#the only way he could be less of a marx is if he was a teen instead of a 20 something

[starflungwaddledee]

For 💖🎀, what about Marx? Little cute creature concealing incredible magic and uncanny features! I think he could be so mean to her ❤️

oh... anon you are very big brained for this one. he could unfortunately be so so mean to her.... and he has such pretty pretty wings! she would be enraptured instantly.

bonus eye-anim version (cw eyes/flashing gif):

#a moth to a flame... #this is maybe not especially... shippy sorry. he's just... Looming Menacingly. #the way he *always* does in my artwork.... boring. #unfortunately my marx is an intelligent eldritch meanie. *feels* a bit more than my galacta knight but no less grey in the morals. #for what it's worth i DID come up with a short comic for this prompt as well. but it's Not Nice. would y'all still want me to do it? #nothing overt or explicit. but like... manipulation i suppose. mean lies. it's not even About Her really. just a pawn. #and yes his lashes ARE getting bigger every single time i draw him. like he deserves. wings too #i gotta learn to simplify these damn hexagons #actually a very big fan of the implied parallel. cute little uncanny creature. i could do a lot with that actually. there's a lot here. #also if i had to wake up in a cold sweat about this so do the rest of you but: Starx. #Starxstrarx if you're feeling especially mischievous. try and say it aloud. it's what he'd want. you're welcome. #cw flashing #<- only under the cut. but just in case. #marx (kirby) #starstruck dee #my art #🎀💖

[ntrlily]

Standing up and saying sometimes changing names in translation is good actually. For example, this man is not named MARX!

#he is almost the polar opposite of a marx #the only way he could be less of a marx is if he was a teen instead of a 20 something

[noskipnotability]

Hidden in the Papers

Prof!Alex x Prof!Reader

Summary: Headcannons and a drabble of you and (the Car era) Alex being married and professors

A/N: I thought this would be cute after I saw all the stud!reader and prof!alex one shots on here. I might do a part two of these or a full thing, who knows

Alex teaches English classes and you history, so you’re in the same building.

He is constantly walking in on your lectures just to watch you teach. Or leaving something in your room/bag so he has an excuse to see you. 

You are everyone’s favourite professors and most of your students come to you two for help or advice. 

Somehow, you both managed to convince the university to let you co-teach classes and those are your favourite lectures. They also happen to have the most enrollments, many students disappointed when they don’t make it in. 

After school, one of you will sneak into the other’s room while their grading. 

Alex’s arms wrap around you from behind and he presses sweet kisses to your neck, his lips leaving a missing sensation with each move. You sigh at the warm feeling spreading through you and lean back to place a kiss on his lips. 

Your neck had been killing you from where you hunched over while grading the papers your students had handed in. It was a common pain you and Alex both shared during those nights you would spend working late. But, you both made the agreement to find relief in the other when you exchanged rings on that fateful day. 

His nose now pressed into your shoulder where he snuggled into you, his foot reaching out to pull over the extra chair just for him, much like the one he kept for you. He hummed, lifting his head and resting his chin atop your shoulder, “How are the papers?”

His voice was low with a slight rasp from the tiring day of lecturing. He could feel his eyes shutting and sleep overcome him simply by being in your presence. You turned your head, your face less than an inch from the side of his, “Better than last time. I think Lars really liked going over Marx the other day, he has a real passion for governments. It really comes through in his writing, you should recommend him some books, hun.”

With his eyes shut and long lashes laying above his cheeks, he smirks, “Your kids are killing me with these recommendations, I only have so many books to give their way,” he chuckles. He wraps his arms from around your shoulder to your left arm that rested on your chair. He holds on tightly as he fights off his exhaustion, you struggling to fight your own. 

It was almost eight and you had both yet to leave the school, Alex had thankfully finished with his own work early and that only left your last two papers before you left. It wasn’t the smartest idea to dim the lights of your classroom because they only lolled you to falling asleep. You lean back and Alex lays his head onto your chest as best he could in the chairs. His hair brushes against the bottom of your chin and he places a light kiss on your collarbone. The want to fall into unconsciousness for the night beside your husband grows stronger with each second that passes. 

Alex’s sweater feels like clouds and his body heats warms you in the otherwise freezing room. No matter how hard you tried, nobody could make it the right temperature and it was always too hot or too cold. It wouldn’t be the first time the two of you fell asleep in class, only to be awoken to your students piling in for a lecture or security doing the rounds at night. And it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. 

The old man’s (I say lovingly) eyesight had gotten worse over time and he started stealing your reading glasses whenever he had to work or read. When you first saw him wearing them while reading in bed, you melted at the image of small hairs falling over the frames. Not to mention how good his arms looked cuddled up under the blankets. The lamp’s light cast an orange on his face that matched the sweetness he exuded. 

When he looked up and caught you staring at him, he went all wide-eyed and his soft lips parted in surprise. He rushed out some excuse but you just dismissed him as you crawled up the bed into his lap, placing a long and passionate kiss onto those lips. You whispered something about taking him to an eye exam so he wouldn’t butcher his sight even more using the wrong prescription. 

On top of walking in on your classes randomly he will occasionally show up with lunch and you would both sit on a rug you kept in your class as some sort of indoors picnic. There have been many times where someone would walk in with a question on the work or for whatever reason and you guys would have to try and explain what was going on. 

You shared office hours, of course, and would trade off who you would help. Sometimes you helping his students and him yours, as you both shared love for the others subjects and both have had to endure long rants about niche topics. 

All in all, it’s very cute and he is so in love.

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner x reader #alex turner fluff

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

Common Misconceptions About the End of the Roman Republic

Julius Caesar was not born by Caesarean section. Romans only performed that procedure on dead mothers, and Caesar's mother definitely lived another 40+ years.

Julius Caesar was almost certainly not Marcus Brutus' father. He was only 15 years older than Brutus, and Servilia was married to someone else.

Caesar's electoral campaign for 59 BCE was funded by his intended co-consul, Lucius Lucceius, not by Crassus. Although Crassus probably loaned Caesar money at other times.

It is not clear whether Caesar and Pompey used armed intimidation to get their legislation passed in 59 BCE, as neither of them had an army at this time, no contemporary source charges Caesar with political violence during his consulship, and only some of their proposed bills actually passed. See Robert Morstein-Marx's Julius Caesar and the Roman People for more.

Caesar was not an ideologue or demagogue, nor was his legislation particularly radical or populist. He was neither a "voice of the working man" nor a fascist. However, the methods he used to get what he wanted, and his refusal to back down at critical moments, were controversial and sometimes illegal.

Caesar was probably not behind the Vettius affair, considering that Vettius had previously attempted to get Caesar killed.

Caesar was also almost certainly not a member of the Catilinarian conspiracy; in fact, he assisted Cicero's investigation of it.

The "first triumvirate" was not an official group in the same way the second triumvirate was, nor did it overwhelmingly dominate Roman politics. Most of the triumvirs' legislation failed after the first half of 59 BCE, and most of their electoral candidates were unsuccessful.

Caesar didn't conquer all of Gaul, since the Romans already ruled the southern coast and Cisalpine Gaul.

Caesar landed on Britain, twice, but did not conquer it.

The Gauls were not "savages," but a diverse and sophisticated collection of tribes with their own agriculture, political systems, artwork, trade networks and more.

Caesar's Gallic Commentaries are mostly reliable for concrete events and dates, but less so for distances, troop numbers, and people's motivations. The Civil War Commentaries are even more biased.

There was probably no serious threat of Caesar being prosecuted if he entered Rome without imperium. His conquest of Gaul had been highly popular (with the Romans) and his laws had been repeatedly upheld by the Senate. See Morstein-Marx again.

Caesar did not go to war "against the Senate" or "against the republic." The Caesarian and Pompeian factions in the Senate were roughly equal in size, and the overwhelming majority of senators preferred peace over either one.

Caesar did not say "The die is cast" or any variant of it while crossing the Rubicon. He had already sent troops into Italy, and the Senate had begun military action against him over a month before.

The civil war of 49 BCE was caused by a mutual breakdown between Caesar, Pompey, and other factions in the Senate, not solely by one man.

Caesar and Pompey's falling-out was not caused by the death of Crassus or Caesar's daughter Julia, which happened years before any evidence of a rift appeared.

Most of the Pompeians were not fighting "for the republic," and Cicero expected a dictatorship to occur no matter which side won.

Caesar was not the first dictator of Rome, or even its first dictator for life; the first dictator for life was Lucius Cornelius Sulla in 82 BCE.

Caesar also wasn't the first Roman general to march on Rome. That's Sulla again, or possibly Coriolanus if you believe he was real.

There is no evidence that Roman armies considered themselves more loyal to their commanders than to the republic until very, very late in Caesar's civil war, when we first hear of soldiers calling themselves "Caesarians" in Spain. Caesar, Pompey, Marius, and Sulla all had to argue their political legitimacy to their troops before they could make them fight other Romans. See Erich Gruen's Last Generation of the Roman Republic for details.

Caesar was killed in the Theater of Pompey; the Senate house had been burned down years before.

Caesar's last words are unknown, although classical sources suggest "Kai su, teknon?" (You too, my son?), "Casca, what are you doing?" "Why, this is violence!" and silence as possibilities.

Caesar is not usually categorized as an emperor by modern sources, but some ancient writers like Suetonius did.

Augustus was not born in August, but in September.

Octavian never went by Octavian. First he was Gaius Octavius (Thurinus), then Gaius Julius Caesar (Octavianus), then added "Divi Filius" and "Augustus" and eventually replaced the first two words with "Imperator."

Cleopatra probably was not killed by a snakebite. She had much more reliable and less painful poisons available.

Cleopatra was not the last pharaoh of Egypt. The last native Egyptian pharaoh was Nectanebo II, the last Ptolemaic pharaoh was Caesarion (Ptolemy XV), and the last Roman emperor recognized as pharaoh was Maximinus Daza.

Augustus' reputation as a coward comes from his enemies. He fought numerous battles throughout his career, including the two he was accused of ducking, Mutina and Philippi. (He fought in the second confrontation for each one.)

Augustus didn't declare himself ruler of Rome. Although he was de facto the ruler, he was officially just "the first citizen" (princeps), a concept that long predated him.

Although initially patricians were the aristocratic class, by the late republic they made up only a minority of the aristocracy; the rest were wealthy plebeian families.

The Senate could not pass laws on its own during the late republic; its legislation had to be ratified by the People's Assembly.

The Roman government was not as democratic as most modern republics, with much less of the population represented, but it did have some popular influence on government policy, and public demonstrations and protests were common.

Roman politicians do not fit into modern political movements like socialism, fascism, or liberalism, or into stable parties like democrats or republicans. Roman politics was driven mainly by personal alliances and rivalries rather than by ideologies.

Although the "Roman empire" is sometimes used to refer to the period when Rome had emperors, Rome had an empire-like system of provinces, conquest, and tribute as early as after the First Punic War in 241 BCE. Julius Caesar and Augustus initiated a change in how Rome was governed, but they did not create Roman imperialism.

Roman women played an active role in politics, particularly in coordinating marriage alliances, communication networks, advocating on behalf of their families, public protests, and diplomatic negotiations behind the scenes.

The late republic was very ethnically and religiously diverse, with many Roman citizens descended from Greeks, Africans, Gauls, Jews, Iberians, and other groups. Mixed marriages and multilingualism were common.

Romans did not categorize sexuality by gender attraction, and most Roman men would not have identified as what we now call heterosexual. See Roman Homosexuality by Craig Williams for details.

Most famous Roman monuments, like Trajan's column and the Colosseum, date to after republican times. During Cicero's era the city was mostly brick and wood.

Historians do not agree on why, or when exactly, the republic "fell." Not all of them believe it was "doomed," either. It's likely that many connected factors, and random chance, played a part.

Suggested sources for learning more:

SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome, by Mary Beard

Cato the Younger: Life and Death at the End of the Roman Republic, by Fred Drogula

Cicero: The Life and Times of Rome’s Greatest Politician, by Anthony Everitt

Augustus: First Emperor of Rome, by Adrian Goldsworthy

Julius Caesar and the Roman People, by Robert Morstein-Marx

Historia Civilis

The History of Rome podcast by Mike Duncan

Everything on my recommendations page

#putting all these in one place for convenience. may add more as i think of them #jlrrt essays #historiography

[dragonitepaw]

Hi! I love your super paper Mario AU, could you tell us more about it?

Waaaah Im glad you like it 🥹 i havent got too much on it as of right now but I have plans to develop it more once ive finished my uni project !!

as right now though here are some of the details/character roles:

Mario - Kirby Luigi - Bandee Bowser - Dedede Peach - either Tiff/Fumu (from the anime) or potentially Adeleine I haven't decided on that yet, originally i went straight for Fumu but i got a comment saying Adeleine would be a great fit too !! it all depends on whether i wanna include anime characters or not

Count Bleck - Meta Knight Tippi/Timpani - Galacta Knight (its their love story bc metagala forever 🫶) Nastasia - Sailor Dee O'chunks - Mace Knight Mimi - Javelin (the other meta-knights would be present too but have less of a role in the story as those 3)

Dimentio - Marx ^^^ originally i was gonna have vul as dimentio as i wanted all of count bleck's minions to be the meta-knights, but it also makes sense for the one non meta-knight character to be the one to betray them and marx just fits perfectly thematically >:)

as a little extra Merlon would be Morpho Knight which is my explanation for why Galacta Knight appears as a pixl butterfly, Morpho having the butterfly motif is my justification for the sense around galacta being their own butterfly that isnt just the morpho butterfly :)

okay now with characters done with,, the general narrative is the same destroying the world after galacta/tippi is "gone" but more fit around the ancients and heroes of yore lore being the driving point for meta and galacta meeting and forming a bond which then leads to the events of the game:

Meta's family (the tribe of darkness) were responsible for trying to end the world before using the dark prophecy (to make their own world and have the power to govern it) - meta being younger at this time had no say in what happened, Nightmare is the head of the family and the one who attempting to end the world (but thats not too important as nightmare plays no role in the main story anyways its just context).

The heroes of Yore (which includes Galacta as the hero of heart going off of my own personal hcs) were the ones to stop the family and strike some sort of deal that prevented them from using the dark prognosticus, saying if they were to try such a thing again then the heroes would be less merciful and banish the entire tribe away, knowing the heroes were more than powerful enough to live up to their threat the nightmare gave in, and the dark prognosticus was hidden away by the heroes to prevent the dark prophecy from being initiated once again.

Years down the line (much like in the original story) meta ends up getting injured and galacta comes across him, nursing him back to health. Meta didnt know about the heroes of yore and their threat to the family so wasnt aware of who galacta was, vice verca with galacta they werent aware meta was part of the tribe of darkness at the time. the two bond and eventually fall in love <3

Eventually nightmare finds out about and becomes enraged about his son and the enemy in such a relationship. He scolds meta and tells him not to go near Galacta again as the heroes 'ruined everything for them' and 'befriending them will only ever bring trouble to their family' in attempt to protect his son from them. however, meta doesn't listen as he's head over heels in love with Galacta at this point. In retaliation, Nightmare uses all of his magic to produce a strong spell to seal Galacta away in a crystal, in a far off dimension so Galacta and meta cannot meet again, as a way of protecting Meta and stopping any trouble from coming to their family.

Like in the original, Meta becomes devastated but enraged by the loss of Galacta, thinking they're dead and not seeing worth in a world without them. finding minions through the meta-knights and tracking down the dark prognosticus, Meta decides to bring about the dark prophecy and spawn the void, starting the beginning of the end.

Morpho comes across the crystal with galacta sealed within it. The amount of power needed to unseal them is a lot, and so Morpho not being powerful enough by themself, inwardly uses galactas life force alongside their own magical ability to unseal them, though this results in galacta becoming very weak and in order to save them, Morpho turns them into a pixl, and like tippi in the original story galacta loses all memory of who they were before being a pixl.

--

thats the main stuff i have for now which when looking over it,, is quite a bit 😅 there are still some aspects i need to adjust/change, the main one being the formation of the chaos heart bc if i have tiff/adeleine in peach's role i am not having them get forcefully married to king dedede 💀 for obvious reasons

^^ my initial thoughts are just having the chaos heart form from meta's pain and emotions, we will see i will be developing and thinking about it more once i have the free time :)

Thank you for the ask and I hope this was interesting to read :00

#kirby #meta knight #galacta knight #metagala #hoshi no kaabii #kirby au #nintendo #super paper mario #paper mario #count bleck #spm #timpani #tippi #blumiere

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

Curious, in this au what is Marx’s role in this story. Is he changed at all or different

I try to incorporate and mix anime & game lore in order (to try) achieve a good mix of both... (but everyone is 10 x emotional & sympathetic...)

So Marx was the last creation of N.M.E and was to be the "pièce de ré·sis·tance," a monster in the guise of a friend. Not just that, but the "perfect friend for Kirby." (Planning to take advantage of Kirby's soft heart and friendly nature.)

Similar to how they used the following monsters (Chill, Galbo, Kirby's Robot-dog, etc.), but he was never finished... the Nightmare's base was destroyed when Kirby & the townsfolk blew up the base.

Marx was just left there all alone... the only thing that survived. But he didn't know what was his purpose. And the minute he's born, all he can see are these soldiers (Star Warriors) hunting him down.

Thankfully, our friendly N.M.E Salesman saves him and tells him all about it, basically his last act of revenge against King Dedede & Kirby. And he honestly feels fulfilling his purpose is what's going to make him feel whole.

He even tells him that it was Kirby and the gang's fault he's left all along up here with no one. His beef wasn't just with Kirby but with everyone in Dreamland (but the anger is mostly towards cappies... they blew up his home).

Marx is pretty central to Kirby's stories and is one of the core reasons why he wants to become a star warrior. He does serve as one of Kirby's most loyal allies and one of Kirby's closest friends.

HEAVY SPOILER WARNING FOR (KNIGHTMARE'S END & KING DEDEDE REMPTION ARC)... Keep reading if you'd like... I'm going to water down everything and skim over some details in this explanation. And there's some art content as well)

(After the events of The Knightmare's End)

After remembering his past with Meta Knight... Kirby wanted more than anything to rekindle his relationship with his long-lost guardian. With Kirby regaining his memories it was easy for him to slip and reestablish the closeness he had with Meta Knight back when he was an infant. (He missed him so much...)

Meta Knight (on his part) was determined to make up for all the lost time, teach him everything he knew, and eager to reconnect with his boy after all those wretched years alone. He was ready to give him the world... (Basically, he spoiled him rotten for a while! XD)

Being under Meta Knight's tutelage, Kirby began to mature properly, even learning how to talk... but he taught him in a way that made him excited to learn. With each lesson, he'd weave tales from his past... which allowed Kirby to learn more about Team Halberd (their family). He'd even invite Knuckle Joe & Sircia for lessons & sparring so they could learn about their parents.

For Meta Knight, spending time with Kirby managed to heal the wounds around his heart. As for Kirby, he felt like this was what he had been missing all this life (a parental figure), someone who could always be there for him & love him no matter what. The bond they shared made each other feel less lonely, and it was one in which they helped each other grow.

But unknowingly this had consequences...

With Meta Knight reclaiming as Kirby's guardian leaves Fumu in this status of limbo. Fumu basically got everything she wanted... being free of the burden she was as the keeper of the warpstar. But she didn't know how drastically his relationship with Kirby would change.

Fumu still doesn't know Kirby overheard what she said... he just doesn't want to trouble her anymore (like she wanted). The events of the whole anime series took a toll on Kirby. (Namely, with the cappies wanting to kick him out.) He found himself staying away from town.

While everyone in Cappy town tried to make it up to Kirby... and forgave them. He never really trusted them or allowed them to get close to him like they used to. Fumu sees this and tries to remedy the situation, which backfires terribly. (Is the same thing similar to the "Kirby Takes the Cake,"- episode where he runs away.)

Fumu: Kirby this is your home, everyone lo-

Kirby: Then why doesn't it feel like home-

Fumu: Kirby but why-

Kirby: Poyo... going to Meta Knight's...

This was the moment when she realized just out of touch she was with Kirby. Bun could only watch this trainwreck... and couldn't help but be upset with Kirby turning down all his sister's party. Causing a rift between the friends. (They still didn't get it Fumu & Bun.)

This divide is made even further with the (redemption arc) of King Dedede. (Events involving Dark Matter)

Kirby forgives Dedede and now considers him a friend!? This leaves Fumu & Bun desperate to convenience him otherwise... believing him to be too trusting & too naive... But who should come to back Kirby on his decision is none other than Meta Knight!

Kirby: But he means you don't see what I-

Fumu: He's tricking you, Kirby! Like he always does...

Bun: Yeah, how many times has he pulled this "turned over a new leaf junk" on everyone!

KD: It's fine kiddo... I won't stay where I'm not wanted I'll-

Kirby: Poyo, (sees KD visually uncomfortable) but Dedede...

Fumu: Meta Knight, aren't you going to do something, stop-

Meta Knight: I stand by my pupil's decision... This is Kirby's choice... I trust him... do not overstep your boundaries, both of you!

Resulting in Kirby spending more time with Dedede & MK than with them (helping the king to better himself). The siblings want nothing to do with Dedede's betterment. Bun & Fumu... they can't help but resent Dedede but this also minimizes the time their time with Kirby.

It bothers them how increasingly chummy he's they've been getting with King Dedede. (There's also a little incident that Kirby & Meta Knight swore to keep secret for KD's sake that they two don't know about... which would have probably made them more sympathetic to King Deded, it just wasn't their (Kirby & MK) story to tell...)

In truth, Marx didn't have to do that much... he just had to expose Fumu & Bun's deepest insecurities about their friendships. With Bun being the main chess piece in it all.

(Marx's arc takes place after "Kirby and the Crystal Shards" )This is Kirby's first major adventure... without them.

Fumu bottles up her feelings... but Bun is furious and extremely jealous of King Dedede: it almost feels like they've both been replaced with the guy who tried to get rid of him before.

Causing tension from the once-knit, tight group of friends (Fumu & Bun). And the dynamic of the trio has been altered... causing the cracks in their relationship undeniable... And who should take advantage of these cracks... Marx.

Marx's major role in this arc serves to expose the cracks in the friendships he has with Fumu & Bun. And show how a pile of little problems can destroy a once-strong friend.

So, without going into detail...: Marx manages to manipulate the heck out of Bun & the other kids (the group he hangs out with in the anime) to bully Kirby, leading to the kids pranking and almost killing King Dedede.

Bun receives the brunt of the punishment and reveals his jealousy and anger at Kirby, leaving him and Fumu behind (especially after the Ripple Star saga).

This leads to Kirby calling Bun a horrible friend, resulting in "Empathic touch" being accidentally used. Bun & the kid gang are forced to see and feel what they've been doing to Kirby... even before the incident. All the times they made him feel small, left out, stupid, and different...

It's finally to revealed Fumu that Kirby heard her rant about "How she never wanted to look after Kirby..."

Everything all clicks to her now and she starts to apologize profusely. But it's far too late for that... because to Kirby... Fumu's actions lately (Marx also manipulated her into ignoring Kirby) prove it otherwise.

And they (Bun & the kid gang) feel awful (AS THEY RIGHTFULLY SHOULD!) And META KNIGHT IS ABSOLUTELY LIVID, no longer trusts Bun, and says, "I'm utterly disappointed in you..." And doesn't want him and those "gutter children" (Meta Knight) near Kirby... again...

But he (MK) apologizes to Fumu... "I'm sorry Fumu... I should have never got you involved... I will try better not to..."

Fumu: Not that's not what I wanted, Kirby- *reaches out to him*

Kirby pulled away from her, disheartened... Meta Knight trying his best to comfort Kirby... with Dedede carrying him in his arms... they both bring the poor baby home.

Marx relishes this! During this incident managed to paint himself as an absolute saint... (being the one who told MK of the bullying, warning Kirby about the car, etc.) while Bun was the evil mastermind (when in reality it was Marx).

While Marx may have been the main puppeteer, these were issues that were already beneath the surface... Marx just dug them up. (This is why this friend problem is carried into the next 2 arcs... okay back to Marx...)

Taking full advantage of Kirby's low state and doing his job as the perfect friend. And he actually manages to cheer him up! He plays with Kirby and listens to his problems (slowly accidentally gets attached and realizes how alike they are and... NONONO! Marx you've got a job to do!) But the more he spent time with Kirby the more his inner guilt grew...

A few weeks later, the game plot begins with a bit of a change.

Meta Knight is still suspicious of Marx... so rather than letting Kirby go alone to collect the stars, he goes with him (plus he's too young to travel alone.) Basically, Meta Knightmare Ultra & Kirby Milky Way Wishes combined. In short, the trip ends up being a fun father-son trip... just with them having to stop the Sun and the Moon from fighting at the end.

Meta Knight takes this as an opportunity to have him unpack the situation with Fumu & Bun. However, he doesn't give him the false hope that everything will be patched up instantly... it's going to take time and effort. And friends just sometimes (unintentionally) drift apart... especially when you're growing up... they change.

Meta Knight then reveals that he had a friend like that too and they ended up drifting apart as well... but it ended terribly (Galacta Knight). They collect all the stars (yada, yada, yada) same plot line happened, "Marx Villain reveal" but with a little twist.

When it comes time to make the wish... Nova attempts to grant the wish, but they cannot grant the wish. They tried multiple times as a result of this happened:

Nova: Are you sure this is what you want?!

Marx: OF COURSE THIS IS MY PURPOSE! MY DESTINY GRANT MY DANG WISH ALREADY YOU DAM-

Nova: That's not what you want... You don't really want this...

Marx: What are you...

Meta Knight takes this as the opportunity to fly into Nova... Basically, it was Meta Knight the one to destroy the Nova Clockwork, instead of Kirby on the Starship.

While Kirby takes on Marx... he tries to talk to Marx, but he's not having it... This is where Marx's Soul kicks in as he rages on all the while tears, are leaking from his eyes. Blaming Kirby for his failures, claiming he must have done something.

Marx constantly angrily asks, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!," "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME! YOU AND YOU'RE STUPID CAPPIES ARE THE REASON I'M ALONE IN THIS WORLD! YOU DESTROYED MY HOME AND RUINED MY LIFE I HAVE NO ONE! I HAD A DESTINY! I HAD A PURPOSE, AND YOU! I WAS CREATED TO WRECK HAVC! ... so ...WHY... Why... *begins to cry* I'm supposed to hate- You and your stupid friendship... why do I feel-*

Then Kirby hits him with an "empathic touch," which shows pretty much a montage of Marx and Kirby's moments together. He pretty much shows that "he was enjoying his time with Kirby...", and "he does care for Kirby..." (Oh no did he actually want to be friends with Kirby- This wasn't so supposed to happen!?)

Kirby understands it all: feeling lost, trying hard to fit in, finding your place in the world. What happened to him after the destruction of Nightmare's base. (how he was abused by a certain someone) Kirby just felt so sorry for Marx and was oozing with empathy for him.

Kirby: It's okay Marx I forgive y-

Marx: DON'T... Don't I... I don't deserve- AAARGH!

Due to Kirby's "empathic touch," he was able to also feel how much the friendship meant to Kirby. Marx can't help but he failed on both ends... he couldn't do what he was made for and he may have just lost his first and only friend...

And just before Kirby has a chance to forgive Marx: he flees anger at himself for everything he's done. He doesn't want Kirby's forgiveness (he doesn't deserve it...), leaving behind his balancing-ball.

Marx does make a wish, however... but it's not what you think...

Once destroying the Nova Clockwork Meta Knight, rushes to console his Kirby.

Meta Knight: Kirby, are you alright-

Kirby: If had just one person in his life... maybe he wouldn't have... he could've been my friend- poyo~*starts crying* I can't hate him, I just can't... ARE ALL MY FRIENDSHIPS GOING TO AMOUNT TO THIS IN THE END... LIKE THIS!?

Meta Knight: Oh my poor boy you've been through so much-

Kirby: Am I dumb, hoping he'll come back as my friend... IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE!?

Meta Knight: It doesn't have to... *hugs him* this friendship meant a lot to you... it helped you through a tough time * Think back on his friendship with Galacta, although it hurt him in the end, he was grateful for the good it did* it made you less lonely I think that part's worth cherishing... and I don't think you're dumb...

Kirby: Huh?

Meta Knight: After the war, I kept seeing the worst in everything... expecting the worst... to stop me from-... but it blinded me from the good as well (he's referring to Kirby) and... I fell into despair. *pats his head* I'm sorry to say this probably won't be the last something like this will happen, but...

*wipes tears with his cape*

Meta Knight says something that resonates with Kirby... and it's something he carries even to this day.

Meta Knight: So keep your eyes open and beware of the bad in the world... but also *takes Marx's ball and gives it to Kirby* hold on... hold on to the good as well... you don't have to look, just know that it's there... it'll keep you from falling...

For a while, Marx wonders galaxy... I'm not gonna reveal what he does just yet, but... the path he takes leads him back to Kirby.

One thing leads to another, and Kirby gets saved... BY MARX?! Marx tries to flee after saying Kirby, but he gets gravely injured... which forces him to have to stay put. Well, he tries to escape and is literally a feral cat the whole time. He just feels too darn guilty still about everything about Nova's Wish... and doesn't believe Kirby actually forgives him.

So, as a compromise, they let him recover in Halcandra. They cash in a favor from Magolor. Marx gets to know Magolor and basically talks about his story with Kirby. (Literally, Mags just redeemed himself recently...) This interaction makes him feel a little better... but he's still a little anxious that is until Kirby shows him his ball...

I really love Marx's story arc... I hope I didn't spoil too much there are a few secrets still hidden, but like I said this is a very watered-down version of everything hope you stick around for the full story!

Look forward to it!

#kirby #kbasw #kirby marx #meta knight #metadad #king dedede #galacta knight #krbay #kirby right back at ya #hoshi no kaabii #kirby anime #fumu kirby #kirby bun #kirby tiff #kirby fanfic #kirby tuff #magolor

[artistsfuneral]

The Road to Kaer Morhen - p.1

Whereas the country of Kaedwen was a bit infamous for its unforgiving winters, people rarely talked about the summers in the north. If anyone had cared enough to ask, Jaskier would've happily stated that the summertime up in the mountains was just as character-strong as it's opposing season. A weird statement for the bard, since Jaskier tended to call summer his favorite season, but unlike the norm it wasn't the steadily rising temperatures that were bothering him. It was the light.

After many years of travel his body had become accustomed to wake with the spreading brightness of a new day and rest when the sun hid behind the horizon. It was an incredibly useful habit that allowed him to get the most out of each beautiful summer day and catch up on rest as well as rightfully sleep through every single one of Marx' morning lectures during winter at Oxenfurt. Problematic about this was, that the kaedweni summer sun had yet to understand that Jaskier needed at least seven hours of his beauty sleep. To think clearly and to keep his impulses in check, because who was he trying to fool – he always looked pretty no matter the circumstances.

The part with the impulse control was the hardest one, he mused as he took a bite of the glazed sweet roll he had not intended to be his breakfast but enjoyed none the less. Due to the lack of shutters on the windows of his temporary bedroom, he had been awake dreadfully early and left the inn at the same time the owner of the bakery across the street had opened his doors and windows. The baker turned out to be a very charming man that had not only taken pity on Jaskier's oh so grim situation and spent the morning listening to the bard's idle chatter, but had also gifted him not one but two of the heavenly sweet rolls because 'they came out too crooked to sell'. Jaskier had thanked the baker by kissing him on the cheek and left once the first tired customer knocked against the door.

Licking the white sugar glaze from his fingertips, Jaskier strolled towards the town's daily marked were the vendors set up all kinds of stalls. From farmers and butchers to tailors and leather workers, Jaskier was sure he could make out almost every major profession which was absolutely perfect given this was the last big town he'd travel through before finding his way to Kaer Morhen. Or at least trying to do so.

It wasn't like Geralt had ever taken him to his wondrous witcher winter home before, or given him a map for that matter. Geralt had only asked him once, which felt like a lifetime ago, if he'd like to spend a winter at Kaer Morhen. Back then Jaskier, much younger and always so caught up in his own affairs, had listened to Geralt's bland description of a more crusty than rustic, crumbling and freezing fortress and had gently told the other man that he very much appreciated the thought but was fond of all of his toes and rather spent his winters in Oxenfurt. After a long moment of contemplated thinking Geralt had then told him that Jaskier, should he ever find himself in honest trouble, would find his safety at Kaer Morhen. That is, should he ever manage to find the keep, which certainly wasn't guaranteed given the fact that Geralt had never given him any true directions. What he had memorized instead was a list of obscure waypoints, like 'the big mossy rock', the 'jumping tree branch' or 'the cliff that looked like a raccoon'.

The bard could only hope that if he made it to the gates, the grandmaster of the keep would count being wanted by the entirety of the nilfgaardian army, the Redanian Secret Service essentially telling him he was on his own, his flat at Oxenfurt being broken into and an assassination attempt almost succeeding whilst he was playing at the Baron of Yspaden's name day, as 'troublesome enough' to let him stay. Especially since the latest incident had him storming out of Yspaden in such a hurry that he hadn't had time to change out his packs. As a result he was walking around the kaedweni landscape in his best court apparel which – if his unexpected travel companion, who was still peacefully asleep at the inn, was to believed – made him look like a peacock in a chicken coop. Trying to blend in with the rest was comically impossible, so Jaskier had straight out given up on that and instead done what he did best. He let his hair grow out, called himself Dandelion the Poet, performed his new songs even louder and strutted around the world like he owned it. Until now it had worked perfectly well. He just needed to spent the rest of his coin at the market for some might-come-in-handy supplies, collect his friend and would be on his way towards the rocky wilderness where nobody would dare to follow him.

Should be simple enough, shouldn't it?

The current problem being that Jaskier had no idea what those supplies should be and his coin was already limited from buying all the usual essentials for traveling. Looking around his eyes caught various things that seemed like good possibilities. Like a long roll of rope for example, Geralt always insisted on carrying rope with them in case one needed to secure something, say, a still bleeding monster head to a poor horse or a bard to a tree to keep him from following the witcher on a hunt. A second coat was always an advantage, especially since his companion at the inn didn't have one, but then again it was summer and the days and night were warm enough. Additional food wouldn't be a bad choice either, dried meat and fruits wrapped in beeswax sheets could last a while and if carefully portioned keep them from going hungry on days, but Jaskier was quite proud of his foraging skills and cooking usually wasn't a problem for him. He sighed and looked around further. A sister of the nearby temple was selling blessed charms to be placed on the little shrines of Melitele that could be found at almost every crossroad. The little parchment packages with herbs would be a good idea but Jaskier also incredibly fancied the the beautifully crafted hat with it's wide brim and ornate feather.

please like and reblog if you voted

✨🌿🌼✨

Hi there! I'm so excited for this!!! ❤ and as always

please tell me if you (don't) want to be tagged!

@mirrorthoughts @dwintu @whump-der-it-is @beneficialfondue @sinfulpetgirlrd @chaoticfandomthot @fingons-rad-harp @basilikum7 @siriusly-the-best-bi @snailqueen42 @cowboybuttconnoisseur @reluctantbroodingdads @starlghtstarbrite @merthurmagic @wren-of-the-woods @araglas1989

#the witcher #witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #road to kaer morhen fic #jaskier #jaskier the bard

[quanblovk]

To the Mage Sisters: What are your opinions on the inhabitants of Planet Popstar? For example, The Great King of Dream Land: King Dedede

Zan Partizanne: Ah yes, the loud mouth penguin. We three are very indebted to him for freeing us of that dark past.

Flamberge: KYAHAHAHA!! That big fluffy penguin sure does eat a lot too! I'll get him in the next pie eating contest, he doesn't stand a chance!

Zan Partizanne: Berge, please stop subjecting your digestive system to such torment.

Francisca: The waddle dees that follow him are just the cutest! They oddly remind me of the jambelievers, only if they were stronger, smarter and capable of building their own civilization!

Zan Partizanne: Now who else....oh right. His knight. Heheh.

Flamberge: Dammit Zan! You're doing that creepy chuckle again! That means you're hiding something from me! Just who is Meta Knight and why do you always act so familiar around him?!

Zan Partizanne: I'll tell you when you're older.

Flamberge: JAMBLASTED- wait......WE'RE ALREADY ADULTS- WHY WOULD I NEED TO-

Zan Partizanne: Anyways, that little masked knight helped us immensely too. Though he doesn't talk a lot to me compared to the other sisters. Which is to be expected. Also, he definitely has issues. A lot of them.

Francisca: He's a very stoic knight, just straight out of a fairy tale~

Flamberge: pfft, he's alright I guess. But I much prefer his evil twin brother! He's just WAY more fun and (somehow) has less problems! seriously that guy has ISSUES.

Francisca: He smells weird though....

Flamberge: That's his signature musk. Easy to get used to! Compared to Zanny's B.O, he smells way less spicier-

Zan Partizanne: what.

Flamberge: -3- ~ 🎵

Flamberge: And we can't possibly forget the other 2!

Francisca: Yes! Same with King Dedede and Mr. Meta Knight, Kirby and Bandana Dee saved our lives too! They're both so adorable and a joy to hang out with!

Zan Partizanne: I admire the puffball's resolve, same with the pointy waddle dee. He's got moves, I admit. Hmph.

Flamberge: KYAHAHA! Zan's always like that whenever he meets another spear user. So competitive-!

Zan Partizanne: .....

Flamberge: Joke! It's a joke! Stop pointing your partisan at me....-3-

Francisca: Let's see....who else....OH RIGHT! How could I forget?!

Marx~! 💖💖💖

Francisca: HE'S JUST THE CUTEST LITTLE THING! JYAAAAAAA!!!

Flamberge: OH- OH HELL NO FRAN, YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT BEHIND THAT SMILE IS THE DEVIL! HE'S EVEN WORSE THAN OUR former DARK LORD!!!!!

Zan Partizanne: Never in my life had I encountered such a terrifying ball-balancing clown........Franny, be wary of that awful creature!

Francisca: B-but....he's BABY! Aw......So far he hasn't done anything to me yet. I often hang out with him, Magolor and Chilly!

Flamberge: Chilly? Who's that?

Francisca: The little sentient snowman! We all get along well, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about~

Flamberge: Well, if Franny says so......

Zan Partizanne: We will take your word for it. Oh, as for the other inhabitants, our opinion remains the same. Neutral. Popstar is a wonderfully friendly planet.

#WOOO I GOT A SCANNER #the first page didn't look so good thpugh #no idea why 💀 i might try to fix that #cuz kirby bandee and marx turned out perfectly #spent a LOT of time on this #so glad that i didnt botch the lineart for all the round shapes #i had to pose like SPIDERMAN to get my arm steady #kirby nintendo #my art #dark meta knight #Meta Knight #traditional drawing #King Dedede #Bandana Dee #Kirby #Mage Sisters #Flamberge #Francisca #Zan Partizanne #Marx #dmk rating game cameo #he's just taking a long time discussing who should be on what tier 👽 #ask #ask-magesisters

[thelostgirl21]

Okay, someone wrote that they thought Jaskier had ADHD in some of my tags, and I've just GOT to address this, because asfjasfljadsflasjd;dlasja;slfjd;as...

@aro-tarot , OMFG YES!!!

As someone with ADHD, I've got such strong ADHD vibes from Jaskier like you wouldn't believe!

(That, plus I tend to headcanon that Jaskier suffers from Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), a condition strongly associated with ADHD, but more on that further down...)

I mean he's usually got no freaking impulse control whatsoever, and no filter on his mouth!

And even when he HAS that filter on, and some vague awareness that opening his mouth further and speaking his mind might get him into yet more trouble…

Well, the frustration he feels in the now is apparently so strong that the possibility of having to pay a price later is but a too distant and abstract concept to be enough to put a stop to that mouth!

I mean, that moment right here?

Someone without ADHD would have stopped themselves at "Am I going to say it?" because of the "Yeah, if I antagonize him, he might decide to keep me away from getting on that boat and I'll jeopardize my safety as well as the safety of the people that are currently counting on me," that should normally logically follow...

Someone with a very strong case of ADHD however... Well, they might just have to say it!

Same thing in Season 1 with the elves. Jaskier's bound and tied ,and he just keeps antagonizing them because he's angry, and the need to express his anger somehow screams louder than the punch or the kick he'll be receiving 2 freaking seconds later if he keeps verbally lashing out at them!

Self-soothing and impulse managing are two skills that Jaskier doesn't quite have a good mastery of.

Like, don't let him get his hands on a djinn while heartbroken, drunk, and deeply wounded (because his best and very possibly queerplatonic friend just insulted his singing, while implying that it was likely why his other friend/lover had just left him, no less)... He might just start wishing Valdo Marx dead!

Generally, I'd strongly advise keeping him away from anything that could potentially become a weapon if he's highly emotional.

That's never a good combination.

Jaskier might do something he'll regret, and realize it was awfully dumb and stupid only once he's deeply in trouble, or has finally calmed down.

ADHD isn't a mood disorder, but it's been described as a "failure to self-regulate moods disorder".

Meaning that people with ADHD feel the same emotions as anyone else most of the time (RSD is a bit of an exception; again, more on that later), but they'll just have a harder time avoiding openly expressing them, and stopping themselves from acting upon them.

They can succeed most of the time (thankfully); and I highly suspect that Jaskier might be at his most focused and emotionally measured around Ciri, because he feels responsible for her.

Adults often have this instinct to sacrifice their own needs and wants to give priority to those of children (including sometimes teenagers, and/or grown children they've adopted as part of their family system and are still mentoring through life).

People with ADHD also tend to have a blast playing aunt/uncle, because we can super easily connect with the sense of wonder, excitement, and defiance of authority of children and younger people - be very impulsive and silly with them and act like children and teens ourselves, at times - while still remaining responsible and protective of them when we need to be.

It's like suddenly flipping our "adult switch" on, because we're aware they need us to be the adult.

But fellow adults don't need us to "adult" for their sake.

They typically have their own shit together way better than we do! So, we're just that almost full time impulsive dumb kid that they need to constantly watch out for while around our adult friends.

UNLESS they make it extremely clear to us that they need our help and/or for us to focus. We can "adult" if the stakes are high, and/or they need our support, too.

But that's not our default mode!

We'd rather be chasing butterflies and playing videogames / writing songs (or meta... Meta's good... My brain loves meta because it's always over-analyzing things!), doing whatever keeps us interested and stimulated in the now, than carefully planning things and being responsible.

And there's also that scene where Jaskier is in the Witcher lab with Yennefer, while Ciri's possessed by Voleth Meir (you know... going around killing people, lives are at stake and all that...).

But, since all of this is happening in another room, Jaskier can't quite emotionally connect with the gravity of the situation, so he's eating whatever he finds his hands on while randomly talking about nipples because Yennefer said "oriole", and his brain thought it sounded like "areola" (yeah, our brains are always making a bunch of connections that aren't relevant to the situation)!

Yet, as soon as Yennefer makes it clear that she needs him to focus, he's 100% in the moment with her, and has flipped that "adult switch" on.

We can go there, but it typically requires a strong enough emotional incentive for us to ground ourselves, and it's a state that gets draining when sustained for a too long period of time.

And given how we're at our best when highly stressed, Jaskier's probably the person you want there with you when things start really going to shit!

He's at his best when he's got no idea what he's going to do, and he has to think fast and improvise to respond to whatever is happening in real time.

Oh, and I'm about 99.9% sure that he suffers from rejection sensitive dysphoria (RSD), too (yeah, we're finally going there).

I discovered what RSD was about 5 years ago, how it tied into my ADHD, and that it had been something that I'd been struggling with (and often doing everything I could to hide) my whole life without really understanding it.

One thing that people with RSD tend to do, sadly, is constantly downplay our own hurt and pretend everything is fine - do our best to keep others constantly entertained and happy with us, even at our own expanse at times - so that they won't perceive us as a burden, and will continue to want to have us around.

Since a part of us is deeply aware that our emotional response to real (and/or even perceived) rejection, and the pain it causes, feels way more intense than it normally should be, we tend to be ashamed of it, and unable to fully discuss those feelings with those we love.

So, even when we do speak up for ourselves, we are afraid that we might be exaggerating, and/or making the issue much bigger than it is.

Thus, we almost regret it right away, and/or feel guilty for it afterwards, and we'll be almost desperate to let our friend "off the hook" as quickly as possible so they'll love us again.

Therefore watching Jaskier's behavior in Season 2, and the way certain characters (except Yennefer, that genuinely surprised me) responded to him, was actually physically painful for me to watch at times.

Some of the most triggering moments for someone with RSD include:

Jaskier brushing off Geralt's sincere apology - attempting to hide the depth of the emotional devastation he'd caused him - to avoid being perceived as being too much trouble and risking abandonment again.

Jaskier humorously pretending that Ciri going past him, as if he didn't exist, didn't hurt, while joking "Like father, like daughter".

Him going "Right, yeah," when Yarpen Zigrin dismisses him - having chosen to turn that constant rejection into some kind of game between them - because it's much easier to be under the illusion that they're just good-naturally teasing each other, than facing the possibly that Yarpen might genuinely consider him an unwanted nuisance he'd gladly do without, and that having excluded him from the word "friend" was 100% done on purpose!

That same little heartbreaking "Right. Yeah" after he tells Lambert "Look at us. Just one big happy family, eh?" and Lambert goes "No." While pushing him out of the way.

Jaskier is a sweet, loving, empathetic, highly sensitive bard that's on the freaking aromantic spectrum!

And aromantics can most definitely love their best friend in the whole wide world with an intensity, a depth, a sincerity, and a level of devotion that can easily match - and perhaps even surpass - any romantic couple.

Heck, I don't consider myself to be quite on the aromantic spectrum (given that I do experience primary romantic attraction towards people), but I also have a tendency to form friendships that are more emotionally (and sometimes physically, and even sexually) intimate than many of the romantic relationships I've had (except, perhaps, my current one, that is definitely on par).

I think the only reason why I've managed to remain with the same romantic partner (that I do consider the romantic love of my life) for 17 years now - and would gladly spend the rest of my life with him - is because of how deeply supportive and respectful he's been of those friendships I have.

I've built my own found family over the years that I wouldn't want to live without. And I've broken up with prior romantic partners that couldn't agree to "share me" with those other people I love (in a non-romantic way, but that doesn't make it any less tangible or real!) without regretting a single thing.

So, I wholeheartedly believe that Jaskier does love Geralt and always has loved him.

And I know that, if I'm right about this, and if Jaskier is indeed prone to RSD, then the level of emotional and physical pain that Geralt's rejection put him through would have been absolutely soul wrenching.

"I've also survived, no thanks to you," sounds just about right.

Jaskier is human, while witches and witchers are frozen in time. He's been loving Geralt and travelling alongside him and singing songs about him for about 20 years.

20 years, in a human life, is a lot of one's life to devote to someone...

Then, the moment that Geralt's romantic love interest (Yennefer) leaves him, he turns on Jaskier and basically tells him that he's brought him nothing but bad luck and misery for two decades, and that what would please him ,above everything else, would be for life to rid him of him!

Why don't you just take a sword and run Jaskier through, Geralt? I think that would have been less painful to watch!

So, I think this is one of the reasons why Season 3 has been so freaking cathartic to watch for me!

I've been literally crying my eyes out each time people made Jaskier feel loved, wanted, said thank you (even Yarpen!!! Freaking Yarpen stopped to thank him, and called him by his preferred name, Jaskier)...

And of course, there's Radovid...

I could go on and on about how good it felt to have a character that finally treats Jaskier with the same care, attention, and empathy that Jaskier offers others...

But, I think one of the things I loved the most, with Radovid, is how Jaskier himself responded to him.

He's not trying to please him, quite the contrary.

When Radovid asks "Have you come to sing us pretty songs?", Jaskier answers "No. I don't do pretty".

And then, when Radovid says that, while he appreciates the information that Jaskier has brought him, all he really wants is a song, Jaskier responds by saying that "he's not really in a singing mood."

Because yes, he's a bard. Yes, he sings about people he's encountered on his travels, and yes, he sings about people he loves...

But he doesn't want to sing "pretty songs" about Witchers, fairytales, heroics and heartbreak for the entertainment of a Prince and his court!

He's not there so that "Prince Radovid" can sing the praises of "Jaskier the Bard" 's triumphant private performance at the palace!

That's not what pleases Jaskier anymore.

I don't think Jaskier feels like he's got anything to prove performance-wise anymore and, sadly, I believe that, instead of giving him a sense of finally being seen and loved - of belonging...

At times, all this singing and performing - often for the benefit of others - has made him feel even more invisible and isolated.

And that's the beauty of him singing "Extraordinary Things", because that song is all about Jaskier.

It's vocally raw, vulnerable, filled with a fragile hope for love and for someone that makes him feel like he is seen for who he is... For someone that can help Jaskier finally believe that who he is is enough.

For someone that makes him feel like he doesn't have to try so hard to pretend to be happy, and fine, and give others what he thinks they want, so that maybe they'll love him (or keep on loving him) back.

Because it's not just Geralt...

Geralt is the one whose rejection hurt Jaskier the most, because he's the one Jaskier has loved and trusted the most...

Geralt is the one that broke something in Jaskier - his ability to feel safe in the belief that his closest friends would never abandon him.

Thanks to Geralt outburst, Jaskier is likely now being cursed with a little voice, in the back of his mind, that will continue to pop up from time to time whenever he feels safe and happy in his relationships, to make him wonder if his friends and family don't secretly wish that they could get rid of him.

Rationally, I'm sure that Jaskier understands that what happened with Geralt was caused by Geralt's own issues, and that his own behavior wasn't the cause of the rejection.

Rationally, I'm sure that he can trust in their relationship, and feel confident in the love they share.

But emotionally? Although trauma can be managed and kept at bay the vast majority of the time, there are always moments where you're bound to be more tired, stressed out, and where you don't always have the energy to push back against all of those nasty voices that wait for you to let your guards down to be heard and make you doubt.

However, besides what specifically happened with Geralt, Jaskier sadly has a very long history of having had to deal with rejections of all kinds, and been made to feel like he was never enough.

Even Valdo's obstinated refusal to learn Jaskier's name is like he's constantly trying to symbolically murder Jaskier by denying him the very right to exist, for fuck's sake!

After watching those scenes, I thought "Yup! It's really no wonder this happened:

So, while having gotten Geralt back - and obviously having built strong emotional ties with Yennefer and Ciri since the end of Season 2 - has likely tremendously helped easing some of the pain rejection has caused Jaskier throughout his life, he still has those moments where it deeply hurts him.

And I think that Geralt knows...

Jaskier might have been trying to hide it - and Geralt might not fully understand why Jaskier was hurt as deeply as he was (I doubt RSD is something that people often talk about in their world) - but he knows that a part of Jaskier still fears being rejected or abandoned again.

He's just being so soft and patient with Jaskier this season; making it immediately clear that he's not angry with Jaskier, and that their relationship is not threatened the moment that he senses his discomfort.

Or, you know, just reassuring him that the separation between them is only temporary, and that he's going to be the first person he comes looking back for as soon as he's done dealing with Rience.

If Jaskier truly is someone that tends to see people as they really are - not as they pretend to be - then it's easy to see why Jaskier did fall in love with Geralt.

That level of perceptiveness is both a gift and a curse for Jaskier, though.

Because when the person you love is set on self-destructing and unable to embrace who they really are, you might find yourself caught in the blast.

Still, when Geralt is allowing himself to be loved, and to openly love people back, he's an absolutely wonderful (platonic, alterous, romantic...) partner to have.

He's shown as someone who is able to not only apologize, but also recognize the impact that his mistakes have had on others, and take full responsibility for them.

Jaskier may have been quick to brush his apology off and pretend that all was good, but Geralt apparently knows better and, more importantly, is showing that the apology was sincere.

He's making efforts to better communicate with Jaskier and he's doing everything he can to not only alleviate some of the pain he's caused him, but to avoid triggering his insecurities.

Sadly, RSD is not something that Geralt alone can fix, especially not when Jaskier has been exposed to a number of different patterns of interpersonal rejections throughout his life.

And, while Jaskier has a tendency to pretend being fine even when he's not, his eyes almost always tell the truth.

Makes you wonder just how emotionally smart and insightful Radovid is...

Because when someone sings to you those lines...

The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love Of them I have had enough With you, I have enough With you, I am enough I am, I am enough

Then looks at you with those eyes...

Well, it's rather easy to understand that Jaskier has been made to feel like he wasn't good enough for those he loved, and/or still loves in the past.

And, given the success of "Burn Butcher Burn", I wouldn't put it past Radovid to have guessed that - athough they were back to being close friends - Geralt might have had something to do with the enduring vulnerability and the hurt he saw reflected there...

Thus, leading him to taking an educated guess as to what might have happened, and ask Jaskier "Does the Witcher know how lucky he is to have you?"

Somehow, with that simple question, Radovid has achieved two very important things...

He's just told Jaskier that not only does he, indeed, believe him to be enough, but he would consider himself lucky to have him...

He's just told Jaskier that whatever Geralt might have said or done to make him feel unwanted in the past, it had been wrong.

And, judging by Jaskier's answering smile, our beloved bard just got himself a fresh new (and quite princely) voice in his head to help him drown out the sound of all the other voices that are occasionally trying to convince him that he's a barely tolerable burden to those he loves.

Radovid has thrown just enough shade Geralt's way to avoid insulting their relationship; while at the same time sort of giving Jaskier the permission to mentally go "Ha! See?! There are people that want and love me, and would consider themselves lucky to have me in their lives! God, you used to be such an asshole, Geralt!" should he still need to go there to help himself manage his pain.

As a victim of Geralt's harsh and cruel words, Jaskier is entirely entitled to have moments where he needs to be a bit petty about the way Geralt used to treat him, and to call him the "family goat".

It's a very healthy way of coping with the residual hurt and anger because it puts the blame in the right place (Jaskier didn't do anything to deserve the way he was treated by Geralt nor to provoke that rejection) with just enough humor to keep that pain and resentment from growing into something that could actually be damaging to their relationship.

Radovid is an impressively good and attentive listener - at least as far as Jaskier himself is concerned.

And maybe that's one of the (many) reasons why Radovid asking to borrow Jaskier's lute, and singing the song back to him, touched me as much as it did.

It stood in sharp contrast to people singing Jaskier's songs back to him while thinking it makes THEM special for knowing a few lines! That Jaskier should be grateful to THEM for being fans, supporting his art, etc.

The entitled patrons that believe Jaskier's singing should be about what they love to hear without being really interested in what Jaskier wishes to say.

Like that obnoxious guy at the docks who started singing "The Golden One" with Jaskier, basically going "See! I'm a big fan! That totally makes us buddies now! And, as such, here are my artistic input, so that maybe you can do better next time! You know, it's good, but it's not good enough for me. Here's how you can improve!"

Basically sending Jaskier the message: "You, the artist, the message and the feelings you are trying to convey through your art don't matter. You are but invisible. Sure, you have a name, and now I'm excited at the opportunity of making my friends jealous by saying I've met you! But you're just a tool that I can now use to make myself more important and interesting to others! Your job is to stay in the shadow of your songs! Your job is to make me happy, to entertain me, to please me, to sing what I want to hear the way I wish I could hear it and to make your art all about me."

Instead, Radovid simply borrows Jaskier's lute, and humbly starts playing the song with a sense of reverence, gratitude, respect, and desire to offer Jaskier something in return for the gift he's offered him by sharing a part of himself with him through his song.

Radovid said that he had long wanted to meet Jaskier in person and presented himself as someone that is a fan of his songs, but that's because they fascinate him.

He genuinely cares about what Jaskier has to say and communicate to others (and/or about others) through them, not about what he wants to hear.

In a world where Jaskier has had to constantly fight to fit in, where he's often made to feel like he's "barely tolerated" (and it usually takes a long time for people to get to genuinely appreciate him, and openly love him back the way he loves them)...

Radovid is someone that comes along showing him that love is not supposed to be earned.

Love is a gift. You love people for who they are, not for what they can do for you.

And what Radovid heard, through those songs, was something so special, intriguing, and irresistible to him that his own response was a genuine desire to get to know the man behind the art.

He tells Jaskier that the unique way he sees the world, and his need to express it, does not make him hypersensitive or annoying - it makes him special.

I don't think the hurt in Jaskier's eyes will ever 100% go away, and that his RSD can ever be completely resolved, either...

But it doesn't need to, because it can be managed and shouldn't get in the way of one's ability to experience joy and happiness, too.

Pain is a natural and healthy part of one's life, as long as it doesn't stand in the way of everything else - as long as there's balance, and room for healing whenever it comes along.

As as long as Jaskier's found family continues to love and accept him the way he is - to let him know that he's an important part of their lives - I believe Jaskier's going to be fine. REALLY fine...

Even the moments when he's hurting are going to be fine, because that's not all there is, and he's got people loving him and offering comfort.

And maybe I'm too hopeful about this, but I think there's most definitely hope for Radovid and Jaskier to make a relationship work between them, too.

Even if it turns out to be a somewhat unconventional one, and completely different from what people might have in mind when they think of a classic "romantic couple", they can find a way to make it work for them.

My advice to them would be to leave all expectations and social conventions at the door, allow themselves to be creative in "loving outside the box", and to build something together that addresses most of their respective needs, while acknowledging and respecting the other responsibilities and emotional attachments each other have.

Oddly enough, Jaskier is one of the few people that I could imagine clearly understanding that Radovid's existence is a bit of a tragedy where he'll never be free to fully belong to himself.

In the event of his brother's untimely death (for example), should Radovid decide to give up his claim to the throne to live a less complicated life, any Redanian ruler could still try to have him assassinated "just in case" he was to change his mind, and later come challenge them.

The palace is a golden cage, and I think Jaskier would not hold it against Radovid, or grow resentful towards him, that he would only be able to offer Jaskier what he is actually free to give without risking both their lives in the process.

He might grow frustrated with all the circumstances that are creating some significant challenges to their relationship, but I could imagine Jaskier wishing to face those as partners, and avoiding to be angry at Radovid for what he can't magically change.

This is where Jaskier's ADHD brain might become an asset by helping him make unique connections, and find creative solutions to allow Jaskier to - as Batey suggested - still find the light in the darkest of places for them two.

So yeah, I definitely tend to headcanon Jaskier as having ADHD (with some significant amount of RSD), too.

#The Witcher #Jaskier #Radovid #Radskier #Queerplatonic Geraskier #Geralt of Rivia #Yennefer #Ciri #ADHD #Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria #or #RSD #My posts #My stuff #My thoughts #Personal

[anarchywoofwoof]

"To grasp the full enormity of our deterioration, however, consider the earliest condition of humanity, without government or property, when we wandered as hunter-gatherers. "Hobbes surmised that life was then nasty, brutish and short. Others assume that life was a desperate unremitting struggle for subsistence, a war waged against a harsh Nature with death and disaster awaiting the unlucky or anyone who was unequal to the challenge of the struggle for existence. "Actually, that was all a projection of fears for the collapse of government authority over communities unaccustomed to doing without it, like the England of Hobbes during the Civil War. "Hobbes’ compatriots had already encountered alternative forms of society which illustrated other ways of life — in North America, particularly — but already these were too remote from their experience to be understandable. (The lower orders, closer to the condition of the Indians, understood it better and often found it attractive. Throughout the seventeenth century, English settlers defected to Indian tribes or, captured in war, refused to return. But the Indians no more defected to white settlements than Germans climb the Berlin Wall from the west.) "The “survival of the fittest” version — the Thomas Huxley version — of Darwinism was a better account of economic conditions in Victorian England than it was of natural selection, as the anarchist Kropotkin showed in his book Mutual Aid, A Factor of Evolution. (Kropotkin was a scientist — a geographer — who’d had ample involuntary opportunity for fieldwork whilst exiled in Siberia: he knew what he was talking about.) "Like most social and political theory, the story Hobbes and his successors told was really unacknowledged autobiography. The anthropologist Marshall Sahlins, surveying the data on contemporary hunter-gatherers, exploded the Hobbesian myth in an article entitled “The Original Affluent Society.” "They work a lot less than we do, and their work is hard to distinguish from what we regard as play. Sahlins concluded that “hunters and gatherers work less than we do; and, rather than a continuous travail, the food quest is intermittent, leisure abundant, and there is a greater amount of sleep in the daytime per capita per year than in any other condition of society.” They worked an average of four hours a day, assuming they were “working” at all. Their “labor,” as it appears to us, was skilled labor which exercised their physical and intellectual capacities; unskilled labor on any large scale, as Sahlins says, is impossible except under industrialism. "Thus it satisfied Friedrich Schiller’s definition of play, the only occasion on which man realizes his complete humanity by giving full “play” to both sides of his twofold nature, thinking and feeling. As he put it: “The animal works when deprivation is the mainspring of its activity, and it plays when the fullness of its strength is this mainspring, when superabundant life is its own stimulus to activity.” (A modern version — dubiously developmental — is Abraham Maslow’s counterposition of “deficiency” and “growth” motivation.) "Play and freedom are, as regards production, coextensive. Even Marx, who belongs (for all his good intentions) in the productivist pantheon, observed that “the realm of freedom does not commence until the point is passed where labor under the compulsion of necessity and external utility is required.” "He never could quite bring himself to identify this happy circumstance as what it is, the abolition of work — it’s rather anomalous, after all, to be pro-worker and anti-work — but we can."

The Abolition of Work & Other Essays by Bob Black

#antiwork #anti capitalism #anti capitalist #anarchy #anarchism #anarchist

[baeddel]

do u ever have trouble making friends w ppl who dont have the same awareness as u? like not even different or more awareness, either less or no awareness... of like, politics or critical thinking or societal issues... or do you prefer to have some ppl in ur life that u can never be serious or critical with ?

long and you get a bit of a lecture sorry

your coworkers are probably not any less engaged than you, you just don't agree with them. my mother's previous boss belongs to this charismatic Pentecostal milieu. you get a minister who founds a church in his living room. they pack in about twenty middle class ulstermen and pray together, sing hyms and speak in tongues. when they've collected enough tithes they buy a little building or something. in less than a year it will collapse because of a ferocious ideological struggle or, just as often, an adultery scandal. gasp! then they pack into someone else's living room to pray and argue. she and her husband write these little political-theological pamphlets to distribute within their milieu. at school she'll go in the office and hold a prayer session with others like her. they practice what my grandmother sarcastically calls 'good living.' as her son grew older he became interested in fantasy fiction and she asked me to lend him some of my books. among a bunch of other things i gave him all my Terry Pratchett, including some of his late books that mixed fiction and nonfiction. these were returned the next day, which i was told was because he asked her to return them because they mentioned Darwin and it frightened him so much he didn't want it in the house. they are also by the way anti-vaxx, young earth creationists and so forth. she was very rowdy at work during the George Floyd protests. my mother used to come home shaking and start ranting to me about it. and i was stunned by just how radical her views had become; my mother, the only person in our neighbourhood who'll call the cops, who at the start was so concerned about looters, now talking to me about the task of black liberation, educated not by leftist propaganda but by the negation of church ladies' racist prattle. anyway, once i was getting this little holy card of a particular saint (i don't remember which) but, because i guess the website was really for clergy, you had to get them in packs of fifty. i asked my mum if she would give the rest to that very religious woman she worked with since she could pass them around the congregation—certainly not, she had to remind me. iconography. oh yeah, oops...

this isn't someone who is lacking awareness of the issues. it's just that their theoretical touchstone isn't Marx but Martin Luther. or Ray Comfort. but you would be quite surprised at just how aware your conservative neighbours are of critique if you'd really talk to them. i used to use this dating advice site where heterosexuals would go to give each other awful advice and talk about current events, and most of the userbase were US republicans of various sorts. i would sit down and argue with them every day. to back up their arguments they'd abuse studies and statistics in the usual way, but you might be surprised to hear they were not the least bit shy to talk to me about Foucault. one gentleman countered my Marx with his own Hegel, and i would very often hear from Burke, who's remark about society's 'little platoons' has become such a cliche on the American right that now it'll make most conservatives roll their eyes (in 2018 the American Conservative ran with the headline: Knock It Off With The 'Little Platoons' Already).

you'd know that if you sat down and talked with them in a way where you could be completely honest with each other, but you're probably never in that situation. they know you don't want to hear all that stuff. you'd get in a big fight, so they settle for talking about the ordinary topics of conversation or try and bond with you over something which seems politically neutral. an old neighbour of mine would make me take all these CDs because he knew i played guitar. he gave me this instrumental album by The Shadows, the backing band for Cliff Richard, since "one of them guitarists on there", he assured me, was "the best guitarist in the world." he'd always invite me over to get drunk with him and i'd always politely decline since i was trying to be sober. "i don't drink now," i'd say. "you'll learn!" he'd say. not drinking all the time was incomprehensible to him. but he was a UVF man. i knew that, somewhere, in another life that he led, he was confronting the concrete questions of organization, the theoretical problems of loyalism, coordinating with foreign arms and so forth. what did he think about the Good Friday Agreement, decomission, all the rest? how did he hold onto the values of family and community when his concrete activity consisted of racketeering and intimidation? i wish i went drinking with him when i did have the chance. i loved sitting down to drink with all those old crooks. as a homosexual i’d be all over Belfast, or as far up as Antrim, or down by Armagh, exploring boy’s bedrooms. every family is ‘connected’, so i met dangerous fathers and uncles of every sort; IRA men, UVF men, UDA men. and as much as my crossdressing alarmed them, it was good manners to invite me to drink. and alcohol works a kind of magic. they’ll get excited enough to tell you a big story that they set aside all the problems; now you’re sharing something authentic with a guy who, in any other situation, would be threatening your knees. anyway, you get talking about things. the intellectual field on offer was limitless. Carlos Castaneda, Aleister Crowley, William Burroughs, Salvador Dali, Bertolt Brecht, Jacques Brel, Joni Mitchell, Pink Floyd, the Doors. there was always a sort of sad nostalgia to these conversations. you get these guys who were, deep in their hearts, beatniks and hippies, who joined the UDA for the drugs and glamour. did they want to spend the rest of their lives as fascist bullies, defending lines on a map they can’t even fully explain? most of the paramilitary men i met had been through this ‘internal emigration’, into a sort of unhappy anti-political consciousness. it reminds me of Monsieur Dupont’s discussion of certain workplace militants in Nihilist Communism:

[W]e should like it to go on the record that we have met with several workplace militants and for the most part they have no political consciousness. Many of these militants are very anti-political, we would say they were post-political, but how did they become militants if they did not receive political instruction? Their condition is one of absolute refusal of the legitimacy of the manager, an absolute intransigence over specific workplace issues and a kind of terrifying site-specificity producing in them an absolute refusal to look at the wider picture (like Ahab on the back of the white whale they are consumed with a madness for not escaping). We do not endorse such militants, we see them as being stuck in a loop of restricted gestures which their identity seems to depend upon, what would they do if they had not their struggle? It is a fact of our experience that most workplace militants are quite mad and/or not especially very nice people to know; it is important not to get wrapped up in their personal feuds but still we would argue that these mad-eyed prophets are in advance of those who are politically motivated, in advance and waiting in the desert, gone mad with waiting, gnawing at locusts, sitting on poles. Some of them, and of a certain age, cite Pink Floyd, and not Marx, as the biggest influence on their lives. They required only a narrative of otherness, something that was not contained in the usual cause and effects of everyday life to legitimise their dispute. Will the misty master break me, will the key unlock my mind? For such people, the A to В thinking of most pro-revolutionary activists is too basic and not even appropriate to the situation. To them it means nothing to ‘speak in a language the workers understand’ because nobody has ever spoken such a language.

Monsieur Dupont are criticizing you, by the way—this idea that ‘political consciousness’ (in your case an even more timid ‘awareness of societal issues’) is something desirable or progressive, which pro-revolutionaries should be trying to raise. isn’t the problem often the opposite, an excessive awareness of societal issues, like a kind of tinnitus that doesn’t stop ringing in the ears? their workplace militant reminds me of a guy my father knew—’radicalized’ by Pink Floyd, but who got sucked into conspiracy theories by the internet. he was a nice guy who would do anything for you, and my father had asked him to drive me home one night. he would talk to you the entire way home and when he talked to you he would stare at you and wouldn’t look at the road at all. he told me all about HAARP, the NWO, chemtrails, the occult causes of earthquakes, the damage radiation is doing to your body because of telephones and microwaves, and how he wrote a 300-page pamphlet to give to his son’s teacher disputing all of the false science they were teaching. during our conversation a light on his phone began to blink, which he decided was because they must have been listening, whereupon he ripped the battery out of the phone and threw the whole thing out the window. when we got to my place he gave me the address to his facebook page where he predicts the future, but when i looked it up the next day it was gone.

i knew a lot of conspiracy theory guys. to live in a country like this you have to go insane, it’s unbearable. conspiracy theorism has a split consciousness; there’s an enjoyment of occult symbols, gematric connections, divination and spiritism, while at the same time attributing these things to evil powers, the explanation of which should inspire the hearer to their political undoing. many conspiracy theorists are also occultists, or move between one and the other with a little embarassment. in any case, it relies on a relationship to societal issues that is beyond awareness, in fact a hyperawareness. i suppose the opposite side is one sort of self-depricating disavowal of agency which is very common among young lumpen/proletarians, who belong to Oscar Lewis’s culture of poverty. the culture of poverty is a kind of alienated consciousness which results from a disidentification with the institutions of society. he was trying to explain how it was the case that even when many social programs exist, lumpen/proles do not make use of them; nor do they join in with class conscious organizations (such as unions) that enable collective struggle. it’s because, he determined, they didn’t interpret any information about those programs or organizations as being relevant to themselves. they don’t regard themselves as citizens of their own country. if disillusioned fascists take an ‘inner emigration’, disillusioned lumpen/proles are ‘inner illegal immigrants’. this is how i think through a certain consciousness which is quite typical among my peers. they regard the church, politics, the media, the results of natural sciences, art and poetry with equal cynicism while, at the same time, they regard themselves as total morons, invincibly incapable of agency or analysis. many of my highschool classmates didn’t do their homework or participate in tests and left school without even attempting to acquire qualifications. if you asked them about it they’d be completely honest with you: what’s the point? it’s not that they thought education had no purpose in society, they just felt it had no purpose for them, as they were not such a subject which could be cultivated. yet if you did not share their cynicism they would be very angry with you. one of my friends told us how he once caught his sister reading a book and was so angry with her that he ripped it out of her hands and threw it away. there was something fundamentally dishonest to him about reading. you were putting something on, acting above your station. it mystified me, since i would go home and immerse myself in Plato and Eddic poetry, yet neither was i any more tolerant of school or society. who could say why we felt so differently though having such a similar background? here is another very demonstrative example: one of our friends, when some missionaries came by to give out bibles, made a show of throwing his in the bin. why throw it in the bin? because he was a politically convinced atheist who hated the Church and its lies. most people thought he was a tosser for that. but were they themselves deeply Christian? no, not remotely: they would mime the hyms and fall asleep in RE just like everyone else. like the conspiracy theorist they had a kind of split consciousness; neither society nor the destruction of society had any claim on their hearts.

i can’t really talk about it, but things happened that did engage these other kids in a political or militant direction, despite all those things, at which they were very successful. then when the battle was over, in some ways won and in some ways lost, they went back to alienated life. most of them had children before they turned twenty and now i only hear about them in the part of the newspaper that reports on court cases, whenever they’re in trouble for vandalizing a pub and ‘found in the possession of a certain quantity of ketamine.’ this is why i’m sympathetic to the Duponts’ fetishistic elevation of material conditions over consciousness. but in any case, here is how i handle things now: in my estimation most people suffer, intellectually, because they belong to a racket. they have to share space with roommates, work at a workplace, belong to a family, or even associate with a political party, and they depend on these things for food, shelter, and intimacy. these things place harsh limits on what they can acceptably think or feel and in their soul they resign and acquiesce. whatever thrills, excites or even frightens them becomes latent in their soul, meanwhile they say the things which are expected of them. when this is true your conversations, even heated arguments, are predestined by their relevance to a pre-determined intellectual regime which your argument merely performs. it doesn’t matter what political or social issues you have these conversations about; they don’t contribute anything that isn’t already fully present in the agitating subject. nodding conversations between radicals and screaming matches between enemies are just as alienated as the most unlikely conspiracy theories and the most depressing cynicisms. what you want to do is allow someone to express some authentic excitement with you. actually listen to what they have to say and don’t judge them. be open to their system of values without imposing your own; don’t expect to hear about Marx, and try to stop cringing at hippies and beatniks and acid casualties and music hipsters and movie guys and any other form of enthusiasm you’ve been trained to think is naive. you’re trying to find what someone considers their own and give them an opportunity to express their ownness. then you can be as ‘serious’ as you like with them.

[edwad]

Do you ever worry all of the critique you're mounting on Marx is "too academic"? Not that it's necessarily incorrect, but that it won't translate these into changes in political practice in the world even if it's accepted that your critique has merit?

If Marx was just an abstract philosopher who was fumbled around with in the hands of academics only, perhaps this question would seem absurd. But that's not the case for Marx - he and his thought, however incomplete and incoherent, is still grappled with by political actors, however incompletely and incoherently themselves.

And there a whole world of "politics" that "the Left" the world over, still haunted and driven by Marx and Marxism, takes part in...organizing parties and taking part in elections, (intra)-union organzing, legal advocation, protests and mass demonstration, education and seminars, fighting guerilla wars, building communes, etc...and I presume that you are part of the Left that sees all of this action as pointing towards, if only potentially or latently or incoherently, towards revolution and communism.

What are you hoping your intervention does in this world? Are you aiming for a specific, identifiable change in the world of politics and of the Left? Or does the critique justify itself on intellectual grounds alone, even if one can't imagine clear changes in politics and social practice following from it?

i always think it's a bit funny when people level accusations against me of being too "academic" when not only am i totally outside of academia but i probably had less (and worse!) formal schooling than them. i don't say this because i think you're making that kind of case (i certainly read you as being more charitable than that, although maybe you really are going for a dig, idk), but because i think it's clear that even undereducated lowlifes like me have some vested interest in these things for both theoretical and practical reasons. its not about job security for me in the ivory tower, its just the kind of things i think about on the way to and from work (my long reblog earlier was written on the way to my store). to more directly address your question, i think these things have meaningful stakes which aren't reducible to the luxury of academics peddling abstract thinking (although, most of my academic friends are pretty broke too, so im not trying to joust with them here as much as with this notion of an institutionalized marx scholarship that im somehow dabbling in). the takeaway here shouldn't simply be "what if marx is wrong about the political economists he's working with", it's "what if marxs analysis of the system, and by extension, his critique of it, falls flat"

this has political stakes for anybody whose political thinking and aspirations involve using marx as a resource. if he gets capitalism wrong (and, if immanent critique means anything, how could he get that part wrong while adequately understanding the system which is supposed to directly account for the object he is critiquing?) then what does that mean for our anti-capitalism? sure, we could be productively misreading him and still demanding things which maybe aren't justified by his analysis but which are worth pursuing, but how can even tell? by what standard? what if actually our well-intended political maneuvers simply make things worse, as plenty of liberal thinkers would suggest? we can say "yeah well they're dumb liberals so they don't know anything", but this only works if you can safely assume you're right and that they're wrong on the basis of a semi-coherent understanding of the world around you. the ways you struggle against that world is shaped by your understanding of it, and the things you hold against it or the possibilities for what it could be are entirely bound up with what can only be called a "theory" of the system. i think the theory we have of the system has significant political/practical consequences, and if marx is wrong about all of this then we'd be forced to rethink what that means for us as marx-influenced communists.

in that sense, im not demanding a particular change in political strategy, im interested in posing a problem which i think we have to be able to answer. otherwise the whole thing collapses and we might as well settle for social democracy or whatever.

[harringtown]

this town’s for the record now

a/n: what’s that? the Hawkins train station I created for fic convenience once again making an appearance? absolutely. and yes this is another prompt from that childhood friends to lovers post cuz it has me by the throat. special shoutout to Noah Kahans new album, if I could have id just list every single lyric in that album as the fic title lmao. 

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: ‘we’ve been friends since childhood, and I’ve accepted that we’re just not meant to be. I’ve moved on and encouraged you to follow your dreams. I didn’t know that your dream was me.’ from this prompt list (aka the reader moved out of Hawkins, eddie didn’t, and it takes coming home to figure out what they left behind)

wc: 5k

warnings: alcohol/drinking

-

By midnight, the only people left at the house are a handful of stragglers seeking lost jackets, the poor host and his box of trash bags, and you and Eddie. No one bothered to shut off the boombox inside, and the music filters through the open windows onto the back porch where the two of you sit at the end of the deck. Eddie’s legs are longer, and his sneakers hit the dirt of the yard below, but you swing your ankles, bobbing them against the wooden deck slats.

Eddie lifts the bottle of malt liquor to his lips, taking a burning drag before he hands it off to you. Despite your proclamation that the two of you could never get through an entire 40oz, this is the second bottle of the night.

It’s getting late, and Eddie knows he should offer to walk you home, but he doesn’t want to leave yet. Leaving means going home, and falling asleep, and waking up tomorrow.

Tomorrow. The day you climb into the car—the one Eddie spent all day helping you pack up—and drive off to college. The day you leave him and Hawkins behind.

He’s known this day was coming since you were both fifteen—knew you were destined for more than this shitty town and its shitty people—but knowing doesn’t make it hurt less. Sometimes it does. And sometimes, knowing is slamming a door shut, right into your own damn fingers.

You set the empty bottle of Jager down on the deck with a clank.

“Another one down,” you say.

Eddie waggles a brow. “Told you so.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What can I say? I know my alcohol,” he says.

“Because that’s something to be proud of.”

“I bet I can scrounge us up at least a can of beer or two, if y’want.”

“Unless you want to carry my drunk ass all the way home, don’t you dare.”

“I’ll carry you anywhere, gorgeous,” Eddie says, leaning back onto his elbows. The crumbling deck is certainly going to leave him with splinters, but he likes this view. You, and the trees, and the stars.

“You know how I feel about that nickname,” you say. “It’s not funny.”

“Who’s joking?” Eddie asks. He’s inching past the line he already dances along every day.

You shake your head. Let out a sigh.

Eddie almost pushes. Anywhere else, with anyone else, he would. That’s what he does. He pushes and pushes and pushes until finally, the levee breaks, and he’s alone again.

He can’t decide if he hasn’t pushed you hard enough, or if he’s just not brave enough to try.

The upbeat song on the boom ends, and the notes of the next begin, slow and steady.

Right Here Waiting by Richard Marx. Not Eddie’s normal style, but the last few years have acquainted him with any song about loving things, or people, he can’t have.

He has to swallow a bitter laugh. Of all the songs, on all the nights.

Good one, universe.

Eddie pushes to his feet more unsteadily than he cares to admit, and turns, holding out a hand.

Still sitting on the deck, you lift your chin and cock your brows in question.

“May I have this dance?” he asks.

“Are you serious?”

“As Sisyphus.”

“I think you mean syphilis.”

“Same difference.”

“It absolutely is not.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Wiggles his fingers.

You purse your lips, but a tiny smile overtakes them. You take his hand, letting him pull you up to your feet. He doesn’t release your hand, threading your fingers together, placing his other hand on your waist.

He thinks it should feel more awkward, or uncomfortable—it shouldn’t feel like Eddie has finally found the balance he’s been trying to find his entire life. You fit effortlessly against him.

And you dance. It’s hardly a complicated dance, no waltz or tango. Just two very drunk teenagers, clumsily moving around a rotting deck.

The chorus makes you both a little brave, and Eddie releases your waist, sending you out into a twirl. But you’re both hammered, and you catch your foot on a missing chunk of deck, and all Eddie can do is haul you into his arms to keep you from slamming into the wood.

Your laughter sends out plumes of white air, like the universe itself is trying to cling to the sound the way Eddie is. He has the vague thought that he wishes he had a tape recorder, to catch your laugh, to hold onto after you drive away tomorrow.

You slip your arms around his neck, and he winds his around your waist once more, a little tighter, his half-assed attempt to keep you steady—when it’s always been the other way around. Your head finds his shoulder, and Eddie can feel the thrum of your heartbeat against his own.

“I’m gonna miss the hell out of you, gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, the words escaping before he can stop them.

Your fingers curl into the collar of his vest, and your knuckles graze the back of his neck, and God, what he wouldn’t give to trap this moment like a spider in a glass.

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” you say. Your breath is warm against his collarbone.

The song’s last notes trickle out, and the only melodies left are the crickets and your heartbeats.

Eddie lifts his head at the same time you lift yours, and only then does he realize how close you are. Your nose bumps his.

Maybe he’s feeling brave, or cocky, or he’s just too aware of the time running out on the clock, but he tilts his chin up, closes the distance between you. Kisses you, the way he’s wanted to for years.

And you kiss him back. Your lips part against his, and your hands climb up his neck to tangle in his hair, and he has no idea if it’s you or the cold making him shiver, but he doesn’t care.

Someone pulls away to catch their breath—maybe him, or you, or both of you—and then…

The rest of the night turns to black. Already, the kiss is patched in darkness, a drunk brain struggling to hold onto a treasured memory.

Eddie doesn’t remember how the two of you got home. He doesn’t remember much of anything, except for that snippet on the porch.

But the next morning, when he knocks on your door with two coffees, you proclaim that you can’t remember a second of the night before, and Eddie realizes that the kiss, the confession that lived in it, didn’t make it to morning.

And he knows he could remind you. He knows it would change everything, or that it could.

In the end, though, he doesn’t say a word. He lets you go, because it’s the right thing to do—and because he’s a fucking coward, but he likes to pretend it’s only the first thing.

Because your dreams have always been bigger than Hawkins, and bigger than him. Even if his dream has always been you.

-

You think it should feel different, stepping off the train at the platform in Hawkins after all this time away, but it doesn’t. It actually feels like you never left at all, and the last nine months were nothing but a dream.

The only thing that’s different is you. And this version of you suddenly can’t remember why the hell she agreed to getting picked up by Eddie.

You should be excited to see your best friend of a decade. You are. And you’re also kind of dreading it.

But it’s a late train, and your parents have work in the morning, and you didn’t have an actual, believable reason to say no.

You roll your shoulders and grab your suitcase’s handle, dragging it behind you into the train station’s parking lot.

The black van you expected to find idling at the curb is nowhere to be seen, though. The only car that’s even waiting in the station’s lot at this time of night is an unfamiliar beat up blue pickup truck that’s at least twenty years old.

As you enter the lot, its headlights shut off, and the door creaks open. A familiar silhouette hops onto the concrete, and your stomach flips.

Eddie strolls across the lot, meeting you halfway. He looks almost exactly the same as he did when you left him. Something in the way he holds himself is a little stiller, a little calmer, and there is a seriousness to his expression he never had, but he’s your Eddie.

“There she is,” he calls, a wide grin on his face. He pulls you into a hug that ends too fast, but he doesn’t release you entirely. He’s warm and sturdy, and he still smells the same, and God, you really  missed him. “How you been, gorgeous?”

Heat flushes your cheeks, and you lightly push him off, shaking your head.

“Same old, same old.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Nice try. If you think you’re getting away with four words after almost a year, you lost your mind out there.”

He opens the passenger side door for you, and you climb in, waiting for him to go around to the driver's side and get in before you say, “It’s college. Late nights, homework, and a newfound love for coffee. I really thought I’d make it through at least a semester before giving in, but I bought a coffee pot in week two.”

“The coffee thing isn’t love. It’s Stockholm syndrome.” He shakes his head. “But god, what a sexy captor she is.”

“Ah, you’re familiar with her?”

“Familiar? We’re deeply intimate,” he says. “Met at the library on the morning shift and haven’t parted since.”

“The library?” you ask. “Eddie Munson, professional deviant, works at the library?”

“People can change,” he says, but it feels like a double entendre. Though you’re not sure what the other meaning is—not now, not after so much time away. “I don’t know if you remember Robin Buckley. Two years under us when we were in school.”

An odd, sour pit forms in your belly. It’s an old sensation you thought you left behind when you left, but you’re back in Hawkins now, and that feeling is, too.

Or maybe it’s not Hawkins. Maybe it’s him.

“Yeah, I remember. What about her?”

Eddie starts the engine. It seems to protest its very existence, grumbling and rumbling until it finally turns over.

“Well, apparently, she and the big honcho librarian, this lady named Miriam, are tight. She got me the gig.” He drums his fingers against the wheel as he pulls out of the lot and onto the street, and your gaze lingers on the rings; a few are the same, a few are new. “I’m pretty much just restocking shit, or helping old ladies find gardening manuals, but I haven’t managed to fuck it up yet.” He flashes you a grin. “Granted, it’s only been two months, but hey. Baby steps.”

You can’t help smiling back, though your chest pulses with a year-old ache. You don’t have the right to mourn anything that happened after you left this place, but you still do.

“Never pictured you as a library boy,” you say. “Next, you’re going to pull out a pair of reading glasses.”

Eddie snorts a laugh and swipes the hairs out of his eyes. He’s in dire need of a haircut. It’s been years since he’s let it get this long.

“Yeah, well, it pays the bills. And it turns out, when some ancient English teacher isn’t forcing you to read them, some of those books aren’t half bad.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek for a moment before saying, “I heard you finally walked across that stage. Let me guess, you framed and hung your diploma in the living room?”

He laughs again, but it isn’t a happy laugh. It’s laced with something sharp.

“For a while, I didn’t have a living room to hang it in.” He licks his lips. “The earthquake took out our trailer. Wayne and I are in Cheery Oaks, now, which is a hell of a lot less cheery than the name suggests. Pretty sure the diploma never even made it into a box.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I heard about the earthquake. I wanted to come visit, help out, but…” But. But finals, but you had created a beautiful, perfect bubble of a life, but you were afraid that coming back here would pop it.

“I don’t blame you for staying away. There’s something about this town that just makes you want to run the fuck away from it.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. Because he’s right, and you did run, and most importantly, you left him behind when you did it.

“I’m proud of you.” He darts a glance your way, confused. “You know. For graduating. For the job.” For everything. For continuing to survive in a place you swore you’d always face together.

“For getting my shit together?”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you say.

“It’s all good. I get it.” He shrugs. “Not like it’s a lie.”

You open your mouth to speak, and promptly shut it. Before you can decide what to say, Eddie reroutes, flashing an easy grin.

“You hungry? I know you’ve been missing the shakes from the diner.” He reaches out to flick your shoulder, and you can’t help but smile.

He’s right. When it comes to which you missed more, Eddie or the milkshakes, Eddie only barely tops it.

“You don’t mind?”

“You kidding?” Eddie shakes his head. “If you asked me to drive you to New York and back, I would. I can manage a milkshake detour.”

Again, with one of those big statements that mean more than one thing. And a year ago, you might have easily caught onto the truth under his words.

“As long as you’re buying, obviously,” Eddie says.

You force a smile, hoping he can’t tell how much ache sits behind it.

The short drive to the diner proves one thing. That Hawkins hasn't changed. It’s more rundown, packed with construction and rebuilding, but it’s still your Hawkins.

It’s you and Eddie that changed. And unlike the rest of your lives, you didn’t change together.

That fact hurts more than the rest.

-

You pull away to catch your breath and curse your own humanity and its incessant demands. What you wouldn’t give to just stand here and kiss him until the world caves in.

Eddie tips his forehead against yours. You sway, and his hands hold your waist steady. His fingers nudge up the hem of your shirt and graze the skin above your hips, making you shiver.

“It’s never a joke,” Eddie hums, so close you swear you can taste the words on your lips.

“Hmm?”

“It’s never a joke,” he repeats. “You are gorgeous. So gorgeous it hurts.”

“You’re drunk,” you whisper.

“Your point?”

“People say shit they don’t mean when they’re drunk.”

“And they also say shit they do mean,” he says. Bumps his nose with yours. “And fuck, I mean it.”

He has to stop saying that. He can never stop.

God, you really shouldn’t have agreed to that second bottle.

Your memory goes hazy after that. You don’t know how you or Eddie got home, just that you did.

And the next morning, when Eddie shows up at your door with coffee to usher you off, grinning and cracking a joke like nothing happened, you realize that he doesn’t remember. The moment you’d been waiting for for years, and he had no idea it happened.

It’s kind of a relief, in a way. Makes leaving a little easier.

It still breaks your heart to go, though, and take the secret of that night with you.

-

As you push out of the diner into the warm summer night, two milkshakes in hand, you find Eddie with the truck bed ledge down, sitting on the edge, swinging his legs back and forth.

At your approach, he hops down. It could be the dark and it’s mirages, but you’d swear Eddie clutches at one side of his torso. But by the time you reach the truck bed, he’s back to himself, smiling and holding out his hands for the milkshakes. He waggles his fingers like a hungry toddler. You oblige him, handing over the milkshake and hopping up to sit on the ledge.

Eddie sets his shake aside and peels his black hoodie off, and the tee underneath gets caught halfway up his stomach. The sight of a half shirtless Eddie Munson alone has always been enough to catch your attention, but it isn’t what holds it now.

It’s the scars. So many of them you couldn’t even begin to count. Small, like bite marks, but not from any animal you’ve ever seen, littering his skin. And if it was an animal, it wasn’t just one, it was a horde.

They still have that angry, bright pink sheen that means they’re freshly healed.

A wave of regret slams into your chest. What the hell happened this last year? What happened to him? While you were staying up late with friends and cramming for classes, Eddie Munson was injured badly enough to leave this much of a mark. And he didn’t tell you about it.

“What the fuck?” You ask. You set the milkshake aside, forgotten, and hop onto the asphalt.

Eddie freezes. Looks down. Red climbs up his neck and over his cheeks as he yanks the tee shirt back down. But without the hoodie, the elbow-length sleeves showcase the same scars on his arms.

“What’s up?” Eddie plays casual.

You shake your head. Stomp toward him. Wrench up his tee shirt.

“Jesus, dude. At least take me out for dinner first—“ He begins.

He tries to yank the fabric now, but he’s too late. You saw it. All of it. Scar more than skin.

You bring a hand to your mouth, inhaling sharply.

“Eddie. What the hell is this?” You ask. An icy feeling trails down your spine.

“It’s nothing,” Eddie snaps, stepping back and out of your reach, like he’s expecting a full body pat down. And you’re about five seconds from giving him one.

“Nothing? That is not nothing. What the hell happened to you?”

“I said it was nothing. Just—forget about it, okay?”

“I can’t forget about it.” You take a step toward him. “Eddie, those scars—I had no idea. Did something happen?” It’s a stupid question, because obviously.

“Yeah, nine months happened.”

You sigh. “Don’t evade.“

“I’m not evading,” he says. He’s throwing everything he has into a facade you still have some ability to see through. And his bullshit meter is off the charts. “Got pinned under some debris during the quake. Don't worry about it.”

You fold your arms and lift your chin. “No way. Those aren’t ‘pinned under something heavy’ scars. Those are ‘something tried to eat you alive’ scars.”

Eddie shrugs noncommittally.

“Something happened,” you say. “Why won’t you just tell me what it is?”

“Because it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, really? Because I seem to recall at least twenty separate occasions as kids you called me simply because you were bored. Nothing was not a big deal.”

“Yeah, and people change. Life goes on.”

You stiffen. “What the hell is your problem? I’m just asking a question. Since when are you this cagey and—“

“You don’t get to do that,” Eddie says, shaking his head and jabbing a finger at you. “You don’t get to be pissed at me for not giving you a day-by-day update of my life after you walked out of it. You’re the one who left this town.” He shakes his head. “No, ran away. With your tail tucked between your damn legs.”

“You told me to go!” You exclaim. “I was going to stay behind another year, and take a few classes at the community college, and wait for you to graduate.”

It was a promise made by firelight and cheap beer at fifteen: the two of you would escape together.

“What, and I was supposed to just let you do that? Throw your life away to wait around for me to maybe get my shit together, so we could what? What did you even think would happen?”

And there it is. The one piece of your childhood plans neither of you spoke about.

What came after. What the two of you would be.

“I never would have left if you hadn’t pushed me.”

“No shit, I pushed you,” he says. “What, am I not supposed to? Did you honestly want me to tell you to flush all your dreams down the toilet and wait around for me?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is the point,” Eddie snaps. “From the second I met you, you were talking about getting out of this town, making a life for yourself. You know sure as shit that wasn’t going to happen here. So, yeah, I pushed. Screw me for trying to help you achieve your dreams, yeah?”

“My dreams?”

“Yeah. How many times did you tell me? Good job, apartment, dishwasher, dog.” He uses his pointer finger to tap four of his fingers on the other hand.

It occurs to you suddenly that the two of you are having it out in a parking lot, but fortunately, it’s late enough that the whole town isn’t here to witness the argument. Another few minutes, though, and you’ll certainly have an audience.

You huff a breath. You only now realize how close the two of you are, and you step back.

“Don’t act like this was some… some big selfless thing.” Your voice is colder than you intend, but you’ve cracked open a cavern of anger towards him. Because you did leave. But he also didn’t ask you to stay. “Don’t pretend that your encouragement was anything but your last-ditch attempt to push me away. It was a test. And I failed.”

And for the first time in your life, you render Eddie Munson speechless.

“What?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. As if you haven’t hit the sharpest, tallest nail right on the head.

You shake your head, snatching your half-melted milkshake off the truck bed.

“Forget it. Can we just go?”

You don’t look to see if he’s moved as you loop the side of the car and climb into the passenger seat. After a long ten seconds, the truck bed’s ledge cracks into place, making the car shake. Eddie pops open the driver side door and hops in. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the grumbling engine, or as he pulls out of the lot. It’s just you, him, and two melting milkshakes that sit untouched between you.

Eddie keeps sneaking glances, like he’s considering saying something, but he doesn’t.

And eventually, he just starts flipping through the radio, bouncing and bouncing the way he’s always done when he’s nervous—he’s the same with the television, and had remote privileges permanently revoked. Then, he stops flipping. Turns up the volume.

It takes a moment to recognize the song.

Wherever you go

Whatever you do

I will be right here waiting for you

And suddenly, it’s a year ago, and you’re on a rickety porch, and you’re drunk enough that standing is a little hard, but Eddie is there to hold you up. He’s always there to hold you up. And you have no idea how you’re going to stay steady when he lets go.

Eddie—this Eddie, the one with scars and secrets—starts to hum along. You’re almost surprised he knows the song.

Unless, he does recognize it. Unless, he remembers that night.

Your head snaps his way, and you find him already looking at you. He says nothing. He’s never been able to keep his mouth shut, except when it really matters. When you really, really want to hear him speak.

Eddie pulls onto your street, putting the car in park to idle at your curb. He clears his throat. And still, doesn’t say a fucking thing.

You’d forgotten this about him. There was always a wall to slam into.

You undo your seatbelt. Sit, for a moment, leaving him one last chance. But he doesn’t take it, so you climb out of the car, retrieving your luggage from the bed and setting it on the sidewalk. Just as you turn to head up the driveway, you stop. Turn. Approach the passenger side and meet his eyes through the rolled-down window.

Screw it. Maybe he doesn’t have the courage to speak up. But you’ve kept quiet for too long to leave it like this.  

“You know, you were right. My dream is a job I actually like and an apartment with a dishwasher and maybe a dog,” you say. “But you were wrong, too. Because you’re missing one of the biggest pieces. You were in that apartment. You had that dog on your lap, asking me how my day at work was.” You shake your head. “You were my dream, Eddie. And I kept waiting for you to figure it out, and that night, at Georgie’s party, I thought for a second that maybe, I was your dream too. I guess I was wrong.” You step back and grab your suitcase handle. “I may have left, Eddie, but you never once tried to stop me.”

And then you turn, marching across the sidewalk and toward the driveway.

A metal door whines open, and a heavy pair of boots smack the pavement.

“Wait,” Eddie calls. You pause. “Just—shit, please wait.”

You turn, folding your arms over your chest.

“What?” You ask.

“You weren’t wrong,” he says. He draws a hand down his face, like he’s trying to peel something away. “I was… testing you. And I didn’t even realize I was doing it, which is stupid, because I should have. Because that’s what I do. I push, and people leave, and I blame it on them. And I tried so damn hard to push you away, but you stuck around, and I think it—it scared the shit out of me.”

You’re not sure what to say, because you know all this, have known it for years.

“I spent so long thinking I was pissed at you for leaving, and maybe I was, but I was more pissed at myself for letting you go without telling you the truth.”

“The truth?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Eddie sighs. Shakes his head. “The truth. And the truth is that you were my dream, too. No, screw that. You are my dream. You have been since we were kids.”

Your heart hits the concrete at your feet, and you ask, gently, “What are you saying?”

Eddie takes a few steps toward you. He lifts his hands to your cheeks, giving his head a little shake.

“I’m saying I fucking love you,” he says. “And I never should have let you go.”

There are a thousand things you could say. I told you so, for starters. But there will be time to say all of those things.

“No,” you say. “You shouldn’t have.”

His brows twitch, and a smile ghosts his lips.

“Think you can forgive me?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” you say. “With some convincing, of course.”

Eddie grins as he bends toward you and tips his forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter shut.

Eddie tips his chin up, presses the gentlest of kisses to your lips.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, and you can’t decide whether to laugh or cry or kiss him again.

You settle for all three. You don’t even try to push down the tears pricking at the backs of your eyes, and you’re mid-laugh when you catch his mouth in yours.

His fingers trail down the sides of your neck, down your arms, and he loops his arms around your waist, drawing you flush against him. His tongue flicks against your teeth, and he tastes like vanilla, and he smells like herbs and aftershave, and if that first kiss on that porch was a spark, this one is a wildfire.

It’s all been leading up to this, you realize. Maybe you needed to leave. Maybe Eddie needed to let you. Maybe you both needed to see what the world looked like without the other to realize what a shitty image that was.

Or maybe there is no destiny or fate, and it’s just a matter of timing. Luck. Maybe none of that matters now.

Because for a second, you can see the younger versions of you and Eddie, tipsy and curled together on the grassy lawn outside Eddie’s trailer. You want to tell them, as they collaborate and make plans and dream of a perfect life, that none of it is going to work out how they think. That the plans and dreams crumble or change or disappear altogether.

You want to tell them that it won’t be what they expect, but it’ll still be good. And it’ll take you two longer to get where you need to be, but you will get there. And you’ll do it together.

Moving out of Hawkins wasn’t the end like you thought it was. Or maybe it was. It was an end, but not the end.

This isn’t the end, either. This, the two of you, kissing under a flickering streetlamp, is a beginning.

 -

taglist: @milkiane​ @robiin-buckley​ @copycatkillerfics​  @robinbuckleyssgf​ @isshecrazyorissheclever @peanutbutter-y-jams​ @hellfire1986baby​ @minksblog @comfortcharactercraze​ 

#brooke writes fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #x reader

[icedragonlizard]

Are the "deaths" of older Kirby characters unserious?

For all the Kirby characters that are believed to have "died", I wonder if the ones in earlier periods of the series are not actually seriously dead.

The newer, Kumazaki era Kirby characters that have died are much more legitimate. Sectonia is absolutely 100% dead without a doubt. Same for Max Haltmann and Star Dream, as well as Void Termina. I also believe Fecto Elfilis to be dead, since the Forgo half is gone and Chaos Elfilis absorbed into Elfilin. I'm sure that Elfilin will be all that's left of Fecto Elfilis, meaning the original unsplit creature is a goner.

But what about the pre-Kumazaki Kirby characters that are believed to have "died"? It appears they're much less certain. It's ambiguous.

Marx looks like he died at the end of Milky Way Wishes. That impact onto Nova absolutely looks more than enough to kill Marx. How could he have survived that? He also doesn't appear for a very long time after Super Star and its remake. He's been absent in a lot of Kirby games, which can also lead to the belief that he died after MWW.

Although he does appear in Mass Attack... but I have doubts on its canonicity.

... And then he comes back in Star Allies! Seemingly out of nowhere. It's kind of funny that the lore never explains how the hell Marx survived his encounter with Kirby and just randomly comes back, now deciding he wants to team up with Kirby to stop Void Termina.

I get the sense that HAL didn't really think much of Marx's "death" like they thought of Sectonia's death. Marx came from an era where lore wasn't really a thing, so it's harder to take his death seriously.

It's still funny to think how the hell he survived the Nova impact, though. I guess he was just really durable? And I mean, Kirby does survive big impacts, such as Star Dream's explosion after destroying it, so I guess if Kirby could survive them, Marx probably could as well.

I can, of course, bring up my headcanon that Marx was barely durable enough to survive the Nova impact, but he was gravely injured. The only reason he survived is because Magolor and the Lor Starcutter showed up at the right time to save him.

Also, didn't it look like that Dark Meta Knight died at the end of Amazing Mirror when the mirror got shattered? It kinda did. But just like Marx, he also comes back out of nowhere for Star Allies with no explanation as to how he survived and got to the point of helping out.

I'm aware he also appears in Triple Deluxe's Dededetour, but I've always been incredibly loose about considering side modes as canon. Or I guess it's extra proof that older character "deaths" are unserious.

What does this mean for other pre-Kumazaki Kirby characters that may have "died"? Such as Nightmare, the many leaders of Dark Matter (Blade, Zero, Zero-Two) and Drawcia? Are they still alive?

If Marx was thought to have "died" but then survived and is still around, who's to say that couldn't also be the case for Nightmare?

Nightmare has not appeared for a long time after Kirby's Adventure and its remake, Kirby: Nightmare in Dream Land. In fact I'm pretty sure the only other appearance he's made in the series is... a parallel version of him in Super Kirby Clash, and I think that's basically it.

But Marx was similar! He didn't show up for a bunch of games after Super Star. And then he just randomly shows up in Star Allies lmao.

Maybe Nightmare is still out there, recuperating for a long time after Kirby kicked his ass. Perhaps he could be planning his next attack as he tries to become much, much, much stronger than he was before.

And maybe Dark Matter could make a return. Maybe one of the Dark Matter leaders in the DMT games could be recuperating and planning a new attack, or a brand new Dark Matter leader could exist.

I think it'd be awesome of Nightmare or Dark Matter were to come back as villains in future Kirby games. There's huge amounts of potential for how powerful they could be in the Kumazaki era. They could easily expand on these villains' powers and motivations.

Imagine if Nightmare grew stronger and, instead of making only Dream Landers have nightmares, what if he was able to make multiple planets or even the whole universe have nightmares? They didn't really push his potential far enough, in my opinion. And Dark Matter could be a lot more ferocious and scary in the Kumazaki era.

HAL didn't really seem to confirm Nightmare's or Dark Matter's deaths the same way they did for Sectonia and Haltmann. Maybe they could still be out there. And maybe they could attack again?

Just a cool thought, in my opinion.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

#kirby #marx #marx kirby #kirby marx #kirby super star #kirby super star ultra #milky way wishes #nightmare kirby #kirby's adventure #kirby nightmare in dream land #kirby nightmare in dreamland #super kirby clash #dark matter kirby #dark matter swordsman #dark matter blade #zero kirby #zero 2 kirby #kirby's dream land 2 #kirby's dream land 3 #kirby 64 the crystal shards

[tyrantisterror]

So! Fun fact, paladin used to be my least favorite class of all the main D&D character classes. The combination of Having to Stick to A Strict Set of Rules and being explicitly devoted to a god just screamed "Religious Fundamentalist" to me and I'm just not a fan of those in real life and have no desire to play as one. Well, it turns out 5e stripped out most of the religious aspect and focused Paladins on "a knight with a code of ideals and ethics they follow very strictly." You're no longer a Paladin of Abadar or Kord or Stingus McBingus or Definitely Not Jesus In a Pair of Grouch Marx Glasses, but a Paladin of the Oath of Devotion or the Oath of Ancient Truths or the Oath of Vengeance et cetera. Technically that should be more or less a surface level difference but for some reason it's very significant to me, much more enjoyable now that god(s) is out of the picture.

If reddit's anything to go by, a lot of people have struggled to keep to their oath when playing a Paladin in Baldur's Gate 3 - a video game doesn't have the adaptable reasoning of a human Dungeon Master, after all, so there's bound to be moral gray areas that you could talk out in an in person game that a video game has to take a hard rule on. The Oath of Devotion seems to be the one people struggle with the most - it's the one where you're a classic Knight in Shining Armor, basically.

...

So yeah I actually have not had trouble keeping my Dark Urge PC true to his Oath of Devotion for most of the game so far. There have been almost no situations where I could stay on the straight and narrow path with him, and one could argue there's a bit of foreshadowing in the fact that even the Bard Incident in Act 1 didn't break it for him (can't hold a guy accountable for something his evil god blood did without his permission I suppose).

The first time I was tempted to break my oath was towards the end of Act 2, when I was trying to recuse some prisoners from a prison run by the evil cult at the center of the game's plot. Having played this before, I know that it's basically impossible to keep all those prisoners alive if you let them out while the guards are still alive, because they WILL try to help you fend off the guards and WILL get full-on murdered if they do so.

But you can't just murder the guards if you're a paladin of the oath of devotion because they aren't actively hurting you or the prisoners - they're just doing their job of watching a prison, not engaging in torture or what have you. It's not immoral, but it's against your code of valor. So the only way to save all the prisoners was to take out the guards without my paladin swinging his sword at them.

And, well, I have that cool cloak that turns you invisible when you kill someone, and some invisibility potions, and a level 9 rogue with sneak attack and a pretty deadly short sword/dagger combo, and the guards aren't THAT tough if you get them one on one by, say, sneaking up on them... so Astarion helped Durge uphold his oath.

Luckily for Durge, there's nothing in his oath that says he can't one-shot an evil illusory doppelganger with a smite evil attack.

#Durge Brainrot Comics

[beardedmrbean]

I read a book of a Khmer Rouge survivor in senior yeah, he had to learn his little brother died starving wondering where he was. And he was forced to killed a injured kid to put them out of their misery.

It fucking disgusting that people still believe communism will solve everything. Not to mention these modern commies are the same ones that will slurp up articles saying I need classes on how not to rape because of my genitalia at 13 yet says I’m oppressed because of my skintone.

Why should I want communism when commies have shown time and time again that they will treat people they hate the same way Nazis treated the Jews?

Difference between the two falls into the theory vs practice, there's really no way you can paint the nazi ideology to make it look anything other than hateful so both in theory and in practice it's evil.

Socialism/communism doesn't require the extermination of anything but the individual. I've used "The Borg" from Star Trek as a example of a model socialist system. Everyone plays their part for the advancement of the collective no individuality no actions that aren't for the benefit or maintenance of the collective.

If you peacefully join and assimilate then there's no need for a war, if you don't want to join that's when the death and destruction begins.

Easy example would be the Antisemitism of karl marx that's baked into everything that has branched off of his philosophy.

'on the Jewish question' the answer is, there's a place for Jewish people in communism, but there's no place for being Jewish in it, as humans they're welcome but they have to stop being Jewish, and assimilate into the machine that is the state.

So what with the 'we don't actually need to murder millions of people to make it work' bit making it sound like a good way to get everyone taken care of and with the added punch of slogans like "From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs" really makes it sound utopian, which if you could manage it it might be.

But the difference between human beings and the borg, other than one being fictional, (you can decided which is which) is the cyborgs don't retain the sentience needed to do things like create art, appreciate beautiful things, fall in love, or any of the negative issues like greed, racism, intolerance of any sort, belief of a higher power outside of the collective.

So the TL:DR; here is that the only way humans could get socialism to work on a large scale would involve making them less human.

But that doesn't get brought up when people are talking up socialism, either because the thought never occurred to them or because they're the ones that are looking to be in charge of the killing.

Guy that got called a poser on a twitter thread because he said he wanted to be a farmer or do manual labor instead of designing uniforms for the new secret police or something like that should be about as much of a tell about what the folks that are pushing for this are like.

I'm all for social programs, I just don't trust the government to be in charge of them, every single one around the world has a bad record on human rights after all,

#anonymous