#instance: remembrance

[lotro-tooltips-daily]

[enrapture]

[youandthemountains]

It's not that I feel any particular way about the sub beyond being able to appreciate the irony and then move on with my life, but the fact that people are out here calling people ghouls for the mildest mockery. You know, sure, have that be a line in the sand for you, I can respect that. What makes me roll my eyes is how this energy just never really seems to come out in other situations.

[userparamore]

NOSFERATU (2024) + LILACS

The meaning of lilacs can change depending on their colour. For instance, light purple lilacs are often associated with first love or innocence, while white lilacs are symbolic of purity and youth. In Victorian England, lilacs were also a symbol of love and remembrance, often given to loved ones as a sign of devotion. Lilacs, like lilies, often signify youth and innocence. This symbolism makes lilacs a common choice for the funeral or memorial tribute of a young person or someone who had a childlike nature or good heart. (x,x)

[cybrasigilism]

hellooo i love your works!! 🙇‍♀️

can i please request a dae-ho x fem!reader smut, where he saw the marks he left the night before and gets turned on again.

- 🍜

hello!! i’m so sorry i’m getting to your request so late, and thank you so much :]

Blissful Remembrance (Player 388/Kang Dae-ho X Reader)

warning: smut | not proofread | lowercase intended | marking kink | oral (f! receiving) | PiV | dirty talk | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinions on the character differ from your own

character: kang dae-ho (player 388)

A/N: i don’t want to talk about how long this request has been sitting in my inbox for, i feel awful! nevertheless i hope this was worth the unintended wait :) i wrote this in headcanon format because i fear no long-strung fanfiction is coming together in my brain in a cohesive manner right now

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, readers discretion is advised

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

➛ sometimes it really felt like you were finding out new things about dae-ho every day. for this instance you had absolutely no idea that seeing the assorted marks he had left on your body the night previous would turn him on as much as it did

➛ god help you if you wore a revealing shirt, or low rise pants around the house the day after a particularly intimate session, because he would have you underneath him so fast

➛ hell, sometimes you would make these clothing choices on purpose purely because of how horny it made him. you just love how he gets when he’s desperate to fuck you; to make even more of those marks

➛ usually, dae-ho will stick to a gentle pace when you guys have sex. this completely turns on its head when he’s this horny, sometimes it seems like he’s a completely different person. you’re not complaining of course, you could definitely get used to the borderline chaos of it all

➛ will definitely engage in dirty talk in this state

“yeah, you know exactly what you’re doing to me”

“is this what you wanted? you want me to mark you up some more, huh?”

➛ leaves handprints on your ass for sure WHAT DID YOU SAY—

➛ leaves hickeys and light bite marks on your thighs before/after eating you out. he just loves the faces you make when he really takes his time down there

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i know this is a shorter one! i’m just trying to get out of a slump, but thank you for reading it regardless! i promise i’m working fast as i can on these fics, i’ve got a lot of requests to get through :)

as usual, any advice/constructive criticism on how to improve my writing are appreciated and requested!

have a spectacular day/night lovelies 💞

tags: @gongyoosgf @agornotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie @pink-apples001 @wonestro @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet

[useless-englandfacts]

remembrance day seems like a good day to remember that in 1937 churchill rejected the arab wish to stop zionist jewish migration to palestine by saying:

I do not admit that the dog in the manger has the final right to the manger, though he may have lain there for a very long time I do not admit that right. I do not admit for instance that a great wrong has been done to the Red Indians of America or the black people of Australia. I do not admit that a wrong has been to those people by the fact that a stronger race, a higher-grade race or at any rate a more worldly-wise race, to put it that way, has come in and taken their place. I do not admit it. I do not think the Red Indians had any right to say, 'American continent belongs to us and we are not going to have any of these European settlers coming in here'. They had not the right, nor had they the power.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

could you do a word list for memory? your blog has helped me out a bunch and i really appreciate you!! (I may have your tumblr tag in my dedications once i finish)

Word List: Memory

Memory—the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information; something remembered from the past; a recollection

Anamnesis – The recalling of things past; recollection, reminiscence.

Bethinking – The action of thinking, considering, reflecting, or remembering.

Educe – To bring out (something, such as something latent).

Encoding – The conversion of a sensory input into a form capable of being processed and deposited in memory.

Engram – A memory-trace; a permanent and heritable physical change in the nerve tissue of the brain, posited to account for the existence of memory.

Evocation – With reference to the Platonic theory of recollection (ἀνάμνησις): A calling up of knowledge acquired in a previous state of existence.

Flashback – A past incident recurring vividly in the mind.

Hearken back (to) – To bring back to mind.

Membrance – Remembrance; a recollection, memory.

Memento – A memory, a recollection. Obsolete. Rare.

Memorabilia – Memorable or noteworthy thoughts, observations, writings, etc.

Memorability – memorableness, also (occasionally): a person or thing worth remembering.

Memorableness – The quality of being memorable.

Memory-belief – A memory implicitly believed though probably unverifiable.

Memory span – The maximum number of items that can be recalled in the correct order immediately after a single presentation of them.

Min (Old English–1556) – Remembrance, memory; "to make min of": to make mention of.

Minder – A person who remembers; a person with a good memory. Obsolete. Rare.

Neurogram – Physiology. An enduring physical change in the brain thought to be produced by mental activity and to form the basis for memory.

Recall – The action of remembering or calling back to mind; the ability to remember.

Recollection – A thing or fact recalled to the mind; a memory (of something).

Record – Memory, remembrance, recollection. Obsolete.

Recordancy – Remembrance.

Reflection – The action or process of recalling or recollecting something; recollection; remembrance (of an experience, emotion, etc.).

Reliving – The action or process of experiencing something again, esp. in one's memory or imagination.

Rememberer – A person who remembers. Also occasionally: an organ or faculty which remembers.

Remembery – colloquial or regional. A person's memory. Also: a thing remembered, a memory.

Rememorance – Remembrance; (also) an act of reminding.

Reminiscence – Chiefly in plural. A recollection or memory, as a mental fact or phenomenon.

Reproduce – To bring back to mind.

Resouvenance – Recollection, memory.

Retention – The storage and maintenance of a memory.

Retentivity – The ability to remember or to retain what is learnt; the capacity for being retained; retention.

Retrieval – The process of recovering or locating information stored in memory.

Retroaction – Psychology. The (usually deleterious) effect of subsequent learning on the memory of what was learnt previously.

Retroactive inhibition – The inhibiting effect on recall that can be produced by subsequent learning of a similar kind; retroactive interference.

Salience – Social Psychology. The quality or fact of being more prominent in a person's awareness or in his or her memory of past experience; saliency.

Souvenir – A thing or fact remembered; an act or instance of remembering; a memory. Chiefly literary.

Sovenance – Remembrance; memory.

Thought – Remembrance, a person's memory or mind. Obsolete.

Trace – Psychology. A change in the brain as a result of some mental experience; the physical after-effect of such.

I'd love that dedication, haha! No but seriously, I'm glad to hear this, really appreciate you telling me. Hope the list helps & all the best with your writing. If you're alright with it, I'd definitely love to read :)

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ On Memory ⚜ On Amnesia

[victoriadallonfan]

Fanfic I Will Never Write: DC Trinity in A Song of Ice and Fire

Batman:

House Wayne was an old family with nebulous connections to the Wents, prosperous and fair to their smallfolk by all accounts. Everything changed when Robert's Rebellion hit Westeros, splitting the seven kingdoms apart.

Wanting to ensure loyalty, Aerys had several boys of noble houses under his "protection" to ensure total loyalty, trapping Bryce Wayne in a cell filled with bats. When the Lannisters betrayed the Targaryens and attacked King's Landing, most of the Waynes and their servants were slaughtered, barring their wily Maester Alfrick.

Bryce of House Wayne became an orphan after this, his house diminished in standing from Lord to Knighted, a dark boy under the bright family sigil of a robin escaping a well.

He would never forget the injustice he experienced under the Targaryens, the Lannisters, and many Houses after the rebellion.

Bryce would grow over the years, training under Maester Alfrick and the eccentric Maester Lucious in all manners of skills and tinkering, but he needed more. He would travel to Essos, studying the ways of alchemy, assassination, and more, earning his chains (if unofficially).

His association with Talya, a mysterious assassin turned witch-advisor, would spur him into using the fear of "supernatural" tricks to his gain.

He would also, however, learn that his skills and mortality limit what he aspires toward. He is but one man, if a skilled one, and the seven kingdom needs more than one dark knight.

They need the myth, the terror of the Batman.

And so, he creates him.

Or rather, them.

Batmen he recruits from Essos and Westeros, trained by and with himself, each with their own specialties. A small organization of war orphans he rescued are trained as the Robins (in remembrance of his family sigil), led by Bryce's natural born son, and work with networks of forgotten and overlooked children/homeless to establish spy networks and uncover rumors of corruption.

Where the Robins focus on filtering out the corrupt systems within smallfolk communities, the Batmen hunt and terrify the nobility, focusing on humiliating them publicly or revealing their dark secrets to the world.

The Dark Knight, Vengeance, Batman appears everywhere and nowhere, with Bryce Wayne at its cowled helm of power.

(Plausible side characters to include: (Wo)Man-Bat via a Went controlling bats, the Red Hood as a rival vigilante, Prometheus aka The Smith as a man who seems to have found a cache of Valyrian armor and trinkets, Court of Owls/League of Shadows for obvious reasons)

Wonder Woman:

When Lady Nymeria settled onto Westeros, not all of her ships survived the trip. One particular brutal instance had a hundred ships taken by a violent storm, assailed by Krakens due to the many, many who drowned.

What was once thought lost to the cruelty of nature and gods, instead found refuge on a small island hidden by the storm! These refugees of Nymeria's legion were quick to found their home, Rhoyneria, and grow their own warrior culture.

The current Queen of Rhoyneria was unfortunately unable to produce an heir, and there had been growing suspicion that her husband was gathering support to depose her. Praying by the river to old gods of her ancestors, in her grief, she sculpted a child from the river clay.

It was much to her shock - and to the Kingdom as a whole - she returned with a living, breathing infant. A miracle of the gods, she was proclaimed, and named Dyanna heir to Rhoyneria.

It became clear to all that Dyanna was not that of a normal child: faster, stronger, more analytical than her age would present, and a strong sense of justice. She was the darling of the people.

But not to everyone. Some feared her power, feared that she was not truly human, but some demon in disguise. The Queen's father hated her for not being a true heir and stoked these flames, knowing his wife loved him too much to see past his pleasant exterior.

It is no surprise really that civil war broke out and Diana was left with a ruined kingdom in flames, her mother dead, and father fleeing with his loyalists to parts unknown (though she would assume he died trying to escape the storm). She would have died alone on that island, had not a Sword Dancer by the name of Trevyr wash up ashore with a small ship many years later, rescued by Dyanna.

Nursing him back to health, they bonded and learned of each other's worlds, and it seemed providence found her: Her father had become an infamous pirate and slaver, haunting the seas.

Fueled by the injustice, Dyanna vowed to assist Trevyr is getting back home, and armed herself with the remnants of the Queen's armored attire: Old Valyrian bracers and tiara, Rhoynar breastplate and pyterges, and a lasso blessed to strike true of any target she aims at according to legend.

As she escapes her island and encounters the world beyond, Dyanna earns her reputation battling against the many pirates of Essos and Westeros, freeing slaves and raiding Slavers Bay, and always hunting for her father no matter where he flees.

(Plausible side characters to include: Ares working through priests of old war gods, Cheetah as a warg user, Giganta as a female giant raider)

Superman:

Valyria was dying.

The Targaryen's had foreseen that much and fled some time ago, mocked by their peers and betters for their cowardice. No one paid mind to their prophecies, especially not one that could not be replicated by other Blood Mages.

One family, who's surviving name exists in recovered manuscripts only as the -el-, learned the truth. Alchemists who worked within the fires and oversaw the labors of hell, and realized too late what would happen.

Valyria was doomed.

In a panic, they worked to finalize their experiments, the ultimate bond between man and dragon. A hint of promise that existed only in the miscarriages of Valyria. Something more than a mere dragon rider... in theory.

An egg larger than the average dragon's. The culmination of Valyria's might, that they would take with them as they fled to other islands.

Intelligent, brilliant, but not enough. Not nearly enough to accurately predict the Doom.

They did not notice oblivion when it struck them, as a mercy. They were wiped out in moments.

The egg and its protective case, however, was not. Time in this Doom of Valyria, did not flow like a river, but rather a scorching eruption of ash; no control.

All that is to say, a young farming couple on the coast of the Westerlands happened upon a glistening, red hot container on the shore nearly 300 years later. Within that container was parchment paper of Old Valyrian quality, some regal gowns, and shells of an egg... with a wailing child inside.

Decades later, raised under the demure and softspoken Kents, Clarkwell found his life turned upside down when a small fire nearly killed the stable girl he befriended. He leapt into the flames, screaming as beams fell around him, fear for his friend pushing past his own.

When he pulled her from the fire, she was lightly burned and unconscious, but otherwise safe. Clarkwell, however, had changed.

His flesh had hardened, alternating sapphire, ruby red, and gold scales prickling atop his body. His fingers ended in gnarled claws, his eyes could see the heat of his friend's body... and as he fled in horror, fear, and awe, the last of his flaming shirt coming apart, long blood-red wings unfolded from his back.

Terror slowly crept to curiosity and then to wonder as he leapt, gliding through the air with the help of legs far more powerful than a mortal mans. His bellowing laugh let out a gout of fire.

He was found by his parents in the stable as the scales slowly sloughed off, mouth smoking, and any fears of what they'd say were quashed by their embrace (with a touch of sting from heat). They explained to him his true origins, the remnants of the parchment, and regal gowns of silver and black.

It didn't matter. He had his family here now. And it wouldn't be likely that he'd ever take this draconic form again.

Three weeks later, a group of traveling men - many would claim to be underlings of the infamous Mountain that Rides - would sack village that Clarkwell happened to be passing through, setting it ablaze to blame on bandits (technically correct).

From the fire of a burning field leapt Clarkwell, almost birdlike as he glided over the monstrous men, before landing between them and the remaining survivors.

Clarkwell winced at the blades and maces that hit him, but they did not break his scales. Metal armor tried and failed to resist his claws and he picked up and threw men aside. Horses were too slow for his legs and wings. He rounded them up, binding them with iron that he welded with his fiery breath, and left them to the people of the village.

This would not be the last time that he would need to take on the identity of the Dragon Man

(Plausible side characters to include: Lex Luthor as a Maester who hates magic and dragons, Doomsday as a Valyrian mutant that later washes ashore elsewhere, Steel as a blacksmith that builds a suit of armor based on the remnants of valyrian armor)

[wordy-little-witch]

Okay but One Piece being in the pirate era and the lack of a frankly inordinate amount of sea shanties hurts me. Like you know DAMN well Roger was a partier, Buggy and Shanks undoubtedly know an incredible amount of shanties, from their first crews, from the new crews, from exploring and seeing and experiencing the world so thoroughly from such a young age.

Shanks would be the type to belt them, top of his lungs, but always adhere to the Codes, though he does think on it for a moment. People think he'd be a pirate head to toe, through and through, and he is! Truly, he is. He just doesn't really live by the Code and die by the Code the way some of the older generation does.

Buggy, despite popular belief, is the one to cling to those Codes with all he has. It's subtle, in the way he hums certain songs to himself but never sings the full lyrics without Meaning. He will sing and dance and party with his crew, they will make merry but they will do so properly. He's avant garde and nouveau expressionism but he's also old fashioned.

When he finds out Shanks taught this scrawny rubber twink everything the kid knows about piracy through sporadic meetings over a year, nearing a decade ago, he is absolutely livid. The swordsman is stupid but has a decent head on his shoulders for behavior. The redhead, from what he sees, knows more than most. He decides to put class in session.

He's surprised to be beaten so thoroughly and then furthermore to be removed succinctly. He's not gonna let it slide, obviously, but he'll play along. Sure. Could be fun. He was getting bored anyway.

Shit just so happens to hit the fan with this decision and all that follow. Shanks, knowing the truth of things, is simply VERY amused and Buggy is debating fratricide.

He's been playing this role for so long, it feels unnatural to drop it. It feels wrong. It makes him panic, makes him Itch.

It only comes to a head years later as he's humming to himself late in the evening on a certain day in September, having spent a good chunk of the day on his own, away from company and to the surprise of very few. Crocodile and Mihawk are among those who do not know why, but they alone are the ones to look for him.

Finding Buggy, singing softly to an animal as he gently brushes out their fur, surrounded by calm animals who seem to nearly build a wall with their bodies between himself and the world, was not anticipated to either men. Nor was hearing Buggy's voice, usually so shrill and rasped, flow gently over a melody with a grief filled expression. Ritchie, among the ones closest, gently head butted the clown with soulful eyes. Mihawk and Crocodile simply watch, seeing Buggy groom and pamper the creatures within the stables this far from town as he sings a specific sequence of songs.

Mihawk realizes first just what they're witnessing, and he grips the logia user's arm, guiding them both back. Crocodile, startled, goes to ask, and Hawkeyes simply shakes his head sharply. It is only once they are far enough that Mihawk breaths a stunned, "He's performing Rites."

"What?"

"Rites," the swordsman reiterates, sending the other a suspicious look. "The Rites of the Code."

The mafioso takes a drag from his cigar, gesturing for the other to go on.

Mihawk sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I forget," he remarks dryly, "how uneducated in ours ways you are."

"Excuse me-?!"

"Rites," the other interrupts, "are a form of mourning. Frequency varies, and the honoring actions can be altered as well. The constant component are the shanties sung in remembrance and the flags flown. For some, a single instance can be sufficient..." Golden eyes drift to the side, unfocused, as he continues. "For others, there is a need to continue doing so. Often, it is a crew mourning a commanding officer. Unlike Marines, Pirates all share an unspoken connection. Though paths may vary and goals may differ, we all care Her in our veins."

Violet eyes love to the expanse of blue, the horizon bleeding across the world. He knew. He may lack some of the nuance of the Code from his priorities laying further inland, but he knew this. How could he not when his own blood sang salted sprays? He knew this much at the very least.

"So the clown is in mourning."

"Yes."

".... why?"

"...... ....... it is September."

"And?"

"The 28th."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You were there, too, 25 years ago. Loguetown."

Silence falls.

The wind rustles branches overhead. It carries the faintest wisps of a voice. The two men pointedly ignore it and the choked quality it had.

".... I see."

"..... yes. That is my theory, at any rate."

"............. Hawkeye."

"What?"

"He was on the King's crew."

"Yes, this has been established."

"Why?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Why him? Why the clown? He's not even 40 yet, so that day... he'd have been, what, 15, at the most? He'd have been on the crew for years by that point. He was there before the man was crowned, after all."

"Shanks was, as well. I believe the earliest mention was when he mentioned an incident from their childhood. He'd said they were... oh, what was it? Seven? Thereabouts. To be on a crew so young..."

"To be there so long, Hawkeye. The brat would have been with them since childhood. That crew was infamous for the things they did - the clown does not fit the pattern."

"He does not boast anything nearing the decorum expected of a fledgling of a King..."

"He knows the Codes, something never mentioned to us nor taught explicitly to his crew that we know of. He served under the King and kept it hidden from the world government for decades. He escaped the Grandline and settled as an East Blue nuisance for years. He was imprisoned in Impel Down with no sea stone."

Golden eyes widen. "You believe he has been hiding more than simply his heritage."

"What makes more sense? This, or what we have thought so far."

"How would we confirm it?"

"Just ask me, maybe?"

Neither man will admit to being startled when a new voice chimes in, soft and hoarse, drowsy. Buggy leans into Ritchie's side as the lion purrs loudly, the clown rubbing his eye.

He continues. "Tomorrow, though. It's late, I'm not feeling well, and Ritch and I have a date with my blanket nest."

"The lion?" / "Blanket nest?"

Buggy giggles softly. "Weighted blankets are expensive. Weighted Ritchies only cost snacks and chin scritches," he remarks softly. "As for the blankets, nests are the way to go. Good night."

Two dark haired men are left by a drowsy clown and lion in the woods on the edge of town with much to thing on and a list to compile for the next day.

The first question? How Mihawk had not sensed him whatsoever on approach.

[yuellii]

FLOWERS, ONE TO MY REMEMBRANCE.

scaramouche / gn reader, merry christmas @adiluv :)

“I’m called the Wanderer.”

He speaks these words with a lightened, innocent charm. A sparkling crinkle in his eyes so unadulterated and wholehearted. The Wanderer’s voice is like a new baby’s breath to this old, torn world.

And you—there’s electric in your heart, and a strum of curiosity stemming from your heartstrings to your brain. A smile so unknowing and hypnotic in the way it sends butterflies to his stomach in mere instances. In all the years he’s spent wandering the seven regions and the seven elements, he truly believe he has not felt love until this moment.

With your eyes so new and so kind upon him, oh, he might’ve truly found the purpose of the heavens within you.

“I’m called the Wanderer.”

He speaks these words with a curious type of stunned silence. He’s enchanted in a way, a feeling wherein he can feel his knees begin to crumble at the mere sight of the details of your face. The Wanderer feels weak, as if he’s falling in love at first sight.

“The Wanderer…” you ponder quietly.

He feels his cheeks flare up at your voice. His lips feel glued together once he hears you speak for the first time, completely taken aback from the hypnotic aura you radiate. By laws of nature, he feels like a moth to your flame in which he, as a wandering soul of old, feels he can truly find you in every universe.

“I’m called the Wanderer.”

A bitter taste resides on his tongue.

You turn to look at him, and he feels this uncanny sense of familiarity within the depths of your eyes. The soul in them: he suddenly feels as if he’s stared at it a million times before.

He’s thinking of crumbling away about now.

“The Wanderer…” The taste of his title on your tongue, the sound of your voice—all of it falls unbearably recognizable. He can feel his breath catch short within the cages of his lungs, however it is not one he desired. Somehow, he feels as if this improper breathing should’ve been soul-crushing in a way that was loving, and not the blatant fear that suddenly settles in the taut tightropes of his beating heart. “Have we…” you voice out, the sound of each word stealing more of his airflow away from his lifeline. “Have we met before?”

The rising intonation at the end of your sentence sends a shiver to his spine when he processes your words. He feels clammy, sweaty; but he’s made of wood—he shouldn’t sweat? He shouldn’t be feeling like this? But you were no evil, no… So he should not be filled with this sense of hesitant alarm.

“No…” says he, reluctantly so. “Not that I know of.” He attempts to say this gulping with confidence, however he fails in this aspect—in fact, he sounds as if he is nervous, speaking with shaky breaths. It was clear that even he himself did not believe his own words. No, not that I know of; and yet he felt like he’s known you for every previous life.

“That’s so odd,” you miss, finger quite innocently falling upon your bottom lip in ponderance. “I can swear I’ve seen you somewhere before, but I cannot currently recall…”

He coughed. “You must be mistaken.”

What originally drew him to you like a moth to a flame now killed him. And he felt near-death in this moment; a sensation in which he feels he should run far away from you, no matter how clueless you seem right now. All that mattered was that he recognized you in a way that felt dangerous, like it should not be happening.

He excuses him, and runs off at your confusion.

“I knew I’d find you here. Luckily so soon, too.”

Kunikuzushi, or Scaramouche—not that he could bother to care much right now—whipped his head around in horrific shock. The Dendro Archon stood there right at his tail, looking up at his disgruntled eyes in disappointment.

“Do you know who you are right now?” she continues, approaching so calmly. His startled fingers ball to fists in frustration, glaring at her from the side of his face with his back turned in what seemed like anger. But only Nahida knew, truly: he was more than ashamed now. “Am I speaking to the Wanderer, or who you really are?”

He scoffs. “Has anyone ever told you how annoying your questions are?” he insults, much unlike the Wanderer.

“Oh, so it sounds like you remember everything,” the Archon states. Her tone is almost one of giggling, yet she does not make much haste when approaching him. There is no ridicule or spite in her words, her voice instead much sounding like a caring older sister getting ready to scold him. “That’s good. Makes my job easier.”

“What do you want from me,” he commands from her.

She walks without a hop or skip in her step; there no playfulness in her approach, just a slow resolve. He isn’t sure how much longer he can eye her as she comes forth—his heart is racing right now, and he needs to stop it desperately so. He is but a puppet: he is not familiar nor is he fond of this suspenseful feeling.

“Well,” she started, finally standing still next to him, “we both know why you’re here, standing right in front of Irminsul.” He flinches at her words. “How many times has it been now, Wanderer? Five? Forty? Hundreds?”

“That’s none of your business,” he snarls at her, turning his face away. But still, he stands ashamed, balling his fists constantly as if he hoped his nails would break his inhuman palms until they impossibly bled. “It isn’t my fault, you know.”

She hummed. He wanted to punch her from this sound alone—she should not assume she knows his reasonings as well as he himself does. “But as a man who is a new human”—he feels himself almost hurl from the lecture—“you need to learn how to handle human issues in a human way.”

“But no matter what, I am not human,” he tells her. “This is all I know to do.”

“Erasing yourself over and over again is not the answer, I fear, Wanderer.” And this is where she almost giggles at him, and he feels more embarrassed, converted to anger. But he could not deny this. He could not deny that he was stupidly resetting the world and it’s memory of him.

Stupidity, unfortunately, was his opinionated best shot.

“Just one more.” It was like a beg. “Just one more, because I was seen.”

“I’m called the Wanderer.”

You looked at him surprised, and he hid his face under his hat in embarrassment. You immediately notice how his stance is completely changed from before, demeanor like shifted to a different person.

“Oh!” you notice surely. “You’re back—you left so abruptly earlier…”

He somehow feels more ashamed than before. This was his millionth first-meeting with you by now, and somehow the most humiliating one. There was something about meeting you like this every time—being erased of his own memories by himself, slowly remembering his own memories, and crying out because he’s entangled himself with you once more. And that’s when he breaks down, and resets the world all before the Dendro Archon catches him.

And now, here he was, standing here like a middle schooler forced by his mother to apologize to a girl he liked.

“Sorry…” he seethe through gritted teeth. He really isn’t sure how to continue this conversation with you. In his own head, he has all these memories of your first relationship, and of all these first meetings, and you… You were just meeting him like a stranger.

But when you look at him all the same, a different sense of familiarity in your eyes… He feels it may be different this time.

And, he might just allow himself to love you now.

MERRY CHRISTMAS I LOVE YEWWW

[amurderandconspiracy]

Five Stages, Two Talons, and a lost little Crow

****Dragon Age Veilguard spoilers AHEAD, read at your own peril ****

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Follow up scene with Lucanis and Viago – After “Scents and Grief” and the letter This scene is prompted by what was not shown of the companions during the Regret Prison. Viago is a worried older brother, just do not tell him I said so. My Rook is a nonbinary Crow!Mage!Rook but this scene does not necessarily give any descriptions of Rook, other than their name, so you can inject your own into the scene if that helps you.

>>> 

The sound of the room’s double doors slamming woke him from his depressed slumber.  Darkness flooding his sight as he opens his eyes to the still dimness of the wardrobe and with a brief intake, the comforting perfume slips into his nose and settles into his lungs.  The feathers of the blanket brush against his skin and a crumpled parchment clutched in his hand falls to the floor of the wardrobe as he comes back to himself.  Remembrance dawns for a moment, chilling the brief warmth in his chest.  The void of anguish spreads and Lucanis starts to sink back down as his mind fights the web of miserable exhaustion and emptiness, only to remember that the loud sound of the double doors slamming woke him.

“Where the Maker are they!?” booms an angry voice laced with deeply seated fear and worry.  The familiar and irritated lilt of Viago’s voice travels through the stone chamber and bounces off the aquarium glass, barely muffled by the wardrobe doors.

Lucanis cannot seem to muster a mood to deal with Viago in this moment and Spite uses the lack of response from Lucanis to jump to the fore, responding with irritation and unkindness, “GET. OUT!”

Lucanis rolls his eyes, and directs a thought at Spite, thanks for that, pissing off Viago is not the best idea…especially when we failed to tell him what happened to Rook...

Spite seems to catch on this thought and tilts his head, NOT GONE. ROOK IS OURS; WE WILL FIND THEM. ADDER’S MUSTACHE CAN WAIT.

Lucanis goes to respond when the doors of the wardrobe are furiously pulled open, the flood of watery shimmering light from the aquarium casts a tint of greenish-blue into the dark cupboard, an enraged Viago speaking with clipped tones as he attempts to bodily drag Lucanis into the room, “Hiding Dellamorte? Answer me!” Viago is speaking through clenched teeth and the grip he manages on Lucanis’ gear feels like claws dug into flesh.

Lucanis’ emotional reserves may be numbed to the point of oblivion but his instincts are well honed and the hostile way that Viago is demanding Lucanis answer to him allows the cool exterior of indifference to slide into place as the innate need to defend himself and his safety takes hold.  Lucanis surges forward from his nest and uses the offset of Viago’s footing to push up and out of the wardrobe while grabbing the forearms of the raging Fifth Talon.  Viago senses the shift and tries to throw his mass to reorient the balance and allow Lucanis’ sprung energy to overbalance him.  In the same instance Viago attempts to drop his weight, Lucanis anticipates the use of encumbrance for leverage, feeling himself cross the center line and performs a slight spin to disengage, freeing his hands of Viago’s forearms and preparing for a more concerted response.

“Where are they, Dellamorte!?  Where is my…Rook?!” Viago seems to strain to contain an emotional reaction as he yells the final question and Lucanis makes a quick assessment, seeing the always brooding but usually composed Viago breathing irately; a wild look about his features.

Lucanis immediately disengages and holds up his hands, stepping just out of range. “Viago, I…” he responds with a stripe of shame and guilt seeping into his voice.

“Don’t you fucking dare!  Where is Rook?  And don’t you fucking say what you almost said…where is Fae!?” Viago steps forward, pressing the advantage, fear and anger mixing in his voice as he fights for some semblance of control to get an answer. An answer that does not involve apologies.

“They…were…pulled into the Fade…” Lucanis starts to explain, the guilt and the weight of his emotional decline is evident in the way his voice drops in timbre, almost breathy as he forces out words he has not wanted to say.

“And when in damnation were you going to tell me that a member of my House was in the bloody Fade? Were you going to leave me to wait obediently in Treviso without a single word?!” Viago continues to advance, though his shoulders are dropping as if a weight is dragging him past composure.

“We…I do not have answers. They were there…one moment…the next they were not and they cried my…” Lucanis swallows and stops then, unable to say more without losing face. “I was going to come to Treviso to tell you, to tell you to your face.” Lucanis almost pleads, the mask of the assassin’s calm drawing back to reveal a haunted expression.

Spite circles Viago, stalking and observing him. SMELLS LIKE POISONS…AND…ROOK. He seems perplexed by this and tilts his head like a bird, assessing the rumpled look of Viago’s hair and the puffiness of the skin below his eyes. DROWNED IN ANGER AND GRIEF. Spite steps closer at this point, knowing Viago cannot see or hear him.

Spite, back away. Viago is Fae’s teacher, their older brother of sorts. Do not push him. Lucanis mentally tries to pull Spite away from Viago.  Watching the man absorb the response.

Viago sees the strain on Lucanis’ face and the pieces of fragmented information starts to paint a saddened expression of understanding and commiseration, “Who and what do I have to kill to get them back…is there another of these so-called gods that we need to sacrifice to bring them home?” Viago looks directly into Lucanis’ eyes, the wheels of negotiations and plans already churning in his mind.

Lucanis hesitated for a moment, not knowing the right answer and after their little breakdown last night, he was not currently apprised of the battle plans or developments from the rest of the team.  He knew Emmrich had been formulating some theories; Neve as well.  Harding and Taash had immediately started reaching out to their contacts and network.  The loss of Davrin and Assan, and the capture of Bellara had not even been discussed, everyone avoiding the subject all together.  The team had been in shock, disassociated from the reality of their losses when they had mercifully escaped Tearstone Island following the firestorm that Elgar’nan had kicked up in response to the slaying of Ghilan’nain.

Viago looks at him in anticipatory silence, Lucanis shakes off his hesitation and responds with a voice of surety he is certainly not feeling, “Let us go down to the kitchen table, we can put on coffee and discuss with everyone our strategy going forward.” Lucanis steps forward then and places his hand on Viago’s arm, redirecting him with very little effort toward the doors.

“We will get them back Viago. We must.” Lucanis promises, not entirely to Viago, not allowing acceptance of anything less.

WE WILL. Spite affirms, settling into Lucanis with purpose and determination.

[seneon]

SENATION LORE PART 4: THE ACCUSED WITCHES.

📍 set in salem witch trials au ( year 1600s )

A LONG LOONNNGNGGG TIME AGO in the 16th century, there lived a society of women. all intelligent and beautiful. it was led by sen, the mastermind of the secret underground society which nobody knew of. lady sen and her girl club is always trying to fight for themselves. for freedom of women.

however one day... lady sen met a handsome young nobleman named @luvlyycy. they fell in love and my, oh my! did intimate and affectionate things together 😳😳 what a beautiful couple they are... sir luvlyycy even promised to buy lady sen a whole land as a promise to marry her!

little did the lady knew... he's an evil man... the nobleman only wanted lady sen's attention because she is simply soooo wonderful and beautiful and amazingful. until one day he found she led a society of intelligent women in secret.

golly gee, do you know what sir luvlyycy did? well, he reported it to the officials! so many women who are gathered together is simply impossible. there was no way women are smarter than he is. he couldn't take it. so then he took lady sen court.

"she is a witch for summoning smart women together!" @o-sachi exclaimed, sir luvlyycy's lawyer, trying to get the judges to set a final decision that lady sen is a witch. "she speaks of the devil, sir!!"

"i am NAWT a witch! that damn nobleman accused me of being one!!" sen exclaimed in protest to prove herself innocent.

"cease talking this instance! we will discuss about this matter and judge her accordingly." judge @bbluefllame claimed.

"we have concluded that women with brains are incomprehensible and unobtainable. therefore, this woman here is in fact... a witch!" judge @haunted4kent concluded.

"for her to gather so many intelligent women in a secret women society is a crime. her punishment will be burning at a stake!" finalised @bbluefllame as lady sen fell on the ground and began her wailing, the crowd wreaking havoc.

soon, before lady sen was taken to the site of execution, a local priest @hyoismbbg had offered a time of repentance for the accused witch. "but i have nothing to repent! i am not a witch!" sen exclaimed as the priest proceeded with the confession anyways... he just didn't want to lose his job and leave a criminal hanging lol. what a nice priest.

soon, lady sen along with her two other most loyal ladies of the society, @saewako, @rueclfer, and a random burnt baby which we will call dabi, all joined together to burn at the stake for a crime they did not commit.

at lady sen's last breath, she cursed the nobleman for accusing her. and with that, she and her ladies all melted, along with burnt baby dabi. and they ceased to exist, another collection of victims added to the salem witch trials.

will lady sen be reincarnated for revenge? we will find out in three months.

STARRING. @saewako @hyoismbbg @raeson @piichuu @sweetheartsaku @elssero @marushoto @choccorin @loveriotss @luvlyycy @sunolls @haunted4kent @bbluefllame @ryescapades @o-sachi @sepptember @cindol @kasiers @kazuhaiku @lunatiqez @laughingfcx @rueclfer @azlumire

part one. part two. part three.

note. omg part four is out!! made in remembrance of halloween and my love for the salem witch trials. also first part of the sensation lore where sen is a female. it's crazy..

[girlactionfigure]

by design

INTRODUCTION

Since the October 7 massacre, antisemitism worldwide has skyrocketed to levels reminiscent of the eve of the rise of the Nazis. Dozens of synagogues around the world have been firebombed or set on fire. A 12-year-old Jewish girl was raped in France on account of her Jewishness; another French Jewish woman was allegedly kidnapped and raped “to avenge Palestine.” A pro-Palestinian protestor killed a 69-year-old Jewish man in Los Angeles. An ISIS-supporting teenager stabbed a 50-year-old Jewish man in Zurich, leaving him in critical condition. A San Diego Jewish dentist was murdered under suspicious circumstances. Protestors have defaced Holocaust memorials, nearly lynched Israel’s 20-year-old Eurovision participant, the mother of an Israeli female hostage had to be rescued from a pro-Palestine mob in New York City, protestors disrupted a memorial walk at Auschwitz on the Jewish Holocaust Remembrance Day, and the list goes on and on…

In 2017, the white supremacist Unite the Right Rally, during which participants exclaimed “Jews will not replace us,” drew widespread condemnation from the left. Yet today, day after day, thousands march in main western cities, including New York City, proudly displaying the flags of Hamas, Hezbollah, and even the Houthis, whose banner proclaims “a curse upon the Jews,” and the left hardly bats an eye. Worse, we are gaslit. We are told that these are merely “ceasefire” or “anti-war” protests. We are told “a few bad apples” don’t represent the movement. We are told we are blowing things out of proportion, or that their hateful actions are valid because of X, Y, and Z. 

But these are not a few bad apples or fringe extremists. I don’t doubt that the vast majority of people worldwide who feel solidarity with Palestinians are not genocidal Jew-haters. But the antisemitism that we see coming from the pro-Palestine crowd is not a fluke. It’s not a coincidence. It’s not an exaggeration, a distortion, or a lie. 

It’s by design. It’s, unfortunately, what this movement was designed to do from its inception, to the detriment of Jews, Palestinians, and Israelis alike. 

THE LONG LEGACY OF DHIMMITUDE 

To really understand what’s going on, we have to go back in time to 637 CE. Following Muhammad’s death in 632, the Arab Islamic empires conquered lands exponentially quickly. As a result of this rapid colonization, the Muslim authorities were faced with the “problem” of how to handle the conquered Indigenous peoples that resisted conversion to Islam.

This “problem” was solved with a treaty known as the Pact of Umar. This so-called treaty allowed select religious and cultural minorities, known as dhimmis, or “People of the Book,” to practice their beliefs so long as they paid the “jizya” tax and abided by a set of restrictive, second-class citizenship laws. 

In other words, to survive, Jews had two choices: pay a tax or convert to Islam. But the system of dhimmitude didn’t end there. Jews faced a myriad of second-class restrictions. For instance, Jews could not govern, lead, or employ Muslims. Jews could not join the military or work for the government. When harmed by a Muslim, Jews had to purchase Muslim witnesses, which left Jews with virtually no legal recourse. 

You may think that dhimmitude, which was only abolished in 1856, is too long ago, too far removed from the conflict and the Palestinians of today. But it isn’t. That’s not how history works. Fast forward to the beginnings of the twentieth century and political Zionism. Palestinian Arabs, the majority of whom were Muslim, might not have held any ill will toward Jews. But they were accustomed to a certain social structure, in which Muslims dominated and Jews and other religious minorities were second-class citizens. The “threat” of Zionism challenged this structure. Jews were fine, so long as they knew their place. Once Jews started asking for more, well, that became a problem. 

THE FORMER DHIMMIS

In 1916, the British promised the Arabs a unified Arab state in Greater Syria, which included Palestine. A year later, the British issued the Balfour Declaration, which stated that “His Majesty's Government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country.”

It’s worth noting that the British did not yet occupy Palestine at the time either of these promises were made. To the Arabs, the Balfour Declaration reneged the earlier promise made to them, whereas the British argued that it, in fact, did not. After all, the Balfour Declaration never specified the exact nature of this Jewish homeland. 

Up until 1917, the vast majority of Arabs in Palestine, save for the higher classes, had never heard of Zionism. To prevent any sort of Jewish homeland from ever coming to fruition, the Palestinian Arab leadership, led by Haj Amin al-Husseini, had to mobilize the masses. So what did he do? He incited antisemitic violence, by disseminating the conspiracy that the Jews intended to take over Temple Mount. This incitement resulted in a series of antisemitic massacres, most notably, the 1929 Hebron Massacre. 

A couple of things are telling about these massacres. First, the language that was used. At the 1920 Nebi Musa riots, Muslim Arabs ravaged the Jewish community in Jerusalem, chanting “Palestine is ours!” and “the Jews are our dogs!” Second, if al-Husseini’s problem truly was Zionism, he could’ve incited violence against the new Zionist communities that had been established over the previous decades. Instead, however, this violence almost exclusively targeted the oldest continuous Jewish communities in Palestine, in Jerusalem, Hebron, Safed, and more. The threat of autonomous Jews prompted Palestinian Arabs to attack their very own neighbors, the former dhimmis.

SEEDS OF CONFLICT 

Today, Palestinians certainly have many legitimate human rights grievances against Israel. But up until the 1930s, when the Zionist paramilitary Irgun carried the first Zionist retaliatory attacks against Arabs, this just wasn’t the case. The Zionist movement purchased lands legally. As a matter of official policy, the Zionists avoided purchasing lands occupied by Palestinian farmers. 

The 1937 Peel Commission corroborated this, stating: “Much of the land now carrying orange groves was sand dunes or swamp and uncultivated when it was purchased.” In 1931, the British created a register for landless Arabs; only 664 Arabs out of a total of nearly 900,000 met the criteria. 

It’s worth noting that the Ottoman Empire had restricted Jewish land purchases. Once again, Zionist land purchases upset the previously existing social order, in which Jews were tolerated so long as they stayed in line. 

In fact, Haj Muhammad Said al-Husseini, the Mufti of Gaza, admitted as much in 1948, when he issued a fatwa stating that “Zionism has created a reality in which Jews have forgotten they are dhimmis.” A similar fatwa had been issued in 1935. 

What’s happening today is not at all shocking considering the earliest Palestinian violent “resistance” to Zionism was, to put it plainly, resistance to Jews. In 1937, when Haj Amin al-Husseini was asked whether he would be willing to absorb the 400,000 Jews already residing in Palestine into a future singular Palestinian Arab state, he plainly said, “No,” and implied that they would be expelled. Of course, he also rejected any partition of the land between Arabs and Jews. In other words, Haj Amin al-Husseini rejected the very existence of Jews in Palestine regardless of the political arrangement. 

Their problem wasn’t just with Zionism. From day one, their problem was with Jews. So is it any surprise Jews today are being terrorized around the world in the name of Palestine?

ionist land purchases did not displace Palestinians. As a matter of policy, the Zionist movement avoided purchasing lands occupied by fellahin, or Palestinian farmers. This is corroborated by the 1937 Peel Commission, which noted, “Much of the land now carrying orange groves was sand dunes or swamp and uncultivated when it was purchased.”

But up until 1936, when the Irgun, the right-wing Zionist paramilitary group, carried the first Zionist retaliatory attacks against Arabs, this wasn’t the case. Land purchases 

"His Majesty's government has been faced with an irreconcilable conflict of principles. For the Jews, the essential point of principle is the creation of a sovereign Jewish state. For the Arabs, the essential point of principle is to resist to the last the establishment of Jewish sovereignty in any part of Palestine." 

British Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin, 1947

SKEWED PRIORITIES

Time and time again from its inception, the Palestinian “resistance” has prioritized the murder of Jews over their own national aspirations. Between 1939-1947, the Palestinian Arab leadership rejected a number of iterations of a “one state solution” with an Arab majority on account of the fact that said state would have too many Jews or afford Jews too much autonomy. 

The original 1964 charter of the Palestine Liberation Organization is telling. In 1964, the charter explicitly stated, “This Organization [the PLO] does not exercise any regional sovereignty over the West Bank in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, in the Gaza Strip, or the Himmah area.” In other words, the PLO’s main aim was the destruction of Israel, as opposed to self-determination for the Palestinian people living under the occupation of two different Arab nations. It was only in 1968, shortly after Israel captured those territories during the Six Day War, that their charter was amended to include Gaza and the West Bank.

The pattern has continued. In the early 1990s, when Israel and the PLO pursued a peace process known as the Oslo Accords, Yasser Arafat, al-Husseini’s protege and chairman of the PLO, gave an address at a Johannesburg mosque where he assured the worshippers that this peace agreement was merely a “tactical step” in the ultimate goal to annihilate Israel. 

Among the most heard chants at pro-Palestine protests today are a number of variations of “globalize the intifada,” but the intifadas drastically deteriorated the quality of life of Palestinians. The checkpoints and the West Bank wall, for example, were erected in response to the intifadas.There is absolutely no strategic reason in calling for an intifada if the concern is truly Palestinian human rights. The only reason to call for an intifada is if what you wish to prioritize is the murder of Jews. 

In the 1960s, Vietnamese general Vo Nguyen Giáp advised Arafat to "…stop talking about annihilating Israel and instead turn your [Arafat's] terror war into a struggle for human rights." But the fact remains: Arafat, and his successors, continued to prioritize Israel’s destruction over Palestinian human rights. 

rootsmetals

[burningvelvet]

moby dick analysis on ahab & starbuck

thinking about how starbuck's father and brother died at sea (chap 26) from whaling and it's mentioned that his brother's limbs were torn apart and it's easily inferrable that he has post-grief PTSD/depression but as a poor nantucketer probably has no other way of earning a living for his wife and young son. so he has to cope with his job despite the traumatic, triggering nature of it. he copss by being the best at his job, by being extraordinarily cautious and careful in all tasks while not compromising his natural strength, and he's adamant at protecting everyone — even those, like ahab, who do not want it.

From the first description of Starbuck, chapter 26:

"Starbuck was no crusader after perils; in him courage was not a sentiment; but a thing simply useful to him, and always at hand upon all mortally practical occasions. Besides, he thought, perhaps, that in this business of whaling, courage was one of the great staple outfits of the ship, like her beef and her bread, and not to be foolishly wasted. Wherefore he had no fancy for lowering for whales after sun-down; nor for persisting in fighting a fish that too much persisted in fighting him. For, thought Starbuck, I am here in this critical ocean to kill whales for my living, and not to be killed by them for theirs; and that hundreds of men had been so killed Starbuck well knew. What doom was his own father’s? Where, in the bottomless deeps, could he find the torn limbs of his brother?

With memories like these in him, and, moreover, given to a certain superstitiousness, as has been said; the courage of this Starbuck which could, nevertheless, still flourish, must indeed have been extreme. But it was not in reasonable nature that a man so organized, and with such terrible experiences and remembrances as he had; it was not in nature that these things should fail in latently engendering an element in him, which, under suitable circumstances, would break out from its confinement, and burn all his courage up. And brave as he might be, it was that sort of bravery chiefly, visible in some intrepid men, which, while generally abiding firm in the conflict with seas, or winds, or whales, or any of the ordinary irrational horrors of the world, yet cannot withstand those more terrific, because more spiritual terrors, which sometimes menace you from the concentrating brow of an enraged and mighty man.

But were the coming narrative to reveal in any instance, the complete abasement of poor Starbuck's fortitude, scarce might I have the heart to write it; for it is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valour in the soul."

but then starbuck gets stuck as the second-in-command to captain ahab who already nearly died after losing a limb to a whale and also has a wife and young son on nantucket and also has PTSD/depression due to sea/whaling related grief and they have a connection and starbuck is the only person who ahab actually obeys. arguably he empathizes most via his relationship with pip, the only other person he really connects with, but for all his inability to trust or respect anyone, starbuck is the only one he remotely allows to contradict him or comes close to seeing as a worthy of his regard (chaps 109, 130).

but whereas we're told starbuck's trauma makes him more careful & reasonable (chap 26) ahab's trauma makes him more reckless & vengeful (chap 41). but they're both given to superstition because they've both been wracked by fear and tragedy. they both have common sentiments even though they also butt heads not unfrequently.

and we don't get to see starbucks reaction or opinions on ahab denying to help the captain of rachel — a father looking for his two missing sons lost at sea (chap 128) — but it's very interesting that starbuck's own father lost his two sons on the sea, and that starbuck and ahab both note that between the two of them they have two sons which they bond over.

the tragedy of how in chap 132 starbuck seeks to comfort a crying ahab but then has to walk away because ahab clearly won't listen to him — and then how in chap 135 it's starbuck who is crying before ahab and ahab toss starbuck away from him as he leaves him!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahab crying, chap 132:

"From beneath his slouched hat Ahab dropped a tear into the sea; nor did all the Pacific contain such wealth as that one wee drop. Starbuck saw the old man; saw him, how he heavily leaned over the side; and he seemed to hear in his own true heart the measureless sobbing that stole out of the centre of the serenity around. Careful not to touch him, or be noticed by him, he yet drew near to him, and stood there."

Starbuck walking away from Ahab when he realizes Ahab refuses to take responsibility for his actions and instead blames fate for his own destructive behavior (or, that Ahab is really being driven by fate, depending on your interpretation & personal beliefs, & whether you think his is a matter of self-fulfilling prophecy or real prophecy), chap 132:

"'What is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. [..] —Starbuck!'

But blanched to a corpse’s hue with despair, the Mate had stolen away."

Starbuck crying & pleading toward the very end, chap 135:

"Their hands met; their eyes fastened; Starbuck’s tears the glue.

“Oh, my captain, my captain!—noble heart—go not—go not!—see, it’s a brave man that weeps; how great the agony of the persuasion then!”

“Lower away!”—cried Ahab, tossing the mate’s arm from him. “Stand by the crew!”

In an instant the boat was pulling round close under the stern.

“The sharks! the sharks!” cried a voice from the low cabin-window there; “O master, my master, come back!”

But Ahab heard nothing; for his own voice was high-lifted then; and the boat leaped on."

From the first description of Starbuck, chapter 26:

"Looking into his eyes, you seemed to see there the yet lingering images of those thousand-fold perils he had calmly confronted through life. A staid, steadfast man, whose life for the most part was a telling pantomime of action, and not a tame chapter of sounds."

Starbuck's last words as he tries to save the ship which Ahab left him in charge of, chapter 135:

“The whale, the whale! Up helm, up helm! Oh, all ye sweet powers of air, now hug me close! Let not Starbuck die, if die he must, in a woman’s fainting fit. Up helm, I say—ye fools, the jaw! the jaw! Is this the end of all my bursting prayers? all my life-long fidelities? Oh, Ahab, Ahab, lo, thy work. Steady! helmsman, steady. Nay, nay! Up helm again! He turns to meet us! Oh, his unappeasable brow drives on towards one, whose duty tells him he cannot depart. My God, stand by me now!”

He instructs the men to be steady as he is defined by his own steadfastness, a synonym of loyalty; in other words he is bound by duty, but he nevertheless blames Ahab for making this end his duty. His feelings are strong and he's on the verge of "a woman's fainting fit" but he nevertheless instructs himself to be calm and stoic. He detaches from himself, referring to himself in the third-person, and is resolved to die "if he must." He hates his job, but he does it to the best of his abilities anyway. He hates what his life has become, but he lives it anyway.

And to come back to that one paragraph in chapter 26 wherein we have the first description of Starbuck:

"But were the coming narrative to reveal in any instance, the complete abasement of poor Starbuck's fortitude, scarce might I have the heart to write it; for it is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valour in the soul."

This seems to leave it ambiguous (but so intentional ambiguous that it admits to a certain level of probability) as to whether or not, as we learn from Starbucks own fears, he actually lost his calm in the end and died in "a woman's fainting fit." Aside from Fedallah and Ahab, the specifics of the sailors deaths aren't really alluded to. The dead crew mates are given a certain level of privacy and respect because Ishmael consciously protects them. To requote his words on Starbuck and show how they may apply to all of the Pequod's crew (but most especially Starbuck, one of the most stoic characters, who thus begged this description):

"But were the coming narrative to reveal in any instance, the complete abasement of [the men of the Pequod's collective] fortitude, scarce might I have the heart to write it; for it is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valour in the soul."

As an aside, Queequeg isn't given a lot of focus in the end. He isn't given a lot of focus in the middle either, because he and Ishmael sort of grew apart, but I think it's maybe telling of how Queequeg's death may have upset Ishmael too much to even mention it (same with Pip perhaps).

[aliceundrground]

Semi related to my posts earlier but kind of a tangent. This is messy but its something that's been eating at me and I don't really know how to move forward.

Yesterday was Transgender Day of Remembrance. There are many names we know and mourn, but there are many more that are never seen. Many names are missing because they could not be acknowledged as their true selves after, or before, their deaths.

The thing that's been bothering me is that the lists most groups will consult, these missing names include those lost to suicide. Known cases of trans people, often young people, are being left out of these lists. Their deaths are not considered part of "the losses we face due to anti-transgender bigotry and violence".

Every trans suicide is a murder.

Its not a coincidence that minorities have higher rates of suicide. Its the way we are treated, our quality of life, that most influences these statistics. I have seen news of at least one case, a trans man in Alberta, who committed suicide explicitly because of the anti-trans policies his province was set to enact.

Ive seen dozens of articles. I've seen a trans masc's instagram, where the most recent comments are from their friends. On a post where they were celebrating starting hrt, the most recent comment is mourning their loss, that they didn't live to complete their first year on T. I've looked at their posts, I've read their words, I've seen their smile. And they're gone.

Their name was Bekett Noble. They deserve to be remembered.

There's dozens of people each year who share thier experiences and go unnamed. The young man in Alberta, for example, was not named publicly in the article where his death was mentioned. Due to a family connection, I know of at least one instance of a murder of a trans man in western Canada that I have not seen any news of publicly at all. His body was found with his genitals mutilated.

There's many half formed things I could say about these lists when it comes to trans men and mascs specifically but I don't feel my thoughts are solidified enough and it's not what I want to focus on here.

I believe trans suicides should be part of these Remembrance lists. Its a disservice to our community that they aren't.

If you can, please use the site below. They have a database going back decades with a well implemented filtering system.

These are the known deaths of trans people in Canada since last year's TDoR. Each name links to a page of information about them and links to where the information was sourced.

As for many things, these lists are a community effort. If you see that a death you know of is missing from the list, please contact them with whatever information you have. The second entry, whose name is still unknown, was added after I contacted them and provided the article in which I'd learned of his death. Since then, the folks running the site have done additional research and added what they could to his info page, including an extensive statement from his aunt, whom he was close to.

This past September, The Trevor Project published a report:

From 2018 to 2022, 48 anti-transgender laws were enacted in the U.S. across 19 different state governments. The study examined the causal relationship between these laws and suicide risk over this five-year time period, using national survey data collected from more than 61,000 transgender and nonbinary youth. Results concluded that, during this time period, anti-transgender laws significantly increased incidents of past-year suicide attempts among transgender and nonbinary youth by as much as 72%.

[...] Across the full sample of transgender and nonbinary young people ages 13-24, an increase in suicide attempt rates of 38% to 44% was observed.

- The Trevor Project

Every trans suicide is a murder.

There will always be missing names on these lists. I don't believe that known instances of trans suicides should be excluded from them. They deserve to be remembered.

[girls--complex]

Do you have any advice on how someone should pray, individually or otherwise? I’ve been to Quaker meetings in the past but they make me so anxious for one reason or another. Should I just suck it up and keep trying?

Hai Anon, held U in the light today

Recurring anxiety during Contemplation is a pretty common experience furst of all, so ur not alone...

I would encourage you to find some spiritual guidance IRL. Either an actual meditation teacher or clergy or something or just a kindly elder to confide in. It's good to have a longitudinal conversation about this because different things will likely come up and different pointsin the journey. If you are very inhibited your nervous system needs social permission to access new consciousness. It's also good if they can get a multi sensory read on you. It's even better if they can consciously respond to your embodiment because fear lives in the body. Actually Buddhists tend to be really good at that if you're comfortable going there.

Compassionate and accessible resources can be found via the Center for Action and Contemplation (ecumenical, Franciscan theology) as well as Buddhist meditation teacher Pema Chodron ("getting unstuck")

My prayer life = clinging to remote fellowship with God constantly against being dragged into lifeless caenality. Remembrance of God's bottomless delight in creation. Openness 2 the channel... openness 2 myself in the world.. the defenseleness of incarnation. Youre always permeated or penetrated or saturated in this way. Discomfort doesn't always mean something is wrong. It *can* mean that something is wrong or it can mean that something is very right.

"Sucking it up," because there is a grit to holding, for instance and especially fear and not engaging in the usual shutdown or mythologies (fear is also very strongly impressed in my body), but more actually yielding, bending in the wind, untangling knots of resistance (impiety), letting the energy move thru U and pass. It is like passing a bladder stone or something. Actually it's crucifixion lol... c v c x v .... receptive and yielding grit, the toughness, actually the almightiness of divine Vulnerability

We have an animal instinct for how to allow physical pain through the body, by pacing, breath, shaking off, whatever, emotional pain functions similarly (arguably a class of physical pain). You may need help with this embodiment in some way? Even though a contemplative may sit still there is usually an intentional and structured embodied technique... as in zazen, they breathe and sit with intention at every step. But there is also pacing, dancing,intoning, quaking 🫨 tantra... and you can find a teacher in these things or discover them yourself. There's advantages and disadvantages to self direction.

Guidance to what to look for maybe or maybe not because I have so little information from you and so little of my own experience..........

best of luck friend