#Benefits of coding for children

[newageworldschoolbangalore]

Have you ever thought about how important coding is for kids in this modern world? With AI becoming a big part of every industry, it’s clear that the heart of AI is machine learning, which boils down to coding.

In this blog post, we’re going to break down what coding really is, introduce you to what a programming language is, explain the main purpose of coding, and share seven benefits of coding for kids. So, let’s dive right in!

[potatoesandsunshine]

literally nobody appreciates josephine enough...

[mckinlily]

Plot armor but it’s Bruce Wayne’s wealth.

Bruce is one of the richest men in the world. Bruce does not want to be one of the richest men in world.

He starts by implementing high starting salaries and full health care coverages for all levels at Wayne Enterprises. This in vastly improves retention and worker productivity, and WE profits soar. He increases PTO, grants generous parental and family leave, funds diversity initiatives, boosts salaries again. WE is ranked “#1 worker-friendly corporation”, and productively and profits soar again.

Ok, so clearly investing his workers isn’t the profit-destroying doomed strategy his peers claim it is. Bruce is going to keep doing it obviously (his next initiative is to ensure all part-time and contractors get the same benefits and pay as full time employees), but he is going to have to find a different way to dump his money.

But you know what else is supposed to be prohibitively expensive? Green and ethical initiatives. Yes, Bruce can do that. He creates and fund a 10 year plan to covert all Wayne facilities to renewable energy. He overhauls all factories to employ the best environmentally friendly practices and technologies. He cuts contracts with all suppliers that engage in unethical employment practices and pays for other to upgrade their equipment and facilities to meet WE’s new environmental and safety requirements. He spares no expense.

Yeah, Wayne Enterprises is so successful that they spin off an entire new business arm focused on helping other companies convert to environmentally friendly and safe practices like they did in an efficient, cost effective, successful way.

Admittedly, investing in his own company was probably never going to be the best way to get rid of his wealth. He slashes his own salary to a pittance (god knows he has more money than he could possibly know what to do with already) and keeps investing the profits back into the workers, and WE keeps responding with nearly terrifying success.

So WE is a no-go, and Bruce now has numerous angry billionaires on his back because they’ve been claiming all these measures he’s implementing are too expensive to justify for decades and they’re finding it a little hard to keep the wool over everyone’s eyes when Idiot Softheart Bruice Wayne has money spilling out his ears. BUT Bruce can invest in Gotham. That’ll go well, right?

Gotham’s infrastructure is the OSHA anti-Christ and even what little is up to code is constantly getting destroyed by Rogue attacks. Surely THAT will be a money sink.

Except the only non-corrupt employer in Gotham city is….Wayne Enterprises. Or contractors or companies or businesses that somehow, in some way or other, feed back to WE. Paying wholesale for improvement to Gotham’s infrastructure somehow increases WE’s profits.

Bruce funds a full system overhaul of Gotham hospital (it’s not his fault the best administrative system software is WE—he looked), he sets up foundations and trusts for shelters, free clinics, schools, meal plans, day care, literally anything he can think of.

Gotham continues to be a shithole. Bruce Wayne continues to be richer than god against his Batman-ingrained will.

Oh, and Bruice Wayne is no longer viewed as solely a spoiled idiot nepo baby. The public responds by investing in WE and anything else he owns, and stop doing this, please.

Bruce sets up a foundation to pay the college tuition of every Gotham citizen who applies. It’s so successful that within 10 years, donations from previous recipients more than cover incoming need, and Bruce can’t even donate to his own charity.

But by this time, Bruce has children. If he can’t get rid of his wealth, he can at least distribute it, right?

Except Dick Grayson absolutely refuses to receive any of his money, won’t touch his trust fund, and in fact has never been so successful and creative with his hacking skills as he is in dumping the money BACK on Bruce. Jason died and won’t legally resurrect to take his trust fund. Tim has his own inherited wealth, refuses to inherit more, and in fact happily joins forces with Dick to hack accounts and return whatever money he tries to give them. Cass has no concept of monetary wealth and gives him panicked, overwhelmed eyes whenever he so much as implies offering more than $100 at once. Damian is showing worrying signs of following in his precious Richard’s footsteps, and Babs barely allows him to fund tech for the Clocktower. At least Steph lets him pay for her tuition and uses his credit card to buy unholy amounts of Batburger. But that is hardly a drop in the ocean of Bruce’s wealth. And she won’t even accept a trust fund of only one million.

Jason wins for best-worst child though because he currently runs a very lucrative crime empire. And although he pours the vast, vast majority of his profits back into Crime Alley, whenever he gets a little too rich for his tastes, he dumps the money on Bruce. At this point, Bruce almost wishes he was being used for money laundering because then he’s at least not have the money.

So children—generous, kindhearted, stubborn till the day they die the little shits, children—are also out.

Bruce was funding the Justice League. But then finances were leaked, and the public had an outcry over one man holding so much sway over the world’s superheroes (nevermind Bruce is one of those superheroes—but the public can’t know that). So Bruce had to do some fancy PR trickery, concede to a policy of not receiving a majority of funds from one individual, and significantly decrease his contributions because no one could match his donations.

At his wits end, Bruce hires a team of accounts to search through every crinkle and crevice of tax law to find what loopholes or shortcuts can be avoided in order to pay his damn taxes to the MAX.

The results are horrifying. According to the strictest definition of the law, the government owes him money.

Bruce burns the report, buries any evidence as deeply as he can, and organizes a foundation to lobby for FAR higher taxation of the upper class.

All this, and Wayne Enterprises is happily chugging along, churning profit, expanding into new markets, growing in the stock market, and trying to force the credit and proportionate compensation on their increasingly horrified CEO.

Bruce Wayne is one of the richest men in the world. Bruce Wayne will never not be one of the richest men in the world.

But by GOD is he trying.

[philmonjohn]

A Call to the Children of the Global South: The System That Made My Father Disown Me

I didn’t write this living testimony for virality. I wrote it because silence almost killed me. Because truth, even when ignored by algorithms, remembers how to survive. If this resonated with you — even quietly — share it with someone else who’s still trying to name their Fracture. That’s how we outlive the system. - Philmon John, May 2025

THE FRACTURE Several months ago, when I, a South-Asian American man, turned 35, my father disowned me.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t cry. He simply stopped calling me his son.

My father is a Brown, MAGA-aligned conservative Christian pastor, born in Kerala, India, and now living in the United States. His rejection wasn’t provoked by any breach of trust or familial responsibility, but by my coming out as queer and bisexual — and by my deliberate move away from a version of Christianity shaped more by colonial rule than compassion.

I became blasphemy made flesh.

My mother and sister, equally immersed in religious conservatism, followed suit. Most of my extended family — conservative Indian Christians — responded with quiet complicity. I became an exile in my own lineage, cast out from a network that once celebrated me as the Mootha Makkan, the Malayalam term for “eldest son”.

This break didn’t occur in isolation. It was the culmination of years of internal questioning and ideological transformation.

I was raised with warmth and structure, but also under the weight of rigid theology. My parents cycled through different churches in pursuit of doctrinal purity. In that environment, my queerness had no safe harbor. It had to be hidden, managed, controlled — forced into secrecy.

Literal, cherry-popping closets.

Even my childhood discipline was carved straight from scripture — “spare the rod, spoil the child” was not metaphor but mandate. I was hit for defiance, for curiosity, for emotional honesty. Control was synonymous with love. The theology: obedience over empathy. Is it sad I would rather now have had a beating from my father, than his silence?

I would’ve taken the rod — at least it acknowledged me.

Instead, Daddy looks through me.

THE INHERITANCE And I obeyed. For a time, I rose through the ranks of the church. I led worship. I played guitar in the worship band. I wasn’t just a believer — I was a builder of belief, a conductor of chorus, a jester of jubilee and Sunday morning joy — all while masking a private ache I could not yet articulate.

In the last five years, I began methodically deconstructing the ideological scaffolding I had inherited. I examined the mechanisms of theology, patriarchy, and colonial imposition — and the specific burdens placed upon firstborn sons of immigrant families. Who defines our roles? Who benefits from our silence? Why is this happening to me?

These questions consistently pointed toward the dominant global structure: wealthy white patriarchal supremacy. Rooted in European imperialism and sustained by centuries of religious and cultural colonization, this system fractures not only societies but the deeply intimate architecture of family.

What my family experienced is not unlike what the United States of America continues to experience — a slow, painful reckoning with a foundational ideology of white, heteronormative, Christian patriarchal dominance.

My family comes from Kerala, home to one of the oldest Christian communities in the world. But the Christianity I inherited was not indigenous. It was filtered through the moral codes of Portuguese priests and British missionaries and the discipline of Victorian culture. Christ was not presented as a radical Middle Eastern teacher but as a sanitized figure — pale, passive, and Western.

In this theology, Christ is symbolic. Paul is the system. Doctrine exists to reinforce patriarchy, to police desire, to ensure control. When I embraced a theology rooted in love, empathy, and justice — the ethics I believe Jesus actually lived — I was met not with discussion, but dismissal.

To my family, my identity wasn’t authenticity. It was apostasy.

THE RECKONING In 2020, the ground shifted.

I turned the triple decade — 30 — as the COVID-19 pandemic erupted.

Remote work slowed life down, and I had space to think deeply.

That year, the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and countless others triggered a national and personal reckoning.

I turned to K-LOVE, the Christian radio station I grew up with, hoping to hear words of solidarity, truth, or even mourning. Instead, there was silence. No mention of racial justice. No prayers for the dead. Just songs about personal salvation, void of historical context or social responsibility.

As Geraldine Heng argues in The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages, race was not merely a modern invention void of scientific basis — it was already taking shape in medieval Europe, where Christianity was used to sanctify, encode, and sell racial hierarchies as divine order and social technology.

As Ademọ́la, also known as Ogbeni Demola, once said: “The white man built his heaven on your land and pointed yours to the sky.” That brain-powered perceptive clarity — distilled in a single line — stays with me every day.

With professional routines interrupted and spiritual ties frayed, I immersed myself in scholarship. I entered what I now see as a period of epistemic reconstruction. I read widely — revolutionaries, poets, sociologists, historians, mathematicians, theologians, cultural critics, and the unflinching truth-tellers who name what empire tries to erase.

I first turned to the voices who now live only in memory: Bhagat Singh, James Baldwin, Frantz Fanon, bell hooks, Octavia Butler, Gloria Anzaldúa, and Vine Deloria Jr. Each carried the weight of revolution, tenderness, and truth — from anti-colonial struggle to queer theory to Indigenous reclamation.

I then reached for the veteran thought leaders still shaping the world, starting with Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, Shashi Tharoor, Eduardo Bonilla-Silva, Susan Visvanathan, Geraldine Heng, George Gheverghese Joseph, J. Sakai, Vijay Prashad, Vilna Bashi Treitler, Claire Jean Kim, and Arundhati Roy — voices who dismantle the illusions of empire through history, mathematics, linguistics, and racial theory.

In the present, I absorbed insights from a new generation of public intellectuals and cultural critics: Ta-Nehisi Coates, Jared Yates Sexton, Cathy Park Hong, Ibram X. Kendi, Nikole Hannah-Jones, Heather McGhee, Mehdi Hasan, Adrienne Keene, Keri Leigh Merritt, Vincent Bevins, Sarah Kendzior, Ayesha A. Siddiqi, Wajahat Ali, W. Kamau Bell, Mary Trump, & John Oliver. Together, they form a constellation of clarity — thinkers who gave me language for grief, strategy for resistance, and above all, a framework for empathy rooted in history, not abstraction.

I also turned to the thinkers shaping today’s cultural and political discourse. I dreamt of the world blueprinted by Bhaskar Sunkara in his revolutionary The Socialist Manifesto and plunged into Jacobin’s blistering critiques of capitalism. The Atlantic’s longform journalism kept me tethered to a truth-seeking tradition. The Guardian stood out for its global scale and reach, offering progressive, longform storytelling that speaks to both local injustices and systemic inequalities across the world. And Roman Krznaric’s Empathy: Why It Matters, and How to Get It helped crystallize my core belief:

Be a good human. Practice empathy.

That’s the playbook, America. Practice empathy. Do that — and teach accurate, critically reflective history — and we have the chance to truly become the greatest democracy the world has ever seen.

And this empathy must extend to all — especially to trans people. In India, the Hijra community — trans and intersex folk who have existed visibly for thousands of years — embody a sacred third gender long before the West had language for it. But they are not alone. Across the colonized world, the empire erased a sacred third space: the Muxe of Zapotec culture, the Bakla of the Philippines, the Fa’afafine of Samoa, the Two-Spirit nations of Turtle Island, the Māhū of Hawaiʻi, the Sworn Virgins of the Balkans — each of these communities held space outside Western gender binaries, rooted in care, ceremony, and spirit. Some align with what we today call trans or intersex, while others exist entirely outside Western definitions. Colonization reframed them as deviants.

And still, we must remember this: trans people are not new. Our respect for them must be as ancient as their existence.

THE RESISTANCE As I examined the dynamics of coloniality, racial capitalism, and Western empire, I realized just how deeply imperial power had shaped my family, our values, and our spiritual language. The empire didn’t just occupy land — it rewrote moral codes. It restructured the family.

I learned how Irish, Italian, Greek, Hungarian, and Albanian immigrants were initially excluded from whiteness in America. Over time, many adopted and embraced whiteness as strategic economic and social protection — and in doing so, embraced anti-Blackness and patriarchal hierarchies to maintain their newfound status. Today, many European-hyphenated Americans defend systems that once excluded them.

And over time, some Asian-Americans have followed the very same racial template.

At 33 — the age Jesus is believed to have died — I laid my childhood faith to rest. In its place rose something rooted in clarity, not doctrine.

I didn’t walk away from religion into cynicism or nihilism. I stepped into a humanist, justice-centered worldview. A system grounded in reason, evidence, and above all, empathy. A belief in people over dogma. In community over conformity.

I didn’t lose faith. I redefined it.

I left the pasture of institutional faith, not for chaos, but for an ethical wilderness — a space lacking divine command but filled with moral clarity. A place built on personal responsibility and universal dignity.

This is where I stand today.

To those with similar histories: if your roots trace back to Africa, South Asia, Southeast Asia, Central Asia, East Asia, the Middle East, Latin America, the Caribbean, Oceania, or to Indigenous and marginalized communities within the Global North — you are a Child of the Global South. Even in the Global North, your experience carries the weight of displaced geography, the quiet grief of colonial trauma, and a genealogy forged by the system of empire. Your pain is political. Your silence is inherited. You are not invisible. They buried you without a funeral. They mourned not your death, but your deviation from design. However, we are not dead. We are just no longer theirs.

White supremacy endures by fracturing us. It manufactures tensions between communities of color by design — placing Asian businesses in Black communities without infrastructure and opportunities for BIPOC folk to share and benefit from the economic engine. Central to this strategy is the model minority myth, crafted during the Cold War to present Asian-Americans as obedient, self-reliant, and successful — not to celebrate them, but to invalidate Black resistance and justify structural racism. It’s a myth that fosters anti-Blackness in Asian communities and xenophobia in Black ones, while shielding white supremacy from critique. These divisions are not cultural accidents; they’re colonial blueprints.

And these blueprints stretch across oceans and continents and time.

In colonial South Africa, Mohandas Gandhi — still shaped by British racial hierarchies — distanced Indians from Black Africans, calling them “kaffirs” and demanding separate facilities. In Uganda, the British installed South Asians as a merchant middle class between colonizers and native Africans, breeding distrust. When Idi Amin expelled 80,000 Asians in 1972, it was a violent backlash to a racial hierarchy seeded by empire. These fractures — between Black and Asian, colonized and sub-colonized — are the legacy of white patriarchal supremacy.

Divide, distract, and dominate.

We must resist being weaponized against each other.

Every Asian-American must read Minor Feelings by Cathy Park Hong. Every high schooler in America must read and discuss Jared Yates Sexton.

Study the systems. Name them. Disarm them.

Because unless we become and remain united, the status quo — one that serves wealthy cisgender, heterosexual, white Christian men — will remain intact.

This is A Call to the Children of the Global South. And An Invitation to the Children of the Global North: Stop the infighting. Study and interrogate the systems. Reject the design.

To those in media, publishing, and the arts: postcolonial narratives are not cultural sidebars. They are central to national healing. They preserve memory, restore dignity, and confront whitewashed histories.

If you want work that matters — support art that pushes past trauma into structural critique.

Greenlight truth. Platform memory. Choose courage over comfort.

Postcolonial stories should be the norm — not niche art.

Jordan Peele’s Get Out was a cinematic breakthrough — razor-sharp and genre-defying — in its exposure of white supremacy’s quiet machinery: liberal smiles, performative allyship, and the pacification of dissent through assimilation. The Sunken Place is not just a metaphor for silenced Black consciousness — it’s the empire’s preferred position for the marginalized: visible, exploited, but unheard.

A system that offers the illusion of inclusion, weaponizing identity as control.

Ken Levine’s BioShock Infinite exposed white supremacy through a dystopian, fictional but historically grounded lens - depicting the religious justification of Black enslavement, Indigenous erasure, and genocidal nationalism in a floating, evangelical empire.

David Simon’s The Wire exposed the institutional decay of law enforcement, education, and the legal system - revealing how systemic failure, not individual morality, drives urban collapse.

Jesse Armstrong’s Succession traced the architecture of empire through family - showing how media empires weaponize racism, propaganda, and manufactured outrage to generate profit and secure generational wealth.

Ava DuVernay's Origin unearths caste and race as twin blueprints of white supremacy - linking Dalit oppression in India to the subjugation of Black Americans. Adapted from Isabel Wilkerson's Caste, it dismantles the myth of isolated injustice, revealing a global system meticulously engineered to rank human worth - and the radical act of naming the system.

Ryan Coogler’s Sinners — a revelatory, critically and commercially successful film about Afro-Asian resistance in 1930s Mississippi — exposes the hunger for speculative narratives grounded in historical truth.

Across the Spider-Verse gave us Pavitr Prabhakar - a Brown superhero who wasn't nerdy or celibate, as Western media typically portrayed the South-Asian man, but cool, smart, athletic, with great hair, in love, and proudly anti-colonial. He called out the British for stealing and keeping Indian artifacts… in a Spider-Man movie. That moment was history reclaimed.

A glitch in the wealthy white patriarchal matrix.

Dev Patel’s Monkey Man is a visceral fable of vengeance and resistance, where the brutality of caste, corruption, and religious nationalism collide. Amid this chaos, the film uplifts the Hijra community who stand not only as victims, but as warriors against systemic violence. Their alliance reframes queerness not as deviance, but as defiance — ultimately confronting the machinery of empire with what it fears most: a system-breaking empathy it cannot contain.

The vitriolic backlash from white male gamers and fandoms isn’t about quality — it’s about losing default status in stories. Everyone else has had to empathize with majority white male protagonists for decades. Diverse representation in media isn’t a threat to art — it’s a threat to white supremacy. It’s not just a mirror held up to the globe — it’s a refusal to let one worldview define it.

Hollywood, gaming studios, and the gatekeepers of entertainment — if you want to reclaim artistic integrity and still make money doing it, we need art that remembers, resists, and reclaims — stories that name the machine and short-circuit its lies. The world is ready. So am I.

Today, efforts like Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation, and the Federalist Society are not merely policy shops — they are ideological engines: built to roll back civil rights, impose authoritarian values, and erase uncomfortable truths. They represent a hyper-concentrated form of white supremacy, rooted in unresolved Civil War grievances and the failures of Reconstruction.

Miraculously, or perhaps, blessed with intellectual curiosity and natural empathy, through all of this, my wife — a compassionate, steadfast partner and a Christian woman — has remained by my side. She has witnessed my transformation with both love and complexity. While our bond is rooted in deep respect and shared values, our spiritual landscapes have diverged. Her faith brings her solace; mine has evolved into something more secular, grounded in justice and humanism. We’ve navigated that tension with care — proof that love can stretch across differing beliefs, even as the echoes of religious conditioning still ripple through our lives.

I am proud of her increasing intellectual curiosity and her willingness to accept me for who I am now, even if I wasn’t ready to accept myself when we met.

But our marriage has defied the splintering that white supremacy specifically creates: hyper-capitalist, hyper-individualistic, fractured families and societies.

As Children of the Global South — descendants of peoples who survived enslavement, colonization, and erasure — we carry within us the urgent need for stories that do not turn away from history, but confront it with unflinching truth.

In the pain of losing my family, I found a deeper purpose: to tell this story — and my own — any way I can. A sudden rush of empathy, pity, and love struck me: My parents’ and sister’s rejection was not theirs alone — it was a lingering Fracture left by colonization and global exploitation, tearing apart families across generations. As Children of the Global South, we still carry those wounds.

Make no mistake: white supremacy leaves wounds — because it is the system. And unless it is dismantled, both the Global South and North — and their collective Children — will remain trapped in a dance choreographed by empire — built to divide, exploit, and erase. Any vision of democracy, in America, will remain a fragile illusion — if not an outright mythology — built on a conceptually false foundation: white supremacy itself.

A cruel, heartbreaking legacy of erasure — passed down through empire — indoctrinating God-fearing Brown fathers to erase their godless, queer Brown sons. Preaching shame as scripture. Teaching silence as survival.

I reject that inheritance.

Empathy as praxis is how we reject that inheritance. In a world engineered to divide, it rebuilds connection, disarms supremacy, and charts a path forward. If humanity is to survive — let alone heal — empathy must become our collective discipline.

And perhaps what cut even deeper for my father — beyond my queerness — was that I no longer validated his role as a pastor. In stepping away from the faith he had built his life upon, I wasn’t just rejecting a belief system. I was, in his eyes, nullifying his life’s work. For a man shaped by empire, ordained by colonial Christianity, and burdened with the role of moral gatekeeper, my departure from his manufactured worldview may have landed as personal failure. But it wasn’t. It was never about wanting to hurt him. I love my father. I love my mother. I love my sister. It was never about them — it was about the system that taught them love was conditional, acceptance required obedience, and dissent unforgivable. That kind of pain is real — but its source is systemic. I still want to be Mootha Makkan — not by obedience, but by truth. By love without condition. Not through erasure, but by living fully in the open. Not in their image, but in mine.

Yet, and yes, I also carry the wound — but I also carry the will to heal it.

THE CALL I believe in empathy. I believe in memory. I believe the Children of the Global South are not broken. We are not rejected. We are awakening.

Children of the Global North: join us. We are not your enemies. We are your present and future collaborators, business & creative partners, lovers, and kin. We are building something new — something ancient yet reawakened, a pursuit of empathy, and a reckoning with history that refuses to forget.

If this story resonated with you, kindly share it, spread the word and please comment. I’d love to hear from you. Your voice, your memory, your Fracture — it matters here.

You are not alone. All are welcome.

Thank you so, so much for your time in reading my story.

You can also email me directly: vinesvenus at protonmail.com I'll be writing more on Medium as well: https://medium.com/@vinesvenus/a-call-to-the-children-of-the-global-south-the-system-that-made-my-father-disown-me-fecad6c0b862

[jaehaeryshater]

Gilly, Ygritte, and Monster in Winterfell

art by @shebsart, commissioned by me

Shebsart came through once again guys!!! I’m so excited ^_^

For about a year and a half, since I got into ASOIAF, I have admired Shebsart’s work. Their Theon in particular is the closest I’ve ever found to my vision of him, I adore his hooked nose (Asha’s too!). They also have such an amazing Barbrey design and the Starks, including Jon, are amazing. I have paid for some Ygritte commissions before with other artists, and I have liked all three of them, but when it comes to the closest look of what I think of when I imagine her book counterpart is some of Shebsart’s old pieces of her (and Jon). I was looking for someone to draw Gilly and Ygritte and there was nobody whose opinion that I held in higher regard than Shebsart, as they were my favorite ASOIAF artist, so I asked them if they had any recommendations of who had their commissions open. They told me they actually considering opening their commissions and I have been working with them ever since, even though as far as I know they have not formally opened commissions. Shebsart has been really great to work with and patient, even though there’s been some trouble with payment barriers since we live in very different parts of the world. They’ve been professional and worked hard.

I have long imagined the possibility of Gilly and Ygritte as friends; I thought it was high time I got it depicted in some way. I think it would really benefit Gilly if she had some female influences that weren’t family members. Of course, she does receive this to some extent, but I think it would be very interesting for her to find companionship with a girl around her age that shared the general Freefolk culture, although of course her upbringing was wildly different than Ygritte’s. We know that Ygritte has some sort of soft spot for young children, or at least some sort of moral code that keeps her from killing them. This is one trait shown in both the books and the show. In the show, while I don’t consider anything that happened to it as canon, she specifically spared Gilly and Monster knowing that the others around her would not. I don’t think it would be much of a stretch that Ygritte would grow attached to Monster and have a soft spot there, even though we know she hates incest and would therefore consider his conception an abomination. Everyone in ASOIAF is misogynistic to some extent and some of the things Ygritte says about women are toxic, but I would like to think she wouldn’t victim blame Gilly or call her a whore as Stannis did. I definitely see Ygritte as a strong woman who would want to protect and stand up for someone like Gilly. And Gilly has great compassion and is all around a good person, so I think a friendship would be good for the both of them.

In the depiction above, Ygritte is Queen in the North, consort to Jon. This fits in the same AU as my previous Jon and Ygritte commission by shripscapi. I’ve said this many times, I respect people who hate Jon x Ygritte and they have very valid reasons, but knowing Jon’s character, as long as Ygritte lives, which she would have in this AU as the Battle of Castle Black does not happen, there’s no other choice in Jon’s mind for consort for him as King Beyond the Wall. For the timeline of this art, Jon was first crowned King Beyond the Wall and he went South with his people to get away from and prepare to battle the Others, seeking help from other rulers. His men battle the Boltons and because neither Rickon or Bran have been found yet, he is declared King in the North as well for the time being. His residence is temporarily taken up in Winterfell and the Freefolk settle nearby in close quarters. Jon goes towards the Vale as he’s heard word about Sansa, but Ygritte stays behind with some of the Freefolk. This is when Gilly is her lady-in-waiting. I wanted to show that Ygritte’s clothes are nicer than Gilly’s, but I still wanted both outfits to be respectable. I wanted the fashion to be reasonable for a Northern climate, so that meant furs. Besides, they are both Freefolk and furs mean a lot to them culturally. I sent references for clothing and Shebsart went from there. Some people say Ygritte would never wear a dress but I disagree if it was comfortable enough and she was able to boss people around and be smug, I think she’d wear it as long as it was advantageous for her. And besides, I imagine that Jon designed the dress herself and that’s flattering enough for her to like it. What I did like to show is that Gilly is taking more towards traditional “ladylike” activities like embroidery, while Ygritte isn’t interested. She’d rather sit around and talk and laugh.

Oh, and isn’t baby Monster precious????

Edit: I’ve seen someone say they think Ygritte would hate her life if this is what it was like, and I’m not mad at it or anything, but I don’t agree!!! To clarify more about this AU, Jon becomes King Beyond the Wall because the Freefolk believe that only someone with Stark blood would be able to negotiate with the Others, so they’d be doomed without him. So therefore it’s not just about her feelings for Jon, she’s married to the person she believes will be able to save her people. The influence she has on him is also major and a source of pride for her. In the art above, she is living in Winterfell and yes she’s wearing a dress, but that isn’t her life forever. The reason she stays and doesn’t go with Jon to the Vale is not because she’s a woman and he refuses to let her fight, but because in the main timeline she has a child already (this art has a bit of a fudged timeline, if I were to write a fic on this idea she’d already have had a child before they breached the Wall) and if Jon were to die, the child still has Stark blood and would still be the only hope against the Others. If she had been South and had died with Jon (Jon doesn’t die at this point, but the prospect is why she stays behind), the child would have a regent with their own motivations and wouldn’t have its interests at heart like Ygritte would. This is an important role that I do think at the end of the day, despite Ygritte not being the smartest person, she would take pride and be protective over. It’s not simply that motherhood has changed her and is a role that took over her previous personality, because that’s not true. It’s that there are greater things at play and she’s a key part of protecting the source of the realm’s salvation, so to say. She doesn’t live at Winterfell forever and when at Winterfell, she does boss around some Lords but doesn’t do any chores that she would find tedious. The most she does is sew together a wolf plushie for her child, which was incredibly poorly done. When Bran and Rickon are eventually found and thus Jon doesn’t have the title of Winterfell, they settle in lands previously ruled by the Umbers and she doesn’t wear a dress anymore, I have another commission by shripscapi that shows her usual attire but it is furs, she does hunt, she teaches her children to hunt and falconry. Her traditions are not stomped out in favor of Southron traditions. Her home is not a castle, but a small home slightly more impressive than the huts of the rest of her people, inspired by architecture during the Norman invasion. All in all, she’s really happy. The most important thing to her is that her people are safe, the Others are going to be defeated, and they’ve gotten past the Wall, a goal of her people for a long time. I guess I’ve just had a different view of Ygritte and the Freefolk than majority opinion. I think the Freefolk are more adaptable than people in the South generally are, and it’s impressive how they rallied together despite their differences when faced with the Others. I don’t think the Seven Kingdoms would be able to do that. So I feel as if she, as well as most of her people, would be very happy and feel a sense of accomplishment for being able to live on and live among people that, before the threat of the Others, would never be able to tolerate them and vice versa.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tech’s benevolent-dictator-for-life to authoritarian pipeline

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/10/bdfl/#high-on-your-own-supply

Silicon Valley's "authoritarian turn" is hard to miss: tech bosses have come out for autocrats like Trump, Orban, Milei, Bolsonaro, et al, and want to turn San Francisco into a militia-patrolled apartheid state operated for the benefit of tech bros:

https://newrepublic.com/article/180487/balaji-srinivasan-network-state-plutocrat

Smart people have written well about what this means, and have gotten me thinking, too:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/why-did-silicon-valley-turn-right

Regular readers will know that I make a kind of hobby of collecting definitions of right-wing thought:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#tolerable-racism

One of these – a hoary old cliche – is that "a conservative is a liberal who's been mugged." I don't give this one much credence, but it takes on an interesting sheen when combined with this anonymous gem: "Conservatives say they long for the simpler times of their childhood, but what they miss is that the reason they lived simpler lives back then wasn't that the times were simpler; rather, it's because they were children."

If you're a tech founder who once lived in a world where your workers were also your pals and didn't shout at you about labor relations, perhaps that's not because workers got "woke," but rather, because when you were all scrapping at a startup, you were all on an equal footing and there weren't any labor relations to speak of. And if you're a once-right-on tech founder who used to abstractly favor "social justice" but now find yourself beset by people demanding that you confront your privilege, perhaps what's changed isn't those people, but rather the amount of privilege you have.

In other words, "a reactionary tech boss is a liberal tech boss who hired a bunch of pals only to have them turn around and start a union." And also: "Tech founders say things were simpler when they were running startups, but what they miss is that the reason no one asked their startup to seriously engage with the social harms it caused is the because the startup was largely irrelevant to society, while the large company it turned into is destroying millions of peoples' lives today."

The oft-repeated reactionary excuse that "I didn't leave the progressive movement, they left me," can be both technically true and also profoundly wrong: if progressives in your circle never bothered you about your commercial affairs, perhaps that's because those affairs didn't matter when you were grinding out code in your hacker house, but they matter a lot now that you have millions of users and thousands of employees.

I've been in tech circles since before the dawn of the dotcoms; I was part of a movement of people who would come over to your house with a stack of floppies and install TCP/IP and PPP networking software on your computer and show you how to connect to a BBS or ISP, because we wanted everyone to have as much fun as we were having.

Some of us channeled that excitement into starting companies that let people get online, create digital presences of their own, and connect with other people. Some of us were more .ORG than .COM and gave our lives over to activism and nonprofits, missing out on the stock options and big paydays. But even though we ended up in different places, we mostly started in the same place, as spittle-flecked, excited kids talking a mile a minute about how cool this internet thing would be and helping you, a normie, jump into it.

Many of my peers from the .ORG and .COM worlds went on to set up institutions – both companies and nonprofits – that have since grown to be critical pieces of internet infrastructure: classified ad platforms, online encyclopedias, CMSes and personal publishing services, critical free/open source projects, standards bodies, server-to-server utilities, and more.

These all started out as benevolent autocracies: personal projects started by people who pitched in to help their virtual neighbors with the new, digital problems we were all facing. These good people, with good impulses, did good: their projects filled an important need, and grew, and grew, and became structurally important to the digital world. What started off as "Our pal's project that we all pitch in on," became, "Our pal's important mission that we help with, but that also has paid staff and important stakeholders, which they oversee as 'benevolent dictator for life.'"

Which was fine. The people who kicked off these projects had nurtured them all the way from a napkin doodle to infrastructure. They understood them better than anyone else, had sacrificed much for them, and it made sense for them to be installed as stewards.

But what they did next, how they used their powers as "BFDLs," made a huge difference. Because we are all imperfect, we are all capable of rationalizing our way into bad choices, we are all riven with insecurities that can push us to do things we later regret. When our actions are checked – by our peers' social approval or approbation; by the need to keep our volunteers happy; by the possibility of a mass exodus of our users or a fork of our code – these imperfections are balanced by consequences.

Dictators aren't necessarily any more prone to these lapses in judgment than anyone else. Benevolent dictators actually exist, people who only retain power because they genuinely want to use that power for good. Those people aren't more likely to fly off the handle or talk themselves into bad places than you or me – but to be a dictator (benevolent or otherwise) is to exist without the consequences that prevent you from giving in to those impulses. Worse: if you are the dictator – again, benevolent or otherwise – of a big, structurally important company or nonprofit that millions of people rely on, the consequences of these lapses are extremely consequential.

This is how BDFL arrangements turn sour: by removing themselves from formal constraint, the people whose screwups matter the most end up with the fewest guardrails to prevent themselves from screwing up.

No wonder people who set out to do good, to help others find safe and satisfying digital homes online, find themselves feeling furious and beset. Given those feelings, can we really be surprised when "benevolent" dictators discover that they have sympathy for real-world autocrats whose core ethos is, "I know what needs to be done and I could do it, if only the rest of you would stop nagging me about petty bullshit that you just made up 10 minutes ago but now insist is the most important thing in the world?"

That all said, it's interesting to look at the process by which some BDFLs transitioned to community-run projects with checks and balances. I often think about how Wikipedia's BDFL, the self-avowed libertarian Jimmy Wales, decided (correctly, and to his everlasting credit), that the project he raised from a weird idea into a world-historic phenomenon should not be ruled over by one guy, not even him.

(Jimmy is one of those libertarians who believes that we don't need governments to make us be kind and take care of one another because he is kind and takes care of other people – see also John Gilmore and Penn Jillette:)

https://www.cracked.com/article_40871_penn-jillette-wants-to-talk-it-all-out.html

Jimmy's handover to the Wikimedia Foundation gives me hope for our other BDFLs. He's proof that you can find yourself in the hotseat without being so overwhelmed with personal grievance that you find yourself in sympathy with actual fascists, but rather, have the maturity and self-awareness to know that the reason people are demanding so much of you is that you have – deliberately and with great effort – created a situation in which you owe the world a superhuman degree of care and attention, and the only way to resolve that situation equitably and secure your own posterity is to share that power around, not demand that you be allowed to wield it without reproach.

[minispidey]

01. Unclaimed Wedding Vows.

Duke James 'Logan' Howlett x f!reader CHAPTER ONE: THE LADY'S DILEMMA

warnings: besides me being extra descriptive, none. Leclaire is just a random last name for reader's family, and isn't coded as any race. OLD MAN LOGAN! ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I had a dictionary and a dream.

summary: A new season has dawned for you, Lady Leclaire, and this time, the stakes are higher. Your father is encouraging you to seek out a suitor, a contrast to the previous season when you made your debut but remained a mere spectator, and avoided the social whirl around you. This year, none of the debutants have managed to capture the queen's eye... that is, until the arrival of Duke James Howlett, who has unexpectedly entered the market. His entrance has changed the dynamics of the season entirely, bringing in whispers of intrigue and the promise of romance.

word count: 4.1k no beta we dying like logan 2017 (edit 12/7/24: edited some parts that i thought weren't needed. It just really stretches out the story. Anyways as usual, english is not my first language)

series masterlist.

The Queen is no stranger to the drama and heartache that come with reluctant or unfortunate brides and grooms—after all, her children often create quite the spectacle. The quest for the perfect match is a thrilling dilemma shared by every woman, even the Queen herself.

Under the dulcet tones of courtly sounds, a buzz of pressure was felt as the mamas whispered amongst themselves, feeling that they were up against unfair competition. With every new lady, the stakes climbed higher, and the probability of their daughters getting one of those marvelous matches became even smaller.

All the mamas, except for yours, panicked. You stood among the other women after being cooped up for the entire season. This time, you felt trapped, as your father had finally returned home to guide you.

You watched intently as each young lady glided toward the Queen, curtsying with grace and poise, only to be waved away almost instantly. The Queen sat majestically on her throne, appearing bored, her eyes glancing over the newcomers without a flicker of curiosity or admiration. Each presentation seemed to blend into the next, as though she were trapped in a routine, her expression one of deep ennui. It was clear she had encountered countless hopefuls before, and they were nothing more than fleeting shadows in her world.

"And I assume you didn't have the opportunity to introduce yourself to the Queen during the last season?" your father inquired, his gaze fixed intently on the unfolding presentation.

You released a quiet exhale. "I did not."

"Perhaps it is not too late to gain her blessing then."

You shut your eyes tightly, yearning for the comforting embrace of your soft blankets, wrapped securely in the sanctuary of your bedroom. The dim light of the suffocating room pressed in on you, making every breath feel heavy and labored. Even the tiny, cramped space beneath a table offered a sense of solace, an escape from the atmosphere that surrounded you.

"I believe I do not need the Queen's blessing to gain a husband." You opened your eyes and met the gaze of the men across the room, all ogling you and vying for your attention.

"But it certainly would help."

"Father." As you turned your head to meet his gaze, he gently pressed two fingers against your cheek, a firm yet tender gesture that redirected your focus back to the Queen. The movement felt like a subtle command, leaving you with a sense of unease.

Everyone knew Lord Leclaire’s sweet but spoiled daughter. You were the cherished only child of his first love, a woman whose memory lingered like a delicate perfume throughout the halls. As the sole offspring of a father who mourned a lost love, you basked in the benefits that came with being the only child of a wealthy widower. One of the most significant perks was the freedom to indulge in every whim, as your father poured his affection and resources solely into you, ensuring that your every desire was met with lavish gifts and endless attention.

Deep down, you understood that you were worthy of nothing less than the finest luxuries.

You favored silk that cascaded softly against your skin over any mere satin; you would always choose a decadent cake, rich with layers of flavor, instead of a simple slice of bread. Lace trim, with its intricate beauty, was your preference over the ordinary ribbons that could never capture the same elegance.

It is no different for your future husband. While your father and governess might worry that your high standards would scare men away, the reality is quite the contrary. Instead of feeling intimidated, they find themselves irresistibly drawn to you, captivated by the magnetic allure that lies behind your icy gaze. Even with the cool, distant expression on your features, it only seems to heighten their curiosity and determination, making them yearn to uncover the warmth that they sense lies beneath.

You chose to disregard the men around you, even those who struggled to position themselves beside you. Each one of them was aware of your allure, for you were undeniably the most desirable woman in the room.

There no doubt that you knew exactly what you wanted.

The ideal husband embodies a man of immense respect and admiration within his community, someone whose character and achievements inspire others. He possesses a substantial income that not only assures financial stability but also enables a luxurious lifestyle adorned with beautiful estates and properties. Above all, he shall be someone with whom you share a deep emotional connection, a person who ignites your heart and soul, making you genuinely fall in love.

Even in tough times, your heart stayed open to romance, a belief instilled by your parents' words on love's power. They taught you that every love story holds magic, so you refused to settle for less than your ideals. The thought of growing old alone felt better than being with someone who didn’t meet your high standards for love.

Some mamas convince their daughters to settle for what they can have, and luckily (or unluckily), your mother had passed away so she had no say in who you would marry. But if she were alive, she would encourage you to keep searching for the one.

You sat in front of your dressing table as your father delicately placed down each one of the gifts he bought for you on your soft carpeted floor. All the boxes were wrapped with bright paper and ribbons that shone under soft light.

You absent-mindedly played with a chest filled with a variety of trinkets: delicate porcelain figurines of cats, shimmering glass beads, and rusty old coins, each speaking of far-off places.

"That presentation was a disaster, if I may say so, Father," you remarked. "The Queen seemed unsatisfied and I feel very bad for those young ladies involved."

"Don't worry, my dear. All the young ladies will have another opportunity to flatter the Queen tonight when she hosts her ball," your father said softly, a gentle smile spreading across his face.

He put a slice of cake in front of you, the scent of vanilla and frosting wafting up to greet your senses. "I just brought it home this afternoon. It seemed to be quite the hit at the bakery."

"Even so, the Queen is fussy. She knows exactly what she wants and exactly what she deserves." And you accepted a slice of cake from him, bit into it, and he made no allowance for such an unladylike manner.

"She knows her choice cannot be just a simple lady—someone who can proudly yet modestly reveal she is Her Majesty's favorite, embodying every trait a lady possesses or desires."

You stood up from your mirror and stepped out onto the balcony. The breeze tousled your hair while the sun danced across your skin. Your presence startled a cluster of doves on the railings, who flew away in a flurry of white feathers.

"Perhaps I have a chance..."

Your father smiled, thinking that you would seek the favor of the Queen and then secure a place of honor in her court. However, as he smiled at you with that gleam of expectation in his eyes, your thoughts went elsewhere. You couldn't help but think that if the Queen wielded the power to select her favored ones, then surely you too could find a husband who meets your expectations— someone who embodies those qualities you want and actually deserves your heart.

Far from the Leclaire house, a lavish carriage adorned with intricate gold detailing, and luxurious silk stopped in front of the Queen's grand palace. The arrival drew the eyes of the servants peering from the ornate windows, their breaths caught in awe as the distinguished Duke Howlett stepped out. His walk was far from graceful, marked by a heavy, almost cumbersome stride; yet, with every step he took, he demanded the whole world’s attention, as if the very air shifted at his presence.

The Queen sat on her throne, her heart fluttering with anticipation for her friend’s arrival. She clapped her hands twice, signaling the musicians to stop. As silence enveloped the grand hall, she took a deep breath, savoring the stillness before her friend's entrance.

The elderly man slowly stepped into the room, his soft curled silver hair glinting softly in the light as he bowed his head, a gesture of respect. A sharp jolt of pain surged through his back, causing him to stifle a groan that escaped his lips. His frame remained strong, but telltale signs of age were etched on his skin, and shaking his hands revealed fragility in his bones.

"Is that as low as you can go, old man?" the Queen raised an eyebrow.

The Duke exhaled softly, a hint of relief washing over him as he straightened his posture, pulling his shoulders back. "If I could humble myself any further, Your Majesty," he said with a wry smile, "I would find myself six feet under."

"Logan! My dearest friend, why have you come?" A chuckle escaped the Queen. "I suppose you will be joining the gentlemen this season to search for a bride. You are getting, oh so very old."

With a long sigh, he nodded. "And you would be right."

The Queen drops her cup of tea and her eyes are blown wide open. "Are you trying to kill me? I could have you executed for attempting to do so." she laughed loudly.

"I am the last Howlett. If I want to continue my family name, I need a wife to bear my children." Logan coughed into a handkerchief before quickly composing himself. "Any lady will do, as long as she won't disturb me."

"Nonsense!" the Queen exclaimed, clapping her hands loudly and surprising her ladies, who were busy cleaning up the spilled tea and the broken cup. "You are a highly respected man. A Duke! Do you think I would allow you to marry a simple lady? You shall marry my diamond!"

"While Her Majesty is very kind, I would prefer not to spend too much time searching."

"I know I am very kind," the Queen huffed. "For I would be the one spending too much time looking— I was not even planning on looking for one. You are very welcome."

"I am not very selective, Your Majesty. Any lady will suffice." The Duke shook his head.

"Then you should have married a maid," the Queen said, cutting off the Duke's response with a raised hand. "I do not tolerate objections. I am doing you a favor, and it is an insult to refuse a gift. As your most humble and loyal friend, I cannot accept your decision to marry merely any lady."

From a tender age, the Duke was aware of the dynamics that surrounded individuals of high status. Placed in the role of Duke early in life, he quickly became the center of attention, a figure that drew gaze and admiration from all. At lavish gatherings, young ladies would shamelessly fight for his attention, their motives often far from innocent. Such experiences led him to retreat from the social scene altogether, burying himself in the labyrinthine of his duties.

Years passed since then, and while he amassed vast wealth and commanded respect, the relentless march of time had etched deeper lines into his visage, a testament to his toil. In his pursuit of success, the concept of legacy slipped through his fingers like sand. The urgency of fatherhood, the need to secure a successor to inherit the family fortune and the sprawling estates, faded into the background, overshadowed by the relentless demands of his work.

He retraced his steps through the grand palace hallways, made elegant with tapestries and chandeliers that spoke of the royal family's rich history. The scent of polished wood lingered in the air as he entered his carriage.

As the carriage rolled through the bustling streets of London, he gazed out at the vibrant city. He was heading to his estate—a property that had been neglected from his infrequent visits. Despite its silence and overgrown gardens, he had ensured everything was prepared, as this time he sought a bride.

The estate needed to be more than just a residence; it had to convey wealth and status, a place where a future wife could envision a life of comfort and elegance. As he approached the imposing estate between tall trees and trimmed hedges, a shiver ran down his spine.

Change loomed over him like a storm cloud, heavy and foreboding. Everyone knew that the Duke didn't take kindly to anything that came between himself and his well-planned world.

In a dazzling celebration marking the start of the season, the Queen organized a magnificent ball.

The grand ballroom was decked with sparkling chandeliers, and the air carried the sweet melodies of an orchestra that enticed everyone to dance. The Queen initially wanted not to attend her ball at all. Her change of mind came when there was the unexpected arrival of Duke James Howlett - a man of nobility seeking a worthy Duchess. His presence sparked great commotion, forcing the Queen to reverse her decision and plunge deep into the celebration before her. Everyone moved graciously in unity across the polished floor within the grand ballroom while soft, sweet melodies filtered in the air from the orchestra, wrapping around each of the elegantly attired couples and bouncing off the ceiling lined with sparkling chandeliers.

Amidst the vibrant gathering, you stood there elegantly commanding the room's attention. The soft murmur of admiration reverberated in the air as captivated gazes fell upon you like the breaking of the clouds. Your beauty shone with an enchanting glow and drew intrigued whispers from those around you. The debutantes, dressed in their finest, exchanged glances, all in agreement that you were the epitome of allure, the most desirable woman present.

The men ogled, all desiring you— the impossible. You glanced at them with a sharp look in your eye, ready to pounce and overpower those who dared to come too close. Intimidation ran through the veins of the LeClaire family, a legacy passed down through generations as an artful weapon to draw out the right partner. Your father never quite mastered it, but you had it in spades.

A coarse hand jerked you against the warmth of a muscular body. You gasped sharply, your breath catching as crimson wine splattered across your silk dress, the bright stain blooming like a dark flower against the delicate fabric. Turning to face the source of this unexpected collision, you saw the culprit—a flustered figure retreating into the collar of his tailored suit, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Now you are looking at the rough, ancient man that pulled you against his chest. For a moment you were lost in the green depth of his eyes: the color of a rain-soaked forest. But then, with a sharp jolt, you feel yourself pulling away from his grasp, looking back to the deep red stain on your dress.

"This is silk-" you hissed, your voice laced with barely controlled anger that threatened to bubble over at any moment, like a pot that is about to boil over. Every fiber of your body was aflame with fury as you clutched the fabric, feeling the smooth texture slip through your fingers, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within you.

Before you can vent your pent-up anger, a voice cuts in on you, surprising you by its calmness. "On behalf of the gentleman, I profoundly apologize, my lady," the old man says, his face showing a hint of concern. His eyes meet yours for a moment before he adds, "I will summon a servant immediately to assist you."

His voice slowly relieved the fiery tension within your heart. You took a deep breath, feeling centered "I accept your apology," you responded with an elegant curtsy as if to hold off the weight of the moment. "However, I feel I should retire for the night."

You watch as he opens his mouth, in probable protest, and you spin on your heel, cutting him off before a single word escaped his lips. The atmosphere in the room grew stressful, as if it was squeezing the air from your lungs.

Every glance is like a sharp dart, piercing through you, and one can almost hear the stifled giggles that lie just under the surface. The picture remains in your head: this once-towering ice princess, now reduced to become the target of their teasing, a crimson wine stain spreading like an unwanted prophecy across her elegant dress, an emblem of the embarrassment from the evening.

You stepped warily through the garden, surrounded by the sweet scent of flowers when suddenly a firm hand gripped your wrist.

You turned around quickly with that swift pull and lost your airy handkerchief. As you regained your balance, you looked up at the grizzled old man, his face a weathered map of worry. "My lady," he said, his voice gravelly yet warm, "please don't go just because a gentleman has clumsily spilled a drink upon your dress."

"I've never been one to enjoy parties," you said, your voice almost whispering above the din of conversation around you. You looked down at the dark red wine stain that seemed to mar the elegant weave of your dress. Your sigh was heavy as you continued, "I want only to go home. This accident is just the right reason to slip away."

He bows his head once more as an apology.

As you moved out of the grand palace, the old man lifted his head, and you caught a glimpse of your eyes for a moment as you passed. You half-turned, nodding towards your footman, who stood there just beyond the entrance. At your signal, he ran off, the fine weave of his livery rustling a little as he hastened to summon the carriage.

The afternoon light seeps through the curtains, and your eyes linger on the deep red stains your dress still bears from last night. Running your hand absent-mindedly over the silk, you hear the creak of the door as your maids enter the room.

"My lady," one of the called you, her voice full of excitement. "A package has arrived for you."

They cautiously approached your bed, where a huge light blue box was lying there. It was shrouded in beautiful wrappings, the expensive and opulent silk ribbon beautifully cascading over it. This sight made you curious; hence, you drew nearer to it.

"Who is it from?" Your fingers played gently with the smooth ribbon that bordered the box, feeling its softness as you waited for the surprise inside.

"We cannot say for sure, my lady," the maid said, furrowing her brow with worry. "What are we to do with it? Are we to throw it away?"

"No, I assure you, it is alright." you said, fingers twitching slightly as you fumbled to loosen the flimsy ribbon securing the tie. You gave it a gentle tug, unfolding the layers of paper under your fingers like delicate silken petals.

As you opened the box with utmost care, your gaze fell on a letter in it. The letter had a deep red wax for its seal, and this was stamped with an intricately designed crest that instantly took your breath away. This was undoubtedly a Duke's crest. A feeling of awe swept over you as you softly gasped and stood up in shock. HOWLETT.

"I don't believe it."

You ran back, your breath coming up in expectation as you unfolded the thin tissue paper that covered an amazing sight.

Lying before you was a gown unlike any you had ever seen—a vision of beauty and majesty. The silk shone dimly in the light, and its texture spoke of the skill of the finest artisans in the land. Your heart races for the reality of what actually had happened at the ball the other night: a real apology at the hands of a duke— and this beautiful gown. It's too ridiculous to think that he— the duke would hand to you something this private for you.

Was he scouting you as a potential Duchess?

You could hardly suppress an excited squeal as you sent your maids off, hoping for a few minutes to yourself. Holding the dress up against your chest, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, mesmerized by its beauty. Reaching your bed, you snatched the letter.

As you read the Duke's letter that accompanied the dress, newspapers fluttered all over town with their front pages splashed with the face of Duke James Howlett. His face was everywhere—the center of attention since last night's ball when whispers and glances revealed he was after a wife to elevate to duchess status.

Despite his age, the mamas eagerly nudged their debutantes to charm the Duke. After all, they had high hopes for a prestigious match in high society.

Every lady in town eagerly flocked to the modiste, set on getting new exquisite gowns that would dazzle the Duke at the upcoming ball. Silks and satins fluttered in the air as they envisioned the moment he would notice their carefully crafted attire. Meanwhile, the Duke, unaware of the flurry he inspired, focused on matters far different from the shimmering dresses vying for his attention.

Like when he received the dress he gave you.

"What is this?" he said raising his eyebrow, curiosity dancing across his eyes as he observed the box that his servant held in both hands, the elegant packaging soft to the touch, a deep light blue, and silky ribbon tied across it shining under the warm light of the room. It was that gift he had picked up for you, and couldn't help but wonder at what your reaction had been when you opened it.

He slowly raises the lid of the box.

Inside, the dress lies perfectly folded in delicate fabric. Alongside it is a letter, its envelope decorated with an elegant wax seal. As he tears it open, a wave of fragrance envelops him, the sweet, unmistakable scent of fresh roses wafting through the air and stirring memories within him of when he held you close. He opens the letter, revealing your beautiful handwriting, each stroke flowing across the page.

“Dearest Duke Howlett,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I write to you with a heavy heart regarding the exquisite silk dress you so graciously gifted me.

As you may remember from last night’s event, a man accidentally spilled wine on the dress. Despite my best efforts to remedy the situation, the stain has proven stubborn.

Because of this, I think it’s best to return the dress to you. It deserves to be loved and worn as you intended. I am very sad to part with such a lovely piece, which brought me so much happiness.

Moreover, I find myself at a loss for words, as I cannot comprehend why a man of your esteemed stature would choose to bestow such an exquisite gown upon someone like myself. I am simply a lady, while you are a Duke. If my father were to witness this generous gesture, he might very well assume that you were proposing—a notion that brings a flush to my cheeks.

I deeply appreciate your kindness and generosity, and I hope to have the opportunity to discuss this matter further, perhaps with a dance.

With warmest regards...”

He finally learns your name, and as he reads it repeatedly. He softly whispers it to himself, allowing the syllables to linger in the air. A warm ember ignites in Logan’s chest, a stirring sensation that could be mistaken for something as simple as inflammation. Yet, deep down, he senses it might also be the dawning realization that he may have discovered a potential match—perhaps a true Duchess worthy of his affections.

tag list (open!) btw i cried when yall asked to be tagged ilysm: @dragovegogrimborn @manifester3 @buhitosueco @saltedcoffeescotch @angeiulst @moonpascal @v13nx @cleverfestivalconnoisseur @rexmeshlasblog @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @trickstersteve @tighrenicotine @luv4kook @steviebbboi @eldauvs @cards-and-daggers @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @awsome262338 @lustdotlove @jax-the-oregonian @misscrissfemmefatale @hereforthehitsbaby @lightupsketchersperson @st4rrlighttt @cherrypieyourface @blossoming-hotch @freythecrazyfae @sweetenerobert (shout out to robert for cheering me on while I wrote this with one hand and a dictionary in the other)

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Man over Machine

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien: You must understand our line of thinking.

Human: I understand it is stupid beyond measure.

Alien: *Sighs

Alien: It is only logical to use mechanical soldiers in modern warfare.

Alien: Anything less is purely barbaric.

Human: You reduce war to little more than 1’s and 0’s.

Alien: What we do is remove needless bloodshed.

Alien: No longer are brave soldiers dying on forgotten worlds, no longer will families grieve for loved ones who will never return; no longer would we need monuments to the fallen.

Alien: Disagreements could be settled without a drop of blood being shed.

Human: You turn it into a game.

Alien: Exactly.

Human: No; you’d be turning war into a game, and that’s never a good thing.

Human: You can’t reduce war to a simple equation.

Alien: It sounds more like you just wish to continue your carnal desire for violence.

Human: Do you think so little of us?

Alien: Yes.

Human: ……

Human: *Sighs

Human: We’ve tried using machines in war before.

Human: On the surface yes, it did appear better.

Human: Military causalities were but a fraction of what they would have normally been had we used real soldiers, but there were other problems that soon cropped up.

Alien: Such as?

Human: Lack of morality was a large factor in the programs discontinuation.

Alien: Morality?

Alien: What use does a machine have of that?

Human: Because not everything is always black and white; there are shades of grey that only a living breathing person can recognize and handle.

Alien: Absurdity

Human: We used the robot CS95 battle machines during our initial conflicts. When it was deployed it was programmed to treat anyone holding a weapon as an enemy combatant and terminate them immediately.

Human: They cleared out an entire city in a single day before issuing the all clear signal.

Human: When living soldiers arrived to provide relief efforts they were horrified to discover that the entire city’s population had been massacred.

Alien: While tragic it sounds like a faulty programming error.

Human: I would say a big fucking program error.

Human: The programmer had not thought it necessary to properly define the scope of the term “weapon”, and so the machines began their own search on what classified as a weapon.

Human: There isn’t an item in human creation that hasn’t been used to murder another human, and so the machines deemed everyone they encounter a valid target.

Human: Men, women, children, soldier, civilian; it didn’t matter.

Alien: A lapse in programming quality still does not outweigh the benefits of bloodless wars.

Human: That’s what we thought and so we added additional layers of programming to better define combatants. So the next time they were deployed they would not make the same mistake.

Human: Unbeknownst to anyone an additional line of code was slipped in deep within the programming that designated anyone with a specific skin pigment as an active combatant, regardless if they had a weapon or not.

Alien: Why would they do that?

Human: They were what we call a “Nazi”, and thought people of a select orientation only deserved to live.

Alien: That’s horrible.

Human: Yeah.

Human: They kept spouting that shit from their court-martial all the way to the hangman’s gallows.

Human: The point being still that because the machines lacked any sense of morality they followed orders without question, causing untold damage and destruction on innocents.

Alien: Refinements in programming and further oversight can still correct such problems.

Human: So can a living soldier with a conscious.

Alien: Come now; a soldier can just as easily follow orders as the machines did and have the same result.

Human: The difference being that not all of them would.

Human: Some of them would realize what they are doing is wrong and question it, and if needed refuse said orders.

Human: We have even been aware of our short comings and made it the law of the land that if they feel an order is unlawful they can refuse it entirely.

Alien: Yet another contradiction.

Alien: Soldiers are meant to follow orders.  

Human: Wrong.

Human: Machines are meant to follow orders blindly.

Human: Soldiers are meant to follow orders with integrity.

[mountainsandmayhem]

Maid Discreetly - Chapter Two

Tommy Miller x Female OC - 18+

Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man? Chapter Summary: You and Tommy go about your everyday lives and try not to think about your unfortunately first encounter AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers. Please remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for all future chapters. Thank you SO MUCH for all the love on Chapter One, there's so much in store for these two cutie pies! Divders by @saradika-graphics. As always thank you to @lotusbxtch and @for-a-longlongtime for helping me expand on my ideas and add all my punctuation xo. WC: 3k

Story Masterlist || My Masterlist || Joel and Kim

CW: female character is fully developed OC, so are her friends; mutual pining; dirty talk (Tommy has a filthy mouth); dick pronouns; blow job/throat fucking; sub/dom dynamics; aftercare; name calling (but hot)

You

It’s been exactly fourteen days, sixteen hours and fifteen minutes since your unfortunate encounter with Tommy - not that you’ve been counting. You’ve allowed his deep voice to play over and over in your mind more times than you care to admit. 

“You know, sweetheart, your little tantrum would be much more believable if you weren’t undressing me with your eyes.”

You most definitely were not undressing him with your eyes. You thought he was Joel for fuck’s sake, and that goes against every code in the girl friendship handbook. However, once you learned he wasn’t Joel…well, you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you weren’t sneaking glances his way throughout the night.

Like it or not, Tommy Miller is an incredibly attractive man; dark curly hair, expressive russet brown eyes and high cheekbones. It was too dark in the room to be sure, but you thought you saw a cluster of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His thick moustache was neatly trimmed, sitting perfectly above his plush lips. He gave off cowboy-meets-white-collar vibes. Granted, based on how broad he is and the way his suit jacket was hanging on by a goddamn thread around his biceps, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had been a cowboy at one point in his life. Your stomach flips at the thought of him in a cowboy hat. Even a bonafide city girl like yourself knows when a man looks like he can throw around a bale of hay.

Complete and total prick, you remind yourself, as you adjust your rearview mirror of your Bently before pulling out of your parking space at work. I am probably old enough to be his daughter. Who says something like that to someone that much younger? 

You push Tommy out of your mind and shift your focus on the summer ahead as you drive. Kim is positively thriving in California. She’s been cleaning for two of your dad’s very well-connected friends. Based on last month’s customer survey results, they’ve spread the word and have friends who are interested in hiring her, but Kim doesn’t have time with school and internships to take on anyone else. Austin is great for business, but California could be a literal jackpot for Maid Discreetly - celebrities, athletes, politicians, CEO’s; a plethora of potential clients who would benefit from a service like your dad’s. As much as you were hoping for a summer with her, you understand her staying in California for a summer law internship. That leaves just you, your cousin Laren, and Ophelia.

Laren has been busy planning her upcoming wedding while secretly running her topless catering company. Her father, who is your mom’s brother, is still very active in the church and expects the same level of devotion from his children. While they think she’s just an event planner, she’s actually so much more. You wonder if Sean, her husband-to-be, knows what she truly does for a living, and, if not, will she tell them once they’re married and living together? It still blows your mind that your uncle is so old-school that he won’t allow Laren and Sean to live together until after their wedding. 

Ophelia was always more Kim’s friend, seeing as they lived off campus together during college. After losing her spot as Miss Texas, and not having any of her modeling contracts renewed because of it, she decided to go to college and is now in her final year of business school. 

You turn the dial on your AC, blasting the cool air as you pull onto the freeway. June has come in hot, literally. It’s unseasonably warm, which usually means it’ll be a dry summer and the whole city will panic when the clouds finally decide to bless us with rain. Luckily, both you and Laren have pools at home, and your family is connected enough to have a summer pass at The Wayback hotel’s Cabana Club, so you and your friends are going to be nice and cool. 

Laren convinced you to take off early today and meet at the hotel. It’s a short drive from your downtown office, tucked into the hills of Austin, and feels like you’re on vacation while being in your own city’s backyard. You pull into the valet, hand your keys to someone who barely looks old enough to drive and meet Laren in the lobby. After changing into your swim attire, you both head out to two reserved chairs. 

“Fuck, this is nice,” Laren whispers under her breath as she unties the sheer black wrap from her waist, now just in a neon pink tie bikini. She already has a golden brown hue to her skin. 

“Beyond nice. I think we should do some networking here,” you respond, looking around at the wealth that seems to be dripping off of most of the people. Wives soak in the vitamin D in small swimsuits, the men beside them in linen dress pants and white button up shirts, their eyes glued to a phone or laptop screen. You note the few men who aren’t completely focused on their devices, sneaking glances at the women they are with. It’s quite likely that they are a mistress or inappropriately young girlfriend instead of a wife.  

Laren practically melts into her fluffy white pool chair. “Speak for yourself. I’m here to forget about work. Honestly, if I was you and knew I was going to have access to a forty million dollar trust fund on my twenty-fifth birthday, I wouldn’t have half the work ethic you do.” 

You shush your cousin and shoot her a glare as you dig through your Stella McCartney tote for your sunscreen; the last thing you need is everyone here knowing who you are. Growing up, your last name was a burden. Kids in your public school were pushed towards you by their parents, everyone wanting to be friends with the rich girl. When you moved to private school, you were looked down upon as the “public school trash” until everyone learned your last name. Being an awkward teenager is hard enough without debutante balls and boys being introduced to you as potential suitors. You’re grateful for it now, and recognize all the opportunities it has opened for you, but having the last name you do is a weight on your shoulders. The only child, the namesake, somehow expected to carry on a legacy. 

You slide back on your chair, applying sunblock to your legs. “I’m hoping if I bring in clients, my dad will finally let me take on more responsibility. Kim is going to crush it in California, I know she will, which means my parents are going to have to spend more time there to hire a staff and bring in more clients. I want to take over in Austin.” 

Laren reclines her chair and sighs. “Babe, you’re going to take over. You are the most qualified person to do so when your dad is ready.” 

You rub some of the coconut scented SPF into your chest as you speak. “I know. I just want to show him that I can do it now. I’m sick of being his daughter who does just the hiring and training, ya know?” 

“Hey,” Laren sits up and squeezes your knee gently so you’ll look at her. “Without you, none of those houses would get cleaned to the standards they do. Which means your dad wouldn’t be able to charge out the nose. You are so much more than just hiring and training.”

 You click the cap of the sunscreen closed and place it on the small wicker table between you and Laren. “Deep down I know that, but there’s a very real part of me that feels like my dad is going to marry me off and give the job to the husband that he’s deemed worthy.”

Laren doesn’t know all the details and stipulations around your trust fund. Fuck, you aren’t even sure you know every little piece of fine print. The three things you’ve always been told are a college degree, being at least twenty-five years of age, and your nuptials must be approved by your dad. You’re nowhere near marriage, but you are dangerously close to the minimum age.

 Does this mean I won't get access to my trust fund soon? Or can my dad just take it away if I marry someone he doesn’t feel is up to his standards? The questions run rampant in your mind. You make a mental note to talk to your mom about it.

Laren uses her free hand to slide her sunglasses down her nose, a line of concern between her brows, “Did your dad say that?”

You sigh, laying back on your chair and rolling your head to look at her. “He didn’t have to.”

Rage flares behind her eyes. Luckily, she keeps her voice quiet as she says, “Did your piece of shit ex tell you that?”

A deep breath fills your lungs and you shake your head, “No, like I said, it’s just a feeling.”

As you lounge back in your chair you swallow hard, trying not to think about Preston. It’s been a few months since you ended things with him. The relief you felt when he walked out of your bedroom that night was like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time, but the words he said throughout your three year relationship still linger. 

She follows your lead and settles back in her chair, turning her face up to the sun. “That loser did a real number on you, didn’t he?”

“Unfortunately,” you deadpan, following it with a humourless laugh. You let out a slow, relaxing breath, forcing all the thoughts of him out and then focus on the warmth of the sun splashing across your skin. Slowly, the heat of the day turns your muscles into goo. It’s quiet between the two of you for a few minutes before Laren snickers. 

“What’s so funny?” you murmur, rolling your head towards her.

“I just still can’t believe you yelled at Tommy Miller at that gala.” She says with a laugh.

You swat her arm before rolling onto your stomach. “Shut up.” 

“Sorry, I just hate that I missed it. Plus, he’s so fucking handsome. I’m surprised you don’t remember him from that poker game. Fuck, I would have loved to see him all dressed up.”

“He’s abhorrent.” You say, holding back a smile.

Laren snickers again, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe.”

Tommy 

“Get me hard. Suck on him,” he practically growls at the woman kneeling in front of him as he twists his hand into her hair. He has a full window of onlookers at JMKink tonight, just the way he likes it. 

Kya is a new sub to him; she pays him for an hour every other week and this is their second session together. The first one went really well, but of course it did; the algorithm that JMKink uses in their app wouldn’t pair them up if they didn’t have complimentary kinks. She likes to be dominated and, like Tommy, wants people to watch. Tommy is the reason that you can open the windows of the rooms available to rent. It’s optional, lots of people keep them closed, but if you want the members of the club in the dark voyeur room on the opposite side of the glass to watch, all you do is pull open the thick black blind. You can also choose if you want them to be able to hear what’s happening; Tommy always allows for both. 

He doesn’t agree with all the rules that come with being a member, mainly the one that states condoms must be worn. Tommy loves watching his cum leak out of freshly fucked pussy just as much as he loves being watched. Him, Joel, and Tess have discussed the rule again and again, and even with the required test results, and everything happening in the club being consensual, it’s just too risky. But, his business partners have agreed that when he finds a sub that he has the right chemistry with, Tommy can have paid performances that can be condom free. This is not that night though.  

Tonight, Kya specifically asked for her throat to be fucked after being edged. In fact, she requested for him to not let her come at all. After almost forty minutes of him bringing her to the brink of orgasm only to stop, he uncuffed her from the wall and told her to crawl to him. He knew the rub of her thighs as she crawled would only further add to her torture; it would feel good but wouldn’t be the right angle or pressure to let her come. Now, she has her impossibly soft lips wrapped around his cock, her skin sparkling with sweat as she suckles on the fat tip of his dick, her lips vibrating with each of her moans. Kya is one of the most beautiful subs Tommy has ever had, and stuff like this usually has Tommy hard as steel, but something feels off tonight. 

“Keep going, little slut,” he practically spits, trying to get himself there mentally. He closes his eyes and a flash of the brunette that told him off at the gala last week appears. Subtle curves, curious eyes, her matte red lips that he wants to smear his cum all over to make them glisten. His cock twitches at the thought, his hips flexing forward. He hears a gagging sound before he pulls his hips back, imagining that red lipstick staining his cock. 

“Look so fuckin’ pretty on your knees for me,” he whispers, a small giggle fills his ears before he pistons his hips forward and opens his eyes. Kya is absolutely stunning, there’s no reason he should have to fantasize about anything, or anyone, when he’s with her. So why is he fighting from closing his eyes and picturing you again?

Insanity, or witchcraft. He thinks to himself, trying to find a reason. Witchcraft, you’re an idiot, Tommy. Fuck, I must be going insane.

Tommy rocks his hips back and forth, and Kya is the perfect sub; hollowing her cheeks and letting the salvia fall from her lips, coating his cock as he fucks her mouth in slow, deep strokes. “Moan for me,” he commands, letting his lashes fall to his cheeks.

Kya moans, and there you are again. In this daydream, he has you on your back; one leg up on his shoulder, the other spread wide for him. He pushes in and out of your tight pussy a few times, watching your eyes go hooded before he sits up, kissing the ankle of the foot still propped on his shoulder. His eyes trail down your body; soft breasts bouncing with each thrust, his gaze burning a path down your stomach, landing to where his body meets yours. His mouth waters at the way your pussy glistens with need. It’s intoxicating and carnal, yet so soft and beautiful - he wants to taste you so badly. That’s when he shatters, opening his eyes to watch as his cum leaks from Kya’s mouth.

“Don’t swallow yet, filthy girl. Not until you show us,” he says through gritted teeth. The moment his orgasm is done he slides his cock free. He’s already soft, which is another thing that never happens to him.

Ya, I’ve slipped into insanity for sure!

“Open,” he commands. Kya opens her mouth and he leans forward and spits. With a nod towards the viewing window he says, “Show them.”

She turns her head towards the onlookers and he watches the way she squeezes her thighs together. This should be making Tommy absolutely feral, yet, it doesn’t. Staying in his dominant character, he grips his hand around her throat. “Eyes on me while you swallow, little cum princess.”

She plays her part equally well, keeping those dark brown eyes locked with his as she swallows, licks her lips and then swallows again. His dick doesn’t as much as budge; if anything, Tommy thinks it may have gotten smaller.

 Dude, what is wrong with you tonight? He says in his mind towards his cock.

“Thank you, sir,” Kya hums.

Tommy slides his thumb along her bottom lip gently, his voice softer now and just for her, “Can you get to the bed on your own while I close the curtain?”

She nods her head and smiles sweetly at him. He helps her stand and once he’s sure her legs are steady, he heads to the window. A few of the fellow exhibitionists give him a thumbs up before he shuts them out to do his aftercare in private with Kya. He pushes you out of his mind, focusing on getting some sugar into Kya and then pulls her into his arms. The two of them speak in quiet whispers as he checks in on her. 

“How are you feeling?”

She smiles up at him. “Really good. Thank you. I definitely needed this.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. “I have this room for a few hours so we can stay like this as long as you need. I need you to promise me you’ll call me if something changes, okay? I know what we did tonight can be a lot.”

“I promise,” she mutters, her eyelids getting heavy.

After a few more minutes of cuddling she pulls away from him and says she’s ready to go. Once they’re both dressed Tommy walks her out to the main area of the club, the two of them embrace in a tight hug before she leaves and he goes to his reserved booth. The second he’s alone he’s lost in thoughts of the girl from the gala. This isn’t the first time he’s been consumed by you, every quiet moment he has he finds himself thinking of you, of the things he should have said. Flirting and wooing women is easy for him, it always has been, but someone with quick wit and the ability to banter with him isn’t something that comes along often. 

That’s got to be what has me so turned around, he thinks to himself. It’s safer that she remains a fantasy, safer that I don’t know her name, safer that I can’t search for her and find out if she likes all of the things I do. 

[selkiesstories]

As promised all the antisemitic tropes associated with the Greens in House of the Dragon because I guess when you double down on the divinely ordained Aryan as heroes you need Jewish coded villains. Please note that I am not accusing anyone including Condal or other producers of secretly sympathizing with Nazis or antisemitism if for no other reason that I suspect they are simply too ill informed to realize what their playing with. (for a better understanding about the metaphysical role Jews played in Nazism see Alon Confino's A World Without Jews: The Nazi Imagination from Persecution to Genocide)

Let's start with casting:

And Alicent is the embodiement of the Beautiful Jewess- curly dark reddish hair, and big beautiful eyes ( It's over a year since I read Höss's complaining about how his officers were susceptible to Jewish women and their "beautiful eyes" and I am still not over it.)

Moving on-

1) Alicent and by extension the Greens are portrayed as religious. This religion is implied or certainly interpreted by fans to be oppressive towards the Targaryens (Valeryians) notably by setting rules and thus bringing them to the level of mortals. Hitler considered Christianity to be a Jewish invention that was a “scar” on the German race by imposing a conscience.

2) The Hightowers and the Citadel/maesters are implied in the fandom to be running a conspiracy to bring down the Targaryens. Some fans have them poisoning Viserys and/or responsible for all the Targaryen stillbirths, and dismal maternal and infant mortality rates. The Protocols of Zion are an old debunked many times conspiracy theory about how Jews secretly work to run the world. Jewish doctors were accused of damaging Aryan women. The Doctor’s Plot is actually Soviet where Jewish doctors were accused of poisoning Stalin.

3) Heleana who coincidentally fits the Targaryen aesthetic is considered the only redeemable one so long as she supports Rhaenyra (and marries Jace- who according to Rhaenyra and therefore the show/fans is a Targaryen- and raises her children to be loyal to the true Targs). Nazis would sometimes accept a half Jewish woman if she was married to a full German and had his children whom she raised with no connection to her family/faith (sometime a man but a woman was more likely since they were seen as more passive and therefore less of a threat to the all sacred race)

4) the Greens are portrayed as both overly sexual and sexually repressed. The Nazis were obsessed with sex and variously accused Jews of being sexual predators or of being unnaturally restrained which tied in with (1).

5) Aegon is an alcoholic and Aemond is implied to have an opioid addiction. Jews were associated with drugs especially morphine (for a summary of the Nazis relationship with drugs see Norman Ohler’s Blitzed: Drugs in the Third Reich)

5) The men on the Greens are either dangerous predators or emasculated "simps" or "mama's boys". Jewish men were variously dangerous predators or unmanly men who were dominated by their women.

6) Alicent is either sexually repressed or a slut who sexually entices good Valyrian men to their doom. (1) and (4)

7) Alicent is an overbearing mother. She occasionally seems to overstep her designated feminine boundaries to assert her opinions over men's.

8) the Greens are either too close knit or they betray each other. Höss described Jews as both extremely attached to their families to the point where news of their death had a fatal effect and as eager to betray their families even at no benefit to themselves.

9) Alicent schemes to betray the righteous Valyrian princess and supplant her with her own sons. She is considered redeemable only when she serves Rhaenyra and places her on a pedestal even at the expense of her and her children's well being. This is the basis of many Jewish female characters in literature

10) Alicent's children are never considered to be real Targaryens. In F&B Aegon and Helaena are described as plumper and less striking than most Targaryens, Jaehaerys has extra fingers/ toes and Jaehaera as neurodivergent. Jaehaera dies and is replaced by the perfect Valyrian girl.

I'm open for asks and DMs. For context my MA was set in Nazi Germany and I took several courses on the subject.

[ceescedasticity]

Okay okay so.

DCU Batman canon Court of Owls (1) is waaaaay too similar to anti-Semitic conspiracy theories and (2) doesn't make sense. In so many ways.

If it's so entwined with Gotham's upper crust, how could Bruce Wayne never have noticed it? If they've been controlling Gotham all this time, why is Gotham so out-of-control? If unscrupulous rich people who spend a lot of time in Gotham can have people assassinated for free, why haven't they gotten rid of any of the Rogues who make life dangerous/really annoying and/or interfere with business? What even is the deal with that supposed "nursery rhyme"?

It's possible to rationalize answers for at least some of those questions, but it would just be propping up this way-too-similar-to-real-and-dangerous-conspiracy-theories thing, so why bother.

So what could it be instead?

Under the readmore, a lengthy discussion of how I would do it if I were to write a fic including it though anyone else can use it if for some reason they want to.

(tl;dr: a secret society too up their own asses to try to take over the country club much less the world, but still plenty dangerous to the vulnerable, and unfortunately they have a manual on creating superhuman assassins)

The Court of Owls can still fulfill most of its narrative purposes — certainly fulfill most of its fanfic-frequented narrative purposes — if it's stripped down into just a cult. They could be murdering, kidnapping, creating utterly loyal assassins, and planting agents in politics for no other reason than that they're a comic-book cult and they're Evil. They're presumably getting their money from somewhere but it doesn't have to be associated with Gotham's elite. Boring, but it does the job for Talon creation.

If we wanted a little more flavor, though—

It could be not a conspiracy but a "secret society" — something more along the lines of Skull and Bones, except obviously not restricted to college years. Add a dash of Bullingdon Club and the old Hellfire Club(s).

We get a bunch of rich people who want to LARP as Illuminati and behave transgressively without facing any consequences. Its members benefit from it socially/politically/economically because of the networking opportunities.

That is what most people who have heard of the Court of Owls think it is — solid networking and some wild parties, but also embarrassing, decadent, and likely to have covered up some manslaughters at some point, hopefully not recently but who knows; sex workers are leery of them. Probably "the Talon" is what someone dresses up as during one of their cringeworthy "ceremonies".

That is also what most members think the Court of Owls is. They do their networking and their partying and their LARPing, and don't pay much attention to how their hefty membership fee is spent. They think the uppermost echelons of the Court are full of those who get a bit too into the LARPing, which isn't even wrong. Being really into the LARPing is one of the criteria for being brought into the innermost circle.

Before I get into the innermost circle, let's discuss the "nursery rhyme":

Nursery rhymes as a rule are probably not actually coded references to real events. (Wikipedia on nursery rhymes — see Meanings section.)

I think if you want there to be an actual children's tradition of repeating this rhyme, there are two ways to go:

(1) It's an old rhyme and it's associated with a game. One kid is the Talon and they tackle anyone who speaks, something like that?

(2) It only dates back to the 20th century, where it's a song featured in a locally produced cartoon TV show or maybe a radio show. Maybe it's a cartoon about anthropomorphized mice and it's the anthem of the menacing owls. Whatever. Written by either a non-innermost-circle club member who wanted to enhance the intimidation factor or a non-club-member wanting to make fun of it.

Anyway.

The very innermost circle of the rich-people-club Court of Owls — I can see two directions to go with this.

First one is that the very innermost circle actually knows about an associated Evil Cult.

Second one is that they're sort of functionally a cult, but not exactly — they aren't trying to bring about the end of the world or anything. There isn't some god they're trying to serve or appease. They aren't trying to control Gotham or the world any more than they already control it. They're still networking and having fun by being Wild and Edgy and Occult.

Just, they're so Wild and Edgy and Occult they're turning people into Talons as an initiation rite/club activity.

—On second thought I'd prefer a little more intentionality, but imagine the extreme: a Court of Owls which is a student secret society with extremely fucked-up traditions and initiation rituals. Their frat house has a really high power bill because of all the Talons frozen in the basement.

A little more intentionality: They're old money and extremists, and we can tie in them being obsessed with Gotham's leading families though not synonymous with them — they're into eugenics, mostly but not entirely in that pre-scientific way where it's about Good Breeding and specific family lines rather than race as such. They want to Breed Better Gotham Rich People because… reasons. I said more intentionality, not well-reasoned intentionality.

They make Talons because (1) the Court of Owls has always made Talons; (2) the idea of having a superhuman assassin at their beck and call is really cool; (3) it makes for a killer initiation rite; (4) occasionally they can all agree someone is a threat to the Court and may be disposed of; (5) even more occasionally someone gets permission to use a Talon for personal grievances or advantage; (6) they're creepily into the power dynamic. Being into that sort of thing is one of the criteria for induction into the upper echelons, after all.

—Oh wait what am I doing with Talons.

Fanon Talons (a.k.a. what I've encountered like. 99% of the time in fanfic) are thoroughly brainwashed and deeply dehumanized. Their memories and identities are suppressed or just gone.

Sometimes the mental condition is partially or fully reversible, or may be reversible at some stages; more rarely the physical process is partially or fully reversible. (Usually this is the case when Dick is made a Talon.)

I haven't run into this as much, but sometimes the condition is not only irreversible but Talons are described as essentially already dead — destroying them is not killing.

(Optionally the Owls may abuse them for fun, but if you give an unscrupulous and cruel person total control over someone else that's not an unlikely outcome.)

From what I can tell from the wiki, canon Talons are (usually) loyal and devoted and follow orders despite any previously held scruples. This suggests some level of indoctrination/conditioning. We also know their training is brutal.

However, most seem to retain their individuality — they bear grudges, request assignments, take pride, and now and then go rogue. I get the impression from the wiki that they generally remember their pasts.

(The wiki does not mention pronoun usage. I have no idea if the third-person-it way of speaking is canon.)

Canon Talon recruitment looks like it aims for older teenagers. Most of it also seems to be nominally voluntary. They agree not knowing what they're getting into, and maybe under pressure from an authority figure, and they're not allowed to quit later, but they do initially agree.

The physical condition is reversible via Lazarus Pit, which probably means other methods would work as well.

Durability of the mental conditioning seems to vary from person to person. Some remain devoted and very concerned about failing the Court, however: One guy deserted entirely when he realized he'd been ordered to kill a two-year-old. Another broke away after feeling kinship with vigilante opponents and eventually making a friend. Clearly whatever they are doing is not very durable on at least some subjects.

An advantage of the fanon-style total dehumanization over the canon situation is it explains why they don't have a hell of a lot more desertions.

Maybe: Recruitment is usually targeted towards those who would enjoy being a superhuman assassin enough that they wouldn't care who they worked for. Maybe: There are actually a lot more desertions and loyal Talons spend 90% of work hours hunting down disloyal ones. Maybe: They're convinced the Court is doing good and important things. Maybe: There are other perks.

With a Court that is more a secret society than a conspiracy or a cult, it would be harder to convince anyone the Court is doing good and important things. Other perks are possible. A mix of targeted recruitment and eliminating a lot of failures is possible. The fanon approach is also possible.

The canon approach is much more compatible with a Haley's Circus that is, while sketchy, not evil. There's very little outright coercion and some recruits even stay in touch for a while. Everyone has plausible deniability and they keep desperately needed financial backing. —Of course you can make the circus evil if you want but I wouldn't go that way because it feels… disrespectful to Dick? As much as that makes sense.

The canon approach also works much better for William Cobb. —Sort of. Cobb's whole character is clearly someone who has an identity, who has aspirations and grudges. But it doesn't make a lot of sense that he'd get screwed over twice by Gotham's elite then turn around and become utterly loyal to an organization virtually synonymous with Gotham's elite????? Was that supposed to be a demonstration of the effectiveness of the brainwashing?

But with the secret society version, the Court of Owls isn't synonymous with Gotham's elite, and probably doesn't include the particularly stuffy elite like whatsisface Crowne. —It also works fine if the Court is just a cult.

In my opinion either cult or LARPing secret society version of the Court also works better with using a circus as a Talon farm anyway, because while some circus-honed skills could be useful to an assassin they're neither necessary nor sufficient. It's a weird choice for a conspiracy which actually accomplishes things.

(…Alternate Joker origin story: Court of Owls snagged a clown for a Talon and things went horribly wrong? —Actually I like that as much as any other origin I've heard.)

I'm seeing a couple of ways to go with this.

Option one: Fanon Talons. Haley's Circus has no intentional connection and very little knowledge of the situation; William Cobb was there before being picked as a Talon for whatever reason (maybe Whatsisface Crowne is in the Court and wants to get rid of him), and whoever decides Cobb's descendant will be the Gray Son decides the bloodline needs to incubate in the circus for some reason. Most Talons are picked from Gotham's lower classes. —Maybe the Court has a Thing about Cobb and goes for circus performers when it can get them?

Option two: Canon Talons. Haley's Circus is involved with plausible deniability. Cobb is probably the one who decides to incubate his bloodline there. Potential Talons are chosen based on how much they seem like they'd like it but there is still a high rate of attrition; cooperating Talons don't get a totally bad deal but non-cooperating ones usually get dead. In this model Talon!Dick would be dead if he was anyone else, but they're really invested in the Gray Son thing and keep trying to break him.

My inclination is generally to stick closer to canon unless I have a reason not to, so — I guess it would depend on what story I wanted to tell.

(As for the whole "Gray Son of Gotham" prophecy thing, either it was delivered by an associated cult OR it's some bullshit that came out of nineteenth-century occultism and then got taken seriously because the inner circle of the Court of Owls has delusions of grandeur.)

(Another note on the circus: I was going to say that one advantage of the "Court of Owls is a powerful conspiracy using Haly's Circus as a Talon farm" thing is that it does explain why this increasingly anachronistic circus is still operating, but it turns out it's not as anachronistic as I thought, I just live under a rock I guess. Traditional circuses still exist. Circus elephants were only banned in New Jersey in 2018. We don't need to have the Court of Owls intimidating regulators — though it helps if they're pouring money in!)

So that's Talons — not settled, but hopefully adequately considered.

(…If I wanted I could get super creepy with the intersection of the Breeding Better Rich People goal and the Pursuit of Perfect Specimens for Talons goal. That's optional though.)

Anyway.

I think this works pretty well at clearing up the questions.

Why didn't Bruce Wayne notice earlier? He made the mistake of taking what he thought was a weird social club at face value. He knew members might be up to no good and dealt with that in whatever arena they were acting in. Maybe he extracted people who were caught up in their parties. But he didn't realize they were engaging in human… not experimentation, they know what they're doing. They're engaging in Talon-making and stockpiling assassins even though they very seldom use them for anything but stopping other Talons. If their enemies die mysteriously they are assumed to have hired one of the universe's innumerable other assassins.

If they've been controlling Gotham all this time, why is Gotham so out-of-control? They've never controlled Gotham any more than any other rich people, they just like to play-act like they do.

If unscrupulous rich people who spend a lot of time in Gotham can have people assassinated for free, why haven't they gotten rid of any of the Rogues who make life dangerous/really annoying and/or interfere with business? Because using Talons for anything other than controlling other Talons requires a quorum of the innermost circle, and there's always disagreement about if it's the right time, and they can't decide anything and nothing gets done.

(Am I actually going to use this? I don't know! Maybe. Probably? I have some batfic ideas but I've decided not to post anything until I finish it or I finish Unforsaken, so possibly my energy will fizzle out first.)

[junkdrawerfan]

Tim should NEVER go back to being Red Robin. Red Robin was a punishment and Tim at his lowest. It’s like when Dick lost it and went to Detroit and told everyone he loves to forget about him. Not a good look.

Tim should become an adult hero. He is in a stage of arrested development because everytime he meets his future self it’s Gun Batman. Also not a great look and probably an ego death on a scale I can’t understand.

Tim should definitely never be Batman (see Gun Batman). He should get out from under Batman’s cape and find a reason to be a hero other than “I want to help my heroes and I feel good when I help people.” Which yes is a total simplification but Tim doesn’t have a strong internal reason to be a hero.

He should become something like Strike or Cardinal (every universe gets a religious brother!). He should find being a hero fun again. He should fall in love with Gotham for his own reasons that are conscious and arguable.

Red Robin was great because it was about Tim growing up and finding his own moral code, which was inline with Batman’s at the end. But for every arch in the Red Robin run, Tim is exploring why he shouldn’t kill and be non lethal and give people the benefit of the doubt. That’s great! It’s very reflective of what real children go through in their later teen years. Tim is teetering on the edge and with each lesson explored and learned, he takes a step away from the ledge Jason was flung over. That’s good writing!

If I was writing Tim Drake, I would pick up with him feeling lost and going through the motions. He has his friends and his family and his cute boyfriend but he’s directionless. He’s working at Wayne Enterprises, a majority stockholder with very little say in the day to day on goings, maybe he’s got a small job in R&D where he gets to dick around with Lucious Fox every day. He goes on patrol and fucks around with his brothers and dad. He joins the Titans on the weekends to run small missions but isn’t an active live-in member of the team because he just doesn’t feel ready to leave Gotham. He goes on weekly dates with his boyfriend and tests him good morning kiss emojis. His life is quieter after the turmoil of his late teens. He’s settling into a grove but that finally leaves him time to think about what he wants to do.

Tim never planned to be a hero his whole life but here he is. He doesn’t need to work. He’s stupid rich and his dad is stupid rich. He hates school, going to college makes his skin itch. Bernard is in culinary school and sometimes hints at a trade school or getting a job just to have something to do for more than 10 hours a week and give him a chance to socialize. Tim is always at his best when he gets to socialize even if he claims he’s an introvert.

And then there is an inciting incident. A case makes Tim enroll in Gotham U and he sits in a few classes looking for a rogue his age. But he finds he actually likes it. It’s not like high school with so many rules and restrictions. The small discussion groups require real thinking. He’s not here to impress the teacher and get a decent grade. He talks about it with Bernard. For a second he even forgets about the case, he’s just so excited about the topic of discussion in his Ethics and Philosophy class.

So when the case is over, he considers signing up.

But then he worries about heroing and if he’ll have time. And he really really hated school…

And then he finds out his friends are going to be graduating college soon. Steph is graduating college next semester. Did he miss his chance? Would it be weird to be a 21 year old freshman?

But then there is another case. This time about a professor. Clearly something is in the water in Gotham U. Turns out that other case is connected to a conspiracy about the school so he keeps going and he keeps attending class. He jokes with Dick that this is the universe telling him to get a degree and Dick looks at him with that inquisitive look as he sees through Tim’s bluster and says “It’s okay to want something different.” And it stuns Tim. But of course Dick Grayson would know just what to say. It’s Dick Grayson.

And the story progresses. He makes new friends. Mostly for the case but he really likes them. And he has a panic attack over midterms. He hates tests. Bernard makes him hot coco and encourages him. He does well in class. Bs & As and some Cs but he doesn’t feel pressure about GPA because he’s not “really going anyway.” And then it’s finals and he finally catches the rogues which turns out to be a secret society of alumni who find smart students and encourage (pressure) them to take up villainy (usually not caped but Lex Luther can’t be the only evil businessman in Gotham!) to enrich the members of the secret society.

And the whole time, he’s enjoying college and his hero job. It feels like when he first ran away from JPV and set out to do his own thing as Robin. It’s not like he’s always hiding under Bruce’s cape but it’s nice to be fully in charge of his case again. He doesn’t go to the Batcave at all. He just works out of his nest in Crime Alley because it’s closer to campus. Bruce stumbled his way through saying he’s happy to see Tim back at the nest and Tim feels happy even if Bruce insults his house boat like two times. It’s nice to see his dad validate him as his own adult hero, spreading his wings.

For some reason (comic book logic insert here) he can’t go out as Robin. He doesn’t want to be caught associating with the Bat. The secret society is really good at hiding from the Bats, it’s how they’ve lasted this long. So he has to design a new look that isn’t Black & Red. He keeps the bat insignia off because it’s temporary and, again, he doesn’t want this touching Batman. He’s just on his own taking down this secret society that encourages corruption and destruction in Gotham.

(Maybe at some point he has to hang out with Helena and it just feels really nostalgic and nice! Listen I love their sibling dynamic!!)

And at the end, he’s finished one semester of Gotham U, he has a new costume that feels good and is all his own, not a legacy he has to uphold or a punishment he’s inflicting on himself because of grief and rage. And he feels good. It’s the best he’s felt in so long. He feels like he has purpose, that he’s in control of his life instead of just moving day to day.

He doesn’t want to give up this feeling.

So he signs up for next semester, tells his friends and family and boyfriend he’s going to college, and slaps a bat on his new costume and introduces the world to Strike.

[f1ghtsoftly]

All The Women’s News You Missed This Week

3/10/25-3/17/25

Furious protests erupt in Bangladesh after an 8-year-old girl succumbs to injuries she sustained after being brutally raped. Indian health workers strike for better working conditions. The Queen sends a letter of support to Giselle Pelicot. The Supreme Court will take up conversion therapy bans in a Colorado case and in Kentucky state lawmakers have voted to protect the practice. Ukranian women’s organizations struggle without US funding.

In a piece of good news, Fatou Baldeh, a campaigner against the practice of FGM, has been named Time’s Woman Of The Year.

Want this in your inbox instead? Subscribe here

Opinion and Investigative:

As the US backslides, can China claim moral high ground on women’s rights?

Why US abortion restrictions matter beyond borders

Serbia’s Femicide Record Undermines Claims of Progress on Women’s Rights

The GOP’s Next Target? No-Fault Divorce and Women’s Right to Leave

Lorraine Kelly: Diversity push is leaving working-class people behind

Women, girls bear brunt of cyberbullying against persons with disabilities

“IT’S ALL IN YOUR HEAD”: ENDOMETRIOSIS PATIENTS AND THE PROMISE OF ALTERNATIVE MEDICINE

LGBT:

Supreme Court will take up state bans on conversion therapy for LGBTQ+ children, in a Colorado case

Angry response to how transgender lawmaker Sarah McBride introduced

A new anti-LGBTQ+ bill in Hungary would ban Pride event and allow use of facial recognition software

North Dakota Senate rejects resolution asking US Supreme Court to overturn same-sex marriage ruling

Kentucky GOP lawmakers vote to protect conversion therapy

Women’s Rights:

Iran: Authorities target women’s rights activists with arbitrary arrest, flogging and death penalty

Louisiana woman pleads not guilty to a felony in historic abortion case

Risks of state abortion reporting mandates outweigh the benefits, an advocacy group says

Iran using drones and apps to enforce women's dress code

Kentucky lawmakers add specific medical exceptions to the state’s near-total abortion ban

Driving ban puts brakes on young women in Turkmenistan

Ukrainian women’s rights organisations struggle as US aid suspended

Male Violence:

Search for US student in Dominican Republic intensifies

Things to know about the former megachurch pastor charged with child sexual abuse

Airman charged in killing of Native American woman who went missing 7 months ago in South Dakota

UN experts accuse Israel of sexual violence and 'genocidal acts' in Gaza

'He strangled me without asking' - experts say choking during sex now normal for many

Sean 'Diddy' Combs pleads not guilty to updated indictment

Disabled author swamped by hate speech after social media post on feminism

Women Fight Back:

Haitian women commemorate International Women’s Day spotlighting broken justice system

How Iran's 'Woman, Life, Freedom' Protests Live On Today

FGM campaigner honoured with Time magazine title

Teacher ordered to remove signs from classroom, including one saying 'Everyone is welcome here'

Mother of woman who died after Georgia’s six-week abortion ban calls for law’s repeal

Women Radio amplifies African feminist voices

Texas midwife accused by state’s attorney general of providing illegal abortions

BBC presenters settle sex and age discrimination dispute

Queen sent letter of support to Gisèle Pelicot

Yasmeen Lari rejects Israel's Wolf Prize over "continuing genocide in Gaza"

Fierce protests as eight-year-old rape victim dies in Bangladesh

India's frontline health workers fight for better pay and recognition

US arrests second pro-Palestinian Columbia University protester

Women in the News:

Democrat Rebecca Cooke to again challenge US Rep. Derrick Van Orden

Brown Medicine professor and doctor deported to Lebanon despite having valid visa, court filings claim

Woman arrested in US for allegedly holding stepson captive for 20 years

WATCH: Woman trapped in car films as tornado hits Central Florida

'For holding a wombat, thousands threatened my life'

Judge says Fani Willis violated open records law, orders her to pay $54K in attorneys’ fees

Feel Good Stories and Feminist History:

The forgotten story of the woman who invented the dishwasher

The Mexican women who defied drug-dealers, fly-tippers and chauvinists to build a thriving business

Early members of Philly’s roller derby league face off in a match circa 2005-2006. Jeff Fusco/The Conversation U.S., CC BY-ND Philly Roller Derby league turns 20 - here’s how the sport skated its way to feminism, anti-racism and queer liberation

'We couldn't get jobs in sexist garages - so we set up our own'

5 Major Historical Movements Led By Women In Rajasthan

Arts and Culture:

‘Just be radical’: the feminist artist giving Matisse a modern punk twist

The film exploring loneliness of migrant workers

'Santosh' review: Feminist police drama confronts harsh truths

Shabana Azmi On Feminism And Her Powerful Role In ‘Dabba Cartel’

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: I want my books to be read in Africa

Cannes award-winning actress Dequenne dies at 43

Legendary Russian composer Gubaidulina dies in Germany

Book Review: Patrycja Humienik’s powerful debut poetry collection is a conundrum worth mulling over

13 Nonfiction Books to Read This Women’s History Month

As always, this is global and domestic news from a US perspective, covering feminist issues and women in the news more generally. As of right now, I do not cover Women’s Sports. Published each Monday.

[mediumgayitalian]

———

"Gru --"

"I thought I was Swiper!"

"I changed it. Gru is funnier. Gru, send the code out to your cabinmates. We need stronger assurance. Elphaba --"

"Oooooh, that one's my favorite."

"Why does she get a cool nickname? We've been friends for longer! I have seniority!"

"Elphaba, don't let Edward slip away. Try to keep his suspicions down."

"On it."

"Eyes on us! Scatter!"

———

The sea of escaping demigods is louder and denser than usual. The one benefit is that all the whispered gossip and general confusion and suspicion means that any attempts the Powerpuff Girls make to reconvene and scheme, Nico assumes, is quickly circumvented by the sheer number of eyes on them and the various children poking at them to ascertain their validity.

"So you're a Hecate kid now?" asks Harley, backpack leash gripped firmly by his older sister Nyssa, on one such poke.

"In the flesh," Will says. He wiggles his fingers, grinning, sending a flurry of sparks Harley's way. He giggles. Nico notices that several of the sparks have disintegrated one of the backpack's straps. Nyssa unfortunately does not share in Nico's noticing.

"Cool," says Harley, eyes wide. "Can you turn me into a donut?"

"For a little bit. Why?"

"Elizabeth said if I was a sweet treat I would taste like boogers, but I know she's wrong. I have to test my hypothesis."

"Ah. I see. In that case --" He squeezes his hands together, concentrating, and when he opens them again a ball of green smokes floats slightly above it. He passes it carefully over to an awed Harley.

Nyssa eyes him warily. "You're a different person when you don't have to worry about fixing whatever dumbassery this is bound to cause."

Will smiles angelically. "Whatever do you mean."

She sighs and walks away, dragging her little brother along. Nico watches Harley frown, adjust his arm, look down, and very quickly and very quietly pull his shirt over the broken strap. He looks back at Will and grins. Will smirks back.

"You're lucky that was funny," Nico says, melting out of the shadows. Will jumps so hard he blurs, whipping around to face Nico's leer with a scowl of his own. "Or I would snitch on your ass immediately."

"You scared the shit outta me," he grumbles, hand to his heart. "Somebody's gotta get you a bell. Jeez. Anyways." He stretches, turning towards the Arts & Crafts Centre. "I gotta class to run. See you later?"

He leaves with a bright little wave and, at the last second, a blown kiss, running off towards the dinky little painted-on shed, where several other goth teens are waiting.

Nico watches until he is fully ducked inside, squinting.

He didn't trip once.

[ask-codeearasure]

Oh... a part of me fuckin figured this kid was a Republican, or at least a Republican mouthpiece, but I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt at first. But now, get ready for that kid to use Cross being Trans Coded to be one of their reasons for accusing Jakei of being a pedophile next, since that is where red party mouthbreathers always seem to go next with anything transgender related. I'm calling it right now.

If you haven't read my essay of why Trans Coded characters are important, go do so, it comes into play here and why Republicans are constantly attacking them and why characters that aren't Cishet, Male, and White are always called "Political". If not directly, then indirectly under the guise it's going to "groom children" and "confuse them", amongst other false talking points used to demonize the LGBTQIA+ community.

I've always said this, but I'll say it here and now, Republicans LOVE to minimize their accusations and attacks as being "a different opinion" when deep down, they know it's anything BUT.

If you look at the way Republicans are complaining about their families going no-contact with them and uninviting them from holidays, family gatherings, or even just complete exclusion, they always say "It's just a different opinion! They are cutting me off for a different opinion!!!" When they know that's not exactly the case, but they are not going to say what the actual reason is. They use the First Amendment as a weak defense for what they say as "I have the Freedom of Speech!" but don't acknowledge that one's Freedom of Speech DOES NOT MEAN there's no such thing as "Freedom from Consequences".

Let's say it how it is. These people know it's about morals, giving a shit about the people around them (which extends into the state of society as a whole), and ethics.

Republicans refuse to admit they completely lack morals and that lack of morality makes them dangerous. You could stretch it and say they don't have a conscience either, but really, it's clear the problem these people have is outright stupidity, not a complete lack of a little voice in their head telling them the shit they subscribe to perhaps isn't a good idea.

This kid tried to say "Oh, Jakei didn't understand what I meant!" Then proceeded to not clarify what they supposedly meant and then turned around and accused everyone of having Main Character Syndrome.

What else could they have possibly meant when they outright said they believed that Cross being confirmed to be Trans Coded was to get attention from the Trans Community?

If that isn't what you meant...? Then what the fuck else could you have meant?

How else are we supposed to take it???

But that's just it, isn't it?

That WAS what they meant. That WAS how it was supposed to be taken, they just don't like that it makes them look like a complete and total piece of shit. It's almost like actions speak louder than words here.

Republicans hate being seen as a bad person, so they will gaslight you and refuse to ever admit they want to hurt others and get kicks out of it.

And look at what the kid does. They didn't like the fact that everyone fucking tore them a new one, proceeded to try to gaslight everyone by saying that Jakei didn't understand what they meant to try to make her look like the "confused" bad guy, and then accused everyone else of having Main Character Syndrome. This is also a form of projection, putting themself on a pedestal of "everyone got mad, so they must be wrong. Therefore I refuse to change my opinion to keep making the "bad guys" mad!" They are not looking at the reactions of everyone around them as a lens of "perhaps I was wrong, I should change my opinion and improve as a person". They're not actually questioning what's wrong. They just see everyone upset and assume they've got all the power here, because in order to avoid genuinely considering what they've done wrong, everyone else must be wrong. This is a very common mental gymnastic used to avoid change.

This pattern of behavior and responses is what we call DARVO, and it is prevalent in the political and psychological fields. It stands for Deny, Attack, Reverse, Victim, and Offender.

Republicans LOVE using DARVO in their debates, it's their go-to when it comes to attacking left-wing content creators, anyone on the left, or populations of people they just don't like (and always out of intentional ignorance).

They will always use it to ensure that they gain control of the conversation and make themselves look good, mainly to themselves. It's why they make nonsensical whataboutisms and accuse others of extreme crimes despite not having any evidence to back it up.

It's a way to get the actual victims to shut the fuck up so they can continue running their mouth comfortably. With no competition to their views, they can avoid questioning their beliefs and quality of character based off those beliefs.

And what do we have here?

A person who uses Republican Talking Points to demonize transgenderism.

And then now used Cross being Trans Coded as a way to attack Jakei again under the guise her advocating for transgender people has a harmful and/or self-serving ulterior motive.

And then is using DARVO to try to gaslight everyone they can to make themself look like the actual victim, because the poor baby can't handle the justified backlash to their behavior.

By these terms of beliefs and behavior, they are a Republican (perhaps not legitimately but by current definition) who is predictable and will always be predictable because once you know how to recognize and analyze Republican Propaganda, you can expect their every move and what they are always aiming for.

Sorry to make another post on this. This was meant to be a fandom blog, not a politics blog.

-- Ouija

[kuromitos]

I have more shit to say about batcest shippers!

[ This is the last time I promise ( -д-) ]

This is more directed at brudick shippers but the thing i hate about the most is that they try to get on this metaphorical soapbox, and say how the their ship is better and valid due to the fact that's "queer history." When in reality, they're nothing more than a bunch of liars, and just saying, random stuff to support their weird gross ship.

Stuff like how dick was supposed to be closer in age to bruce, how their relationship was always romantic and stuff like that, which is false.

Since his debut, Dick grayson was always portrayed as a young boy, and his relationship with bruce was always familial, not romantic. Yes, they weren't father and son during that time, but they did have a familial relationship, which was more akin to brothers, so they still had a familiar relationship.

And yes, I will admit I'm not gonna pretend that there weren't certain moments within the comics that did raise some eyebrows in today's standards, but that was also a scenes just happening in comics in general. Did we all just forget about the comic where supergirl fell in love with her with her horse?

What about the storyline, where green lantern falls in love with a fourteen year old alien girl who had the ability to physically age up her body to an adult form but was still mentally a child?

That storyline is still infamous today to the point that people don't like how jordan because of it, even though they reckoned it years ago. It's still creepy, but I digress.

There are so many storylines and moments that happen in comics that are so weird, but we just chalk it up to it being a certain time period. And I feel that's also what's going on, with the batman comics back then.

Another thing these shippers have come to believe that batman and robin are the reason why the comic code authority came into existence. Which is not completely true.

There are many reasons why the comic code came into fruition during that time, but they act like batman and robin is the sole reason why.

One of the main reasons mainly deal with the fact of censorship within comics and of course the corruption of children, which brings in their major evidence as to why they believe this is the book called seduction of the innocent.

If you don't know what the book seduction of the innocent is it's mainly a book by a doctor who believe that comics was turning children into delinquents and how parents should keep it away from their children and one of the passage within the books talks about how batman and robin are turning children gay.

Keep in mind, This was the 1950s where a man can stand next to another man, and people will automatically give them the side eye so....

Also, just a small piece of information is the man who wrote the book. He lied about that. He interviewed some boys asking him about the comic that they had read, and few of them happen to be gay and claim that they like to read superman comics with another indie title But for some reason, he decided to lie and claim that they was reading batman comics , and they wanted to be robin so they can have sex with him. He also lied about Wonder Woman and how she makes young girls want to hate men, so there's also that.

I'm going to post a link to a post that goes into more detail about this it also plays another detail I particularly dislike these types of shippers, which is how they only care about queer history when it benefits them. It comes with evidence about this man lying.

Which brings me to my final point that i'm going to make on here is they like to contradict themselves a lot.

These people are the same people who state that fiction isn't real and These are fictional characters so they can do whatever they want with them, but at the same time they want to get mad at people call them homophobic For not liking this ship due to being queer history and have an impact on queerness in comics. When we know that's not true.

How does that work? 2 things can't be true i At the same time if it doesn't make sense. either fiction affects reality, or it doesn't. You don't actually care if this has any impact within queer comics. You just care that this validates your weird a** ship between family members.

And that's incredibly irritating.

Also I feel I shouldn't have to mention this, but I am not antiship, I generally do not care what ship you're into, unless it's like Pedo or incest.

Even then, I'm not gonna do anything to you. I'm just gonna read about how you are a weirdo and call it a day, probably even block you.

I personally believe no one should be harassed, doxs, or anything horrible happened to them due to them for liking a ship unless you're being an asshole to everyone.

That's why I don't personally like these shippers. Because they want to feel mentally superior to everyone else and act like that, they are better than everyone else here.

They wanna blame the most random stuff on why they're getting hate when, in reality, that has nothing to do with their hatred. Like they wanna blame purity culture on why they're getting hate.

Purity culture??

in this fandom??

the fandom that is known for sexualizing their female characters?? The fandom that has sexualized Dick grayson so much that he's reduced nothing more to his a**??

Purity Culture has nothing to do with why you've been hated.

You are hated because you are making shit up for a ship.

You are hated because you are shipping a father and son and turning every single moment they spend together as romantic and basically sexualizing a wholesome relationship between men.

you are hated because you say out of pocket stuff to defend yourself like "adopted family aren't real families"

You are hated because you try to act better than everyone when you are no better than the average person on the internet

It has nothing to do with purity culture or or homophobia, or whatever random excuse you're trying to come up with. you are hated Cause you are generally a weird person that has weird taste in ships. That is it

I'm officially done talking about these people. Because if I feel if I do I will start to hate the fandom in general, so i'm done and I will, I'll try my best not to talk about them anymore.

BYE(*^▽^)/★*☆♪