#this is legitimately the only way I can comprehend this ship

[sweetmapple]

Finally got around to this

I genuinely can’t imagine any other way this ship would even function

[genericpuff]

Just saw your response to someone asking about plot points you hate. Can I ask why you don't like Athena/Hestia? From what I remember (take this with a grain of salt because while I've read the whole comic it's more in a junk food, read and forget til next time kind of thing)

From what I remember it's not a huge plot point? Like its just kinda.. there? It doesn't really impact much of the story at large.

Also I agree with the hades/thanatos thing, that's kinda odd and it doesn't make hades any better or more sympathetic of a protagonist. If I remember right, doesn't he abandon thanatos or push him away?

I have issues with the Hestia x Athena plotline the same way I have issues with the Hera x Echo plotline. It all feels shoehorned in for the sake of seeming 'inclusive' towards gay relationships, but gets next to no actual development or screentime aside from the odd lip service meant to benefit Rachel.

Especially when Hestia and Athena were already embraced as LGBTQ+ icons to begin with and didn't need to be shipped together to make it possible. Rachel has a really hard time comprehending aroace identities and this is present even back in her Tumblr days-

If Hestia and Athena are still supposed to be at least ace in LO then we haven't seen any indication of that. So it just makes them look hypocritical as fuck for running the "virgins only club" that is TGOEM (and even going so far as to punish Persephone for being around Hades by confiscating his gift to her) and that unfortunately makes them look like really terrible people which isn't a great look for the only lesbian couple in the story (at least until Eros and Hera were established but whether or not they're an actual couple now or if that was just a one time kiss scene remains to be seen). Like even the reveal that they're together is Artemis figuring it out and then being pissed that she's the "only one following the rules", not them coming out about it on their own terms.

Also no, the Hestia x Athena plotline wasn't as big as the other plotlines, but it was one of the ones that felt so out of left field and forced when it was first established. Plus I'd just love for them to be aroace rep again, there are characters who are legitimate gay icons that got erased so that Rachel could retroactively shove it into other characters without any reasoning or relevance to the plot.

I honestly wouldn't have been so salty about the Hestia x Athena plotline if it were just written better (and if it didn't reek of aroace erasure) and that goes for a lot of the queer relationships in LO, because so many of them are only given the tiniest ounces of screentime, enough for Rachel to take credit for being "inclusive" but not enough for her to actually have a diverse cast. Morpheus is the most consistently present character we've gotten for LGBTQ+ rep and now even she's been fridged :/

Anyways, as for Hades and Thanatos, yeah, the retcon that Hades was a 'father figure' to Thanatos the whole time seems like it was purely written in to make Thanatos look like a hypocrite for having very reasonable concerns regarding the special treatment being given to Persephone at work. But then Rachel had to actually resolve that plotline so in S3 she had Hades approach Thanatos in search of his brother just for them to have a weak 'heart to heart' where Thanatos took the blame for being a 'handful' and Hades trauma dumped and never really took accountability for everything. The fact that we're supposed to believe they have a father-son dynamic really makes the first season gross to read because the whole time Hades is legitimately treating Thanatos like scum. It absolutely does NOT make Hades more likeable, even with the attempt to 'redeem' him which really just made him look like an even bigger asshole u.u

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I know shipping asks are annoying, but I am genuinely curious about your reaction, so... James dies. Lily survives. Harry survives. Remus comes to help his friend's widow with her child. Do they work romantically? (Side-note, I don't know if I'm the only one who feels this way, but these asks kind of do feel like a game where we're trying to figure out happy endings based on pre-set parameters ((your other answers)) and I for one enjoy it immensely.) Thanks for the blog!

You're totally spot on, that's exactly what your guys' asks feel like. Twilight's got it worse though, as they try to find the golden path of "Edward doesn't eat Bella", surprisingly difficult that.

But with that, onto your questions.

The Usual Caveats

First, I don't think Remus would come.

Yes, Lily is now on her own, but Remus' was James' friend. He and Lily were tied together through that and little more, now that James himself is dead, there's not much tying them together beyond a mutual grief that--I'm not sure Remus would want to share with her.

More, in this universe, Sirius is presumably not imprisoned as Lily is alive to vouch for him very loudly. I imagine he'd glue himself to Lily and Harry out of devotion to James' and his promise to be Godfather. There's no place for Remus in that house.

Especially as they thought Remus was a spy.

Just because Peter did betray them does not mean Remus himself was not a spy or was in the clear. There's no rule saying that Voldemort cannot have multiple moles, all it means was that he also got to Peter who they happened to have made secret keeper. Remus, as a werewolf, has no reason to side with the ministry other than that his good friends happen to be fighting for it.

After what happened, especially with Sirius hanging around, I can't imagine Remus would be trusted. Perhaps he'd be allowed around once in a while but it would be... tense, for lack of a better phrase.

But Alright, Let's Write Your Fanfic

In this universe we'll say that Sirius is also dead, he died in the muggle explosion Peter made. Perhaps Peter died as well or perhaps he was caught or perhaps he's on the run. He's likely a fugitive in this world as Lily shouts from the rooftops that Peter was the secret keeper and not Sirius.

Sirius gets a funeral with honors.

Remus now lives in a world much like canon for him: his closest friends are dead, with the werewolf incident now forever unresolved as Sirius is now dead, Peter betrayed Lily and James for no reason that Remus can comprehend, and Remus with his lycanthropy that always had him suspected is all that remains.

... I still think Remus would bail, he did in canon, after all. He's mired in grief, he's chronically ill and not only that dangerous, and there's very little he can do for Lily as he has no means of employment, has to watch himself once a month with a potion he can't afford, and she was not his friend.

In canon he wants very little to do with Harry Potter. Harry only finds out Remus' history with his parents by chance and later in the series Remus... never goes out of his way to interact with Harry. It was always Sirius who wanted far more engagement in Harry's life.

So, Remus out.

BUT IF HE STAYS ANYWAY

Alright, alright. Well, they'd have issues.

Remus has no means of employment in Britain. We don't see much of it but the idea I've always gotten from canon is that being a werewolf is like those yellow papers in Les Mis, it automatically denies him employment wherever he chooses to go. That he got the Defense position was solely because of Dumbledore and because Dumbledore lied about Remus' condition.

Remus was not supposed to have that job and afterwards we never see him with a legitimate job again.

He has no income.

Now, this is fine, Lily doesn't need it as James' did have money. She can survive for a while and if need be go work herself (though as a single mother, in the wizarding world that always struck me as some level of misogynistic, this will be very very very hard).

So... what's Remus doing to help?

Well, he can baby sit. And that works for... a bit, but Remus gets extremely ill every month. It's not just on the night of the full moon either, in canon it's noted that as the full moon approaches Remus will become increasingly ill.

He's not going to be in any state to take care of Harry.

And if he forgets his potion, which he has done in canon... He should not be around a baby/children then and he knows it. Remus knows very well that there are reasons he cannot integrate in society. Lycanthropy has ruined his life.

Basically, what I'm getting at is that he's dead weight, he knows it, Lily knows it, and he wasn't even friends with her and what he did through most of school was stand to the side as his friends tormented her best friend.

James was what held them together and now James is dead.

And the ghost of James will haunt their relationship, such that I imagine Remus will never make a move on her as that would be to betray him in death. Not to mention that Lupin having kids has him panicking in canon, as it should, and that while he did go for Tonks, I think romantic relationships to him are terrifying.

[commajade]

Oh wow, I'm a different korean anon but I'm so glad I'm not alone in my experiences.

I've been considering taking a step back in the last week from online spaces for kpop. Because I'm korean but wasn't raised there (well kind of, my family went back and forth), I have always loved kpop as like a bridge for me between myself and my culture and people.

But I'm a really big Twice fangirl (what can I say) and seeing the overwhelming fandom response to Sana this past seven days has made me feel really unwelcome in the space, erased, harmed.

Essentially, after her behavior with Wendy, the split between K-once and I-once was very severe. Queer K-once was so fine about the interview and knew she was being legitimately flirtatious because, lets be real, the woman has been signalling that for a long time. Most of us think she's not straight and accept her and we joke about it amongst ourselves. She clearly had a crush and it was really sweet. But then I flicked over to I-once twitter and it was a hot bed of orientalism and homophobia.

There were a lot of comments like "there will only be one or two sapphics in all of kpop, don't get it twisted" (there's like 2000/3000 idols...), and "lesbians are always butch and Sana is femme, she's a straight woman" and "korean lesbians are real but they are very oppressed so they never be themselves in public so this is all fake". The queerbaiting accusations have followed that woman for a long time when IMO its very obvious that her in group ships are normal kpop bait like anyone else (which, is what it is), but her behavior external from that which is also queer is different. But of course white women all over twitter were saying "she's baiting me, she's baiting you, you're all stupid if you think an asian is into other women" just because the woman had a blatant crush on another woman and struggled to not show it.

It's been a hard week. I am very similar to Sana in that I'm a like high femme so I get erased all of the time because of my presentation AND my race. At the start I tried to weigh in and school people on making assumptions about korean culture and queer korean culture but it just never gets anywhere.

It feels to me like a lot of Westerners have gotten into kpop in the last couple of years after Dynamite. And a lot of them are perfectly ok with consuming the actual queerbait, like oh here's two of the most popular men in this group kissing each other, but if an idol acts queer outside of those confines, it has to be policed away through this myriad of arguments around race. I've noticed too that the way these people view sapphic women in particular is very problematic, in that if an idol skews remotely masc, they are more willing to accept her queerness as sincere than if she is femme, which is a huge stereotype. That doesn't mean they are willing to accept it though. I've seen these people say, even after Shutdown, that Moonbyul is baiting or you can't call her a sapphic woman because its problematic lol.

Speaking to Wendy, who is problematic I don't disagree with anyone there, but she basically soft came out (as bisexual) not long ago on her show. And I saw so many Western queer women explain it away as her "baiting" because she has a "big lesbian audience in korea", so therefore nothing she can say can be sincere to her. I even saw people trying to explain it away by saying it was a mistranslation (it was not, I speak korean lmao). There's this underlying conniving quality written into everything east asians do in the minds of racists, and its extrapolated here. It's like these Western women can't comprehend that maybe Wendy has a lot of lesbian fans in korea because of something that's been perceived about her, and not because she's manipulative. I also saw Western women say things like "well sure, what she said is bisexual but I don't think its real until she dates a woman" which is clear biphobia but they don't think it is when applied to an Asian woman. It's like these people can grasp that Wendy can't confirmed date a woman in public, but they require her to in order for her statements to have meaning. They know she can't completely come out, but at the same time if she doesn't, nothing else she says matters.

Anyway I'm sorry for your inbox being full of long rants now, but that anon's story really hit home with me. Sana for me is an idol who has given me a lot of validation and, having met her more than once, I know she's a sincere woman who isn't an evil queerbaiting whatever but a kind woman who is very aware of queerness and queer people expressing herself, and seeing primarily white colonizers from the US (which is a whole dynamic here in and of itself) dismiss queer women or the idea of them in east asia is almost traumatic.

honestly kpop is such a nice connection to skorean life and experience because it's rly the ambient music of life here like u go to the market and it's just playing, everyone hears it even if they aren't into it it's just the background noise of living here.

sorry u had to read all that, it's literally just wrong. and it's so many ppl being wrong at once it's rly frustrating and is actually political violence. intl kpop fans are such a hotbed of political violence because when it's a colonized ppl ur talking about there's so much projection and the stuff they say reflects their values so much more than it describes the people they're talking about.

side note tho femme is a historically based sexual and social role not a presentation label on a scale! high femme does not mean dresses more feminine it has a specific sexual meaning in butch femme communities and history!

[sohin-ace]

Jotaro - Kakyoin's Notebook

I'm sorry, I clickbaited y'all. The pairing in this story is not official.

...unless?

As you were all about to check out of the hotel, You decided to go back to everyone's respective rooms to make sure none of you forgot anything.

The crusaders were downstairs and you came up, checking every room. Everything seemed okay, you only needed to check Kakyoin and Jotaro's room last and then go back down.

You entered their room and looked everywhere. You stumbled onto a little notebook that was halfway underneath one of the pillows right as you were about to leave.

"Huh? Oops, I nearly didn't see that!" You bent down and took the notebook in your hands. It was just about pocket-sized. "Oh I do remember Jotaro having something like that, better get it back to him!"

Out of fateful clumsiness, the notebook slipped out of your hands and fell on the ground, opening on a random page. You crouched to pick it up, but then, your gaze fell upon what was on the page.

Your breath hitched in speechless confusion at what you saw, written at the top, in big font.

'Y/NxJotaro'

Why was your name and Jotaro's on that page? Was that some kind of memo? You knew Jotaro had the habit of taking notes to remember things, but why was your name in there?

Your curiosity got the best of you and you continued to look down the page, swiping through the others. You knew it was terribly wrong and you were invading his privacy but you were just so lost. It concerned you, there was your name on it.

" 'One-shot Draft... WIP', What does that even mean? J-... Jotaro did this?" You mumbled out loud, face scrunching up in confusion and slight fear as you looked through words you couldn't understand.

" 'Soulmate AU', 'Drabble', 'NSFW'? Are those some kind of codes?"

Pages long of stories decorated the sheets, so many you couldn't read everything. There were even some sketches and drawings that you didn't have the heart to look at. You managed to read some pieces of stories that left you even more confused. You read to yourself.

' "W-wait!" Y/N said as tears prickled in her eyes, her face flushed with innocent shyness. "I-It's my first time..."

"Don't worry," Jotaro spoke, hovering above her, his voice deep and soothing. "I'll be gentle." '

...What? You don't remember ever saying anything of the sort? You couldn't comprehend what you were reading. Whatever was written in there never happened and was fictional or somesuch to you.

When it was just too much for you to handle, you closed the notebook, your face still strained with mixed feelings.

Only then did you notice that there was a cherry sticker on the back of the notebook. After looking at the first page, you saw the name of the owner.

Noriaki Kakyoin.

"K-kakyo-... Oh my gosh..."

You were shocked, but somehow relieved. It made more sense than the author being Jotaro, but it still blew you away, the fact that Kakyoin would write such things on your and Jotaro's behalf.

Suddenly, Polnareff walked by and noticed you through the open door. You flinched when he called out to you and entered the room.

"Ah there you are Y/N! We started to worry!" He approached you and he noticed what you were holding. "Oh that's Kakyoin's notebook! He can't live without it, good thing you found it! Okay, let's go now, the others are waiting. Allez, on y va!"

He guided you out of the room and you followed, clutching the notebook. Polnareff didn't have to know the weird things written on it about you and Jotaro. You had to discover what it all meant.

"That's bullshit. You don't make any sense, Y/N." Jotaro scoffed at you, a few hours after the little hotel room occurence.

"I swear on my future husband's life! I'll prove it to you, look." You turned around and looked for your red haired friend. "Kakyoin! Can I doodle something on your notebook please~?"

"Huh?" He looked at you questioningly. "Why all of a sudden?"

"Well, Mr. Joestar will take a while to come back, so might as well kill some time. I'll write a cute message for you to read on the last train home!"

The red head smiled at your goofiness and thought 'why not?'. He took out his notebook along with a pen, but instead of giving it to you, he opened it on a specific empty page.

"Here," He handed you the items. "Only draw on this page. Don't draw on the other pages."

You nodded. "Got it! Thank you Kakyoin~!"

You smiled innocently and as soon as the male turned his back to you, your expression turned dark and you instantly looked for Jotaro who was sitting nearby.

"Jojo! Here, I have it, let's do this!" You stood in front of him with the notebook in your hands and he sighed.

"Yare yare daze, I'm not betraying his trust because of your shadiness."

"It's not like that! There's-..." You cut yourself off to look behind you and check if Kakyoin was looking.

You leaned down, inching towards Jotaro's face and whispered quietly. "There are things about us in here. Last time I saw it on accident, but if Kakyoin writes stuff about us, it's our legitimate right to know!"

"Says who? Are you a lawyer or something?"

"Jojo please!!" You pleaded while gripping on the collar of his gakuran, moving the chains on it and making them clang loudly.

The sudden noise alerted the cherry-haired fellow who turned his head to look at you both from afar. His eyes instantly widened and sparkled with vicious yet happy stars.

He loved to see his two best friends interract and, he knew damn well he took half of your interractions out of context, but that's what made them so good. His imagination started running wild at the scene before him.

The way you desperately held onto Jotaro, your faces, so close to each other, your begging eyes looking at him, yearning for his lips, waiting for one thing only.

'Jojo, please!' Kakyoin muttered what he imagined you would say. 'Say yes... I've been dying to kiss you!'

Back to you two, Jotaro clicked his tongue and looked away, closing his eyes in frustration. He hated the fact that he just couldn't refuse you anything.

"Tch! You're so fucking annoying. Fine, I get it, give it to me." Jotaro grumbled and moved your hands away from him, snatching the notebook from your hand.

'Tch! You know I can't resist you. Fine, don't beg for me to stop when I start messing you up.' Kakyoin continued, imitating his friend's deep voice under his breath and being surprisingly in character, for the inappropriate things he was imagining.

Kakyoin tensed up with anticipation when Jotaro suddenly grabbed your wrists, his big strong hands overpowering your fragile ones easily. You may have made the first move, but he would take the lead.

If it wasn't for the public surrounding you, Kakyoin was sure his friend would have gotten up and slammed you against the wall, pinning your hands at your side while you whimpered his name cutely. But he had to hold back, at least for now, or so Kakyoin daydreamed.

"Hey Kakyoin, what're you looking at? Come here for a bit!"

Before Kakyoin could even see the rest of the scene, which happened to be the most interesting part, he was interrupted by Polnareff who was in dire need for help with a nearby vending machine that seemed to have eaten his money.

Kakyoin sighed a bit annoyed, but joined his French comrade, not even glancing back at you. He'd have to remember to write everything down as soon as you gave him back his notebook.

Kakyoin Noriaki was an average boy that loved action and adventures, but he secretely wasn't immune to a good sweet romance story.

When you joined the crusaders, your interactions with Jotaro seemed as platonic as with the rest of the men. But for some reason, the boy started to feel some kind of connection between you two.

He didn't know when or how it started, but he felt like something was different at a certain point.

Why was it so cute when, one day, you removed Jotaro's hat to fix the pins that were moved out of place after a fight, and he let you put it back on him, even though he never lets anybody touch it?

Or maybe it was that other time in a restaurant where, after Jotaro eyed your dessert for a while, you exchanged your cakes to let him have a taste, stealing a bite from his own in the process.

Or that day when you struggled put your earrings back on and he had to help you out, only to struggle even more, his fingers too big and clumsy to be accurate. He had to call out Star Platinum to do it while he held your hair out of the way.

Even the simplest of gestures seemed romantic and adorable to him. He was sure something was going on between you two, and yet, you were too dense to realize it. All of this fueled his inner fanboy and it prevented him from sleeping at night.

He shipped you two so goddamn much.

He was guilty, but he loved every single bit of it. Of course, no one could know. If someone knew, especially you two, that'd be the end of him.

You were all waiting for the next train to arrive, which was a big 40 minutes. Joseph and Abdul went to buy something to snack on while you waited and Polnareff went to the restroom.

Kakyoin was sitting next to you, his back resting against the wall and his eyes were closed. As you thought he had fallen asleep, you took this moment to turn the other way to talk to your nonchalant friend.

"You see?" You spoke softly, careful to not wake Kakyoin up. "I told you there were stuff about us in that notebook!"

"Shut up, there were only messages on that page, I'm sure the others were the same." He grumbled with the same low intensity as you. "And you know damn well he can be a weirdo sometimes."

"But still, I want to understand... And also, what does 'smut' even mean?"

He pretended to be asleep, but his mind was racing.

Kakyoin who wasn't quite sleeping and very much listening to whatever he could hear through the background noise of the station, flinched and started blushing.

Just, when and where did you heard that term?

" 'Smut'?" Jotaro looked at you with confused furrowed eyebrows. "Hell if I know. You speak better english than I do, shouldn't you know?"

"Well I..."

Before the conversation could go down even further, Kakyoin feigned waking up and got up from his slouched position.

You noticed and turned around, staring at him, scared that he would ask what you were talking about, as you didn't want to confront him about the weird things you saw in his notes. If he ever knew, he would finish you. But something worse happened.

Jotaro nudged you and tilted his head towards Kakyoin, but you quite didn't get the message.

"Oi Kakyoin, do you know what 'smut' means? You know a lot of languages, right?" Jotaro asked like it was nothing and you gasped, secretly wanting to slap Jotaro for his indiscretion.

Kakyoin looked over at him, unfazed as ever. "Smut? Hmmm I guess I can look it up later. Where did you hear that?"

Jotaro innocently signed your death warrant. "Y/N just told me."

"JOTARO!!!" You shot up from your seat and stared at him in pure disbelief and betrayal. "OH MY- ARE YOU SERIOUS?! YOU TRAITOR!!!"

"Oh really?" Kakyoin teased, sending you a knowing look. "What's going on with you two? Are you keeping secrets from me?"

You blushed and flinched as Kakyoin's amethyst eyes stared through your soul. Before Jotaro could say anything else, you slapped a hand over his big mouth and Kakyoin's eye glinted.

"I-I mean... No! Wait. There's something I need to tell Jojo, excuse us for a sec."

You then leaned in and cupped Jotaro's ear as you whispered. Kakyoin looked at you in pure satisfaction, trying his best to not start smiling and giggling like a goofy schoolgirl.

Oh no, he didn't need to hear the sweet nothings you were deliciously breathing on Jotaro's now tingling skin. Imagining it was more than enough.

You leaned back and softly spoke to him. "Don't ruin this for us. I'm trusting you."

"Yare Yare daze. You put me into this in the first place. Don't complain."

Kakyoin's eyes widened and he turned his head around, trying to hide his expression and pretended he totally didn't hear that. Oh how sweet the lack of context was for his little fanboy mind. He wouldn't ask too many questions since you were offering him such a good show.

On the train, you waited until Kakyoin was completely out and asleep to subdue his notebook. That would make a good reading on the 4 hours long travel.

"Yes that's it! Right on the left pocket, yeah that one!"

You guided Jotaro who was hiding not too far from Kakyoin's seat as your delinquent friend used Star Platinum to steal your cherry loving friend's notebook.

When he finally had it, Star Platinum brought it back and both you and Jotaro proceeded to read through the many drafts and stories about you two.

Getting ready for one hell of a joy ride.

Bonus:

Kakyoin stretched and took a deep breath of fresh air as he got off the train.

"Aah~! I slept like a log. Huh? What's wrong, why are you two so red? Did you get motion sick, maybe?"

Kakyoin commented upon seeing your and Jotaro's flushed face as you got off. Your shoulders were slumped in shame and Jotaro was hiding behind his hat like a wanted criminal.

"Uh yeah... Here Kakyoin, you dropped this..." you groaned and handed him his notebook.

He thanked you and took his due. When he was gone, you glanced at Jotaro and you both shared intense empathy and regret.

Don't steal Kakyoin's notebook.

Oh man, wouldn't it be fun and also a bit sad if after Dio was defeated, Y/N and Jotaro became a couple?

You walked by the river, holding hands with Jotaro after a long week of finals. You suddenly stopped in your tracks and looked at the water reflecting the orange sunset.

Jotaro looked at you confused, but followed your gaze, until both of you laid eyes on a young girl painting the scenery on a canvas.

"You know... He would have loved this..." You started softly, a melancholic look cast on the girl as her Stand posed on the grass like a model, thinking herself only could see it. "To see us together, I mean..."

Jotaro inspected the girl, her red curls and green uniform moving messily in the wind. "Did he ever write something about us watching him paint?"

You chuckled sadly. "Why didn't he think of that? His stories were great, but he was in none of them..."

Jotaro noticed you biting your lip as your voice wavered slightly and he squeezed your hand in reassurance. You laid your head on his arm and he responded by bringing you closer to him.

"But now he is."

OKAY AUTHOR OUT

[chibi-lioness]

Rereading Remarried Empress and having a conniption

Okay, so. On the topic of Remarried Empress, I have some things to say. Probably cause I just saw it's on webtoon now and I had to reread it and my blood pressure is sky freaking high.

This will probably get me tons of hate (if anyone actually sees this, which I doubt) but I honestly do not hate Rashta, as much as I hate Sovieshu. I still hate Rastha, don't get me wrong. But Sovieshu just boils my piss.

I have compiled only SOME of the reasons WHY, cause if I wrote them all down I'd have to be here for 3 years and I'd spoil the novel (what I could find translated anyway)

MILD SPOILERS AHEAD (I guess? I don't say anything explicit and I don’t think what I do say actually counts as spoilers, but be warned)

Reason #1 Rashta has been a slave all her life. Up till now anyway. Do I hate her? Yes. Does she do shady shit? Yes. Is she a manipulative bitch I want to see burned at the stake by an angry mob of empire citizens? Yes. Still, you cannot deny her life cannot have been easy. She has been seen as an object for most of her life and the first man she loved (I think the first?) betrayed her. And then she found Sovieshu. And he is the motherfucking emperor. And he is wrapped around her little finger in a matter of seconds. You can't tell me you would not milk him for all the luxuries and riches he could give you if you were in her place. Rashta is trying to survive. Yes, she does not care who she hurts in the process, but you can't besmirch her for her reasoning. Her manner of attaining survival is a different matter. Like I said, burn bitch, burn.

Reason #2 Rashta was not the one with a husband. Sovieshu though, the motherfucker, was very much married. And I do not care if it's normal for the emperor to have a side piece, he has seen what having a mistress can do to an empress firsthand.

Reason #3 The motherfucker thinks he's hot shit and tries to boss Navier. He thinks Navier should just pipe down and do as he wishes, but bitch, she is the one keeping this fucking empire afloat and if she leaves (when, let's be honest, you have all read chapter 1 and probably more) the ship will capsize faster than your ass can blink.

Reason #4 This bitch has THE GALL to be jealous. He gives Navier shit when she's only TALKING with other men. YOUR ASS IN BALLS DEEP IN YOUR SIDEHOE BUT THE EMPRESS CAN'T HAVE A DAMN CONVERSATION? I'd like to point out that he gives her shit for talking with a man who is a DIPLOMAT and at the empire for BUSINESS. Also, he tried to get close to mah gurl after all the bullcrap he pulled? And he thinks it’s his right? Someone hold me down, cause I've got a cast iron skillet and I am not afraid to use it.

Reason #5 All the SHIT he will pull in the future. Those up to date with the novel know what I mean. I can't say anything, but you guys think he is shitty right now? Ohohohoho. No. This bitch is going to get WAY worse. He hurts Navier, deliberately. Not physically - thank fuck cause I'd have had a stroke - but he still hurts her. Badly. AND WE DON'T LIKE SHITS WHO HURT THIS WONDERFUL WOMAN IN THIS HOUSE, NO SIR WE DO NOT. Why don’t you do as all a favor, Sovieshu dear, and tie a rock around your neck and jump in the Mariana trench?

Anyway, I can't say much else cause I will actually spoil something and that should be avoided. Just know that shit will get bad. But payback? Oh, it will be oh so sweet. You can't even begin to comprehend just HOW sweet it will be. I legitimately cackled and jumped around the room for 10 minutes.

@1-800-webtoon (tagging you cause I know you read this and we’ve talked about this before)

[vic-chaos]

@charliecartters​

it's really surreal how Cartters has a gigantic amount of Canon moments and ignored because of a couple that only exist in fanfics and fan arts, there's no explanation.

LITERALLYYYY......... the way that cartters have so much canon basis, like to the point where its honestly unreal, yet are such a rare ship legitimately baffles me??? Like I absolutely cannot comprehend it... I know why (and the fact that that why is like 90% fatphobia lmfao) but it doesn’t make it any less completely insane to me??

Guys can you even imagine if another two characters had even a fraction, even just a SINGLE canon scene that they have (literally just - the cheek kiss alone) there would be like a thousand fics written about them overnight. Yet cartters can have such a ridiculously enormous amount of canon material and get completely ignored, while ships based on like a single background frame or straight up nothing can generate like 5 times more fan content? Not referring to bunny here actually, I don’t wanna name ships but there’s a lot of them that fit this general profile sjdfhbsdf

I’m at the point where I think cartters could straight up kiss on the mouth on the show and people would still ignore it 😭

Also, it’s not just carrters but Cartman in general. Both in the sense that he’s the reason all ships involving him (apart from kyman) are so rare, but just in the same way that most of fandom completely ignores all of the canon basis for cartters, people completely ignore how Cartman exhibits more gay behaviour and hints of having crushes on/attraction to other boys than ANY of the other mains (obviously apart from creek who are canon boyfriends sdksd) and of every gay moment in the show like 90% of them caused by him lmao? Like we have a whole fandom based around creating gay pairings for these characters but you’re gonna ignore the most gay character of all???? The show’s main character as well??

A while back my friend and I were looking at the Ao3 stats for just him and it was so desolate too. Kyman is the only Cartman ship to make even the top 10 most popular ships (I must stress again that he is basically the show’s main character) every other Cartman ship is a rarepair with less than 200 fics. Even when you filter by fics that include him as a character and display top pairings, only two of them even include him at all??

Not to sound crazy but I feel like this every time I start ranting about this jdfjsdfbsbdhsdsd

[cruelfeline]

I’ve been trying to figure out exactly why Catradora’s development doesn’t quite do it for me. It’s taken me a while, but I think I sort of know. At least enough to try to put my emotions to post.

It doesn’t have to do with a lack of “deserving” on Catra’s part, or a lack of punitive repercussions for transgressions committed; anyone who’s spent more than a few minutes on this blog knows that I don’t hold with concepts like that.

It’s more... a matter of understanding.

I think I can explain it best by calling back to S5E6, when Adora is frustrated that Catra hasn’t changed at all because she is refusing to cooperate and interact with the rest of the team. And while this situation is used to sort of demonstrate that Adora isn’t “letting Catra get away with bad behavior” anymore, I interpret it differently. I interpret it as proof of the girls’ continued lack of understanding of one another, and I think that that’s what weakens Catradora for me.

In that scene, Catra isn’t trying to manipulate anyone, or shirk responsibility, or be obnoxious. She is legitimately afraid for her life, traumatized from her time on Prime’s ship and having no clear idea of what is in store for her. She’s employing aggression in self-defense. Now, it’s not a good thing, but it’s also not something that should garner an aggressive, accusatory response, because meeting fear with aggression rarely results in anything productive.

Adora does not understand this. Just as she does not understand why Catra did not leave the Horde with her, all the way back in season one.

On her part, Catra does not understand why Adora could not stay, or what she has been through in the last few years.

Neither girl truly comprehends what the other is feeling, or why she is acting the way she is, and... well, that’s the conflict, isn’t it? That’s why they have their falling out in season one, and that’s why they remain in conflict throughout the show. And that’s all well and good, but by the time the show finale rolls around, I just can’t see that they’ve actually sat down and taken the time to understand one another.

I know that Stevenson states and Catra and Adora understand one another better than anyone (at least, I remember that being said, I think?), but it’s something I have a hard time accepting because I just don’t see it in the canon.

So much of the conflict between the two girls stems from Adora not correctly identifying Catra’s trauma as the root of her behavior, and from Catra not seeing the pressure and different sort of trauma Adora suffers from. They simply do not comprehend why the other is acting the way she is, and to my eye, they never really fix this. They just sort of... sweep it under the rug. They brute-force it, entering a relationship and proclaiming love without ever seeming to really address why they fell apart in the first place.

Contrast this with a relationship like Entrapdak: Hordak and Entrapta understand one another, and when they do not understand (such as when Entrapta finds Hordak removing his armor and witnesses him collapse), they ask questions and offer one another explanations. Entrapta doesn’t get angry or upset when Hordak tries to threaten her out of his sanctum, or pushes her away after his syncopal episode; rather, she strives to understand what’s wrong with him, what’s happening to him, why he’s doing what he’s doing. She asks him in a non-accusatory fashion: spirited and firm, but not angry. And he tells her.

This results in a much healthier relationship: neither thinks poorly of the other’s behavior, even when that behavior is perhaps not-the-best (such as when Hordak snaps at Entrapta after suffering a glitch in front of Adora), because the roots of the behavior are understood (shame, pain, insecurity due to physical disability). Even if the specific details aren’t known, like Entrapta not knowing all the nuances of Prime, the general understanding is there and allows these characters to engage in a respectful, loving relationship. 

Another great example of this is how Entrapta treats Hordak while he’s with Prime in season five: she understands why he’s there, and she doesn’t hold it against him. She doesn’t demand that he “do the right thing” and leave. She simply offers her reliable affection and waits for him to work things out for himself. And that ultimately succeeds, because it fosters an environment of trust and encouragement.

The only time they falter, really, is when Catra nearly kills Entrapta, lies to Hordak, and leaves the two of them without a way to contact one another and repair the rift with communication. But that’s not their fault, is it? And aside from that, they’re consistently on the same page. 

With Catradora, this is not the case. No mutual understanding appears to happen. There’s no arc or scene or anything where these two sit down and reach any sort of real epiphany regarding everything that’s happened between them. Instead, we get moments like Adora calling out a frightened, traumatized Catra on the ship in S5E6, or Catra failing to see the pain of Adora’s martyr complex and running away instead of offering compassion in S5E11. And we finally get Catra and Adora proclaiming their love for one another, without any explanation of how that love could have always existed when they were hurting one another so badly for years.

These moments do not make me believe, as Stevenson says, that these characters know one another best of all. They make me believe that Catra and Adora still don’t understand what’s happened between them, and it takes away from my enjoyment of Catradora. I don’t hate it, necessarily, but I’d enjoy it so much more if I felt that these characters were really helping one another, rather than sweeping misunderstandings under the rug and potentially hurtling towards another painful falling out.

[mihrunnisasultans]

Not the spanish princess making me, an Irish history nerd who dislikes henry Viii, pity henry viii 👁️👄👁️

Frost can always do the unbelievable, right? Like I’m sure that in that time period Henry still cared about his appearance to create positive image on the ladies and whole kingdom, not that of a dishevelled lunatic that is incapable of doing anything than having sex and throwing fits actually.

However, I don’t feel sorry (and I can bet neither you Anon) when he keeps crying and complaining how CoA the wanton whore cast him in Hell and made him a sinner. Frost legit made him believe in what he said because he’d lost his mind and I’m here sitting like what does she want to achieve by that? Maybe not to make him sympathetic, but IDK preserve her “grand love story” - Henry loved Catherine, but then he lost his mind after Francis beat him up & I suppose also Wolsey made use of poor Henry for his schemes (replace beating up with joust and Wolsey with Cromwell and we get a too-well-known narrative spread in some circles. Henry was okay until he got hit in the head and targeted Anne).

EF did not even make him hot and made him absolutely unshippable and yet some people still ship Anne x Henry in TSP when we see him clearly abusing his wife both physically and mentally at the same time? And what if she lied, Henry lied too about having slept with Juana, and CoA was actually informed by her father about this and warned about marrying this man based on that. Catherine simply decided that Juana was lying on purpose to destroy her life. It’s weird how this lie was not mentioned again, of course not by Henry because he’s a self-righteous hypocrite, but by CoA herself, or reminded in any flashback? And NGL even this Anne does not look happy to me to be told by her Dad to court this pig, she has to smile and laugh in front of him, but I don’t see her happy at the prospect at all... There is this idea here that Thomas Boleyn is doing everything to keep his family safe precisely because he knows about Henry’s “humours” and it’s not only ambition, but also fear that makes them want to be in the king’s favour. Same with Maggie. He is so visibly crazy everyone just ass kisses him out of fear. It’s... actually really sad? Like I can’t comprehend how people can ship it, especially in TSP, sorry. 

Despite Frost’s boyfriend’s comments how “witch” Anne destroyed CoA’s happiness with Henry, there was nothing of this in the show because it was clear all the marital mess had nothing to do with Anne. He turned vile before  becoming interested in Anne and yet people still want this gross man, who treats his wife so abominably, for their fave??? I feel sorry for her because she clearly feels obligated to please this asshole for her family’s sake, and if anything we should have all prayed CoA actually killed him in this crazy show when she got the chance and did herself and Anne a favour lol.

CoA was also Henry VIII’s victim and some people (who mostly care about their ship, not fans of AB in general) gloss over the fact that this man dragged through the mud a woman who was a good queen and wife for so many years, conspired behind her back with Great Matter, made a huge drama around her virginity, divulged private information about her and his brother’s private (intimate) lives, humiliated her multiple times, spread rumours about her being “diseased” and being of doubtful reputation etc. etc. and only wake up when he begins to use similar tactics to the other half of their ship (and yes it ended differenly simply because he could not just execute a woman with such powerful connections in Europe). But he got hit in the head and evil Cromwell appeared, I forgot. Poor Henry truly believed in his accusations against Anne and suffered until the end of his days  😭 😭 😭.

IDK some people behave like he just came and politely asked her for a divorce so that he might sire a son with another woman and she simply refused him out of sheer spite because she didn’t want him happy with another. And I won’t even mention people who apparently believe falling out of love with your spouse was enough for divorce in 16th century and I’ve seen takes based on that as well.

And sorry, but I do believe he was well aware of CoA’s virginity or lack thereof when they married and it simply never bothered him until he decided to use this to make himself 100% right and the wronged party in divorce proceedings. He was historically sly enough to do so, unlike his show counterpart. The dispensation definitely covered for such possibility and the English were the party that wanted to have that assurance:

Both sides agreed that a papal dispensation was needed. The couple had become, at least in theory, related in the first degree of affinity when Catherine married Arthur. The issue of Catherine’s sex life raised its head again for, if she had stayed a virgin, there was no real affinity. The marriage treaty  explicitly states that a dispensation was required because ‘her marriage to Prince Arthur was solemnised according to the rites of the Catholic Church and afterwards consummated’. Two months later, however, Ferdinand was telling his ambassador at the Vatican, who had orders to seek the dispensation, that it was all a lie. ‘The truth is that the marriage was not consummated and that the princess our daughter remained as whole as she was before she married,’ he wrote. ‘Even though this is true and known to be so where she is, the mad English ... [believe] that the dispensation should say that the marriage was consummated.’ This, he explained with startling prescience, was ‘in order to get rid of any future doubt over the [rights of] succession of the children that, God willing, will be born of this new matrimony’. The English, he meant, wanted the pope to state clearly he had taken into account the idea of consummation with Arthur when giving Catherine a dispensation to marry and have legitimate children with Henry. Popes in the sixteenth century were, however, smooth political operators. Julius II knew how to hedge his bets. The dispensation he eventually sent to England stated that the marriage had ‘perhaps’ been consummated. That single word meant the matter would be argued over for centuries.

Taken from: Giles Tremlett, Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen 

Moreover Isabella of Castile asked to make the case even clearer:

Henry and his council, meanwhile, became increasingly obsessed by the brief – a copy of which had already been presented in Rome. Henry’s representative there, Gregorio Casale, confirmed that it seemed to close any loopholes left by the original bull. It widened the reasons Julius gave for allowing her to marry Henry, adding to the primary cause of fostering peace the words ‘certain other reasons’. As these last reasons were not explicit, they were impossible to argue against – even if, confusingly, the document also stated that she and Arthur had consummated their marriage.

Taken from: Giles Tremlett, Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen

Even if we assume Henry wanted to contest the validity of actual papal dispensation & papal authority and just stick to Scripture literally:

In both cases, after all, ‘carnal knowledge’ existed. Henry was also worried. In this respect extramarital sex was, indeed, legally considered as important as marriage itself. It meant that Anne was related to Henry ‘by affinity’. Henry’s ambassadors in Rome, then, were given a double task. Not only did he want his and Catherine’s marriage annulled, he also needed to clear the way for her rival. That would require a papal dispensation allowing him to marry Anne, despite his previous sexual relationship with her sister. The dispensation, it was suggested, should allow him to marry a woman who might ‘be related ... in the first degree of affinity, arising from whatever licit or illicit intercourse’. The double standard was remarkable. On the one hand the pope was being told it had been wrong for Catherine to win a dispensation to marry her former husband’s brother. On the other hand, he was being asked to write a dispensation for Henry to marry his former lover’s sister.

Taken from: Giles Tremlett, Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen

[phoenixkaptain]

I’ve never understood shipping things in hopes they’ll become canon. And I do mean literally, I do not understand. My brain doesn’t comprehend it. I physically and mentally am exhausted with trying to figure out why people do that. Why do you want your ship to become canon? Why isn’t the cute fanart and cute fanfics and cute videos enough???

Why does the creator have to say it’s real??? The day I base my understanding of any materjal on the material’s creator is the day I throw myself off a cliff, why the fuck should I care what that dick thinks????? Yes, they created something I like. So what? I should let them influence what I find romantic??? Fat fucking chance. I follow death of the author through to the bitter fucking end, the author doesn’t even exist in my mind.

Intent??? Why the fuck would I care about intent???? I, myself, intend to do the opposite, actually, and if an author says “you’re supposed to take this this way” I am going to go out of my way to find evidence that it actually can be interpreted in the opposite way and I will never tell the author, but I’ll know, in my head, that I interpreted their work in a way they’d find disgusting and I feel sadistic pleasure at their pain. I will satisfaction that the author would spit in my face, should we ever meet in person. I am fucking delighted that the author would rather see me die a long, painful death than discuss my point of view on their work.

You know why???? Because they don’t know my point of view on their work!!! They don’t know if I like it, hate it, think it’s so-so, think it’s the rebirth of Jesus F Christ, or anything. I don’t want the author to know if I liked it. I don’t want them to know I exist, outside of a number that says someone consumed the media they created. I do not want to be perceived by the creator of something I consumed. I want to be invisible to them, just as they are to me.

I cannot, for the life of me, understand why some people stalk musicians or threaten directors or talk with artists. I don’t even understand going up to an actor to meet them in a meet-and-greet. I can’t understand where the courage or whatever it takes to stand up and ask a question at a panel. I don’t comprehend these things. My mind can’t figure out the motives, I am not even exaggerating, I don’t know what these people who do these things think and the people who do these things scare me.

This may sound like a post where I’m making fun of crazy fans, but it unfortunately is a cry for help, begging someone to please explain why people like to shove their ships or headcanons at the creator in hopes they become canon. I legitimately don’t understand, I could spend all day racking my brain for theories and it would only end in one, that theory being “maybe they are weird????” What do these people think? How do these people think? Are they human, such am I, or are we separate creatures entirely? Are they the alien, or am I? Am I the person who’s strange, for not understanding? Yes.

This isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy when people push tv execs to extend shows they like that can be prolonged. I like people torturing tv execs, it gets my rocks off. It’s when people do things that one can expect would make the creator uncomfortable. Do you think One Direction started making music in the hopes they’d be stalked? Do you think the Japanese creator who is from a different country (Japan) and speaks exclusively Japanese understand or wants to hear your thoughts and opinions on their work, especially when your thoughts and opinions are overly influenced by Western culture and your just bullying an adult because they don’t conform to the bullshit standards of a society they don’t care about and don’t want to be apart of? Why do you want creators to dislike you? Why can’t you be like me, with my Schrödinger’s affection, where the author both likes me and dislikes me at the same time? I’m not ruining the delicate balance by opening that box, Pandora, maybe you shouldn’t either.

[jadekitty777]

One Last Mission

It’s here! It’s here!! Welcome to my only entry for STRQ week! Did I have plans to do more? Maybe. Did I have the time or motivation? Not at all. But uh, this one is a bit of a monster of a story so, hopefully, it’ll make up for my lack of participation.

Day 2: Team Mom @strqweekblastoff

Rating: T

Words: 10k

Summary: All her life, Ruby wondered what had become of her mother on that last, fateful mission that took her away. The wrong question to Jinn might just provide the answer she’s sought for so long.

But knowledge always comes with a cost, and this time, the price is too high to pay.

Ao3 Link: One Last Mission

~

The end of the world was held in five simple words:

“What knowledge do you seek?”

Panic filled her headspace as Ruby struggled to break the grip of the Grimm arms holding her, pleading with all she had, “Jinn, don’t answer her!”

As the ethereal being spied her over Salem’s head, she could almost pretend the look on her blue face was sympathetic. “I told you the next time I was summoned, I would be answering a question. I never said it would be yours.”

“But-!”

Any further protest she may have had was cut short, as with a wave of Salem’s hand, Ruby suddenly found herself pitching face first into the ground. Her aura, already flagging, crackled across her face, and she felt the sting of the blow, the dizziness in her brain. She heard her name get yelled by more than one voice – blending together in a garbled cry that she couldn’t begin to decipher. Had that been her uncle’s raspy shout? Weiss’ piercing wail? Jaune’s weakened whimper? She couldn’t even begin to tell.

The first thing she could did understand as the ringing in her head dimmed was Salem’s commanding tenor, “-Trust that none of the rest of you will think to interrupt me.” Then, to the genie, “I apologize for their manners Jinn. There will be no further outbursts. Now, you have one question left.”

“That is correct.”

“A pity, that, but I can work with it.” A deep breath, then, “I wish to know: where is the Relic of Choice hiding?”

The shakiness in Ruby’s vision cleared just in time for her to see the way the thick blue smoke filled the room, clouding everyone else out of view until there was nothing but herself and the vision before her. The familiar sight of Ozpin’s circular office greeted her, nearly the same right down to the cogs turning from above with the nostalgia of easier times. The only thing out of place to her own memory was the desk, crafted out of wood rather than the metalwork and glass she knew.

Behind it, a much younger Ozpin took shape as more smoke willed him into existence.

“It all started with a plan.” Jinn’s omnipresent voice filtered in from what seemed to be everywhere.

Ruby heard footsteps approaching from behind, spotting how the last wisps faded into a stark white cloak as the person stopped beside her. Already knowing who she’d see, it took all of her strength to look up.

There Summer Rose, her mother, stood. Decked head to toe in combat gear and more serious than she ought to be, her voice held little of the warmth Ruby recalled. There was only firm resignation as she spoke, “You know this is our best chance, Oz. My semblance is the only alternative we have. You have to trust me.”

“I do.” Her former headmaster heaved a deep sigh, laying his arms across his desk. “But I can’t ask this of you.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not.” Was her mother’s clipped reply.

He shook his head. “We don’t even know if this intel is fresh. It could very well be years before she enacts it. Or it might even be a red herring. A way to get the relic out in the open.”

“And if it’s legitimate? We can’t take those chances. And we certainly can’t hope for ten years when we might not even have tomorrow.” She waved her arms outwards, her cloak billowing around her with the impressive gesture. “If an attack is coming, the relic cannot be here. You know as well as I do that if she gets Choice, this is all over.”

“Summer, please. Consider what’s at stake. Not for the world, but for yourself.”

Her mother took several steps forward, until she was right in front of the desk. “I have. That’s why I have to do this. I refuse to let my children grow up in a war and I especially refuse to lose another family.” She reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. “So please Oz, let me do my part.”

Though his eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses, Ruby could clearly see the grimace across the old wizard’s face. “Very well. I’ll summon Olivia.”

“Thank you Oz.” Summer said, her body bowing a bit with relief. “Thank you.”

They dissolved away into smoke as Jinn’s voice flooded in once more. “And so, with a final goodbye to her loved ones…”

Ruby sucked in a sharp breath as she found herself in her own home, surrounded by furniture she barely recognized and family pictures on the wall that had long been changed out in her youth when the pain became too much for dad.

It hurt, watching him embrace her now, not even a pinch of worry to his face. “Now don’t you worry. I can handle things until you get back.”

“I won’t.” Her mom replied as she pulled away, reaching down where Yang was clinging to her leg. “Because my big girl is going to make sure daddy stays in line, aren’t you?”

“Hehe! Yeah!”

“Mama!” Ruby’s eyes fell back to the floor, where her smaller self stood, barely three years old and still wobbly on her feet. “I wanna upsies!”

Summer reached down, scooping her up into her other arm, cradling them both against her. “Mommy’s gonna be back soon, she’s just got to save the world first, okay?” She kissed the tops of their heads in turn, murmuring, “I love you.”

“…and with false reassurances…”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Her uncle asked as walked her to the port where the ferry to the mainland was waiting.

“No, no. It’s a simple thing, really.” She laughed. “Tai’s going to have more of a handful than me. I can trust you to watch out for them while I’m gone, can’t I?”

Qrow sniggered as she looked up at him beseechingly. “Alright, alright, no need for the puppy eyes.” He wrapped an arm over her shoulders. “I’ll hold the fort until you get back.”

“I know you will. I’ll be back before you know it, promise.”

“…The brave huntress set off on a journey that even Oz knew not her path.” The next scene was brief but haunting, seeing her mother standing at the aft of the ship, watching Patch disappear on the horizon as silent tears tracked down her face.

“Her travels led her far from home and not without strife. Alone, she faced the monstrosities of the world drawn by the hidden relic she was transporting. Worried of the weight she carried, she rested little and moved often, always straying from towns whenever possible. Yet, it was neither her exhaustion nor the Grimm who would begin her end.”

“Hey there sweetheart.” A tavern blinked into view, a man who looked more like a grizzly bear leering down at her mom. “Those are some beautiful eyes you got there.”

“It would be man.”

The tavern morphed into a grassy field, her mother standing still as she faced the same grizzly man. Beside him, another person appeared next to him. Then another beside them. One by one, the shady characters materialized, until they formed a tight ring around her.

Summer looked left. Then right. Then back at the first man. “Beautiful eyes, huh?”

He grinned wickedly. “Nothing personal doll. They’re just worth yer weight in lien.”

“If only it were your weight in lien, then it might be worth the beating I’m about to give you.” She replied as she reached for the weapon at her hip.

All at once, the mob attacked. Ruby could hardly keep up as she watched her mother weave in and out of strikes from her opponents, her return blows equally devastating but with a tinge of desperation to every movement as she used every opening given to her. But for every person she managed to bring down, two more stood in their place.

“She fought valiantly and on a better day, she may have even of been victorious. But fighting is not always about who is stronger.” The chilling sound of her mother’s scream sent shivers down Ruby’s back. “Sometimes, it’s simply about who is lucky.”

She watched the ringleader deliver a swift palm strike that caused her mother to go flying across the field. Energy crackled furiously across her body as she struggled to get back to her feet, more uncoordinated than a newborn deer, and though Ruby knew it had to be a semblance of some kind, she couldn’t say what had actually just been done.

“Alright,” The leader panted, waving to the few still standing. “Clock’s running. Gouge her – carefully. Our collector isn’t going to want damaged goods.”

Summer scrambled for her weapon, panic clear on her face as the bounty hunters approached her.

Even as her stomach twisted with sick, Ruby couldn’t look away.

“And sometimes…”

Jinn’s voice was nearly overtaken by the windy howl that cut through the field, clouds of black and red appearing in the sky before a figure dropped from the heart of the storm, bringing down a rain of fire and fury as she landed between Summer and her opponents.

“…It’s about who will aid you in your greatest time of need.”

Ruby had to wonder what her sister was thinking right now. Her own mind seemed to buzz uselessly, unable to comprehend the woman now there. Unable to believe the way Raven rose from her crouch, stepping forward across the scorched grass with a look of ferocity that was a direct mirror to Yang whenever she most wanted to protect someone.

“Branwen.” The man spat the name like a curse.

“Griff. You and your little ragtag team are awfully south this autumn.” Despite her expression, her voice was calm. In control. “Would you care to tell me what your ugly mug is doing in Branwen territory?”

He scoffed, though his eyes strayed warily as her hand rose to her sword. “Just leaving, actually.”

“But boss we can take her and get the-!” One of his lackeys started to protest.

One that was cut off by a solid smack to the back of his head. “Shut yer trap! Only someone who doesn’t value their life would say something that dumb.”

A screech in the distance punctuated that statement, far enough away that there was time, but too close to ignore.

Grimm.

Griff gave the horizon a disdainful look, before snapping his fingers and waving his recovering team into action. “Alright ya lowlifes, lick yer wounds and get along already.” As they started to pick themselves up and retreat, some of them having to help their limping fellows, he gave the bandit one final look. “Enjoy being at the top while you and your lot can, Branwen. It won’t last forever.”

Raven only smiled patronizingly. “We’ll see.” Once they had all disappeared, she shifted her head to the side, asking, “What’d they do, steal your wallet?”

“Hah, funny.” Summer grumbled, only to hiss in pain as another crackle of energy sparked along her frame.

Raven turned, the bravado she carried falling away as quickly as she fell to her knees.  “What are you doing here? Didn’t Qrow give you my warning?”

“Actually, what he told me was a mysterious informant tipped him off about there being a suddenly high demand for silver eyes on the black market.” She replied cheekily. Her face smoothed into something softer as the other woman grasped her hand, staring intently down at her palm. From her angle, Ruby couldn’t figure out what was there. “It’s nice to know you care though.”

Raven blinked, before scoffing, “Don’t read too much into it.”

“I also won’t read into your unusually well-timed entrance.”

Despite everything, Ruby couldn’t help but crack a smile. She never knew her mother’s sense of humor was so sarcastically sassy.

The mirth didn’t last long, as another ear-splitting screech drew their attention southward again. Raven frowned, standing and helping Summer to her feet. “Come on. I’ll get you somewhere safe and then I better tail after Griff.”

“Well… getting away might be the hard part. What with this trinket and all.” Summer murmured and from the folds of her cloak, produced the hidden relic.

Raven’s eyes nearly fell out of her head, her voice three octaves higher, “What is that doing here?!”

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“And so,” Jinn spoke up as the scene shifted from a field to a forest, where her mother sat on a log while Raven paced to and fro restlessly. “With her options limited, Summer informed Raven of the secret plan she and Ozpin had agreed upon to remove the relic from its original housing and relocate it in hopes that their enemy could not so easily discover it.”

“How reckless can you get?! Doing this alone? I can’t believe-” Whatever Raven couldn’t believe was cut off by her own frustrated growl.

Her mother averted her gaze to the foliage between her feet. “We couldn’t risk it. The more people who know, the more chances this’ll fail. And I didn’t want Salem to be able to follow any obvious leads.”

She paused in her pacing, turning to her. “So why tell me?”

“Because I have a feeling this is bad news.”

This time, when Summer showed her hand, Ruby got a good look at what had Raven so preoccupied before. Right in the center of her palm was a stain of red glowing numbers. 170:24:32. As she stared at it, she noticed the last number shifting from 32 to 31. Then 30. Then 29.

Ruby felt her throat close up with sudden clarity just as Raven spoke up, “It is. Griff’s semblance is a death counter, but it has a trade-off. He gives away a portion of his lifeline to put a time limit on someone else’s. He’s always been a high-risk, high-reward kind of guy – but even he doesn’t tend to use that trick unless his target’s being particularly difficult.”

“Heh, well that’s a compliment.”

“Summer! This is serious!” She’d started pacing again, a franticness about her as she carried on, “I don’t even know if there’s a way to undo it. No one he’s ever used it on has ever come out of it alive, that’s for sure!” She reached up, gripping her sword tightly. “That’s why I need to go track him down, beat him into turning it off if I have to.”

“And if he can’t?”

“Then I’ll slit his throat.”

The declaration was said with such certainty it made Ruby’s stomach drop, but her mother continued on, nonplussed. “Raven you can’t just murder all your problems away.”

The look she shot her screamed ‘Wanna bet?’

“There’s also no guarantee that’ll work. It might just keep going or, worse than that, go all the way down to zero.”

“Yeah but-”

“But none of it matters.” Summer spoke over her – but what she said next left the world in silence. “Because I never planned to come back after this mission was complete.”

It felt like the ground below her was forever tipping, leaving Ruby permanently unbalanced as she took in those fatal words. Even knowing Jinn couldn’t do so in what she presented, she so desperately wished this was all a lie. Because this couldn’t be real, right? Her mother wouldn’t abandon her family; not like…

Raven’s gaze had darkened considerably. “What are you saying?”

“I thought about it the entire time. I knew when I locked the relic away, I was the biggest liability in all this. If Salem figured out it was me, it wouldn’t take much to get me to talk.” She laughed, but it sounded hollow. “As you’ve always told me Rae, my heart’s a little too big. I’d crack the minute she even so much as side-eyed Yang or Ruby. And if I went home, I’d lead her right to them.” She trailed off, looking down at her hand. “But now with this and you, it solves everything. My connection to this will be gone and you’ll be the key. It’s per-”

Face twisted with rage, Raven crossed the clearing in seconds, gripping Summer by her cloak and yanking her up until her feet didn’t even touch the floor. “DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF RIGHT NOW?!” She shook her vigorously. “You’ve lost your damned mind! You’re asking to die Summer!”

“I’m not afraid of that.” Despite hanging in the air, her mother never seemed more steady as she met the other woman’s gaze. “The only thing I fear is failing the people I love. If I have to give my life to make sure theirs aren’t miserable, then so be it.”

“Mom!” The cry left Ruby almost involuntarily, forgetting for a moment she was only a vision.

“You, stupid-!” Raven tossed her down to the dirt. It was hard to tell what emotion she was shaking with, most of her face hidden behind her dark hair and only the grit of her teeth visible. But when she looked up, the sheen in her eyes was obvious. “Do you really think so little of yourself Summer that those who love you won’t miss you when you’re gone?”

Summer stared back, before she lowered her head. “Of course not. You know, it’s funny almost. I thought there was nothing I wanted more than to live my life out as a huntress; but when I became a mom, I found another happiness I wanted to keep just as much. If I could have it both ways, I would take it in a heartbeat.” She rose to her feet, their gazes meeting. “So yes, it tears me up inside, knowing how much our family’s going to hurt when they realize I’m not coming back. It’s really awful of me to put them through that.”

“Then don’t! We’ll figure something else out, okay? So you can stop all this nonsense talk about-”

“But,” She interrupted, clasping a hand around Raven’s arm, “This is about more than just me and what I want. Everything and everyone is at stake. People I vowed to protect to the end.”

Raven jerked back some, shaking her head. “What do they matter? It’s not like they’ll ever even know.”

“It’s not about the recognition, it’s about doing what’s right.” She sighed, looking down at her hand where the clock was still ticking. “Look, I know you think I’m just throwing away my life – but it’s never been about living long, Raven. It’s about making it count.” She curled her hand, tucking it against her heart. “My story might be ending here, but I never lived it meaninglessly. If this is the last thing I’ll be able to do for everyone, then I’m happy.”

It was strange. Ruby had always known her mother had given her life for the people. Growing up, she’d even idolized it. Wanted to be just like her and all the other heroes of fiction her sister used to say were just like mom. Knew without doubt, that if their positions had been switched, she might even be saying these same exact words.

So why did she so desperately want Raven to change her mother’s mind, right here and now?

Instead, she sighed, the look of acceptance breaking Ruby’s heart. “You’re really not going to change your mind, are you Sums?”

“Afraid not!” She replied, oddly chipper. “So what do you say? One last mission together?”

“Tch.” Raven looked thoughtfully towards the trees, eyebrows drawing down. “…Fine. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

Like the words were a cue, the bandit made good on her name as she suddenly darted forward and faster than Ruby could catch, Raven unclipped the relic from Summer’s belt and leapt backwards. “We’re doing things my way first!”

“Huh-!? Raven!” Summer cried, trying to chase after her – but it was futile for the other woman had already tossed the relic into air, shifting after it. The raven cawed as it flew over the treetops, her mother giving chase as everything fell away into smoke.

“It was a desperate hope that had Raven calling upon my sister that day.” Jinn orated, the new scene revealing itself like a theater curtain being dropped. The forest slanted upwards, the trees leaning forward with the weight of gravity. On a large boulder that jutted out from the hill’s peak stood Raven. As she peered down from her perch, so did Ruby.

At the base of the hill, her mother stood. She was completely out of breath, one hand pressed against her chest while she braced the other on the trunk of a tree. Still, her gaze did not waver from Raven’s own. “So? What are you going to do now? Force me to cooperate with you?”

Only Ruby heard the snort and scathing grumble, “Don’t think even a relic’s strong enough for that.” She placed the crown atop her head, saying louder, “You can go hermit yourself into whatever corner of this pitiful world you want. But I’ll be damned if I let you just kill yourself.” She tapped the blue jewel in the crest of the diadem. “You in there, choice… creature?”

“You need to say her name.” Summer instructed, seemingly having accepted her fate as she sat down on the ground.

A pause, then Raven said with tentative uncertainty, “Moirai?”

The reaction was instantaneous. The gemstone on the crown suddenly glowing so bright Ruby had to shut her eyes or fear she might go blind. A soft, shifting noise filled her ears, barely perceptible yet definitely there, like the sound of a running hourglass that she could only hear if she held it close. Once the light in her eyelids was gone, she dared a peek, looking around for the ethereal being.

It took her a moment to spot Moirai, lounging atop Raven’s head. Where Jinn was larger than life, she was but a small speck of a thing, barely larger than a blue jay – the same shade as one too. Her face was obscured by a hood that covered most of her face. Upon her back rested a wooden wheel that seemed to of come from a seamstresses’ antique workshop.

The fae rested her hands underneath her chin and in a voice as tiny as she was, asked, “Oh it’s been so long since I’ve been out to play! Whose fate do you wish to change?”

Despite her obvious surprise, Raven didn’t hesitate. “I need you to have Griff release his semblance on Summer.”

Ruby’s heart jumped with hope.

“I’m afraid this is something I cannot do.”

Those words broke it a second time.

Raven’s fingers curled into fists, demanding hotly, “What? Why not?”

“I am only able to complete requests within human possibility.” Moirai explained. “The one you call Griffith Grayson harnesses a semblance of which there is no reverse. The trading of his lifeline to bring death to another is permanent.”

“What if I told you to make Griff stop breathing?”

The wheel on the fae’s back turned once. “It is something I can do, but it will not bring the result you desire.”

Raven’s eyes darted about as she thought. “Then… make it so Summer doesn’t die when the timer runs out!”

“This is something I cannot do.”

“No. Nonono.” She shook her head, pacing along the rock.

Moirai hummed. “Is there perhaps another’s fate you wish for I to change?”

“I… I need to think.” Raven muttered.

The fae began to fade away into luminescent glitter. “When you wish upon my services, speak my name once more.”

“There has to be something…!”

“Though Raven would try again and again to find a way around this cruel and deadly fate,” The blue fog drifted across the forest, revealing evening had fallen. Raven had settled down on the rock, hunched over. Her hand was pressed against her forehead, mumbling frantically to herself. “Even with eternity, she would not have found the answer to Summer’s plight. For there was none. And eventually there was no choice left-”

A hand appeared in a cloud of smoke, held out to Raven in clear askance. As she looked up at it, the rest of Summer appeared, looking down at her with a solemn smile. “Come on. We need to go.”

Defeat slumped her shoulders and Raven took her hand.

“-But for her to accept it.” The forest was gone in a blink. “With their time limit clear and their destination just barely within reach, they made their way across Anima together.” Ruby lifted her head as the sky formed above her, watching a raven coast through the clouds. “Alone, the distance would have been impossible for Summer to manage on foot. However, Raven’s transformation, gifted to her from Ozma, and her own kindred linking semblance cleared the many miles they needed to traverse.” Rock shot up around her, forming a great cavern. A few feet away, her mother stood, brave and tall as a dozen Grimm all leapt at her at once “All the while, Summer’s own ability kept their way clear and safe.”

A familiar, bright light filled the area and everything disappeared.

“It was on Summer’s final hour that they finally reached their journey’s end.”

Though aged with time, the land that spread before her was one Ruby was shocked to realize she recognized. The stone path had weathered and cracked, vegetation growing over most of the brick and the stairs that had once been so immaculately placed in the face of the rock of the canyon now lay broken and uneven. Yet still, the yellow flowers were still the same, spreading out like a golden blanket across the land and the snow-capped mountains in the distance had the same, unmistakable jagged peaks.

This was the God of Light’s former domain.

A scraping noise drew her attention to the left, seeing her mom huddled on the bottom step. She was trying to draw her hood more tightly around herself. Her face, having lost almost all color, nearly matched the white fabric and her eyes seemed unfocused and dim. Yet, a cawing from above drew her gaze skyward before she struggled to her feet, having to support herself against the rock just to get up.

The minute she let go, she began to fall.

The raven dove and in a flurry of feathers, reformed into human as Raven caught her just in time. “What about stay put don’t you get?”

Despite her failing health, Summer laughed. “Sorry, sorry. Spot anyone?”

“Not a soul.” Raven took on more of her weight, slinging one of her arms over her shoulders. “You were right, no Grimm for miles either. I can’t believe a place like this exists.”

“I wanted to bring Ruby here, one day. This place was always so safe and pure. Without silver eyes, it’s impossible to bypass the Grimm that surround the borders here. But my people would travel here every year to pray to the God of Light and bath our newborns in the fountain. Before, well-” She breathed deeply. “We should get moving.”

Raven snuck a glance at the pale hand laying limp against her collar, expression hardening, “Right.”

The inside of the canyon had seen the most change. The tree was completely gone and the once grandiose lake of a fountain had become nothing more than a mere piece of decorative stone in the center of the area, no larger than the one that had once stood in Beacon’s courtyard. The two were now sitting on the basin’s edge. Raven’s eyes were drawn down to the water, seemingly mesmerized by the random spots of golden light that bloomed across its surface. Her gaze drifted to Summer’s reflection, watching as she pulled out the relic and dropped it into the fountain.

The single ripple that disturbed the surface echoed across Raven’s face, leaving sorrow to settle. “Summer…”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology was so unexpected, both Ruby and Raven looked at her simultaneously – though only Raven could follow with, “For?”

“I had thought,” Her mother’s sentence was broken by a sigh, “Of all the people I knew who would miss me, I wasn’t sure you were still one of them.”

“Oh… I suppose I earned that.”

She shook her head, discreetly rubbing away a tear budding at the corner of her eyes. “I’m sure it feels like I’m just trying to get back at you in the cruelest way possible. I’m sorry for putting you through this. But it’s been nice, really. I’ve missed being around my best friend.”

Before she could say more, a hand was offered to her. She looked to it, then the woman offering it.

“Didn’t I always tell you to save the sentimental speeches for after the mission?” That telltale sheen was back in her eyes.

Summer chuckled wetly, reaching out to clasp Raven’s hand in her own. “I guess I can listen to you just this once.”

When Ruby had first learned what semblances were, she remembered how she had pestered her father all day about every single one he’d ever encountered. Though, he never told her the name of the person it belonged to. It was rude, he had explained, like telling other people’s secrets without their permission. So, Ruby didn’t pry too hard – except for the one she wanted to know the most.

Watching it now, she could hear her dad’s long ago words playing back in her mind.

“Your mom’s semblance was like nothing I’d ever even heard of before. She called it Aura Lock, and that’s basically what it was. She could take a piece of her aura or someone else’s and turn it into a key that she used to lock something else up – and only the person whose aura was used to lock it could unlock it again, even if it was months later. In fact, from what we tested, it didn’t seem to have a time limit at all. As long as whoever was the key was still alive, whatever was locked up would stay that way.”

Red flowed down Raven’s arm, collecting around where their hands were joined. As Summer pulled her hand away, she tugged the aura up with her until, like a rubber band stretched too thin, it snapped away from its original owner. The glowing energy condensed together, taking the shape of a skeleton key, the bow of it designed like Raven’s emblem.

Her father’s narration continued.

“When she first told us, I thought: No way was that useful. But your mom was always creative and smart. She could lock up weapons’ gears so they couldn’t transform. Or stop guns from firing. Or dust canisters from ejecting. One time, she even locked up a beowolf’s jaw so it couldn’t bite. But even when she wasn’t using it on the battlefield, she found other uses. We made a habit of locking away our supplies in tree trunk hollows during long missions or in inn closets when we were in less trustworthy towns.”

As she watched her mom lower the key to the water, the glow of aura spreading delicately along it’s smooth surface and climbing up to overflow along the sides of the rim, the last of her dad’s words faded to memory.

“It’s part of what made her a great leader and an even greater person. She always knew just what to protect.”

The aura dissipated, making the fountain appear no different then before. Summer reached for the water once more, fingers gliding unnaturally along the water as if it had become as solid as ice, crackles of red light following her touch. A perfect, impassable barrier.

In the reflection of the water, Ruby could see the clock as it ticked down into the final ten minutes.

Summer drew back. “Okay. It’s done.” Then, as if gravity had become twice as strong, she drew back further.

Raven caught her before she could topple onto the concrete.

Jinn’s voice, almost forgotten, made Ruby startle as it boomed all around her like a knell. “With her mission complete, Summer passed on the last of her duty to Raven.”

The scene vanished to white only to partially reform with nothing more than the fountain and the two women, no longer sitting on it, but on the ground before it. Raven’s back was braced against it, looking down at Summer whose head was resting in her lap. The sight tore at Ruby’s soul.

“And said goodbye.”

“You know.” Raven murmured. “There’s still time. I could bring you back.”

“And let this be the last they remember of me?” Her mother’s words were coming out stilted and slow, like she couldn’t quite find the energy to speak. “No. I can’t do that to them.”

“But…”

“It’s okay. Really. I want their last memory of me to be something good to hold onto.” A pause. “You remember what I told you, right?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“Tell it to me.” She urged softly.

“Summer-”

“Please. One more time.”

Raven exhaled heavily, reciting out, “Salem is going to locate a vessel to take in the powers of the four maidens. When she does, the fall maiden will fall and Beacon will be next. When Choice is discovered missing, she’ll turn to Haven for Knowledge. I need to make the spring maiden go missing before this. No matter what.”

Summer hummed in agreement. “If all else fails?”

“Get Knowledge out and keep it from Salem’s hands.”

“Good.” She breathed, eyes falling shut. “You’ll make the right calls, I know it.”

Raven’s laugh was more of a sob. “I don’t know how to do that without you.”

“Sure you do. You did it today. You’ll do it again.”

Ruby felt tears slip down her own face just as they did on Raven’s. The woman bowed her head, praying for an answer, “Why do you have so much faith in me, huh?”

Summer smiled, a bit of that sassiness still shining through. “Can’t say I was wrong, seeing as you’re the one here now.”

“You’re insufferable!” She cried.

“I love you too Rae.” Her head lolled, coming to rest against the other’s stomach.  “Hey uh I’m… really tired.”

“Rest, then.” Raven reached out, taking her hand in hers. “I’m right here.”

“Thank you…”

As the two disappeared into smoke, Ruby doubled over, feeling the weight on her chest that had always been present since the loss of her mother become inexplicably heavy.

The last words of Raven’s words trickled in with a breaking whisper:

“Summer? …Summer.”

It all was lost to the static in her own mind, the weight growing and growing until all she could do was scream.

Ruby never saw Salem’s domain reappear into existence as silver light flooded forth from her eyes.

Then there was nothing but darkness.

~

Consciousness came back slow to Ruby, spurred on by a high-pitched whistle. Everything came back at a snail’s pace, with the aching of her body and in her head being the most prominent details. The rest of it followed. The warmth and crackle of a nearby fire. The fading scent of Weiss’ expensive perfume clinging to the blanket she was wrapped in. The sound of talk, becoming clearer by the second, around her.

Her sister’s voice was closest and came back in first. “-Think she’ll ever come?”

“Are you going to be okay if she does?” Weiss, somewhere to her left.

“I… don’t know.”

“No matter what happens, we’re here for you.” That was Blake this time, further away. “All of you.”

Ruby blinked away the blurriness in her eyes as she opened them, asking groggily, “For what?”

That turned all attention onto her immediately. Yang, sitting right beside her, exclaimed, “Ruby!”

The noise went straight to her headache. “Too loud.”

“Sorry! Sorry…” She placed a hand on her arm, the cool metal wracking free a shiver. “How are you feeling?”

Ruby took a moment to take stock of herself. It felt like all her nerves were on fire, leaving her skin aching. “Everything hurts.”

It was a strangely familiar feeling. She’d felt it only once before.

…Right after the attack on Beacon.

The memories flooded back all at once and she jerked upwards, ignoring the protest in her muscles. “Wait, what happened?! Where-” She took in the walls of the refinery office around her, the sight quelling some of her panic but only increasing her confusion. “We’re back at the base? How did we – where’s Salem?”

“It’s okay Ruby.” From the other side of her, Weiss’ calm tone cut through her fearful fog. “We got out, thanks to you.”

“Me?”

Yang’s hand was on her back now. “Yeah! You blasted Salem good sis.”

“I did?” She knew her eyes had activated, but to think it had had an effect… “Where is she now?”

“Retreated, for now. It’s giving Mantle and Atlas a chance for a breather.” Blake was the one to offer from the opposite side of the fire. Held in her hand was the culprit of what had awoken her – a tea kettle.

Ruby looked from it to the room once more, giving it a more critical sweep. She spotted Oscar sitting on a crate nearby, seemingly deep in thought as he stared unseeingly at the ground. Talking with Ozpin then. Her uncle was pacing back and forth on the upper level of the refinery, everything about him restless and angry.

No one else was around.

“Where’s Penny? And Jaune? And- everyone?”

“They and the Happy Huntresses are collecting as much hard light dust as they can to surround the crater with.” Yang explained. “With the heat off of us for now, it’s the best chance we’ve got to fortify some of our defenses before Salem strikes again.”

Ruby frowned, realizing everyone else was out working hard while she’d been tying up the rest of their team. She started to get up. “Well then what are we doing? Let’s- ow. Owowow.”

Weiss guided her back down onto the roll out mat. “You need to recover first, you dolt.”

“But-”

“She’s right kiddo.” Her uncle called, leaping down from the catwalk to their level, striding over. Her whining must have caught his attention. “Your aura’s practically at nothing. Take some time to rest, okay?”

She knew even if she tried to disagree, there were at least four other people who would leap up to agree with him, so she just pouted and said, “Fine.” A glint of something in his hand drew her eye. “Uh, Uncle Qrow? What’s with the knife?”

“Tch. Just trying to call my dumbass sister.” He tapped the tip of the blade to the palm of his opposite hand. She realized sickly both it and the blade were covered in blood. “It’s an old calling card of ours.”

Ruby processed that, recalling how Raven had leapt from the sky when her mom was struck down, the timing too perfect to be coincidence. Yang had mentioned something similar when she’d come to her rescue after Neo had knocked her out. “Her semblance tells you when you’re hurt?”

“Yeah, and how much too. So, she definitely knows I’m trying to tell her that I’d like to be graced with her presence.” Qrow replied with a roll of his eyes.

“I mean,” Yang spoke up, fire burning underneath her tone, “If she doesn’t want to answer, then why bother?”

He frowned at her. “Firecracker, I ain’t gonna tell you how to feel ‘bout all this. I don’t even know how I feel. But, she needs to know she’s in danger.” He strode away, slicing the knife harshly along his hand. “Now if she’d just stop being so damn stubborn-!”

As if to spite him, the world split into black and red before their very eyes, the telltale howl permeating the space.

Noticing how immediately Yang tensed up, Ruby shifted closer to her sister until their arms were pressed against each other’s. She herself tried to put on a brave face as she waited for the woman to emerge.

“Finally.” Qrow grumbled under his breath as he tossed away the knife, before raising his voice enough to be heard over the din, “Come on out Rae. You’re safe.”

Despite the assurance, Raven still walked out of the portal with her hand on her sword, inspecting the room guardedly. Wherever she must have anticipated walking into, a broken-down factory in the poor slums of Mantle was definitely not it, but it did get her to relax minutely. The second sweep of her eyes was completely focused on them, though it was hard to say what she was looking for.

Ruby could feel the shaking of Yang’s hand start up, when Raven lingered on her the longest.

“Miss Branwen. Good to see you.” Ozpin, roused by her presence, greeted jovially.

She only returned the sentiment with a suspicious, “Oz.” Her grasp finally fell away from her weapon though as she turned back to Qrow. “Alright little brother, what do you want?”

“Just had a question.” He replied with a flippant casualness that Ruby recognized in herself when she was purposely trying to irritate her own sister.

“You bothered me for an hour to ask a-”

He spoke over her tirade, “So. When exactly were you going to tell me you knew where the Beacon relic was this whole time?”

Quick as a whip, Raven snapped back, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” He drawled. “Just like you also don’t know that the intel you gave me after Amber’s attack came from Summer, right?”

It was devastating watching the speed in which Raven put the pieces together, the mask she wore more heavily than the one on her hip cracking as she did.

She looked from Qrow, to Yang, to Oz. “Where’s Knowledge?”

The room was abruptly stifled with regret and shame, easily seen in her uncle’s slumped shoulders, Blake’s lowered ears, Yang’s grit teeth, Weiss and Oz’s averted gazes.

Ruby, with failure crushing her heart and remorse constricting her tongue, could only stare back when the woman’s questing eyes met hers.

It was all the answer Raven needed. “How much does she know?”

“Enough.” Qrow answered shortly.

“All of it.” Ruby corrected. Then, because it was only fair she knew, added, “We all saw it. Salem asked the question right in front of us.”

Her face went pale. “She’s here?!”

“Withdrawn, at the moment.” Ozpin interjected, his tone heavy as he looked to one of the industrial-sized picture windows that lined the walls. What a picture it was, the masses crowded and huddling together while the skyline beyond them had grown dark as night, scarlet electricity sparking along the darkness erratically to reveal the features of thousands of Grimm that made up the miasma. “But I fear it won’t be long before she and her forces regroup and swoop back in.”

Raven took a few steps forward, her horror mounting. “That’s – No. This doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh, let me guess? More information from Summer you were hiding?” Her uncle’s hands curled into fists. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me any of this Raven!”

“Not telling you was the point! If no one knew where Choice was, then she’d never find it.”

He threw out his arms. “Oh yeah, great plan! How’s it working for you?”

“Why does it even matter right now?” She waved back to the window. “Nothing Summer knew had anything to do with genociding an entire continent!”

Qrow stalked over, getting right in her face. “It matters because we could have made different decisions. We led her right here – but we could have put Knowledge back!”

“Where there were no Huntsman left to protect it? She’d only come back for it!” It was uncanny how similar they looked at that moment, eyes blazing and teeth bared. “It was safer to take it away.”

He scoffed. “Was it? Or were you just trying to protect yourself a little longer? I’m sure Summer would be so proud.”

Ruby opened her mouth, about to protest – but Raven’s rage was quicker, shoving her uncle back. “Oh so that’s how you want to do this, huh? Alright, fine. Why don’t you fucking explain to me what you think you’re doing dragging our kids into this war! Really just spitting on her grave, aren’t ya?”

That seemed to be the final straw that had Yang surging to her feet, voice bellowing over the room. “Seriously?! You’re saying that now?”

“Don’t-”

“No, you don’t! You don’t get to come waltzing in here after twenty years and think you have any say in how I live my life!”

Raven rolled her eyes, “First of all, you’re nineteen. You’re also,” She held up a finger, ticking off more as she listed out, “Untrained. Sloppy. High-tempered. And way in over your damn head!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Bullshit I don’t! You signed a death certificate without reading the fine print! I told you,” She glanced to her brother, “I told all of you, that we were fighting a fight we couldn’t win. But no one bothered to listen to me.”

“Well maybe if you acted like you cared about anyone besides yourself, we would have! But that’s too hard for you, isn’t it mom?” Yang spit the last word like it was a curse.

With how angry her uncle and sister were, Ruby knew they missed the split-second glimpse of Raven’s expression falling to hurt before she schooled it back into something cold once more. But that was enough for her to finally get to her feet, speaking over them all firmly, “That’s enough.”

The reaction was instantaneous, the room falling quiet as everyone turned to her.

“Look, we didn’t ask you to come here to yell at you.” She gave a pointed look to Qrow and Yang, before her gaze landed on Raven. “We wanted to tell you that you’re Salem’s new target. So, you could know you needed to run away.”

The laugh that left Raven was as broken as the one she’d once given her mother. “Kid, I don’t think you understand.” She turned back to the window, staring into death itself. “There’s no where left to run anymore.”

~

When Ruby was young, the word ‘Raven’ was like a curse in her home. So much so, she started to equate this unseen and unknown woman to an earthquake. The mere mention of her would shake up the household like nothing else, and who it affected most depended on the day. Sometimes it was Yang, who wouldn’t find peace until she broke something. Sometimes it was dad, who would sit on the porch steps for a long time, completely silent. Sometimes it was Uncle Qrow, who would leave the house and not be back until all the bars closed.

Despite the years, it seemed Raven still had that nature about her, if Qrow’s abrupt absence and her sister gearing up to follow had anything to say about it. Her only consolations were that at least her uncle would return sober and Yang would only break some Grimm rather than her toys.

“You’re sure you’ll be alright?”

Ruby was thankful for the teacup she could hide her face in, just so Blake couldn’t detect any of the irritation she was feeling. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful to her friend’s honest concerns.

But she also just… didn’t want to be around anyone right now. A hard task to accomplish, when in an overcrowded safety zone, but she’d make do.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She reassured once she’d lowered the cup. “Yang needs you too. I think I’m just going to rest some more.”

Blake frowned. “Are you sure that’s,” She spared a wary glance towards the second level, “…Safe?”

Ruby followed her sightline to the small office where Raven had holed herself into after the argument. Whether it was to hide away from them or the entire situation was hard to say.

Ozpin had gone up to see her awhile ago. The fact he hadn’t been kicked out yet was probably a good sign.

“Blake, you saw it all too. Do you really think she’s nothing but a bad person?” She asked. Blake didn’t know Raven the way she did or Yang did or hell, even how Weiss did. This was the first time she’d truly met her and Ruby felt she could trust her friend’s opinion to not be clouded by emotion like it was for nearly everyone else in the room.

As she’d suspected, her teammate contemplated the question for a long, quiet moment before answering in slow measure, “I think… that even the worst of people can still do good things. What she did for your mother was noble, but it doesn’t mean the bad she’s done doesn’t need to be atoned for.”

“Right…” It wasn’t quite the answer she’d been hoping for, but maybe that was why she needed to hear it.

Blake started to say something more, but a shout from across the room interrupted her, “Blake! You coming or what?”

Her ears flicked and she looked over her shoulder, then back to her questioningly.

Ruby only smiled. “Go on. I’ll get in touch if I need anything, promise.”

“Yeah, alright.” She agreed easily enough, before she hurried across the room where Yang and Weiss were waiting. “Coming!”

The doors shut with a clang and she was alone.

Ruby sighed, flopping over onto the duvet. She stared up at the ceiling, listlessly tracing the metallic rafting while her thoughts swirled together in a chaotic mess. What were they going to do now? While her eyes may have bought them some time, it was fleeting. They had a few more hours, a day at most, before Salem’s forces came for them. They had to be ready, because now with Knowledge’s power safely in her hands, she wouldn’t hold back a second time. The hard light dust Robyn’s crew had managed to pilfer would only hold so long.

How were they possibly going to protect everyone here? It wouldn’t even be comparable to the situation at Argus. With only a little over a dozen of them to face off against the threat, there was no way they could be everywhere at once.

People were definitely going to die.

Ruby’s idle eyes looked back to the office.

Unless…

She sat up, heart jumping with sudden hope. Raven’s semblance was tied to dad. They could evacuate everyone, right now! Between that and Jaune keeping her aura up, they could probably get it done in a few hours. But they had to get started now, before Salem was on the move again.

Determination zinged through her as Ruby rushed for the stairs.

She got about halfway up them before she paused.

But, was that the right call?

With everyone suddenly just gone, it wouldn’t take long for Salem to figure out what they’d done. Even if they had Raven go to Patch with the citizens, once their enemy deduced that Raven was willing to come to their aid… how quickly would she shift their targets to Yang or Qrow? After everything her mother had sacrificed to keep them all safe, was it right of her to so willfully put their lives in the crossfire that way?

Would she have to convince Yang and Qrow to leave as well? Would they even go?

Then, there was Raven herself. She was a wild card that Ruby had yet to understand. Even if she persuaded her to help them, which she was certain she could, would she willingly leave? She thought the answer was obvious but, after all Ruby had learned today, she wasn’t as sure on that as she once was.

She started up the stairs once more, slower than before. She didn’t know, but she was on to something. But even she’d admit she always led more with her heart than her mind. It was easy to stand for what was right; it was knowing the best way to do so that tended to trip her up. She knew if she brought it up to the others though, they’d help to finetune it.

Until they got back though, she could get started with the hard part – the part she was good at.

As Ruby reached the door, she was surprised to find it was open a crack, just enough to hear Ozpin’s voice slipping through.

“-Really quite unexpected, knowing we had another helping hand at Haven. I was wondering why things went so oddly well.”

A scoff. “Spare me. If I was that good at manipulating things, the little heiress wouldn’t have gotten stabbed.” The next part was so low, Ruby almost missed it. “I told Vernal to go easy.”

“Ah yes, plans never do go quite according to one’s machinations, as I’ve well discovered over the centuries. Such is the plight of allowing people to make their own choices, but I think we’d both agree that’s a gift that can’t be forsaken, yes?” After months without him, hearing that familiar mirth and kindness was like meeting an old friend again, leaving Ruby yearning with nostalgia for simpler times, when the world wasn’t at stake and her biggest enemy was her test scores.

As the silence held on, she shook off the memories and reached for the doorknob, deciding now was as good a time as any to interrupt. Light spilled into the dark room, almost touching the crates that Raven and Ozpin were sitting on. They both turned to her, their forms illuminated in the gloomy shadows cast from the gray clouds that clung to Solitas in a permanent storm.

“Hello Miss Rose, is everything alright?” Ozpin greeted her, gentle but guarded.

She wondered if he thought she would blame him for her mother’s choices too. “Yeah. Everyone’s gone off to help with the defenses.” She shifted from foot to foot. “I was hoping I could talk to Raven for a bit? Alone?”

The two shared a look, but when Raven nodded Ozpin got to his feet. “Of course.” As he passed her, she caught a flash of yellow, then Oscar was whispering, “Good luck.” She smiled back at him until the shutting door separated them.

She turned back around and was immediately pinned by that blood-red glare.

“Come to lecture me?” Raven asked sharply.

Ruby took a slow breath. Remember, she’s not as scary as she pretends to be. She squared her shoulders and strode forward. “No. Though you probably should be ready to hear it from Yang and Uncle Qrow again when they get back.”

“Oh, believe me I know.” Her eyes rolled back to the window, frown becoming more pronounced.

Ruby took the spot Ozpin had vacated. “I’m sorry they were so harsh. They’re just angry.”

“Yeah well, can’t say I didn’t expect it. Or that I don’t deserve it.” She sighed. “Figured you’d be the same.”

She sounded so weary.

Ruby tried to hold onto the advice Blake had given her or to mimic the way her family felt or even pull up the misgivings she’d had back at Haven.

Instead, all she could see was the woman her mom believed in, the one she entrusted her last request with.

“It’d be easy to be angry with you. Because you’re here.” Ruby clasped her hands between her knees, murmuring like she was telling a secret, “But it’s mom I’m angry at. Isn’t that awful? She gives her life for the world and I’m mad at her for it.”

She heard the crate creak as Raven shifted, leaning back on her palms. “You kidding? I’ve been mad at her for fifteen years. Always told her that her kindheartedness was going to kill her, one day. I hate that I was right.”

“Do you… hate her?”

“No.” She shook her head, smiling for the first time. “I admire her.”

Ruby blinked. “You do?”

“Always.” When Raven looked at her this time, the heat that had been there every time before had dissipated, leaving something almost kind in its wake. “You know, when I first came to Vale, I was sure I had the whole world figured out. That people were all terrible and only looking out for themselves. So, when I met Summer I remember thinking, ‘no way is this girl for real’.” She chuckled. “I couldn’t fathom someone like her. I thought she had to be naïve, clueless. Lost in some fantasy she’d made up, where people were intrinsically good. It was kind of annoying, really. She’d be the type of person to trust a pickpocket to hold her wallet – which she did once. Took me hours to track the little bastard down and get it back.”

None of what was being said was news to Ruby. Whenever dad or Uncle Qrow spoke of her mom, it was always with that same sort of reverence – until the person she imagined in her head was nothing short of perfect. But while Raven seemed to hold her up to a similar standard, her words sounded borderline exasperated, as if her mom’s antics had been truly exhausting.

It kind of made Ruby wonder if this was the same way Weiss viewed her, even as she brought her coffee after a brutal cram session.

The thought made her smile. “So, what made you change your mind?”

“Honestly, I think she was just so persistent, one day I just gave up.” Raven snorted, idly pulling at the red beads around her neck. This close, Ruby could see they had designs, faded from time, etched on them. One with feathers, one with dragons, and one with roses. “But also because… I started to understand. It wasn’t that she thought everyone was good, but that they all had an equal capability to be good. She’d tell me all the time that just because you make a bad decision one day, it doesn’t mean you can’t make a better one tomorrow.”

Ruby perked up a bit, at that. “Dad used to say that to me a lot, when I was a kid. I didn’t know it came from mom.”

“Oh Gods, it was practically her motto. It was so aggravating! But...” Her fingers curled around the rose beads. “It was also nice. Summer and I may not have seen eye to eye on, well, almost everything really. But no matter what, she always thought the best of me. She made me want to be that person she believed I could be and so, I tried. And, for a time… I found I liked the me I was.”

The omission of what came after that time needed no clarification.

Yet, the fact Raven was saying it at all told Ruby a league of things she once could only guess at.

…She hoped Yang might one day be able to come to those same conclusions. Maybe then, she could finally put her own turmoil to rest.

“I think you should try and like the you that you are now, too.” Ruby told her confidently, pleased with herself when Raven just stared at her in surprise. “And thank you, for telling me all this. It’s always nice to hear about mom.”

She followed her gaze when it drifted back to the sight outside yet again. “Not like I have anything left to lose.”

Whatever small levity they had found died out, as they stared at the overwhelming impossibility before them. Just as Salem’s army did, dread and terror also edged closer, threatening to overtake them.

“We’ll stop her.” Ruby assured.

“No. We won’t.” Raven bowed forward, coal dark hair so like Yang’s tumbling forth until it hid her face. A fire long gone out. “I tried, when we had Choice. I had to of made a thousand different requests. But every time when it came to Salem, the answer was always the same. ‘It can’t be done’.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. That was why, back at Haven, Raven had seemed so certain of what she was saying. She had known the truth well before any of them – and the cruelest twist of fate was, she couldn’t tell them how she’d come across that fact.

“How are we supposed to beat someone beyond even the Gods’ powers?”

That question, the weight of it, felt like it could crush them. Without the solution, there was no relief from the pressure. As Ruby got to her feet, she knew she could only stand against its attempts to hold her down as she said, “I don’t know. But I do know giving up is the wrong call.”

She turned to the other woman, seeing in her desperate, beseeching expression what the years of holding onto her mother’s last hope had done to her.

“I know how hard it must have been for you, holding onto that secret this long. It must have been so lonely. I wouldn’t blame you if you want to stop fighting. No one can ask more of you than you’ve already given. But,” As her mom had all that time ago, she held her hand out to her. “If there’s still something inside of you that wants to keep going, then we’d be happy to have you on one last mission.”

Raven looked from the offer to her. A smile pulled at the edges of her lips even as she shook her head. “Heh. Alright.”

She reached out, clasping their hands together.

“One more time.”

[casualarsonist]

Postal 2 review

Postal 2 was released right in the middle of what should have been my prime teenage-edgelord years, but while it’s had a resurgence in popularity due to nostalgia, returning to it, the game strikes me now exactly as it did then - a forgettable and borderline broken, amateurish piece of software that was crowded out of all but the most fringe playerbases by other, better, more interesting games.

Postal 2 is Hatred, if Hatred mistakenly thought it was funny - it was a try-hard attempt at outrunning South Park in a race no-one was watching. The irony is that in hindsight South Park turned out to be tedious fence-sitting ‘all sides are equally stupid’ takes from a pair of moron Gen Xers who thought that not having a strong opinion about anything was cool and were also responsible for mass-marketing anti-semitism to an entire generation. It was seen as edgy and provocative in the 2000s, and now it’s laughed at for its rigid, pointed adherence to committing nothing of value to any issue. And in trying to out-do Parker and Stone the developers of Postal 2 shackled themselves to the exact same sinking ship.

The game is…not great. It’s ugly, and poorly put-together. There are constant issues with controls and soundtrack - you can hear the audio clicking repeatedly in the opening minutes of the game because whoever did the sound design stitched together a bunch of stock sound effects and didn’t crossfade the adjoining tracks. The same 3 second soundbite of a bird repeats endlessly - noticeable because it is the only sound playing as you tour through the town. And while there is something to be said for the effort put into programming all the systems that go towards simulating the mundanity of everyday life (and towards your disruption of that mundanity with a can of gasoline and a box of matches), this was an indie game with a certain amount of ambition developed before crowdfunding could turn these games into something worth playing. It’s tedious, but not in the way the developers intended - it’s tedious mechanically, like playing in a small, ugly, sadistic sandbox. The most interesting thing you discover about it is that doing everyday tasks like shopping for milk, and burning everyone in the town alive, are actions that get boring at exactly the same rate as one another.

That said, I think there’s a certain amount of accidental Tom Green-esque avant-garde nihilism in the absurdity of this game. It’s kind of funny to watch the 'Parents For Decency’ whip out pistols and try to murder every member of the Running With Scissors development team because they don’t like their violent games. That’s genuine satire - it actually says something real, and, because the 'think of the children’ groups are usual comprised of wealthy conservatives trying to avoid caring about actual tangible suffering in the world, the commentary kicks upwards at a group that will otherwise avoid any punishment for their hypocrisy. The icing on the cake is that you can then choose to kill them in self-defence, proving that you’re exactly the thing they were protesting. Postal 2 has something to say occasionally. Very occasionally. But then give it a few hours and you’re murdering dozens of shrieking racist stereotypes of Afghanis that all look like Osama Bin Laden.

If you kill 30 people from every type of skin colour you get an achievement called 'Sheriff Arpaio would be proud’. I had to google his name because I thought he he was a mass murderer with some kind of pointedly indiscriminate political agenda. Nope - he was a white Sheriff in Arizona who specifically profile non-white people in one of the most widespread examples of open racism in American law enforcement since segregation was made ‘illegal’. And given recent history, that’s saying something. He alone cost the taxpayers of his one county $140 million dollars via lawsuits brought against him. The fucking U.S. Justice Department sued him. If I hadn’t researched that I wouldn’t have realised he was actually a massive racist asshole who specifically targeted Hispanics and black people, because Running With Scissors made a false equivalence in their throwaway gag that just happens to mislead the player about the racist crimes of the person they’re referencing. 'Sheriff Arpaio would be proud’…because it was a numbers game? Yes, that’s what he liked. Persecuting *everyone* - as many people as possible, and not one very specific demographic of people.

I’m not saying that this stupid joke intentionally whitewashes the racism of its namesake, and I’m not saying that this, coupled with the developers’ portrayal of Middle Eastern people as homogenous terrorists screaming gibberish through the singular face of a mass murderer is in any way an explicit demonstration of their edgelord racist worldview. I’m not saying that, in the same that I’m not saying that a crack-smoking, dog-kicking, wife-abusing, spree-killer living in a trailer in any way reflects their perspective towards the poor, and that this entire game is one big middle-finger to everything the developers personally dislike. I’m saying that there’s a marked difference between forcing players to kill brown people because they’re all terrorists and forcing players to kill white people because they’re vegetarians. Or have red hair. Jesus that was such a 2003 joke wasn’t it?

At the very least, the panel of people who mindmapped the ideas that came together to form the foundational commentary of Postal 2 are dumb as dogshit, and the end result of that is 'whoopsie we’re slaughtering dozens of Muslims ho ho ho the Indian food store has Afghani suicide bombers in it all these people are the same skin colour Sheriff Arpaio did a bad thing to *lots of different people!*’

Isn’t it interesting that a game touted as a free-for-all and remembered for it’s 'all sides are bad’ South Park-esque 'sick of the system’ worldview actually depicts its town exactly from the perspective of one very specific demographic of people - the single most represented demographic in the American population: middle-class straight white male Gen Xers who feel disenfranchised but are also ardently pro-America, hate the poor despite not being wealthy themselves, hate the rich for being richer than them, hate 'rednecks’ for being too uncivilised, hate 'conservatives’ for being too stuck-up, and hate liberals for not fitting into a stuck-up conservative worldview. When you think of yourself as the lone, correct singularity trapped in the centre of a world filled with people who are wrong because they care too much about things you don’t like to think about, literally every other person on the planet becomes a potential threat. Your life is given meaning by the feeling of persecution this constant target on your back brings. And it’s a lot easier to take your anger out on a toothless social group than to comprehend your own lack of identity - to make fun of 'gingers’ and vegetarians like you were born yesterday rather than do anything legitimately rebellious or anti-establishment. Particularly if your specific demographic is the one nearly all media is catered towards. Movies are telling you that you’re the hero, but your miserable job tells you that you’re just a rube. Who’s to blame? Don’t bother thinking about it, because you might end up on a crusade, and you don’t want to be like those losers who keep going on about their problems. Make a game in which you kill all those people instead. That’ll teach em.

Postal 2 is the kind of stand-up comic that gets heckled for telling an offensive joke and then threatens to shoot-up the audience if they won’t stop booing him. It was made - poorly even for the time - by a bunch of clowns playing to the easiest possible audience: white edgelords. It’s a power fantasy for people who don’t have anything meaningful to fight for, so they fight gingers. Y'know, because South Park did it. Nazis are funny, gingers are bad. Everyone is wrong, stick to the middle. The middle of a spectrum. The middle of the road. The middle of a river as it sweeps you out to sea. It’s all the same.

2/10

[panharmonium]

Stiles?

[disclaimer for other folks before I start this one: I HAVE ONLY WATCHED SEASONS 1-4 OF TEEN WOLF.  I *am* going to finish it, and I have been carefully avoiding spoilers for anything past Season 4, including general impressions of whether or not people like various seasons, comparisons of quality between seasons, etc.  PLEASE do not reply to this post or talk to me about Teen Wolf unless you are scrupulously avoiding ALL discussion of seasons 5-6.  Thank you!]

First impression:

Positive!  I already have a weak spot for smart, witty side characters, so I liked him from the start.  But I didn’t get super interested in him until the episode with the parent-teacher conference - the sequence where each parental group is having a conversation with a different teacher and something is revealed about each of the kids is actually what got me hooked on Teen Wolf as a whole.  Before that, I’d been kind of casually interested in all the characters, but then the show turned around and was like, “hey, remember the character tropes we set you up for with these kids?  SURPRISE, WE’RE SMARTER THAN THAT!  EVERY SINGLE OF THESE CHARACTERS IS FULLY ROUNDED AND FLESHED OUT AND DOESN’T FIT IN A BOX.”

The whole way that sequence is edited is just fantastic.  How it cuts between what the teachers are saying and what the kids are doing at that moment - amazing.  The minute I heard about Jackson’s adoption/Scott’s missing dad/Stiles’s mom/Lydia’s intelligence + her parents’ separation, I was a goner for that show.  

Impression now:

Love him.  It’s hard for me to say “favorites” with Teen Wolf, because I really do adore every single character.  But he’s one of my favorites. XD

Favorite moment:

Way too many.  One of the smaller moments that I really love with him is during 3A when they’re trying to escape with Cora from the hospital, and they’re exiting the ambulance, and Stiles stops midway out and the scene kind of slows down as he stares at the intake form hanging on the ambulance door, because he just saw the signature line that said “Parent/Guardian” and he’s figuring out that Jennifer isn’t actually aiming for “warriors” right now, she’s aiming for “guardians.”  And then he takes off running, because he knows Jennifer’s going to go for Melissa.

I love the way that entire scene was cut, and the way they start playing this song as he begins to figure it out, and the way everything else slows down and the world falls away as realization sets in.  I just really love seeing how smart he is - his brain is always working, even when they’re in the middle of a crisis.  Like Lydia says, “You’re the one who always figures it out.”

Speaking of Lydia - another favorite Stiles moment is at the dance in 1.11, when he tells her he knows how smart she really is and that she’s going to "write some insane mathematical theorem that wins [her] the Nobel Prize.”  I just - I will legitimately go to the mat over lazy, provably incorrect takes that try to argue that Stiles was just immaturely idolizing the “image” of a girl he thought was pretty.  The entire point of their relationship is that Stiles has always seen past the airhead image Lydia puts on to survive their high school jungle - he doesn’t shame her for putting it on, but he doesn’t lie to her about believing the act, either.  He knows she’s a genius.  He admires her so much.  He thinks she’s the coolest damn person in the world.

[^Someday I will type up the infuriated rant that rises in me every time I see some unbearably misguided take on Stiles’s relationship with Lydia falling into the “Nice Guy (TM)” category (when it is canonically the EXACT OPPOSITE), because every time I see someone say that I get the urge to start breaking stuff.]

Idea for a story:

Oh, boy.  Well, I have about 50k of unpublished Teen Wolf fic (from both Stiles and Allison’s POV) on my computer, which was all part of a massive two-part project that in retrospect I think was maybe a little too ambitious for me at the time.  I’m not abandoning it, because I love what I’ve written so far, but it needs to be seriously re-worked before it can be continued.

Ultimately, the project was my answer to some things about 3B that I found unsatisfying on a storytelling front, but it was a bigger thing than I could pull off successfully at that stage of my writing life.  I’ve been getting a lot more experience with longfic and plotting from my Merlin work, though, so I think once I pivot back to Teen Wolf I’ll be better placed to tackle this project.

Unpopular opinion:

If there’s anybody here who ships the Big Teen Wolf Ship, you’ll probably want to go ahead and scroll on by this bit.

I have generally been very diligent about avoiding the TW fandom, just because I’m still avoiding spoilers for the seasons 5 and 6, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been, uh...exposed to way more information about its ship distribution than I ever wanted to know.  And I remain BAFFLED about why it looks the way it looks.

I say this every time this topic comes up, but there are some ships that I just don’t care for, and then there are some ships that I literally cannot comprehend where on earth they came from.  Derek/Stiles is a ship where I can’t understand where it came from.  It squicks me so badly.  Literally just the tiniest glimpse of it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.  

I don’t know if people just...don’t understand that Derek is canonically in his twenties?????  Or if they’re all fast-forwarding the timeline and aging Stiles up; I don’t know.  I’ve never investigated.  But I don’t understand why this ship ever even occurred to anyone.  I don’t get it.  I was teaching high school when I was Derek’s age.  There is NOTHING romantically compatible between a 16 year-old and a 22/23 year-old, in any non-fucked up version of reality.  

So there’s the grossed-out factor, for me, and then there’s also just the fact that this ship is yet another example of fandom’s inability to read any relationship with a fascinating, complex dynamic as anything other than romantically-motivated, despite the fact that a romantic relationship is indisputably NOT present in the canon.

Anyway.  I could say more about this, but ultimately I’m a “you do you” person.  I’m not going to bother anyone for shipping this, and I don’t care what people do with their own fandom time.  But my personal unpopular opinion is that Derek/Stiles is the most bizarre, textually unsupported, squicky ship I’ve ever seen.

Favorite relationship:

Stiles and Scott, Stiles and Lydia, Stiles and Allison, Stiles and Melissa.  And STILES AND HIS FATHER.  

Favorite headcanon:

This is WAY old, but to pull from an ancient post: a friend and I used to talk about the Great Flu Epidemic of 2005, which brought down the entire McCall-Stilinski clan over the course of a single weekend and which has never been definitively traced back to its source. To this day, the four of them still argue about who brought it home first.

Stiles does a science project on it in the fourth grade and on the one hand his teacher is actually impressed and relieved that Stiles was finally able to focus on something long enough to finish an assignment, but when little Scott McCall keeps interrupting Stiles’s presentation to present contrasting evidence it turns into a Production of Epic Proportions and the class gets too riled up to focus on anyone else’s projects.  

The call home that time is basically like:

Mrs. Gordon: “So the good news is this project was surprisingly well-researched - ”

Papa Stilinski: “Oh, god.”

[arcticdementor]

There are three kinds of dissidents: (a) anons, (b) pundits who still care what people think, and (c) outsiders who DGAF. All these groups are great; real greatness can be achieved in any of them; and good friends I have in each. But each has its problems.

…

The problem with (b) is that you are always policing yourself. Not only do your readers never really know what you really believe—you never really know yourself. In practice, it is much easier to police your own thoughts than your own words. When choosing between two ideas, the temptation to prefer the safer one is almost irresistible. This is a source of cognitive distortion which the anons and outsiders do not experience. (Though anons do suffer something of the opposite, a reflex to provoke.)

As a pundit, you sense this stress in every bone of your body; you can never show it to your readers. This creates a deep dishonesty in the parasocial relationship between writer and reader—like a marriage that can never escape some foolish first-date fib. The falsity, like the blue in blue cheese, flows through and flavors every particle of your content. Neither you nor your readers can ever be sure whether you are speaking the truth, lying to them, or lying to yourself—but you are constantly doing all three. You may still be very entertaining—enlightening, even. All your work is ephemeral, and once you die only your relatives will remember you. And it’s not even your fault.

…

From my perspective, both the anonymous and official dissidents exhibit a kind of unserious frivolity, but a very different kind. The frivolity of the anon is imaginative, surreal and playful at best, merely puerile at worst. The frivolity of the pundit has no upside; in every paragraph he is breaking Koestler’s rule, and he knows it; the best he can do is to shut up selectively about the things he cannot write about.

And his mens rea, too, is awful. He is selling hope. He is selling answers. Pity the man whose life has brought him to the position of selling answers in which he does not believe, or which he is forced to believe, or which he must force himself to believe. However sophisticated and erudite he may be, he is just a high-end grifter. His little magazine is a Macedonian troll-farm with a PhD. He is lucky if his eloquent essays about the common good don’t appear above a popup bar peddling penis pills—and in fact, I know more than one brilliant scholar in precisely this bathetic position. The frame defines the picture; the context sets the price of the text. Sad!

Worst still must be the reality that bad punditry is worse than useless—since useless strategies for escaping from a real problem are traps. When you lead your readers toward an attractive but ineffective solution, you lead them away from the opposite.

You got into this business to change the world for the better. You cannot avoid the realization that you are changing it for the worse—because your objective function is that of Chaim Rumkowski, the Lodz Ghetto’s “King of the Jews.”

You exist to convince your own followers that they neither can nor should do anything effective. The easiest way to do this is to convince them that ineffective strategies are effective. And this, as we’ll see, is exactly what you cannot avoid doing, dear pundit.

Moreover, from our present position of profound unreality, where the official narrative shared and studied by all normal intelligent people and all prestigious institutions can only be described as a state of venomous delirium, the opportunities to play Judas goat are almost unlimited. Cows, remember: there does not have to be only one Judas goat.

…

A particular favorite of the pundit is the error that AI philosophers call the “first-step fallacy.” It turns out that the first monkey to climb to the top of a tree was taking the first step toward landing on the moon:

First-step thinking has the idea of a successful last step built in. Limited early success, however, is not a valid basis for predicting the ultimate success of one’s project. Climbing a hill should not give one any assurance that if he keeps going he will reach the sky.

When a vendor sells you the moon and ships you a rope-ladder, you’ve been defrauded. Time for that one-star review.

…

Today we’ll chart the edges of the legitimate possible by looking at three recent pundit essays which have done a fine job of exploring those edges, and maybe even expanding them: Richard Hanania’s “Why is Everything Liberal?”, Scott Alexander’s “The New Sultan”, and Tanner Greer’s “The Problem of the New Right.”

…

After reading Hanania’s essay, a fourth pundit (who is out as a radical conservative) asked me: why does the right always lose? “Narcissistic delusions,” I replied.

Which was far from what he expected to hear, or what most readers will take from the essay. All three of these essays are good and true; but their inability to go far enough leaves them pointing their audience in precisely the wrong direction.

Most readers will emerge feeling that conservatives need more and better narcissistic delusions. Indeed, both pundit and politician are right there with just such a product. This meretricious frivolity, posing as seriousness, is too egregious to leave unmocked; yet the right reason to mock it is to challenge it to assume its final, truly-serious form.

Richard Hanania and the loser right

Hanania’s true point—backed up with a ream of unnecessary, PhD-worthy evidence—is that the libs always win because they just care more:

…

Since the rebirth of conservatism after the revolutionary monoculture of World War II, all conservative punditry has consisted of attempts to create more excitement around policies and values which effectively resist the power of the prestigious institutions—giving “normal people” as much to care about as their fanatical, aristocratic enemies.

Sensibly, this tends to involve raising “issues” which actually seem to affect their lives, but which also run counter to aristocratic power. Over decades, the substance of these issues changes and even reverses; the opposite stance becomes the useful stance; and “conservative values” have no choice but to change to reflect this. (If this seems like a liberal way to rag on conservatives—the cons learned it from the libs.)

…

“New Right” is not Greer’s term, but as a label I can barely imagine a worse self-own. It promises something ephemeral and irrelevant. So far as I can tell, this same cursed label has been used in every generation of conservatism to mean something different. When it inevitably fails and dies, people forget about it, and the next generation, stuck in the eternal present of a Korsakoff-syndrome movement, can reinvent it.

Who reads the conservative pundits of the ‘80s? Even those who remember them have to throw them under the bus. Every generation of National Review twinks, solemnly intoning what they conceive to be the immortal philosophy of our hallowed founders, is horrified by its predecessor, and horrifies its successor—a truly bathetic spectacle. And of course, each such generation would utterly horrify the actual founders.

…

Greer then goes deep into David Hackett Fischer territory to explain the obvious, yet important, fact that this “New Right” consists of upper-class intellectuals (inherently the heirs of the Puritans, since America’s upper-class tradition is the Puritan tradition) trying to lead middle-class yokels (the heirs of the Scotch-Irish crackers, and (though Greer does not mention this) Irish, Slavs, and other post-Albionic “white ethnic” trash, today even including many Hispanics. He even gives us a clever historical bon mot:

Pity the Whig who wishes to lead the Jackson masses!

Uh, yeah, dude, that would be called “Abraham Lincoln.”

But the point stands. Not just the “New Right” with its new statist ideology, but the whole postwar American Right, is a weird army with a general staff of philosophers and a fighting infantry of ignorant yokels. How can this stay together? How can the philosophers bring forth a mythology that creates passionate intensity in the yokels?

…

There is wisdom in this madness, of course—the problem is caused by aristocrats whose minds are wholly given over to narcissistic delusions. Doesn’t it take fire to fight fire? Doesn’t it take passionate intensity? Isn’t passionate intensity generated only by myths, dreams, poems and religions, not autistic formulas for tax policy? So the answer is clear: we need more and better narcissistic delusions. Ie, shams.

After all, any “founding mythology” is a narcissistic delusion. The flintlock farmers and mechanic mobs of the 1770s, and the Plymouth Puritans of the 1620s, have one thing in common: none of these people even remotely resembles the megachurch grill-and-minivan conservative of the 2020s. None of them even remotely resembles you.

They did live in the same places, and speak sort of the same language. Otherwise you probably have more in common with the average Indonesian housewife—at least she watches the same superhero movies.

To Narcissus, everything is a mirror; in everything and everyone, he sees himself. No field is riper for narcissism than history, since the dead past cannot even laugh at the present’s appropriations of a human reality it could not even start to comprehend.

And fighting fire with fire is one thing, but fighting the shark in the water is another. For the aristocrat, transcending reality is a core competence. The essence of leftism—always and everywhere an aristocratic trope, however vast its ignorant serf-armies—is James Spader in Pretty in Pink: “If I cared about money, would I treat my father’s house this way?” Mere peasants can never develop this kind of wild energy: that’s the point.

Yet Hanania remains right about the amount of energy that a rational, Kantian agenda for productive collective action motivated by collective self-interest, or even collective self-defense, can generate. The grill-American suburbicon is like Maistre’s Frenchman under the late Jacobins: he has defined deviancy down to rock-bottom. “He feels that he is well-governed, so long as he himself is not being killed.”

O, what to do? When you are solving an engineering problem and see the answer at last, it hits you like a thunderbolt. The conservatives, the normal people, the grill-Americans, must accept their own low energy. They must cease their futile reaching for passionate intensity, whether achieved through Kantian collective realism or Jaffaite founding mythology. They must fight the shark on land.

Conservatives don’t care—at least not enough. Yet they want to matter. Yet they live in a political system where mattering is a function of caring—not just voting. Therefore, there are two potential solutions: (a) make them care more; (b) make systems that let them matter more, without caring more.

Conservatives have low energy. They want high impact—at this point, they need high impact. After all, once you yourself are being killed, it’s kind of too late. Any engineer would tell you that there are two paths to high impact: more energy, or more efficiency.

Conservatives vote but don’t care. If we don’t have a viable way to make conservatives care more—meaning orders of magnitude more—effective strategies and structures must generate power by voting, not caring. They must maximize power per vote.

…

Interference means voters who are on the same team are working against each other. Impedance means voters resist delegating their complete consent to the team.

Interference is like a bunch of ants pulling the breadcrumb in different directions. To eliminate interference, point all your votes at one structurally cohesive entity which never works against itself.

Impedance is like getting married for a limited trial period, so long as your wife stays hot and keeps liking the stuff you like. As Burke pointed out in his famous speech to the electors of Bristol, the fundamental nature of electoral consent is unconditional:

To deliver an opinion, is the right of all men; that of Constituents is a weighty and respectable opinion, which a Representative ought always to rejoice to hear; and which he ought always most seriously to consider.

But authoritative Instructions; Mandates issued, which the Member is bound blindly and implicitly to obey, to vote, and to argue for, though contrary to the clearest conviction of his judgement and conscience; these are things utterly unknown to the laws of this land, and which arise from a fundamental Mistake of the whole order and tenor of our Constitution.

The cause of electoral impedance in the modern world is the conventional concept of “agendas” or “platforms” or “issues.” When you vote not for a cohesive entity, but for a list of instructions you are giving to that entity, you are not voting your full power. You are voting for Burke’s opponent, who felt “his Will ought to be subservient to yours.” In effect, you are voting for yourself. Narcissism once again rears its ugly head.

When you vote an agenda, you are granting limited consent to your representative. You say: I vote for you, for a limited time, so long as you stay fit and cook tasty dinners. I am actually not voting for you! I am voting for “reforms for conservatives” (Hanania). I am voting for “a broad set of shared attitudes and policy prescriptions” (Greer). Dear, I am not marrying you. I am marrying hot sex, regular cleaning and delicious meals—till ten extra pounds, or maybe at most fifteen, do us part.

You implicitly withhold your consent for anything not on your jejune list of bullet points. Then, you wonder why your representatives have no power and are constantly mocked, disobeyed, tricked and destroyed by people who are legally their employees. This is not political sex. This is political masturbation. You voted for yourself. And instead of a baby, all you got was a wad of tissues. Nice way to “drain the swamp.”

Your vote does not work because you are not voting, delegating, or granting consent. You are like an archer with one arrow who, afraid of losing it, refuses to let go of it. Without releasing his dart, all he can do is run up to the enemy and try to stab.

So if conservatives want to maximize the impact of their votes, all they have to do is the opposite of what they’re doing. Instead of voting for the okonomi a-la-carte stupid little political menus of hundreds of unconnected candidates and their staffs, they can all vote for the omakase prix-fixe chef’s-choice of a single cohesive governing entity.

Such a power, elected, has the voters’ mandate not just to “govern,” but to rule. When no other private or public force enjoys any such consent, no other force can resist. We are certainly well beyond “rule of law” at this point! On the inaugural podium, the new President announces a state of emergency. He declares himself the Living Constitution. In six months no one will even remember “the swamp.”

Wow! What a simple, clear idea! The engineer, when he comes across so compelling and obvious a design, knows there’s a catch: he won’t get the patent. Someone else must have invented it before. People may be stupid—but they’re not that stupid.

Indeed we have just reasoned our way to reinventing the oldest, most common, and most successful form of government: monarchy. And we are setting it against the second most common form, the institutional rule of power-obsessed elites: oligarchy. And to install our monarchy, we are using the collective action of a large number of people who each perform one small act: democracy.

The alliance of monarchy and democracy (king and people) against oligarchy (church and/or nobles) is the oldest political strategy in the book. The suburban conservative, who just wants to grill, either has no idea this ancient and trivial solution exists, or regards it as the worst thing in the world—even worse, possibly, than his sixth-grader’s mandatory sex change.

And why? Ask your friendly local Judas goat, the pundit. Even the “new right” pundit—who only differs in his policies and issues. Which are, true, slightly less useless. As the top of the tree is slightly closer to the moon.

The 20th century even came up with a handy pejorative for a newborn monarchy. We call it fascism. No word on whether Cromwell, Caesar, or Charlemagne, let alone Louis XIV, Frederick II and Elizabeth I, were fascists.

But, to borrow Scott Alexander’s charming term, also not his own invention, they were certainly strongmen. TLDR: if you want to be strong, elect one strongman. If you prefer to be weak, elect a whole bunch of weakmen. Do you prefer to be weak? “If the rule you followed brought you to this place—of what use was the rule?”

The pundit reassures you that you don’t need a strongman to be strong—you’ll do fine with weakmen—so long as those weakmen have the right “shared attitudes and policy prescriptions.” By the way, here are some attitudes I’m happy to share with you. Click now to accept cookies. Did I mention that I have policy prescriptions, too? Skip ad in 5 seconds. Congratulations, you’ve been automatically subscribed! Check the box to opt out of most emails—void where prohibited by law—terms and conditions may apply…

…

An odd sort of pundit, who remains only nominally anonymous but has always very much GAF, Scott Alexander does not have Hanania’s cagey diplomatic noncommittal. As a “rationalist,” he is deeply committed to his own class status, and to oligarchy itself—which, like most, he misidentifies as “democracy.”

While the whole raison d’etre of the rationalist is the irrationality of our oligarchy, as displayed in genius moves like refusing to cancel regularly-scheduled airline flights to stop a Holocaust-tier pandemic, the rationalist’s dream is a rational oligarchy—using Bayes’ rule, which given infinite computing power will become infinitely intelligent—in Carlyle’s immortal phrase, “a government carried out by steam.”

Obviously, this is not just logical—it immunizes the rationalists from the scurrilous charge of “fascism,” or worse. And they were right about stopping the flights. So was my 9-year-old. Sadly, in a world of universal delusional delirium, rationality can get quite pleased with itself by clearing quite a low bar.

My view is that no government can be or ever has been carried out by steam—only by human beings—a species the same today as in the Old Kingdom of Egypt, if possibly a little dumber on average—and this will remain the case until some computational or genetic singularity occurs. For neither of which events will I hold my breath. This is why I find it easy to picture 21st-century America under the phronetic monarchy of an experienced and capable President-CEO, and almost hilariously impossible to picture it under a Bayesian bureaucracy of polyamorous smart-contracts.

Alexander disagrees. Here is his analysis—the same text that Hanania quotes. Let’s go through it thought by thought, and see if we can’t turn it into some delicious carnitas.

…

Let’s get back to those “elites.” Alexander conflates three quite orthogonal concepts in his use of the word “elite”: biology, institutions, and culture.

Elite biology is high IQ, which is genetic. Elite institutions are any centers of organized collective power—Harvard, the Komsomol, the Mafia, etc. Elite culture is whatever ideas flourish within elite institutions.

Destroying biology is genocide—specifically, aristocide. Destroying institutions is… paperwork. Who hasn’t worked for a company that went out of business? Same deal. And if the culture is the consequence of the institutions, different institutions (with the same human biology) will inevitably nurture different ideas.

The SS was anything but a low-IQ institution, yet it propagated a very different culture than Harvard. 21st-century Germany is anything but a low-IQ country, but the ideas of Kurt Eggers do not flourish in it. It seems that high-IQ institutions can be destroyed—and the new “elite culture” will be the culture of the institutions that replace them.

So the only target is the institutions. There is nothing “nasty” about closing an office. In the worst possible scenario, the police need to clear the building, lock the doors, and impound the servers. Such tasks are well within their core competence, and can be performed with calm professionalism. They will probably not even need their zip-ties.

…

For democracy to be effective in such a situation, it must know its own limitations. It can seize the reins—but only to hand them to some effective power. This power must have one of three forms: an existing oligarchy, a new monarchy, or a foreign power.

Also, there are three classes in an advanced society, not just two: nobles, commoners, and clients. Since clients support their patrons by definition, once nobles plus clients outnumber commoners, the commoners have permanently lost the numbers game. This is why importing client voters is a recipe for either civil war or eternal tyranny—if not both.

…

Yes. This is what happened in denazification, except with monarchy and oligarchy reversed. For example, all German media firms today are descendants of institutions created, or at least certified, by AMGOT. Nothing “organic” about it.

The essential problem with Alexander’s picture of this process is that, since like most smart people today he inhabits Cicero’s great quote about history and children, he simply cannot imagine replacing one kind of elite institution with another. Nor can he imagine high-IQ elites—human beings as smart as him—which are as loyal to a new sane monarchy as today’s elites are loyal, slavishly loyal, to our old insane oligarchy. Does he think that Elizabeth’s London had no elites? Caesar’s Rome?

If Alexander was analyzing the Soviet Union in the same way, he would conclude that elites are inherently devoted to building socialism for the workers and peasants. Since the present world he lives in is all of history for him, he cannot see the general theory which predicts this special case: elites like to get ahead. To genuinely change the world, change what it takes for elites to get ahead.

If the elites are poets and their only way to get ahead is to write interminable reams of “race opera,” as my late wife liked to put it, the floodgates of race opera will open. If the elites are poets and their only way to get ahead is to write interminable reams of Stalin hagiography, Stalin will be praised to the skies in beautiful and clever rhymes.

…

There are two big strawmen here. Let’s turn them into steelmen.

First, “the populace uses the government” is non-Burkean. The populace (not all of it, just the middle class) installs the government. Then it goes back to grilling. So long as the commoners have to be in charge of the regime, and the commoners are weak, the regime will be weak. They need to “fire and forget.” Otherwise, they just lose.

Second, Alexander has clearly never heard of the atelier movement. No, this is not the same thing as your grandma in front of the TV copying Bob Ross.

What happens is this: every (oligarchic) art school and art critic no longer exists. Not that they are killed, of course. Just that their employers are liquidated (not with a bullet in the neck, just with a letter from the bank). They exist physically, not professionally. They were already bureaucrats—they had careers, not passions. Who gets fired, but keeps doing his job just for fun? Certainly not a bureaucrat.

And every (oligarchic) artist no longer exists—not that they are killed, of course. Just that the rich socialites who used to buy their stuff got letters from the bank, too. Libs sometimes talk about a wealth tax—a one-time wealth cap, perhaps at a modest level like $20 mil, will concentrate the rich man’s mind wonderfully on actual necessities.

Elites like to get ahead. The people who got ahead in the oligarchic art scene can no longer get ahead by doing shitty, bureaucratic, 20th-century conceptual art. Because there were so many of them, and because the demand for this product has dropped by at least one order of magnitude if not two, elite ambition is replaced by elite revulsion.

The enormous supply-and-demand imbalance for both art and artists in 20th-century styles leaves these styles about as fashionable as disco in 1996. “Paintings” that used to sell for eight figures will be stacked next to the dumpster. “Artists” once celebrated in the Times will be teaching kindergarten, tying trout flies, or cooking delicious dinners.

Inevitably, some of these people have real artistic talent. (The first modern artists had real talent—Picasso was an excellent draftsman.) They can go to an atelier and learn to draw. They will—because now, acquiring real artistic skill is a way to get ahead in art. And again, elites like to get ahead.

…

There is nothing “normal” or “natural” or “organic” about oligarchy. Does Alexander think “uncured” bacon is “organic” because, instead of evil chemical nitrates, it uses healthy, natural celery powder? He sure is easy to fool. But who isn’t?

Culture and academia is already yoked to the will of government in a “heavy-handed manner”—yoked not by the positive pressure of power, but the negative attraction of power. When the formal government defers to institutions that are formally outside the government, it leaks power into them and makes them de facto state agencies.

Power leakage, like a pig lagoon spilling into an alpine lake, poisons the marketplace of ideas with delicious nutrients. Ideas that make the institutions more powerful grow wildly. Eventually these ideas evolve carnivory and learn to positively repress their competitors, which is how our free press and our independent universities have turned our regime into Czechoslovakia in 1971, and our conversation into a Hutu Power after-school special. PS: Black lives matter.

The paradox of “authoritarianism” is that a regime strong enough to implement Frederick the Great’s idea of “free speech”—“they say what they want, I do what I want”—can actually create a free and unbiased marketplace of ideas, which neither represses seditious ideas nor rewards carnivorous ideas. But it takes a lot of power to reach this level of strength—and it requires liquidating all competing powers.

I have never been able to explain this simple idea to anyone, even rationalists with 150+ IQs who can grok quantum computing before breakfast, who didn’t want to understand it. Ultimately it reduces to the painful realization that sovereignty is conserved—that the power of man over man is a human universal. (Also, we all die.)

No surprise that nerds who think of power as Chad shoving them into a locker can’t handle the truth. PS: I went to a public high school as a 12-year-old sophomore, was bullied every day for three years, and graduated college as a virgin. Whoever you are, dear reader, you are not beyond hope. You can handle the truth.

…

And yet: Alexander’s post is about Erdoğan—and his description of Erdoğan is spot on. It also is a perfect description of Orban in Hungary; it applies to Putin in Russia and Xi in China; and it is even pretty accurate for Hitler, Mussolini and friends.

What all these “strongmen” have in common is that they are provincial. Turkey is not exactly the center of the world. Even 20th-century Germany was nowhere near the center of the world, though it could at least imagine becoming that center. If Turkey just disappeared tomorrow, no one would have any reason to care except the Turks. Who needs Turkey for anything? What would collapse—the dried-apricot market?

Erdoğan’s problem is that he cannot vaporize the oligarchy, because the institutions that matter are not in Turkey. The provincial strongman has no choice but to follow the “populist” playbook that Alexander describes so well.

Orban can kick Soros’s university out of Hungary; he cannot do anything at all to Soros, let alone to the global institutions of which Soros is only a small part. He is indeed “arrayed against” these institutions, to which his Hungarian elites (who speak nearly-perfect English) will always be loyal. The contest is unequal and has only one possible winner, though it can last indefinitely long. Even Xi, whose country can quite easily imagine becoming the economic center of the world, is a provincial strongman—in fact, he sent his daughter to Harvard. Sad!

In a global century, the only way for these provincial strongmen to develop genuine local sovereignty is to go full juche. This is simply not possible for Hungary or Turkey, both of which are firmly attached to the cultural, economic, and military teat of the Global American Empire. Indeed it is barely possible for North Korea, a marsupial nation still in China’s pouch. So Alexander is right: these “strongmen” cannot win. Their regimes will all go the way of Franco’s. It’s impressive that they even survive.

Erdoğan simply has no way to attach his best citizens to his own regime. They are citizens of the world. Elites always like to get ahead. If you’re a world-class talent in anything, why would you try to get ahead in Istanbul? Suppose you want to make a name as the world’s greatest Turkish writer. Succeed in New York, then come home. Turkey is a province; provinces are provincial.

Yet I am not a Turk or a Hungarian, and neither is Scott Alexander. The greater any empire, the more essential that its fall begin at the center. The Soviet empire did not fall from the outside in; it was not brought down from Budapest or Prague; it fell from Moscow out.

And the American empire will fall from Washington out—though that may not happen in the lives of those now living. And although nature abhors a vacuum and no empire can be replaced by nothing—and oligarchy, in the modern world, can only be replaced by monarchy—the “strongman” of this monarchy will not look anything like these mere provincial dictators.

…

The result of Alexander’s perceptive calculations, which are only wrong because their only input data is the present, is simply that our present incompetent tyranny is and must be permanent. Of course, every sovereign regime defines itself as permanent. Yet when we look at the past and not just the present, we see that no empire is forever.

Some grim things are happening in America today. These grim things have a silver lining: they expose the gleaming steel jaws of the traps that the aristocracy sets for its commoners. They remind the cattle that a goat is not a cow and a baa is not a moo.

Every pundit is a Cicero. And amidst all the greatness of his rhetoric, Cicero could not imagine a world that had no use for Ciceros—a world governed by competence, not rhetoric. By the time Caesar crossed the Rubicon, nothing had failed more completely than the whole Roman idea of governance by rhetoric—an idea many centuries old, an idea whose execution had beaten all competitors to capture the whole civilized world, but an idea that was past its sell-by date. Rome herself was no longer suited to it. The republican aristocracy of Rome no longer meant Regulus and Scipio and Cincinnatus; it meant Milo and Clodius and Catiline. Its factional conflict was the choice between Hutu Power and Das Schwarze Korps. Caesar was not a disaster; Caesar was a miracle.

In the death of the American republic, every detail is different. The story is the same. The contrast in capacity between SpaceX and the Pentagon, Moderna and the CDC, Apple and Minneapolis—between our monarchical corporations, and our oligarchical institutions—is a dead ringer for the contrast between the legions and the Senate.

The sooner we stop pretending that this isn’t happening to us, the better results we can get. Wouldn’t it be nice to get to Caesar, Augustus and Marcus Aurelius, without passing through Sulla and Marius, Crassus and Spartacus? Alas, from here and now it seems unlikely. But I can’t see why every serious person wouldn’t want to try.

[jeynearrynofthevale]

“The queen regarded him coolly. “I had not thought you so niggardly. The king I’d thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down.”

Robert’s face darkened with anger. “That would be a fine trick, without a wolf.”

“We have a wolf,” Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph.”

~A Game of Thrones, Eddard iii

Sansa’s wolf doesn’t die because Sansa says nothing. Lady dies because Cersei wants a wolf skin after a direwolf bit Joffrey, which she has concrete evidence of. The king has already resolved matters by this time. He’s going to discipline Joffrey and Ned will discipline Arya. Lady dies because Cersei is out for blood, Robert is weak and doesn’t care, and Ned can’t do more than ask Robert to do it himself. The tragedy of the trident is that 2 selfish assholes get to make decisions and kill any person or animal they want, and because feudalism is a horrendous system, no one can stop it.

“There was something slung over the back of his destrier, a heavy shape wrapped in a bloody cloak. “No sign of your daughter, Hand,” the Hound rasped down, “but the day was not wholly wasted. We got her little pet.” He reached back and shoved the burden off, and it fell with a thump in front of Ned.”

Also it is literally impossible for Sansa to be responsible for Mycah’s death. The trial occurs when Arya is home and that is when Sansa pretty much takes the 5th and says she doesn’t remember. Sandor doesn’t even know Arya has been found and he has already killed Mycah. Sansa cannot be held responsible for his death. You know who can: the 28 year old child murderer that people ship with the 11 year old girl in question.

Sansa should feel sad for Mycah’s death, but a piece of her soul was killed, and she feels numb when the highborn, Ser Hugh is killed. Sansa is definitely a classist character, but if you ship her with the hound, a man who actually killed a lowborn boy for daring to be friendly with a highborn girl, you’re not in a position to critique that.

Also, fuck you if you blame Arya, a 9 year old girl, for having a lowborn friend and not the adults on the trident who let 3 of the most important children in Westeros wander off without chaperones. Joffrey is the crown prince of Westeros who was allowed to ride off alone decked out in finery. What if there were bandits or they got lost. Why were there no adults, just give each child a guard who can’t leave their side. You can solve the trident and save Lady and more importantly, Micah, if you just have adult supervision.

This is how Ned describes Sansa in these moments.

“That was when Sansa finally seemed to comprehend. Her eyes were frightened as they went to her father. “He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She saw the truth on his face.”

Can you imagine the betrayal Sansa felt?

“Stop them,” Sansa pleaded, “don’t let them do it, please, please, it wasn’t Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can’t, it wasn’t Lady, don’t let them hurt Lady, I’ll make her be good, I promise, I promise . . . ” She started to cry.”

“He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.”

He legitimately compares Lyanna last moments as she dies to Sansa pleading for Lady.

“She woke murmuring, "Please, please, I'll be good, I'll be good, please don't," but there was no one to hear.”

This is Sansa after her father has been beheaded. She has internalized that “being good” or being the ideal Westerosi lady is going to save her because she has been taught that as a lady of house Stark. So she forces herself to be the “perfect lady” even though that means she’ll get sold off to a husband she has no control over because she’s told that’s how you get rewarded. And as punishment for doing exactly what society has told her, a piece of her soul is killed, her betrothal to the son of the people that killed that piece continues, and then she is beaten daily by grown men in armor for the next year.

And by the way, Ned continues her betrothal to Joffrey after the incident at the trident, meaning she is about to be owned by him. She is asked to testify against her betrothed, her future owner, by her father, her current owner. And she literally does the only thing that doesn’t put her against either her birth family or future family.

Holding Sansa responsible for Mycah’s death is not only incorrect but misplaces the blame from the Lannisters, the hound, and the feudal system that says his life is worth less because he is lowborn. Sansa is a child within that system and her classism sucks and the fact that she thinks of lowborn ppl as less than is awful, but she has no control over the system. And blaming Arya for that is even worse as it implies that not being classist is some sort of sin when it is a virtue.

[puffintalia]

Can I ask 29 for Nedport?

29: “Come over here and make me”

sorry this took so long aa ive never written them before and i had no clue how to go at this prompt

-

Cannons. The sound of cannons blasting through the air, making everything rock and shake violently, waves crashing onto splintering timber. Salt and gunpowder filled the air, the smell overpowering. Disorientating - or it would be if he wasn’t used to it. The second he found a safe path, there would be another deafening boom and the ship would lurch again, sending guns and swords skittering across the deck. 

And through it all, there was laughter. Smug, familiar laughter. Him.

Jan looked around, confused. The ship alongside his was old and grand - it would have been impressive if he didn’t know it so well. Shining figureheads and gold inlays only meant so much. A pretty ship never stopped anyone from being an arrogant, insufferable bastard. The laughter drew closer, ringing in his ears. The cannons were loud, but this was different. A personal game.

He reached for his sword, only to find it gone. A flash of green between the sails and - there! There, hanging onto the rigging, gloating down at him in a way that made Jan want to slap the grin off his face.

He gritted his teeth. “Will you shut the fuck up?” 

“Why don’t you come up here and make me?” Rafael drew his sword - Jan’s sword - with a flourish, clinging to the ropes with his other hand. Pretentious as always, but an impressive feat considering how aggressively it was swaying. He didn’t envy his position.

Just to annoy him, Jan refused his challenge, tempting as it was. “What the fuck do you want?”

Rafael thought for a second. Huh. Didn’t know he could do that. “What don’t I want?”

Faster than Jan could comprehend, he swung down, sword slashing the sails. He landed and pinned Jan against the mast, the sword tucked under his chin. Slowly tilting it up, even though Jan was a good six inches taller. 

“Gold, glory… a chance to see my favourite rival.”

“Antonio’s not here,” Jan replied, bitter. Idiot Spaniard, probably living like a king back home while he sent Jan to the other ends of the Earth to do his dirty work.

“Good thing he’s not my favourite.” Rafael winked as he pushed his sword up higher. He looked over his shoulder. 

The brawl breaking out by the doors made it pretty clear his partner (captain? What was their deal, anyway?) had just disappeared into the hold. Gunshots rang out, barely audible over the creaking of the shattered deck. It was clear his men were losing - for once, his trade was completely legitimate, so many of his best fighters had opted to enjoy their chance at a break. It was almost as if Kirkland had known he was weak, known when he was most defenceless. God, they didn’t stand a chance. His sailors laid strewn on the floor, the few who still could moaning in pain at every rock and swell of the waves. To think he’d once trusted him with his life. He looked down at the other man in front of him as best he could, his jaw set in grim determination.

As Rafael raised the sword, he turned his face away.

It hit the mast right next to his face, driving in with a force that splintered the old wood. Jan winced. Hand still on the hilt, Rafael leaned in close, dropping the theatrics to whisper in Jan’s ear. 

“Just doing what I have to to keep Arthur happy. You know how it is.” He checked over his shoulder. “If you want to live to see tomorrow, I need you to listen to me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you really are willing to die for my brother. But somehow I doubt that.”

Jan shook his head. “You’re a dick.” It was more out of habit than any real feeling. How many times had they played this charade?

“Oh, I’m anything for you, you know that.” Rafael laughed, twirling the sword as he turned away. Jan knelt behind him, the same act of defeat he always played. “I’ll tell everyone you put up a good fight. You owe me one, Mogens.” He shrugged, watching Arthur emerge victorious with the cargo. “Sorry about your boat.”

“You better be.”