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tastydregs · 1 year

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Why I’m Not Worried About A.I. Killing Everyone and Taking Over the World

This article was co-published with Understanding AI, a newsletter that explores how A.I. works and how it’s changing our world.

Geoffrey Hinton is a legendary computer scientist whose work laid the foundation for today’s artificial intelligence technology. He was a co-author of two of the most influential A.I. papers: a 1986 paper describing a foundational technique (called backpropagation) that is still used to train deep neural networks and a 2012 paper demonstrating that deep neural networks could be shockingly good at recognizing images.

That 2012 paper helped to spark the deep learning boom of the last decade. Google hired the paper’s authors in 2013 and Hinton has been helping Google develop its A.I. technology ever since then. But last week Hinton quit Google so he could speak freely about his fears that A.I. systems would soon become smarter than us and gain the power to enslave or kill us. “There are very few examples of a more intelligent thing being controlled by a less intelligent thing,” Hinton said in an interview on CNN last week.

This is not a new concern. The philosopher Nick Bostrom made similar warnings in his widely read 2014 book Superintelligence. At the time most people saw these dangers as too remote to worry about, but a few people found arguments like Bostrom’s so compelling that they devoted their careers to them. As a result, there’s now a tight-knit community convinced that A.I. poses an existential risk to the human race.

I’m going to call their viewpoint singularism—a nod not only to Verner Vinge’s concept of the singularity, but also to Bostrom’s concept of a singleton, an A.I. (or other entity) that gains control over the world. The singularists have been honing their arguments for the last decade and today they largely set the terms of the A.I. safety debate.

But I worry that singularists are focusing the world’s attention in the wrong direction. Singularists are convinced that a super-intelligent A.I. would become so powerful to kill us all if it wants to. And so their main focus is on figuring out how to ensure that this all-powerful A.I. winds up with goals that are aligned with our own.

But it’s not so obvious that superior intelligence will automatically lead to world domination. Intelligence is certainly helpful if you’re trying to take over the world, but you can’t control the world without manpower, infrastructure, natural resources, and so forth. A rogue A.I. would start out without control of any of these physical resources.

So a better way to prevent an A.I. takeover may be to ensure humans remain firmly in control of the physical world—an approach I’ll call physicalism. That would mean safeguarding our power plants, factories, and other physical infrastructure from hacking. And it would mean being cautious about rolling out self-driving cars, humanoid robots, military drones, and other autonomous systems that could eventually become a mechanism for A.I. to conquer the world.

In 1997, IBM’s Deep Blue computer beat the reigning chess grandmaster Gary Kasparov. In the years since, chess engines have gotten better and better. Today, the strongest chess software has an Elo rating of 3,500, high enough that we should expect it to win almost every game against the strongest human players (who have Elo ratings around 2,800). Singularists see this as a template for A.I. mastery of every significant activity in the global economy, including important ones like scientific discovery, technological innovation, and warfare.

A key step on the road to A.I. dominance will be when A.I. systems get better than people at designing A.I. systems. At this point, singularists predict that we’ll get an “intelligence explosion” where A.I. systems work to recursively improve their own code. Because it’s easy to make copies of computer programs, we could quickly have millions of virtual programmers working to improve A.I. systems, which should dramatically accelerate the rate of progress in A.I. technology.

I find this part of the singularist story entirely plausible. I see no reason to doubt that we’ll eventually be able to build computer systems capable of performing cognitive tasks at a human level—and perhaps beyond.

Once an A.I. achieves superintelligence, singularists envision it building some kind of superweapon to take over the world. Obviously, since none of us possess superhuman intelligence, it’s hard to be sure whether this is possible. But I think a good way to sanity-check it is to think about the history of previous superweapons.

Take the atomic bomb, for example. In 1939, physicist Leo Szilard realized that it would be possible to create a powerful new kind of bomb using nuclear fission. So did he go into his garage, build the first atomic bomb, and use it to become the most powerful person on the planet?

Of course not. Instead, Szilard drafted a letter to President Franklin Roosevelt and got Albert Einstein to sign it. That led to the Manhattan Project, which wound up employing tens of thousands of people and spending billions of dollars over a six-year period. When the first atomic bombs were finished in 1945, it was President Harry Truman, not Szilard or other physicists, who got to decide how they would be used.

Maybe a superintelligent A.I. could come up with an idea for a powerful new type of weapon. But like Szilard, it would need help to build and deploy it. And getting that help might be difficult—especially if the A.I. wants to retain ultimate control over the weapon once it’s built.

When I read Bostrom’s Superintelligence, I was surprised that he devotes less than three pages (starting on page 97 in this version) to discussing how an A.I. takeover might work in concrete terms. In those pages, Bostrom briefly discusses two possible scenarios. One is for the A.I. to create “self-replicating biotechnology or nanotechnology” that could spread across the world and take over before humans know what is happening. The other would be to create a supervirus to wipe out the human race.

Bostrom’s mention of nanotechnology is presumably a reference to Eric Drexler’s 1986 book envisioning microscopic robots that could construct other microscopic objects one atom at a time. Twenty years later, in 2006, a major scientific review found that the feasibility of such an approach “cannot be reliably predicted.” As far as I can tell, there’s been no meaningful progress on the concept since then.

We do have one example of a nanoscale technology that’s made significant progress in recent years: integrated circuits now have features that are just a few atoms wide, allowing billions of transistors to be packed onto a single chip. And the equipment required to build these nanoscale devices is fantastically expensive and complex: companies like TSMC and Intel spend billions of dollars to build a single chip fabrication plant.

I don’t know if Drexler-style nano-assemblers are possible. But if they are, building the first ones is likely to be a massive undertaking. Like the atomic bomb, it would likely require many skilled engineers and scientists, large amounts of capital, and large research labs and production facilities. It seems hard for a disembodied A.I. to pull that off—and even harder to do so while maintaining secrecy and control.

Part of Bostrom’s argument is that superintelligent A.I. would have a “social manipulation superpower” that would enable the A.I. to persuade or trick people into helping it accomplish its nefarious ends.

Again, no one has ever encountered a superintelligent AI, so it’s hard to make categorical statements about what it might be able to do. But I think this misunderstands how persuasion works.

Human beings are social creatures. We trust longtime friends more than strangers, and we are more likely to trust people we perceive as similar to ourselves. In-person conversations tend to be more persuasive than phone calls or emails.

A superintelligent A.I. would have no friends or family and would be incapable of having an in-person conversation with anybody. Maybe it could trick some gullible people into sending it money or sharing confidential information. But what an A.I. would really need is co-conspirators: people willing to help out with a project over the course of months or years, while keeping their actions secret from friends and family. It’s hard to imagine how an A.I. could inspire that kind of loyalty among a significant number of people.

I expect that nothing I’ve written so far is going to be persuasive to committed singularists. Singularists have a deep intuition that more intelligent entities inevitably become more powerful than less intelligent ones.

“One should avoid fixating too much on the concrete details, since they are in any case unknowable and intended for illustration only,” Bostrom writes in Superintelligence. “A superintelligence might—and probably would—be able to conceive of a better plan for achieving its goals than any that a human can come up with. It is therefore necessary to think about these matters more abstractly.”

Stephen Hawking articulated this intuition in a vivid way a few years ago. “You’re probably not an evil ant-hater who steps on ants out of malice,” Hawking wrote. “But if you’re in charge of a hydroelectric green-energy project and there’s an anthill in the region to be flooded, too bad for the ants. Let’s not place humanity in the position of those ants.”

But it’s worth thinking harder about the relationship between human intelligence and our power over the natural world.

If you put a modern human in a time machine and sent him back 100,000 years, it’s unlikely he could use his superior intelligence to establish dominance over a nearby Neanderthal tribe. Even if he was an expert on modern weaponry, he wouldn’t have the time or resources to make a gun before the Neanderthals killed him or he just starved to death.

Humanity’s intelligence gave us power mainly because it enabled us to create progressively larger and more complex societies. A few thousand years ago, some human civilizations grew large enough to support people who specialized in mining and metalworking. That allowed them to build better tools and weapons, giving them an edge over neighboring civilizations. Specialization has continued to increase, century by century, until the present day. Modern societies have thousands of people working on highly specialized tasks from building aircraft carriers to developing A.I. software to sending satellites into space. It’s that extreme specialization that gives us almost godlike powers over the natural world.

My favorite articulation of this point came from entrepreneur Anton Troynikov in a recent episode of the Moment of Zen podcast.

“The modern industrial world requires actuators starting from the size of an oil refinery and going down to your scanning electron microscope,” Troynikov said. “The reason that we need all of this vast array of things is that the story of technology is almost the story of tool use. And every one of those tools relies on another layer of tools below them.”

The modern world depends on infrastructure like roads, pipelines, fiber optic cables, ports, warehouses, and so forth. Each piece of infrastructure has a workforce dedicated to building, maintaining, and repairing it. These workers not only have specialized skills and knowledge, they also have sophisticated equipment that enables them to do their jobs.

Which brings me to Bostrom’s second scenario for A.I. takeover. Bostrom predicts that a superintelligent A.I. might create a virus that wipes out humanity. It’s conceivable that an A.I. could trick someone into synthesizing a virus in an existing biology lab. I don’t know if an A.I.-designed virus could literally wipe out humanity, but let’s assume it can for the sake of argument.

This thing can’t run itself. LIONEL BONAVENTURE/Getty Images

The problem, from the A.I.’s point of view, is that it would still need some humans around to keep its data centers running.

As consumers, we’re used to thinking of services like electricity, cellular networks, and online platforms as fully automated. But they’re not. They’re extremely complex and have a large staff of people constantly fixing things as they break. If everyone at Google, Amazon, AT&T, and Verizon died, the internet would quickly grind to a halt—and so would any superintelligent A.I. connected to it.

Could an A.I. dispatch robots to keep the internet and its data centers running? Today there are far fewer industrial robots in the world than human workers, and the vast majority of them are special-purpose robots designed to do a specific job at a specific factory. There are few if any robots with the agility and manual dexterity to fix overhead power lines or underground fiber optic cables, drive delivery trucks, replace failing servers, and so forth. Robots also need human beings to repair them when they break, so without people the robots would eventually stop functioning too.

Of course this could change. Over time we may build increasingly capable robots, and in a few decades we may reach the point where robots are doing a large share of physical work. At that point, an A.I. takeover scenario might become more plausible.

But this is very different from the “fast takeoff” scenario envisioned by many singularists, in which A.I. takes over the world within months, weeks, or even days of an intelligence explosion. If A.I. takes over, it will be a gradual, multi-decade process. And we’ll have plenty of time to change course if we don’t like the way things are heading.

Singularists predict that the first superintelligent A.I. will be the last superintelligent A.I. because it will rapidly become smart enough to take over the world. If that’s true, then the question of A.I. alignment becomes supremely important because everything depends on whether the superintelligent A.I. decides to treat us well or not.

But in a world where the first superintelligent A.I. won’t be able to immediately take over the world—the world I think we live in—the picture looks different. In that case, there are likely to eventually be billions of intelligent A.I.s in the world, with a variety of capabilities and goals. Many of them will be benevolent. Some may “go rogue” and pursue goals independent of their creators. But even if that doesn’t happen, there will definitely be some A.I.s created by terrorists, criminals, bored teenagers, or foreign governments. Those are likely to behave badly—not because they’re “misaligned,” but because they’re well-aligned with the goals of their creators.

In this world, anything connected to the internet will face constant attacks from sophisticated A.I.-based hacking tools. In addition to discovering and exploiting software vulnerabilities, rogue A.I. might be able to use technologies like large language models and voice cloning to create extremely convincing phishing attacks.

And if a hacker breaches a computer system that controls a real-world facility—say a factory, a power plant, or a military drone—it could do damage in the physical world.

Last week I asked Matthew Middelsteadt, an A.I. and cybersecurity expert at the Mercatus Center, to name the most important recent examples of hacks like this. He said these were the three most significant in the last 15 years:

• In 2010, someone—widely believed to be the U.S. or Israeli government—unleashed a computer worm on computer systems associated with Iran’s nuclear program, slowing Iran’s efforts to enrich uranium.

• In 2015, hackers with suspected ties to Russia hacked computers controlling part of the Ukrainian power grid. This caused about 200,000 Ukrainians to lose power, but utility workers were able to restore power within a few hours by bypassing the computers.

• In 2021, a ransomware attack hit the billing infrastructure for the Colonial Pipeline, which moves gasoline from Texas to Southeastern United States. The attack shut down the pipeline for a few days, leading to brief fuel shortages in affected states.

This list makes it clear that this is a real problem that we should take seriously. But overall I found this list reassuring. Even if A.I. makes attacks like this 100 times more common and 10 times more damaging in the coming years, they would still be a nuisance rather than an existential threat.

Middelsteadt points out that the good guys will be able to use A.I. to find and fix vulnerabilities in their systems. Beyond that, it would be a good idea to make sure that computers controlling physical infrastructure like power plants and pipelines are not directly connected to the internet. Middelsteadt argues that safety-critical systems should be “air gapped”: made to run on a physically separate network under the control of human workers located on site.

This principle is particularly important for military hardware. One of the most plausible existential risks from A.I. is a literal Skynet scenario where we create increasingly automated drones or other killer robots and the control systems for these eventually go rogue or get hacked. Militaries should take precautions to make sure that human operators maintain control over drones and other military assets.

Last fall, the U.S. military publicly committed not to put A.I. in control of nuclear weapons. Hopefully other nuclear-armed powers will do the same.

Notably, these are all precautions we ought to be taking whether or not we think attacks by rogue AIs is an imminent problem. Even if superintelligent A.I. never tries to hack our critical infrastructure, it’s likely that terrorists and foreign governments will.

Over the longer term, we should keep the threat of rogue A.I.s in mind as we decide whether and how to automate parts of the economy. For example, at some point we will likely have the ability to make our cars fully self-driving. This will have significant benefits, but it could also increase the danger from misaligned A.I.

Maybe it’s possible to lock down self-driving cars so they are provably not vulnerable to hacking. Maybe these vehicles should have “manual override” options where a human passenger can shut down the self-driving system and take the wheel. Or maybe locking down self-driving cars is impossible and we’ll ultimately want to limit how many self-driving cars we put on the road.

Robots today are neither numerous nor sophisticated enough to be of much use to a superintelligent A.I. bent on world domination. But that could change in the coming decades. If more sophisticated and autonomous robots become commercially viable, we’ll want to think carefully about whether deploying them will make our civilization more vulnerable to misaligned A.I.

The bottom line is that it seems easier to minimize the harm a superintelligent A.I. can do than to prevent rogue A.I. systems from existing at all. If superintelligent A.I. is possible, then some of those A.I.s will have harmful goals, just as every human society has a certain number of criminals. But as long as human beings remain firmly in control of assets in the physical world, it’s going to be hard for a hostile A.I. to do too much damage.

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nostalgebraist · 2 years

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@disconcision replied to this post:

gotta ask at this point but are you steelmaning here for the sake of speculation or do you actually believe yud and the 'miri adjacent' believe in imminent ai x-risk in any way other than liminally as a vehicle for self-promotion? like not to be a total cynic but i don't know how to read (what i perceive to be) miri's strategy as a legitimate effort towards the stated goals

Oh, these days I'm convinced they're 100% sincere.

I do suspect there are people and groups in the broader "EA" space that are like this . . . especially the ones that are bigger and closer to the conventional charity ecosystem, where there are larger amounts of money slushing around.

But MIRI? It's just not that big, it doesn't get that much money, it's unabashedly weird in a manner that might have career penalties (but which true-believer employees don't care about), and its pitch to donors is the kind of thing you either believe or you don't, in binary fashion.

I have a hard time picturing the details of the timeline making much of a difference to donors. If you're the sort of person who says "eh, my AI timeline is shifted a few decades out from theirs, so I can wait a while before I start giving them money," you're not the sort of person who donates to MIRI to begin with.

That isn't the main thing that convinced me, though. The main thing is that the "MIRI-adjacent" crowd produces tons of esoteric, effort-intensive writing and debate that would be both strange and ineffective as PR, but looks perfectly natural if you read it as the result of genuine intellectual interest. (This is like half the content on LW dot com these days, now that it's merged w/ agent foundations.)

To pick an almost arbitrary example, here's a math-heavy post by an AI safety researcher not affiliated with MIRI, formalizing the content of a single Yudkowsky remark from the recent dialogues. I suppose there could be a cynical hypothesis on which such people are "marks" wrongly taking the core group at face value... but LW posts by the "core group" (eg actual MIRI researchers) look like this too.

----

I think the deal with MIRI is simply that it was . . . founded by Eliezer Yudkowsky. So, it approaches problems the way he does.

Yudkowsky has really pessimistic intuitions about AI safety. His writing on the topic is full of accusations that other researchers don't appreciate the sheer difficulty of the problem, that some idea X or Y would "obviously fail" in reality, that mere "ordinary paranoia" (his coined term) is insufficient, etc. IIRC there's some old post where he says something like, "my most basic mental gesture is 'no, that wouldn't work, try something else.'"

A lot of his conversations with other people, incl. the recent dialogues, have this talking-past-each-other quality, because it seems like he really wants to transmit this pessimistic intuition, rather than win the argument on any concrete point that's been raised. He feels the intuition more strongly than (most?) other people in the MIRI orbit, who in turn presumably feel it more strongly than anyone else.

Yet, despite believing that "AI safety seems intractable" with perhaps more felt passion than anyone else on earth, Yudkowsky chose to work on -- yes, AI safety. To "shut up and do the impossible," as he puts it.

I think this explains both MIRI's oddly low rate of output (relative to others in AI safety or just research groups in general), and the oddity of the output they do produce.

They're not sitting there twiddling their thumbs; they're considering every idea they can come up with and having the instinctive "no, that wouldn't work" reaction to each of them in turn. If you think you're fighting an unwinnable battle, being ordinarily "productive" is going to feel self-deceptive. The nature of the problem already renders most incremental work frivolous. You need to think of something so fundamentally outside the box, it has a chance of evading your intuition that nothing can possibly work.

Likewise, I think the stuff MIRI does produce is less "an approach they feel confident will work" and more like "the least intuitively repellant subset of things that 'obviously can't work' (i.e. everything)."

The best critique of this mindset IMO is that it defers too much to intuition and cuts off too many avenues of formal modeling before they can even get started. Math can surprise us, and things that "obviously can't work if you think about them for 5 seconds" may reveal unexpected facets after 5000 seconds, or 5 million. Sometimes you need to raise the temperature of the system to escape an equilibrium.

But I don't think "this is self-serving" is a reasonable read on this kind of writing (I mean the LW posts), produced in this volume, for a mostly self-selecting audience. If you just want to make a slush fund for yourself and your friends, there are easier ways!

#ai tag #the miri ride never ends

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scorpionyx9621 · 3 years

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Do you think Jason Todd fandom is kinda toxic? Because it seems like NO MATTER what DC do, there'll always be complains. Forget the bad adaptation like Titans. Even Judd Winick cannot escape the criticism with how he potrayed Robin!Jason. They just never satisfied.

SORRY, IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO RESPOND TO THIS. I just moved from Washington D.C. to Seattle, which, for my non-American friends, that's 4442km away. And I DROVE THERE ALL BY MYSELF. And now I'm trying to find new work in a new city and trying to stay mentally healthy and positive. Life is exciting but hard and scary.

*sighs*

As someone who was a fandom elder with V*ltr*n. I've seen some of the worst when it comes to fandom behavior. I'm talking people baking food with shaving razors and trying to give them to the showrunners. I'm talking leaking major plot details and refusing to take it down unless they make their ship canon (I am looking at you, Kl*nce stans) For the most part, DC Comics has had a decades-long reputation of treating their fans like trash and not caring what they think so from what I've seen, we all just grumble and complain in our corners of the internet about how we don't like how X comic portrays Jason Todd.

The challenge with Jason Todd is that he's your clinical anti-hero, the batfamily's Draco in Leather Pants, he's a jerkass woobie, and on top of all of that, he's a Tumblr sexyman. It's a perfect storm for a very fun but frustrating character to be a fan of. It doesn't help that every writer decides to re-invent the wheel every time Jason comes up so his canon lore is confusing at best and inconsistent as a standard.

I guess starting with a general brief on who Jason is and what is uniform about him with every instance he's appeared in comics/media.

Grew up in a poor family in Gotham with a dad who was a petty-mid-level criminal, and a mother who dies of a drug overdose.

Survives on the street on his own by committing petty crimes and potentially even engaging in sexual acts to keep himself alive.

Is cornered by Batman and taken in after Dick Grayson quits/is fired

Becomes the second Robin, but is known for being the harsher, more brutal Robin.

Is killed by Joker after being tortured, but somehow comes back to life and regains senses through the Lazarus Pit

Resolves himself to be better than Batman by basically being Batman but kills people.

Where there has been a lot of conflict in the fandom is the fact that Jason Todd is not a character that is written consistently. DC Comics loves to go with the narrative that Jason was "bad from the start" and was the "bad robin" when, yes, he has trouble controlling his anger, but he also still is just as invested in seeing the best of Gotham City and trying to be a positive change for the world as any other DC Comics hero.

Where I get frustrated with the fandom is its ability to knit-pick every detail of a comic they don't like while completely disregarding everything that makes the comics great and worth it to read. My example being Urban Legends. To which most people had pretty mixed reactions to. I was critical of the comic at first but as it went along I ended up really liking it. I have a feeling DC Comics went to Chip Zdarsky and told him he had 6 issues to bring Jason back into the Bat Family, and honestly he didn't do a bad job. Did it feel rushed? Absolutely. I wish there was more development of Jason and Bruce's characters and their dynamic as a whole. However, where I see a lot of people being angry and upset with Urban Legends is that they feel Zdarsky needlessly wrote Jason as an incompetent fool who needs Bruce to save him.

Whether or not that was the intention of Zdarsky is up to debate. However, and this may be controversial, but I don't think he wrote Jason Todd out of character at all. For as fearsome, intimidating, and awesome as Red Hood is. Jason is a character who is absolutely driven by his emotions. Why do you think he donned the role of Red Hood? As a response to his anger towards The Joker for killing him, and towards Bruce for not taking action against The Joker and for seemingly replacing him so quickly after he died. Jason didn't care about being the murderous Robin Hood or for being the bloody hammer of justice against N*zi's and P*d*ph*les. He only cared originally about making The Joker and Bruce pay. It wasn't until he trained under the best assassins in the world and realized most of them were horrific criminals who trafficked children and were p*dos that Talia began to realize that the teachers that she sent Jason to train under started dying horrific and painful deaths.

The entire story of the Cheer story in Batman Urban Legends was started because it finally forced some consequences upon Jason. Tyler, aka Blue Hood's father was a drug dealer who gave his supply to his wife and kids. And when Tyler's father admitted he gave the drugs to Tyler, it immediately made him fall within the self-imposed philosophical kill-list of Jason Todd. And Jason, well, he proceeds to kill Tyler's father. When this happens, Jason is in shock. Tyler's dad fit the bill to easily and justifiably be killed by Jason. We've never seen Jason having to deal with the consequences of being a murderous vigilante on a micro-level. When Jason realizes what he's done in that he's murdered Tyler's dad, he's shocked. He tells Babs the truth. He does a rational thing because he's in shock. He doesn't know what to do, he never has had to face the consequences of his actions as Red Hood and now the gravity of befriending a child as a vigilante hero who kills people just set in when he killed the father of the same child he was just introduced to.

(Oh here's a little aside because it had to be said, Jason would not have been a good father or a good mentor to Tyler and absolutely should not have been his new Robin. Jason is a man who is in his early 20's (not saying men in their early 20's can't be good fathers at all) who is a brutal serial killer using the guise of a vigilante anti-hero to let him escape most of the law. the complications of having the man who murdered your father adopt you and make you his sidekick are way too numerous for me to explain in a long-winded already heavy Tumblr essay post. There's a reason why we don't advocate for a story where Joe Chill adopted Bruce Wayne or one where Tony Zucco took in Dick Grayson.)

The next biggest argument is that they feel that Jason is giving up his guns as a means to just be invited back into the Bat-Family. To which I will tell anyone who has that argument to go actually read Urban Legends. Already have and still have that argument? Please re-read it. Don't want to? That's okay, I will paste the images from the comic where Jason specifically says that he doesn't want to give up his weapons for Bruce and his real reasoning down below since the comic isn't exactly readily accessible.

Jason gave up the guns because he felt the gravity of what he had done and knows how it'll effect Tyler. Thankfully his mom is alive and in recovery. But Tyler doesn't have a father anymore. And Jason killed Tyler's father. It may have been in accordance to Jason's philosophy, but it was a case where it blurred the lines. Jason Todd isn't a black and white character, just very dark gray. He doesn't kill aimlessly like the Joker. If you are on Jason's list you probably have done something pretty horrific, and also just in general, being in his way or being a threat to him. Mind you, in early days of Red Hood and the Outlaws (Image below) Jason almost killed 10 innocent civilians in a town in Colorado all because they saw him kill a monster. That being said, Jason isn't aimless in his kills.

(Also can we just take a moment to appreciate Kenneth Rocafort's art? DC Comics said we need to rehabilitate Jason Todd's image and Kenneth Rocafort said hold my beer: It's so SO GOOD)

That being said, the key emphasis in the story of Cheer asides from trying to introduce Jason Todd back into the Bat Family and give an actual purpose for him being there, other than him just kind of being there ala Bowser every time he shows up for Go Kart racing, Tennis, Golf, Soccer, and the Olympic games when Mario invites him, is that Jason and Bruce ultimately both want the same thing. Jason wants to be welcomed back into the family and to be loved and appreciated. Bruce want's Jason back as his son and wants to love and protect Jason. Both of these visions are shown in the last chapter of Cheer while under the effect of the Cheer Gas. It's ultimately this love and appreciation they both have for each other that helps them overcome their challenge and win.

Jason Todd is a character who, just like Bruce, has been through so much pain and so much hate in his life. The two are meant to parallel each other. While Bruce chose to see the best in everyone, giving every rogue in his gallery the option to be helped and give them a second chance, hence why he never kills, Jason has a similar view on wanting to protect the public, but he understands that some crimes are so heinous they cannot be forgiven, or that some habitual criminals are due to stay habitual criminals, and need to be put down. But at the end of the day, the two of them both try to protect people in their own ways.

I am aware that through the writings of various DC Comics authors such as Scott Lobdell and Judd Winick, the two have had a very tumultuous relationship. And rightfully so, I am by no means saying that Scott Lobdell writing an arc where Bruce literally beats Jason to within an inch of his life in Red Hood and the Outlaws, nor Judd Winick's interpretation of Under the Red Hood where Bruce throws the Batarang at Jason's neck, slicing his throat and leaving him ambiguously for dead at the end of the comic is appropriate considering DC Comics seems to be trying everything they can to integrate Jason back into the family. That being said, a lot of these writings have shaped the narrative of Jason and Bruce's relationship and have an integral effect on the way the fandom views the two. It doesn't help that Zdarsky acknowledged Lobdell's life-beating of Jason by Bruce at the very end of Cheer by having Bruce give Jason his old outfit back as a means of mending the fence between the two of them. That does complicate a lot of things in terms of how they are viewed by the fandom and helps to cause an even greater divide between the two.

Regardless, I want to emphasize the fact that Jason Todd is a part of the family of his own accord. Yes, he's quite snarky and deadpan in almost every encounter. However, Jason is absolutely a part of the family and has been for a while of his own will. There's a great moment in Detective Comics that emphasizes this. Jason cares about his family because it is his found family. Yes, they may be warry about him and use him as a punching back and/or heckle him. At the end of the day, we're debating the family dynamics of a fictional playboy billionaire vigilante whose kleptomania took the form of adopting troubled children and turning them into vigilante heroes. Jason Todd wants a family that will love and support him. This is a key definition of his character at its most basic. This was proven during the events of Cheer and is being reenforced by DC Comics every time they get the opportunity to do so.

Now, none of this is to say that I hate Judd Winick. I do not, I don't like the fact that in all of his writings of Jason, he just writes him as a dangerous psychopath, and Winick himself admits to seeing Jason as nothing much more than a psychopath. Yet Winick is the one who the majority of the fandom clings to as the one true good writer of Jason Todd because 'Jason was competent, dangerous, smart' Listen, friends, Jason is all of that and I will never deny it. However, what I love about Jason isn't that he's dangerously smart of that writers either write him as angsty angry Tumblr sexyman bait or that they write him as an infantile man child with a gun. There's a large contention of this fandom that has an obsession with Jason Todd being this vigilante gunman who is hot and sexy and while I definitely get the appeal. It is very creepy and downright disturbing that all of you hyperfixate on his use of guns and ability to be a murderer. It is creepy and I'm not necessarily here for it.

What I love about Jason Todd is that despite all of the pain, all of the heartache, all of the betrayal, and bullying, and death, and anguish. Jason Todd is one of the most loving and supportive characters in all of DC Comics. Jason has been through so much in his life, but he still chooses to love. He still chooses to see the bright side in people. Yes, he takes a utilitarian approach and chooses to kill certain villains, but at the end of the day he wants to see a better world, and he wants to be loved. It takes so much courage and so much heart to learn to love again after one has been abused or traumatized. I would not blame Jason at all if he said fuck it and just went full solo and vigilante evil. He has every right to, but he still chooses to be with the Bat Family of his own accord. That's something that I see a lot of in myself. I have been through a lot of trauma and yet I try to be a better person myself in any way that I can. It is extremely admirable of Jason to allow love back into his heart when he really doesn't need to. He kills and he protects because he has this love of society. It may have been shaped by anger and hatred, but Jason has found his place amongst people who love him and value him. I think Ducra, from Red Hood and the Outlaws put it best in the image given below.

To end this tangent, I love Jason Todd and all of his sexy dangerousness, but it's far more than that. As much as Jason may be dangerous and snarky, he loves his family without a shadow of a doubt. I look up to Jason Todd because despite all of his pain and all of his trauma, he still choses to love. Jason Todd is a character who is someone I love because despite all of his flaws and having a very toxic fandom, he still serves as a character filled with so much heart and so much passion. I wish more writers would understand that. But for now I will live with what I have. Even though the fandom may be vocal about it's hatred for his characterization, I choose to love Jason regardless because he is a character who chooses love and acceptance regardless of his pain. Jason Todd is by no means a good person in any sense of the word. He has easily killed upwards of 100 people by now. He is a character who is flawed and complex but ultimately is one who powers forwards and finds love and heart in a place from so much pain and anguish. That is what I love about Jason Todd. After all, to quote a famous undead robot superhero, "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Jason Todd chooses to love despite all of the trauma and pain and grief. Yes, he is hardened in his exterior, but inside there is a man with a lot of love to give and someone who deserves the world in my eyes.

#Long post GOD #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Bat Family #Batman #red hood and the outlaws #RHATO #RH:O #Batman Urban Legends #Red Hood Lost Days #TW Voltron #TW Death #tw murder #TW Klance #Gotta love how i am pouring my heart out onto jason AND calling out the Voltron fandom #Regardless love Jason Todd people

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writcraft · 3 years

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Pride and Prejudice

Having spent quite a bit of time lurking and offline, I haven’t been resting on my laurels and during Pride month there are several things I want to draw attention to, with a specifically UK focus.

Statistics around the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic are by no means finalised because we are not out of the woods, but early studies are showing that the impact on LGBTQ communities is disproportionately high.

The statistics that are starting to emerge reflect my own experience in local communities. The impact on LGBTQ individuals who rely on community support networks has been severe.

The charity Stonewall was founded to fight back against Section 28, the legislative measure introduced by the Thatcher government in 1988 that prohibited the “promotion of homosexuality” by local authorities, which included schools. At the peak of the HIV/AIDS crisis, schools were prohibited from discussing its ramifications on queer communities.

Section 28 has had a deep legacy, making schools nervous about teaching LGBTQ related content, even after the legislation was repealed in 2003. For many LGBTQ people who attended school in the UK during this era, myself included, it was a time of fear, closeting and shame.

Stonewall was founded to address the concerns of the LGB community. It later adopted the ‘T’ into its mission statements and goals. It is this shift in policy that is causing Stonewall to come under significant scrutiny today.

There have been multiple legal actions around various intersecting issues which boil down to the freedom to hold and advocate for gender critical perspectives, balanced against the rights of transgender individuals. You can find out more about these legal actions with a quick Google.

Various institutions have withdrawn from the Diversity Champions programme established by Stonewall as a result of this.

I do not want this post flooded with arguments about the suppression of feminist debate or gender critical perspectives. As far as my own politics is concerned, my feminism always has and always will include my transgender sisters. For transgender people living in the UK this is a particularly challenging time, with trans lives frequently subjected to gruelling debate.

I fear there is a turning tide. The UK has one of the most right leaning Conservative governments in decades and Boris Johnson et al hold a substantial majority. The likelihood is the current government will win in the next general election, whenever that is called.

The Government’s LGBT advisory panel was disbanded this year (2021) and attempts to discredit the largest LGBT charity in the UK demonstrate a further twist, a further turn, a further fight that lies ahead of us.

The BBC sought figures from all 45 police forces in the UK in 2019 and found that “the number of reported homophobic hate crime cases almost trebled...in the year same sex marriage became legal in England.” LGTQ motivated hate crime has been steadily rising ever since. To those who oppose transgender activist causes and who might consider transphobic violence as distinct to homophobic violence, it is important to remember that gender transgression can mark people as ‘other’ as ‘queer.’

This post is not here for transphobic debates. It is a call to LGBTQ communities and people in the UK to listen, watch, learn, read and take in every single damn thing that is reported and to seek out alternative sources to the mainstream media. Every corporation and government official might be flying their rainbow flags this month, but the message is inconsistent with the actions.

#lgbt #lgbt uk #pride #transgender activism #rainbow capitalism #fuck the tories

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oldfritz · 3 years

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I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one.

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’ Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

#frederick the great #elisabeth christine #countess orzelska #madame von wreech #asks #anonymous

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astrognossienne · 3 years

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scandalous beauty: athalia ponsell lindsley - an analysis

“Not that St. Augustine citizens went around killing people they didn’t like. But Athalia was not on a level playing field. Nobody liked her, so there was not a big hue and cry when she was killed.” - Sally Boyles, a neighbour of Lindsley’s

For someone so brash, loud, and ballsy, her life, especially her early life, was quite a mystery. Just like her controversial death. On January 23, 1974, former model, dancer, political activist and television personality Athalia Ponsell Lindsley was murdered with a machete by an unknown assailant on the front steps of her home in St. Augustine, Florida. Her murder is notorious more than four decades after it occurred. The only eyewitness said a man attacked Lindsley with a machete in broad daylight on the front steps of her white mansion. Gossip swirled that neighbour Frances Bemis knew who killed Lindsley and would notify authorities. Bemis was later murdered on her nightly walk. Police arrested only one suspect for Lindsley's murder, which remains unsolved to this day. For someone who was a Leo, I don't think Athalia was a very happy person. I think she tried to bring others down, with her based on her ill-concealed dissatisfaction with the way things were. Unfortunately for her, her demise happened in a town that didn’t care for her.

Athalia Ponsell Lindsley, according to astrotheme, was a Leo sun and Libra moon (the moon is speculative). She was born Mary Anne “Athalia” Fetter in Toledo, Ohio in 1917. Her parents were both wealthy New Yorkers; her father was a utilities magnate and her mother a socialite. Shortly after her birth, she and her family moved to Isle of Pines (now known as Isla de la Juventud), Cuba where she was raised until the age of 12. By the time the parents moved to Jacksonville, Florida and enrolled her in parochial school, she was winning beauty contests and pursuing an acting career. After high school, she moved to New York City, where it didn’t take her long to be employed as a fashion model for the celebrated fashion designer John Robert Powers, which helped her land work in some Broadway musicals and as a hostess on a TV game show. By 1949, she was the hottest model in NYC. She was just as hot off the runway as well; the list of Ponsell’s sexual conquests was long, including the likes of actor Tyrone Power and Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr. She was reported to have been married three times, one of them to a man named Ponsell, but there is no information on him or her other two spouses. She had a scrapbook of all the celebrities and people she was acquainted. But success had quickly gone to the young model’s head, and by 1954, she’d burned all her bridges at her modeling agency, and her reputation as “the bitch of New York” was well-earned and kept her from earning any more work in the entertainment industry.

Out of work, over the hill, and her looks fading, Ponsell quit her 20-years of modeling and entertainment work and retired to a white stucco mansion in St. Augustine in 1972. By that time, the 55-year-old washed-up model became embittered. From the moment she arrived in St.Augustine, she did her best to position herself at the top of the city’s high society. But the sides of that pyramid were very steep, and to the city’s old-school cultural hardliners, she was an outsider, and an obnoxious one, at that. St. Augustine is known for being a rather cliquish town, and unless you have Spanish, Menorcan, or WASP roots, any newcomer is looked at as an outsider. She was known as a pain in the ass, criticizing everything she thought was wrong with the town and its citizens. Naturally the upper crust didn’t take too well to her. She may have annoyed them, but she did catch the eye of another important person, Mayor James Lindsley, a St. Augustine native who went by the nickname “Jinx”. Jinx was known around the city for his ability to work hard and drink even harder. He was of the generation where if he was wronged, or if there was a problem, he settled his differences with his fists. Despite his passionate love affairs with ass kicking and Jack Daniels, Athalia was drawn to Jinx’s good standing with St. Augustine’s old guard, Jinx was attracted to her still-good looks and fiery personality. The two courted hard and fast, and just a few months after they met, they married.

Their marriage was rocky from the start, providing the town with juicy gossip. In fact, just 3 months into the marriage, the two separated. They wound up living in separate homes, fighting back and forth about possessions and property. She may have treated her husband and the town like dirt, but she was very moved by animals and took in a lot of strays and accumulated a coterie of animals. This didn’t endear herself to the neighbours, and they complained of dogs barking and other noises coming from her makeshift “animal shelter”. One neighbour in particular that took exception to Athalia and her animals was a hot-headed county manager called Alan Stanford. Stanford lived next door to her on Marine Street, and the two clashed from day one. Stanford filed several noise complaints against Athalia and her pets, resulting in her arrest. In revenge, she made Stanford’s life as county manager a living hell. She became a fixture at City Hall, attending every county meeting she could and accuse Stanford of all sorts of improprieties, from the mismanagement of county funds to stealing equipment from the road department. Some of these accusations weren’t entirely unfounded, but it got to the point where her presence was dreaded. She was after his job and wanted him fired. Stanford, in turn, threatened her life. December of 1973, she found out that Stanford lacked the civil engineering degree required for all county managers, and went to the state to report him.

On January 23, 1974 she attended her last city hall meeting, armed with petitions of several citizens calling for Stanford to resign. She exposed the fact that Stanford forged documents and padded his experience and qualifications as county manager. Later that day, to celebrate, she met her estranged husband Jinx for lunch. The day went surprisingly well, going shopping in Jacksonville and running errands. At approximately 5:30 pm, they both went home to their respective houses. As Athalia walked her pet blue jay around in her front yard, an intruder emerged from her back yard, armed with a machete. Moments later, the police department received a call about a murder. The police arrived to the provided address and found Athalia sprawled across the front steps of her porch, nearly decapitated and hacked to death with a machete in broad daylight.

The scene was chaotic, with neighbours trampling all over the grass trying to get a look, contaminating evidence. In their great police work, the cops never thought to rope off the crime scene. When her husband Jinx was notified of his wife’s murder, he took his time getting to her house, making a pit stop to his attorney’s office along the way. A few hours later, the cops find a machete in his pickup truck. But an open-and-shut case this was not. In February of 1974, the rumour was that Jinx killed her in a drunken rage. Even though Jinx had a violent temper and smacked his wife around, in the eyes of local investigators, he was “unarrestable”; they had no real evidence against the mayor and he even passed a lie-detector test. A tip from one of Athalia’s neighbours came in: it seems the neighbour’s 19 year-old son claimed to have witnessed her old nemesis Alan Stanford kill her. There was a trail of blood that led from Athalia’s front porch directly into Allen Stanford’s back yard. More than a few weren’t concerned with Athalia being killed because she was such a bitch that they feel that she deserved what she got.

In March of 1974, there was a blood-stained machete, a watch, and blood-soaked trousers found in a bag in a swamp; the blood on the clothes matched Athalia’s, and the clothes belonged to Stanford. On February 22, 1974, Alan Stanford was arrested and charged with murder. On January 1975, the murder trial commenced. The prosecution had a strong case and a guilty verdict seemed almost certain. Just before closing arguments, Stanford’s defense team called the 19-year old witness to the stand. Despite previously identifying Stanford as the killer, the young man was now unsure of the identity, having never actually seen the assailant’s face. On the day following the killing, a young nurse rode her bicycle as she always did. The police stopped her and questioned her about the murder. The nurse picked out a third suspect, deputy sheriff Dewey Lee, as the killer, further muddling the waters. The jury found Alan Stanford not guilty, despite the mountain of evidence against him. Local authorities were so upset by the verdict that they refused to re-open the case. Even though Stanford was acquitted of the murder, Athalia wound up getting the last laugh in the end, they local county board voted 4 to 1 to fire Stanford due to his lying about his credentials. He wound up leaving town shortly afterward. Today, St. Augustine is different; most who lived on Marine Street during the 1960s and 1970s have either moved away or passed away. Athalia’s house, now a historical landmark, still stands today, a grim reminder of how local resentment can go too far.

the murder of frances bemis

Frances Bemis was a socialite and neighbour of Athalia Ponsell Lindsley who happened to be a close friend of hers. Shortly after Lindsley’s murder, Frances started gathering information in order to write a book about the murder, claiming that she had information on what really happened. On November 3, 1974, she went for an evening walk and disappeared. Her body was found near her house, her skull crushed by a cement block. Her murder has never been solved.

This was the next analysis that I planned to do after the Robert Mitchum one, so I decided to just get this one out of the way.

Stats

birthdate: July 25, 1917*

*note*: due to the absence of a birth time, this analysis will be even more speculative.

major planets:

Sun: Leo

Moon: Libra

Rising: unknown

Mercury: Leo

Venus: Leo

Mars: Gemini

Midheaven: unknown

Jupiter: Gemini

Saturn: Leo

Uranus: Aquarius

Neptune: Leo

Pluto: Cancer

Overall personality snapshot: She had a prestigious, compelling presence, even when she was just clowning around, and a natural ability to command both respect and affection from her friends and colleagues. In the nicest possible way she assumed the position of the leader because she had a strong independent streak and believed in her lofty, worthy ideals, but she also gravitated towards collaboration and an impartial examination of the facts. She could be bossy and yet her bossiness was so diplomatic that it was convincing, even impressive. Although she wanted esteem and tended to identify with honourable goals and people, she could work alongside others she respected and she really wanted the best for everyone. She had style, and she instinctively knew that ‘manners maketh man’ and that, if for some reason they didn’t, they went a long way in making life worth living. When she came into her own, she developed a strongly aesthetic approach to life and are naturally creative. She needed a very positive, active medium through which to express herself, such as drama, teaching or running her own business.

Anything to do with beauty and harmony interested her, such as decorating, design and painting. Her interest in social equality took her into politics or the law. She had a strong sense of herself and stubbornly followed her own personal code of ethics, yet she also enjoyed being part of a group that had a common purpose or bond. She cherished ideals of liberty and equality, but if there were some distasteful tasks to perform she moved very smoothly into the role of delegating – well, she thought, someone has to give the orders around here or we would have no harmony at all. Although she seemed to enjoy an easy, breezy approach to life, there was quite a serious side to her personality, and she could be surprisingly controversial and provocative. She was willing to stand up and be counted, and perhaps make it look easy. She had a natural appreciation and enjoyment of the good things of life; she assumed that they should be hers by birthright. And through cunning charm, calculated boldness, and intelligent maneuver she managed to have plenty.

She was ambitious, sound at giving orders, carried responsibility well and was a good teacher, especially able to bring out the best in children. She believed in herself and generally knew the right thing to say at the right time, although she could show a stubborn and dogmatic side. She had a high opinion of her mental powers, and it was certainly true to say that he had plenty of mental energy. She was a mentally restless person, both versatile and broad-minded. She experienced personal growth through analysis and using her intellect, although the collection and communication of facts may have been an end within itself. She was a reliable and loyal person. Her will and sense of honour were strong and she was a great organizer. On the downside, her self-assuredness could become dogmatism and imperiousness. Conservatism may have affected her creativity, artistic values and love affairs. This expressed itself as self-imposed restrictions or as selfishness. She often felt inadequate, which created an insidious form of oppression over all her forms of expression. She could also take herself so seriously, that people think that she was older than her years.

She belonged to a generation that could be unpredictable in that it liked to instigate change simply for the sake of shaking things up and providing stimulation. Humanitarian ideals became extremely important, as well as the belief in absolute freedom for every individual. She came up with radical new ideas which she stubbornly followed. As a member of this generation, she may have felt deep spiritual convictions, although she may not have seen herself as religious in the traditional sense of the word. She was part of a very artistically talented and creative generation that wanted to escape from the demands of the world around them into a world of excitement and glamour. Members of this generation loved the theater and the cinema, in fact, any sort of creative self-expression. They also believed in the rights of any individual to express themselves. This generation was both idealistic and romantic, selfish and individualistic. Lindsley embodied all of these Leo Neptunian ideals. Also, as a member of the Leo Neptune generation, she experienced and fully embraced changes in sexual mores and attitudes, changing the way people approach the whole issue of romantic relationships. Changes were also experienced in the relationships between parents and children, with the ties becoming looser. She was part of a generation known for its devastating social upheavals concerning home and family. The whole general pattern of family life experiences enormous changes and upheavals; as a Cancer Plutonian, this aspect is highlighted with Lindsley’s father dying relatively young and her having to care for her mother until she died.

Love/sex life: There is never any question as to the ground rules of her erotic universe: what best served her ego, best served her libido. She had a marvelous capacity for enjoying sex but her pride and self-possession always came first. Some people might have found the egotism of this position offensive but many others hardly noticed. After all, a lover as lively, generous and exciting as she had good reason to be proud. There was always a distinctively theatrical quality about her love making. She wanted sex to be a big event, full of drama and intellectual significance. This grandiose approach to sex can certainly be entertaining but it often made her romantic moments seem less than spontaneous. More importantly, real life sex rarely met her cinematic standards. This is one reason why she often found the idea of love much more appealing than its physical manifestations.The sex in her head was never common or clumsy, and she could always count on great reviews.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Capricorn

Lilith: Virgo

Her North Node in Capricorn dictated that she needed to develop the more caring and compassionate side to her personality and try to place less emphasis on the materialistic aspects of her life. Her Lilith in Virgo ensured that she exhibited a Madonna-whore complex; she made her way through the world with her sensational wits and she had no time for constricting judgments. She confronted the grittier facts of life, especially sex. She was good at sex but not as a form of sappy emotional expression.

elemental dominance:

fire

air

She was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. She generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. She was exciting to be around, because she was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, she could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Ultimately, she chose the latter. Confident and opinionated, she was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because she was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—she was be bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at her best, her confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves. She was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and she liked to stir things up. She was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. She was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. She carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, she lived in her head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at her best, she helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives.

modality dominance:

fixed

She wasn’t particularly interested in spearheading new ventures or dealing with the day-to-day challenges of organization and management. She excelled at performing tasks and producing outcomes. She was flexible and liked to finish things. Was also likely undependable, lacking in initiative, and disorganized. Had an itchy restlessness and an unwillingness to buckle down to the task at hand. Probably had a chronic inability to commit—to a job, a relationship, or even to a set of values.

planet dominants:

Sun

Mars

Pluto

She had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. She likely had strong leadership qualities, she definitely knew who she was, and she had tremendous will. She met challenges and believed in expanding her life. She was aggressive, individualistic and had a high sexual drive. She believed in action and took action. Her survival instinct was strong. She wanted to take herself to the limit—and then surpass that limit, which she often did. She ultimately refused to compromise her integrity by following another’s agenda. She likely didn’t compare herself to other people and didn’t want to dominate or be dominated. She simply wanted to be free to follow her own path, whatever it was. She brought about complete and profound transformations in her life, good or bad (and it was often bad). She felt the need to let go of what was familiar to her and accept new and different ways of being and doing things. There were areas in her life where she had to accept regeneration, which involved the destruction of the old and the creation of the new.

sign dominants:

Leo

Gemini

Cancer

She loved being the center of attention and often surrounded herself with admirers. She had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely his stage. Her flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of her life. She wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. At her best, she was optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious. She ventured out to see what else was there and seized upon new ideas that will expand their communities. Her innate curiosity kept her on the move. She used her rational, intellectual mind to explore and understand her personal world. She needed to answer the single burning question in her mind: why? This applied to most facets of her life, from the personal to the impersonal. This need to know sent her off to foreign countries, where her need to explore other cultures and traditions ranked high. She was changeable and often moody. This meant that she was often at odds with herself—the mind demanding one thing, the heart demanding the opposite. To someone else, this internal conflict often manifested as two very different people. At first meeting, she seemed enigmatic, elusive. She needed roots, a place or even a state of mind that he could call her own. She needed a safe harbor, a refuge in which to retreat for solitude. She was generally gentle and kind, unless he was hurt. Then she could become vindictive and sharp-spoken. She was affectionate, passionate, and even possessive at times. She was intuitive and was perhaps even psychic. Experience flowed through her emotionally. She was often moody and always changeable; her interests and social circles shifted constantly. She was emotion distilled into its purest form.

Read more about her under the cut.

Athalia Ponsell Lindsley was a former model, Broadway performer, actress, dancer and television personality who died in a savage late-afternoon attack at her home on Jan. 23, 1974. Wife of the once mayor of St. Augustine, James "Jinx" Lindsley, who died a few years after her death. Mrs. Athalia Lindsley was very active politically.

She also took in many animals, such as dogs, cats and even two goats. At the time of her murder, she was outside trying to rehabilitate one of her rescue birds, a blue jay named Clementine which had an injured wing. She had rescued the little bird from neighborhood cats.

Athalia Ponsell Lindsley was a very devoted daughter who took care of her mother full time until her mother passed away.

She was 58 years old when her life was brutally cut short.

A neighbor and local politician was the only person ever arrested and tried for her murder, after a very dramatic trial, a jury found the defendant not guilty, and he was acquitted

(x)

#athalia ponsell lindsley #leo #star analyses #scandalous stars #long ass post #mine

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Madara and Obito... In SPACE

So the preface to this mess: I don’t know jackshit about Star Wars, so a lot of this went through friends who do know Star Wars (the primary of which does not have a tumblr).

(I have watched Episodes 7&8, and Rogue One. Of the first six movies, I remember watching maybe an hour total. I have not seen more than snatches of Clone Wars. Beyond that, nothing but fic.)

Anyway! Let’s go:

As y’all probably know by now, my favorite form of crossover is what I call “intrusive,” so... I'm enjoying the mental concept of "dump Madara on Coruscant and watch him go." (Prequels, probably.)

Does Madara know what's going on? No. Can he understand a word that's being said? No! Is he going to fight the first person to aim a weapon at him, and every person after that? Yes.

Is Madara fighting fit?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnno, not really, he’s old as balls. This is "I was on cave life support but I'm getting back up to kick ass out of pure spite" Madara.

[Image description: A screenshot of a panel of the Naruto Manga. Uchiha Madara is old and visibly ‘decrepit,’ with spiky white hair and an amorphous black robe. He is sitting on a pale throne, and there is a scythe visible to the side. He has a speech bubble saying “I am... a ghost of the Uchiha.” End Description]

Two wrinkly old guys, staring each other down: There ain't enough room in this universe for the two of us. [Palpatine and Madara start fighting to the death]

Congrats, Palpatine! Your ass is getting kicked by a geriatric malcontent who doesn't speak any language you've ever heard or feel like literally anything in the Force. You may have Sith lightning, but do you have decades of frontline experiences and over half a century of cave-dwelling bitterness?

Both of them, simultaneously, in completely different languages: Get off my lawn, whipper-snapper.

Palpatine: Behold my mastery of the Dark Side, Foolish old man! Palpatine: [shoots lightning] Madara: Oh hey, you're like the seventeenth most dangerous person who can shoot lightning I've fought. Telekinesis? Fought that. Combat precognition? Fought that, have that, and let me tell you hwat, it doesn't help if you're opponent is just that much faster than you.

Now, I’ll take a step back and acknowledge that several people advised me that Palpatine would stand a chance against Madara, likely even win, if Madara just got hacked off of his life support and is down to one eye.

But. I want a shitpost, and also to clown on Palpatine, so Madara wins easily.

Madara also deserves to be clowned on, but the entire situation is clowning on him because he’s not in his cave anymore, and he really wants to go back to his Gedou Mazou statue.

Maybe Madara and Palpatine go Old Man Fight and then Obito just pulls a Ninja Move and kills Palpatine that way. Madara was ranting and Obito just. Ninjas behind Palpatine and slits his throat like “okay, you’re obviously evil so like... bye.”

(I just love causing "Wait what" reactions in characters that are used to having total control. Like. Have you read "Unexpected Guests"? The Bleach fic? Everything that happens in Hueco Mundo and after. That energy. I want that energy.)

Madara waves his scythe around like a cane. Obito just trails after like “Gramps, no” because it’s still pre-Sanbi, so he’s Mostly Innocent (you know, on the scale of how fucked up Obito is as a person), and just wants Madara to like. Stop.

Palpatine dies but nobody's sure what to charge Madara with since he did kind of expose a Sith? And Palpatine attacked first for [handwave] reasons?

Jedi: Well sir, in lieu of charging you with assassination of the emperor, we have decided to ask you politely to return to the elderly person's retirement home from whence you came. Please leave immediately. You are frightening the senate. Madara: [incomprehensible raving] Jedi: Yes yes, very interesting. Jedi, whispering: Does anyone know his caretaker???

Obito looks increasingly put-upon as events progress. You need Obito there to... well, not translate. Nobody can translate. But to at least poke Madara into being Slightly Less Homicidal.

Anakin seems sad about his friend dying and being evil so Obito challenges him to a spar. Madara and Obito get pulled into the Jedi Temple to help train Padawans? My first thought was "they wouldn't trust someone so obviously Weird, Crazy, and Incomprehensible around the younglings" and my second thought was "well they let Yoda do it and he's all those things so I mean? YEAH."

What if they put Madara in the bacta tank and he just freshened up like a daisy because of hand-wave Hashirama cell reasons (Blame Sir Tiddyface).

From “Decrepit and Reliant on Cave Tube Life Support” to “Will Call Down Meteors With Ease”

How many eyes does he have? Whatever’s funniest. Let’s say one Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan and one Rinnegan, for maximum chaos.

Would "half my body is missing" Obito freak out if Bacta regrew his eye? Can bacta regrow something like that? When characters lose limbs they usually just get cybernetic replacements, but the person I spoke with said that apparently they saw somewhere that that kind of thing can grow back it just takes a really long time.

I want to imagine bacta would help Obito with the Zetsu integration.

Anyway! Yes. Have Madara help train people despite being... Madara about it. You know... kind of a dick.

(I’d put example gifs but I don’t feel up to it. Y’all know what Madara’s “weakness disgusts me” ass is like.)

Obito had to get his "these fools could never make me sweat" sass from somewhere, after all.

Do you think Obito could fight the baby Jedi that are around his age while recovering? I have no idea what their skill level is at fourteen, but I want to imagine Obito sparring the Padawans.

Obito + Zetsu + Bacta = he still needs physical therapy but he can spar again!

Madara is delighted to have a baby ninja to bully. He's too old to not bully baby ninjas, and Obito is the only baby ninja. TBH Madara just makes Obito his assistant teacher.

Obito: What are we even doing here and how do we get home? Madara: I'm still working on that. Obito: But I want to go home and see Rin and Kakashi! Madara, who was like two days away from triggering the Sanbi plan: I'm working on it.

Something sticking in my mind rn is Ahsoka&Obito, since Obito is still Baby.

I think Obito would be excited to have someone his age that thought he was Cool and Talented for being able to do Chakra Things instead of writing him off as "the dead-last." Like, Rin is friends with him, but she doesn't look up to him as someone more/differently talented. He'd be excited to get to be "The Mysterious Cool Big Bro" for once.

I feel I also just like the idea of Anakin not knowing what to do with someone Several Years Younger that is also. Ninja Skill.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Madara is a grouchy old man even AFTER he gets effectively de-aged via bacta dunk, for the record. He's back in his prime and the Jedi have no idea how. They're all concerned about tiddyface*. (When are people not concerned about Sir Tiddyface, really.) The mokuton is a problem.

*Sir Tiddyface is that random Hashirama face that Madara had growing out of his pecs for like... convoluted bullshit reasons.

(Madara doesn't have mokuton, but he has enough Hashirama cells that it interacted very, VERY weirdly with the bacta.)

Obito spends the intervening weeks trying to learn the local language. He's very eager. Not particularly fast. Still doing it though!

I want Obito juggling kunai as physical therapy while he's waiting for Mads to get out of the bacta tank and just gains himself the adoration of a gaggle of small baby Jedi children.

Madara comes out of the bacta tank looking like he did in his prime (which I mentioned earlier but whatever), and it absolutely incites a yelling match of an argument that draws way too much attention.

Someone tries to teach Obito how to access the Force, just to see what happens. He almost turns into a statue because the philosophy behind Force meditation is only a few steps away from Sage Mode Meditation.

Anyway, Madara smacks him with a stick like Fukasaku to make sure Obito doesn't turn into stone.

Madara grumps about the lack of paper and brushes and ink. Bitches about it until someone hits up an antique store or something to get them for him. The day before he and Obito are dispatched on a mission with someone, probably Anakin for plot reasons, Madara very publicly seals things into a scroll and then tells them that no, they can't learn it, because the Force isn't chakra so fuuinjutsu won't work for them, so There.

Obito practices some Teen Rebellion (tm) and like, tries to teach the Padawan friends he's made how to do Chakra Things... but he's so bad at explaining things that nobody can get it to work even if it were possible.

In Obito's defense, language barriers. Not in Obito's defense, he's just really bad at words sometimes.

#Star Wars #Star Wars Prequels #Naruto #Uchiha Madara #Uchiha Obito #crossovers #Phoenix Posts #body horror mention

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mimssides · 3 years

Text

Never Met You

Chapter 3: Healing

Time will heal their pain, they say. It will not. It is the time they give themselves to heal which will make them feel better. Be patient. Be understanding.

More than two weeks had gone by since Green had joined the court. He had been trained, sworn the oath of secrecy to not tell whatever he heard while he was with the king and was now steadily by His Majesty’s side.

Janus had gotten used to it far quicker than he had expected. Green was louder and chattier than the other guards were with him. He soon had also begun to talk with the king, exchanging little comments about how he felt and why he wanted to do things the way he had them done. Yet whenever other people where around or Green had to escort Logan from place to place, the guard became still and observant. Sometimes, Janus even believed that he noticed things quicker than Janus himself did. And he had a magical eye to help him with that while Green had nothing of the sorts.

“Life doesn’t allow for you to be inattentive. I cannot allow myself to miss any detail no matter how unimportant it seems. We will only know afterwards which one has been crucial and which one was not, so everything is important right now,” had Green’s explanation been and Janus felt many feelings about this very statement.

Yet today this was not one of his worries. Today he was focused on making sure that everything was perfect for Roman’s arrival. The kitchen was instructed to cook his favourite meals, the prince’s wing had been cleaned a decorated to the t and Janus had most likely not slept more than three hours in the last three nights. So, Janus was feeling perfect.

“Are you sure you want me to be there during their arrival?” Green asked as he and Janus walked towards the foyer where Logan was already waiting for Roman to arrive. “His Royal Highness’s guard will be there and he is said to be more than enough protection for both of them.”

Janus shot Green a look. Green did not want to meet Roman. Janus had realized that soon after the return had been discussed and he had reacted rather subdued to the whole conversation. Janus had tried to gauge what issue Green was having but the man’s lips were sealed about the topic except that he had sworn that he had no ill intent against the prince. It was enough reassurance for Janus at the moment and he really had no nerves to deal with Green’s insecurities right now. He just wanted to see Roman.

“One more word of you not attending,” Janus hissed sharply and watched as Green’s eyes go wide, “and I will have you thrown into the dungeons and let them pull out every single hair on your body one by one. I’m I clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Janus grunted and Green opened the door for him to enter the foyer. Quickly both found their respective places by the king’s side, Janus to Logan’s right and Green to Logan’s left by the wall. Logan greeted them both leisurely and let his eyes linger a little longer on Green who shot a few quick glances towards Janus. Then for a moment their eyes met. Logan nodded and turned his attention towards Janus.

Subtly, because subtility was one of the things Logan had had to learn from Janus when he started taking over more important functions in court, Logan tapped against Janus’s sleeve and glimpsed at his friend. Janus glimpsed back and lifted his chin a bit in defiance.

“I don’t think that Roman will be too happy to see that you have overworked yourself,” Logan whispered barely moving his lips.

Janus scrunched his nose a little and retorted just as quietly: “The situation is tense. I cannot make a mistake even if it upsets the prince. You know I am still more than capable to do my work.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

The but hung between them in the air and both knew it would be coming next as Logan added: “But Roman does not just care about how well you are able to do your work. He is worried about you as well. And I am the one who will never hear the end of it if he thinks I made you work too much.”

Janus didn’t say anything to that and Logan took it as a small win. Sometimes an argument with Janus was better set aside than completely won and this was one of those instances. Besides, Roman’s arrival was finally announced and they didn’t have time left to get into the topic any further.

There was bustling behind the door, muffled voices and finally the doors were opened. Marching steps could be heard as Roman Thea walked inside. He was wearing a dark red jacket with golden ornaments and a blood red sash, black pants and shoes, his usual attire. Logan felt a weight fall from his chest and watched his old friend approach with a smile. Roman returned it lightly and whispered something over his shoulder to Virgil, who was following him like a shadow.

“Salutations Roman. I hope your journey has been enjoyable and without incidences,” Logan greeted when Roman had walked up four feet in front of him.

A smile, brilliant and shining, took over Roman’s face and he greeted with a little bow and flourish: “Good day to you too, Your Majesty! My journey has been very pleasant but I am happy to be home again even if the circumstances are quite dire.”

“Indeed.”

Logan felt his stomach turn once more, suppressed the urge to groan and instead turned halfway to the door leading further into the castle. Elegantly, he pointed towards the portal and eyed Roman for a second.

“Would you like to continue this conversation in a more private setting?” Logan said and hoped Roman would accept quickly.

Luck seemed to be on his side as Roman gave a quick nod and took his usual place between Logan and Janus with Virgil shadowing him silently. Well, almost silently. When the four men began to walk towards the portal Virgil abruptly stopped both Roman and Logan from walking by holding them back by their shoulders. Both stopped rapidly and looked into the direction where Virgil was glaring at.

“Who is that?”

Virgil’s deep voice resonated in their ears, his stunning aura keeping all of them in place. The only one to react was the man who Virgil was talking about. Green was looking right up to Virgil. He had come closer to walk besides Logan but now had stopped a good few feet away from the king.

“This would be my personal guard, Green,” Logan finally said and pushed Virgil’s hand off his shoulder.

Logan decidedly dodged Virgil’s glare and squared his shoulders. With a fluid motion he asked Green to step closer. Green complied and lowered his gaze the moment Roman made step forwards to see him better. Green’s hands were clenched tightly and if the others could have seen his face, they would have noticed how he had pressed his lips together. But they didn’t and that was how he wanted it to stay.

“Since when do you have a personal guard?” Roman asked sceptically.

“Royal Advisor Celer has long since your departure insisted on me getting one and now, I found a fitting candidate,” Logan said smoothly, defiantly sidestepped Virgil and approached Green. “Green has proven to be attentive, observant and trustworthy. The Royal Advisor himself can attest to it.”

Logan now was standing to Green’s right, his left hand placed nonchalantly on his shoulder. But as nonchalantly as it looked as much did it take the breath out of Green’s lungs. As much did it make his eyes sting. As much did it strengthen the yearning in his chest. And yet there was nothing for him to do.

“Janus? You approved of this?” Roman said and turned to look at the smaller man.

“What on earth, Celer! This guy could be from Ragan’s secret forces as far as we know! What were you thinking?!”

Janus snapped back viciously as Virgil accused him of paying too little attention to their newest member to court. Logan watched them and crossed his arms with a raised eyebrow. Sometimes their quarrelsome relationship was quite entertaining to watch but today he felt differently about it. He just wanted to sit down and move on with their discussion, even if it meant for the day to simply pass. Life was tiresome at the moment.

“It might be a good idea to move this discussion out of the public ear, Your Majesty. Shall I break the conflict apart?”

Logan looked to the side. Green was not looking up to him, eyes still trained on the floor. But there was something in the way he slightly tilted his head to the side, that made it obvious to Logan that he was on high alert. That made him aware of how much Green feared for someone to be listening into their conversation.

“I do not think it to be wise for you to get in between them,” Logan said and watched the three argue. “It would be better if I tell them to stop.”

“You don’t need to shield me, Your Majesty. I am your guard and here to help you with whatever you wish. And if it means that the poncho pole will fight me, I will accept my fate gracefully.”

Why exactly that nick name was so funny to Logan he did not know. He also didn’t know when the last time had been that someone had made him laugh so strongly that his tummy pleasantly hurt and he had trouble to get air. What he did know though was that he was glad to have Green by his side, who lightly supported him as he was wheezing with laughter.

Logan needed a few moments before he could breathe normally again. He felt shaky and the hand Green offered him was very appreciated. Hastily, he caught Green’s look and found unfiltered concern and a tiny smile in his face. It made Logan try to compose himself and he turned fully towards Green away from the others.

Over Logan’s shoulder Green looked to Janus. He had dropped his fight with Virgil the second Logan had begun to laugh. He had known his king for over a decade now, and what he was seeing was a completely stressed-out Logan. And it needed a lot for Logan to actually show signs of his state.

“I propose we go to the prepared room in His Majesty’s quarters? Do you agree Royal Advisor Celer?” Green said swiftly.

Janus simply nodded. Both Roman and Virgil went quiet as well and followed as Janus took the lead and guided them towards the king’s quarters. Virgil and Green were flanking Roman and Logan in between them and observed their surroundings with sharp eyes. Guards were following behind as an escort but neither of the personally chosen guards trusted their abilities as much as they trusted their own. Their highest priority was the safety of their prince and king and their resolve to ensure that was far higher than those of the usual guards.

They arrived at the room, Janus opened the door and entered to make sure it was as he had requested it to be. After the short check, Roman and Logan followed and Logan took a seat on the divan. Roman placed himself on the armchair next to him, while Janus remained standing. Green and Virgil, after telling the guards to stay on lookout on the outside, took a place on each side of the door and watched as the royals and the advisor exchanged several glances.

Logan sighed and massaged his temples as he finally broke the silence and spoke up: “Please excuse my outburst. I – I don’t know how to explain it.”

Janus shook his head and stemmed his hands on his hips.

“You are running on your last leg, Logan,” Janus said for Logan. “We had three new conflicts at the boarders to Ragan in the last five days and it’s only a question of time until there are the first casualties. I know you do not want to let it go so far, but as a military man yourself you must understand that we have to prepare for a battle, don’t you? I do not see how we are going to talk this out with King George.”

“Three in the last five days? I didn’t hear any of this!” Roman said and got up from the armchair while gesticulating towards Janus.

“We decided to keep quiet about it as long as no one got seriously hurt. We weren’t sure if the situation would grow more tense and wanted to prevent an unnecessary panic from spreading. But now...”

“You expect. You actually expect a war to break out? Over a few villages and some disagreements over the alliance talks with Sictes and Kainen?”

“George is a petty man,” Janus snarled at Roman’s disbelieve. “And he had it out for us in ages. He had it out for you too, Roman. I remember what he said at -”

“We are over this, Jan! You have asked him and he didn’t lie that he didn’t know anything about the – the assassination. He wasn’t responsible for this.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t have anything to do with it! He could have phrased it in a way that I couldn’t catch the lie! He might have been the one to- to do this to you!”

“Stop it you two! This isn’t leading us anywhere. We are not to think about personal grievances but about our people! And I need you to realize that it’s not our people King George wants to fare war against. He specifically stated that my methods as well as my court are not to his liking and he wants to claim the villages close to the boarder to “save” them from our politics. If we can reach a compromise with him, all of this might be avoided.”

Logan’s voice was firm but tired. Both Roman and Janus looked down to him. His hands were folded in his lap and his head hung low, completely unlike the otherwise always confident but kind demeanour he would display. Smoothly, Janus sat down next to him, made sure to don’t catch him off guard when he put his hand on his back.

“Logan, he will not listen to you. He never wanted to listen to you since the Coronation,” Janus said sadly and Logan’s shoulders sunk deeper.

Seeing Logan shrink down like this, awakened an old and heavy anger in Roman. It flared through his mind and loosened his lips.

“It’s been eight years! How can he still be hung up on this?!”

“Because he is elitist and believes that you are the only one who is supposed sitting on the thrown!” Janus retorted angrily.

“Maybe we should consider...”

Logan had taken off the crown and was looking at its golden shimmer. His thumb was running along the simple decorations and the few blue sapphires imbedded in the metal. Roman had given the crown in commission for him, so he didn’t have to wear the crown of the late King or Queen. Logan had thought it to be quite excessive to have a new crown made for him but in the current situation he found himself missing it already. But he would sacrifice whatever necessary if it meant that his people would be spared from a war.

“I don’t want the crown, Logan.”

But then of course, there was that. Logan looked up to Roman and sighed. He nodded dismissively. The position and status he took had not only come because he was capable but also because Roman couldn’t bear the weight on his shoulders. It had taken him years to admit it and find the courage to present him as the King of Theana.

“I didn’t think of it as stepping back completely,” Logan said and looked to the side. “It would only be a representative measure. You as the official king and I as the acting regent. He accepted me before you completely denied the throne, so it might be a viable solution.”

“NO!”

***

█████ was pacing along the hall. His mind was restless and he could feel Janus’s eyes on him. Of course, Janus’s eyes would be on him now. Roman would finally return and █████ was desperate to see him again. He just wanted to be sure that he indeed was alright and that everting had truly worked out as well as everyone had claimed. The reports he had gotten from the messengers were far too stellar for his taste to be true; Roman having befriended the cold-blooded Queen and even getting her to watch a play with him, just sounded too farfetched to not be a lie.

“████ ███████,” a servant called form the door and both █████ and Janus turned towards them, “the Crown Prince has arrived and will be here shortly.”

It wasn’t a second that █████ needed to walk towards the door and be on his way to meet his ███████.

Janus was following him like a shadow and shot him a chiding look as he rushed past the worried servants, to which █████ simply retorted: “Fuck the protocol. I just need to know that he’s fine.”

With that Janus let it slide and let one of the servants go and get Logan as soon as possible. In silence they continued walking down the halls and eventually reached the foyer to the courtyard, which was promptly opened.

With proud and loud steps Roman entered. A broad smile was plastered over his face, his eyes were shining and immediately met █████’s gaze. With a high held head and a skip in his step Roman steered towards his ███████ and greeted with a booming voice: “Good day to you █████! It is a joy to be home again!”

█████ froze. Something fell in his chest as his ███████ came closer, eyes still on him and already recognizing and acknowledging the fear in his eyes. Because Roman was loud. Roman’s posture was straight and proud. Roman’s voice was voluminous and strong. Roman’s eyes were clear and determined.

Roman was like he had been before and for once it didn’t seem to be a dream or a nightmare.

There was no moment for █████ to think about it any longer as Roman had reached him and pulled him into a firm hug. The whole room stopped breathing. They watched as their ████ melted into Roman’s arms, as Roman cradled him and held his ███████ close.

Quiet words were spoken, but no one but the ████████ could hear them. No one but them needed to know of them. Something was mended and they both knew that a new time had come for them.

Swift steps in synchronic pace and they parted. █████ was smiling widely with a common mad glint glimmering in his eyes as Roman smiled back with his head held high and mighty. Power was shining underneath their skins, energy at the tips of their fingers. Every person in the room could feel it and more than a few guards were close to start shivering.

But for one person who was standing slightly in the back to Roman’s right side. █████ noticed them only now and his brows furrowed at their sight. The person was tall and the lower half of their face and upper body hidden beneath a shawl and a loose poncho. A batch of light brown hair was falling over one side of their face and █████ found himself intrigued.

“Who have you yet to introduce me to, Roman?” █████ asked and lightly pointed with his chin towards the figure in the back.

Roman’s eyes lit up and with a flourish he twirled around and waved for the figure to walk towards them. They promptly complied and approached. Their movement was near silent and their presence almost non-existent. What a fascinating person.

The ████████ looked at each other and █████ recognized Roman’s passion within a blink and began to smirk even before Roman explained: “This is Virgil Tessaro! We met on my way to Queen Caroline and he has proven to be quite an impressive companion. A perfect guard even.”

“One moment please!” Janus intercepted and wrestled his way between █████ and Roman.

With a chuckle █████ stepped back and watched Janus tell Roman off for simply having a stranger come into the castle and having the preposterous idea of having him become his personal guard. Roman took it with a smirk and told him that he could do as he pleased since he was the Crown Prince. They bickered more but █████ paid it no mind as Logan finally entered the foyer and steered towards him. Quietly Logan took his place to █████’s left and eyed the spectacle in front of them. Most people would have been surprised how seemingly unaffected Logan was but █████ could see the deepening of the ceases between his brows and the way how he slightly pressed his lips together as he was looking at Roman.

“You can tell me outright if you want me to go, gold eye.”

Virgil had straightened his posture and most likely crossed his arms under his poncho. The rest of the servants had gotten death silent the second he had talked back to Janus and even dared to call attention to his magical eye.

Janus pursed his lips and clenched and unclenched his fists several times before he raised his voice with a cutting edge and told him: “I forbid you to talk to me in such a tone! I am a high-ranking member of the Theanian Court and deserve to be treated with respect!”

“Aha,” Virgil deadpanned with raised eyebrows, “I’m not Theanian though and your court interests me not.”

“One more reason for you to leave!” Janus cried.

Nothing of Janus’s words seemed to be able to bother Virgil in the slightest. Instead, he turned around and looked to Roman. Curiously, █████ observed the shift in Roman’s amused expression to something softer. He definitely needed to have a word about that with Roman at some point in time.

“Do you wish for me to leave?” Virgil asked Roman dutifully.

Roman stepped close to Virgil and put his hand on his upper arm. This time even Logan raised his eyebrows and Janus looked like he would soon collapse on the floor in anger. But Roman paid them no mind. He smiled at Virgil and shook his head.

“No, I do not wish for you to leave. I want you to stay.”

Virgil bowed his head. Turned to look back down at Janus. Raised his eyebrows at him and shrugged.

“I guess you have to accept that, since you have to listen to him.”

It took them ten minutes to stop Janus from trying to murder Virgil in the foyer. The whole thing only calmed down, when Roman himself pulled Janus to the side and exchanged a few hushed and possibly very dramatic and sappy words with the Royal Advisor.

█████ was laughing through the whole ordeal and Logan sent for the servants to fetch Roman’s luggage as well as the possessions Virgil had brought with him. Quietly Logan spoke with Virgil after that, made sure he knew what he was getting into and the group finally left the foyer and went into a smaller conference room where they could privately talk for a while without being observed by all the guards. On their way Virgil and Janus were already bickering again, the former never quite letting Roman out of sight and constantly scanning the area for any potential dangers.

Walking in between the █████, Logan observed the behaviour of the new court member and side eyed Roman for a moment. The Crown Prince noticed and shot him a curious look.

“What do you want to say, Advisor Rayne?” Roman said with a teasing smile.

Logan looked once more back to Virgil before he answered: “There is a story behind you and this man. And you will have to tell us about it, Your Royal Highness.”

“Like you have to tell us about what is hanging on this necklace I have never seen you wear in the whole time since you are here?”

It was a good thing that blushing made no noise, otherwise the whole castle would have known that Logan had turned rather red. It didn’t help that █████ snickered and put his arm around his waist as Logan’s cheeks turned darker by the second. Roman laughed lightly as well and for once Logan decided to let it pass.

Because there was no black. For the first time Logan saw Roman wearing no black since he had joined the court. For the first time since the King and Queen’s assassination Roman was not wearing black but white.

***

Roman’s voice died. Janus and Logan looked to the door. Virgil stared to Green next to him. And Green spoke.

“You cannot let him have this! You cannot stand down, just because he threatens you! He will see it as a sign of weakness and will try to blackmail us even more! You are better than him, you don’t need to play his game to beat him! You are Theana’s King without doubt! No one but you can lead this kingdom as well as you do and you shall pride yourself with it and show him what you are capable of!”

Heavy silence hung in the air. A moment passed and another one. Janus watched Green’s passionate expression drain away and observed dread taking its place. Hollowly he put his hand over his mouth and stared at Logan in horror. Subtly, Janus glanced to Logan who looked like he was holding his breath. He couldn’t focus on him though as Roman completely turned towards Green and caught the guard’s gaze.

“You are speaking out of line,” Roman said and Green visibly pressed his hands closer against his lips. “You are not allowed to take part in our conversations if not asked to directly or address your king so casually.”

Roman held his chin high and his lips were pursed. Janus knew that look well enough and put his hand on Logan’s shoulder. Beneath his shawl Virgil began to grin.

“But by the gods, you’re totally right! Logan is so much more capable of ruling than I could ever be! His planning is succinct and well thought out and he looks stunning in a crown,” Roman said and shot Logan a teasing look over the shoulder.

Logan furrowed his brows in a chiding manner and told Roman: “Me looking good in a crown has nothing to do with anything you have been talking about.”

��I disagree.”

This time Green and Roman looked at each other and fell both silent. Roman raised an eyebrow and Green looked to the floor. Roman looked Green over. He knew nothing of this man, not even his full name. He didn’t know what story laid behind this stranger with the wavy hair and weird moustache. He didn’t know how he happened to become Logan’s first personal guard ever. The first one for whom Logan stepped over his own pride and accepted help from.

Automatically, Roman’s eyes darted over to Virgil. He looked into the deep blue and remembered the defiant way he had fought off the hooligans who had tried to hurt those sheep. He hadn’t even known the owner nor been tasked with taking care of the animals but had still fought for them. It had stopped his carriage. It had caused their first fateful meeting.

With a little huff Roman put on a smile and turned back around to Logan and Janus. Janus’s look told him exactly how he felt about this coincidence and Logan’s eyes were still set on Green. Roman could not help himself but chuckle.

“I never met this man but I know there is a story behind him and you will have to tell me about it, Your Majesty,” Roman said in a slightly teasing but not unkind tone.

Unease settled over the group. Logan turned his attention back on the prince and Janus kept an eye on Green. He had tried to hide it before, but when Roman had begun to call him out on his intolerable behaviour and Green had pressed his hands over his mouth Janus had noted that Green had started to smile. He had known that Roman would not be mad at him and Janus had a lot to consider now.

But it had to wait for the moment. Now they had to finish this discussion.

“A talk will be had,” Logan said and placed the crown back on his head. “But everything has its time. Now you and Virgil should go and rest for a bit. I will have an official meeting tomorrow with the military council where we will go into detail. Until then I would ask you two to rest after your long journey. Janus, please make their stay as pleasant as possible.”

Janus blinked. He still had his duties to fulfil and he couldn’t just go off with Roman and Virgil and have a free day with them.

Just when he was ready to talk back Logan leaned towards him and said quietly: “I am not the only one on their last leg, so to speak. Take a break. I have at least slept last night. Green will accompany me for the rest of the day.”

A single nod and Logan got up. He walked to the door and Green opened it for him even though no one but Janus had heard what Logan had just said. One last time Logan looked over his shoulder to Roman and lastly to Virgil.

“Good luck with them. Try to keep them from planning another masquerade ball,” Logan joked.

Under his shawl Virgil grinned and gave Logan a little wink. Next the door closed behind Logan and after a moment Virgil walked up to Roman and put his hand on the small of his back, as he led him over to the divan and waited for him to sit down. Roman did so and Virgil lowered himself to the ground in front of both Roman and Janus.

“Still unable to sit correctly on a proper piece of furniture?” Janus teased tiredly and leaned against Roman’s side.

Janus almost let out a pleased gasp when Virgil put his hand on his knee and Roman draped his arm around his shoulder. Their presence and warmth had grown on him over the years. Roman had been a constant in all of his life but only thanks to Virgil’s presence they had finally developed the dynamic and relationship they shared now. They had needed something new. Roman had needed something new. And Virgil had brought it.

“Is Green the something new for Lo?” Roman asked as if he had read Janus’s mind.

Janus sighed and buried his head in Roman’s shoulder. He felt their surprise in the way Roman’s hand on his back tightened and in the soft strokes Virgil brushed over his knees.

“I don’t know.”

Roman and Virgil shared a look. Virgil got up and closed the blinds by the window. Janus’s recognised the small rustling of Virgil’s shawl being removed.

“Talk Celer. It seems we need to know more about this man,” Virgil said seriously.

Janus sighed and pulled his face away from Roman’s neck. With pursed lips he looked up to Virgil standing in front of him. His scarred face was stern. Janus’s eye lit up in gold and he found himself telling his two partners about this strange man, who had entered his and Logan’s lives over two weeks ago.

___

Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!

#intrulogical #anaroceit #remus sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #scars tw #Never Met You #fantasy au #eir writes #please reblog

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delicatelyherdreams · 4 years

Text

Pragma(tic) 1: Her Morning Takes a Turn

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 6217

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous Prologue: The Gods Live

The sun was golden against your skin, filling it with warmth and color you rarely ever got. Birds chirped, filling the air with song, and people chatted warmly all around you. You could hear laughter, squealing, sounds of joy and happiness. It was so different from what you were used to.

You exhaled sharply as you opened your eyes, turning your head on a swivel to observe your surroundings.

The open-aired cafe was nestled in a quaint corner of Olympus. Minor gods occupied the tables around you, some accompanied by nymphs or other sprites, others by children, and others still alone. No matter their social situation, everyone looked happy and content. Small children ran between the tables, playing tag and laughing, while their mothers talked and chatted over brunch. You recognized some of the gods and goddesses around.

Peter, a dryad, was at a table with some of his friends. They were all crowded around a phone and laughing to themselves. They seemed to be watching a funny video. If you had to guess, it was probably a silly trend or meme from the Mortal World.

Hope, the goddess of victory, was chatting with her friend Scott, the god of the home and hearth. Both of them had a sandwich and a cup of coffee straight from the Mortal World in front of them, though the food was almost completely forgotten as they talked to each other, deeply engrossed in their conversation.

Small children, nymphs and naiads, ran between the tables in games of tag, squealing as one was dubbed “it” and began to chase the others. They laughed with childish ecstasy, displaying the joy they had in abundance.

The whole area was just alive and warm. It was so foreign to you, but you had to admit that you didn’t mind it.

The sound of bickering voices drew you from your observations, and you turned your head to the two women before you.

The blonde, your beloved youngest sister, goddess of the sky and queen of the gods, Carol, was sitting up straight, her shoulders rolled back proudly. She had a smug smile on her face; she was obviously winning the argument—something about a dress she said she was going to wear to the Winter Solstice Gala that was coming up in a few months.

The redhead, your younger sister and goddess of the sea, Natasha, was a little more agitated, though it was a sort of playful frustration. She was hunched over with her eyes narrowed at her sister as she insisted, “Carol, that’s my dress.”

Carol shook her head, her smile only widening. “No, it’s mine. I bought it from a noble lady in London. I remember it as clear as if it was a century ago.”

Nat arched an eyebrow, her lips curling down in a sour frown. “Are you sure you remember it correctly? I could’ve sworn that I bought that dress a couple centuries ago. No, I know I bought it from Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1160.”

You scrunched up your nose. Twelfth-century English fashion? Definitely not your cup of tea. But you remembered the dress vividly. It was a green thing that really complimented Nat’s eyes and hair but with a style that did not meet your preferences.

Your sisters continued to argue about whose dress it was.

You, meanwhile, watched them with amused eyes, shaking your head as they bickered. Your sisters were always ones to fight constantly, though it was always in good nature. They argued about the silliest things that happened millennia ago—who a goat sacrifice was meant for, who got the sea and who got the sky, who got to be the patron goddess of this city-state or that one—and now, they argued about whose clothes were whose. It was comforting to see that some things never changed over the centuries. Every brunch consistently ended with them bickering over the smallest things. Their sandwiches and mugs of their favorite coffees were long forgotten as they got into it. You’d learned to live with it and just let them duke it out; so long as they didn’t actually kill anyone that is.

But listening to them bicker eventually grew boring and tedious and you’d had enough. You groaned and leaned back in your chair, shrugging off your black blazer which had grown sweltering hot in the sun as you went. Now just in a dark grey tank top, your pleated black pants, and a pair of black flats, you felt much cooler and were ready to end the arguing and your misery. “Come on, both of you,” you called, cutting them off.

They paused their argument and turned towards you, their gazes questioning and demanding as to why you had interrupted them.

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “Are you kidding me right now? Guys, this is like the only time I can see you for the next month and you want to fight about something stupid and childish?” You grinned at them, your eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. “I wonder why I let you two pretend to be older when you’re so damn immature.”

Carol gasped with mock offense. “You’re only older than us by a decade or two.”

“A decade or two is all it takes, my dear youngest sister. Don’t let the power of your queenship go to your head; I’ll always have sibling superiority over you. And, as the eldest, I say no more bickering.”

“But—”

“It’s Nat’s dress. She did buy it from the queen. There, argument over and you can stop bickering now.”

Nat laughed with an elated “Ha!”

Carol huffed, the breath from her mouth ruffling the hair that framed her face, and gave you an exasperated smile. “Fine, it’s Nat’s. I’ll give it back. We’ll stop bickering. What do you want to talk about since you’re so opposed to hearing our arguing?”

You simply shrugged. Ninety percent of the time you were cool with any topic of conversation, even if it meant listening to their banter, but not today.

It was one of the few times you dared to venture out of your realm. Being the Queen of the Underworld gave you little to no time to leave. There were always so many things to do and duties to attend to that you rarely made it out for brunch with your sisters on Olympus. Occasions like this were supposed to be a time for you three to catch up, gossip, and bond, not to bicker endlessly about pointless things.

“I’m honestly not sure,” you admitted.

Carol opened her mouth to respond, probably with a snarky remark about how you ought to know what you want to talk about before interrupting an already started conversation, but Natasha beat her to the punch.

“Hey, how’s Mom doing?” she asked, her eyes curious and her posture hunched in to listen. “You saw her last weekend, right? She doing well?”

You nodded, a fond smile pulling at your lips. Out of all your siblings, you were probably the closest to your mother, Rhea. She made a trip downstairs to see you almost every weekend for brunch and to catch up. You’d say she liked coming down so often because it was out of the way and far quieter and calmer than either the Mortal World or Olympus, but you knew it was because she loved your dog. “She’s doing fine.”

Carol leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table, suddenly very interested in this new topic of conversation. As the youngest of you three, she probably had the least amount of time with your mother. But, then again, she was the only one who didn’t get digested and got to see Mom the most in the early years. “Is she still working in that mortal hospital?” Carol asked.

You nodded. “Still in the labor ward. She’s the ‘best labor and delivery nurse they’ve ever had’ last I heard.”

“Well of course she is. She is the titaness of motherhood and ease, among other things,” Nat remarked. She shook her head. “I just wish she’d spend more time up here rather than with the mortals.”

“You know that some of the gods don’t like her,” you murmured. “She’s a titan. They don’t trust her. She’d rather be among the mortals who don’t know her for who she is and help them out.” You shrugged. “Anyways, Carol, how’re your queenly duties going?” You wanted to change the topic away from your mother. While you loved talking to her, it was always weird talking about her with your sisters. They didn’t know her like you did; they didn’t know her in the beginning.

Carol hummed. “Oh, you know, they’re going fine. I have to deal with people’s shit all day every day. You’d think that we gods, being as old as we are, would’ve already worked out our problems by now. I mean, Wanda and Pietro still bicker about who’s the better archer, Loki still plays rude pranks, I can barely keep the newer gods in line. I swear, once they find out they’re immortal, it’s a shit-show. They take on the most daring dares and wreak havoc on the Mortal World any chance they get. I know they don’t always mean to be a pain in my ass, but it happens. Oh! But did you hear? The Muses are planning a concert. They’ve got music from…”

And that was about the point when you tuned her out. You didn’t always care about what responsibilities came with ruling Olympus, but you did enjoy seeing her getting excited about the things in her life. She might’ve been a queen, but she was still your baby sister.

As Carol continued to rant and rave about the concert, you failed to notice Natasha sliding her chair closer to you until she was right on top of you.

“So, (y/n).”

You jumped in your seat. She’d snuck up on you, quiet as the gentle sea she ruled over. You glanced sideways at her, your lips curling back in a sneer. You knew that look on her face and you didn’t like it one bit. “Nat… Don’t you even think about it.”

Natasha smirked, her outward expression cool and collected, but her green eyes roaring like waves on a stormy night with devious plans. “Oh? Think about what, my dearest sister?” Her voice was sickly sweet and practically dripping with honey.

You narrowed your eyes, your heart dropping in your chest as it steeled itself against what was coming. “You look like you’re trying to play matchmaker and thinking about setting me up with someone again,” you spat. “Well my answer is what it’s been for the past two thousand years: no.”

Carol had stopped talking about the Muses and was now looking at you with pitiful and sad eyes. “(y/n)...”

“Don’t ‘(y/n)’ me, Care. I’ve told you time and time again, I’m fine. I don’t need to go out on a date, I don’t need a boyfriend or a girlfriend, I’m perfectly happy alone.” You didn’t need any of the trouble that came with a steady relationship. You’d had your fill of that over the years. Hands running down your body, lips kissing your mouth, flesh pressed against flesh… You shuddered.

“We know,” Nat said as she tried to placate you, “and we admire you for your strength. ‘You’re a strong independent woman who don’t need no man’ and all, but we think it might be good for you to go out and try to meet someone. That way you wouldn’t have to be so alone down in the Underworld.”

You frowned. “But I’m not alone down there. I have Cerber—”

“Cerberus,” they finished in unison.

“We know,” Natasha continued. “But we think you’d benefit from some human contact once in a while. We know you still see Mom, and that Clint and Pierce visit you on their errands, but most of the time… You’re all alone down there and we just think you’d be happier if you had someone. I know I’d have already lost my mind underwater if I didn’t have Bruce to keep me company, and Carol wouldn’t be able to stay sane if Maria wasn’t with her.”

Carol nodded in silent agreement, her eyes pleading. “We just want what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?” You could feel small bits of agitation rising up in you as you stared them down. The world began to tint red in your sight.

Natasha bit at her lip as she stared you down. “(y/n),” she said, her voice taut and stiff with caution. “Your eyes.”

You turned towards her.

Her body was rigid and alert, almost as if she was preparing to defend herself. She only took that stance when something made her nervous.

And that something was you.

You sighed and mumbled, “Sorry,” before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in through your nose.

In, out. In, out. In, out.

When you opened your eyes again, the world had returned to its normal color and you were a little calmer. “Sorry,” you mumbled, your head dipping down in a nod. You heaved a sigh and pursed your lips. “Guys, look, I really appreciate you thinking about me and my happiness, but seriously, butt out of my love life. I don't need anybody; I’m perfectly capable of ruling the Underworld on my own.” You shifted in your seat and averted your eyes. “Besides, I don’t think anyone could really handle me right now.” Also, you had the feeling that no one could give you the long-lasting love you craved.

Both your sisters went quiet, their eyes downcast and solemn.

You couldn’t help but feel bad for telling them off again. You knew that they just wanted what was best for you, but at the same time, you knew yourself better than anyone. You knew you didn’t need to be set up and that, when you were ready, you’d find someone yourself.

You cleared your throat and began to pull your blazer back on. “I should probably get going now,” you said, grabbing a black handbag that was sitting beside your chair and pulling the strap onto your shoulder. “Lots of things to attend to down under. It’s time for the weekly check on Tartarus.” You inhaled sharply and rolled your eyes, hoping to convey a feeling of exasperation to them. You had no intention of letting them know that you were over godly contact and ready to go home to peace and solitude.

Natasha chuckled. “I don’t know why you don’t send Pierce to do it. He’s capable.”

“Yeah, he’s capable, but you know how persuasive our father can be if he gets into somebody’s head. And, although Alexander is a great god of death, I don’t necessarily trust his mental strength against him. It’s just best if I do it. I know his tricks, I know his lies, I know how to resist him.” You gave your sisters a small smile. “Take care, you two. Tell Maria and Bruce I said ‘hi,’ and don’t go burning down the world before our next brunch. The Underworld is full enough; we don’t need any early arrivals.” You stood up and pushed in your chair.

Carol stood up and made quick strides across the table to your side. With one fluid motion, she reached for you, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into a hug. She held you tight. “We miss you up here, (y/n). Please, don’t be a stranger, and come back more often.”

You hugged her back tightly. “I’ll try. When things start calming down again, I’ll come back.”

“Just make sure it’s before another half-decade has passed!” Nat called from her spot off to the side.

You pulled away from Carol and shot your other sister a teasing glare. “Then tell the Fates to stop throwing me curve balls and fucking up my life!” You slid over to her and hugged her as well. “Don’t forget, you can always come down to see me instead. I know it’s dark and gloomy down there, but I’ve remodeled my house and I think it’s really nice.”

“So you’re out of your gothic phase?”

You could feel your cheeks heat up. “Gods, I thought we agreed to never speak about that again. I liked the architecture!”

“Mhmm, and the black clothes, and the heavy eyeliner,” Carol began to list, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Oh, shut up! The castle’s gone. No more gothic. Now it’s more modern. Have you ever seen those American houses where they’re an open concept, all sleek and box-like?”

Both your sisters nodded.

“It’s kinda like that.”

Natasha whistled. “Nice. Is it still black?”

“Of course.” You chuckled. “Could you imagine a bright yellow house in the middle of the Underworld?”

“It does sound ridiculous,” Carol admitted.

“Exactly. The black is there to stay.” You smiled softly and took a small step away from your family. “I’ll see you both later.”

Carol’s lips twitched up in a sad smile as she brought a hand up to wave at you. “See you soon.”

Natasha simply nodded at you, a tiny smile of her own on her face.

And then you turned your back and walked away from them. You made your way to the cafe’s gate and pushed it open, making your exit.

It was a short walk back to the main road of Olympus. It was easy to know when you’d arrived because street vendors crowded the sides and people filled the streets. Gods, goddesses, nymphs, naiads, satyrs, and all other sorts of creatures bustled around, darting in and out from stall to stall. Families with children stopped to chit chat with each other, couples held hands as they browsed, and singular people shopped with a purpose. Everyone had a smile on their face, everyone was happy. For a normal person, the path would be almost impossible to navigate.

But not for you.

The second you got within five feet of a nymph or naiad, they stiffened and the hairs on the back of their neck stood up. They sensed the death that surrounded you and instinctively inched away. Their heads were put on a swivel as they searched for the source of their discomfort and, when they saw you, they prickled further and took a step out of your way, clearing your path.

It used to bother you how they’d avoid you like the plague but now you’d come to accept it. You reeked like death; they sensed it; they didn’t like it. You learned almost two thousand years ago to not take it personally. They didn’t hate you, they just hated what you were and what you stood for. Besides, you never had to be stuck in foot traffic.

You sauntered down the opening in the road, going as quick as you could so as not to disturb them any longer, but not in a rush. Though you knew you weren’t welcome by most of Olympus’ citizens, you quite enjoyed the feeling of the sun on your skin whenever you came. The feeling was alien to you, but it was pleasant enough to make you want to bask in it for as long as possible.

You made your way up the road, slowly climbing closer and closer to the golden palace of the gods where your youngest sister lived. It was in her front yard where you could safely make your way home without pissing anybody off.

After all, the quickest way back to the Underworld was to have the ground swallow you up. The journey didn’t leave any gaping hole behind you—the ground always closed up after you sank in—but it did leave an Asphodel flower in your stead.

Carol didn’t mind having the flowers dot the lawn of her palace. Most Olympians hated the sight of them and saw them only as a bad omen, but Carol knew there was nothing really wrong with the flower. The reason they got such a bad reputation was that they were linked to you.

Asphodel flowers only grew in the Asphodel Meadows in the Underworld. Mortals believed they had a positive role in the Greek afterlife, but not the Olympians. To them, the immortals, anything related to the Underworld was taboo, almost like it was death itself. Things touched by death and the Underworld were considered dangerous and to be avoided at all costs. You learned a long time ago that if you let the ground swallow you up and plant a flower in your place, the area where you left would be avoided for decades even after the flower had died. It caused a lot of inconveniences for the Olympian people, so you just decided to avoid public places and go to your sister’s yard instead. It was cleaner and less of a nuisance for others that way.

You strolled into the palace’s yard, treading down towards the furthermost corner of the area. There, a small garden of Asphodel flowers lays perfectly still and undisturbed. They’d grown to be as tall as your waist and they shuffled as you moved about them. You tried to keep the garden as small as possible so as to not “contaminate” a large area. You stopped in the center of the garden and dug into your pocket. Your skin hit tiny seeds—Asphodel seeds—and you plucked one out before dropping it onto the grass.

The seed sank into the dirt, disappearing almost immediately, and the ground rumbled beneath you as it began to tear itself apart. It caved in, carving out a tunnel for you to sink into.

You simply crossed your arms, closed your eyes, and rolled your neck to stretch. You’d made this journey so many times that the fall hardly phased you anymore. You remembered doing it the first couple of times and panicking as you fell. Now, it was as easy as taking a step.

You dropped through layers upon layers of rock, finally breaking out into a chasm. Your feet hit the ground and you bent your knees to absorb the impact, straightening up when you were steady. You rose to your full height and stood tall, gazing down a mountain at the whole of the Underworld.

You’d been deposited right on the front stoop of your mansion. Perched on the top of a small mountain, you could see everything from the front door.

At the far reaches of your kingdom, you could see the place where the Cocytus, the River of Wailing fed into the Acheron, the River of Woe, which stood as the border between the Mortal World and the Underworld. The far bank of the Acheron was crowded with souls waiting for passage over the water and the near bank was organized with lines leading up to and disappearing into the judgment pavilion. From the pavilion, three lines branched out and led to the three sections of the Underworld: the Asphodel Meadows, Elysium, and Tartarus.

The Asphodel Meadows spanned the majority of the large chasm that was your domain. The flowers swayed without a breeze, instead moved by spirits who wandered aimlessly. It was a place for those who had led ordinary lives, not good enough to achieve Elysium, but not evil enough to deserve Tartarus. The Meadows were as calm as calm could be, perfect for walking your dog or lazing around on a rare free day. Billions of spirits resided there, all of them calm, gentle, and ordinary.

Elysium, with its warm atmosphere, beautiful gardens, and elaborate homes sat just off to the side of the Meadows, its entrance near the base of your mountain. Sanctioned off by towering gates and walls, it lay separate from the rest of the Underworld. It was the place where the best of the best lived after death, filled with kind, generous, and beautiful souls. The souls that had been reborn and achieved Elysium three times lived on the Isles of the Blessed which were three little islands that sat in the middle of a lake in the heart of Elysium. You loved walking down the streets in Elysium. Everyone was so friendly and not a soul shied away from you. They had no reason to fear death; after all, they were already dead. Some of the spirits that had been there long enough were friendly enough to invite you for dinner on the occasional evening when they’d catch you patrolling the streets or walking Cerberus. Those were the nights you enjoyed the most. Mrs. Thomas made a fantastic roast chicken. It was truly a good place to be.

And then there was Tartarus; the “pit”. You shuddered just thinking about that place. It was where the evil souls went when they died, a place of torture, punishment, misery, and pain. It was mainly managed by three of your lieutenants known as “the Furies.” When they weren’t pursuing the wicked in the Mortal World, they were overseeing the torture of the worst of the worst deep in the pit. It lay just beyond the main body of your realm, accessible only through a cave that carved a hole in the outermost wall of the chasm that was the Underworld. The Phlegethon, the River of Fire, with its angry red flames that leaped out at anybody who dared get close to it, flowed into the tunnel taking up half of its opening. The river flowed deep until the point when the tunnel opened up to a cave. Dark, sharp stalactites hung from the cave’s ceiling, ready to fall at any second and impale those beneath them. There was a hole in the middle of the ground that seemed endless, but really, it fed into the real Tartarus. The river flowed into the pit, turning into a waterfall as it roared down. It was a long way down, said to be “as far beneath Hades as heaven is above earth” if you read that epic The Iliad from some Greek guy named Homer. It was about a nine days’ fall to reach the bottom of the pit where the souls were tortured and the worst beings were imprisoned.

You’d only been down there once, millennia ago, when you locked up the bastard you called “Father” and his brothers Crius, Iapetus, Coeus, and Hyperion, and you never wanted to go down again. It was nothing but red and angry. The Phlegethon was even more violent down there than it was in the main Underworld as it tore through the terrain. Tartarus itself was like a whole new world. It was seemingly endless, but it only had the one exit. One could get lost and be trapped there for eternity if they weren’t careful.

It was at the far reaches of the pit, farther than any soul or spirit dared to venture, that you imprisoned your father and uncles, binding them with the strongest chains you could make and sealing them with every spell, curse, and enchantment that you could think of. Layer upon layer of protection was placed upon them, making it nearly impossible for them to escape. You separated the five of them and placed them as far apart from each other as you could so that they could not feed on each other’s strength and escape. Your uncles, as formidable of foes as they were, were no threat to you anymore. They’d gone dormant after the first thousand years or so, reserved to their fates; but not your father.

Kronos continued to fight against his restraints, trying every day to escape, spending as much strength as he could muster to fight your barriers against him. Over the centuries he had succeeded in breaking some of them, specifically the old ones you had placed when you’d first imprisoned him. He was always chipping away at them, trying to weaken them enough to break free to exact his revenge on you and your sisters.

But you’d never let that happen. That was one of the reasons you made your weekly ventures to the edge of the pit. From up above, you could cast more spells to strengthen and set more layers on his bindings. Every week you added more and more to his cage, replacing those he broke, rejuvenating those he damaged, and adding new ones as an extra precaution.

Your sisters were fair to wonder why you didn’t let your inferiors or lieutenants take care of this task for you, but you had your reasons.

For the first couple of years that you guarded his prison, you did let some underlings take care of it. Peggy, your second in command, best friend, and the goddess of magic, volunteered to take care of it while you worked to get the Underworld under control and install order. She did a good job of keeping the spells strong and watertight, but she wasn’t infallible.

Your father, the extremely powerful titan that he is, found ways to let his conscience escape and make its way up to the surface. He would get into her head and anyone else who got close and twist their thoughts around, slowly turning them to his side and against the gods.

It took you a decade to notice that Peggy was under his control. You’d had your suspicions that she wasn’t herself, but it was when she tried to pull a knife on you and slit your throat that your suspicions were confirmed. It broke your heart to have Cerberus restrain her while you reached into her head and yanked Kronos out. Her screams still haunt you to this day.

But from that day on, while Peggy was recovering, it was you that took care of the cage. That was how it should’ve been in the beginning, but you’d let her take on that responsibility for you. Never again would you subject another being to that. You did not know what it was like to have him in your head, but you had an idea of what it was like in his, and you couldn’t bear inflicting that kind of pain again. So, in addition to making frequent check-ups on the men and women who worked for you to make sure there wasn’t any trace of his influence, you took it upon yourself to personally deal with strengthening his prison every week.

Which was what you had to do right now.

With a heavy sigh, you turned back to look at your mansion and whistled.

At once, a crash, bang, thud, and whimper broke the silence and you could see a large black mass barreling at you from inside the house. The hulking figure shot through a wide doggy door just to the side of your front door and charged at you.

Your entire face lit up with a laugh as Cerberus attacked you, jumping up to place his paws on your chest so he could have easy access to lick your face. Thankfully he was in his small form so there was only one head trying to lovingly maul you. If he had been full-sized, you’d have an issue.

At his full height, Cerberus was as tall as your mountain in the Underworld, with three large heads that could see almost everything. When he wasn’t around you in his small size, he’d stand at the gates of the Underworld, guarding the borders and making sure that the rogue spirits didn’t escape. He seemed ferocious and scary because he closely resembled a large black wolf with deep red eyes, but he was really a gentle giant and your metaphorical baby.

You lifted your head up to avoid his eager tongue, instead allowing him to attack your neck as your laughter rang out in the still air. “Cerberus! Down, boy! Down! Yes, it’s good to see you too.” Once you’d gotten him calmed down, you crouched so you were at his eye level and scratched him behind the ears. “Who’s a good boy?”

He barked as if to say, “Me! Me! I am!”

You simply grinned at him and leaned forward to press your forehead to his, a common gesture of affection for you with him. “I’ve gotta go make sure Father hasn’t done anything stupid in a week, you wanna come with me?”

As if it was even a question. Cerberus always accompanied you on your trips, acting as a good guard dog to protect you from some of the spirits that dwelled on the pit’s edges—not that you really needed it, you just loved his company.

“Let’s go.” You straightened up and started to walk down the mountain path.

Cerberus kept perfect pace with you. He knew the way almost as well as you did.

Down the mountain and through the Asphodel Meadows. Cross the Meadows to the Phlegethon and follow the river to the mouth of the cave. Then it was a straight shot into the pit where you could cast your spells. Simple, easy, quick.

You knew the way by heart, not even bothering to look up as you went. Asphodel flowers crunched under your flats as you crossed the Meadows and spirits parted for you to get through; not that they needed to, they were just being polite.

You and Cerberus strolled through the Meadows, coming up to the Phlegethon and following it towards Tartarus.

You had to force your feet to walk as you got closer, a sense of unparalleled dread washing over you. Shivers crept down your spine and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Tartarus was always a daunting place, but today it almost seemed… more so. And as soon as you took one step into the entrance, you knew that something was seriously wrong.

You stopped short, your feet planted into the ground. Your stomach dropped and every warning alarm you had was going off in your head.

Cerberus had frozen, his ears flattened against his head and his lips pulled back in a snarl. His whole body was positioned to pounce at the drop of a hat.

You rolled your shoulders back and narrowed your eyes. The world began to tint red at the edges, the color slowly creeping in to cover your entire vision. With this new sight, you could see deeper into the tunnel where you saw figures writhing closer and closer to the pit. Something was in the cave, something that didn’t belong.

You grit your teeth and nodded your head towards Cerberus. “Go get Aunt Peggy,” you commanded in a low voice.

He didn’t need to be told twice and took off running as soon as the words left your lips.

You didn’t take your eyes off the mouth of the cave as you extended your hand, calling forth into being your weapon: a sleek black bident that was as tall as you were. Forged for you by the cyclopes millennia ago when you first fought your father, your vibranium bident was a formidable weapon. It was a lot like your sister’s trident, but with two prongs instead of three that branched out from the spear at the height of your chin. Your bident was your primary weapon used for fighting. It allowed you to manipulate spirits and channel magic, morph terrain, and wield the energy of the Underworld, among other things. Plus it was good for stabbing.

You tightened your grip around the bident’s shaft and lifted it off the ground, moving slowly into the cave. Your feet never made a sound as you stepped closer and closer to the writhing mass. As you neared the souls, your fingers began to turn white with how tight you were holding your weapon, raising it to strike at any second. You were prepared to fight off a small militia of evil souls trying to escape, but what you found when you reached them was not a coup preparing to strike.

No, the souls were, instead, swarming around a figure.

You muscled your way in through the crowd, using your bident to shove the spirits out of the way and dissipate them. You got to the center of their swarm and looked down. But instead of seeing an animal corpse or something of the likes, you saw something far more serious: a man.

The man seemed to be about your physical age, but you could tell almost right away from the aura he radiated that, like you, he was probably much older than he looked. His short dark hair was tousled and matted, no doubt from the spirits grabbing at it, and his clothes—what once seemed to be a pristine white shirt and jeans—were torn with claw marks and black with dirt. His shocking blue eyes stared up at the ceiling of the chasm, full of despair and hopelessness. He’d obviously started to lose hope that he’d ever escape the clutches of evil that held him tight.

You didn’t have much time to register who he was or what he was doing in Tartarus. You were just in shock that this man, this very alive man, had made it into your domain without you knowing. Your grip slackened and you stared down at him, surprise rising up in you with rage boiling up behind it as the only words you could manage to speak were, “Oh fuck.”

Next 2: He Becomes a Trespasser

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arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

I was talking to Sarah yesterday and I had a revelation I think is worth sharing.

Let’s begin at the beginning. About a month ago, Instapundit posted this.

Now, I’ve been thinking of the rise and fall of civilizations lately. I can’t think why it’s been on my mind. It’s a tale as old as time—a civilization emerges, establishes a new worthwhile order, the good things brought forth by said order soften up the people maintaining it, the softening turns to decadence, and the decadence gives way to the barbarians, who clean the slate. Where would you say things are lately?

…

In short—the federal government of the United States of America has become impotent at almost all good things.

Expanded out—There is no start to its talents. It cannot maintain its borders. Since the “election” it doesn’t even try. No surprise there. It cannot maintain friendly relationships with allies—as our recent screwing of Britain on our way out of Afghanistan shows. The “leader” of the “free world” could not be bothered to pick up the phone for our closest ally. Speaking of Afghanistan, it can’t win a war. It can’t even lose gracefully. In fact it fucked up leaving so badly some people are entertaining that it intended to fuck it up, because how the fuck does somebody above the age of six not notice that pulling the military out first and the civilians out second is not even a remotely workable strategy? Resulting in leaving millions of dollars of equipment—and—excuse me, what? Millions of dollars of dollars in the desert? Fantastic.

It makes self sabotaging and idiotic choices to stymie its own domestic oil industry, while accepting a pipeline not from Canada, but one that’s a joint Russian-German venture instead. Which means the problem, contrary to any environmentalist whining, isn’t the pipeline—it’s the pipeline with a friendly country. Big surprise— its only true interest in the environment lies in international agreements that hamstring us while doing nothing to China, the world’s largest polluter. It either can’t be trusted on energy production and the environment, or is trying to get it wrong.

It can’t manage its economy. What could have been a “V” shaped recovery has been turned into an “L” shaped one. What could be contributing? Paying people to do nothing? Rampant inflation? Meanwhile all the dumbasses running the country can think of is spending several billion more dollars that don’t exist. The country has infrastructure problems for a fact, but they’ll only acknowledge that to the extent of cynically plastering the word on an “infrastructure” bill which is in fact just a far Left wishlist that largely ignores actual infrastructure, in the hopes people will be dumb enough to support it because it has the right label.

And on.

What aptitudes does it have besides taking money, trampling civil liberties, and ignoring constitutional laws at gunpoint? News flash, dummies: We don’t need peaceful protestors incarcerated without a trial. We don’t need the weight of the federal government turned to the problem of violating states rights because Texas passed a law Biden doesn’t like. We need military egresses that look like they weren’t planned by Bozo the clown and an economic plan better than something China would design for us as an attempt to permanently sink the country. Is there anyone at all in DC who can provide that? If not, is there anything useful they can do? I’ll wait.

…

This is what decadence looks like. When the government stops even attempting competence because nothing and nobody that currently exists can replace or displace them so who cares about results? When comfort and plenty have become so common, been taken for granted for so long, that the question of utility or even basic sanity isn’t even distantly considered. When it’s assumed that self-harming policies that will obviously damage the country won’t really matter because nobody has ever known a world without America and fundamentally has no idea how the present day came to be. When the country’s most educated start chasing bizarre and unimaginably stupid ideas on economics that boil down to “inflation won’t happen if you double the monetary supply by printing money, if only you just believe hard enough”. In fact, when education stops being a means to greater insight, more useful abilities, and a better life, and becomes a cult devoted to the kind of idiocy that can survive only with strenuous censorship, the tenets of the cult being treated by the indoctrinated as a collection of sacred mysteries and deeply-thought paradoxes— while to those not similarly trained it is self-obviously a collection of contradictory and self-serving lies.

Verily, decadence is here. We can infer that what comes next is the barbarians. And we have options. Mexican illegals? A heady mixture of poverty-stricken Marxists who have never known a system that wasn’t corrupt, functionally lawless, and devoted to the tenets of voting oneself rich; and outright criminals with lives like “a demon’s resumé”? Perhaps radical Muslims? By sheer numbers worldwide they’re the most likely option. The Taliban just got a huge infusion of cash and a big boost in morale. In a few short days we’ll know whether they’ve arranged a thank you gift for Zho Bi-Xen and his kleptocrat marching band to commemorate his intended pull-out date. But even if, and God I hope, they have not, we can expect an uptick in terrorism and quite shortly. Or perhaps China? The Middle Kingdom would laugh at being called barbarians, but I call genocidal communists like I see them. Mao was morally three steps below a pig and Xi has enough power to aspire to greater depths. As is I wouldn’t dream of feeding a pig Mu Shu Xi due to the great risk of poisoning the pig.

But there is a barbarian group not considered. Us.

Hang on. Before you balk, listen. Look again at what these idiots are selling as the fruits of civilization. Defenses of pedophilia and urinals as art. And more, too—sterilization and disfigurement of teenagers in the form of sex changes. Black supremacy as a panacea to made up threats of white supremacy. Books nobody reads, movies nobody watches, paintings that exist only to launder money—even the ones not made by Hunter Biden.

What good person would not be proud to be considered a barbarian by these miserable, over-decorated Faberge people? I’d be mortified if they agreed with me! So they think I’m a sexist or a racist or whatever. Fine. They do not use these words to mean the same things I mean, so it’s a pointless argument, and they are now officially beneath my explaining myself to them. When the people who are calling me names are so morally opaque that the Taliban can make devastating critiques of them just by referencing the foundational works of their own gender studies programs, I’m done caring about the names. Fine. I’m what you think is a racist. I’m what you think is a sexist. But you think a lot of very stupid things, and as the curtain continues to draw back on the carnival of madness that’s been behind the scenes the entire time it’s occurring to me that what you think and reality overlap so seldom that the only time not to ignore you is when I can ridicule you. If that is your civilization, someone hand me a pointy horned helmet.

…

Yes, this is a moment of peril, but also opportunity. See in your country what every hostile group listed above sees in it—the makings of great civilization, along other, less stupid lines. All of it guarded by weak, fat, stupid people with no will and no self-belief. Take that mindset and go forth.

Get involved in your local systems. There is an old prayer for God to make ones enemies ridiculous. Congratulations to whomever was still praying it. Your prayers have been answered. Will you tell me that you cannot defeat these people? People who lose casual debates to terrorists not on principle but on basic facts?

…

You can’t reason with them so don’t bother. Recent events have made it clear you may as well try to talk sense into a three-day-old mackerel. Just confront them with their own stupidity so that people who see the inevitable video understand what this is about, and don’t feel that you are too good to shout them out of the room. You’re the barbarian, remember? Not like the nice civilized people with their gender-queer Tik-Tokers pushing vaccine propaganda. That means you’re excused from conversations with morons. Don’t bother trying to find common ground. Look at where they’re standing! Do you want to try to find the midpoint between that and reality? Silly. Pointless. Send them back to their walled online gardens to whine to their equally stupid friends about the barbarians.

Can we take it back from the ground up? I don’t know. But hey, it’s got to be worth a shot. Join the fun! Find some friends and locate a low-hanging political event to raid. When was the last time you went to a town hall for your town? Isn’t just a part of you curious to know whether your local county commissioner starts by declaring her pronouns? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see someone like that made very uncomfortable? You can make that happen. You can probably do it within the next month. Bring a few friends! Or a few dozen. Some of the people reading this probably were afraid to do that kind of thing for fear of losing their job. The Biden economy might have freed up some of your time. What have you got to lose now? More importantly, the way things are going, are you going to lose it anyway if things continue as they are? Think on it.

#thomas kendall #sarah a hoyt

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scandeniall · 4 years

Text

leaving the fold

pairing: atsumu x reader

summary/warnings: Youre leaving the Jackals. That means your life, position, and soulmate./ mentions of death, (bsd verse so implied mafia), profanity

wc: 2.1K

notes: this is a bungo stray dogs type universe and yall are the port mafia in this case because i miss them :-). also this is more dialogue heavy than i usually do ???

“What the fuck am I hearing about ya leaving,” You mentally roll your eyes at the now likely dented wall behind your door that had been pushed open. You don't even look up from your laptop’s screen as you greet in amusement.

“Well hello to you Atsumu. You're back from your mission already? How’d it go, I’m sure it was like child’s play to you” The fist coming down on your desk does little to shock you, nor are you surprised when the top of your laptop comes crashing down.

“Cut the shit. You're trying to leave the agency-”

“Will you keep your voice down,” you hiss out standing from your desk to shut your office’s door. You ignore his comments about not giving a damn about his volume, despite him lowering it anyways. Turning back to face him, you eye him menacingly. “How did you find out.”

“So it's true huh.” His eyes glare at you just as deadly. “What were ya gonna do, just disappear one night. Ya know more than anyone here that leaving is a death sentence” His voice grows angriet the longer he speaks. “Besides, where ya gonna go. There's nowhere in this city that the Jackals don’t have eyes. We run the underground.” By the time he had finished the two of you stood face to face. “You’re an executive for fuck’s sake (Y/N) you can’t- ”

“Shugo was set up.” Silence settled among the two of you. Both of you thought about your fallen friend. You noticed Atsumu’s eyes undergo a range of emotions: confusion, comprehension. Shock, disbelief, and back to anger as he silently accused you of lying. “Foster purposely sent him on that mission, knowing he’d die.” You stand tall as the words leave your mouth, managing to calm your raging emotions. The only indication of any sort of emotional weakness came from the balled fists resting at your sides. “Why the hell would-”

“Shugo was planning on leaving the org. I don’t know how, but Foster caught word, and-” the words trailed off as you walked past Atsumu to sit on the corner of your desk. “He had a pregnant girlfriend. Said he couldn’t keep putting her or their unborn child at risk with this life. He proposed about a year ago.” You begin to fiddle with your fingers, ignoring the shock written all over the blonde’s face. “They’d been dating maybe two or three, I’m not sure. When they got engaged he told me he was gonna leave. That's why he started taking lower paid and ranked missions. Then, she got pregnant and that was the last straw for him.” The crack in your voice ultimately caused your friend to react.

“If he had him killed, why are you trying to do the same thing.” This time the words came out in hardly a whisper as you felt his body settle next to yours on the desk. The feel of one of his hands encasing yours brings you back to the reality you’d talked yourself into. “I can take care of myself and you know that. Youngest to become a Jackal’s executive ever, remember,” you lightly bump his shoulder as you tease. “Not to mention, I’m the best at hand-to-hand combat here.” At that Atsumu scoffs, “Yeah, because your ability is better for being on the defensive.”

“I can still kick your ass,” you shrug as the conversation dies down.

“You think, Foster is letting you out without raising hell.” For a second his hand tightens on top of yours so quickly that you barely notice. “Him bringing you into this world was like hitting a goldmine.”

“Which is why he wouldn’t kill me right away-”

“You don’t know that,” his voice begins to grow again. “Listen. I know why ya wanna leave, but it's a shitty idea. Ya don’t have anywhere to go, can’t get a normal job or anything. Ya know I loved Shugo too, but people here die all the time” You snatch your hands away at his words, pushing at his arm as it reaches out for you again.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now,” you laugh out humorlessly. Your mind flashes back to the dozens of conversations the two of you had over the years as you practically grew up together. “We didn't choose this world, it chose us.” The phrase he’d always tell you along with the kid who used to say it long forgotten.

“Well one of us needs to be realistic. It's part of the life we all chose including him.” You shake your head at disbelief following his words.

“Get the fuck out Atsumu,” is the only thing you settle on. Your voice is low and dangerous, but he doesn’t move. “Now,” this time you were the one raising your voice. The thing you’d told him not to do as he walked in.

“We’re on the same level (Y/N). I’m not one of your damn subordinates,” the fellow executive bites back. He easily avoids the book you opt for throwing at him.

“Difference is, we’re in my office.” This time he narrowly misses the punch you’d thrown his way.

However in the attempt, he neglects the fact you managed to get behind him, until you had his arms pinned against his back. “I said get the fuck out.” You scoff as you let him go, now pointing at your door. The air is heavy, as the two of you seethe in anger. Atsumu shakes his head in disbelief as he nears the exit.

“Tell me one thing,” you raise your eyebrows signaling him to continue. “Where do ya plan on going.” The question was void of any real concern. In an attempt to further upset you it was asked in malice. Mocking you. Telling you that outside of the Jackals you had no one nor anywhere to go. And it pissed you off.

“Maybe the Adlers,” the words came out solely to spite him. The mention of your counterpart organization angered him to where his own ability activated. So you stood. Stood in anger as the books on your bookshelf flew to the ground and papers fluttered to the ground. “When you realize the way Foster is leading this organization will be our demise don’t come crying to me,” you yell over the sound of your office being trashed.

“Fuck you”

“Fuck you,” the door slammed shut behind you and you were left with an aching heart and trashed office.

The argument with Atsumu had been over a month ago. And since then, the two of you didn’t interact unless otherwise necessary. Your missions together were strictly business, both of your subordinates easily catching onto the tension. Your comments at one another just too harsh to be considered the usual joking. Whenever you had to work together, you’d opt for not riding together to sights.

The only time things seemed relatively normal were during executive meetings. You would take your rightful place as Foster’s right hand, engaging and giving updates and directives. You interacted with Atsumu as usual, even throwing in careful jokes and he’d reciprocated. He knew you still had every intention of leaving. You were stubborn. When you set your mind to something you followed through. It was one of the things he loved about you. Despite his hurt at that he didn’t want you to end up dead all because he couldn’t act in a mere meeting.

You’d finished the last letter, the one actually designated for Atsumu. It was nearing 3am and you had to be gone soon. You looked over your now former office for the last time and sighed. Eying the letters in your hands your mind thought back to the people you were leaving behind. The closest thing you could call friends in this hellhole. Directly under you in ranks were the two you entrusted as the commanders of your infiltration unit; Bokuto and Sakusa. You’d miss the way Bokuto would laugh after a completed mission somehow making the carnage left behind seem a little less gut wrenching. You’d even miss the quips at your hygiene when you got unnecessarily messy during a fight.

Then you had the guys under Atsumu’s command. His trusted commanders; Osamu and Suna, and the newest member of the organization. Hinata, a firecracker who was quickly rising in ranks.

The last letter belonged to your fellow executive. The one you shared nearly a decade’s worth of memories with. Your right hand on missions, the two of you clicking immediately and being able to act scarily in sync. the one who you’d have hundreds of sparring matches with and he’d pout whenever you let him win. The person who’d you stay getting into trouble about the base as kids, annoying everyone in your sight with pranks. The one you swore was your soulmate, despite the fact that the two of you could never be. Not with the lives you lived at least.

The buzz of the new burner phone you’d gotten shook you out of the thoughts. The text about who you were set to meet reminded of you of the time. Adjusting the straps of your backpack, you shut the light out of your office for the last time. You’d manage to drop the letters off, slipping them in the lockers of their respective occupants before sneaking off. You’d made it outside, before a voice sounded behind you. “Ya didn’t think I’d let you go by yourself now.”

Turning around you were met with Atsumu, who looked unusually happy given the situation. “Atsumu, I’m leaving and you can’t stop-” hands reached around your waist pulling you into him and effectively cutting you off.

“Of course not. Listen. You’re leaving but you're not going alone alright.” The way his index finger pressing against your lips causes your breath to catch. “It can’t be me. Not yet anyway. Listen, you were right about Foster. He’s trying to lead us into an all about war with ability users.”

That revelation causes your eyes to widen. You almost forget about the fact that Atsumu’s body was pressed against yours and that your lips were so close to one another. He only nods at your shock, looking around cautiously before continuing. “Bokuto and Sakusa are going with you. You need someone with some offensive ability, and you need Sakusa to keep you on track.”

“Are you serious,” you whisper. Your friends were coming with you? He only nods offering a smile that disappears just as quickly as it occurs.

“I assume you already had a plan for yourself. Got room for two more?” You quickly confirm, making a mental note to text your awaiting party. You also confirm after he asks you about a burner phone. “Alright good. Sakusa has my burner and some information about where we can meet up later.”

Your hands go towards his chest gently pushing him away. “I have so many questions right now-”

“Babe, you have to go. Morning guards will be here soon. We’re going to bring Foster down. For now Me, Samu, Suna and Hinata are staying here. Acting as normal. But we’re your inside eyes ok and when the time is right we’re here with you.” Your mind hardly registers the new nickname. He was with you. He believed in you and thought you were doing the right thing. The only thing you could do was wrap your arms around him in a hug. You only nod as he whispers for you to please be safe.

“Fuck! Tsumu, I wrote you all-”

“Already got Samu on it. I knew you couldn’t just leave. By now he should have already picked the locks to your guy’s lockers. Now you have to go. Bo and Omi are waiting about 2 blocks down at the end of the street.” You find yourself nodding once again, this time caught off guard when his lips come down to meet yours in a quick kiss. You’re the one to pull away, this not being the time nor place. “Get the info from Omi- and we’ll figure out a meeting for next month.”

His words cause you to step away from him, taking a deep breath. “Be safe Y/N”

“Aren’t I always,” you shoot him a smirk before nodding. He watches as you depart, lost in how he was now going to have to act in order to uphold his promise to you. “You couldn't even say I love you? How lame,” the voice causes Atsumu to jump as he scowls

“Shut up Suna! You’ve been spending too much time with Samu”

a/n: not me making meian oda and coach foster mori LMFAO. Yall also peep how i made bokuto and sakusa both hirotsu. Ok so yeah idk if im making a part 2 so in the case that i dont (bc this plot wasn;t even supposed to get a happy ending)

atsumu’s ability is basically gravity control so basically chuya (yeah he manipulated it to trash ur office), you ability is smoke manipulation aka you can form it, its poisoneous but not deadly and can only really stun momentarily or be used as a way to impair vision. Atsumu got them dazai brains, and you got them chuya hands. But yeah you were the youngest exec like dazai due to a back story that u wont know unless i decide to make another part, and yall basically double black

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagine #atsumu x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #atsumu imagines

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