#. Foreign Articles Where Do Black Holes Lead?

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Where Do Black Holes Lead?

Where Do Black Holes Lead?

Where does a black hole go? So there you are, about to leap into a black hole. What could possibly await should — against all odds — you somehow survive? Where would you end up and what tantalizing tales would you be able to regale if you managed to clamor your way back? The simple answer to all of these questions is, as Professor Richard Massey explains, "Who knows?" As a Royal Society research fellow at the Institute for Computational Cosmology at Durham University, Massey is fully aware that the mysteries of black holes run deep. "Falling through an event horizon is literally passing beyond the veil — once someone falls past it, nobody could ever send a message back," he said. "They'd be ripped to pieces by the enormous gravity, so I doubt anyone falling through would get anywhere." If that sounds like a disappointing — and painful — answer, then it is to be expected. Ever since Albert Einstein's general theory of relativity was considered to have predicted black holes by linking space-time with the action of gravity, it has been known that black holes result from the death of a massive star leaving behind a small, dense remnant core. Assuming this core has more than roughly three-times the mass of the sun, gravity would overwhelm to such a degree that it would fall in on itself into a single point, or singularity, understood to be the black hole's infinitely dense core. Related: 9 Ideas About Black Holes That Will Blow Your Mind CLOSE The resulting uninhabitable black hole would have such a powerful gravitational pull that not even light could avoid it. So, should you then find yourself at the event horizon — the point at which light and matter can only pass inward, as proposed by the German astronomer Karl Schwarzschild — there is no escape. According to Massey, tidal forces would reduce your body into strands of atoms (or 'spaghettification', as it is also known) and the object would eventually end up crushed at the singularity. The idea that you could pop out somewhere — perhaps at the other side — seems utterly fantastical. What about a wormhole? Or is it? Over the years scientists have looked into the possibility that black holes could be wormholes to other galaxies. They may even be, as some have suggested, a path to another universe. Such an idea has been floating around for some time: Einstein teamed up with Nathan Rosen to theorise bridges that connect two different points in space-time in 1935. But it gained some fresh ground in the 1980s when physicist Kip Thorne — one of the world's leading experts on the astrophysical implications of Einstein's general theory of relativity — raised a discussion about whether objects could physically travel through them. "Reading Kip Thorne's popular book about wormholes is what first got me excited about physics as a child," Massey said. But it doesn't seem likely that wormholes exist. Indeed, Thorne, who lent his expert advice to the production team for the Hollywood movie Interstellar, wrote: "We see no objects in our universe that could become wormholes as they age," in his book "The Science of Interstellar" (W.W. Norton and Company, 2014). Thorne told Space.com that journeys through these theoretical tunnels would most likely remain science fiction, and there is certainly no firm evidence that a black hole could allow for such a passage. Artist's concept of a wormhole. If wormholes exist, they might lead to another universe. But, there's no evidence that wormholes are real or that a black hole would act like one. (Image credit: Shutterstock) But, the problem is that we can't get up close to see for ourselves. Why, we can't even take photographs of anything that takes place inside a black hole — if light cannot escape their immense gravity, then nothing can be snapped by a camera. As it stands, theory suggests that anything which goes beyond the event horizon is simply added to the black hole and, what's more, because time distorts close to this boundary, this will appear to take place incredibly slowly, so answers won't be quickly forthcoming. "I think the standard story is that they lead to the end of time," said Douglas Finkbeiner, professor of astronomy and physics at Harvard University. "An observer far away will not see their astronaut friend fall into the black hole. They'll just get redder and fainter as they approach the event horizon [as a result of gravitational red shift]. But the friend falls right in, to a place beyond 'forever.' Whatever that means." Maybe a black hole leads to a white hole Certainly, if black holes do lead to another part of a galaxy or another universe, there would need to be something opposite to them on the other side. Could this be a white hole — a theory put forward by Russian cosmologist Igor Novikov in 1964? Novikov proposed that a black hole links to a white hole that exists in the past. Unlike a black hole, a white hole will allow light and matter to leave, but light and matter will not be able to enter. Scientists have continued to explore the potential connection between black and white holes. In their 2014 study published in the journal Physical Review D, physicists Carlo Rovelli and Hal M. Haggard claimed that "there is a classic metric satisfying the Einstein equations outside a finite space-time region where matter collapses into a black hole and then emerges from a while hole." In other words, all of the material black holes have swallowed could be spewed out, and black holes may become white holes when they die. Far from destroying the information that it absorbs, the collapse of a black hole would be halted. It would instead experience a quantum bounce, allowing information to escape. Should this be the case, it would shed some light on a proposal by former Cambridge University cosmologist and theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking who, in the 1970s, explored the possibility that black holes emit particles and radiation — thermal heat — as a result of quantum fluctuations. "Hawking said a black hole doesn't last forever," Finkbeiner said. Hawking calculated that the radiation would cause a black hole to lose energy, shrink and disappear, as described in his 1976 paper published in Physical Review D. Given his claims that the radiation emitted would be random and contain no information about what had fallen in, the black hole, upon its explosion, would erase loads of information. This meant Hawking's idea was at odds with quantum theory, which says information can't be destroyed. Physics states information just becomes more difficult to find because, should it become lost, it becomes impossible to know the past or the future. Hawking's idea led to the 'black hole information paradox' and it has long puzzled scientists. Some have said Hawking was simply wrong, and the man himself even declared he had made an error during a scientific conference in Dublin in 2004. So, do we go back to the concept of black holes emitting preserved information and throwing it back out via a white hole? Maybe. In their 2013 study published in Physical Review Letters, Jorge Pullin at Louisiana State University and Rodolfo Gambini at the University of the Republic in Montevideo, Uruguay, applied loop quantum gravity to a black hole and found that gravity increased towards the core but reduced and plonked whatever was entering into another region of the universe. The results gave extra credence to the idea of black holes serving as a portal. In this study, singularity does not exist, and so it doesn't form an impenetrable barrier that ends up crushing whatever it encounters. It also means that information doesn't disappear. Maybe black holes go nowhere Yet physicists Ahmed Almheiri, Donald Marolf, Joseph Polchinski and James Sully still believed Hawking could have been on to something. They worked on a theory that became known as the AMPS firewall, or the black hole firewall hypothesis. By their calculations, quantum mechanics could feasibly turn the event horizon into a giant wall of fire and anything coming into contact would burn in an instant. In that sense, black holes lead nowhere because nothing could ever get inside. This, however, violates Einstein's general theory of relativity. Someone crossing the event horizon shouldn't actually feel any great hardship because an object would be in free fall and, based on the equivalence principle, that object — or person — would not feel the extreme effects of gravity. It could follow the laws of physics present elsewhere in the universe, but even if it didn't go against Einstein's principle it would undermine quantum field theory or suggest information can be lost. Related: 11 Fascinating Facts About Our Milky Way GalaxyArtist's impression of a tidal disruption event which occurs when a star passes too close to a supermassive black hole. (Image credit: All About Space magazine) A black hole of uncertainty Step forward Hawking once more. In 2014, he published a study in which he eschewed the existence of an event horizon — meaning there is nothing there to burn — saying gravitational collapse would produce an 'apparent horizon' instead. This horizon would suspend light rays trying to move away from the core of the black hole, and would persist for a "period of time." In his rethinking, apparent horizons temporarily retain matter and energy before dissolving and releasing them later down the line. This explanation best fits with quantum theory — which says information can't be destroyed — and, if it was ever proven, it suggests that anything could escape from a black hole. Hawking went as far as saying black holes may not even exist. "Black holes should be redefined as metastable bound states of the gravitational field," he wrote. There would be no singularity, and while the apparent field would move inwards due to gravity, it would never reach the center and be consolidated within a dense mass. And yet anything which is emitted will not be in the form of the information swallowed. It would be impossible to figure out what went in by looking at what is coming out, which causes problems of its own — not least for, say, a human who found themselves in such an alarming position. They'd never feel the same again! One thing's for sure, this particular mystery is going to swallow up many more scientific hours for a long time to come. Rovelli and Francesca Vidotto recently suggested that a component of dark matter could be formed by remnants of evaporated black holes, and Hawking's paper on black holes and 'soft hair' was released in 2018, and describes how zero-energy particles are left around the point of no return, the event horizon — an idea that suggests information is not lost but captured. This flew in the face of the no-hair theorem which was expressed by physicist John Archibald Wheeler and worked on the basis that two black holes would be indistinguishable to an observer because none of the special particle physics pseudo-charges would be conserved. It's an idea that has got scientists talking, but there is some way to go before it's seen as the answer for where black holes lead. If only we could find a way to leap into one.

https://ift.tt/2stoz06 . Foreign Articles December 02, 2019 at 04:13AM

[themaribatpit]

Jasonette July Day 20: Then Perish

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event​ Prompt: Then Perish (Part 1) Rating: M (violence, minor character deaths) A/N: We wanted to finish Jasonette July with a bang.  The second half will be posted tomorrow for the Saturday Challenge.  We’ve appreciated all your comments and kind words, we really do read every one. It genuinely means a lot to us and encourages us to continue writing together.  As a fandom you have been nothing but kind and supportive, and we enjoy bringing you fics great and small with a wide variety of genres, dynamics, and iterations.  Also blame DC fanboy for the memes in this fic. Marinette loved to travel, she had traveled all over the world from New York to Shanghai. Today, she traveled with her parents to Gotham City to visit her parents' friends, whom they had not seen in many years. Sabine was initially afraid to visit Gotham City, due to its crime rate and ever-growing list of criminals. Tom reassured his wife, saying that his big stature would scare any would-be criminal from harming them, that the trip would be short and they would visit Metropolis afterwards. Marinette wore the Ladybug Miraculous, just in case something were to happen. As the family got off the taxi at Park Row, everyone felt something was off. "Park Row really has...changed." Thomas muttered. Sabine held on to both her husband and her daughter, "I think we should leave." she said. Soon shadows began appearing around the corner, then came the yelling, and soon after came the gunshots. Thomas grabbed his wife and daughter and ran to find shelter from a hail of bullets. Marinette looked back to see many civilians, men, women and children caught in the middle of this gang war.  She needed to be a hero, her father could take care of her mother, she needed to save those in danger. She freed herself from her father's grasp and ran behind a corner, she whispered "spots on" and transformed into Ladybug. Diving and flipping across streaking bullets everywhere, she flung her yo-yo to drag any unfortunate bystanders into an abandoned building. While in a building with innocent civilians, she peeked her head out the window to see a monstrous man.  Wearing a blood red helmet and wielding two pistols, he systematically killed everyone before him. His flips and kicks were graceful yet brutal, the cries of pain and pleas for mercy made her shudder. She couldn't fight him, no, she was afraid to. It would be best to find her family, she did all she could and got bystanders to safety. She quietly transformed back into Marinette and went to look for her family. She ran back to where she last saw them, she scoured the streets shouting "Maman! Papa!" hoping that using her French would help her parents find and identify her. She soon ran into the Red Beast, as she began to turn and run back before she saw the two people at his feet. “<No, no no no, please god no.>” she whispered to herself, tears building in her eyes. There lay her parents, in a pool of their blood with bullet holes between their eyes. Marinette dropped to her knees, silently crying. The Red Hood either didn't see her, or chose to spare her and decided to walk away. Marinette ran to her parents, grabbing them both and shaking them. "<Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me>” she wept. Later, she was picked up by the GCPD. They escorted her on the flight back to Paris along with the remains of her parents. When she arrived, she was approached by the Aide Sociale à L'enfance (ASE).  They told her that she'll be staying at a nearby orphanage until after her parents' funeral. Then she would then be sent off to live with her only remaining relative, her Great-Uncle Wang in Shanghai. On the night before the funeral, Marinette was unable to sleep.  She curled her legs to her chest while she sat on the mattress.  She has spent the past few days researching the mysterious Red Hood, crime boss and self-proclaimed Prince of Gotham.  She read article after article of his meteoric rise to power, first conquering Black Mask, then The Penguin. Nightmares plagued her whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the Red Hood tower over her parent's lifeless bodies, covered in their blood. She was worried about being sent off to a foreign country tomorrow evening, while barely even speaking any Mandarin. All the while knowing that once she is on that flight to Shanghai, her parent's killer would without a doubt walk free. Morning comes, yet Marinette still thinks of what she should do. Could she really go to Shanghai to start her life anew, not knowing the language and allowing her parents’ killer to go on unpunished? At the funeral, while standing over her parents’ graves, she remained silent. The priest, ASE agents and her friends all came to pay their respects. Each of her friends approached her to give their sympathies, but she did not listen to a word they said. The Red Hood weighed heavily on her mind, and she made her fateful decision. To run, run and never look back. She had prepared a backpack containing the Miracle box with all the Miraculous, along with a few essential supplies and money. She turned into Multimouse to sneak on board a passenger aircraft to make her way to Gotham City.  Jason knew, better than Batman, that fighting crime sometimes meant getting your hands dirty.  What started as a petty squabble between two rival gangs grew into a bloodbath.  He missed Roy at times like these, Artemis and Bizarro were still missing, but he held out hope that they would one day return to this Earth. A teenage girl with an impressively sturdy yo-yo had burst onto the scene, trying to get civilians to safety.  He was a bit too preoccupied with the battle to get a good look at the girl.  Knowing Bruce, the next time he’d see her, she’d be under his wing.  Sadly, there were two civilians that neither of them could save, a large, burly looking man and a tiny woman.  The person who shot them with frightening accuracy had got away, moments later a teenage girl had arrived on the scene.  There was a brief flash of fear in her eyes when she saw him, and she would have just scurried away if only he hadn’t been at the very spot where her parents lay dead.  The girl was inconsolable as she fell to her knees and wept, pleading with them in French.  Red Hood walked away, thinking it would be best to leave her to grieve.  There wasn’t a whole lot he could say in English that would make her feel any better, never mind in French. He watched from a distance as the GCPD arrived to pick up the pieces, Red Hood watched from the shadows as police officers and an interpreter tried to get the girl’s side of the story.  From what he gathered, the girl’s name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and her family owned a bakery in Paris.  Her next of kin was a relative in Shanghai, and it sounded like the best option for her would be to go and live there.   The plan was to ship her and her parents’ bodies back to Paris, and let child services take it from there.  He would have probably told her to get as far away from Gotham as possible, away from the clutches of a certain someone who was also orphaned in Crime Alley.  He saw her cradle what looked like a small pink doll to her face as she wept, before he turned and walked away. A week later, Jason had a break in the case.  This was all caused by some low-level members of the Falcone and Maroni families continuing their decades-old battle.  As far as everyone knew, the crime families swiftly executed the men responsible and went about their business.  Two crime families were unable to keep their lackeys in check, and now the people who weren’t lucky enough to be whisked away by Yo-Yo Girl, were now either dead or wishing they were.   He thought back to poor little Marinette, wondering where she was now. Bruce confronted him at the Iceberg lounge shortly after the incident, to which Jason explained that the perp had got away.   He had killed people before, and that wasn’t stopping anytime soon, after all it wasn’t that long ago that he tried to kill the Penguin.  “This may surprise you Bruce, but the Red Hood isn’t the only one who uses guns in Gotham '' he snapped.  There were some lines that even he did not cross, lines that he had drawn for himself. Judging by the accuracy of the gunshots, this was no accident.  Their daughter was probably starting a new life, probably on the other side of the world.  Still, he wished he could have said something to the girl, a simple “Hey, it’s gonna be all right” probably would have sufficed.  Little did he know that Marinette was making her return to Gotham City.  She would have her revenge on the Red Hood, and this time she had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. After her very uncomfortable 10 hour flight from Paris to Gotham City in the cargo hold, Multimouse quietly sneaked out of the crowded airport without alerting anyone. Marinette wandered around Chinatown, thinking of her next step. She was thinking about how she would have to go through the city with a fine tooth comb to search for a lead, likely starting small with his men in the streets.  Before she could put the earrings back in her backpack, Tikki begged her to reconsider what she was doing.  “Please Marinette, you need time to heal, to grieve,” she pleaded, but Marinette didn’t need the powers of healing, luck and creation. If and when she encountered the Red Hood, she wanted to bring him death, misfortune and destruction.  After all, that was exactly what he had brought her.  With a stroke of luck, she overheard someone getting a beatdown.  "You get your ass outta here, this is Red Hood's turf. If you wanna sell that shit, you gotta give the boss his cut."  Marinette whispered "Plagg, claws out" and transformed into Lady Noire, before sneaking up behind one of the Red Hood’s men. He released the person he was beating, and chased him out the alleyway.  She took this opportunity to swing her staff,  hitting the back of his neck and sending him face first into the ground. He immediately tried to stand up, as he stood on wobbly legs he took out his knife from his jacket. "Oh shit, Catwoman?!" he yelled. Lady Noire used her staff to sweep him off his feet and slammed her staff onto his face.  "Where is the Red Hood?" she growled.  "Screw you bitch!" the goon retorted. Lady Noire had a feeling that he wouldn’t tell her the location of the Red Hood, so she decided to try a different approach. "Fine then, why don't you give your boss this simple message…" Before she could finish her sentence, she heard the telltale click of a gun being loaded. She turned around and started spinning her staff, creating a grey shield to deflect the storm of bullets that were being fired at her.  She moved her hands at a rapid pace, and frantically pushed back against the hail of bullets.  As the bullet storm subsided she looked up and saw, up on the fire escape, was the Red Hood with an assault rifle. The Red Hood casually tossed his gun aside and asked "So, what's this message you have for me, Catwoman?" He gracefully did a forward flip and landed in a crouch.  "Wait a minute..." he said, the first thing he noticed was that this person was tiny, 4’11 or maybe 5’ on a good day. Her eyes were a bright acid green with dark slits like a real cat’s pupils.  "You're not Catwoman, you're too short to be her, for one thing.” he remarked “also she usually has a whip instead of a staff, who are you?" Lady Noire gritted her teeth, "You killed my family" she answered with a low growl. "Do you have the slightest idea how little that narrows it down Kitten?" Red Hood's taunts made her snap.  She screamed "YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!" The Red Hood stared at her, as he crossed his arms.  "I don't even know who you are, what's your beef with me?" He asked, Lady Noire lunged at the Red Hood with her staff, she swung wildly to try and hit him.  He dodged most of her strikes with ease, “Is that the best you’ve got?  You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”  Where she might have lacked in skill, she made up for in determination.  She wasn’t pulling any punches, he had to give her that.  He caught the staff under his arm, and punched Lady Noire with his free arm.  As he went on the offensive, he slapped her staff aside, and came at her with a series of punches and kicks.   “So, what do you want Kitten? Money? Jewels? A very big ball of string?”  he joked.  “All I want is revenge,” she spluttered. “Get in line Kitten, you’re in the city that runs on vengeance” he retorted. Marinette was lucky that the suit gave her enhanced speed, strength and endurance. She always loved how the Lady Noire suit felt a lot lighter compared to the Ladybug suit. Though she shuddered to imagine what her opponent would do with this power.    He raised his leg to end his combination with a forceful downward kick, Lady Noire raised her staff up to a horizontal block to stop the kick. Upon contact with the kick, the staff split into two, and then Lady Noire launched into her counter attack. She was striking the Red Hood with a flurry of blows with both halves of her staff.  "Escrima sticks too? Looks like we have a Nightwing fan here” he smirked under the mask; this new girl was just full of surprises.  He brought his arms to the sides of his head in a defensive posture, blocking the onslaught of strikes from the escrima sticks.  Red Hood then grabbed Lady Noire by the back of her head, placing her in a Thai clinch. He launched a powerful knee to her face and sent her reeling back. He drew his pistols and fired a torrent of bullets at her. Lady Noire had to dodge, weave and use her staff to deflect incoming bullets. One bullet even grazed her cheek. She then pointed her staff at the Red Hood and extended it with so much force it slammed him against the wall of a nearby building. Without giving him any breathing room, she then retracted the staff. She launched herself towards him and then dropkicked his face straight into the wall. His helmet cracked against the tremendous pressure. "It's now or never” she thought, as she cast Cataclysm and swiped at one half of the Red Hood’s helmet. She saw the helmet dissolve and reveal the target beneath.  She noticed that underneath the helmet he wore a red domino mask, not unlike the one she usually wore.  She would have time to think about how overly dramatic that was later, as she used her other hand to pick up the knife on the ground that the other goon left behind.  She jumped on top of the Red Hood, “Now perish!” she cried out as she thrusted the blade towards the exposed part of his face. Red Hood recovered quickly and caught her hand holding the blade. As the two struggled for the knife, Lady Noire tried to swipe at him with Cataclysm again.  Suddenly, she felt the power of 50,000 volts coursing through her, as the Red Hood activated the taser hidden in his chest piece.  She powered through, running purely on anger, grief and adrenaline. She was only able to struggle for about a minute, before passing out from the pain.  Red Hood flipped Lady Noire’s unconscious body aside, before he took off his helmet to inspect the damage. "The hell?." he pondered, "So, indestructible staff that can do double duty as a shield, and the ability to disintegrate things with one touch. Let's find out who you really are."  He slowly stood up and looked down at her unconscious body. He tried to peel away her domino mask, yet it would not come off. He tugged on the mask, even to the point of lifting the unconscious girl off the ground. He released the mask, and let the body drop with a small thud.  The Red Hood began talking to himself "She either superglued the mask on or it’s something else. Considering all that she can do, I'd say 80% chance it's magic and 20% a lantern. Either way a 100% pain in my ass".  He heard a small beeping noise and gingerly lifted her hand up off the floor.  As it emitted black and green energy, he noticed that she had a ring on.  The beeping came from a small picture of a paw print, which was missing a few pads.  If she was a lantern, that ring was going to run out of charge any moment now.  He took out his phone and called the Iceberg Lounge. He requested that they send for a van to pick him up and his new guest.   He requested that the Su Sisters get her cleaned up and ready. He needed to find out who sent her and who she worked for. He took out the special handcuffs that Batman designed when dealing with metahumans. As he walked towards Lady Noire about to cuff her, he heard some more beeping, followed by a bright light surrounding her.  Her suit and mask disappeared, leaving behind a small girl in pastel pink clothes who was probably no older than 15 or 16.  Her long braid changed back into a couple of shoulder-length pigtails, and she had a pink backpack on her back.  Jason looked inside the bag, there were a few sets of clothes, a wallet and an antique Chinese jewelry box.  He wondered if that ring was just one of many tools in her arsenal.  Jason's eyes widened, he recognised her as the girl he saw a few weeks ago when the turf war in Crime Alley broke out.  "What’s she doing here?" he said to himself aloud, “ Idiot” he muttered. He remembered following the girl and her GCPD escort to make sure she boarded her flight back to Paris.  She was supposed to be with her remaining family. Yet she came back to, no, ran away to Gotham City.  All for revenge.  He checked her wallet and saw the name printed on it, he sighed, this just confirmed that she was the same girl. When she had her revenge, what would she do then?  He wasn’t the undisputed master of thinking things through, but even he thought she was a fool to come back here.  Gotham City didn’t have the best track record dealing with orphans.  He knew this from personal experience, but there was that time where many were rounded up and sent upstate to juvie, for the crime of trying to survive on the streets.  He would have been in the same position, had it not been for his own fateful encounter in Crime Alley. He shuddered to think what her other option would be in a place like Gotham City, becoming a Robin.  Part of the reason he wanted her out of Gotham was so that Bruce wouldn’t get any ideas about taking her in.  When the car arrived, he scooped up the girl in his arms and carried her towards it.  Marinette woke up with her heart beating frantically in her chest, the first thing she saw was a bright light.  She was dead, she had to be, the last thing she remembered was confronting the Red Hood and now he had killed her.  She slowly sat up, she looked down to find that someone had changed her clothes, she was wearing light blue pajamas.  She started to look around, to her left there was a large floor to ceiling window where she could see a city at night with bright twinkling lights.  On the table next to her was the Miracle box, she quickly grabbed the box and looked through it. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw that all the Miraculous she brought with her were still there.   Suddenly, Marinette heard someone clear their throat.  At the foot of the bed, stood a rather large woman who had a bundle of clothes in her hand.  Next to her was a blonde woman with pink highlights who had a tray of food. “Oh good, you’re finally awake” the large woman said gruffly, she set the clothes down on the edge of the bed.  The blonde girl set a tea tray down in front of her, along with a couple of pastries.  Marinette’s heart sank at the sight of the croissants, they reminded her of her parents and their bakery. “Eat up and get dressed, the boss wants to see you later” the blonde woman told her, before skipping to the larger woman’s side.  Just as the two were about to leave, Marinette piped up, “Um, where am I?” she asked, “Who is your boss?” “You’re in the Iceberg Lounge in Gotham City”, the large woman told her gruffly.  “The name’s Suzie, this is one of my sisters, Candy. Our boss is the owner.”  Marinette gave an awkward wave as they left, and Candy returned it with a more cheerful one.    She took a bite out of the croissant, it tasted cold and dry. However, if she was going to defeat the Red Hood, she’d need all her strength. She put Plagg’s ring back in the box and reached for Ladybug’s earrings; she needed a new tactic.  When Tikki appeared in front of her, she also quickly looked around the room before looking back at Marinette with a concerned look on her face. “I couldn’t do it,” Marinette explained “he managed to stop me and I ended up back here”. Tikki’s eyes were sympathetic as Marinette held her closer to her face, “Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” Tikki asked.  “For now, I have to get changed and go upstairs to meet the boss.  Maybe he’s the one who found me after the fight was over” Marinette theorized as she gave Tikki the cookie from the tray.  While Tikki quietly nibbled at it, Marinette stood up and walked over to the edge of the bed.  Inside the small bundle of clothes were a simple white blouse and black skirt. They were a little big, she would probably hem it if she had her sewing machine.    Moments later, a tall woman with dark hair led Marinette into the penthouse, a large room with a desk in the corner.   A tall man in a suit stood with his back towards the door, overlooking the sparkling city skyline.  She slowly stepped inside, looking around the room as she walked towards the man.  “Um hi, who are you?” Marinette asked as she apprehensively walked towards him.  She couldn’t help but feel small in that grand high-ceiling room. “I am the owner of the Iceberg Lounge,” he explained. “I guess the question I should be asking is…” he turned towards her and Marinette saw he had a domino mask over his eyes and a red half mask covering his nose and mouth, “who are you?” He threw something at her and she caught it.  She looked down and saw the Red Hood’s helmet, half of it looked as though someone tried to tear the metal open.  Then she remembered everything she had researched about the Red Hood, and the fight that took place not long after she arrived back in Gotham. “You…” she hissed. To be continued...

[kumkaniudaku]

Understanding

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Recommended Listening: Understanding x Xscape, Purple Emoji (ft. J. Cole) x Ty Dolla $ign, My World x Asian

Word Count: 2,137 

If you were going to win an award that afternoon, it’d be for attire, not confidence. Your expertly crafted golf outfit was the only thing willing your feet forward once you parked your car in front of Senior’s golf course.

Black women and men dressed like modern Jet magazine ads waltzed in and out of the clubhouse while you scanned the area for your party. You’d been to your fair share of golf courses, but none as exquisite as The National. Marble accents complemented modern brass finishes and unbeatable views of the city. The desire to take photos for your father was almost too much to shake, but you managed to play it cool. Acting out of place was surely some type of faux pas for the wealthy.

Across the way, Senior sat at the bar sipping a glass of water while thumbing through a newspaper. His furrowed brow was identical to Yahya’s whenever he was knee-deep in work or a good book. The mental comparison made you smile before ushering in a tinge of sadness. For two people so undeniably similar, they were miles apart physically and mentally.

You navigated through groups of young and old alike on the way to the bar.

“You made it on time,” Senior spoke without looking up from a story on education budget cuts.

“I made it with time to spare.”

“You don’t get praise for doing what’s right.”

“Think of how much better things would be if we did.”

Senior paused his reading to take a deep breath and shake his head. You mentally berated yourself for overstepping so soon. Not even five minutes into the outing and you had already committed an avoidable infraction

Yahya I prolonged the unbearable silence as he continued to read through another article, reading each line painstakingly slow while you watched in agony.

“I apologize. That was unnecessary.”

“I’ll ask you again,” he spoke, finally looking away from the newspaper to study your face. “Let’s leave the character right here. We’re here for a purpose, so grab your clubs and follow me to the first hole. I hope your game is as good as you are at running your mouth.” Taking his retort in stride, you quickly grabbed your set of clubs and followed with no objections. “After you.”

Senior found himself immediately impressed though he wouldn’t verbalize his feelings. He watched you breeze through each hole with near expert precision, opening a series of questions at hole 5 during casual small talk.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

“A tiny town in South Carolina that you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Try me,” he answered while taking stock of his position on the fairway.

“Anderson, South Carolina. Home of Larry Nance and the great Chadwick Boseman.”

“Can’t forget James Kennedy, Young Lady.”

You cocked your head back in surprise. “What you know about Radio? I mean outside of what the movie says?”

Senior remained quiet long enough to take a hard swing. The loud “whiff” of his driver slicing through crisp, clean air didn’t match the stroke’s output. Both of you watch the golf ball sail high into the air before making a landing well short of the intended destination. Senior shook his head at the miscalculation before turning to answer your question.

“Black folks from all over are connected, even without all that Snapgram and Facebook foolishness.”

“I could argue it’s helped, right? How else would you be able to share your granddaughter’s first steps with the whole family?”

“In photo albums. You might not remember those, but they did us just fine.”

“Yeah, but it’s instantaneous conversation and information. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Maybe instantaneous conversation is the problem. We aren’t making enough time to stop and really think about what we’re saying to each other.”

“Mm.” You let the conversation naturally taper before following Senior to his golf cart. The rolling hills provided enough scenery to keep you interested while you sorted the words in your head.

“I think we may have started off on the wrong foot.” You spoke once the cart came to a full stop. Senior trailed behind in silence, gathering a new club while watching you examine the other golfers in the area.

“You’re rather observant.”

You chuckled and plucked a club from your bag. “I’ve been told. Yahya calls me Eagle Eye when I catch something he’s already talked about ten minutes ago.”

“It’s what his Big Mama used to call his Pop-Pop for the same thing. That man was notoriously late to the punchline.” The nostalgia in Yahya I’s voice caught you off guard though he didn’t see your minor fumble. Something in his retelling appealed to your sense of compassion in a way that you considered long gone when it came to him.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You have an issue with my presence that we should discuss. Because I can assure you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bold,” Senior responded with a sarcastic laugh. He gestured to nothing in particular as you squared up to take a swing and nodded. “And direct. Continue.”

You took a moment to hit a line drive toward the green in the distance, using the movement as an outlet for the unexpected nerves churning your stomach. Both of you quietly watch the golf ball for its final resting place before you turned to speak.

“You are extremely hard to please, and it is literally ruining your family. Yahya does everything in his power, and, excuse my French, you don’t seem to give a fuck. Why is that?”

“What makes you think that my love isn’t what makes me push him to be the best that he can? It may not be the fluff and frills you’re used to in your home, but it’s what he needs to get him to his potential.”

“Did it help you?”

Senior mistakenly allowed a quick moment of confusion to take over his features. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. When’s the last time you enjoyed a laugh with your family or felt like you could just...be? You’re carrying a weight that is crushing the people around you, and you don’t even see it.”

“You don’t…” Senior caught his words and bottled them behind his lips. He took a deep breath as he approached his golf ball and took a half-hearted swing. Noticing his misstep, he shook his head. “I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. My father, Yahya’s Pop-Pop, moved my mother and me to a shotgun shack to find work when things weren’t quite shaking out back home. He was in and out of trouble and such. Couldn’t get right, but he had a natural knack for building and design.”

A nearby group of golfers erupted into laughter, helping to break up some tension.

“So architecture’s been in the family for a while,” you asked. Yahya I curled the corner of his lips into a far-off smile.

“A long, long time. It got us out of that shack when my siblings came along and into a house with our own rooms and a backyard. But, my father was a hard man. Hard to please, you know,” he laughed, making a reference to your earlier words. “He wanted the best from me, and he made damn sure he got it. I needed that to get my head out of the clouds.”

“You also needed some reassurance.”

“Perhaps. But, what’s done is done. I look at what I’ve built with no complaints, especially when it comes to my boys. I couldn’t be more proud of the men they’ve become.”

Senior’s proud smile almost looked foreign on his face. You’d never seen more than an indifferent expression or the slight twinge of anger smoldering behind his eyes.

Leaning on your club, you kept your eyes forward to gaze out over the course.

“Yahya would love to hear that. I don’t know if you know this, but he is desperately searching for your approval. There is not enough praise from me or anyone else that could replace knowing that you’re proud of him. Yet, as much as he would like to tell you these things himself, he’s afraid that you’ll think less of him for being vulnerable.”

“I could never think less of the boy. Tough love is still love.”

“Maybe for you,” you added, shrugging. “But, what good is continuing this cycle if it’s hurting the children you claim to love and the grandchildren after them?”

Senior dropped his head in thought before looking up with an unreadable expression. “Deuce will be fine. He’s all the best parts of his mother. I...I’m confident he’ll figure out fatherhood on his own despite my shortcomings. We raised him well.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping -”

“That has never stopped you before, young lady.” His light-hearted chuckle invited you to follow suit.

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So, let me cut to the chase. Allowing Yahya to just ‘figure things out’ is a passive existence. Yahya says you’re constantly reminding him to take things into his own hands. Sounds like you should take your own advice. Be the parts of your father that you needed at 33.”

Instead of acknowledging your advice, Senior twirled his club in his hand on the way to the golf cart. He maintained an impenetrable poker face that even the most skilled readers couldn’t interpret. You silently hoped that at least some of your words had made it through his thick skull, but you chose to let the discussion meet a natural end.

As he started the cart, Senior turned to you and smiled. “How the hell you learn to swing like that? I know it wasn’t in Anderson.”

“Hey, we play a little golf here and there!”

“Where? Out in the woods?”

“No, out in the Bayou like you did.”

A small smirk crept across your face as Yahya I chuckled at your joke. He sounded identical to Yahya, full of mirth and beautiful melodies.

“The ole Bayou,” he repeated in a thick accent. “You ain’t seen a place more beautiful in your life.”

“Maybe Yahya and I could visit one day.”

He quickly looked over and shrugged. “Maybe. For now, you focus on defending this lead. I think I’m getting back into my rhythm.”

Senior couldn’t make a convincing comeback, but he did show glimpses of a softer, more personable disposition. He cracked jokes on occasion and asked questions that turned the conversation from a therapy session to banter between associates. Your mind traveled to the possibility of civil family dinners or vacations during the ride home. Though it seemed silly to create imaginary scenarios after one conversation, you couldn’t help the urge to see a better future.

Your happiness helped you float into your shared apartment, making Yahya smile when he caught a glimpse of your wide grin and short skirt.

“Damn, girl,” he hollered from the couch with Leche cradled in his arms. “If Tiger was out there cheeked up like that, I might’ve paid a little more attention to the golf network.”

“Oh, really?”

Your raised eyebrow made Yahya kiss his teeth once he caught on to the joke. “You know what I meant. Where you been anyway?”

“Oh, I was just out doing a little golfing...with your dad.”

“Right. That was today, huh?”

Even Yahya’s best attempt at feigning interest, his question came out in a flat drone typically used on annoying coworkers. You dropped your purse and keys against a nearby barstool on the way to his spot on the couch.

“It was today. I think we had a good time,” you answered as you slid your arms around his neck from behind, placing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“You must’ve kissed his ass the entire time.”

“No. We talked about how great I am at golf. I mean, I kicked his ass.”

“Good on you, baby girl. Bring honor to our house.” In a surprise maneuver, Yahya pulled you over the couch and into the space beside him. “Is that all?”

Silence blanketed the room, allowing the college basketball game in the background to have center stage. You considered your options carefully, weighing the pros of a potential argument against a peaceful Saturday indoors. Yahya turned his attention back to the television as he waited for a response.

“Did you hear me, baby? He didn’t say anything rude to you, did he?”

“No!” You blurted. Taking a deep breath, you slowly slid the remote off the coffee table and pressed the power button. Yahya blinked twice at his reflection on the black television screen before turning to you for answers. Your fingers danced across his thighs to interlock with his long digits.

“I think...I think we need to have a real talk about your dad.”

----

A/N: I hope this is better late than never. Only two more chapters left! Really striving to have those to y’all by the end of the month.

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[365days365movies]

March 14, 2021: The Holy Mountain (1973) (Part One)

Happy Pi Day! What’s on the menu?

...Oh dear Christ. Looks like it’s a cloud pie, because this one’s gonna be OVER my head. And yes, I realize that it’s Pi Day after the irrational number, not the food. Which is ALSO fitting because I’m sure we’ve got a fuckton of irrationality coming my way, and I am...not ready? Yeah, yeah, I’m not ready.

But OK. Who actually made this movie? Alejandro Jodorowsky? Oh.

OH. This...I should’ve put this in goddamn Experimental June, huh? Well, shit. I ean, it fits in with the patter of films I’ve been watching recently. You know, Greek mythology, Japanese folklore, then a surrealist film released by a notable director? And Jodorowsky is notable...in film circles, anyway. He’s not exactly a household name, but he is very well-known regardless.

Alejandro Jodorowsky is a Chilean-French man best known for his Mexican films. So, yeah, already interesting there. His Wikipedia article describes him as such, right off the BAT.

Since 1948, Jodorowsky has worked as a novelist, screenwriter, a poet, a playwright, an essayist, a film and theater director and producer, an actor, a film editor, a comics writer, a musician and composer, a philosopher, a puppeteer, a mime, a lay psychologist, a draughtsman, a painter, a sculptor, and a spiritual guru.

Dude had a movie made ABOUT HIM TRYING TO MAKE A MOVIE. That would be Jodorowsky’s Dune, a documentary film about Jodorowsky’s attempt to make an adaptation of the book Dune, well before the actual first film came out. And people LOVED that film. The film about a filmmaker making a film...I am frightened.

And I’m not going to spoil it for you, but in looking for the GIFs of this movie...guys, I am FUCKED. I’m a boring-ass man, in that I’ve never so much as smoked a cigarette, and I have the feeling that I’m gonna feel high watching this movie. I am NOT ready. But OK, with that, let’s just get into it, huh? Let’s get this trip over with. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

Two women are staring at me. And so is a dude dressed all in black with a crazy hat, as chanting goes on in the background in a white room with black crosses on the walls, and we’re JUST JUMPING RIGHT THE FUCK IN, HUH?

The title comes up, dude just rips their clothes off, and YES THERE IS A GIF OF IT ON TUMBLR ALREADY, and I’m probably gonna flagged for that, BUT WHATEVER

He shaves their heads, they enter a warm embrace of sorts, AND THEN WE MOVE ON TO A POINTED EYEBALL SURROUNDED BY PEACOCK FEATHERS I AM COMPLETELY LOST

Well, actually, as the credits play, backed by a sound which I can only assume is the creaking of the opening gates of hell, there are a number of objects and artifacts, with peacock feathers seeming to be a common theme. And then...a man with the tarot card The Fool next to him pisses himself in the desert as flies cover his face, a cougar standing over him and roars, a bullfrog looks at some tarot cards, and a legless and handless man with the Five of Swords card strapped to his back comes to wake him up with the aid of several naked children, who tie him to a fake cross and throw stones at him.

ALL OF THIS HAPPENS IN ONE MINUTE, AND I DIDN’T EVEN MENTION THE FLOWER GROWING STABBED INTO HIS PALM

Somehow...I underestimated this movie. I DIDN’T THINK IT’D BE THIS CRAZY THIS QUICKLY. Well, after...THAT, the two men share a cigarette and hug as the Swords guy licks his forehead, and they walk into the city. There, we see some grizzly ass shit. There’s a truck carrying the bodies of killed native people, a firing squad shoots some kids who...bleed black, and a fuck-ton of sheep who’ve been skinned and fake-crucified are marched down the street as a bunch of rich people watch on. Also, another firing squad shoots at some kids, and birds fly out of them.

I think the people watching are tourists, and this...might be fake? One of the fake soldiers takes one of the tourists aside, and just...starts fuckin’ ‘er. In front of her husband, as people take pictures of the whole thing. I...I am more confused than I have EVER been.

By the way, I don’t know ANY names for this yet, so I’ll add them...whenever I figure it out. Our pair apparently entertain these tourists, and make money doing so. They work with a circus called “The Great Toad and Chameleon Circus”, who perform a pantomime of the conquest of Mexico, using...costumed toads and horned lizard. And it’s...I mean, it’s definitely bad for those animals, but it’s also kind of adorable?

The horned lizards represent the Aztec, while the toads represent the Spanish. And, uh...yeah, it’s literally exactly what I said. The Spanish toads go after the Aztec horned toads, and overwhelm the fake Tenochtitlan with their sheer numbers. What’s weird about that? WHAT IS SO WEIRD ABOUT THAT TO YOU?

There’s also a lot of...what I’m assuming to be fake blood, but with this movie, I worry. The whole dead sheep thing has me concerned AND THEN THEY BLOW UP THE SET AND KILL THEM ALL WHAT THE FUCK MAN? How did this film escape animal cruelty shit?

And then...look, you’re gonna have to get used to weird-ass shit happening here, OK? And for the record, I’m desperately trying to weave some symbolism out of things here. Like, this is clearly a criticism of tourism and wealthy cultures taking advantage of the disadvantages. It also seems to be anti-religious, although...I’m not sure if I can articulate that one yet. Still, this part of the film seems to be about the disadvantaged native people being used as essentially objects by the rich foreigners. I mean, they just used the Spanish Conquest of Mexico, for God’s sakes. It’s a new form of conquest, but modernized.

Right? OK, OK, maybe I can do this after all. What’s next? 

A bunch of overweight dudes dressed up as Roman soldiers, alongside a guy dressed as a nun, are selling crosses and Catholic materials to the tourists, while the Fool and Swords pretend to be Jesus Christ for them. This eventually leads to them goading the Fool into a drunken stupor, then making a plaster mold of him before leaving him on a pile of potatoes. Eventually, he wakes up and screams, surrounded by hundreds of casts of him painted as Jesus Christ, as the Roman soldiers and the nun dude sleep.

Angered at his own commercialization, Fool whips the nun and soldiers, and destroys all of the Jesus statues. Meanwhile, a group of women - of different races and ages - and a chimpanzee stare at a gilded statue of Jesus in a church.

Sure. Why not? WHY NOT?

 Also, they’re prostitutes, and one of them is, like, a child. Fuck. Said child is approached by an elderly man, who giver her his fake eye, than proceeds to kiss her hand...A LOT. OK, I know there’s something to be gleaned from that. Said prostitutes meet the Fool, who’s carrying the Jesus cast. Most of the laugh at him, except for the one carrying the chimpanzee, which I’m assuming is a Mary Magdalene reference.

She follows him, and the other prostitutes follow her, but they all stop when they come across a group of civilians dancing with soldiers. The Fool walks through this crows alone, and ends up in a dilapidated church, where he finds an owl and a priest, who’s sleeping with another Jesus statue. Angry that the Fool’s brought in his own statue, he kicks him out. The Fool then eats the face of his statue, then takes it back to the children from earlier, ties a bunch of balloons to it, and lets it fly above the city, the kids, and the prostitutes.

I, uh...I don’t know. I DO NOT KNOW.

From there, the Fool goes into town, there a red tower stands in the square. Maui’s hook descends from the top, and the Fool climbs onto it. The hook takes him up, as “Mary Magdalene” watches on. And it goes up VERY HIGH, by the way. GODDAMN. He gets into a hole at the top of the tower, where he finds a white shroud, which he bursts through, only to find...

I’m so tired. I am SO TIRED, you guys. Our guy heads down the rainbow toward the camel, the naked woman, and the man surrounded by two goats, who I think is the guy from the beginning. He’s wearing the same hat, anyway.

He slowly and measuredly moves off his throne, as the music in the background intensifies, and as the camel is fidgeting, seemingly ALSO trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. The man gets into a brief fight with the Fool, but stops him by touching his chakras. With the help of the woman, he slices open a tumor on the back of the Fool’s neck, and extracts an octopus from it. Yeah. YEAH. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS MOVIE

The man offers him gold, in the FIRST UNDERSTANDABLE SPOKEN WORDS IN THE MOVIE I AM NOT KIDDING

They take the man to a pool, complete with baby hippo (what, do you not have your hippo in your personal pool, like a goddamn loser?), and the man gets cleaned, VERY thoroughly. Yeah, we see it.

In another room, with a pelican in it this time, the man has the Fool defecate in a jar, and also puts him in a container, where he sweats a lot. The guy collects his sweat in a hear-shaped jar, and continues his chemical reaction with the dude’s feces. It’s at this point where I think it’s appropriate to give the name of the man in the tower: The Alchemist (Alejandro Jodorowsky). Yeah. It’s the director. Take THAT, Hitchcock.

After literally turning his shit into gold, the Alchemist says that the Fool can do the same to himself, as he is shit. Yeah, he says that. And then, the two meet in a room of mirrors, where the Alchemist is now wearing a black outfit, and the Fool is wearing a matching brown one. They break a stone, in which we are told that each stone has a soul.

And then...tarot.

Yeah, that seems to be a theme, huh? According to the Alchemist, Tarot will teach the Fool to create a soul. I get the feeling that it’s meant to be within himself, but...I don’t know. Also, the tarot cars that we see are definitely supposed to represent previous scenes in the film, some of which we’ve already seen. However...they’re still pretty goddamn weird.

He gives him a few items, then brings in an ox and a turkey vulture. Goddamn, dude owns a zoo, huh? He uses the two to speak on the cyclical nature of life and death, and how organisms depend upon each other. This leads to yet another room, with a peacock in it this time, where he notes that the fish never seeks the fisherman, meaning that the master seeks a disciple.

In this final room, there are statues of people who are like him, and who will be needed for the coming journey, whatever that may be. They are industrialists and politicians, and each represents a planet...and maybe something else. They are, in order:

Fon (Juan Ferrara): Our Venus, and a bedding and clothing business magnate. He has many wives, who begin as workers in his factory, then are promoted to his “secretaries. He also has a fuckton of children as a result. His father began the factory, and is deaf, dumb, and blind. He makes all decisions by consulting his wife’s corpse’s vagina. Yup. Dear Lord. The company’s also made masks that have the texture, warmth, and smell of living human beings, allowing anybody to change their face to something more desirable. They also beautify corpses, and animates them after death. Fuck.

Isla (Adriana Page): Our Mars, Isla is first seen in a coffin-like bed, sleeping with the two bald women from earlier. After putting on her Prince suit, she wakes up her captive population of male secretaries, and her flock of black swans, and goes to her day job: manufacture and sale of weapons. We’re talking nuclear, biological, and fictional. They experiment with drugs that have various effects, and demonstrates them on many people, and make such unique things as psychadelic guns and grenades, and themed weapons for the religious crowds.

Klen (Burt Kleiner): Klen’s our Jupiter, and his house is huge, his wife is cold and unloving, and his chaffeur feeds him coke in the back of his black limo. He has a mistress that he fucks in the back of the limo, on the way to his art factory, where they produce a “new line” of art every season, using girls’ asses, and various other parts of bodies. He LITERALLY objectifies people. He also created a “love machine”, which is literally a robot box with a robot vagina that you fuck with a giant blue artificial penis. It is a...weird but interesting scene.

Sel (Valerie Jodorowsky): Sel’s a clown, who represents Saturn, and performs for children. Which makes sense, seeing that she’s a clown. She has a toy factory as well, where she sheds her harlequinesque vestments for a far harsher, stricter persona. Her toy factory is for war toys, and all of the staff and workers are elderly. Using a computer, they use their resources specifically to corrupt the minds of children to feed their political agendas, conditioning them to hate whichever enemy the government will face in the future, literally sowing prejudice and racism into their minds in preparation for a future war. Eerie.

Berg (Nicky Nichols): Uranus next! And Uranus is...EXTREMELY weird. Like, you know how you shouldn’t kink-shame people? That does not apply to Berg, both because he probably SHOULD be kink-shamed, and also because I don’t think it’s possible for him to feel shame? This entire section begins...real weird. Berg and his wife (Lupita Peruyero) are a very eclectic and unusual couple, but they aren’t as bad as the rest...I think? I mean, she’s literally knitting a sweater for their giant pet snake, and it’s kind of adorable. And then...we discover that Berg is a financial adviser to the president of a very wealthy country. He recommends that, in order to save the economy of the country, they kill 4 million people. THe president then activates the country’s gas chambers, gas schools, gas universities, gas libraries, gas museums, gas dance halls, and gas whore houses. Not a joke, that is actually what he says. And that’s...kind of hilarious? That segment ends with a picnic, and Berg says he hates his wife while surrounded by many very beefy bois. OK. My favorite so far, and that’s not even an exaggeration.

Axon (Richard Rutowsky): Besides having a HELL of a name, Axon’s the Neptune of this Solar System. He’s a chief of police. Which involves...a naked man chained to a table as many people chant and play drums. And then, Axon comes in with a GIGANT GUN, while bedecked in clothes made and worn by the forbidden love child of Mad Max and Roman soldiers. The ceremony is actually a castration, and it’s Axon’s 1000th castration. Axon commands many eunuchs, all of whom are trained to believe in him. It’s very...cultish. And that’s made worse when a group of protestors are attacked by Axon’s police force. They execute them, with the murder represented by interesting symbolism. Like, instead of blood and guts, it’s fruit and birds, and...also the thing above, which is funny only out of context. It’s also eerie.

Finally, Lut (Luis Lomeli): Lut is an architect, and our Pluto. In his house, there is a bevy of children dressed up as mice, who are playing hide-and-seek with him. Lut built a multi-family complex, but begrudges that they lost money in doing so. And so, to save money, he decides on a new concept for homes: basically just a box that people sleep in. Nothing else. He presents this at a party, where he unveils the house, which is essentially a coffin. He uses a sex show and women to sell it to the overindulgent rich. There’s also a well-sculpted ice penis involved, which must have been an interesting job to get for the guy who made that. Anyway, yeah, he’s trying to turn homes into coffins.

Jesus. That’s a good place to stop now, I think. See you in Part Two, goddamn.

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Ten

Summary: Nouke returns to the palace to confront Ahk about his intentions, and worries her heart may shatter. Kahmunrah’s suspicions sink deeper, and someone close to the pharaoh goes missing. 

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 5875

Warnings: Bit of sugar 🥰, bit of spice😏, bit of no so very nice 😬 (a n g s t)

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe​, @r-ahh-mi​, @theultraviolencefan​, @hah0106​, @rami-malek-trash​, @diasimar​, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @babyalienfairy, @edteche2​   (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list) 

A/N: This chapter can be summed up pretty well with the 😬 emoji. But don’t worry, it will get better...eventually.... Also! Thank you to everyone who has been keeping up and commenting/rebloging/Liking. The fact that this has gotten any attention at all warms my heart. 💕 I hope you enjoy this chapter! Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

Every part of Nouke’s sensible mind spent the next day trying to curb the growing desire that yearned to see her sweet prince again. From the beginning, her plan was to cut ties with Ahkmenrah for good once she had everything she required. As cold as such an act seemed, it was smarter to not allow matters between them sink deeper. And matters had already grown well past the realm of amicable charity.

Ahk had tainted her resolute composure with the decadence of his soft lips, giving her heart a taste of the one thing she wanted for herself, but could never have. His unforeseen kiss struck her with a bolt of brilliancy, feeding the dormant desire that had been lying in wait since the day she saw him in the city center, freshly crowned and so handsome—no longer the boy she remembered.

The mere thought of him sent her heart racing up into her throat, and heat to color her cheeks foolishly. She was veering into a path that was not meant for someone like her. Ahkmenrah was second only to the gods—who did that make her? A step above the sands of Egypt?

He was a glittering gem, and she was a pebble in someone's sandals. 

Still, those melancholy thoughts could not deter the euphoria of being in Ahk’s arms; his warmth and softness were a welcomed contrast to the reality she’d lived. His path—grand, and out of reach—beckoned like a siren's call. The promise of his smile and the honey-drenched words he spoke made it difficult to stray from the foreign course she walked.

By the time she found the turned stone marking the passageway into the palace, Nouke’s heart was pounding against the walls of her chest with a vibrancy stemming from one-half excitement and the other apprehension. The anxiety that coursed in her was not due to threats made long in her past, but rather the notion before the night was through, her heart may break.

Naively she held onto that pulsing glimmer of excitement; hope that a different conclusion would mark the end of their reunion. Hope was a dangerous thing for someone like her—who had nothing. And yet, hope was all she truly had. It fed dreams no matter how utopian. More specifically, hope fed her heart with the idea that Ahk wanted her as much as she wanted him—forever, and not just for the night. 

Minutes passed, stretching longer than the one before, as she stood with her feet buried in the sand, her eyes fixated on the singular crooked stone. Her hand hovered over it while her mind waged war with her heart, both screaming and neither coming to an absolute decision.

The vibrant hues of the sunset were swiftly succumbing to the black of night when Nouke shut out reason and bottled both the dangerous hope and the nagging insecurity. Her lips parted in a long breath, letting her rapid heart slow and her mind empty. If she could will her head to keep her heart from reaching too boldly, then perhaps it would not betray her.

There was a slight tremor in her hands as she pulled the bricks from the stone wall—each stone seeming heavier than she remembered. Nouke did her best to ignore their peculiar weight and the shake in her hands, not wanting to breathe too much life into such a sign.

When the hole was large enough to climb through, she did so easily, avoiding the sharp stones that threatened to scrape her elbows as she passed.  

“Evening,” a familiar deep voice bellowed softly, startling her.

Nouke gasped and jumped finding Kamuzu standing on the other side of the foliage in the garden.

“Forgive me, lady Nouke,” he apologized with a bow of his head. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

She’d forgotten Ahk’s promise that his trusted Medjay companion would be waiting to escort her, and quickly composed herself.

“No harm,” she assured him.

Kamuzu responded with his usual nod and stepped into the bush enough to hand her a neatly folded garment. Nouke eyed it quizzically, her brows furrowing with intrigue as she cautiously accepted the bundle.

“Our king thought it would be best if you were to hide in plain sight.”

The silent question faded, her creased brow leaving only the intrigue as she carefully unfolded the linen garment: a simple but distinctly elegant sheath dress. The wide straps were decorated with fine blue and red beads, stitched into place with golden thread. In the right light, the faceted beads and metallic threads sparkled. The article was far too fine a thing for a commoner to possess, and she couldn’t keep from brushing her fingers over the textured straps and well-made cloth.

It wasn’t until Kamuzu cleared his throat that she looked to see he’d ventured back beyond the foliage and into the garden, standing with his back to her.

“If you would, my lady,” he spoke kindly. “Our pharaoh is very much looking forward to seeing you. We should not keep him waiting.”

Nouke glanced down at the dress again, running her fingertips over the beads one last time.

“Right.”

Without ceremony, she removed her tired, work warn garments, kicking them aside and slid the dress over her head. The fabric fell to encompass her in a display of feathery movements, disturbed only by the sight breeze that cascaded through the hole in the wall behind her. Nouke bit her lip as a smile unfurled on her face. It was as though she’d plucked a cloud in the heavens to wear; the fine linen was too gentle to scratch her skin—so light it felt as though she wore nothing at all.

When she stepped through the grove of bushes and trees to join Kamuzu in the garden, he cast her a faint, approving smile, and motioned for her to follow.

Venturing down the halls of the pharaoh’s palace with Kamuzu to lead fostered a sense of serenity. She was safe in his presence. A grin threatened to curl her lips at the newfound peace and the thrill it sparked, but she did her best to play the part—keeping her face noble and indifferent. Nouke let her eyes wander freely, however, marveling at the structures and the artistry of Ahk’s home like she never had before.

As a girl, she never thought to appreciate the beauty. The gold and mixture of painted colors suited Ahk; amidst vibrant colors and glittering interiors was where he belonged: a descendant of Ra. 

A descendant of Ra—the smile on her mouth faltered as her mind reminded her that he was next to godliness, and she was next to nothing. Had it not been the sudden slam of closing doors seizing her attention, Nouke was certain those thoughts would have sent her back through the garden wall and away from Ahkmenrah forever.

Nouke was unfamiliar with the corridor Kamuzu was leading her down, and her eyes followed the noise to find a towering set of double doors at the end of the hall. Several men exited, and at first glance, she thought they were palace guards, seeing the weapons strapped to their belts. However, their miss matching armor pieces were evidence to the contrary.

Kahmunrah walked at their head, and Nouke felt disgusted knots tighten in her stomach at the sight of him. A thinly veiled frown worked onto her features; her loathing pressing deeper as she watched him approach carrying an air of hubris befitting for a king despite holding no significant title. 

“Ahh, there’s my brother’s trusted companion.” Kah stood before them, as though he expected them to kneel. “Slacking on your duties, are you? It’s not often to find you not glued to his side.”

“I am always loyal to my king. A trait you would do well to learn,” Kamuzu quipped straight-faced and unprovoked, much to Kahmunrah’s chagrin.

Anger spread over his face like wildfire, turning his features impossibly red, causing his smug grin to swiftly turn into a scowl.

“And you would be wise to learn your place,” Kah spat. “I am the son of a pharaoh—you are nothing more than a glorified soldier.”

Kamuzu squared his shoulders and suddenly it was, as though he’d grown an extra foot, making him taller than Kahmunrah. A tight-lipped smirk settled onto the Medjay’s face.

“Move aside, disgraced son of a pharaoh. Or I shall move you.” 

The band of roughians at Kahmunrah’s flanks all stepped forward defensively, hands to their weapons, ready to draw. Almost instantly, four more Madjey appeared to stand with Kamuzu. They too had their hand over their weapons, but Kahmunrah’s raised hand stopped the impending bloodshed.

When Kah’s men backed down, the Medjay returned to their stations without need of command. Nouke’s heart was racing again as her eyes darted back and forth between Kamuzu and Kahmunrah even though she knew it was best not to look directly at the pharaoh’s brother.

“So, my brother has you fetching his entertainment for the evening; I see.”

Nouke could feel Kah’s black eyes snake up and down her body with a wicked hunger that made her skin crawl. He stepped closer to circle her.

“This one is certainly pretty.” Kah stepped back into his previous position, wetting his lips as his eyes continued to undress her.

“See to it that she is brought to my chamber once my brother has had his fill. They’re always better a little broken in.”

Nouke’s stomach churned sickly; the idea of his vile hands touching her made her skin crawl even more. She would sooner throw herself from a balcony than share a bed with Kahmunrah.

Nouke through a fiery leer at Kah, and it only made his fiendish smirk grow.

“Oh, this one has fight. Even better!” he laughed, as did his men. Their wicked chortle filled the hall with a malevolence thick enough to suffocate. 

Instinctively, Nouke’s fists clenched into balls; with any luck, she could manage one blow to Kahmunrah’s head before his guards descended upon her. The joy such an action would bring almost outweighed whatever punishment he would think up. Kamuzu, however, stepped between them.

From his tone, Nouke could almost see his vehement expression—his mocking smirk gone.

“As previously stated, you are a disgraced son of pharaoh—you a are not worthy of the likes of her. Now, I ask again. Please. Step. Aside.”

Kahmunrah squared his shoulders in challenge, not quite matching Kamuzu’s stature. Still, Kah’s eyes narrowed and the tint of red bled into his face once more.

“One day I will make sure you regret these fun exchanges we have.”

“I look forward to that day,” Kamuzu assured him without a twinge of fear to cloud his tone.

The two were locked in a stare-off for a minute before Kah folded. He snapped his fingers, and his men moved collectively to flank him as he sulked off down the hall, muttering orders to his men that Nouke didn’t catch.

The moment he was out of sight; all the fury vanished inside of her.

“You will have to forgive our king’s brother,” Kamuzu said in a tone of heavy distaste. “Although, if I may speak freely; he is undeserving of your forgiveness.”

Nouke smiled at him, “Thank you."  

A gentle smile ghosted over Kamuzu’s expression, casting it to her with a bow of his head. Without anyone else to interrupt, he led her through the double doors and into what she could only assume to be the pharaoh’s private chambers.

Nouke’s mouth fell open when her eyes took in the grandeur of the interior of his room. Ahk’s chamber, itself, was akin to a small palace. The ceiling was as high as the heavens, held in place by towering columns, etched with storied hieroglyphs. Directly across from the entry, the far wall gave way to a large balcony were two statues of Ra stood sentry on either side. Her eyes skimmed every sight, reveling in all the splendor and ornateness of the various pieces of furniture until her breath caught and her heart leapt into her throat, finding the most breathtaking feature in the whole of Egypt.

Ahkmenrah was draped lavishly in the golden finery that marked his station; the gold of his jeweled bracers and wesekh gleaming under the torchlight. Nouke had to fight a frown seeing the crown on his head—it hid his boyish curls she loved so much. Still, she smiled seeing him again.

Something felt off, however. Nouke could sense it the moment her eyes locked on him. Ahk’s usual devil-may-care charm was masked by tense muscles, a heavy brow, and the hastened gait of a ruler whose mind was fraught with worry. He paced about the large room, one hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Whatever it was that plagued him, held his focus with an iron grip; not even the echoing thud of the double door's closing drew him from his thoughts. 

All at once, Nouke wanted only to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and console her sweet prince from whatever it was he found so troubling. Her mind, however, kept her feet planted in spite of what her heart wanted. She remained several feet away, Kamuzu at her side, chewing her bottom lip as she watched her friend, feeling helpless. Her reason for being there still eluded her, and until she knew beyond a doubt that he called upon her for reasons her heart yearned, Nouke would force herself to remain neutral.

“My king, I have brought you the lady Nouke, safely—as commanded.” Kamuzu bowed his head respectfully as he spoke.

Nouke hesitated, seeing the gesture and feeling obliged to do the same, bowed her head despite Ahk’s reassurance she needed not address him so formally.

The distinct cadence of footfalls that filled the chamber as he paced, halted. Nouke glanced up, peering at him from under her lashes as she slowly raised her bowed head. The moment his eyes found hers; all the burden melted away.

Ahk dazzled her with a smile, all teeth, and sparkling eyes, that was reminiscent of her carefree prince. His rapturous expression found its way into her heart, filling it with warmth, and she returned his smile before she could think better of it.

He crossed the space between them in a flurry of fluid movements illustrated regally by the flowing of his golden robes and without hesitation, scooped her into his strong arms. A surprised chuckle broke from her lips when her feet left the ground; the sound of her laugh painting even more radiance on his face. 

Before Ahk settled her back onto her feet, he claimed her lips in a searing kiss that Nouke foolishly leaned into, utterly intoxicated by the sensation of his luscious mouth on her own. Every moment spent in his arms with his lips brushing against hers was like a drug; it muffled the reasonably cautious part of her mind that begged her not to act on her heart’s hopes and desires.

Each of his tender touches, every embrace, and intimate gaze Ahkmenrah bestowed upon her, tempted Nouke a little further down the path she was forbidden to tread. True, her body burned to have him, but her heart was greedier. Her selfish heart wanted him all to herself every day, until the end of her days. Nouke wanted to be bound to him in body and spirit for more than just a single night.

When he kissed her so deeply there in his chambers, squeezing her against his chest, Nouke knew she should have stayed away. Her mind could not compete with her greedy heart. 

“I have waited all day for this moment," Ahk said on a puff of breath with hearts in his eyes.

“Me too,” she replied just as wistfully.

Her eyes fell to his glistening, wet lips; the sight of them shooting a wave of fire through her veins, and she bit down on her own to keep from tasting his again.

“I trust you traveled well?” he asked, a smirk growing having caught her gawking.

Nouke nodded, forcing herself to meet his eyes, struggling to keep from looking at his lips.

Ahk pulled his lower lip between his teeth as his grin grew, stepping back and tangling his fingers with hers.

“How beautiful you are. That dress suits you.” The pharaoh’s eyes wandered hungrily down her figure—drinking in the sight of her. His tongue poked out to wet his lips before his lewd gaze returned to hers.

“Such beauty,” he confirmed, stepping back into her orbit.

“Is it the dress that makes me beautiful?” Nouke tested imploringly, feeling unworthy of his compliment.

Her skin was darkened from years of labor under the sun, making it more akin to a hide than delicate flesh—coated in callouses, sand and dirt. Nothing about her ever alluded to being beautiful.

Soft fingers cradled her jaw as she watched the blue of his eyes smolder with the compassion she admired, and he tipped their foreheads together as he spoke.

“If it were the dress I found most appealing, I would have noted its beauty and not your own. Your beauty outshines any raiment or jeweled crown.”

Ahk kissed her again, a meditative draw—slow and brimming with the conviction behind his words. Warmth cascaded over her skin in a wave of goosebumps when his palm pressed against her back, pulling her against him with fervor.

“Come,” he implored, breathless against her lips. “I have something to show you.” 

He took her hands and led her onto the balcony; the euphoria sweeping over her made her powerless to deny him. The weight of his hand twined with hers was comforting, and it worked to crumble the wall meant to keep her a careful distance. She squeezed his fingers—a test to make sure he was truly there—and when he cast her a smile in reply, it was brighter and more ethereal than Ra himself. The starlight reflecting in the blue of his eyes made her heart soar and her breath catch. He was so beautiful.

Waset glistened in the light of Khonsu. The glow of amber firelight flickered like a mirror of the twinkling stars overhead. The sleeping city looked so calm from the perch of the pharaoh’s balcony, and the sight worked over her with awe. Nouke could have stood for hours watching the city that way.

Her eyes skirted the far away horizon, standing at the edge of the veranda, against the stone railing until her vision met Ahkmenrah’s profile. The shadows and the flicker of torches highlighted his strong jaw and high cheekbones with a sharp contrast that made his features regal and masculine. Suddenly, the city was inconsequential—he was the most stunning thing within her sight.

Ahk tossed her another quick smile before dexterously maneuvering to stand behind her, looping an arm around her waist to hold her against his chest. Nouke felt so safe encompassed in his arms. She fit so perfectly. 

“I found your farm,” he murmured against her ear, pointing to the horizon.

Nouke could hear his proud and delighted grin in his tone—too easy for her to picture in her mind.

“You have to squint, but it’s there.”

He moved his hand back to her waist, and as his fingers spread over her abdomen, their warmth settled in her core. Instantly her mouth was dry, and she struggled to swallow. Her whole body tingled—betraying her rational mind. Nouke gnawed her bottom lip biting hard enough to drown the desire building in her center that made her heart pound excitedly.

“What--um--what had you so worried before I came in?” she asked in an attempt to deter her want.

The lines of Ahk’s body went rigid against her. Whatever his concern had been; it was still bothering him.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you so worried before,” Nouke tried again when he offered no explanation.

She felt him shrug, and his body relax once more.

“It’s no matter,” he assured her, but there was a hint of unease in his voice. 

Ahk’s hands slipped from her waist and she mourned their loss with a frown he couldn’t see, afraid she had upset him. A second later, feather-light touches swept up and down her arms; gentle brushes that aroused goosebumps to prickle her flesh and more longing to cloud her sensible mind.

His right hand glided all the way up her arm, just the pads of his fingers ghosting over her skin, before hooking them under the strap of her dress, sliding it to expose the tender flesh of her shoulder.

“My men are handling it.” Heat danced from his words and over her skin—lips against her shoulder even more tantalizing than the touch of his fingers.

Nouke sighed when his lips pressed firmly to the juncture of her neck and shoulder—mind in a fog, her heart beating too fervently to count. Her mouth fell open with a soft sound she couldn’t quell as her eyes fluttered shut to savor every moment; head falling aside, encouraging his ministrations. 

Ahkmenrah’s lips quirked into a smile, and he hummed; the smug sound sent a rush of heat through her. His lips were sinful and heavenly at once, moving against the column of her neck, stopping to suck a bruise over her pulse before smoothing the mark with a sweep of his tongue. The warmth of his palms snaked up her torso, gliding over her hips and sides before cupping the globes of her breasts, thumbs dragging over her nipples. Despite the layer of linen between his hands and her skin, they tingled to a point almost immediately and the pharaoh made a throaty sound of approval.

Nouke bit her lip to keep the, frankly, lewd sounds from escaping her throat. It wasn’t until his mouth mapped a trail to her earlobe, licking and nipping as his hands gently kneaded each breast, that something akin to a moan broke from the cage of her closed lips. Her breath hitched and for a moment she feared she would fall from the sudden rush.

In a swift movement, he was there to catch her. Ahk’s hands circled her waist, the tips of his fingers digging into the soft swell of her rear as he possessively pulled her against him as his mouth found hers again. His tongue quickly flicked along her lips, stealing a taste, and she opened for him with a sigh—lost in the feel of him. Tendrils of lazy warmth worked through her as his teeth took her bottom lip with a nip with just enough pressure the pleasure outweighed the pain.

Nouke whined in the back of her throat as her arms twined over his shoulders, holding him closer until all of her senses were marked by the feel of him. Her heart was hammering in her chest; the muffled scream of alarm dulled by the taste and the feel of Ahk’s tongue swirling with her own.

Ahkmenrah broke the kiss with a breathless gasp to fill his empty lungs before searing a trail of kisses down her neck and opposite shoulder, sucking every sweet spot that drew a cry or whine from her lips. Nouke's head was inundated by desire—heat pooling with need at her center.

When his fingers threatened to slide the other strap of her dress away to undress her, the alarm of reality rang loud with warning.

Suddenly, it was all too much, too quickly with no rhyme or reason.  

Nouke’s eyes shot open, and she wrangled herself free of Ahkmenrah’s grasp, yanking the straps of her dress back into place, suddenly dizzy. The abrupt loss of his closeness ached, but she fought against it.

Her abrupt movement almost sent Ahk careening forward into a stumble but he caught himself as puzzlement and the unfamiliar sting of rejection settled on his features in a wide-eyed expression. No words left his open mouth, but his question was in the crease of his brow and perplexed unblinking stare.

It took Nouke a moment to recover from the stardust and euphoria, and when she finally calmed, she gathered her resolve to keep her heart from leading her astray.

“Why did you ask me here,” she said.

She could sense the onslaught of tears brought on by the confusing mix of emotions at odds with each other inside of her. Her voice sounded cold—she didn’t mean for it to sound cold. But she wanted an explanation. She deserved an explanation.

He said nothing, his stunned expression pressing deeper as his eyes lost their focus. Something dark and precarious twisted in her stomach the longer he hesitated; Nouke did her best to ignore it.

“Why, Ahk?” she pressed firmly, using that malaise to fuel her reasoning. “Because I refuse to be summoned to your chamber; to be seduced, used, and tossed aside.” 

Disappointment tugged at her heartstrings and tightened the knots in her belly, recalling Kahmunrah’s assumption that she was the king’s evening entertainment. A routine of his, it seemed. How many women lined up each night to spend an evening with their handsome, virile pharaoh? She feared to know about those numbers. 

Nouke wanted more than a night of wanton pleasures; she wanted all of him—body, mind, and spirit.

Some of her steam evaporated when she felt her heart begin to break with the notion of his thoughts being nothing more than a heedless desire. Nouke exhaled heavily in an attempt to drive away some of the pain.

“Do your words and your kisses mean anything? Or am I simply someone new to warm your bed?”

Ahkmenrah’s eyes darted to meet hers—the first time since she’d pulled away. As he thought, Nouke watched the severity of his emotions drift over his features until finally, they softened; his wide eyes growing sad with a twinge of hurt.

“I would never—” Ahk hung his head, his focus falling to the floor as he searched for the words he wanted desperately to say.

Mist glistened in his eyes when he slowly brought them back to share her gaze. He stepped towards her but refrained from reaching to touch her.

“Surely you must know my feelings for you,” he said softly.

An inkling of relief surged through to find her guarded heart hearing his revelation, bringing hope that would surely leave her broken.

“Color spilled back into my life when I saw you again,” he confessed. 

Nouke risked a smile. She knew the feeling he spoke of—she’d been lost in his colors her entire life. But while it thrilled her hopeful heart that her love was reciprocated, there was more. Her initial question still remained in the air between them like a dark cloud, unanswered.

If she wasn’t there, in the privacy of the pharaoh’s bed-chamber to be merely bedded, then gotten rid of, there had to be another reason. She had his love. Nouke could see it in the way he looked at her; in the way he kissed her. His love for her was as real and as passionate as the sun. 

But Ahkmenrah already had his queen.

Slowly, and somehow all at once, the unease crept back under her skin as her mind pieced together realization. The thick air of the room stuck in her throat, and she had to swallow twice before it cleared.

“Why am I here, Ahk?” she asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

Ahkmenrah swallowed too. 

“The council,” he paused. “The council wishes for me to take—”

“A second wife,” Nouke choked out, feeling her stomach drop.

Her chest grew tight, and she struggled to breathe as her heart shattered.

“Yes,” he confirmed, only causing her more duress.

“No,” she mumbled, clutching her stomach in an attempt to keep herself from unraveling in front of him.

“No?” Ahk repeated, both question and defeat in his tone.

Nouke nodded, unable to bring herself to say it again; a part of her in anguish to deny him. 

All of her life she saw the love her mother and father shared. She wanted a sliver of that happiness for herself. Nouke would not settle for a lifetime of feeling jealous or selfish for wanting the man she loved all to herself.

“It’s normal; I imagine, for a man in your position to take multiple wives,” she spoke calmly, but found it difficult to meet his gaze. “But that is not a life I will ever want for myself.”

“Nouke...” When he reached to take her hand, she moved away—cutting herself off from his touch like she should have long before that moment.

“I was given very little in this life—something I came to terms with a long time ago. But if I could ask the gods for one blessing, it would be to be your only one.” Nouke spoke with conviction and truth.

The weight of her words crushed the pharaoh’s regal posture as the sting of her declaration pierced him. The usual spark in his eyes faded, and his muscles grew tense. Nouke’s eyes never strayed as she waited for him to utter a response. Whether it was hopeful or devastating she didn’t care. All she wanted was some recognition that he understood. But what she found in his eyes was emptiness—Ahk was completely closed off.

“Have you nothing to say?” Nouke asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes looked in her direction, but through her; as though she wasn’t there at all. 

It was as she had feared, his crown had spoiled him. He was given everything, and now; rejection made him cold. The boy she grew up with would never have surrendered so easily. He would have fought to keep her; she wanted him to fight. But he said nothing.

“Well,” she stated, allowing venom to seep into her tone—just enough to sting.

“Thank you…my king.” Nouke knelt before him, holding it long enough to let him know she understood her place.

There were tears in her eyes when she stood to leave, and for a moment she thought he was going to fight, his mouth open, but he only nodded.

Never had she felt so foolish. Her heart had not listened, and now it ached with a pain Nouke feared would never truly heal. 

***

Ahkmenrah stood, breaths shallow, muscles tense, with his eyes fixated on the doors of his chamber feeling as though a hole had just been ripped into the very fabric of his soul, and it was all his fault. He didn’t move; hoping with every passing second those doors would swing back open and Nouke would come back so he could fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

The moments, however, stretched into minutes and with them, time brought the realization she was gone. It was an ache that pulsed with a heaviness in his bones. His stomach dropped as tears fought to breach his kingly composure. He was a fool.

A haggard breath shook him as his eyes shut and his head hung, forcing the flow of his tears steadier down his cheeks. The ample silence screamed with an echo of how alone he felt. It was a stillness that was heavy and haunting, mixing sickly with the anguish that worked through him with a chill.

The writhing subsided only when the sound of the chamber door opening rang out, spooking the pharaoh out of his woeful stupor. Relief rippled through him, and the influx of happiness prompted more tears to sting his eyes—she had returned to him!

The relief vanished with a cold sweep of reality when he looked to see Medjay entering and not the woman he loved.

Ahkmenrah hastily wiped his tears from his face and reaffirmed his stately posture as he greeted his trusted guards. His voice was shaky and betrayed his stoic composure, but his men didn’t question him.

“Is there any news?” he asked, valiantly trying not to let his pain taint his noble tone.

He hoped they brought good news; he needed it. 

The two men shared a hesitant glance that lent enough clarity that the tidings they came with were not what Ahkmenrah was desperate to hear. The look on their faces sent a surge of worry through his body making his emotions that much more volatile.

“The entire palace and the grounds have been searched, twice over, my pharaoh,” one Medjay expressed solemnly. “There is no sign of Queen Setshepsut, I am sorry.”

Ahkmenrah’s posture wilted as he sighed—grief tearing through him mercilessly. In his heart, he knew his sister's disappearance was due to his foolishness as well. Every word spoken to her and to Nouke had been misconstrued. He’d broken a vow and let the woman he loved believe she was not his only love. Now, they were both gone.

The pharaoh took a steadying breath, gradually building his pose back to that of a composed ruler. 

“She must be found,” he told them in earnest. “Her safe return is of the utmost concern. Take men—as many as you require. Search the city. Discreetly, if you can. The people of Egypt mustn’t suspect their queen has gone missing.”

Both Medjay nodded, and spoke in perfect unison, “As you command, my king.”

They held their bowed heads until Ahkmenrah dismissed them with a wave, “Go now. Do not stop until she is found.”

The moment his guardians were sealed behind closed doors, every shred of his collected mien snapped and crumbled. The icy pang of grief snaked through him; the ear-splitting sound of silence rekindling his unease. Tears welled in his eyes again—a manifestation of his regret and ire. His fists clenched into white-knuckled balls as his grief boiled over into unbridled rage directed at only himself.

How could I be so careless?

A piercing ache swelled in his skull, sharp and pulsing, made worse by the weight of the crown on his head. His teeth were set against each other, tight, and his lips curled into a sneer as he took the royal headpiece into his hands. In the glean of the polished metal, he caught his reflection and fury faded to a frown finding the distorted features looking back at him.

Could so trivial an object rule and sculpt him—turn him into the blinded fool he had become?

Ahk’s frown contorted into disgust and with an artless toss, he let the crown tumble to the floor. It clanked against the stone ground splitting the silence with a brash sound that made the proceeding quiet even worse than before. His room was cold—he was cold, and the coupling rendered an unfathomable sadness.

Ahkmenrah stumbled backward; his feet shakier with every fumbled step and stopped only when his back collided with a stone column. All too quickly his body fell limp, sliding until he was on the floor, his tears falling freely as the sounds of his cries filled the empty air—wishing he’d been smart enough to run away first. 

Next Chapter-> Chapter Eleven: The Duality of Duty

[chloefrazer]

old wounds

title: old wounds relationships: nines rodriguez/the fledgling  words: 3.6k  warnings: nightmares, ptsd, slight horror summary: The past months had left Mickey with scars that still persisted, mental wounds that wouldn't heal, and a handful of questions she'd never know the answer to. What she did know, though, was that she didn’t have to heal alone. notes: fulfilling the prompts “fine.” and “you’re not alone.” from this list!

            When the sun began to rise over downtown Los Angeles, Mickey felt exhaustion weigh down on her limbs. Kindred were not meant to stay awake during the daylight hours, but the power of the Blood let her fight off the oblivion of day sleep, if only for a little while. She didn’t want to sleep just yet, not when she was still basking in the bliss; her body boneless and spent. She was currently nestled against Nines, his unrising chest beneath her cheek, one hand wrapped around her waist. Day-sleep had claimed him just minutes before and Mickey took a moment to just observe.

         Her finger dragged lightly over the curve of his jaw, her touch feather-light and barely there. Not that she was worried about waking him, anyhow. The ghost of her touch continued down his broad shoulders, down the muscles of his arms, to his hands; his hands that Mickey could never get enough of when he touched her. Further still her hands moved, traveling along the planes of his abdomen, all toned and hard muscle. She stopped when she reached his chest, her palm pressed right above where his heart would have been beating. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the dull thud, thud — but that’s all it would be: an imagination. 

         Mickey’s gaze lingered on the bare skin of his throat, now decorated with several fresh, purple bruises. A feline grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she prided herself on her handiwork. They wouldn’t linger, much to her disdain, but for the moment she could reminisce and recall the sounds Nines made when she nipped, bit, and marked at his neck. 

         Wrapped up in her reverie of bliss, the exhaustion that pulled at her limbs pressed down hard against her eyes. As the pressure of day-sleep consumed her, she was not welcomed with the dark comfort of oblivion. 

         Colors swarmed at the edges of her vision, sounds echoing too far away for her to hear. Her limbs felt heavy, like her bones were replaced with lead. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see because she couldn’t open her eyes. Her body was moved, but she wasn’t controlling the actions, like she was a makeshift puppet on a string. Foreign hands gripped her and their touch brought a surge of panic deep in her gut. 

         Her knees slammed hard against the ground, but she couldn’t open her mouth to yelp in surprise. The noise got caught in her throat as her chest exploded in agony. It flared up her throat, aching behind her eyes, and she couldn’t focus on anything but the pain. She barely noticed the feeling return to her limbs, didn’t register her surroundings, all she could think about was the hole in her chest. 

         She felt those foreign hands on her shoulders, anchoring her in place, but as Mickey blinked away the fuzziness from her vision, that panic surged again.  She recognized the wooden floor under her knees, the red velvet curtains that hung against the sides of the stage, the stage lights that were too bright. 

         Most importantly, though, she recognized the man who stood in front of her. His suit was impeccable, not a stitch out of place. His blonde hair was perfectly groomed. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear him. It was like cotton balls had been stuffed in her ears. She knew what he was saying, the words an echo from her past, but she couldn’t hear him clearly. 

         No, no, this wasn’t right. Lacroix was dead. 

         The panic that flooded Mickey’s veins quickly turned to fear. She struggled to break free, but the hands that gripped her shoulders held her in a vice-like grip. As she squeezed her eyes shut, she desperately willed herself to wake up. This wasn’t real, she told herself, just wake up. 

         But she was not given such a luxury. 

         When Mickey opened her eyes, she was still trapped in the theatre. 

          A scream threatened to erupt from her throat. As she turned her head, she expected to see the face of her sire; the man who murdered her and brought her into the world of vampires against her will. Instead, though, she saw a man with no face. It was like someone had smudged all the features off his skin, leaving him as a blank slate. Mickey recoiled, but the hands that held her kept her in place. She stared, horrified, at the blank face of her sire. He had no mouth to speak, no eyes to see her with, no nose to smell her fear. 

         Mickey almost screamed again when she heard the voice of LaCroix against her ear, now crystal clear. 

         “Forgive me.” 

         The scream finally tore free from her throat, but no sound came out, only plumes of black smoke.  

         As the Sheriff brought his sword down against her sire’s neck, granting him the Final Death, the smoke in her throat turned to ash. Mickey didn’t need to breathe, but she coughed around the ash, tried to get the taste out of her mouth and teeth. Her sire’s body turned to cinders and Mickey’s throat burned along with him. 

         Mickey turned her eyes away from the smoking remains of her faceless sire, her desperate gaze turning to the audience. But where she expected to see a roomful of Kindred, brought before the Prince to witness her and her sire’s execution, all she found was an empty room and empty seats. 

         She was alone. 

         The next scream that tore from her throat came out as a choked sob. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t real, this wasn’t how it happened! 

         Her desperate gaze tried to see through the dark, tried to find him — the man she loved who saved her from a premature execution. She called out to him, desperately wanting him to appear, to swoop in and save the say like he’d done before. 

         No matter how many times she screamed for him, he didn’t show up. She was alone. 

         With an empty theatre, with no Anarchs, no Nines to interrupt her trial and save her life, Mickey knew she was going to die; for real, this time. 

         Bloody tears stained her cheeks. The Beast howled in her ears. Her claws dug into the wooden floor of the theatre, but no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t escape. LaCroix stood in front of her now and he was smiling. He was smiling and his teeth were stained red. Mickey couldn’t even muster up enough bravado to bare her fangs. His hand darted out, gripping her jaw hard, and it was stained red, too. 

         He said, “The game begins. A pawn is sacrificed. Forgive me.” 

         The weight of the Sheriff’s sword pressed down against her neck. As he raised it, ready to swing it down and separate Mickey’s head from her shoulders, she screamed out again, and this time the sound rang throughout the theatre as he brought the sword down. 

         The same scream tore from Mickey’s throat as she pulled herself free from her day-sleep. Her hands instantly went to her throat as she took unnecessary gulps of air. She swore she could still feel the blade of the sword against the back of her neck, could still feel the taste of smoke and ash in her throat. She turned to see Nines still next to her, still dead to the world, and a relief so strong flooded through her that she nearly sobbed. 

         Her hands shook as adrenaline pumped through her veins. The walls of her bedroom felt too constricting. The shadows taunted her; the curtains on her windows looked too much like red velvet in the dark. Pulling herself free from her tangled bed sheets, she reached out and grabbed the nearest article of clothing, pulled it over her naked frame, and escaped to the living room. 

         The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a blanket of darkness over Los Angeles once again. Mickey grabbed her cigarettes from the coffee table and pulled one free, lighting it with shaking fingers. The cool night air from the open window brushed against her skin like a gentle breeze. As she curled up on the edge of her couch, she took a long drag from the cigarette. With each drag, Mickey retreated into herself. The nightmare had been so visceral, so vivid; it brought up memories she desperately had wanted to forget.

         Ever since she’d been Embraced, Mickey had been on the move; constantly trying to survive each night, moving around Los Angeles, doing other Kindred’s bidding. Not once did anyone ask her how she felt. Sure, they gave her tips on how to survive and how to make the most of the situation, but she never got any sort of closure or consolation. It was always just the same old advice: don’t become a monster, don’t lose sight of your humanity, don’t become a victim to the Beast. 

         The smoke that coated her tongue soon started to taste like bitterness. Mickey desperately wanted answers but had no way of receiving them. Her sire was dead, LaCroix had seen to that, so there was no chance to question him as to why he did this to her. LaCroix had called him a ‘respected member of their organization’ but, if that was the case, why did he Embrace her illegally? It all came back to one question: why, why, why? 

         Mickey swore and lit another cigarette.

         It wasn’t fair, she thought, but nothing about the Kindred existence was fair. Her short life as Kindred had been a rough one, full of stumbles and mistakes, chaos and bloodshed, destruction and scheming. If this nightmare was indicative of anything, it was that Mickey was not coping with it well. 

         As she sat there, lost in a cycle of resentment and unanswered questions, she didn’t hear Nines wake up. As he pulled himself free from the blackness of day-sleep, he knew something was off when he didn’t feel the familiar comfort of Mickey’s body next to him. He reached out, but his fingers only connected with the soft bed sheets. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth, but he tried to stifle the worries that fluttered in his chest. Nines didn’t think of himself as a clingy sort of man, and he trusted her, but he hoped she would have said something before leaving him alone in her bed. 

         Maybe she just stepped out to feed, he thought. His own Hunger ached in his gums, the pain sharpening to an acute degree, reminding him of what he was, what he would always be, a victim to the Blood. Silently, he began to shrug on his clothes, but halfway through his task, he realized one of his shirts was missing. 

         Discarded and forgotten on the floor, like most of their clothes had been from the night before, a haphazard trail of fabric that led to the destination of Mickey���s bed. She’d formally returned to the Kindred scene, her support fully behind the Unbound and the Anarch Movement. Both she and Nines had been busy; coordinating patrols, keeping an eye out for any lingering Camarilla agents or Sabbat packs, and making sure the Anarchs kept their foothold of control over Los Angeles. They’d been so preoccupied lately that they’d barely had any time for themselves, so when they did, they took full advantage of it. 

         As he exited the bedroom and travelled the length of the hallway, he didn’t need to venture far to find her. 

         Still curled up on the edge of the couch, her face turned toward the open window. The moonlight illuminated her face, but her features were slightly masked by a thin layer of smoke. A cigarette hung loosely between her fingers — what looked to be one of many, Nines noted, as he glanced at the ashtray that sat against the windowsill — and her eyes, her usually sharp, cold steel eyes, looked vacant.

        She was still dressed in nothing but Nines’ shirt, the garment draped loosely over her smaller frame. The dark ink of her tattoos stood out starkly against her pale skin; the tattoos Nines had gotten very familiar with the night before. He’d traced his fingers over them, admiring the details of each design, as Mickey told him what each of them meant, where and when she got them, and he had chuckled at her aggravated dismay of not being able to get anymore. 

        Nines leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and his eyebrow raised in amusement, “Is that my shirt?” 

        Mickey acted as though she didn’t hear him. There was no laughter, no roll of her eyes or coy smirk; no acknowledgement of his question at all. That vacant look still clouded her vision. She was deathly still, the only movement being the occasional flick of her thumb to discard the ash on her cigarette. Nines’ expression of amusement quickly faded, his brow furrowing as he approached her. 

        “Mickey? You okay?” 

        The barest shift of her eyes, like a flash of lightning before a crack of thunder. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, the muscle weighed down by the smoke and bitterness. The words she wanted to say were lodged in her throat, driven back by the roadblock of her mind. One by one, brick by brick, her walls were back up and sealed airtight. A quick drag of her cigarette, the inhale and exhale allowing her to get some words free. 

        “Fine.” 

        A lie — Nines damn well knew it, too. It was like Mickey had flipped a switch overnight. She’d been so open before; he had her trust in the palm of his hand. He’d trailed his fingers down her spine and she’d become an open book. Now the book was shut; tucked away in the corners of her mind and unreachable. He frowned again, that flutter of worry more persistent now. His fingers dragged down the length of his jaw, a clear tell he was lost in thought. Mickey’s expression was impossible to read; perfectly blank, an expert mask. Nines moved to sit on the couch and angled his body so that he was fully facing her.

        A sliver of tension slid off her shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to snap her out of whatever reverie she was lost in. 

        “I do somethin’ wrong?” Nines asked, but in his gut, he knew the answer was no. If she had a problem with him, she would have said something. She was blunt, her words usually escaping past her mouth before her brain could catch up. So, this sudden silence, this isolation from him, after everything they’d been through, was uncharacteristic. 

        “No,” Mickey confirmed, cracks of incredulity forming in her vacant expression. Another drag of her cigarette, her reply exhaled in a cloud of smoke, “of course not.” 

        “Then what’s goin’ on with you?” 

        Her eyes remained fixated on something outside, but she tore her gaze away from it for a moment. Though her face remained expressionless, Nines could see the struggle of something raging in the depths of her gaze. Mickey battled not to retreat into herself further, to hide behind her walls and lock herself up tight. Bad habits were hard to break; her cigarettes, her self-destructive behavior, her incessant need to run and hide. She could talk to Nines about anything, she knew that. She desperately tried to remind herself of that, but something didn’t cooperate. Her throat felt too constricted, the ghost of the Sheriff’s sword pressed against it, making it impossible to speak. 

        When she didn’t speak, Nines sighed. Tentatively, he reached for her hand, and was comforted when she didn’t pull away. The pad of this thumb brushed against her knuckles, the gentleness of the gesture nearly enough to make Mickey crumble. His touch, this act of casual intimacy, was more of an anchor than her cigarettes could ever hope to be. 

        “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice soft, “but I’m here. I’ll sit here all night if I have to.” 

        Another crack in her facade as her face softened. Mickey stubbed out her cigarette, a slight tremble in her hand as she did so. She raked a shaky hand through her dark hair as she tried to find her voice through the haze and smoke. She kept her hand inside Nines’, each brush of his thumb against her skin strengthening her resolve. 

        “I didn’t know I could still dream.” 

        “It’s rare, but it can happen,” Nines explained, “usually varies from Kindred to Kindred. Some of us don’t dream at all, some do, some get nightmares.” 

        A quiet scoff, “figures I’d get stuck with nightmares.” 

        “What was it about?” 

        The visions of the dream were still fresh in her mind. It was hard to distinguish dream from memory. The adrenaline that had previously shot through her veins like venom had subsided, but she was left with an unsteady voice and shaking hands. The fear she had felt when waking up from the nightmare — Mickey hadn’t felt true wild, primal fear like that in a while. She didn’t like feeling afraid. It made her feel helpless. After LaCroix had met the Final Death, she told herself she was never going to feel like that again. 

        Her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she spoke, “I was back in the theatre.” 

        Nocturne Theatre. The place where Mickey had been formally introduced to the world of vampires, where she first became an unwilling pawn in LaCroix’s schemes. An accused fledgling who was being charged for the crimes committed by her sire. Mickey’s chest still ached with phantom pains, courtesy of where the stake pierced her heart and she was rendered paralyzed. She had to sit there, restrained, as the Prince executed her sire right in front of her. 

        Were it not for the man who now sat next to her, her fate would have been the same. 

        Another deep inhale as Mickey struggled to say the words out loud, “It was like I was back there. Everything was the same: LaCroix was there, so was the Sheriff. His lackeys, too, holdin’ me down. When I looked at my sire, though, I couldn’t see his face. It was like a smudge, I guess, I don’t know, like my brain couldn’t remember what he looked like.” 

        Nines felt the tremble in her fingers as he held her hand. He gave her a reassuring squeeze to continue. 

        “When they killed him, I tried to scream for help, but all that came out was smoke. And the theatre — it was empty, Nines. You weren’t there; no one was.” 

        Mickey cursed herself as she felt her throat begin to ache. She cursed herself again when she felt the pinprick stinging of her eyes filling with tears. She dared to try and look away and return her gaze to the window, hoping Nines wouldn’t see. Her vulnerability was like a raw wound, the trauma of her Embrace causing it to flare and bleed. She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from wobbling. 

        “I couldn’t see you,” she said, hoping to God her voice would stop shaking, “you weren’t there. You couldn’t stop him. I screamed and screamed and no one heard me. I was all alone in there this time, and —”

        Another curse as the tears began to fall, staining her pale cheeks crimson. Nines didn’t say anything, but he wrapped his arms around her frame and pulled her to him. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck as held her around her waist. One of his hands cradled the back of her head, his fingers gently brushing through the hair at the nape of her neck. A choked sob was muffled against his skin and Nines gently pushed at her shoulders. 

        “Mickey, hey, look at me.” 

        His thumb guided her chin up, but her gaze stubbornly pointed toward the floor. Nines leaned forward, his lips gently brushing away the tears that stained her cheek, then the other, then capturing her mouth with his. Mickey sighed against his mouth, her body sagging against his. When they broke apart, the greys of her irises were bright against the crimson stains around her eyes. 

        “You’re not alone,” Nines reminded her, his hands moving to rest on her hips, “you’re not in that theatre. LaCroix’s dead and gone; he can’t hurt you anymore.” 

        Mickey nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She shivered as Nines’ thumbs brushed over her hip bones. 

        “It’s just… hard. Talkin’ about it. Thinkin’ about it,” she said finally, her voice thick with emotion. She was just happy the tears had stopped. 

        “I know, but it’ll get easier. I promise.” 

        They lapsed into comfortable silence. Mickey settled back into the crook of Nines’ neck, his arms resuming their position around her waist. Idly, she tugged at his shirt, and said, “I got bloodstains on this.” 

        He chuckled quietly, “they’ll wash out.” 

        “Better not tell anyone I was cryin’.” 

        “Yeah? Or what?” 

        A low growl, followed by a sharp nip to his neck, and he grinned in response. 

        They sat like this for a while until Mickey pulled back, her hands resting against Nines’ shoulders. She wondered, vaguely, how she got so lucky. Up until recently, Mickey had been conditioned to believe that she could only rely on herself. Selfishness was more practical, she used to think. It had kept her alive thus far, but simply focusing on survival was no way to live. 

        In the world of vampires, working alone was a risk. Lone wolves didn’t survive long; it was safer and smarter to hunt with a pack. She found her pack with the Unbound, but more importantly, she realized, she found a home. 

        “I love you,” she said into his neck. 

        Nines pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “I love you, too.”

        The invisible wounds left by her sire weren’t going to go away overnight, neither would the mental scars from what LaCroix put her through, but Mickey didn’t have to heal alone.

[melonkooky]

a demon’s kiss [kim taehyung]

not requested

word count: 3594

genre: mythical!au?? i guess, not really fluff or angst

pairing: demon!taehyung x human!reader

warnings: satanic worship is mentioned, kidnapping, almost dying, cursing, stuff like that you know

author’s note: i’ve been working on this for months because i would write a heck ton of stuff and then not touch or look at it for weeks at a time. but’s its finally done. i’m pretty excited. also ignore any mistakes or plot holes and all that. i was rushing to get this out haha

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

you sighed deeply. you could not believe yourself. you couldn’t believe that you let your friends convince you of doing such a thing.

no, it wasn’t having a make out session in a closet for seven minutes. it wasn’t being dared to kiss the person next to you, or take an article of clothing off. it wasn’t anything like that. no, they had managed to convince you to join them in the basement of an old house that belonged to chungha’s late grandparents. it had been abandoned for a while, although apparently her grandparents still owned it because when both of them died, it was passed along to her family.

chungha had invited everyone over to the house. it was old and rundown. as soon as you stepped into the home, you wondered from all the creaks and cracks of the floorboards and walls if it was on the verge of collapsing. the walls seemed to groan on their own. it didn’t help that the wooden planks on the outside gave the house an eerie feeling. honestly, it felt like a scene from a horror movie. and that was probably why chungha invited everyone there.

when investigating the basement, she found an old ritualistic looking book. the group of friends, you, chungha, yoona, minho, and haneul, we’re divided on whether or not to use the book for something. chungha, being the person that she was, spoke for herself, yoona, and minho. she said that she was all for it, stating that she didn’t believe in the supernatural. she was skeptical but curious. you and haneul, however, were all for leaving the book where it was found and finding a hotel to stay at instead of staying at the house. of course, chungha was very convincing, meaning she basically pressured you and haneul into joining them. “nothing could possibly happen.” she had said. of course, you were not reassured in the slightest.

so now here you were, sitting in a circle with everyone else. you glanced at your best friend, haneul, with a worried look, and he mirrored your expression, his lips forming a thin, straight line. chungha clapped excitedly after setting the book down on the cement in front of her. her eyes were narrowed, and there was a smirk on her face. “let’s see what this is all about.”

she opened up the book. the spine cracked as she turned over the cover. just like the house, perhaps the book was on the verge of falling apart. just how old was it? but more importantly, you wondered where it had come from, how it had gotten here? satanists, you thought, but that instantly draped a weighted blanket of anxiety over your shoulders. those types of people were known not to be messed with. and your gut was telling you that this wasn’t a good idea, but you tried to ignore it.

“there is no korean in here, whatsoever. it’s either english or some weird gibberish looking words. almost like symbols.” the girl explained.

yoona leaned over, getting a closer look. “i don’t even want to try reading that word.”

chungha laughed at her best friend. she picked up the book, bringing it closer to her face so that it was easier to read. you waited rather impatiently, restlessly, anxiously. you were scared to say the least.

“daemon veni, et ludere.” she muttered.

you glanced around at everyone. they all had confused yet curious faces. even haneul now seemed interested in this.

“what does that mean?” minho asked.

“do you think i’d know that?” chungha retorted.

minho made a face at her, turning away while crossing his arms over his chest.

“well, let’s try it.”

your eyes widened slightly. “but you don’t even know what that says, or even what this book is about.”

“from my guess,” chungha began while holding up the book, “it has something to do with dark magic. i can read the english bits fine, but some of it doesn’t make sense.”

“that’s reassuring.” you mumbled.

“well, while we’re sitting in this circle, let’s hold hands.”

“does it say to do that?” yoona asked.

“guys, i’m just doing what comes to mind. i’ve seen lots of movies about these kinds of things. some form triangles though, but we’re doing a circle. and they also hold hands in the movies.”

“what about you?” minho asked chungha, reaching for her hands as he grabbed a hold of your own. his hand felt as warm and clammy. a strong, confident exterior with a weak and scared interior, you guessed. minho was like that.

chungha set down the book in front of her. she used the tip of her black velvet boots to keep the book open. she grabbed minho and yoona’s hands. after clearing her throat, she asked if everyone was ready. you didn’t reply, not even shaking your head. because you weren’t ready. you weren’t sure if you believed in the supernatural, but you knew that these kinda of things should not be messed with.

you swallowed hard, readjusting your hand in haneul’s and making sure you were as comfortable as you could be while sitting on the cold cement floor of the creepy basement.

once chungha exchanged glances between everyone, she began reading the strange, foreign words written in the book. you stared at the book directly across from where you were sitting. you could see black scribbles, how yellow and crumbled the pages were, how ancient it looked. when the feeling in your stomach seemed to erupt, making you feel worse, you shifted your gaze to the center of the circle. there were a few specks of dirt and dust and rubble there. perhaps eve a few cracks in the concrete.

chungha continued to read, occasionally glancing around the room. you couldn’t help but notice the worried look in her eyes, how even she seemed to look fearful of what could possibly happen, or even what she was doing.

you half expected something to happen, in all honesty. in the all of the paranormal and supernatural movies that you have ever watched, this sort of thing would somehow cause the house to shake, or the lights to flicker, sometimes the wind outside would get faster, thunder would rumble, anything that was basically unnatural and sudden. you half expected some sort of sign that whatever chungha was reading was real, that the words that she was reading off the page held some sort of supernatural power to them. but everything was normal and still. did you actually believe in this type of things? if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be so scared. but, you also could recall all the accounts of people messing around with satanic worship, and how badly they ended up. in the end, you came to the conclusion that whether or not you believed in ghosts and demons and all that, you didn’t want to find out if they truly existed.

chungha read the final words, and unexpectedly, the power suddenly went out. the basement was enveloped in a blanket of darkness, just after the sound of the only lightbulb in the room shattered. everyone screamed and jumped.

minho and haneul both squeezed your hand at the sudden event, and you refused to let it go. you couldn’t see anyone. your senses were heightened. you felt haneul push himself closer to you, giving you a sense of protection and relief. but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen, something terrible.

“is everyone okay?” you heard chungha’s voice break through the darkness.

you swallowed hard, scared to speak. haneul readjusted his grip on your hand and pulled you closer. minho had long ago let go of your hand. thank god haneul was still there.

 the room felt awfully colder than normal.

“i’m leading the way out of here.” you heard chungha say a few feet in front of you.

“that sure was creepy.” yoona sighed behind her.

“i think i saw flashlights in the garage.” minho commented.

you felt yourself begin to calm down as you followed everyone up the stairs and back into the house. your eyes had adjusted to the dark, and you were able to see silhouettes and follow their voices. everyone seemed unusually silent and shaken up. no one wanted to admit it, but the only lightbulb breaking in the basement could not possibly be just a mere coincidence.

you sighed heavily and rubbed your upper arms. haneul stood next to you, flashing you a hopeful smile. “that was wild, wasn’t it?”

you nodded. “do you think we actually conjured something?”

haneul shrugged. “i don’t know.”

“that’s reassuring.”

he chuckled, half-heartedly. “sorry.”

as time passed, the heavy atmosphere in the house seemed to lighten up. yoona suggested leaving and going back home. it was almost dark outside, and it was getting late. even chungha said that she wasn’t up for staying at her grandparent’s old house. so everyone agreed, without any complaints. everyone grabbed anything that they brought with them, and after chungha locked up the house, all five got into yoona’s car and left the old house behind. the whole ride home, you tried not to let your thoughts drift over to what might’ve happened in that basement.

---

that night, you had a weird feeling still looming over your shoulders, despite being in your safe apartment. it was dark outside, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. it made the back of your neck twitch and tingle. your skin crawled at the thought of what happened back at chungha’s house. it didn’t help that the sound of the lightbulb breaking kept echoing in your head just before the light went out.

you had checked your front door and windows to see if they were locked, and when they were, it did not leave you feeling reassured. so, you unlock it, only to lock it again.

you got ready for bed, hoping to distract your mind. while brushing your teeth and washing your face with warm water did help, it wasn’t enough. still, you slipped into your bed and turned off the lamp right next to you. the apartment was quiet, it was completely still. it was almost like you were back at that house. as you laid on your back, you listened to the city outside, the occasional honking of a car, a police siren, but it was the wind that sounded odd. it was a windy night in the city.

your mind had drifted over to that basement with all of your friends all over again. you couldn’t stop thinking about it. it was beginning to frustrate you. it had been a few hours since it happened, and yet you were still bothered by it.

after what seemed like an eternity of paranoia, you finally fell asleep. you hadn’t even realized it. however, as you slept, you slipped into an odd dream.

you were in your bedroom, in your bed to be more precise. you woke up, in your dream, and found a figure’s face hovering over yours. his features were that of a human, but when he revealed his smile, you caught a glimpse of his two sharp canines, similar to a vampire’s. he grinned maniacally, and he stirred a series of unusual feelings in your stomach. he was devilishly handsome, with a sharp jawline, perfect, flawless skin the color of sand, and his eyes, you were practically melting under his dark gaze. however, what was surprising was when you turned your head slightly, and noticed a wing with black feathers, fluttering slightly to keep himself hovering above you. you turned again and noticed another wing on the other side. who was he? or more importantly, what was he?

you didn’t react. you didn’t scream or try to get away from this devilishly hot stranger. it was like you couldn’t. instead, you stared into his mesmerizing dark brown eyes as he smirked down at you. you felt like an invisible thread or string was wrapped around you. you were in a trance, staring into his eyes.

he stared at you. it looked as if he was putting you under a spell of some sort, or was just analyzing you. why was he there?

and then, he lowered his head down and soon, you felt the feeling of his soft lips on top of yours. and then, everything was gone, turned to black. your body felt numb, and your mind was completely blank.

you shot up, eyes wide. your chest ached as you inhaled large amounts of air. you felt hot, but cold at the same time.

you glanced around your apartment, heaving still as you tried to take in your surroundings. you were not reassured when you realized that it was not your bedroom that you had waken up in. you were not, in fact, in your apartment.

the bed you were laying on was almost two times larger than your own. you would guess a king sized bed. it was a four poster bed that had elegant pieces of fabric draped along long poles, giving you a sense of privacy. the fabric was red, and was embroidered with patterns stitched in gold.

immediately, you checked underneath the thick duvet, finding that you were still in your pajamas. you sighed in relief, only to be filled to the brim with anxiety all over again. where were you?

in a split second, you threw the covers away from your body, parting the drapes, and stepped off of the bed. you were in a large, rather fancy looking bedroom. you felt as if you were in a castle from all the decorations and styles that surrounded you.

the walls looked like velvet, and they mimicked the color of blood. they also had a dark oak trim. there were two glass doors a few feet in front of you. to the right was a large sofa, and to the left were two large bookcases, each shelf being filled with books of various sizes and colors.

impressive, you thought.

behind you was what looked like an en suite bathroom, along with a large closet with an ottoman matching the sofa in the center. to the right was a door. a door!

instead, however, you wandered to the glass doors. you pushed aside the deep red curtains that covered most of the doors, finding it odd that everything in the room seemed to be red (with a few accents of gold, dark oak, and black). but outside was even more surprising as you stared through the glass.

the view from the windows was of a city. it was nighttime, as far as you could tell from the stars and clouds. but the moon was strikingly odd. instead of being it’s usual gray and white colors, it was red. it glowed red too, casting a red beam of light across the entire city.

you gulped hard and backed away. this time, you hurried to the wood door, the one that seemed to be the way out. you reached for the handle, finding it smooth and cold. but when you turned it to open the door, it did not budge. you felt your heart begin to race as you tried again, and again, and again, this time practically panicking because the door was locked.

fine.

you hurried to the two glass doors and searched for a latch. when you found it, you unlocked it and pressed the palms of your hands against the cool surface. the doors were pushed aside, sliding along the walls. a big gust of wind burst through, blowing back the red curtains as well as your hair and clothes. you inhaled deeply.

you walked to the balcony and looked down. you were apparently on the top floor of a tall building. it seemed like a long way down. and there was no way in hell you were climbing down.

you were beginning to panic. everything was so different, and yet it was the very same city in which you lived in. you could see that. but still, it begged the question once more: where the hell were you?

you felt your breath hitch in your throat. you didn’t know what to do. you looked around, until suddenly you felt a presence behind you.

your swiftly turned around, your hair covered your face as a strong burst of wind blew passed. you were very much surprised to find that the person who was standing in front of you was the man from the strange dream you had.

you stared at him with wide eyes, your jaw practically dropped to the floor. he was smirking, just as he was in your dream. he looked even more ethereal, standing there in front of you. but how was he here? how was this possible?

he was dressed in a white dress shirt, the top few buttons were unbuttoned, exposing his neck and collarbones. the tone of his skin looked warm… you were staring at his chest.

he laughed. “glad to see that you are awake.”

you felt your cheeks heat up. you closed your mouth, trying to find the ability to speak. “where am i?”

he stepped forward, which caused you to take a step back. his smirk immediately dropped. “watch where you’re going.”

you narrowed your eyes, quirking an eyebrow up, before glancing over your shoulder. you had forgotten where you were for a moment. your back was almost pressed against the railing of the balcony. now your anxiety was at an all time high. you could easily fall over the edge.

“tell me where i am. what is this place?”

he stared into your eyes. you could see a hint of conflict in them. “we can talk when you step away from the edge. please.”

you scoffed. “why do you care?”

he shook his head. “don’t be like this.”

“you kidnapped me! you brought me here, somehow, while i was sleeping. i am confused, i am scared, and i don’t know what to do. i don’t know who you are, i don’t know where i am… tell me something.”

he sighed, his strong gaze softened a bit. it was odd to you. he looked… worried.

“it’s not safe for you to be that close. i swear i’ll answer all of your questions.” he took a few steps closer to you. you leaned as far back as you could, but the railing was holding you in place.

“stay back!”

“look. i completely understand how you are feel-”

“do you know? have you been kidnapped before? have you woken up in a strange place? have you or your friends tried to summon a fucking demon?” you froze. this was actually happening. this is was all because of what happened in the basement. right?

his eyes widened, begging a confused expression to your face. you leaned back farther. “what?”

“that’s how i brought you here.” he finally spoke after a silent moment.

“what?” you repeated.

“i was summoned upstairs.”

“wha-? how?”

he laughed nervously. “i was just living my life down here when suddenly i heard these voices in my head, soft whispers from a girl. i ignored them until suddenly, something opened up, a doorway, so i went through it.” the strange man in front of you swallowed hard, a nervous smile on his face. “then i found five humans. it’s been a while since i’ve been summoned.” he looked relieved. “i haven’t been completely forgotten.”

your heart about stopped in your chest. you could have swore that your face had paled to the same shade of paper, and that you stopped breathing. “why do you keep saying those things? what do you mean?”

“i’m a demon.”

“no.” you said, shaking your head. “no, those aren’t supposed to exist. it’s all just make believe, some religious stuff that was created to scare people into being obedient and righteous.”

he sighed and stared at you, as if trying to read you. you were scared now. this all had to be some strange dream. there was no other way to explain this. it wasn’t possible.

as you were lost in your train of thought, you noticed that he had walked closer to you. you didn’t expect that, so you jumped backward, trying to get as far away from him as possible. only, you had forgotten that you were practically leaning over the edge of the railing. it wasn’t long before you felt your insides moving around and somersaulting as gravity pulled you down. you screamed. wind blew around your hair and your clothes, making your skin feel ice cold. you waved your arms around, doing whatever you could to save yourself. but your efforts were in vain.

suddenly, arms wrapped around your torso and hauled you up. you stopped falling. because of the sudden change, your stomach felt nauseous, and your head began to ache. you were breathing heavily. you tucked your head into the neck of whoever had saved you. their embrace was warm, welcoming, it made you feel safe.

you hesitantly lifted your head, clinging on tightly to the warm body. you heard the flapping of wings, and soon after saw two black wings in front of you. you gulped and turned your head, meeting the eyes of the one you tried so hard to maintain distance with. his expression was unreadable, but god, after having just almost fallen to your death, you were melting under his gaze.

“you were in my dream.” you whispered.

“maybe, it wasn’t a dream.”

[ashleyfanfic]

Can name all the fanfics you have wrote? Oh and do you like chicken nuggets? (It's very important you take your time with the second question)

The answer to the first question, I can link them here, for you. Also, I probably had around 30 fics for Dramione written and posted on Hawthorne and Vine, but the site went down and I can’t get them back. So, they’re just gonna be lost forever.

Jonerys

Love On The Brain - E -  Amidst war, dissension in the ranks, people still manage to find happiness in so much despair. (Gendry/Arya, Jaime/Sansa, Bran/Meera)

Dangerous Woman - E - Jon Snow is an indie guitarist of the band “The Night’s Watch”. Daenerys Targaryen is THE Pop Princess. Meeting at a music festival leads to new avenues.

Legends of Winter’s Peak - E - collaboration with @justwandering-neverlost - Down on their luck, the Starks of Winter’s Peak run a bootlegging business in the Appalachian mountains to keep their family afloat. Complications soon arise from unexpected visitors as old and new loves come into their lives and the town of Winterfell is forever changed as legends are born.

Catch Us Where We Sleep - E -  “How did… we all work for the same company. How did we not realize?” Robb asked as he looked at Jon. “And you don’t even do field work! You take the pictures! You’re a damn recon agent!” (Robb/Margaery)I Am A Man On Fire, You A Violent Desire - E -  “I am not a foreign whore out to rule the men of this world with my beauty,” she snapped at her Hand, turning to look at him, and tilted her head. “I want them to respect me because I am what’s best for the people. That is not a difficult concept to grasp.” She took a deep and calming breath, mulling over what Tyrion had said. “But…what you’re saying does have some merit. If I could convince him that I’m a good queen, a good ruler who cares for my people, without him being distracted by my beauty, then that could only help to sway his brother, right?” What’s West of Westeros - E - written in collaboration with @frostbitepandaaaaa - Rhaella was practically vibrating with excitement next to him, twisting the end of her dark plait within both hands. “What do you think it will be like father?” she asked him breathlessly. “Do you think it will look like Old Valyria? With glowing stones and towers as tall as mountains?”Jon laughed, shaking his head. “I know as much as you do, love,” he said, wrapping his arm about her shoulders to keep her from flying right out of her skin. “I have no idea what to expect.”(In which our heroes journey to the legendary kingdom of Wakanda to strike an alliance with King T'Challa) (Black Panther Crossover)Together - M -  Daenerys has a rather unexpected confrontation with Jon Snow

Here, There Be Dragons - G -  Jon Snow steps out of Dragonstone to brood and finds his normal hill occupied.

I’ll Shine A Light On You - M -  Recluse record producer Jon Snow has had enough dealing with the pop princess Daenerys Targaryen and her high-maintenance family. But things aren’t always as they appear.

Eyes On Fire - E -  Daenerys has had a scent fill her for years, but when she arrived at Westeros it only grew stronger. With her invasion in full swing, the King in the North has come south and the realization that there is more happening than simply feeling whole.

Your Love Is Better Than Chocolate - E -  A visitor from a foreign land brings something Jon nor Dany have ever had…and they really like it.

Words Are Wind - E -  Jon has had enough of the Northron lords and their wishy-washy loyalty. He takes the opportunity to show them exactly what he thinks of their opinions. More Than Anything - M -  Reflections after a fight.

My Salvation - E -  Jon and Dany enjoy the different venues the castle offers.

Dawn Will Rise - E -  Jon returns home from a battle to see his family. Quality time with baby Targlings…

Dramione: 

Beautiful Disaster  - E - Veela!Draco! discovers that his mate is the least likely person on the planet, and the discovery leads him and his father in new directions…

Intra-Ministry Harmony Accord 87 - T -  “Intra-Ministry Harmony Accord 87: all Ministry employees must endeavor to facilitate the ease and concentration of their colleagues to the best of their abilities unless their Ministry obligations prevent compliance.” This means different things to different people. Romantic Gestures Gone Awry - M -  Draco’s attempt at a romantic gesture goes horribly, HORRIBLY wrong! Sad. Beautiful. Tragic. - G -  Hermione Granger returns home to England five years after her relationship with Draco Malfoy ended. Things and people have changed and things are not always how they appear. (Remix of Anne/Captain Wentworth from Persuasion)How Did You Know You Were In Love - G -  Hermione is working on an article for Witch Weekly in which she enlists her friends help. (Remix of Harry/Sally from When Harry Met Sally)

Little Do You Know - E -  A marriage law forces society to mix for the propagation of the wizarding world. But old prejudices and hard fought for pride keep some people from moving on who they used to be and what they believe they know. (Remix Elizabeth/Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice)Hopelessly. Endlessly. - M -  Hermione decides to run away with Draco Malfoy. The consequences of this decision weigh heavily and the toll it takes on the world around them has everlasting effects. But he loves her. She loves him. (Remix of Rhaegar Targaryen/Lyanna Stark from Game of Thrones)

Man In The Box - E -  Healer Hermione Granger’s new patient could pose a problem for both her and her friends, only she doesn’t quite see the danger. Will she save them all or fall down a dark hole where she can never return? (Remix of Joker/Harley Quinn)

Running - T -  They only want to find a place to be… (Remix of Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene from The Walking Dead)

Making Christmas - T -  Draco Malfoy, known as the Pumpkin King, takes the opportunity to impress his head of Public Relations, Hermione Granger. (Remix of Jack Skellington/Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas)

Scorpius/Rose

Through the Years - M - Scorpius and Rose go through the ups and downs of friendship to find something more through the absence of one another

Arya/Gendry

Compromise - T -  Jon confronts Gendry about not telling him about his previous relationship with Arya. Some things get hashed out.

Brienne/Tormund

I Saw Sparks - E -  A series of drabbles for Brienne/Tormund using my characterization from Love on the Brain.

Lots of Couples GoT

It’s Raining Drabbles  - E - A bunch of drabbles for various couples I like based off a prompt list from tumblr.

As for question number 2:I love chicken nuggets. Like, that’s my number 1 fast food go to. I don’t have a preference for what nuggest I like the best, but I know I like the sweet and sour sauce from McDonalds for dipping the best!

[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

Russian efforts to meddle in American politics did not end at Facebook and Twitter. A CNN investigation of a Russian-linked account shows its tentacles extended to YouTube, Tumblr and even Pokémon Go.

PRATE NOTE: THE ABSOLUTE STATE OF THE RUSSIAN FEARMONGERING IN AMERICAN MEDIA

------------------------

One Russian-linked campaign posing as part of the Black Lives Matter movement used Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, Tumblr and Pokémon Go and even contacted some reporters in an effort to exploit racial tensions and sow discord among Americans, CNN has learned.

The campaign, titled "Don't Shoot Us," offers new insights into how Russian agents created a broad online ecosystem where divisive political messages were reinforced across multiple platforms, amplifying a campaign that appears to have been run from one source -- the shadowy, Kremlin-linked troll farm known as the Internet Research Agency.

A source familiar with the matter confirmed to CNN that the Don't Shoot Us Facebook page was one of the 470 accounts taken down after the company determined they were linked to the IRA. CNN has separately established the links between the Facebook page and the other Don't Shoot Us accounts.

The Don't Shoot Us campaign -- the title of which may have referenced the "Hands Up, Don't Shoot" slogan that became popular in the wake of the shooting of Michael Brown -- used these platforms to highlight incidents of alleged police brutality, with what may have been the dual goal of galvanizing African Americans to protest and encouraging other Americans to view black activism as a rising threat.

The Facebook, Instagram and Twitter accounts belonging to the campaign are currently suspended. The group's YouTube channel and website were both still active as of Thursday morning. The Tumblr page now posts about Palestine.

Related: Exclusive: Russian-linked group sold merchandise online

All of the aforementioned companies declined to comment on the Don't Shoot Us campaign. Representatives from Facebook, Twitter and Alphabet, the parent company of Google and YouTube, have agreed to testify before the Senate and House Intelligence Committees on November 1, according to sources at all three companies

Tracing the links between the various Don't Shoot Us social media accounts shows how one YouTube video or Twitter post could lead users down a rabbit hole of activist messaging and ultimately encourage them to take action.

The Don't Shoot Us YouTube page, which is simply titled "Don't Shoot," contains more than 200 videos of news reports, police surveillance tape and amateur footage showing incidents of alleged police brutality. These videos, which were posted between May and December of 2016, have been viewed more than 368,000 times.

All of these YouTube videos link back to a donotshoot.us website. This website was registered in March 2016 to a "Clerk York" in Illinois. Public records do not show any evidence that someone named Clerk York lives in Illinois. The street address and phone number listed in the website's registration belong to a shopping mall in North Riverside, Illinois.

The donotshoot.us website in turn links to a Tumblr account. In July 2016, this Tumblr account announced a contest encouraging readers to play Pokémon Go, the augmented reality game in which users go out into the real world and use their phones to find and "train" Pokémon characters.

Specifically, the Don't Shoot Us contest directed readers to go to find and train Pokémon near locations where alleged incidents of police brutality had taken place. Users were instructed to give their Pokémon names corresponding with those of the victims. A post promoting the contest showed a Pokémon named "Eric Garner," for the African-American man who died after being put in a chokehold by a New York Police Department officer.

Winners of the contest would receive Amazon gift cards, the announcement said.

It's unclear what the people behind the contest hoped to accomplish, though it may have been to remind people living near places where these incidents had taken place of what had happened and to upset or anger them.

CNN has not found any evidence that any Pokémon Go users attempted to enter the contest, or whether any of the Amazon Gift Cards that were promised were ever awarded -- or, indeed, whether the people who designed the contest ever had any intention of awarding the prizes.

"It's clear from the images shared with us by CNN that our game assets were appropriated and misused in promotions by third parties without our permission," Niantic, the makers of Pokémon Go, said in a statement provided to CNN.

"It is important to note that Pokémon GO, as a platform, was not and cannot be used to share information between users in the app so our platform was in no way being used. This 'contest' required people to take screen shots from their phone and share over other social networks, not within our game. Niantic will consider our response as we learn more."

The Tumblr page that promoted the contest no longer posts about U.S. police violence. It now appears to be devoted pro-Palestine campaigns.

Tumblr would not confirm to CNN if the same people who operated the Tumblr page about Black Lives Matter now operate the pro-Palestinian page, citing the company's privacy policy. Tumblr also would not say whether it is investigating potential Russian use of its platform before, during or after the 2016 presidential election.

Related: Facebook could still be weaponized again for the 2018 midterms

Don't Shoot Us also worked to spread its influence beyond the digital world.

It used Facebook -- on which it had more than 254,000 likes as of September 2016 -- to publicize at least one real-world event designed to appear to be part of the Black Lives Matter Movement.

Just a day after the shooting of Philando Castile by police in a suburb of Saint Paul, Minnesota in July 2016, local activists in Minnesota noticed a Facebook event for a protest being shared by a group they didn't recognize.

Don't Shoot Us was publicizing a protest outside the St. Anthony Police Department, where Jeronimo Yanez, the officer who shot Castile, worked. Local activists had been protesting outside the Minnesota Governor's Mansion.

When an activist group with ties to a local union reached out to the page, someone with Don't Shoot Us replied and explained that they were not in Minnesota but planned to open a "chapter" in the state in the following months.

The local group became more suspicious. After investigating further, including finding the website registration information showing a mall address, they posted on their website to say that Don't Shoot Us was a "total troll job."

CNN has reached out to those local activists but had not heard back as of the time of this article's publication.

Brandon Long, the state party chairman of the Green Party of Minnesota, remembers hearing about the planned Don't Shoot Us event. He told CNN, "We frequently support Black Lives Matter protests and demonstrations and we know pretty much all the organizers in town and that page wasn't recognized by anyone."

This was not the only event that Don't Shoot Us worked to promote.

In June 2016, someone using the Gmail address that had been posted as part of the Pokémon Go contest promotion reached out to Brandon Weigel, an editor at Baltimore City Paper, to promote a protest at a courthouse where one of the officers involved in the arrest of Freddie Gray was due to appear.

The email made Weigel suspicious. "City Paper editors and reporters are familiar with many of the activist groups doing work in Baltimore, so it was strange to receive an email from an outside group trying to start a protest outside the courthouse," Weigel told CNN.

Weigel wasn't the only reporter to be on the receiving end of communications from Don't Shoot Us. Last January, someone named Daniel Reed, who was described as the "Chief Editor" of DoNotShoot.Us, gave an interview to a contributor at the now defunct International Press Foundation (IPF), a website where students and trainee journalists regularly posted articles.

"There is no civilised country in the world that suffers so many cases of police brutality against civilians," IPF quoted "Reed" as saying, among other things. (IPF was responsible for the British spelling of "civilised.")

The IPF contributor confirmed to CNN that the interview occurred through email and that she never spoke to "Reed" on the phone. The email address that "Reed" used for the interview was the same one that reached out to Weigel in Baltimore and that was included in the promotion for the Pokémon Go contest.

"Reed" sent the answers to IPF's questions in a four-page Microsoft Word document. The document, which outlined what "Reed" described as problems with the American justice system and police brutality, was written entirely in English.

However, when CNN examined the document metadata, "Название," the Russian word for "name," was part of the document properties.

Two cybersecurity experts who reviewed the document's metadata told CNN that it was likely created on a computer or a program running Russian as its primary language.

To date, Facebook has said that it identified 470 accounts linked to the Internet Research Agency, while Twitter has identified 201 accounts. Google has not released its findings, though CNN has confirmed that the company has identified tens of thousands of dollars spent on ad buys by Russian accounts.

Facebook and Twitter have submitted detailed records of their findings to both Congress and the office of Special Counsel Robert Mueller, who is conducting an investigation into Russian meddling in the 2016 presidential campaign.

On Friday, Maria Zakharova, the spokeswoman for the Russian Foreign Ministry, made her displeasure with this story clear in a Facebook post written in Russian, calling CNN a "talentless television channel" and saying,"Again the Russians are to blame... and the Pokémons they control."

-- CNN's Jose Pagliery and Tal Yellin contributed reporting.

Fcuking hilarioooouss

MEDIA E D I A

ok, lets break it down:

1. the sustained russia narrative serves the purpose of preventing the left wing in America to have a moment of self-reflection WRT the corruption and plutocracy inherent within the Democrat Party after the complete collapse of Hillary’s Presidential bid. The Democrats certainly dont want to fan the flames of the populist left and that has been their primary enemy since day 1 of the trump Presidency (and before, if you consider how Bernie got marginalized).

2. The russia narrative sustains viewership, and it always has been, as a corporate media understood “nothing burger” in order to fleece viewership ratings from angry americans seeking someone to blame for the loss of Clinton. Liberal americans shocked about Trumps victory want something to blame and scapegoating a hostile foreign nation certainly feeds that desperate search while misdirecting their attention away from the personal failures of the Clinton campaign and the bombshells from the leaks.

3. The affiliation of Black Lives Matter with Russia Hacked The Election™ has the effect of undermining progressive support among liberal and centrist voters, who will now disregard news of police brutality as Fake News Russia Collusion in favour of Trump

What’s more, they will begin to understand Black Lives Matter as an organization produced by Russia and thus, double plus ungood and of course pointing out BLM with now prompt calls of Putin supporting FAKE NEEEeEEEeeEEEeeeeWWWWSSS!!!.

4. The narrative building up Russia as a super genius, ultimate evil that has infiltrated american society and the minds of it’s unruly youth and uppity minorities is cemented in the minds of baby boomers. The illusion of Putin as this super genius movie villain serves the enduring American hegemonic goal of destroying russia by preparing the American public for war, you see, because Russia is already at war with America, and thus it must be stopped. They have infiltrated pokemon go, by god. What’s next? Mind control rays?! This is McCarthyism at its FINEST my dudes.

Why the left isnt losing their fucking minds and pointing out the obvious nature of this psyop against the mostly democrat viewership of nighttime newcasts like CNN is beyond me.

But true progressives always lose, because they cant think around this shit in a lateral way. Progressive activism functions like constantly charging at the door with a nazi symbol crudely drawn on it, hoping continued, unrelenting brute strength wins the day as they get get outmaneuvered by their liberal “allies” and the right wing who exploit their bullheadedness.

[nigeiadigitalmarketingcompany]

The Military-Industrial Jobs Scam

Digital Elixir The Military-Industrial Jobs Scam

Yves here. This is a very important post, documenting how despite defense contractor claims to the contrary, increased military spending has been accompanied by job losses in the US. This should come as no surprise. Military contracting is an exercise in pork, and regularly flagrantly disregards national security. A classic example: US uniforms and boots are made in China.

Another example of the benefits of military pork going outside the US was the use of contractors during the war in Iraq. From a 2007 Vanity Fair story:

In one place the job of laundering soldiers’ uniforms, for example, might be performed by a company working directly for KBR. But in another a subcontractor will have sub-subcontracted the work to someone else, and sometimes even sub-sub-sub-subcontracted it. “I’ve come across examples where you get down four or five levels,” says a government auditor who spoke on condition of anonymity. “There’s the U.S. prime, the subcontractor from the Middle East, then a sub-subcontractor from Pakistan, then a shell corporation with a box number in Michigan, and finally the Iraqis who’re actually doing the work—for next to nothing.”

This system has created great difficulties for anyone attempting to oversee the process on behalf of American taxpayers. It has also substantially increased the overall costs of the war by creating the conditions for obscene markups between contract levels. “There is an enormous need to get a closer handle on the detail in the field,” says the auditor. “If you go ask one of the inspectors general, ‘Tell me about the subcontracts,’ they can’t tell you anything. It’s a black hole. What this means for oversight, and basic issues of fairness, is that there is none.”

On top of that, inflating the number of people tasked to an activity was routine, and the article has first hand accounts from individuals who tried opposing the practice.

In other words, the contracting fraud results in US taxpayers paying way more than it would have cost for US personnel to do the work…with the added insult that the tasks were performed by locals for a pittance.

By Nia Harris, a Research Associate at the Center for International Policy, Cassandra Stimpson, a Research Associate at the Center for International Policy and Ben Freeman, Director of the Foreign Influence Transparency Initiative at the Center for International Policy and Co-Chair of its Sustainable Defense Task Force. Originally published at TomDispatch

A Marilyn has once again seduced a president. This time, though, it’s not a movie star; it’s Marillyn Hewson, the head of Lockheed Martin, the nation’s top defense contractor and the largest weapons producer in the world. In the last month, Donald Trump and Hewson have seemed inseparable. They “saved” jobs at a helicopter plant. They took the stage together at a Lockheed subsidiary in Milwaukee. The president vetoed three bills that would have blocked the arms sales of Lockheed (and other companies) to Saudi Arabia. Recently, the president’s daughter Ivanka even toured a Lockheed space facility with Hewson.

On July 15th, the official White House Twitter account tweeted a video of the Lockheed CEO extolling the virtues of the company’s THAAD missile defense system, claiming that it “supports 25,000 American workers.” Not only was Hewson promoting her company’s product, but she was making her pitch — with the weapon in the background — on the White House lawn. Twitter immediately burst with outrage over the White House posting an ad for a private company, with some calling it “unethical” and “likely unlawful.”

None of this, however, was really out of the ordinary as the Trump administration has stopped at nothing to push the argument that job creation is justification enough for supporting weapons manufacturers to the hilt. Even before Donald Trump was sworn in as president, he was already insisting that military spending was a great jobs creator. He’s only doubled down on this assertion during his presidency. Recently, overriding congressional objections, he even declared a national “emergency” to force through part of an arms sale to Saudi Arabia that he had once claimed would create more than a million jobs. While this claim has been thoroughly debunked, the most essential part of his argument — that more money flowing to defense contractors will create significant numbers of new jobs — is considered truth personified by many in the defense industry, especially Marillyn Hewson.

The facts tell a different story.

Lockheed Locks Down Taxpayer Dollars, While Cutting American Jobs

To test Trump’s and Hewson’s argument, we asked a simple question: When contractors receive more taxpayer money, do they generally create more jobs? To answer it, we analyzed the reports of major defense contractors filed annually with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC). Among other things, these reveal the total number of people employed by a firm and the salary of its chief executive officer. We then compared those figures to the federal tax dollars each company received, according to the Federal Procurement Data System, which measures the “dollars obligated,” or funds, the government awards company by company.

We focused on the top five Pentagon defense contractors, the very heartland of the military-industrial complex, for the years 2012 to 2018. As it happened, 2012 was a pivotal year because the Budget Control Act (BCA) first went into effect then, establishing caps on how much money could be spent by Congress and mandating cuts to defense spending through 2021. Those caps were never fully adhered to. Ultimately, in fact, the Pentagon will receive significantly more money in the BCA decade than in the prior one, a period when the American wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were at their heights.

In 2012, concerned that those caps on defense spending would cut into their bottom lines, the five top contractors went on the political offensive, making future jobs their weapon of choice. After the Budget Control Act passed, the Aerospace Industries Association — the leading trade group of the weapons-makers — warned that more than one million jobs would be at risk if Pentagon spending were cut significantly. To emphasize the point, Lockheed sent layoff notices to 123,000 employees just before the BCA was implemented and only days before the 2012 election. Those layoffs never actually happened, but the fear of lost jobs would prove real indeed and would last.

Consider it mission accomplished, since Pentagon spending was actually higher in 2018 than in 2012 and Lockheed received a sizeable chunk of that cash infusion. From 2012 to 2018, among government contractors, that company would, in fact, be the top recipient of taxpayer dollars every single year, those funds reaching their zenith in 2017, as it raked in more than $50.6 billion federal dollars. By contrast, in 2012, when Lockheed was threatening its employees with mass layoffs, the firm received nearly $37 billion.

So what did Lockheed do with those additional $13 billion taxpayer dollars?  It would be reasonable to assume that it used some of that windfall (like those of previous years) to invest in growing its workforce. If you came to that conclusion, however, you would be sorely mistaken. From 2012 to 2018, overall employment at Lockheed actually fell from 120,000 to 105,000, according to the firm’s filings with the SEC and the company itself reported a slightly larger reduction of 16,350 jobs in the U.S. In other words, in the last six years Lockheed dramatically reduced its U.S. workforce, even as it hired more employees abroad and received more taxpayer dollars.

So where is all that additional taxpayer money actually going, if not job creation? At least part of the answer is contractor profits and soaring CEO salaries. In those six years, Lockheed’s stock price rose from $82 at the beginning of 2012 to $305 at the end of 2018, a nearly four-fold increase. In 2018, the company also reported a 9% ($590 million) rise in its profits, the best in the industry. And in those same years, the salary of its CEO increased by $1.4 million, again according to its SEC filings.

In short, since 2012 the number of taxpayer dollars going to Lockheed has expanded by billions, the value of its stock has nearly quadrupled, and its CEO’s salary went up 32%, even as it cut 14% of its American work force. Yet Lockheed continues to use job creation, as well as its employees’ present jobs, as political pawns to get yet more taxpayer money. The president himself has bought into the ruse in his race to funnel ever more money to the Pentagon and promote arms deals to countries like Saudi Arabia, even over the nearly unified objections of an otherwise incredibly divided Congress.

Lockheed Is the Norm, Not the Exception

Despite being this country’s and the world’s top weapons maker, Lockheed isn’t the exception but the norm. From 2012 to 2018, the unemployment rate in the U.S. plummeted from roughly 8% to 4%, with more than 13 million new jobs added to the economy. Yet, in those same years, three of the five top defense contractors slashed jobs. In 2018, the Pentagon committed approximately $118 billion in federal money to those firms, including Lockheed — nearly half of all the money it spent on contractors. This was almost $12 billion more than they had received in 2012. Yet, cumulatively, those companies lost jobs and now employ a total of 6,900 fewer employees than they did in 2012, according to their SEC filings.

In addition to the reductions at Lockheed, Boeing slashed 21,400 jobs and Raytheon cut 800 employees from its payroll. Only General Dynamics and Northrop Grumman added jobs — 13,400 and 16,900 employees, respectively — making that total figure look modestly better. However, even those “gains” can’t qualify as job creation in the normal sense, since they resulted almost entirely from the fact that each of those companies bought another Pentagon contractor and added its employees to its own payroll. CSRA, which General Dynamics acquired in 2018, had 18,500 employees before the merger, while Orbital ATK, which General Dynamics acquired last year, had 13,900 employees. Subtract these 32,400 jobs from the corporate totals and job losses at the firms become staggering.

In addition, those employment figures include all company employees, even those now working outside the U.S. Lockheed is the only top five Pentagon contractor that provides information on the percentage of its employees in the U.S., so if the other firms are shipping jobs overseas, as Lockheed has done and as Raytheon is planning to do, far more than 6,900 full-time jobs in the U.S. have been lost in the last six years.

Where, then, did all that job-creation money really go? Just as at Lockheed, at least part of the answer is that the money went to the bottom-line and to top executives. According to a report from PricewaterhouseCoopers, a consulting firm that provides annual analyses of the defense industry, “the aerospace and defense (A&D) sector scored record revenues and profits in 2018” with an “operating profit of $81 billion, surpassing the previous record set in 2017.” According to the report, Pentagon contractors were at the forefront of these profit gains. For example, Lockheed’s profit improvement was $590 million, followed closely by General Dynamics at $562 million. As employment shrank, CEO salaries at some of these firms only grew. In addition to compensation for Lockheed’s CEO jumping from $4.2 million in 2012 to $5.6 million in 2018, compensation for the CEO of General Dynamics increased from $6.9 million in 2012 to a whopping $20.7 million in 2018.

Perpetuating the Same Old Story

This is hardly the first time that these companies have extolled their ability to create jobs while cutting them. As Ben Freeman previously documented for the Project On Government Oversight, these very same firms cut almost 10% of their workforce in the six years before the BCA came into effect, even as taxpayer dollars heading their way annually jumped by nearly 25% from $91 billion to $113 billion.

Just as then, the contractors and their advocates — and there are many of them, given that the weapons-making outfits spend more than $100 million on lobbying yearly, donate tens of millions of dollars to the campaigns of members of Congress every election season, and give millions to think tanks annually — will rush to defend such job losses. They will, for instance, note that defense spending leads to job growth among the subcontractors used by the major weapons firms. Yet research has repeatedly shown that, even with this supposed “multiplier effect,” defense spending produces fewer jobs than just about anything else the government puts our money into. In fact, it’s about 50% less effective at creating jobs than if taxpayers were simply allowed to keep their money and use it as they wished.

As Brown University’s Costs of War project has reported, “$1 billion in military spending creates approximately 11,200 jobs, compared with 26,700 in education, 16,800 in clean energy, and 17,200 in health care.” Military spending actually proved to be the worst job creator of any federal government spending option those researchers analyzed. Similarly, according to a report by Heidi Garrett-Peltier of the Political Economy Research Institute at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, for every $1 million of spending on defense, 6.9 jobs are created both directly in defense industries and in the supply chain. Spending the same amount in the fields of wind or solar energy, she notes, leads to 8.4 or 9.5 jobs, respectively. As for the education sector, the same amount of money produced 19.2 jobs in primary and secondary education and 11.2 jobs in higher education. In other words, not only are the green energy and education areas vital to the future of the country, they are also genuine job-creating machines. Yet, the government gives more taxpayer dollars to the defense industry than all these other government functions combined.

You don’t, however, have to turn to critics of defense spending to make the case. Reports from the industry’s own trade association show that it has been shedding jobs. According to an Aerospace Industries Association analysis, it supported approximately 300,000 fewer jobs in 2018 than it had reported supporting just three years earlier.

If the nation’s top defense contractor and the industry as a whole have been shedding jobs, how have they been able to consistently and effectively perpetuate the myth that they are engines of job creation? To explain this, add to their army of lobbyists, their treasure trove of campaign contributions, and those think tanks on the take, the famed revolving door that sends retired government officials into the world of the weapons makers and those working for them to Washington.

While there has always been a cozy relationship between the Pentagon and the defense industry, the lines between contractors and the government have blurred far more radically in the Trump years. Mark Esper, the newly minted secretary of defense, for example, previously worked as Raytheon’s top lobbyist in Washington.  Spinning the other way, the present head of the Aerospace Industries Association, Eric Fanning, had been both secretary of the Army and acting secretary of the Air Force. In fact, since 2008, as the Project On Government Oversight’s Mandy Smithberger found, “at least 380 high-ranking Department of Defense officials and military officers shifted into the private sector to become lobbyists, board members, executives, or consultants for defense contractors.” 

Whatever the spin, whether of that revolving door or of the defense industry’s publicists, the bottom line couldn’t be clearer: if job creation is your metric of choice, Pentagon contractors are a bad taxpayer investment. So whenever Marillyn Hewson or any other CEO in the military-industrial complex claims that spending yet more taxpayer dollars on defense contractors will give a jobs break to Americans, just remember their track record so far: ever more dollars invested means ever fewer Americans employed.

The Military-Industrial Jobs Scam

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[averyjarhman]

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-6634859/Barrister-claims-Azealia-Bankss-racist-outburst-ARRESTED.html

Hello. With all respect and sincerity I am curious to learn how many, if any, of my American or foreign born neighbors believe the late popular American urban story-TRUTH-teller and 'Childhood Trauma' (#ACEs) victim Tupac Shakur's #T_H_U_G_L_I_F_E Child Abuse and Emotional Maltreatment *AWARENESS-PREVENTION* concept offers a reasonable explanation for why significant numbers of American children are being impeded, hampered or prevented from maturing into reasonably responsible, well-adjusted American teen and adult citizens who become doctors, scientists, engineers, business owners, educators and leaders?

"The Hate U Give Little Infants Fvvks *EVERYONE*" ~Tupac Shakur

"We need more people who care; you know what I'm saying? We need more women, mothers, fathers, we need more of that..." ~Tupac Shakur

Does Tupac offer a reasonably intelligent explanation for why Americans of African descent are being impeded from experiencing the equality and respect all peaceful, reasonably responsible Americans are entitled to enjoy?

Tupac, an admitted emotionally ill adult who loudly spoke about experiencing childhood abuse and maltreatment during a critical period of human/childhood development, intelligently recognized not only are American kids being UNJUSTLY OPPRESSED, IMPEDED and DEPRIVED from experiencing their full human potential, as well as a SAFE, fairly or wonderfully happy American kid childhood...

...Tupac realized OUR NATION is being deprived of enjoying the potential achievements offered to ALL Americans by fairly or wonderfully happy kids maturing into reasonably responsible teens and adults caring about the future of OUR Nation, and the welfare of their peaceful, as well as less fortunate neighbors.

I believe Tupac correctly recognized Americans need to change the name of our “War On Poverty”, to “America’s Firm Resolve to End Childhood Abuse, Emotional Neglect and Maltreatment.”

Unlike Mr. Barack “My Brother’s Keeper” Obama and his presidential predecessors, I am hopeful Renegade Republican Donald Trump will recognize improving the Quality of Life for our black or American neighbors of African descent begins with addressing HEALTH issues related to proper childhood care and environments.

I believe Mr. Trump should take meaningful ACTION to protect from harm our Nation's most precious and cherished assets by placing an emphasis on EDUCATION about proper child care, as well as stepping up enforcement of Child Safety & Protection laws which will eventually lead to fewer depressed, unhappy, emotionally neglected/abandoned American kids...

...maturing into angry, frustrated teens and young adults full or half full of rage and resentment for IRRESPONSIBLY and THROUGH NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN, being introduced to an emotionally and/or physically abusive childhood fraught with pain, struggles, torment, uncertainty, frustration, FEAR, demeaning government handouts, resentment, depression, sorrow, sadness, disappointment and hardships. :Childhood Trauma!:

Unfortunately, before he developed the confidence to properly promote his #T_H_U_G_L_I_F_E Child Abuse *AWARENESS* concept, Tupac was brutally murdered by OTHER emotionally or mentally ill victims of America's Culture of African American Child Abuse, Neglect and Emotional Maltreatment evolving from America's multi-generational, ignorant, once legal Culture of Racism. ___ Not only I am asking Mr. Trump to take meaningful ACTION protecting and preventing American kids from experiencing a potentially life-scarring, traumatic childhood...

...I am asking my American neighbors to RECOGNIZE and embrace the fact our imperfect human species will continue evolving, learning day by day about our human condition and physical world, slowly shedding our human ignorance and adapting as we continue plodding along trying to improve the Quality of Life for all human beings! ___ My friends, during the 80s-90s I spent the first twelve years of my police career as a uniform cop, robbery and death investigator serving *young* 'Childhood Trauma' (#ACEs) victims Shawn Carter and Christopher Wallace's Brooklyn, NY neighborhoods, where regularly I witnessed significant numbers of newborns, infants, toddlers, children and teens, THROUGH NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN, experiencing a potentially life-scarring medical Disease/Condition known to medical doctors and researchers as "Childhood Trauma."

"Childhood Trauma" (ACEs) is a REAL Disease/Condition affecting far too many American kids and teens who far too often develop into emotionally damaged teens and adults lacking empathy, compassion and respect for their peaceful neighbors because they believe their lives suck so why shouldn't other people's lives suck too!!!

Much like Tupac I'm sorry to pick on moms, though since ancient times they are the primary caregivers we look to keep us SAFE, protected, cared for and loved right from our start.

I write about and share evidence of America’s MUCH IGNORED, oppressive, potentially life scarring black or African American *MATERNAL CHILD CARE* #T_H_U_G_L_I_F_E PUBLIC HEALTH CRISIS that I, as well as a growing number of my reasonably responsible, caring, concerned American and foreign born neighbors believe is impeding our black or American neighbors of African descent from experiencing the equality and respect all peaceful, reasonably responsible Americans are entitled to enjoy. ___ Now that American medical professionals and 'Childhood Trauma' (#ACEs) victim-survivor Oprah Winfrey LOUDLY addressed our Nation's *CHILD CARE* PUBLIC HEALTH CRISIS, will YOU, a responsible, caring American citizen join Oprah & pediatrician Dr. Nadine Burke Harris, MD, FAAP, MPH, CEO of the 'Center For Youth Wellness', in passionately calling for a National MOVEMENT educating American & foreign born primary child caregivers about a potentially life scarring medical disease/condition:

"Childhood Trauma" aka "Adverse Childhood Experiences" (#ACEs) ___ During a March 11, 2018 '60 Minutes' segment titled, "Treating Trauma," Oprah Winfrey, a 'Childhood Trauma' (#ACEs) victim-survivor, shared knowledge regarding America's easily PREVENTABLE, though potentially life scarring *CHILD CARE* PUBLIC HEALTH CRISIS.

Medical knowledge Oprah exuberantly confirms is a "game changer."

YouTube search terms: "Oprah Winfrey, Fixing The 'Hole In Your Soul'"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGjeeNaaW0c/ __

Introducing Child Abuse Awareness & Education Advocate, pediatrician Dr. Nadine Burke Harris, MD, FAAP, MPH, Founder and CEO of the 'Center for Youth Wellness'.

https://www.makers.com/profiles/591f25476c3f64632d4fb85c/ __ "I agree that SINGLE MOTHERS are DESTROYING their sons." ~Neko Cheri

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCf0vPCvovs/ ___ "BLACK MOTHERS CORRUPTING THEIR DAUGHTER'S" ~LadyMocha  

https://youtu.be/i8sT_g9yRmQ?t=7m59s

"Young Mothers Are Poisoning the black community" ~LadyMocha

https://youtu.be/JwECimUTcx4?t=7m6s ___ "How black Women sabotage their sons" - Polaris Law

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppRq6_AYOBs/

"How Black Community's Ignorance of Mental Illness Almost Killed Me" ~Polaris Law

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4H9bT5m77Eg/

https://www.reddit.com/r/mentalhealth/comments/7ola78/how_black_communitys_ignorance_of_mental_illness/

If you watch both Polaris Law video broadcasts and do not want to offer him a hug or hand shake, accompanied by kind words praising, as well as thanking Polaris for showing his strength and imparting his hard earned wisdom, you may need to take a long look in the mirror.

"'Pro-Black American' Logic Succinctly Explained By Social Commentator Mr. David Carroll"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hbm7xE99jVI/

Peace. ___ American *(Children)* Lives Matter; Take Pride In Parenting; *End Our National Epidemic of Child Abuse and Neglect*; End Community Violence, Police Fear & Educator's Frustrations

Tagged: #JamylaBolden, #TyshawnLee, #KingstonFrazier, #AvaCastillo, #JulieDombo, #FredrikaAllen, #EthanAli, #LavontayWhite, #NovaMarieGallman, #AyannaAllen, #TrinityGay, #TakeAKnee, #FatherlessBoys, #FatherlessGirls, #FatherlessTeens, #FatherlessAdults, #Sadness, #Resentment, #T_H_U_G_L_I_F_E >>>REMEDY>>> #A_F_R_E_C_A_N

*"America’s Firm Resolve to End Childhood Abuse and Neglect”*

[shmosnet2]

https://ift.tt/2stoz06 . Foreign Articles Where Do Black Holes Lead?

[freeshmosnet]

Where Do Black Holes Lead? https://ift.tt/2stoz06 . Foreign Articles

http://blog.shmosnet.com/2019/12/where-do-black-holes-lead.html

[musicsig]

Louder .cn Interview  March 07, 2011

Louder.cn Articles SIG: Sad Mirror March 07, 2011 SIG: By Chacha, sad mirror  SIG and I often meet each other, either in my house or in a bar. He sometimes comes to listen to music, smoking one by one like a chimney, but seldom speaks. Until now I can’t say that I know him. He and his music are fascinated by the halo, like a pedestrian gradually diving into the thick fog, swaying the flashlight in his hand. Before and after, I can only see the hazy beam I don't know where he is. SIG is about to release an album in April this year. I called him to talk about it. He said calmly: It’s time to pick it! I originally planned to write a large description of SIG and his music, but later found this idea ridiculous and terrifying. I don’t want to give you any preconceived impressions, so maybe you can get closer and look more closely at his music world. CHA: What kind of city is Shanghai to you? SIG: The rule in Shanghai is money. Everyone is active under this rule. The name "Magic City" is appropriate. It makes you hard to get close but you don't want to go. CHA: What do you think is pulling you? SIG: I think it is desire. In this city, I can obviously feel that my desires start to expand, and the activities start to be intense, and gradually I can't control it. CHA: How has such a city changed you? SIG: Basically, my heart changes every day, and my appearance changes with it. There is a vortex here, there will be a feeling of lost. That is, you will forget who you are. CHA: What kind of state do you think you should keep in to be your satisfied state? SIG: A sense of security, unaffected by external and internal desires, remain sensitive and calm at the same time. At first, it was in a good state for half a year, and then slowly entered the vortex, it will become more and more chaotic, and then it will be better in half a year. CHA: So which mental state is more likely to inspire your creative inspiration? SIG: I think the best state of making music should be a calm state. I wouldn’t feel lonely without anger, unhappy or even without desire. It’s the state that came naturally. This is the best for me. This album was made in this state. My music composition always tells me something before I can perceive it. But now, when I make this music, I can't understand it at all, and maybe it will be slowly understood after a few years. So I can't say whether he is good or bad, only an experiment. CHA: What about your upcoming album under the PAUSE MUSIC label? SIG: This record is called "Sad Mirror" and will be released in April this year, but it was completed in 2006-2008. It was the third year after I left the band and started writing my own music. This period I have already started New directions and ways of creating music. Starting from the blank, start with one tone or two tones, or make a drum first, and then add a tone, like building a house, some random unexpected reactions occur, which is my happiest, and then press your own technology It is enough to control the completion. When I finished a work, I didn't actually know what I was going to express. I would listen to it and modify it repeatedly. Slowly, when those pictures appeared, I would give it a name. When I gave them a sequence, it was already 3 years later, and this is how the album basically came out. CHA: This album "Sad Mirror" basically contains some of your previous works, so what does this album mean to you? SIG: It's a summary for me, because I think I'm a little better now, and I might go to the next stage. So this should be a summary of a stage, and I might return to this type in the future. All current works belong to the experimental stage. Here I thank my parents for their support, they gave me money I can buy a lot of time to complete this record, thank them. When I was in junior high school, I heard some foreign tapes. At that time, it was a style called rap or RAP. I was fascinated. At that time, I had such an idea. If I could improve this kind of music and turn it into my own style of music How cool it should be. But the overall environment made me not to do it right away, so I left it there. Until later, I started to form a band to play music and quit the band to make music by myself. I have some unclear pictures in my mind that I want to describe, but I don’t know what it is. I tried to describe this music to my friends. My friends gave me some The record says: Listen to this: DJ Krush. At first I thought this person didn't seem to make music. Until one day, on a quiet night, I heard some sounds that I had never heard. At that moment, some clues in my brain seemed to be connected in an instant. Suddenly I felt the world turned upside down, and my ears seemed to be open. Recalling those ideas when I was a kid, I think it’s still not too late to try it out. At that time, I was at home, started to make music, eat, make music, went out for a walk in the early morning, then made music, and then went to bed. During that time, it was very calm, and naturally there was no desire to torture people. Time is still. Like heaven.  CHA: Can you explain why the album title is called "SAD MIRROR"? What is it related to? SIG: Chinese means a mirror in sadness. I see some sadness in the mirror, or the mirror itself is sad. The name is instantly obtained. I can't give any explanation. I just think it is beautiful. I like that. You have me, I have your feelings. Most song titles in the album are similar combinations of four words. The earliest idea was to want a poetic feeling. From the earliest start of making music to the making of this music, it has changed a lot to myself, and it has completely changed. This music is something I have never thought of before, and there may be some clues before, But after listening to a lot of music, I suddenly had some connections, and all the clues were suddenly connected. For me, there will be an earth-shaking, black and white upside down change. The entire album should be like a suspenseful movie about myself, family, We are educated and humane. CHA: What kind of self do you see in front of "sad mirror"? SIG: What I saw should be a victim, a person who sacrificed himself. Many internal conflicts lead to someone who looks sad outside. I want to take out the contents and show it to others. I hope that I am the mirror. CHA: This album sounds completely different from your new music. The previous music was affected by many krush and shadow. Which musicians influenced your new music? Whose music do you listen to now? Which musicians have a qualitative influence on your creation? SIG: When I was five years old, I watched a Chinese movie about break dance. It was performed by gold panning. I really like that kind of dance and rhythm. It always gives me a feeling that the rhythm should be internal. Let your Every cell is active, beating according to its own specific law, but it should not be at a constant speed, something that is not clear, but I always think that is the root. A lot of music influenced me to make this kind of thing clear gradually. The enlightenment was Krush. Later on, it was Babatunde Olatunji called Circle of Drum. There were also some dubstep artists, burial, and coordinates9. Pinch, Detroit techno, deep house, old hip hop and some people who have only heard but don't know the name, and their music has what I want. There are also many good djs around me. I will listen to them and play music, and I will learn something. I am always more sensitive in this regard. Basically, the qualitative change is from making music and then pursuing the sense of picture in music to the recent attempts to draw directly with sound. CHA: In China, there is neither sales nor attention to the release of albums. In this case, what kind of people are you doing to release this album? Or what kind of people would you like to listen to your album? SIG: For myself, I will have some moments of loss or melancholy, a fall that you cannot control, as if attracted to a certain black hole, you will come to the labyrinth in your heart, you will feel confused and Helpless, but usually at this time, some of the books you have read, or the movies you have seen, or the concerts you have heard appear, they seem to have been waiting in the dark, they will tell you with a smile, go here, Do not be afraid. I think they are great. I want this too. I also hope to meet the audience in the dark through music. At first I didn't think about who would listen, but one day, my mother came and asked me if I made the song in her mp3? Very nice. I remembered that I used her mp3. So I especially hope to fill those generation gaps or gaps. I hope to listen to your parents, but also hope that parents listen to their children. I hope that parents can understand that children are instincts. Every child is different and will have something good at. Parents should protect these things. CHA: Music should be entertaining, cultivating the public? Or is it aimed at the heart and facing the self? SIG: To me, music is like a way out of my soul, and I am faced with your own gods, or yourself, subconscious, and the like that you don’t know. Music is not a joy for me. It is a way for me to resolve my internal conflicts. Like writing a diary, I have to write something every day to record some of my unspeakable feelings. I feel that the world of music enters from the top, and then goes deeper and wider, and it looks like a pyramid. Many music focuses on the conflict between physical and reality, I prefer to focus on the conflict between self and non-self. However, I personally feel that all people have some common feelings at a certain level. Some music reaches this level and people should like it. Although I don’t know why I like it, I think this is good music. Can't say entertainment or edification, because everyone has this feeling, and everyone can't tell. Since you make your own things when you make music, do things that no one can make anymore.  CHA: Do you think you are the kind of person who has a serious internal struggle? Is this a kind of torture? SIG: Every day, it should be considered a kind of torture. But without such conflicts and struggles I might not make music. CHA: Have you ever experienced a very dark period in life? If so, how does it feel? SIG: Yes, twice. The first one or two months, the second two or three months. To use ordinary words to describe it is "collapse". Basically, during that time, I woke up from a nightmare every day, I woke up from a terrible dream, and then you wanted to go to a place, but you don’t know where that place is. You will go out no matter what time is 4:5 or what time, put on some clothes, and keep walking. You can’t see anything around. In that case, you can only go home and make music. There is no other way. Think of many messy things. If you want to bask in the sun, the sunlight is also very good, but you can’t sit there and you want to go to a place. Then I went home and made a concert and slowly forgot about it. When I went to bed, I lost sleep and sweated all over, and then repeated this. But slowly it was better again. CHA: Did you ever think you would get better during that time? Or think you might be crazy. SIG: I didn't think it would get better. I thought it was crazy, it was terrible. After the first time, I feel that I have experienced it once, and the second time I should have immunity or experience to solve this problem, but when the second crash comes, the darkness is already beyond imagination. Too. At that time, I was already conquered. In this darkness, I can no longer tell the difference. CHA: What kind of people are you in contact with now? How do they affect you? SIG: Now I have few friends. I came to Shanghai just to experience the feeling of loneliness by myself, a kind of loneliness. There used to be a lot of friends who would make trouble, but now I feel a little tired. It's a test of yourself. Most of them are friends who talk about music, and some friends, they basically will not take the initiative to find me, when I have time, I go back to find them, at this point I am more selfish, but when I go to find them, they Still smiling, as if playing together yesterday, they gave me a sense of security. CHA: What is the next plan? SIG: To accumulate and make some new music, the progress may be slow. If you do some singles, you will not release this album form, and you may release two or two songs. CHA: Through what channels can you buy your album and follow your trends? SIG: It may be sold on Taobao. I will tell you when it is set up. In addition, on Douban, soundcloud can also hear my music. SIG "Sad Mirror" album debut: April 8 at The Shelter Start at 10pm

[kansascityhappenings]

$1 home deal leaves Italian mayor ‘flabbergasted’ by response

https://embed-prod.vemba.io/vemba-embed.js

SAMBUCA, Italy – Tempted by the deal offering homes for just over $1 in the town of Sambuca on Italy’s island of Sicily?

You and everyone else.

Since CNN Travel broke the news about the €1 ($1.14) offer aimed at revitalizing a beautiful but depopulated community, there’s been a stampede to buy.

Within 48 hours of the story going live, the town has been inundated with tens of thousands of inquiries from people hoping to grab their piece of the rural Italian dream.

Giuseppe Cacioppo, the town’s deputy mayor, says he’s excited by the level of interest, but is freaking out.

“This is great, I’m flabbergasted by the response,” he says. “I haven’t come up for air since the story appeared.

“It’s just been a few days, and I’m already under stress. The €1 houses email inbox is full, so people have been calling me on my mobile. It hasn’t stopped ringing. I have received something like a thousand phone calls, I hope not to go nuts.”

The deputy mayor says the constant phone calls mean he hasn’t been able to sleep. He’s struggling to juggle his institutional role, private job and this new unexpected PR gig.

As of Friday, the town had received 38,000 emails about its deal, which requires buyers to promise to spend up to $17,200 to renovate their new Sicilian homes.

Language barriers

“The whole world has got in touch,” Cacioppo adds. “Callers are from Europe, mainly Spain, Russia, and as far as South Africa, Australia, USA, the Arab Emirates.”

And it’s not just individuals and tourists lured by a dream house in sunny Sicily.

“A team of US lawyers, working for an American company interested in doing real estate business in Sambuca, wants to meet up with us,” says Cacioppo.

“A businessman from New York just called me, saying he’s flying to Sicily tonight.

“And a very rich lady called from Dubai. She wouldn’t say her name or who she works for, but wants the whole package. She wants to buy all the dozens of €1 houses on sale.”

Cacioppo says he’s delighted the article has triggered such global interest but won’t be able to satisfy all incoming requests.

Language barriers are making it all the more harder.

“That story has killed me,” he jokes. “My English is OK — not great — but with other languages I must admit I have a hard time understanding what I’m being asked.

“It’s not easy talking to people on the other side of the world over the phone.”

Desparate buyers

Cacioppo says newspapers and TV outlets have gotten in touch with him, including Italy’s state broadcaster, RAI, which had no idea of the initiative until CNN reported it. The Italian network now plans to run a special coverage on Sambuca.

Susanne Heinson, a German woman who has already bought a home in Sambuca and was quoted in CNN’s original article about what makes it such a “great, perfect place to live in,” says she’s been tracked online by interested buyers and national German media.

“People get in touch to have more info about the location, what Sambuca is like, how’s the lifestyle there,” she says. “Many ask me to liaise with the town authorities and put them through to Cacioppo. Now I’m just worried Sambuca will stop being a niche place and that flocks of foreigners will arrive.”

Many interested buyers have also targeted CNN’s reporter via social media out of desperation to get a slice of the Sambuca action.

One woman from the United States implored: “Please, can you forward me the phone number of Cacioppo? I need to buy a house in Sambuca. I need to buy it NOW!”

City of Splendor

Ther is a catch to the jaw-dropping officer, however. The new owners must commit to refurbish their choice of the crumbling 40- to 150-square meter dwellings within three years, at a cost starting from €15,000 (about $17,200).

They’ll also need to cough up a €5,000 security deposit that will be returned once the restyle is complete.

Buyers won’t be disappointed, says Cacioppo.

“Sambuca is known as the City of Splendor,” he adds. “This fertile patch of land is dubbed the Earthly Paradise. We’re located inside a natural reserve, packed with history. Gorgeous beaches, woods and mountains surround us. It’s silent and peaceful, an idyllic retreat for a detox stay.”

With the population dwindling, Cacioppo says the town needs outsiders to prevent it falling into ruin.

“We can’t afford to lose our lovely Arab heritage. Luckily, foreigners are lending a hand in this rescue crusade.”

Founded by the Ancient Greeks, Sambuca was later conquered by Saracens who turned it into a flourishing trade center.

The town is named after the Emir Al Zabut, aka the Splendid One. It’s an open-air museum, a patchwork of contrasting architectural styles.

Churches with round Arab-looking domes sit next to Baroque palazzos with glazed tile floors, decorated with smiling cherubs, fearsome gargoyles, twisted columns, allegorical statues and coats of arms.

This is where Sicily’s Arab soul lies. Most houses on sale are located within the “Saracen District,” a kasbah maze of arcaded stone portals and winding narrow alleys (less than a meter wide) through which people squeeze.

Guardian of the valley

The two-story Moorish dwellings, built with pink-reddish stones that glow at sunset, feature inner courtyards, lavish palm gardens with orange and mandarin trees, arcaded entrances, flowery majolica staircases, typical Sicilian tile roofs and terraces overlooking the stunning scenery.

On clear days it’s possible to see Sicily’s Mt. Etna volcano and the distant island of Pantelleria from the Belvedere Terrace, where Al Zabut’s lavish palace once stood as the “guardian of the valley.”

Zabut’s legacy is strong. Streets and local surnames are Arab-sounding. There are couscous cooking classes and Moorish costume parties.

Sambuca’s charm lies also underground, in its “sunken city,” Cacioppo organizes guided tours through the labyrinth of purrere, the holes and caves of old sandstone quarries. Most houses come with private grotto access.

The ghosts of Saracen soldiers slaughtered by the Christians are said to haunt the caves and district at night — there’s even one street called The Phantom — but so far there’ve been no spooky sightings.

‘Special place’

Susanna Heinson, from Germany, has already purchased a house and is restyling it, anxious to move in.

“I can’t wait to spend next summer in Sambuca,” she says. “It’s a lovely, special place. The people are very open-minded and friendly. Good restaurants, great wineries. We feel at home.”

She says she’s happy the recovery of the Saracen neighborhood will help to preserve the original face of Sicily and feels “proud to be a part of this.”

The revival is already underway.

Sambuca was nominated in the 2016 Italy’s Most Beautiful Towns contest and there are plans to open a “diffuse,” scattered hotel to help newcomers experience the thrill of blending in with local village life and mingling with residents.

Sambuca’s prime location is one of the biggest selling points.

The countryside is dotted with ruins of pagan temples and Arab lookout towers. Trekking routes lead up to the rocky peak of the nearby Genuardo mountain and its Greek necropolis of Adranon, a hotspot for mushroom foraging.

The mesmerizing archaeological site of Selinunte and the Valley of the Temples are also just a stone’s throw away.

Food and wine

And then there’s the wine. Made in the area since the time of the ancient Greeks, Sambuca now has vast vineyards stretching all the way to the sea.

This is where the renaissance of elite Sicilian wine started.

Niche red grapevines — mainly Nero d’Avola — are grown in estates surrounding Lago Arancio, an artificial lake where low water levels in summer sometimes expose the ruins of an Arab fortress.

Non-local grapes such as Merlot, Syrah and Chardonnay have recently been planted to make premium bottles exported worldwide.

This being Italy, there’s also the attraction of the local food. Anyone staying here should be prepared to stretch their waistline.

Sambuca is called “Sicily’s barn��� for its huge amount of grain production.

Old millstones still make bread and pasta using traditional methods and ancient Saracen black wheat varieties, such as sweet-flavored Tumminia.

Signature dishes include busiate short pasta with qualeddu (a wild large leaf yellow flower), sausages and breadcrumbs, and macco di favedried beans soup with wild fennel.

Cucciddatu is a doughnut with pepper, cheese and sausages.

Grandmother-recipe omelettes are made with blue borage flowers and lemon.

Vastedda is a special string cheese of sheep milk, flat as a pizza.

The sweet-toothed can indulge in almond cupcakes and cassateddi, fried sweet ricotta-filled ravioli covered in sprinkled sugar.

“Imagine having breakfast each morning with one of these cakes: who wouldn’t drool at the simple thought?” says Cacioppo.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/01/18/1-home-deal-leaves-italian-mayor-flabbergasted-by-response/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/01/19/1-home-deal-leaves-italian-mayor-flabbergasted-by-response/

[republicstandard]

Kipling, Lawless Britain and Legal Jihad

The much maligned British bobby has had a rum deal of late, and I'm afraid it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better, this article included. British society is spiraling into an entirely predictable and polarized future, which has flat-footed the flatfoots (flatfeet?) and their handlers in Whitehall.

To be honest, it is not the street constable at fault- after all, they can only enforce the laws in the manner in which they are trained, not to mention the brutal conflation of relentless migration and slashed funding and staff levels with which they have to suffer under. Even so, it is surprising that so much evidence of the double-standards of law enforcement in the United Kingdom has come to light so swiftly.

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Police at #speakerscorner have just confirmed we are living in a 2 tier policing system it's 1 rule for us and no rules for the religion of peace the United kingdom has fallen https://t.co/gdDtC4NYjH pic.twitter.com/XccKOdx9wZ

— #IAMTOMMY (@TRobinsonOnline) April 2, 2018

This video is a clip of a much longer piece that illustrates the two-tier system in place in the United Kingdom. When the concerned citizen reads the letter of the regulations, the police officers shrug and say it is being looked at higher up. Despite religious gatherings and worship being strictly banned from the park, the police do nothing- because the worshippers are Muslims. This video is nearly a year old, featuring a Kurdish Christian convert from Islam being physically attacked by a mob of Muslims.

Based on the actions of the state lately, it might suggest that Britain is merely following the rules of the great game, despite the public expressing their desire to seriously curtail immigration through the Brexit vote. One might be forgiven for seeing an ulterior motive in the way the negotiations have been handled by a decidedly Europhilic Tory party. It would be a shame, though surprising to none if the UK Power Elites take the line that less EU migration to the UK simply means more space for non-EU workers.

The UN itself demands it.

#Migration is: • inevitable • desirable • necessary this Easter, let’s not forget those who are caught in crises around the world 🌎 pic.twitter.com/e7fT1FE0D1

— IOM - UN Migration (@UNmigration) April 1, 2018

The Britons will simply have to put up with it all though they are suffering their own crisis, right now. Right now this global government is advocating for the demographic replacement of Britons, and no one in power in Britain seems to care. The Tories don't care. Labour definitely doesn't care. Ann-Marie Waters seems to be the only politician to give a damn though her nascent party has barely begun, and holds no seats. Female Genital Mutilation can be openly advocated in the United Kingdom, though the practice has been criminal for years. Not one person has ever been convicted of FGM in the country, and there has been only a single case brought before the court. Ever. I do not think that this will change, despite more people from cultures that circumcise little girls coming into the United Kingdom.

We know for sure that the police will do nothing as despite needing zero complaints to pursue and ultimately convict Mark Meechan of teaching a dog to respond to "Gas the Jews", the South Wales Police are unwilling to consider that advocacy of genital mutilation within their jurisdiction might be worth looking into.

It's just not a priority. The long arm of the law becomes short indeed when there is the possibility of being called a racist- so utterly craven are the British Constabulary today.

We have to stand up for ourselves. No one else will. The Establishment is not our ally. De-facto Sharia law is not our friend #SpeakerCorner #freedom pic.twitter.com/mgaHkoMN1J

— Katie Hopkins (@KTHopkins) April 2, 2018

I invite you to think for a moment what is really going on in this video. How you interpret this video might depend very much on your opinion of Katie Hopkins, the much-derided firebrand who unlike most of her critics, puts her money where her mouth is. She goes to places to see for herself the carnage that is headed our way. For saying that the crowd of Muslims are not her culture or her people, that British people need to stand up for their own culture, she is jostled, insulted, kicked and pushed by a crowd of Muslim men. Not because she is bigoted, or because she is a racist, but because she is right; and I think deep down everyone knows it. This is the reason why Hopkins receives death threats and this is why Hopkins can easily be physically harmed and her attackers will not receive retribution.

"Who can we look to defend us if we can't look to you?" Bob the Builder - a regular at #SpeakersCorner - questions the @metpoliceuk on why they are not enforcing the law for certain individuals despite being presented with video evidence of a crime being committed. pic.twitter.com/NdUDTAErC3

— l u c y b r o w n (@lucyfrown) April 3, 2018

Meanwhile, genuine racism from the followers of the warlord Mohammed goes unpunished and uninvestigated by the Police. Muslims can call a black person "nigger" on camera and there will be no prosecution, no investigation, not even a conversation. Assaults can be carried out on the Kuffar with impunity. Perhaps the policemen are scared of a large group of religious fanatics that they know are better armed than the police themselves.

Speaking of implements of violence, gird yourselves, dear readers, to be startled at the fiendish cache of deadly weapons unearthed by the brave police in Barnet.

Officers from @MPSBarnet were over in @MPSEnfield on #opsceptre found these items in ponders end recreation ground #saferEnfield pic.twitter.com/W5jHd7AVw5

— MPS Barnet (@MPSBarnet) March 20, 2018

Yes, a kitchen knife and some gardening tools have been safely removed from the streets of England. Sleep well, citizens. Don't pay attention to headlines about Pakistani rape gangs or Black youths murdering their way across the capital. It's all a bad dream. The worst you have to worry about is racist tweets and gardening shears. Go back to sleep.

For ages now @WestmonsterUK has been highlighting the ongoing crisis on the streets of London. There has been little outrage. Last night a 17-year-old girl was shot dead, 16-year-old boy was shot & 15-year-old stabbed. This is an emergency. https://t.co/M2GNw0nb01

— Michael Heaver (@Michael_Heaver) April 3, 2018

It appears that we are running out of enough narrative to wrap the truth in. The dream is cracking at the seams, the joins aren't so well papered over in this version of reality. The holes in the plot are too jarring, the suspension of disbelief breaks and we are shot out of the story, dismayed and disillusioned.

All that is left to do is prevent all conversation, make all dissent illegal, and become more Orwellian than ever before- except with Sharia-flavored liberalism as the despot.

You can't say it, so you are discouraged from thinking it. You can't think it, so you are discouraged from seeing it. Restrictions on speech rapidly escalate into an attack on perception itself.

— The Stoic Emperor (@TheStoicEmperor) April 1, 2018

I find myself often thinking of Kipling lately. His words, almost always conveying a story of the British Empire, today are perhaps our most valuable treasure-trove of descriptions about ourselves. Rivaled (and in some way succeeded) only by Orwell himself, who explored the being of us as a people in a different way, Kipling often wrote in patriotic terms.

We may not speak of England; her Flag’s to sell or share. What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World, declare! ~ Rudyard Kipling, The English Flag

The year before Kipling died, in 1935, he spoke at the annual dinner for the Royal Society of St. George, specifically noting on patriotism and "deploring the loss of ancestral virtues." The Spectator of the 10th of May 1935 disagreed strongly. In their view, pacifism and globalism were the future.

The roots of modern pacifism lie far back in the history and character of the British people. They were willing to fight for constitutional liberty because they wanted liberty, and went to prison to establish the right to freedom of thought and expression. In the past, they have willingly granted asylum to aliens on British soil, partly because they believed that freedom of movement and trade were profitable, but partly also because their standards of conduct were based on a conception of the personal rights of every individual as an individual, and not merely as a Briton. Citizenship of the world is a notion which can be more easily entertained by the British than by other people. The conception of citizenship which can be widened out to include the native inhabitants of countries once subject and now becoming increasingly free makes us less insular than we once were, and certainly more ready to respect citizen rights in foreign countries.

If this catalogue of British virtues may seem to savour of complacency, it should be noted that we are endeavouring to name only those virtues which belong to the British brand of patriotism—a brand of patriotism which is peculiar in that it minimizes the warlike elements in love of country, and makes us not, as Mr. Kipling suggests, soft in our championship of peace, but competent to take them lead in spreading the peace idea in the world.

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I do not think Rudyard Kipling would have taken any pleasure at all in being proven correct. I invoke this review of Kipling's perennial correctness to make a point- it is not a new thing that our very identities as Britons has been under assault. The brand of patriotism suggested by The Spectator was and remains a feckless perversion; framed as the sole alternative to the bellicose and imperial patriotism of the Victorian era, it misses the point of Kipling entirely. His patriotism was not the equally false my country right or wrong kind that is so easily twisted by the demagogue. Kipling was in love with his country, but not blinded by it so much that he could not criticize it. I too have learned to love England, and I take my lead in this from Kipling himself. We are lucky to have such a teacher available to us.

We thought we ranked above the chance of ill. Others might fall, not we, for we were wise— Merchants in freedom. So, of our free-will We let our servants drug our strength with lies. The pleasure and the poison had its way On us as on the meanest, till we learned That he who lies will steal, who steals will slay. Neither God’s judgment nor man's heart was turned.

Yet there remains His Mercy—to be sought Through wrath and peril till we cleanse the wrong By that last right which our forefathers claimed When their Law failed them and its stewards were bought. This is our cause. God help us, and make strong Our will to meet Him later, unashamed! Rudyard Kipling, The Covenant. 1914

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