so, because it is an easy-to-understand concept that can be viewed as a similar lens on how people with mental health view the world. By not explicitly stating if the character of the song has any single mental health problem, it leaves interpretation for the listener to self-impose themselves into the role. Near the climax of the song, the one line that portrays the deepest connection and understanding, especially after his tone has changed to a frantic and pleading state, that conveys what it is like to feel the emptiness people with mental health issues sometimes experience is, “You say that I’m better, why don’t I feel better?”  This single line, with his tone, helps make people that feel this way perhaps they are not alone, there are other people that understand what “I” feel. By doing this, AJR creates a song with the understanding of this feeling to help try and connect people, to normalize the fact that these feelings can eat away at a person. By opening the door in a non-descript way, it even makes people without such issues understand and realize the way someone with mental health problems may feel or the way they view the world to create a sense of what someone else’s “normal” may be. 

A secondary aspect that is interwoven into the song is the idea that receiving therapy or assistance in treating mental health is a difficult and long process. At the start of the song, Jack seems to be very reserved, using humor to deflect hypothetical questions not explicitly said, likely being along the lines of, “Why are you here,” or “Is everything fine?” As the song progresses, he slowly opens up more by the second verse, still joking around but looking for possible solutions, “So where’s the karma doc, I’ve lost my patience.” By the end however, we see him finally breaking down, realizing that he has no more time left in his therapy session, but desperately still wanting help and answers when he says, “Please give me instructions, I promise I’ll follow.” In total, this creates a message that seems to be a strong parallel to just how difficult a process therapy can be for people suffering from mental health. It is a road that takes so much time to open up to a therapist, and even more so before one can start truly making improvements. The song however approaches this idea in a reverse order, starting with the conclusion that Jack deserves karma, only then to explain all the different ways he is worthy of it. By doing this it approaches the idea of deserving karma as a fact, that people feeling this way do not necessarily need to validate their argument; they deserve to be happy and to have good karma come to them no matter what. In a way, it can even show the idea of how people receiving therapy may feel like they are not actually improving, that they just want a single answer to be able to solve all their problems. It helps create a grounded reality of just how difficult the process can truly be, even showing the gradual descent of how hopelessness can still grow even when one starts getting help.

Overall, the message that is portrayed from “Karma” is one that is largely a positive and productive narrative; however, there are some claims that can be made for the idea of a negative result. AJR does their best to make a song that is simultaneously sparse in specific details yet feels incredibly accurate in the emotions it tries to convey to their audience. In the face of so many different mental health issues, they instead paint a picture using broad brush strokes of emotions, rather than fine details that examine specific ideas such as depression and anxiety. In doing so, they help open the door to allow more people to connect and feel understanding in their emotions, rather than baring specific type people out. Not only, but the main aspect that is beneficial is simply the fact that it is a song about opening about emotions and getting therapy. In the past few decade, mental health went from a taboo subject to something that could be sung about, as “Karma” shows. As said multiple times, it makes this more of a normal topic and allows people the possible understanding of what kind of process therapy could be. The downside, however, is that this song can be taken many ways, and there is one that could be negative: viewing therapy as unhelpful. While making a case that the therapy is helping, as Jack does open up by the end, at face value the song seems to suggest that he has received no help real help from his therapist. However, the line, “If only I could keep you in my pocket,” would seem to suggest that the therapist is doing something as he does not want to leave the session and would appreciate if he could take the advice wherever he goes. While the interpretations can be vastly different, the overall message seems to paint a picture that shows mental health as something that can be helped, that people deserve to feel good karma for their actions.

In his article examining narrative theory applied to popular music texts, Nicholis examines how songs can shape and form narrative discourse. In his study, he examines a handful of songs which he presents and analyzes both from a narrative and melodic frame. The main examination that helps show the importance of narrative is in his examination of “Video Killed the Radio Star.” Through this song, Nicholis finds a story that is reinforced with the ideas of tone and instrumental. In the end he says, “I would nevertheless argue that narrativity can be an extremely useful tool in our understanding of popular music… there are numerous other songs and albums… which could similarly benefit from an interpretation in narrative theory” (Nicholis, 312). With such a strong conclusion, it seems beneficial to examine modern day songs to see what types of messages have come as a byproduct of our social world developing and changing. “Karma” helps bring the ideas of mental health and such negative thoughts to the forefront of people’s minds, and helps connect those and make others understand what it is like.

In summary, “Karma” is a song that shows the troubles of dealing with mental health. Through the lyrics, it helps connect and relate people who experience similar emotions that are conveyed while accepting the difficulties that come along with getting therapy. In doing so, it helps normalize the emotions and actions that often come along with mental health issues and the processes surrounding them.

AJR “Karma.” Neotheater, 2019. Spotify, https://open.spotify.com/track/3VygfAvvgVaJUeaBUSzlZu?si=04a43427171b4d9f. 

Nicholls, David. “Narrative Theory as an Analytical Tool in the Study of Popular Music Texts.” Music & Letters, vol. 88, no. 2, May 2007, pp. 297–315. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1093/ml/gcm006. 

Palczewski, C. H., Ice, R., Fritch, J. “Rhetoric in civic life.” Strata Publishing, Inc., State College, PA, 2012, pp. 117-146. 

[templeofshame]

Moral Interactivity & Blame in The Silver Button

The Silver Button starts with a recurring element in Phil's weird vids: the discovery of something that Phil interacts with in the obvious way to destructive effect (cf. Sebastian: Universe Defender and Tape 6, cases in which he has forewarning he doesn’t have here). In this case, we don't know why Phil is holding a leafy sphere (or how often he does, since he's surprised not to have noticed the button before), but it leads him to push the titular silver button. It seems like an act of pure curiosity that sets in motion the rest of the vid.

Apart from brief pain and Special Effects, the change post-button is a voice (American-accent Phil) that seems to come from within Phil and that warns him to run. A warning he questions, but doesn't even begin to act on. But then (after a shot of a snakelike creature) American-Phil-voice switches his advice to "close your eyes," which Phil does, and that, more than the button push, is when things get weird. Everything's black and white, Phil's wearing a headband thing, and he immediately recognizes this as "a change in dimension." [Side note, before this point, this Phil seems not to know what's going on, but from here, "it's all becoming clear" and he knows both about the monster and what needs to be done.] But what's far more unusual in terms of the weird!phil canon is the way things get meta: Phil can see thousands of people watching him.

Phil's videos, weird or not, often address the viewer directly, but here, Phil blends a typical YouTuber awareness of viewers with his weird worldbuilding: Technology in Phil's new dimension makes at least the visual exchange between him and his viewers two-way, and immediate. (Later, when he refers to what we're watching as both "this video" and "this communication," he seems to be walking the line of how literally he's acknowledging our world.) He positions the action of the story in the present, happening while you (the viewers) are watching it rather than at the time of filming. Functionally, he puts the story into an extra level of the present tense; he's not just recording a story with present-tense spoken text in its (past-relative-to-viewer) time of filming, but one that is actively set in the time of its viewing. In doing so, he challenges us to suspend our disbelief over not only dimension changes and snake-monsters, but also the relationships between the video and the viewer. Before his better-known forays into interactivity, he creates a sort of moral interactivity.

The Silver Button doesn't have annotations. It is one continuous video with one ending. And yet, the viewer has a choice: when to stop watching. Personally, I never considered stopping before the end, even when Phil guilted me with Janet-death in The Good Place vibes (or Milgram experiment vibes, but I wasn't following orders). Apart from the knowledge (despite all suspended disbelief) that we can't actually affect the end of the video, I think that's largely because we know what ending we get if we stop. There's a sort of Schrodinger's ending going on in the logic of the story; if we click away, we never know the ending and Phil might be okay. If we watch through, we have certainty, and Phil dies.

Oh man, I've had a lot to say and I haven't really gotten to the whole issue of Responsibility and Blame. Phil can see us both as a crowd of thousands and as individuals whose eyes and soul he can look into, and this combination of the collective and individual understanding of the viewer has interesting implications for responsibility and blame. What Phil needs is for everyone to stop watching, not just you. But at the same time, there's an immediacy to the way he pleads, his "what are you doing," that implicates you, the individual viewer. It's one of the keys to YouTubers as a cultural thing, the feeling of a one-on-one connection that we can get from watching people talk to their cameras. As many times as I've watched The Silver Button (always to the end), it's never felt like I escape blame for what happens to Phil because other people watched to the end too; it might make sense logically that the collective responsibility would take some pressure off, but Phil seems to blame each of us "selfish, selfish people." (There is, of course, some dramatic irony to the fact that outside of the story, in our real world, of course Phil wants people to watch all the way through. But the blame is assigned by character-Phil, not creator-Phil.)

And so, headband-Phil goes to a meditative place as color-Phil is killed by Balthazar (yes, I assume that's his name and he's like a Pokemon, saying his name for no apparent reason) and the surviving Phil hits the blame even harder: "You'll never be able to understand what you've just done." The line parallels The Basket's "I'm sorry for what I've done," prominently placed at the end, the theme of responsibility that weighs heavy in "what [pronoun]'ve done." While The Basket's line is the ultimate acceptance of responsibility, Phil doesn't take any responsibility here (even though he's the one who pressed the button and started this whole thing). And here it's clear that "what you've done" is really about the consequences of actions, not the actions themselves. The idea of "You'll never be able to understand" could, in theory, serve to soften the blame and excuse us in a sort of Biblical "they know not what they do" kind of way, but that's not how Phil delivers the line. It's ominous in how resigned Phil sounds and the implication that those consequences stretch beyond the death we've seen to something far worse. It highlights the final moment of the story, with Balthazar attacking the camera; he's still at large, and knowing the creator of this story, he might just destroy the world (and blame us for it—Balthazar's definitely not given any agency over his role as the murderer here).

#weird!phil analysis #amazingphil #phan meta

[esausrpmemes]

(Originally posted by galacticrpmemes who has since deactivated. Now available again without having to reblog from private users)

ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ ᴀɢᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴꜱ ꜱᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀꜱ

change pronouns as needed! cw mature content

“You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.”

“Tis cold in my tent, all alone…”

“We have been given the gift of freedom by our forbearers. Let us not squander it.”

“Surely it has not escaped your notice that I am both armed and armored. Any fight between us would be rather one-sided.”

“Be careful what you wish for. Power is treacherous. I have seen many people–great leaders–consumed by it.”

“Nobility does not exist without obligation. We owe everything we have, even our lives, to our land and people.”

“Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?”

“There is nothing I would not do for my homeland.”

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, _____. We must attend to reality.”

“Please, I have done… so much wrong. Allow me to do one last thing right.”

“That’s what I’m here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners.”

“Nothing like a brush with death to make you… not like death much.”

“Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line.“

“Now that the warm and fuzzy part of the day is over we can get back to the ritual dismemberments. Oh wait, it’s not Tuesday is it?”

“Have you ever licked a lamp post in winter?”

“What? Lead? Me? No, no, no. No leading. Bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die, and the next thing you know I’m stranded somewhere without any pants.”

“Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements!“

“You’re the first woman/man/person I’ve ever spent the night with, and if I have my way you’ll be the last.“

“I love stories far too much to keep them to myself. Everyone should benefit from them, I think.”

“Oh, this looks fun! I bet we’ll have to work together and join hands and sing a happy song to get across!”

“The only way out of this game is to kill or be killed.”

“Change is coming to the world. Many fear change and will fight it with every fiber of their being. But sometimes, change is what they need the most. Sometimes, change is what sets them free.”

“You look upon the world around you and you think you know it well. I have smelled it as a wolf, listened as a cat, prowled shadows that you never dreamed existed.”

“Men are always willing to believe two things about a woman: one, that she is weak, and two, that she finds him attractive.”

“Now we threaten priests? How fun!”

“Some doors should never be re-opened.“

“’Tis a curious thing. I do not know how else to describe it.”

“If you’ve ever heard of me before, it’s probably all been about how I piss ale and murder little boys who look at me wrong. And that’s mostly true…”

“Misery, vomit and malt liquor. Ah, reminds me of home.”

“By the tits of my ancestors!”

“Shave my back and call me en elf!”

“I wish people wanted to share me more often. Especially the ladies. I want more ladies to share me.”

“Aye. I’ve tried twenty-seven different types of ale and learned I’m just the right height to give a human girl a good time. That doesn’t make me a good man.”

“I wonder what it is like to float…or drown.”

“Oooh, Shiny!”

“Now, let us crush something soft and watch it fountain blood. That is a girlish thing to want to do, yes?”

“So? What does it think? I don’t look any wider, do I? I find I am already too wide as it is.“

“Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret.”

“I am a simple creature. I like swords, I follow orders. What else is there to be puzzled by?”

“Happiness is fragile. Nothing can be built upon it that will last. Only duty endures.”

“Where is the cake? I was told there would be cake. The cake is a lie.”

“To be fooled by the world is unfortunate: By oneself, is deadly.”

“The enemy waits. Shall we grant him the death he asks of us?”

“I will not lie motionless in a bed with coverlets up to my chin, waiting for death to claim me.”

“I’m not the sort of person that leaves things unfinished. I’ll see this through, I promise.”

“You’d think one would find a less perilous place to explore.”

“People fear, not death, but having life taken from them. Many waste the life given to them, occupying themselves with things that do not matter. When the end comes, they say they did not have time enough to spend with loved ones, to fulfill dreams, to go on adventures they only talked about… But why should you fear death if you are happy with the life you have led, if you can look back on everything and say, ‘Yes, I am content. It is enough.’”

“Now that we’re in an intimate relationship I think maybe I should tell you where babies come from.”

“Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one’s mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else.”

“Planning has never been my strong suit. Now, killing…killing and love-making. Killing and love-making and witty retorts. Those I am better at.”

“Can you smell that? Like rotting flesh. Just like back in the City. Now if only you could find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, I’d really feel like I was home!”

“We all do our share of murdering around here, don’t we?”

“You tend to get up to interesting things. You meet interesting people and then you kill them. I’m game to tag along, if you are.”

“Let’s see… when was the last time I slipped my hand into some dark hole? Hmmm… I remember. Long story, that.”

“In truth, for the chance to be by your side I would storm the Dark City itself. Never doubt it.”

“We need absolute unity to fight against the fulcrum of true evil.”

“Your father made me swear on his deathbed you would not succeed him.”

“Kings, politics…all that is transitory.”

“Good to have you along the road.”

“Something you need? I’m sure either my boy or I can help you out.”

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in this hat? A pair of earrings perhaps? A cheese knife?”

“I hope your compassion hasn’t doomed us all.“

“She’ll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch.”

“I am a fly in the ointment. I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman. More than that you need not know.”

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide, either way, one’s a fool.”

“Be always aware… or is it oblivious? I can never remember.”

“Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature.”

“Weeks of scant food and water, the torture… oh, I’ve never felt better!“

“We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times.”

"Ah, I’m sure we’ll be at each other’s throats again in no time.”

“There is no glory in this!”

“I’m not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back.”

“They’ll take everything that I am from me– my dreams, hopes, fears… My love for you. All gone…”

“Am I not allowed to have regrets?”

“I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things I desire nothing more than an end.”

“I prefer to be known as a just and compassionate king. ‘Strong’ too often comes to mean ‘tyrannical’.”

“Maker spit on you… I deserved… more…”

“Well, well. You little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man.”

“Be firm in your beliefs, protect people from their own ignorance, and be as loyal as you can to your brothers, even knowing that you’ll share their deaths.”

“Nothing you have done has prepared you for what you face now.”

“Oh…you mean, am I married? I…no. No, I’ve never had the pleasure. If I did, I’d be lucky to find a woman as lovely as yourself.”

“My retribution is eternal, spirit, as is my pain. This is justice, no more.”

“You, you seem like a smart sort.“

“I’ve got a job and you’re helping me.”

“Booze an’ adventure sounds about right!“

"Whoa, dizzy for a moment there… how’d I get here?“

"You should learn your place. Meek, subservient, quiet.”

“You’re a light in this dark place.”

“Girl, you are wonderful. Thank you.”

“Take my advice friend: stay away from Storytellers, never know what they’ll say…”

“Some of us don’t match the bard-spy fetish. Like me, pretending I know the lute.”

“We are always in battle. It is only that some of us do not always realize it.”

“Do you ever wish you could have the freedom to piss anywhere you wanted without being stared at?”

“Phew! Am I bleeding? Oh look, a rip in my clothes.”

“I’m not going to die am I!?”

“Why is everything so complicated!?”

“We’re alive!”

“_____, your pet is lecturing me again.”

“As a girl, I broke the fingers of those that poked me needlessly. Just saying.”

“I have a good feeling about this.”

“Come on–no time to waste.”

#meme #rp meme #Dragon Age meme #sentence starters #rp prompts

[e-of-west-glendia]

Time Will Tell

The entirety of Gryffindor house was in the common room tonight, celebrating their victory over the Slytherin's in the quidditch match. The room was filled with echoing laughter and intoxicated teenagers. 

Remus watched the party in amusement. He'd been at the game earlier today and had cheered on the team, but he wasn't in much of a partying mood. Last week's full moon had left him aching and exhausted, draining what little energy he'd have had to spend on the festivities. It didn't bother him that much, though. He was perfectly content to watch James make a fool of himself in front of Lily. And the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team made for plenty of entertainment, carrying out dares from their peers that they'd probably regret the next morning. 

From his position in the room, Remus was able to see everything going on. Which was how he happened to spot Marlene hanging back in the shadows. Remus raised an eyebrow, Marlene Mckinnon wasn't typically one to stand on the sidelines. As a matter of fact, she was usually the one leading the charge, stoking the fire of the already amped up party and adding to the general insanity. 

Remus turned to Sirius who was standing next to him. 

"I'll be right back," he said. 

Sirius, who had been chuckling at James's attempts to "woo" Lily, turned to face him. 

"Where are you going?" 

Remus shrugged. "Just over there, I'll be back soon." 

Sirius nodded at him, and then laughed. "I'd better head over to James, anyways. Lily looks like she's about ready to jinx him - I wouldn't put it past her either." 

Sirius started off in their direction, shouting, "Come on Lily, he's only joking!" 

Remus shook his head at him and then headed for Marlene. The blonde didn't even notice him approach and visibly jumped when he greeted her. 

"Remus," she said, quickly gathering herself. A large grin split across her face. "Helluva party, eh?" 

She gestured around the room. Remus took a look around them, his gaze settled on the Prewett twins who were levitating various people's items, and cackling  in amusement as their owners looked around for the source of the disturbance. 

Remus snorted. "Yeah." 

Marlene shook her head fondly at the twins. "How have we not been busted by McGonagall yet? I thought for sure she'd come up to tell us to shut it down." 

Remus shrugged. "Under different circumstances she probably would, but we won the match so I think she's willing to let it slide."

Marlene raised her glass of firewhiskey. "Hear, hear to that," she said and then downed half the glass. 

 Remus shook his head at her. "You're going to die of liver failure if you aren't careful." 

"Eh, we're wizards. I can just fix it with magic." 

Remus laughed and Marlene grinned. For a moment the two of them just watched the party. Taking in the flashing banners overhead and the joyful people. 

"So why are you here," Remus asked?

Marlene quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why I'm here to celebrate our victory with my fellow Gryffindor's." 

Remus returned her answer with an eye roll and a pointed look. She was deflecting, he thought. Remus had lived with Sirius - and himself, quite frankly - long enough to tell. 

"That's not what I meant and you know it." 

Marlene's raised eyebrow didn't lower, but her amused smirk faded. 

"Do I?"

"Mhm." 

Marlene sighed at Remus and turned to look at the common room. Her eyes fixed on a particular point. Remus followed her gaze and then something clicked. 

"Dorcas," he said simply. 

Marlene started again, this time worse than before. 

"What?"

Remus let out a sigh. "Marlene, I'm not an idiot I can see the way you're looking at her. What I don't understand is why you won't just go over and talk to her? The Marlene I know would never back down from a challenge." 

Marlene shook her head vehemently. "Its not that simple," she said ruefully. "You wouldn't understand." 

Remus through his head back and laughed, earning him an odd look from the blonde girl. 

"You're talking to the guy who's dating Sirius Black. Trust me, I would  understand." 

Marlene chuckled and raised her glass. 

"Can't argue with that." 

She fell silent again and cast a forlorn look at Dorcas. Dorcas was now standing atop a table surrounded by people. She waved her hand in circles around her as she told what looked to be a very captivating tale. Her eyes sparkled with mirth. 

"It's just," Marlene began. "I don't want to ruin our friendship, y'know? I've known Dory for years and I don't want to do anything that'd make it awkward. Besides, I don't even know if she likes girls." 

Remus said nothing for a moment and then he plucked the cup out of Marlene's hand, and downed the liquid inside. 

"Sometimes it just takes a leap of faith," he said.

Marlene snorted. "Seriously? That's your grand advice? I'm pretty sure you read that off the back of a fortune cookie." 

Remus laughed. "I'm pretty sure I did too, but you gotta admit, it's some pretty sound advice. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

Marlene looked about ready to give him a list of said worst things, but Remus intervened before she could. 

"Marlene, if she really cared about you she wouldn't ditch you because you like her. You said it yourself, you two have been friends for years. She wouldn't just leave you."

Marlene still looked unsure. 

"Look, if she doesn't want to be friends with you after she finds out you like her, then you need to reevaluate your friendship with her. Lily would tell you the same thing,"Remus said. 

" As a matter of fact Lily would kick her ass for you," he added. 

"True," Marlene laughed. 

The two of them chuckled as they took a moment to envision the redhead's reaction. Then, after a moment Marlene said, "Thanks, Remus." 

Remus smiled at her, thinking back to a time when he, too, had needed to be reminded of how much his friends cared for him. 

"Anytime," he said. 

Marlene smiled back at him; then her gaze shifted to her cup which was still in Remus' hand. 

"Well," she said, taking the cup back from him. "As fun as this has been I think it's time I rejoined the party, don't you?" 

Remus nodded. "What's a party without Marlene Mckinnon?" 

Marlene winked at him. "Exactly." 

She scanned the room until her eyes fell on Sirius. 

"Oi, Black!" She shouted. 

Sirius looked over his shoulder to find the source of the voice, and grinned when he spotted Marlene. 

"Yeah, Marls?" 

Marlene tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. 

"Bet you can't down as many shots of tequila as I can in thirty seconds."

Sirius' grin widened. "You're on, McKinnon." 

He gave Remus - who was glaring at him - an apologetic look. "Sorry, Moons. You know me, I never back down from a challenge." 

Remus sighed, he knew first hand that this was very true. He turned to Marlene, who was already picking her way through the crowd towards Sirius. 

"Don't kill my boyfriend, Marlene." 

"No promises," Marlene yelled back. 

Remus shook his fondly at them. 

"What was that about?" A voice next to him asked. 

Remus turned to his side and saw Lily looking at him questioningly. 

"With Marlene, I mean," she clarified. 

Remus shrugged. "Just giving a friend sime advice." 

A knowing look danced across Lily's face. "And did she take it?" 

Remus shrugged. "Only time will tell." 

Lily giggled. "You sound like a fucking fortune cookie." 

"So I've head," Remus said. 

Lily warmly at him and then jerked her head in the direction of Marlene aynr Sirius who now had a rather large crowd gathered around them. 

"C'mon, let's go over there before those idiots kill themselves." 

"Also I think I see James headed this way, and I'm not up for round two of his 'Lily we were meant to be together speech'," she added.

"Yeah," Remus said, allowing himself to be pulled away by Lily. "Let's go." 

And the two of them headed for Marlene and Sirius, getting lost in the sea of people around them. 

#wolfstar #marauders fic #dorlene #marauders era #james pining over lily #minimal punctuation effort #remus being a fortune cookie #remus lupin #sirius black not hesitatsting to be an idiot #but he's a loveable idiot #once again I used a quote from my thing as the title #why? bc i lack creativity #and im just lazy #harry potter #anywayyysssss #i have no idea where this came from

[things2mustdo]

In order for a nation to survive, two critical emotions must be controlled. Contrary to popular belief, these emotions are not fear and greed—although these are very important to control, as well. Rather, it’s masculine aggression and feminine vanity that must be controlled…and we are doing a terrible job at this.

Unfortunately, over the past 70 years, we’ve seen sex roles and gender dynamics completely turned on their heads. Rather than men and women working together to create better relationships, more functional families, and more powerful countries, we’ve been pit against one another by toxic ideologies and ruthless demagogues.

It is not enough to simply know what is happening, however—we must know precisely how it’s happening, step by step, and more importantly, WHY it’s happening. In this article, I will explore why our society has gone so downhill so fast, and potential solutions we can integrate to remedy it (if we can save it, at all).

The Two Forces

As I said previously, there are two very delicate forces which must constantly be counter-balancing one another, and anytime they grow unbalanced, there will be chaos. These two forces are, of course, masculine aggression and feminine vanity. Too much masculine aggression, and a country becomes war-torn, unable to run itself or stay stable long enough to produce any sort of civilization (think the Middle East).

Too much feminine vanity, however, and the opposite occurs. Men become reclusive, because women become far too difficult to deal with. This is why we’ve seen the rise of the sigma male over the past 20 years—men who refuse to attach themselves to any sort of social hierarchy. They’re not alpha, beta, or omega. They just do as they do, without adhering to any sort of social group or workplace hierarchy.

As feminine vanity grows excessive, female hypergamy is given reign to run loose. Rather than men and women developing healthy relationships with one another, women become so conceited that they refuse to “settle” for anyone less than an alpha male Chad Thundercock, and thus we have a surplus of angry, bitter women who hit the wall at 30 and end up childless and alone.

It’s so obvious that it should go without saying, that we are currently in a serious imbalance. For far too long, masculine aggression has been hampered and stomped down by our effeminate school system, our brainwashing devices (aka TV’s), and our mass media control system. All the while, these things have encouraged women to do as they please, without any consequences or thought of their actions on a larger, societal scale.

Restoring the Balance

Balance will be restored, one way or another. There are only two ways for this imbalance to possibly be restored, and most men here will acknowledge, at least implicitly, that this is the case:

Men in OTHER COUNTRIES restore the balance (by coming here en masse)

Men in THIS COUNTRY restore the balance (by not being pussies)

Those are the only two options. There is no third option, where women somehow magically stop giving men 500,000 shit tests a day and step down to become good, faithful girlfriends, wives, and mothers. This will not happen. When a society reaches this critical imbalance, only one of two things can happen.

Of course, we all know what the elites (oy vey!) are pushing for. They want to bring millions of aggressive, young, fighting-age men to this country, to supposedly help combat “population decline.” We all know that this is complete horse shit, and that their true motive is to destroy America.

Even so, with the full force of the elites raining down upon us, there is hope. Over the past two years, we’ve seen more masculine energy emerge and come to the front of our socio-political battlegrounds than arguably any other time in history. For the first time in the past 70 years, men are reclaiming their manhood.

Let me reiterate that this is the only option. There is no magical world where everything just works out great, where we have millions of violent, aggressive 20-something-year-old men come into this country, and we retain our values as an Anglo-Saxon country. No. This will not happen. We either get our acts together, collectively, as men, or we watch our nation burn.

The Path Forward (2018-2020)

The next two years are of critical importance. We have collectively, successfully memed the most brutally alpha and pro-American president into office arguably since Ronald Reagan. This is not an opportunity that we can afford to squander—we must all begin proactively restoring the balance of masculinity in this country, from the top down, otherwise our nation will perish to globalists and their dumb, but useful allies.

There will be resistance, as there is whenever masculinity tries to assert itself. Pay no attention to this resistance. Simply follow the advice which the manosphere advocates for:

Create an income independent of a massive, bureaucratic, globalist corporation

Increase your testosterone levels (start by avoiding foods that kill testosterone)

Lift weights, and become physically able to stand up for yourself

Proactively participate in the upcoming midterms, and the Presidential Election of 2020

Do everything you can to red pill those who are ready (emphasis on them being ready)

If we, collectively, as a group of thousands of like-minded men all across the nation can successfully pull this off, we will see a resurgence of economic, political, and social growth which will have been unprecedented.

If we do not pull it off however, and our nation succumbs to the manipulations of the elite, a far more grim and sinister future will play out.

The Alternative

If we do not successfully reclaim the balance of masculine aggression and feminine vanity in this country, all will be lost, and we will be forced to either live through hell, or leave our homelands. Here’s what to expect over the next decade or so, if a social justice warrior is elected President in 2020, and we lose the culture wars:

Increasing surveillance over the internet

More thought crime policies instituted into law

The figurative castration of men all across the country

Eventual race wars, or religious wars, spurred on primarily by Islamic migrants

This is non-negotiable. If we lose the culture wars to SJW’s over the next several years, we will begin to see lobbying to shut down any and all manosphere websites dedicated to spreading the truth. We have already seen PayPal, YouTube, Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, and Google begin to censor people like Roosh, Alex Jones, Donald Trump, and other conservative/red pilled speakers. We cannot afford to stand this any longer.

If we lose these mediums to the globalists, they will easily gain the support of the public to institute thought crime policies into our legal system. You have a book by Bronze Age Pervert, that Amazon can track from your order history? NAZI SCUM! You’re going to prison. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t actually hurt anyone in any way shape or form, because you had an opinion that the globalists dislike.

As this begins to happen, men will self-imprison all over the nation. Some will fight, of course, and maybe win (if we’re lucky). Others will leave and attempt to gain citizenship in more male-friendly countries such as Denmark, Austria, and Poland. The rest will be forced to hang their heads in perpetual shame.

Eventually, as the population of third world migrants explodes, and tribalism is exacerbated by the polarizing media, we will begin to see rampant terrorist attacks, which are already happening in Germany, The UK, and other nations around the cucked European Union. Inevitably, this will end in a civil war.

It’s Our Choice

I have presented to you the only two choices that we have, and to me, the decision is quite simple. We can either sit around passively, and squabble amongst ourselves over stupid theories and philosophies, or we can take action to better ourselves and improve the stance of our nation.

The choice is clear to me. We either succumb to globalist propaganda, see the death of masculinity in the West, and see freedom of speech die as it is destined to do, or we fight back and create a better future. Some may say this is melodramatic. I would say that a mere cursory glance at history will prove otherwise.

Read Next: Cultural Collapse Theory: The 7 Steps That Lead To A Complete Culture Decline

It was Joe’s first date with Mary. He asked her what she wanted in life and she replied, “I want to establish my career. That’s the most important thing to me right now.” Undeterred that she had no need for a man in her life, Joe entertained her with enough funny stories and cocky statements that she soon allowed him to lightly pet her forearm.

At the end of the date, he locked arms with her on the walk to the subway station, when two Middle Eastern men on scooter patrol accosted them and said they were forbidden to touch. “This is Sharia zone,” they said in heavily accented English, in front of a Halal butcher shop. Joe and Mary felt bad that they offended the two men, because they were trained in school to respect all religions but that of their ancestors. One of the first things they learned was that their white skin gave them extra privilege in life which must be consciously restrained at all times. Even if they happened to disagree with the two men, they could not verbally object because of anti-hate laws that would put them in jail for religious discrimination. They unlocked arms and maintained a distance of three feet from each other.

Unfortunately for Joe, Mary did not want to go out with him again, but seven years later he did receive a message from her on Facebook saying hello. She became vice president of a company, but could not find a man equal to her station since women now made 25% more than men on average. Joe had long left the country and moved to Thailand, where he married a young Thai girl and had three children. He had no plans on returning to his country, America.

If cultural collapse occurs in the way I will now describe, the above scenario will be the rule within a few decades. The Western world is being colonized in reverse, not by weapons or hard power, but through a combination of progressivism and low reproductive rates. These two factors will lead to a complete cultural collapse of many Western nations within the next 200 years. This theory will show the most likely mechanism that it will proceed in America, Canada, UK, Scandinavia, and Western Europe.

What Is A Cultural Collapse?

Cultural collapse is the decline, decay, or disappearance of a native population’s rituals, habits, interpersonal communication, relationships, art, and language. It coincides with a relative decline of population compared to outside groups. National identity and group identification will be lost while revisionist history will be applied to demonize or find fault with the native population. Cultural collapse is not to be confused with economic or state collapse. A nation that suffers from a cultural collapse can still be economically productive and have a working government.

First I will share a brief summary of the cultural collapse progression before explaining them in more detail. Then I will discuss where I see many countries along its path.

The Cultural Collapse Progression

1. Removal of religious narrative from people’s lives, replaced by a treadmill of scientific and technological “progress.”

2. Elimination of traditional sex roles through feminism, gender equality, political correctness, cultural Marxism, and socialism.

3. Delay or abstainment of family formation by women to pursue careerist lifestyles while men wait in confused limbo.

4. Decreasing birth rate among native population.

5. Government enactment of open immigration policies to prevent economic collapse.

6. Immigrant refusal to fully acclimate, forcing host culture to adopt external rituals and beliefs while being out-reproduced.

7. Natives becoming marginalized in their own country.

1. Removal of religious narrative

Religion has been a powerful restraint for millennia in preventing humans from pursuing their base desires and narcissistic tendencies so that they satisfy a god. Family formation is the central unit of most religions, possibly because children increase membership at zero marginal cost to the church (i.e. they don’t need to be recruited).

Religion may promote scientific ignorance, but it facilitates reproduction by giving people a narrative that places family near the center of their existence.[1] [2] [3] After the Enlightenment, the rapid advance of science and its logical but nihilistic explanations into the universe have removed the religious narrative and replaced it with an empty narrative of scientific progress, knowledge, and technology, which act as a restraint and hindrance to family formation, allowing people to pursue individual goals of wealth accumulation or hedonistic pleasure seeking.[4] As of now, there has not been a single non-religious population that has been able to reproduce above the death rate.[5]

Even though many people today claim to believe in god, they may not step inside a church but once or twice a year for special holidays. Religion went from being a lifestyle, a manual for living, to something that is thought about in passing.

2. Elimination of traditional sex roles

Once religion no longer plays a role in people’s lives, the stage is set to fracture male-female bonding. It is collectively attacked by several ideologies stemming from the beliefs of Cultural Marxist theory, which serve to accomplish one common end: destruction of the family unit so that citizens are dependent on the state. They achieve this goal through the marginalization of men and their role in society under the banner of “equality.”[6] With feminism pushed to the forefront of this umbrella movement, the drive for equality ends up being a power grab by women.[7] This attack is performed on a range of fronts:

medicating boys from a young age with ADHD drugs to eradicate displays of masculinity[8]

shaming of men for having direct sexual interest in attractive and fertile women

criminalization of normal male behavior by redefining some instances of consensual sex as rape[9]

imprisonment of unemployed fathers for non-payment of child support, rendering them destitute and unable to be a part of their children’s lives[10]

taxation of men at higher rates for redistribution to women[11] [12]

promotion of single mother and homosexual lifestyles over that of the nuclear family[13] [14]

The end result is that men, confused about their identify and averse to state punishment from sexual harassment, “date rape,” and divorce proceedings, make a rational decision to wait on the sidelines.[15] Women, still not happy with the increased power given to them, continue their assault on men by instructing them to “man up” into what has become an unfair deal—marriage. The elevation of women above men is allowed by corporations, which adopt “girl power” marketing to expand their consumer base and increase profits.[16] [17] Governments also allow it because it increases their tax revenue. Because there is money to be made with women working and becoming consumers, there is no effort by the elite to halt this development.

3. Women begin to place career above family

At the same time men are emasculated as mere “sperm donors,” women are encouraged to adopt the career goals, mannerisms, and competitive lifestyles of men, inevitably causing them to delay marriage, often into an age where they can no longer find suitable husbands who have more resources than themselves. [18] [19] [20] [21] The average woman will find it exceedingly difficult to balance career and family, and since she has no concern of getting “fired” from her family, who she may see as a hindrance to her career goals, she will devote an increasing proportion of time into her job.

Female income, in aggregate, will soon match or exceed that of men.[22] [23] [24] A key reason that women historically got married was to be economically provided for, but this reason will no longer persist and women will feel less pressure or motivation to marry. The burgeoning spinster population will simply be a money-making opportunity for corporations to market to an increasing population of lonely women. Cat and small dog sales will rise.

Women succumb to their primal sexual and materialistic urges to live the “Sex and the City” lifestyle full of fine dining, casual sex, technological bliss, and general gluttony without learning traditional household skills or feminine qualities that would make them attractive wives.[25] [26] Men adapt to careerist women in a rational way by doing the following:

to sate their natural sexual desires, men allow their income to lower since economic stability no longer provides a draw to women in their prime[27]

they mimic “alpha male” social behavior to get laid with women who, without having an urgent need for a man’s monetary resources to survive, can choose men based on confidence, aesthetics, and general entertainment value[28]

they withdraw into a world of video games and the internet, satisfying their own base desires for play and simulated hunting[29] [30]

Careerist women who decide to marry will do so in a hurried rush around 30 because they fear growing old alone, but since they are well past their fertility peak[31], they may find it difficult to reproduce. In the event of successful reproduction at such a later age, fewer children can be born before biological infertility, limiting family size compared to the historical past.

4. Birth rates decrease among native population

The stage is now set for the death rate to outstrip the birth rate. This creates a demographic cliff where there is a growing population of non-working elderly relative to able-bodied younger workers. Two problems result:

Not enough tax revenue is supplied by the working population in order to provide for the elderly’s medical and social retirement needs.[32] Borrowing can only temporarily maintain these entitlements.

Decrease of economic activity since more people are dying than buying.[33]

No modern nation has figured out how to substantially raise birth rates among native populations. The most successful effort has been done in France, but that has still kept the birth rate among French-born women just under the replacement rate (2.08 vs 2.1).[34] The easiest and fastest way to solve this double-edged problem is to promote mass immigration of non-elderly individuals who will work, spend, and procreate at rates greater than natives.[35]

A replenishing supply of births are necessary to create taxpayers, workers, entrepreneurs, and consumers in order to maintain the nation’s economic development.[36] While many claim that the planet is suffering from “overpopulation,” an economic collapse is inevitable for those countries who do not increase their population at steady rates.

5. Large influx of immigration

An aging population without youthful refilling will cause a scarcity of labor, increasing that labor’s price. Corporate elites will now lobby governments for immigration reform to relieve this upward pressure on wages.[37] [38] At the same time, the modern mantra of sustained GDP growth puts pressure on politicians for dissemination of favorable economic growth data to aid in their re-elections. The simplest way to increase GDP without innovation or development of industry is to expand the population. Both corporate and political elites now have their goals in alignment where the easiest solution becomes immigration.[39] [40]

While politicians hem and haw about designing permanent immigration policies, immigrants continue to settle within the nation.[41] The national birth rate problem is essentially solved overnight, as it’s much easier to drain third-world nations of its starry-eyed population with enticements of living in the first-world than it is to encourage the native women to reproduce. (Lateral immigration from one first-world nation to another is so relatively insignificant that the niche term ‘expatriation’ has been developed to describe it). Native women will show a stubborn resistance at any suggestion they should create families, much preferring a relatively responsibility-free lifestyle of sexual variety, casual internet dating via mobile apps, consumer excess, and comfortable high-paying jobs in air conditioned offices.[42] [43]

Immigrants will almost always come from societies that are more religious and, in the case of Islam with regard to European immigration, far more scientifically primitive and rigid in its customs.[44]

6. Sanitization of host culture coincides with increase in immigrant power

While many adult immigrants will feel gracious at the opportunity to live in a more prosperous nation, others will soon feel resentment that they are forced to work menial jobs in a country that is far more expensive than their own.[45] [46] [47] [48] [49] The majority of them remain in lower economic classes, living in poor “immigrant communities” where they can speak their own language, find their own homeland foods, and follow their own customs or religion.

Instead of breaking out of their foreigner communities, immigrants seek to expand it by organizing. They form local groups and civic organizations to teach natives better ways to understand and serve immigrant populations. They will be eager to publicize cases where immigrants have been insulted by insensitive natives or treated unfairly by police authorities in the case of petty crime.[50] [51] [52] [53] [54] [55] School curriculums may be changed to promote diversity or multiculturalism, at great expense to the native culture.[56] Concessions will be made not to offend immigrants.[57] A continual stream of outrages will be found and this will feed the power of the organizations and create a state within a state where native elites become fearful of applying laws to immigrants.[58]

7. Destruction of native culture

This step has not yet happened in any first-world nation, so I will predict it based on logically extending known events I have already described.

Local elites will give lip service to immigrant groups for votes but will be slow to give them real state or economic power. Citizenship rules may even be tightened to prevent immigrants from being elected. The elites will be mostly insulated from the cultural crises in their isolated communities, private schools, and social clubs, where they can continue to incubate their own sub-culture without outside influence. At the same time, they will make speeches and enact polices to force native citizens to accept multiculturalism and blind immigration. Anti-hate and anti-discrimination laws will be more vigorously enforced than other more serious crimes. Police will monitor social networking to identify those who make statements against protected classes.

Cultural decline begins in earnest when the natives feel shame or guilt for who they are, their history, their way of life, and where their ancestors came from. They will let immigrant groups criticize their customs without protest, or they simply embrace immigrant customs instead with religious conversion and interethnic marriages. Nationalistic pride will be condemned as a “far-right” phenomenon and popular nationalistic politicians will be compared to Hitler. Natives learn the art of self-censorship, limiting the range of their speech and expressions, and soon only the elderly can speak the truths of the cultural decline while a younger multiculturalist within earshot attributes such frankness to senility or racist nostalgia.

With the already entrenched environment of political correctness (see stage 2), the local culture becomes a sort of “world” culture that can be declared tolerant and progressive as long as there is a lack of criticism against immigrants, multiculturalism, and their combined influence. All cultural identity will eventually be lost, and to be “American” or “British,” for example, will no longer have modern meaning from a sociological perspective. Native traditions will be eradicated and a cultural mixing will take place where citizens from one world nation will be nearly identical in behavior, thought, and consumer tastes to citizens of another. Once a collapse occurs, it cannot be reversed. The nation’s cultural heritage will be forever lost.

I want to now take a brief look at six different countries and see where they are along the cultural collapse progression…

Russia

This is an interesting case because, up to recently, we saw very low birth rates not due to progressive ideals but from a rough transition to capitalism in the 1990’s and a high male mortality from alcoholism.[59] [60] To help sustain its population, Russia is readily accepting immigrants from Central Asian regions, treating them like second-class citizens and refusing to make any accommodations away from the ethnic Russian way of life. Even police authorities turn a blind eye when local skinhead groups attack immigrants.[61] In addition, Russia has also shown no tolerance to homosexual or progressive groups,[62] stunting their negative effects upon the culture. The birth rate has risen in recent years to levels seen in Western Europe but it’s still not above the death rate. Russia will see a population collapse before a cultural one.

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Very low

Brazil

We’re seeing rapid movement through stages 2 and 3, where progressive ideology based on the American model is becoming adopted and a large poor population ensure progressive politicians will continue to remain in power with promises of economic redistribution.[63] [64] [65] Within 15 years we should see a sharp drop in birth rates and a relaxation of immigration laws.

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Moderate

America

Some could argue that America is currently experiencing a cultural collapse. It always had a fragile culture because of its immigrant foundings, but immigrants of the past (including my own parents) rapidly acclimated into the host culture to create a sense of national pride around an ethic of hard work and shared democratic values. This is being eroded as a fem-centric culture rises in its place, with its focus on trends, celebrities, homosexuality, multiculturalism, and male-bashing. Natives have become pleasure seekers with little inclination to reproduction during their years of peak fertility.[66]

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Very high

England

While America always had high amounts of immigration, and therefore a system of integration, England is newer to the game. In the past 20 years, they have massively ramped up their immigration efforts.[67] A visit to London will confirm that the native British are slowly becoming minorities, with their iconic red telephone booths left undisturbed purely for tourist photo opportunities. Approximately 5% of the English population is now Muslim.[68] Instead of acclimatizing, they are achieving early success in creating zones with Sharia law.[69] The English elite, in response, is jailing natives under stringent anti-race laws.[70] England had a highly successful immigration story with Polish immigrants who eagerly acclimated to English culture, but have opened the doors to other peoples who don’t want to integrate.[71]

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Very high

Sweden

Sweden is experiencing a similar immigration situation to England, but they possess a higher amount of self-shame and white guilt. Instead of allowing immigrants who could work in the Swedish economy, they are encouraging migration of asylum seekers who have been made destitute by war. These immigrants enter Sweden and immediately receive social benefits. In effect, Sweden is welcoming the least economically productive people in the world.[72] The immigrants will produce little or no economic benefit, and may even worsen Sweden’s economy. Immigrants are turning some parts of Sweden, such as the Rosengard area of Malmo, into a ghetto.[73]

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Very high

Poland

From my one and half years of living in Poland, I have seen a moderate level of progressive ideological creep, careerism among women, hedonism, and idolation of Western values, particularly out of England, where a large percentage of the Polish population have emigrated for work. Younger Poles may not act much different from their Western counterparts in their party lifestyle behavior, but there nonetheless remains a tenuous maintenance of traditional sex roles. Women of fertile age are pursuing relationships over one-night stands, but careerism is causing them to stall family formation. This puts a downward pressure on birth rates, which stems from significant numbers of fertile young women emigrating to countries like the UK and USA, along with continued economic uncertainties faced from transitioning to capitalism[74]. As Europe’s “least multicultural” nation, Poland has long been hesitant to accept immigrants, but this has recently changed and they are encouraging migrants.[75]  To its credit, it is seeking first-world entrepreneurs instead of low skilled laborers or asylum seekers. Its cultural fate will be an interesting development in the years to come, but the prognosis will be more negative as long as its young people are eager to leave the homeland.

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Possible

Poland and Russia show the limitations of Cultural Collapse Theory in that it best applies to first-world nations with highly developed economies. They have low birth rates but not through the mechanism I described, though if they adopt a more Western ideological track like Brazil, I expect to see the same outcome that is befalling England or Sweden.

There can be many paths to cultural destruction, and those nations with the most similarities will gravitate towards the same path, just like how Eastern European nations are suffering low birth rates because of mass emigration due to being introduced into the European Union.

How To Stop Cultural Collapse

Maintaining native birth rates while preventing the elite from allowing immigrant labor is the most effective means at preventing cultural collapse. Since multiculturalism is an experiment with no proven efficacy, a culture can only be maintained by a relatively homogenous group who identify with each other. When that homogeneity breaks down and one citizen looks to the next and does not see a person with the same values as himself, the culture falls in dis-repair as native citizens begin to lose a shared means of communication and identity. Once the percentage of the immigrant population crosses a certain threshold (perhaps 15%), the decline will pick up in pace and cultural breakdown will be readily apparent to all observers.

Current policies to solve low birth rates through immigration is a short-term fix with dire long-term consequences. In effect, it’s a Trojan-horse prescription of irreversible cultural destruction. A state must prevent itself from entering the position where mass immigration is considered a solution by blocking progressive ideologies from taking hold. One way this can be done is through the promotion of a state-sponsored religion which encourages the nuclear family instead of single motherhood and homosexuality. However, introducing religion as a mainstay of citizen life in the post-enlightenment era may be impossible.

We must consider that the scientific era is an evolutionary maladaptive feature of humanity that natural selection will accordingly punish (i.e. those who are anti-religious and pro-science will simply breed less). It must also be considered that with religion in permanent decline, cultural collapse may be a certainty that eventually occurs in all developed nations. Religion, it may turn out, was evolutionary beneficial to the human race.

Another possible solution is to foster a patriarchal society where men serve as strong providers. If you encourage the development of successful men who possess indispensable skills and therefore resources that are lacked by females, there will be women below their station who want to marry and procreate with them, but if strong women are produced instead, marriage and procreation is unlikely to take place at levels above the death rate.

A gap between the sexes should always exist in the favor of men if procreation is to occur at high rates, or else you’ll have something similar to the situation in America where urban professional women cannot find “good men” to begin a family with (i.e., men who are significantly more financially successful than them). They instead remain single and barren, only used occasionally by cads for exciting casual sex.

One issue that I purposefully ignored is the effect of technology and consumerism on lowering birth rates. How much influence does video games, internet, and smartphones contribute to a birth decline? How much of an effect does Western-style consumerism have in delaying marriage? I suspect they have more of an amplification effect than being an outright cause. If a country is proceeding through the cultural collapse model, technology will simply hurry the collapse, but giving internet access to a traditionally religious group of people may not cause them to flip overnight. Research will have to be done in these areas to say for sure.

Conclusion

The first iteration of any theory is sure to create as many questions as answers, but I hope that by proposing this model, it becomes more clear why some cultures seem so quick to degrade while others display a sort of immunity. Some countries may be too far down the wrong path to be saved, but I hope the information presented gives concerned readers ideas on protecting their own culture by allowing them to connect how progressive ideologies that may seem innocent or benign on the surface can eventually lead to an outright collapse of their nation’s culture.