#I feel like the meanest person in the entire world but I cannot have this guy sleeping on my bed anymore

[l3irdl3rain]

guess who ruined my mattress bc I was dumb and didn’t realize I let him in my bedroom while I had no mattress protector on

[deerydear]

I talk so bluntly about myself because that's what I needed to hear.

I've been so sickened by all the people who pretend they are good people, when their hearts are full of blackened sludge. I believe there is always a contrast, so I don't feel like people are "ENTIRELY" evil, even if they can commit the sickest acts alive.

I mean that a serial-rapist-murderer might still treat his dog with tender affection. I mean that someone might not be showing their entire "self" to you, but only one facet. Just as the earth is always half dark, but it is always rotating.

I really hate what "Social Justice" has done to a generation of teenagers, where they think they can get away with fulfilling all their nastiest, meanest desires.... if they just follow "the guidelines". Funneled madness.

It gets so boring, because they prune the wild madness into this "approved shape". I want to see your real face. You see mine. Look at me. Look into my eyes.

I want to know how you think when no one else is looking. I think that's more beautiful than this dust-bowl you've made of your heart.

Where is the room for inspiration in these guidelines? Snip, snip. We can't have that. Snip!

Isn't that what you hated, as a child?

Why would you let them get away with it now? Is it because they might "fight on your behalf"? But who do you think you are? Do you think you really fit in with these hedged rows? Do you?

Is that what you are, now?

Are you still in there? Is anyone home? Did they automate this while I wasn't looking? Hello?

Guess no one's home...

Oh, you came out, now. Glad I didn't leave, yet!

Why do you want to be someone else's idea of what a 'good person' is?

Don't you have your own?

Yes. Your own, secret, languageless version...

I found through the years that I can't rely on anyone else, unless I first rely on myself.

Why are you making these temporary alliances?

You know that they're different from you in a way that their metrics haven't made space to quantify. You know what you want.

The world is there for you. You don't need to lie to yourself, or forcefeed yourself bullshit. Stop poisoning your mind! Stop it! It is animal cruelty!

Oh, you like that?

You just want to keep yourself prisoner?

You think that's funny?

You think you're the big bad Demon, keeping the Damsel in the tower... but when you grin, I see the sand in your teeth from when you were kicked down. I see the look in your eyes.

I see the doubt that flickers in when you think I'm not looking. "Is he scared enough? Do I need to do more?"

I know, you thought you mulched over the tender part of your personality, but it's alive inside of you.

Evil cannot exist without a contrast of Good. You believe you are on one end of the axis, but where do you pull that idea from? Is it what scares you?

Wolves will keep you warm, if you convince yourself you're one, eh?

Dead flesh gets cold eventually. How cozy is that pit of filth? Do you like the slimy feeling when you step into it at night? Do you like it when the carnivorous bugs crawl up your legs?

........or do you just tell yourself you do, because you think that's what a scary person would do?

Where are the stakes, if there is nothing left to corrupt?

Shouldn't we all fall into a black hole if you're so completely putrefied inside and out?

Within is Without; Without is Within.

That means that if there's still good in the world for you to wish to corrupt, then it is within you, too.

It will never be finished.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Captain Boomerang

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: George Harkness, also known as Captain Boomerang. Patient suffers from Alcohol Abuse Disorder and Antisocial Personality Disorder. He is noticeably low-functioning. Session One. Good morning, Mr. Harkness. 

Capt. Boomerang: G’day, mate. 

Hugo Strange: So, Mr. Harkness, how have you been feeling? 

Capt. Boomerang: Mister Harkness? I must be movin’ up in the world. Or gettin’ old. 

Hugo Strange: What do people usually call you, then, Mr. Harkness? 

Capt. Boomerang: Things that you can’t repeat in polite society! (Laughs) But my mates call me Digger. 

Hugo Strange: Digger? 

Capt. Boomerang: Oz slang. Means soldier. My mum gave me the nickname when I was an anklebiter, and it’s stuck ever since.

Hugo Strange: Oz? Anklebiter? Are you speaking English, Mr. Harkness?

Capt. Boomerang: Don’t tell me you’ve never met someone from the Land Down Under, mate! 

Hugo Strange: You’re Australian? 

Capt. Boomerang: Reckon! What did you think I was? 

Hugo Strange: To be honest, I thought you were an American pretending to be an Australian. It would explain why your costumed alias is such a gigantic Australian stereotype. And why you have such a ridiculously strong accent. 

Capt. Boomerang: What are you talking about, mate? I ain’t got an accent any stronger than anyone else from Korumburra. 

Hugo Strange: Where? 

Capt. Boomerang: Crikey! You Yanks really don’t know anything about geography, do you? (Pause) Though I guess I can’t really blame you for not knowing Korumburra. It’s a dinky little place just outside of Melbourne. 

Hugo Strange: I see. (Pause) So tell me, Mr. Harkness...why boomerangs? 

Capt. Boomerang: They say to play to your strengths, mate. My strength happens to be throwing boomerangs. 

Hugo Strange: Yes, but why boomerangs specifically? Why not, say, throwing knives? 

Capt. Boomerang: ‘Cause Captain Throwing Knives don’t have the same ring to it, mate. (Laughs) But really, mate, the answer’s simple. After you throw a knife, you gotta retrieve it. Boomerangs? You don’t have to do that, ‘cause they always come back to you. Makes ‘em a real convenient weapon. 

Hugo Strange: Fair enough, I suppose. But why do it in that ridiculous boomerang-print stewardess outfit? And why call yourself Captain Boomerang? 

Capt. Boomerang: The costume and the name came from my ex-employer, W.W. Wiggins, not from me.

Hugo Strange: W.W. Wiggins? The...toy tycoon? 

Capt. Boomerang: That’s the one. He brought me to America to be his corporate shill. Captain Boomerang was supposed to be an advertising stunt for W.W. Wiggins’ toy boomerangs. 

Hugo Strange: (Trying to suppress laughter) You were...a toy mascot, Mr. Harkness? 

Capt. Boomerang: For a couple of months, yeah. And let me tell you, for a bloke as rich as he is, W.W. Wiggins is a bloody cheapskate. 

Hugo Strange: Is that why you turned to crime, Mr. Harkness? 

Capt. Boomerang: That, and the job was getting real old, real fast. I don’t know if you know this about anklebiters, mate, but they got a nasty habit of kicking toy mascots in the shins. 

Hugo Strange: So you took to a life of crime and turned the toy mascot into your supervillain identity? 

Captain Boomerang: Why not? Spared me the work of having to come up with a new identity. (Pause) And, as it turned out, helped me get some revenge, too. 

Hugo Strange: What do you mean, Mr. Harkness? 

Capt. Boomerang: Well, I found out later that W.W. Wiggins is my bloody biological father! I’m his bloody son, and he knew that, but he still used me as a bloody corporate shill! 

Hugo Strange: And so now you see your use of his toy mascot for crimes as revenge on him for not telling you about your true relationship? 

Capt. Boomerang: Too right, mate! (Pause) But really, livin’ well? That’s the best revenge, mate...and since I became Captain Boomerang, well...I’ve been living really well! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Harkness, your records indicate that you spend all of your money on food, alcohol, and women.

Capt. Boomerang: Exactly! It’s like I always say: the only three things that really matter in life anyhow are a foamy, a feed, and a feature. 

Hugo Strange: (Frustrated) Mr. Harkness, you’re currently $10,000 dollars in debt. When you aren’t in prison, you live in places that are veritable dumps, and, other than the so-called Rogues, you have no friends. You spend most of your life either inebriated or hung over, you frequently wind up in the hospital after picking fights you have no hope of winning, and your family has all but disowned you. Your life, Mr. Harkness, is a disgrace. 

Capt. Boomerang: Says you. I think I’ve got a very desirable lifestyle, myself. 

Hugo Strange: I am starting to understand why the psychological report from Belle Reve described you as a low-functioning sociopath, Mr. Harkness. 

Capt. Boomerang: In speaking of Belle Reve, mate, why I am here and not there? I know Iron Heights ain’t in such good shape right now, but I can’t believe that Mrs. Waller would pass up an opportunity to get me back on the Suicide Squad. 

Hugo Strange: I don’t know, Mr. Harkness. The bureaucratic decisions that led to Arkham Asylum’s population increase have not yet been adequately explained to me-or, I must assume, to Mrs. Waller. All I can tell you is that all of you Rogues are currently the responsibility of the Arkham Hospital for the Criminally Insane, not of Belle Reve or any other prison. (Pause) Why do you call her Mrs. Waller? You don’t exactly seem like the type to respect authority figures. 

Capt. Boomerang: Have you met Mrs. Waller, mate? If you don’t respect her, she’ll eat you for brekkie! 

Hugo Strange: (Amused) I assume you had to learn that the hard way, Mr. Harkness? 

Capt. Boomerang: None of your business, mate! 

Hugo Strange: I’ll assume that that means yes, Mr. Harkness.

Capt. Boomerang: (Petulantly) I gotta say, mate, you’re the nosiest warden I ever met. 

Hugo Strange: I am not a warden, Mr. Harkness. I am a psychologist. 

Capt. Boomerang: You’re a shrink? 

Hugo Strange: Yes. This is a therapy session, Mr. Harkness.

Capt. Boomerang: In that case, mate, you can go ahead and end the session right now. I’m perfectly happy with myself just the way I am! 

Hugo Strange: In your case, that is why you need treatment, Mr. Harkness. The fact that you are content with being a drunken thug shows a deficit in both personality and character, one that must be addressed-if only for the good of wider society. 

Capt. Boomerang: Look, mate. The only good I care about is the good of Digger Harkness. 

Hugo Strange: You cannot really believe that constant inebriation is good for you, Mr. Harkness. 

Capt. Boomerang: Ain’t exactly like I’m gonna be livin’ to a ripe old age, mate. Why not enjoy myself while I got the chance? 

Hugo Strange: (Changing the subject; the conversation clearly isn’t going anywhere) Your file says that you have a son, Mr. Harkness. 

Capt. Boomerang: I do. His name’s Owen. Little anklebiter’s a regular chip off the old block, he is. He throws boomerangs like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve been thinking of bringing him into the family business someday; once I get too old to run around fighting the Flash all the time. 

Hugo Strange: The family business...meaning costumed crime? 

Capt. Boomerang: Well, I ain’t gonna make my son a toy mascot. 

Hugo Strange: (Frustrated) Mr. Harkness, being a criminal is bad enough. Leading a child into a life of crime is far worse. 

Capt. Boomerang: I can’t see why. I’m a criminal, and life worked out just fine for me! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Harkness, you know how much it hurts to be used by a father. If you lead your son into a life of crime to make your own life easier, you’ll be doing the same thing to him as Mr. Wiggins did to you, only worse. You’ve spent your entire adult life in institutions, Mr. Harkness. You know what they’re like. What do you think they would do to your son? 

Capt. Boomerang: (Long pause; then quietly) They’d kill ‘im. 

Hugo Strange: What was that, Mr. Harkness? 

Capt. Boomerang: I said that...that they’d kill ‘im. I do just fine in prison, ‘cause everybody knows that I’m one the meanest, dirtiest fighters in the business. But Owen? Unfortunately, that’s the one trait of mine he didn’t inherit. Kid’s actually nice; he couldn’t play dirty if his life depended on it. He’d be worse off than the bloody Piper! At least he has mind-control powers going for him. 

Hugo Strange: Exactly, Mr. Harkness. Do you still think it’s a good idea to lead your son into a life of crime? 

Capt. Boomerang: S’pose not, mate. Wouldn’t want to lose the only person who hero-worships me, now would I? 

(Long pause) 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Harkness? 

Capt. Boomerang: Yes, mate? 

Hugo Strange: You are disgusting. 

[slytherinknowitall]

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 20: Celebrating You

(Click here for chapter 19!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

“Hermione, my dear, I keep telling you that you’re getting too thin! Would you like a piece of my famous cinnamon apple pie? It’s fresh out of the oven!”

The young witch smiled. Sitting at the large wooden table in the Burrow’s kitchen, the family’s famous clock ticking away in the background, she was flipping through the morning edition of the Daily Prophet as the Weasley matriarch was busily preparing breakfast for everyone. Coming back had felt like returning home – she had desperately needed some time away from all the N.E.W.T.s pressure at school, and it had been so nice to see the redheaded nonuple in its entirety again. And while she and Ron were still a bit uneasy around each other, they were at least back on speaking terms.

“No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. Personally, seven in the morning is just a bit too early for dessert!”

Hermione turned her attention back to the newspaper in front of her, but she could not seem to focus on the words written there – because the only thing busier than Mrs Weasley’s kitchen was her mind. She could not stop thinking about Professor Snape. The two of them had unarguably got close over the past few months. While he had definitely hated having her as an apprentice at first, it did not seem like that was the case anymore; or at least he did not show it any longer. She could not be sure, of course; but she had the feeling that he enjoyed being around her just as much as she enjoyed being around him.

Though she had initially felt uncertain following her talk with Ginny, she had ultimately decided that she simply could not stay away from the Potions Master. He was her safe space, her rock. Whenever she was around him, she finally felt alive again. A rush of ecstasy would travel through her entire body like wildfire every time he brushed against her or even merely called her by her first name. And so she had come to the conclusion that maybe fancying one of her teachers was not that bad, after all. She obviously knew that nothing would ever come of it, but she figured she could at least enjoy their unlikely companionship while it lasted. Still, she would probably not let her best friend know that she had chosen to disregard her advice.

However, there was one thing that was bothering her. From her apprenticeship application, Hermione knew that it was Professor Snape’s birthday in one week’s time; all possible tutors had been listed with both rank and date of birth. But what made her sad was knowing that no one, not even he himself, would care. With how self-isolated he was, she was certain that there would be no party, no birthday cards and no presents (except for one from Dumbledore, perhaps), and he was worthy so much more than that! He might be kind of a grouch and not the most pleasant teacher, but he was a brilliant man and deserved to have his life celebrated. And after the amazing gift he had sent her for her own birthday, she wanted to give him something in return.

Suddenly, she had an idea.

“Hey, Mrs Weasley?” The older woman turned around, a pan of still sizzling bacon in her hand. “Can I ask you something?”

*************** *************** ***************

If there was one place in the entire castle where you did not want to be during the winter, it was the dungeons. They were already disgustingly cold and permanently damp under normal conditions, but the colder months made them almost unbearable. And so on this particular Friday night in early January, as Severus was working in his classroom, the temperature was so low that he could see his own breath.

He was slowly walking around the room, placing a sheet of paper on each of the student desks one by one. His first class after the weekend would be the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors, and he had prepared an especially difficult surprise exam for them. He obviously knew that none of them had studied for Potions over the holidays, but he did not care – after all, there was a reason for his reputation as the meanest teacher at this school. But always one to favour his own house over those troublesome Gryffindors, he was planning on casually dropping a small hint while conducting his weekly visit of the common room the following day.

Now, one might think that Severus was simply being a very diligent teacher who liked to make sure that all of his tasks were done ahead of time – which was true. But on this specific day, his actions had an added motive as he was trying to distract himself from the fact that today was his 38th birthday.

He had never been one to attach much significance to the date that marked the anniversary of him taking his first breath. Truthfully, he could not remember the last time he had celebrated it; it had always just been a day like any other. But this year, it was different. This year, he had been loathing its arrival. Why? Well, because turning a year older merely served as yet another reminder of how messed up this attraction to his student really was. It pulled him out of a dream world in which he was not her professor, in which he was not a lot older than her and in which he still had a chance to get with her. A twenty-year age gap – how could he not feel like detestable reprobate?

Deep in thought, he startled at a sudden knock at the door.

“Professor!” Sticking her head through the open crack, Hermione immediately started to beam from ear to ear once she spotted him in the poorly lit room. “There you are! You know, after checking your office and your rooms, I almost thought you had vanished into thin air!”

Severus was completely nonplussed. “Wha-”

But before he could even get a proper word in, her head swiftly disappeared behind the door again. After about ten seconds of weird noises and sounds – and even the occasional swearing under breath – the door was pushed open to reveal a party hat wearing Hermione Granger, a lit Muggle sparkler in one hand and a relatively large gift box in the other. Taking five big steps into the room, she arrived in front of him and held out the package with both hands, almost risking setting it ablaze with her hand-held firework.

“Happy, happy birthday, sir!”

The wizard was speechless. He felt like a young pubescent boy all over again as all he could do was stare dumbfounded at this perfect woman standing across from him. After a long day of studying, this wonderful creature had made her way into the glum dungeons to congratulate him, even putting in the effort of wearing one of those ridiculous paper cones on her head. Severus did not know what he had done to deserve her. Just two minutes ago, he had hated himself and the world and had wanted nothing more than for this day to be over. But like the wind, she had swooped in and brightened his day, completely overwhelming him with emotions. The way she was looking at him, full of excitement and joy, and the beautiful colour of her rosy cheeks made his knees weak. Who knew that he would one day find happiness like this in a friend of Harry Potter?

“Come on, open it!”

Her exclamation abruptly brought him back to reality. Trying hard to ignore how inviting her plump lips were looking at that very moment, he accepted the box before replying, “Another gift, Hermione? You really should not start to make a habit of this. Otherwise, some might begin to think that you are trying to bribe your way through school.”

“Oh, stop it!” she called out, the delightful melody of her laughter filling his ears.

“But why would you get me a birthday gift? Apprentices do not have to give their tutors anything; it’s not part of the tradition.”

“I know,” said Hermione as she placed the now burned-out sparkler on the desk next to her. “But I just wanted to.”

Severus felt his heart melting. He truly did not deserve her. She was too good for him, an angel.

Opening the lid of the box with a shaky hand, he pulled out some sort of emerald-coloured piece of fabric.

“What is this?” he asked confused.

“It’s a jumper!” she said, taking the garment from him and holding it out so he could properly see it. Indeed, it was a deep green pullover made of thick wool. “I know you normally only wear black, but I thought that this shade would go well with your light complexion, and it also fits your house colours! So even if you won’t wear it on the daily, it would at least be good for Quidditch games.”

He had to admit that he was amazed by how much thought she had put into this. “Hermione, I appreciate this greatly, but you really should not have spent your money on me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart; however, I cannot accept this gift.”

“But I didn’t spend anything. I made it myself! I asked Mrs Weasley for help as I’m not really acquainted with the art of magical knitting. I didn’t tell her why I wanted to learn it, of course; but you wouldn’t believe how excited she was to pass on her secret housewife tips and tricks to me. I guess that Ginny has always been a little too much of a tomboy for her.” She let out a small snicker.

Severus experienced a warm sensation spread from his middle all the way to his fingers and toes. Not only had she remembered his birthday, but she had also taken time out of her busy day to carefully craft this sweater for him – no one had ever genuinely cared this much for him!

“Hermione.” He had to swallow as it suddenly felt as though he had a frog in his throat. “Would you perhaps like to join me in my quarters for a cup of tea? Plain, of course."

(CHAPTER 21 COMING SOON!)

[heartslogos]

mafia!verse: hunting season [1]

“Fabricci! You’re late for dinner! You should phone ahead. Your wife and I had a lovely dinner together, but the entire time we were missing you.”

Dick doesn’t even blink when the lights flick on and the man in the doorway freezes. Dick’s eyes travel over Fabricci’s body. A little rumpled. Rosy complexion — drunk, possibly. Dick can’t smell the booze from here, but he’s sure he can figure it out without having to do a sniff test.

Fabricci is one of the stubborn hanger-ons that thinks with enough gumption, enough muscle, and enough brass he can upset Gotham’s status quo. He’s one of those who thinks that it’s time for a change and that change should be his family’s name on the billboards and in the news as Gotham’s — well. Family. Gotham only has one family and it will only ever be Wayne. That’s how Gotham started and that’s how Gotham is going to end.

If it wouldn’t get Dick teased he would have made a comment about the attitude of new money when he was discussing this with Jason and Damian.

The man turns to, no doubt yell at the poor woman huddled against the wall and ready to flinch. She’s holding the man’s coat up like a shield. But Dick stands, drawing attention back to himself.

“Oh, don’t get mad at her. She was kind enough to let me in to wait for you. And goodness how we’ve been waiting!” Dick smiles. It’s not the gentlest of smiles in his arsenal. But it’s definitely not the meanest. The woman averts her eyes anyway.

It can be hard to look into the sun, regardless of how gentle it seems.

“What did you do to her?” Fabricci demands.

“Nothing.” B’s instructions aside, Dick isn’t the kind of person who would resort to threats or violence first anyway.

There are people who get by with acts of dominance enacted by fists and fury. And that can be well and good for them, but Dick isn’t that type of person and he never will be. He’s never led with a fist. Dick’s prelude is his smile and if that doesn’t get him where he needs to be that’s when the fists can fly but there aren’t many places a smile won’t get him.

“Why are you here? You aren’t welcome in my home. You want to talk? You set up business like anybody else.”

Dick barely refrains from saying, but I’m not anybody else.

Instead Dick says, “And why aren’t I welcome in your home? You come into mine so casually.”

Dick gets a certain kind of thrill in watching the blood drain from the other man’s face. In the background the man’s wife retreats out of view. Dick would be worried if he didn’t already know who’s side she’s on. Good on her for knowing not to mess with the Wayne name. Shame that Fabricci isn’t the type of man who listens to his spouse. Dick has a feeling that if he did they might not even be living in Gotham. A man like this could probably do well elsewhere.

Dick would bet a good amount of money on Fabricci’s wife being a Gothamite. At least one person in this house respects the Wayne name and influence. All Dick had to do was knock and she’d opened the door and opened her mouth with everything she knew. Like she’d been waiting for him to show up. She almost looked relieved to have told him everything. It’s not often that Dick feels close to god, but as he sat across from her at the dining table, listening to her divulging every single detail she could remember, he almost felt like a priest hearing a confession.

“I can’t promise that you’ll be spared,” Dick had told her. She’d closed her eyes like she knew. “But I will do my best. I’ll remember what you’ve done for my family today. It takes great courage and great strength to go through what you have. And it takes a great deal of character to know when to cop up to when something’s wrong. I can promise you, after tonight, your husband’s part in this will be over.”

“Over?” She’d repeated.

Dick did not elaborate. She didn’t really need him to anyway.

“Bludhaven is mine,” Dick says plainly. “And I could have sworn that everyone knew that. But you came in with your guns and your drugs and your money, and I can’t help but wonder if perhaps it was a mistake on your part. Some sort of simple oversight. Maybe you didn’t realize that your little grab for power had spilled over the borders. If that’s the case I thought why not talk this out, all quiet, away from everyone else. You know. In case it was a mistake.”

Ah, the men of bravado and pride. They are so easy to bait. Dick feels a small curl of satisfaction as Fabricci tilts his chin up in defiance.

“And if it wasn’t, Grayson?”

“Then we have a problem, you and I, and it’s a problem we’re going to settle tonight. One way, or another.”

“Yeah? And how are you going to do that?” Unusual confidence for someone in his position. Dick doesn’t know if that’s real or fake. Or maybe there’s something else worth poking at here.

“I had thought we could talk it out over dinner. Peace isn’t made on an empty stomach, but you never showed up. Your poor wife didn’t seem to know where you were either. Or when you’d be back. Long day at work, Fabricci? What sort of trouble were you trying to cause today?”

Fabricci glares at him, face red and blotchy with fury rather than whatever was causing it earlier.

The smile never slips from his face. The harsh and angry one-sided silence is broken by the ring of a phone.

“One moment,” Dick pulls his phone out of his pocket, not looking at the screen as he answers. “What’s up, little D?”

“Are you still at Fabricci’s?” Damian sounds slightly out of breath, wound up tight like a trap ready to spring, and heated past a point of safe handling.

Dick’s smile, for the first time tonight, wavers.

“Yes. He and I are having a nice little chat. Why? Is there something you’d like me to ask him? Should I put you on speaker?”

“There was a shoot out,” Damian replies. “Near the theater house.”

Tim’s house.

Dick’s grip tightens on the phone, and his smile slides away from morning star to something brighter. Something meaner. Something infinitely vast, infinitely furious, and immeasurably lethal.

The thing about stars is that they are not immortal. The thing about stars is that with something that large, something that indescribably and incomprehensibly present, there is no way for that kind of death to go quietly.

When a star dies the rest of time and history feels it.

When Dick Grayson stops smiling the world takes notice. And it runs to hide and pray to saints who’ve barred the gates and martyrs who’ve turned their faces away.

“Thompson has him stable last I was informed but he’s still in surgery,” Damian says. “Cain and Todd are already on their way.”

“And where are you?”

“I was with him.” Damian pauses, but only for a moment. His voice gets soft. If someone was a fool they would say it goes frail. Childlike, almost. If someone had more brain cells than the fool who called it frail, they would call it warm. And if someone had more brain cells than either of those two dunces they would say Damian’s voice was fond. “Drake covered for me.”

Dick breathes in, a star getting ready, “Well what would you expect, D? That’s what family does. B say anything?”

“Father is not the most particularly verbose under stress.”

“Right. But?”

Dick pulls the phone away from his ear and switches it to speaker, thumbing the volume up to max so Fabricci can hear.

“If there is one thing Father cannot tolerate even more than guns,” Damian says after three heartbeats worth of blood and breath, “It’s injury to his people. All restrictions are, for now, off. To use Todd’s phrasing, it’s hunting season.”

Dick’s smile holds shadows that the stygian catacombs of Hell would turn away from.

“I’ll be there.” Dick hangs up, stowing his phone back into his pocket. “Is that why you were late for dinner, Fabricci? You know. You could have just said you had a prior appointment with my little brothers. You see, if there’s any exception to any rule it’s family.” Dick rolls his shoulders, fingers curling. “That’s the one thing you should never fuck around with. Especially in Gotham.”

[2ofswords]

Played through the day 11 Bachelor conversation in Patho2 again and... holy shit, I will never stop being amazed by it! It is my unrivalled favourite conversation in a game that’s full of amazing dialogue. And I seriously think “Do you condemn me?” will always be my favourite line in this game. It just has such a raw power to it. After everything that happened all this freaking bullshit and murder and necessary sacrifice visiting the person, who literally burned the thing you consider the only salvation for the town as it is and murdering a person to do it. And then getting hit with this very direct and simple question. After all the metaphors and talk about ideology and flowery idioms it is so very straightforward. It hits you because it is so direct and clearly voiced while you have been stuck in a town of opposing worlds creating nuanced thoughts and complex systems about the world. And here is the person standing at the opposing end of the spectrum, with ashes of your own hope and blood on his hands asking: Do you condemn me? It just grinds the whole whirlwind that this game is into a sudden halt. There are so many really good and poetic lines in Pathologic but this one is just a straight gut punch.

It also perfectly mirrors the one, you will be asked on day 1 by Notkin. “Is killing acceptable?” That is also a question with a lot of clarity, that you cannot work your way around, because the kid will insist on you answering with a yes or no. And while your options are not this direct (albeit limited in a different way) the simplicity with both of them corner you into a place, where not only Artemy but also the player cannot avoid thinking about it and it’s implications. By this point getting through the game without either killing or letting someone die because you refused to kill (loosing the Panaceas for the Abattoir quest) is a very… rare occurrence. And even then you have met so much death with the cause of desperation at this point. The question Notkin asks you has become very real through these days and now, that it is a reality, the question if you condemn someone in this situation feels like coming full circle.

And that is not even touching the Bachelor’s side of the question! It sounds jarringly calm (the entire conversation is), yet it is also a quite desperate need to know Artemy’s perspective and to get a judgement call at all. He is obviously shaken by the events themselves (which makes me believe that the Bachelor in P2 has a lot less experience with causing direct death than the one in P1… rip fighting an entire military squat as a doctor, I will miss you!) and it also is saying a lot that he asks the Haruspex of all people and is interested in his judgement at all, when they couldn’t really agree on anything regarding their judgement of the situation the days before. The question sounds incredibly vulnerable and is also devoid of any of the grandiosity Dankovsky loves to display (a lot of the conversation is (no random Latin…) but this is the most obvious moment in it.). It shows him being the most human and the most concerned about a direct connection exactly when we see him at his worst.

And the best thing:  You cannot even fucking say “yes, I do.” Artemy won’t let you. The meanest answer is pretty neutral (”First tell me why. Then I’ll think”). The other ones are just the most shippy thing that ever happened after the Bachelor announced being soulmate at first sight fifteen years ago (“Does it matter, emshen? We’ve known each other for a week. You’ve got blood on your hands. So do I.”) and the third is a very straightforward “No”. It just shows that Artemy’s understanding of the desperation and the meaning of necessary sacrifices at this point. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t condemn the killing, some of the answers are pretty vague after all, but it is a clear sign of compassion. (Ironically shown by both at their worst while being the thing, Clara accuses them of lacking… it is as if their combined efforts would actually help them both and a shared understanding helps them be better people…) There is just a very blatant understanding as equals, while being completely at odds and all the tragedy of it comes crashing down with four simple words. I love every flowery metaphor in this game, and I am amazed how they manage such an intricate writing style while always backing every part of it up with concrete thoughts and interesting concepts about the world. But nothing will ever match for me the rawness of this freaking question.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

To The King Eternal

a prayer by Charles Spurgeon

Our God and Father, draw us to Thyself by Thy Spirit and may the few minutes that we spend in prayer be full of the true spirit of supplication. Grant that none of us with closed eyes may yet be looking abroad over the fields of vanity, but may our eyes be really shut to everything else now but that which is spiritual and divine. May we have communion with God in the secret of our hearts and find Him to be to us as a little sanctuary.

O Lord, we do not find it easy to get rid of distracting thoughts, but we pray Thee help us to draw the sword against them and drive them away, and as when the birds came down upon his sacrifice Abraham drove them away, so may we chase away all cares, all thoughts of pleasure, everything else, whether it be pleasing or painful, that would keep us away from real fellowship with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ.

We would begin with adoration. We worship from our hearts the Three in One, the infinitely glorious Jehovah, the only living and true God. We adore the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob. We are not yet ascended to the place where pure spirits behold the face of God, but we shall soon be there, perhaps much sooner than we think, and we would be there in spirit now, casting our crowns upon the glassy sea before the throne of the Infinite Majesty and ascribing glory and honour, and power and praise, and dominion and might to Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb forever and ever.

All the Church doth worship Thee, O God, every heart renewed by grace takes a delight in adoring Thee, and we, among the rest, though least and meanest of them all, yet would bow as heartily as any worshipping, loving, praising, in our soul, being silent unto God because our joy in Him is altogether inexpressible.

Lord, help us to worship Thee in life as well as lip. May our whole being be taken up with Thee. As when the fire fell down on Elijah’s sacrifice of old and licked up even the water that was in the trenches, so may the consuming fire of the divine Spirit use up all our nature, and even that which might seem to hinder, even out of that may God get glory by the removal of it. Thus would we adore.

But, oh! dear Savior, we come to Thee and we remember what our state is, and the condition we are in encourages us to come to Thee now as beggars, as dependents upon Thy heavenly charity. Thou art a Savior and as such Thou art on the outlook for those that need saving, and here we are, here we come. We are the men and women Thou art looking for, needing a Savior.

Great Physician, we bring Thee our wounds and bruises and putrifying sores, and the more diseased we are and the more conscious we are today of the depravity of our nature, of the deep-seated corruption of our hearts, the more we feel that we are the sort of beings that Thou art seeking for, for the whole have no need of a physician, but they that are sick.

Glorious Benefactor, we can meet Thee on good terms, for we are full of poverty, we are just as empty as we can be. We could not be more abjectly dependent than we are. Since Thou wouldest display Thy mercy, here is our sin. Since Thou wouldest show Thy strength, here is our weakness. Since Thou wouldest manifest Thy lovingkindness, here are our needs. Since Thou wouldest glorify Thy grace, here are we, such persons as can never have a shadow of a hope except through Thy grace, for we are undeserving, ill-deserving, hell-deserving, and if Thou do not magnify Thy grace in us, we must perish forever.

And somehow we feel it sweet to come to Thee in this way. If we had to tell Thee that we had some good thing in us which Thou didst require of us, we should be questioning whether we were not flattering ourselves and presumptuously thinking that we were better than we are. Lord Jesus, we come just as we are. This is how we came at first, and this is how we come still, with all our failures, with all our transgressions, with all and everything that is what it ought not to be, we come to Thee. We do bless Thee that Thou dost receive us and our wounds, and by Thy stripes we are healed; Thou dost receive us and our sins, and by Thy sin-bearing we are set clear and free from sin. Thou dost receive us and our death, even our death, for Thou art He that liveth and was dead, and art alive forevermore.

We just come and lie at Thy feet, obedient to that call of Thine, “Come unto Me all ye that labour and I will give you rest.” Let us feel sweet rest, since we do come at Thy call. May some come that have never come till this day, and may others who have been coming these many years, consciously come again, coming unto Thee as unto a living stone, chosen of God and precious, to build our everlasting hopes upon.

But, Lord, now that we are come so near Thee and on right terms with Thee, we venture to ask Thee this, that we that love Thee may love Thee very much more. Oh! since Thou hast been precious, Thy very name has music in it to our ears, and there are times when Thy love is so inexpressibly strong upon us that we are carried away with it. We have felt that we would gladly die to increase Thine honor. We have been willing to lose our name and our repute if so be Thou mightest be glorified, and truly we often feel that if the crushing of us would lift Thee one inch the higher, we would gladly suffer it.

For oh! Thou blessed King, we would set the crown on Thy head, even if the sword should smite our arm off at the shoulder blade. Thou must be King whatever becomes of us. Thou must be glorified whatever becomes of us.

But yet we have to mourn that we cannot get always to feel as we should this rapture and ardour of love. Oh! at times Thou dost manifest Thyself to us so charmingly that heaven itself could scarce be happier than the world becomes when Thou art with us in it. But when Thou art gone and we are in the dark, oh! give us the love that loves in the dark, that loves when there is no comfortable sense of Thy presence. Let us not be dependent upon feeling, but may we ever love Thee, so that if Thou didst turn Thy back on us by the year together, we would think none the less of Thee, for Thou art unspeakably to be beloved whatsoever Thou doest, and if Thou dost give us rough words, yet still we would cling to Thee, and if the rod be used till we tingle again, yet still will we love Thee, for Thou art infinitely to be beloved of all men and angels, and Thy Father loved Thee. Make our hearts to love Thee evermore the same. With all the capacity for love that there is in us, and with all the more that Thou canst give us, may we love our Lord in spirit and in truth.

Help us, Lord, to conquer sin out of love to Thee. Help some dear strugglers that have been mastered by sin sometimes, and they are struggling against it. Give them the victory, Lord, and when the battle gets very sharp and they are tempted to give way a little, help them to be very firm and very strong, never giving up hope in the Lord Jesus, and resolving that if they perish they will perish at His feet and nowhere else but there.

Lord, raise up in our churches many men and women that are all on fire with love to Christ and His divine Gospel. Oh! give us back again men like Antipas, Thy faithful martyr, men like Paul, Thy earnest servant who proclaimed Thy truth so boldly. Give us Johns, men to whom the Spirit may speak, who shall bid us hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches. Lord, revive us! Lord, revive us! Revive Thy work in the midst of the years in all the churches. Return unto the Church of God in this country, return unto her. Thine adversaries think to have it all their own way, but they will not, for the Lord liveth, and blessed be our Rock.

Because of truth and righteousness, we beseech Thee lay bare Thine arm in these last days. O Shepherd of Israel, deal a heavy blow at the wolves and keep Thy sheep in their own true pastures, free from the poisonous pastures of error. O God, we would stir Thee up. We know Thou sleepest not, and yet sometimes it seems as if Thou didst sleep awhile and leave things to go on in their own way.

We beseech Thee, awake. Plead Thine own cause. We know Thine answer, “Awake! Awake! Put on thy strength, O Zion.” This we would do, Lord, but we cannot do it unless Thou dost put forth Thy strength to turn our weakness into might.

Great God, save this nation! O God of heaven and earth, stay the floods of infidelity and of filthiness that roll over this land. Would God we might see better days! Men seem entirely indifferent now. They will not come to hear the Word as once they did. God of our fathers, let Thy Spirit work again among the masses. Turn the hearts of the people to the hearing of the Word and convert them when they hear it. May it be preached with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven.

Our hearts are weary for Thee, thou King, Thou King forgotten in thine own land, Thou King despised among Thine own people, when wilt Thou yet be glorious before the eyes of all mankind? Come, we beseech Thee, come quickly, or if Thou comest not personally, send forth the Holy Spirit with a greater power than ever that our hearts may leap within us as they see miracles of mercy repeated in our midst.

Father, glorify Thy Son. Somehow our prayer always comes to this before we have done. “Father, glorify Thy Son that Thy Son also may glorify Thee,” and let the days come when He shall see of the travail of His soul and shall be satisfied. Bless all work done for Thee, whether it be in the barn or in the cathedral, silently and quietly at the street door, or in the Sunday school or in the classes, O Lord, bless Thy work. Hear also prayers that have been put up by wives for their husbands, children for their parents, parents for their children. Let the holy service of prayer never cease and let the intercession be accepted of God, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.

[gffa]

I HAVE SOME FEELINGS ABOUT PADME AMIDALA and why, despite that I get a lot of people hated her ending and I can’t entirely disagree that it was because her character wasn’t written for her own sake, but for Anakin’s sake, that I still have a lot of feelings about this and why it’s intensely important to me personally. I’ve been giving Padme’s character a lot of thought lately, as I’ve been digesting Queen’s Shadow and how it’s made me really have to untangle a lot of the feelings I have about her character.  One of the things you need to know about me is that I love complicated, messy female characters, that they are so very much my jam.  My main blog is dedicated to female characters and one of the things I often look for when wanting to reblog stuff is, “Is this woman kind of a jerk sometimes?  But still unequestionably a hero of the story?  OMG, MY LOVE, MARRY ME.”  Or “Is this woman kind of failing at something, but I never question that she’s a worthwhile person to tell her story?  OMG, I LOVE HER, TELL ME MORE.” So much of this comes from my frustration with how women are portrayed in media, that in order to be “good” characters, they had to be all things to all women, which meant they had to be perfect.  Which, itself, was also a limitation on the characters, it was a reaction to the limitations of them, rather than just letting the characters be.  In order for them not to be torn to shreds, they had to have absolutely no flaws, they had to be able to do everything just as well and still were only considered half as good as the male characters by a lot of people.  Male characters get to run the gamut and we never have to justify that character type, whether they’re the best person ever or the worst person ever or somewhere in between.  They can just be. Women, on the other hand, if they have a flaw, it gets magnified a thousandfold and then they’re just a worthless bitch.  I want to reject that idea so hard.  No!  Give me snotty, not always nice, but whole-heartedly good women!  Give me smug, arrogant, asshole but whole-heartedly good women!  Give me messy, complicated, depressed, mean but whole-heartedly good women!  I wanttttt themmmmm allllll and I AM GOING TO MARRY THEM ALL. This is why I do really love Star Wars, I can get an absolute array of those characters, from the softest, kindest, “weakest” character, to the nastiest, meanest, but sympathetic character, to the full on villain who isn’t redeemable at all but can still be cool.  Yeah, SW still has a long ways to go (especially in terms of diversity–we’re inching forward, please give me more, LF! I’m so ready!!) but there are so many women I love. So, for me, I really, really like the complicated, messy Padme of Revenge of the Sith.  I get that a lot of people see her differently and feel like she was written only for the sake of Anakin’s manpain, that a lot of people hate that she died of a broken heart, and I can’t say I disagree that she probably got really shafted in terms of it being her story.  But I really want to find meaning in her story and look at it from her point of view, and, for me, Padme has always been someone who is a GIANT BALL OF FEELINGS, so much so that she cares intensely about people she just barely met and remembers them for years afterwards, but also that she can be blinded to the suffering of others because the other person she cares about is right in front of her.  Padme’s willingness to ignore the murder of the indigenous children on Tatooine, her willingness to ignore the murder of the Jedi children and go raise their baby together with Anakin, for me those things are about a Padme who is utterly relatable to me in that her feelings are so intense they burned the candle at both ends, and eventually that consumed her. The fall of the Republic, the fall of democracy, the fall of Anakin, the increasing isolation we see of her during AOTC and ROTS, where her fire is steadily snuffing itself out because it’s using up all her oxygen, is part of what draws me to her character.  Not because Padme is lesser or more of an asshole for this, but because she’s relatable to me, because I love her and feel for her and cry for her, what she goes through and how it tears at her. Padme being so strong that she can sway entire governments to her plans and being so weak that she dies of a broken heart when she loses the Republic and Anakin?  THAT’S MY GIRL, THAT’S IT, THAT’S HER, THAT’S THE ONE I LOVE AND WANT TO INTERNET MARRY. In the struggle to come to this understanding of how I feel about this character, I realized something that I’d never quite connected to before--I strongly identify with Padme’s giving up on life.  I’ve had suicidal thoughts for almost my entire life, that if there had been a way for me to just give up on life, to just lay down and not exist anymore, I don’t think I would still be here today.  The only thing that stopped me was that I wasn’t actively aggressive enough about it.  I didn’t precisely want to die, I just didn’t want to live, either.  It took me a very long time to get to a better place, but I can still look back on that time of my life and intensely remember how I felt--I know my family and friends love me, but I’m such a burden on them, I’m failing them, yes, they’d be sad when I was gone, but they’d heal, they wouldn’t have this weight dragging them down, they would be better off without me, because this world is so painful for me to live in, that I wish I wasn’t in it anymore. When I look at Padme Amidala, I see someone who burned so brightly, but that she crumbled bit by bit.  I see someone who had no one to turn to when she was crying alone in her apartment as the Republic was falling, as the Jedi Temple burned, and Anakin was falling off the cliff.  I see someone who, instead of continuing to push for something she felt strongly about, dropped it when Anakin was was upset about it and said, “Hold me, like you did by the lake on Naboo.”  I see someone who knew how badly Anakin’s dreams upset him and what he was capable of when the worst happened, like on Tatooine, and said, “They’re just dreams.” because she was trying to hold all of this together.  I see someone who had no time to address the underlying problems in the Republic because of the 20 tire fires going on, who had no time to address the underlying problems in her marriage because there were 20 more tire fires going on, and I see someone who lost them both. I see someone who pleaded on Mustafar, ignoring more murder of children, to come away with her and raise their child together.  I see someone who passionately believed that love would save them all and it didn’t, Anakin still became Darth Vader, the Republic still fell, the Jedi still died, and she felt like everything she’d done was nothing, she’d failed them all. I can all too easily imagine myself in Padme’s place, feeling like I’d failed at everything, like I wasn’t enough, no matter how brightly I burned, no matter how much I poured myself into my efforts to help people and change the world around me, that I cannot live in it anymore, that even if they’ll be sad without me for awhile, I would only fail them again.  That there were some things about myself that it took me a very, very long time to be able to face and deal with. So many of the arguments against Padme’s death often come around to, “She wouldn’t just give up!” like Padme’s too good to be depressed and suicidal, like she’s better than that.  Which then implies that the people who struggle with this are somehow lesser or worthless, that because I have felt this way before, because I would be dead now if I could die in a fairy tale way of just giving up on life, that I’m lesser and worthless, too.  That my struggle with this makes me bad.  Which is not my favorite feeling in the world, no. I don’t demand that anyone agree with me, nor do I necessarily think this was the narrative intent.  But I see a woman who cried alone in her apartment, I see a woman who couldn’t face some things that she couldn’t deal with, I see a woman who tried and tried and tried and failed (in her eyes), I see a woman who was capable of great things but was crushed under the weight of loss and quite possibly her own thoughts. And I see a lot of myself there.  So, Padme Amidala dying of a broken heart, losing the will to live, being unable to live even for the people she has left, that struck a hard resonating note with me.  In the same way that Anakin’s anxieties and fears consumed him has meaning for me (as someone who suffers through a shitload of anxiety), so too does Padme’s depression and willingness to give up.

[helloalexalexa]

Emily Alexa Acosta Prof. Halbert Barton

P1: Silent Infiltration

There is a silent war that was initiated in the 1960s in the Catholic Church that is very little known about by a majority of its members, but which camp you fall under is of eternal importance. The bulk of the 1 billion in the church are unfortunately cafeteria catholics who don’t even realize that their guidance is tugged at by Trads and Modernists. Both silently have severe disdain for the other and secretly believe that the other group is ruining the church.

In the 60s the pope held what is known as the second Vatican council or Vatican II. This council was going to revolutionize the church by bringing in an emphasis on having the laity participate in church more and not have so much reliance on just priests and nuns to be the leaders of the faith. It’s the obsession of both Trads and Modernists to this day. The council ended up barely changing anything, it mainly accomplished only making how the church was run dictated in very vague rubrics and guidelines. That’s how the modernists silently infiltrated. Being that there was no longer language upheld by the Vatican as to what is allowed or rejected explicitly, modernists found wiggle room to add new things to parishes and the mass that have changed how the church looks to unrecognizable levels. It was a slow internal disfiguring of the church, done little by little through things like “voting in suggestions” on small things that simply built up for over 50 years.

Modernists are easily spotted if they call themselves “charismatics”, but trads just know them as Susan from the Parish Council. Their number one focus is voting in as many light shows, dancing and guitars to catholic mass to make it feel like the laity are included more. The Susans from the parish council are typically seen as from the boomer generation. They can range from active senior citizens that like running groups at the church to even priests, bishops or the pope. They love going up to priests and ask them things like why they wouldn’t want to be in a suit and tie instead of “those out dated weird clothes that only the mentally disturbed wear.” They also love voting themselves in to take over roles only the priest does, like touching the eucharist or reading aloud from the bible during mass. All in the name of “bigger participation”. No more emphasis on teaching theology to the faithful. What is important to them is that a person FEELS loved, and they accomplish this in only singing and dancing in front of the altar or organizing pot luck parties. Traditions of the old church are boring and don’t connect with the youth and poses a threat to a dying church that is too outdated to attract newcomers in their minds. Trads to them are also the meanest believers by their bold talk and closed mindedness. They point to Trads as the reason why the church doesn’t “catch up” to the world by adopting what is currently popular.

Trads spot each other a mile away. With their personal Latin missals in hand, men in suits and extremely modestly dressed women in their veils, they tend to run in groups and follow their favorite Father YoungTrad. They all learn latin and reject any liturgy that dates after 1962 and only attend Latin Mass. When they happily meet each other one of the first things they do is greet each other with a banter of wits. Who can out “trad” the other? It’s mainly done to gauge just how devout to the cause they are, and then to know how safely intense they can go into conversation about the faith. It starts off light mocking all things Novus Ordo. For something to be described as novus ordo is strictly an insult. The most extreme belief Trads can say to one another is proclaiming the age old motto “Salus extra ecclesiam non est”. The stereotype for trads is that they are majorly in their 20s to 30s and also range from laity to priests, bishops and the pope. These are self taught faithful that hold to the doctrines and dogmas of the church and fight all things “new” from being introduced to the church. They are almost obsessed with philosophy and theology and know their church history straight from original texts and sources. They have a fire that everything modern is ruining the faith because it abandons the beauty of the intelligence of Catholic theology for fleeting emotions.

Realizing a modern or traditional parish is as obvious as the building they’re in. Trad parishes indulge in the beauty of gothic style architecture and intricate design. Every detail of the church naturally leads the eye to flow upwards to face the one and only cross present at the front of the church all the way up to the ceilings that depict heaven. Even the altar is facing away from the congregation so that the priest can stand at the front facing God along with the crowd to offer their prayers on their behalf. His back is to the congregation because no one should be looking at him. Every eye looks at what’s most important which is either the Cross or an image of God. Every corner has a saint or an angel smiling back at you, whether in stain glass, statue or painting. To its best ability it reminds the faithful of the reality of the infinite spiritual beings that are always present with them. Trad-popular architecture is hard to distinguish from architecture that designed medieval or renaissance era churches.

In contrast, churches produced by modernist inspirations are hard to argue are churches at all. They’re more so large lecture halls whose design flow lead the eye to focus on the pulpit in which some person is going to speak from. They celebrate almost a cooking show styled “show and tell” performance mass on a table. Walls are bare and usually white or beige in the name of “humility” but that intention is drowned out by the concerts and light shows that frequent their masses. Almost nothing is around to bring to mind a single thought of heaven. They can actually go unattended because the faithful don’t even realize its a church to attend since its so easy to miss their single minimalistic cross that’s the only “holy” indicator in sight.

But silently modern churches close down and traditionalist churches keep rebuilding to expand. Too bad the bulk do not know of the riches of the faith since the modernists successfully infiltrated our catechism curriculum and stripped the altars of relics, statutes and art to make room to guitar equipment and flat beige walls. Cafeteria Catholics have no idea of the teachings of the church because modernists have voted out teachings that do not focus on how “Jesus loves everyone no matter what.” Us trads find ourselves in an engulfing sea of the Nones. But silently we’re infiltrating back. Slowly we are finding ourselves to be the only ones left that uphold the importance of faith discipline. The Boomer Susans are slowly aging out of any capacity to be present in church and seminaries are finding that only trads sign into their programs. Trads are the only ones left keeping up tithes and the only ones left signing up to catechize because we’re the only ones that even know the basics of the faith anymore. We’re careful to not be too open about being trad. If identified many priests and fellow believers know of our burning desire to undo everything from Vatican II and try to suppress our participation. But I am hopeful that the progress of the trad movement is getting our church back to where it produced the amazing saints that have changed world history and are celebrated globally to this day.

Glossary

-Cafeteria Catholics: People that identify as catholic but only like to pick and choose what they personally like that the faith teaches and rejects everything else taught. The notion is that they’re in a lunchroom choosing what to eat from the menu options.

-Trads: The slang name of people who are traditionalists in their view of the faith. They take every doctrine from the beginning of church history as fact that cannot be changed. Alternative slang term for them is RadTrad which is short for Radical Traditionalist emphasizing the extremity of their beliefs.

-Modernists: Believers that want to “modernize” the church to better reflect “world wisdom” and take away any supernatural aspects of the faith and make it more of a metaphorical mindset.

-Laity: Any Catholic that is not apart of a religious order. A catholic that is not a priest, nun, brother or deacon.

-Susan From The Parish Council: A meme character created by trads personifying the majority of the type of person a modernist tends to be. Susan is literally a grandmother that is a part of the parish council that is out of touch with what children/youth like and keeps trying to attract them with felt banners and finger paints but produces only cheesy results. Usually only their grandchildren are seen forced into their church activities and are never older than 7 in the memes. They always turn hostile to trads and exert their parish council authority to suppress tradition.

-Boomers: People born roughly in the mid 1900s (~1945/~1965)

-Latin Missals: A missal in general is essentially a “how to” instructional book on celebrating a mass. It contains the liturgy (explained further down in the glossary), prayers and readings needed for mass. Latin missals specifically give the “how to” hand guide to celebrating mass in the form before Vatican II introduced an “updated modern” version of the mass handbook.

-Father YoungTrad: Another meme character devised by trads to personify the type of person traditionalists tend to be. In stark contrast to Susan, Father YoungTrad is a fit and young priest that is extremely orthodox in his leadership and mainly only celebrates Latin mass. His parish is thriving with young people and young families that are well informed of the faith.

-Latin Mass: The name of the rite of the mass celebrated before the changes of Vatican II. Entire mass is celebrated in the official language of the church which is latin. The order of the mass that was the only way the mass was celebrated for about 1,500 years.

-Liturgy: The specific laws/rubrics on how a mass is celebrated.

-Novus Ordo: Latin for “the new order”. It is the name of the new rite of the mass that Vatican II came up with. In social circles it is used as an adjective to identify any aspect of the church/mass/or faith teaching that is not traditional and just a new invention after the 60s that have no actual church history basis.

-“Salus extra ecclesiam non est”: Latin for “there is no salvation outside of the church” and has been a slogan in catholicism since the 3rd century to signify that the catholic church is the only one true church. It is extreme because it declares that other religions including other christian denominations are not the church of the one true God. Trads say it to reinvigorate themselves to the importance of the duty they have to convert as many as they can.

-Nones: A new term coined by well known Bishop Robert Barren to identify the growing number of people that check off the “none” option whenever surveyed to identify which religion they practice or identify as.

-Seminary: The institution that men attend to become priests. “Priest school” where their graduation is actually their ordination to the priesthood. Lasts about eight years to obtain bachelors and masters degrees and includes apprenticeship at different parishes.  

-Tithes: The practice of the laity to give ten percent of their salary to the church/provide support, whether financial, goods or talents.

[marshmallowprotection]

How about a soulmates AU, enemies to lovers with prompt 22 or 24 (I couldn't choose lololol) with Unknown~? Thanks^^

this is a big out of character shitpost anon but I could haven’t it any other way. 

Soulmates AU +  Enemies to Lovers + 22. “Did you hack into my hotspot?” + 24. “Alexa, play Wonderwall.”

If there’s one thing that defines the relationship that you’ve crafted with this punk in your school it’s that you cannot stand him and he cannot stand you. Everyone else in the school knows it. If the two of you are in the same room then things weren’t going to end well for the rest of them.

All you know about this person is that they’re a guy and he is just hellbent on defeating you at every single turn he can reach. It doesn’t matter what it was, sports, classwork, games, titles, friends, heck, even beating you to open the oven first in Home Ec. You’ve spent the better half of the school trying to figure out who the hell this guy even was and why he was so determined to destroy you. You were just trying to enjoy what was left of your Senior year for fuck’s sake! 

Today was no different than any other day! You were trying to work on an assignment when your computer began to sputter and the screen went blank with a taunting code. There were only two people in the school that could have screwed with your stuff, and you knew it wasn’t Luciel. 

Lifting your head, you looked around the room and found a familiar mop of shaggy hair that needed to be combed down. 

There he was! 

All it took for you to storm up to him with the meanest glare you could muster was him screwing around with your computer, you had spent a lot of time working on that report and his little game had just cost you eight-hundred words of progress! With hands on your hips, you stared down at him where he sat in his chair, calming typing on his own computer and acting like he had done absolutely nothing whatsoever! 

 “Did you hack into my hotspot?” you demanded. 

“Oh, Y/N, what would have ever given you that idea?” he asked, lifting his head to look at you. 

“I just lost my entire essay and you’re the only one here who—” your words caught in your throat.   

With that very lovely — no, dumb — dyed hair of his and those beautiful — no, stupid  — strangely colorful eyes of his, you just wanted to wipe that stupid smirk from his face right now! Wait a moment, colorful? You realized as you stared into his eyes for the first time that you were seeing colors, all kinds of colors apart from the black and white that had once ruled your vision. 

Colors. 

All of the colors in the world were now on display to you and that meant one thing and one thing alone. 

“Oh hell, no,” you both uttered at the same moment. 

“There’s no way on this Earth that you’re my soulmate, no way, this is not happening right now, you .” you’re still staring at him, unable to tear your eyes away from the explosion of color. There are so many colors that you’ve never seen before, only heard the murmurs of from people that were lucky enough to meet with their own soulmate. You don’t know what color his eyes are, but you’ve decided without even thinking it through that you really love that color. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he countered, resting his hands against the table suddenly and looking back at you with that look you had been giving him earlier. “What’s wrong with me your soulmate, prince(ess)? Afraid of being destined to be with the best of the best?”” 

“Everything,” you countered, sputtering. “You hate me, and I hate you, so this is like a sick cosmic joke!” 

“The universe seems to think otherwise,” He replied, resting his arms over his chest. “You do realize that this means that we’ve spent all this time fighting when we could have been dominating the entire populous with our talents combined, right?” 

You rest a hand on your hip, scowling. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you suggesting that we could have been working together to get all the top marks in class instead of fighting each other by mere decimals?” 

He snorted. “To leave the rest of them in the dust without even trying? Of course, Y/N.” 

“You act like it’s easy to contend with a soulmate like yourself,” you say. “Do you realize how much of an ass you are?” 

“You’re no peach yourself, Y/N,” he said. “You really don’t have a lot of room to talk, either.” 

You stared, agasp at his tone. “Well, well— ugh, what are we even supposed to do with this information?” 

“We could start with a date.” 

“A date?!” 

“What, are you scared of a date? Have I finally found the thing that you’re too scared to try and beat me at?” 

“Is that a challenge?” 

“Are you going to take it or not, prince(ess)?” 

“As if I would ever let you beat me! Fine, I’ll go out with you!”  

From the other side of the room, Luciel Choi is watching this encounter with a hand pressed to his cheek and a big smile on his face. He always had a feeling that both of you had something more to your contempt than what was on the surface.  “This is so beautiful to witness with my own eyes, Alexa, play Wonderwall.” 

[wisdomrays]

Knowledge that Distances a Person from God

QUESTION: What are the lessons to be drawn from the hadith reading, “If a person’s knowledge increases but asceticism does not, the only thing that really increases is his distance from God”?

ANSWER: The ways that help a person reach God are as myriad as the breaths His creatures take. This is because every person has different talents and abilities. Accordingly, those on the spiritual road with tender characters state that the most important path leading to God is love. Some of these journeyers of love have expressed their longing by saying:

O God, make me familiar with the trouble of love; Do not let me be devoid of the trouble of love.

Another spiritual master said:

Give your heart to such a Beloved, that will make you happy at heart. Hang on to such a skirt, that will take you to the target.

Yet another hero of love depicted the inner world of a lover of God with the following lines:

What an ascetic desires in his heart is Paradise, In the heart of a true lover, is but the one he loves.

On the other hand, some of the journeyers on the path of truth have tried to reach God by means of asceticism, and valued this road above all others. Asceticism (zuhd) means, in a way, forsaking this world and what it contains, and restricting one’s belongings to their essential needs. A person naturally needs to meet bodily needs such as eating, drinking, and sleeping. However, one who wishes to lead an ascetic life does not want to benefit from such blessings of the world to the full degree, thinking that they lead a person to heedlessness. Such people act under the guidance of the principle

As for certain inquisitive souls who possess wisdom and try to know God by means of deliberation, discussion, and reflections, they have always scrutinized phenomena by reading into this universe like a book of Divine wisdom. They have made some connections with this book and the Miraculous Qur’an, and they have always tried to behold these two books through the lens, projector, or observatory they provided for one another.

Those who lose their way in the valleys of imitation

Apart from what we have mentioned, there are people who have not yet freed themselves from leading a superficial life based on formality. They are captives of imitation, and it is rather difficult for them to make progress. In terms of imitating the ways of their ancestors, their situation resembles the unbelievers who said,

“Enough for us (are the ways) that we found our forefathers on” (al-Maedah 5:104).

A person in this situation needs to ask himself, “Had I been born in a region where another religion is prevalent, I wonder if I would still become a Muslim, be it in this poor degree of mine?” Though it should be noted that scholars from the mainstream understanding of Ahl al-Sunnah wa’l-Jama’ah stated that faith based on imitation is also acceptable – namely, people who go to the mosque because their fathers did, and who observe the Ramadan fast because their grandmothers did. These people will also be saved.

An inflation of Mahdis

Actually, these points about “imitation” faith can be used to describe our generation. None of us left our beds in the middle of the night and went around like mad, saying like Umar ibn al-Khattab’s uncle Zayd ibn Amr did, “My God, I yearn for You!” We have not engaged in a crazy quest for the sake of finding Him, but have always consoled ourselves with imitation.

If some people still applauded this poor Islamic life of ours and we foolishly see ourselves as ideal Muslims, then we have been deceived completely. Some poor people have even given in to populism in the face of applause and flattering remarks, and lots of mahdis have appeared as a consequence. There have been so many of them in our century that it is not an exaggeration if we talk about an inflation of mahdis. While some people wonder in self-criticism whether they can even be considered ordinary Muslims, others see themselves as heroes, who will save humanity with a single move, who will bring down emperors with a single breath. But in reality, all of them have been poor slaves of imitation without a thorough recognition of God or knowledge of the Prophet. They have lived unaware of the Rightly Guided Caliphs and the Blessed Companions. As they are unaware of where they have been, and of their inability to make any progress even in favorable conditions, it has been difficult for them to advance.

A person with sound belief must constantly ruminate and reflect for the sake of setting sail for seas of knowledge and love of God, and move on with an unquenchable enthusiasm. In response to the bowls of knowledge of God offered to him, he should say:

See now, how this poor servant is, Crazy for a single strand from the Beloved’s locks The honey of love I take on and on, Give some water for my heartburn!

Like a person who drinks seawater, a person who takes Divine love should ask for more and more. While setting sail deep into knowledge of God, he should never give up the following considerations:

“If I could truly feel what is supposed to be felt, and experience the truth of

‘...it is in the remembrance of, and whole-hearted devotion to God, that hearts find rest and contentment’ (ar-Rad 13:28),

and if I could perceive the glad tidings in,

‘Those (whose hearts have attained rest and contentment) who have believed and do good, righteous deeds—for them is the greatest happiness and the most beautiful of destinations,’ (ar-Rad 13:29)

then I would establish a much deeper connection with God Almighty, always voice tunes of love and yearning for God, lower my wings of humility to the ground before believers, and behold the entire creation with an immense compassion. Accordingly, what I am actually doing can be considered as crawling miserably on the ground.”

Look shallow but be deep!

In fact, real servanthood lies in combining exceptionally high endeavor and exceptional modesty. On the one hand, a person must ascend so high that when angels look at him, they should say, “What a surprise! A being with a physical body shares the same horizons with us angels!” Or they should say, “(he) is flapping wings, even ahead of us!” But this person must at the same time be able to see himself as the nothing of nothings. When they tell him to put his signature somewhere, he should be able to spontaneously sign “nothing.”

In terms of accomplishing human perfection, there is no greater person than the Pride of Humanity. But in spite of that, he implored God by saying, “Make me insignificant in my own eyes, but great in the eyes of people (with respect to my mission).” A spiritual master altered this prayer a bit, saying, “My God, make me insignificant in my own eyes, but profound in my religion.”

A person should see himself as petty as a fly’s wing, but with respect to religious profundity he should say, “My God let me attain such religious perfection and let me be so well equipped religiously that when my inspirations are distributed to the whole of humanity, let it suffice for all of them to enter Paradise.”

With reference to his Companion Maiz, the Messenger of God, peace and blessings be upon him, stated, “He repented in such a way that if it were distributed to 70 people in Medina, it would suffice for them all.” That person had committed a sin (fornication) without the knowledge of others, and as a result of his repentance for this sin, he came to the Messenger of God and stated that he wanted to be purified. Although the blessed Prophet sent him away four times, he came back every time, in spite of knowing that his demand to be duly punished meant his execution, and repeated his wish. And after the punishment was carried out, the noble Prophet stated the words we quoted.

A person should constantly try to deepen their focus on faith, knowledge of God, love of God, spiritual delight, fervor, and enthusiasm. But together with that, the person should see himself shallower than the shallowest ones. Actually, if a person has truly attained a depth of heart, he will see himself as the lowliest of people. And the reverse meaning also holds true: If a person sees himself superior to other people, then he is the meanest and poorest person in actual fact. Be this person a believer, hypocrite, or unbeliever, it doesn’t matter.

“Knowledge” means knowing yourself

A person who imagines exalted ranks for himself and thinks, “So it seems that I am a chosen person sent by Divine Providence as specially equipped to fulfill an important mission and guide humanity to the peak of perfection,” has no true value at all, not even to the degree of a fly’s wing. The true indication of greatness is modesty and self-effacement—and the indication of worthlessness is vanity.

True knowledge is a person being able to crown the knowledge he possesses with such considerations. And this can be achieved by people who have sipped perfection, attained maturity, and turned their theoretical knowledge into practical deeds.

Without this knowledge, it is not possible for those who depend on the appreciation of others to progress a single step forward. Even if others say things like, “So and so is praiseworthy! See how he helps people, guides them, and takes them out of the quicksand they were stuck in,” this will do them no good at all.

To make an evaluation with respect to the hadith mentioned in the question, if a believer cannot push aside the world and what it contains in spite of his increase in knowledge; if he is still preoccupied with worldly concerns and is running after worldly ambitions; and if he looks for the next worldly title as soon as he gains one and is dying to retain the worldly benefits he has gained, then that person has been distanced from nothing else but God.

[look-into-our-heart]

About Anger #5 – Stop Hurting Ourselves

There are many reasons to why we get angry. One of them is someone did something wrong. They make a mistake, and we get angry about it. Dharma Master Cheng Yen has a Jing Si Aphorism that says “Getting angry is actually to punish yourself with other people's mistakes.” Have we really thought about what makes us angry instead of attributing our anger to the person who triggers it?

Peace Pilgrim, in her book, says that how we feel is entirely up to us. It is not determined by any outward things. It’s by our own wrong actions, our own wrong reactions, and our own inaction in some situations. Here is an excerpt from the book Peace Pilgrim: Her Life and Work in her Own Words.

One final comment about negative feelings, which helped me very much at one time and has helped others. No outward thing — nothing, nobody from without — can hurt me inside, psychologically. I recognized that I could only be hurt psychologically by my own wrong actions, which I have control over; by my own wrong reactions (they are tricky, but I have control over them too); or by my own inaction in some situations, like the present world situation, that need action from me. When I recognized all this how free I felt! And I just stopped hurting myself. Now someone could do the meanest thing to me and I would feel deep compassion for this out-of-harmony person, this sick person, who is capable of doing mean things. I certainly would not hurt myself by a wrong reaction of bitterness or anger. You have complete control over whether you will be psychologically hurt or not, and anytime you want to, you can stop hurting yourself.

In dealing with anger, Master mentions a passage from the Sutra in Forty-Two Sections.

Section 8: Abusing Others Defiles Oneself

The Buddha said, "An evil person who harms a sage is like one who raises his head and spits at heaven. Instead of reaching heaven, the spittle falls back on him. It is the same with someone who throws dust against the wind. Instead of going somewhere else, the dust returns to defile his own body. The sage cannot be harmed. Misdeeds will inevitably destroy the doer. "

When someone does something wrong and gives us an attitude, it’s like that person in the sutra throwing a handful of dust at the wind. Yet, the wind blows in the person’s direction, and the dust ends up soiling his body. We do not have to accept what the person wants to give us (anger in this case), then we will not get angry at that person and his deeds. We tell ourselves, “That person is trying to make me mad, but I’m not going to accept it. He’ll just have to take it back.” When we think in this way, we will remain calm. It’s just like what the sutra teaches us, if we don’t get angry, anger will not get us. It will just go back to the person who is angry. Our intention is to calm the anger, so the best way to deal with anger is with compassion and kindness.

[korrasera]

appropriately-inappropriate reblogged your post and added:

You’re not a threat to me? Then tell that to the...

And here we see the problem with TERFs revealed. They honestly think that trans women are a threat to their existence. Like, all of us. On an existential level. These people honestly believe that the only survivable future is one in which trans women no longer exist because we’ve all been rounded up and killed. You can see it all over their rhetoric, as they basically talk about us like we’re demons. Or men, which is actually worse now that I think about it.

Like I said, this is classic authoritarianism, built on fear. I’ll lay out the basics for anyone who hasn’t heard me talk about authoritarianism.

First, here’s how healthy development is supposed to work:

Human beings become emotionally mature when we learn to control our sense of fear. Everyone experiences fear as it is one of our primal emotions. Learning to manage your fear what parents are for.

By acting as your caregivers, they shelter you while you are a child and cannot manage your own fear. Over time, you learn to control it and keep it from controlling your thoughts and actions.

And so, you become mature when you can feel secure not because someone is watching over you, but because you know you can handle your own shit.

The problem comes when you never actually become emotionally mature.

For some people, they never grow up because they’re born into a live of privilege and don’t have caregivers that care enough to raise them securely. For a lot of other people, it happens because of trauma, whether we’re talking childhood abuse, attachment injury, or emotionally immature caregivers that can’t teach you anything.

It’s also worth noting that emotionally mature adults can see their maturity eroded by traumatic events. Surviving a disaster, warfare, assault and abuse, these can all overwhelm your ability to process, depriving you of the sense of security you built for yourself.

This is a fundamental cognitive bias in human beings. When we do not achieve emotional maturity, we fall victim to authoritarianism. That lack of a sense of security comes from not being able to control your fears. It prevents you from seeing the truth of what is actually a threat to you. You start doing things like saying that refugees are a threat because of terrorists, despite the two groups having nothing to do with each other. Or you single out black people as being less than human but imagine them as physically powerful, thus necessitating your enslavement of them.

Seriously, authoritarianism is the worst and it sits at the heart of pretty much all of our worst forms of hatred and bigotry.

You can recognize authoritarians by a few behaviors that they always fall into. Compare to the current US political climate for real world examples:

Form an in-group from people who look like you. You must then police that in-group to make sure they act like you, because if they don’t then they’re the enemy and they must be eradicated. See the entire religious right in the US, as well as the entirety of the GOP.

Form an out-group that’s everyone else. Many of these people are going to be the focal point for your fear and you’re going to seek to eradicate them. Conservatives in the US have gone after LGBTQ+ people, black people, Asian people, Muslims, refugees, you name it. And let’s not forget that the nazis quite literally tried to murder every Jewish person they could get their hands on and a lot of other marginalized people along with them.

Take your biggest, meanest, most aggressive asshole and put them in charge. They are now your dad and they’re going to protect you from what you’re afraid of. Ever wonder why TERFs seem to sing the praises of their most aggressive and violent members, like a certain fake goth you all might be familiar with?

There’s some good that you can take out of all of this. Children in particular are resilient, and many of us that experience childhood trauma or attachment injury manage to stumble our way to emotional maturity. Sometimes we get there with a host of unhealthy coping mechanisms, sometimes we’re depressed and suffer from anxiety, but many of us get there in the end.

If you’ve ever wondered why your depressed and traumatized friend might struggle with her own phobias but will leap to the defense of marginalized people seemingly without regard for her own safety? That’s one of us who has managed to grow up.

When you realize most fears are unfounded and that it takes work to recognize your true enemy, like TERFs and other human beings who are so afraid that they’d slaughter the rest of us and often try to do so, you know that you can control your fear and recognize when it’s irrational and when it’s warranted.

TERFs, like all authoritarians, lack that trait. It’s why they behave in cowardly and deceptive ways. That’s why they need to assault one of the most marginalized groups that exists today, why they send death threats and encourage young trans women to kill themselves.

It is possible for someone to come back from being that kind of a hateful bigot, but it’s not easy. They have to grow up. Imagine admitting that as an adult. And then imagine doing something about it.

[phoxnixrising]

All of the upsetting and twisted reaction asks bc why not lmao

//lmaoooo we’re gonna be here a while

@team-caeruleum HAVE FUN READING LMAO

~ How would your muse behave if they are at their angriest? Would they lash out and hurt someone?

If Phoenix were to get angry, he would definitely scream and yell until he was tired, and he could potentially hurt someone if he said something harmful.

~ What is the most extreme thing your muse would do for someone they love?

He would die for them, of course.

~ Your muse now has the ability to bring a deceased loved one back to life perfectly (no decay or anything, just as they last saw them). The catch is, their loved one would have no memory of your muse at all. Would they do it anyway?

He would do in a heartbeat. He’ll be sad of course, but they will be able to make new memories together.

~ Your muse opens their door one rainy night to find a child (of their same species) standing outside and soaking wet. They say they have no family and are lost, would your muse take them in as their own?

Oh hell yeah. He wouldn’t turn down a little kid, even if they were to try and kill him...

~ What is the saddest state your muse has ever been in? Describe them in their most depressing, loneliest state. How do they behave?

Phoenix would purposely isolate himself. He would constantly tell himself that he’s not good enough or not strong enough. He wouldn’t even talk to anyone.

~ What subject tends to make your muse go into a “soul searchy” state?

I don’t know... Stuff about death maybe. And forgiveness.

~ What is your muse’s personal hell like? Is there anyone or anything there to terrorize them?

Basically anything that reminds him of his parents’ deaths, or even the fact that he wasn’t at home when it happened.

~ Describe your muse’s top 3 worst nightmares they have ever dreamed up.

The top spot goes to the recurring dream of him seeing his parents die at the hands of Grimm.

A few times he dreamt that he was consumed by his own flames.

There were also a few times he dreamt about fighting the bandits that destroyed his home and losing to them.

~ Describe your muse’s top 3 nightmares in real life.

Finding out from his teacher that his parents were dead.

Finding his home burned down to mere ashes.

Finding no remains of his parents.

~ What is the worst situation your muse has ever been in?

He was once on his own when he ran into a group of bandits. He was outnumbered and outgunned - he truly thought that he reached the end of the line of his life. If other Huntsmen hadn’t come in to rescue him, he would have been dead for sure.

~ Describe a moment in your muse’s life when they have been seriously injured or sick. How close could they have been to dying?

While at Haven, Team PHIR was on a mission when they were attacked by Grimm and Phoenix became injured in the fight. He received numerous scratches and was stabbed in the chest with a needle, just barely missing his vital organs. Of course with all the blood he lost, he was very close to death. He would have been if there hadn’t been a village with a healer nearby at the time.

~ Are there any sights or images that make your muse feel sad or lonely?

Seeing couples with their children, or seeing his classmates with their parents.

~ Describe a time when your muse was completely alone. How did they handle it?

He walked into his new home for the first time, and that was when it hit him - Team PHIR was no more. For the first time in four years, Phoenix was on his own with no teammates to turn to. Normally, he wouldn’t mind the silence every once in a while. But the more he thought about it, the more he dreaded it. Just how long could he handle not being near his friends? The idea made him shiver slightly - he quickly discarded the thought as he plopped down onto the couch.

“Maybe this won’t be so bad after all...”

~ If your muse could make one perfect wish, what would they wish for?

He would wish to go back in time so that he can properly say goodbye to his parents.

~ When was the last time your muse found themselves crying alone, with no one to support them?

He was curled up in the corner of his room, his arms wrapped around his knees and pulled up to his chest. He stared at the picture at his feet for a moment - once a happy memory of Team PHIR, but now only a reminder of his mistakes. He buried his head in his knees and began to sob, his entire body shaking, his soft cries echoing in the empty room.

~ Your muse has to sacrifice something or someone precious to save the world. What would their sacrifice end up being? A cherished memory or memento? Or something greater than that��?

He would be willing to sacrifice anything necessary, including his life, as long as it didn’t involve his loved ones.

~ What is an activity your muse will do to clear their head?

He would often train, or go hunting for Grimm.

~ Have your muse describe the worst physical pain they have been in.

“My insides felt as though they were on fire... Needles jutted out of my body in various directions like a porcupine. I was surprised that I was still alive, although I wished in that moment...I was dead.”

~ Have your muse describe the worst emotional pain they have been in.

“It was...dark. Like a tunnel with no light end. Like a storm that never cleared. Like a flame that refused to be quelled. There was...no way out. Every part of my body ached even though I was physically sound. I just...wanted to disappear.”

~ The five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Describe your muse in each stage after losing a loved one.

“No... You’re lying. They can’t be...” Phoenix shook his head as he turned away from his teacher. “Don’t tell me my parents are dead.” But as he turned back to his teacher, he knew in his gut that it was the truth. “Take me to them. I won’t believe it until I see them with my own eyes.”

~

Sure enough, it was true. His parents were gone, and his home had been destroyed. Phoenix could feel his body shaking from the rage that was building up inside him. His legs couldn’t support him, so he fell to his knees, his hands clutching at the charred earth. “Damn them... Damn them all to hell! I swear, I will make them pay for what they did...”

~

Without thinking or waiting for his teammates, he charged straight into the back of Beowolves, letting out a fierce battle cry as he sliced through each one. “Bring them back! Bring them back dammit!” His parents’ deaths were still fresh in his mind, and he would give anything just to see them one last time.

~

He isolated himself, curled up by the window as he stared out into the bleak world below. His grades were suffering, but he didn’t bother to study. He was starving - he lost a bit of weight, but he refused to eat anything his teammates brought back from the cafeteria. He could barely concentrate in class, but he was afraid to go to sleep, making dark circles form under his eyes. He looked more like a ghost than a human being - he made no move and made no sound. He simply kept his eyes on the window, watching as the rain began to fall.

~

He glanced up at the sky, just realizing that it had been a while since he was able to simply look at it and appreciate the beauty of the reds and pinks and oranges that colored the world above. He was alone, yet he was content. A small formed on his lips as a thought crossed his mind. He then continued on, walking into the field where his home once stood. The earth was still healing, but all traces of the attack had disappeared. The grass was lush and still growing - it gave Phoenix a sense of warmth rather than dread.

He knelt down in an empty patch and gently placed some flowers on the ground - lilies, because they were his mother’s favorites. He sat tall, closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh, feeling the warm breeze hit his face and flutter his dark hair.

“It’s time for me to move on... I still miss you every day.” He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky once more. “Good bye, mother. Good bye, father. I love you - I always will.”

~ What is one thing your muse deeply regrets doing?

He deeply regrets disbanding his team when he needed them most.

~ If your muse found out they were dying in 42 hours, who would they visit and spend time with? Would they try to do anything on their bucket list or spend the last few moments of their life surrounded by loved ones?

He would definitely spend time with his loved ones as well as make amends with his teammates and former rivals.

~ What is something noble your muse has done that they never got credit or recognition for?

During the attack on Beacon, Phoenix and his team had assisted in the evacuation of civilians. While some of his teammates wanted to join the fight, he refused to let them go.

“We’re not here to make history or to show our strength. This isn’t our battle to fight. These people need help - see to the weak and the injured. Help them in any way you can.”

~ What is the meanest thing anyone has ever done to/said to/called your muse?

There were times when he would be called worthless, a lowlife, a scumbag, all because he was simply a Huntsman. He even had a bottle smashed over his head - if it hadn’t been for his aura, he would probably be dead.

~ Are there any holidays your muse cannot celebrate properly without feeling upset or lonely?

Uhh... Birthdays, Christmas, New Years... Basically any family-oriented holiday.

~ Your muse has “gone savage” for an hour and has injured everyone around them in some way as a result. How bad would they feel after snapping out of it?

He would feel horrible. Depending on how close he is to the people he injured, he would most likely distance himself for a while.

~ Your muse is on their deathbed. They start seeing loved ones who have passed on in their life. Who is there to guide them to heaven as they die?

Most likely his mother and father.

[kyuu-rereads-umineko]

Ep5, Chapter 14 (Part 2) & 15

It’s been four months, let’s get back to this. I think I can get through the rest of this okay.

...WHO AM I KIDDING NO I CAN’T AAAAAAAAA

“A plea bargain. If you acknowledge that Krauss is the culprit, Erika will suspend her pursuit with regards to Natsuhi.” bernkastel really is true neutral right

Beato hesitates, and Natsuhi rejects the offer entirely. Bern points out that if Beato loses here - if Natsuhi’s found guilty - then she’s as good as dead.

Ronove and Gaap argue that, since Bern and Lambda are really just bored and want to be entertained, it’d be in Beato’s best interests to concede and put the blame on Krauss, while Beato refuses to abandon this kakera’s Natsuhi. 

“I won’t abandon her! Even if everyone believes that Natsuhi is the culprit, I will still claim that I, the witch, am the culprit...!! If I can’t even make that claim, my existence isn’t worth anything...!!” Maybe I’m reading into this too much, seeing as this is coming from Natsuhi’s piece-Beato instead of Yasu-Beato, but... This is really sad and painful to read.

Beato boldly proclaims that Krauss isn’t the culprit, and Bern responds in red: “Ushiromiya Krauss is not the culprit. And he was killed long ago, shortly after you heard his voice over the phone, get it?” jeez lion is absolutely ruthless in ep5. I’m really curious as to what Land of the Golden Witch’s version of Lion/Yasu as the man from 19 years ago would’ve been like...

“[Natsuhi] had now lost her daughter and husband... and everything she had gained since marrying into the Ushiromiya family.”

While the circumstances are obviously different - Yasu didn’t marry into the family, and she didn’t have children - it occurs to me that in a lot of ways, Natsuhi is a “parallel” of Yasu herself. 

I mean, just off the top of my head... They both get “shabby form” or some such used against them at some point or another, they both have some sort of physical problem preventing them from having children (though it’s temporary and of a far lesser magnitude for Natsuhi), they’ve both “lost everything,” they’re both reliant on magic and mental gymnastics to keep themselves going day by day, they’ve both got issues (again, of differing severities) regarding Kinzo...

“Even wrapped up in so much sadness... Natsuhi would do all she could to protect [the family’s] honour... With this final bit of strength...” ...and while their goals are very different, I feel like there’s a parallel to draw between Natsuhi here and Yasu putting such a dedicated effort into her murder setups, despite how overwhelmed with grief they are.

And with that, everyone except Natsuhi has an alibi for the first twilight, leaving her as the only possible suspect...

Lambda proclaims that Natsuhi is responsible for the murders of the first twilight, and Bern says, “Let me add something. Due to circumstantial evidence, include the murder of Krauss.” TRUE NEUokay i’ll stop now

“From this point onward, the defendant will be treated as the true culprit.”

Lambda also denies Beato’s existence... oh noooo

“Even if her alibi is not proven... I will believe in Natsuhi’s innocence!! No matter how much you try to pin your fake truth on her!!” Thinking about it, this is indicative of how Beato and Battler are playing into each other’s character development, isn’t it? We just had Battler declare that he’d believe in Natsuhi no matter what, and now Beato’s saying the same thing. The two of them have more in common than either of them realize.

“The truth is known only by the master of the night on this island, Beatrice the Golden. I am Ushiromiya Natsuhi! Now that my husband has passed away, I am the head of the Ushiromiya family!!” natsuhi...

Natsuhi repeats her claim that Kinzo said she has the One-Winged Eagle engraved into her heart, and Bern says she’ll leave one last red truth as a parting gift. Beato immediately catches on and begs her not to...

“Natsuhi. When did Kinzo ever say it was okay for you to engrave the One-Winged Eagle into your heart? [...] You know, the real Kinzo... Not once in his entire life did he ever trust you from the bottom of his heart, and not once did he ever consider letting you bear the family crest!” Kinzo stands up and shouts at Natsuhi not to listen...

“The real Kinzo wouldn’t say that. Disappear. You, the illusion of Kinzo inside Natsuhi’s mind, beautified by her to suit her own purposes.” MAGIC 101

In hindsight, though, this is really painfully obvious. The scenes with Natsuhi & co. on the board in Ep5 are framed similarly (imo at least) to Ange & the Stakes in Ep4, which is also paralleled in piece!Beato ruthlessly erasing Gaap after returning to the study (when Battler fails his test). Bernkastel’s flat-out explained what magic is. She’s done it in a completely loveless manner, of course, but it’s still right there.

“Some last, faint element that had cheered her up until today, that had allowed her to endure as an Ushiromiya, as the wife to the head’s representative... and as the final family head... had been torn to bits.” Again, I’m reminded of what happens to Ange and Yasu when they’re cornered and their magic isn’t enough to get them by anymore. They break under the weight of everything, and it’s... really tragic and painful to watch.

The audience applauds, “and so... the ‘truth’ of this tale... was decided.”

And we see the introduction as it takes place, only chronologically this time. Eva starts attacking Natsuhi, and everyone just... stands back and lets it happen.

Everyone except Battler, who tries to intervene only to get brushed aside. I might have ragged on the guy a lot in the past, but Battler is really a good guy. 

Erika intervenes, asking Natsuhi to provide her motive. She screams that she’s innocent, but “because Lambdadelta had acknowledged that the culprit of the tale was Natsuhi and woven it that way, none of the pieces would pay and heed to Natsuhi’s... to ‘the culprit’s’ words...”

Beato faintly appears and screams that she’s the culprit, and Erika denies her existence, because of course she does.

“Goodbye, Beatrice. I made you a witch expecting that you would either become my friend or help distract me from my boredom. And you’ve answered to my expectations... The second one, that is.”

Oooh, I’d completely forgotten this exchange. Beato proclaims that she’s still a witch, “even if Lady Lambdadelta doesn’t acknowledge it,” and Lambda replies that Beato “wouldn’t even be capable of believing that” if it weren’t for her assistance in the first place. That’s right, Lambda acknowledged Yasu’s catbox and allowed her to ascend to the Meta-World as Beatrice, didn’t she?

Beato’s thrown to the crowd of goats so they can devour her, but Dlanor intervenes. 

“My apologies, but I have something to SAY. There is someone who has an objection to this RULING. His name is... Ushiromiya Battler.”

Battler’s at a loss, and Dlanor says, “There is nothing that is not healed with TIME. And there is no truth that cannot be reached if you spend enough time SEARCHING.” GO BATTLER

...Oh yeah, she immediately points out that the time limit for the trial is almost out. NO BATTLER

“...I have no plan. I don’t know the truth. However... If I don’t jump in now, I won’t get another chance to fight...”

“Begin, Battler!! Ready to let those goats turn you into a pile of meat along with your beloved Beatrice?!” something someth-

“Oh, and I’ll mix the leftovers from your precious sister into that pile.” BERN BEAT ME TO IT

Battler tries frantically to penetrate Erika’s seals somehow (lol duct tape), but since he doesn’t have an actual explanation, it doesn’t amount to anything.

“...Do you have any chance of winning...?” “...I left it at home. Mind if I go back and get it?” even in circumstances like this

“I promised that I’d kill you. So I won’t let anyone else do it. I’ll definitely keep that promise...!!” battler

Beato, of course, immediately calls BS, and Battler’s confused as to what she could be talking about. It’s easy to lose in the atmosphere and tension of the proceedings, but that’s definitely a big clue as to the nature of Battler’s sin, huh?

“Heh... After hearing you say that, hell might not be so bad. [...] Kill us! Bernkastel, Lambdadelta...!!” And Beato sobs and laughs hysterically. I really wonder - How much does this piece Beato actually know? Is the “truth” she doesn’t know just who the culprit of Ep5′s gameboard is? Is it the truth - the heart - of Umineko’s gameboard as a whole (i.e. Yasu)? I certainly thought it was the latter, but with lines like this... I’m not sure.

Battler frantically starts throwing out completely invalid blue truths, which Dlanor & co. effortlessly cut down since they violate either previous red truths or Knox’s Decalogue. Battler... 

“Erika didn’t personally examine the corpses, right?! It should be possible for people who aren’t the detective to make a mistake when examining the corpses!!” Cornelia replies, “Know that no examination of the corpses could have been mistaken!” 

This wordplay is one of the meanest parts of Ep5, in my opinion. While the red is carefully worded to avoid saying that the victims of the first twilight are already “corpses” when they’re found, it’s certainly implicit, especially this line here, from Beato earlier in the Ep: “At a glance, anyone could confirm that these corpses are dead, so it is absolutely impossible that they are just people playing dead.” It’s hard to see a way around that, unless you already know what the trick is!

Beato asks Battler to stop, and let the two of them die together. “I don’t... want to see Beato like this...”

“Her majesty as the ruler of the Golden Land... her enthusiasm as my rival... are completely gone. She’s just a pitiful woman who’s been trampled over and who has last all hope, with tears streaming down her face and a tragic smile that I can’t bear to look at...” Beato...

Battler resigns himself to oblivion by using his trump card, hoping that someone will eventually show up who’s able to break through Erika’s truth. “Well... it looks like I’ll have to break my promise to kill you after all.”

Beato begs Battler not to do it, and to let the two of them die together. I’d forgotten this...

The music kicks back into high gear, and... “Ushiromiya Natsuhi is not the culprit!!!”

Only to stop immediately. “Knox’s 2nd. It is forbidden for supernatural agencies to be employed as a detective technique.”

“See...? Real truth... is a very fragile thing. ...Does real truth exist...? And is it necessary...?”

Dlanor asks Battler to either prove his statement, or it’s over. “Then... goodbye. ...Sorry, Beato.”

“...Don’t say that. Thanks for sticking around with me. ...It was such a blood-stained tale... but it was fun...”

And so Battler gets skewered by the giant longsword, and Beato vanishes.

Back on the board, Erika’s about to lay out Natsuhi’s motive. i... am not ready for this.........

She explains that Natsuhi was basically forced to marry into the Ushiromiya family, and uses Natsuhi’s old diaries to support it. Natsuhi concedes that while she did resent the family as a result before, Krauss’s support eventually changed her mind. Erika argues that she didn’t accept Krauss’s feelings, since there’s a passage to that effect in one of the diaries.

“D... Does anyone need evidence to say they’re in love...?!”

Erika says. “Statements that aren’t red don’t count as evidence at all, and they can’t be trusted at all! All non-red letters are falsehoods that exist to deceive me!!” That’s pretty telling, isn’t it?

Similar to Eva’s diary in Ep8, it’s mentioned that Natsuhi’s diaries don’t exist for the purpose of describing her true feelings, but for catharsis - she wrote down what happened and how she felt at the time so she could let go of those emotions and move on. I dunno if that’s an intentional parallel, but it’s an interesting one.

Everyone accepts Erika’s reasoning, though Battler still hesitantly asks if Natsuhi’s really the culprit. Erika says there’s one other person it could be - Kinzo.

Erika says she’s got more than enough evidence to provide a motive for Kinzo. I’m curious as to what that motive would be, tbh... Assuming it’s not “ceremony to revive Beatrice.”

Natsuhi, of course, rejects Erika’s proposition entirely. “If they were going to call her the culprit... she would let them.”

“I think... Truth is a fleeting thing. Even if I am a good person until my death... If some heartless person after my death overwrites the records and says that I wasn’t a good person, and if that is shared with everyone else... Then even all the goodness in which I lived my life will be overwritten easily.”

Back in the cathedral, the witches and Natsuhi are the only ones left. Even though everyone there knows Kinzo’s dead already via red truth, Bern still wants to force Natsuhi to admit it herself. oh no...........

“Lambda. I’m going to make Kinzo’s location from 24:00 until the morning absolutely clear. From 24:00 until morning, Kinzo stayed in the same room.”

She also adds that Kinzo doesn’t exist outside the mansion, because lol detective’s authority (aka Erika couldn’t find any trace of him outside).

On the board, Erika lays out that they’ve searched everywhere in-depth except the second floor. Bern elevates that to red, saying “The only place Kinzo could possibly exist is the second floor.” 

Erika takes everyone to search the second floor in-depth, starting from one end and checking every single room, until only Natsuhi’s is left. oh no.........

”Kinzo does not exist anywhere outside Natsuhi’s room!” “In other words, from 24:00 until morning, Kinzo was always holed up in the same room. And that was Natsuhi’s room!”

Bern offers her one last chance to pin the blame on someone else. “Call the Ushiromiya family head a criminal and crush the head’s honour to protect yourself. If you show that you have the guts to do that, I’ll change the plot into one of a tragic heroine taking the blame to protect the family head.”

“During the night, between 24:00 and morning, there exists no place for a living Kinzo to exist except inside your bed. [...] And last night, Natsuhi also slept in that same bed.”

“Blue truth. Therefore, it is suspected that Ushiromiya Natsuhi and Ushiromiya Kinzo had sexual relations with each other. Why else would a man and a woman share the same bed all night long?”

Natsuhi, of course, vehemently denies it. This is really hard to read... Natsuhi...

“By my name as the Game Master, Lambdadelta! I acknowledge that Lady Bernkastel is the victor of this game. ...If anyone has any objections, state your name now!!”

Of course, there are none. Battler’s dead, and Beato & co. have been erased. Bern proceeds to weave a kakera containing the “truth” of the story.

I don’t have a lot to say about the crime outline here. The important additions are 1) that Natsuhi disguised herself as Beatrice to get close to Kinzo, and 2) that Kinzo hid the corpses of the first twilight.

In this kakera, of course, Bernkastel has Natsuhi confess to the crime. Natsuhi...

In the parlour, Natsuhi screams and cries. At this point, even Battler seems to be accepting Erika’s “truth.”

“This is... your revenge, isn’t it...? You, the man from 19 years ago...!!”

“Are you happy now? Has a bit of that pain and suffering you’ve endured for 19 years gone away...?! I finally understand... The reason you’ve cornered me so far... is because you wanted to make me acknowledge that, right...?”

"...I will confess to a murder that occurred 19 years ago.”

And so Natsuhi begins explaining what happened in 1967. Unlike her earlier recollection with Beato & co., the servant carrying baby Lion followed her around.

The two of them arrive at the cliff, and Natsuhi reflects, “If by taking that baby... and throwing it down onto the rocky beach far below me... I could undo it all...”

The servant stumbles, falling against the fence, and Natsuhi commits her sin - when the servant fell against the fence, she reached forward and pushed her away, off the edge of the cliff.

“I didn’t even hear the sound of them crashing to the rocky beach. No, I’m sure I heard it. But because I wanted to think that they’d disappeared... I must have erased that sound from my memory...”

“I must have been wishing that the child would fall from here so much that I just had a daydream...”

Even though Natsuhi reflects on having stolen two lives, she realizes that the baby must still be alive. Well, she’s not wrong - the moment the servant went over the cliff, “Lion” as a possibility was killed.

“Right here, right now, I’ll confess to my crime! I, Ushiromiya Natsuhi... did 19 years ago... push you off a cliff... and try to kill you... But... you didn’t die, did you...”

“For these 19 years... You knew that the one you should have called your mother pushed you off a cliff... and you must have lived a very hate-filled life...”

“How’s that...? Is this enough... for your revenge...? My husband and daughter have been killed!! I’ve been made to look like a murderer... like an adulteress, even... After seeing me living in disgrace like this... Are you satisfied...?!”

Natsuhi breaks down in tears, and Erika callously brushes it off, because of course she does.

“Can you hear me?! You, the cursed child from 19 years ago...!! Are you satisfied now?! You’ve stolen everything from me!! What else could you want?! ...Please, just... forgive me...”

The screen fades to black, and then...

“...It’s useless, isn’t it... It’s all useless. ...Yeah. ...It’s useless, isn’t it... It’s all useless...”

Natsuhi lets out a short scream, and the credits roll.

[ciathyzareposts]

The Black Gate: Open Your Eyes

Having woken up after 200 years, Penumbra really needs to hit the head.

          We leave the troubled Vesper behind us–planning to return once we have the “Unlock Magic” spell and some more money–and head east across the channel. It has been long enough since I played an Ultima that I have forgotten the specific configuration of the islands that house Moonglow, the Lycaeum, the Shrine of Honesty, and the Dungeon Deceit, so I decide to start at the top (which turns out to be Dagger Isle) and work my way down.

          Piling into a cave.

           We land on the island, between the Shrine of Compassion and a small mountain range on the island’s southern tip. As we enter, I realize two things for the first time. First, the dungeons actually exist on the same scale as the outdoor maps, and on the same plane. Previously, I was thinking that we were transitioning to different areas, but now I realize that when we entered the dungeon above Cove, for instance, the corridors wrapped around to the east and south in a perfect imitation of the mountain range that houses them. This is an interesting approach, but it means that the developers were far more constrained in the shape and size of their dungeons than when dungeons were on the -1 plane. I can’t help but woner why they did it this way. Second, the game wastes no space, housing a dungeon in every mountain range–at least, every one I’ve seen so far.

           Punny gravestones have long been a specialty of the series.

           The small range south of the shrine turns out to have a little cemetery. The gravestones have Ultima‘s usual mixture of the goofy and the sentimental:

      Here lies Argent, died a sergeant.

Targ, a worthy opponent.

Lynn. She had the grace of a swan.

Here lies Mystral. Shined like a crystal.

Rover. Man’s best friend, over and over.

Felcore. Age-old love never dies.

              At the end of the corridor is a grate with a sign that says “pauper’s grave.” Opening the grate reveals a gruesome collection of skeletons. 

           I don’t know what I expected.

          North of the cave, we find the Shrine of Honesty, which is in good shape. Based on what we’d heard in Cove, I expected to find the shrines in dilapidation and disrepair, but this one was clear of debris and eve had a little bell on the altar. (Double-clicking it caused it to ring.) As usual in this game, double-clicking on the altar does nothing, which was a bit disappointing.

             The Shrine of Honesty looks like someone is taking care of it.

           North of the shrine, we enter the Dungeon Deceit. Our explorations are drawn up short by a magically-locked door just a little way down the corridor. We make a note to return later.

      We return to the carpet and ride it south to Verity Isle, landing at the northern tip, next to a large building. A plaque on the ground invites us to “hammer here to enter,” but we lack a hammer, so we continue south into Moonglow. During our explorations of the city, several characters remark that Moonglow and the Lycaeum have “merged” over the last 200 years. But it isn’t so much that as that Moonglow has spread out. Where once “Moonglow” was six buildings clustered in the south end of the island, now it’s the same six buildings all over the island. The island has changed shape, too, now further east than it was before, its various peninsulas shortened and blunted, making the island look fatter.

            Thanks for sharing, Shamino.

           The two-story Lycaeum is in roughly the same place. It’s run by Nelson and his assistant Zelda. Zelda is in love with Nelson’s twin brother, Brion, who runs the observatory, while Nelson pines for Zelda. In my conversations with them, Brion said he was too busy for love, so I convinced Zelda to accept Nelson as a “second best.”

          You might, you know, not call him that.

         A scholar named Jillian increases intelligence and magic. She’s married to Effram, a stay-at-home father to baby Mikhail, and he’s angry about it. 

           Does divorce exist in Britannia? I don’t believe anyone is ever described as somebody’s ex-spouse.

         Mariah is in the Lycaeum, addled like all the other mages, though not too addled to sell spells and reagents. She doesn’t recognize me and keeps complimenting the furnishings of the building. 

         Is this supposed to be some kind of hint?

         The Lycaeum has so many books that I begin to seriously regret my “Books of Britannia” entry, but I update it with all of them. Some highlights:

The book The Complete History of the Lute has a foreword by Iolo in which his last name is given as “Arbalest.” This contradicts the material for the last couple of games which give his last name as “FitzOwen.” On the other hand, an arbalest is a type of crossbow, so perhaps it’s meant more of a sobriquet than a last name.

            It occurs to me it’s been a long time since we heard the “master bard” play anything.

           Nicodemus’s Pathways of Planar Travel notes that while so far, all visitors to Britannia from other planes (like Lord British and the Avatar) have been benevolent, we must consider the possibility of a malevolent entity coming through. This naturally foreshadows the plot of this game. 

A Short Treatise on Britannian Society by someone named Clayton is an obnoxious book that suggests a natural social order, starting with Lord British and moving to the Great Council. Interestingly, the book puts winged gargoyles next in the social order, followed by the Britannian masses, followed by wingless gargoyles. 

Landships of War suggests using the tactic of firing missile weapons from carts at enemies, since the same enemies cannot climb up on the cart to reach you. This works with the magic carpet, too.

A History of Stonegate suggests that the former Shadowlords’ keep passed from the cyclops family to some wingless gargoyles before Lord Venelon of Jhelom evicted the gargoyles and kept the keep in his family for a few generations before it was destroyed by a natural disaster. It’s now a swampland inhabited by trolls and an ancient wizard. It makes me curious to visit.

Apparently, Spark’s father, the man whose murder kicked off my quest, authored a book: The Blacksmith’s Handbook.

The Forest of Yew gives a hint about the furry Emps living there.

                 As for the rest of Moonglow, there’s a Fellowship Hall run by Rankin. Carlyn runs Carlyn’s Clothes. Chad, a weapons trainer, increases dexterity and combat. Phearcy, the bartender at the Friendly Knave, has gossip about everyone. There’s a farm owned by two brothers: Tolemac and Cobalt. They have a farmhand named Morz. Tolemac is enchanted by the Fellowship while Cobalt hates it; he thinks it’s a perversion of the eight virtues. I am unable to convince Tolemac to abandon it, but I am able to convince Morz not to join. Morz has a stutter, the result of falling off a wagon as a toddler. He doesn’t like to talk about it. I thought there would be some quest related to this, but nothing developed.

        Ultima VII offers the meanest dialogue option in any game so far in my chronology, perhaps ever.

         There’s a dock to the south of town. Crates left on the docks have stacks of reference books, presumably for the Lycaeum. There’s no shipwright or dockmaster to ask about the Crown Jewel.

       Earlier, when I clicked on a cat, my party started yelling things like “Here, Kitty!” and playing with it. So when I see a fox gamboling about, south of the Lycaeum, I think I’ll see what they do when I click on him. To my surprise, he starts talking. He introduces himself as Frank. Frank has come to mistake bluntness for honesty, and he manages to insult all of us before I kill the conversation. No explanation is given for the episode, but my head canon is that it’s somehow Chuckles.

             Shamino, I think killing a small animal for insulting you would rather be proving his point.

           Brion runs the two-story observatory in the northeast of the island. He has a telescope which can be used to scan the entire world. Moving east from Verity Isle takes you across the ocean . . . and then wraps around to Skara Brae. So the idea that Britannia is flat existed for only one game–Ultima VI–and even there it was subverted by the fact that sailing a balloon does cause you to wrap around, once you cross the void. That opens the question: if the world doesn’t have an “other side,” where did the gargoyles come from?

           Skara Brae looks in bad shape.

        Meanwhile, Brion’s orrery clearly shows every planet in the system–nine of them–to be round. On the other hand, Brion’s orrery also shows the nine planets in orbit around a blue orb while the yellow sun just sits there above all the planets’ orbits. So, really, I give up trying to understand the geography or astronomy of Britannia. 

          How is the orb in the middle blue? What does that even mean?

           I can’t actually see the real orrery yet–it’s in a second building that requires a casting of “Telekinesis” to enter–but Brion gives me a viewer that I can use to observe it at any time. (I have to run a quick side quest to purchase a crystal from a traveling peddler at the tavern.) Brion is excited about an upcoming alignment of the planets. 

After talking with everyone in town, I don’t feel that anyone has lied to me, but I decide to go with Elad the Healer as the most honest person in town. First of all, and I know this doesn’t deal with honesty specifically, Elad is just a nice guy. He lets a random traveler from out of town stay with him. When you ask him about the other people in town, his descriptions are charitable, not blunt or gossipy. Elad is struggling with his own ethical dilemma. He wants to see the world and partake in adventures–he even suggests joining the party at one point–but he feels a duty to Moonglow, and he hates the idea of leaving them without a healer. (Note that this is the same choice Jaana faced, but she didn’t even agonize about it. She just ran out the door with the party, leaving two injured patients behind.) Choosing duty is perhaps more reflective of honor than honesty, but honesty is a part of honor, and I like that he’s truthful to himself (and a stranger) about his motivations and inhibitions. I slip the rune into his desk drawer as we leave.

              I designate this “surplaying.”

         The most important resident of Verity Isle turns out to be Penumbra, the gypsy mage who told our futures in Ultima VI. Several residents of Moonglow remark that she put herself to sleep 200 years ago, and that supposedly only the Avatar can awaken her. It’s her house with the plaque outside the front door calling for a hammer.

The hammer turns out to be the first piece of a treasure hunt that will take us through a lockpick, a golden ring, a spool of thread, and a gold piece before the plaque finally disappears to reveal the key to the front door. These items are all found around town, and while at first I feel bad for taking them, no one objects (not even the owners), and the items are placed oddly, as if they only exist for the purpose of the treasure hunt and not as actual personal property of the residents. As each new item is brought to the plaque, it asks for the next one. The statements are perhaps meant to be cryptic (“Pick item carefully to keep going”; “Grasp not at threads”), but if you interpret them literally, it all works out.

We enter the building and, sure enough, find Penumbra asleep on a stone slab. An orange “awaken” potion is on an adjacent table, so we feed it to her and she perks right up. She’s happy to see me for about 15 seconds before she starts clutching her head and screaming in pain; clearly, the issue affecting other mages is affecting her as well. She says she needs some kind of “barrier.” The only impenetrable substance I can think of is blackrock. She says yes, yes, please go find four pieces.

           Why didn’t you put yourself to sleep in the comfortable bed in the next room?

           The only blackrock I’ve seen so far is one piece in the Vesper mines, although I suppose there could be more pieces behind that magically-locked door. I return to Mariah, and while she has the “Unlock Magic” spell that I need, she doesn’t have the blood moss or sulfurous ash that I need to cast it. Buying the spell from her takes up all my remaining gold anyway. Thus, the party hops back on the magic carpet and heads for Britain, first to sell our accumulated gold nuggets to mint, and second to see if Nystul has the needed reagents.

            Having to buy things via the conversation system is a little awkward.

        The mint gives me 190 gold pieces for my nuggets, and Nystul takes half of it for 5 of each reagent. We float back to the Vesper mines and Gideon casts the spell on the door. Fortunately, not only do we get the piece of blackrock we could see from the outside, but a barrel has three more pieces–exactly what we need.

           Nice!

          We return to Penumbra, who has put herself back to sleep, and arrange the four pieces of blackrock on convenient pedestals around her room. Another orange potion (she has a second in her laboratory) wakes her up. She’s feeling much better. She does some magical scrying and determines that the source of the problem is some kind of tetrahedron-shaped magic generator in the Dungeon Deceit, which is damaging the magical ether. She says I can destroy it with the Ethereal Ring, which is in the possession of the gargoyle king, Draxinusom, in Terfin.

            A player might be forgiven for thinking that this is the main quest of the game, even.

          I have to see Draxinusom anyway, so a trip to Terfin doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but we decide to go to Jhelom first. Following the revelation that the world is round (or at least that it wraps again), Jhelom is just a bit to the east and south.  

But the party needs gold more than anything, which is why I’ve been trying to explore the dungeons that go with each city. It occurs to me that I haven’t explored the one that goes with Britain: Despise. You’ll recall that I briefly walked into the dungeon that the game said was Despise when I got the magic carpet, but that was Shame. Real Despise should be elsewhere in the Serpent’s Spine.

As I sailed to Britain from the west, I happened to notice a dungeon entrance just to the west of the city and decided to check it out. It wasn’t Despise, but it had some interesting encounters with gazers and gremlins. Gazers have legs in this game, making them look a bit like giant spiders, and they completely disappear when killed. Gremlins make up for stealing your food in the previous games by dropping lots of food here. I find a couple of Potions of Healing and Cure Poison in a corner, which come in handy when we’re attacked by actual giant spiders further along. A battle with rats caps the experience. The dungeon offers no wealth. I find myself longing for the days when all enemies dropped a bit of gold and you could sell used weapons and armor.

         Giant spiders in real life would send me running for the hills.

          The entrance to real Despise is north of Lord British’s castle. We walk in and immediately find a corpse with a stack of gold and some swamp boots, so things are looking up already. A switch opens an early set of double-doors, and a key from the corpse opens a second door. A third one remains stubbornly locked. A fourth and fifth require “Unlock Magic,” but between them I find a bag of reagents and the key to the third door.

          Lots of locked doors in this dungeon.

        A fight with a troll nets us some modest money, a serpent shield, a magic shield, and a lot of food. In a hallway, we run afoul of some caltrops. They suck because although you can move them, you can’t get rid of them entirely. The best you can do is pile them in some out-of-way corner and hope no party member bumbles there.

In continued explorations, we fight giant spiders, scorpions, and skeletons. We find more swamp boots and “love arrows,” which I have no idea what to do with. A mage appears in a room full of traps and attacks, but we kill him. He has an invisible chest that includes a set of plate armor and a lightning whip. Ultimately, we get trapped behind some switch-activated doors that reset (with the switches on the other side) after we pass them. I use the Orb of Moons to escape, and we find ourselves on Verity Isle again, but just jumping back into the moongate takes us to Britain, which works out.

         Looting the Dungeon Despise. All those crates and no gold bars.

         Miscellaneous notes:

          If people are sleeping when you want to talk to them, trampling on their beds seems to get them up. Although they scream at you for bothering them, they don’t have any trouble engaging in regular dialogue.

A crystal ball in Brion’s place is fixed on some bedroom in some building that looks like a fortress, although it seems to have a swimming pool or bath within it. Brion may not have time for love, but he clearly has time for voyeurism. 

Somehow, the Avatar got half a dozen bottles of ale in his inventory. I don’t remember anything happening that would explain that.

Normally, when you drop an item on the middle of a character’s portrait, the game shunts the item to the slot in which it best fits–a weapon to the hand, for instance, and a helm to the head. But dropping armor on Jaana’s portrait causes it to go to her left hand. She’s been holding her armor the entire game until I happened to notice it.

When you encountered people in sick beds in previous Ultimas, you could usually talk with them and ask them about their injuries. Every time you run into a wounded person in a healer’s place here, he just moans in pain.

             Your counterparts in Ultima V were more interesting.

            You can turn on the mining machines by double-clicking on them. One in the Vesper mines produced endless pieces of lead ore. I wonder if you can take the ore to a blacksmith’s shop and smelt it. That’s the kind of thing that you would be able to do in this game.

Would it be asking for too much for the potions to say the color when you click on them, instead of just “potion”? I had to call Irene into my office twice so I wouldn’t accidentally poison Penumbra.

My party members keep complaining about being tired (in addition to being hungry) except that the “tired” icon isn’t showing on their character sheets, and I’ve been sleeping regularly.

As someone noted in a recent comment, two-story buildings in Britannia are apparently taller than mountains, as you can cross mountains on the flying carpet but you run up against the second floor of buildings.

             I think I’ll finish exploring Despise before moving on to Jhelom. It’s time to get Dupre, then go see the gargoyle king. I’m beginning to understand why so many players loot the Royal Mint early in the game and then live off the proceeds, but in some ways finding ways to survive on a less generous economy is more fun. Maybe I’ll start baking bread.

Time so far: 20 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/the-black-gate-open-your-eyes/