#but it's not landing because there's no strong counterpoint

[dracoroma]

Honestly, what I think is the biggest problem in the Bell's Hells campaign is the half-baked nuance. The campaign is asking us how we feel about the gods, yet only presenting their worst sides. And, unlike a story about nuance and questions should do, we're not being told in the story why we should care about the gods. That entire half of the question is held up entirely by Pike, Vax, Fjord and Caduceus, and even then, 75% of that is Caduceus and Vax alone.

Nuance is created when both sides are neither fully right or wrong. But that's not what we're being given. We're not given a reason to care about the gods in the campaign on its own merits. All we're given (with the exception of downfall) is the many reasons why we shouldn't care about the gods, which lends to the narrative supporting the arguments of the blatant terrorist Lidanis Daleth at every turn.

I think back to Abreia saying that Diana was meant to add an interesting perspective, a cleric who is unsure herself about the gods. Our recent talk with Corellon is meant to make things interesting, as they have some interesting opinions. But these aren't interesting if the backbone of the question isn't backed up properly.

This, in the end, isn't nuance in the slightest. It's the equivalent of the punk attitude of "question authority" (hey, look at that, something Ashton is doing). This attitude conflates questioning with contrarianism. You're choosing not to believe that "the man" is doing anything good, so obviously, everything "they" do is bad. And this is in direct vontrast with what I believe is the core of nuance: Chesterton's Fence. The philosophy that we should understand why before tearing the theoretical fence down.

I believe that Matt is trying to tell a nuanced narrative. The problem has been assuming that pro-god is the default. The problem has been the constant lore drops doing nothing but supporting Ludanis, and even some of the party members agreeing with him to the point of starting arguments.

We need a strong reason in the campaign to care about the gods because otherwise, we're going to be trapped in this mire forever. Trapped with Ashton and Dorian devaluing people's beneficial experiences because of their personal vendettas. Trapped with the issue only growing more and more complicated. And trapped with the community arguing about this

[feyd-rautha-apologist]

Ranking the new Duskmourn dual lands

Starting off pretty strong, propably one of the best concepts out of the cycle. I like a haunted forest, and this one has a properly spooky vibe. Not the biggest Gruul fan but it propably has the highest concentration of lesbians out of the color combinations, so bonus points there.

8/10

I like a good fog! Concept doesn't go as hard as the previous one but the art's looking nice and ominous. Also best window arrangement (but only because the ones on the simic one aren't floating & therefore don't count). The longer I look at this one the more I like it.

7/10

Another good fog, but it doesn't hit as hard when it's already in a spooky-looking forest, and one that is objectively inferior to the last spooky forest we had. However, this one is absolutely being carried by that ominous staircase in the back & also Golgari bias.

7/10

Kind of a weak concept, not as evocative as the ones before. Counterpoint, however: Rakdos bias. I quite like the colors too. It propably also has the best name out of these, has a nice rhythm to it, kinda swingy.

8/10

I think I prefer the lands that seem more passively creepy and off-putting rather than the ones where obviously weird & intense shit is actively going down, so the big water pillars aren't doing it for me. This looks less like a "Peculiar Lighthouse" & more like a "Heavily Fucked Up Lighthouse". Like the floating stairs though, and it's got nice contrast.

6/10

My angles dutch as fuck boy. Didn't really impress me that much just skimming over it on Scryfall but looking a bit closer now? Really like the unreasonably big arch entrance, the slightly asymmetrical towers, the lil dude for scale. Something ain't right here geometry-wise, and I enjoy that. Nice puddles too.

9/10

Not a big fan of amusement parks or non-elf clowns. The zany carnival aesthetics doesn't really do it for me here. However I fuck with the Jolly Balloon Man, so I'm willing to cut it some slack.

6/10

Idk why but this card name is something you have to read in the Chills voice. The Murky Sewerrr. Anyway I like this one, big fan of when the water is underground.

9/10

Hi everybody I'm PeNis Prager this is the LakeSide Shack

Aside from that holy shit this is easily the best one. The slight frog perpective? The ominous blue color scheme, with the foreboding red window as basically the only point of contrast? The weird shadows that kinda look like trees at first but tower way the fuck above the actual forest? The weird, black, lantern-like things floating in the air? The almost fish-eye lense look to the background & the bubbles above the shack itself, suggesting all of this is somehow underwater? The flavor text? The ominous as shit ring of upside down windows to remind you that all of this is still inside the house?? Fucking peak.

10/10

I like the crop circles, but this set doesn't have aliens, so apparently those are because of the weird wicker men guys. Don't get me wrong, I like those, but the whole reason that crop circles are weird & creepy is because they're meant to be seen from a bird's eye view. If they're just made by some spooky tree guy on the ground it doesn't work.

5/10

[mistresslrigtar]

Chapter Twenty-Six: Dancing? Here? (written for @zelinktines24 day 26 prompt)

Read below or HERE

On their third day of traveling to Hateno, they stop at Dueling Peaks for the night. It’s Zelda’s least favorite stable, but it’s getting late, and Celeste’s plaintive meows have gradually increased to ear-splitting howls at being cooped up in her traveling basket.

While Link haggles with the owner, Tasseren, convincing him to allow Link to exchange his unused pony points for two Malanya horse hair beds, Zelda unlatches the lid. Celeste springs out, landing on all fours and hissing her displeasure before leaping onto a nearby haybale.

“Don’t go far!” Zelda calls after her, removing an overnight bag from Star’s saddle bag. 

Thanking the stablehand, Rensa, when he takes the horses’ reins and leads them to the barn, Zelda wanders to the edge of the stable perimeter. Beneath the canopy of a nearby stage, a musical troupe is setting up. A short roly-poly of a man directs them from his spot by an easel emblazoned with the name, Stable Trotters. Traveling musicians. That’s something new, Zelda doesn’t recall from before. She marvels that despite everything she and Link have been forced to endure, everyday life goes on. She supposes it’s a blessing that the common Hylian has no idea the cost of such freedom, to travel the roads of Hyrule unmolested by Guardians, monsters, or otherwise.

She moves as if in a trance further out onto the plain, following the deepening shadows of the night that encroach to cover Blatchery Plain and Ash Swamp. Zelda despises this place with every fiber of her being, but try as she might, she can’t seem to stop the tread of her feet. She leaves faint silvery footprints in the flattened, dew-drenched grass as she approaches an overgrown hill of crumbling rubble standing in the center of the swamp. When the squishing sound of her boots in the damp mud seeps through the sudden roaring in Zelda’s ears, she stops.

It was here, on a rainy night, one hundred plus years ago that Link was felled by a Guardian’s laser because she’d unlocked her power too late to save him and the other Champions. But the sword he’ll wield for just a short while longer had instructed her on how to save him. If Link’s correct, and Zelda dares to hope, it seems they’ve come full circle.

The swamp and surrounding area have long been cleared of the hulking remains of the Guardians that littered the area. They’ve been stripped of any valuable machinery and the strong, durable metal melted down to be repurposed into all manner of weapons–swords, lances, bows, and shields. 

She looks to the walls of Fort Hateno that have been repaired, and are now patrolled by several of the new guard that Link trained. Beyond is one of many army camps set up through all the regions of Hyrule, to protect and uphold the peace.

Zelda startles when arms wrap around her waist, until Link whispers in her ear. “What are you doing out here?”

Turning in his arms, her gaze locks onto his bright blue eyes. Otherwise, he’s silhouetted by the flickering flames from the stable beyond, and a soft breeze blows his hair to obscure his face. If not for his warm hands on her hips, Zelda would think he’s a ghost. To be sure, she catches the stray locks of hair with her fingers, tucks them securely behind his ears and presses her lips to his. They’re soft, pliable, and real, and return her kiss without hesitation. 

The faint strains of a waltz drift over the deserted plain, and when they break apart, Link takes her hands, placing one on his shoulder while keeping the other firmly in his grasp.

“Dance with me.”

“Dancing? Here?” Zelda shakes her head, taken aback. He can’t be serious, dancing upon the site where he’d died in her arms. Even after all the years, she can still feel the cold dampness of the swamp counterpointed by his warm blood seeping through her gown.

“It’s time to let it go, Zelda. All of our past failings and regrets.” Link presses his hand lightly against the small of her back, and begins guiding her in a languid circle there on that soggy, muddy plain.

Despite her misgivings, with each step, she feels a little more of her fear and remorse flutter away on the wings of a silent prayer.

<Previous><Beginning>

Hope you liked this installment. Thank you to everyone who has liked, commented and reblogged! I love hearing what you think.

Thanks, as always, to lovesickflora for looking this over!

[littlemisstfc]

EARTHSPARK IS SO GOOD, YOU GUYS. OH MY FUCKING GOD. 😩

Hello boyos, gorls, and nonbinary pals. It’s been a while since I’ve written a huge writing on this silly platform, huh? Lol.

Anyways, quick updates: I’m releasing a new video sometime this month, which is me ranting about the misogyny of the Bayverse. Fun times. Fun times. :D Also, I’ll be at TFCon LA 2023 next week for Saturday and Sunday. Feel free to come by and say hi to me. :)

Back to the review…so….the 2010s to early 2020s has been a very weird decade for Transformers. Not only for the Bayverse movies (my beloathed), but for the tv shows. While Age of Extinction is my guilty pleasure and Dark of The Moon is legitimately good, the movies are declining in popularity and quality, thus resulting in a huge reboot to fix up Bay’s mess. That resulted in Bumblebee (2018), a gem that was the light at the end of a very frustrating tunnel. Transformers Prime started strong, but then turned into a mish mash of wasted potential and became a frustrating chore to watch by the end. RID 2015 is a show that exists. Rescue Bots is great, and Academy is fine for what it is. If you read my review of BotBots before the accidental deletion, that show is pretty good. However, it’s a show where someone might gotta have to take it or leave it. In the middle of the downward spiral of the Aligned continuity and the movie universe rebuilding itself from Bayverse’s mess, Transformers Cyberverse is the true outlier. It’s so great I made an entire video about it that you can check it out in the link below. 🤭

Now, I wanted to bring this up when talking about Earthspark because ngl, I was worried about the potential likelihood of the show falling into the pittraps of the Aligned continuity in the first round. Now that I’ve watched the show, I can confidently tell you that IT’S EVEN BETTER THAN I EXPECTED. WE HAVE A FUCKING MIRACLE AT THE END OF A TURBULENT DECADE.

This show is thankfully so much amazing and cool and wholesome, JUST LIKE IT HAS NO RIGHT IN BEING THIS GOOD. True, like I always say, there is no such thing as a perfect show. This show definitely have flaws, but they’re not detriment to the show’s quality. It’s basically everything I ever want from a Transformers show, including even subversions of the Transformers formula like Cyberverse.

Let’s go on this little journey together on everything I like and dislike about the show. Spoiler warning here since this show is best experienced blind and I’m not like some people who decided it’s a good idea to not put spoilers behind a tag or filter. Don’t be like these people. Don’t spoil the show for those who cannot access it. Don’t do it. 🙂

Anyways. 3, 2, 1, Pingu.

The Good, The Bad, The Skullcruncher:

Let’s get the elephant in the room clear: the art style is…an art style that exists. It’s not for everyone and it did take me a while to warm up to it. However, over time, I’ve gotten used to it since the amazing animation and fight choreography are great enough to make up for the art style.

The school episode is meh. It’s nothing interesting of note except the Terran parts and frankly, I find the two bullies pretty annoying. However, it does deserve points for having the amazing Daran Norris back in a Transformers show. At least it is not boring, but it’s not worth noting.

The humor sometimes doesn’t land, especially since modern humor such as the iPad environment we’re in is a delicate line these days. The humor is Yeessss tier most of the time though.

I’m glad that Hashtag didn’t keep her weird accent when she first appeared. That’s a plus. 👍🏽

Bee did come across as a bit of an asshole at first, which was admittingly something I wasn’t vibing with. However, thanks to the power of good character development, I warmed up to him. However, a counterpoint is that it’s a unique subversion of how Bee is introduced from other Transformers media.

I have no idea how to feel about Mandroid. It feels like he really doesn’t have much of a significant impact on the story, since GHOST are the main antagonist and the Decepticons being more of a morally gray chaotic neutral type characters. After the end of the first part, I only have questions of where the hell is he. It’s such a shame, since he has a lot of interesting potential and he has a banger voice actor behind him. At least he came back in the finale episode for reasons I’ll get to in the positives section of this review.

Anyways…yeah, that’s all I have to talk about in terms of critiques. Let’s move onto the good stuff: EVERYTHING ELSE. 🥳

A Night of a Thousand Bumblebees:

This show gets points for referencing the Optimist Prime and Negatron meme.

The main characters are just so charming and lovable, I WILL PROTECT THEM WITH MY LIFE. The Malto family is the main human characters done right. Dot is such a badass with such an enduring friendship with Megatron, along with being a loving mom and best wife to Alex. She’s also really great disability representation, showing that even with the prosthetic leg, she’s still a badass. Speaking of Alex…this man has no right in being such a lovable dork who loves his family and having so much swag. I want that Bumblebee suit. Mo and Robbie are very likable and adorable, especially regarding to their relationship with their Terran siblings. Speaking of the Terrans, they’re just utter darlings and a joy to watch. Twitch is hyperactive and cute, Thrash has a lot of funny moments and a likable personality, Hashtag is surprisingly enjoyable considering her powers of the Internet, I would die for Jawbreaker, AND NIGHTSHADE IS THE AUTISM CREATURE. I fucking love them, not only for being already being great nonbinary representation but also has a lot of relatable quirks such as their mechanic hyperfixation and their difficulty in having social interactions with other people. And…THE SCENE WHERE THEY SAY THEY ARE THEY/THEM HAD ME SOBBING SO HARD. It’s just amazing to see the franchise that helped me out so much throughout my life validate my existence and the existence of so many others like me. ✨😭✨

LOOK AT FLUFFY EARS. SHE’S SO ADORABLE. 🥺

ELITA IS MY PINK WIFE. I FUCKING LOVE HER. SHE CAN TOP ME. ✨😩✨

Bumblebee took a while for me to warmed up to him, but he eventually becomes the Bubblewrap we all know and love. Also, his relationship with Breakdown, although brief, is so wholesome. 🥺

Other things I love is the voice acting, including the welcomed returns of Transformers alumni such as Steven Blum and Roger Craig Smith, the animation is beautiful, the fight scenes are bonkers and well choreographed, the humor is yeesss tier, and overall, the messages such as having a good relationship with your family and good teamwork. Delicious food. ✨

I really love what this show is doing with Megatron and Optimus. Their relationship is perhaps my favorite part of the show. You can definitely feel not only how close they are as fwiends, but you can see both sides of the idea they represent: what if every bot deserve second chances? I appreciate the nuance to the Autobot vs Decepticon conflict, something that is definitely built up from Cyberverse. Here, it explores in depth about the more gray and complex areas of the conflict, where neither side is right nor wrong. However, it’s a reasonable two sides of a coin story that is explained well enough to appeal to both kids and adults. I also like how Megatron and Optimus are willing to hear each other out even through their disagreements. Optimus is also very likable and adorable, being a big ol dork you cannot help but be charmed by. Now…let’s focus on Megatron now.

I thought ���Decay” was my favorite episode for exploring Optimus’ and Megatron’s relationship in depth, and bitter divorce ex Soundwave…until “Warzone” came out. This Megatron manages to fix the main issue of Autobot Megatron: it makes sure that he has to work hard to earn trust in his journey of redemption. He is someone with a lot of regrets over how much destruction and devastation done to Cybertron, because of his actions. It doesn’t sugarcoat the realities of his redemption: there are people who are not gonna accept that he wants to end the war nor understand how much the war costed the Cybertronian people everything. The cherry on top of his lessons to the baby boo boos about not repeating the same mistakes the Transformers did is the presence of the flowers from the IDW. Quick summary: they represent how much lives are lost in a conflict. Just…the way it fell from the monument at the Spacebridge Memorial to Megatron gently picking it up and putting it back on it, symbolizing how much he truly changed for the better. After the fight with Shockwave, including all the heartbreaking LAYERS of the gravity of Megatron’s redemption, it concludes on a beautiful message that many people came learn from, especially in these current times. you cannot change the past, but if we learn about it, we will be able to not make those same mistakes ever again. Thus, “Warzone” is my favorite episode in the entire season. In fact, I want to dedicate an entire essay to how this series portrayed Megatron once everything is done and finished. We’ll come back to the topic soon, lads.

Also, I really love how the show is exploring the not so bright side of having bots on planet Earth. The finale episode is perhaps the episode that rivals “Warzone” for not only bringing more amazing nonbinary representation in the form of Sam (looking forward to seeing her and their relationship with Nightshade in future episodes), but for managing to tell a story of how to deal with racism (through the Terrans being treated as outsiders in the big city) without sugarcoating it and telling it in a way that kids can understand. Hashtag feels the most pain in being treated as an outsider, even with her family there to tell her that everything will be okay. Then…perhaps one of the darkest scenes of Transformers as a whole is when Mandroid took over her as an attempt to get rid of the baby boo bops and try to get Bumblebee’s parts, and feeds into her insecurities over whether or not she has the right to live on Earth. Through the use of mind tricks, he is a representation of all the disgusting ignorance and stupidity plaguing our real world right now, trying to “prove” that marginalized people, who are represented by the Terrans here, have no right to exist. However…then the Malto kids used the power of the Green Prime to reach out to Hashtag and let her know that everything will be okay. True, not everybody is going to be compassionate and understanding of people who are different from them. There are genuinely evil and hateful people who will never be negotiated with and will never understand the concept of being a decent human being. However…it doesn’t mean that you should let them get to you. You deserve the right to be yourself and live your life the way you want to live it. You are surrounded by people who love you and understand what you’re going through. You are not alone. You are good enough. In a time where we experience such amount of racism, misogyny, and homophobia in places in and out of the Transformers fandom…we need this message more than ever. We should not follow Mandroid’s hateful ideology. Instead, we should be the Maltos. Love will triumph over hate, and no matter how much the world tries to crush you, you are more than meets the eye in beautiful ways.

Conclusion: This is number three on the Transformers ranking list as of the time I am writing this. 💕

Transformers Earthspark is incredible. It has no right in getting everything so right. It’s a fantastic love letter to the Transformers franchise as a whole. Let the haters talk smack. I am confident in saying that this show is the ever rare Ultra Yesss tier 10/10.

Please check it out if you have accessibility to the show on any platform. I promise that you’ll not regret this fantastic start of a promising new future for Transformers. ❤️

[kverything-official]

10 Park Bo Young K-Dramas and K-Movies to Watch Because It’s Her Birthday

The clock marks 12:00 am KST, so now it’s time we celebrate the birthday of the one and only, Park Bo Young! From her infectious smile to her powerhouse performances, Bo Young has captured hearts and imaginations worldwide. So, let’s raise a toast (or a glass of banana milk!) to this incredible actress on her special day.

To celebrate the queen’s birthday to the fullest, why don’t we watch 10 K-Dramas and K-Movies she has gifted us? 

So, without any further delay, let’s get into the list!

5 K-Dramas of Park Bo Young

1. Strong Woman Do Bong Soon

One moment, Bong Soon is tripping over her own feet, a blur of wide eyes and flailing limbs. The next, she’s effortlessly sending grown men flying with a flick of her wrist. Park Bo Young navigates this hilarious contrast with masterful timing, her every pratfall and superhero landing landing with perfect humor. But beneath the laughs lies a vulnerability. We see Bong Soon grapple with the burden of her power, the uncertainty of her future, and the strained relationship with her mother. Park Bo Young portrays these moments with raw emotion, drawing us into Bong Soon’s inner turmoil and making her struggles all the more relatable.

The show’s success hinges on the crackling chemistry between Bong Soon and Ahn Min Hyuk (played by Park Hyun Shik), the CEO she becomes bodyguard for. Park Bo Young’s interactions with her co-star are pure magic, a delightful mix of playful banter and unspoken longing. Their relationship evolves organically, from hesitant trust to unwavering support, and Park Bo Young guides us through every step with a charming sincerity.

Finally, Park Bo Young throws herself into the physical demands of the role. She executes impressive stunts, mastering Bong Soon’s signature throws and takedowns with a believability that elevates the action sequences. Watching her navigate this world of superhuman feats is simply thrilling.

Park Bo Young’s portrayal of Do Bong Soon is a true tour de force. She makes her a character we laugh with, cry with, and ultimately cheer for. With her impeccable comedic timing, emotional depth, and captivating screen presence, Park Bo Young cements her status as one of the most talented actresses of her generation. “Strong Woman Do Bong Soon” is a testament to her brilliance, a must-watch for anyone looking for a laugh, a tear, and a whole lot of heart.

2. Doom at Your service

Park Bo Young dives headfirst into the whirlwind of emotions that is Tak Dong Kyung in “Doom At Your Service.” Her performance is a poignant tapestry woven with threads of quiet despair, desperate hope, and unexpected joy.

But Tak is not one to simply surrender. Park Bo Young masterfully shifts gears as Tak embraces a defiant spirit. Her drunken wish for doom, delivered with a bitter laugh and tear-streaked cheeks, marks a turning point. She throws herself into living, savoring every stolen moment with a newfound appreciation. We see this in the playful glint in her eyes as she embarks on spontaneous adventures, the bittersweet smile as she cherishes fleeting moments with loved ones.

As Myul Mang (played by Seo In Guk), the embodiment of doom, enters Tak’s life, Park Bo Young navigates the complex dance of their relationship with nuanced brilliance. Their interactions are charged with a mix of fear and fascination, vulnerability and defiance. Park Bo Young’s delicate touches, hesitant smiles, and bursts of playful rebellion beautifully counterpoint Myul Mang’s stoic presence. She makes their growing attachment palpable, the unspoken fear of loss adding a poignant layer to their moments of joy.

Park Bo Young’s performance in “Doom At Your Service” is a masterful portrayal of a woman facing the abyss with both despair and defiance. She makes Tak a character we empathize with, cheer for, and ultimately mourn. Her ability to navigate the emotional spectrum of hope and despair within 200 words is a testament to her talent and leaves a lasting impact on the viewers.

Read more

[doomedandstoned]

Wolves In Winter Unveil Powerful Debut LP, ‘The Calling Quiet’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Coming at us from Bradford, UK, it's the much anticipated full-length debut by WOLVES IN WINTER -- much anticipated because we have here a few familiar players from Solstice, Lazarus Blackstar, and Monolith Cult, names that are whispered about by fans here and there as they delve deeper into the hallowed halls of doom's history.

Wolves In Winter generated excitement when they dropped a few stand-alone singles in 2021. One of them ("Nemesis") finds its way onto the new album, titled 'The Calling Quiet' (2023). A twin guitar attack always has the potential to make things interesting, and here axe-swingers Wayne and Enzo double down on the thick flow of melody.

"Cord That Ends The Pain" is a grungy, somber slow-burner with "Fell on Black Days" pacing that reaches great heights of its own via the fevered pitch of its chorus. The band is to be credited for pushing the song even further, adding a final section that delivers a real coup de grâce.

"Nemesis" is a traditional doomer that borders on epic, with a hearty vocal approach that certainly many will find appealing. Guitars work in tandem with the rhythm section of Izak (bass) and Adam (drums), conjuring a misty, wistful atmosphere that's both strong and determined. Once again, a stellar chorus presents itself, this time accented with effectual vocal harmonies.

"Pastime For Helots" is the last song on Side A and has a solemn, melancholic opening, but is well worth hanging onto for another sunbreak of a chorus. Every word is brimming with conviction and deep feeling.

Drums bounce and roll with transcendent might, yielding a "Promised Harvest" to begin the B-side. The riffage is as dire and menacing as you could ask for. Dark clouds are on the way and cymbals mark the march of time.

"Oceans" has a certain rhythmic pull, not unlike churning waves. Its verses have a reassuring metallic sheen, where the sweet 'n' sour melodic line is shared by both the singer and guitarists. Then they break away from one another, each building their case as the song advances. Things end with cooing voices singing in Jerry Cantrelesque euphony.

Bittersweet counterpoint harmony ushers in the album's closing and title track. The ambience greets us like a dawning day, bristling with life and quiet possibilities. Power is lent to every word and, once again, the listener becomes engrossed by its strange, solitary verses and the cathartic harmonies of its climactic chorus.

And now, appropriately, at the height of winter, we bring you The Calling Quiet by Wolves In Winter, releasing this weekend via Argonauta Records (pre-order here). All-in-all, one of my favorite doomy listens from edge to center since Apostle of Solitude's 'Until the Darkness Goes' (2021). For fans of Pallbearer, Spirit Division, and The Gates of Slumber.

Give ear...

LISTEN: Wolves In Winter - 'The Calling Quiet' (2023)

SOME BUZZ

Epic, emotional, eloquent… UK doom metal quintet Wolves In Winter reveal full details of their highly anticipated album “The Calling Quiet”, to be released by Argonauta Records on February 24th 2023.

Formed between lockdowns in 2020, Wolves In Winter have worked tirelessly to forge a crushing fusion of traditional and contemporary doom metal. The band is comprised of seasoned veterans from the UK heavy music underground, including former and present members of Solstice, Lazarus Blackstar, Monolith Cult, Slammer and more, effortlessly building on a wealth of experience and carving a fully realised sound and vision.

Wolves In Winter wrote and recorded their debut album with Chris Fielding (Conan) at Foel Studios. Working with Fielding has allowed them to capture enormous tones and crushing riffs. The quintet seamlessly honour doom metal traditionalists such as Cathedral and Candlemass, yet go toe to toe with contemporary favourites including Pallbearer and Windhand.

Wolves In Winter land on both sides of the coin, building dynamic, weighty and nuanced lengthy tracks that are as heavy sonically as they are emotionally. With riffs and chord progressions that are contemplative and melancholic, a subtle yet driving rhythm section, and a powerhouse lead vocal performance which brims with emotive and passionate gravelly harmonies akin to Alice In Chains, Wolves In Winter have already crafted a versatile, engrossing and powerful sound.

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[queerpyracy]

In 1981, Enda Tiers Monde, an NGO based in Dakar, Senegal, initiated a study on the risks of pesticides to human and environmental health in the region. The group observed that agricultural production techniques in Senegal relied on synthetic pesticides and fertilizers and had greatly contributed to the degradation of African peasant agriculture and the environment. In response, they created ENDA Pronat, a group that helps farmers in the region learn agroecological practices and gain autonomy over their own land.

In the 1980s, the group worked with scientists to focus on raising awareness about the destructive consequences of pesticides on the environment and encouraged alternative ways of growing food. While the men who participated in the group’s workshops decided against getting involved because the risk of breaking away from pesticides was too great, a group of 10 women came together and volunteered with ENDA Pronat to run a series of experiments over a number of years. By replacing the chemical fertilizers and pesticides they were using with compost, neem, and other natural solutions, they embraced the elements of agroecology to transform the way food was grown in their community.

Agroecology is a science, practice and social movement that applies ecological concepts to agriculture and food systems and couples traditional and Indigenous practises and knowledge systems with transdisciplinary sciences. It is a direct response and counterpoint to the dominant, industrial food system; which is one of the biggest stressors on planetary health, contributing almost a quarter of global greenhouse gas emissions and a leading driver of biodiversity loss and species extinction.

ENDA Pronat’s experiments ultimately led to the agroecological transition of over 24,000 acres of arable land for the people of northern Senegal and resulted in more diversified crop production for local and regional markets.

The women recognized that the evidence they had gathered would not be enough to convince many farmers and food producers to embrace agroecological ways of growing: Agricultural research is typically very narrow in focus, measuring a limited number of indicators, like yield—or the amount of crops grown per acre—and it has a strong bias toward easily quantifiable data and indicators. By contrast, many of the rich benefits of agroecological and regenerative food and farming approaches cannot be quantified in this way; they take account of environmental impacts, inclusive decision-making, quality of life, health and well-being, mental health, and sustainable livelihoods.

[Continue Reading]

[originlist]

ffxiv verse shut up im vibeing

both are currently only at just post arr. sorry. im slow. a fool. but im making this so i can update it as i go

au : ffxiv ( laurel )

a warrior of light, viera, tank-class only. she is terrible at everything else. maelstrom and a scion, takes both positions as something she’s proud of. forceful but more mentally balanced than her fate counterpoint, she cares the most about becoming someone strong enough to carry and fight anything the world can throw at her. a hero is someone who protects, though her idea of who she protects is her friends and those she bonds with, instead of the entire population.

au : ffxiv ( ritsu )

not a warrior of light or a scion, simply a miqo’te who happens to be immune to tempering and has a talent with weapons. but nope, no thank you with that whole warrior of light business! goodness! primarily, ritsu is a botanist who picks up other weapon classes compulsively. their main obligation is to helping the everyday eaorzean and going around cataloging everything in the land! much like fgo sanzang, they have the combination of ‘exceedingly ditzy and oblivious + unlucky’ and ‘gods favourite little guy’ that means ritsu finds themselves basically anywhere, often in danger, but never actually dying because hydaelyn likes them too much. literally just a silly little birthday guy who will give you strawbebbies.

[yandere-daydreams]

Can we get more of dragon bakugo??? Just him like trying to make them have a good best and taking care of them, after all the times they took care of him. Maybe Kirishima joins them after a while?????

I didn’t want to let Kirishima factor in just yet, but if I ever continue this further, I’ll consider it. Y’all know how I feel about that boy, but this is about Bakugo, at the moment.

Part One Here.

TW: Mentions of Captivity and (Minor) Physical Violence.

~

Your wrist was beginning to hurt.

Bakugo, or ‘Katsuki’, as he demanded you call him, hadn’t let go of you for more than an hour over the past three days. It was unnecessary. You were a hostage, but a willing one, so far from a home that was little more than ash and cinder, now. When he hunted, you didn’t try to run, and when he flew, you clung to his back for dear life, knowing a movement too sudden or a separation too complete would leave you plummeting to the Earth, with little hope of sprouting a pair of wings as substantial as Katsuki’s. He held you at night with an equal level of desperation, his nails never failing to embed themselves in your flesh whenever his eyes closed. The wounds were shallow, easily treatable, but it was enough to make you hesitant to trust him. Not that you’d do so easily if he treated you like the most fragile treasure in the world.

He tried to, of course. As he guided you over the rolling hills of valleys and open land, so different from the forests and crowded cities you’d grown up in, his hold on your forearm was loose, but the scales coating his palm irritated everything he touched, his talons occasionally scraping against your wrist and never failing to draw blood. He didn’t seem to notice, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a struggle, biting back your complaints as they came.

Instead, you broke the silence by stating the obvious. “If they come to recapture you, I won’t be able to stop them.”

Katsuki spared you a glance from the corner of his eye, his stride never faltering. “And I won’t need you to,” He assured, tugging you forward and letting you stumble to his side. “I don’t plan on being imprisoned again, not by humans foolish enough to release me. Nor do I have any intention to treat my mate as a bargaining chip.”

Mate. There was that word again. It’s meaning was foreign to you, but Katsuki used it with reckless abandon, treating the title like the most tender term of endearment he could vocalize. You grit your teeth, swallowing dryly before you spoke. “They did once. There’s nothing stopping another kingdom from locking you so deep underground, you won’t remember there’s a world outside to escape to. I… A human escort won’t change that.” You paused, attempting to gauge his expression. His eyes were narrowed in the unfiltered sunlight, intent and sharpened, as if he was searching for landmarks and signals you couldn’t see. Focused on anything but you. “If someone comes, and they will, your intentions won’t matter. You’ll be defeated, and my people will be avenged.”

That got Katsuki to pause, coming to a stop as he thought over your declaration. “Your people,” He scoffed, his distance turning to disregard in the blink of an eye. “Is that why you insist on agitating me? Because you’re upset the tyrants who sent you to tend to a beast had to suffer? Because they had their little castle and their pathetic home toppled over?” He grinned, a chuckle from deep in his throat slowly becoming a laugh, hearty and unabashed. You pulled away, a red haze lining your vision, and Katsuki let you, releasing you and watching as you stumbled backward. You barely had time to regain your composure before Katsuki saw fit to strip you of it, sweeping you off your feet and holding you to his chest, an arm tucked under your thighs to keep you balanced. He sighed, a strong hand cupping your cheek, keeping you pressed against his shoulder. “I should thank them, once I’m settled. They sent me such a diligent mate, it’d be a shame not to show my appreciation. Perhaps another siege--”

“I’m not your mate,” You spat, more to silence him than to establish your counterpoint. You shoved yourself away from him, he overpowered you with ease, forcing you flush against sculpted shoulders and skin that was much too warm. You wondered if he’d burn you, if you stayed against him for much longer. Knowing you couldn’t force your way out of his arms, you did the only thing you could. “I’m not your ‘mate’ and I’ll never be. You don’t have the right to do so much as say my name, let alone start whatever courting ritual you’ve forced me to be a part of. I’m following you because I don’t have another choice, I don’t--”

Katsuki silenced you with a jerk to your skull, his nails strapping against your scalp as he entangled his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to meet his eyes. There was a constant fire in those blood-red irises, but his resolution came before his wrath, any rage he could’ve felt numbed by his determination. “You took care of me,” He explained, such a delicate sentiment seeming wrong on his tongue. “You kept me fed, and housed, and you did so with much more care than you had to. I had caretakers, but you-” The flattened pad of his thumb pressed against your forehead, as if it would do anything to further his message. Instead, it only made you feel smaller, weaker, patronized by a predator who could rip out your throat in a moment. “You were the only one to care for me. You can’t say you didn’t want this.”

“I pitied you.” Katsuki cringed, his eyes narrowing into something between hurt and disappointment. You swallowed dryly, continuing before he could respond. “I pitied an old, imprisoned monster. There’s nothing more to it.”

Abruptly, you were dropped, allowed to fall to the dusty, hard ground before he took hold of your bicep, dragging you to your feet and carrying on with a steady pace, attempting to make up for lost time. “You’re lying to yourself. I should’ve known you would, it’s all humans are good for.” There was a slight incline, bringing you to the top of a hill you hadn’t noticed, not until you were at its crest.  Katsuki pulled you to his side, allowing you to look out at what should’ve been little more than tall grass and empty fields. “Your place is at my side. You’ll come to see that. Anything else wouldn’t be fitting of my mate.”

You didn’t respond. You were too busy taking in the dip in the valley, the hollow ravine hidden by higher ground. Or, more importantly, the village inside off it, filled with tents and animals and people, all as tall as Katsuki and as inhuman, too. Some had horns, others tails, but all of them were beginning to gather around, gawking at the two of you with open mouths and rushing forward, Katuski making no move to call them off. No, no, for the first time since the beginning of your companionship, he was smiling, his hold on you tighter than ever.

But suddenly, the growing ache in your arm was no longer your biggest concern.

[scapegrace74-blog]

In Dreams

A/N  I don’t do Twitter, but roughly once a year I wish I did.  A few weeks back, some clever Outlander writers there came up with the idea of the Eye Sex Chronicles, in which various pre-relationship scenes between Jamie and Claire are re-imagined in a less PG way.  I asked Catrin Writes if I could join the party, and she kindly agreed.  And because I like nothing more than a challenge, the scene I chose is when Jamie comes for Claire after the Redcoat ambush in 1x01.  Rated mildly M, in case you care about that sort of thing.

Since he was a lad, Jamie had been visited by a recurring dream.  In it, he was chasing a figure through a forest.  His quarry materialized and dissolved like mist in the dappled light, with limbs as pale as bone and a thundercloud about its head.  A sidhe, perhaps, come to deceive him.

The details of the dream shifted, but the ending was always the same.  At the edge of a burn, he caught up with the apparition.  Staring into her peculiar golden eyes (for it was indeed a woman), the dirt beneath his feet gave way and he fell headlong into a bottomless unknown.  Then, he woke.

***

She had to be dreaming, Claire rationalized.  Or at least hallucinating.  It was the only explanation that fit the facts.  Redcoat soldiers wielding muskets.  Coarse ruffians speaking Gaelic and tossing her from horseback like a sack of laundry.  A Frank doppelganger trying to rape her.  Her subconscious must have muddled together her husband’s obsession with Scottish history and the emotional turmoil of their second honeymoon to produce this elaborate fantasy.  Sigmund Freud would rub his hands together with glee.

It didn’t explain, however, why she could feel every nettle and branch as they lashed against her limbs, or why the icy water of the stream she was following numbed her toes.  If she was only dreaming, she should stand still and wait for consciousness to return.  And if she were hallucinating, she doubted she’d be capable of analyzing her circumstances.  She ran because she was afraid to find out what might happen if she was wrong.   She ran because it was only a matter of time before her captors gave chase.

***

The ambush by a small patrol of Redcoats ended abruptly in the way of most skirmishes.  One minute he was fighting for his life, and the next he was leaning on his sword, sharing a flask of whisky with his brothers in arms.

Dougal had a ribald glint in his eye as he ordered Jamie to round up the Sassenach lass.  He thought he’d kept his reaction to her lovely face and near-nakedness well hidden in the dim firelight of the croft, but his uncle’s smirk said otherwise.  The men hooted as though it was a great joke - sending the virgin after the mettlesome wench.

It was only as he was retracing his steps to the strath where he’d thrown their captive from Donas’ back that he realized he was injured.  The muscles of his shoulder joint were still tender, just as she’d predicted after she’d manipulated the bones back into place.  This new pain was sharper and accompanied by the coppery tang of blood.  Compounded by the fact that he hadn’t slept or eaten more than a crust of bread in nigh on a day, it was no surprise that his head was feeling light and empty as a cloud, with a persistent buzzing sound filling his ears.  He continued his search, determined to find the lass before continuing on their way.  She’d mended him.  He at least owed her that much.

An ivory figure dashed between the trees, bringing to mind his dream.  Deja vu, the French called it.  The sense that he had lived this moment before, perhaps countless times.  Reality tilted sideways, and he could no longer discern what was true and what was illusion.  The memory of both his dream and his objective compelled him to give chase. He spurred his horse forward.

***

Damn it!  For a figment of her imagination, the tall red-headed Scot was annoyingly persistent.  Seumas.  Jamie.  Mowgli.  She’d heard the other men call him by many names, further evidence that this illogical adventure was just an inventive delusion.  She’d certainly conjured an attractive antagonist, with his raw potency and soulful blue eyes.  He was a bit too chiseled for her taste, and good lord he was gigantesque, but somehow he pulled it off without seeming a brute.  Despite the driving rain, the night spent on horseback wrapped together in his plaid hadn’t been unpleasant.  Unlike every other character in this illusion, he didn’t feel threatening.

He leapt from his horse and was approaching with his arms spread wide, a bloodied sword dangling from one hand in an offhand way.  She’d seen men approach unbroken horses in much the same manner.  Well, she was no docile mare, willing to accept the bit.  If he thought he could subdue her with sonorous words from his pretty lips, he had another thing coming.  She lifted her chin defiantly.  Maybe the way out of this nightmare was to refuse to play along.  She spat defiance in his direction, daring him to accost her.

***

Christ, she was beautiful.  It hadn’t escaped his notice when they’d first met, despite his dislocated shoulder.  But out here in the forest, with smudges of dirt marring her luminous skin and cockleburs matting her hair, she was every cautionary tale he’d learned at his father’s knee.  A bewitching siren come to lure his soul to sin.

If her foreign ways and total lack of meekness wasn’t evidence enough that she was the otherworldly creature from his dream, the violent mystery of her agate eyes confirmed it.  They were unforgettable, calling to him from across the ages.

Despite his better judgment, he stepped closer, saying something daft about throwing her over his shoulder, as though he’d ever demean her in that way.  Her breath came into short pants that caused her unbound breasts to rise and fall beneath her thin shift.  His fingers twitched, aching to touch her, to confirm that she was real.  Some lucid corner of his brain that wasn’t starved of blood and delirious with bloodlust argued that he’d spent many hours pressed up against her very mortal and lovely arse.  He ignored it in favour of another step in her direction.  Like a mindless beast, he sniffed the air.  She smelled like his mate.

***

She’d spent enough time around soldiers returning from the front to recognize the half-crazed look, the dilated pupils, the waves of sexual energy wafting off his skin.  The male animal confronted death and procreation with much the same physical response, opposite sides of the same coin.

She should have been frightened by his proximity, but instead she drew back her shoulders and stared directly into his marine gaze, daring him to take another step.  Delirious with disorientation and lack of sleep, she flirted with the combustible element that arced between them from the first.  She’d never behave so wantonly if she thought for a moment this was real. It was a harmless fantasy, made all the more appealing by the combination of artlessness and virility exuded by the man in question.

***

He dropped his sword, a useless defence against temptation.  His feet carried him forward of their own volition, answering the urgent summons in her eyes.  So close now, skirting the very edge of a precipice.  Surely his dream had been a prophecy, a foretelling of a critical juncture in his life.  Temptress or Sassenach healer, their paths were fated to cross.  There was nothing he could do to deny the hand of fate.

She’d backed against a tree and his palms came to rest on the ample swell of her hips.  He’d never touched a woman so close to her skin.  It was intoxicating, warm and supple.  She was no longer speaking, watching him instead with those predator’s eyes, wary but not afraid.  Her lips were pressed together, and he longed to pry them apart with his tongue, to taste her soul and share his own.  Bending slowly forward, the muscle in his beleaguered shoulder seized in sudden pain.  Bubbles of dizziness flooded his vision and he slumped forward, momentarily boneless, landing against her lush curves.

***

Christ, he was heavy.  One moment she had been certain he was about to kiss her senseless, and then he sagged forward, pinning her between his bloodstained torso and a tree.  Her nursing instincts sprang to life as she attempted to soothe him.  She ran her fingers through his tangled curls and over the abutments of his face, searching for a contusion and finding only tacky blood and prickly stubble.  She could feel his deep breaths echoing against her breastbone.  He groaned a word in Gaelic that made her wish she understood the tongue.

***

Pressed against her as he was, he marveled at the brilliance of God’s design.  She was soft where he was hard, a perfect counterpoint that answered the question his body had been asking since adolescence.   He wasn’t ignorant of carnal matters, but nor had he imagined that he could derive such pleasure merely from cleaving his body to hers.  In his previous trysts with with the young maids of his youth, it had never been so.

Her hands were surprisingly strong as they prodded his skin, seemingly drawn to the places that called out for her touch.   They skimmed gently over his shoulders.  The lancing pangs had faded like the morning mist, leaving him conscious only of the pulsing ache radiating from his groin.  He’d been hard beneath his plaid since fighting the Redcoats, but it had progressed to the brink of pain.   Certainly she could feel it, barely clad as she was, but he felt no shame in the knowledge.  There was a deeper magic at work here, far outside the laws of propriety.

***

Her fingertips touched the bands of muscle along his flank, having snuck unawares beneath his filthy shirt.  Her arms opened to span his torso, no longer pretending to minister to his wounds and instead holding him tight, in case he was considering retreat.  It helped that she couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was beyond her hair, but she could read the impulse on his dewy skin and through the vibration of his every sinew.  He wanted her.  Not only because she was a female body close at hand, but on some more fundamental level.  She wanted him as well, but that was the dream talking.

***

The thinnest filament held back the raging storm inside of him.  What few thoughts he could maintain circled around the inscrutable riddle of her identity.  If she truly was the vision from his dream, then what was her purpose?  And if she was flesh and blood, then why did she tolerate his trespass?  His answer came in the form of a whimper, sneaking from her lips to his ear and straight to his cock.  The cord snapped, and he began to rut against her in earnest, the coarse wool of his plaid scratching his swollen flesh.  

Dhia, it was a thousand times greater than any pleasure his own hand could inflict, and yet it was woefully deficient. His hips pressed forward with more force, grinding their bones together, seeking a home inside her warmth.  Rather than retreat, she answered with advances of her own.  She shuddered and moaned, her nails biting into the scars across his back.  He had no language to describe what her body was demanding.  He hurtled towards an unknowable point, both hunter and prey in a breathless pursuit.  It was bottomless and inescapable, just as in his dream.

***

She’d lost all sense of herself.  There was no Claire.  No Frank.  No everlasting dream about Scottish outlaws.  Even the rough bark of the tree against which she was pinned was gone.  All that remained was the bitter agony of incompletion and the solid male form that could deliver her from it.  She whimpered, tears of frustration leaking from her eyes.  She wanted... no, she needed more.  More contact.  More friction.  More of his sublime body that answered every question she asked it wordlessly.

Broad palms slipped down to cup her ass, then lifted her as though she was made of feathers.  At that first perfect moment of connection, she cried out.  The depths opened up beneath them and her only fear was that she would fall alone.  Clamping her thighs around his hips, she circled and writhed directly over the defined prominence of his cock.  They both groaned as twin spasms spun outward from where they were fused together.  The hot rush of his eruption warmed her belly, shaking from the force of her own contractions.

The fever crept away as inexplicably as it came, leaving her stippled in gooseflesh and drowning in turmoil.  What had just happened?  Had she really allowed this stranger, this walking paradox, to bring her to gratification, fully clothed, against the trunk of some bloody Scottish tree?  And oh, when would she wake up and return to the mundane struggles of her real life? This, whatever it was, was too much to endure.

***

At the first twitch of her body after endless moments of utter stillness, he lowered her gently to her feet.  He could feel his release trickling down his thigh.  Rather than address him, if only to slap him as he deserved, she turned towards the burn.  She knelt for a long time, drinking from her cupped palm and splashing water over her face.  Doubtless, she was also rinsing his seed from her skin.  He burned with remorse.  Sidhe or not, he’d treated her contemptibly.  

The rush of blood between his ears was slowing, leaving him shaky and weak.  He bent to retrieve his sword and the ground tilted aslant beneath him.  By the time she returned from the burn, her eyes demurely focused downwards, he had mounted Donas and was able to lift her over the withers with his good arm.  He tried in vain to keep from pressing up against her, trying to atone for his previous behaviour.  They set off in search of Dougal and the others without another word.

***

The further they rode, the more Claire became convinced she had hallucinated the entire thing.  The young Scot named Jamie was still kind and solicitous, offering her a slug of whisky and sharing his plaid as the night air grew cold, but he betrayed no proof of their intimate encounter.  Along with everything else that was happening, it was too much to contemplate, so she pushed it to the back of her mind.

Well past midnight, she felt his bulk behind her slide sideways as he started to topple to the ground.

“Stop!  Help, he’s going over!”

Leaping to the ground and ordering the other men about like a petty general, she poured whisky into the newly discovered wound that pierced the trapezius muscle.  Yet more evidence, if she was looking for it, that their union in the forest had all been in her head.  Who could please a lover while bleeding out from a gunshot?

Jamie sputtered back to consciousness beneath her hands.

“Welcome back,” she commented pertly.

***

The blank screen in front of his eyes reassembled around the familiar faces of Murtagh, Dougal, Angus and the others, peering down at him in the gloom.  He must have fallen deep asleep while they fled to Leoch.  His memories were foggy, but he recalled a dream of chasing a mysterious woman through a wooded strath, catching her by the edge of a burn, and then...  well, it wouldn’t be the first time his sleeping mind brought him gratification, although generally not on horseback.

“I’m all right.  Just a wee bit dizzy,” he tried to convince the assemblage, eager to get back on his horse.  They couldn’t afford a delay.

“You're not all right,” an oddly familiar English voice pronounced.   Without waiting for him to respond, she launched into a tirade.

“Couldn’t you tell how badly you were bleeding? You're lucky you're not dead, brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses.”

He stared up in disbelief at her fiercely beautiful face, the one he recognized from his dreams.

She was here.

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 69

Wade picked up a glass. How hard could tending a bar be? Weasel did it all the time, and most of the time he just rubbed a glass with a towel. Wade could do that.

[I think the towel is supposed to clean the glass.]

Eh, who cared about a few streaks in a glass? Wade was sure the alcohol would kill anything that might hurt anyone.

{Does it count as murder if germs do the killing?}

[I hate you.]

“What the fuck did you threaten that twink with?” demanded one of the guys as he swaggered up to the bar.

Another patron at the bar snorted. “Must be big. Kid acts like he likes him.”

{Did we ever threaten Petey?}

[You mean aside from kidnapping him? No, we haven’t. And we’ve seen him try to lie—the guy sucks. No way he’s acting.]

Odd for White to be reassuring, but Wade would roll with it. He grinned at the patrons and enjoyed the way they looked freaked out.

[You’re acting pleasant and not singing children’s songs. Of course they’re freaked.]

Wade remembered the movie he and Pete had been watching. “What can I get for you?” he asked.

They stared at him for a moment before the second one gave a low whistle. “Damn Wilson,” he said in awe. “You’ve been whipped.”

Wade batted his eyes at them. “Only in the best ways,” he assured them.

{Not yet.}

[No, because that would mean removing the mask.]

“So, what’ll it be?” asked Wade as he struck a pose. The glass he was holding hit the bar and broke. Eh, Weasel had plenty of glasses. He wouldn't notice one less. Wade threw the glass into the garbage and then grinned at the two idiots at the bar.

{Don’t make a scene! Petey’s counting on us!}

Seeing the almost homicidal look on Wade’s face the first man quickly said, “Bottle of Beer. Sealed,” he added. “I can open it myself.”

Wade rummaged around under the bar finding the screens for the security systems, the shotgun, the shotgun shells labeled rock salt, lead, and vibranium. He paused. Why did Weasel have vibranium for his shotgun? That didn’t make sense. Ah, this was a little fridge. He opened it and found—beer. Bottles of beer in every color from pale pink to dark brown. “You got a color preference?” asked Wade as he stared at the bottles. Just what was the point of all these different colors? Did they change the taste of the brew in them?

“Nah, I ain’t picky.”

“Hey Wilson, get me one too,” called the second one.

“Sure!” Wade said happily as he grabbed a pale pink bottle and a dark blue blue bottle before standing up and closing the fridge door. Couldn’t waste electricity!

“What the fuck is this shit?” demanded the first merc as he stared at the pale pink bottle on the bar in front of him.

“I’ve never even seen this color before,” the other one said in wonder as he held the blue bottle up to the light.

“There’s a whole rainbow in this fridge,” Wade said as he leaned against the bar. He waited while the two warily cracked open their beers and took a sip. “And…?”

They spit out at the same time. “The fuck?” exclaimed the one with the pink bottle. “This shit is rose flavored!”

“Ooo,” cooed one of the ever-present hookers as she snagged the bottle. “Mine.”

The second one, seeing what had happened to the first, turned to the assembled ladies and held up his bottle. “I’ll trade a blueberry flavored beer for a kiss,” he called out.

First one snorted. “Only kiss you’ll ever get.”

“Hey! Not like I’m him!” A thumb jerked towards Wade. “I don’t have to pay some pretty-boy twink to pretend to like me!”

[Did he just call Peter a prostitute?]

{KILL HIM!}

Wade leaped over the bar, wrapping his hands around the merc’s throat as the other people in the bar began chanting and cheering. The man tried to buck him off so that he could breathe—but breathing wasn’t in the list of plans that Wade had for the man. “Say that again, I dare you,” he taunted as he squeezed the throat under his hands.

“Wade, what the fuck?” screamed Weasel, adding his voice as a counterpoint to the people chanting for him to do it, do it, just kill the fucker already.

“Wade?” A gentle hand with far more weight to it than it should have landed on Wade’s shoulder and he looked up into Peter’s concerned face.

“Oh, uh,” Wade said as he released the throat under him. “We were just having a manly discussion,” he said to his boyfriend—who crossed his arms in disbelief. Wade rounded on the man under him, still holding his throat and gasping for air. “Weren’t we?” he demanded darkly. The man quickly nodded as fast as his bruised throat would allow.

Peter sighed and reached out, pulling Wade off the merc.

[Did we know he was this strong?]

{Oh, my God! He still likes us!}

“Come on Triple,” Peter urged gently as he tucked himself against Wade’s side. “Let’s go home,” he urged.

“Freak,” muttered the merc on the ground. Wade didn’t hear him. And he certainly didn’t see Petey-pie step back and kick the guy—ahem, accidentally hit the guy in the ribs with the back of his foot before gently guiding Wade out of the bar.

[ramongparishnuttyprofessor]

Mission to Mars to Staying Home?: Some Evolutionary Concerns and Priorities through an Afrofuturists lens.

“The earth is already in space”.- Killa Priest

“Build a rocket ship to take you to the moon, a million dollar mission just bring back a piece of rock. We got starvation, panic over the land, and here’s fool in the rocketship trying to be a superman”-Dorando

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCF8I_X1qKI

If, as Elon Musk said on Saturday Night live recently- that humanity is going to become a multi-planet species and yet we are still going to engage in cultures of domination, of violent competition, or justified exploitation and neglect, if we are in fact going to colonize Mars, with all the historical and present day implications of that term, with company towns of crypto- credit and expendable groups of miners (“people are going to die”), then I rather not see us go. I’d rather us stay on earth. Stuck. Together. If the wealthy and so called “fit” think they can rob the planet and run to outer space to escape the guilt Elysium style, and the consequences of what they do, I’d rather us be stuck here on this planet. Let’s face it. Even a toxicified, war torn earth, an earth with climate chaos will be easier, less energy intensive than living that Mars. By the simple fact that “YOU CAN”T GO OUTSIDE”. You can never be naked. Mars is swimming upstream- 100%. People think that living on Mars or on orbital bases is a feasible engineering project, but that designing a planetary society where everyone has their basic bodily, emotional/relational, mental/agency needs met is impossible. Yet they believe, in any useful scale of time that we will be able to trek across hundreds of thousands of miles of radioactive, airless darkness, to a arid, frozen, radioactive (because of its thin atmosphere), low lit planet with dust storms that can blot out a sun that shines only half as strong as earth’s. All that just to live inside. In spaces that are exclusively, privately owned by billion or trillion dollar companies or that are extensions of the military via NASA. People truly believe this is a viable option to stave off climate change and the needs of our population. In the near term. I don’t see it. (Let’s not even talk about terra-forming- like creating an atmosphere and activating a magnetosphere- at this moment is pure sci-fiction).

What I do see that it is kind of religious delusion. An ascent religion that disguises itself as science and as a sane, doable, social-technological project. That disguises itself as salvation and evolution. It is an extension of colonialist and manifest destiny delusions that have been genocidal in their methods and potentially eoc-cidal in their outcomes. I say this as an instinctive futurist. As a child of the 1980’s fascinated with outer-space, with Star Trek, Star Wars, Battle Star Galactica, you name it. If one voice matters, and it does, then I have to say this. If a point focus or social attention develops, a counterpoint arises to create an overall ecology of views and movements that becomes the landscape for present and future lived realties. I am not saying that we shouldn’t go to Mars under any circumstances, or that usable technologies might not be developed from it that can be deployed on Earth (an insight of Buckminster Fuller). But we should not fool ourselves into thinking that Mars can really provide for the future of humanity, that it can really be a place to resettle anytime soon. Not soon enough to escape the dangerous territory we’ve crossed into by bursting past planetary limits. To really address this (inter)species level danger and those limits I think there is an older and better dream out there. A cosmic order or operations if we take a system popularized by Carl Sagan’s. We become a species that is capable of living skillfully, abundantly, justly, artfully on a planet that developed life by its own evolutionary momentum, we become a planetary species before an interplanetary species. Some will oppose this point of view with recourses to Christian and other kinds of religious, and moral pessimism. “Man” is not capable of utopia. Man cannot do it without God (which is not what I am suggesting actually). But I ask what experience do we have of God (or at least the most common) but our own best impulses? Some might say here that the reach to Mars is an expression of the Infinite that lives within us. I agree to some extent, but that Infinite is both inward and outward facing, micro, macrocosm and mesocosmic. To use the old anthropomorphized language, God both in and out breathes. Other more materialist and atheistic camps will oppose this point of view by reaching to discourses on evolutionary biology. They will raise specters of “selfish genes” and “alpha males”, “ maximizing rational self-interest”. I counter that the sciences that justify human selfishness and cruelty, that bless oppression as natural and necessary have arisen out of the same cultural milieu/trajectory that sees human beings as inherently sinful. But if evolutionary science shows us one thing it is that life changes, that it is capable of surpassing its limitations, not only spatial and technical (which is where most of the focus goes), but moral and empathic. The older, more mature and I would argue, primary project is the not the “conquest” of external space, but the harmonization of personal and social human psychology and the harmonization of human technical and economic systems with the planetary ecosystem. The creation (uncovering? Revival? etc) of right relationships on Earth. As Earth. Let’s face it. The Earth is still, from our best knowledge, an island in space. The nearest star system that has a planet the might be able to support the kind of life that we know of is …light years away. By the most generous estimates, like at the edge of our current technological capacity we could reach Proxima Centari in 19,000 years. 19,000 years!

Proxima Centauri is 4.2 light years away, the closest star to our solar system. The star lies in the constellation Centaurus, near the Southern Cross, but is too faint to be seen with the naked eye. https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/08/24/science/space/proxima-centauri-nearest-exoplanet.html

So chances are, our lives and the lives of the next 20- 50 generations of humanity (assuming an even somewhat linear rate of progression) will take place within the local solar system. Orbital stations, asteroids, the moon, Mars. Will any of these spaces significantly house human populations such to relieve the population density/to resource distribution problem? Or will it encourage more wasteful use in a false image of an infinity space to expand into. No. I see our challenge as one of compression as stated by the last century visionary Teilhard De Chardin. The pressure now is to live on a finite planet, with an expanding population of human beings, information and accelerated velocity, in a skillful, compassionate, beautiful way. This seems like the true engineering feat and the evolutionary project of our time, This seems like the best use of the energies of “the future”. If you want to talk about innovation, lets’ see the engineers of NASA or Telsa consult with and heed the advice of mothers, better yet grandmothers, best the 13 Indigenous Grandmothers. Let’ see them lay down a professional culture that is often chauvinistic and paternal if not outright patriarchal and exploitationist and listen to people whose’ socialization has led them to have skill and capacity for thinking with an ethics of care, to think about life in terms of seven or more generations, both from the past and into the future. Let’s see our so-called finest minds communicate with those fine minds, hearts and bodies that commune with the larger web of life. Let’s see what kind of futurist projects would come from a feminized science, an ecological science, an ethno-science, that recognizes the value of place based rootedness as well as planetary flows of energy and resource. We are still leaving our collective future (or is it actually exclusive futures) to be planned by multi-generational miners or salesmen and warehousers. What will they plan if these are the ways their minds are trained, and practices whereby their pockets are overfilled. To warehouse human beings on ships, or strip mine Mars’ desert landscapes with no clean up responsibility because it is a terra nullius? We still leave our collective future, the use of our collective resources and labor, the use of our shared flesh (the collective resources and mater-ial out of which living creatures are composed and within which we compose ecosystems for one another’s interbeing) to the “ownership” and quasi-exclusive control of private individuals. Individuals who would treat the tons of fuel it takes to send a rocket to outer space, as their personal shirt on their back, or their tooth brush. That kind of private ownership. Of course I am overstating my case. But there is still a popular belief in private ownership, private fortunes, and the myth of the unlimited use and control of resources for individuals, when in reality these resources come from collective work, intelligence and their use and so-called disposal has collective consequences. No. Some of these ideas of ownership and use are unevolved. These are not the systems that a cosmic level species will use to explore the galaxy in “the future”. The future systems, the systems that we can build this century will be radically democratic, radically participatory and will rely on our mobilized, stabilized and harmonized collective intelligence. Human and whatever else we might be hatching at this moment.

  As R. Buckminster Fuller said last century, we are under a test as a species. There may be other intelligent life forms that can move through galactic spaces who will not contact us until we can show ourselves to be harmless, a non-predatory, non-cannibalistic, symbiotic, cooperative, regenerative, species that knows how to store and accrue energy. Or maybe has transcended what we call energy altogether. Fuller also was an apostle, (crazy as he was) of what he called the economic success of humanity in the universe. In other words, he believed it possible, through innovation, through doing more with less, through engineering and most of all through a collective change of heart and inspiration for us to attend to the basic needs of one another to free up human beings to develop the thinking, creative, conceptual and contemplative aspects of our nature. This change from a planet of war and strife to one of co-operation and synergy was the vision he put forth and what I am amplifying and remixing here.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyvkLya8M04 Do I get ahead of myself? Maybe. But the future projects of the post-industrial capitalistic , patriarchal, body hating, white-centered futurists are ahead of themselves. We are trying to procreate at nine years old. We are trying to fly airplanes when we are still learning cool tricks on a bike. It is pre-mature. We are not a cosmic level species. We are struggling to stabilize and harmonize planetization. That is task enough.

                                                                       …

 In his heretical prescience De Chardin saw that progress, “the future” was becoming a kind of religion. He asserted that the religious impulses of humanity were now channeled toward using science and human know how to better conditions on earth, to sculpt a glorious consummation of human society at some future date. He tried to warn his Catholic contemporaries that if these energies were not joined with, or redirected that the church could find itself abandoned, and in his view one of the noblest evolutionary impulses of the species would come to a dead-end. This religion of the future, is at play in the devotionalism we see from Tesla fanboys and those that believe the future is only about space, and larger and more penetrating and encompassing- energy, intensive technologies (witness the monstrous industrial imagination of the Dyson sphere).  De Chardin pointed to two competing visions of the future, and I am reviving that schism or polarity, directed in a slightly different manner here, bringing a last century (and ancient?) scoffed at future back into conversation. Creating a counterpoint so that we might have a more diverse field and ecosystem of futures. Those that are devoted to the idea that space and tech is the future, show similar sparks of intolerance that other religious devotes or even fans show. They are devotes of the sky gods of Zeus and Indra. Look how we name the satellites and new stellar objects. An assumption exists that we can escape the mire of human stupidity in completely created and controlled environments, preferably by AI or some other mythical (marketing) creature. The earth is the realm of the irrational, the haphazard, the dirty and reproducing, while heaven (“up, up and away”) is a platonic world of rationalized order, of silver,  disembodied equations. Your Heavenly Father. But dig- the sky touches the ground and surrounds us from foot to face and swims in our lungs. What happened to the teaching that the Sky Father is our Papa as Jesus referred to him in Hebrew? The sky as inwardness and intimacy. What happened to the Kingdom of Heaven is in our midst? On earth as it is in heaven? If you think I am childishly naive to believe that billions of human beings can co-operate and strategize for our collective well-being, that we can make violence the expectation and not the rule and that this is the more needed, feasible and timely project than space colonization, wasn’t it said that we would have to become like little children to enter the kingdom? You also have to admit that our fascinating with space craft and Mars colonies is childish. Or child-like. Boys with action figures, handheld starships and Halo video game hopes. So lets’s play together. Bring your toys and I’ll bring mine. (“But my toys are better, newer”. “I don’t like your game”. “I don’t want to play with them”. And lets bring the girls in on it. And the queers. And the animals and the trees. Let’s do world building together. But let’s not build Mars. Let’s do as De Chardin said, and build the earth! Tell many a Musk fanboys this and they lose it instantly. Am I proposing the SJW vision of the future? Sure. You can say that. Do SJW discourses and movements  have their intolerances and its zealotry. Yes I think they do. Let’s both admit it. Let’s both admit that we love our visions of the future and that we are willing to devote more and more of our time to them. Energy to them. Individual and collective resources to them.  Let’s admit to the capacity for blindness and for the closing off of options that comes from this kind of devotionalism. Let’s also admit that for the time being, for the next many generations, and possibly forever, we are stuck with one another. That “we are bound in one inescapable garment of mutuality” to echo one of the greater dreamers, and futurists of the last century. Now I assume that as King said, this is the way that God’s Universe is designed. I also assume like him that evolution is spiritual as well as technological. The sky is the inner heights of ourselves as well as the outer spaces. The new earth is new eyes, eyes moistened by the heart, as well as distant, cold, red deserts. King, Fuller, De Chardin, Einstein and so many others bequeathed us an unfinished project from the last century. To match our moral development with our technological development. All over the earth, renewed in strength and ferocity in our times, a cry is going forth. A cry with a ferocity that could tear the delicate web of society that makes technological innovation possible. People are tired of abusive top-down leadership. We are tired of being surveilled, exploited, used up, classified and put to the bottom, to the side. We are tired being removed from our lands and having those lands depoiled in front of our faces. People are tired of starving while their neighbors feast and waste. We are tired of being exploited for their labor, for their sexuality, for the brains. We are tired of the polar bears getting all the fish while the grizzles get caged. And they most of all we are tired because we know that it is no longer (if it was ever) necessary. If the year 2020 has taught us anything it is that we are interconnected. That we are in this together, even if we were often alone together. The nascent noosphere is now lived reality for billions of the earth’s people, though the digital divided is symptomatic of other patterns of historical inequity on earth, and powerful questions need to be addressed about the technosphere/noosphere’s impact on our psychological, social, neurological and ecological well-being. But billions of us are interconnected in a web-work of opinions, voices, views, videos, algorithmic repetitions and echo-chambers. George Floyd and Briona Taylor are murdered in cold, color coded blood or carelessness and people in France and New Zealand respond. Forests burn and droughts abound. The pandemic traces the routes of the movement of people around the globe and the ways that essential workers make social life possible, meanwhile the billionaire class continues the delusional gamble to privatize and potentially cybernate the wealth of the entire planet. The slow, sly, out of the side of the neck words of a presidential actor, amplified via tweet mobilizes thousands of Americans to attack the center of power, in a frenzy that could have burned the whole place to the ground. The noosphere, the planetary networked nervous system is active and we are for better or worse, an in this together.

De Chardin’s vision of this network was not only technological and neural, held put the possibility, even the necessity that out interconnection become communion. We are stuck on one train. One spaceship. It time for all of us to, even at moment, look up from our devises (or through them) and turn to one another. To talk, and to sing. As De Chardin said our interconnectedness can be forced, we can experience it as not only cosmic compression, but as a cosmic oppression, which the rich, the resourced and perhaps the panicked will move into orbit to escape. But De Chardin taught us to choose that forced togetherness, or as last century Buddhist teacher Chogyam Trungpa said to see our imprisonment as a kind of sacredness. Compression might require us to really learn to share. In my view this basic lesson is one of the principle factors that underlies all systems of oppression, wars and much of the inhumanity of man against man in human history. Our unwillingness and lack of imagination when it comes to sharing produces so much of our false, unnecessary suffering. Are their natural and ecological drivers like disease or resource scarcity? Sure. All the more reason to cooperate. The philosophical assumptions of global capitalism stipulate that scarce or limited resources force us to compete, but this only half the picture and it may only be the picture for a certain slice of evolutionary history. To do all of the so-called great things in history- i.e fortune and empire building, the work and energy of collectives is required. Slavery is after all, a forced form of co-operation, a twisted way of asking for help or to use ecofeminist Val Plumwood’s phrase denied dependence. In a forced relationship the full and free play of a person capacities are suppressed and unwelcomed. Think about the waste, the truncation of possibility and power involved there. De Chardin called for a willing interconnectedness, a compression performed out of freedom. A freedom that asked, allowed, welcomed each and all to give their all to the collective project of evolution. In nature compression can transform, transfigure. The oft employed example is coal into diamond. Fuller found that if a balloon is inflated to its maximum pressure, right before it explodes its molecular structure develops into a pattern of triangles arranged in a geodesic pattern. It was a structure that was present/potential the whole time, but was only revealed under duress. Perhaps a similar structure will reveal itself under human-biotic compression. If we escape to space, if we run from the challenge of each other, we might be letting air out of the balloon before a novel formation reveals itself. Even if we look to moments where evolutionary breakthrough utilized the escape to other topologies still critical thresholds of pressure were reached before mutations occurred. The cyanobacteria that billions of years ago that were choking on their own waste. The pressure forced them to adapt to breath the then toxic O2 and transform the sunlight at the surface of the water into food. Then when the escape to the land happened the basis existed for a whole new strata of life to unfold. What if staying stuck together is the evolutionary pressure needed to make that break through, to recycle something we thought was waste (one another?) to develop new and fantastic abilities and ways of working with the egos and energy around us, or reveal novel structures and arrangements to contain us. It may be that these novel abilities come from machine intelligence, or a cybernetic marriage as the space/ascent futurists propose, or it may be come from the descent/revelation of some new form of mind, some new spiritualized organizing consciousness like the Supermental proposal of Sri Aurobindo, another last century revolutionary turned visionary yogi and guru. Whatever this new intelligence is, let it be infused with love. Let it be programed with love, if not constructed and made of it. Speaking of love de Chardin prophesized our collective, noospheric use of love, of an energy and physics of love as a second discovery of fire. This love-fire might be the new ability we need, an ability that we have indeed been trying to focus, preserve and maximize throughout human history, evident in moral systems, our ideological struggles, our art, music and storytelling. In our prayers. It might be that the old intuitions are correct, that love, that soul, the space between us is the new space of exploration. I’m talking about the kind of soul that shows us when people are really vibing, when they are in states of shared, high resolution collective love. The the kind of soul you can almost see it as a sparkle, a thick luminous humidity in the air. The kind of humidity that brings calm, that hangs out afterward and is sometimes evident in sacred and natural places. To risk the delusion and idiolectic, it might be that soul can unlock the code (use your language) to the secrets of place, space and time. Perhaps soul help could open windows between one location in space and time and another, through the gravitational intensity of feeling. When I look at the vast distances in galactic space, the light years between any significant objects and movement, it strikes as a kind of illusion, a Zeno’s paradox that might be transverse in a wholly different way rocket propelled pressurized containers. Who knows, in 300 years, on a healed earth and harmonized, planetary society it might be said of spaceships and moon bases what Doc said to Marty McFly. Where we are going…we don’t need roads.

Diane and Leo Dillion

[francesbeau]

Henry IV. P1 - Summary

A1S1 - King Henry wants to go to the holy land to recapture it. His counselors let him know, however, that England is not quite calm. Glendower has just led a group of welsh rebels against the Kings forces. A soldier named Hotspur has recaptured one of the prominent rebels though, something which is met with praise for such great bravery. However, Hotspur acts peculiar and does not conform to what is desired for him. This scene acts like a prologue/introduction and provides the audience with contextual knowledge. This scene also sketches in core relationships, both interpersonal and political. It also introduces the plots greatest actions - rebellion to order. Henry claims he wishes Hotspur was his son instead. 

A1S2 - Father/son tensions are introduced in this scene of comic relief. undertones of paternal disagreement permeate through this scene of male joking. Prince Hal is the heir to the throne but his association with thieves and drinking clash with his duties and image. Falstaff is a slob but a more comforting father figure to Hal then Henry. Appearance versus reality. 

A1S3 - Henry takes the stage with noble men to talk to Hotspur. Hotspur days he reached his choice from a place of anger and frustration. Backdrop here is inherently political. Hotspur says he wishes for Henry to pay ransom for Mortimer whom the welsh rebels have captured. The king, however, suggests Mortimer is a traitor who lost purposefully. Hotspur objects but Henry forbids the mention of Mortimer again. Hotspur believes this is because the former king named Mortimer as the heir to the throne, implying he has a strong claim to such. Scene counts as a counterpoint to previous. In both scenes a young noble mam rejects the advice of an older paternal figure, and is then incited to rebel against said father figure. The most notable difference is that Hotspur has a complete lack of hesitation. Hal, even in his drunk and disorderly state considers options more carefully. 

A2S1 - We learn a group of rich pilgrims will be passing through on their way to Canterbury. This brief scene develops the subplot in which Falstaff and his friends rob rich travelers. As in many of Shakespeare's plays common people are distinguished from gentlemen by the use of rough jesting and the use of prose rather than poetry. 

A2S2 - Falstaff complains that because he is so unfit that walking to find his horse is hard for him. Prince Hal lies to Falstaff saying he will look for the horse, even though he already knows that someone took it as a joke. He returns with 3 male friends and the thieves get ready whilst Hal sneaks away. This scene involves the use of a practical joke as a plot twist, with Hal robbing his robber friends. Appearance versus reality again. In a comic rumination on the honor of criminals, Falstaff speaks ironically, declaring; “a plague upon it when thieves cannot be true to one another.” Deep fractures in social orders. 

A2S3 - Hotspurs wife is worried that he has got himself involved in Mortimer's maneuverings for the crown, he rejects her conversation; “this is a time for violence and injury, not love and conversation.” Audience focus is back to the political narrative. Political fractures emphasized by woman. 

A2S4 - Prince Hal in a tavern, teasing a worker named Francis. Lacks the honor expected by a prince. Prince Hal does an overexaggerated impression of Hotspur. Hal tells Falstaff it was him and Falstaff pretends he knew instinctively. He tries to transform is cowardice into Heroism. 

A3S1 - Interlude to provide sympathy for men going to war. Welsh Glendower represents a pagan order and Hotspur represents the sensibility of the English, Christian way. Tempting to see Hotspur as more pragmatic than Glendower, but he is motivated by emotions.

A3S2 - Prince Hal vows to re-examine his ways and swears he will act like a true son. Henry gives him a military command. 

A3S3 - Comic interlude after emotionally tense scenes. Falstaff reshaping reality to match his own desires. 

A4S1 - Hotspurs father is sick. Forces are not coming. Big delays in battle. Vain boasting foreshadows the rebel loss. 

A4S2 - Falstaff has a lot of money but his army is very weak. The disorder in the kingdom has resulted in a bad army for Prince Hal. the rebels are manipulating matters of honor. 

A4S3 - Battlefield. Cannot decide when to attack. The rebels are divide amongst themselves so the audience can sense their fate. The rebels try to assert honor but cannot articulate it correctly, they act illogically. Overblown sense of honor prevents people from making good choices. 

A5S1 - Midst of the battle. Conversation about the battle. Honor is worth nothing compared to being alive and healthy. King demonstrates generosity to save his army and reunite the country. The rebels show their cause to be hollow and without proper adjustment. 

A5S2 - Unimportant 

A5S3 - Chaotic battle. Blunt dies pretending to be the King. Dressed like him, deceptive.  This scene which follows the plays many plot twists is one of the plays action high points. The third fight the audience sees. Thematic sense of deception reinforced. Loyalty to the King contrasted the rebels constant arguments. 

A5S4 - Douglas Versus King. The Prince kills Douglas, protecting his father. Hal Vs Hotspur. Prince Hal kills Hotspur. Falstaff pretends he killed Hotspur. Climax of the play and brings together many issues. Tensions between father and son are resolved. King Henry is recognized as a true king by everyone. Sequence showcases how complex judgements are. 

A5S5 - Denouement. Some rebels are dead, some are in prison. Still has two sets of rebels to fight, including Glendower. 

[mollymauk-teafleak]

and when it’s hard i'll place your head into my hands

Adzri, Alec and Seregil's daughter, falls ill with a summer fever, sending both of her fathers frantic. Even as Alec tries to be strong, he realises it's stirring memories he'd thought he'd buried

Please leave a comment on Ao3 and reblog if you like this! And I’m always accepting requests!

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Alec didn’t need the talímenios bond to read the anguish on Seregil’s face as soon as the chamber door closed behind them. It only meant he felt it too, a roiling, panicked pressure to thrash in his chest next to his own.

“Talí…” he murmured gently, moving immediately to hold him, “It’ll be alright.”

Seregil’s body moved to be held and hold in return but there was something mechanical about it, some missing part that made it clear his mind was elsewhere. Probably back behind the door they’d just closed, lost in the sickly miasma of illness that had invaded their daughter’s bedroom.

“Valerius said the poultice would help her breathing,” he mumbled, distress cracking the edges of his voice, “He said.”

“I know. And it will, given some time to work,” he put a confidence he didn’t truly feel in his voice, knowing his lover needed to hear it.

It had been harrowing, their little five year old girl crying fitfully at the dull green paste of crushed herbs applied to her chest, only able to sob weakly and croak that it was burning her nose. Seregil had turned away at one point, shoulders tight and tense as he faced the thick, dense summer night outside the window, leaving Alec to finish the job, murmuring soothingly to Adzri as best he could. Watching her cry herself back into a feverish sleep, still not understanding why he wasn’t listening to her had completed the breaking of his heart.

“She’s hurting, Alec,” Seregil whispered, voice raw, and if there had been any part left unshattered, those words did it.

“It’s just a summer fever, talí, I promise. It will break and she’ll be right as rain, back to running around and making our lives absolute chaos.”

The attempt at humour landed as thinly as it had sounded. They were both keenly aware that, for some, the old and young and vulnerable, summer fevers didn’t just fade. They burned and consumed the person from the inside out, racing their heart until it simply couldn’t hold any more. And while Adzri was hale and healthy, as robust as any child with scarecrows like Seregil and Alec for fathers could be, she was frighteningly young.

Alec had been holding himself together as much as he could since Adzri had started to flag just a few days earlier, starting to hack and cough and vomit in the night, as her skin turned a burning red, he’d told himself that Seregil needed him to be strong every bit as much as their daughter did.

But every time he closed his eyes, he felt like a boy again, watching his father waste away and not being able to do a bloody thing about it. The fear he tasted on his tongue was wretchedly familiar.

He shoved the thought roughly away and focused on Seregil, his tense shoulders and how he trembled in his embrace. He couldn’t fall apart now, not with his talímenios about to break in front of him.

“Come, love, you need to rest,” he whispered, kissing his cheek which tasted of salt.

That was terrifying in itself, a bitter counterpoint to the fear on his tongue. He could count on both hands the amount of times Seregil had shed tears in front of him. Though it was an increasing count, since the winter morning when he’d held her for the first time and promptly burst into tears in front of everyone in attendance, most of whom had known him for decades and had never once seen him cry.

“We should have stayed in Bôkthersa,” Seregil murmured, bitter guilt heavy in his voice, “She never once got sick when we were there and then as soon as we came back here…”

Alec sighed, again not needing the bond to feel what his lover was feeling. They’d been welcomed back to Bôkthersa with open arms, tears and relief so their daughter could be born where Seregil had been, in the same room no less, and they’d lived there for some time until she and Alec were strong enough to make the sea journey back. They’d managed to feel like a family, like part of the clan and that shared history. They’d even had a small ceremony, just amongst Seregil’s immediate family, finally making good on the promise held within the rings they’d been wearing, the promise to live as husbands no matter what the law said.

But the sweetness of those long, sunny years only made saying goodbye again even harder. And Seregil was acutely aware that they had to leave because of him, because of the mistakes that still haunted him even after so much hard won change. There was only so much time they could spend as Bôkthersans before other faie would take notice, before they would be reminded of the severing that had taken place. And there was no guarantee it would be a polite reminder.

“Rhíminee is our home,” Alec said gently, wishing more than anything he could pull out the knife of guilt Seregil still felt in his side, “We had to come back some time. Seregil, please, don’t think this is your fault.”

Seregil sighed, eyes far away, both of them well aware he wouldn’t make a promise to his love that he couldn’t keep, “I should stay by her...in case she wakes up…”

“You have been, talí,” Alec reminded him, “For three days straight. And Valerius was just as clear in his instructions for you as he was for Adzri.”

“He said to check her temperature regularly!” Seregil protested, even as the shadows under his eyes looked hollow in the candlelight and his eyes struggled to focus.

“I’ll do it,” Alec said firmly, “I slept last night, it’s your turn now. You promised me, Seregil.”

Beaten, Seregil wavered, though his eyes shone in the candles they’d left burning through the long hot nights as the house had stayed restless.

“I know, my love,” Alec moved up to cradle his face in his hands, “Believe me, I know. But you can’t help her by running yourself into the ground. You’ve done all you can, now we have to wait, as painful as it is. And you may as well do it by getting some sleep.”

Seregil took a shaky breath, now leaning into Alec’s warmth, letting himself take the comfort now with full awareness, “I just can’t bear it. Seeing this hurt her and knowing we can’t fix it.”

“Because we love her,” Alec nodded, resting their foreheads together, “And that’s going to get her through this.”

Seregil nodded slowly, “Very well...I’ll sleep but you’ll wake me at dawn? Or if anything changes?”

“Of course,” Alec promised, sending him off to their chamber just next door to Adzri’s with a last kiss, “I love you, talí.”

“I love you too,” Seregil murmured softly, eyes still sad and worn as he closed the door but there was a slight glimmer of hope under it all, one he’d managed to put back there.

Alec’s relief and triumph lasted all the way until their chamber door closed and he heard the sound of his husband sinking, fully clothed into bed. And then there was nothing but fear in its wake.

He was silent as he stepped back into his daughter’s bedroom, not wanting to wake her, and slid back into the chair that had been keeping an anxious vigil by her bedside since she took ill. It was dark, they’d extinguished all the candles and drew the curtains after it became clear the light was hurting her eyes, but it was only a few moments before his eyes found shapes in the shadows.

She was so beautiful. He was struck by that thought so much, even after years of being her father. Of course the first thing he always saw in her face was Seregil, just as his talímenios always claimed to see him. It was the long, thin nose and the sharp angles that he saw, the messily falling dark curls, the intelligence in her eyes. Though her eyes were closed now, her cheeks red with the fever, her breathing shallow and raspy, a hollow sound in the heavy shadows. Her little chest barely rose and fell, there was hardly movement in the blankets they’d wrapped her in as she lay in the middle of her little bed.

In the silence, pierced by that awful sound of illness that Alec dreaded hearing but dreaded not hearing even more wholly, he couldn’t keep the memories away anymore. Once again he was a much younger man and the shape in front of him wasn’t his daughter. The laboured breathing was deeper but no less sickly, whistling through a much older chest. And instead of the heavy, oppressive heat of a Rhíminee summer, it was so, so cold, a bleak Northern winter.

Once again he was sixteen and he was watching his father die.

All alone and without his husband to comfort, the creeping sense of helplessness set in. Here again was something he couldn’t shoot or snare or beat back with a sword, something invisible and malicious and omnipotent, sliding out one of the linchpins of his life and leaving him reeling. Once again he felt small and naive, an insignificant speck in the middle of a white, empty forest, tears freezing on his cheeks as he vainly tried to light a fire, unable to get so much as a spark.

And suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

Not her too, he begged silently, as tears began to slide heavily down his cheeks, please, not her too.

All the growing he’d done, the love he’d found, the battles he’d won, what did it really mean if he couldn’t save the people he cared about?

“Alec?”

He jumped, suddenly unaware of how much time had passed, how long he’d been sat in his daughter’s bedroom and in the middle of a Northern forest at the same time, as both a terrified child and a terrified father. But Seregil was in the doorway, easier to see than he should have been at night. Some pale, grey light was filtering through behind him, light that had to be dawn’s.

“Seregil,” he croaked, voice cracking with disuse.

“Oh, talí…” Seregil kept his voice soft but the emotion in it was obvious as he moved towards him, putting his hands on Alec’s shoulders, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think once how this must be making you feel, given everything.”

Whether it was the bond or his panic attack had been that obvious on his face, it was clear Seregil knew what was going on in his mind.

“We’ve both had a lot on our minds…” he murmured, shaking his head, Seregil blaming himself the last thing he wanted, “Adzriel…”

“I should have thought,” Seregil insisted, “I should have comforted you rather than just…”

“Talí, please no,” Alec turned, needing his eyes to find his lover’s, “You could just as easily say I should have told you. And you needed me then, I’m never going to regret giving you comfort when you needed it.”

Seregil let it go but his eyes were still concerned. He did look like he had at least gotten some sleep, his hair was matted on one side and the shadows under his eyes had lessened.

“You don’t talk about your father much, talí,” he murmured, still keeping his voice low, to not wake Adzri, and his tone careful.

Alec shifted, biting his lip slightly, “I...I know I must make him sound cold but my whole childhood, he was the only constant. Some days it would feel he was the only other person in the world. He...he was my world.”

Seregil nodded slowly, hand gently stroking over his hair.

“And watching him die was...difficult,” it wasn’t a large enough word for it but he couldn’t find a right one in the moment, “And afterwards, until I met you, I felt so alone. And now, seeing her like this, it…”

His throat closed again, not in the tight, frozen panic way of before, but in the more natural way of tears being released.

“Because she’s my world too. And I don’t know what I’m going to do if I ever lose her.”

Now it was Seregil’s turn to hold him, his arms strong and safe around his shoulders as he cried quietly against his stomach. He didn’t need much, strange for years of hidden hurt, but Alec was glad the quiet shuddering had stopped so he could hear what happened next.

“Papa? Daddy?”

Both of them immediately jumped as if poked with a sword, whirling around. Adzri sat up in bed, rubbing at her eyes. Her voice was still a little raspy but she hadn’t been so alert in more than a day, her eyes so wide and aware.

“Sweetling,” Alec gasped, lurching forward to feel her forehead. Damp and clammy but perfectly cool.

“Oh, Adzriel,” Seregil moved to sit at her feet, eyes wide with relief, “Oh, look at you. How do you feel?”

“Thirsty,” she decided after some thought, her chubby little hand moving under her nightdress to her chest, where the poultice had dried and cracked, “Itchy.”

“Of course,” Seregil laughed, taking her in his arms and holding her tight, “Breakfast and a bath, then. You can have whatever you want.”

Adzri blinked, smiling hopefully, “Cake?”

“Sure,” Seregil shook with either relieved weeping or helpless laughter, even he seemed unsure, “Why not? Cake for breakfast. Aura knows we’ve earned it.”

Alec smiled, taking a moment to watch them both and let the relief course through him and chase the last of the fear away, before he moved in to share the embrace.

He hadn’t seen Amasa smile often, only on the brightest of autumn mornings or when Alec landed a shot or upon hearing the first of the starlings singing. But he could well imagine he was smiling now.

[aion-rsa]

Shameless Season 11 Episode 9 Review: Survivors

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This Shameless review contains spoilers.

Shameless Season 11 Episode 9

“The only thing that’s permanent is impermanence. Change is the only constant…”

Change is not an easy thing. This entire farewell season of Shameless has functioned as an examination of change from many different angles, but the characters have reached a point where they have to stop running and confront these developments now that there are only three episodes left in the series. 

“Survivors” is a busy episode that puts every character outside of their comfort zone and in the middle of transformations of various severities. 

Kevin taking over parenting duties for an afternoon or Carl’s transfer to another police department are hardly as drastic as Vee’s mother moving from Chicago or the ultimate fate of the Gallagher home, but they all light a fire under everyone in the same way. The Gallaghers are a resilient family of lovable cockroaches, but “Survivors” pushes the message that if you don’t move with the changes then the changes will definitely move you.

The past few episodes of Shameless have largely been preoccupied with the sad decline of Terry Milkovich, which has also functioned as a strong counterpoint to the Gallaghers’ own situation with Frank’s health. Terry is now gone, but his spirit heavily lingers in “Survivors” and it drives forward some of the episode’s most rewarding material. Mickey casually echoed the sentiment, “family is family,” a few episodes back  and Terry’s death has prompted Mickey to truly stand by these words. It leads to some growth that surprises Mickey more than anyone and he’s constantly at odds with the confusing and raw feelings that bombard him all episode.

Mickey is typically one of Shameless’ broader characters and this season has thrown him into several caricature-like situations that take advantage of his no filter attitude. Sincerity is not typically the character’s strong suit, yet Mickey’s free floating grief over his dad is actually compelling, new territory for him. He and Ian involve themselves with an earnest and sweet story that does manage to humanize Terry in a way and almost act as an “origin story” for his despicable racism. 

Some of Noel Fisher’s best work from the entire series is in this episode as he wistfully reminisces over horrendous moments from his childhood. It becomes a little repetitive, but Ian’s deadpan reactions to Mickey’s “precious moments” all land and it’s a refreshing change of pace to have Ian act as this grounded foil. Mickey’s turn as the sympathetic one in this adventure is also the right approach. Mickey and Ian’s characterization was a little questionable at the start of this season, but it’s comforting to see these past few episodes really hit the sweet spot of their relationship.

Frank launches into an important chapter from his past just as Ian and Mickey get to learn more about Terry’s younger years. Frank’s plan is considerably more maudlin than Terry’s elegy over unrequited love. The idea that Lip is selling the house stays in Frank’s head long enough that he launches a scheme to get the necessary money to just purchase the house himself. Frank has been involved with lots of ridiculous shenanigans over the course of Shameless, but none have been as deluded as a plan to rob the Art Institute of Chicago. This would be a near impossible task for even an accomplished thief, so a severely impaired Frank doesn’t seem like he has the best odds of turning this scheme into a reality.

“Survivors” has some fun as Frank tries to get the (literally) old gang back together, but this wild pipe dream transforms into a morbid reality check for Frank. He’s surrounded with signs of decay and he’s unexpectedly forced to come to terms with how he’s also at the end of his rope. Frank gets caught up on if he’ll still have an effective wheelman for his art heist when he should appreciate that he somehow still has people in his corner that care about him. Frank’s family is infinitely more valuable than some treasure.

Some of the most interesting moments from this season of Shameless involve Frank’s frailty and how everyone treats him after they become aware of his diagnosis. It gives each of his interactions a little extra impact and pathos. “Survivors” chips away at the idea of Frank’s legacy in yet another interesting fashion, yet in the end it seems like he was somehow able to pull off this art heist entirely by himself?

Speaking of crime, Lip was fully at odds with Brad in the previous episode and ready to take things into seriously dark territory, but now they’re pulled together more tightly than ever before. Their volatile situation becomes even more combustible after they learn that their former employer has deep ties with the mafia because it seems like 90% of Chicago is corrupt according to this season of Shameless. The awkward Godfather-esque music cue that’s used when Lip and Brad meet the crime family also doesn’t improve upon the scenario in the way that the episode thinks that it does. It’s a very unusual way to seemingly resolve the heavy danger that’s followed Lip for a quarter of the season.

On the other side of the law, Carl’s reckless act of altruism with the vice squad reunites him with his former partner on the eviction squad. It’s nice to have Joshua Malina back in this nebbish role and it seemed strange to just have him pop in for a single episode before. His new zen attitude about destiny raises some superfluous questions for Carl, but the character doesn’t feel that different from before and this material fails to amount to much. Carl’s work for the police has made for rewarding character development, but his constant rotation throughout Chicago’s police departments is beginning to feel repetitive and aimless. 

Between Carl’s work on the eviction unit and the prospect of the Gallagher house going up for sale there’s a lot of focus on whether the lack of a home means the lack of a family. Vee finds herself in a situation that oddly parallels the Gallaghers’ current instability when her mom moves away from Chicago and tries to establish new roots in Louisville. Vee is mostly critical that her mother’s actions are impulsive and that they won’t last. She worries about losing a connection with her mother and it becomes another situation where everyone is so caught up on what they might lose that they lose stock of what they already have. Veronica’s maturity with her mother gets juxtaposed with Kevin’s complete regression and failure to parent for less than 24 hours. It does not go well and it’s slightly misguided that this parental disaster ends as a punchline and not a cautionary tale. 

Vee’s mom has a fancy new house in Louisville, but Liam is still left worrying if he’ll have any home at all if the Gallagher residence goes on the market. In perfect Liam fashion he attempts to resolve his paranoia over the future in a manner that’s more professional than every other Gallagher. There’s an inherent comedic nature during Liam’s attempts to get put into a foster home or become adopted so that he’ll have a place to live after his house gets sold. 

They’re exaggerated moments, but Liam’s concern is very real and it remains impressive to see how self-sufficient he’s become. He continually thinks rationally about the future while his siblings ward off the mob and pray that they don’t have any sexually-transmitted diseases. Honestly, put Liam in charge of the family and they’ll be thriving within six months.

All of the chaos in “Survivors” begins and ends because of Lip’s stubborn attitude over selling the house. Lip’s insistence to force his family to move just because his life is imploding is still super problematic, but thankfully everyone finally just talks to each other and gets their fears and doubts out in the open. The final moments of “Survivors” are genuinely nice and it’s long overdue that Lip actually communicates and listens to the people that he cares about. 

It’s really sweet that Lip promises Liam that he’ll be a part of his home and that the family’s sense of community isn’t going to change, even if their living arrangements do. However, this is also something that should have happened at the same time as Lip’s initial proposal to sell the house rather than the renegade sledgehammer that went through the wall. It’s led to a few episodes of unnecessary drama, but the Gallaghers are at least on a collective front now as the series heads into its final three episodes. 

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“Survivors” is a confident step forward for Shameless. It figures out how to balance the series’ more tender sensibilities with the wackier antics that were more prominent during the show’s earliest seasons. Characters operate as functional units and finally listen to each other before they’re left with fractured relationships that no longer feel like a family. There’s still a lot of growing up to do, but not that everyone’s on the same page and working towards a common goal it actually feels like Shameless might end in hugs rather than heartbreak.

The post Shameless Season 11 Episode 9 Review: Survivors appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[grimdarkandhandsome]

USA State Mottos, Ranked

Epistemic status: Silly post.

Yesterday i realized the 50 states of the US had eclectic and delightful mottos. I’ve ranked them for you from coolest to uncoolest.

1: Ad astra per aspera - Kansas

To the stars through difficulties. This is beautiful and it looks great written out. I am confident Kansas will be the state closest to the stars (after resolving difficulties).

2: Salus populi suprema lex esto - Missouri

Let the welfare of the people be the supreme law. It sounds great, it’s grand, it’s bold, and it’s a wonderful priority.

3: Regnat populus - Arkansas

The people rule. I imagine a time traveler approaching Emperor Nero and saying, ‘I have two words for you....’

4: Labor omnia vincit - Oklahoma

Labor conquers all things. It’s a great attitude towards self-improvement, and i think more phrases should end in omnia vincit.

5: Sic semper tyrannis - Virginia

Thus always to tyrants. The flag clarifies the situation by showing a emperor being stabbed. This is delightfully overaggressive when placed next to Washington’s motto.

6: Excelsior - New York

Ever upward. A nice-sounding word. Definitely sounds like a sword.

7: Esse quam videri - North Carolina

To be, rather than to seem. A pretty cool choice of priority. Not like those videri states with their big gold cufflinks.

8: Dum spiro spero - South Carolina

While I breathe, I hope. A harmonious phrase that celebrates the indefatigable human potential for improvement.

9: Equality before the law - Nebraska

Choosing English instead of a stylish foreign language is a missed opportunity to show off. But this phrase gets better the more you repeat it. I like to imagine that when Nebraskans are cornered by journalists they just bark ‘Equality before the law!’ and close ranks.

10: Ua mau ke ea o ka ʻāina i ka pono - Hawaii

The life of the land is perpetuated in righteousness. It’s in a local language, it’s very beautiful written out, it outlines a plan to benefit the entire ecosystem, and it’s just generally quite radiant.

11: Alis volat propriis - Oregon

She flies with her own wings. Very cool sentiment. Only marked down because the words don’t look quite as cool as omnia does.

12: Dirigo - Maine

I lead. It’s terse, it’s taut, it’s claiming victory out of nowhere, it’s Maine.

13: Live Free or Die - New Hampshire

Penalty for using boring English, but bonus for being the only state to realize you can append ‘or Die’ to any motto.

14: Audemus jura nostra defendere - Alabama

We dare defend our rights! Bonus for being the only state to realize you can prepend Audemus to any motto.

15: Serit ut alteri saeclo prosit - North Dakota

One sows for the benefit of another age. Yes, i know, it kindof sounds like ‘Search for the altered sequin among the prosaic’, but the meaning is quite cool. Radical long-game altruism.

16: Si quaeris peninsulam amoenam circumspice - Michigan

If you seek a pleasant peninsula, look about you. What??

17: Eureka - California

I have found it. A counterpoint to Maine’s Dirigo, and a geographical counterpoint as well.

18: Equal Rights - Wyoming

A wonderful priority, and charmingly bald phrasing.

19: Alki - Washington

By and by. This is Chinook, apparently. Washington is apparently the opposite of Alabama, who dares to defend.

20: Crescit eundo - New Mexico

It grows as it goes. I don’t like it as much as Ad astra per aspera, but i decided to rank all improvement mottos evenhandedly to avoid bias from the order i read them in.

21: Esto perpetua - Idaho

Let it be perpetual. It is quite verbally beautiful and it captures what we were all thinking - Let Idaho be the same forever!

22: Friendship - Texas

Could be phrased more stylishly, but it really is a rather nice motto.

23: Under God the people rule - South Dakota

I imagine a South Dakotan time traveler in 1300 CE pulling her hair and saying, ‘Oh my gosh, it’s not that hard, how many times to i have to explain the hierarchy?’

24: Montani semper liberi - West Virginia

Mountaineers are always free. Cheeky!

25: Deo gratiam habeamus - Kentucky

Let us be grateful to God. Very resonant words. Less focused on improvement and more remarking on the fact we made it this far.

26: State sovereignty, national union - Illinois

I know it’s confusing, but we put it in the motto and eventually you’ll get used to the concept. What a nerdy motto!

27: Nil sine numine - Colorado

Nothing without Providence. What beautiful and assonant words. A theme of several states is ‘The big thing is totally paramount, but the small thing is also cool just in a secondary sort of way.’

28: Forward - Wisconsin

In its troughs and at new peaks, Wisconsin always wants to do better :)

29: Industry - Utah

I didn’t know that. But it is a cool attitude. They say that most domains of human endeavor require hard work first of all.

30: Wisdom, Justice, Moderation - Georgia

I just think it’s a little boring. But i like prioritizing wisdom.

31: Virtue, liberty, and independence - Pennsylvania

The last two are, like, the same thing.

32: Qui transtulit sustinet - Connecticut

He who transplanted sustains. Apparently this is a phrase from the Vulgate Bible. I’m guessing the Europeans are the ones who transplanted. I like the sonics but i’m not convinced on the sentiment.

33: Fatti maschii, parole femine - Maryland

Strong deeds, gentle words. Note: I found that translation on Wikipedia and i don’t speak Latin so i don’t know if it’s the best one. I think this motto sounds like a humorously awkward compromise and probably seemed offensive from a 1800s-gender perspective as well as from a modern gender perspective.

34: With God, all things are possible - Ohio

Ohions are optimists whereas Coloradons are pessimists.

35: Liberty and prosperity - New Jersey

Tedious ‘list of nice things’ format, but i kindof like looking at New Jersey as a Utopian El Dorado.

36: Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem - Massachusetts

By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty. Sir, can you lower your sword and read me those criteria again?

37: Hope - Rhode Island

Inferior version of Dum spiro spero, but pleasantly minimal.

38: All For Our Country - Nevada

Typical Nevadan slogan, a people known for their radical push for big government and federal power.

39: Agriculture & Commerce - Tennessee

Not really cool enough for a crowd to shout in unison with their hands over their hearts. But at least it celebrates feeding the people i guess.

40: Ditat Deus - Arizona

God enriches. A weird mix of 100% religious and very lukewarm. God is a plus. Never turn down God when you don’t have to pay extra for Him. But the words do sound nice.

41: Stella quarta decima fulgeat - Vermont

May the fourteenth star shine bright. I hope the fourteenth state is a good one. This one has a impressively high style-to-substance ratio.

42: L’etoile du Nord - Minnesota

The star of the North. I’m not that impressed. If Oregon, Texas, and New York had joined in and chosen L’etoile du Ouest, Sud, & Est respectively, then this would have been cool. Pleasantly unique choice of language tho.

43: Virtute et armis - Mississippi

By valor and arms. Suddenly, we are amoral & fighting! Mississippi is apparently the most weapon-themed state.

44: North to the Future - Alaska

It was wise to clarify why North is good. Minnesota would have chosen A star featuring Anchorage.

45: Our liberties we prize & our rights we will maintain - Iowa

I don’t know, it’s just not exciting phrasing. Our lives are of utmost importance, & our safety will be protected. We have wonderful dogs, & we love our cats. Iowa is being maintained. Needs work.

46: Union, justice, confidence - Louisiana

Are these the top 3? Do political attack ads here accuse candidates of being secessionist, lax, and meek?

47: Liberty & Independence - Delaware

Freedom & Self-Direction. Free Will & Autonomy. Adulthood & Unpredictability. Wild & Unleashed.

48: Oro y plata - Montana

Gold & silver. Why should you live in Montana? Cash cash money. Autos deportivos y bling.

49: The Crossroads of America - Indiana

Next.

50: In God We Trust - Florida

Perhaps in Florida, bad things do not happen to good people.

Honorable mentions:

- Justitia Omnibus - Washington DC

Excellent!

- Samoa, Muamua Le Atua - American Samoa

Translation: Samoa, let God be first. (Samoa, imma let you finish...)

- Joannes Est Nomen Ejus - Puerto Rico

Translation: John is his name. Enough said.

(Honestly i changed my mind about the order partway thru typing this but didnt bother to reorder them.)

I think the messy inconsistency of these mottos is fairly beautiful. Despite having no style guide and apparently quite scattered priorities, these 50 governments share open borders and pretty excellent harmony by international standards.

Source: Wikipedia