#side note: i think it fucks severely to describe a woman as being king. not queen. not monarch. fucking *king*

[catastrophic-crow]

gods i love wired headphones. love having headphones with a headphone jack (and thus a replaceable cable) and no other way of playing music. love 10 foot long audio cables. love dedicated usb DACs. love headphones that are designed primarily for long-term listening comfort and don't need to have extra bulk in hinges or padding to make them more sturdy or flexible to accommodate being shoved in a bag when you're done with your commute. love high-quality audio with no perceptible delay and no fucking battery life and no extra mass from a bluetooth module and microprocessor and flashable ROM and a battery and charging circuit and onboard DAC and amp driving the speaker(s) weighing my head down.

#sincerely #wired headphones #my beloved #analog audio #i love you #open back headphones #you help sustain my will to continue living #i've got a microphone that has a built-in DAC and amp that can inject microphone audio at a configurable volume and it's delightful #it's a USB mic that can also operate over XLR with a dedicated audio interface #i love it so much #plus it sounds amazing as a mic #anyway. gosh i just love wired peripherals #sure; most of my stuff *also* can operate wirelessly or i have a wireless alternative for sake of convenience in certain situations. #but wired is king (female gender) #side note: i think it fucks severely to describe a woman as being king. not queen. not monarch. fucking *king* #realized that when i read a fanfic where it was referenced that athena was once king of the gods and i was like “oh; damn. that fucks.” #oh; right. i'll make an exception for my mouse. *that* i typically prefer wireless. #but it had *better* operate over 2.4 GHz with a dedicated dongle #mine has a 2.4 GHz dongle and *also* a bluetooth mode and it's lovely. convenience *and* competence as desired. #ily my wireless mouse <3 #works well with my NiMH rechargeables; too. not all aa/aaa devices play nicely with the 1.2V battery chemistry; but they work well here 😁 #my keyboard; also. has both wired connectivity (and charging) over usb c; and multiple bluetooth profiles. it's great #(i would be over the moon if it *also* had a 2.4 GHz dongle; but for a keyboard “wired” and “bluetooth” are the two i would prioritize) #oh; yeah. it's a 60% keyboard; too. and it has per-key RGB. gods i love this keyboard. it fucks hard. so glad i got it

[valnyte]

Morganatic Idol first impressions from the prologue (just a bunch of incoherent thoughts)

• mc in prologue says this is her Cinderella story, and you know what, from Jace's route that I'm on so far, I can see it

• at this point we are all tired of the 1 month time limit set for IkeSeries [this is a +ONE game but they follow the formula] but here we go again (IkeVamp, IkePri, IkeVil, now Morganatic Idol)

• mc, my girl, LEAVE THE AEGIS COMPANY OH MY GOD 😭 (tldr they treat her like complete and utter crap)

• one does not simply steal a presentation idea and get away with it (bombastic side eye at MC's boss)

• also, what the hell is sakura on thinking mc will be able to balance both company work and housekeeping at the same time (Jace, we stan our makeup king, was the first one to point out how difficult that would be but nooo sakura didn't listen)

• my girl gonna die from overwork holy shit

• we don't meet Gem Cuddle until towards the end parts, they'd make a good setup for Act 2 because MC didn't even know they existed

• I need whatever MC has to even get any sort of energy at all because holy crap I would cry several times a day if I were her

Onto the characters

• Eito Sakura, is your head ok bdhshsh props for letting MC have a redo of her presentation but straight up invite her to work as a housekeeper and live in the same penthouse in less than an hour that you knew her? my guy, WHAT

• now to Gem Cuddle's Hitaki: oh he's sus alright, I wouldn't trust him at all, but if it were between him and Miu, I'd trust Hitaki more, smooth talker but very much up to no good (reminds me of Alfons in Ikemen Villains and yes they do share a seiyuu)

• Miu is actually reminding me of Gilbert von Obsidian and scares me more than Hitaki - Miu is very very suspicious and lowkey terrifying when he smiles because you know damn well he's plotting something (ily Gilbert but you are scawy)

• Nagi is the only seemingly sane one in Gem Cuddle with Hitaki and Miu are just going ふふふふふふ all over the place, the ONLY green flag in the entire game so far

• to exe Creed, I will constantly bring this up: WHAT THE HELL ARE YALL C A S U A L OUTFITS THOSE ARE NOT I T

• whoever said Xeno is just modern day Chev personality without the murder (and the bunch of dramatic medieval politcs), I might have to agree with you, and given how he's the poster boy, much of the prologue gives him quite a spotlight with MC noting a lot about him

• someone please give Ivy a break, he's giving me extreme IkeSen Hideyoshi vibes because he's pretty much the mom of exe Creed (his profile describes him as the older brother type, but no I'd say he's more of an actual mom because he has to constantly keep looking after the others in his group) and gives MC info here and there

• Jace is surprisingly bordering on polite in the prologue, albeit still flirty and one of the first to take notice and pay mind to MC aside from Sakura (just in case you forgot, Jace is the token womanizer and MC is quick to remember all of that in his route) but what the actual fuck is his casual outfit I'm still crying at it

• Finn's biggest impact on me was his casual outfit because why, just why, man, WHY, the whiplash I had seeing him in that because it reminds me of the guys I used to know who dressed godawful 😭😭😭, he's fast to back up Jace though with the "bruh wym let her live and work here as a housekeeper when she also works in a company" at Sakura

• Hugh is just eepy, that's it, he's so eepy in the prologue either Ivy or Finn nudge him awake, he's cute though

All in all, its a standard Ikemen Series style prologue, but if I am to be honest, Gem Cuddle is the actual group who I find bustling with more personality (despite two members being very two-faced) and dynamics from the prologue alone and not exe Creed. From a story standpoint, it all makes sense. MC sees exe Creed as robotic without emotions, it's difficult to see what exe Creed has in store through her eyes aside from the fact that they're hot idols that seemingly lack human emotion.

#morganatic idol #ikemen series #still never not roasting exe creed's casual outfits

[lottiecrabie]

also what would be the song titles of the other songs on the album 🤨 i am very curious abt make believe celebrity world

other than galatea, we know of two other songs in the text, circe circus and sunburnt. the first one is apparently an overly grand love song, and sunburnt a summer-y thing. those two titles were chosen specifically because of what i assume are the general Themes of the album, or at least the song titles, ie. greek myth-inspired and galatea, take one text-inspired.

circe circus is mostly because i liked the alliteration, but also because i think it could be a very tongue-in-cheek song about the artifices and masquerade of love (which i think is why matty would see it as this mockery of love songs instead of genuineness). circus is generally considered a grand farce, and circe is an enchantress who would seduce men and then turn them into pigs.

i picked sunburnt because of how, in the ice cream scene, she covers her blush and therefore her growing attraction/feelings with the lie that she must be getting sunburnt. i assume that would have been the subject of the song, though she also describes her fans as sunburnt, so maybe it’s an ode to them instead.

following those two ideas, i can absolutely see her covering the myth of medea (my fav greek myth Yay). if you’re not familiar, medea marries jason and commits several war crimes and vile, insurmontable acts for him, and then he abandons her and their children for a princess. scorned and betrayed and Unhinged, she ends up killing the princess, the king, and then her children (with regrets<3). anyway i think it would absolutely be a piece she delves into when she realizes that matty is Not gonna leave delilah for her, and she starts relating to the betrayal and pain of medea. definitely a female rage anthem.

(side note pls read medea by euripide it’s such a good play and it talks with so much empathy and understanding about objectively a Bad woman and a Bad mother in ways that had not been done before, especially not in ancient greece. the phrase ‘what other creatures are bred so exquisitely and purposefully for mistreatment as women are?’ makes me go feral the whole monologue is insane and you’re telling me ancient greek man WROTE THIS?? what 20 years old teenage girl possessed him wtf)

i could also see a song touching on beauty with a title about aphrodite. she does say that her ex-boyfriend didn’t, from her understanding, find her beautiful, but instead raw and unfinished and he aimed to complete her. i think that must fuck with her vision of her and her beauty, and she would write a song unpacking it. or maybe talking about the running youth and beauty and if she is not pretty and young, if she cannot be a muse anymore, what will she be. once again touching on her qualms about musedom.

the second category is, again, words or sentences from prose /i/ would pick from the writing to represent her own emotions. i guess it’s quite meta lol, though i assume if i wrote it she could have thought it. there probably would have been something called too sweet about her just being too nice for her own good, which would be a very biased and unreliable song (she is, once again, deceiving and hurting a very kind woman. not too sweet not to fuck her man!).

i think something about coffee too since it’s a running theme to represent the failings of love (meeting her ex in a coffee shop, the espresso martini matty makes her tasting like a ‘mature café day in new york, but coffee just the same’, kissing him and she’s glad it doesn’t taste like coffee, etc etc). uncertainty and doomed fate and patterns and Loss of love would be its subject.

there is, on top of that, an unnamed break up song about her ex. i think that one would go more in the second category, maybe something like watercolors since she quite literally says ‘fuck watercolors’ about her ex and his treatment of her.

i did not know i had this much to say on the subject wow. this was so fun to think about Thank you!

#my followers sending me on creativity prompts lmao #galatea take one #ask

[ernmark]

One Possible Read of The Green Knight

I say one possible, because this is the story as I understood it as I was watching the film. When I mentioned it to my partner, he didn't take that away. I'm not saying my take on it is right or wrong (I think it's hard to say that about most reads for a movie like this), but I submit it for your consideration.

(Spoilers and a fairly thorough plot summary under the cut)

(Holy moly this got long)

A brief caveat:

Caveat the First: I'm basing this off a pre-existing understanding of medieval stories, which don't necessarily follow the same narrative structures as modern ones. The world they lived in was weird, so sometimes weird shit just happened for no reason, often very conveniently. (If anything, I think this movie did less of that than existed in typical medieval stories.) They also heavily relied on archetypes rather than distinct characters with backstories, as well as a pre-established understanding of the story you're listening to. Like the puppet show that shows up in the story, the kids in the audience had already heard the story enough times that they could follow it without any actual words. On that note, I've also read a version of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Caveat the Second: I immediately distrust anybody who talks about any story older than three centuries or so having an "original" version. There are some stories that have distinct authors, but often these stories were retold and rewritten to suit the tastes of their latest audience. So I refer to the version I read, not "the original". I take my reading of that story into my interpretation of what I saw. I'll note the details from the version I read where it's relevant.

The Story

We start with Gawain, King Arthur's nephew, waking up in a brothel with his sex worker lady friend. She sends him on his way back home to Camelot where his mother greets him and kindly asks him where he's been all night. Oh, off at Christmas Mass, naturally, is what he tells her. She counters that clearly he's been drinking all the communion wine, because she can smell it on his breath.

She tells him she's not feeling well, so he should go to the Christmas celebration without her and tell her all about it afterward.

[I don't recall hearing her name in the movie, but in the version I read, the Green Knight is sent by Morgana. Between his mother being described in dialogue as Arthur's sister and a known witch, I'm gonna run with that assumption and call her that.]

This is where my reading diverges: I take all of this as being almost entirely Morgana's story. And from her perspective, it's kind of hilarious. Because this isn't the story of Gawain's journey into Manhood, but of a very frustrated mother's attempts to save her beloved (if disappointing) son.

While Gawain is partying with the sickly King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table, Morgana joins three of her fellow witches and they enact a spell, summoning the Green Knight and a very specifically worded challenge. The Green Knight presents a game: any one person in attendance may injure him and get his badass axe as a prize, but in a year exactly he'll have to go to the Green Knight's chapel and allow the Green Knight to return the exact same blow to him.

Arthur says he wants to do it, but acknowledges he's too sickly to do so. Gawain, already embarrassed once at this party, jumps up and volunteers to be his champion. And when he steps into the ring with the Green Knight, he cuts off his opponent's head. He'd think that was the end of it, but the Green Knight just picks up his severed head, reminds him of the deal to bring the axe back and let himself get beheaded in a year, and leaves.

[In the version I read, this was a ploy on Morgana's part just to freak out Guinevere. Seriously, that was the entirety of it. Just fucking with her rival/sister-in-law.]

In the movie, I got the vibe that Gawain was never meant to be in the line of fire. I suspect that either Arthur or one of his knights was meant to be the Green Knight's opponent, who would die after a year to get his affairs in order. Given that Gawain was Arthur's next-of-kin, that would have given him plenty of time to pass the crown to Morgana's beloved son. Unfortunately, Gawain stepping up messed up her whole plan.

During the intervening year, we see Morgana and the other witches working together to weave the Girdle of Invulnerability. As the name suggests, it's laden with magic to protect him from all harm and all blows from anyone. So long as he wears it, she explains, he'll make it home in one piece.

[In the version I read, the girdle is given to him by another woman later on at a weirdly convenient time. More on that later.]

Gawain barely makes it out when he asks directions from a young man looting the corpses on a recent battlefield. Being the idiot that he is, Gawain takes the young man's directions straight into a trap, where the young man and several other bandits are lying in wait. Despite his mother's assurances that he's invulnerable, he stands down immediately, allowing the bandits to take the Green Knight's axe, his Magic Girdle, all his money, all his supplies, etc.

During all this, three things happen: first, we see A Fox. Second, when the bandit takes the axe he goes all weird and runs off on the horse, forcing the other bandits to chase after him and leaving Gawain unobserved. Third, we get a weird vision of the future where Gawain remains where he is, tied up, until he rots away and he's left nothing but a skeleton.

My read is that The Fox is either Morgana or one of the other witches shapeshifted to keep an eye on him (alternatively, the fox is Reynard or a similar magical creature employed by them for the same purpose.) The Fox then enchants the bandit into running off with the Girdle and the Axe, leaving Gawain relatively safe. And when he fails to do anything with this spectacular opportunity, the Fox gives him the vision of what's gonna happen to him if he just waits around to be rescued.

Prompted to action, Gawain manages to free himself and continues his quest on foot. Eventually he comes across an abandoned manor. Inside, he meets a ghost who asks him to retrieve her severed head, which was thrown into the nearby spring. After some hemming and hawing, he does. When he returns to the surface with the woman's skull, the ghost is gone, but the Fox is watching him.

My take is that the ghost disappeared. They do that. The Fox, being sent to watch him, saw him actually step up and do a brave and selfless thing for once. This is what cements to the Fox that Gawain isn't a perennial fuckup, he's able to grow and mature if he's given the chance.

Gawain returns the skull to the rest of the ghost's skeleton, and he's rewarded by regaining his lost axe. (The axe placed there by the Fox, who took it from the enchanted bandit.)

So this is great, right? Gawain's fuck-upery has been cured and he's doing the responsible thing. Yay, right?

Except he's a fuckup who spends more time drinking and hanging out in brothels than doing Knightly stuff, so he doesn't know basics. Like how to start a fire or get food. Offscreen, Morgana must have been bashing her head into a wall, because her beloved son is going to get himself killed.

The Fox appears to him, and after his initial attempt to drive it off, Gawain lets it stay with him. From this point forward it stays by his side, not-so-subtly giving him directions and keeping him generally safe.

Later we meet some giants, because sometimes there are just giants. We don't question these things in Arthurian fantasy. Gawain asks them to give him a ride to his destination, but when one agrees to help him, he freaks out at the last second and refuses. The Fox speaks to the giant, quite possibly apologizing for its very rude human friend, and the giants go on their way without him.

Gawain is most of the way there by now, but it's late December in Wales, he's super cold and hasn't eaten anything but trippy mushrooms, he can't build a fire, he's been walking for days. He collapses, but the Fox urges him to go a little further and leads him to another manor house. Fortunately for him, this manor has living people in it, who clean him up, put him in a warm bed, and give him food.

We get a dreamy scene where he's being tended by his mother before he wakes up in the care of the manor. My read on it was that this manor and the people in it were sent directly by Morgana to save him. I don't think the manor was even there ten seconds before he collapsed the first time. Because Morgana loves her son, but he is REALLY bad at this.

Notably, it seems that the only people here are the Lord and Lady of the manor, as well as a blind old woman who seems to be the lady's maidservant and/or mother? Hard to tell.

Some flirting happens between Gawain and the Lord and Lady. The Lord of the manor explains that conveniently, Gawain's destination is only one day's walk away and he's several days early, so why not take some time to rest and gather his strength. The Lady shows off her library and her fancy daguerreotype-like mechanism, etc. The Lord suggests another game (mirroring the game presented by the Green Knight) : the Lord will go hunting the next day and give Gawain whatever he catches. Gawain will in return give the Lord whatever he gains throughout the day.

[In the version I read, this happens over the course of three days. Each day the Lord leaves, the Lady tries to seduce Gawain but he refuses, only accepting a kiss from her on the first two days; when the Lord returns with a hunted animal each day, Gawain gives him the kiss that the Lady gave him. On the third day, the Lady also gives Gawain a previously-unmentioned enchanted Girdle of Invincibility, which he neglects to pass along to the Lord, opting just to kiss him instead.]

In the movie, this is condensed into only one day. Gawain wakes up with the Lady creepily watching him sleep, wearing the Girdle of Invincibility that Morgana made for him. She invites him into bed and offers him the Girdle, reminding him that it can render him invincible. The scene gets a bit weird after that-- sex acts of some sort ensue, and the Lady walks away, leaving Gawain with post-coital shame and the Girdle.

Upset, Gawain grabs his stuff and makes to leave. Along the way he runs into the Lord in the middle of his hunt, and he declares that he's going to meet the Green Knight a day early. Citing their game, the Lord presents Gawain with The Fox (who is alive despite having been caught by a hunter, hmmm) and requests Gawain's "winnings" in return-- which he claims by stealing a kiss. I dunno about you, but it seemed to me that Gawain was Into It, at least before he remembers to be freaked out and runs off.

He's nearly at the place where he's to meet the Green Knight when the fox stops him. Now it starts talking, its voice shifting from masculine to feminine. It tells him that he's done a great job, and he can turn back right now and go home and nobody will know but the two of them. He doesn't have to go through with this. But Gawain, determined to fulfil his quest, drives the Fox off once again and goes the last bit alone.

Here he meets the Green Knight in the ruins of an old chapel, though because he's early the Green Knight is little more than a statue, awake but unmoving until the appointed Christmas Day. All the while Gawain just has to sit there and stew in the knowledge that he's gonna die. Finally the Green Knight stirs, asks Gawain if he's ready to die, and readies the axe that Gawain returned to him.

Throughout this, the light hits the Green Knight differently, making him look an awful lot like the Lord of the manor. After Gawain flinches away from the axe the first time, he speaks gently to him, almost tenderly.

[In the version I read, the Green Knight and the Lord of the manor are the same person, and the Lord/Knight is aware of Gawain's magic Girdle, because this was all an elaborate ruse. Because of Gawain's invincibility, the Green Knight only scratches his neck, permanently scarring him as punishment for lying about it and cheating in both their games, but doesn't hold it against him. Gawain then returns to Camelot and they keep the Girdle at the round table as a symbol that all of them have their failings.]

In the movie, Gawain flinches one more time. We then get a second very lengthy vision of an alternate future: Gawain flees the Green Knight and returns home, where he's welcomed back without external consequences. However, he's haunted by his own cowardice, giving up a difficult love in favor of living up to expectation, only to lose everything in the end anyway. His life following the cowardly route was longer, but it wasn't a better life.

He stops the Green Knight one last time, only to remove the Girdle and set it aside before declaring himself ready. The Green Knight is genuinely pleased by this, and he leans in and simply traces a finger over Gawain's throat, before happily saying. "Off with your head."

The movie ends there. Whether the Green Knight leaves him alive or kills him is up for interpretation. But even if the Green Knight wasn't on Morgana's payroll, I feel like he's way too fond of Gawain to do him real harm at this point.

And so Gawain has grown up-- he's brave, he's honorable, he's learned to keep his word and face the consequences of his actions. And Morgana, after some major struggles and a lot of called-in favors, has managed to keep her son from dying on his quest. Victory all around.

There's also an after-credits scene: just a little girl playing with Arthur/Gawain's crown. Notably, this little girl is neither of the children Gawain had in his vision of the cowardly future, so I interpreted it as a new future with a new child with potential all their own.

But that's just my take.

#gawain and the green knight #the green knight #arthuriana

[thesleepy1]

My King Shall Have Everything

A/N: A fuck load of people seemed to like my last Merthur fic. I even got a request for a sequel from @antobcq who wanted a 5+1 fic where Arthur couldn’t get anything done without Merlin on his lap. I haven’t done one of these fics in ages but I’m down with this prompt. I also love the headcanon where Merlin is a better court member and adviser than Arthur and completely leaves Arthur in the dust during diplomatic meetings. Unbeta’d as always, we die like Arthur.

Extra note, this turned out much longer than I expected it to. This might be my longest fic yet. I didn’t mean for it to be like this but I spent too much time on it to just leave it alone. And much to my surprise, it’s a linear storyline as well. I hope you all enjoy it and feel free to give me some feedback. Do you prefer the linear storylines or short snippets of scenes? Also, kind of sorry for the slight angst. My bad. It got worse towards the end, I was getting really tired and wasn’t completely sure how to end it. It’s not on the highest note is all I’ll say.

Pairings: Merlin x Arthur, slight Gwen x Morgana

Summary: Five times Arthur couldn’t get anything done without Merlin on his lap and one time where Merlin couldn’t get anything done without Arthur on his lap.

Word count: 10,485

Warnings: Lap sitting, fluff, physical touch, sexual content, grinding, angst, wounds, violence, character death, more warnings to be added, more tags to be added, proceed with caution, breeding kink, impregnation kink, mentions of dub/con, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, eugenics, blood, gore, hurt/comfort, angst/comfort, whump, injuries, begging, character death, mentions of public executions, long fic, foul language, asphyxiation, strangulation, choking,

Arthur was good at many things, but being on time was not one of them. Especially, when at the end of the hall he had to attend a council meeting with some of the most stuck up people he had ever met, and that was saying something considering he had to spend the last winter with his extended family. His advisers had been up his ass all week about the new rising kingdom beyond the continent. A kingdom so far away, he had just heard of it several months prior. It was like the kingdom had appeared overnight, suddenly a new ink blotch taking over the lower side of the map.

Personally, he didn’t believe it was real in the first place, having a squadron of knights and hired mercenaries sail over to investigate this so-called Kingdom of Le Lubrique. Much to his disbelief, they didn’t come back empty handed and instead returned with a message. A greeting, as his advisers and Merlin had called it.

To Arthur, it was merely stiff aristocrats getting together in too large a room to talk about dull nonsense. Something he had enough of in his own kingdom. Every other month he was already forced to put on a brave face and converse with the other ruling kings and queens of the continent; he didn’t need another to add on to the mix. He already loathed the balls he was required to host.

“You’re late,” Merlin hissed at him as he entered through a side door so as to not alert the others of his presence.

“That’s kind of the point of me coming here long after the time I was supposed to, Merlin,” Arthur rolled his eyes, sneaking behind the other advisers present to his seat. Merlin begrudgingly followed right on his tail.

“This is serious Arthur, you should have been here ten minutes ago!” Merlin nagged a tad too loudly.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the great king of Camelot himself. I’m delighted to see you have graced us with the honor of your belated attendance,” said an adviser from the guest kingdom with a tone that made Arthur want to stab him, wars be damned.

“I hope you could excuse my tardiness just this once,” Arthur began, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. He looked over to Merlin for help, but the warlock looked clueless as usual. “It...was just that I was caught up with...making sure my...uh...husband’s family were making themselves at home. The in-laws are visiting, you see. You know how hard it can be to keep them happy.”

Merlin looked like he wanted to hang Arthur with his own entrails at the king’s quick thinking. Camelot’s advisers seemed to be considering throwing themselves from the window. And the guest advisers seemed content with Arthur’s answer; though not pleased.

“Oh, believe me,” one of them began, a tall woman with high cheekbones and piercing brown eyes, “I know exactly how tiring in-laws can be.” She let out a high pitched laugh like the sound of dying blue jays; the sound made Arthur want to join his advisers as they inched towards the open windows.

“Well, yes, hahaha, they can be quite a hassle. Especially people that are related to my husband here,” Arthur clapped his hands, smiling at Merlin as he took his seat at the head of the table, “Shall we properly begin then?”

Arthur truly and wholeheartedly regretted agreeing to the whole thing. It was hour after hour of mindless words with little to no meaning. They just went on and on about things that meant little to nothing. He tried to tune out their voices but the tall woman’s laugh was like the crack of a whip, bringing him back to reality each time someone made a vaguely funny comment.

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Merlin said in a hushed tone next to his side. Concern had brought his dark eyebrows together. Arthur was tempted to take his fingers and smooth out Merlin’s worry, but perhaps that was too intimate an act for a meeting. Then again, when did Arthur care about what other people thought of him and his husband.

“I’m fine, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, “Just so bored with all of this.”

“How could you be bored? Have you been listening to half of what they’ve been saying? For a kingdom so small they have so much potential. Their farmlands double ours, as well as their ores, and their medicine is even on par to Gaius’s.” Merlin continued on with such a light in his eyes that Arthur was distracted like a moth to a glowing flame.

“Arthur, have you been listening to what I’ve been saying?”

The king shook his head softly, slightly ashamed for not paying attention to his husband. “I’m sorry. I’m just so distracted. I need something to ground me if I’m going to survive another dreadful hour of this,” he groaned, thinking over if the fall from the window would kill him or lethally wound him. Either way, he’d be away from this horror with Merlin at his bedside playing nurse. At the private thought, an idea crossed his mind that had him delighted.

“You know what would help me?” Arthur began, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“What?” Merlin gave him a suspicious look, having seen the grin on the king many times before.

“It’ll really help if you were on my lap.” Merlin gave him an incredulous glare, ready to smack him across the back of the head for such a suggestion during such a crucial conference. “Please, Merlin? You really do help me focus.”

The warlock seemed to be thinking over Arthur’s request, a frown twisting his face. He looked like he was going to say no, but the pleading look on Arthur’s face made him change his mind. “Just this once. I don’t want to make a habit of this, Arthur,” Merlin warned in a hurried voice.

“Just this once,” Arthur lied through his teeth.

The second king of Camelot sat himself on the first, his side pressed against Arthur’s chest. Arthur wound his arm around Merlin and held him tightly. The action seemed to have garnered the attention of the visitors who looked at the pair strangely. And for some odd reason, the visiting ladies of the guest kingdom seemed to be glaring intently at Merlin.

“We are ever so sorry to be boring you, your majesty, but there is still much to discuss,” a visiting high lord coughed, glaring at the pair. “I apologize that our talk of declining population, racial biases against commoners and sorcerers, and ever so low birth rates have made you tired, but considering it may be the undoing of Le Lubrique, I deem it vital,” he practically snarled.

Arthur’s grip on Merlin tightened, his other hand palming Merlin’s thighs. The warlock couldn’t hide the grin that was stretched across his beautiful face at the touch. The king absolutely loved that grin. Arthur glared right back at those who dared question his behavior, for him showing his love for his king. He sounded in a stern voice that left no room for argument, “No apologies needed. Please, continue.”

“Don’t let us disturb you,” Merlin added with a more snarky tone, commanding the same amount of respect. “You have our full attention.”

-----

“Must I attend? You’ll be there, is that not enough?” Arthur whined as Merlin buttoned up his shirt.

“We are hosting a party in the Kingdom of Le Lubrique’s honor. Their queen has traveled all the way here to properly meet us,” Merlin pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek for the effort. “Must I continue?”

“Only if you wish, my dear,” Arthur pointed to his other cheek, waiting for the same treatment as the other.

Merlin rolled his eyes, pressing another kiss to Arthur. “I’m serious, Arthur, this could mean an all out war or the strongest of ally ship. I mean, have you read the reports of what their kingdom is like? It sounds, and excuse for my word choice but there really is no other way to describe it; magical. I would love to visit the country myself. If we make a good impression they might invite us for a stay,” he continued, tying a red handkerchief with Camelot’s crest around his own neck.

“And that’s why the second king of Camelot would be in attendance.”

Merlin left Arthur in their room after that, knowing that Arthur would follow him. “Are you really going to make me sit there and listen to them go on and on about their plan to repopulate their country, or over tax their people for the food that’s in abundance? Come on, Merlin, we could have our council handle it.” Arthur stepped in front of Merlin to block his way. “Why don’t we head back to our room and make this a more entertaining night?” he wiggled his eyebrows to make sure Merlin got his point.

Merlin heard him loud and clear and rightfully ignored Arthur’s attempt to get into his pants. He sidestepped the man to continue on his path, turning a corner to the ballroom. “Do you hear yourself? What kind of impression would that give Le Lubrique if you just suddenly disappeared?!” Arthur turned to run back to their room just to prove Merlin’s point, but the warlock quickly magicked him back to his side. “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”

And that was how Arthur ended up sitting on his throne, bored out of his mind and unwilling to be civil or sociable when he could have spent the entire evening snuggled inside Merlin. He could have been in bed by now, having Merlin moaning his name underneath him, but instead Arthur watched as the guest and court mingled and danced. The instrumentalists bobbed their heads in tune to their upbeat song.

Despite refusing to speak to anyone besides Morgana, and Merlin, and occasionally Gwen when she could spare a moment from dancing; he had learned quite a bit about their guests. The fact that although they had a vast amount of farmlands, they had little people to work in them. Which came as a shock to Arthur because he had learned earlier on that Le Lubrique consisted of mostly sorcerers.

Le Lubrique’s queen was the tall woman with a voice that made Arthur’s ears bleed. Her lady in waiting seemed to be a distant relative from their shared trait of high cheekbones, drowning brown eyes, and dark hair. The two were glued at the hip, her lady in waiting obsessively trailing behind her like a newborn duckling wherever they went. They were both strong magic users if Merlin’s gushing was anything to go by. And also very beautiful with fancy perfume that complimented each other so nicely that they smelt like heaven, from Merlin’s words of course, not his. If Arthur didn’t know any better, he would think Merlin fancied them; the queen and her lady in waiting.

Even when the queen was dancing with a number of council members, the servant would be right next to her. It was quite amusing to watch them struggle to sway in time with the music. Arthur had already made bets with Gwen on the number of times party guests would refuse dances with the pair because they refused to separate. So far Arthur was winning.

That was until the queen smugly asked Merlin for a dance. Her lady in waiting immediately stepped away like someone had called for her assistance, leaving the queen alone with Merlin. Much to Arthur’s disappointment, Merlin happily accepted the dance. He took the queen’s hand and off they went, twirling around as if they were the only ones in the room. His hands on her shoulder and waist, her hands virtually tearing his clothes from his chest.

The way the queen of Le Lubrique looked at Merlin made a sick feeling build up from the pit of Arthur’s stomach. She was undressing him with her eyes, the brown in her gaze turning an almost pitch black from lust. The woman said something that made Merlin taken aback, something about dragons and druids, but it was hard to hear from the chatter of the room. For all Arthur knew, it could have very well been a spell.

Merlin recovered quickly with a grin and laugh that had Arthur’s heart skipping a beat. Then the two of them had the audacity to continue dancing as if nothing had happened, the queen still shamelessly pulling at Merlin’s fine clothes that only Arthur was allowed to rip away.

Arthur didn’t know why Merlin didn’t stop the queen when she pulled his handkerchief from his neck. The king was almost killed for even playing with Merlin’s handkerchief and now this woman was doing the same without losing an arm and a leg? Completely unfair. That was proof in itself, she had casted a spell on Merlin.

“Merlin,” Arthur called out to his husband sternly only to be ignored once more. “Merlin,” Arthur stepped away from his throne, making his way towards his husband and the queen.

“I think you should go to bed before things get ugly,” Morgana gently warned Gwen, gesturing towards Arthur’s outburst. “It could either go well or we’ll die of secondhand embarrassment.”

“Thank you for your concern, my love,” Gwen replied with a smirk, “But I want to see how this unfolds.”

Morgana laughed at that, glancing between Arthur and Merlin. “Suit yourself.”

The two high ladies watched as Arthur pulled Merlin away from the queen of Le Lubrique, dragging him away from the woman as she stared on in horror. To Gwen's and Morgana’s surprise, the queen tried to pull Merlin back into her arms. Merlin seemed to be in a daze throughout the whole skirmish. His eyes glazed over, even from afar.

“Should we step in?” Gwen asked with concern, ready to intervene.

“Arthur can handle it, probably.”

The queen called her lady in waiting to help her. Three heads tugged at poor Merlin like he was flax rope at a kingdom fair. The lady in waiting tried to block Arthur from getting a good grip on Merlin while the queen tried to take more of Merlin’s clothes off. A crowd was forming and Morgana distinctively noticed coins being passed around in bets.

“Are you sure, my love?”

“Oh, It's just getting good,” Morgana grinned like a Cheshire cat. “How much are you willing to bet, my beloved?”

Finally, as the crowd began cheering, Arthur twisted out of the lady in waiting’s grip and grabbed hold of Merlin’s waist. The king lifted the warlock up in a bridal carry and turned on his heel for his throne, the crowd parting in heckles and laughs. Arthur blatantly ignored them, sitting down on his throne with Merlin in his lap. Unfortunately, he was unable to retrieve Merlin’s handkerchief, a matter he will surely not hear the end of for quite some time. But between a measly piece of fabric and Merlin’s life, Arthur would choose Merlin time and time again, his own life be damned.

Taking a moment to throw a sneer at Gwen and Morgana who were snickering, Arthur tried to shake Merlin out of the haze. “Are you alright, Merlin?” He stroked Merlin’s arms gently, trying to bring him back to the present. His blue gray eyes were a stormy glaze, seemingly out of it. It made an ugly feeling swirl around in Arthur’s head, the fact that some queen had touched his Merlin in such a way made Arthur sick.

Merlin shuddered in Arthur’s hold, looking down at himself and then at the ballroom floor where others had returned to dancing. Confusion crossed his face, “Of course, I’m alright,” he furrowed his eyebrows, “How did I get here?” Merlin rubbed at his temple, trying to soothe the ache that had formed there.

“Arthur carried you like the jealous brute he is,” Morgana explained, passing Gwen a handful of coins.

“Jealous brute?” Merlin questioned, looking at the trio for a real explanation.

Arthur was about to defend himself when a member of Le Lubrique’s court approached them. “Haha, I couldn’t help but notice the spectacle that you put on there, sire,” the man addressed Merlin.

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.”

The man laughed again, mirth in his eyes. “I guess you wouldn’t,” he said vaguely, “The queen does have a way with words.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur butted in, holding Merlin a tad too tight. Merlin squirmed in Arthur’s lap but Arthur seemed to hardly notice.

“Well, you are a warlock, aren’t you, sire?” the man addressed Merlin once more. Merlin nodded despite himself. “A warlock as well as a dragonlord under the queen’s attention is bound to feel the efforts of her magic. And her special attention for that matter, hahaha.”

“Sorry,” Merlin began, more confused than before. “What do you mean by that expactly?”

“Our queen is a lovely dragon tamer. Her family is the last of their kind. Although taming a dragon is much easier when you have someone who can speak to the creatures,” the man laughed as if telling a joke only he knew the punchline to and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Least to say, the rest of the night Arthur didn’t let Merlin out of his sight. He had no idea what a dragon tamer was and Merlin seemed as lost as he was, but he wasn’t taking any chances. No one was going to “tame” his lover. Whatever that meant. Morgana and Gwen could laugh and call him jealous all they want, Arthur only had Merlin’s best interest at heart.

“I doubt having me be a lap warmer is in my best interest.”

-----

It had been weeks and Arthur naively thought they were done interacting with the kingdom of Le Lubrique. He had hoped to be finished with the rising kingdom, to leave them alone as long as they left him be.

He was rarely fortunate these days. Never even.

Apparently, Merlin was not deterred by almost being kidnapped by the queen and her lady in waiting. Merlin even said he enjoyed their company and their attention to his every breathing word. Arthur loved the man, but sometimes he could be quite an idiot.

Merlin, without Arthur’s knowledge, had invited a member of Le Lubrique’s court to stay at the castle. Who else to volunteer to come to Camelot but the queen’s lady in waiting. She was only supposed to be in the kingdom for a couple of weeks, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. That couple of weeks turned into a couple of months and eventually the woman practically lived there. She had made herself at home on day one, much to Arthur’s dismay. He couldn’t really kick her out without making a bad impression towards her kingdom, despite what her queen had already done.

He was a king. Much to his reluctance, he had to act like it. And that meant acting like you liked people that you hated to the core.

“And these are our forests,” Arthur gestured to the thick wall of trees that signified the beginning of the woods. “I typically take neighboring kings hunting here. If you’re interested, we can go if you’d like.”

Sylvy, the lady in waiting, sat on her horse with her head held high. For someone with a position like her’s, she acted like she was queen herself. Arthur had spent the whole day trying to show her around for the utmost time. She was never satisfied with what he showed her, as if she were looking for a break in the walls of the kingdom.

Every morning she demanded to be taken around on a tour and every afternoon she was left with a deep frown on her face. Nothing made her happy it seemed, and Arthur had truly tried to make her feel at the very least, welcomed. It was just so difficult to do so with the knowledge of what she had done to Merlin. Had enchanted him, put him in a daze of some sort.

If Camelot still had the ban on magic, she would’ve been dead the moment she laid a hand on Merlin. On the crown’s orders, she would have been hung or burned, some form of public execution. Her dark hair would go up in flames as the fire burned higher and higher, her head would hang low as the bucket was kicked out underneath her. Arthur was still considering having her prisoned for what she did and simply explained to her queen that there had been a freak accident. If he were a lesser man, a lesser king, he would’ve done so and let it be a warning.

“I despise hunting as a sport, it’s just mindlessly cruel,” she snarled, her lips curling as a show of disdain. She held the reins to her horse like a vice, afraid that she’d be ripped from the saddle and forced to participate in such barbaric practices. At least, that was what Arthur thought was swimming through her mind.

“Yes, yes, but some like the adrenaline rush of a good hunt,” Arthur explained without real passion, merely a form of continuing the dry conversation. Sylvy had woken him up so early that morning he barely had a chance to give Merlin a goodbye kiss. “Some have to do it to survive.”

“There are other ways to live,” Sylvy began, urging her horse to turn by towards the main part of the kingdom, seeing as they were on the outskirts. “Le Lubrique for one replies solely on farmlands. We have no need for meat or the slaughtering of innocent animals. Everyone can live without such a horrible act; people and sorcerers alike. Meat is simply murder.”

Arthur half heartedly nodded, trailing behind her while trying not to fall off his horse. “I can’t argue with you there.” He didn’t want to argue with about anything her to be truthful, he had had enough of that already.

They traveled at a moderate trot in silence before she spoke up again. “Why haven't you invited me to a council meeting? I’ve been here for ages. Surely you have these sorts of things at least once a month.” She tried to act nonchalantly, but Arthur could see right through her. “I mean, there must be all sorts of things to discuss. An heir to the throne for one, seeing as neither you nor king Merlin can bear children.”

“We just haven’t had any council meetings, nothing interesting to report that couldn’t be done with a quill and parchment is all,” Arthur lied with a fake smile she could not see. “And an heir doesn’t need to be of blood. They just need to be taught how to properly command a kingdom like a fair and just ruler. To know what’s best for a kingdom, who to trust and who to leave behind in the woods.”

A look of abhorrence lingered on Sylvy’s face at Arthur’s words, bothered that he would even say such a thing. But Arthur was right, it didn’t matter if his heir was not his child as long as they were just and fair to all that passed them. Arthur could only imagine what Le Lubrique was like if all their subjects thought the same way Sylvy did. It must be all out war for them if a bastard appeared in court one day; though in reality royal bastards were a dime a dozen.

Sylvy went quiet for a moment, calculating her words while mulling over what Arthur had said. “With a kingdom as large as yours, surely there’s action all around? Suitable women all around. Something worthwhile must have happened during my stay,” her voice took on a tone that Arthur didn’t like, a light flush painting her cheeks like some teenage girl with a crush, “What about king Merlin?”

“What about my husband?”

“What has he been up to?” Sylvy asked indifferently, trying to hide her curiosity from Arthur. If only she would try to hide that damn blush. Merlin was physically attractive, Arthur knew this as an undeniable fact, but to be so unabashed while in front of the man’s husband? What was he? The first king of Camelot reduced to chop liver. Unbelievable!

“Well, he’s the second king of Camelot. A king’s job is never done. There is always more work than one man can handle. I should know, I used to be the one doing all the work.”

They reached town just as Sylvy took on an accusatory tone, “Then what are you doing here?”

Arthur resisted the urge to strangle her in front of so many people. His fists clenched around his reins so hard his knuckles turned ivory. “I’m showing you around, just as you had requested,” Arthur gritted through his teeth, trying so very hard not to glare at her.

“And here I was, hoping to attend a meeting with the second king.”

“Really now?” Arthur could feel the mare under him shuffle on her hooves at his fury. “You know what? There might be one later today.” What he had planned was so unbelievably petty and a tad childish, but at this point, he didn’t give a damn. Sylvy was getting on his last nerve. “I’ll have a servant call you when it’s time. For now, why don’t you explore our lovely town by yourself? Walk around without a king hovering over you and all. That way, I could get back to doing my job.”

Sylvy brightened up in spite of Arthur’s words. A smile was forming on her face, her high cheekbones pushed up even farther. Her brown eyes crinkled at the notion that she’ll be able to see Merlin. “I can’t wait,” she said, unsaddling and handing the reins to her horse to Arthur. “I must get ready,” she said to herself loud enough for Arthur to hear.

“Take all the time you need.”

Arthur would regret those words later that night when he sat among his advisers. Sylvy, their honored guest was over half an hour late and the others were beginning to feel on edge. Many of them were not planned for a meeting so soon after the one they had earlier that week. It was an unprompted get together for the lady in waiting’s sake, Arthur had explained to them.

On days like these Arthur was glad he was king and that there’d be grave consequences if he were murdered by one of his advisers. They would be in the right to do so, kill him that is; but he was hoping to live long enough to raise a couple of children with Merlin.

“Why are we doing this, Arthur?” Merlin asked, hiding a yawn with his hand. While Arthur was riding around the kingdom with Le Lubrique’s queen’s lady in waiting, Merlin was left to run the kingdom by himself. The haunted task of commanding and keeping an eye on so many people was taking its toll on the sorcerer. Merlin hadn’t properly slept in days, too busy keeping the kingdom in one piece.

“Sylvy wanted to be present for a council meeting. As a member of Le Lubrique’s court, we have to answer to her call until her stay is up.” Merlin gave him a look that called Arthur out on his poorly constructed plan. “And I may or may not want her to know that you’re taken.”

Merlin rolled his eyes along with most of the present court. They should all be used to Arthur’s antics at this point. What were they expecting? An honest to god meeting to discuss important topics with their visitor from foreign lands? Never. A fake meeting just so Arthur could flaunt the fact that Merlin loved him and not some conceited queen and her lady in waiting? That was more like it.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I asked you to marry me,” Merlin yawned again, giving Arthur a tired look in more ways than one.

“Feels just like a dream, doesn’t it?”

“More like a nightmare.”

“You love me,” Arthur opened up his arms so Merlin could take his place on the king’s lap. Merlin shook his head at the gesture, so incredibly done with Arthur. “Come on, Merlin. You know you like it here.” He teasingly patted his lap. “You can rest until our guest arrives.”

“Fine,” Merlin said begrudgingly after a moment of hesitation, his mind clouded by the want for sleep. “But you better wake me up when she comes.”

“Of course,” Arthur assured, inviting Merlin over once more. This time Merlin made himself home on Arthur’s lap, his head going to rest on Arthur’s chest. He curled in Arthur’s lap like second nature, having done this so many times over the years. Arthur wrapped his arms around the younger man, making sure he was supported and comfortable. Merlin fit perfectly nonetheless. Within moments, a soft snoring sound could be heard from the man on Arthur’s lap, content in where he sat. The second king finally got the rest he deserved. “I wouldn’t wake you for the world,” Arthur whispered, rubbing soothing circles on Merlin’s arm and leg.

Another half an hour passed achingly slowly without the esteemed lady in waiting’s presence. Arthur was about to call off the whole thing and make his way to his bedchamber when at last, the doors to the room opened to reveal Sylvy. She was no longer dressed in her usual servant attire with its cream apron and blue gray dress. Instead she had ransacked the queen’s wardrobe, wearing something befitting a ball.

The dress was elegant and detailed with silk and satin; a deep shade of bourbon that brought out her brown eyes. Her hand was even done up in cascading dark curls that perfectly fell from the knot atop her head. A glittering wine hair piece sat nestled against her hair, matching perfectly with the studs in her ears. She was beautiful even without the time spent enhancing what was already there, but now she stood ready to rule a kingdom.

Sylvy took her seat across from where Merlin would have sat. “Where is king Merlin?” she asked, not noticing that the man in question was currently sleeping on Arthur’s lap.

“I’m sorry for how unprepared we were, but I can relate to your troubles of not having enough hands to run a kingdom. My husband had taken the task of ruling all alone while I tended to your needs.” Arthur pressed a kiss to Merlin’s hair when he stirred in his sleep, continuing on his over sweetened words. “He’s beyond exhausted, but still wanted to take part in our meeting. Please understand that he really did try his best to stay awake.”

The emotions that crossed Sylvy’s face came in a blur; she was unreadable. But one thing was for sure, Arthur had won this small battle. He had shoved Merlin’s unquestionable favor for him in the lady in waiting’s face. Merlin was his and his alone. For good measure Arthur pressed a deep kiss onto Merlin’s lips, the sorcerer smiling in his sleep.

His advisers on the other hand felt cheated. If the death glares shot his way were anything to go by. Though there was one from Sylvy as well. A lot of people wanted him dead at the moment. But he was perfectly happy. They could string him up after the meeting for all he cared, the unintelligible look on Sylvy’s face was worth it. She was utterly speechless.

“I’m ever so sorry we were late to start, but would you like to commence this meeting?” Arthur asked like a gentleman with a cocky grin, making sure to stare right at Le Lubrique’s envoy.

-----

When Sylvy left Arthur rejoiced. She was finally out of his hair. Things could go back to normal and he could go back to spending his free time with Merlin instead of on horseback through a bare orchard. No matter how many times Arthur explained to Sylvy that their crops were not aided by magic like Le Lubrique’s, Sylvy insisted on seeing their “mortal” development.

Everything was put back into its rightful place. He couldn’t wait to put everything about Le Lubrique behind him and move on.

He was back on the throne with Merlin, leading the kingdom just as they were before the whole ordeal with Le Lubrique. Their advisers especially liked the fact that Arthur was back with Merlin; it meant less work for them. The moment that Sylvy left their grounds, Camelot’s advisers piled parchment after novel after demands on his table.

Those selfish bastards.

The so-called requests were so thick that Merlin didn’t even make a sarcastic comment comparing it to Arthur’s ass, and, or his thick skull; the warlock simply went to work. If Arthur himself wasn’t already terrified of the workload, he would have shocked himself to the grave at Merlin’s willingness to submit to their advisers. The two kings of Camelot knew when they met their match.

What felt like weeks passed where Arthur and Merlin did nothing but what their advisers ordered. They were slaves to their own court. The two didn’t leave their room for anything, not food, not training, not even a breath of fresh air. Their knights would occasionally knock on their door to make sure they were both still alive, but once the knights of the round table had been turned down a couple dozen times, they stopped caring. Merlin and Arthur shut off the world. They were practically locked in there, all because of their own doing.

Well, mostly Merlin’s doing. He was the one who invited the envoy over and wanted to make peace with the new kingdom. Arthur had nothing to do with that prolonged visit from the devil, he was only paying the price. His hands ached like it had been shorn off at the wrists, his back screaming for him to rest. He didn’t remember the last time he touched his bed, the neatly tucked in linens calling him to slumber. But he couldn’t, neither of them could until their work was done. Their kingdom depended on it and their kingdom came first, Arthur and Merlin’s comfort second. They both knew what they had signed up for when they decided to wed.

“A-Arthur,” Merlin groaned late one night, the sun mere minutes from the horizon.

Arthur immediately looked up from his book, putting his full attention on Merlin who was on the other side of the room. Neither of them had talked in days besides the few grunts they exchanged while passing over important text. The fact that Merlin was straining his voice now meant something serious was going on.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur coughed, his throat parched and dry as a desert.

“I-I-” Merlin began, rubbing harshly at his hurt eyes, “I think that’s the last one.” The sorcerer signed one more parchment with a flick of his wrist, setting it aside to dry along with the rest.

And the thing was, Merlin was right. There was no more work to go through, to tirelessly read; everything was finally done. “I’m so tired I don’t think I can see straight, b-but that was it!”

“What?”

“We’re finished, you clophole," Merlin smiled, taking Arthur’s breath away.

Arthur leapt out of his seat, pure joy masking the aches and pains as he rushed over to Merlin’s side. The king pulled the sorcerer from his chair, lifting the man into the air, Arthur kissed Merlin like it was their wedding day. Deep and full of all the longing he had for the man, grasping at him as if he could protect Merlin from the world.

He only pulled back for air, inhaling lungfuls before pressing his lips back against Merlin’s. Arthur missed his husband so damn much despite having worked across the room for each other. He hadn’t touched the other man in ages, it was heaven to feel his heartbeat beneath his pained fingers. To kiss down Merlin’s pale neck and mark him until the whole castle knew exactly what they had been up to. To pull at Merlin’s clothes, ripping his tunic right off of his chest, the buttons flying across the room.

“Arthur,” Merlin moaned, gently pushing Arthur back so he could speak. “I liked that shirt.”

Arthur thumbed at Merlin’s trousers, holding his hips tight enough to leave marks that Merlin would feel for days to come. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“But my mother made me that one,” Merlin complained, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. His strong hand went to cup Arthur’s cheek, making the king look at him. Forcing the king to calm down and evaluate things. “We have to get something to eat too, dear,” Merlin told Arthur in a loving tone. “We’re both too exhausted for this.”

“I’m never too tired for you,” Arthur bit back, leaning into Merlin’s hand. He may have been putting his weight on Merlin’s desk so as to not fall over, but Merlin didn’t need to know that. Arthur could most definitely ravage Merlin while on the brink of death.

Merlin pulled Arthur close to kiss him softly, “If we go to bed now, then we can spend all of next day together,” Merlin tried to bargain, eyes teary from lack of any sort of sleep. “You’re going to hurt yourself, you ass,” he chuckled with a small smile that made his eyes crinkle with mirth.

“I don’t want to,” Arthur whined, “I’ve worked for weeks on end. Now I want my reward for behaving.” Arthur sat back on Merlin’s desk, pulling the man on top of him. The desk groaned under their combined weight, but Arthur hardly cared when he had Merlin on his lap and straddling his thighs. “You’re all I want.” He embraced Merlin, the warlock half naked and moaning as Arthur kissed along his arm. His mouth sucked at Merlin’s skin, teeth leaving markings on pale skin claiming Merlin as his. Arthur worshiped Merlin until his stormy eyes were hazy with unabated lust.

“Just you….”

Arthur slumped forward, out like a dying candle before he even knew it. Merlin had to stifle a laugh, though he doubted anything would wake Arthur then. The king was out cold, snoring like there was no tomorrow. Too bad Merlin had to carry his fat ass over to their bed. The warlock was beginning to rethink their plans for tomorrow. Sometimes he wished Arthur wasn’t such a stubborn ass and listened to him. It would save them both the trouble, Merlin was right most of the time after all.

“Get some rest, you oaf,” Merlin said to the asleep man, tucking him into their bed. Arthur’s blonde hair was like a halo against their stark white pillow, the dark bags underneath his eyes a contrast with the paleness of his skin. His old tunic was a dull red from overuse, the buttons holding onto the fabric for dear life. Merlin stripped Arthur of his boats and stuffy tunic leaving both men in their trousers. A much better way to sleep if anyone asked.

“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin whispered into Arthur’s ear, snuggling up against the king. He threw the blankets over himself and laid on Arthur’s chest. The pull of sleep had Merlin out just as quickly, the moment he allowed his breath to even out, there was nothing that would stop him from getting the well earned sleep that he so needed.

“Rest well, Merlin,” Arthur answered in a murmur, pulling Merlin in close. “Sweet dreams, you idiot.”

-----

“Arthur, calm down and try to see reason!” Merlin all but yelled at the king without his crown. The man in question was in his knight gear, armor and chainmail strapped tightly to his body for protection. His sword hung to his side, within reach at all times. Arthur could feel something ominous looming on the horizon, it was Merlin who was still seeing the world with rose colored glasses.

“I tried to see reason. I tried to play nice. And this is what I get in return,” Arthur gestured to the pile of charred wood on the round table. Wood that was once the homes of innocent farmers who played no part in the altercations of royals. People that Arthur was supposed to protect, their livelihoods and homes included. “We were nothing but good to them and this is what happened. Dozens of houses burned to nothing overnight!”

“We have to act now, Merlin.”

“Going in there with your swords raised in offence isn’t going to do anything but start an all out war,” Merlin insisted, urging Arthur to reel himself in, to not lash out at the closest thing. If it were anyone else Merlin would have already smacked them over the head for raising their voice at him. Unfortunately, Merlin was sleeping with the man and didn’t want to be smothered in his sleep. “That’s what Le Lubrique wants; a reason to fight. We can’t give them that.”

“Then what exactly do you expect us to do, Merlin?” Gwen piped in across the table from Merlin. Morgana stood to her side, eyes darting between all the speakers in a frenzy. “They attacked first. It’s only right that we return what they have given us.” Gwen picked up a piece of wood, charcoal rubbing off on her hands as she turned it over. “Arthur is right, we just can’t sit idle.”

Merlin stared at Gwen, hoping that she would be on his side on this. She solemnly shook her head, denying her friend’s offer. Gwen wanted to go on the offence just as much as Arthur, her friends were harmed when Le Lubrique’s soldiers set fire to a section of the kingdom. They burned down acres of farmland, dozens of homes with children and elderly. Luckily, nobody was killed in the process but many were harmed. Gwen wanted vengeance for them. She was a loyal ruler, loyal to her people.

“And we won’t,” Merlin bargained, “We won’t let them gain any more than they already have. No one here knows exactly what they want from us, but we do know that they’re willing to play dirty to get it,” he went on, talking with his hands to release some of the tension. “Let me be a spy and-”

“Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“No,” Arthur said firmly, daring Merlin to argue. “You stay right here with me. I will not have you risking your life for measly information.”

“It's not measly information, Arthur. It could be the difference between thousands dead and a simple treaty. We don’t know what Le Lubrique wants, but if we do, we could try to bargain with them. No blood needs to be shed,” Merlin tried, laying a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, forcing the man to look at him. “The queen wants me. She made that very clear. She won’t hurt me if she thinks I’m on her side.”

Arthur stared at Merlin, watching the sorcerer for any sign of hesitation. When he saw nothing of the sort Arthur sat down in his chair with a huff. Merlin really wanted to do this. Spy work is equal to a as rushing in with their flag flying and swords shining; both could end with Merlin buried six feet under. Even the implication had Arthur feeling like hell.

“How am I supposed to get anything done with you gone?” Arthur questioned genuinely, much to the snickers of the knights and ladies. “I can’t function without you,” this was whispered softly to Merlin, just for Merlin.

The anger and stress dissipated from Merlin’s eyes, his shoulders slacked in resignation. Realization slowly but surely dawned on the sorcerer. Arthur was simply afraid. The first king of Camelot was worried, on the brink of tears from it if anyone looked close enough. Merlin rolled his eyes, even after all these years Arthur was still undoubtedly the same.

Without a care for the other people in the room, Merlin sat down on Arthur’s lap, hands on the other’s chest to stabilize himself. Merlin leaned in close and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s lips, cradling his jaw like it was something breakable. “Everything will be alright, Arthur. I can protect myself just fine,” Merlin reassured in a careful voice, stroking Arthur’s cheek. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I always feel empty without you, Merlin." Arthur pulled Merlin in for another kiss, this one deeper than the last. The two only pulled away for air and even then they went back for more. They couldn’t have enough of the other, constantly needing to feel the other person. A give and take only the other could provide. “What am I supposed to do if you don’t return?” Arthur asked quietly, resting his forehead on Merlin’s. “How am I supposed to live?”

“I promise to you, you’ll never have to find out. You’re stuck with me," Merlin smirked, running his fingers through Arthur’s hair. "Till death do us part, darling.”

Arthur wished he could believe Merlin’s promise. He swore on his mother’s grave that if Merlin fulfilled his promise that he’ll listen to everything Merlin has to say. He’ll never question Merlin again, never talk back to the warlock, shove his stubbornness down and never speak of it again. Arthur would have done anything for Merlin, only the man asked.

Not a month later Arthur received news in the form of a messenger. Le Lubrique had declared war on any who dared try to take the last living dragonlord from them. Merlin was theirs, they stated, the dragonlord belonged to dragon tamers. The two are vital for the continuation of dragons in the old religion. One to gain their trust, the other to keep the creatures in chains where they belong. Any and all who tried to take away their dragonlord would be faced with lethal consequences.

At that Arthur sent the messenger to be put into the stocks. Lethal consequences. Arthur will show them just how deadly he could be. Le Lubrique will pay, a month without Merlin was torture but if they dared to lay a hand on Merlin they would all burn. Gwen was absolutely right, Arthur required vengeance, he wanted them all to feel just what angering Camelot will do, what angering him will do.

And after making such a claim over Merlin’s life, Arthur will show them no mercy. Le Lubrique had declared war on Camelot and Arthur would answer tenfold.

------

It took around two weeks for Arthur to prepare for battle against a kingdom full of sorcerers. Another week was spent traveling with his soldiers over land and sea. Through it all he couldn’t help but be eaten alive by the nagging feeling that he was too late. That he would arrive only to find ash; bones if he was lucky. Day and night he was slowly being killed by the fact that he could very well be walking into his husband’s grave.

“He’s going to be okay,” Morgana reassured him one day as he leaned against the railing of their ship. They were perhaps an hour if not less from shore and Arthur hadn’t slept a wink. He could feel exhaustion mixing with the worry brewing in his mind, ready to overflow at a single inconvenience. His sword was once again at his side, the memory making everything so much worse. “Merlin will be teasing you for worrying so much if he were here.”

“But he isn’t, is he, Morgana?” Arthur said more harshly than he intended. “He could already be dead for all we know.” And it would be all Arthur’s fault, though he kept that notion to himself. By the look on Morgana’s face, she must have been thinking the same thing.

“It's not your fault, Arthur. Merlin chose to go on his own free will.”

“But I was the one who allowed it,” Arthur bit back, standing straight on his feet. “I sent him to his death.”

“You don’t know that,” Morgana crossed her arms. She should be used to Arthur’s self destructive behavior but even this was getting too much for her. “If what that messenger said was true, Merlin’s probably being pampered to death.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to have said because Arthur’s despair did not lighten. It seemed to have gotten worse. “What if he likes it better with Le Lubrique’s court? I’m no warlock, I can’t compete with their magic!”

“Arthur, you’re overthinking this,” Morgana was done with Arthur’s antics. She was ready to gag him and throw him in the ship’s makeshift prison cell until they had properly docked. “Merlin will run right into your arms the moment he sees you. I’m willing to bet on it, just you wait and see. Merlin loves-”

At Morgana’s silence, Arthur looked over to the direction of her gaze. Their ship was making speed but Arthur suddenly wished they had stopped right where they were and sink. The sight took Arthur’s breath away, making his blood go cold. Le Lubrique was burning and it looked like it had been burning for a very long time. There was no shoreside to speak of, just endless flickering flames. Where the castle should have been standing tall like a beacon was nothing but flames, ruble, and ash.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled even though his voice would not carry that far. “Merlin!” he called again, his heart sinking to his stomach. He wanted to drown at sea. He never wanted to reach the shore, to be lost in the ocean and never have to face what he already knew was there. The absence of what he knew should’ve been. “Merlin!” he shouted even though it was futile.

“Arthur, please!” Morgana struggled to pull him back from the side, afraid he’ll jump and swim the rest of the way himself. Or worse. “Just an hour, please. That’s all you have to wait for. You- you don’t know for sure.” Even Morgana was not so sure of her words, the picture in front of them was hard to paint as lies.

“I sent him to his death….” Arthur whimpered, “I killed him. I killed my husband.” The king sank to his knees, kneeling next to Morgana. The woman could barely hide the tears in her eyes at the sight. Everything she wanted to say, every reassurance died on her tongue. Whatever she said could very well be a lie and nothing more.

“We will make them pay, Arthur. We will make them pay for what they’ve done,” Morgana decided instead, pulling Arthur to his feet. “They won’t get away with this,” she stated sternly, much like their father when he had set his mind to something.

Less than an hour passed where the tension was so thick, one could slice through it with an unsharpened sword. All on board prepared for battle, despite the fact that the fires never stopped burning. Regardless of the fact that they might be too late to be of much good. The fighting had already begun long before they docked, a civil war where the same flag was flying on opposite sides.

“Go search for what is left, we’ll handle everything else,” Gwen informed Arthur when they stepped foot on the raging battlefield. She was dressed in chainmail armor just like everyone else, Camelot’s colors making her blend in with the searing fires. Her helmet was covering most of her face, giving her the appearance of a frightening soldier ready to take lives at a moment's notice. If Arthur was in a better mood, he would have been sorry for the folks who would come face to face with Gwen, the quick footed soldier instead of Gwen, the gentle, kind hearted high lady. At the moment he was on the verge of breaking and was ever so glad that Gwen was as cut throat as she was.

“Thank you,” Arthur told her from the bottom of his heart, “We should have listened to you from the start.”

“You followed your husband’s request, I can’t fault you for that.” She pulled Arthur in for a hug before sending him off. “Go find our king.”

Gwen didn’t have to tell Arthur twice, he was off before she finished speaking. The only thing is his mind was finding and holding Merlin. Nothing else mattered. Not the war thriving around him, swords clashing, arrows flying, Camelot’s red against the duality of Le Lubrique’s purples; nothing. The sorcerer was all that was worth living for and Arthur had a guess as to where Merlin would be.

The castle with Le Lubrique’s flag flapping against the blistering wind was as good as any place to start. Arthur climbed the hill that the palace stood on with lead in his stomach. It felt like every step he took he was merely walking into a trap. The castle should not still be in one piece, the battles around the structure should have made it no more than debris. However, it still stood on weak support.

Going against the nagging voice in the back of his head Arthur called out for his husband, “Merlin!” He walked closer to what would have been the courtyard. Around the perimeter were burning shrubbery that must have been a sight to behold at one point in time. Now there were nothing more than flares and the source of black smoke. The cobblestone center was stained with a drying red that Arthur did not want to face the source of. “Merlin!” Arthur sounded out in the courtyard.

“Arthur,” a hoarse voice groaned weakly. Arthur ran in the direction it came from, his sense of self preservation be damned. Merlin’s life could be on the line.

“Merlin, stay with me. Keep talking!”

“I-I’m over here,” Merlin hissed out helpfully, not informing Arthur where, “here” exactly was. Why did Arthur have to marry such a buffoon? Sure, no one could compare to Merlin, but at the very least he could have courted a smarter man.

“I’m coming, just stay where you are,” Arthur said hastily, rushing through the crumbling courtyard. “Don’t you dare die on me, I’ll kill you myself if you do!” he threatened, searching every nook and cranny for the warlock.

“That’s my line, you ass,” Merlin moaned in complaint, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Come up with your own catchphrases.”

Sometimes Arthur couldn’t believe his choice in a partner. Merlin was really making banter with him while possibly on the brink of death. He was definitely going to kill Merlin for this. “Make me, you bastard,” Arthur cursed, rounding a sharp corner that fell apart as he passed it. His breath was taken away for the second time that day when he saw Merlin on the ground.

They were in what must have been a parlor, the stained glass windows shattered on the ground as a number of the fine furniture burned to cinder. Arthur could imagine the room as something beautiful if he were to be invited over for tea. Now he just saw it as a smoking mess, something that he was glad was going up in flames. Though, without him or Merlin in it would be nice.

“There you are!” Arthur exclaimed, rushing over and kneeling on the floor next to Merlin’s frame. The sorcerer was half naked with sharp nail marks littered across his pale skin. Merlin’s neck was a raring red as if a hand had been wrapped around his throat which didn’t let up until he passed out from the lack of air. His form was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and tears, his rib cage stuck out in unpleasant angles. It looked like he hadn’t been fed in days. The sight made Arthur furious, but Le Lubrique’s court could wait. Arthur had to get Merlin to safety first.

“Took you long enough, you oaf,” Merlin hissed through his teeth, his lips chapped from dehydration. The corner of his mouth was bleeding as if he had been back handed across the face. Arthur reached out a hand to touch it, to make sure Merlin was real and not just some illusion made by a sick sorcerer. “Stop that, it already hurts to talk,” Merlin coughed, his eyes hazy.

“What happened?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, shrugging off his cape to throw over Merlin’s bare chest. It didn’t offer much coverage but it was protection against the flying embers. As a bonus it covered the markings that made Arthur’s skin crawl.

“I arrived under the guise of an envoy, just as we had planned. Everything seemed to be going fine, but they found out I was a spy early on. It was like they could read my mind, and I don’t doubt that they have the knowledge just for the spell,” Merlin explained, pulling Arthur’s cape close, the soft fabric offering a sense of shelter. “But they didn’t seem to care that I was there under ulterior motives. They were only glad to have me, mind and body,” Merlin shivered at the thought. “Le Lubrique’s queen wanted me to father her children.”

Merlin paused to let the thought sink in. He watched Arthur for his reaction. Arthur’s face twisted in a disgusted sneer, baring his teeth at the implication. The king clenched his fists until his nails dug deep enough into his palm to drag blood. Arthur wanted to feel the pain, something to ground him farther so he didn’t march off to kill someone who might already be dead.

“Le Lubrique wanted dragons as slaves, no king would be dumb enough to go to war with a kingdom with dragons on their side; no matter its size,” Merlin went on, his eyes glowing yellow at the notion. “They needed me as a stud.”

Arthur was repulsed at the notion that Le Lubrique would even conceive of such a thing. He must have looked ready to vomit because Merlin quickly added, “Le Lubrique’s queen even tried to make herself appealing to me when I denied her advances.” Arthur could only imagine what the woman did. Sylvy’s antics immediately came to mind. “She magicked her hair blonde and made her eyes your shade of blue.”

Arthur couldn’t help but darkly chuckle at that. Of all the ways to make Merlin fall for someone, blonde hair and blue eyes weren’t it. “Did she really think looking like me would get you to bed her?”

“No,” Merlin began again with a pained yelp that he tried to hide. “What she said was what made me comply.”

“What did she say?” Arthur growled, his earlier fury seeping back into his bloodstream. “What did that harlot say?”

“She threatened your life, Arthur. Your honor, your dignity, and reign as king. Everything,” Merlin got teary eyed at the memory. “The way she took her pleasure from me was painful, but it was nothing compared to the thought of what she said she would have done to you.”

Arthur was shaking with rage, his whole body trembled with the urge to tear Le Lubrique’s queen apart, limb by limb by his own bare hands. His hand hovered over his sword subconsciously. He wanted to kill her, needed to destroy her for what she’s done. For the fear she incited into Merlin. Arthur was bloodthirsty; he hoped that Gwen was just as demanding of blood.

“I wanted to kill her.” Merlin’s quivering voice brought Arthur back to the present. “Let me kill her, Arthur,” Merlin begged his husband, his lip beginning to bleed.

“Of course,” Arthur wiped Merlin’s tears away with his thumb, his hand caressing Merlin’s cheek gently. “Anything you want, I’ll give it to you in a heartbeat.”

“Now, Arthur. I want to kill her now.” Merlin tried to sit up but the cry of pain had him falling right back to where he was. “She deserves to suffer.” His eyes lit up in a gold light, trying to magic his way upright but failed and fell down once more. The warlock’s body was in a worse state than he appeared, he shook in a cold sweat like an infection induced fever.

When Merlin began coughing fistfuls of blood at the strain Arthur was forced to act quickly. The king straddled Merlin’s legs, sitting down on his lap to keep Merlin on the ground. “Shhh, I’m here, Merlin. I’m safe, I’m alive,” Arthur barricaded Merlin with his arms. “I’ll bring you her head, I swear.”

“Let me do it, Arthur. I can kill her myself,” Merlin barked, another fit of coughs had him squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’ll bring her to you, alive. You can do anything you want with her court,” Arthur tried a different approach, tears forming in his eyes at the sight of Merlin in this state. “You can make her pay for what she’s done, make her feel the same pain. But please, Merlin,” Arthur begged, stroking Merlin’s face as tears fell on the man’s face. “Stay with me. Keep talking.”

Merlin opened his eyes at Arthur’s request, pain painting them a disorientating blue. “It hurts, Arthur. She did so, so many horrible things,” Merlin admitted in the burning parlor room. He reached out angry scarred arms to wrap around Arthur, pulling the king flush against his chest. “Everything aches, it feels like I’m being burned alive.” Merlin had Arthur in a death grip, there was barely enough room for either of them to breathe. It felt like home.

“They will pay, this I swear,” Arthur made an oath, kissing Merlin to make it true. “By the end of this day their bodies will be put on display for all to see.” He kissed down Merlin’s neck, burying Le Lubrique’s queen’s markings with his own. “Do you want her kingdom as well, Merlin? Say the word and it's yours.”

“I want you. I want her gone. I want her kingdom. I want it all,” Merlin’s mind was spinning with searing fever, screaming pain, and the constant pleasure of Arthur licking at his throat. He squeezed Arthur’s neck with his shaking arms. “Give me everything.”

In a burning parlor of a dying country with a queen and court that abandoned it, the first king of Camelot made a vow to the second king; an apology and a promise. Everything the licking fire was eating, everything destroyed by its own queen; the country, and the sea that surrounded it. The never ending farmlands, the people that survived, and the bones that would be buried by ash of its own making. The entire kingdom; dead, dying, or thriving. All of it would be Merlin’s.

All of it is Merlin’s.

“My king shall have everything.”

#arthur pendragon x merlin #merlin x arthur #arthur x merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin emrys #merlin #merthur #guinevere #arthur pendragon #knights of the round table #guinevere pendragon #bbc arthur #king arthur #king merlin #arthurian legend #gwen #morgana #morgana pendragon #bbc gwen #gwen pendragon #arthur #morgwen #bbc merthur #fanfic #fanfic writing #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic rec

[drake-the-incubus]

This is a gift for @striderhell from the Homestuck Secret Santa 2020 (@homestuckss). I was aiming for 3000 words but uh, Dirk as a muse didn’t want to continue exploring the concept of gender given his rigid but philosophical nature.

I hope this was good, and if not just gimme a shout and I’ll try and come up with something better. 

Word Count: 1521 Fandom: Homestuck Characters: Dirk Strider, Roxy Lalonde Relationships: Dirk Strider & Roxy Lalonde (Platonic/Friends)

Additional Notes: Roxy uses He/Him and They/Them, I’ve never finished the epilogues but I love NB Rox. Dirk uses no pronouns in this, as I wanted to try that out. 

Please enjoy Dirk exploring his gender. 

Sometimes in an effort to define ourselves, we feel trapped to conform to some rigid aspect or label in hopes to reach an understanding of who we are. At times this process can be frustrating and dissatisfying. Other people take weeks or days, and some of them take years or never figure it out. 

Perhaps gender, as a construct, can’t be fully understood, but we can understand ourselves as people without it. The tale before you, is only a short of someone who wishes to take a journey many end up doing, and most have never encountered.

Dirk was sitting in a cafe on Earth-C, sipping on a coffee in between tinkering with another pair of shades. The goal was updating and adding a better set of graphics, hoping to add some additional features to make things easier.

It had been a while since the Prince of Heart had seen the rest of the gods. Jake would visit once in a while, and they would have a friendly spar or talk. Roxy would message once in a while, letting Dirk know any spicy news about the rest.

Dave would randomly show up, they would stare each other down before both Striders would give a thumbs up and go their separate ways.

Rose would often come by, trading witty banter and wisdom. Both of them struggled with the massive impact of their god tiers and would often talk about it to one another.

Today though, Dirk decided a change of area would suit this project best, specifically needing to leave the workshop and enjoy some caffeine. Recently a problem developed that would continue to nag at the Prince even through the night. Lack of sleep was the reason why Dirk had picked a coffee shop. It made the most sense.

Gender did not.

Dirk had been going through a lot lately, and when Roxy had come out as trans, it had been taken pretty well by most of them. Not that it would be different if Dirk came out either, but rather that would take knowing what was going on.

This was a laughable moment, since they all had beaten the game, made it out and enjoyed their own little home in the midst of nothing. Creating entire worlds and civilizations with the help of their space and time players, but Dirk was sitting there, in a cafe, trying to figure out what gender even was and how it related to the god’s own identity.

Pronouns were hard, but so was even figuring this shit out. Making a copy of your brain at thirteen was much easier than figuring out if you’re cis or not, and Dirk didn’t know.

The more it was thought about, the more the thought cropped up, what if it turned out the being Cis wasn’t the result. Dirk was absolutely sure about not being a chick, nothing really appealed about that, but then again there was a very similar feeling over the current gender.

Man, agender or woman. Those were the categories that presented themselves currently. Working harder to connect the shades to the newly built chip, Dirk jolted when suddenly Roxy sat down across the table.

“I called out to you, but you didn’t answer.” He said leaning over and looking over the project. “I was wondering what made you change location, you’re pretty adamant to work in your workshop Dirkie.”

“I needed to think, which I was doing when you were calling out to me. Thinking so hard about creating a new line of orange pop with more caffeine than this cup of coffee that the world died out and I was left to only the one set of thoughts for once.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, and crossed his arms. “Really now? You think that I can’t tell something bigger is going on in that Strider head of yours? You’ve come up with projects while having a philosophical discussion with Rose and texting Dave a rap battle. You’re the king of multi-tasking, which also means your attention is usually divided more, and you’re attempting to put a wire on the wrong side of that.”

Dirk frowned and sighed, putting the project down. “Well, I can’t get nothing past you I suppose. I guess one thing that’s on my mind is how much I miss AR, since he was a good source of introspection, then again I have no idea if that would have helped in the first place.” Tapping fingers filled the space between them as the Prince looked outside at the billions of humans and trolls walking over the streets.

“I’ve been contemplating what gender is and how I relate to it since you came out as nonbinary. It’s been making me think about what is my gender, and I’ve come to the conclusion none of them really fit, but that’s also something to worry about since that means I don’t relate to any of the options-“

“Before you go on a long tangent, I want to ask, what are the options?” He interrupted Dirk while cocking his head.

“Agender, man and woman.” Dirk said bluntly, staring at Roxy. The laughter that resulted made the god tip the iconic shades down to stare at Roxy with deadpan orange eyes.

“I get greeted by your eye colour, score! But no, you got it all wrong, gender isn’t rigid categories, it’s a spectrum. You can’t define it by strict labels and there’s too many to count. So you don’t fit in three, there’s millions of genders. Some might not have a word for it right now. I’m nonbinary, but that’s because I’m not a man or a woman completely, I’m somewhere in the middle, closer to a man if I were to describe it as like, a sliding scale. So don’t be in a hurry, and don’t worry if you don’t figure it out.”

“I need to. Not knowing makes things difficult. I know it might be unhealthy to obsess over, but ever since I made Auto Responder, I had the need to understand myself fully and everything about myself.” With an elbow on the table, Dirk took a hand and raked it through the mess of hair. Having done so more than a hundred times earlier, the Prince was sure it was a complete and utter mess at this point, and would need to be taken care of at home.

“Well, I have a list of some of the other more known ones, maybe one of them check out for you?” He offered a tablet.

Dirk took it, and looked over the list of options and each description of it, mumbling under breath before placing the tablet back down with a definite, “I’m going to use Genderless for now and see what happens.” It looked interesting, the excerpt specifically outlined not having a gender at all due to neurodivergence, rather than lacking a gender or having no gender, different from agender. It didn’t feel much different from everything else, but nothing did. Having several of the entries be defined by one’s neurodivergence was weird, but the more thought placed into the concept, the more it felt real to Dirk. Rather it meant that the Prince would have to take Rose up on her offer to get a fully evaluation soon, even if both of them came to the conclusion Dirk was probably neurodivergent and that it wasn’t impactful with how the god had lived life before the game. 

“Are there any pronouns I should use for you?”

Pursing lips, Dirk gave a shake of the head. “None preferably. I think I need more time to actually think everything over. I have no positive or negative feelings for anything on there, and so I’m debating on if I’m everything or not. I can figure out how to make an exact replica of my own brain as a teenager, create robots, plot out the exact way I can kiss Jake and even save everyone's lives getting into the game. I’ve designed complex interactions to lead to the outcome I desire, and I can’t even pick a gender. This is quite frankly, ridiculous.”

“You don’t gotta. Dirk, it’s not about just picking a gender, it’s about figuring out a big part of yourself, and something most people don’t do for yours. You figured out you’re gay, now you’re figuring out what else you could be.” He placed a hand on Dirk’s and gave him a smile. “Whatever your result, I’m here for you. Even if you later think you’re a Cis man I’ll still be here for you. We might be siblings but we were friends first and that matters the most to me.”

Dirk gave a snort. “This is so fucking corny, but thanks Rox. I appreciate the love and support. Maybe I can treat you to another coffee since I feel like if I don’t buy one soon I’m going to be kicked out for making a mess of a window table.” Motioning towards the table, and standing up, the god stretched out. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Caramel Macchiato please.”

“Gotcha.”

#homestuck secret santa 2020 #striderhell #I fucking was gonna make this christmas eve but I got busy the past two days #Glad I waited because this Idea was much better #trans nonbinary characters #dirk is amab

[unicyclehippo]

idk if this is the kind of prompt you were looking for but maybe a take on beau never joins the m9 and the first time they meet her is when she's an expositor and how they react to her saving them from something

maybe not what u wanted , but all i could think about

//

The time they were given, left to wait in the antechamber of the castle, was enough to catch their breath but not nearly long enough to recover or start that process, so it is still bruised and bloodied that they follow the Marshal into the throne room.

The chamber is grand. Far beyond anything their patchwork party has ever seen before. It is comparable in size, in grandeur to the Bright Queen’s throne room, except that where her space had been a clear, clean, shattered prism of crystal and a pure but cold light, here is all severe grey stone, heavy and firm, and stained glass. The pretty colours do nothing to mellow the space; if anything, all the windows do is highlight how dizzyingly tall the ceiling of the chamber is as they stretch higher and higher.

Their boots tap against stone. Echo in the vast space around them. The Nein walk across, through, the scored lines of light that burn from those windows across the floor.

Ahead of them rides a great set of stairs that honestly, at this point, just feels like torture. They’re beat to shit. They’re tired. They don’t want to do this. If they’re gonna be killed, the King could at least have the decency to not make them climb a hundred steps first.

The Marshal nods them forward, expression brooking no disagreement.

‘I wish—I had died,’ Fjord groans, quietly. He’s panting as he climbs. ‘Honestly, if I have to—oh god—climb another step, I’m gonna throw myself—ha—down them.’

Jester grips his hand hard. Struggles for a smile, but with each step she’s losing her breath and it has less to do with exertion and far more to do with the fear squeezing her heart as the heads and shoulders and cool faces of the Council start to show above the platform.

A man with shoulder length hair and a long, thin goatee, both streaked with grey sits upon his throne, wooden and backed with an immensely tall and ornately carved back. The man looks to once have been fit and strong but now, in perhaps his early sixties, the muscle he had built has gone soft. There is nothing soft in the way he stares at them, cuts suspicious stares down over each of them in turn—lingering on Fjord, on Jester and Molly, on Nott. He is the King, and Jester thinks she would have known that even without the circlet that rests upon his head.

The names and faces of the remainder of the Council blur, all of them imposing, none of them welcoming. Jester searches their number for something, anythjng to focus on, as Caduceus begins to talk and panics, and as Fjord takes over, smooth and calm. No sign of the panic Jester knows he must be feeling.

It is when the Martinet steps forward that Jester sees her.

Seated behind the Martinet is a young human woman, not much older than Jester if at all, with dark skin and dark hair, which she wears pulled back into a handsome top knot and the sides shaved. Fine robes cover her clothes; they are similar to what the Martinet wears, but far less adorned. Which is not to say that she doesn’t shine at all—there is a small mantle of office draped across her shoulders, plain in comparison but still weighty, and gold glints in several places on her ears. Her face is handsome, though more stern than Jester would expect to see on someone so young, and unmarred save for a scar that cuts deep into her brow, dividing it into uneven parts.

She must feel Jester’s attention on her because suddenly blue eyes are fixed on her in turn and Jester can do nothing but stand still, stuck in place not because of this stupid terrifying audience with the King of the Empire, but by the powerful force of this stranger’s attention. She looks over Jester as though she can see into her, as though Jester were an open book and she a speed reader—and then her eyes skip up to meet Jester’s again, seemingly for no particular reason, and she smiles.

It’s not much. A flicker of a smile. A smudge of a smile. It isn’t kind, it isn’t sweet, but it is somehow very reassuring.

The smile is gone as quickly as it came and then they are answering a lot of very scary questions like How does the Bright Queen know about you? Why would she care about you? (and Jester does not like the tone of that question, like they’re stupid, or small, or worthless, and How did you know about the cult if you are not a part of it?

Jester’s attention drifts back to the girl. She’s taking notes in a quick hand, has been the whole time—but now her hand is still and poised above the page and she is looking at Yasha of all people with keen interest. What can she see? If she is the Martinet’s assistant, does that mean she’s magical? What does she know about Yasha, about all of them, just by looking?

‘I scried on them,’ Jester blurts. Feels the world spin around her. ‘Mister King? This is a very tall platform, um,’

‘You scried on them?’ the Martinet prompts, before the Kings darkening expression boils over into a storm.

‘Yes. We found a thingy—‘

‘A...thingy.’

Jester swallows hard. ‘A device. That was being used to open portals.’ She tries to remember what Allura and Caleb had told them. ‘They were planting them everywhere to open rifts to the Hells—‘

‘Abyss,’ Fjord coughs.

‘Abyss,’ Jester corrects, voice pitching higher as her heart rattled with nerves. ‘It’s like termites!’

‘Termites,’ the Martinet repeats.

Jester wonders if he has ever had to worry about anything like that, anything as ordinary and mundane and troublesome as termites.

‘Yah. They eat wood? They’re little and white and look a bit like ants,’

‘I know what termites are. I am not in need of a lesson on beetles at this time.’

‘Technically, technically, they’re insects,’

‘Maybe ixnay on the ugbay essonlay,’ Fjord hisses.

‘She’s right.’ The voice comes from behind the Martinet. He turns, brows raised, to the girl taking notes. Her voice is nice, Jester notes. Kinda brash and rough, but warm. She sounds like a real person, like the people they’ve spoken to all over the continent. Not like these polished martinets and kings.

‘Pardon?’

‘Termites. They’re insects, not beetles.’

The Martinet sighs. ‘Yes, very good, thank you Beauregard.’ He turns back to Jester. ‘So, to clarify, you found this device that opened portals to the Abyss in the manner of...a termite?’

Jester thinks about it for a moment. ‘No.’

‘There were many devices,’ Nott interjects. Realises—remembers—too late that she is a goblin. But the King and Martinet are watching her now, so she continues. ‘We found—three? Of them. And there were more we heard about but didn’t see.’

‘With each one that opens, they...undermine the integrity of the planes,’ Jester says, trying to repeat what Allura and Caleb had said.

Up there on the platform, Allura nods encouragingly.

The girl—Beauregard—looks with interest toward the Arcanist, and back at the Nein once more. There’s a thoughtful crease between her brows and she seems to be taking notes in earnest now, though no one is speaking.

‘You said you scried on these people. Would you be able to describe them, beyond the ones you slew?’

Jester licks her lips. Glances across to Fjord who shrugs helplessly. Cad looks like he’s still mid panic attack but she knows his thoughts on it—honestly. Caleb meets her eyes cautiously, careful not to stray sideways to the white haired jaundiced man upon the platform. He nods the smallest amount.

‘I can—we can name one of them. An empire agent who is part of the cult.’

‘Then do so,’ the King commands.

Jester nods to him a few times, fast, jewellery jangling it seems far too loud in her ears. She stills. Feels her attention dragged back to the Martinet and, behind him, the note-taker.

‘Vence Nutheylas.’

Things devolve quickly from there—accusations are thrown at the Nein, at Allura, hinted at the Martinet, Ikithon is a fucking creep, the King makes puppets of the Nein to solve the problem of this war for him. And as they are escorted down and out from the castle and into the light rain of the Shimmer Ward, they pass by a shaded corridor and Jester glimpses the tail of a red cloak. The Martinet, walking briskly down It and away, shadowed by his assistant. Jester can barely hear them, the words echoing down the corridor.

His deep voice is troubled. ‘—and Vence,’ he hisses, groans. ‘And I gave him an amulet. What a fool I am!’

The girl doesn’t disagree. ‘I warned you about him.’

‘I can’t dismiss someone so talented just because you say he’s slimy,’ the Martinet chides, exhausted. Clearly, they have had that discussion before. ‘And these...Mighty Nein? What do you make of them?’

The girl glances back over her shoulder before they turn the corner. Eyes lock once more with Jester’s, who now realises she has slowed to a stop, right in the middle of the corridor.

‘I don’t know,’ she says, thoughtful. Gentle. Not in a soft way, but delicate. Like a hand brushing dirt from a relic, interested in what lays beneath. ‘But I’ll be very interested to find out.’

//

Kamaruth Cottage is lovely. Warm and comfortable.

Something about it rubs Jester the wrong way. Maybe the way it aims for rustic but is far too pristine, too comfortable to really be rustic. Like it’s just pretending. A giant mimic, waiting to gobble them up.

She draws that idly in her notebook as they wait for dinner. A cottage, thatched eyebrows, a giant slobbering tongue as the red carpet leading to the front desk. A dozen window eyes staring.

Maybe it’s the way the theyre given seven rooms. Expected to split up. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Molly hasn’t let go of Yasha yet, doesn’t let go of her arm even when Fjord trades five hundred gold for a heavy tome he passes to her. They talk some, eat some. Nott drinks. Cad nearly falls asleep in his salad. Eventually, they make their way up to Caleb’s room to talk. To gauge their footing, and what he wants to do next.

For ten full minutes, Caleb passes over the room, taking time to examine it ceiling to floor for any manner of device or trap or something that should not be there. Behind him paces Caduceus, eyes gleaming with the familiar sheen of detect magic. They both turn up nothing.

Caleb sits and scratches at his arms and worries.

‘So,’ Fjord starts them off. ‘Big day, huh. I guess... Welcome back, Yasha.’ Fjord waves a hand toward her, or them, Molly still stuck to her side. Held tight in a hug.

‘Thank you. And... I’m sorry.’

‘I’ll take that apology,’ an unfamiliar voice says—harsh, and harshly amused—from behind them, from the window. Spinnjng, the Nein find that standing there, leaning back with her elbows braced against the sill, aggravatingly nonchalant, is the girl from the throne room. She looks a different without the robe. Smaller, thinner, and all in black and darker blues and greys, but it is unmistakably her.

In their room. Unheard. Unseen.

In the next second, Fjord has crossed the room, conjuring his blade and grasping the long hilt in both hands, pointed to her throat. Yasha has drawn the Judge. A burning of copper fills the room as Molly draws his blade across the skin of his forearm, scimitar lighting with white flame. Nott pulls her crossbow, the wire click, click, clicking as she wrenches it into the ready position.

Caleb just stares.

And Jester, she raises her hands, not sure exactly what she’s going to do when she’s exhausted like this. But if worst comes to worst, she has a hand axe.

‘Planning on killing the Martinet’s auxiliary, are we? Fun times in the Kamaruth Cottage. Didn’t know it was such a fun scene—’

Fjord presses his sword closer until it touches the skin of her throat. Still she just grins, unphased.

‘I don’t know what you think you overheard, but we have no plans on killing anyone,’

‘Maybe Trent,’ Molly hissés behind them all in Infernal.

‘Who doesn’t want to kill Trent?’ the girl answers in common. Ignoring Molly’s shock, she continues, very slowly, very patiently, very patronisingly, ‘The Martinet’s auxiliary is me. In case you didn’t know.’

‘Important position, is it? You’ll be missed, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Not really. To both. Just...letting you know because, and I’m gonna be honest—you seem well out of your fucking depth here.’

‘I don’t like this one,’ Molly decrees, opening in Common, since it seems she can understand his preferred language of disparagement. ‘Not one bit.’

‘I’m heartbroken,’ the girl sneers.

‘What you are is the one at sword point—and I know wizards. We’ve had time to rest now—we could take you.’ Jester winces at Fjord’s tone. Protective, he has gone harsh, gone with a face of stone to cover his shock, to cover their slip in letting her join them unnoticed.

‘This must be real hard for you but I’m gonna need you to use your head. For think-ing.’ She breaks the word apart like it might be too big for him, unfamiliar. ‘Even if you did beat me,’ she says, words drenched in disbelief, ‘there’s a whole city to get out of after that, all riled up after that attack. Whether I’m well-liked or not,’

‘Not.’

‘Missed or not,’ she amends with a shrug, ‘there’d be some real powerful people after your head if you killed me. So. Be smart about this and put. The sword. Away.’

For maybe the first time in his life, Fjord snarls, baring tooth and tusk.

She grins. ‘Is that a no?’

‘It’s a give me one good reason why we should trust you.’

It’s just a gut feeling but Jester doesn’t think that she will.

She watches as the girl tilts her head back almost lazily, before bringing it forward to crack into Fjord’s nose, his forehead. Fjord gets out a stuttering choke and as he stands there stunned, she ducks the sword and slips behind him, punches up the ladder of his spine. Fjord wheezes, breath punched out of him, and staggers around to face her.

By this point, Nott is screaming bloody murder, Caleb’s hand is wreathed in flame, Yasha has the Judge raised in both hands, Molly has both swords lit up, and the girl, Beauregard, is just standing there with her arm around a stunned Fjord and grinning.

‘As much as I’d honestly be stoked to go toe to toe with all of you—‘specially you, sweetheart,’ she says, throwing a wink and a kiss to Jester. Her eyes slide over to Yasha and her smile, somewhat salacious, turns harsh. ‘And you, Orphanmaker,’

Her eyes go black with blood as Molly barks something in guttural Infernal. Unlike so many that they’ve fought, she doesn’t panic. She settles back into a defensive posture, letting Fjord step away and out of reach; head cocked to listen to them, she waits out the sudden blindness, blinks the film of blood away.

Her eyes find Molly. Looks at the bleeding scars, the glowing blades, his harsh, panting breath. The way he stands in front of Yasha.

‘Now that is very interesting,’

‘Forgive us,’ Caleb says, finally says, his hand still wreathed in flames, blue eyes fixed on their guest, ‘but perhaps you will stop cataloguing us for just a moment, bitte, and tell us who you are. Because I do not think for one moment that you are the Martinet’s auxiliary.’

‘What do you think I am?’

‘A monk,’ Caleb says flatly.

‘I see I’ve found the brains of the operation. Bren, was it?’

‘It’s Caleb,’ Nott shrieks. She’s been holding her crossbow the entire time and now swings it up to let loose. A bolt pings from her crossbow, and the monk catches it, hisses when the tip scratches her arm. She looks from it to Nott. Waggles the bolt at her with a scowl.

‘Next time, I throw it back,’ she warns. Tucks It into the soft sash of her belt. ‘I’m keeping this.’

‘It’s Caleb,’ Nott says again.

She glances up from Nott to the man she is protecting—no other way to describe the way she stands in front of him, small body straining to cover as much of him as possible—and she nods.

‘Okay. Caleb, then. Good to know, I’ll make a note of that.’

‘I’m certain that you will,’ Caleb says with a hint of laughter to his tone. Resigned laughter, tired, but laughter none the less. ‘You know our names—you probably know far more than that, if I am to understand what it is the Cobalt Soul does.’

Beauregard nods, shrugs.

They stand in silence for a short while. Until she looks about, brows raised like, And? What?

‘He’s asking what your fucking name is,’ Fjord grits out from his place next to Caduceus.

‘You’re not still mad, are you?’

‘I think you broke my nose.’

‘I definitely did,’

‘Beauregard,’ Jesterer blurts. ‘That’s what the Martinet called you.’

Beauregard looks surprised, then pleased, then annoyed. ‘Yeah, he does. But you lot shouldn’t. It’s just Beau.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Beauregard is a stupid fucking name and if you use it, I’ll punch your face in.’

‘...Got a last name?’

‘Do you?’ Fjord looks away first.

‘Why does the Martinet call you that if you hate it so much?’

Beau smiles. It’s a bit macabre with the stream of dried blood like a tear track down her cheeks. ‘Poor Ludinus. He really hasn’t much luck in the assistant department. His annex is a fucking cultist, and his auxiliary is a spy. Once again—because you seem a bit slow—I am the auxiliary.’

‘You’re a spy.’

‘Hey, not so slow after all. Good job. I’ll find you a sticker or something, a little pin that says well done.’

‘Fuck. Off.’

‘I do not understand,’

‘Pretty simple, Caleb my man, I’m the auxiliary and I’m a spy-‘

‘Ja, that I understand. What I don’t understand is why you are telling us this.’

Beau’s eyes slide across to Yasha again. ‘Let’s just day that I’m not the only one who noticed you’re out of your depth. Some people really dig that kind of thing. Vulnerability. Innocence. Guilt. Whatever they can manipulate.’ Caleb’s cheek twitches. ‘I’d like to say the Archives is above all that shit.’ She doesn’t elaborate. Just says, ‘The High Curstor pulled my from Ludinus watch, re-assigned me to you lot. I’m supposed to help you with this whole relic thing.’

‘And why would we agree to that?’

‘Couple reasons. One, you’re out of your depth,’

‘Yes, we got that one,’ Fjord grumbles

‘Two, I have access to the entirety of the Soul’s archive of research. Three, I’m a monk, I’m badass, I have like a billion abs.’

‘How is that a bargaining chip?’

‘How is it not?’ She hikes her shirt up to show them off.

Jester blinks. Comes around from behind the bed to examine them up close. And maybe to add an extra level of defense between Beau and Yasha.

‘Whoa,’

‘No! No whoa, Jester,’

‘I mean, you have to admit, Fjord, that’s really impressive. You should be very proud,’ Jester tells her, nodding.

‘Thank you, thank you, I am.’

‘There is no doubt in my mind you would be a helpful ally,’ Caleb says. ‘I only have a question as to what you, or your Archive, gets out of this arrangement. Forgive me, but I have not known people here to do things out of the kindness of their heart.’

Beau lets her shirt and her smile drop. ‘You’re not wrong. The Soul gets two things outta this—one, we love to fuck with the Assembly. The more dirt we can get on them, the better we feel—and everything I’ve heard about this relic and Ikithon—‘ There’s no way she misses Caleb’s flinch. ‘—smacks of some real fucked up shit. The Soul is all about weeding that out, putting a stop to corruption and all that.’

‘What a fine job it has done so far,’ Caleb murmurs, barely more than a whisper.

‘You said you get two things. What is the second?’ That, of all people, is Yasha.

Beau meets her multi-coloured eyes squarely. ‘The Cobalt Soul gets you.’

#cr tag #tagging my stories #prompt fill

[araminia16]

Wait. A demon what now? (Chapter 1-intro)

It started out as a normal morning. Or at least Diane thought so. Since the demon king had been well and truly defeated and all threats to the world taken care of the former Seven Deadly Sins still remained close to one another after so many battles and knowing each other for so long. Of course Diane had to go back to Megazoser often and King back to the Fairy King’s forest just as much they still came together to the Boar Hat as often as they could since Melidoas had rooms for them now. She woke next to Harlequin as usual draped in the soft silk of his wings wrapped around them both and pressed as close as they could get with their night clothes on. She awoke first like usual and managed to wiggle out from his embrace without waking as she pulled on clothes for the day and came down to the tavern where Ban, up early, currently fixed breakfast with Elaine close by as a helper of sorts. Diane knew the two of them would be on their way as soon as they had planned their route through the continent. He promised her they would travel together and they would soon enough.

Diane greeted her still new sister with a hug. She and King weren’t married as such but they were bound together in non human ways as much as human ones. “Good morning. Is it going to be today?”

“No. Not yet.” There was a map pinned to the wall of the cooking area off to the side. It had a few marks and notes upon it and several lines crossed out. “He’s still trying to make it perfect.”

“Damn right.” Ban chuckled out as he flipped a pancake from the pan to the plate atop more warm fluffy cakes. “King still asleep? Big surprise there.”

“He’s been busy.” Dianne defended him. “I’m sure he’ll come down once he smells the food.” She turned away and leaned on the bar with her elbows to find Merlin in the corner. She looked preoccupied though honestly Diane was surprised she wasn't up in her lab doing something weird. The dark clad woman seemed drummed nails on the wooden table in a no sense of rhythm and her foot joined in every so often. Though she seemed to at least pretend to listen to Escanor who Meliodas had put in charge of the liquor deliveries as he talked mostly to himself while he wrote on a piece of parchment.

Breakfast did in fact bring down Gowther, Meliodas and Harlequin who all took up seats with a bit of unusual sluggishness. Diane flashed a bright smile and wink to King and with pink cheeks he returned the grin but did not join her at the bar. Every time she looked at him still her heart did this sort of skip and flutter and sometimes she could even feel it in her belly.

Breakfast was a mouthwatering masterpiece as usual and she remained at the bar and chatted with Elaine though in essence it was small talk. The only one absent remained Elizabeth, “Hey. Where’s Elizabeth at?”

“Sleeping in. She had a long night.” A wink of a bright green eye left little to the imagination as to why but both Diane and Eliane rolled their eyes at him.

Diane ate her breakfast and shifted in her chair as a strange heaviness settled in her belly though not where she would have assumed with a filling breakfast. She rubbed thighs together and the heaviness altered some into what could only be described as a thick, viscous feeling in the way of warm honey settled deep in her lower belly. It was pleasant and made her feel strangely drowsy and energetic.

Warmth floated just under her skin as if from nowhere but she could feel the way her heart started to beat a little faster. She shifted in her chair unfocused on anything but the way her skin tingled and continued to warm. Lips parted and her warm breath puffed into the air.

Muffled voices brought her back to the present, “--wrong?”

Diane focused her gaze forward and found amber eyes filled with confusion, “Sister?”

“Yeah? I’m fine.” Blood collected in her cheeks as the warmth continued but now condensed then settled into all the places it felt best and the feeling in her lower belly intensifiedl. Aroused. She was aroused for no reason and that should embarrass her but all she could think about was the way Harlequin fit perfectly between her thighs.

“Diane? You’re starting to smell a little strange.” Meliodas called out from nearby and she stiffened but the liquid feeling coalesced into a slight dampness between her closed thighs.

“Strange?”

“I think she’s sick.” Eliane offered up and Diane could feel him move. Harlequin. Hands trembled atop the wooden bar when she clenched them to keep her grounded. Her breasts heavy and tingled with added sensation in phantom of the way his hands felt along the supple flesh while nipples brushed against soft cotton when she shifted with a barely held whimper.

“Don’t come over here. I’m fine.” Her voice came from dry throat in too high of a pitch.

“Diane?”

“Stay there, please.” Tongue peeked out to wet her lips and she managed to see her mug in front of her and grabbed the wooden handle. She could feel each grain of sand brush her palm and a shivered rolled down her spine until it settled between her thighs. The warmth of her cheeks burned from the ridiculousness of what happened to her.

Merlin appeared next to her and out of her periphery she spotted the purple garb as the woman wrapped a hand onto her chin and turned flushed face to her. Amber eyes scrutinized her in blurry detail, “Shit.”

“What? Is she okay?”

“Stay right there, King.” Merlin released her chin gently when all Diane could think about was the way she could slake the empty need inside her. “You know, Captain. It would have been nice to have let us know about your impending Rut.”

“Huh?” Meliodas answered, “My Rut? I haven’t had one before.”

“Not once? You are a fully grown high level demon. How can you not have?” Merlin looked over to him with incredulity.

“In case you forgot I’ve been sort of suspended in time for about 3,000 years and before that I was barely an adult. Though that does explain some things now that I think about it.”

“Seriously? A Demon Rut from someone as powerful as you is dangerous.”

“Wait… A Demon what now?”

Diane looked to the new noise and found Ban with a protective arm around Elaine’s shoulders while she floated at eye level to him with a worried look to Diane.

“A Demon Rut. It’s like mating season. Sort of. Males have a Rut and females have Heats though it’s only the high level demons. It encourages little us to make little demons. They usually compliment one another and it makes the females more...receptive to advances though it affects males differently sometimes from what I’ve been told about it.”

“So basically it makes you want to have sex? What’s so bad about that?”

Diane’s chest rose and fell faster now and she felt the heat and wetness continue to build and leak from her as she tightened and loosened fingers on the bar. She needed. She needed her Harlequin to touch her. Now.

“Either sex or destruction. But I guess what Merlin’s talking about is that it can affect those around a demon. Trigger more Heats and Ruts depending on the power level but this can’t be that. Diane’s a giant, not a demon.” His tone seemed oddly like a lecture.

“Actually that isn’t the case. A Rut sends out powerful pheromones in a radius around the demon. It usually makes females more receptive to being bred and since Diane and the rest of you have been around the Captain and his demonic power for so long it could increase your susceptibility to this force.” Gowther offered. “Most of the time demons are only surrounded by other demons. There has never been any information on the effects on other species.”

“Ours? What about you?”

“I’m technically a doll so I’m the least likely to be affected. I have no sex drive as such.”

“So it’s not dangerous?” Harlequin asked and Diane’s core spasmed and more liquid seeped from the throb of her core at the sound of his voice but this time she couldn’t stop the whine as it bubbled past her lips.

“No. But the urge to copulate will become unbearable and will begin to affect the rest of you as well. I would advise you to get as far away from Meliodas as possible until this ends.” Merlin spoke again with a single eye on Diane.

“How long will that take?”

“A few days I think. Not that long but honestly I feel fine. Maybe she ate something weird.” Meliodas again. Why were they still talking?

“I should take her back to the room though because Diane would be embarrassed if she knew how she acted when this goes away.”

“Don’t touch her but you can try to lead her out and far enough away the urges should fade.”

“So...basically what you are saying is that for three days we will have the urge to fuck our brains out?” Ban’s lack of tact only affected the two fairies as they blushed, “I see no downside here.”

“Hey.” King hissed out.

“So I should leave before things become worse, Lady Merlin?” Escanor asked from his seat as he hadn’t seen any reason to move.

“As soon as possible.”

“I still think you guys are wrong. I feel---.”Meliodas trailed off and the ones who had eyes on him watched as his demon mark erupted atop his eye and spring green warped to black in an instant.

“Meliodas. Why didn’t you wake--eep.” As soon as Elizabeth’s foot cleared the last step her back pressed flat to the wall as Meliodas crowded her space with a deep growl as it rumbled through his chest flat to hers. Palms flat to the wood on either side of her as he locked intense gaze upon sleep filled blue eyes.

“Elizabeth.” Her name drawn out in the rumbled tone of his demon form instantly brought a flush to the skin of her breasts. “Good morning.”

“You don’t usually greet me like this, Meliodas.” She breathed out though the flush along her chest traveled up slim neck and down soft belly to settle in her core with surprising ease and further still as something sort of pulsed through her body to settle below.

“You smell so delicious.”

Elizabeth looked up from black eyes to the rest of them and found Diane with face nearly flat to the table and the rest of her friends around the giantess but for the moment all eyes were on the two of them, “Meliodas. This is hardly the time. Our friends don’t need to see you and I this way.”

“Big sister. It’s no use trying to talk sense into him. He’s started his Rut.” Merlin spoke softly now.

“Rut?” Elizabeth asked before the memory came to her. Melidoas had mentioned them during her first life as something she had to watch for.  “Oh.”

From the display another wave of sensation pulsed into Diane and she shuddered, “King.”

“I’m here.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. The heat flared again and her vision blurred and doubled and should couldn’t stop herself as she turned and lunged at Harlequin with hunger.

“Damnit. Hurry, Escanor.” He scrambled up and pulled his papers and quill to race to her side, “You still have time. I’ll warn everyone to stay away from here.”

“We’ll be fine.” Ban called, “See you on the other side.” He grinned and waved as Merlin noticed Elaine’s cheeks began to redden more deeply than mere embarrassment while Ban wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“They have no idea what they are getting into.” Merlin huffed out before she and Escanor winked out from the Tavern to Liones.

XxOxX

So I need some guidance as to how to do the click more link thing. So of anyone has ideas then let me know please. :) also kiane smutty smut is next. I just needed a set up chapter. So look for it next week if work does not sap my will to live while I balance this with book 2 and write on my tablet since my computer is still dead. Sad face.

Hope you guys have an awesome week. Smutty smut smut ahoy.

#seven deadly sins #sds #nanatsu no taizai #sex pollen #introduction #chapter #not quite smut #yet #chapter 2 hopefully by the weekend #kiane up next #a/b/o dynamics #heats and ruts

[digitaldiscipline]

Dan Simmons showed his ass, so I handed it to him.

[Review] Carrion Comfort

(Originally posted 27 Feb 13)

I'm going to say this right up front: Stephen King doesn't know shit about what makes a horror story great. His cover blurb, proclaiming Dan Simmons' sophomore effort, Carrion Comfort, "One of the three greatest horror novels of the 20th century," is frankly and flatly ignorant, in addition to being laughably inaccurate. This wouldn't even be a top-three book in King's own body of work, and nobody's going to mistake the guy for a grandmaster of anything but pulp (and I say this as someone who owns about five linear feet worth of King's books in hardcover and trade paperback; I read just about everything he wrote up through the turn of the century; I may be performing a hatchet job, but it's an informed hatchet job). Guillermo del Toro penned a similarly effusive and purple blurb, presumably in exchange for the other six shots of absinthe he'd been bribed with to write it. Even the meta for this novel, released as a 20th anniversary special, where Simmons details the novel's journey to publication, is a steaming pile of overwrought hubris. It weighs in at thirty-two pages, most of which is Simmons' assertion that he's smarter than the publishing industry and, specifically, an editor he takes pains not to name, but describes unflatteringly (both physically and intellectually) who, eventually, I came to sympathize with... her eventual assertion that he scrap everything but the title was an opinion I shared about five hundred or so pages in, too. So, to the text itself. There are, to its credit, very few typographical errors[1], though it's obvious Mr. Simmons (and whomever may or may not have edited this thing) doesn't know the first fucking thing about physics, firearms, sharks, or vampires. He's watched too many episodes of Starsky and Hutch to be able to write a decent action scene (frenetic, disjointed, implausible... it's almost painfully obvious that he wrote this book to end up as a movie, even including a Hollywood producer and a couple sexy starlets who serve almost no purpose but to be sexual objects). Leaving aside the story's specific shortcomings, there's the small matter of craft, which can be most easily and kindly be summarized by saying that the author bit off way, way more than he could chew. This book wants to be a psychological monster horror story wrapped around some plucky discrimination victims interwoven with a political potboiler. It manages this trick with all the grace and elegance of a truck full of cheap beer going over a guardrail and rolling down an embankment made of lawn jockeys, rejected Tom Clancy novels, and Bram Stoker's spinning corpse. The villains are supposed to be psychic vampires, and, early on, it's suggested that they draw power, sustenance, and longevity from using their power to compel people in their thrall to commit acts against their will, specifically murder and/or suicide. Unfortunately, the only one who appears to have resisted the ravages of time particularly well takes a mid-caliber bullet to the forehead before the end of the first act, and the author actively ignores the fact that one of the chief antagonists becomes exponentially more powerful, causing a substantial amount of sustenance-providing chaos, while remaining little more than a breathing corpse. Maybe this was Simmons' way of suggesting they don't draw power from exerting power.... or maybe it's just sloppy writing. But if this is the mechanism upon which the entire horror premise is built on, maybe you ought to think it through a little more comprehensively and pay attention to the rules of the world you build. (To this end, I'm currently giving the author of the book I'm editing a ration of shit over the logistics of her characters' commute and how a made-up drug might work with a made-up physiological condition, because they're introduced and need explaining to keep secondary things from unraveling.) When it's something as large and prominent as the mechanism by which your vampires vampire, you might want to not fuck that up or ignore it altogether. Likewise, there are broad hints that the bad guys are a shadowy, world-controlling behind-the-scenes force, ensconced in the halls of quiet power (because that's never been a cliche).... but without ever actually doing much more than pulling some strings to fatally harass friends and family of the protagonists, and the protags themselves. Illustrative of petty tyrants, or just a cheap swipe at Washington, carried out by someone who thinks that J. Edgar Hoover was actually the most powerful man in the world during his formative years? The topic of race, in a couple of dimensions, is slathered on this book so heavily that you'd think Al Jolson used it to wipe his face after a show. We have the young black woman whose father is killed teaming up with the Holocaust survivor, teaming up against a bunch of white people; all but two of which are old white guys in suits (one of whom is a former Nazi officer; another is a closeted televangelist); the other two are a young white guy who is a blatant sexual predator and an old white woman who is an overt, old-school Southern racist. Racial tensions were high in the late 70's, and there were plenty of cold war fears to go around, but, really, having the FBI used as puppets to go shooting up the Philadelphia slums, while not a finger is lifted by local police, and the Mossad being white-kinghted to aid the protagonists is laying it on a bit thick. What passes for moral ambiguity is almost immediately undermined by sermonizing on both sides, good and bad. Simmons admits in the foreword to more or less ripping off the collective gestalt of the child-monster horror trope that was big in theaters during the late 1970's. I'd love to say this is a complex and heady blend of body-snatcher paranoia with notes of victimization (two of the three main protagonists are preyed on ("Used" in the book's parlance) by the bad guys at various times, and the author isn't at all shy about calling it "mindrape" early and often, but that's a lot more credit than is due. This book has pretentions of moral philosophy, but it's flat and preachy and, frankly, Neal Stephenson does "here are several paragraphs of completely irrelevant and sanctimonious shit I think is interesting and am going to force you to read now" better. There's also the matter of what is simply bad writing. We have a scene where we're told, "Natalie awoke to the sound of an explosion."  She spends one sentence disoriented and getting dressed, and two sentences looking for the other people she was sharing accommodations with. She then steps outside to admire how nice and blue the sky and how pleasant the weather is "Natalie went downstairs and out the front door, marveling at the blue sky and warm air" (page 487 in the TPB edition). Then she spends a sentence checking out the landscaping. Then she walks around the yard to see where the noise is coming from. JESUS CHRIST IT'S AN EXPLOSION LET'S CHECK OUT THE SCENERY.  This kind of inept action is endemic, even without Checkhov's gun masquerading as a bandolier of C-4. In the book's favor, it kills off a love interest early and unapologetically, it doesn't flinch about depicting some touchy shit (even ineptly, at least Simmons is trying to make some social commentary), and is blissfully ignorant of the Bechdel test, which it skirts fairly thoroughly (since the aforementioned baddie is a mean old broad, she talks to both of the other main female characters, though they do spend most of this time discussing their plans, which generally revolve around doing harm to various men). [1] As anyone who lived at the time knows, the personable gentleman who hosted Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom was named Marlin Perkins, not Martin. At the time, fucking this guy's name up would be the contemporary equivalent of saying "Darryl O'Reilly" or "Bob Stewart"; the man was the host of one of the most popular shows on television, and there were a lot fewer fucking channels back then. Very little of the foregoing has probably gone unsaid by the folks at Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11286.Carrion_Comfort ; however, I'm not going to plow through all of those before hitting "post" and putting this thing behind me. I may, in fact, perform the act of near-sacrilege and tear out the page upon which the person who gave it to me penned an inscription before remaindering the book to my favorite used book store so that someone else can subject themselves to it. One half of a reheated Clancy/King slashfic out of five.  

[helenarlett-rex]

Want to use an eldritch horror in your D&D game? Why not Shub-Niggurath?

Let’s face it. Lovecraftian horror exists in D&D. You got someone playing a warlock? One of the pacts they can make at first level is to the Great Old Ones... If you didn’t realize it, that means Lovecraft monsters... And when people think Lovecraft monsters, they tend to think Cthulhu. But why would you want to use Cthulhu? That’s kind of boring and overdone. There are a lot of other creatures you could use in your game that are way more freaky and interesting. And if you are using Lovecraftian stuff in your game, then you want freaky. That’s the whole point. So... what to use? Have you considered Shub-Niggurath?

Just as a quick reminder, Shub-Niggurath, like pretty much every other eldritch horror, does not have official stats in 5th edition D&D, which is what I am gearing this towards. So instead we are going to have to homebrew. But that’s not a problem. I’m about to collect all the info you need right here.

Shub-Niggurath, affectionately known as The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, is sometimes described as an Outer God and sometimes described as a Great Old One, depending on the source. So honestly you could use it as either. And frankly, does it really make any difference? Either way it’s going to fuck your day up...

Although actually, calling Shub-Niggurath an Outer God isn’t quite correct. She’s would actually be an Outer Goddess. You know... Considering she’s a woman and all... Couldn’t you tell?

Shub-Niggurath is a perverse fertility deity, said to appear as an "evil cloud-like entity". An enormous mass which extrudes black tentacles, slime-dripping mouths, and short, writhing goat legs. So picture this massive cloud, but instead of being made of whatever clouds are actually made of... it’s made of slimy tentacles and mouths. It’s probably the size of a mountain... and it’s walking towards you on little goat legs...

You may be thinking, okay... It WAS scary... until you got to the goat legs... Now it’s just kind of comical... But wait, there’s more! As this thing goes about her business, smaller creatures are continually spat forth out of her. These creatures are essentially just smaller versions of Shub-Niggurath herself. Known as The Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath.

And when I say smaller... I mean they are about the size of trees... perhaps between twelve and twenty feet tall.

So these nasty bastards are just constantly being spit out of her and have to scurry out of the way as soon as they hit the ground. And the ones that don’t get out of the way in time are consumed back into Shub-Niggurath’s miasmatic form. So before you laugh at this giant beast walking around on little goat legs, just remember that she is constantly giving birth and then eating her own young.

Shub-Niggurath also gets around a bit. In the world of eldritch horrors, she’s one hot piece of ass. There’s more than one nightmarish monstrosity with eyes for her so she’s got two husbands. The Not-to-be-Named One, otherwise known as Hastur, because fuck it, we’re going to name him anyways... You know Hastur, right? The King in Yellow...? He’s kind of a big deal... And Yog-Sothoth, who is also a pretty big deal. And with these two, Shub-Niggurath has had many, many children. Through mating with Hastur, because yes, they had nasty monster sex, she has birthed Ithaqua, Zhar, J'Zahar, and the "Thousand Young", otherwise known as The Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath I mentioned above... That must have been some sex if she’s still popping those little things out even now... And Yog-Sothoth is the father of the twins, Nug and Yeb. (Some speculated that Hastur may be their father instead of Yog-Sothoth, but that makes no sense when you look at the family tree. But who am I to say what does and doesn’t make sense when you are dealing with creatures that will drive you insane if you even look at them?)

But enough about Shub-Niggurath’s sex life. She’s the hot polyamorous MILF of the eldritch world. We get it... You know what else she has going for her? Cults.

Of all the eldritch deities, Shub-Niggurath is probably the most extensively worshiped. But can you blame her? Who wouldn’t want to worship that hot little number? Her worshipers include the Hyperboreans, the Muvians, T'yog of K'naa, and the people of Sarnath (although that didn’t go so well for Sarnath) as well as any number of druidic and barbaric cults. And if that’s not enough she’s also worshiped by non-human species on other planets such as the "Fungi from Yuggoth", otherwise known as the Mi-Go, and the Nug-Soth of Yaddith. So if you ever need a cult worshiping an eldritch deity in your game and you aren’t sure what eldritch deity to use, just remember, pretty much everyone worships Shub-Niggurath. You can go to other planets and still find people worshiping Shub-Niggurath...

And do you know what’s cool about worshiping Shub-Niggurath? With the proper occult paraphernalia, Shub-Niggurath can be summoned to any woodlands at the time of the new moon. Summoning other gods is a bunch of complicated bullshit that may not even work because they are fucking gods and can just decide, nah... I’m not interested in showing up for you... But Shub-Niggurath is a people pleaser. All you need are the right components, say a little chant, give a little blood offering... And just like that you’ve got an actual goddess in front of you.

Although I should note that the place from whence she comes is not known. One possibility is that she dwells at the court of Azathoth at the center of the universe. She may also live beneath the planet Yaddith, where she is served by the Dholes. Those are huge, slimy worm creatures that are at least several hundred feet long... It is also possible that she lives in another dimension altogether. So even though she’s a reliable goddess who will actually pop in when you call her, she probably has quite a long ways to travel to get to you, so I wouldn’t go summoning her needlessly. Anyone would be grumpy after making a commute like that...

The Dark Young can also be summoned. They are usually called upon to preside over cult ceremonies. One means for summoning them requires a blood offering. The ritual may only be performed in the deep of the woodlands at the darkest of the moon, and the victim must be sacrificed over a stone altar. Dark young act as proxies for Shub-Niggurath in the accepting of sacrifices, the worship of cultists, in the devouring of non-cultists, and in the spreading of their mother's faith across the world. So unless it’s something big and you just have to have Shub-Niggurath herself, I would probably recommend summoning one of these things instead.

And that’s all well and great for your cultists... but what about a Warlock PC? What’s he going to get out of taking Shub-Niggurath as his patron? Well this is where things start to get a little freakier... and a little kinkier... But what did you expect? Shub-Niggurath is a kinky girl.

For starters, let’s talk about the Milk of Shub Niggurath. That’s right... I said milk... Remember, I did say that Shub Niggurath was a fertility goddess. Her milk has properties that mutate those who drink it into a monstrous hybrid creature. And you may be thinking, hold on... Why would I want to be turned into a tentacle monster? Well there’s a plus side to it too... The tentacle thing is just a side effect. But her purple milk (yeah, it’s purple) cures the drinker of all non-magical diseases and physical damage and status effects. The drinker also gains a +4 bonus to Strength and Constitution for 1d4 weeks.

So think of it a sort of a cure all. Get all you hit points back, fix up any scrapes you may have taken, wipe out any (non-magical) diseases you may have picked up, and removes status effects while granting you a +4 to Strength and Constitution? You show me one potion that can do all of that... That’s a pretty fantastic potion. And all you have to do to get it is summon a gigantic mass of tentacles, who happens to be your goddess, and ask her to let you milk her... No big deal, right?

I mean, aside from the mental image you are trying to burn out of your mind now, it shouldn’t be that bad. This is Shub-Niggurath we’re talking about. She’d probably be into it.

And yes... there is a down side to it... Unless the drinker succeeds at a DC 20 Constitution saving throw, it transforms into an insane outer mutant at the end of that 1d4 weeks. A second dose of this milk accelerates the process, causing the drinker’s mutations to become more prominent and stranger and doubling the speed of the transformation. By the third drink, the drinker goes insane, and becomes a monster on the following round. But it’s not all bad. The milk is a curse and a poison, so anything that will cure poison or remove a curse will end its effects before the transformation is complete. Just not more of the Milk... I know I said the milk cures status effects but the DM shouldn’t allow it to cure status effects caused by the milk itself. That’s like trying to cure poison by drinking more poison.

After complete transformation, only a wish can undo the effect.

As for what an Outer Mutant looks like if the player doesn’t cure himself, there are any number of things you could come up with, but a good suggestion is to just borrow the Aboleth disease from the Aboleth‘s tentacle attack in the monster manual, minus the cure since we already established that only a wish can cure it... and maybe throw on a few tentacles or something. Or since this is The Black Goat of the Woods we are talking about, you could always modify the Aboleth disease and say instead of having to be in water, the player has to be in the forest or something like that.

Just whatever you do, make sure becoming an Outer Mutant is a big enough inconvenience for the player that they won’t want to willingly become one.

But if Shub-Niggurath’s milk isn’t disturbing enough, (and let’s face it, if you are using a Lovecraftian horror in your game, you WANT the people at the table to be disturbed) let’s talk about the Gof'nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath.

"Gof'nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath" is the name given to the favored, once-human worshipers of Shub-Niggurath. When the deity deems a worshiper to be most worthy, a special ceremony is held in which the Black Goat of the Woods swallows the initiate through her womb and then rebirths the cultist as a transformed satyr-like being. A changed worshiper is also endowed with immortal life.

That’s right... I just brought unbirthing to the table. Now you are making everyone uncomfortable. Except that one guy who happens to have an unbirthing fetish... But everyone else is feeling really uncomfortable. And that one guy is probably pretending to be uncomfortable so no one realizes he’s into unbirthing... (It’s cool dude. I feel ya.)

But other than making everyone at the table squirm in their seats at the thought of someone getting shoved up Shub-Niggurath’s hoo-hah and deposited inside her womb to become her child, look at the befits a warlock would gain from such a thing.

First change the character’s race to Satyr. Do not recalculate its stats, but give the character the Satyr’s Magic Resistance as well as its Ram attack and Panpipe ability. Also the character is now immortal. As a DM the way I would run this is, the character can still die if he drops to 0 hit points, but I wouldn’t allow for permadeath outside of being eaten by another eldritch horror, like Shub-Niggurath herself... or by a tarrasque... Because those things stomachs can destroy anything... But if the character does drop to 0 hit points and dies I would have him auto resurrect the following day.

And finally, the character is now one of Shub-Niggurath’s favorites so I would give the character one at-will use of Divine Intervention per week. Maybe as many as two or three uses per week at higher levels. But that would be up to each individual DM.

All in all that’s a pretty good trade off in exchange for the unpleasantness of being shoved up Shub-Niggurath’s lady parts and having to call her Mommy... and the strong chance of being killed instantly after...

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that? Remember what I said before? Shub-Niggurath eats her own young. Anything that doesn’t get away in time after being born just gets eaten back up. That’s going to include a gof'nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath. If a character decides to become one, he’s only her favorite providing he can get away in time... So I’d make the player make a very high Dex save to get out of the way as soon as he is reborn or be eaten by Shub-Niggurath and permakilled.

Being an immortal satyr with free at-will uses of Divine Intervention would make a character kind of OP, so make the risk involved pretty high. Don’t just give it to your players. Make them complete some kind of task for Shub-Niggurath to even be considered worthy of becoming a gof'nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath. And not a simple task either... And then once Shub-Niggurath has finally agreed to go through with it, hit them with that insane Dex save right there at the end. Maybe a DC 25 Dex save or something like that... Make sure it’s something that the character can actually roll, but has a slim chance of getting. This is one of those things where you either become very OP or die trying. There is no in between. And if it proves to be too hard and your player’s character dies... oh well... This is what happens when you deal with Great Old Ones...

But enough about what a warlock can do with Shub-Niggurath. Let’s get back to what the DM can do with her. One thing the DM should keep in mind is that Shub-Niggurath has many avatars. I mean, she doesn’t become the most worshiped Outer Goddess/Great Old One in the universe by using only one face... So the DM should remember that he can have her appear any number of ways.

We already walked about her true form, but you could also use The Black Goat. The avatar of the goat is the figurehead through which Shub-Niggurath is worshiped. The most common depiction of the Black Goat is as a male. That’s right. We’re talking about the devil here.

Who knew that Satan was just an avatar for Shub-Niggurath...?

But she doesn’t have to appear as male. She’s Shub-Niggurath. She can appear however she wants. So the Black Goat can just as easily be female too. Whatever works best for the situation because this earthly form of Shub-Niggurath is an incarnation she assumes to copulate with her worshipers.

Because, oh yeah... that’s a thing too... That little eldritch slut is totally down for banging her worshipers. Which may explain why she has so many... Who else can say, oh yeah... my god is also my lover? Well... I guess some of the worshipers of Zeus... But we aren’t talking about him.

Oh but speaking of the Greek Pantheon, that brings us to another avatar of Shub-Niggurath. Did you know she’s also in the Greek Pantheon in your player’s handbook? I’ll bet you didn’t... That’s because she’s a deceitful little bitch who has had you fooled. Turns out, another avatar of Shub-Niggurath is none other than... Pan!

Yeah, turns out all those people worshiping pan have actually been deceived into worshiping Shub-Niggurath all along. But what did you honestly expect from a woman who also happens to be Satan in one of her other forms?

But wait, you may be saying... If Pan is in the Greek Pantheon in the player’s handbook, and Pan is just an avatar of Shub-Niggurath, does that mean that we now know Shub-Niggurath’s alignment by looking at Pan’s alignment? Is Shub-Niggurath Chaotic Neutral?

I’d say yes. Shub-Niggurath is neither evil nor good. She simply is. Questions surrounding the morality of her actions can not be answered because they are not comprehendable by human minds. Just like the eldritch horrors themselves. To try to understand them is to know madness. So Chaotic Neutral is actually the perfect alignment for her. But that’s really going to be up to the DM to decide how they want to play her. Remember, I’m just collecting all the info from as many different sources as I can find and compiling it here in one place so you can homebrew her. I’ll be sharing the homebrew I use in connection with this info here at the end, but that doesn’t mean anything I say should be set in stone. Feel free to use this info to tweak your own Shub-Niggurath however you would like.

But moving on, there’s one more avatar of Shub-Niggurath I’ve been able to find. The Magna Mater, or the Great Mother, is a goddess worshiped since before Roman times. I unfortunately don’t know much about this particular avatar of Shub-Niggurath other than that she was mentioned in Lovecraft’s “Rats in the Walls” and “The Horror at Red Hook”. But that is another avatar of Shub-Niggurath.

There’s one more bit of info about our girl Shub that the DM may want to have just in case it ever comes up so let’s talk about that before I get to the fun part. The family tree. Because these eldritch horrors have a family tree almost as bad as the Greek gods.

Shub-Niggurath was born from The Unnamed Darkness, who is one of the three children of Azathoth, the very first god. So Azathoth, the big boy himself, is Shub-Niggurath’s grandfather. This also makes The Nameless Mist and the great Nyarlathotep Shub-Niggurath’s uncles. Or aunts? It’s hard to tell the gender with some of these unknowable horrors. If they even have gender at all... (The early ones all seem to just reproduce asexually.) Now, The Nameless Mist gave birth to Yog-Sothoth, making him Shub-Niggurath’s cousin, who she also married... Eldritch horrors seem to do a lot of keeping it in the family... Officially (as in not counting the speculations some people have) Yog-Sothoth and Shub-Niggurath mated and Shub-Niggurath gave birth to the twins, Nug and Yep. Yep gave birth to Tsathoggua, and Nug gave birth to the only one anyone really cares about, Cthulhu himself. So this makes Shub-Niggurath the grandmother of Cthulhu. And also Tsathoggua but no one cares about him...

Now here’s where things start to get a bit more inbred... Yog-Sothoth mated with it’s parent, The Nameless Mist, and Yog-Sothoth gave birth to Hastur, The King in Yellow. So this makes Hastur Cthulhu‘s half brother, but more importantly, Shub-Niggurath’s step-son (as well as her cousin at the same time). Shub-Niggurath then took her step-son/cousin, Hastur, as her second husband and through mating with him, gave birth to Ithaqua, Zhar, J'Zahar, and The Thousand Young. Which incidentally makes Shub-Niggurath their mother, step-grandmother, and second cousin all at the same time... (And before you start singing “I’m my own Grandpa”, that title is reserved for Cthulhu.)

But now that you know the more immediate parts of the twisted family tree, let’s get to the fun part. What if a DM wants to actually use Shub-Niggurath as an actual monster you can fight in his game?

For creating Shub-Niggurath as a combat monster I use a slightly modified version of stats created by enworld.org contributor, Mike Myler. (Who made a really great Shub-Niggurath but it just wasn’t quite what I wanted.)

Shub-Niggurath

Colossal aberration (great old one or outer god), chaotic neutral

Armor Class 27 (natural armor) Hit Points 682 (35d20+315) Speed 30 ft., fly 80 ft. (hover) 

STR​  27 (+8)​ DEX​  18 (+4)​ CON​  28 (+9)​ INT​  21 (+5)​ WIS​  23 (+6)​ CHA​  24 (+7)​ 

Skills Arcana +14, Insight +15, Nature +14, Religion +14, Stealth +13 Damage Resistances cold, necrotic; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from magical or cold iron weapons Damage Immunities acid, fire, lightning, poison; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical weapons not made from cold iron Condition Immunities charmed, diseased, frightened, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned Senses darkvision 120 ft., truesight, passive Perception 16 Languages Deep Speech; telepathy 300 ft. Challenge 30 (155,000 XP) 

Immortality. When Shub-Niggurath is slain, her form shrivels and compresses in on itself before exploding in a wave of milky fluid in a 200-foot radius. Any creature that comes into contact with the milky fluid makes a DC 25 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, it is transformed into a random creature of an equal or lower CR, or a creature with a CR no higher than its level. A transformed creature makes a DC 24 Wisdom saving throw, keeping its intelligence and memories on a success. When all of the creatures transformed by the milky fluid have died, Shub-Niggurath is resurrected. 

Innate Spellcasting. Shub-Niggurath’s innate spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 24; spell attack +16). She can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components: 

Constant: freedom of movement, true seeing At will: hunger of hadar, dispel magic, dream, project image, sending 3/day: suggestion, feeblemind, symbol, weird​

Insanity. Any creature that attempts to interact directly with Shub-Niggurath’s thoughts (such as via detect thoughts or telepathy) must succeed at DC 24 Wisdom saving throw or gain a long-term madness. When using her telepathy to communicate Shub-Niggurath doesn't activate this feature unless she spends an action to focus her mind on one opponent.

Legendary Resistance (3/Day). If Shub-Niggurath fails a saving throw, she can choose to succeed instead.

Magic Resistance. Shub-Niggurath has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.

Regeneration. Shub-Niggurath regains 20 hit points at the start of her turn if she has at least 1 hit point. Shub-Niggurath dies only if she starts her turn with 0 hit points.

ACTIONS

Multiattack. Shub-Niggurath can use her Endless Spawn and Frightful Presence. She then makes seven attacks: one with her bite and six with her tentacles.

Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +17 to hit, reach 20 ft., one target. Hit: 26 (4d8+8) piercing damage. If the target is a creature it is grappled (escape DC 25). Until this grapple ends, the creature is restrained, and Shub-Niggurath can't use her bite to grapple another target. 

Consume. If a creature starts its turn grappled by the Bite attack, it must make another DC 25 strength save to escape. On a failed save the creature is swallowed whole. A swallowed creature is blinded and restrained and has total cover against attacks and other effects outside of Shub-Niggurath. It takes 21 (6d6) acid damage at the start of each of Shub-Niggurath’s turns. Shub-Niggurath can have as many creatures swallowed at a time as it wants. A swallowed creature can only escape if Shub-Niggurath is killed. If a swallowed creature drops to 0 hit points while inside Shub-Niggurath’s stomach it does not make death saving throws and its body is dissolved. The soul of a digested creature does not pass on to the afterlife and remains imprisoned inside Shub-Niggurath’s stomach until it too is digested and becomes nothing. Souls inside Shub-Niggurath’s stomach take 1d20 years to digest and can not be brought back through any means of resurrection while trapped inside Shub-Niggurath. If Shub-Niggurath is killed before the soul is digested the soul is freed and instantly passes on to the afterlife.

Tentacle. Melee Weapon Attack: +17 to hit, reach 25 ft., one target. Hit: 22 (4d6+8) bludgeoning damage. If the target is a creature it is grappled (escape DC 25). Until this grapple ends, the creature is restrained, and Shub-Niggurath can't use the tentacle to grapple another target (although Shub-Niggurath has an endless number of tentacles).

Frightful Presence. Each creature of Shub-Niggurath’s choice that is within 120 feet of her and aware of her must succeed on a DC 24 Wisdom saving throw or become frightened for 1 minute. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success. If a creature’s saving throw is successful or the effect ends for it, the creature is immune to Shub-Niggurath’s Frightful Presence for the next minute.

Endless Spawn (Recharge 4-6). Shub-Niggurath births Dark Young that she can mentally command. These Dark Young are loyal to her and defend Shub-Niggurath with their lives. Roll 2d6 to determine the amount of Dark Young she births per turn.

Dark Young (Produced Endless Spawn)

Huge aberration, chaotic neutral 

Armor Class 16 (natural armor) Hit Points 168 (16d12 + 24) Speed 40 ft., swim 30 ft. 

STR ​ 22 (+6) DEX​ 10 (+0) CON​ 18 (+4) INT​ 10 (+0) WIS​ 16 (+3) CHA​ 7 (-2)

Condition Immunities blinded Senses blindsight 60 ft., passive Perception 13 Languages Deep Speech; telepathy 100 ft. Challenge 8 (3,900 XP) 

False Appearance. While the dark young remains motionless, it is indistinguishable from a mangrove tree while in the dark.

Trample. When the dark young moves at least 20 feet in a straight line, all creatures within 5 feet its path have to make a successful DC 15 Strength saving throw or fall prone. The dark young can make a stomp attack against one prone target as a bonus action.

ACTIONS 

Multiattack. The dark young makes two attacks: one with its tentacle and one with its bite. 

Tentacle. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 15 ft., one target. Hit: 15 (2d8 + 6) bludgeoning damage. The target is grappled (escape DC 17). If the target is Large or smaller, it is also restrained until this grapple ends. While grappling the target, the dark young has advantage on attack rolls against it. The dark young has four tentacles, each of which can grapple only one target. When the dark young moves, any Large or smaller target it is grappling moves with it.

Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 19 (3d8 + 6) piercing damage. 

Stomp. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one prone creature. Hit: 24 (4d8 + 6) bludgeoning damage.

And there you have it. Shub-Niggurath in all her glory. Give that beautiful girl a try in your game next time you need an eldritch beasty and see how it goes. And remember, Shub-Niggurath wants you to use her in your game. There’s a reason she’s the most accessible Goddess in the eldritch pantheon. She wants to be summoned and ushered into our world. So don’t keep her waiting.

[theyearoftheking]

Book 5: The Stand

Bloggers note: if you’re looking for a complete plot summary and a list of all the characters in this epic tome, this is not the blog post for you. Proceed with caution. 

Once upon a time, there was a precocious ten year-old, with divorced parents. One parent embraced her weirdness and didn’t pay attention to what books she was bringing home from the library; and the other parent was my dad... who constantly wondered (aloud) why I wasn’t like normal kids. 

Being of slightly above-average intelligence, I saw this as an affront, and did subtle things just to piss him off. Subtle things “normal” children probs wouldn’t do. The summer I was ten, my dad had picked up a paperback copy of The Stand, and was raving to me about how good it was. I remember he was fixated on people falling dead in their bowls of Chunky soup. 

“Sounds like a cool book, maybe I’ll read it,” I commented. 

“This isn’t a book for children. You still haven’t read that copy of The Hobbit I gave you.” 

Hold my beer, motherfucker. I’m here for it. And The Hobbit was boring af. I never got past all the singing. 

Just to piss him off, I read the book cover to cover, faster than he did. You know, like normal vindictive ten year-old girls do. I don’t have a lot of memories of my dad growing up, but I hold onto this one fast and tight, because I got mine in the end. I was like the Trashcan Man of the fifth grade set. Just with a worse haircut. See below. 

Needless to say, my comprehension of The Stand almost thirty years later is a little bigger, wider, and deeper. It’s also colored by other epic “Good vs. Evil” reads (sigh, yes... even Tolkien); and King’s other works (mostly The Dark Tower). While at times this was not an easy book to read, I’m glad I powered through it. Ultimately, I feel rewarded I didn’t give up on page 872 like I had initially wanted to. I’m also glad I didn’t go with my gut instinct of reading the original released in in 1978, and then later on the uncut edition that was released in 1990. One reading of The Stand per year is more than enough, thank you. And besides, there’s fun pictures along the way! I mean, if I’m being honest, the book is mostly pictures with just a few words here and there to break it up. I’m absolutely kidding. 

Let’s get into it, shall we?

First of all, I picked the worst fucking time to read this book. Coronavirus is probably going to kill the whole world, and I refuse to be one of the survivors like in The Stand. There’s not enough bourbon in Kentucky for me to survive that shit show. Additionally, my family is huge into board games, and we thought Pandemic might be a fun cooperative game to try. Spoiler: it’s awesome, we’re all hooked on it. I highly recommend it for your next game night. Maybe an End of the World/Pandemic theme?? You can all wear gloves and masks, eat shelf stable foods and bottled water, and play REM on repeat. Sounds... awesome. 

But I digress. The Stand is your ultimate post-apocalyptic good versus evil showdown. A government employee with Captain Trips (the world ending virus) goes AWOL from his base, and takes a frantic road trip across the country with his family, where he manages to contaminate everyone he comes in contact with. 

What is Captain Trips? Well, I’m so glad you asked! To hear a doctor explain it, “We’ve got a disease with several well-defined stages... but some people may skip a stage. Some people may backtrack a stage. Some people may do both. Some people stay in one stage for a relatively long time and others zoom though all four as if they were on a rocket-sled...” 

The virus spreads (like viruses do), until there’s less than 15,000 people left in the country (rough estimate). The people still alive start having two types of dreams; either scary nightmares about The Walking Man, or peaceful dreams about Mother Abigail. Again... good versus evil. Guess who is who. If you need clarification, let me give you this one little quote about Randall Flagg, courtesy of Mother Abigail, “He’s the purest evil left in the world. The rest of the bad is a little evil. Shoplifters and sexfiends and people who like to use their fists. But he’ll call them. He’s started already. He’s getting them together a lot faster than we are. Before he’s ready to make his move, I guess he’ll have a lot more. Not just the evil ones that are like him, but the weak ones... the lonely ones... and the ones that have left God out of their hearts.” 

And his followers?

“They were nice enough people and all, but there wasn’t much love in them. Because they were too busy being afraid. Love didn’t grow very well in a place where there was only fear, just as plants didn’t grow very well in a place where it was always dark.” 

Yeah. I’m just going to leave that there for you to read and digest. 

So, the remaining people from all over the country either ended up in Vegas with Flagg, or Boulder with Mother Abigail and The Free Zone; which is basically Bernie Sander’s Utopian dream. 

God damn it! I swore I wasn’t going to get political and compare Donald Trump to Randall Fla- 

Ok, so The Free Zone. Most of the people who come to Boulder, want to meet Mother Abigail Freemantle, the one hundred and eight year old black woman they’ve been dreaming about. She’s got a self-described case of the shine, and speaks stupid relevant truth to her followers, “I have harbored hate of the Lord in my heart. Every man or woman who loves Him, they hate Him too, because He’s a hard God, a jealous God, He Is, what He Is, and in this world He’s apt to repay service with pain while those who do evil ride over the roads in Cadillac cars. Even the joy of serving Him is a bitter joy. I do His will, but the human part o me has cursed Him in my heart.” 

I’m not religious, but that hit hard. And it shows you the clear difference between Randall Flagg, and Mother Abigail. 

Later on, Mother Abigail also hits us over the head, and explains to us why this book is titled, The Stand: “But he is in Las Vegas, and you must go there, and it is there that you will make your stand. You will go, and you will not falter, because you have the Everlasting Arm of the Lord God of Hosts to lean on. Yes. With God’s help you will stand.”

Spoiler: it doesn’t quite go according to her plan. Very few are left standing at the end.

 So, The Free Zone. People come together, dispose of dead bodies, get electricity turned back on again, clear the roads of abandoned cars, and form a de-facto government. While lots of characters come and go (die. They die.) throughout the book, there are a few mainstays in The Free Zone: Franny, Harold, Stu, Larry, Nick, Tom, Nadine, and Lucy. But again... good versus evil. While most of the residents of The Free Zone are good, Flagg is able to whisper in the ears of some members, mostly Harold and Nadine, who end up defecting and making the trip to Vegas. 

While socialist utopia is succeeding in Boulder, Flagg is ruling with fear of crucifixion in Vegas. His henchmen include Lloyd, and The Trashcan Man. Oh, Trashy... maybe one of King’s most iconic characters. He’s a bit of a firebug (understatement of the century), and really goes out in a blaze of glory (ha. Pun intended). 

In fact, the two heroes of this book are Trashcan Man, thanks to his epic nuclear disaster; and simple-minded Tom Cullen, who is able to infiltrate Flagg’s inner circle, and successfully make it out, rescuing Stu Redman, who is dying in the desert with a broken leg and a horrible infection along the way. Tom Cullen is the character you root for. But Trashy is the character you’re always curious about. He’s like that rebel guy you dated in high school for ten minutes, and now stalk on Facebook, because you want to see what shady shit he’s up to twenty years later. 

This is the biggest oversimplification I think I’ve ever written. The onus is on you to just pick up the damn book and read it yourself. Do it soon, because you might not have a lot of time left, what with Coronavirus breathing it’s death fumes down our necks. 

For those still keeping track, we have TWO Wisconsin references in The Stand. The first was on page five, set in a gas station in East Texas, “...had covered himself with glory as a quarterback of the regional high school team, had gone on to Texas A&M with an athletic scholarship, and had played for ten years with the Green Bay Packers...” 

I can’t help but feel Steve is a closeted Packers fan. He lives in Maine, so I know he’s contractually obligated to be a Patriots fan (gag), but come on... homeboy loves him some green and yellow. 

The second reference comes from our friend Trashcan Man, while trying to find a walking route of possible destruction. “He had planned to get over to the west side of Gary, near the confusion of interchanges leading various roads towards Chicago or Milwaukee...”

Question... does Gary, Indiana still smell in a post-apocalyptic world? Asking for a friend. 

We also start getting the Dark Tower references fast and heavy. I didn’t make note every time Steve referenced wolves, crows, or wheels; because we’d be up over a million references now. And Randall Flagg himself is straight out of The Tower. So that’s fun. And we have our first “ka” reference: “And it came to him with a dreamy, testicle-shriveling certainty that this was the dark man, his soul, his ka somehow projected into this rain-drenched, grinning crow that was looking at him...”

‘Tis ka, bitches. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 8

Dark Tower References: 4

Book Grade: A- 

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books 

The Shining

The Stand

‘Salem’s Lot

Carrie 

Night Shift

Next up is The Dead Zone, which I must have watched a million times as a kid, because my mom was obsessed with it, but I’ve never actually read the book. So this should be fun! I mean... who doesn’t love reading a book and imagining Christopher Walken without his cowbell as the main character? 

Long Days and Pleasant Nights, Rebecca 

[necromancy-savant]

My opinions on Early Modern plays other than Shakespeare

I’m definitely going to keep this updated since I intend to read a lot more of these. I’m putting them in the order I read them, except that the Ben Jonson plays are going to be listed separately, in the order I read them, for now at least, because I’ve read a couple of those, because when I find something I like I might as well keep going with it. If you want to know more about a particular play, feel free to ask me. I don’t want these to get too long so I’ll refrain from putting in too much summary, but I love talking about plays so if you want a summary before you decide to read something, hit me up. I’m going to include very brief summaries of each play because I assume most people haven’t read these and would like to have some idea of what they’re about. 

Doctor Faustus – Christopher Marlowe

Summary: Wanting greater things in life, Faustus summons a demon to serve him for 24 years, after which time he will go to Hell as part of a contract signed in blood. 

This play is a weird combination of bleak and silly that somehow works. On the one hand, Faustus just wants to feel like something he does will do him some good, but the devils he sides with are even worse than Christianity is in terms of the freedom he wants and they don’t give him any answers. On the other hand it’s really funny. Some of the things the demons and Lucifer say are hilarious, Faustus literally uses his powers to “haunt” the Pope and hit him in the face and give a guy literal horns over some petty argument. He does all kinds of stupid shit and hangs out with frat boys, but he eventually regrets all of it and get dragged to Hell still lacking any purpose in life. It’s also different in that it doesn’t follow the typical 5 act structure.

The Revenger’s Tragedy – Probably Thomas Middleton 

Summary: The old Duke killed Vindice’s fiancee, Gloriana, before the events of the play, and he seeks revenge for that while everyone else in the Duke’s family is 100% out to get each other.

I really love this play. It’s sort of like a cross between Richard III, King Lear, Measure for Measure, and Titus Andronicus, except it’s more violent than Titus Andronicus. Like, this is mire what I thought Titus Andronicus would be. There’s one really fantastic scene where a guy makes out with a poisoned skull and then they stab him and kick him while he watches his bastard son hook up with his wife and it’s just so good. The language strikes me as crude compared to Shakespeare and I don’t mean that in a bad way; actually there’s something I rather like about it. Everyone is out to get each other, except they’re all terrible at it except for the protagonist, Vindice, and his brother. Those guys get what they’re after and then some, and they almost get away with it too if they weren’t so goddamned pleased with themselves. Talk about letting your guard down at the wrong moment.

The Duchess of Malfi – John Webster

Summary: The Duchess has two brothers, Ferdinand who is her twin, and the Cardinal. She’s a widow and they forbid her from getting remarried but she does anyway to a lower class guy named Antonio and has a couple of kids with him in secret, and her brothers really don’t like that.

It takes a little while to pick up, but once it does it’s a wild ride. You’ve got some crazy shit going on here and most of it is Ferdinand: he loses his shit over every little thing and is constantly just screaming bloody gore for no reason, he fakes killing his sister’s children, gives her a motherfucking severed hand (and mind you the stage direction does not say where this hand comes from, it’s just a severed hand he happens to have on him), hires a bunch of crazy people from the asylum to yell random bullshit at her, and by the end of the play he’s running around digging up skeleton’s legs because he thinks he’s a fucking werewolf. Everyone in this play is so extra. The Duchess herself could stand against Constance in terms of being extra. Also, her servant Cariola is like the nicest person in the whole play and everyone is so mean to her, like when Ferdinand finds out about the Duchess and Antonio (they get married in secret behind her brothers’ back) the first thing Antonio does, he comes in and points a gun right in Cariola’s face and says “it was YOU” and then later they’re talking about faking going on a pilgrimage so she can see Antonio and Cariola’s like “don’t you think it’s sacrilegious to fake going on a pilgrimage” and the Duchess is like “shut up Cariola nobody cares what you think is sacrilegious” only she definitely should have listened to Cariola. Cariola deserves better.

The Roaring Girl – Dekker and Middleton

Summary: Moll Cutpurse is a woman who dresses in men’s clothes, spends her time chilling in taverns with sketchy people, and doesn’t give a single fuck. A young man, Sebastian, is in love with someone his father doesn’t approve of, so he tells his father he’s in love with Moll to make his actual girlfriend look good by comparison, and enlists Moll to help him get his father’s permission so they can marry. 

The jokes in this play are really silly, the plot is a little confusing, but even so I like it. Mostly I like Moll Cutpurse. She is a badass and yet also somehow surprisingly upstanding for someone named Cutpurse. I kind of thought she would be some sort of queer, and there’s really nothing in the play to suggest that, but there’s also nothing in the play that says she isn’t. She stands up for everyone with the use of her sword. She pulls her sword on fuckboys all the time, and she keeps people from getting arrested and from getting pickpocketed, and so basically she’s like a vigilante who isn’t concerned with the law at all, only with what’s right. She says she is not a cutpurse or a thief at all but doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of her but just wants to be independent. She threatens this one guy Laxton saying he’s one of those guys who hits on women and then goes around calling them whores whether they have sex with him or not; he uses women and then punishes them for either doing what he wants or denying him sex. Also this play has some ridiculous archaic slang but it has Moll translate for you. And there’s a whole scene where they’re just chilling and smoking a few bowls and I have so many ideas for how you could do like a stoner version of it, you wouldn’t have to change any words or anything, just in terms of staging and blocking. It’s really all I could think of that whole scene. I may have read it wrong but I think I saw a line where it says that nobody wants to smoke with Laxton because he cheefs the bowl. Typical Laxton. 

‘Tis a Pity She’s a Whore – John Ford

Summary: Giovanni is in love with his sister, Annabella, and their father is currently trying to marry her off to one of a few other men. Giovanni and Annabella start hooking up and chaos ensues as they try to cover it up at the same time as a few different subplots involving revenge and murder go on. 

I don’t think this is a bad play by any means, but it mostly reminds me of The Revenger’s Tragedy and a little bit of The Duchess of Malfi, except that I like both of those much better. Like, it was a quick, entertaining read and I was never bored, but I can’t say it’s one of my favorites. There is incest, and that adds a new level of fucked up I suppose, but the novelty/shock of that wore off after like half a scene. The last scene was pretty great, but the rest doesn’t live up to that. Having Giovanni walk into the banquet with Annabella’s literal heart is a nice touch but it’s nothing compared to that poisoned skull. As a side note, Bergetto reminds me of Bartholomew Cokes, and really all this leads me to my final point. The book I read it from calls it derivative but not in a bad way, and that is a good way to describe it. That’s not necessarily a bad thing and I don't wholly dislike that it reminds me of a bunch of other things I like, but it didn't really give me anything new so on the whole I don’t find it too memorable.

The Spanish Tragedy – Thomas Kyd

Summary: A war between Spain and Portugal has just ended, and everyone’s ready to make peace, except that Balthasar, the prince of Portugal who has been captured and brought to Spain, falls in love with Bel-imperia who is in love with Horatio. He and Lorenzo kill Horatio, prompting his father, Hieronimo, to seek revenge.

Now this one was really good. It takes a solid two acts to pick up, but when it does, it’s worth it. You’ve got ghosts, personified Revenge, and descriptions of Hell which is basically Hades. It’s kind of a play about how just when everything seems peaceful and good after a conflict, there’s still a billion loose ends and everyone secretly still hates each other.  This was written in the 1580s and predates Shakespeare or anything else I’ve read, and you can tell it had a big impact. It’s got the play within a play thing from Hamlet, but way better. I loved that whole scene so much. Lorenzo reminds me a little bit of Iago, Horatio and Bel-imperia remind me a little bit of the secret meetings and honor concerns from ‘Tis a Pity (but don’t worry, they’re not related), there’s some lines that really remind me of Richard III and Anne but they’re played straight and honest unlike Richard’s use of the same kind of language. I really wonder how you would stage Hieronimo biting out his own tongue though. Also, there’s a lot of Latin which is always a good thing, and a lot of rhyming which is a little annoying but I feel like it rhymes less and less as it gets to the end, but I may have imagined that.

Volpone - Ben Jonson

Summary: Volpone is really rich, has no heir, and is pretending to be sick and dying so people will bring him presents in hopes of being made his heir. His servant, Mosca, keeps telling people throughout the play that they are the heir to get more stuff out of them and tries to get everything for himself until that backfires. 

Absolutely hilarious. I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect going in but I was really impressed. It has kind of a fucked up sense of humor that really does it for me. Jonson’s sense of humor actually reminds me of Spongebob. I love how Volpone can’t resist sneaking out of the house at every possible moment to go troll people he’s already trolled, like he has to go and see the outcome of his trolling. And it’s so funny how Mosca promises four separate people they can be the heir, then has to kick them out at the end of the play and he’s like to Voltore: “damn I thought you’d be out the door first you’re smarter than this. You know I would give you everything but it says it’s all for me, so, you know…plus you already have a high paying job, and you’re damn good at it too you really killed it out there I’ll hit you up if I ever need a lawyer now have a nice life” and then everyone just fucking books it back to the courthouse to go tell on each other. Also when Lady Would-be comes over and Volpone keeps trying to get her to shut up and she’s like “actually I have this long ass book on me right now let me read you some” and I just picture him signaling wildly to Mosca to kick her out of the house. Actually Mosca’s entire job is basically getting people in and out of the house as fast as possible so Volpone doesn’t have to talk to them, and make sure they keep coming back with more stuff. Also, Volpone’s first line is basically “good morning world, and my gold that inhabits it!” He’s such a piece shit I love him in spite of myself. The only thing I didn’t care for was the subplot.

 Bartholomew Fair - Ben Jonson

Summary: Bartholomew Fair was a fair that was held every year in August. A bunch of people go to the fair, including Bartholomew Cokes who is 19, really stupid, has supervision from his servant Wasp but runs away and gets lost, and is supposed to get married to a young woman who really doesn’t want to marry him because he’s such an idiot. Meanwhile this guy Overdo who is a judge and gets people sent to him from the fair every year because so much sketchy shit goes down, disguises himself to go to the fair and see for himself what goes on there. 

I got a real kick out of this one too. It’s very different from Volpone but still has that sense of humor I enjoy so much and the kinds of sketchy characters I like reading about. It was a little confusing keeping track of such a large cast of characters, but god if they don’t have the best names. Just reading the Dramatis Personae I was like “this was a good choice I’m already having a good time.” I literally waited the whole play for Wasp to demand to some vendor that he speak to their manager after the fit he threw waiting five seconds for Win to get him that marriage license in Act 1, but it never happened. Anyway I would go to this fair; they have alcohol, tobacco and food. I imagine it’s somewhat like the little festival they have in my hometown every year except with alcohol and prostitution. Although nearly everyone has a pretty bad day there, except for Quarlous and I guess Purecraft. I thought it was really funny how they wanted to make the puppet show, which is in part a version of Hero and Leander, like a modern edgy version so Cupid’s the bartender and he puts something in her drink. I see so much bullshit like that today. I’m starting to see how some of these comedies are a bit like Measure for Measure but this one is actually funny. I love reading these plays about sketchy people, because they remind me of the many sketchy people I have known. 

The Alchemist - Ben Jonson

Summary: There’s a plague in London and this guy Lovewit leaves his house indefinitely, leaving his servant, Face, in charge. Face has an extended sleepover with Subtle, a con artist who pretends to know alchemy who he finds on the street, and Doll, a bawd, and together the three of them draw in customers as the house becomes a brothel and a place where Face can lure people in for that and for Subtle’s alchemy scam.

Reminds me of Volpone in that you have these two guys who just cheat everyone out of their money and keep piling on the cheating and lying until it all blows up in their faces. Something about the way characters in both plays flatter people and lead them on so enthusiastically is just hilarious to me. Like Bartholomew Fair, the ending is kind of abrupt and not what I was expecting. Also I really don’t think Lovewit has the whole picture because he’s willing to forgive his house becoming a brothel and them hiding all kinds of stuff they cheated out of people in the basement in exchange for a 19 year old wife. Like, he shows up to his house after having been gone a few months and left Face in charge, and is like “what the fuck has been going on here?” and Face is like “never mind that, I got you a 19 year old wife” and suddenly it doesn’t matter what else he’s done. The plot is a little hard to follow because they tell so many lies to so many different characters, and a lot of the play is Face just making stuff up on the spot to keep himself out of trouble so it can be easy to get lost in all of that.

Epicene - Ben Jonson

Summary: There’s this guy Dauphine who’s uncle, Morose, who is fanatical about needing everything to be quiet at all times, is trying to cut him out of his will. Dauphine devises a plan to trick him into making him his heir in writing. He gets Epicene, a teenage boy, to go undercover as a woman and marry him under the pretense of being silent and then start talking as soon as they’re married so Morose will do anything to get a divorce. 

There are some really funny lines, and it did teach me the word “wind-fucker,” but on the whole it’s not my favorite. The characters are all upper class and don’t really do much of anything. Compared to other city comedies, it’s less Saints Row and more Importance of Being Earnest. They spend the play getting ready for a party, going to the party, playing pranks, and not much else. Like I said, it’s funny but very silly and I don’t really get it in some respects, maybe because I don’t live there. And I really don’t know what to make of the ending. I can’t decide if I think it’s sexist or not, but as a man I’m not the best person to decide that. It does seem vaguely sexist that the best woman is a man. Plus I don’t think any of the male characters have ever spoken to a woman. There is the possibility that I’m supposed to be laughing at how stupid they are, but even then the women really aren’t given an opportunity to weigh in on any of the things men say about them. They do say that they should accept favors from men, because if men are going to be stupid enough to do things for them hoping for sex that’s on them, and they do refrain from slut-shaming Epicene in a show of solidarity at the end. On the other hand, they’re quick to turn on each other in competition for Dauphine, a man they all desire, and their independence, at least Mrs. Otter’s, serves to humiliate her husband in front of other men. But the play says explicitly at the end that he, Daw, and La Foole are punished for being the type of guys who spread rumors about women who reject them, which is similar to something Moll Cutpurse accuses Laxton of in The Roaring Girl. So there’s a lot going on and it’s hard to say where it stands.

[roominthecastle]

Hi! Do you think Jon started chocking LF because of Sansa has told him things like: he sold her to the Boltons ( this isn't what happened btw), and forced her to kiss him and things like that? I felt unfair when he thought Baelish would be able to rape Sansa and it's becausd of what Sansa told him. And I belive this is the reason why he looked at her so strange at the end of the ep. Do you think they are gonna be enemies to each other? Thx

Hi, anon! wow, you’ve managed to cram quite a lot of loaded stuff into this one message. Okay, maybe let’s start w/ what is (show-) canonically obvious and then creep away into blessed fanwank territory where I live most of the time as a means of self-preservation.

Why does Jon assault LF?

I don’t think Sansa “sicced” him on LF as you describe above, but what happened to her def factors into Jon’s reaction, which can be read in several ways depending on the “filter” you have on while watching.

The simplest, most straightforward (sadly most likely) answer is that this is crude, superficial fanservice - hero punishing the villain - that reduces both characters to these tropey caricatures to elicit a victory cry from the Herd. If it is, it worked, but beyond that the scene has no value, so it’s not my favorite answer, so let’s move beyond bc a) fuck it and b) we can…

(behind a cut bc it got long and also a bit off-topic, as always):

… so another possibility is that there is some deeper meaning and multiple factors at play here, which is where things get interesting.

pride & patriarchal values: Jon - by nature and nurture - is protective of Sansa, and what little he’s heard of LF is the opposite of reassuring and comforting. I somehow doubt Sansa went into detail about her time “on the run” w/ LF - the Bolton fiasco alone is sufficient conflict fodder (for now), and this is the one they mention on screen. Saying LF “sold” Sansa is a distorted summary of what actually happened, I agree, but the fact remains: he fucked up big time and Sansa had to pay for it in the most brutal ways imaginable. A measure of mistrust and “baseline animosity” is to be expected here (narratively speaking Jon and LF are also natural opposites, “pure” vs “dark transformer”), but the crypt scene amplifies this tenfold by adding two key ingredients: doubt and intrusion. Jon is in a vulnerable state here: his choices are now being questioned from every side + he had a dose of self-doubt to begin with. Doubt draws in LF like nothing else (since it breeds opportunity). He not only intrudes (”you don’t belong”) but also reminds Jon of the chief source of this self-doubt (his bastard status & Cat’s lifelong disdain), he points out his failure on the battlefield (“I saved you.”) + he refuses to “know his place” and boldly seeks out “his king” in a private/sacred place instead of waiting to be summoned.Disrespect + differences of class and character boil over here when LF reminisces about his love for Cat (violently “corrected”), then affirms the same interest in Sansa (soon to be violently “corrected”) - both being examples of barefaced “trespassing” in this markedly patriarchal setting where Jon is now king (the ultimate Father Figure) who lights a candle at Ned’s (the Stark patriarch) statue. There is a tension build-up in this dialog that travels along the scene like a loop on a whip, gaining momentum and bursting w/ a crack! when Jon finally snaps. Separately, LF’s remarks wouldn’t have triggered this reaction, imo, but strung together and combined w/ his intrusion they were potent despite him also angling for some tactical common ground (”I’m not your enemy”, “Cat was clearly wrong about you.” “I love Sansa too.”) Another interesting tidbit that - imo - bears some relevance here is the fact that Jon has been brought back from the dead. According to GRRM, in the realm of ASoIaF/GoT this always comes w/ a price, and ppl come back changed, no longer truly alive and thus less human, less who they were before. If this holds true, then Jon’s aggression can be taken as a possible sign of this “darkening” too.

the “Ned parallel”: there is an obvious and purposeful similarity btw this scene and the one in S1 where Ned subjects LF to the same 5-fingered treatment. I’m aware that the J0n.sa section took this parallel and ran w/ it, which is ofc their prerogative, but to me Cat is not the primary connecting link here. Lyanna is, Ned’s sister (=Jon’s mother). When LF leads Ned to the brothel and says his wife is inside, this is (imo) a clear jab at Jon’s mother whom ppl assume to be a prostitute Ned slept w/. Ned chose to endure this “stain” on his (and indirectly her) honor as a means of protection, but he snapped when LF alluded to it and (unwittingly or not) debased her by equating her w/ a prostitute. Jon is also reacting from a place of protection, and a form of prostitution figures into this scene as well (since LF “stole” Sansa and “debased” her when he “pimped her out” to the Boltons). This loose Sansa-Lyanna link is further underlined by the other crypt scene where we see Sansa light a candle at Lyanna’s statue and where LF talks about her and Rhaegar, i.e. Jon’s parents. Not unlike the J0n.sa section, I, too, can easily take this one big step further and suggest that Jon is in Ned’s role, Sansa is in Lyanna’s, and LF is in Rhaegar’s who “stole” Ned’s sister, who was demonized by those who despised him, who “held her prisoner”, who was married but wanted another,who rebelled against tradition, who turned Westeros upside down, who got cut down as a result, and whose last word was the name of the woman he loved (there are surprisingly strong parallels btw these 2 but I do not claim they mean anything since there are clear differences too). Jon’s parting look at Sansa can be easily interpreted as a look of well-founded brotherly concern - the same Ned must have felt for Lyanna when her wagon got hitched to the “enemy”. But other than the “Lyanna thread” connecting the two crypt scenes and the one w/ Ned in S1 to feed this season’s main theme concerning Jon’s true parentage, I don’t believe there is anything solid here to build any reliable theories on.

As for LF’s look, I take it as him noting once again that he will never be accepted here, and his best bet is to get closer to Sansa again, to hell w/ Jon’s threats. It’s play time now that “Dad” is away. Sansa is both an ally and an opponent now, just like LF has been to her. He says as much in one of the trailers (I think it’s from tonight’s ep actually - how everybody is both a friend and an enemy), and I believe this duality will remain a defining feature of their dynamic this season.

#anonymous #speculation #fanwank #petyr x sansa

[theblacktivity-blog]

“DAMN”: A Review.

Over two years after the release of the critically acclaimed and Grammy winning sophomore album “To Pimp a Butterfly”, Kendrick Lamar has done it again with the release of his long awaited follow up “DAMN”. While it has been obvious to many in recent years that Kendrick is not only the future of hip hop but very much its present, his new album also further solidifies him as one of Black America’s most important poetic voices, period. If “To Pimp a Butterfly” was heralded for the melodic way in which issues such as racial inequality, profiling, and depression were tackled with skillful clarity, its sequel can be likened to the way a surgeon after addressing the larger tumor, uses his scalpel with steady precision to cut away at and expose the nuances of its effects. This is to say that whereas “To Pimp a Butterfly” was in many ways more of a ‘what’ album, “DAMN” goes a bit further as Kendrick in fourteen tracks, gives us an exposition into the ‘how’s’ of systemic racism and interpersonal conflict. Themes of fear, self-doubt, isolation, mistrust, fame, and posturing are woven in between cinematic production that has the effect of pulling the “foreign” listener into the matrix of schizophrenia that at times characterizes the emotional toll of the Black experience in America.  Like most renowned artist, Kendrick through his willingness to be vulnerable and introspective, portrays with stunning depth the many cruxes at which Black folk stand when attempting to deal with life in a world in which they find themselves the seemingly perpetual “subject”. Even further, this latest album sonically succeeds in framing such matters in a way that has made Kendrick Lamar synonymous with being hailed as the poetic interpreter of Black life, by evoking strong idioms of the blues and classic soul via pin point production. While it is true that most artist and thinkers are products of their time often drawing from that which is available personally and macrocosmically, it is just as true that many still can trace at least some of their theory from a predecessor, however intentional or not. Considering this fact, one could argue that in Kendrick’s “DAMN” is most reminiscent of Richard Wright’s semi-autobiographical narrative “Black Boy”. While the former’s latest work isn’t what one would consider autobiographical in the purest sense, Kendrick does utilize personal innuendo in such a way as to strike a note with the listener who can appreciate Kendrick’s honesty about his own personal battles with identity and social crisis. In this way, “DAMN” cleverly blends the polemical with the intimate. Like Wright, Kendrick is apt at painting a vivid picture as it pertains to the totality of subjugation and the myriad of its absurd effects on not only the body, but the psyche and behavior of the oppressed. In the opening Kendrick goes into a short story in which he speaks of a blind woman who appeared to be looking for something, approaching the woman he say’s “it looks like you lost something and I want to help you find it”. In kind the woman responds, “you have lost something…you’ve lost your life” after which the ominous echo of a gunshot can be heard before the album trails into the first track “DNA”. This intro has a shrewdly symbolic bent, and like most symbols can likely be interpreted in several ways. But, given the socially conscious range of Kendrick’s lyricism, it wouldn’t be a stretch to theorize that Kendrick’s attempt at helping the blind woman (in this case the symbol of justice) find something (finding “her” soul, or conscious maybe?) is somehow a figurative representation of the historic and often thwarted attempts of Black America to do the same for the country at large. Or maybe the shot heard in the intro’s finale illustrates the violence placed upon the body, mind, and spirt at such attempts. In any event, Kendrick leaves a cleverly carved space for which the listener can fill in the intro’s blanks before being ushered into the meat of the album beginning with the aforementioned title track “DNA”.

It is on this track that we are forcefully reminded of what makes him great…his sheer adeptness at shredding a track to pieces with crafty lyrical dexterity. He then goes on to blend that which makes him great with that which makes him and ultimately us, human; “I got power, poison, pain and joy inside my DNA/I got hustle though/ambition flow inside my DNA”. This duality is ultimately a part of the human experience but is particularly acute within the realm of Blackness wherein resides the DuBoisian concept of the double consciousness. It is this concept of being both Black (African) and “American” that has simultaneously served as our biggest psychic burden and has allowed us to adapt creatively to circumstances in such a way as to make improvisation one of the signifying markers of Blackness. Thus, Kendrick acknowledges that not only is it in his DNA but in all of ours through that ever-elusive Black genetic marker known as soul or ‘cool’. The following song entitled “YAH” is a slow-paced track in which the image of an isolated star comes to mind, it’s a near dreamlike state in which one awakes to the amalgams of distorted “advice” and rumors from all sides. Cornered he finds that his proverbial “radars is buzzing” with the white noise so often accompanied with fame, he laments from the outset: “I got so many theories and suspicions/I’m diagnosed with real nigga conditions”. He then harps on the signals he receives in everyone from his mother who thinks he will “work himself to death”, to his girlfriend who reminds him “not to let these hoes get his head”. One gets the feeling that being famous has a way of rendering a person worn at the emotional seams from being pulled in multiple directions in an already fast paced world. And as if that isn’t enough, Kendrick then alludes to FOX News’s misinformed critiques of his lyrics (particularly Geraldo Rivera), this while simultaneously seeking clarity via a renewed sense of identity as a Hebrew Israelite a path suggested by a distant cousin eluded to in recorded phone calls throughout the album. The latter path isn’t one atypical of the African American search for identity as it is well documented about myriad of Black socio-political/religious movements that sprang up during the earlier half of 20th century, many of which adopted a nationalistic posture in defense of community and against injustice. However, Kendrick does offer us a glimpse in to what he considers the silver lining of normalcy in it all, his niece who simply sees him as “Uncle Kendrick”. The ensuing track “ELEMENT” could be best described as a Molotov cocktail of witty lyricism, signature hip hop braggadocio and anxiety. After all he opens by stating: “I’m willing to die for this shit/I done cried for this shit/might take a life for this shit/put the Bible down and go eye for an eye for this shit”. Certainly, no one even vaguely familiar with the lyrical elements and strident nature of hip hop verse wouldn’t consider Kendrick “violent” for such an opening line. Rather it reveals the crossroads that one finds themselves at when coping with the pressures of relatively new found fame and the contradiction between wanting to hold dear to what one has worked so hard for, despite whatever could potentially come about. Such is the nature of success and particularly Black success in America which often tends to be linked to surviving extraordinary circumstances to attain status. Said status achievements are then even more guarded with hubris, and sometimes a paranoid anxiety based in fear and mistrust best summed up by Kendrick with the line: “we ain’t going back to broke/family selling dope”. However, in the hook he dually reminds himself not to be taken out of his element given this fear. “FEEL”, the succeeding track opens in a whisper woven into instrumental through which Kendrick and a female voice can be heard repeatedly saying “ain’t nobody praying for me”. Here he comes off on the production as an embattled MC’s withering internally from the demands and misunderstandings of the world around him. Even mentioning the false sense of security yielded from a celebrity that has compounded many of the life’s difficulties. Kendrick feels intensely, yet these feelings about the toxicity level of a rap world in which he dominates are balanced by his own feelings of confidence about his standing in the hip hop world. It’s a theme that has often been explored in depth with childhood celebrity and in spaces outside of hip hop’s mainstream where it is speculated that the pressure to adapt to life in celebrity has led to many a down fall. Hip hop has often been categorized as distinctly different however given the genre’s braggadocios nature, and it is often assumed that since most rappers from starkly humble beginnings fame and fortune serves as not only an antidote, but as a permanent source of material. Kendrick shatters this myth, while simultaneously acknowledging his new-found wealth and celebrity he also considers what’s happening in the world around him as akin to apocalypse where for everyone else “nothing is awkward”. The legendary Nas once stated, “in the land of the blind the man with one eye is the king” and Kendrick heavily tuned into seeing this through the maze of confusion that is fame with all of its participants: “the feelin' of an apocalypse happenin', but nothin' is awkward/the feelin' won't prosper/the feelin' is toxic/I feel like I'm boxin' demons, monsters/false prophets schemin', sponsors, industry promises/niggas, bitches, honkies, crackers, Compton/Church, religion, token blacks, and bondage/Lawsuit visits, subpoena served in concert/fuck your feelings, I mean this for imposters”.

Yet and still, irrespective of these predicaments and more, his sentiment is best condensed in the hook, “ain’t nobody praying for me”... heavy indeed is the head that wears the crown. “LOYALTY” is a track that could best be described as having the components of a future radio single with a classic west coast sound. It’s slow paced and laid back roll out serves as perfect fodder for Kenny’s semi-automatic style flow in which he questions the loyalty of females particularly those near and around the industry. He quips sarcastically, “you caught me at the right time/when it’s dollar signs”. This track featuring Rihanna is a perfect match as she matches the tempo of Kendrick and weaves lyrics that question the nature of a man’s loyalty. Is loyalty merely driven by your convenience to others (family, friends, etc) or is there something deeper? This is question that is faced when one encounter’s extraordinary levels of fame and even more when one is Black and successful, as most Black wealth when such is achieved is often first generational, thrusting one into the role of provider for nearly every family member. This has an adverse effect of blurring the lines of what is considered loyalty. “PRIDE” illustrates a conflict of possessions and purity. Honest enough to acknowledge that his what is often perceived as his persuasion to social consciousness doesn’t make him perfect, he poses a question throughout the length of the track that can be best summed up at the top of the songs opening: “hell-raising, wheel-chasing, new worldly possessions/flesh-making, spirit breaking, which one would you lessen?/the better part, the human heart, you love 'em or dissect 'em/happiness or flashiness? how do you serve the question?/see, in the perfect world, I would be perfect, world/I don't trust people enough beyond they surface, world/I don't love people enough to put my faith in man/I put my faith in these lyrics hoping I make a band, I understand/I ain't perfect”.

In a sense, Kendrick can be found attempting to explain the complexity of human life and the peculiar effect that certain responsibilities have on others perception of you. Fighting internally, one must at times ground themselves or find external ways to do so by reminding those with these expectations of their humanity and flaws, and how those flaws were created. “HUMBLE” the album’s first commercial cut is yet another exercise in lyrical prowess and genius arrangement. Ironically the track is boastful as we are reminded why he is indeed the greatest at press time. It’s lock and step with hip hop’s confidence idiom but not without reminding us from whence Lamar came: “Aye, I remember syrup sandwiches and crime allowances/Finesse a nigga with sum counterfeits/But now I'm countin this/Parmesan where my accountant lives in fact I'm down at this/D'usśe with my boo bae, tastes like kool aid for the analysts”. The end of “HUMBLE” takes us back into the depths of Kendrick’s social analysis with on the succeeding track “LUST”. Much like his theoretical predecessor Richard Wright, Kendrick is more than apt at pointing out with stunning quality the ways in which we as a people often get in the way of our own progress through behaviors that have seemingly become second nature. The first two verses shepherd the listener through the inner sanctum of two parallel lives one male, the other female, engaged in the daily routines of selfish instant gratification. Such a signifier has been considered among one of the many negative elements of Americanism, the desire for immediate pleasures and whims without regard for long term consequences.  And given that the Black experience is inextricable in many ways from the American experience at large, this trait has been considered among one of the most damaging. This is a line of thought most often commercially associated with Black nationalist types who espouse industry over frivolity, but which is shared among Black movements of all theoretical types to some degree or another. It’s clear to peep the knowledge of Kendrick through the examples of these two narratives. However, he again drives home the point that he’s not merely critiquing society from a lofty and self-appointed perch, rather he draws from personal experience to reflect on his entanglement in the same web: “I wake in the mornin', my head spinnin' from the last night/both in the trance, feelings I did-what a fast life!/manager called, the lobby called, it's 11: 30/did this before, promised myself I'd be a hour early/room full of clothes, bag full of money: call it loose change/fumbled my jewelry, 100k, I lost a new chain/Hop on the bird, hit the next city for another M/take me a nap and do it again/we all woke up, tryna tune to the daily news/lookin' for confirmation, hopin' election wasn't true/all of us worried, all of us buried, and our feeling's deep/none of us married to his proposal, make us feel cheap/still and sad, distraught and mad, tell the neighbor 'bout it/bet they agree, parade the streets with your voice proudly/time passin', things change/revertin' back to our daily programs, stuck in our ways; lust”. It’s at once a song of frustration with the perpetual cycle of society’s failure to learn from its errors and the absurd notion that even in learning we tend to repeat them, leading to an inner contention that rivals suffering itself. “LOVE” is the ensuing 10th song on an album that if it had ended here would still deserved to be deemed an instant classic. This poem’s sequence on the album however is more like the metrical version of seeing Kendrick relax and take a calming breath of air, this induced only by thoughts and reflections on the meaning of a special someone that he’s been in a long term low profile relationship with. While much of “DAMN” up until this point tends to be about the perils of success the song evokes the duality of its privileges, but only when there is someone to share them with. Not only this, it’s a light track that once again acknowledges the good in a mad world and lightens the album’s genius yet dense subject matters. “XXX” is one of Kendrick Lamar’s most stinging feats of rhetorical prowess in which he connects the dots between what’s often posited as “inner city violence” or rather “Black on Black” violence and America’s role in fostering such environments. Tackling the humanity of anger is yet another narrative of this track wherein upon the murder of a friend’s son he’s contacted by the friend for advice. Hoping for Kendrick to serve as his better half under what could only be described as a parent’s worst nightmare, Kendrick finds himself unable to tap into the loftier spiritual expectations placed upon him, a portion of the verse summarizes this interaction: “yesterday I got a call like from my dog like 101/said they killed his only son because of insufficient funds/he was sobbin', he was mobbin', way belligerent and drunk/talkin' out his head, philosphin' on what the Lord had done/He said: "K-Dot, can you pray for me?/It's been a fucked up day for me/I know that you anointed, show me how to overcome."/he was lookin' for some closure/hopin' I could bring him closer/to the spiritual, my spirit do know better, but I told him/"I can't sugarcoat the answer for you, this is how I feel:/if somebody kill my son, that mean somebody gettin' killed."

One is taken back to the title of his sophomore album “good kid, M.A.D.D. city” and reminded of Kendrick’s Compton, California origins where like so many systematically deprived Black areas, violence is commonplace. But Kenny makes it perfectly clear that this dysfunction isn’t mere osmosis when he states within the last verse (among other barbs): “it's nasty when you set us up/then roll the dice, then bet us up/you overnight the big rifles, then tell Fox to be scared of us/gang members or terrorists, et cetera, et cetera/America's reflections of me, that's what a mirror does”, this statement is made even more superb given the fact that in a country that often embraces the right of white males to arms, people with color and arms are framed as particularly dangerous. Nonetheless the testament track and most Richard Wright-esque work on the album just may be “FEAR”, which delivers an apt description of the trait (other than coolness, spirituality, and improvisation) that so often finds itself expressed in Black behavioral patterns. It opens with a recorded call from Kendrick’s cousin Carl Duckworth a seemingly zealous follower of Old Testament Biblical religion, who we later learn is a possible member of the Hebrew Israelites, a nationalist Judeo African American religious movement. The phone call appears to be in response to a Kendrick that may well be falling victim to an inner crisis, one for which he feels no one has the answer to. At one point on the call Carl harps back to Kendrick’s lament: “I know you been having a lot on your mind you know, like you feel like, you know, people ain’t been praying for you”. He then goes into a spiel that is among the myriad of socio-religious identity theories of found among Black versions of all schools of religion, but especially those born in the states. Carl in part attempts to explain Kendrick’s confusion by attesting to our cursed nature utilizing a verse from Deuteronomy 28: 28. This track’s opening then questions God himself “why God why God do I gotta suffer/pain in my heart carry burdens full of struggle”, before launching into a full-fledged verse in which Kendrick appears to describe abuse or the threat of it, often doled out at the hands of some Black parents (in this case appears to elude to a Black single mother) for the least of infractions. There’s a direct parallel that exist here between the work of Richard Wright and Kendrick Lamar. In “Black Boy”, an overall narrative that runs through much of the text is the domestic corporal punishment that Richard almost always seems to be threatened by. This is particularly acute as it pertains to his maternal grandmother and “Aunt Addie”, strict Seventh Day Adventist who so controlled by a “puritan” religion and the southern “custom” of Black fear of white retribution for Black “misbehavior” that they practically attempt at every turn to “beat out” what to them appears to be a young Richard’s staunch independence. As a result, Wright finds himself trapped between a racist and unforgiving white world and a Black world whose response to the white world is one driven by fear and its own form of “for your own good” oppression and other responsive madness. This kept Wright in a constant state of fear of not only the outside world but what was supposed to be the intimate familial space. This sentiment is echoed on the first verse of Kendrick Lamar’s “fear”. The second verse tackles the fragility of Black life in which activities that would otherwise be harmless, could lead to possible death. It’s a peek into what so often appears to be the randomness of violence in poor Black neighborhoods and the added burden that comes with attempting to navigate a hostile larger world in the microcosm of one’s own community. In the last verse, Kendrick goes into the irony of fame. While the sentiments of American late capitalist types would have us believe that fame and fortune are the only antidotes to poverty and lacking, we are reminded that for those of us who are able to make the transition from the proverbial “rags to riches” it is not always so simple. Kendrick’s new found fame is explored in the last verse as juxtaposed to the poverty from which he came and this has the effect of evoking a new type of fear…the fear of losing it all. It’s in this verse that one can also see where much of his anxiety stems from. The worlds of money and celebrity are riddled with tales of those who have succumbed to its shark infested waters only to return to the places and madness from which they were thought to have escaped. It’s a preoccupation that has seemingly driven Kendrick to the brink at times and it is in part his reason for reaching out to his cousin Carl, who in the swirl of all the madness appears to be a guiding spiritual voice. At the end of the last verse Kendrick’s confusion is summed up in a haunting refrain: “Goddamn you/Goddamn me/Goddamn us/Goddamn we/Goddamn us all. Afterwards, yet another recorded phone call from Kendrick’s cousin Carl can be heard in which he can be heard spinning a somewhat confusing logic on the “curse” of Blackness stating this time: “So, until we come back to these commandments, until you come back to these commandments, we're gonna feel this way, we're gonna be under this curse. Because he said he's gonna punish us, the so-called Blacks, Hispanics, and Native American Indians, are the true children of Israel. We are the Israelites according to the Bible. The children of Israel, he's gonna punish us for our iniquities, for our disobedience, because we chose to follow other gods that aren't his son, so the Lord, thy God, chasten thee. So, just like you chasten your own son, he's gonna chastise you because he loves you. So that's why we get chastised, that's why we're in the position we're in. Until we come back to these laws, statutes and commandments, and do what the Lord said, these curses are gonna be upon us. We're gonna be at a lower state in this life that we live here in today, in the United States of America. I love you, son, and I pray for you. God, bless you, shalom”.

To be sure pointing out this religious sentiment of Carl’s is not a dig at his religion or beliefs, however within the context of the Black experience in America, it is important to recognize the myriad of systems on the spectrum of Black religion. Historically speaking, religion has served as a guiding light for Blacks, a political tool, and an explanatory narrative of systemic racism. In this way theories of the Black station in American life can at times become varied and confusing from the outside looking in, and one gets the feeling that Carl himself while appearing zealously coherent in Hebrew Israelite doctrine, is just one of the millions of Blacks in America seeking answers to the madness. Appropriately, the following track entitled “GOD” can be looked at from either one of two angles. One the one hand one could interpret this as typical hip hop theatrics of boastfulness, the type wherein the celebratory nature of making it can render one seemingly invincible to at least one’s former woes. Yet everything Kendrick touches seems to hint at deeper meaning, and “GOD” may just as easily be in step with the meeting of the secular and the spiritual. It has often been stated that some are made but the greats are chosen, and on this track, there is full embrace of the latter as he reflects on from whence he came and where he has arrived. It also should not escape the listener that proclaiming oneself as “god” incarnate is not a new religious theory and in hip hop was proselytized by adherents to 5% Islam better known as The Nation of Gods and Earths. The message is context can then be seen as Kendrick reminding us that like him we too can embody gods and goddesses on earth.

“DUCKWORTH” the final track of this album gives a previously unknown glimpse into Kendrick’s origins and the genesis of his relationship with TDE (Top Dawg Entertainment). Known for not only his lyrical prowess but his somewhat guarded nature as it pertains to his personal life, we find that the origins of Kendrick’s relationship began long before he was scouted by Anthony “Top Dawg” Tiffith as a 15-year-old mixtape rapper. It was in-fact a near fatal encounter between the then street hood Tiffith and Kendrick’s father Kenny Duckworth in the 80′s that brought the pair together when Lamar was but a child. Kenny, a Chicago native, relocated to Compton, CA where he too brought his street savvy with him splitting time between hustling and working part time at a KFC across from the infamous Nickerson Garden homes, a blood gang territory and home to the hustling and banging Tiffith. A chance encounter between Kendrick’s father and Tiffith at the fast food spot led to a relationship that was at first born out of Kenny’s savvy in recognizing the street status of Tiffith and his crew, who had previously robbed the restaurant, shooting two people in the process. Little did Kenny aka “Ducky” know that the crew was planning to rob the store again and this time willing to take out Ducky if necessary. However, Tiffith took a liking to Ducky and this led to a relationship that would re-manifest years later when the two would bump into each other at a recording studio. By this time, Anthony “Top Dawg” Tiffith would be managing producers and scouting talent and one such talent would be Ducky’s son, Kendrick Lamar Duckworth. The genius of the track is in a sense admittedly overshadowed by the listener’s interest in the story itself, yet the vivid tale of chance and choices are obvious throughout. “DUCKWORTH” is the proverbial slam dunk ending on an album which at its core is about the duality and absurd complexity of the human condition and more specifically when it’s in Black. While there may be some who will tout “DAMN” as only an album fraught with anxiety, confusion, and introspection, the final track is a testament that in the madness of it all silver linings guided by divine hands still exist. Classic.

#kendrick lamar #damn #blackboy #blacklivesmatter

[rockrevoltmagazine]

Metallica Delivers a Metal Show for the Ages at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, MA

Metallica – Gillette Stadium – Foxborough, Massachusetts – May 19, 2017

Metallica certainly has achieved far more than either James Hetfield or Lars Ulrich could have ever imagined possible back when the pair first met in Los Angeles nearly four decades ago. Dreams of opening up for a main stream hard rock or metal act at the Rainbow or the Whiskey were likely the loftiest goals the duo ever initially set their aims on.

Okay for the record, Ulrich was probably contemplating world metal domination back when he and Hetfield would hang out in his boyhood bedroom listening to some of their early musical heroes such as Diamond Head, Angel Witch, Tygers of Pan Tang, Blitzkrieg and Venom.

However, barring getting a hold of Wonder Woman’s truth lasso, tying Ulrich to a chair with it and interrogating him, I seriously doubt that even the boisterous drummer would admit that he thought the band would go on to become the most dominant and driving force in all of hard rock and heavy metal for close to forty years now.

Metallica’s first three records, Kill ‘Em All, Ride The Lighting and Master of Puppets defined the thrash music landscape while creating the blue print countless musicians would use to fuel their own bands’ metal music dreams.

Although the band themselves has decried their fourth studio release, And Justice for All, as being overwrought, Metallica broke new ground with the record in terms of bridging metal music to the mainstream with the video for the transcendent track off the record, “One.”

Whether it was Metallica’s intent or not, the video not only would become the first salvo in terms of launching Metallica as a global music phenomenon, it paved the way for metal music to secure its rightful place in the mainstream universe of MTV and traditional terrestrial radio.

Many members of band’s hard core fan base may have been taken aback by their full on shift away from the hard core sound that had propelled them to fame with the release of the self titled Metallica, popularly known at the Black Album, back in 1991.

However, not only did the record cement the band as kings of the hard rock and metal universe, it also was genre defining in terms of how much of an impact their moving away from the speed and thrash world would ultimately have on metal music as a whole.

Any band that is more than three decades into their career are bound to have some missteps along the way and Metallica has had more than their fair share of maladies both personally and professionally.

On the professional side of the spectrum no one is ever going to bury copies of Load, Reload, St. Anger, or Death Magnetic in a time capsule so some high school kids in Escondido, California in the year 3017 can open it up to hear what “metal” music sounded like during this age.

It’s also a safe assumption to make that many Metallica fans, especially the die-hard crowd who jumped on board with the band in the 1980’s, would be perfectly okay with those records, along with the ill-fated Lou Reed collaboration, Lulu, being buried three to four hundred feet under the ground for all of eternity.

Personally the band has also endured more than a few trials and tribulations, many of which likely would have caused most outfits of Metallica’s caliber to simply call it quits long ago.

The movie Some Kind of Monster provides a brilliant window into the degree of Metallica’s dysfunction as a band, and as human beings, by the time they had reached the early 2000’s.

The film also goes a long way towards explaining why Metallica began to produce material not quite on par with their early career work and why even the band’s live performances during this period suffered.

If anything rock and roll is about emotional ebbs and flows and unlike any other profession, it not only welcomes, it encourages spectacular rises to fame and glory as well as disastrous falls from the mountain top. Rock music and its millions of fans also warmly embrace musical stories of redemption and triumph.

Should anyone question whether or not Metallica has turned the worm on their career yet again, perhaps you should pick up and listen to their new record Hard Wired to Self Destruct.

Taking in one of the Metallica’s surreal and beyond sensory deafening live performances they’re currently putting on these days as part of their ongoing World Wired tour would also be advised.

Whether or not you’re enjoy the band’s music you’d be hard pressed to walk away from one of Metallica’s concerts on this current tour cycle without thinking something along the lines of, “that was pretty damn amazing.”

Hetfield, Ulrich, Kirk Hammett and Robert Trujillo brought the metal music mayhem to Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts this past Friday night to play on the field that Tom Brady and the world champion New England Patriots call home.

Along with a production that included stadium spanning 100-foot video screens, a stage that served as three stages in one, as well as a pyro technic and laser light display that would have even scared King Kong or at the very least that alien from the end of the movie Prometheus off, Metallica announced to all of their New England fan base, they’re back.

Despite all the bells and whistles that are a part of the World Wired live experience and the fact that the band was playing to over 60,000 screaming metal crazies, the beauty in the performance may have lied in the simple fact that it didn’t come off as bloated, instead the concert felt deeply personal from the first note played to the last note strummed.

Even though Metallica chose to start the night’s musical festivities off with two songs from their new record, “Hardwired” and “Atlas Rise!,” the entirely of the crowd was in lock step with the quartet from the jump.

Metallica should be given credit for not only playing these new songs live but for challenging themselves as musicians in doing so.   The technical aspects tied to Hard Wired to Self Destruct are beyond reproach, thus the difficulty in terms of playing the Hardwired material in a live setting, let alone to crowds in the tens of thousands, would be daunting enough.

The fact that the band executed these tracks flawlessly while also managing to keep the fans beyond engaged is a testament to not only the quality of the new material, but living proof that the four members that make up Metallica are some of the most gifted musicians on Earth.

There were so many transcendent moments from Metallica’s 18-song set at Gillette Stadium it would take another thousand words to give each and every one of them their proper due.

“Master of Puppets,” with the classic Metallica graveyard imagery and massive puppeteer strings dangling over Ulrich’s drum kit, Hetfield’s evocative and spine tingling vocals on “The Unforgiven,” Trujillo’s homage to late Metallica bassist Cliff Burton in the form of his take on “(Anesthesia) Pulling Teeth” while images of Burton dotted the gigantic video screens, Hammett’s many jaw dropping guitar solos or the wave of sky high fireworks explosions and dancing flames that preceded the band’s performance of “One,” were all but just a few of the many high points tied to the evening’s performance.

As for any noteworthy nods or dedications tied to Soundgarden and Audioslave’s front man Chris Cornell, during Trujillo’s bass solo the bassist played several bars of “Black Hole Sun,” while at the very end of the “Unforgiven” Hetfield uttered these four simple words, “We forgive you Chris.”

The band closed out their initial set by coming together at the top of the mini-stage, in what Hetfield termed an attempt at, “Trying to recreate the garage they played in as teenagers,” to perform what would turn out to be a stadium wide sing-a-long of one of Metallica’s most revered songs, “Seek and Destroy.”

The moment came off not only as beyond genuine it also served to remind those in the audience exactly why they have been serving at the alter of Metallica for these oh so many years, the band is just flat out fucking good.

Metallica has always shared a symbiotic connection with their fan base that can be traced back to the days when they would play songs such as “Motorbreath” and “Hit the Lights” to rooms of about two hundred mostly unemployed, in a need of shower, metal heads.

By the time Metallica came back to the stage to perform the final three song encore of “Fight Fire with Fire,” “Nothing Else Matters” and “Battery,” each and every last fan still in attendance likely felt more connected to the band than they’ve ever have.

Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammett and Trujillo seamlessly made these connections that much stronger by simply getting up on that massive stage, having a ton of laughs, sharing personal moments with one another, as well as more than a few with fans directly and by delivering a bone jarring and sublime performance that if had to be described by only a singular word, that word be metal!

Something that was impossible not to take notice of was the sheer number of parents that brought their young or millennial age children to see Metallica perform. Considering the band hasn’t toured the United States extensively in close to a decade, anyone present that was born after 2007 was likely taking in their first ever Metallica show.

Thus the most relevant take away from the night may be the fact that through their mere performance alone it’s entirely possible the band may have just inspired countless youngsters to form this generation’s Motörhead, Slayer or even the next Metallica.

That proclamation may come off across as a tad bit unrealistic to some but if a 13-year old Ulrich were in the audience this past Friday, having never seen or heard Metallica himself, he’d likely turn to one of his friends at the conclusion of the concert and say something along the lines of, “Yeah that was pretty good but our band is going to be way bigger than those guys.”

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All writing and photography:  Robert Forte / 40 Photography

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Metallica Delivers a Metal Show for the Ages at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, MA was originally published on RockRevolt Mag

#and justice for all #Cliff Burton #enter sandman #Gillette Stadium #hard wired to self destruct #James Hetfield #Jason Newsted #kill 'em all #Kirk Hammett #Lars Ulrich #Master of Puppets #nothing else matters #One #ride the lighting #Robert Trujillo #seek and destroy #the black album #world wired tour